Friday, January 31, 2014
Project || Valentine's Day with Toddlers
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
The Generation of No Imagination
"We must, then, kill the imagination. The ideal, of course, would be to cease
having children, but that might have some adverse effect upon long-range economic
prosperity, besides threatening certain industries with extinction - the manufacturers
of tasteless clothing, for instance, and importers of refined sugar. Since we must have
children, we should be sure to subject them to all the most efficient and humane techniques
to fit them for the world in which they will live, a world of shopping malls all the same
everywhere, packaged food all the same, paper-pushing all the same, mass entertainment
all the same, politics all the same..." - Anthony Esolen / Ten Ways to Destory the Imagination of Your Child
When we were little, my sister and I heard that there was a secret tunnel connecting
our house to the garage. We spent hours and hours pouring over all the paperwork connected
to the property, the list of owners - scouring for details, clues that could give us an answer.
We even made phone calls to random people who just happened to share the last name of previous
owners to find out if they knew anything about the tunnel. There was one lady in our hometown
that actually remembered playing in the tunnel as a small child. We were hot on the trail.
The strange hole in the garage floor matched up perfectly with the pantry in the house.
In that pantry, the floorboards ran in two different directions. Obviously some sort of hatch
used to exist. So we began to dig - below that pantry, in the basement, in the dirt...
We found old medicine bottles (still filled with strange-smelling liquids), small animal
bones, a sense of adventure, purpose, discovery... skills of deduction, the gift of perseverance,
a spirit of boldness. We imagined. We planned. We worked towards a goal.
We were Sherlock and Watson.
Can you believe my parents let us do all of that? That they actually encouraged it?
They could have handed us cell phones and an internet connection - to lure us away
from such ADVENTURE and potential DANGER...
but instead they gave us a shovel and their blessing.
This is the stuff that the classics are made of. I LIVED Swiss Family Robinson,
Little Women, Moby Dick, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer... they were my inspiration!
I'm so thankful NOW, more than ever, that my parents let me have an adventurous and
dangerous childhood. They never stopped us from building forts in the attic of our home
or garage. They never stopped us from hanging all sorts of things (the best was the ski rope!)
from the trees in our yard to experiment and play with. They never stopped us from baking,
cooking - experimenting over and over again with different recipes to learn how to get them
just right. They never stopped us from taking in stray pets or trying to tame the local wildlife.
They never stopped us from painting, making music, dancing in the yard, ice-skating on the
garden rink (yes, my dad built us an ice rink!), or climbing the NEIGHBOR'S trees
(they did make us call and ask for permission though!).
They did however stop us from using the trampoline as a diving board into our pool.
We were beyond disappointed to have them saving our lives.
They encouraged us to stop and visit with the people on our paper route, to take time to
care for the widows we knew, to speak for ourselves in social situations. We could say whatever
we wanted to say as long as we said it with respect.
By the time I was 19 years old I had traveled to 5 different countries (Europe 3x's) ON MY OWN.
They let us have free reign on the playground of our imaginations - trusting that the formation
they had equipped us with would be enough. It always was. And more.
Television, cell phones, social media - very much secondary in the world that I grew up in.
We didn't care about "all the things" that were vying for our attention. We weren't numb
from hours of "tweeting" on Twitter (just listen to that!) or depressed after seeing what
"everyone else is doing" on Instagram. When we had new ideas, we wrote them down on PAPER
or actually picked up a phone and CALLED a friend to gush about all the details.
There was no texting. Cursive was required.
And if you wanted to have or do something - work hard, get far.
Remember?
I don't know whether to be disturbed or proud that my children know how to unlock my iPhone,
open an app, and go about playing Angry Birds or watching a movie on Netflix like the good little
children of the 21st century they are. I know that times are changing, that technology is a good
thing, and that goodness, gracious the Jetsons have arrived! Almost.
But I want to give the gift of a TRULY free childhood to my children.
I'm not talking about unlimited internet privileges and a T.V. in their bedrooms.
I'm talking about the RAW stuff - the gift of touching, feeling, smelling -
the woods they explore, the garden they help plant, the animals they raise.
I want them to wonder, seek, find. I want them to understand the cycle of life - from
conception to natural death on all levels in this world. I'm talking about the "deep magic"
of Narnia kind of stuff. The lost art, privilege, of being in complete control of one's
mind, heart, soul - and using it to be REALLY human.
I don't want to be the parent that runs around "padding" their world - handing them
a game control that allows them to play sports or go to battle with fake equipment and
digital creations. I don't want to smash them into a classroom mold and expect them to conform.
"Left to themselves (children), they simply will not remain alone. They will organize.
They will establish petty kingdoms, declare decrees, seat and unseat rules, give one another
new names, invent secret codes, build hideouts, and in general practice a rough sort of justice and mercy, all to fill the blessed long days of summer." - Anthony Esolen
I want my children to have the gift that was given to me.
It must come as it was given: CRAZY. DANGEROUS. ADVENTUROUS.
It'll be Tom Sawyer and Hucklberry Finn all over again.
I want them to FIND that tunnel.
Dream big, my little ones.
Momma is dreaming too.
having children, but that might have some adverse effect upon long-range economic
prosperity, besides threatening certain industries with extinction - the manufacturers
of tasteless clothing, for instance, and importers of refined sugar. Since we must have
children, we should be sure to subject them to all the most efficient and humane techniques
to fit them for the world in which they will live, a world of shopping malls all the same
everywhere, packaged food all the same, paper-pushing all the same, mass entertainment
all the same, politics all the same..." - Anthony Esolen / Ten Ways to Destory the Imagination of Your Child
When we were little, my sister and I heard that there was a secret tunnel connecting
our house to the garage. We spent hours and hours pouring over all the paperwork connected
to the property, the list of owners - scouring for details, clues that could give us an answer.
We even made phone calls to random people who just happened to share the last name of previous
owners to find out if they knew anything about the tunnel. There was one lady in our hometown
that actually remembered playing in the tunnel as a small child. We were hot on the trail.
The strange hole in the garage floor matched up perfectly with the pantry in the house.
In that pantry, the floorboards ran in two different directions. Obviously some sort of hatch
used to exist. So we began to dig - below that pantry, in the basement, in the dirt...
We found old medicine bottles (still filled with strange-smelling liquids), small animal
bones, a sense of adventure, purpose, discovery... skills of deduction, the gift of perseverance,
a spirit of boldness. We imagined. We planned. We worked towards a goal.
We were Sherlock and Watson.
Can you believe my parents let us do all of that? That they actually encouraged it?
They could have handed us cell phones and an internet connection - to lure us away
from such ADVENTURE and potential DANGER...
but instead they gave us a shovel and their blessing.
This is the stuff that the classics are made of. I LIVED Swiss Family Robinson,
Little Women, Moby Dick, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer... they were my inspiration!
I'm so thankful NOW, more than ever, that my parents let me have an adventurous and
dangerous childhood. They never stopped us from building forts in the attic of our home
or garage. They never stopped us from hanging all sorts of things (the best was the ski rope!)
from the trees in our yard to experiment and play with. They never stopped us from baking,
cooking - experimenting over and over again with different recipes to learn how to get them
just right. They never stopped us from taking in stray pets or trying to tame the local wildlife.
They never stopped us from painting, making music, dancing in the yard, ice-skating on the
garden rink (yes, my dad built us an ice rink!), or climbing the NEIGHBOR'S trees
(they did make us call and ask for permission though!).
They did however stop us from using the trampoline as a diving board into our pool.
We were beyond disappointed to have them saving our lives.
They encouraged us to stop and visit with the people on our paper route, to take time to
care for the widows we knew, to speak for ourselves in social situations. We could say whatever
we wanted to say as long as we said it with respect.
By the time I was 19 years old I had traveled to 5 different countries (Europe 3x's) ON MY OWN.
They let us have free reign on the playground of our imaginations - trusting that the formation
they had equipped us with would be enough. It always was. And more.
Television, cell phones, social media - very much secondary in the world that I grew up in.
We didn't care about "all the things" that were vying for our attention. We weren't numb
from hours of "tweeting" on Twitter (just listen to that!) or depressed after seeing what
"everyone else is doing" on Instagram. When we had new ideas, we wrote them down on PAPER
or actually picked up a phone and CALLED a friend to gush about all the details.
There was no texting. Cursive was required.
And if you wanted to have or do something - work hard, get far.
Remember?
I don't know whether to be disturbed or proud that my children know how to unlock my iPhone,
open an app, and go about playing Angry Birds or watching a movie on Netflix like the good little
children of the 21st century they are. I know that times are changing, that technology is a good
thing, and that goodness, gracious the Jetsons have arrived! Almost.
But I want to give the gift of a TRULY free childhood to my children.
I'm not talking about unlimited internet privileges and a T.V. in their bedrooms.
I'm talking about the RAW stuff - the gift of touching, feeling, smelling -
the woods they explore, the garden they help plant, the animals they raise.
I want them to wonder, seek, find. I want them to understand the cycle of life - from
conception to natural death on all levels in this world. I'm talking about the "deep magic"
of Narnia kind of stuff. The lost art, privilege, of being in complete control of one's
mind, heart, soul - and using it to be REALLY human.
I don't want to be the parent that runs around "padding" their world - handing them
a game control that allows them to play sports or go to battle with fake equipment and
digital creations. I don't want to smash them into a classroom mold and expect them to conform.
"Left to themselves (children), they simply will not remain alone. They will organize.
They will establish petty kingdoms, declare decrees, seat and unseat rules, give one another
new names, invent secret codes, build hideouts, and in general practice a rough sort of justice and mercy, all to fill the blessed long days of summer." - Anthony Esolen
I want my children to have the gift that was given to me.
It must come as it was given: CRAZY. DANGEROUS. ADVENTUROUS.
It'll be Tom Sawyer and Hucklberry Finn all over again.
I want them to FIND that tunnel.
Momma is dreaming too.
Monday, January 27, 2014
PALEO || Turkey Sausage + Eggs Benedict-ish
Gluten-free, dairy free, sugar free, MSG free, antibiotic free, no added hormores -
you will drop a pretty penny, or a good 1,000 of them, at your local health food store
to pick up a pound of sausage with that label.
The good news is, you can make your own darn-spankin' good sausage at home for half the
cost! Have your meat and eat it too. That's what I'm talking about!
This recipe is P A L E O. I know, soooo hipster. Pull this out of your freezer and let your
non-health-nut friends swoon. Let them take a bite, and they'll be back for breakfast
every day there after. You have been warned.
It's really not revolutionary or anything.
TURKEY SAUSAGE
1 lb. free range, happy, ground turkey
(I have also used lamb and pork with great success)
2-3 tbls. shallot / minced
3 cloves of garlic / minced
2-3 tsp. of gray sea salt
1 tbls. rosemary
1 tbls. oregano
(We also enjoy scallions, celery, thyme, sage... the possibilities are endless!
I mean don't go pouring in Cheerios or anything, but a squeeze of lemon might be nice.)
Mix all together, cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes before shaping into balls.
Using a scoop, form sausage into balls and place in tupperware for later use or freezing.
Yield // 14-16 sausages
I make a big batch of these every 2 weeks and put in my freezer to pull out as desired.
Just use a skillet with a slick of olive oil over medium heat to cook these babies through.
Scroll down for a fan-cy breakfast idea that uses this sausage!!!
Eggs Benedict-ish
This sausage is great in place of the bread that is traditionally LOVED with eggs benedict.
I also am currently crushing on leeks. Like, hardcore. Roasted?! Mmmmmm... yea.
Stack it up:
Roasted asparagus // toss in EVOO + sea salt - 400 degrees for 10 minutes
Leek sauce // toss 2 leeks + 2 cloves of garlic in EVOO + sea salt - 400 degrees for 20 minutes
Let cool - then puree in blender with 1/4-1/2 C. EVOO until smooth. It's good, people.
Turkey sausage patty (cooked)
Egg (I prefer mine scrambled)
Cavemen have never had it so good!!!
Friday, January 24, 2014
Things You Didn't Say When We Were Dating
Nathan: "MOVE the chastity pillow, already!"
It's true. I sleep with a body pillow even when I'm not pregnant. It's my necessary +1
when it comes to being unconscious. It DID all begin with pregnancy, this need to be
comforted, held, cradled to sleep, and I never quite broke the habit. Now it's just me,
Nathan, and the "chastity pillow" (Nathan named it that. Not me... obviously!) every night.
Marriage is a big commitment, guys. Make sure you know what you are getting in to!
Nathan: "Come here, I want to cuddle with you!"
Me:
Nathan: "Brittany GraceAnn!"
Me: In my best pathetic voice, "can I bring my body pillow?!"
Nathan: "You know what I'm going to do with you tonight after the kids go to bed?"
Me: "Um what?!"
Nathan: "A puzzle!"
Bet ya didn't see that one coming. Me neither!
Nathan: "All we talk about is health, kids, and bowel movements anymore."
Me: "It would be so fun to see the light show at the arboretum!"
Nathan: "Yea, it would... if we didn't have kids."
Me: "WHAT?!"
Nathan: "They will FREEZE!"
Me: "You would have taken me when we were dating."
Nathan: "Yea, NO KIDS, and you'd be forced to cuddle with me to stay warm.
It would have been to my advantage to take you." #thingschange
Me: "I want to go on a warm, exotic vacation!"
Nathan: "Yea! You can do it... there's this place called the SHOWER.
A FREE, warm, exotic, no-kids-allowed vacation!"
Me:
Me: "I bought you all-natural chapstick. Without petroleum in it."
Nathan: "The first ingredient is - ANNUS - I think I'd rather wipe petroleum on my lips."
Me: "I'm saving your life here, buddy."
My poor husband. I don't think he realized how big of a hippy he was actually marrying.
Nathan: "I love you. Your food gives me gas."
All in one breath, folks. There is STILL such a thing as TMI in marriage!
Me: "I love you... too?"
Nathan: "You are so pretty."
Me: "You're blind."
Nathan: "You're an idiot."
That, my friends, is lovers' banter.
Me: "I want to go away some time this year. Just you and me. Nothing fancy."
Nathan: "Ok, babe."
Me: No, you better woo me and take me away or I'm going to RUN AWAY!"
It has come to this.
Me: Is there anything fun you want to do tonight?
Nathan: I'd love to just sit down and talk with you for a few hours!
Me: *bites bottom lip, shakes head "no"* (I know, what's wrong with me?!)
Don't get me wrong, I love to talk with my husband... in fact I freak out
if too much time goes by without REALLY talking... but sometimes I just want to
do that puzzle! HA!
e n j o y // the weekend!!! XO
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
All about being Pro-Choice
I can see all those who know me well, shaking their heads,
furrowing their brows in disbelief, confusion... did she say Pro-Choice???
Yes, I just threw my comfort zone to the wind.
Disclaimer: and I've got to throw this in here because I WILL get a comment or a nasty e-mail
saying that I'm a radical bigot with no heart and a mightier-than-thou attitude. I'll save you
the time. I already know what you are going to say - sooooo let's not waste energy?
This post is not for the Little Bo-Peeps, but rather the ones who kindle the spirit
of Sir William Wallace in their hearts - the brave hearts...
January 22nd, 1973. More than a decade before I was even born.
Our nation made a decision that ushered in, what I believe as, the American holocaust.
All in the name of "women's rights" - to protect her health and reproductive freedom.
41 years of legal abortion in the United States. According to LifeNews.com (2012):
"...54,559,615 abortions since 1973 based on data from both the Centers for Disease Control
and the pro-abortion Guttmacher Institute, a former Planned Parenthood research arm."
We're talking World War II numbers here; right in our own backyard.
Let's play a game. Pretend it was all a lie. Imagine that it wasn't about women's rights
at all. "Health and reproductive freedom" was a slogan used to rally support, but ended up
being a load of BS like some other popular government slogans we've seen... recently. Ahem.
It is a FACT that 78% of Planned Parenthood clinics (the largest abortion provider in the U.S.)
are located in (( minority )) communities. It is a FACT that the very founder and first president
of PP, Margaret Sanger, was an avid racist and dropped quotes like,
"Colored people are like human weeds and are to be exterminated," with careless ease.
Don't believe me? This recorded interview from 1957 is a real gem of an eye opener.
We're not only dealing with racial issues here, but an obvious onslaught directed
at life in general. I'm sorry, but if you want to argue that "it's not a baby" -
or with other typical pro-choice jargon - go right ahead. Truth is - some people
just can't handle the truth. We want to see what we want to see. Good story. The end.
If a woman is not pregnant with a baby... then what the heck is she pregnant with?
God forbid we step on an endangered baby sea turtle "fetus" - why?
Because mother turtles beget baby turtles, duh... and so forth throughout the animal kingdom.
It's NOT a blob of turtle tissue - it's the very potential of endangered life we're talking about!
It's NOT a blob of human tissue either. Catch my drift?
Humans have humans. No matter which way you slice it.
Size. Size is what matters here. States regulating the size, age of a baby in utero viable for legal
abortion. What about the health and reproductive freedom of that child in the womb?
Psshhh... that's just a slogan, remember? To evoke happy thoughts and votes.
"The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion - because if a mother can kill her own child,
what is left but for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing between." - Mother Teresa
Here's the cream. I am pro-woman, pro-man, pro-child...
and I do believe that we have a CHOICE.
image
We make our choices - to have sex or not to have sex...
and roll with what comes from that. I'm all about YOUR CHOICE here.
But I'm also about the CHOICE of the life that may come from YOUR CHOICE...
because I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind wants to be exposed to the instruments of abortion.
Call it a consequence of the act? Call it a blessing?
But DO NOT let anyone tell you that it is not a baby;
that abortion will be painless, with zero repercussions.
Lies. Control. Suppression. Money.
What about in the cases of rape, Brittany? That woman has been through
enough - the last thing she needs is a reminder of a tragedy.
My heart goes out. My heart breaks. Thousands of pieces, my friends. Shattered.
I cannot imagine. I cannot understand. I cannot fix what has been broken.
I can try and stop more brokenness though. It's still a life. A small life -that had no say in
the matter. Another victim who deserves the chance to live a full and happy life. Life is healing.
Let me ask you this: If a woman, married with 2 kids, finds herself being beaten and abused by her husband
OR one day realizes that her husband has had half a dozen affairs and fathered other children in the process -
does she ABORT (kill) the children she conceived and bore with that horrible man because looking at those
2 kids would only remind her of her tragic marriage?
Remember the sea turtles? Humans beget humans.
Life heals. Death is not the answer. Abortion is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"A person's a person no matter how small." - Dr. Seuss
And if you missed the punch above -
don't panic and a put a Pro-Life brigade on my front lawn.
I'm more for women than you can even wrap your mind around.
I'm for their health and TRUE freedom. I'm for the tiny babies
that have no voices, but all the makings of a human person written
in their microscopic DNA. Heck, I'm even for the sea turtles.
I am all about choices -
make them wisely and embrace the journey that unfurls.
I am a Roe vs. Wade survivor -
speaking for the 55 million and counting voices that will never be heard.
And I will never forget.
May the souls of the faithfully departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.
Amen.
... YOU ARE NOT ALONE ...
If you or someone you know has suffered from an abortion or is currently experiencing a
crisis pregnancy, please reach out. There is help. YOU ARE LOVED. THERE IS FORGIVENESS.
Please follow the links or e-mail me at: lilyfieldmomma@yahoo.com // God bless! XO
REACH OUT + CONNECT: Facebook | Instagram | Twitter
furrowing their brows in disbelief, confusion... did she say Pro-Choice???
Yes, I just threw my comfort zone to the wind.
Disclaimer: and I've got to throw this in here because I WILL get a comment or a nasty e-mail
saying that I'm a radical bigot with no heart and a mightier-than-thou attitude. I'll save you
the time. I already know what you are going to say - sooooo let's not waste energy?
This post is not for the Little Bo-Peeps, but rather the ones who kindle the spirit
of Sir William Wallace in their hearts - the brave hearts...
January 22nd, 1973. More than a decade before I was even born.
Our nation made a decision that ushered in, what I believe as, the American holocaust.
All in the name of "women's rights" - to protect her health and reproductive freedom.
41 years of legal abortion in the United States. According to LifeNews.com (2012):
"...54,559,615 abortions since 1973 based on data from both the Centers for Disease Control
and the pro-abortion Guttmacher Institute, a former Planned Parenthood research arm."
We're talking World War II numbers here; right in our own backyard.
Let's play a game. Pretend it was all a lie. Imagine that it wasn't about women's rights
at all. "Health and reproductive freedom" was a slogan used to rally support, but ended up
being a load of BS like some other popular government slogans we've seen... recently. Ahem.
It is a FACT that 78% of Planned Parenthood clinics (the largest abortion provider in the U.S.)
are located in (( minority )) communities. It is a FACT that the very founder and first president
of PP, Margaret Sanger, was an avid racist and dropped quotes like,
"Colored people are like human weeds and are to be exterminated," with careless ease.
Don't believe me? This recorded interview from 1957 is a real gem of an eye opener.
We're not only dealing with racial issues here, but an obvious onslaught directed
at life in general. I'm sorry, but if you want to argue that "it's not a baby" -
or with other typical pro-choice jargon - go right ahead. Truth is - some people
just can't handle the truth. We want to see what we want to see. Good story. The end.
If a woman is not pregnant with a baby... then what the heck is she pregnant with?
God forbid we step on an endangered baby sea turtle "fetus" - why?
Because mother turtles beget baby turtles, duh... and so forth throughout the animal kingdom.
It's NOT a blob of turtle tissue - it's the very potential of endangered life we're talking about!
It's NOT a blob of human tissue either. Catch my drift?
Humans have humans. No matter which way you slice it.
Size. Size is what matters here. States regulating the size, age of a baby in utero viable for legal
abortion. What about the health and reproductive freedom of that child in the womb?
Psshhh... that's just a slogan, remember? To evoke happy thoughts and votes.
"The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion - because if a mother can kill her own child,
what is left but for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing between." - Mother Teresa
and I do believe that we have a CHOICE.
image
We make our choices - to have sex or not to have sex...
and roll with what comes from that. I'm all about YOUR CHOICE here.
But I'm also about the CHOICE of the life that may come from YOUR CHOICE...
because I'm pretty sure no one in their right mind wants to be exposed to the instruments of abortion.
Call it a consequence of the act? Call it a blessing?
But DO NOT let anyone tell you that it is not a baby;
that abortion will be painless, with zero repercussions.
Lies. Control. Suppression. Money.
What about in the cases of rape, Brittany? That woman has been through
enough - the last thing she needs is a reminder of a tragedy.
My heart goes out. My heart breaks. Thousands of pieces, my friends. Shattered.
I cannot imagine. I cannot understand. I cannot fix what has been broken.
I can try and stop more brokenness though. It's still a life. A small life -that had no say in
the matter. Another victim who deserves the chance to live a full and happy life. Life is healing.
Let me ask you this: If a woman, married with 2 kids, finds herself being beaten and abused by her husband
OR one day realizes that her husband has had half a dozen affairs and fathered other children in the process -
does she ABORT (kill) the children she conceived and bore with that horrible man because looking at those
2 kids would only remind her of her tragic marriage?
Remember the sea turtles? Humans beget humans.
Life heals. Death is not the answer. Abortion is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"A person's a person no matter how small." - Dr. Seuss
And if you missed the punch above -
don't panic and a put a Pro-Life brigade on my front lawn.
I'm more for women than you can even wrap your mind around.
I'm for their health and TRUE freedom. I'm for the tiny babies
that have no voices, but all the makings of a human person written
in their microscopic DNA. Heck, I'm even for the sea turtles.
I am all about choices -
make them wisely and embrace the journey that unfurls.
I am a Roe vs. Wade survivor -
speaking for the 55 million and counting voices that will never be heard.
And I will never forget.
May the souls of the faithfully departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.
Amen.
If you or someone you know has suffered from an abortion or is currently experiencing a
crisis pregnancy, please reach out. There is help. YOU ARE LOVED. THERE IS FORGIVENESS.
Please follow the links or e-mail me at: lilyfieldmomma@yahoo.com // God bless! XO
REACH OUT + CONNECT: Facebook | Instagram | Twitter
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Pioneer Hippy and the American Diet
It's so easy, and down-right practical to open up a box of mac & cheese, pop a frozen pizza in the oven,
or program the microwave to deliver a Lean Cuisine in 3- 2- 1. Fast food, take-out, convenient,
processed, frozen - all with a generous sprinkling of GMOs, pesticides, added hormones,
antibiotics, preservatives, artificial dyes...
but hey, it gets dinner on the table faster than Samantha from Bewitched can wiggle her nose.
And you better believe it tastes good - down right addictive in some cases. All the while our
great-great grandparents are turning over in their graves. Not because they envy the diet of their
modern ancestors or anything.
We all know why canaries were sent into coal mines. When the bird, bright - beautiful - easy to see,
a small sacrifice to be made, was exposed to harmful toxins, the signs of distress or sudden death
were the warning: miners evacuate now.
Perhaps the average American is more yellow than he would like to believe.
I know this sounds a tad conspiracy theory-ish, but I think it is pretty darn near the truth.
With all the "change" in the air of the American food system, I'd rather not be a guinea pig.
Or a canary.
Recently I was sitting in a doctor's office. Not some hippy homeopath's office either. A main-stream,
functional medicine doctor that seriously butts heads with my nutritionist in real life.
My point: this doctor isn't some crunchy radical with an agenda.
He's the kind of doctor who says, "There's a pill for that!"
But he looked at me and said:
"Listen. Take your family as far away from the American diet as possible. I don't understand it entirely,
but it is breaking down the body, resulting in great disease and death for so many. Run, you fools!"
Ok, he really didn't say "run, you fools" - I imagined that part. But you better believe the Frodo Baggins
in me paused for a moment to reflect on such words coming from a doctor of functional medicine -
and then started running like hell... because Gandalf is always right, people!
I am in no way, shape, or form claiming that me and my family have the "perfect" diet - or saying
that we don't pour a bowl of processed, gluten-free cheerios every once in awhile. We've come SO far.
Like, "make our own potato chips" far. I never set out to be a "granola" or a "hippy", but I've been
called all sorts of "crunchy" things in the past couple of years and I'm beginning to identify with it all.
Pioneers are my heroes. I think it's rough making applesauce from scratch and distilling my own water,
but at least I have a washing machine and dryer! Oh goodness, and a T.V. to watch while I'm folding
my laundry! And central air. I always say I was born in the wrong time period, until it turns
95 degrees. I then fall to my knees, "Thank you, Lord, you know best!"
Gardening, harvesting, grocery shopping every 5-6 days to keep my fridge stocked with LIVING foods,
distilling and re-mineralizing our water, chopping, cutting, preparing,
preserving food from scratch day-in and day-out...
is time consuming. Or does it PRODUCE time for me to stop, breathe, work, eat
with those I love most? Giving me time to do what matters most in my heart?
I have a day planner too. It's usually full to the brim. I go to bed way too late - complaining that there
are not enough hours in the day. I can run with the best of Americans - do, do, doing all the things -
living the dream.
Why do we do it? To keep up with bloody Joneses?! (I've been watching a little too much BBC. Ha.)
There is something terribly sacred, healing, empowering - to slow down and "prepare" the food
that brings life to you and your family. I'd argue that a certain demon from the underworld is the
master planner behind the fast-paced American lifestyle that keeps us so busy, so stressed, so anxious
about the next thing that we can't BE, LIVE, THRIVE in the beauty of the moment given.
I can't prove that. Obviously. So forget I said that!? Or don't.
I have felt my own heart open, expand - even embrace that distiller, canner, crock-pot, juicer...
because they are some of the tools that allow me to bring LIFE to my own body - and the bodies that
have been entrusted to me. The work becomes a prayer, a meditation - rhythmically moving the blade of
my knife - up and down, up and down - as piles of fresh food spill forth onto our counter,
and into our bellies.
Nourishing. Knowing that so many of the foods we are eating now (as we run from the American diet)
have passed through the devoted hands of farmers - meat, eggs, produce that have soaked up the sweat
and tears of people who truly care about the land, the animals (I'm talking sustainable farming, folks) -
and now pass through our hands as we prepare feast after feast in this counter-cultural way of LIFE...
that brings death to the go-go-go mentality - the one that rarely produces MORE time, but snuffs out
all the seconds, minutes, hours of the day - making time to stop, to pray, to reflect, to confess, to prepare,
to rest, to recharge, to engage... a thing of generations past.
I don't want to be a canary. Don't go rolling over in your grave, grandma; I've got this.
I'll just be a pioneer hippy.
Friday, January 17, 2014
The Gift I Needed Most
I know it is so 2013 to talk about Christmas gifts right now, but I'm a rebel -
so I'm gonna do it. And you're going to like it! Yes, you are.
Christmas as an adult seems to be more predictable? The traditions, routines,
gift planning, feasting, etc. all have a familiar hum; it's natural, cozy, and warm.
Like that feeling you get when recalling fond childhood memories -
nostalgic butterflies in your heart! Blessed time of year.
I was given so many wonderful gifts this past Christmas,
but there was one gift that I did not expect or see coming.
My 19 year old brother - God bless him. The heart of a child.
So simple, so easily delighted - he has the best laugh. It's that deep-belly
cackling, can't catch your breath, "oh man", roll off your seat kind of laugh.
I love him a lot.
I unwrapped a box. A beautiful, decorative box. Filled with index cards.
Smiling, intrigued by the mystery - I looked to him with the question on my face,
"What... what is this, buddy?"
He proceeded to tell me that while at a retreat he heard someone share about a prayer box.
You write down the happy things, the heavy requests, the trying questions, the everyday blessings
on those index cards, place them in the box, and leave it for God to take care of.
Tears filled me eyes. I choked out a "thank you" - trying to tell him without
bursting into tears that THIS was the gift I needed most at this time in my life.
It's so easy to add up the needs, desires, requests, the petitions and burdens of ourselves
and others - and carry them around on our OWN HEARTS. So heavy - weighing down a torrential
downpour of anxiety, fear, and need to fix matters on our own.
Or maybe that's just me. I humbly confess - I try to be strong and play "God" all the time.
Which is ironic because one of my favorite things to say is, "Well, I'm not Jesus."
The box is slowly collecting the little things that I have the hardest time surrendering
to God. Seems silly, but it totally has an effect on me... writing, folding, opening the lid,
shutting the lid, walking away... it's done. God has it.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Why I No Longer Watch: The Bachelor
The premier of this season's "The Bachelor" came along with a social media cyclone of
comments and pictures concerning a certain Juan Pablo and his 27 lady friends.
Not gonna lie, I tried to convince myself that my decision to STOP The Bachelor,
The Bachelorette, Bachelor Pad (I had it bad, guys) madness in my life was prudish,
over-cautious, and down right un-American! I felt a tad on the addict side as I skimmed through
statuses trying to gather the "feel" for this season. Does Juan Pablo really not have all
the lights on upstairs?! OH. MY. GOSH. Make it STOP!
The last season I watched was Emily Maynard. Can we say, "Oh, Brad?!"
I mean I'm being funny and all, but it's really not funny.
Don't worry, I'm not going to drag out my soapbox or anything!
Goodness, this is a matter of the conscience, the heart.
Roses all around!
I knew after my third year around The Bachelor block that something was amiss deep within me.
I felt restless when watching episode after episode of people acting in ways that don't exactly
bring life. And we all know how I feel about life! Cattiness, arguments, immodesty, promiscuity...
all crammed into what - 9 weeks - give or take? But for the sake of LOVE?
I'm sorry, and I know that it has worked for a handful of couples,
but that is one messy, messed up way of finding love.
// image credit
I began to feel guilty, embarrassed for buying into such cheap entertainment -
at the emotional, spiritual expense of the participants.
I would never apply for a show like that.
So why would I tune in and give my vote of approval?
It really hit me hard when my little sister came to stay with me during a season
of The Bachelor. Fourteen years old - and I had this sense to protect her from such
absurd, dysfunctional courtship behavior. A drive to protect what should be so noble,
honorable, and pure - exclusive, alluring, captivating - kicked in and I took a break
from the show so as not to expose her to what I was willing to expose myself to?!
Ding dong. Apparently not all the lights are on upstairs in my own head!
When the next season rolled around, I knew it was time to say "goodbye"...
Out of respect for the participants - because I truly believe they are worth
and deserve so much more than that. To uphold the dignity and sanctity of courtship
and marriage. To honor my own husband and marriage - because honestly, it all made
me a tad restless - wondering about my own personality, body, etc. - wishing we could
go on crazy dates around the world, yadda yadda... cyyyyyyclone.
And that is why I no longer watch The Bachelor.
If you care.
The End.
But seriously, for the love of Juan Pablo... think about it?
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Husband and the Teapot
When a grown man asks you if you want to have a tea party, you just nod your head and smile...
and quickly put that kettle on, woman, before he realizes what he just signed up for!
My boys gifted me this darling, porcelain teapot for Christmas -
and as much fun as it is for me to just LOOK at it - it brings me that much more joy to employ
this gift. All the while imagining that Maggie Smith, in all of her Downton glory, is keeping me
on my toes between sips with her perfect, British wit!
Yes, I have an imagination that can keep up with the best of Anne Shirleys.
No, it has never gotten me into any trouble. Like ever. Maybe once. Or twice!
So the other night, Nathan offered to use my new teapot with me. I chuckled, possibly rolled my eyes...
it's not like there's anything in it for him! I thought he was joking. He obviously bought the gift so
I can use it with my favorite girl friends at play dates or late at night between gasps of laughter
and bags of chocolate.
Not to use with him. Why would he do that?
Who do you turn to for marriage advice? I'm feeling like it's got to be pretty bad for me as I find
myself taking notes from my own husband on how to BE GIFT. When he offers to do puzzles, give massages, talk for hours, or *and this one floored me* watch an episode or two of Parenthood with me...
I feel about ((( this ))) small.
Crushed really. By such detailed love. It's about the beloved. And that's hard for me to swallow.
At one point in my life I bought a lie. It was labeled: "LOVE MUST BE EARNED."
For years I've been rowing this boat, chanting along the way "earn love! earn love!" -
all the while putting on a circus of charades - bending over backwards, swallowing fire,
wrestling tigers with my bare hands all in the name of "LOVE MUST BE EARNED."
Lately, my spiritual director has been encouraging me to let God love me through my husband
(+ my children). To see it. To mark it down. To relish in the fact that LOVE is given in spite
of EVERYTHING: the messy hair, the burnt pancakes, dirty bathrooms, or the fact that I stayed
in my pajamas ALL day long.
Just you. He loves just you.
My husband could not care less about my teapot. I mean this man could drink his tea out
of recycled aluminum cans and not bat an eye. But he DOES care about me. The little things.
Our God is a God of disguises. Putting on the face, hands, clothing of those around us -
loving us in the little things, the details that seem so insignificant, but are NOTED,
TREASURED, REMEMBERED by a LOVER.
Be loved today.
"Lord Jesus, I give you my hands to do your work, my feet to follow
your path, my eyes to see as you see, my tongue to speak your words.
I give you my heart so you can love through me - so that it is YOU
Christ who lives, works, and prays through me. Amen."
Let's raise our pinkies to that!
Friday, January 10, 2014
Preparing for baby #3
"I'm going to go through the bins, gather all the baby toys,
and put them in a box to give away," I said.
Christmas had come and gone, and the invasion of new toys demanded
donation and reorganization. Reduce - let go - that's what Jen Hatmaker would do.
And gosh darn it, who doesn't want to be a little like her?!
As I sat on the floor in my children's bedroom and collected the small gadgets -
the soft ones, the ones that light up, that sing, stack, and hold the imagination,
fascination of such tiny minds, a spark of HOPE flared in my heart and I knew that
this act of de-cluttering was being done out of bitterness and despair.
With not being able to conceive a third child - and no promise of conception in the near
future - I was shouting "FINE, God... You've let my body betray me! So I will stand
with my hands on my hips, eyes laser-focused with cheeks glazed in tears, jaw clenched -
and roar back at You..." by throwing away all the baby toys?! Can we say hormonal?
A moment of grace was given that day, as I sat in the sea of toys on the floor.
And rather than a box labeled "NEEDY," I grabbed a Trader Joe's bag (because I think
they are so beautiful) and filled it with the little singing phone, the stacking rings,
rattles, a light-up helicopter, blocks of all colors and sizes for the LIFE
that I believe God is going to give me.
And that's when it hit me. My word for the year...
God hasn't sent me a direct message saying that life will come in the form of a baby -
but I know that He IS the life-giver, the life-breather - and He wants to blow His
healing grace into my world just as He did in the creation of Adam and Eve.
This year of LIFE is for celebrating what is given.
It is for being joyful in the journey. This year is for bringing
LIFE to my family with our diet changes. I will be seizing more moments -
to laugh, to let go, to praise God. I will be searching for opportunities
to bring LIFE to those around me. This year is for digging deeper in my
soul and removing the memories, the resentment that brings death into
my life. LIFE - I know it will come. Because He tells us,
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door
will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds;
and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." - Matthew 7:7
Heaven matters. Not the size of my house or the number of shoes in my closet.
The details are passing. Suffering is not fruitless. All an intricate web - a system -
a plan to usher our souls into eternity. Fire refines. Death is not the end.
I'm running out to meet you, Lord. Arms wide open in that field of wild flowers.
My word for this year is LIFE - and I believe that someday I will pull out that
bag from Trader Joe's that has been lovingly packed away - the one filled with tiny toys -
and introduce them one by one to my baby #3.
Do you have a word for the year? I'd love to hear your story!
and put them in a box to give away," I said.
Christmas had come and gone, and the invasion of new toys demanded
donation and reorganization. Reduce - let go - that's what Jen Hatmaker would do.
And gosh darn it, who doesn't want to be a little like her?!
As I sat on the floor in my children's bedroom and collected the small gadgets -
the soft ones, the ones that light up, that sing, stack, and hold the imagination,
fascination of such tiny minds, a spark of HOPE flared in my heart and I knew that
this act of de-cluttering was being done out of bitterness and despair.
With not being able to conceive a third child - and no promise of conception in the near
future - I was shouting "FINE, God... You've let my body betray me! So I will stand
with my hands on my hips, eyes laser-focused with cheeks glazed in tears, jaw clenched -
and roar back at You..." by throwing away all the baby toys?! Can we say hormonal?
A moment of grace was given that day, as I sat in the sea of toys on the floor.
And rather than a box labeled "NEEDY," I grabbed a Trader Joe's bag (because I think
they are so beautiful) and filled it with the little singing phone, the stacking rings,
rattles, a light-up helicopter, blocks of all colors and sizes for the LIFE
that I believe God is going to give me.
And that's when it hit me. My word for the year...
God hasn't sent me a direct message saying that life will come in the form of a baby -
but I know that He IS the life-giver, the life-breather - and He wants to blow His
healing grace into my world just as He did in the creation of Adam and Eve.
It is for being joyful in the journey. This year is for bringing
LIFE to my family with our diet changes. I will be seizing more moments -
to laugh, to let go, to praise God. I will be searching for opportunities
to bring LIFE to those around me. This year is for digging deeper in my
soul and removing the memories, the resentment that brings death into
my life. LIFE - I know it will come. Because He tells us,
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door
will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds;
and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." - Matthew 7:7
Heaven matters. Not the size of my house or the number of shoes in my closet.
The details are passing. Suffering is not fruitless. All an intricate web - a system -
a plan to usher our souls into eternity. Fire refines. Death is not the end.
I'm running out to meet you, Lord. Arms wide open in that field of wild flowers.
My word for this year is LIFE - and I believe that someday I will pull out that
bag from Trader Joe's that has been lovingly packed away - the one filled with tiny toys -
and introduce them one by one to my baby #3.
Do you have a word for the year? I'd love to hear your story!
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
blog like you are dying
At the end of November I went to the bathroom and noticed that I was peeing blood.
How's that for an opening sentence? They teach you all about "hooks" as an English major -
and I've pretty much perfected the art. *serious/not serious face*
Kidney infection. Not a death sentence by any means, but a familiar flag to me. Not again.
I've been round and round with infections for the past four years.
Antibiotic after antibiotic, like it's no big deal. Like it's normal.
Last year, I wrote THIS post and it was ALL true. Four months of a pure diet brought me to a place of
SO MUCH healing. I did not get sick for over a year, some of my allergies even went away...
and then I got cocky with my diet.
Braving sugars, processed foods, dairy and even... *gasp* wheat on occasions. A slow suicide really.
The truth is, it didn't seem to have major effects on me. Thinking everything was as fine as picnics
on the lawn and fourth of July fireworks, I ran straight back into the arms of the American diet
only to be betrayed.
I seriously felt like a crazy person living in the United States of high fructose corn syrup.
EVERYONE drinks pop. EVERYONE eats ice-cream. EVERYONE EVERYONE EVERYONE.
I feared that I had imagined or over-thought some of our health/diet decisions...
It felt like the hippy in me was a little too happy for it's own good or something.
I wanted to blend in; eat crepes at the Farmer's Market like everyone else
and not have to pack food for my family wherever we went.
People pleaser right here. Herd lover. Crowd surfer.
CURRENT STATUS: undergoing a serious conversion
I saw a nutritionist who ran a lot of "not your typical" lab work.
He wiped my blood on a slide, turned on his microscope and asked me to come take a look.
First, HOW COOL?! Second, I cried.
He pointed out everything to me. Like the curator of a museum, he gave me a tour of my body via
my blood. I saw the bright, celestial-like white blood cells - all perfectly formed, in line, in check.
Hundreds of healthy red blood cells going about their daily route. Made sense why all my blood
work comes back "normal."
And then I saw the inflammation. The warning signs. The flags.
Danger - you are STILL consuming or being exposed to material that is breaking down your body.
Reaction. My blood was reacting.
We talked about auto-immune disorders that day. We talked about multiple-sclerosis.
I don't have a definite diagnosis at this point, but it doesn't matter. What I DO have
are the makings of a serious disorder that plagues my body EVEN NOW.
Various allergies, infertility, repeat infections, anxiety, panic attacks, and the rashes...
"My body is breaking," I sobbed one night in bed.
Ok, I cried every day at some point for a month straight.
It felt, still feels, like a kind of death. A death to a way of life that I am so used to
living. Giving up the American diet for good - and certain products that flare up my symptoms
seems so heavy at times. I drive past McDonald's (which is something I didn't even eat BEFORE
I had issues!) and find my bottom lip quivering because I can't get in that glorious drive-thru
like everyone else and order a number "give me a heart attack" with a diet Coke!
I think the most overused hashtag of 2013 was #firstworldproblems...
but I'm going to use it again right now. Because it's applicable. And I'm pathetic.
There are hundreds of thousands of people around the world who would feel so blessed to be eating
clean meats, vegetables, nuts, grains, fruits, distilled water...
and I'm crying because I can't go to Dairy Queen.
I have a love/hate relationship with perspective.
In the middle of all that was spinning out of control with my health in the past 6 weeks,
I was asked two questions that stopped me in my tracks.
One: "If you knew 100,000 people were going to read your blog tomorrow, what would you say?"
Two: "If you were going to die from all of this, what would you tell your audience?"
Things around here are going to look a little different as this year unfolds.
Please bear with me when days pass by and I cannot post. The diet/lifestyle change
requires more of my time in the kitchen than ever before - at least for now. I'm sure once
I get the hang of this I'll be chopping veggies in my sleep. Or get a private chef. Either or.
Uhhh and yea... the changes have fun with my body and create all kinds of nice side effects.
I'll leave you to your imagination.
Come 100,000 people or my death - I know what I would say.
Welcome to The Lily Field 2014.
How's that for an opening sentence? They teach you all about "hooks" as an English major -
and I've pretty much perfected the art. *serious/not serious face*
Kidney infection. Not a death sentence by any means, but a familiar flag to me. Not again.
I've been round and round with infections for the past four years.
Antibiotic after antibiotic, like it's no big deal. Like it's normal.
Last year, I wrote THIS post and it was ALL true. Four months of a pure diet brought me to a place of
SO MUCH healing. I did not get sick for over a year, some of my allergies even went away...
and then I got cocky with my diet.
Braving sugars, processed foods, dairy and even... *gasp* wheat on occasions. A slow suicide really.
The truth is, it didn't seem to have major effects on me. Thinking everything was as fine as picnics
on the lawn and fourth of July fireworks, I ran straight back into the arms of the American diet
only to be betrayed.
I seriously felt like a crazy person living in the United States of high fructose corn syrup.
EVERYONE drinks pop. EVERYONE eats ice-cream. EVERYONE EVERYONE EVERYONE.
I feared that I had imagined or over-thought some of our health/diet decisions...
It felt like the hippy in me was a little too happy for it's own good or something.
I wanted to blend in; eat crepes at the Farmer's Market like everyone else
and not have to pack food for my family wherever we went.
People pleaser right here. Herd lover. Crowd surfer.
I saw a nutritionist who ran a lot of "not your typical" lab work.
He wiped my blood on a slide, turned on his microscope and asked me to come take a look.
First, HOW COOL?! Second, I cried.
He pointed out everything to me. Like the curator of a museum, he gave me a tour of my body via
my blood. I saw the bright, celestial-like white blood cells - all perfectly formed, in line, in check.
Hundreds of healthy red blood cells going about their daily route. Made sense why all my blood
work comes back "normal."
And then I saw the inflammation. The warning signs. The flags.
Danger - you are STILL consuming or being exposed to material that is breaking down your body.
Reaction. My blood was reacting.
We talked about auto-immune disorders that day. We talked about multiple-sclerosis.
I don't have a definite diagnosis at this point, but it doesn't matter. What I DO have
are the makings of a serious disorder that plagues my body EVEN NOW.
Various allergies, infertility, repeat infections, anxiety, panic attacks, and the rashes...
"My body is breaking," I sobbed one night in bed.
Ok, I cried every day at some point for a month straight.
It felt, still feels, like a kind of death. A death to a way of life that I am so used to
living. Giving up the American diet for good - and certain products that flare up my symptoms
seems so heavy at times. I drive past McDonald's (which is something I didn't even eat BEFORE
I had issues!) and find my bottom lip quivering because I can't get in that glorious drive-thru
like everyone else and order a number "give me a heart attack" with a diet Coke!
I think the most overused hashtag of 2013 was #firstworldproblems...
but I'm going to use it again right now. Because it's applicable. And I'm pathetic.
There are hundreds of thousands of people around the world who would feel so blessed to be eating
clean meats, vegetables, nuts, grains, fruits, distilled water...
and I'm crying because I can't go to Dairy Queen.
I have a love/hate relationship with perspective.
In the middle of all that was spinning out of control with my health in the past 6 weeks,
I was asked two questions that stopped me in my tracks.
One: "If you knew 100,000 people were going to read your blog tomorrow, what would you say?"
Two: "If you were going to die from all of this, what would you tell your audience?"
Things around here are going to look a little different as this year unfolds.
Please bear with me when days pass by and I cannot post. The diet/lifestyle change
requires more of my time in the kitchen than ever before - at least for now. I'm sure once
I get the hang of this I'll be chopping veggies in my sleep. Or get a private chef. Either or.
Uhhh and yea... the changes have fun with my body and create all kinds of nice side effects.
I'll leave you to your imagination.
Come 100,000 people or my death - I know what I would say.
Welcome to The Lily Field 2014.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Childrenisms
I hate it when my favorite TV shows go on "holiday hiatus" - don't you?
Well, I know this is not a TV series and that I am not super popular by any means,
but I DO hope you missed me and my crew just a little!!!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!!!
It has been so nice to have time to just BE these past couple weeks.
The time brought about unexpected changes, a deeper call to prayer,
and enough tears to sink a fishing boat, but more about that later...
For now, let's bring in 2014 with some laughter!
It just seems like the right thing to do!
Late one night I was working on the couch with a feverish Isaiah by my side.
Judah apparently felt ripped off about having to stay in bed and go to sleep.
After about twenty minutes I heard a little pitter patter in the hallway and...
"Momma, I'm sick."
"Oh you are?"
"Yea. Real sick."
"Tell me about it."
"I am ver-wy, ver-wy sick."
"What hurts."
"Um... my hand."
Go back to bed, buddy. #tryingnottolaugh
Me: "Isaiah, do you want to get your hair cut?"
Isaiah: "Do you want to give me a sucker?"
Me: "When we get to heaven it's going to be GREAT!
We won't be hungry, tired, sick..."
Isaiah: "Wait. Will there by snacks?!"
At the doctor's office, Isaiah had to give a urine sample
and this was Judah's reaction...
Judah: "Juuuuice! YEA! Let's drink it!"
Me: "NO! Don't spill it! We need the pee!"
Isaiah: "I like your ring, mom. It's just like mine."
Me: "Huh? Thanks, buddy. I like yours too!" (I wear a diamond - he wears a plastic skull ring)
Isaiah: "Yea I'm married."
Me: "What?! Who did you marry?"
Isaiah: "A wife."
Me: "What's her name?"
Isaiah: "Momma."
Um - my heart was in a puddle.
Nathan: "You cannot run around naked, Judah!"
Judah: "But I want to see my penis!"
Nathan: *putting diaper back on child*
Judah: "But I can't seeeeeeee it!"
Nathan: "Take a good look, it's private - you have to keep it safe."
Judah: "Is it poison?"
Nathan: "No, nerd."
Judah: "Well, poop is poison."
Nathan:
Judah: "I wuv my penis."
Glad we're back?!
Well, I know this is not a TV series and that I am not super popular by any means,
but I DO hope you missed me and my crew just a little!!!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all!!!
It has been so nice to have time to just BE these past couple weeks.
The time brought about unexpected changes, a deeper call to prayer,
and enough tears to sink a fishing boat, but more about that later...
For now, let's bring in 2014 with some laughter!
It just seems like the right thing to do!
Late one night I was working on the couch with a feverish Isaiah by my side.
Judah apparently felt ripped off about having to stay in bed and go to sleep.
After about twenty minutes I heard a little pitter patter in the hallway and...
"Momma, I'm sick."
"Oh you are?"
"Yea. Real sick."
"Tell me about it."
"I am ver-wy, ver-wy sick."
"What hurts."
"Um... my hand."
Go back to bed, buddy. #tryingnottolaugh
Me: "Isaiah, do you want to get your hair cut?"
Isaiah: "Do you want to give me a sucker?"
Me: "When we get to heaven it's going to be GREAT!
We won't be hungry, tired, sick..."
Isaiah: "Wait. Will there by snacks?!"
At the doctor's office, Isaiah had to give a urine sample
and this was Judah's reaction...
Judah: "Juuuuice! YEA! Let's drink it!"
Me: "NO! Don't spill it! We need the pee!"
Isaiah: "I like your ring, mom. It's just like mine."
Me: "Huh? Thanks, buddy. I like yours too!" (I wear a diamond - he wears a plastic skull ring)
Isaiah: "Yea I'm married."
Me: "What?! Who did you marry?"
Isaiah: "A wife."
Me: "What's her name?"
Isaiah: "Momma."
Um - my heart was in a puddle.
Nathan: "You cannot run around naked, Judah!"
Judah: "But I want to see my penis!"
Nathan: *putting diaper back on child*
Judah: "But I can't seeeeeeee it!"
Nathan: "Take a good look, it's private - you have to keep it safe."
Judah: "Is it poison?"
Nathan: "No, nerd."
Judah: "Well, poop is poison."
Nathan:
Judah: "I wuv my penis."
Glad we're back?!
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