Monday, June 30, 2014

Farmland Baby Back Ribs + One Peachy BBQ

"This shop is part of a social shopper marketing insight campaign with Weave Made Media and
Farmland/Smithfield, but all my opinions are my own. #weavemade #ReadySetRibs (full disclosure)."

_____________________________________________________________________

The World Cup 2014 has taken over this household. In fact, if I don't write quickly, another game will
probably start and I am going to be booted right out of my own living room! Non-stop party central over
here - the sound of my husband and children screaming, "Gooooooooaaaaaaaaaal!!!"
forever ringing in my ears. The other night I even DREAMED of soccer - apparently
I was playing in the World Cup and all the men wanted to kiss me! Don't tell my husband.

During the recent USA game, my oldest son yelled from the couch, "Bring me a root beer, mom!"
Is this real life? You did not just say that! I'm really not kidding when I say "non-stop party".
And every non-stop party demands good food, right?! So this momma has been cranking it out of the
kitchen and off the grill to feed my crew of dedicated fans!

I pulled out all the stops with some Farmland Ribs from Wal-Mart over the weekend!!!
And the crowd went wild...


I personally LOVE LOVE - DEEPY LOVE - BBQ ribs. I'm totally the girl who would order them on a
first date and not bat an eye. I eat them with my hands, even in public, and really don't see the need
for "side dishes." Ribs are a STAR in my world. One I frequent often, unashamedly!

We are definitely "conscious" eaters around here, so it makes me happy that Farmland/Smithfield offers
fresh pork that is raised in the good 'ole US of A. Fresh cuts are free from artificial ingredients
and preservatives
and are minimally processed. No added steroids or hormones either. Say what?!
Music to my ears! "Happy" pigs make me happy.

And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, there's a $1 OFF COUPON for Farmland/Smithfield "All Natural" Baby Back Ribs! Click, clip, and drive very quickly (but safely)
to your local Wal-Mart, y'all!!! *while supplies last*

Ribs aren't your thing? We can't be friends. Just kidding.
But you should know they also offer "all natural" pork tenderloin too!!!


I like to season and pre-bake my ribs before putting them on the grill.
Makes them irresistibly "fall off the bone" tender.

SPICE RUB:

3 tbls. brown sugar
2 tbls. sea salt
2 tsp. chili powder
2 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. black pepper

Massage those ribs, cover with aluminum foil, and bake at 350 degrees for about 2 hours.
(you will FINISH them on the grill!) Then place pre-baked ribs on hot grill for 30-45 minutes
(or until done). For pork ribs, 145 degrees internal temperature is recommended.

Peachy BBQ sauce, anyone?! SO. GOOD. A subtle sweetness with a dash of spicy -
lather up those ribs in the last 15 minutes of grilling and try not to lick your fingers!!!

PEACHY BBQ SAUCE:

1 C. organic ketchup (or one that is free from all weird sweeteners or preservatives)
1/2 C. peach juice/nectar
1/4 C. brown sugar
3 tbls. Frank's hot sauce
1 tbls. apple cider vinegar
1 tbls. worchestire sauce
1 tsp. sea salt
1/2 tsp. garlic powder

Mix all ingredients together and let simmer for 15-20 minutes on low heat.
Be generous when brushing on ribs, but save a little for extra dipping at the table!!!

For more BBQ ideas, tips, and tricks, check out the BBQ Pitmasters at ReadySetRibs.com!!!


We paired this goodness with grilled peaches and sparkling peach juice!!!

GRILLED PEACHES:

Wash and halve peaches, leaving skin on. Brush flesh side with melted butter and grill for 5-10
minutes. Sweet, warm amazingness. I was having trouble not eating them right off the grill! Great
served with ribs or with a scoop of ice-cream for dessert!!!

SPARKLING PEACH JUICE:

1/2 C. peach juice/nectar
1/2 C. sparkling water
squeeze of fresh lime
one scoop of frozen strawberries

Perfect for children, pregnant ladies, and those who prefer "virgin" drinks.
If I wasn't pregnant, there would have been RUM!



Real time photo: This is exactly what I'm talking about. Someone, from some country, scored a goal
and the table was INSTANTLY abandoned. Non-stop party.

At this moment, over half my family was either...

A.) yelling "GOAL!"
B.) throwing themselves on the floor
C.) running around the house without a shirt on


Farmland/Smithfield Ribs -
bring summer, parties, get-togethers, grill-offs,
and even the #worldcup2014 to LIFE!!!




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Thursday, June 26, 2014

The Real Reason My Kids Don't Go To Daycare

Being a stay-at-home mom is definitely my desire, a dream come true. Not a day goes by
where I don't whisper a prayer of "thanks" for the privilege, for the gift, of being the ONE.
The one that is there, every moment of every day, for the milestones, the hard days, the good days,
the discoveries, the achievements, the tiny hugs, happy kisses, to read the stories, to teach how to pray,
to wipe away tears, to soak up the laughter, and all the seconds in between. I am lapping up the joy,
the awesome wonder, and storing it all in imaginary bottles on the shelves of my heart.
Because I'm their parent, their momma...

and ALL OF IT means the world to me.


No, this is not a staged photo. My children just happened to be staring pensively in the same
direction in the many moments before and after I snapped this shot. While picnicking in the park
this summer, it was not the pond, the ducks, or the super cool splash pad that held their attention,
but the DAYCARE group situated systematically on a checkered blanket under the gazebo.

One little boy in particular did NOT want to stay on the blanket and kept slyly venturing off towards
the grass, towards my son and his electric helicopter. The caregiver had to physically pick him up and
put him back on the blanket a number of times, reminding him that he had to "stay put."

"Where are their mommas?" asked my son.

"I don't know, buddy," I said. "I don't know."

I wanted that little boy to be able to play with my son. I willed it in my heart, because I think
that's what his own mother would have wanted for him too. Just let him off the blanket...
free the child to be a child.

We've seen these small children all over the burbs from the grocery store to the swimming pool -
marching in two straight lines, following the leader, daring not to speak without raising a hand,
wearing numbers around their necks - counting off, not to be lost.


And they yell out to me. Yes, literally.

"Can I give you a hug?"

"Will you push me on the swing?"

"Watch my trick!"


And my heart breaks as I stand-in for the parent not present.
"They're missing it," I sigh. "Do they know what they are missing?"

I'm not naïve to think that every family situation warrants at least one parent to stay home
and raise the babies
, but I am daring enough to challenge parents around the world to really
look at their situation and ask themselves if the "two incomes" are absolutely necessary,
or dare I say, worth it? Because I'll stand at the park and watch your kid do tricks all day,
but I can guarantee you that I am no substitute for "mom" or "dad." No one is.

People ask me all the time if my kids go to preschool or daycare - because obviously they
are "old enough" to be "socialized" and I probably "should help my husband".
And I just smile, shake my head, and tell them that my kids are lucky to be stuck at home with me...

where they can march in whatever kind of line they want to, where they can ALWAYS be the leader
and speak respectively without needing to raise their hands, where they are called by their given
names and not a tagged numbered, where they are free from the mold, the system, to be who they
were created to be for this time, this fleeting time: KIDS.

And my husband?! Well, he is lucky that I am stuck at home with his kids! And he'll tell you
that he is not lucky, but blessed. Because do you know how much it would cost for the care
that I give our children? Plus the laundry, the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, chauffeuring
that is done?! He can't afford me. And I can't afford him. So we got jerseys and make a great team.

Even if I didn't have the desire to be a stay-at-home mom and woke up one morning and
decided to take my hard-earned college degree to market and bring home some real bacon,
I know I couldn't do it. God gave my children to me and my husband.
And that's the real reason my kids don't go to daycare.

God gave them to me.

And I know what you are thinking. "Oh it's all rainbows and butterflies for Miss Lily Field" -
sure, ok. But if you were sitting in my living room right now I would not spare you any details
concerning our "income" or "lack thereof" in the past 5 years of marriage.

I'd tell you that we gave up a honeymoon and new cars and live like the budget is going out of style.
I'd tell you that we wear used clothes, don't go on a yearly vacation, and reuse items that most people
don't. We cut corners, pinch pennies, and bend over backwards to keep up our "lavish" lifestyle...
and that's not a joke. Our lifestyle is abundant!!! Downright extravagant! It's richer than you think.

No vacation, no vehicle, no pet, no home, no title, no name-brand can compare with the
two, soon to be three!, little faces that I wake up to care for every morning...

because I'm the one.


Every day is a gift, every situation unique.
We take what we are given and make the best

- for love of our children.




_______________________________________

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Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Childrenisms

We ask the kids frequently what they think we should name the baby. Mostly because
it makes for great entertainment. The other day there was a little debate over whether the
baby should be named NEYMAR (after Brazil's star soccer player #worldcup2014) or TARZAN.
If I had to choose? Definitely Tarzan.

When I tell them that if it is a GIRL her name is most likely going to be "BELLA" -
I get a roaring round of laughter: "Bella... Bella BUTTON!"
My kids are obsessed with belly buttons.

It's quite embarrassing to be standing in the check-out lane with them.
All those scantily clad women in the magazine kiosk?! Yea. Belly. Buttons.
Usually accompanied with obnoxious snorting and cackling. Please, excuse us.

Recently there was a hardcore argument over the name "SPIDERMAN."
Apparently Isaiah had suggested it first, but Judah would have none of that.

Isaiah: "No, I'm naming the baby SPIDERMAN!"
Judah: "I wike SPIDERMAN. I said it FIRST!"
Isaiah: "My baby is SPIDERMAN!"
Judah: "No, MY baby is SPIDERMAN!"

All I've got to say is that we are seriously considering the name now.
It's obvious that "Spidey" genes run in the family. Might as well pay tribute?

"These are our children: Isaiah, Judah, and Spiderman..."


Judah: "I need to use the bathroom."
Me: "Well, you already pooped in your pants, buddy."
Judah: "Well, I can put it in the toilet."
Me: "Um no. I'm going to change your diaper."
Judah: "Are you kidding me?"

Judah: "I just tooted and it came out of my mouth."
Me: "That would be a burp."
Judah: "No it was a toot. In my mouth.
Me:


Isaiah: "I need more peanut butter."
Me:"Buddy, you got it ALL OVER your pants!"
Judah: "Isaiah, can I lick your pants?"
Isaiah: "Um. Sure."


Pointing to a projector board in CHURCH, of all places...
Judah: "What's that?"
Me: "It's a sheet. So people can read the music."
Judah: "Oooooh a sheep?!"
Me: "No, a SHEEEEEET."
Judah: "Oooooh a SHIIIIIIT!"
Me: *don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh*


I wanted to check and see if Judah could see any angels.
Because they say the "veil is thin" for "pure hearts"...

Me: "Are there any angels in the sky?"
Judah: "Um. Yea."
Me: "Where?"
Judah: "THERE!" (points everywhere)
Me: "Ask him what his name is..."
Judah: "He says 'TACO'"
Me:

Conclusion to spiritual experiment:
Judah cannot see angels.


Me: "Who are your parents?"
Judah: "Mary and Joseph." (as in Jesus' parents)
Me: "If that is what you think, you are veeeery confused."
#flattered






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Friday, June 20, 2014

Let me hold you.


A few weeks ago, I was having a really rough day in the "office." Everything that could
possibly go wrong on my shift, the shift that never ends as MOMMA, went wrong. I held it
together for so long, determined to be strong in the Meltdown Sea - for my kids, for my husband.
I've got this. I always think I've got this.

When I was probably 7 or 8 years old I received one of those name cards that they sell at every
other Christian bookstore across the nation. My name is Brittany and that means "STRONG."
I kept this gift, this beacon of identity, tucked away in the Bible that I would read every day;
a reminder that God made me "STRONG" and come hell or high water,
I was going to live up to that name.

An imprint on my childhood heart. An innocent, beautiful gesture of a card that I let go to my
head - that I let weave a pattern of strength that sometimes remembered it's Original Maker...
and other times not so much.

I came out of the kitchen that afternoon, knowing it was only 3 o'clock - wishing it was closer
to the hour that my husband would walk through the door with his strong arms, heart, to hold
whatever was left of me from the day. The hour of mercy. The hour our God finished it on the
cross - proving His strength for us, lovingly pleading with humanity to let Him carry us. Weary or not.

In this very hour, it was my 2 year old that gently whispered his desire, a request:

"Can I hold you, momma?"


With tilted head, boyish, moppy blonde, his big, blueberry eyes met mine and I loved him even more.
I crumpled onto the couch and he reached up to put his tiny arm, so small, but made big and strong
in his act of love, around me. He rested his sweet head against my own arm and didn't say a word.
I think I'll stay here awhile.

There was a time in my life when I thought it would be so romantical to be a cloistered nun.
I seriously would dream of St. Therese the Little Flower - seeing her hand me rose petals, the classical,
brown scapular. Oh to be tucked away from the eyes of world - so fast and furiously spinning -
to be held in the arms of heaven, to be still and attentive to what matters most.

"I pay tribute to God by paying attention." - Ann Voskamp

I've slowed down this summer. Purposefully driven to heighten my senses to the holy, simple
miracles that take place in my everyday life. God reminds me that my name means "STRONG",
but He is stronger. He shows me Himself, hidden, quiet, generous in the faces and hearts
of my children, and so many others around me.

When I'm quiet enough, vulnerable enough, empty - but desperately willing to drink deeply of
everlasting waters - I can hear the call.

No resistance.

It's not a cloistered monastery, and I do not wear the veil of Carmelite.
A different kind of "Vail" was chosen for me, and the roses on my dining room table remind me
that my home, my heart, can still be stolen away from this world... if I'm ready to be held
by the God willing and waiting in the most simple, unexpected places.































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Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Paleo "Spaghetti" and Meatballs

My grandma makes spaghetti like it's nobody's business. It's just better than the best bowl
of noodles you've ever had; in my humble, biased opinion of course. For years I've followed her
around like she's the Obi-Wan of red sauce, but apparently the force is just not with me.
I'd rather her cook for me anyway.

I don't often try to make my own sauce anymore. I usually just buy a jar of whatever organic,
certified gluten-free redness I pass in the aisle while grocery shopping and call it a day. We all
can't be Luke Skywalker. I've been putting more effort into my meatballs lately and it's paying off!
I feel like I at least have a chance with them! Since we are 100% gluten-free over here and try to
keep it as paleo-ish, posh, hipster as possible for our palates - I decided to incorporate my Grandma's
secret sauce weapon into my meatball recipe... and you guys: it works! And it's good.

Ready for this? Secret weapon: shredded carrots.

The shredded carrots add a subtle sweetness while at the same time act in place of the notorious
sidekick to the meat, breadcrumbs. Forget the breadcrumbs. Forget the cheese. Listen to me.
I'll tell you all the things you'll ever need to know. Just kidding. But check this out...

PALEO "SPAGHETTI" & MEATBALLS


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In large bowl, mix together:
1 pd. of grassfed beef
1/2 pd. of Italian sausage
1 C. finely shredded and drained (use a dish towel) carrots
1 small onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 eggs
1 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. basil
1 tsp. garlic powder
sea salt and black pepper to your liking
(I go heavy - it's a lot to season!)

After you have those ingredients thoroughly incorporated, form mixture
into 2 inch meatballs and place on a baking sheet. I line my baking sheet
with parchment paper and extra virgin olive oil for easy clean up!

Bake for 45-60 minutes (or until cooked through). Flip once or twice.
Not you, the meatballs. They brown better that way.

We top ours with some marinara sauce the last 10 minutes of baking.
Fresh, chopped basil is nice too!

Yields 16-18


For the "spaghetti", slice lengthwise and de-seed as many spaghetti squash as your heart
desires. Drizzle the inside flesh with olive oil and generously sprinkle sea salt, pepper,
and garlic powder over that. Place skin-side up on a parchment lined baking sheet and
bake for 45-60 minutes (or until the skin slightly gives way when you press it).

*DO NOT be confused by the picture above. Flip them over, cavity side down, to bake*

The beauty of this: you can place the whole sha-bang (meatballs AND squash) in the oven at the
same time - and it will be ready at the same time! I love easy. Easy AND delicious?! Makes me happy.

Use a fork to scrape out the inside flesh, leaving the skin, of the squash and voila...

Spaghetti and Meatballs!!!








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Monday, June 16, 2014

Things You Didn't Say When We Were Dating

True to pregnant lady form, I frantically scoured the shelves at Whole Foods for a box of
pudding that I just had to have. An employee gently asks, "Can I help you?"
Me: "Why yes!" I NEEEEEEED a box of pudding!"
Worker: "My wife was pregnant once, I know how this goes."
Me: "Mmmmm hmmmm... pudding?"
Worker: "I'm sure your husband would drive to Indianapolis to get you what you are craving!"
Me: "I doubt it. This is our third and he's pretty much like: get over it."

First year of marriage? First baby? Sure. But here we are, going on 5 years...
and I'm driving MYSELF to the local El Burrito Loco to eat my weight in tacos!
Mainly because I can't wait for him to get home from work, and partly because
I'm embarrassed by how much my pregnant body can eat!

Often I hear people say, "Marriage changes things." And it usually has such a negative
ring to it. It's true that things change when you get married - to be expected, right?!
Marriage isn't dating and dating isn't marriage - obviously - and each of those seasons
come with their own set of unique blessings and challenges. Oh I believe you should "date your spouse"
and all. Keep the romance, connection, fireworks, "whatever makes you happy" - kindled, alive, and
burning for 50+ years of "I DO"!!! But don't let people fool you into thinking that marriage is going
to "change things" for the worse. Marriage can be the most painfully awesome adventure of your life!!!
It's what you make of it. Make love. Make war. Make babies. Make-out. Make-up. Make peace.

Make marriage work! Here's to the little things that mean the most.



Me: "Don't kiss me with chapstick all over your lips."
Nathan: "It has come to this."

Nathan: "Can I have a drink from your water bottle?"
Me: "Sure, don't put your mouth on it."
Nathan: "Are you kidding?"
Me: "No, you could give me germs."
Nathan: "We swap more germs making-out than sharing water bottles."
Me:
Nathan: "5 years of marriage. 5 years. And now we don't share drinks."

Me: "Remember when you wrote me notes?"
Nathan: "Yea."
Me: "I think the last time was 4 or 5 months ago. I don't like notes anyway."
Nathan: "HA!"
Me: "No, seriously - if you write me a note TOMORROW because I mentioned this...
it will mean nothing. It's got to be YOUR idea or I'll just shred it."
Nathan: "You are something else."

Nathan: "Hey, we're going to watch soccer."
Me: "But I was going to watch Food Network!"
Nathan: "Aw sorry, babe. You can watch Food Network. LATER."

Nathan: "It smells like dog in here."
Me: "Weeeeell, I can assure you there is NO dog in the house."
Nathan: "I think it's the meatloaf."
Me: "I think you need to stop talking right now."

Nathan: "It annoys me that you leave the drain out of the sink all the time!"
Me: "Oh yea? Well, it annoys me that you point the shower head towards the curtain!"
5 years ago I know a compromise could be met. Now we just hold our ground and smirk. Bliss.
























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Thursday, June 12, 2014

FOUR || Isaiah Maximilian


The other night as I was tucking my babes into bed, my "almost" four year old reached up and asked,
"Rock you, momma?" I just blinked for a second - he never asks for this. My husband overheard
the tiny request and gently nudged me, "you better rock your three year old while you can."

I drew him, and that tattered and worn Mickey Mouse blanket he cannot sleep without, close to me.
I took a deep breath, drinking him all in. He doesn't smell like "baby" anymore, but a strange scent
of apple slices, earth, and sweaty-from-baseball fills my nostrils. I don't want to forget.

His legs have tiny hairs, his eyes are decidedly chocolate brown, doe-like, and the baby fat has given
form to a lanky, energetic BOY. He's still small enough to need momma, but big enough to be daddy's
"little man." His feet still remind me of the Flinstones - wide, square, sweet and his hands are always
sticky, eager to try new things - determined to do big things. I think his favorite word is "dude" and
that his secret wish is that every day would be full of surprises. He will take "red" over any other color
and when given a special treat he shouts: "Happy Sunday!" - even if it's not Sunday.

In moments when things are most focused on him, he stops and thinks of other people -
most often his best man, Judah. For this birthday this year he asked for a fishing pole, but
made sure to ask for two - one for his brother too. How can you tell a heart so big "no"?
There are TWO fishing poles waiting to be unwrapped today. Their delight is mine.

He was the baby that doctors said would not survive my womb.
Four years later, I still believe in miracles.

I'm thankful for every day we get to spend together this side of heaven.
He's taught me to believe a little deeper
hope a little longer
love a little harder!

In the words of Isaiah, "It's a happy day."

Happy birthday, beautiful boy!!!
We love you. Let's celebrate.

The Letter by Newsboys on Grooveshark



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Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Anti-Social: The Little Black Box


A couple weekends ago, we went on a mini (two kids and preggo, hello) tour of the McCormick
mansion. I thought the little, gold-plated ceiling theater in the basement was impressive until we
got to the "drawing" room. I was suddenly inspired to speak with a British accent, call my husband
Mr. Darcy, and ring for Carson the butler all at the same time.
Pour me a cup of this elegant simplicity, I'm moving in.

The guide asked the crowd if they noticed anything different about this 1930's drawing room compared
to our modern living spaces. You don't even have to be there to know that half the crowd was murmuring:

"There's no TV." *gasps* *shocked faces* How did they liiiiive?!

That's when we all reached into our pockets to make sure our smart phones hadn't disappeared into thin
air, taking the internet connection and all things 21st century with them! Phew, I've got 3 bars.

"The couches are placed in a circle," the guide went on. "People faced each other, engaged with
one another - not the television, not their iPhone, not their computer."
They were living out the
original "face time". They spoke about the current news, affairs, business - what they had heard on the
street, from their neighbor, or the newspaper. It was the homiest "homepage" anyone ever saw.

If not for central air, I'd say I was born in the wrong century.

"The couches are placed in a circle."

I still can't get it out of my head. A circle to gather people in, to draw them into communion
with one another - to talk, to speak, to share, unfold, receive, delight...

And we trade it all in to face our television screen, to sit side-by-side with family, friends, complete
strangers and tune-in to the little, black box that keeps us all comfortable, entertained, but tragically
disconnected, drifting further and further away from the art of communion. The gift of communion.

Tragic.

I do believe there is a time and place for the television - even the one that sits in my own living room.
But I guard the "sacred space" in which it dwells with vicious vigilance. If I had more space, you
can bet my couches would be placed in a circle and I would force all my company to sit back, relax,
and sing kumbaya with me. Ok, maybe not sing, but you can call me Jane.

I don't want to be lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of commercials, flickering of channels.
I don't want someone else to think for me and give me ideas about what to believe.

I want my senses to crawl, my mind to race, ideas and passions to mingle. I want to know YOU.
I want to see your face, hear your stories, read your heart. Social. Communion...

the antithesis of that little black box and all it stands for.




"I fear the day that technology will surpass our human interaction.
The world will have a generation of idiots."
- Albert Einstein






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Monday, June 9, 2014

People before Things



I love going "home" to grandma and grandpa's house. Next to my parents, they are the ones
who have been there all along; every step, birthday, milestone - cheering, loving unconditionally,
celebrating, talking about the hard things, living. They have blessed my life tremendously.
And I'm taking notes.

They've taught me that it's not about "things", but about "people." It is about "relationships"
and making sacrifices to make sure those relationships are not compromised. It's about slowing down,
working hard, loving with all your heart, and drinking Pepsi on the back porch.

Spending time with them is like stepping back in time.
The world spins a little slower at Grandma's house - and I like it rich like that.

The other day I was out in the garden working with my grandma as she yelled over at me,
"You know I've been doing this with you since you were a munchkin." My eyes seriously
welled up with tears feeling the weight of the reality that we've probably gone beyond the
halfway point of the time God has allotted for us to spend together on this earth.

Don't blink. Don't miss a thing. I'm harvesting memories these days.
Gathering up the good stuff and drinking it down - nice and slow - remembering,
remembering that all the "things" will fade, but the "people" and the memories
we make with them will burn bright like the stars throughout all our lives.

Don't Blink by Kenny Chesney on Grooveshark



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Wednesday, June 4, 2014

For those who prefer pets over children


A couple years ago someone seriously looked at me, while I was holding my baby Isaiah,
and said, "Why would anyone want to have a baby when they can just have furry, little pets!?"
I don't remember what I said in return, but you can bet your pet poodle I turned around and
rolled my eyes so big my mother in Southern Illinois could see and called to inform me that
I was grounded for disrespect. Not really. She's cool and would've done the same thing.

Pope Francis is rocking the boat these days with his recent proclamation concerning
pets and children. I totally get where he is coming from. It's not just because I'm Catholic -
and a pet hater either. Hater is a strong word... I just don't like animals in my house.

In his homily, Pope Francis stated: "Fidelity, perseverance and fruitfulness were the three
characteristics of God’s love for his church and should be the same three pillars of a Christian marriage.
Just as the church is fruitful by generating new children in Christ through baptism,
marriage should be open to new life
."


He went on, addressing all pet parents around the world, saying:
“And in the end, this marriage will end in old age and solitude, with the bitterness of bad solitude.”

Popular Pope not so popular now.

My favorite part of all this: reading through the comments on all the secular reporting websites.
I like to "reply" in my brain. Where the snark can roam free. Silently.

Of course the Pope doesn't have a vagina, people! Let's just fire on all cylinders together now.
And obviously Jesus didn't have biological children. I think some people feel the need to throw out
obvious, invalid arguments when they feel their cages getting rattled.
Truth will do that to you.

This age of "comfort" - "have it your way" - "just do it"... it's no secret or shocker
here that this world teaches us to make life about "me me me" - have, do, take, whatever to get
you to the top, in the biggest house, best car, fanciest vacay, etc. Because, gosh darn it,
you deserve to be happy!

I look around and am amazed by how people treat contraception, sterilization, abortion as
honorable duties, achievements. Something that MUST be done out of "love for my wife/husband" -
out of "duty to keep the world from being overpopulated"- out of, dare I say, "responsibility"?!
Propaganda, my friends. Propaganda.

Here's the deal, you DO deserve to be happy. And I'm not saying that pets aren't part of that
equation! I don't think the Pope is saying that either. His point is that we can't let this anti-life
culture creep into our marriages, families, homes. Pets are not children. Can you please take the
"Dog Grandma" bumper sticker off your car now?!

Did you give birth to a dog? A cat? Do they share any of your genes? Or biological qualities in the
case of adoption? Oh, you can love those pets! I honestly think God wants us to take good care of the
animal kingdom. But I think, and I think Pope Francis would agree, that we can't put that love,
care, and desire before natural order.

If marriage is really a reflection of the union of Christ and His Church, then obviously it makes sense
that we too would desire, seek to achieve the same honorable qualities of
fidelity, perseverance, and fruitfulness.
Don't we crave it?

Fruitfulness, to the people with the lopsided glasses - those ones who feel attacked, judged, or that
the Catholic Church should get out of their bedroom - automatically equals:
a ball and chain with 12 kids attached.

Let me paint this straight for you. Fruitfulness is the openness and willingness to welcome new life.
It doesn't mean that you will conceive; as there are so many who will never have children of their own.
It doesn't mean children will come "as you will" or that you are solely responsible for repopulating
the world. It doesn't mean you will morph into Michelle Duggar overnight or that your female parts
are going to explode. Deep breath.


It means nothing sterile between you and your spouse. Just as nothing stood between Jesus and His
mission - His passion and death on the cross - out of love for his "children." It means praying,
discerning, living, loving, abstaining (Natural Family Planning), having the best sex of
your life
because YOU are fully man - because YOU are fully woman.

No extra parts, pills, devices, mutilations required. Just you.

And when LIFE comes - and I'm not just talking about babies - I'm talking about being fully ALIVE -
then, just then, will you experience the JOY of fidelity, perseverance, and fruitfulness that the
Pope (heck, JESUS too!) is talking about!

We were visiting another Catholic Church while out of town one weekend when the African pastor
casually mentioned in his homily that people in his nation "don't keep pets." My ears perked up
and I turned to Nathan and confirmed, "Did he just say they don't have PETS in his country?"
We have so many first world problems we don't know what to do. Here in America it's a crime to kill
baby sea turtles, but you can take your own child's life via abortion. People, wake up.

I imagine that this pastor grew up in a land where what money, food, water, etc.
to be found was used to take care of humans.

Yes, pets bring us all kinds of warm and fuzzy feelings. I will not deny that. But those who put
that before children obviously don't know or understand the infinitely greater kind of "warm and fuzzy"
feelings that come with the blessing of children. They put an end to the solitude, the silence,
the posh furniture, and snazzy sport's car. But they are the beginning of a LIFETIME of fulfillment,
craziness, excitement, achievement, glory, adventure... that I'm not sure one can even imagine.

Pets are pets.
Humans are humans.
Let us not forget.






















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Monday, June 2, 2014

The Cell Phone Generation


People used to put their "nose in a good book", but now they "superglue their eyeballs to a
good phone." And I'm honestly just as guilty as the next person. I have openly chosen to communicate
with my mobile device over the people right in front of me - real people.
Not the digital or uploaded breed.

I seriously feel programmed. I'll pull up the web browser on my phone to "Google" directions or
something legitimate like that, and I kid you not, "FACEBOOK.COM" is flying outta my finger tips like
they are the only letters my brain remembers, wants, needs...
"What's up, homepage!? Tell me all the things!" So. Stupid.

I look at my kids and KNOW, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would be freaking out if they spent
as much time with their cell phones as I do... as their parent. Makes me check myself.
What's necessary and what is over compulsive?! Yea, about that.

A couple Sundays ago our pastor asked us if we check in with Jesus as often as we check our
cell phones.
Ouch. What's Jesus' username? I'll add Him. Not funny.

Made my heart hurt a little.

Not out of some sort of perverted idea of "Catholic guilt" blah blah blah, but because I STILL
REMEMBER my life without a cell phone. And how much I loved that "disconnected" life.
The disconnected life that allowed me to connect, capture the moment.

I find myself craving it now. I find myself longing to see the internet bars disappear and the battery
drain from "roaming." I find myself "forgetting" my phone and spending time uploading the memories,
the few precious moments we have on earth straight to my heart and not my Instagram feed.


These pictures were taken with my real camera from our Memorial Day weekend getaway -
OFF THE GRID. None of which showed up on social media. We read books, went for walks,
sat in fields of grass, threw rocks into the lake, watched a snake, snuggled, built fire,
played in the sand, ate our meals...

slowly, intentionally, engaging in the beauty of every moment -

enjoying the people given to us.

And I want to be little again.




Let's do it again.

A quiet life. Hidden.
Dull compared to the glow of the digital world, but pleasingly easy on the eyes, heart, mind.

As I sat in the ER with my children last week, a man came by to collect our insurance information.
He asked for the "best number" to reach me at. My cell number of course. He then asked for a
"land line" - a land line?! What's that? I then asked him if he had a home phone anymore.
"We are the cell phone generation! Are you kidding me?" He laughed. I laughed.

Just to be polite.

But I don't want that label. I don't want my kids to have that label.

I will remember how to live my life unplugged. I must.





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