That Our Burdens May Be Light

How do you balance 

all that you do, and need to do, with all that you feel at this time of year?

I don't know why Christmas is such an emotional time for me.  I have spent the better part of the last two days holding back tears; and not very successfully, I might add.  It is for us, as with most families, utterly busy now.  We have yet to put the studio back together from the sale, and only just managed to get the tree and the lights up last night.  I think if it hadn't been for the prospect of hosting our first advent here tonight, we might still have an undecorated tree under our drippy eve on the side of the house where it has been all week.  

Tessa is struggling under a weight.  She has cried almost every day about her hamster dying.  "I wish Nibbles would just die again up in heaven so that he could come back to me." she said so poignantly.  This, in tandem with her belly pain has led to us sitting together for long, sad spells; her weeping, me consoling.  I know how to help a mama in labor, but this has been much different.  Her pain and sadness have no happy ending waiting.  I hear myself saying, "I am so sorry, sweetheart," again and again.

Adam is struggling as well.  Our Toby dog began having accidents in the house over the last week or so.  Last night he suddenly began falling down and staggering, unable to stay on his feet.  I called the sweet folks who gave him to us to ask advice, only to learn that his sister died just last week with the exact same symptoms.  When I got off the phone, I told Adam.  He is already heart broken.  Toby is really his dog.  

How do you lose your first dog?

I guess I am struggling a little, too.  Yesterday we went to our church Christmas party.  It was a lovely breakfast and service project where we decorated tiny table-top trees and delivered them to a nearby nursing home.  Though I was in charge of the caroling, I dragged my feet.  I knew what awaited us there.   We walked what I would call "a hall of last and forgotten souls".  We sang to the residents as we came and went from their rooms.  Most of them were women, alone in a tiny space with a few scant possessions.  One rocked a baby doll in her arms and lovingly gazed into it's face with a sweet smile, as though the baby smiled back.  One met my gaze and instantly her eyes filled with tears.  Another stared intensely into my eyes, but only met my smile with a blank and utterly vacant and yet penetrating stare.  Perhaps the hardest was Edna, a lovely and proper lady, her hair in meticulous order, her outfit impeccable right down to her pearl necklace and matching earrings.  Her room was an encapsulation of what I imagine her house might have been;  orderly photos, dainty curios,  and carefully placed books and silk flower arrangements.  We sang to her, and tears rushed into her eyes, followed immeadiatly by my own.  

"I'm sorry," she blushed, "I just get like this these days."

"Me too!" I sincerely replied.  I felt like her in that moment - for what ever both our reasons were for our tears, I felt so connected to her.  She could be me; I could be her.  I wanted to scoop her up and take her out of there.  It seems a tragic way to spend the end of a rich lifetime on earth. 

Today in church we talked about what gives us the strength to get through our trials.  We talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and the understanding that not one of us is alone in our grief and heartache.  We are understood by One who has endured all manner of pain and sorrow.  A sister leaned over to me and whispered, "That's what get's me through my trials - just realizing that I am not the first person that has ever felt this way."  

I know what she means.  

Tonight we hosted our first Advent.  It is a family tradition in many cultures that we have been invited to share these past few years with Kathy and Bishop.  We lit candles and spread out goodies, and I read Christmas stories about charity and love and sharing of our blessings with those in need.  Again, I wept and could barely get through the sweet passages and scriptures.  

In one story, a man waits all day for a promised visit from the Lord.  Throughout that day he is visited by many a stranger in need.  He warms, feeds and fills their needs one by one, with an ever watchful eye on the window so as not to miss the Lord when he passed by.  When night comes, he is sad that the Lord had never come, when one by one each stranger he had faithfully administered to appeared before him and said, "Have you not seen me?"

  "For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. 

Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."                                           ~Matthew 25

 ***

Our burden is never ours to carry alone. 

He is there.

We can reach out to our Savior as we touch the lives and fill the needs of others.

As we lighten the burdens of others, our burdens will be made light.

May the weight that we each carry feel lighter 

in the knowlege of His Love for us,

 is my prayer for you this Christmas week.

God bless.

***

 Tessa-loo waits to her turn to put the star on the tree.  

Her turn won't come again till she's nearly 12.

  Up, Up and on.

 Advent...

 The goodies, cocoa, and herb tea...

 The Slaughters...

 and the Jensens.

 A very rare sighting indeed... three teenagers singing carrols.

 In keeping with Kathy's tradition of singing 

Silent Night in German at the end of the night, 

Guy taught it to us in Finnish.

Crazy hard.

We had to bribe Ethan to join us.  He said he would only come if there was beef jerky.  So I made sure there was.  But that wasn't his only reward for coming... he snagged baby Ryan from Kathy and settled his fussing.  He told me later that if he comes next week, Kathy promises beef jerky and all the Ryan-time Ethan wants.  

Good deal for us all!

Good Tears

Cool art by my cool kids.

My sale is over 

(a tiny chorus of angles in my head sing "ahhhhhhhh!")

It was great.  

Thank you all who came to support us.  

There were some splendiferous moments.  I loved it when we would have a rush of folks come.  Christmas music played softly and cheerful voices filled the room as happy friends found treasures to take home to loved ones.  I thrill in the idea of something I made being wrapped and placed under the tree for someone I may never get to know.  

I was tickled the day after the sale to see three of the jewelry sets and one silk scarf I had made on ladies at church.  One lady came this year who had come the first year and was delighted when she found the sibling to a pot that she had bought last year.

One woman found a masculine dish to give to her husband for him to put his ring in when he showers.  Grandmas counted out Sleeping Potion packets for each grandchild to mix up on Christmas Eve.  

A sweet lady saw a scarf and simply said, "that's mine" in a way that made me feel like I had reunited her with a long lost friend.  

Some of my other favorite moments:

When my kids each sold a painting.  

They were purchased to be hung in baby nurseries

 and newly renovated bathrooms.  I am so happy that these talented children

 are being encouraged in their creativity.

Each of the talented ladies that shared their wares in the sale.  They all worked so hard, and in quiet moments when no one was around, I would handle each of the items they had made and imagine the long hours that it took to carefully craft them.  

I am inspired.

.

 

Being with Robin.  

She spent hours helping set up and brought lunch for all of our kids and hung out with me for many hours each day of the sale.  I have such a sweet pocket of gratitude in my heart for this great lady and friend.  

A moment that came when a couple came to browse, a couple who commissioned me to do a painting some time ago.  I thought about showing them the progress on the painting, but then thought perhaps it might be a bad idea.  It is of their two sons taken from the last photo of the two of them together before their one son was killed in Iraq.  I showed the hubby first and he smiled wide.  "Come see this!" he called to his wife.  She came not knowing what she would be looking at.  As soon as her eyes registered her little boy, they filled with tears, and her voice cracked.  I suddenly regretted my choice to show them.  I had not thought that it would bring tears.  I looked to the husband's face to find her tears now reflected in his eyes.  

I apologized.

No, she said, she was so glad.  "Good tears", she called them, to a nod of agreement from her husband.  I told her that I felt I hadn't quite gotten that sparkle of mischief in his eyes.   Later I received a sweet email from that mom with photos of her son; close-ups of his eyes, and a message of gratitude about how much it meant to her to see that painting of her boy.  I know I will be able to get that sparkle now.

I have often wondered what God wants me to do with my art.  I am still not sure.  I follow whims.  I made random things.  I paint.  I hope someday that I can really divine what it is that I need to be doing, if indeed I am not doing it already, but in the mean-time, 

I am grateful for 

good tears.

 

Thank you Ruth, Steph, Kathy, Pat, Amanda, and Robin, artisans extraordinaire!

You Can Keep Your Partridge

On the first day

of Christmas, December gave to me

a crazy-busy Studio sale.
.

On the second day of Christmas, December gave to me

a toddler with an infection and a crack in the radiador.
.

On the third day of Christmas, December gave to me

one screaming headache, a crabby healing toddler and a failed batch of gluten-free cookies.
.

On the fourth day of Christmas, December gave to me

three doctors appointments, a painfull van repair bill, Tessa's tummy trouble

and another day of he-e-ead-ache.
.

On the fifth day of Christmas, December gave to me

one oral surgery (Tessa), one belly ex-ray (Tessa), 13 bloodtests (6 of them, Tessa),

 falling down rain gutters and

one dead Ha-a-am-ster.

(yes, you guessed it, Tessa's)
.

****

Bring it on, December.
.

(just kidding.  don't.  I can't take it anymore.)
.

And for those of you who need clarity, nobody is dying (well except for Nibbles, may he rest in hamster peace), but Tessa's tummy has been a real mess and getting worse, so we are having more tests run.  She also had surgery on her mouth to release a band of skin that was making her top teeth have a large gap between them.  I thought it would be a little deal, but the longer they worked on her the freakier the giant hole in her mouth began to look (if you wanna know what I am talking about, go google image search "frenectomy".  I recomend doing it on an empty stomache).
.

 The other kids have just had various check-ups that I stupidly scheduled all on the same day trying to get them over with.  A toddler in a 10 foot square room for 3 appointments?  BAD idea.
.

The van is now working, but we are informed the transmission is on it's last limping leg.  The raingutters are hopeless.  Don't visit us until the weather clears unless you want a shower.
.

Jonah had a nasty infection that responded very well to natural remedies, thank heaven, since the doctor is closed on the weekend and the ER co-pay is killer.  At the pediatrician's we were told the infection is fine but she feels he may need surgery for another problem she noticed.  I have decided to wait to get worked-up about it until after we see a specialist.
.

Nibbles sadly suffered from a child who forgot to refill his waterbottle.  She is devastated.  She said,

"Today is a wrong day!"
and later she told me,
"It's like there are cubbies in my head and they have stuff in them that makes me remember all the days with him.  I can look in the cubbies and even see the day I got him.  I don't think I will ever be happy again."

Rough, rough few days.

***

Post-post:

Upon my finishing the above fuss-fest, a certain toddler held his finger up to me.

"Poop!" he exclaimed.

"Backpack..." he said
and spun around to show me the giant poo-streak smeared up his bare back.

It's his third poop-soup diaper this evening. 
I went out to get a clean dipe out of the drier, only to find them still in the washer.

Oh, and it looks like the ants have decided to come in out of the rain,
and settle all cozy-like in the garage recycling bin.

Can't wait for tomorrow.

Almost Open Studio

We are tired.

We are getting ready for my Open Studio Sale.

The other artisans have dropped off their handiwork.

My honey is working hard at making our

studio

school room 

catch all

dumping grounds

 into a lovely show place 

(well, it's still a medium-mess right now, but by tomorrow 

I have high hopes we will be looking lovely.) 

I still have a ton to get done.

There are paintings that need finishing touches,

soaps that need molding,

sleeping potion that needs mixing,

and everything still needs to be tagged.

We can do it!

Don't forget to stop by if you are in the neighborhood/state/country.

December 1st and 7th and 8th

10am-6pm

Guy is making fudge.

You won't want to miss it.

Endings

Soccer season 

is officially 

over.

 (am I allowed to say yay?)

Yay.

We spent our last game day in a blustery rain with wind so strong it turned umbrellas inside out.  We bundled against each other and cheered for out team, but secretly I was glad for a tied game.  I hate the thought of any boy going home after the last game of the season with his head hung low from a loss.  We dripped and froze our way through it, and I tucked blankets around little girls and "nuggowed" (snuggled) with frosty cheeked Jonah-boy.  We were miserable and happy and cheerful all at once.  

It was funny.

Adam played great.  I am proud of him.  He is strong, determined, smart, and friendly.  He is a good player and a great team member.  He works hard, and cheers on his team mates.  

And man, can he jump.

I love watching him play.

We went to the pizza place after for the whole "you played so you get a trophy" ceremony.  Adam was happy.  Tummies were full.  Hideous orange cupcakes with four inches of frosting were consumed.  Our booth was snug, so warm and cozy.  

It was perfect.

Fall brings endings on it's heals.  

Sometimes endings are a really good thing.  

Especially when the endings happen 

inside where it's dry.

(I hope to post some great soccer storm pictures 

as soon as I can figure out why Google is blocking my photo uploads.)

Chair Wars!

In Sacramento

  if you don't want something, 

you put it on the curb with a free sign on it

 to give it away.

This has it's risks.

It could get vandalized.

It could get peed on by a passing dog

(or worse, a person).

It could get left, rejected, ignored.

Or...

 another chair could show up 

on the NEIGHBOR'S curb.

A more confident 

and slightly better looking chair

(based on the 1970's palate).

I think we are going to be stuck 

with our lame-butt green chair
for a while.

Dang.

Behind the Wheel

You know those little steering wheel toys that toddlers love?  The kidlets sit in the back seat, steering furiously, signalling wildly their planned turns, and of course, honking their little brains out.  In their little grey-matter makers, they are really the ones making this big ol' van go!  And they truly believe with all their itty-bitty heart that they are "behind the wheel".

I have finally realized that I am that toddler.  I steer my life furiously, trying to keep it on the road I think it should be on.  I signal my intended shifts in direction, all well thought-out and carefully considered.  And I honk my horn, 

oh! how I honk my horn!

 

"Outta my way!  I'm driving here!" 

I know where I'm going and nothing is going to get in my way.

Yes, I am that toddler who thinks I am actually the one in charge of this mini-van that is my life.  I sit in my booster seat imagining that my foot is on the gas, while all along God looks into the rear view mirror at me and maybe smiles at my funny little efforts at control.  He is in charge.  He knows it, too, but He lets me figure it all out on my own.

I am not saying that I have no impact over the direction of my life.  I do, I know that.  My choices matter.  I can have a huge influence - for good or not - based on my attitude and decisions.  But ultimately, there is a whole category of life events that God chooses for me, 

and I can honk all I want, 

that won't change what His path for me.

************

I'm feeling grateful tonight for Dan Mealey (age 78, I think), who showed up this morning when he heard that our pipe had burst in the yard during the night.  Guy had simply had to shut off the water to deal with it later because we needed to hurry Ellie-girl to the doctor for an up-all-night, miserable bladder infection with vomiting.  When we got back, Dan was there, tools in hand.  He just jumped right in and fixed the pipe so that Guy could get to his church meetings and I could tend to Ellie and Tessa (who had a bad headache and tummy ache).  Jonah felt the needy-theme in the room and joined in on the tear-convention.  

At one point I had three crying children literally on my lap.

Tonight I am also grateful for antibiotics.  

When they are needed, they are such a blessing...and I may get some sleep tonight.  

But mostly I am grateful for a Father in Heaven who looks out for me on rough mornings,

 and sends grey haired angels.

***

I guess I will let Him drive.

Hallowed

 

A family of pumpkins sits near the hearth, smiling out into the dim, golden room.  Candles lit on pedestals and in gourds glow and flicker warmly.  My children are cozied up on the rug, pillows and blankets tucked around them, traces of facepaint in their eyebrows, their candy bags snug in their laps.  Guy and I collect Mommy and Daddy tax now and then; for me a Butterfinger or Junior Mints, for Guy a Peanut Butter Cup.  I make herb tea with milk, brown sugar and butter (trust me... awesome) and we settle in.

The music begins.  The amazing opening credits to what is fast becoming my all time favorite movie, To Kill a Mockingbird, sweep me away to the rustling, dry leaves of my own childhood, and Halloween nights long since forgotten linger like faint spirits in my heart.  I feel my mom's touch as I remember her using her lipstick to paint round circles onto my cheeks the year I dressed as a clown.  I think of Dad and his enthusiasm for a well made costume the year we made me into a 7Up can.  I trace the streets of my childhood home in my mind, hearing the leaves skuttle across the sidewalk on the evening breeze as though they were being spirited along.  Somehow I remember a certain house, here and there, the rustle of my costume, the itch of the makeup, and the thrill of the night air.  It was scary and exciting, and safe and comforting all at once.  I am called back as the movie begins, our Halloween night tradition.  Now I am here, watching my children's memories being created - right at this very moment.

Jonah has long since been unconscious.  He didn't make it home from Kathy and Joanna's neighborhood awake, but a "high-bop" (lollipop) fused in each hand remained held aloft, as though he might eat them in his sleep.  Ethan has been the recipient of generous donations from younger sibs, who can't bare to see him treatless.  It brings out a soft tone in his voice as the kids ask what his favorites are.  Adam is freshly showered, a must for detatching his bald cap that was painted right on to his head, fusing it to his hair.  I cuddle Tessa who is too squirmy in my arms, and Guy sits close.  Ellie is deep in the throes of candy carnage. 

Children begin to fade, and by movie's end we shuffle sleeping souls off to their beds.  I leave the DVD menu playing for a while so that I can hear the music a little longer.  It's so mournful and sweet.  The candles in the pumpkins have almost all burnt out, and Guy snuffs out the last few. 

Candle smoke lingers faintly.  The now childless floor is strewn with wrappers.  My Sweetheart kisses me.

You know, if you look waaaay back, before the black cats and witches, Halloween was a celebration honoring family members who had passed on to the other side.  It was really all about family, living and gone.  A bon fire believed to be sacred was lit in the middle of town and everyone carried a gourd - with a flame from that main fire inside of it - back to their homes to light their hearth fires with a small portion of that sacred light.  They welcomed the new year, honored those who had died, and spent time together as family.

At least some things haven't changed with time. 

The focus of the night was almost more on the collecting 

of pumpkin seeds than on the carving.

 The kids carve away as Guy compares 

the relative sizes of his thumbnails. 

"Would ya' lookee there!  This one is smaller!"

 Carving directions: "With ears like this, Daddy!"

 There is a certain family resemblance...

 Ethan's cool logo.

 And now on to the Trick or Treating with friends.  

Kathy even ventured out with new baby Ryan, 11 days old.

 "Forget the candy, I think I am in love with this lamppost!"

 Don't know how it happened, but we had 3 skeletons this year.

The cat was lonesome.

 Jack Skelington and "The Haul".  He made his costume himself.  

Somehow the red eye really finishes the look.

All tuckered out.

He was asleep sitting up with the crazy head bob thing.  We laughed at him freely.

There is nothing better than making fun of your exhausted children when they are unconscious.



Harvest Cider

A mug of some fresh pressed apple cider
(the good stuff) - hot

A big ol' squirt of carmel ice cream sauce

A big ol' scoop of Egg Nog Ice Cream

Ahhhhhhh......

Kahwry!

You wanna know what's really scary? 

Jonah and the neighbor kids hiding behind the tombstones in the yard to get away from the search helicopters (lovingly dubbed "ghetto birds"). 

Don't worry, we call the kids into the house at the first rounds of gunfire.

Love this town.

***

Things Jonah has been heard to say in the past few days:

kahwry! - scary

Hah-WIN! - Halloween (repeated, getting louder, while jumping, fist in the air!)

tanyee - candy

Tee-ooh Teee! - Trick-or-Treat!

hey-bop - lollipop

My bag! - his Trick-or-Treat bag, spoken clear as a bell

No fooht, no eat, tanyee! - what we hear at lunch (fooht - food)

rrrraaarrrrrr! - What pumpkins say

***

Halloween night to come, as soon as we can find the camera!

A Lump of Clay

Last night I cut a large slab
of dark grey clay off the the block and got ready to wedge it.  I held it up and said, "Become something beautiful!", as if willing it to do so were enough.

A few minutes later as I sat down to the potter's wheel to throw, I asked Adam to carefully move the pots that I had thrown yesterday that were in my way. 

Do you see it coming?

I didn't see Adam pick up two pots at once, but about 10 seconds later I heard the dull thud and rumbly shatter of unfired greenware crashing onto the plaster slab.  I closed my eyes and gave a quiet (well, maybe not so quiet) sigh.  In the past three sessions of pottery making, I have lost one piece of pottery for every five I have thrown, either to sneeky toddler mits or to my own clumsiness. Frustration has been my pottery pal lately.  When I opened my eyes, Adam's huge, tragic, questioning eyes were settled on mine, his eyebrows nearly fused in the middle in remorse.

"It's just clay.  I can ake a new one" I mustered, an insincere warble in my voice, a hint of annoyance in my tone.  It had been the biggest and best pot I had managed to eek off the wheel in a year.  A large lump of clay is hard to center, and challenging to lift into a thin walled vessel that doesn't collapse.  But the look on his face told me that his heart was more fragile than that brittle clay pot.

The sadder he felt the less the pot mattered to me.  I shook off my pride.  "Adam, your heart means more to me than some dumb old pot" I said, this time with true conviction.  How many times have I made one of my children feel badly about something that really didn't matter at all?  Not today.  His face relaxed.  He cleaned up the mess.  I smilled at him and went back to my waiting lump of clay.

I am getting ready for my second Open Studio Sale.  I have gotten a late start on things, and as of today even decided I must postpone the sale a couple of weeks.  Broken washer.  Broken computer.  Broken pottery.

So during the day I do school with the kids, and sometimes a little laundry when the washer is cooperating.  And from 9 to midnight I work in the studio.  I hope each night that I can make something beautiful, but more important, I need to remember each day not to destroy the work of another Potter.

Heavenly Father gave me the job of tending his little vessels, his beautiful creations-in-progress.  I am a real clutz about it sometimes.  I forget how tender little feelings are.  I focus too much on the "teaching" and "disciplining" and not enough on the message being sent in my tone of voice, my expression... my sighs. 



I am a work in progress, too.

Aren't we all just lumps of clay?

Isaiah 64:8 But now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay,

and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.

***

Other works in progress...

 

Every Square Inch

We prayed hard to get this boy here.

We didn't know what he would be like,

we just knew he was supposed to join our family.

Well, he's here.

He is soooo here.

He is felt in every minute of the day.  He is seen in every room of the house.

From the peach syrup that he dumped and slurped off of the kitchen table an hour ago, to the playdough crumbs that decorate my studio floor like a dirty cupcake.  From the hand prints on my mirrors, to the piles of books in front of my bookcases.  From the dog food floating in the dog's water bowl to the gouge marks in my eyeshadow.  

He has permeated, literally, every square inch of our lives

(and hearts).

***

Jonah Jabber

A warning, gentle reader.  My son's pronunciations are rated PG-13.  

I blame the parents.

YaeSH! -yes (always said emphatically)

Deay-choo - Thank you

piss - please

sh** - sit

**** - truck 

(yes, that word)

 tream - train

moon - cow

ah yah you! - I love you!

Magic Roads

 Adam has been announcing 

the countdown to his pending teen-hood at regular intervals lately.  He will be 13 in a month, or by his reckoning, one month, three days and 8 hours.  I feel like I am watching his childhood fade away behind him, like a dusty road he'll never travel again.  He is sprouting so fast.  He is certainly not my little boy anymore.

On Friday we took the hour drive to Wheatland where there is a pumpkin patch that thinks it is Disneyland.  We had gone last year and had a real ball, particularly Adam.  He jumped and ran an played, and all the way home he declared, "That was awesome!".  This year we went as part of the homeschool, so we got to do all of the extra fun stuff that I am too cheap to pay for, like train rides and hay rides.  But there was a strange difference this year.  Adam was subdued.  I asked him if he was having fun. 

He shrugged and said, "Kinda."

It turns out that he has rounded that bend in the road.  The one that made mining for marbles on Coyote Mountain something for the little kids to do.  The bend that means the giant slide was too small and the corn maze was, "Kinda lame."  The boy is still losing teeth, and yet there is that other part of him that has left childhood behind.

I remember the heartache I felt when I realized that I really didn't want my stuffed animals anymore.  That maybe this would be my last trick-or-treat.  That I was growing up, like it or lump it.  It felt sad.

I think that a new magic eventually replaced the old, outgrown one.  I now love witnessing the wonder of childhood, knowing what discoveries are waiting for my little ones just around the next bend.  I look so forward to trick-or-treating this year.  Jonah won't remember last year, so this year when that first door opens and that first piece of sugary bliss lands in his sack, I will delight in the baffled look on his face. 

"Is this for me?  Is that lady crazy?"

He will look into his bag, get the candy out, and want to eat it immediately.  Then we will tell him he can go get more candy.  The look will be priceless;

 "So you are telling me if I go up to all these doors here, 

I'm gonna get candy and I don't have to ask you if it's okay???"

Then the light will come on. 

"Nandy!?"  

He will declare, and he will waddle down that driveway into a world 

that has forever been changed in his eyes.

I love this part of being a mom.  I love witnessing them as they discover the world.  I guess being with little ones is so familiar to me after all these years, I will have to learn as they move into their teens how to enjoy a whole new kind of magic.

And there is still magic out there for Adam to discover, too.

It's called

girls.

93 and a Chance of Autumn

 Today was in the mid 80's.

Tomorrow is forecast to be 93 degrees.

Happy Autumn.

If you are needing to get in the Autumn mood, try this:

Make a yummy spice cake batter (recipe below)

Fill cupcake cups half way.

Mix:

 1 pkg room temp cream cheese

2 eggs

1/2 c. sugar and a tsp of vanilla 

till smooth.

Now using an icing bag and a pointy tip with a fat hole, 

poke the hole into the surface of the batter 

and squeeze until the cup is filled about 3/4 of the way.

Bake as usual.

You now have Cheesecake-filled Spice Cupcakes.

Frost.

Gobble.

YUM.

Joanna's Mandarin Cake 

(this is what I used for the cupcakes, plus 1 tsp of cinnamon.  Double for 24 cupcakes)

1 c flour

1c.sugar

1tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla

1 egg

1/4 c oil

1 can drained mandarins

(opt 1 tsp cinnamon)

Blend in mixing bowl 2-3 min.  Bake in greased 8x10 for about 30 min at 350.

Double the recipe for a 9x13 and bake an hour.

The color will be a gorgeous dark brown and it will fall in the middle after it comes out.  Totally ok!  No worries.  Now, if you are making the cake, while it is still hot, top it with this:

3/4 c brown sugar

3 tbsp butter

3 tbsp heavy cream or evap. milk

Bring to a boil and then pour over baked cake right out of the oven.

Or for cupcakes...

Cupcake Icing

 2 cubes butter

1&1/2 cup + powdered sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

a drizzle of orange flavoring

1-2 tsp milk

Beat butter until smooth, and then add brown sugar.  Allow to beat until sugar melts.  Gradually add powdered sugar and milk.  Allow to beat in mixer until it is so fluffy you could sleep on it.  

Add orange flavor and color if desired.

Since I kinda never measure when I make this stuff, here is a troubleshooter:

If it's a little too buttery, add more powdered sugar.  

If it is too thick, add a TINY bit more milk till it's smooth.

The longer you mix it the warmer it may get, so if the sugar isn't melted yet or it isn't

 fluffy enough, put it into the fridge for 10 minutes then whip it some more.

NOW it's Autumn!

Let Down Your Hair

 

Some of you may remember a few years ago when Tessa found a pair of scissors.  I was devastated as I came home to the bag full of gorgeous curls that Guy had cleaned up, and a hack-job of a mullet on my toddler.  Her hair.  Her beautiful hair...

Last week I was giving Jonah a well needed trim,  using candy as an incentive for sitting still, when Tess walked in.  "If I let you cut my hair, will I get candy too?"

I had been dying to trim the scraggly ends of her hair.  "Sure."  I said.

Guy had actually been suggesting we cut her hair short to eliminate the hair-brushing battle we go through every morning.  While her long tresses were stunning when properly curried, about 10 minutes later they looked disheveled again.    The thought was not so welcome to me.  I still have a thing for that kid's hair.

When she stood in front of me with the scissors, I realized that her hair might actually be long enough to fullfull the requirements for a Locks of Love donation, but that if I trimmed it now, it would be too short to donate for a long time.  We got a ruler, and sure enough, by taking off 10 inches she would be left with about a shoulder-length bob.  Though she had scoffed at the Locks of Love idea before, suddenly she was totally okay with it.  Candy will do that for you.

So, following the instructions on the website I put her hair into a ponytail and began to cut at the 10 inch mark.  It was going great at first, and the hair from around her face was first to seek it's new place.  It tumbled sweetly to her shoulder and looked really cute.  But as the scissors continued to chew at the bound knot of hair at the nape of her neck, I got freaked out.  It was much shorter in the back, given the lower hairline there, and soon I was cutting hair whose origins were about an inch from the scissor blade.  I stopped far too late to do anything but continue, and gave Guy that "eek" look. 

Wincing, I finished the job.  Tessa bounded away from me to go catch a gander in the mirror, her hair bouncing in the air.  I sat with a pony-tail in my hand of gorgeous, tumbling waves. "Waaa", I said to Guy.

But Locks of Love is such a worthy cause.  I never knew that many children who undergo chemo-therapy for brain cancer never grow their hair back again.  And there are several other disorders that Locks of Love mentions on their website that cause permanent hair loss.  It takes between 6 and 10 donated pony-tails to create one hair piece for a child.  That is a lot of hair.  I also learned that even color treated and grey hair can be donated, as any hair that cannot be used directly for the hair pieces for children is sold to wig makers and the funds used to offset to costs of production.

We will mail Tessa's pony in the morning. 

For her, the hair will grow back.  Others are not so lucky.

It took all the sting away, thinking of another mother's child bouncing around in Tessa's lovely hair.  I can only imagine what it means to a mother to have her child feel beautiful again.

Not a bad trade for a few pieces of candy.

Candy Corn Soup and Special

 

Kathy and I see each other no less than six days a week, barring illness.  With five days to exercise and a day of church, the only break the poor woman gets from me is Saturday, and with baby showers and ward parties, sometimes not even then.

So it was funny to me when I got a thank you card from her in the mail.  I teased her this morning about waisting the price of a stamp when she could have easily handed the card to me herself.

"It's just more special that way," was her simple reply.

She got me thinking.

A few years ago, I made a recipe I found in a magazine for Candy Corn Soup.  It was pretty mediocre soup at best, but the idea of it really made a hit.  For the past two years I have tried other, much better recipes, always topping each bowl off with 3 candy corns and calling it Candy Corn Soup.  The kids joyfully stir in the candy corns and then plunge in for a hunt like pre-schoolers excavating for plastic dinosaurs in a sandbox.  Last night after dinner Ethan gave me a hug (yes, another!) and said, 

"You sure are getting good at that soup."

I have a secret.  It ain't really the soup.  

It's the candy.

Sometimes special is in the tiniest details.  The little extra efforts. 

 Like stamps and candy corns, or whatever it is in your particular bowl of mediocre soup.

This Year's Candy Corn Soup

2 boxes Trader Joe's Butternut Squash Soup

1 box Trader Joe's Sweet Potato Bisque

1/4 lg onion diced

2-3 tsp. fresh minced garlic

2-3 Tbs. butter

3 sausages or 1/2 lb bacon

1-2 tsp. mustard

2-3 cups cubed frozen potatos

salt to taste

Saute onions, garlic and crumbled sausage or bacon in butter until very gorgeously golden.  Dump that gorgeous concoction into a pot with everything else and simmer about 30-45 minutes till the flavors blend and you start saying "Mmmmmm!" when you taste it.

Dish up bowls and top with 3 candy corns each.  

For grown ups, I like to top it with candied almonds (below).

Melt 2 Tbsp butter and 4 Tbsp sugar in a skillet and cook until it gets bubbly and a little bit golden.  Add 1 cup of sliced or slivered almonds (or nut of your choice) and continuously stir until the nuts are coated well and sugar becomes very golden.  As soon as it turns this color, QUICKLY dump it onto a cookie sheet and spread it out evenly.  Go slow and you burn it, baby.  Allow to cool and then crumble it.  Taste it many times as it cools.  Taste it a few more times as you set the table.  End up having to make another batch because you tasted it too many times.  Have the left overs on ice cream.

Building Something that Will Last

When Guy first went to college
 he studied to be an architect.  And he was good... is good.  He created amazing spaces with unusual elements, like floors that appeared to float.  He would have made an amazing architect.

One day I heard someone ask why he changed his mind.  "Because I want to do something more significant  with my life than making pretty houses for rich people.  I want to do something that will matter in eternity."

Guy teaches Special Education.  His class is filled with students that are mostly wheelchair bound, totally non-verbal, and in most cases, medically fragile and requiring total physical care and feeding.  His mother once said, "So, you're pretty much a glorified babysitter then, aren't you?"

He is anything but.

A typical day in Guy's class, after physical needs of the students are met, might include reading from "The Call of the Wild"  or "Huck Finn", unit lessons on seasons or sciences or cultures -including regional feasts, community-based instruction (taking the students off campus to teach consumer skills), daily living skills (even the most physically limited students enjoy the independence of using a shredder or blender, which Guy has rigged with special equipment so that the kids can start the machines), art and gardening.  He is an amazing, patient and clever teacher to a group of young people who may never carve a wide path in this life, but who are certainly destined to do important things in the eternities.  I am so proud of the work he does.

Guy was awarded Tuesday evening as Sacramento County Teacher of the Month for November (Actually, Certificated Employee of the month, which included all teachers, therapists, medical staff and credentialed personnel).  He was presented to the superintendent and board of trustees, and after recieving his recognition, was asked to give a short speech.  I could never express as well as Guy did what his life's chosen path means to him.  Here is what he said:

"I am honored to stand before you this evening to be recognized as Certificated Employee of the Month.  I have been working with students who have severe disabilities for almost 18 years.  I started as a substitute para-educator, and am now in my twelfth year as a classroom teacher.  I was first introduced to the field of special education by my wife - who is here with me tonight - and who has been a constant support and strength to me these past 18 years.

I would like to share briefly with you, two guiding principles that influence my work each day.  First, I firmly believe that all people are part of a great world family, and as such, we all have a responsibility to love, respect and support one another.  I truly feel blessed to be able to serve my fellow brothers and sisters in my classroom every single day; to teach them, support them, guide them towards increased independence, and thus provide them with an improved quality of life.

The second principle is that all students, regardless of their level of ability, deserve to learn and grow--to be engaged in fun activities, and to have a school experience which resembles that of their typically-developing peers.  What this means for my students is that along with all the necessary physical care that goes on each day, they also get to learn about: the food pyramid and eating healthy foods, how their body processes work, that seeds grow into plants that then become the food we eat, and about different countries and cultures.  I'm not sure how much of this information they are truly learning, but they deserve the opportunity.

To conclude my remarks, I wish to recognize all my colleagues and coworkers for their continued support and outstanding work - for we are a team, and I truly could not accomplish anything without those with whom I work.  I love what I do, and it truly has been a wonderful 18 years!  Thank you."

I wish I were a better photographer so that you could see the huge smiles of appreciation on the faces of the board president, superintendent and all the trustees.  They nodded their heads approvingly through his acceptance, and I believe they could not help but say to themselves,
"This man is what we wish all of our teachers would be."