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Birthday Pancakes  5

Last Friday was Annie’s 3rd birthday.  I expected the words to flow freely onto this blog, as they usually do on the hard days . . . but it just didn’t come.  And that’s okay.  The longer this grief thing wears on, the more I realize that there is no “expected”, no “normal” to these days.  They hit hard each time, in a different way then before.  It is exhausting.

And so we ate pancakes.  Funky Monkey pancakes, to be exact.  How I love the ways in which God blesses us and the ways He reminds us that He cares.  Often I am sad that we have so few things that we knew about Annie . . . what her favorite color would have been, her favorite food, what her voice would’ve sounded like.  Birthdays bring that sadness out in me because I always make something special for the kids, as so many Moms do.  But with Annie, I don’t know what to make since she only really ate rice cereal (and I can’t imagine my family being too excited about that for breakfast.  Ha.).

I was flipping through a cookbook and I found a recipe with a note:

 “Mom made these for us when we brought Annie home from the hospital”

Instantly, I was transported back in time.  I remember carrying tiny Annie Jane into our house for the first time.   I was slightly traumatized at having two rambunctious kids running circles around me, begging to see, kiss, hold, suffocate their new sister.  And then the smell of banana muffins hit me.  Mom had made muffins, timing it perfectly so that they were coming out of the oven just as we walked into the house.  I cannot tell you how good they tasted to me.

That little, powerful memory has allowed me to have a “favorite” to celebrate Annie.  Seems a little silly, but nevertheless it’s something.  When we miss her we make banana muffins.

And on her birthday we tweaked it a bit (because muffins have too many steps for me to process in the mornings) and made banana pancakes instead.

It went over quite well.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girly.  How we miss you.

P.S.  In our grief, I’ve found that finding ways to celebrate Annie regularly has been very, very important.  These rhythms that we’ve built into our life help us to look forward to something, to share it with each other, and to process her death.  The next day, we took a trip to the hospital, as we do each year, to deliver cookies to the PICU.  One of the most powerful ways to heal is to bless others . . . it may sound strange, but it’s true.

P.S. #2  I have the best Mom, don’t I?  Here she is attempting to teach Will and Kate how to be quiet and gentle with Annie (FYI: It didn’t work)

Things He’ll Never Do.  2

William and I went for a walk together the other day.  Just the two of us.

He rode his scooter, but slowed down so I could keep up with him.

I treasure these moments and the mundane conversation that goes along with them.

He looked at me seriously.

“Mom,” he said, “I want you to know there are a few things I’ll never do.”

“Like what?” I said.

“Smoke.”

“That’s good.  What else?”

“I never want to drink drugs.”

(I love his innocence.  Its’ days are numbered, though.)

“Anything else, Son?”

“Nothing that I can think of.”

“What about tattoos?  Will you ever get a tattoo?”

“Only a good one, Mom.”

“Oh?  What is a ‘good tattoo’?”

 . . . . pause . . .

“You know, like, ‘I love Mom’ or something.”

Bless his little heart.  Now, how am I supposed to protest a tattoo when he wants to make it about me?!

Date Night  3

Whenever Peter and I find ourselves in South Dakota, we like to take advantage of having free babysitting (aka Grandma and Grandpa).

But after many days sleeping in a hospital room, and hosting family and planning a funeral . . . well we just didn’t have the heart to dump our crazies on the Grandparents.  So we insisted on an early bed time for them, driving away with the kids strapped in their car seats before they could argue.

And then we went on a date anyway.

Now.  I know the importance of getting away with just Peter.  But can I just say that we had a lot of fun going on a date as a family?  When Kate turned to William and said, “William!  I’ve never dated YOU before!” it sealed the deal.  Especially when William turned to her so completely disgusted that she would even suggest such a thing.  Ah, the innocent difference of age 5 and age 7.

We went to our “usual” spot, an eclectic coffee shop in Aberdeen called “Red Rooster”.  And we all ordered Italian Creme Sodas.

Whenever we tell Peter’s Grandpa that we’re going to the Red Rooster, he tells us about the one and only time he’s been there.  “Well,” he says, “They had an advertisement for ‘Old Time Music’ so we went in and sat down.  We waited for a half an hour and then someone came up to us and said that they didn’t think it would be the kind of old time music we were expecting.  We didn’t stick around much after that.”

So, date night.
Sometimes it’s just as good WITH the kids.

Whispered Prayers.  13

In the still-dark hours of the morning yesterday, I heard a whispering from the middle child.

“Dear Jesus, Thank you for this day . . . .”

After some mumbling, I heard her “Amen.”

We are in South Dakota for the week.

Celebrating the life and death of Peter’s Grandma . . . a wonderful woman of Christ, the one I loved as soon as I met her.

This bittersweet-ness of life, it just seems to grow.

So, here we are crammed all together in a hotel room, all five of us figuring out how to sleep even when the baby wakes up puking and one wants the light on and the other wants it off.  We work it out somehow.

When I hear Kate praying, I ask her about it.

“But Mom,”  she says, “You told me that as soon as I wake up I should pray.  I should ask Jesus to help me get through the day.  To be kind.  To be happy.  To not argue.  And so I do.”

I had no idea she was actually listening.

 And so now I WANT to be crammed together in this hotel room to listen to My Girl’s sweet words to Jesus first thing in the morning.

Because her prayer not only changed her day, but it changed mine, too.

P.S.  Grandma was named Kathleen, but was known as “Aunt Kate” to many.  Our Kate was named after her.  Here they are celebrating her 1st Birthday together.

Sickies  1

Today I find myself home from Church . . . again.  It’s the third one I’ve missed of the last five.

We’ve amassed a pretty impressive list of ailments that we’ve conquered this Winter.  And just when I thought we were finally through it, it’s rearing it’s ugly head again.  Ah, this too will pass.

So today I am home with Eliza who started puking at the infamous time of two-in-the-morning.  Thankfully it only lasted a few hours, but she’s still not up to par.

After my initial guilt of having to stick others with my church responsibilities this morning, I settled in on the couch with coffee, sweats, a cuddly baby on my lap and “Sense and Sensibility” in the DVD player.  It’s all about finding the perks of the job sometimes.

Until.

#2 walked in the door.  Sick.

I’ll give you 3 guesses as to which Big Kid bit the dust:  “Sense and Sensibility” has been replaced with the 1993 Bulls vs. Suns game.  And, FYI, Phil Jackson and Charles Barkley are sporting pretty impressive moustaches.

He just said to me (and I quote): “Mom, do you mind if I skip ahead to the 4th quarter to see who won?”  Since the game was, oh, NINETEEN years ago, I guess it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

These moments are not always welcomed.  They are often long, filled with day after day of staying in the house without break or escape.  And I have to admit to dry heaving when I think about facing one more blow-out diaper.  Or midnight bloody nose. Or another load of foul smelling sheets.

But, I simply love being the Mom of these.  I’ll keep spraying the Lysol and taking temperatures and I’ll keep learning to be thankful for even these moments that make up life.

P.S.  These pictures were taken a few weeks ago during Round #2 of the Sickies.

Dear Mama, From Eliza  5

Dear Mama,
Now you know I love a good game of peek-a-boo.

And I’m forever indebted to you for introducing me to the best meal ever: spaghetti.

When you let Kate make me a snack?  Oooh, that is just the best.  She is way more generous than you are, Mom.  I try to stuff it all into my mouth just in case you decide to confiscate half of it.  In all fairness, though, you are super nice to let me run around in my diaper sometimes.  I love it so much.  Makes it much easier to squat, you know.

And should you need help cleaning out the fridge . . .   I’m your number one helper.  It’s really the least that I could do.

But, please, I beg of you, please don’t ever make me play in the snow again.

I will. not. move. my. feet.
Not even one little bit.

And in case my tears don’t convey enough of how I feel, just observe the cry-slobber.

Have pity on me, dear Mama.

I remain your faithful baby-of-the-family,

Eliza

Be thankful. Be blessed.  3

This Christmas there may be less-than-perfect moments . . . 
but if you look at it through eyes of thankfulness, it may just end up being the best memory.
My favorite outtake by Ali Jane Photography

Good Gifts.  5

Last night I was reminded of the first Christmas Peter and I had after we were married.  We got so excited about the gifts we had bought for one another that we opened them early.  Not a day or so early.  Like two or three weeks early.  I think Peter even made a little scavenger hunt for me to find my gift.  And if I remember correctly, we budgeted $20 to spend on each other.  Such a sweet memory.

Of course I– like so many of you– are up to my ears in gifts.  I have all of the teacher gifts lined up on the counter, waiting for gift tags to be put on them.  The kids are begging me every night to wrap up their gifts for family and friends (I have to work myself up to the patience level.  I’m not there yet.) The guest room bed is piled in all sorts of goodness (I even have a small pile of things I bought for myself.   I wonder, should I wrap them?  It’s a whisk and a measuring cup, so don’t worry that I’m going overboard.).

One of the words I’ve been mulling over this past year has, in fact, been Gifts.

After Annie died, I would have horrible thoughts go through my head.  I would begin to think that maybe I was going to fail her horribly as a Mama, so God had taken her from me.  I would beat myself up thinking of all the ways I was robbing my kids’ childhood by working through this grief in front of them.  Was I being punished?  Was there some sin that caused her death?  Over and over thoughts would tumble through my brain, leaving me worn down and exhausted.

About 18 months ago, Peter and I attended a Respite Retreat and one night after he fell asleep, I woke up and started writing in a flurry.  Because it  hit me:

God gives good gifts to His children.

And, I wondered, could Annie’s death ever be redeemed enough so that I would be able to see it as a gift?  Would I open up my heart and my hands to allow Christ to not only heal my hurt, but also to use it?

So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.  
Matthew 7:11 
When I bought Ann Voskamp’s book a few months later, I devoured it.  It spoke to something deep, deep inside me. Slowly I began to put words to my suspicion– Yes! It’s true!  Not only does He give gifts, but they are good gifts. 
But. (There always seems to be a but, doesn’t there?)
God may hand me the gift, but it’s my job to open that gift.  I could be sitting in a virtual room of unopened, wrapped gifts, whining my face off about my sad life.  And wouldn’t that be a shame?  When I think about my kids pulling that kind of act on Christmas morning . . . well, that would be ridiculous.  
The other night, Peter was putting William and Kate to bed while I wrestled Eliza into her jammies.  She wiggled free and took off to the bedrooms with only her diaper on, sticking her belly out as far as it would go.  When she got to the kids’ bedroom doors, they exploded with laughter.  Oh, she thought she was hot stuff and they thought she was hilarious.  
A gift.  Joy and laughter in our house again.  There have been days when I wondered if it would happen again.
Two years ago, I wrote of the line “The Weary World Rejoices” and how weary of it all I felt.  But this year, I’m reminded of the next line in the song, “But yonder breaks a new and glorious dawn”.  While we feel the weight of sorrow and misery in our lives, what a promise we have that just in just a little while . . . if we can just hang on for a little bit longer . . . it will. be. glorious.
He is writing a story of my life– of all of our lives– and along the way?  He gives good, good gifts.

Jane’s Cream Cheese Rolls  1

I have a cookie exchange in a few days.  Last year I brought these little babies and they were a hit.  So I took pictures of them and fully intended to put them on the ole bloggy.

Now, a year later, here they are:

You will need these highly nutritional* ingredients:
2 loaves of white sandwich bread
2 blocks of cream cheese
1 egg yolk
1 cup of sugar
2 1/2 sticks of butter, melted
(you’re starting to question my definition of healthy, aren’t you?)
2 cups of sugar mixed with 1 tablespoon cinnamon

*lately, William has been highly interested in nutritional facts.  Only he says, “Mom, I need to see the neutral ingredients”.  I don’t correct him.  Is that bad?

Moving on.

First, cut off the crusts of bread and roll each piece out flat with a rolling pin.

Mix up the cream cheese, egg and 1 cup of sugar.  Take this filling and spread a generous amount on each piece of bread.

Then, roll it up tightly and cut it in half.

You’re going to dip each roll into the melted butter  and then in the sugar mixture.

Pop those little crazies (you’ll have about 120, but you can put them super close) onto a cookie sheet and into the freezer until they are hard.  Then take them out and bake them at 350* for 12-15 minutes.

Oh, they are insanely yummy.  And since they are so small, you’ll have no problem popping them into your mouth at a high rate of speed.  I’m not saying you should, I’m just saying you can.

 And let us just take a moment to remember that last year while these were baking, I took a few pictures of my favorite little rolls.  Sigh.  She is so big now.

 Over and out.

P.S.  Some of you may remember Jane Wagner . . . I got this recipe from my Mom, who got it from her.  Basically, I’ve learned that any recipe with Jane’s name on it is excellent.  What a wonderful, full-of-Christ woman she was.

Love Notes.  2

I went for a walk this morning.  It was beautiful.  Sunny.  Crisp.

I walked past a little stream and began to silently thank God for the unexpected gurgle.  But as the words came out, I noticed a styrofoam cup, a shopping bag, wadded up newspaper.  Huh.

I walked past a house with festive decorations and started to smile.  Then I saw that instead of taking down their fall decor, they had left the pumpkins and just added lights to the mix.  Classy, I thought.  The next house had three angels with lights strung around their necks, choking them.  To top it off, the owner had put fake garland around them.  I wondered why she didn’t use the beautiful branches from her pine tree a few feet away.  I mean, really?

And then it hit me that my criticism was suffocating me even in the fresh air.

Joy is something that I have to choose.  Grace is something I can find in this desert too.

And so, I took another deep breath.  I began to thank God for the people who lived in each house I passed. I prayed for the hurt in their lives.  I prayed that the love of Christ would be real to them.  And I thanked Him for beauty that surrounding me in unexpected ways.

Lately when I’ve read the Bible I’ve had such a hard time focusing.  I find it much too easy to let the day slip by without sitting down and spending time with God.  And when I do take the time?  It seems mundane.  Uneventful.  Flat.  Sometimes I just can’t wrap my mind around His Words.

My heart seems to be suffocating.  One day I don’t get any fresh air at all. The next day I get the fresh air of His Word, and yet I spend my time too anxious to get on to the next thing on the list.

The rest of the day I find myself still mulling over the trash in the creek, the gaudy decorations, my resistance to stop and receive His grace.  Ugh!  What is wrong with me?

In that moment, I look up.
And my eyes begin to see– to really see.

I look around my house and notice pictures from Kate.  Little notes of love from her to me, with the sun hitting them in just the right places.

I hear a whisper, “Even in this place, I love you.  I created you.  I am with you.  Breathe My joy deeply and let Me fill you.  Grab your tambourine and resume your singing.”

And I do.

This is the way God put it:
   “They found grace out in the desert, these people who survived the killing.
Israel, out looking for a place to rest, met God out looking for them!”
God told them, “I’ve never quit loving you and never will. 
   Expect love, love, and more love!
And so now I’ll start over with you and build you up again, dear virgin Israel.
You’ll resume your singing,  grabbing tambourines and joining the dance.
You’ll go back to your old work of planting vineyards on the Samaritan hillsides,
And sit back and enjoy the fruit— oh, how you’ll enjoy those harvests!
The time’s coming when watchmen will call out from the hilltops of Ephraim:
‘On your feet! Let’s go to Zion, 
   go to meet our God!'”
Jeremiah 31:2-6