That great summer when Auntie Mel lived with us, she decided that sometimes I participate in my own personal food olympics. I love to cook, but I especially love to not have to cook, so if I can prep a bunch of stuff early, I am a happy lady.
Today, we made a few things. We made this tasty ice cream and orange faux-tatoes, gravy my kids won't eat, breadless stuffing and grain free pumpkin bars. Also, my kids dressed two turkeys. Pro tip: maybe don't eat the one Everett was working on.
Because I am insane, after the kids went to bed, I mixed up a batch of chai tea. This has become my standard Christmas gift for teachers and this year feels like the year to do things early.
This was supposed to be the year we didn't host, but I couldn't do it. I love Thanksgiving. I love the meal and the people and the chaos and that its a day that is all about being together and being grateful. May your imperfect meal with your imperfect people be as wonderful as ours.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Saturday, November 15, 2014
hi, lyna.
I saw an old friend this morning that informed me that I am a good writer who never writes anything anymore. Um, thank you? Somewhere between child number 2 and child number 3, I completely lost my ability to write anything more exciting than a grocery list.
This from the girl who was writing (horrible, cringe-worthy) poetry as a child and writing for the student newspaper through high school and college.
I miss telling my stories, but I rarely slow myself enough to write them down. The kids are growing (like weeds). Life has just gotten busier. We run at a pace that I don't love but I don't know how to change. It is difficult to collect your thoughts when there is flag-football and ballet practice and where's my library book? and friday folders and important room-mom related emails to send.
Just sitting in the chair is hard. I am more distracted than ever. Last night I watched an old episode of "Parenthood" while online shopping and cleaning out my closet. This is not good. I think that if I fill my ears up with noise, it is easier to ignore my beating heart. The heart that beats to produce more than a grocery list, no matter how epic.
Eight years ago, I chose to stay home and nurture my small baby because that was what I wanted to do. I knew that if I wanted to return to work, I absolutely could, but I didn't want to miss out on her. Even though I chose to be home, it was still hard. Part of what kept me sane in those first lonely months, was my body in a chair, my hands on a keyboard, my words on a page. I find this still true as ever.
Thanks, Lyna. For reminding me.
This from the girl who was writing (horrible, cringe-worthy) poetry as a child and writing for the student newspaper through high school and college.
I miss telling my stories, but I rarely slow myself enough to write them down. The kids are growing (like weeds). Life has just gotten busier. We run at a pace that I don't love but I don't know how to change. It is difficult to collect your thoughts when there is flag-football and ballet practice and where's my library book? and friday folders and important room-mom related emails to send.
Just sitting in the chair is hard. I am more distracted than ever. Last night I watched an old episode of "Parenthood" while online shopping and cleaning out my closet. This is not good. I think that if I fill my ears up with noise, it is easier to ignore my beating heart. The heart that beats to produce more than a grocery list, no matter how epic.
Eight years ago, I chose to stay home and nurture my small baby because that was what I wanted to do. I knew that if I wanted to return to work, I absolutely could, but I didn't want to miss out on her. Even though I chose to be home, it was still hard. Part of what kept me sane in those first lonely months, was my body in a chair, my hands on a keyboard, my words on a page. I find this still true as ever.
Thanks, Lyna. For reminding me.
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