She's Crafty

In case you were wondering, that's a "balloon flower" centerpiece my little Martha threw together before dinner the other night. That's riggers tape, the military's version of duct tape, holding it all together.

She's like MacGyver and Martha Stewart rolled into one.
God Bless Her!

Pondering

I have a self-cleaning oven, why don't I have a self-cleaning toilet?
I mean really.
It is to much to ask?

Life Lessons in Jirkaville

More and more our kitchen has become a family sanctuary, of sorts; a place where we come together, a place where we spend time laughing and cooking; making sustenance…for our bodies and souls.

The big kids have enjoyed making cakes, cupcakes, pancakes and scrumptious brownies. The delight of making something tangible is etched upon their smiling faces, they stand just a wee bit taller for having done something and done it well. They are, my not so little Iron Chefs.

I am joyful that we share this love of cooking…really, this love of food.

I often, if not daily spend hours, planning meals and cooking. For me, laying the table with good, hearty and whole foods is a true labor of love. With every movement, I instill a piece of myself and pray that it helps them grow to be happy and healthy adults. That our time eating and talking is laying the foundation for strong communicative families of their own.

Patrick loves whipping up a quick meal, always trying to out do me, (never succeeding, of course.) There is always lots of sizzle and singing when he graces the stovetop…not to mention the mess! No matter what he cooks up, it’s always filled with fun! (Oh, and salt!)

Even Madison is getting into the mix. She loves to chop and stir; she is my little prep cook. She makes quick work of carrots and potatoes. There isn’t a vegetable she hasn’t mastered. She loves throwing the odds and ends into the sink and moving on to the next task. This was our routine, until last night…

Last night changed the way we look at cooking with our little girl. Last night our sassy princess almost lost her right hand- seriously.

Maddie was chopping some celery and string cheese, (her snack of choice) while Patrick and I put the finishing touches on our Caesar Salad ala’ Jirkaville, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur at the sink.
I heard the whirl of the disposal.
I turned to see her arm swing over the sink.
I ran and whisked her away as her hand entered the small dark hole.
My heart in my throat, tears in my eyes.

Patrick switched off the disposal, Madison crying-not understanding.

For all the time we have spent in the kitchen as a family, we have yet to have a serious conversation about safety. Yes, they know that knives are sharp and fire is hot; but what about the proper way to hold a vegetable while slicing it? How you should turn the pot handles when cooking.....Or that you could lose a hand in the garbage disposal.

We realize that we have some work to do in the old sanctuary before it’s a sanctuary, again.

Kitchen safety will be the hot topic in our kitchen from now on.


How about yours?

Looking for a Twelve Step Program

In fits and starts I tried, although feebly, to begin writing again. If truth be told, I have spent hours staring blankly at a stark screen, trying to relive my life through words, but nothing was forthcoming. I sat, I stared, I put my fingers on the keyboard; NOTHING.

It’s not that life hasn’t produced some noteworthy moments, or that my little darlings haven’t driven me to drink…or that I didn’t want to crawl in bed and cry after the election, cause I did, want too. (I had to get up, the kids kept complaining about being hungry and how it was my job to make sure they ate….the nerve, seriously.)

Another problem that has impeded my ability to concentrate: FACEBOOK. I have become dependent on a social networking site. I am currently looking for a 12 step program, but nothing yet…I promise you, I am looking diligently. It doesn’t help that a few of my favorite bloggers are just as addicted and I get to chat them up on that venue….I know, I know. It’s a distraction. I’m working on it.

Ohhhhhhhh, I just got another friend notification. Gotta go!

Mommy Shoes

Lying on the couch, reading in a rare silence that permeates our home. Joyfully wallowing in this luxury, shoes kicked off, a good book and a glass of sweet tea.......... perfection.
(This is as close to perfection as I can get in my life without being on a beach, 20 pounds thinner and 10 years younger.)

It isn't long before I hear the patter of bare feet on the kitchen linoleum, the hmmmm from teenager’s lips as she rocks to her little pink IPod. She rounds the corner, looks at me with a smile and sits down. She eyes my shoes, eyes me, and the gracefully slides her thin feet into my shoes; with her eyebrows raised, she tilts her feet this way and then that way.

She shrugs her shoulders, "They ARE really comfortable, but would NEVER wear them, they are, ummmm, like, MOMMY Shoes." (Teenage speak for: they are U.G.L.Y.)

Disdain actually dripping from her voice.

“Hmmm…KAY. News bulletin. I am a mommy,” my weak reply.

“Yeah, but you chose to wear mommy shoes, you could, like, chose to wear cool shoes.”

“I like those shoes.”

“Yeah, but they are not cool.”

“So what you’re really saying that I am not cool.”

She draws herself off the couch, saunters to the doorway, looks over her shoulder and smiles, “Yeah, pretty much.”

OUCH.