Mother's Day Meanderings

Ah, Mother's Day. A complicated day. A day that used to be so simple; filled with handmade cards and innocent gifts for the mother I adored. A day that adulthood has made more nuanced and difficult to process. 

I never wanted to be that person that ruined Mother's Day for everyone.  I recognize, and even applaud the fact that churches and individuals have tried to become more sensitive to the pain that Mother's Day can bring to many women, for many reasons. But why shouldn't mothers be celebrated on this one day for all they are and do? My not being a mother does not negate all the selfless ways that mothers care for their children. After all, I have a mother who is 100% amazing at being a mother. So each Mother's Day I would resolve to celebrate fully. I would heartily wish other mothers a happy day. And I meant it! I wanted to be bigger than my own desires.

But if I'm completely honest with you and myself, for the last 15 years or so, Mother's Day hurt. 

Badly. 

Mother's Day highlighted the fact that my arms were empty. 

Empty.

Empty. 

I would head out to church with great resolve to be cheerful and thankful.  Usually I succeeded...as long as nobody kindly recognized my secret longing. For instance, two years ago I sat through a lovely church service on Mother's Day, proud of my sincerely joyful attitude. But then during sharing time, a woman that I greatly admire, sensitively asked for prayer for women who yearn to be mothers and are unable. It opened the floodgates.

I sat in my chair and silently wept, hoping I could pull it together before church let out.

As hope of becoming a mother turned to fear, and fear to reluctant acceptance that motherhood was not in my cards, I tried to comfort myself in lots of ways. Perhaps God had called me to mother in ways other than the traditional definition? I loved my role as an aunt to my eight nieces and nephews! Maybe I was called to fill a special role in the lives of those children by being a dedicated aunt. And oh! Oh how I loved my role as a piano teacher.  I never took for granted the fact that each of those children had one-on-one time with me each week for learning and connection. Maybe that was that was the way that God called me to "mother" the children I came into contact with? It could be enough.

But it didn't take away the ache I had to mother in the truest sense of the word, to be a momma to a little bundle of flesh and potential.

So here I was, in 2016, looking at my very first Mother's Day as a (be still my heart) momma! 

With this newfound role, has come a healthy side of guilt.  You see, for so long it seemed that motherhood was a club that I was excluded from.  I longed so much to be part of this club. I didn't want to be excluded from this group of women just because I didn't have a baby of my own. Couldn't they see that I loved children, wanted to know about their children and their struggles? But it seemed impossible to get my foot in that door.

Now I find myself a part of this exclusive club. And I love it. So much! I love gathering with other mothers and their babies. I love discussing the ways in which we mother. I love this baby of mine. So much! I love mothering even when I don't like all of its aspects. I am sometimes overwhelmed by the strength of my emotion.

So I feel guilty. Because I know there are so many women out there longing for this, still waiting for their membership card to this motherhood club. How dare I feel so happy when for so long I was excluded and others are still being excluded? How do I honor these women? Sometimes I'm not sure how to deal with this question because this pain became such a reflex to me, that I often have to remind myself that I don't have to feel it anymore. 

Our son's name is Julian Zane. Zane is the Hebrew form of John, meaning something along the lines of "gracious gift of God." And he is absolutely my gracious gift from God, with his perfect fingers and toes and smile and laugh and weight in my arms as he goes to sleep. When I give someone a gift, nothing makes me happier than seeing that person enjoying that gift. I want to see that person unwrap that gift, use it, and for that gift to bring happiness. Julian is my perfect gift from God. So I will enjoy him every day. I will unwrap him each morning and enjoy all the moments of bliss. I think that I waited for this long enough that I can claim this, even as I wish this same fulfillment for all the other would-be-mommas. 

This Mother's Day, my first mother's day as a momma, bloomed full of sunshine and happiness. I embraced every second. (Brian assured me that I should enjoy it to its fullest.) Brian brought me coffee in bed as well as a beautiful gift. There was a potluck at church and I allowed that village to take care of my child while I ate with both hands! I napped with my sweet son on my chest, breathing steadily and clutching my shirt. I didn't change a single diaper. In the evening we gathered with family for another meal where I watched others nurture my boy. It was Mother's Day, finally realized.

It was:

perfect. 

The River Runs Dry

(This overly dramatic, sentimental, and sappy post brought to you courtesy of the James Taylor that keeps playing on my Simon & Garfunkel Pandora station. You're welcome.)

This week marks a milestone in the Showalter household.  Julian has been in our lives for six whole months. (Yay!) But this also means I met my six-month-goal of pumping breast milk for him, thus giving myself permission to stop if Julian still wasn't nursing. That if always looming large in my head and heart. As long as I was still pumping, there was a chance that we might still succeed in breastfeeding. This week I had to accept the inevitable reality that this would not be part of the story of Julian and I.

When I became pregnant breastfeeding wasn't even a question.  OF COURSE I would breastfeed! Why wouldn't I give my baby the best, and save boatloads of money all while bonding with, and nurturing my baby in the process? I had heard it can be hard; harder than we're all led to believe.  But I would overcome any pain or frustration presented to me, and I would succeed! It turns out, you simply cannot force a baby to latch who has no interest at all in the breast. It had almost nothing to do with me and my own determination and everything to do with my little guy's preferences.

I had an image in my mind of what breastfeeding would be like and I longed to know that relationship with a squishy little baby. After struggling with infertility for so many years, I relished the opportunity to share this special bond. I was prepared to nurse anywhere and everywhere and anytime he needed me, and for as long as he needed me.  We were going to share snuggles and smiles and gentle caresses. Instead this is what my journey with breastfeeding looked like:  

A pump and syringes and supplemental nursing systems and nipple shields.  All of it, ultimately, unsuccessful.  

Oh, but the success stories! I read so many stories of women who finally gained success in their sixth or seventh month of trying.  I read stories of adoptive mothers who were able to begin lactating and nursed their babies! If they could do it, without the benefit of pregnancy hormones, surely I could figure out a way to make my baby see that nursing was so much better than that darn bottle. Why could this not be my story?

I know what I would say to another momma.  I would say, "look at your beautiful, healthy, happy baby. He is thriving. You are doing the absolute best for him. Don't be so hard on yourself! You did everything you could do. He loves you regardless. Don't you dare think of yourself as a failure! Your little one is so lucky to have such an awesome mother who cares so much." I would try to love and encourage her into knowing what an amazing momma she is.

So why don't I feel this? Why is this not settling into my soul? 

I can't shake the what-ifs. What if I hadn't allowed the hospital to give Julian formula? (But he was so tiny and he needed to eat, and my milk wasn't in yet.) What if I had put him to my breast every single feeding instead of allowing Brian to feed him during the night sometimes? (But Brian taking turns with me was such a blessed relief in those first sleepy days.) Did I do the mouth exercises with him often enough? Did I try nursing often enough or hard enough? What if I hadn't taken that two week reprieve in trying a few months in? (But we both ended up crying violently every time we tried nursing and the stress was not good for either of us.) What if I had held him differently or controlled my emotions better? What if? What if?

What if once I decided just to pump for Julian, I had pumped more often or taken more supplements so my supply wouldn't have dwindled to practically nothing? (But it became so difficult to pump once he became more active and alert, so often crying the entire time I pumped.) 

What could I have done to prevent this failure? Because that's what this feels like - a failure. I have cried buckets of tear over what might have been.  I cried as I packed away the pumping supplies this week, surrendering to reality.  In the end, it is better for me to use my time being present with my little guy rather than fighting his frustration only to produce a few ounces of breastmilk a day for him. Even now I sit here fighting tears as my breasts leak, like some cruel final gasp at a dream that can't come true. It feels like a betrayal of my body.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the incredible support I received from Brian, who held me while I cried and said all the right things, even as I remained inconsolable.  I have had wonderful support and non-judgmental care from my lactation consultant and the wonderful group of other mothers that meet there. I know this is self-inflicted, all of it exacerbated by the worry that this might be my one and only shot at caring for a baby and wanting it to be perfect.  

Through all of this I have learned to be careful about expectations and judgements - the ones we place on others and the ones we place on ourselves. I have now been around enough mothers that I have just thrown all judgements out the window. Your child wants to breastfeed until they're six? Great! Do it. It's more strange to feed your child milk from a cow than from their own mother. You don't want to breastfeed? You have your reasons and mothering is hard. Choose your battles. You want to co-sleep? How cozy! You want to put your baby in a crib across the house? Hooray for getting sleep and having time where your body is your own for a moment. Cloth diaper or disposable diaper? Baby led weaning or baby food purees from Gerber? We all decide what works best for our family and makes each member healthy and happy.

(Also, don't believe the hype about breastfeeding and pumping helping you lose weight.  I put on 10 pounds in the months after giving birth because providing food for another human being makes you hungry!  Turns out this is common, but nobody talks about it lest breastfeeding seem unappealing. Expectations, people.) 
   
So, today I mourn. I might keep mourning tomorrow.  Maybe I'll mourn this until Julian is 18. Who knows? But it is time to physically lay this down, wipe away my tears, and put this energy and emotion into the next thing.

What, you ask, is the next thing? Tomorrow I turn to something I know darn well that I can do: cooking! My body may not want to produce milk for my baby, but I can sure as split pea soup make this child nutritious and delicious food.  He shall have all the food delights that any baby could ever dream of hating and rejecting.  (Because, you know, kids are kind of jerks.) Here's to the next chapter.  Bon apetit!

About a Birthday Boy

This is the story about a birthday boy who is, at once, both demanding and disturbingly unobservant.


The first part of this story is about Brian's birthday present.  Brian loves to grill, considers it an art form, and makes me much delicious meat.  But the years of hard use have taken their toll on his faithful grill.  Ready to retire the old one, Brian has been eyeing the Big Green Egg variety of grills for a couple of years.  They are cost prohibitive.  Luckily, some new versions of these kamado grills are on the market locally as of this year.  


I had a vision.  Brian would be out of town the three days before his birthday for work.  I would purchase the new grill and have it set up, waiting for him when he arrived.  I couldn't wait for that moment when his eyes would fall upon the new grill, and the recognition of this marvelous thing I had done would light up his face, and he would fall all over me with zealous appreciation.  


So, I purchased the grill, assembled the sucker myself, and waited for our glorious reunion.  He arrived home and immediately I suggested we let the dog out.  We sat on our patio, mere feet from the new grill.  Me, wildly anticipating the moment he would notice.  


Nothing.  Nada.  The dog did his business and we went inside.  


Fast forward an hour.  I come up with another excuse to head out to the patio.  This time I say, "Oh did you notice my cilantro is coming up now."  He would have to face the grill to take in the cilantro.  He swings his head around, says, "how 'bout that," and goes back to staring at nothing.  


Now at this point I'm wondering if this man is playing games with me.  Nobody can be this obtuse.  I become a bit testy because I'm sure he's toying with me.

Fast forward an hour.  I come up with the idea that my plants need watering and won't he come out with me?  Here's where it gets stupid.  I water my plants, that frankly don't need watering, and I ask him if he would please turn off the water and help me wind the hose up.  Feast your eyes upon where the hose is in relation to the grill.  (You may also notice my cilantro to the left.)


He stood, reeling in hose, staring at the new grill and ABSOLUTELY SAW NOTHING!  I briefly considered going back in the house and suggesting he throw something on the grill.  But I could take this charade for not one minute longer.  He walked away from the grill, and I said something to the effect of, "you're so dense."  I agree, it wasn't nice.  Brian, perplexed, walked back to the hose, thinking I was upset because it was leaking water.  At that point I stood by the grill and all but danced my merry jig next to it.  Basically, I pointed at the grill.  He stole every bit of fun out of that gift.  Let's hope it yields some good meat.


Fast forward 24 hours.  We're sitting in a Mexican restaurant for his birthday dinner when I ask him what birthday dessert he'd like me to make him.  (I knew that family was coming over to surprise him that weekend.)  I listed all the usual suspects, things I'm good at making.  Things any mid-western/Mennonite gal is good at making: pie, cake, cupcakes, brownies, etc. He didn't know.  He claimed it all sounded good.  I told him to just pick something then.  He said he couldn't.  


Then he proclaimed: "I want a molten lava chocolate bundt cake with cherry sauce."


?!?!?!?!?!?!


Where in all tarnation did that come from?  


Or, he said, the other option would be homemade cannolis.  


Are you kidding me?  Do I look like I have a hidden Italian grandmother somewhere who has taught me her secrets.  How about we pick something from the repertoire I have established?


I decided to go with the cake option.  Brian, decidedly, made this concoction up in his head based on other desserts he has partaken of.  But for me the search was on to find something that matched his request.  I love trying new things, however, I'd prefer not to do it for company.  Aww geez.


Luckily, I found a recipe that seemed close to fitting the bill.  The Tunnel of Fudge Cake.  (Some of you may remember the original recipe - it was a 1966 Pillsbury Bake-Off winner.  Ahem, my mother remembered it.)  However, this updated version comes from a fellow Hoosier.  I guess we mid-western ladies really can do it all - fancy or plain.

 Here is the link to Annie's Eats blog where I found the recipe.  


I have to say, Brian requested a real winner.  Perhaps this could be a new birthday tradition I could sink my teeth into.

And Now for My Mountain Top Post...

The human spirit really is indomitable.  It does not want to be in the depths.  It fights to buoy itself up, to break through the surface and take a cleansing breath.  There may be moments when we are drinking in mouthfuls of salty water but inevitably (for most of us), we surface.  That is where I'm at today.  At the surface, floating around and enjoying the waves.


Life at the Showalter house is good.  Sometimes I worry that it is too good.  Sometimes I feel guilty about how happy I am, content.  A lot of times it makes me feel as though - even though nothing horrible has happened - I'm waiting for that old proverbial "other" shoe to drop.  Or I guess in this case, I'm waiting for the first shoe.  


At one point in high school I remember lamenting over the fact that I was in a perpetual state of stress.  I was always stressed.  A close friend said to me, "Lisa, you don't know how to function without stress.  If there wasn't anything to stress you out, you would create it."  Ouch.  I wondered if it could be true.  I didn't want to be that person who is just "so busy" and has so much to do and never has time to slow down and enjoy life.  I've held on to the memory of my friend's words and have tried to consciously live in a way that fights this culture's celebration of busy and overworked.  I've not always succeeded.  (I simply don't manage stress well.  I'd love to figure out how to handle things better.  And it's only in the last few years that "no" became a part of my vocabulary.)  But for the last year and a half, I've been slowly learning how to pull it off.


And today I can exclaim contentment.


For the first time in my adult life I am focusing entirely on my chosen vocation: being a piano teacher.  When I began teaching, I was working a full time job as well.  Then I went back to college full time.  After college I juggled teaching with working for my father's business.  From there I transitioned into working at a church.  So here I am, finally, doing one thing - and a thing that I really love.  For a time I felt like I wasn't reaching my potential somehow by only teaching piano.  But it has felt so great, this last year especially, being able to really focus in on teaching, that it's sinking in that this is indeed what I should be doing.  This is enough.  


It is true that I am never going to become wealthy teaching piano (I think this  may be the source of the aforementioned guilt) but I am able to supplement Brian's income as well as take care of this household that I love so dearly without running myself ragged.  Maybe we don't have oodles of excess cash laying around.  But we can pay our bills, take a nice vacation each year, and still have time to enjoy each other's company in reasonably pleasant surroundings.  We will not be sending in our entry forms to the rat race any time soon.  


I will continue to battle stress all of my life, but I am not going to seek it.  Instead I will seek simplicity and peace, even if they are, at times, out of my reach.  For now, I will share with you pictures of my favorite place on earth.  My backyard, the place where I sit and I "consider the lilies of the field."

Where I Park My Tookus

My Sweet Goldfinches

"Pink Lisa" Flowers From a Student

Not Only the Birds Get Thirsty

Many Happy Fires Have Been Held on the Lower Level

This Would Not Be My Blog without a Reggie Picture!  Hoping that you are finding your own places to relax, find peace, and find guilt-free enjoyment.

Hot Pockets

In my last post I alluded to our kitchen project.  Those of you who know me know about the project, and how I nearly lost my marbles during it.  


It really wasn't even a huge project, we didn't remodel anything.  We didn't replace cabinets or counter tops or appliances.  And yet, the inevitable disaster area was present for one ENTIRE month.  For a person who doesn't rest easy when the house is a mess, (not that it never gets messy) this was a living nightmare; a constant source of unease and tension.    


And the food situation!  Oh the humanity!  Somehow I was under the delusion that I would be able to pull food together in a torn-apart kitchen.  But when push came to shove, and I had lessons to teach and painting to finish up, food preparation just wasn't top on my priority list.  So we started dining out.  A LOT.  Enough so, that when I tallied the dollars up that we spent during January and February eating out, I thought I might mistakenly be looking at the bank statements of a Las Vegas high-roller.  Enough that I resigned myself to the fact that we would have to take out a second mortgage on our home to pay it back.  Enough that I briefly passed out and dreamed of a world where we hadn't spent enough to send 30 children to school in Kenya for 14 years. Waking up merely found me once again, facing this cruel reality. 


With the kitchen project still unfinished I realized that we had to find another solution.  Without any usable counter top space, a stove that was sitting precariously in the middle of the kitchen, and less than hygienic conditions, I realized we had only one option.  Microwaveable food.  


I grew up in a home with a thrifty mother who prepared well balanced meals for us.  "Instant" anything was simply not in her menu plan or on her grocery list.  (My poor mom, who lovingly baked us cookies from scratch, all the time had to listen to me whine about how I wanted "store bought" cookies just once in a while.)  As I've matured, this is something I have tried to emulate - cooking from scratch, avoiding overly process foods.  So it was with great shame that Brian and I went foraging for frozen foods that would take only minutes to heat up.


Into our grocery store we went, completely reversing our normal shopping experience.  The items that our eyes normally just skim over were now what we sought.  We loaded into our cart: Deli meats, bread, (so far not so bad), microwaveable Kraft macaroni and cheese cups, three boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes, a bag of frozen burritos, and a family-sized box of Hot Pockets.  And then we hightailed it for the self-check-out counter with great haste lest someone we know, or even strangers, would see our embarrassing bounty.


Now, all of this is not to say that I am opposed to the occasional Hot Pocket or frozen burrito.  I am not such an elitist that I find it impermissible to occasionally partake of such fare.  Life gets busy, things happen.  A frozen burrito can save the day.  It was that our shopping cart was filled up entirely with these culinary delights.  It felt like some sort of guilty pleasure to purchase so many easy options.  


So we went home, filled up on, what became, really boring food, for the next several weeks, and gutted it out.  (Ha!  I didn't even mean to make a pun but it's funny right?)  For those of you with a little spare time, here is a video of comedian Jim Gaffigan talking about Hot Pockets.  (It's a clean clip, other than some talk of poop.)  Every time we grabbed a Hot Pocket out of the freezer, we sang the theme song and thought of this little clip.  Hope you enjoy!

Fishing Story

This is a story about two things: a pair of shoes, and two men who love to fish.

Brian owns a pair of basketball shoes that I'm pretty sure he purchased in 1983. Maybe he hasn't owned them that long but I feel like these shoes have been with us our entire marriage and helped us usher in the new millennium.

I hate these shoes.  

When they were new and shiny - and being used for playing basketball - I'm sure I was fine with these shoes.  But I don't even remember the time that they were actual basketball shoes and not the main point of contention in our marriage.

First of all, Brian has had a hard time coming to grips with certain fashion trends.  I know that back in the 90's it was completely acceptable for men to wear basketball shoes with any kind of attire.  It was what guys did.  I have tried to kindly explain to him that men no longer do this.  Basketball shoes are for basketball, only.  Unlike giving up pegged pants, this particular concept has been difficult for him to grasp.  He literally tried to wear these basketball shoes to my grandfather's viewing.  (Let that soak in for a second.)  He had them on his feet and got huffy with me when I made him change them.  

And thus began the great shoe debacle.  

Just so you can see what we're working with here, feast your eyes on these beauties:

I have hid the shoes, placed the shoes in the trash, had stern words about the shoes with him, and still these shoes are never in our closet - BECAUSE THEY ARE ALWAYS BY THE BACK DOOR BECAUSE HE IS ALWAYS WEARING THEM.  Now to be honest, if I wanted those shoes gone, they would be gone.  But I don't want to be like that.  So my hiding and trashing the shoes has always been with the intent to help him see how serious I am.  

He claims they are good work shoes.  Which I can agree with.  We all need a trashy pair of sneakers for mowing the lawn and doing muddy yard work. But he has been through a plethora of basketball shoes and other various sneakers since these have been purchased.  Why aren't they getting mixed into the rotation?  He doggedly hangs on to this pair?

So I thought we had come to an agreement.  He could keep the basketball shoes if he wore them only for dirty jobs and NEVER wore them out in public again.  And yet, over and over I find them on his feet.  If he has to run out to the grocery store, on go the old shoes.  If he's running to Menard's, on go the old shoes.  If we're going over to our friends house for a casual evening, there they are again.  You'll often hear me saying things like, "oh, the grocery store must be a construction zone, huh?" or "you expecting to play in the mud tonight?"  He really is incorrigible.  

So you'll understand why the next portion of this story is beyond horrifying to me.  Brian and his friend Dan love to fish.  They spent many happy hours together last year fishing the lakes of this region.  This past Tuesday was a beautiful, warm day and they decided to make this year's inaugural fishing outing.  What shows up the next day on the front page of the Warsaw Time's Union Newspaper?  This:

(Brian is the one sitting there looking like he's not really doing anything.) 

And guess what shoes Brian has on.

Which brings me to part two of this post, which is not shoe related.  (Thank goodness, right?)  

As I mentioned Dan and Brian spent MANY hours fishing together last year.  (We had an AMAZING fish fry at the end of the season.)  I was always a little curious about how Dan and Brian would spend their time, because let's face it, fishing is not, well, like playing a game of basketball.  There's a lot of downtime.  So Brian would come home and I'd ask, "what'd you guys talk about?"  And he'd saying, "Nothing really."  

Really?!?!  You sat side by side for four hours and you didn't talk about anything?  

Now I'm not trying to be nosy with him.  Their man time is sacred.  He doesn't have to share everything with me.  But I can't imagine coming home from my friend Heather's house and being like, yeah, didn't really talk much.  Just ate dinner and then watched a show.  No!  We're catching up, discussing worries, talking about work, talking about family, etc. I usually fill him in on a few things we talked about (whether he wants to hear about it or not) because that is what you do with your life partner.  i.e. "Heather and I were discussing your shoes and she totally agrees with me."  (JUST KIDDING!)

One day last summer Dan and Brian took Felicia's (Dan's girlfriend) nine-year-old son with them fishing. When they got back Felicia and I were sitting on the porch and Brian and Dan busied themselves with some other activity but Austin joined us there to tell us about their trip.  

We had our chance.  We would finally discover what these two talked about whilst fishing.  We began, very casually, pumping Austin for information.

Us: "Did the guys talk while you were out there?"

Austin: "Yeah."

Us: "Did they talk about baseball?"

Austin: "No, not really."  

Us: "What did they talk about?"

Austin: "Fishing."

Well. Mystery solved.

Let's Make a Deal

I love a good bargain.  Not that kind of bargain!  I lack the ability to find a good deal in a store or at a garage sale.  Much to my great frustration, I am not endowed with that kind of luck.

But I am a champion at the household chore bargain!

I come from a long line of bargainers.  I learned it from my older sister, who learned it from our older brother, who perhaps learned it from our oldest brother though I can't confirm that, and he probably learned it from a medicine man in Minnesota.  (They were all really good at cheating at board games as well but I, thankfully, have not inherited that.)

It went something like this:
Lanie (Older Sister): Hey will you go out and water the cows for me?
Me: No.
Lanie: If you go water them you can have my Huey Lewis and the News 45 record.  (She knew I'd been drooling over that sweet 45 record.)
Me: Deal.

Here's another scenario:
Lanie: Hey if you wash the dishes for me tonight I'll vacuum for you tomorrow.
Me: No.  I don't mind vacuuming.  What else you got.
Lanie: I'll vacuum and do the dishes next time it's your turn.
Me: No, I want you to do the dishes the next two times it's my turn.
Lanie: Deal.

There are several keys to the bargain. 

• One must know how badly the other person wants the deal.  If they want it enough you can really get some great trades.  Conversely, if you initiate the deal, do not let them know how badly you want it unless you want to wind up doing the dishes the next 15 times it is their turn. 
• One must be willing to yield a little if initiating said deal. 
• One must always be storing away information about the other party in order to bring something enticing to the table the next time a deal is desired.
• One must sometimes engage in bargains with the other party - even when not in the dealing mood - in order for reciprocation to occur. 
• One must know how to make the other party feel like they are getting the better end of the deal.

For Instance:
Me: If you run to the store for me I'll empty out the dishwasher.
Brian: I don't want to run to the store.
Me: You'll be back from the store and resting on the couch again before I'm done emptying this dishwasher.  You are clearly the winner here.
Brian: Okay.

Now, to be fair to Brian, he is easy to take because he, evidently, did not grow up bargaining.  It usually doesn't occur to him to wheel and deal with me when he wants something.  And he never makes a counter offer!!  He could totally counter offer, throw in extras, and come out a champ - some of the time at least.  But most of the time it's really kind of pathetic.  It's like he's taken the thrill of the game from me. 

Slowly but surely, he's getting the hang of it.  Just the other afternoon I was complaining about vacuuming and he asked if I wanted him to do it.  Ummmm...OF COURSE!  And then he said, bringing a tear of pride to my eye, "you have to do something for me then."  I was ready to deal! 

"Okay," I pressed on.

"You have to let me play Assassin's Creed (a video game)" he replied.

"DEAL!"

In my best Charlie Sheen voice spoken in my head I thought, "Duh, WINNING!"  I didn't have to do anything!  Except not complain about him playing a video game.  Sweet, innocent Brian.  You've so much to learn about bargaining power.  I found plenty of ways to entertain myself for an evening.  Plus I got to watch him vacuum. 

And he looked dreamy.

A Thursday Kind of a Blog

After two fantastic long weekends with first my family, and then Brian's, with hosting a dinner party mixed into the middle of it, I completely fell apart this week.  Exhaustion took over and I wandered around like a zombie trying to function.  Then yesterday I got my hair cut and that, evidently, was the last straw.  When I got home I went to sleep.  And I slept.  A whole bunch.

But today is Thursday and, while not terribly interesting, here is what the day looked like:

• I'm still waiting for Doreen the dove to hatch her babies.  It should be happening any minute.  She is completely faithful.  She often gives me hateful looks while I'm watering my plants out front though. 
• I gave several piano lessons.  They were delightful.  My favorite conversation from the lessons went thusly: Me - How was your week? Student - Stressful.  My sister just got home from Belgium and I forgot that she hates me.  
• My parents popped in while I was giving lessons and were kind enough to wait around while I finished up my lessons.  Then they took me to the fair.  They paid my entrance fee.  They bought me lunch.  Clearly, I am still seven years old.  And they let me drag them through every single animal barn.  I loved every second.
• I came home and decided I needed to learn how to play the guitar.  I have done many awkward things with my hands in my piano playing career but I have never done anything as awkward as trying to play a C chord on the guitar.  And I have felt pain while playing the piano but at least the surface of the piano keys never feels like trying to make music on a cheese slicer.  Those strings are a bit ouchy. 
• Currently, the dog is sleeping on the living room rug, Brian is sleeping on the couch "watching" a Cubs game, and I'm checking in with ya'll. 
• Tomorrow - a morning walk and some garage saling with a friend.  Here's hoping your summer is finding you enjoying some easy living as well.

A Fishy Story

A few weeks ago Brian was away for the weekend repairing a screen in Virginia and I, with a particular and shameful weakness for McDonald's Filet O'Fish meal, decided I should treat myself to this culinary delight.  However, I made the mistake of talking to my sister on the phone and divulging to her my plans.  She shamed me.  She said that if it was a fish sandwich and fries I was desiring that I should simply make it myself, that it would be more delicious and nutritious.  Since I had nothing better to do, and the guilt she had laid upon me was quite immense, I decided to give it a go. 


The first step was purchasing the supplies.  While I try to avoid pre-packaged foods, the ingredients list on the fish fillet box did not seem overly offensive.



I then had to bake my little patties of fishy goodness.



Whilst (I think that word should be used more.  Don't you?) the fish was baking, I whipped out some delightfully tasty tartar sauce, if I do say so myself.

I lovingly placed my fries into a cozy little oil bath.



I then had to tear up a brown paper bag (since I haven't been purchasing paper towels, which would have been much easier in this situation) and spread out my happy fries and sprinkled them with sea salt.



Then I had to steam my buns, because a true Filet O'Fish connoisseur knows that the bun must be steamed for that soft cushiony delightful feeling.



And then it was time to assemble my meal.  Just a tad classier than eating out of a paper bag in a parking lot.

So now you are probably wondering what the verdict was.  (Or how bored I could have possibly been to not only cook this meal, but document the entire process.)  Well...

I should have gone to McDonald's. 

My first mistake was in listening to a woman (my sister) who earlier in the day had prepared six quiches and ten pounds of roasted potatoes for a meeting that would not take place for another week.  She did not discover this gaffe until arriving at the EMPTY meeting location, food in tow.  So, she doesn't even know what day it is and I'm listening to her give me advice about how to make food that is better than a trusted institution.  (Okay, I know that McDonald's is absolutely horrible and I try not to eat there.  It can't stop me from loving their delicious food though.) 

So I gave it a shot.  It didn't take long to prepare.  I'm sure it was better for me.  But my fries were too thick and they got soggy.  And the sandwich lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.  And somehow it just didn't have the delicious irresistability of that Number 9 meal that I adore.

It was probably the absence of plastic and crack-cocaine that is likely in those yummy fries and sumptuous fish sandwich.  Still...

Blues Fest 2010

This year's Blues Fest was a great bunch of fun as always with all the old traditions and a few new twists sprinkled in.  All the necessities were there: Al's pizza, bubbles, crazy hippie hoola hoopers, jugglers, frisbees, rain (but we had an AWESOME system for dealing with it), yummy snacks, free stuff, cops, and of course amazing music.  My favorite line heard this year: "I want to make love to a crocodile."  Really?  Lanie and I thought that sounded ummmm...uncomfortable. 

As far as new twists go, most notably was our most fantastic and awesome sighting of the World Naked Bicycle Ride!!!!  They ride to "celebrate freedom from oil and the beauty of people."  And they were DELIGHTFUL!  Lanie and Kevin had spotted them some years earlier so knew the deal.  So when we got stopped at a light to let the HUGE crowed of nudie-toots pass we happily yelled out our support and wishes for peace.  They responded most vigorously and kindly.  I wish I could say the kids were asleep and that it left no impression on them...but it was definitely a hot topic the next day.  It's the human body, what's to be ashamed of in that?  Although Melanie (my niece) did not enjoy the way the men "showed off." 

Also this year we introduced the "official reprimand" to our Blues Fest circle.  The rule is you are not to leave the circle unless you have informed someone of where you are going.  (This rule was instituted because of the children...however it goes for all.)  This led to some official reprimands being spread around.  And then it turns out there are many things one can be reprimanded for.  Handing out the reprimands is awfully amusing.  The power may have gone to our heads. 

And this year, Brian had his birthday on the last day of the fest.  So (and this is Brian's and my thing) on your birthday those around you must do whatever you request.  He's just not as good at abusing that power as I am though, although he tried.  He said we couldn't reprimand him on his birthday.  He did receive a warning though.  

Finally, a new twist that was added was the violent illness that hit me hours after arriving home.  I would like to blame the sickness on the port-o-lets but I think something was already beginning before we even arrived in Chicago on Friday evening.  (Brian also had a version - although his did not leave him with a bruised forehead from the rim of the toilet as mine did.)  Luckily we staved it off until after all the fun was had.  All things considered, the weekend was a huge success!

Thanks Kevin and Lanie for hosting us and always making it such a great time!!! 

Update on Life

The Olympics are WAY done and still I have not gotten back into the swing of blogging.  But I'm going to blame my blog-laziness on them.  Stupid Olympics. 

BUT, here is a picture of my Olympic hat.  (Never mind how scary Brian may look...he is attempting to look happy for me.)  You may have seen this hat on the US Olympians in the opening ceremonies as well as on certain athletes while standing around in the snow.  Me and my knitting friends spotted the hat immediately and decided we MUST learn how to knit it.  Thankfully, our local yarn store owner went to town creating a chart and voila! the hat is mine.  It involved me tying yarn to my kitchen mixer and attempting to create twisted cord for the tassles, which I must say worked swimmingly.  However, the yarn shop owner rejected them (claiming they were too tight) and made me twist tassles by hand in her store.  How humiliating.  And my moose are dimply.  I am not happy about that.  I'll just have to make another one so that Brian and I can match.  :)

In March we hosted a mystery supper for our church youth group.  If you have never been to one you must.  They are tons of fun.  Or maybe you should host one but if you do, you may want to hire extra help.  Here is the menu just to give you an idea of what it entails.

Welcome to our Mystery Dinner. Dinner will consist of three courses. For each course please select 6 items from the menu below. Place the numbers that correspond to the items you've selected, in the spaces next to the letters below. No duplicates allowed! You will be served only those items selected for each course.


Among the items you are to select are such items as your utensils, beverages, and your napkin. You must make all of your course selections before the meal begins and turn this form into your maitre de.

We hope you enjoy your meal (if you can figure out what you are ordering). Good luck!

MYSTERY MENU

1. The fourth item required to summon Captain Planet

2. Racial Harmony

3. Poultry’s Sin

4. A tricky Situation

5. The Cat’s Meow

6. Prison Enemy

7. Immature Biscuit

8. Early Hodgepodge

9. Warm Snuggles

10. Dangerous to Cut

11. Particle Maintenance

12. Yellow Surfboard

13. Fork

14. Sleepy relative

15. Forest river

16. Tot’s Money Maker

17. Ebony’s Embrace

18. Beatles Favorite Crop

And here is what we served (not in the order of the menu above):

Deviled egg, cheese, pickle, napkin, lasagna, tossed salad, garlic bread, lemonade, fork, spoon, toothpick, knife, brownie cheesecake, cream of broccoli soup, hershey kiss, and strawberries.

Brian and I were so in control leading up to this event.  We went to the store on Tuesday evening and then spent the whole night prepping our food.  We were in such good shape that when we got home on Wednesday evening we sort of paced around for awhile waiting to put the food in the oven or to assemble things.  We became totally arrogant with our advanced preparation thinking it was going to be a breeze.  And then the 12 people present turned in their menus and HOLY COW! I felt like we began a sprint that did not end for 1.5 hours.  We totally underestimated how much work it would be to assemble everyone's plates.  And people were hungry and grumbly and Brian and I were frantically trying to decode menus and put plates together.  We also underestimated how many plates we would need.  Brian was washing dishes as we went.  I cannot describe the chaos that went on in that kitchen on that night.  You would weep and scream if you knew the horrors.  (Notice the blanket hanging over the kitchen doorway so the horrors could not be witnessed.)  But I think it was successful...I think the youth had fun but frankly I simply didn't have time to check in on that.

This is an "after" picture.  I don't know if you can see how dazed and shell-shocked I am from the experience.  Also notice that I am sitting on the floor.  When I mentioned sitting on the couch to rest my weary bones there were immediately 11 teenagers on the couch. The kids were awesome though.  I would do it again in a heartbeat.


I went to another wonderful show at the Morris with my theater going friend Heather.  We saw "Rain" a Beatles tribute show.  It was like going to the best sing along imaginable.  Nothing but fun.  And the show was done in a clever way so that you could sort of imagine what it would have been like to see the Beatles in each stage of their run together.  (i.e. the Ed Sullivan set, the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band era and look, etc.)  However, there were several people in the audience taking pictures on phones and other cameras  and Heather and I were like, ummm, you do realize that's not really the Beatles up there right? 

On the way back to Heather's house we realized how very animated we can get in our conversations when Heather glanced to her left at a stoplight and saw a young man hanging out his window mimicking our gesticulations.  Our conversation had been about the Olympics.  We are both very passionate, what can I say?

That about brings us up to the present.  This past weekend was Easter and what a great weekend it turned out to be.  My parents returned home from Texas on Wednesday night.  My sister and her family came to spend the weekend with us which is always so much fun.  Our good friends Dan and Felicia and Colin came and had a bonfire with us Saturday night.  Dan and Felicia came to church on Sunday and joined my family for dinner and it was just such a fun and awesome weekend!  Made so much better by Kevin's neverending stream of joke telling all weekend.  Therefore, I end this blog with my favorite Kevin joke of the weekend.

Two peanuts were walking down the street.
And one was a-salted.

Christmas 2009

 

So I'm a little late with my Christmas reporting.  But I'm finally going through pictures and sorting my life back out and figured I might as well share these lovely family pictures with you.  At least I think they're lovely because they are of my families that I love so dearly.

All I can say is, WOW, what a difference this Christmas season was from the last one!  It makes a huge difference to be feeling well mentally and to have the emotional energy to pour into having family fun.  I enjoyed the two weeks around the holidays immensely this year and laughed my tail off.  (Laughter tends to be the gauge I use to decide whether or not something is a success.)

The first part of the holidays were spent down in Indy with the Showalter clan where there was a steady stream of food entering our mouths for four days straight.  I kept my mouth open and just let the food roll in.  My mother-in-law would not let us open presents on Christmas eve BUT she did allow us to open stockings (yes, we are all six years old - or maybe it's just me) which was delightful and did stretch the festivities out a little longer.  All in all it was a lovely, and relatively quiet four days spent bonding with family.

Then the Christmas festivities began with my loud, manic, crazy family.  Thus began the talk-as-loud-as-you-can-and-over-somone-if-necessary-if-you-want-to-be-heard marathon.  (Some of the weaker in-laws are rendered virtually mute for the weekend.)  And our gathering would not be complete without a game of bingo for cash prizes that gets everyone in the Christmas spirit.

But one of my favorite moments of the holidays came when my family was gathered at my house for "Christmas Part II" on a Tuesday evening for a Skyline Chili feast.  (Yes, there were 16 people packed in my tiny house but they were all really good sports about it.)  I decided that we needed to get a family picture.  Which makes everyone sort of roll their eyes but they tend to humor me.  (I am the baby of the family after all.  I know how to work it.)  So I'm trying to convince them to get in the spirit of things and I keep saying, "Who knows when we'll all be together like this again, or if we ever will" with a slightly sad and wistful voice.  A touch dramatic, I admit, but it had been three years since we'd all been gathered under one roof.  (Things are harder now that one family now lives in Texas and one in Chicago.)  So all the adults are sitting at our dining room table while I plead my case.  And my mom (always the optimist) says "Who knows, maybe next year there will be more in the family.  Someone might get married or have a baby."  Ah yes, a much more positive spin than my "someone might die before we get together again" approach.  At that precise moment the oldest grandchild, Courtney who is 19 and living on her own now, walks up to the table and says: "I have an announcement to make."

And a collective GASP goes up from the table of adults.  We all hold our breath as one.

Courtney, sensing our panic, quickly blurts out, "I just wanted to thank you all for my Christmas gifts."  (She had been unable to be present for "Christmas Part I.")

And a collective SIGH of relief went out from table, strong enough to rustle all the curtains in my house.  *Note to Courtney, "I have an announcement to make," is usually reserved for major life-altering events.  You might want to use that one more judiciously in the future! 

So the picture was taken.  But I really wanted to torture everyone by doing what I dub "The Mennonite Family Picture Series."  (I'm sure it is used by many other faiths and cultures but I associate it with my Mennonite families.)  You may know now exactly what I'm talking about.  The series goes like this:

     picture of entire extended family

     picture of just grandkids

     picture of grandkids with grandparents

     picture of grandparents with just their children (no spouses)

     picture of grandparents with their children and spouses

     picture of just the children - no spouses

     picture of just the children with spouses

     picture of each family unit

     Did I miss any?

But I didn't torture them that way.  And when I look at these pictures and think back to my Christmas 2009 memories just one warm word defines how I feel: Love.  I am so very lucky.