cold-brewed coffee

Any time I can work in a reference to the movie Steel Magnolias, I try to do so.  I've done it again talking about cold-brewed coffee over at Foodie Proclivities today.  Have a look-see and try it! 

family reunion

You know that scene at the end of Christmas Vacation when Chevy Chase's character Clark Griswold surveys the scene around him after all of his relatives have witnessed firsthand the collision of reality with his dream of a "fun old-fashioned family Christmas" and says in amazement to himself, "I did it."?

I can relate.

Last week our young family mounted an expedition unlike anything we'd done before.  We took a road trip.  Not just a short jaunt to visit my parents and sister -- a trip upwards of 350 miles.  Sure: other families have done this sort of thing plenty of times.  I myself was a veteran road-tripper by the age of five, driving more than twice that distance one way with my father (who did the actual driving) to visit our Chicago family before my Papa Jack passed away.  Still, this was the first time the family my beloved and I are privileged to parent went on such an adventure.  We, along with my parents and sister, met our Chicago family for a reunion.  There were some among them we'd never met (children, that is), and vice versa, and although Grannie had come to stay with us a couple of times and each of my aunts had come for short visits, it had been a long time since nearly all of Grannie's descendants were together.  Even still, we missed my cousin the doctor who recently began her residency. 

The first moments of our reunion were similar to the scene in Cynthia Rylant's The Relatives Came, illustrated by Stephen Gammell.  There was lots of hugging and chattering and more hugging and laughing and more hugging.  In the story, the relatives have driven a long, long way from their family farm to visit their loved ones.  They pack the house and sleep practically piled upon one another (not unlike the many Fourth of July holidays happily spent at Grannie's lake cottage) and stay for weeks, helping the host family tend to their garden (while eating up all its produce) and other household upkeep.  Then, after lots more hugs, they pack up their station wagon and head home with visions of next summer when the ones who made the trip this year will be the hosts.  In spite of the physical distance that separates the two branches of the family tree, there is a bond evident that isn't diminished by time and space, one that every family surely aspires to retain.

For our family reunion we met not quite in the middle and stayed at a hotel, which was a grand adventure for our bambini.  Our Bambini Ride isn't rainbow-colored like the station wagon in the story, but it was packed pretty much to the gills like the fictional vehicle. 

The book's illustrator Stephen Gammell won a Caldecott Medal for the artwork that brings this story to life, as he did for (among others) Song and Dance Man by Karen Ackerman, another book we enjoyed about a grandfather regaling his grandchildren with stories of his days as a vaudeville performer.

Seeing the cousins I'd spent many summers with as a child now all grown up like me (or are we?), one with children of her own, the bond between us was renewed.  When we were much younger, we'd write letters to each other.  Yes: letters -- as in paper, pens, envelopes and stamps.  I'd write them to my cousins, I'd write them to my Grannie, and they'd write them back to me.  So when I stumbled upon David Ezra Stein's Love, Mouserella, I hastily requested it. 

Mouserella has just bidden her grandmother farewell after a visit, and already Mouserella misses her.  Sound familiar?  So Mouserella writes a letter to her dear grandmother, telling her about anything and everything that's going on and providing illustrations.  This sweet story conjures up memories of me writing to my Grannie upon my return home from her house, missing her already and eager to keep the conversation going. We still try to do that now by phone and e-mail, not so much with letters.  The occasional card is always considered "fun mail."

Though we are separated by nearly 800 miles, the connection we have to our Chicago family is important to us to keep alive.  Though traveling has been difficult for us in recent years, we saw an opportunity to give it a go with lots of help from my parents and sister along the way as well as lots of help from my beloved's parents before we left.  Our family is blessed beyond measure to have the love and support of so many relatives and friends.  For all of that, for the gift of time we've recently had to spend together, and for the safe trip we made, I will always be grateful.

I think Clark Griswold would be proud.

moments of greatness

Twice now in the past week there have been moments best described by that scene in the 1989 movie Major League (much of which I can quote) when the team manager Lou Brown comments to Charlie Donovan the team's general manager that things are "starting to come together". 

As we prepared for a little getaway to my parents' house last week on a day off school, the bambini (with some coaching) packed up their "pack packs" and play clothes the afternoon before so that the next morning we'd have fewer things on our "to do" list.  The morning of our departure when excitement was high, they each pitched in (pardon the pun -- that was fortuitous) according to their ability to fill water cups, vacuum the kitchen floor, help siblings get shoes on, etc.  We were on our way much earlier than on previous occasions, which meant we had more time to play. 

This afternoon we made a trip to Target after school for essentials like yogurt and bananas.  I had my reservations about making this trip, as in my mind a trip to the grocery store with four young children during happy hour might just qualify as the opening for one's cause for canonization (kidding! I'm exaggerating again.).   However, it had to be done.  So we did it.  On the way into the store, I gave a little pep talk about us working as a team just like we did before we went to Mimi and Papa's house last week so that we could get through the store quickly and be on our way home.  There were a few shenanigans but nothing serious, and no one got run over by the "brother cart".

It's moments like these that invite me to say with pride like Lou Brown that this is "my kind of team."  Of course, the very next moment there might well be an outburst from one or more children following some perceived or real injury such as the presumptuous swiping of a fresh library book for one's own perusal (the nerve!), and we are right back to normal -- whatever that is -- but they're still "my kind of team".

team players

By God's grace I managed to evade ever having to participate in team-building exercises via a ropes course in the course of my working career or church camp days.  It's not that I'm not a team player.  It's just that I've been on enough "teams" where I was among those pulling more than our share of the weight so that now every time I hear phrases like "team-building" and "teamwork", it's all I can to suppress the darn near involuntary rolling of my eyeballs.

As overused as these closely-related terms are, they are very useful in family life.  After all, and as I often tell our bambini, God has built our family for a reason -- or several.  We probably won't fully understand those reasons this side of heaven.  Nonetheless, each of us has unique God-given abilities to help the others in the family become the people Christ calls them to be, and we are to use those gifts always with that service to others in mind. 

This focus on teamwork is a revelation to me of late as a means of counteracting selfish tendencies -- we all have them -- and a tool in both developing empathy and cultivating virtues like courtesy, respect, generosity, gentleness, and humility.  The virtues serve as the framework for my "phrasology" (to quote Mayor Shinn from The Music Man, which was our movie night feature last weekend) to expand upon the token "teamwork" buzzword I loathe but use anyway in certain circumstances.

So it is with reluctance that I continue to utter the "T" word, knowing that it's a good, quick reminder that each of us has an obligation to the others to help us all get to heaven.

stealthed

Strep throat was not on my radar screen as I watched the younger lad -- the picture of health yesterday -- wilt before my very eyes this morning, one moment a bit feverish but still impish as ever, the next shivering and slouched, asking for me to snuggle him.  Of course, had he mentioned that his throat hurt, I might have considered strep as the cause.  Instead, I was fretting about pneumonia, as he sat with chest heaving and blue fingernails.  All the same, a quick test at urgent care confirmed the true culprit, and now the lad is, God willing, on the road to recovery.

When the littles turn up ill, I turn to a couple of resources to help me assess and treat maladies at home -- and when to call the doctor.  The first is Smart Medicine For A Healthier Child by Janet Zand, Robert Rountree, and Rachel Walton.  It's a reference book of common childhood illnesses, conditions, and injuries that synthesizes conventional medical treatments with holistic, natural, and alternative routes.  The other is AskDrSears.com, the online home of Dr. Robert Sears and his family of medical practioners.  His The Baby Book is one of my go-to resources for the under-two among us, and much of the online content is drawn from this book and others he and his family collaborators have authored. 

Of course, I use these resources because I'm not a medical professional, but I don't rely on them to advise me instead of our pediatrician.  When my instinct tells me that something's *wrong* or that one of my children needs to be seen by their doctor, I try to honor that gut feeling (not to mention my ailing children) as best I can -- even if Ferris Bueller might deem me a "nervous mother".  

The younger lad is not the only one hot and bothered.  So is his sister who keeps telling me "new tooth" when I ask her where it hurts and why she is sniffly and fragile.  She woke up feverish Sunday morning.  In light of the lad's diagnosis today, I am seeing a domino effect forming.  Will the elder lad and the younger lass follow suit?  Time will soon tell, but now I'm on the lookout for causes other than the initially obvious -- no stealth strep next child...

movie night

We don't watch a lot of movies around here, but we have begun having "movie night" with the bambini on occasion.  I make some popcorn (on the stove, of course), and they all snuggle up together for the show.

Family movie night favorites include the 2008 feature Horton Hears A Who!, the Curious George movie from 2006 and the sequel from 2009, Mary Poppins, and the 2003 TV remake of The Music Man with Matthew Broderick.

Tonight's feature presentation will be Cars, a perennial family favorite that always takes me back to when the lads were about as little as the lasses are now.  They were enthralled by all the action and we enjoyed all the witty banter.  The concession stand will be serving my new favorite pancake recipe.  I'm sure the lass will be all about "helping," as she is quite the little kitchen maven these days.

Often enough to be a fledgling family tradition but not so often such that the novelty has worn off, movie night makes for good snuggling and fun times together.

drumroll, please

There were no shooting icicles or sleeves stapled to gutters, but still I couldn't help but think of Clark Griswold in the 1989 movie Christmas Vacation as my beloved (whose motto for such endeavors is "safety first") scaled a gargantuan ladder to hang Christmas lights on the exterior of our house today.  The elder lad has long been lobbying for lights, but this is the first year for us to hang them outdoors.

It was meant to be a surprise for the bambini, but when the elder lad spotted his father on the ladder out the front door, the lad knew something was up.  "Did you guys plan this?" he wanted to know.  When I answered in the affirmative, the look on his face read "whoa.  I wonder what else they talk about when I'm not around?"  If you only knew...

However disappointed the younger lad may have been to miss out on the ladder scaling fun (as climbing really is his favorite pastime), he and his brother were happy to help flip the switch when the moment was right.  They and their "sissies" were delighted to see the little lights twinkling, and no nuclear generators were necessary to supply electricity to the surrounding houses because of our festive but not ablaze light display (as in the movie I called to mind). 

It was a fitting if freezing activity to usher in the second week of Advent, building upon the preparations and decorations we began rolling out last weekend.   As we prepare to welcome Jesus, the Light of the World, I will always remember the expressions of glee emanating from the bambini as they took in the beautiful light.

young squire

The 1996 movie That Thing You Do! is one of my favorites. I could probably recite the entire thing. It's the story of a one-hit wonder band from the 1960s comprised of four clean cut, fresh faced young men. Their manager is portrayed by Tom Hanks (who also wrote the movie). He sees to it that they project an image of being "nice boys" (except maybe for the drummer, who is probably actually the nicest guy of them all).

Once they've made it big with their one hit, they're flown out to the west coast for some publicity maneuvers and recording. The porter at the hotel addresses them as "young squires." He treats them with respect and civility, in a way revealing his expectation of their behavior in return as living up to a certain standard.

My father addresses our lads "young squires," as does my beloved now. It's an appeal to the lads' love of a challenge and their budding understanding of character, integrity, and virtues. It has a profound and positive effect on the lads. They want to be young squires.

As we endeavor to raise these lads to be the men Christ calls each of them to be, many fine examples of honorable men to whom they can look for guidance in the family around them, family friends, and the saints help pave the way. How richly blessed the lads are for such men in their lives. I am humbly grateful for them myself.

say it: crayon

My Fair Lady is one of my favorite movies, partly because of the diction lessons Professor Higgins gives Eliza Doolittle as he endeavors to transform her, a commoner, into a lady of refinement such as those who work in "flow'r" shops.

Maybe it's owing to the countless hours I spent accompanying voice lessons in college, picking up lots of diction instruction over the years, or maybe it's having grown up in a region of the country known for its distinctive dialect. At any rate, I find it fascinating.

Case in point: the younger lad pronounces the word "crayon" almost like "crown."  Mister Rogers pronounces it (or did, I guess I should say) "CRAY-en", and I say it "CRAY-on."

How do you say it?

kissy face

The lass and I were in the kitchen and heard the washer making a racket.  Upon investigation, we found the window of the front loader completely white with bubbles and the load inside off balance enough make the entire rig shake -- down to the door.  I thought for sure we were going to have a similar scene in our laundry room to that from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when Gene Wilder drives his tour guests in that funny vehicle through the car wash of sorts and they're all covered with bubbles.

That's when the lass said, "Mommy!  Kiss!"

All better. 

Epilogue: the bubbles receded without incident after a few rinse cycles, but not before the lads -- just home from Target with their daddy -- had a chance to see them in all their foamy glory...

mark my words

An A/C dude is here to service the units for summer.  I *will not* mention anything about capacitors.  Should he happen to bring them up, I will not ask him if he drives a DeLorean in his off hours. 

one point twenty-one gigawatts

We are having some routine (if a little late) maintenance done on our heater.  The same company came out a few times last summer to service our wily air conditioner.  On one occasion, the technician conveyed the diagnosis in terms I heard as "yadda yadda yadda capacitor blah blah blah..."

(What do I know about air conditioning units?)

Shortly thereafter, we had to call them back out to service the ailing air conditioner again.  When this technician arrived, I tried to explain to him what he probably already knew if he had read the notes in our file from the previous technician's visit.  Nonetheless, I went ahead and told him that when his colleague had been out before, he mentioned something about the flux capacitor.  The guy handled himself pretty well, barely batting an eye and responding politely that "no, ma'am, that's something from a movie, but the capacitor is (blah blah blah)." 

Whatever.

Allow my gaffe to serve as a public service announcement of sorts.  Be sure to think twice before speaking on this subject with anyone well-versed in the mechanics of air conditioning units -- or time travel.

Advent goodness

I am woefully behind getting up any Advent decorations, but we're still trying to observe a hopeful and expectant Advent.  We made St. Nicholas Day a centerpiece of the early days of the season.  This weekend we'll be trimming our Christmas tree and decorating our house (if our lad feels up to it), fitting as we celebrate the Third Sunday of Advent called "Gaudete Sunday" or the "joyful" Sunday, rejoicing as Christmas draws ever closer.   And for the third year in a row, we're enjoying The Very First Noel, an excellent animated video about the Three Kings' journey to Bethlehem.

The most important preparations are those that we make in our own hearts to receive our King of Kings at Christmas.