humble pie

A few days ago a woman walked into the coffee shop where my mother, sister, lassies, and I were snagging some liquid propulsion before picking up the lads from school. The woman had a much deeper than expected voice and asked for a cup of water, which the barista brought out to her.

After flopping down in the easy chair next to me, she said, "I'm giving free manicures today.". I thanked her but told her truthfully that we would be leaving in a few minutes. She took the disappointment in stride and began to rummage through the few plastic shopping sacks she had brought in with her. She offered me a bottle of nail polish from one of the sacks, "for the road," she said. It was then that I noticed the polish on her own nails, done not quite exactly within the usual boundaries. She went on to give me another bottle of (green) nail polish and two mint candies. I thanked her again and bid her farewell, as it was time for us to get going.

During this encounter, while truthfully a little uneasy near this woman who seemed maybe a little off somehow, I had the strongest sense that I was to show her the utmost kindness and respect, including receiving the items she so generously offered me and thanking her for doing so.

How difficult is it for us to accept the generosity of others? Sometimes very much so. Whether it's the offer of a homemade meal during a time of crisis, illness, or happy upheaval such as following the birth of a baby, or help tending to or transporting children from time to time, or some other sort of non-monetary aid given freely, something trips us up in accepting such things.

For some people, it is so much easier to be the giver rather than the receiver of these types of gifts. We are happy to do so and truly want to help others in need, be they friends, relatives, or strangers. For people of faith, we see it as part of living out our Baptismal vows or at least being Christ-like in giving generously of our time and talent in the service of others.

This is all well and good, but when others attempt to do the same for us, some of us (I include myself in this and know and love several other people who would fit this bill, but I won't name names or point fingers.) are quick to say, "thanks, but I'll do it myself," or "no thank you, we're managing just fine.". We politely decline maybe because we don't want to impose on anyone or add to anyone else's already full plates, but in turning down such offers we deny our well-intentioned friends and loved ones (or even perfect strangers) the opportunities to be conduits of Christ's grace and mercy to us, which can be a source of blessing not only to us but to those who wish to serve us as well.

People who volunteer in various service roles often say they "get more out it" than the people they serve. Framing it this way might make it a little easier to allow someone else to help us once in a while or show us extraordinary generosity beyond what we think we deserve.

We may think we're slacking off or mooching or being lazy or somehow otherwise not taking care of our own responsibilities, but somewhere in there is a tinge of pride, where it's all about me.

It's *not* all about me.

I may have a lot to manage, and through continual discernment and in faith I trust that it is God's will for me to have a lot to manage, but he doesn't expect me to have it all figured out all at once or even to do it all by myself. Although it is humbling to accept assistance from someone else, there is grace in such humility, and more grace where that comes from for the asking.

When we allow people to help lighten our loads, we cooperate with Christ in the bestowing of grace upon those who are serving us. Just as I desire to be a reflection of Christ's light and love to the people he places in my midst, there are others who are similarly motivated. Let us not be hasty to close the door in Christ's face when he wishes to bless both us and someone else with a chance to be his hands, feet, and beautiful face.

chocolate cake. enough said.

Yes, I know I do yammer on about the merits of cooking with kids healthy things with less sugar and all that good stuff.  But there *is* a time and a place for this:

That time was this past weekend, when we celebrated my sister's birthday a few days late (we celebrate birthday seasons, remember?).  I made this double layer chocolate cake with ganache frosting, which, though it is a rarity, enjoys status as a family favorite after being the centerpiece of a couple of special birthday celebrations (her sweet sixteen being one of them, my beloved's birthday being the other). 

Even though I made this cake all by myself, with no little helpers oddly enough (lassies were napping, lads were helping my beloved with yard work), I overlooked a few ingredients and came up short on another one.  The party people ate it anyway.  Here's the whole story at Foodie Proclivities.  I do hope you'll head on over...

pride and joy

Had he been alive to see my sister (the one my bambini call "Annie" in place of "auntie", followed by her given name) all dolled up for a formal dance last weekend at the Newman Center (i.e. Catholic student center) of her university, I'm sure my maternal grandfather would've cried tears of joy just like the ones I saw in his eyes the that afternoon she made me a sister as we camped in the hospital waiting room with several other close family members and friends.

My grandfather would've turned 100 years old yesterday.  That's right: he was born in the wake of the Titanic disaster.  He died in his mid-eighties when I was in high school and she was just a baby, so he didn't get to serve my baby sister Total cereal with a side of Oreo cookies on the mornings after a sleepover at my grandparents' house like he had done for me when I'd had sleepovers as a young girl.  Come to think of it, I don't even know if she likes Total cereal.  I'm fairly certain she likes Oreos (as do my elder lad and I).

He may have only gotten to know her as a baby, but she was his "pride and joy", a description he'd used with me many, many times, and one I'm happy to share with her.  As the only children of his daughter (an only child herself), we were the lucky beneficiaries of lots of grandfatherly doting and the subjects of extravagant bragging. 

We celebrate my sister's birthday today, and we honor the memory of the six-foot-four man she might've called "Bum-pa" as I did at a very young age had she had more time with him.  His heart was as big as he was tall, and he gave away so much love in his long life.   She is following suit, giving generously of her love.  Because of that, her many accomplishments, and the lovely young lady she is, "Annie" would surely hear no end of his praise were he alive to give it.  Even though he isn't here in person to tell her so, I'm sure she is still his pride and joy.

aloha, annie

My sister the college freshman was in our vicinity this afternoon and thus was able to stop by and liven up our after school happy hour. Her arrival on our doorstep was heralded by squeals of delight from the younger lass.

To thank my sister -- the bambini call her "annie", I fed her a home-cooked Hawaiian-style meal.  (details here at Foodie Proclivities)

It wasn't quite the genius meal my beloved's dear mother made for us this past weekend that I was hoping to replicate, but the marinade I made up miraculously came out pretty good -- even though the younger lad, who mixed the concoction for me, kept saying that "something was missing."  How he knew this without trying the potion, I know not.

At least there were no "incidents" to speak of...

letting go while holding on

Depositing the younger lad at preschool that first day last week was bittersweet for me. It was a long time coming, having debated whether to enroll him last year at age three. That wasn't the right time for him. It appears now is the right time, as he has a spring in his step and an eagerness to return. I am so grateful for his positive beginning, and I pray it continues to go so well. What a happy, fun place his preschool appears to be, staffed by people who truly care for the souls entrusted to them and skilled in the art of early childhood education, in a community of faith.

Spending time with my sister the new college freshman last week made me consider anew the prospect of someday taking my own children to college, depositing them there, and returning home without them. Children grow up to become adults -- God willing, adults who answer God's call to serve him by serving others. We as parents are here to see that process fulfilled.

I let my lad go a little that day, but not entirely. I'll never do that. The Lord may call him (and his siblings) to vocations that entail traveling both far and near or obligate the bulk of his attention to the care of others such as a wife and children or the people of God, but my love and prayers are portable enough to carry along with.

From preschool to college to beyond, parents will always be parents. The roles and responsibilities will change as the seasons of family life change, but the love of Christ that binds us together as a family will remain.

angels at work

With a healthy dose of uncertainty that didn't devolve into tears, the younger lad started preschool this morning.  He was familiar with the setting from Vacation Bible School this summer, and he was buoyed by the hope of seeing his brother the first grader on the playground.  They did in fact see each other, which was the declared highlight of their respective school days (that and lunch, according to the newly-minted preschooler). 

After school we visited my sister all moved into her spiffy dorm room.  This brought back a wealth of memories for me of her as a wee lass about the age of my preschooler visiting me in my college dorm room.  Those weekly visits she and my mom paid me were always highlights, and it's an honor to return the favor now.  We love having Babycakes so close by.

Enveloped in the grace of God and the protection of his angels and ours, we have so much to be thankful for such a relatively smooth transition to the school scene and this latest round in our Game of Life.

sisterly advice

unsolicited advice to my sister starting college next week (and all those embarking on something new)...

Give it a chance.
Trust in the Lord.
Seek his will for you.
Keep the faith.
Say your prayers.
Listen for the answers.
Be the face of Christ to others.
Look for Christ in the faces of the people around you.
Take the high road.
Get some sleep.
Make your bed.
Be yourself.
Have fun.
Know you are loved!

sliding scale

The highest compliment our younger lad gives for tasty foodstuffs is not two thumbs up but all ten fingers.  Such things as birthday cake for his auntie, her lamb cake, Aunt D's Easter cookie pops, and the coffeecake lovingly made for us by my beloved's grandmother have recently merited the ten finger "raise the roof" gesture.

Of course, there is the confounding moniker for the latter delight, in spite of the exponential rating it received...

"What's a coffeecake?"  the lad wants to know.
"A cake you eat with your coffee. Would you like some coffee?"  (I'm kidding, of course.)

"No!!"

"Would you like some yogurt?"
"Yes!!"

"So for you it would be yogurtcake."
Thumbs up.

lamb cake

To say that it isn't Easter without lamb cake might be a teensy bit sacrilegious, so I will try put into context the place of prominence the lamb cake occupies in our family's traditional Easter festivities in a slightly less egregious manner.

We have *always* had a lamb cake for Easter.  It has *always* been this way. 

Whether we've celebrated with our Chicago family either by way of going there or them coming here (the latter recalls pictures of my cousins and me rocking some fancy '80s style Easter frocks with neon purses, for some reason), there's been lamb cake.  When we've celebrated with the family from which my sister-mama hails, there's been lamb cake.   When we've celebrated with my beloved's extended family, there's been lamb cake.

There's always lamb cake.

There is always discussion as to which end to cut first, who wants the sheepie's ears, and whether the smile of chocolate chips (or raisins) is appropriate.  My sister delves a little deeper into the origins and traditions of the lamb cake (and gives the family recipe -- you're welcome) at Foodie Proclivities...

Happy Easter!

diamonds and purls

You think you know someone, and then wham! you find out you're mistaken.

Take my baby sister, who turns 18 today. She knits. Who knew?! Not me. But she does -- beautifully. She's learning to knit and probably knows what the term "purl" means without having to Google it.

That's not all. She writes. She cooks. She writes about cooking. She sings. She plays a fierce (in a good way) game of chess and is happy to teach her nephew the strategies she's honed over many matches. She is a multi-talented, ever more beautiful young woman poised to take on the world with a solid foundation and a retinue of people who love and pray for her every day.

It's been my delight to know the girl I used to call "Babycakes", and it's my honor to know the woman she is becoming.

I pray she will always seek the Father's will for her life, ever confident in his love for her as well as ours.

girl talk: sugar scrub

File this among the less weightier of the topics I address in this forum, but open-toed shoe season is upon us and Mama must get ready. 

My dear sister and I like to go to the beauty parlor for pedicures together when we can, but since this happens as often as those "supermoons" come close to Earth, I have to come up with some quick and simple measures I can do at home to keep my feet looking decent in the flip flops and espadrilles I'll be wearing for the next several months.

The lads are keenly interested in my toe nail polish selections and have their opinions as to what I should wear.  Just the other day I slapped on a few coats of a very sheer polish, but the younger lad was quick to notice.  The elder lad also finds the whole toe nail polish procedure intriguing.  Go figure. 

As part of the sootsie shape-up regimen, I mixed together a very simple exfoliant and moisturizer.  It's simply sugar, olive oil, and lavender essential oil.  One could use salt instead of sugar, although the sugar sloughs off that which needs sloughing without irritating sensitive skin the way salt does.  The olive oil is a natural moisturizer.  One could also use almond or some other carrier oil, but I didn't have that on hand when I remembered this homemade beauty treatment (such as it is) late one night. 

Were one of the mind to get fancy about this sugar scrub business with the intention of giving the resulting gritty goo as a gift to either herself or someone she cares about, she could mix up the ingredients in a pretty little jar and put a fun label (like these) on it.  I just put mine in a plastic container with a lid.  It's important to keep water out of the mixture for obvious reasons.  It won't keep forever, but if you mix up a little bit a time, that won't be a concern. 

With a little slather of my homemade sugar scrub and some pretty polish, my feeties are now in flip flop condition.

reflections

Out with the lassies to run a couple of quick errands this afternoon, I walked hand in hand with the two-year-old lass and wore her seven-month-old "sissy pie"  in the sling.  Funny Girl caught a glimpse of us in a series of glass storefront windows as we walked, and she was transfixed.  She smiled at her reflection sweetly, proudly, and with a certain silliness, lifting her chin up and grinning.  "I see us!"  she said. 

Where did this little girl come from?  Just yesterday she was the one in the sling.  Tomorrow she'll be shopping for graduation dresses like my sister is doing.

While there have been many times in these postpartum months when I have avoided my reflection in the mirror, today when I saw us, we were -- if I do say so myself -- pretty as a picture.

Gran-tastic help

Grannie's lake house has been the family getaway for a good long time now.  We'd pack as many as 25 people in the four-bedroom cottage for the Fourth of July festivities.  What fun that was.   All the adults pitched in to help in various ways -- cooking, cleaning, taking people out on the boat, playing with kids, attending to household fix-it needs, etc.

While there were no boat rides this weekend and we didn't have 25 people staying under our roof, the same "many hands make light work" principle applied.   Among other things, my beloved manned the grill.  My dad put himself on KP.  Last night my sister made the breakfast casserole for this morning's brunch.  My mom picked up last minute groceries.  Grannie held the raven-haired lass as much as the wee one would allow her to before returning to me for some resetting.  Several of us chased after bambini on tricycles. 

As Grannie is at the lake, we might have been the hosts, but (at least we hope) everyone's at home here.

pandemonium

Sometimes I really surprise myself by the absurdity of my ideas -- or rather, that I would cook up **and act upon** such ridiculous things.

Why I thought taking the bambini to a fast food chain with an indoor play area was a good idea is beyond me, as we hardly ever eat fast food *or* go to indoor play areas where I fret about whatever germs might be lurking on the equipment and spend the entire time keeping track of three little people in the maze of plastic and mesh with the fourth one in the sling. 

Chalk it up to my sleep deficit.  Sometimes my cognitive abilities are consequently impaired. 

Alas, with the brave help of my parents and sister, we loaded up all four bambini (the elder lad had a day off from school, and my family came to visit for the day) and took a field trip to this eatery with a reputation among moms as *the* place to go.  To be sure, there were lots of families with young children, many of whom were probably there after delivering a spiel about eating "a good lunch" before going to play.  I gave that spiel myself.  I might need a new spiel writer.

Very little of the "good lunch" (as it were) was consumed.  The play area was held hostage by two unsupervised children too old to be in there anyway egging each other on to "scream louder!".   And were there naps taken after all that excitement?

Of course not.

Does any of this come as a surprise to anyone?
Probably not.

I suppose it's one of those lessons this mama had to learn by living it herself.  Standing by me while I learned it (and enduring the screaming) was truly a work of mercy by my parents and sister.

Now we've been there, done that, and don't need to again.  Whether we eat at home or out some place, we'll find another place to play -- preferably outside. 

sister day

I became a big sister 17 years ago today.  It has always been my joy having the sister I do.  She's growing into a lovely young lady, and it's my honor to call her my friend.  I wish her great joy today and in the coming year, and pray she is blessed with discernment, wisdom, fortitude, peace, and grace.