coast to coast

Four

2011-08-03T16:44:00.001-04:00

This is how I want to remember these early days of her fourth year of life: napping in her super-girl costume, old enough to put up a good fight for every nap, yet still young enough to fall asleep cuddling "Dolly" and "Baby Keller", staple companions of her sleepy-time routine pretty much since birth.

I'm not sure just how often Matt and I look at each other these days and sigh in either frustration and/or amusement, saying "She's so four". Her eagerness to learn is mighty, asking followup questions about everything she hears and sees (scaaaary!). She's eager to produce, content to sit at the dining room table and "art" for a while. The dress up bag is dragged out daily, yet mostly just the ballerina outfits are donned in regular rotation based upon which one Mom has not snuck away for a much needed cleaning.

Tantrums are frequent, although I've found that in quiet, gentle moments they can be soothed with patient reasoning. She wants to comply and often distances herself from what she calls "fussy Karis", mimicking what her voice sounds like when the tired alter ego appears.

Questions about deeper things in life seem to come up once she's gloriously tucked in bed, the lights are turned off, and I'm headed straight for relaxation-ville. "Mom, do some people not have food to eat?" I heard her belt out in dark silence from her bed the other night. I sensed a tone of genuine contemplation that told me this was important. I went into her room, and she followed up with, "So when are we going to take them food?" Good, good question, dear. She proceeded to look around the room naming all the things we could give to people who are in need, stopping only at her cd player to deem it off limits because, as she said, "I like music." And that she does.

She's eager to make a new companion at the playground. Her habit of calling new playmates "friend" despite their repeated telling her their name is something we're working on (but secretly love and makes us giggle when we hear it). We're prepping her for school which starts in a few weeks: practicing raising our hands, listening to others, starting conversations with new people, respecting authority, asking for help, etc. She's the kind of kid that thrives on organized activity, so I know she's just going to love it.

Truth be told, she's just so four, and we couldn't be more in love. Happy fourth, little one.

Farmers market

2011-06-21T23:16:00.002-04:00

Thankful Friday

2011-06-17T16:03:00.002-04:00

The little bits of sun peeking through the dense smoke clouds have been a welcome change today compared to the last few days. It's felt a little bit like the end of the world around here lately because of the nearby wildfires burning hard and fast. Still I remind myself being home-bound because of smoke certainly pales in comparison to being homeless due to a fire.

My pepper plants are cranking out jalapenos and datils every few days. I'm loving growing these hardy plants as they boost my confidence in growing food, something I've had little luck with in the past. My own tolerance for heat in food is growing respectively as well. A whole, fresh-sliced jalapeno thrown on a fajita, seeds not removed? Yes, please.

I'm thankful for the wishful eyes with which my daughter pleaded with me yesterday after her bath to pretend she was a "wedding bride" and to throw pretend flowers on her as she walked through her bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel and hair still dripping. I have not encouraged this sort of girl-y dreaming and wistful fantasizing about getting married. Somehow it's just in her DNA, and I love that about her.

Summer snapshots

2011-06-08T12:18:00.001-04:00

I unloaded my camera today, and I noticed things are looking quite summery around here. What do you think?

The cold, sweet leftovers from making homemade coffee ice cream. Her favorite part of this process is most definitely the clean up.

A table full of stickers, crayons, colored pencils, and art projects. Karis says she is "art-ing". I think it's a useful verb.

Bug-bitten legs in plaid shorts. Summer essentials for any almost four-year-old.

Hatching butterflies and curious onlookers. The painted ladies weren't as fun to watch transform as last year's black swallowtail butterflies, but it was fun nonetheless.

What's not to love

2011-05-24T12:35:00.003-04:00

A husband who gives up 30 minutes of his Sunday afternoon to fulfill a promised guitar lesson to a neighbor.

A young neighbor who remembers the promised guitar lesson and shows up with guitar in hand, eager to learn (and quite quick at learning, I might add).

A 3-year-old girl who watches and listens quietly with her guitar in hand only to insist upon having her own private lesson once the neighbor leaves, complete with music worksheets she can't read.

A husband who, persuaded by tearful pleading, gives up 30 minutes for another guitar lesson.

A dog who insists on sitting in the middle of a mess of chair legs, dangling feet, and music stands, just to be where the action is.

Body slams, rhythm, and parenting

2011-04-28T11:50:00.000-04:00

Matt has an wonderful ability to parent out of who he is and his interests. I took note of this yesterday as he and Karis moved from one activity to the next. First they "wrestled" for a good 30 minutes, while he showed her wrestling moves to defend herself. Side note: He loves to watch UFC wrestling on tv, and the first few times he watched it around her I was nervous that it was too violent or inappropriate for her. I walked by a little later to find her snuggled up to him as he explained the ins and outs of professional fighting. She was very intrigued by the sport.

Later last night I walked in the office to find her sitting in his lap as he pounded on the djembe (African drum). She shares his love for music and drumming, and together they were drumming along to Cee Lo Green. Then, without skipping a beat, they stood up and finished with a spirited dance party. Hands in the air, feet moving to the beat, they danced around in circles in a small corner of our cluttered office. I can take a few cues from this guy's parenting style.

In the last 5 weeks...

2011-04-21T17:26:00.000-04:00

I turned 32. Matt arranged weekend babysitting, and we took a day trip to Savannah. It was fun roaming the old streets, popping in and out of adorable home design shops, and stuffing our faces at the mouth-watering Zunzi's. We'd like to go again soon and stay longer.

Karis and E experienced their first sleepover. E stayed the night with us, and everything went so smoothly. Her father and I both had visions of late night phone calls over a homesick 3-year-old. Well, nothing of the sort. There was dinner, play time, a car ride to get ice cream in their pajamas, a little giggling before bed, then uninterrupted sleep all night. Success by any standard.

I have taken over the doing the finances for Matt, and there has been much weeping and gnashing of teeth from this creative and disorganized right brain girl. Sure, there have been some insufficient funds transfers and one late electric bill, but I'm proud to say it's finally starting to make sense. By golly, with Quicken and coffee, I'm getting it.

Karis is growing up before our very eyes. She's asking deep, honest questions about the world around her. Yesterday we talked about heaven and honeybees. Today was cows and the milk they make. "Why" is never a single question. It's guaranteed to be followed up with further investigation. To my delight, she is becoming a much more willing photography subject. I pulled out my camera today, and she zoomed right up to me, stood straight, and smiled. I would have given anything for that willingness a year and half ago.

Their first jam session

2011-03-16T21:03:00.000-04:00

We gave Karis her first guitar this past weekend. To say she was excited is an understatement. In no time at all, she scooted a chair up next to Matt. They each tuned their instruments and began singing and strumming to Karis' song of choice, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. They followed up with Row, Row, Row Your Boat and finished with It's a Small World After All.

When Karis woke up the next morning, the first thing she told Matt was: "I had a dream about my guitar. We were playing and singing together. Then we saw baby Jesus and Joseph at the end." I don't exactly know how to interpret the dream, but I'm pretty sure she loves the guitar.

My grandfather would have found this interesting

2011-03-09T17:13:00.002-05:00

Buddy, my dad's dad, was an archaeologist and avid collector of antiques. His home was a musty, ranch style home with a rock garden in the front and the beautiful, wide Caloosahatchee River flowing in the back. It was filled with treasures from his years in the military and many foreign travels. I remember hearing him tell stories throughout my childhood about where he found and purchased his treasures over the years. Ornamental pots from Asia. Rugs from Persia. Stuffed alligators from his beloved home-state of Florida. Two hundred year old books in his library. Paintings of native Caloosa Indians in his bathroom. I miss him, his stories, and his home. I hope to write more about him one day soon.

I bring up Buddy because the older I get I realize how much alike him I am in my love for studying people. One silly way I see this is in my observance of Karis and the random piles of toys I find throughout the house. I wonder what goes through her mind as she plays, and sometimes I find I can learn things about her by looking at the evidence of her play. I first blogged about this here in a humorous way, but I realized today how many photos I've taken of her things over the last few weeks. My memory card on my camera is filled with photos of random collections of her toys that I have observed and thought were funny. Though at night I'm less than thrilled to have to pick up so many toys, I love this girl and the crazy things she leaves laying around.

P.S. Sorry for the spacing issues. Anybody else having formatting issues with blogger?

I found this shrine of sorts parked in front of the kitchen stove the other day. It consists of a step stool with some bowls, a plate, a stuffed elephant, a few napkins, a cup, and, strangely, a Gideon's Bible.

A horse eating a giant piece of cake and a pink water bowl.

A horse on window sill. Sure--where else would you store your horse after playing with it?

This is a scene I often find in her room. All of her farm animals lined up in circles having a "carnival" as she calls it.

A couple of weeks ago she was sick with an ear infection and a throat infection. I found her lining up all of her animals in a row. She told me they were all sick. I'm not sure if they were lined up to go to the doctor or what exactly was going on, but I have to admit I was excited to find my imaginative, creative (read: often flighty) child actually organizing something. :-)

Pokey the puppy attatched by string to a princess. The string is wrapped around the princess neck, and it makes me wonder who was walking whom.

A messy kitchen

2011-02-28T20:49:00.007-05:00

There is more dirt in my kitchen these days. Up until now I have taken for granted the bath food receives before being placed on the shelf at the supermarket. So when I first signed up for a weekly produce and egg delivery from a local CSA, I never considered how messy this endeavor could be. I now receive sandy strawberries and gritty cauliflower. And those beautiful eggs? Covered in bird waste. It's not glamorous but true.

My hands and counters have gotten quite dirty in this process. But it's a fair trade-off in my mind. The farmers don't wash the produce before delivering it to me, but the food is harvested by the farmers' hands and, within days, delivered straight into mine. I'm learning I can live the mess.

Self

2011-02-25T15:56:00.002-05:00

Karis drew her first self-portrait the other day during art time at the library. The teacher placed mirrors in front of each child and instructed them to "draw what you see".

I was very skeptical at first, figuring this was kind of a lame, last minute exercise that 3-year-olds really couldn't grasp. Was I ever short-sighted in my thinking! I watched in amazement as Karis drew her first stick figure and recognizable object. A large (nearly perfect) circle for a head, two legs, eyes, ears, hair, and a few extra features I wouldn't have expected such as her forehead (in red) and a "little" stomach (the blue patch under the mouth).

To be honest, I felt guilty for doubting her abilities. Sometimes I think as a parent I am both the most and least qualified person to say what my child is capable of. Spending literally every waking hour with her makes me an expert in what she's capable of doing right now, but I think it also creates natural blind spots in my faith in her ability to handle the next step. I think it's an honestly-fought struggle and something I hear lots of parents battle within themselves.

One thing I know for sure is that I have insisted Karis show off the picture to everyone who's entered our home since then. And if I keep bragging at this rate, that large circle "head" is only going to get bigger.

Spring-like

2011-02-22T17:43:00.005-05:00

The Japanese Magnolias in our neighbor's yard are in full bloom. For two weeks out of the year, the tree explodes with pink-ish lavender blooms all over. Matt and I aren't fans of this tree ordinarily, but we've just about agreed that these two weeks make up for the other boring fifty.

The water oaks are shedding their leaves, leaving piles of yellow leaves pooling in the street. Good neighbor Bob was out front yesterday sweeping up the leaves in piles and bagging them. I remarked to him on the backwardness of a tree losing it's leaves in the spring, and he informed me "the sap is rising and pushing out the old leaves to make room for the new."

This morning I noticed Miss Libby's potted geraniums and rabbit's foot fern have been put back out on the front steps in the wake of recent warmer weather. No sooner did I see that than I heard her lawn mower crank on and my eighty-six year old neighbor slowly pushing the shiny green machine down her driveway to the front yard. I waved to her as I put Karis in her car seat, and she waved back. When Karis asked who I waved to, I responded, "Miss Libby, my hero".

I like getting to know the seasonal calender of my neighborhood a little bit more every year.

Snapshot

2011-02-15T11:02:00.000-05:00

This is how I want to remember these days...

I am busy, busy caring for Karis and her friend E (whom I watch full time). My house is littered with play clothes, blankets, toys, dolls, play dough, art supplies, snacks, a pack 'n play, puzzles, so on and so forth. I'm tired but I wouldn't have it any other way right now.

After a few years off, Matt is reentering the world of leading worship for church. His music stuff is scattered throughout the house, and Karis inevitably finds alternative uses for each item. His guitar case makes a fabulous "horse", for example.

Karis is growing in her affection and care for Keller. She can now fill Keller's dinner bowl, instruct her to sit, and then gives the "ok" command for Keller to begin eating. Karis is so, so proud of herself.

Keller, always patient and kind with her young master, sometimes can't hide her annoyance on her face.

Lately

2011-02-02T21:42:00.006-05:00

I spent some time photographing this cool little guy with his very cool parents. He is the kind of baby that makes a mom want another baby, despite years of saying otherwise.

I've been reading the Little House on the Prairie series the last few weeks, and I'm really enjoying it. I've taken to referencing Ma and Pa a lot lately as if they are personal acquaintances. Matt's initial amusement has given way to annoyance.

My fridge has been invaded by mounds of kale, cabbage and other fresh produce from a local CSA, Fresh Harvest Farm. I'm thrilled with our experience and the affordable prices, but I'm finding that there is a learning curve involved in this sort of commitment. I found myself literally sweating in my kitchen today as I tried to figure out how I was going to use and not waste any of it. I know we'll get into a rhythm eventually.

In a new wave of independence, this little lady bug/ballerina/princess is helping herself to a lot more in our kitchen these days. She is just tall enough to see what's resting on the counters and just long enough to reach those goodies. I found her parked in front of a ramekin of kosher salt the other day, licking her salt encrusted fingers. I guess that's better than the candy jar?

Thursday mayhem

2011-01-20T23:04:00.001-05:00

R--

2011-01-19T20:30:00.001-05:00

Regression:

We giggled as I strapped her into my Ergo baby carrier yesterday before nap time. I found this relic of Karis' infancy while sorting through her baby clothes the other day. I pulled it out to surprise her and show her how I carried her around when she was a baby. She loved the experience of sitting so close to me and has since asked to go back in it a few times. I should have known that this little girl--who is still very much a baby in many ways--would love to be held like one. And I should have known that this mommy--who knows her baby-ness is quickly fading--would enjoy carrying her like one.

Reading:
I love food. I love to talk about it, eat it, watch people eat it, write about watching people eat it...you get the idea. Lately, I've been narrowing down what exactly it is that I like so much about food and the act of eating. One conclusion I have come to is that I love food stories. I love the intersection where food and people's lives collide. Recently, I've been enjoying a few food related books. Belinda Hulin's Roux Memories: A Cajun-Creole love Story With Recipes has taken me down the path of her childhood in New Orleans. It's filled with family photographs, and each recipe begins with a short story that explains the roots of the recipe in her family history. I've also enjoyed Harvest to Heat: Cooking with America's Best Chefs, Farmers, and Artisans. While the recipes don't seem very accessible to home cooks like myself, I love the stories about the farmers and chefs and their collaborations with each other. While I know I should expand my reading repertoire, books like these keep me heading back to my library's food section time after time.

Rufus:
Lately I've been enjoying the beautifully melancholy music of Rufus Wainwright. Karis, on the other hand, called it "scary boy music"and made a low, grunting noise to mimic his sound. I'm not swayed by her disapproval, and I even posted an article about my affection for his work over at Synconation yesterday.

The alley

2011-01-15T16:19:00.004-05:00

When we first moved into our home nearly two years ago, I found the "alley" papers in the drawer to the left of the kitchen sink. I had heard about the infamous alley from the previous owner and several surrounding neighbors. Located directly behind my house, concealed from view by a privacy fence, lies an unpaved alley, overgrown and under-managed by the city. Neighbors claim it's a safety hazard and the direct result of neglect by the city. I'm not sure what the city would say (or has said) in response. Either way, I've always associated the alley with legal papers and disputes and much ill-will.

What has caused division between parties and physical properties alike has recently acquired a new purpose for me. There is a stretch of 10 feet or so behind our shed where there is no privacy fence, only a chain link fence that I can see through to the wild alley beyond. The other day I was out in my yard and happened to walk by the shed. I glanced behind the shed and spotted a beautiful, overgrown alley with plants reaching up toward the sky and bathed in afternoon light. My neighbors are not going to like what came next.

Running inside to grab a large vase filled with water, some scissors and my camera, I made my way out back behind the shed and stood there for ten minutes collecting a vase full of shrimp plants, photographing their beautiful rust-colored blooms resembling the crustacean after which they are named. I felt a little naughty foraging through the orphaned alley, afraid Mema next door would see me and denounce me as a complete traitor.

Truth be told, I love that my urban neighborhood contains a little stretch of land that's been left (by whatever means) to run free. With rows of homes and gardens and lawns intentionally manicured to suit each individual homeowners' taste, I'm fond of the idea that this land is wild and rebellious and free. Of course, I get the irony that I couldn't help but touch and cut and tame some of that wild in order to bring it indoors to be admired on my windowsill and dining room table.

And what did Mema have to say when I showed them to her the next day? Sounding altogether unimpressed, with her voice low and flat, she said, "Shrimp plants." I wonder if she saw me.

.

She

2011-01-11T22:13:00.000-05:00

:: dances around the house day and night in a ballerina outfit much too tiny and revealing for her growing height. When I insist she wear pants (for warmth and decency), she insists "I like the cold." Her current nasty cough tells me otherwise.

:: carries a flashlight around the house with her all day long. Having recently discovered the joy of battery-operated beams of light, I often find her tucked away in a dark corner quietly experimenting with light and shadows.

:: dreams of her school days to come. She babbles on giddily about all the fun it will be and what she'll learn and how she'll be just like her cousin Evie. I'm a little sad and a lot excited for her to enter this new phase of life.

:: learned a lot from our recent trip to visit friends and their new twin boys. She named her own babies "Pixie" and "Magazine" and prefers to hold them both at the same time.

Twenty Eleven

2011-01-06T23:55:00.002-05:00

I'm always amazed at how wonderful and distracting the Christmas season is. And I'm usually even more surprised how refreshing it is to climb out of that holiday hole as soon as the new year strikes. This year was no different. I found myself invigorated by a return to the routine and obligatory coupled with a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the new year.

I could eat my words from last year's resolution post. I knew within a few days of writing it that I had reached too high in some of my goals, particularly my goal of 52 Fridays, a plan to have people over for dinner every Friday for the whole year. Zero--that's exactly the number of Fridays that I hosted people in my home last year. It turns out that 2010 had other plans in store for me and my family. Lots of maturing and searching and working and repenting and forgiving and rejoicing. Lots and lots. But, as a result, I stand here with my feet planted on the edge of 2011 feeling more hopeful than I was last year. Not wishful or dreaming. But hopeful. Honest-to-goodness hopeful.

I have not thought much about resolutions this new year. I suppose I'm feeling a little gun shy this time around lest I miss the mark again so terribly. As Matt and I ate Chinese food last night to celebrate 9 years of marriage (Yes, NINE!!), I told him how much I'm realizing that life has a way of carving out a path that I never planned for. It's a process that's so frightening in it's unpredictability and yet unmistakably beautiful because the plan has been there all along.

My bags are packed, 2011. I'm barely ready for this.

Day 22: Windblown

2010-12-22T16:56:00.001-05:00

We attended a birthday party for a friend today. After days and days of freezing cold weather, it was a beautiful, sunny, wintry-Florida day at the park with temps in the upper 60's and a good breeze blowing. In fact, it was just enough breeze to prevent the birthday candle from staying lit. I was impressed with the 3-year-old birthday girl's patience.

Day 21: Gingerbread party

2010-12-21T23:34:00.002-05:00

I hosted a cookie decorating party today for my friends (who also happen to be my neighbors, lucky me!). Lest any of you be tempted to think I've gone Martha on you, allow me to explain just how easy this was. Karis and Elise helped make the gingerbread men, then I filled some muffin tins with candy, threw a red-checkered tablecloth on the dining room table, draped a Santa hat over each chair for wearing, and we all had a festive party.

I originally saw the idea for a gingerbread house-decorating party in a magazine, but since all of the kids in attendance were four and under, I opted for a 'pre-baked gingerbread men decorating party'. It was a hit and oh-so-much-fun to watch the kids decorate the cookies. Each had a hard time getting past the deliciousness of the frosting, stopping often to lick their spoons and cookies. But once the adults demonstrated that the frosting made an excellent adhesive for the candy, they were off to the races, loading their cookies with as much candy as possible. The party was casual, fun, and something we'll definitely make a habit of.

Day 20: Concentric

2010-12-20T16:28:00.000-05:00

:: With as much as Karis loves and plays with her Russian nesting dolls, I'm surprised the littlest doll still remains. I was sure we'd lose her by now, especially considering where I discovered the nativity set hiding the other day: tucked in a bag, inside of a purse, behind the t.v. cabinet. It was a lucky discovery on my part, and, of course, neither Karis nor her friend had any idea how it got there.

:: I've missed a few days in the DPP this year. It's unusual for me to do so, but it gives me so much admiration for those bloggers who manage to login and publish every day.

:: I published another article for synconation today. I'm enjoying the writing projects trickling in here and there, but I'm also feeling stretched thin. I forever juggle my desire to write within the limits of my precious duty as a mother. I know which one is more important, but I can't help but dream of a time to come when I can have a little bit of structured writing time mixed in with all of my mommy-ness. Karis is going to start VPK in the fall, and I can't help but want to call it something like "free babysitting where she also learns" or "my future writing time". Then again, we're seriously considering expanding our family soon, so....the juggling act will likely continue.

Day 17: Ruby red

2010-12-17T23:25:00.000-05:00

Day 16: Play

2010-12-16T23:13:00.007-05:00

While Karis napped this afternoon, I took advantage of the beautiful moments alone to play with Karis' Christmas presents one last time before I wrap them up. Apparently, it's become a bit of a tradition to play with her gifts before gifting them to her.

I'm thrilled with the gifts we're giving her this year. Among my favorites are a chest full of dolls from the 70's from her Aunt Megan's childhood collection, complete with outfits, shoes, and hangers. She's going to love dressing her new/old 'big girl' dolls.

I'm also loving the Melissa and Doug Fold 'n Go Barn I scored at a garage sale for $0.25. It was missing the animals that originally came with it, but the 'Farm Animals Bucket' from Target for $10 was just the perfect size. The third present worth noting but not pictured here is a puppet stand. While they currently sell for $70 elsewhere, I was so lucky to find it at Tuesday Morning for $30. Given the flare for drama and storytelling that Matt and I are prone to, I figure any and all children born into our home will love and use this gift in the years to come.

And I'm not going to lie. Karis will have to fight Matt and I to use it on Christmas morning.

Day 15: Downtown view

2010-12-15T14:48:00.000-05:00

Karis and her friend Samuel looking out the 3rd floor art room windows at the the Main Street Library.

Day 14: Nativity

2010-12-14T20:55:00.003-05:00

I first photographed our nativity set last year. We purchased this set a few years ago at a fair trade store in Chattanooga that has, sadly enough, shut it's doors to the public. I liked this nativity set particularly because of it's durability and kid-friendliness. I'm all for a fancy, off-limits nativity scene to be enjoyed from a distance. But I wanted this one to be accessible to Karis and her friends so that they could reenact the story of Jesus' birth. I was excited to walk in this morning and find Karis doing just that. She had lined up all the characters in a circle around baby Jesus. The image struck me as familiar, and I realized she was telling the story according to the pictures in the Jesus Storybook Bible, Jesus encircled by all the other characters.

I was glad to see the nativity set being used in the hands-on way I had hoped it would be. But I also learned that Karis has some of her Biblical facts mixed up. Joseph was banished to a basket all by himself because his eyes were closed (the artist's rendering), and she explained he was being punished for not looking at baby Jesus. She also told me one of the wise men was a leper (!). And, in the end, she said the scene was missing something. She ran off into her room for a few seconds, returned to the table with a new toy, and then continued to role play with the characters--Mary, Joseph, an angel, three wise men, the barn animals, baby Jesus, and one Fisher-Price alligator. That's my little Florida girl.

Day 13: Holiday baking

2010-12-13T23:12:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one that cuts up my sticks of butter so that they will come to room temperature more quickly since I have, yet again, forgotten to take them out of the fridge ahead of time? Oh c'mon, nobody else?

Day 12: Mother-daughter date

2010-12-13T15:42:00.004-05:00

We went to see cousin Evie perform in the Nutcracker last night. It was a splendid evening, complete with rare, "special occasion" items such as a velvety, faux-fur-around-the-neck dress (for Karis) and eyeliner (for me). Fancy, indeed.

Day 11: Bethlehem and mayhem

2010-12-12T15:37:00.002-05:00

We took Karis to see a local live nativity production with some friends last night. It's a highly anticipated event in our town, and the turn out is in the tens of thousands, requiring rented parking lots, Disney-esque lines, bus rides from lot to location, and general people-herding. Nevertheless, we braved the crowds to get our first taste of Bethlehem reenacted in the 21st century, according to a local Presbyterian church.

My favorite part, by far, was hearing myself and the other mothers attempt to explain to the children what we were doing. The conversation sounded something like this:

Mothers: We're going to see Jesus, children!

Children: Yay, we're going to see Jesus!

Mothers: Well, he isn't going to be real....no, the baby will be real, of course, but he isn't Jesus...um, because Jesus WAS real...but he lived a long time ago. The baby is just acting like Jesus. Pretending, you know. Uh...Like a reenactment. Yeah, a reenactment like the ones that some people do of the Civil War. (sigh) Have you heard of the Civil War, children?

At this point, the fathers ~~fired us~~ stepped in and took over the discussion.

Day 10: The rat pack

2010-12-10T21:29:00.001-05:00

A princess, a ballerina, a dalmatian puppy, and wonder woman.

Day 9: A new 'do

2010-12-09T17:42:00.003-05:00

Day 8: Wolfgang Puck in my fireplace

2010-12-08T15:56:00.005-05:00

Matt and I woke up this morning and before we even rolled out of bed, we heard the power shut down in the whole house. It's freezing cold here in North Florida, and Matt and I both knew it could be a cold day for me and Karis if we didn't get moving on a fire in the fireplace. So Matt the Protector headed out, gathered wood, and built us a nice blaze where Karis and I stayed put for the better part of an hour, getting up only to kiss Matt goodbye as he headed out to work.

Soon thereafter I became quite overcome with my desire for coffee. I figured if I could just find a way to heat up water in the fire then I could make a nice french press of coffee. I was further motivated to try by the thought of sharing a cup with our neighbor, Mema. So I rustled up a small pan from the kitchen, filled it with water, and placed it gently on a sturdy log in the fire.

The water seemed to be heating up quite nicely and surprisingly quickly when I noticed that bits of ash would periodically fly up from the embers and slowly fall into the water. Call me crazy, but I figured I could strain them out when I was done. But just as things were just about to reach the boiling point, the heat in the house kicked back on. Feeling a little disappointed but like it was the safe thing to do, I backed the pan out of the fire and poured the water (which smelled like a smokey barbecue joint) down the drain.

My hour-long suffering from cold and no coffee reminded me, once again, how hard life must have been before electricity. I'm quite sure life was consumed by the basics, i.e. keeping oneself fed, warm, clothed, etc. In the end, I still made that French Press of coffee...with water heated in my electric kettle. Ah, sweet, modern-day, 'no ash in my water' electricity.

Day 6: This must be love

2010-12-06T21:44:00.003-05:00

The other night Matt asked me to make a salad that he had tried at a party a few weeks ago. And when I say he "asked" me I mean he purchased the ingredients, set them on the counter, and kindly requested we dine on it the very next evening. In other words, he was dead serious about eating it again.

Now, I'm a reasonable woman with a deep and abiding love for the man I married, but I realized just how deep and abiding that love really is as I stirred together the ingredients for watergate salad. The ingredient list reads: cool whip, marshmallows, canned crushed pineapple, walnuts, and instant pistachio pudding mix (!).

As I stirred it all together, ribbons of light green pistachio pudding slowly mixed with the cool whip fluff, creating a subtle minty green substance so airy and light that I can only describe it as other-worldly. It's the stuff I imagine martians enjoy for a late night snack.

This was when I learned "salad" is a forgiving term, requiring absolutely nothing fresh in it in order to go by that name. This was when Karis ate and loved marshmallows for the first time. This was also when I knew how much I love Matt. And, as much as I hate to admit it, this was when I discovered I rather like watergate salad. There, I said it.

***In other news, I had two articles published today. One is over at State of the Re:Union. It's a follow up interview with Operation New Hope, a Jacksonville organization that was originally featured in our pilot episode.

Secondly, I've started writing for a new music blog Synconation. I'm excited to be a part of a passionate group of writers, each covering our own musical interests. I'll be covering the genres of foreign music and folk music for children. In my first piece, I reminisce about my childhood and introduce audiences to the soulful sounds of the Cape Verdean singer Cesaria Evora. Check out the article here.***

Day 5: Tangelo time

2010-12-06T00:05:00.000-05:00

Day 4: Daddy-daughter date

2010-12-04T17:51:00.000-05:00

A date to see the Radio City Rockettes.

And, yes, I was totally jealous.

Day 3: The "birthday" aisle

2010-12-03T23:03:00.000-05:00

Day 2: Domestic

2010-12-02T15:05:00.000-05:00

D is for December Photo Project

2010-12-01T20:21:00.001-05:00

It's December Photo Project time of year again, and I'm ready for another month of daily photo posts. Many thanks to Rebecca for hosting again. I always enjoy the challenge of taking photos everyday and sharing them online.

For my first photo, I couldn't help but post this photo I took tonight of Karis playing with her windup ladybug toy on the kitchen floor. It reminded me of another photo I took for last year's DPP. Turns out, on the first of December last year, I posted a very similar photo of Karis playing on the kitchen floor. So fun! Enjoy the daily window into our lives, readers.

Special

2010-11-28T17:07:00.002-05:00

Thanksgiving was a wonderful celebration this year. My whole family (siblings and parents) were together for the first time in a LONG time. Erica and I cooked the feast in Jenny's beautiful kitchen throughout the day Thursday. There was something almost sportlike about quietly cooking side-by-side with somebody else who loves cooking as much as I do. Meanwhile the cousins chased each other and the dog round and round the dining room, pretending to be mice and puppies and giggling the whole time. The uncles talked and laughed and aired out the house of smoke when the turkey took a minor tumble in the oven (!).

I was so thankful when the meal turned out fantastic. We served a moist, brined turkey, baked mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and gravy, sauteed mustard greens with crispy bacon, roasted cauliflower with dates and pine nuts, candied sweet potato casserole, sweet potato biscuits, spinach salad, and the obligatory but always delicious cranberry sauce. I consider myself very much a rookie in the holiday feast preparation department, so it was quite rewarding that this one turned out so well.

The rest of the weekend was spent laughing with my siblings, enjoying how we are all so different and unique in our own ways. I slept very little on the trip, my insomnia rearing its nasty little head, reinforcing the sad fact that I'm not as great a traveler as I once was.

I arrived home last night to Matt (who wasn't able to travel with us) and a blazing fire in the fireplace. I had secretly hoped on my drive home that he would have a fire going. I kissed him straight away, thankful that he knows me so well. I woke up this morning at 11 am to another warm fire (double swoon!) and Matt applying temporary tattoos to the hand of my giddy daughter. I arrived just in time to stop him from applying a couple of snowflakes to her neck. It would be creepy, I informed him.

We got dressed and headed out for brunch with the Sunday morning church crowd. We each ordered our own breakfast and then ordered pecan pancakes with maple syrup to share, an essential stop on the breakfast tour. The next stop was the Christmas tree tent where we picked out a goodly-sized fraser fir, loaded it up, and listened to our sleepy, over-stimulated-by-holiday-festivities daughter whine the whole way home. A prompt nap was gifted to her upon arriving home. Matt and I followed suit.

We have a family date to put up the tree tonight, lug the plastic Christmas bins out of the storage room, deck the tree, place the stockings on the mantle, and enjoy some holiday music.

Today is not like other days. Most are filled with the mundane obligations of keeping life afloat, with hurried schedules, house chores, work commitments, bickering, and little time for big milestone celebrations. And while there is so much beauty in those ordinary type of days, I'm so thankful for special days like today. Days where we stop and celebrate and feast and have fun. I know I need the ordinary, but I also really need the special. Like...I need them deep, deep down in my soul. Somehow they speak of the joy of living and the reality that we are, after all, only human.

Photo: The church folk around us waiting to be seated for brunch.

Early

2010-11-23T21:27:00.000-05:00

Play

2010-11-16T16:24:00.000-05:00

The one that didn't get away

2010-11-01T17:16:00.007-04:00

Two images haunt me. They are images that I wished I had taken photos of when I was standing there thinking to myself, "I really should take a picture of this." But, for various reasons, I didn't. What's ironic is that in both situations, I had my camera with me, and yet I still didn't take the shot. And now those images haunt me.

The first one occurred a few months ago. I was driving in my neighborhood, and I drove past a bench on the corner of Main Street, with a woman was sitting in it. She looked tired. Haggard, really. She was wearing dark pants and a black jacket with one bright orange stripe across her shoulders. What stood out to me was the vivid orange color contrasted against her dark clothes and the taupe-colored building behind her. I was also drawn to the weariness in her face and body language. I couldn't help but wonder a little bit about what her life was like.

I was sitting at a stop light, a few yards away from her when I saw her, and I vividly remember arguing with myself about whether or not to pick up my camera and shoot. My compassion for her weariness won out (as well as my pride in not looking like a wierd-o), knowing that me and my camera taking her photo without permission would probably be unwelcome, at best. I didn't shoot.

The second image I wish I had recorded was one I saw last week. I drove by a church with signs for a fall festival taking place that day. People were beginning to file in for the festivities. As I drove past the church, I noticed the prayer garden which is a year-round ministry of the church. It centers around a life-size stone replica of Jesus' empty tomb, the door rolled back to celebrate His resurrection. Benches have been placed nearby for people who wish to sit, pray, and reflect on Jesus life and death.

On this particular day, as I drove past, I saw in the field behind the tranquil, reverent prayer garden....(said in a big, male announcer voice)...TWO GIANT MONSTER TRUCKS, crashing down on a row of beat-up cars--the main event of the festival.

Yes, that's right. Christ's tomb in front of a monster truck rally. I still kick myself for not turning my car around to photograph that one.

So, with these missed opportunities fresh in my mind, I was driving Karis to trick or treat at her Great-Grandmother's house a couple of days ago. I turned down her street, and noticed, just before her apartment complex, a large field with overgrown weeds. It was five o'clock, and the magic hour of golden sun was beating down on the tops of the weeds, making the area look like Sting's "fields of gold"...or Bates' "amber waves of grain". Upon seeing it, my brain immediately began lighting up with great photo ops of Karis in her costume, the gorgeous back light, and fun, overgrown background.

So I did what any sensible parent on the road would do. I looked in my rear-view mirror, braked (safely), did a U-turn, parked in the grass, and prevented myself from regretting another missed photography moment.

Morning dance

2010-10-28T15:05:00.008-04:00

As the sun rose this morning, I walked by Karis room and spied her dancing with all her favorite stuffed animals, each in turn. I ran and got my camera to capture the moment. (I think everyone could see that coming.) I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately, and I'm ever so grateful for these beautiful, candid moments in my day.

I miss narrative writing, but I have been so busy with life lately that I often don't have the energy left by nap time or bedtime to sit down and be disciplined enough to write. No, those quiet moments are reserved for pre-recorded episodes of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, a few good books, and a dwindling bag of Ghiardelli 60% cacao chocolate chips, stashed high in my cupboard to avoid easy reach. I easily reach.

I recently heard somewhere, someplace, by someone with good thoughts (busyness induced memory loss?) that the job of a writer is to create art out of almost any subject. In other words, I can and should strive write (and photograph) creatively and artistically, no matter what the subject. I take comfort in this whenever I fear I might be becoming a one-note song, only blogging about my child or parenting.

I love the relationship between photography and writing in my life. When I write, I'm inspired to photograph, and, similarly, when I take a pleasing picture, I'm often spurred on to write. So, when I'm too tired and undisciplined to sit down and create written stories, I turn to picture stories, hoping for some inspiration.

The most readily available subject these days is, of course, my child. Children are wonderfully unselfconscious and uninhibited in their actions. Karis is no different. She is a walking and breathing story, acting out what's going on in her little mind, not caring who is watching nor posing for the camera. I find it refreshing to photograph her, so I often point my camera in her direction. And usually, just like this morning, it provides just the right creative nudge needed to get me writing again.

Around the table

2010-10-27T22:46:00.010-04:00

Chicken fricasse: 3 stars

Dinner conversation: 4 stars

Smile on Karis' face (as her crazy mother walks away from the table to take a photo to savor what "normal" looks like at this moment in our lives): 5 stars

She said

2010-10-25T15:47:00.006-04:00

:: Daddy, Tie me up!
It may sound like a strange thing for a little girl to request of her Dad, but he's been learning how to tie knots lately, and together they have come up with a practical use for some of those knots. It makes me cringe a little bit to watch her body go flying between the kitchen cabinets and stove, but she giggles the whole time and yells "Woo hoo!"

:: Mom, I want some ketchup.
We went to the allergy specialist today, and we got some great news. She is NOT allergic to tomatoes as I was previously told by her doctor. Her skin is sensitive to certain foods, a condition called perioral food reaction, and hopefully, within a few years, she will outgrow this.

Before her nap this afternoon she told me she was hungry and followed it up with, "I want some ketchup." I protested, for obvious reasons. She replied with, "But the doctor said I could."

I'm thinking maybe we should have a tomato extravaganza for dinner tonight.

Pumpkin patch-y

2010-10-24T14:49:00.006-04:00

Florida children are raised on the notion that a pumpkin patch consists of pumpkins lined up on wooden pallets and stacked on long church tables under a tent, on the lawn of a Methodist church beside a very busy highway, and, most likely, on a sweltering hot day. It's not exactly my romantic vision of driving to a farm and picking out a pumpkin from a literal pumpkin patch on a brisk fall day. But it's a tradition, nonetheless, and it's fun. So we'll take it.

This weekend I learned...

2010-10-20T21:50:00.006-04:00

Weekend trips to visit family, though short in length, are very sweet.

Grandpa makes an excellent playmate.

Aunt Jenny teaches fun games like cart wheels and ring-around-the-rosy.

My brother and sister-in-law (not pictured here) make beautiful children.

Roses and Poses

2010-10-15T16:37:00.010-04:00

It's been one of those weeks where the days slip by, full and and varied. The good moments, as well as the bad (and everything in between), all jumbled together.

There was the circus on Sunday, a wonderful treat for Karis and her grandmothers, complete with salty popcorn, sticky cotton candy fingers, and pricey pony rides. Karis responded EXACTLY how we thought she would during the performances, getting up out of her seat to dance and pose for the audience the whole time. Lasting memories.

A trip to Bob's house yielded good conversation, two sugar cookies, and a couple of roses snipped from his front bushes. He loves his roses, calling them by their varietal names "Hello Dolly" and "Chrysler Imperial". I like how he pronounces the latter one, slowly and deliberately.

I wrestled throughout the week with what it means to follow and be loved by Jesus--my judgments, anxieties, imperfections and all. Still wrestling.

Dinner at the Landing proved to be the perfect spot to unwind. A walk along the river, a tasty meal, a slice of peanut butter pie, and a few ballerina "poses" in front of the main street bridge--essentials for a good family night, really.

Fall favorites

2010-10-07T08:00:00.012-04:00

:: Iced pumpkin cookies
The first batch of the season. These cookies make the short list of things my family invariable consumes way too much of once autumn rolls around.

:: Giggling children
A harvest party in our neighborhood brings out races of the three-legged and sack variety. Fun, fun.

:: Glass bottles
An October birthday for Grandma calls for a present in the form of her all-time favorite beverage, "Coca Noah" (as Karis calls them).

Greener grass

2010-10-05T14:42:00.013-04:00

Seeing the back of my daughter's head and the heads of her friends as they bounded through the green grass of Memorial Park yesterday caused me to turn to my friend Nikki and utter words not often heard escaping my discontented lips: "It really is a privilege to be a stay-at-home mom." Of course Nikki knows me better than to trust my sudden burst of optimism and questioned if I weren't perhaps experiencing a sugar rush from the pumpkin spice lattes we were downing at a good rate.

I often struggle with my current job of stay-at-home mom (SAHM). I happen to know a lot of SAHM's who love it, even relish it, and wouldn't have it any other way. While I love my child and the comforts of home, I also desire to have a foot in the working world and the rhythm, structure, and adult conversations that come with having a job. But this stage in my family's life requires that I put those desires away on a shelf, to be taken down at a later time when my family doesn't need me as acutely as they do now. And I'm at peace with that, most of the time.

But yesterday I was more than at peace with it. Throughout the day I caught glimpses of the privileges that come with being a full-time mom, wife, and house manager. I was aware of the time, space, and freedom Karis and I both have as a result of me not working right now, and I felt grateful.

:: Doing laundry on my bed as Karis woke up from her nap in her usual groggy, cranky state.

:: Playing a quiet game in the clothes hamper.

::Visiting MeMa next door (a.k.a. Great Grandma).

:: Boiling chickpeas to make homemade hummus, a time-consuming process.

:: Reading Karis a bedtime story (my hat goes off to mom's working the night shift!).

This week in review

2010-10-01T14:36:00.006-04:00

It rained alot.

I made corrections to my recipe for the perfect "gray sky" beverage, vanilla chai latte.

Karis used the term "otherwise" somewhat appropriately in a sentence.

The car wouldn't start. It was fixed, and then, within an hour, the dryer broke.

It rained some more.

Matt fixed the dryer with his own two hands and a ton of ingenuity. What a man.

I learned that Gerbera daisies prefer cool, rainy weather (take note, Seattle gardeners).

The skies cleared, the laundry dried, and I drank a pumpkin spice latte. Vanilla chai latte who?

Recipe for a beautiful wedding

2010-09-29T16:02:00.007-04:00

An empty beach.
Crashing waves.
Golden sunset.
Five friends gathered to celebrate marriage.
Everyone just happens to wear blue.

As I drove to the beach beforehand, I simply prayed this: "Lord, help me to see the beauty...and then photograph it." I'm so grateful He delivered.

Congratulations, Josh and Kerry.

A few rambling thoughts on digital photography

2010-09-23T16:13:00.005-04:00

This morning Matt asked me to look for a particular picture in my photo archives. It was a simple enough request, but as any digital photographer knows, this can turn into a long, complicated process. Actually, I should rephrase that. If you are as disorganized and undisciplined about categorizing your photos as I am, well then, you know how long this task can take.

I recently purchased a new computer, and I swore up and down that I would keep the photo files more clean and organized on my new computer. I had not done a good job on the old computer, and as a result, I had many different systems for filing photos but not one cohesive way of keeping track of them. It turns out that a new computer will do little to keep things organized when the organizer hasn't actually undergone a transformation in her organization skills.

I've also been experiencing some camera "issues" lately which have sent me in to my local camera store on the brink of tears. (Yes, I get emotional about my camera.) This era of stress has highlighted for me some of the weaknesses of digital photography. Before now, I have to say I couldn't really see any shortcomings. The expense of film was no longer an issue. In theory, I could take as many pictures as I desired and only pay for the ones that turned out. No more filling out those little white envelopes at the Walmart photo counter, stuffing them with my hard-earned film, waiting a few days, and paying for pictures that technically turned out but I didn't artistically care for. On the other hand, with my digital camera, I could use as much time and as many exposures as I wanted to achieve the shot I wanted. Waste not (film), want not (money). Right?

In my last visit to the bleach blonde, slightly condescending camera store employee who I've seen twice in the past week who I now consider my personal camera doctor, she told me that my camera has about 55,000-70,000 actuations. That's about how many shots I can expect to take with my camera before major repairs are needed. Those major repairs will cost nearly as much, if not more, as a new camera, essentially justifying the purchase of a whole new camera.

Shocked? Yeah. I was too, because I instantly knew that in my carefree, trigger-happy, shutter-release-pressing, digital zeal, I had certainly reached my limit, if not far exceeded it. I couldn't understand why nobody had told me about actuations before now. I wouldn't have taken 50 shots of that tree or flower or beam of afternoon sunlight hitting my wall just right. I realized that just because I can take as many photos as I desire, doesn't mean I should. While I don't have to pay to get all of those photos developed, I am paying for them in the wear and tear on my camera.

Like I alluded to at the top, clutter is also a big issue with digital photography. I spend a lot of time weeding through the junk to get to the best shots. Those shots must be filed away in folders on my computer. Then, if I'm diligent, I have to wipe out the unwanted photos from my camera's memory card. Once I do file the photos away on my computer, the chances are good that I will never see them again. So much wasted time.

Additionally, I used to think that digital was good because I wouldn't have to bother with messy, sticky photo albums. In theory, I could keep all of our photos online and easily pull them up when we wanted to look at them. The reality is, I rarely actually print out photos anymore since I'm simply not forced or held accountable to print anything out like I was when shooting with film. So, except for blogging, I think we actually live with less photography in our lives (no albums, fewer photos sent to family, etc) simply because we aren't forced to print things out in order to see how they turned out.

And can we talk about camera quality for a second? It also seems that there is big difference in camera manufacturing today compared to the last few decades. Sitting on my desk and at the top banner of this blog is a photo of my grandfather's camera. I've been meaning to take it into a shop to see if it still works, but even if it doesn't, it isn't uncommon to hear of people still using old cameras inherited from their parents and grandparents. Those cameras were built to last, made with heavy duty materials. Sadly, I don't think my camera will make it into next year, much less be used by Karis or Karis' children. Today's cameras are made to be expendable--kind of like pricey, highly intelligent, semi-permanent disposable cameras. Use them hard and fast...and make sure to have a financial plan in place to replace it in about 3-4 years.

I think another trade-off exists in terms of creativity. Whether it's a dSLR, point-and-shoot, phone, MP3 player, computer, GPS, baby rattle (j/k), etc., everyone and anyone is a photographer today. And with programs like Photoshop that give people the freedom to go back and touch up/alter photos, there is no limit to good, creative photos and photographers out there. On the one hand it's debunked many of the challenges of earlier photography science, making photography so accessible, yet, on the other hand, I sometimes think it's created an artistic glut. There IS so much good photography out there. As a photographer, I find it that much harder to make a name for myself. I sometimes ask myself, Where and why does my photography fit in this big, wide world of digital photography?

So am I saying I'm going to switch back to film? No. Certainly not. I really do love the freedom and ease of digital photography. But I think I am more aware of the trade-offs now. The more shots I take in the name of digital freedom, the quicker it wears down my camera. Also, beware of clutter! Lastly, take time to organize every (!) time (!) you upload or else you will find yourself hoping for a future pregnancy with doctor-ordered "bed rest" in order to organize your 55,000-70,000 photos sitting on your computer in a file labeled "photography". (Nice, Alina. Really specific.)

I'm curious what you guys think. Do you appreciate digital photography or miss the old film way? If you prefer digital photography, are you experiencing any of the growing pains I just shared?

[Photo credit: Courtesy of my friend Charlotte. I was preparing for a beach wedding photo shoot, and we thought the image of me with two cameras and two camera bags around my neck was a pretty funny sight.]

Waffle routine

2010-09-21T23:38:00.008-04:00

1. Forget to use non-stick spray. First waffle becomes duck food.

2. Snack on waffle carnage while Mom tries again.

3. Waffles: take two. Much better.

4. Douse in syrup.

5. Stare it down.

6. Go in for the kill.

7. Leave nothing behind.

A retraction

2010-09-18T11:17:00.005-04:00

I may have been a little harsh in my description of a neighbor in last week's post. As one commenter gently implied, perhaps this lady's ability to juggle is somewhat of a beautiful thing. So when I saw her walking down the street last night and I just happened to have my camera in hand, I couldn't help but go over and introduce myself to her.

Meet Sherry. Owner of 5 dogs and a parrot.

And how did Sherry arrive at so many pets? It's actually a really beautiful story. Up until recently, she only had the two large dogs and the parrot. Then a neighbor spotted the two chihuahuas abandoned in the backyard of a foreclosed home. When Sherry caught wind of it, she immediately brought them into her home and nursed their malnourished bodies back to health. The little black dog was roaming down her street a couple of weeks ago, also underweight and in need of care. He now has a new home and has gained a few much-needed pounds.

Official statement: Sherry is awesome.

Sunday treats

2010-09-12T18:55:00.006-04:00

Eating a Daddy-made dinner.

Challah French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and lemon juice.

Kisses that make your shoes fall off.

Dog days

2010-09-11T15:29:00.006-04:00

We've entered the awkward season sandwiched between summer and fall, the time of year when I'm ready for fall weather but the thermometer still pushes 95 midday. Invariably, my closet undergoes an identity crisis as I feel uncomfortable wearing post-Labor Day white and my favorite white, open-toed wedges. To avoid a worthless battle in my mind, I gently remind myself to let it go. I live in Florida. Year-round flip flops are the norm.

Karis surprised me with her powers of keen observation yesterday. I was driving and asked her to please be quiet so I could listen to the news on the radio. She replied back, "What's wrong with the world, Mommy?" Well, how much time to you got, kid?

I looked out my window yesterday to see a woman walking down our street with four dogs on leashes and a humongous red, blue, and yellow parrot sitting on her shoulders. Then, as if the scene weren't unusual enough, she passed a neighbor's recycling bin, spotted something she wanted, pulled out an empty milk jug, and went merrily on her way. I can't imagine what she'll use it for.

I've been eyeing a collection of jars in the back of my mother-in-laws outdoor fridge for a couple of months now. I recently asked her about them, and she told me they were homemade fig preserves, a gift from her next door neighbor Pat. My curiosity got the best of me this week, and I simply asked to have a jar. Oh. My. Goodness. Pat, you have done a noble service to mankind. With the subtle, deep fig flavor and tender bite, it makes for a dynamite breakfast when combined with a bowl of Greek yogurt and granola. I know I should share this with Matt, a self-proclaimed fig lover, but I'm fighting the urge to tuck it away in an undisclosed location.

Late afternoon

2010-09-07T22:27:00.007-04:00

A late nap, a groggy girl.
Dinner, hot and ready.
Waiting for Dad, clock ticks slowly.
A breeze blowing, the sun glowing.
Snuggling on the front porch.

Mowing my lawn made me feel like a woman

2010-09-02T20:12:00.008-04:00

It's true. Before yesterday, I had never mowed a single blade of grass in my life. With only 30 minutes to spare before company was scheduled to arrive, I decided to take to the overgrown jungle in our backyard, the one that Matt typically tames but has been too busy to do so as of late. So I donned my brightest, gaudiest blue yard shoes and lugged the large push mower out of the gasoline-fumed storage room.

For the next 10 minutes, the mower and I stared at each other, wondering what was in store for each of us. Determined to finish the task I started, I poked, prodded, and pulled--all quite unsuccessfully. Unwilling to concede defeat, I finally decided to knock...on Bob's door across the street.

Bob is the kindest man I currently know. He's always telling us that if we ever need anything, we shouldn't hesitate to ask. So with the clock ticking and my pride waning, I did just that. Within a few minutes he stood over the mower, gently explaining to me how to check the oil, fill the gas tank, and crank the machine. I listened carefully, feeling simultaneously like a little kid trying something for the first time and like superwoman, unafraid of a new task. He cranked the machine, and I got to work.

Within twenty minutes, the whole backyard was trimmed to a nice, neat height of 2 inches, and I felt like I could take on the world. Thankyouverymuch.

I'm a little curious

2010-08-27T14:54:00.012-04:00

Today I roamed into Karis room to look for something and found some very strange groupings of objects. I couldn't help but grab my camera to document the interesting combinations I spotted. While I know these are the evidence of healthy, normal play, I wonder what an archaeologist would conclude about my child based on these findings.

An egg nestled in a slipper.

A sock sandwich.

A hamster in a blender.

An Easter basket stuffed with a pair of panties, a pink hat, a superman cape, and a toaster.

A purse stuffed with 3 Mardi Gras bead necklaces, a cell phone, a baby bottle of lotion, and a ping pong ball.

A trip, a detour, and some new friends

2010-08-25T15:48:00.015-04:00

A few weeks ago my friend Georgia invited me to join her on a trip to visit her hometown, Americus, Georgia. We were going to attend a ceremony dedicating a highway to her father who was the founder of Habitat for Humanity and the Fuller Center for Housing. Although my friendship with Georgia is new, I couldn't pass up a chance at adventure and some time away from the everyday grind. I also knew it would give me a chance to spend time getting to know Georgia, someone I seemed to connect with quite easily.

So after arranging babysitting and disaster-proofing the weekend for my husband and child, I hopped in Georgia's car, and we were off. The conversation flowed easily for the first hour. To be honest it flowed so incredibly easy, each of our thoughts bouncing off of the other's, one idea building on the next as we shared where we were in our marriages, family life, artistic pursuits, and humanitarian ideas. Bounce, bounce, bounce went our ideas...until the car literally began to bounce. Speeding down I-75, the car abruptly began to slow down. The panic started to creep in when Georgia realized the error of our ways. We had run out of gas.

I rolled down the windows as Georgia called for roadside assistance. "About an hour," they told us. Within 15 minutes, a nice, young sheriff pulled up behind us, and asked if we needed help. Georgia batted her pretty eyelashes and asked in her sweetest voice, "Policemen don't, by any chance, provide the service of getting gas, do they?"

"If you are still here in an hour, I might could," he responded, unfazed by her desperate, roadside charm and then drove off. An hour came and went with no return visit, and we learned that "might could" is just a polite, but definitive "no."

Fortunate for us, assistance eventually arrived in the form of two tow truck drivers who informed us we were in the middle of no where, a.k.a. Jasper, Florida. They were nice men, to-the-point with thick country accents and rural sensibilities. In no time they filled our tank with gas. We said thanks and cranked the car only to find it had no crank. The battery was dead. So the nice, disbelieving men pulled up their truck, connected our vehicles, and began to give us power. But, as if in a very bad dream, when Georgia tried to turn the key, she couldn't. It was stuck. Very stuck...as in all four of us taking turns pulling, pushing, wriggling, and praying. Still, no unsticking. In a later retelling of the events, Georgia would remark that had we gotten the key to work, a tire would certainly have fallen off.

Seeing no other way around it, we agreed to be towed. We hopped in the back of their truck and deliberated on where to be towed. We could turn around and drive 20 minutes back to Lake City. It would be the cheapest route in tow fees, though the back-tracking on our trip seemed depressing. On the other hand, we could be towed further up north, and incur greater towing fees but be heading in the right direction. I could tell Georgia had a certain determination about her and wanted to keep going towards our final destination. She looked to me for my opinion.

I think I said something like, "I have babysitting all weekend. I don't care what we do, so long as we don't go back to Jacksonville." Yes, come to think of it, that's exactly how I put it.

Off to Valdosta we were. Fortunately for us, there was a rental car available, a premium car at a premium price. We laughed at the irony of going to a ceremony celebrating a man who championed for the poor and arriving in a luxury vehicle. But at least the ride would be smooth from here on out, assuming frequent trips to the gas station.

The tow guys followed us to the auto body shop where Georgia penned a long letter describing the reason for the tan, 1996 Saturn sitting in their empty parking lot on a Friday night. As she wrote, I talked with the men about their hometown of Jasper, learning that both men live on farms, care for livestock, and have been close friends ever since grade school. Everybody knows everybody in Jasper, and the doctor who delivered one guy's wife also delivered the wife's mother. That doctor retired only a couple of years ago.

I snapped some pictures of our new friends, and as Georgia posed with one of them, he turned to her and said, "You know the famous chef Art Smith? That's my brother. We grew up on the farm together. He used to be Oprah Winfrey's chef." She looked at me, wide-eyed, and I stepped in closer to hear the story. He retold it to me, and as I looked at his face, I instantly realized who his brother is. In fact, I had seen him two weeks prior on Top Chef remarking about one contestant's delicious pea puree.

"I know exactly who your brother is, just by looking at you!" I told him, and he seemed satisfied to be able to say he's related to someone famous. "Do you keep in touch?" I asked.

"No. We grew up on the farm together. He went off to the city, and I stayed with the farm. He visits my mom. He took her to China to see that great wall," he said.

We chatted a few more minutes while paperwork was signed, and they eventually packed up and drove off in the direction of Jasper, right back to their farms and livestock and the country doctor who treated four generations of patients. We hopped in our fancy car, relieved to be back on track.

You know, the rest of the weekend was really great. I met Georgia's wonderful family and a ton of great people who work for the Fuller Center for Housing. They are a dynamic group of people who are so passionate about building homes for the poor, and it was inspiring to witness the dedication of the highway in honor of Georgia's Dad. But I think what I'm going to remember most about my trip is that little off road adventure that started with a thirsty car on a busy highway. The road we were traveling down had other places to take us.

Ruth Ann Schabacker says, "Each day comes bearing its own gifts. Untie the ribbons." As a mother, wife, artist, and daughter of Christ, I'm learning to care less about the arriving and more about the process of getting there. There is so much humor, inspiration, and surprise in the adventure.

Life is funny. Even if I had tried I couldn't have thought of a funnier story than meeting these two guys with their famous connection. Then again, if I spent some more time in Jasper, Florida, I suppose I "might could".

Profoundly

2010-08-23T15:00:00.007-04:00

:: Girl
Karis learned something this morning. When you meet your friends at the park down the street, bring your bike, your climbing shoes, and come prepared for a few games of hide-and-seek among the oak trees. But princesses who have no brothers beware: the boys will be sword-wielding pirates who are mostly disinterested in your dramatic stories about being a beautiful ballerina or princess.

:: Unsettling
Karis has many, many imaginary friends. But one in particular has been showing up a lot lately. His name is Ledge (pronounced with a soft z sound, as in Lezh). She gives him lots of orders, and he doesn't seem to mind being bossed around, unlike the rest of us. Yesterday, I asked Karis about Ledge, and she informed me he is 21. Creepy.

:: True
While talking about our newest, most adorable nephew Knox, Matt turns to me and comments, "You know, we only have one birth day. Every other year is just an anniversary." Brilliant.

:: Delicious
I'm going to make my favorite cookies in the whole world this afternoon. I know it's a ballsy claim, but I stand by it. I first tasted these thick and chewy double chocolate cookies at a quaint bed and breakfast in Lake City, Colorado a few years ago. After a long day of sightseeing, we walked in to find the owner sitting with a plate of warm, freshly-baked cookies. They (!) were (!)
amazing (!). I took a chance the next morning and asked for the recipe, and the owner introduced me to the wonderful world of America's Test Kitchen. I'm not sure which was the greater gift, the recipe or the introduction.

FYI: For access to the recipe, go to the ATK website, sign up for a 14-day free trial membership and search under "Thick and Chewy Double-chocolate Cookies."

A cute pair

2010-08-19T13:43:00.005-04:00

I spent the morning reorganizing my messy closet. In my fervor to dust, organize, and eliminate, I missed the incredible hide-and-seek potential that's inherent to the task. I'm glad somebody found it.

State of the Re:union

2010-08-16T15:51:00.002-04:00

I got a call last month that made my head start spinning. On the other end of the phone line was the multimedia producer of the NPR radio show State of the Re:union. The show is produced locally and airs on public radio stations around the United States. I'm a huge fan of NPR, finding the quality of their programs to be top notch. So when he asked if I would write for their website....well, the head spinning and mouth-watering and general flub-flubbering coming from my mouth indicated a whole-hearted YES!!!

I'm sharing this with you guys for a few reasons. First of all, I wanted to introduce you to the show, if you haven't heard of it yet. It's hosted by the talented poet and radio host Al Letson, and with the help of his producers, the show travels to cities and towns around the country to explore how people are building community. I really like Al's eloquent style, the thoughtful exploration of issues, and quality documentation of the challenges that face people across the country. It's a show that essentially looks for the stories and faces of hope in American communities--a concept I find redemptive on so many levels. And, of course, I'm excited that the style of the show really fits with my own passion for writing about people and their life stories.

I've been brought on to research and write about citizens that are building community in their town. Approximately once a month, I will write about one such organization, highlighting the efforts of the individuals to bring their city together. You will be able to find my interview in a column on the home page, right hand side under the title "Local Spotlight".

That brings me to my second point in sharing this news...my first piece went live yesterday! I wrote about a great farm in Chattanooga that promotes, educates, and advocates for local, sustainable farming in their city. It was so fun to research and write about the farm and the passionate people who run it. Check out the interview here.

And please check out the show! There are three episodes from the pilot season and five episodes from the first season. You can stream episodes from the website or check your local NPR station for when it airs in your town. It's a quality show that I think will make you want to grab a hot beverage and curl up with your radio or computer...or however you listen to NPR.

Signs of life

2010-08-10T21:47:00.012-04:00

A caterpillar experiment becomes a beautiful black swallowtail butterfly release party. Karis squealed, and I was thoroughly giddy even though I knew what to expect. I think we'll do this every year.

Bob and I chatted on his lawn last night as the mosquitoes gnawed at our ankles and Karis twirled around on his lawn. Karis adores Bob, calling him by his first name like she would any friend her own age even though he's about 70 years older. He is equally smitten as well, and who could blame him? He spends his days tirelessly caring for his ailing wife who suffered a stroke a couple of years ago. So a little girl's frequent admission, "Bob, I love you!" does his exhausted, grieving heart good. Her love is simple and uncomplicated. I'm grateful for that.

The singing. Oh the singing. During playtime. Meal time. Drive time. Nap time. Bath time. Shopping-in-Publix-when-all-I-need-is-just-a-moment-of-peace-and-quiet-to-think time. All.the.time.

Pool time

2010-08-08T11:19:00.009-04:00

::A morning elephant ride
::An afternoon bath and beverage
::An evening dip under Venus and Mema's watchful eye.

Pint-sized observations

2010-08-06T15:26:00.007-04:00

Somebody has acquired my penchant for funky, mismatched bed time outfits. Poor, misguided girl.

We've been listening to a lot of Tom Petty in the car lately. This fact has not gone unnoticed by Karis who has memorized a good portion of the lyrics to "I won't back down." We recently looked in our rear view mirrors to see her singing loudly to the baby doll in her hands, "Hey baby, there ain't no easy way out..."

Karis is developing an interesting theology on death. Most of her information comes from the authoritative text There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. So she knows a horse will take you out cold, but then, once your gone, Karis informed me that you float out into space in a rocket ship with a helmet on. Hmm. That sounds like the intro to the show Little Eintsteins. It also sounds like it's time to answer some questions.

If looks could kill, we'd all be floating in space right now.

Sophie's farm, part 2

2010-08-04T13:57:00.006-04:00

From the moment I stepped through the front door of Sophie's home I knew I was going to be taking a lot of pictures. The best way to describe their home is Scandinavia meets farmhouse rustic. In other words, a Swiss man falls in love with a southern woman from Georgia, and along with 5 charming kids, this is the home they've set up for themselves. It's brimming with color, family art, well-worn wooden toys, mid-century modern furniture, school science projects, and all of the lived in messiness that breathes life into the space.

And would you be surprised to know they managed to do all of this in a mobile home? It's true. Enjoy the tour!

Sophie's farm, part 1

2010-07-29T14:53:00.010-04:00

Do you remember those beautiful fresh eggs I told you about last month? Yesterday, Karis and I went on a field trip to meet Sophie, her family, and her entire brood of chickens.

Tall, beautiful, and serious about her work, Sophie gave me the tour of her homemade pen and coop. She and her brother personally chased down the hens and rooster so that I could meet and photograph each one. With the authority and pride of a mother, she told me about each chicken that she'd raised from birth. I snapped away, all the while asking embarrassing questions that outed me as a city girl.

I was really inspired by our visit with this Swiss-American family of 7 and seeing the creative life they've built for themselves. Enjoy the photo tour of Sophie's work, and stay tuned for more photos of their Swedish-farmhouse style home (!), treehouse, and family gardens.

Dads and ditties

2010-07-27T16:58:00.010-04:00

Music is important around this house. My husband has an ever expanding instrument collection. Need an expensive guitar? No problem. An old horn from the middle school years? Yep. A shaker in the shape of an orange or avocado? Ditto. Karis is following suit quite nicely. She stands on a stool in the kitchen while I cook and directs imaginary masses of musicians. She dances to the first hint of a melody being played.

As I was making plans for her third birthday party this year, I asked myself one thing: What does she like? Music came to mind readily. So a backyard music party it was. A lawn full of friends, a bouquet of balloons blowing above a table full of summer fare, and a special music guest to sing to Karis and her friends, instruments in each hand. It was fun and hot and oh-so-memorable, at least for Karis who has continued to reference her party on a daily basis.

Lately, I've been putting Karis to bed to Andrew Peterson and Randall Goodgame's Slugs and Bugs and Lullabies cd. Last night I laid in bed with her for a few minutes and listened to the songs she's been falling asleep to. Tracks 16 and 17 are beautiful love songs from a father to his daughter, and Karis really resonates with those two, knowing a good bit of the words. I played them for Matt later so he would know them and be able to sing them with her when she references them.

I have to admit, I felt a little jealous thinking about all of the great father/daughter songs out there. There's John Mayer's "Daughters" and Loudon Wainwright III's "Daughter". Both so sweet. There is something special about that connection. It's different than mother/daughter relationships which haven't inspired quite as much poetry. And don't get me started on how many Disney movies portray loving fathers and absent or mean mothers. (Has anybody else noticed?)

But then again, who wouldn't love a father who comes home from work, slaves over the hot grill on a hot day, and then moves seamlessly to the guitar and harmonica to entertain a group of excited toddlers? He deserves a few good songs.

All photos courtesy of my talented brother-in-law Ande.

A friendly face

2010-07-24T18:36:00.007-04:00

Last week Keller scarfed up a chicken bone off the kitchen table while we weren't paying attention. As you dog owners know, chicken bones + dogs = bad, bad news. I sat slumped in a chair, crying over the vision of Karis' favorite four-legged friend going to doggy heaven in a slow, painful way.

A call to the vet revealed the usual, pricey diagnosis: we should bring her in for x-rays and potential surgery. We love our dog, but that's an investment we knew we couldn't make.

Fortunately, she weathered the storm just fine. No harm, no foul. And I do mean that quite literally--no more roasted foul in my oven for a good, long while.

I spy something purple

2010-07-20T21:32:00.006-04:00

She's three and she's free

2010-07-19T15:19:00.005-04:00

Happy Birthday, Karis!

I love you, little baby Karis.
I love you, little baby Karis.
I love you oh-so-much,
I love you oh-so-much.
I love you, little baby Karis.

-Lullaby I've sung to Karis since she was born. Simple, but it says it all.

Hands on

2010-07-08T17:08:00.005-04:00

My latest article for EU is hot off the press, and it is a restaurant review of a local Ethiopian restaurant in Jacksonville. I enjoyed writing this piece, and I'm making plans to go back with a group of friends to enjoy this delicious food in the next couple of weeks. Since many of you expressed interest in reading the article, I'm going to post it here on my blog. Also, if reading this piques your interest in Ethiopian food but you aren't sure how to find it in your area, check out this website to search for Ethiopian restaurants by state.

When Tony Gelaye decided to open up an Ethiopian restaurant in Jacksonville, he knew he was facing a pretty big obstacle: most Americans have never heard of, much less tried, Ethiopian cuisine. In fact when I first heard about it, I had literally no idea what to expect. But being a curious mind with an adventurous appetite, I rolled up my sleeves and gave Tony a call.

Open since January of this year, Queen of Sheba is a labor of love for Tony, his sister Melat, and mother Yeshi. It's a family affair, mom and Tony cooking and Melat helping outside of the kitchen. I made my way to this restaurant on Atlantic Boulevard and arrived to find it tucked away in humble, nondescript strip mall. I sat down and spoke briefly with Tony while his mother prepared the meal. Within a few minutes, a large platter (think 16 inch pizza pan) was placed before me, a vegetarian and meat sampler platter.

The bottom of the pan was covered with the traditional Ethiopian bread called Injera, a pancake-like sourdough bread which also doubled as the utensils for the meal. Atop the Injera lay a variety of thick stews (Wat) and sauces, varying in colors and textures. Upon first glance, I could most readily associate this meal before me with Indian food. It had a similar look: savory sauces made of legumes and vegetables, deliciously slow-cooked and well spiced.

I sat there and looked up to my native hosts to show me how to proceed. Without hesitation, Melat tore off a piece of the bread and scooped up a portion of stew she selected. I did the same, only slightly aware of the awkwardness of eating with my hands and sharing a plate with someone else. From there, I methodically moved from one delicious stew to the next, taking note of the complexity of flavors and textures. Each was rich and savory from the onions, garlic, ginger, and other spices typical in Ethiopian dishes. This was comfort food at its best.

While I enjoyed all of the offerings, a few really stood out. The lamb stew (Ye-beg Alicha) simmered with garlic, onions, and spiced butter was a favorite, causing me to dispense with my manners and ask outright, "What's this?" The split red lentils cooked in a red pepper sauce (Misir wot) was also delicious and suitable for a vegetarian yet having enough gusto to please even the most ardent meat-eater. The steamed collard greens (Yeabesha Gomen), garlicky and slightly tangy, cut through the spiciness of the other sauces. Fresh cheese, made on site, was served as a cool and creamy contrast. Finally, to wash it all down, Melat brought me a cup of traditional Ethiopian honey wine (Tej), sweet and refreshing.

As we ate and drank, we chatted about Ethiopian dining practices in contrast to those here in America. They described meal time in Ethiopia as a lengthy social activity. Practices such as eating with the hands, sharing platters of food, and feeding companions at the table to express affection (gursha) are just a few of the ways in which meals are a vehicle to express hospitality and foster community. Melat was being candid when she said, "Everybody's door is open in Ethiopia. Everyone is welcome. The first time I came here, I saw everybody's door closed and thought, 'Whoa, this is hard.'"

The doors of Queen of Sheba are always open for the coffee ceremony, an ancient ritual still practiced three times a day in Ethiopia. Tony and Melat encourage diners to order fresh coffee for the perfect conclusion to their meal. In this practice, Ethiopian coffee beans are roasted, ground, and brewed, the aroma filling the restaurant as you sit and talk. The coffee is then served in three rounds, inviting diners to relax, socialize, and experience that same hospitable slowing down that the Ethiopian people have perfected.

As I sat there, I was amazed and grateful how seriously this family takes their cultural practices, and I realized that this is perhaps one of the most quality examples of a authentic foreign restaurant I've seen in a long time. From the care taken in ordering traditional ingredients straight from Ethiopia to the making of fresh Injera bread, cheese, and wine to the roasting coffee beans on site--they've kept it as traditional as I would imagine possible being so far from home. And with prices ranging from $6-$12 an entree, this seems almost too good to be true. But somehow they've managed to appeal to more than just the adventurous eater looking for something different to eat. They equally welcome the meat-lover, vegetarian, gluten-free (Injera bread contains no gluten), and health-conscious (fresh, organic, never frozen ingredients).

I find Melat's words endearing. "If we didn't have a restaurant, we would eat like this anyways," she tells me, referring to the quantity and quality of work involved in preparing her family's native cuisine. But with food so fresh and tasty, I know I'm glad they didn't just keep it in the family.

The eatery is open on Mondays 4-11 pm, Tuesdays-Sunday 11-11 pm. Groups of six or more call for reservations. All major credit cards are accepted.

Queen of Sheba
10214 Atlantic BLVD
Jacksonville, FL 32225

July 6

2010-07-06T18:24:00.002-04:00

I woke up this morning with a virus and a broken air conditioner. It was a "take a trip to the grandparents" kind of day.

Around the clock

2010-07-05T16:47:00.003-04:00

::Morning

::Noon

::Night

The show

2010-07-02T14:15:00.009-04:00

If neighbor Bob looks through his front window around 6 pm on any given day of the week, he's likely to see two dancing silhouettes through our living room window. Karis has dance recital fever right now, and when I'm feeling generous, I join in. A few weeks ago we attended cousin Evie's dance recital, and since then Karis has been twirling about, gracefully extending her arms, and "taking a bow" whenever and wherever the mood strikes.

What I hope Bob can't see is me "dressed up" in a hodgepodge dance outfit that Karis insists I wear. I'm a 31-year-old woman twirling about my living room sporting a baby blanket for a dress, a few dolly clothes tucked in my waistline to simulate a tou tou, and a white towel draped over my head as a veil. You wouldn't know it, but dancing in that getup without pieces falling off isn't easy.

I walked into Karis' room this morning to find the female half of her Fisher Price Little People sitting in a random mix of toy seats (toilet, stroller, chair, etc.) lined up in a row as the generic Cinderella doll danced before them. Apparently, all the princesses got together and put on a dance recital. Not surprising, the Little People were smiling from ear to manufactured ear.

Summer playlist

2010-06-28T16:34:00.006-04:00

::On my MP3 player
I'm enjoying the cool, mellow tones of Joshua Radin lately. He's just right for those lazy afternoon moments, lounging on the couch in my air conditioned home or those post-beach evenings, suntanned and sleepy.

::On my bedside table
Earlier this year I ordered a subscription to National Geographic, and I'm not sure why it took me so long to do so since I'm totally in love with it. From the stunning photography to excellent writing which explores other cultures, science, and history, this is definitely bedside travel at its best.

::On my DVR
I want to travel Mexico with Rick Bayless. In the meantime, watching his PBS cooking show Mexico: One Plate at a Time will certainly do. I've always suspected that authentic Mexican cuisine was far more than quick fast food, ground beef tacos, and Velveeta cheese-slathered nachos. Bayless' confirms this theory, educating viewers on the diversity and complexity of Mexican cuisine in his typical, charismatic fashion. Every week I look for one night where I can curl up alone on the couch and savor the show. I can't get enough.

::On blistering hot Saturdays
Hands down, Karis favorite thing to do is swim in the lake with Daddy B (her grandpa). He's fun and lets her do things Mom is too fussy to let her do in her presence like swim in the lake (!), jump off the stairs, and stay in the water for hours on end. I'm pretty sure he's been elevated to superhero status in her mind.

::In my freezer
I can't seem to get popsicles out of my mind lately. They are the perfect way to cool down and consume juice and fresh fruit. Inspired by this post, I purchased some limes and a few extra cartons of blueberries and raspberries this week. Now I'm on the hunt for good popsicle molds that are inexpensive and good quality (nothing worse than a frozen pop that slides right off the stick). I stepped into Williams Sonoma this morning and spotted this fancy pants machine, and though it would fit the bill in the quality department, the price tag caused some eye rolling (not all that uncommon for me in that store).

Summer friends

2010-06-27T17:48:00.005-04:00

He has one of those faces I won't soon forget. On Tuesday he told us quietly and without much fanfare that it was his birthday. We made a big deal of it, singing boisterously until he finally cracked a smile. I hope to see him again soon, riding around on his bike.

The cruelty

2010-06-25T14:05:00.010-04:00

(Karis, holding our newest crop of grape tomatoes and just about the only contact she can have with them these days.)

Imagine a world without tomatoes. No red-sauced pizza, spaghetti, ketchup, etc. Well, that's exactly what I've been doing over the last 24 hours. I haven't wrapped my brain around it yet, but I've been informed I must.

I took Karis in to the pediatrician for a re-check for an infection yesterday, and the doctor, flipping through her chart, says in a no-big-deal kind of way, "Oh, and she's allergic to tomatoes."

(Head spinning for a few moments.)

"What?!" I finally threw back, followed by a slew of objections to the diagnosis: "But we eat tomatoes like everyday!" and "Tomatoes are in everything!" and "But we're GROWING tomatoes in our backyard!"

I like Karis' doctor. She's calm and collected when crazy parents say the aforementioned things. She smiled and responded, "I'm growing tomatoes too. They are this high (pointing to her chest)."

Her distraction worked, and we talked a little bit about our gardens, comparing notes. When the conversation lulled, I looked at her and asked in a small, pleading voice, "Really? No more tomatoes?" There was no point in asking twice.

I drove home, my head swimming in a sauce of shock, grief, and hopelessness that is a life without tomatoes. The injustice seemed overwhelming. Whoever heard of a tomato allergy and better yet, whoever heard of a good substitute for tomatoes in cooking?

I thought about the delicious homemade pizza we dined on the night before, and what's more, the amazing marinara sauce I discovered just one week prior. My friend shared a recipe she had learned, and it was everything I was looking for in a sauce. It wasn't like this sauce which has been all over the internet but left me wanting more herbaceous, garlicky flavor. Well, with my friend's delicious recipe, I finally found what I was looking for, only to be told my perfect new sauce could be harmful to my child.

The cruelty. The injustice! The lycopene deficiency!!

Now I am aware that my diet doesn't have to change, but as any parent knows, the hassle of cooking separate meals and keeping small kids out of adult food, no matter how forbidden, is just that...a big hassle. I'm a mom that cooks one meal for one table, not a chef cooking a menu for multiple tables. I plan to keep things that way.

As the day wore on and some rational thinking took over my emotionalism, I came to a few good conclusions. The truth is, I can do without tomato sauce. There are plenty of substitutes for red sauce on pizza. For instance, there's pesto sauce, white pizza, thai peanut pizza (a family favorite, inspired by the one at this restaurant), and on and on. I obviously won't be too limited in the pizza department.

And while classic spaghetti is certainly a no-go in the dawn of this tomato-less era, there are many pasta recipes that depart from the classic tomato-drenched pile of noodles. We can afford to get creative in that department as well.

I guess what I am most sad about is the umami factor, that strange new term everybody in the culinary world has been talking about. Tomatoes have umami, a certain savoriness that, when added to dishes, enhances flavors giving them a meatier taste. I like umami. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. I often add a little bit of raw tomato, tomato sauce, or paste to dishes to boost flavors. But umami no more, at least not from tomatoes.

I'm a cynic by nature so irony doesn't easily escape me. Just hours before the fateful doctor's visit, I watered our upside down tomato planter. I looked at the clusters of grape tomatoes ripening on the vine, plump and practically perfect. I was elated that these tomatoes were growing so well. This was by far my best attempt at growing tomatoes to date, and I couldn't wait to harvest them. In just two short hours I would get the bad news.

Of course we'll still harvest them, and then we'll hide them. Hide and eat in quiet moments as Karis sleeps or plays in the other room. Who knows, the sneaking around may even be exciting.

So to commemorate this beloved fruit which has now been banished to a late night dish, I want to share with you my new and newly retired marinara recipe. Just because I can't savor the umami, doesn't mean you can't.

Off Limits Marinara Sauce

2 large tomatoes, cored and chopped
8 basil leaves
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 Tbs. tomato paste
Small pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste

Puree all of the ingredients together in a food processor until your desired consistency. In a small sauce pan, bring mixture to a boil over medium high heat then reduce to low and simmer for 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Salt and pepper to taste.

Yields: Approximately 2 cups of sauce

Summer blue

2010-06-23T15:59:00.002-04:00

Neighborhood kids playing outside in between rain storms.

Summer games

2010-06-22T15:25:00.002-04:00

Lasso the soda bottle

A girl and her dog

2010-06-21T15:31:00.004-04:00

In focus

2010-06-20T17:05:00.009-04:00

My camera has been neglected lately, seeing far too much of the dark confines of my camera bag. I've been writing up a storm, enjoying the opportunities to express myself with words. But I've been missing that camera. It allows me to capture the story in one little picture, a colorful snapshot that says everything without having to spell anything out.

But it takes work to take photos--work to see (really see) the stories going on around me. So I've preferred to write about those stories in hindsight rather than lug around a camera and try to capture them in the moment. I have little "in the moment" energy to spare, it seems.

Blogging is a mixed bag, a sometimes ego-feeder and, at other times, encouragement to the artistic soul. A fellow blogger stumbled on my blog the other day and left a kind comment about my photography. It took me by surprise given my current camera drought, but it provided just the push I needed to pull it out and start experimenting again.

I love what Rebecca is doing for the month of June. A writer/photographer like myself, she dedicated this month to posting only pictures. I like this idea, and though I think I'll still throw in a few wordy posts here and there, I want to focus on photography for a little while. In short, I hope to slow down and capture all these summer moments going on around me.

Salad, Santa, and self-centeredness

2010-06-17T17:17:00.004-04:00

A few good friends came over for a play date today. With a near-empty fridge, I scrounged together a meal least fitting for three hungry toddlers--salad. But a tasty coating of Asian dressing made the meal as savory as any meat dish, in my opinion. Empty plates at the end were proof enough.

Karis is rather charismatic in her prayer style. Whenever somebody prays out load in her presence, she takes it as an invitation to join in saying her own prayer, just as loudly (if not louder). I've been hesitant to correct since any spiritual involvement from a child is a beautiful, complicated, growing thing. When I started to pray out loud before lunch, she lept in with this beautiful number:

Dear God,
Thank you for me and Mama K and Daddy and Karis and Mrs. Nikki and me and....(pause).... Santa Claus. Amen.

Fighting back laughter and feeling slightly embarrassed, I turned to Nikki who immediately commented on the skillfulness of working oneself into a short prayer not once but three times. A skill? Perhaps. An indicator of even more prayers needed? Most definitely.

Juggle juggle

2010-06-13T14:42:00.004-04:00

:: Last week, a few granny smith apples and a captivated family audience made for an impromptu showing of Matt's juggling skills that he developed somewhere in the boredom of youth. Karis was completely enthralled, giggling and wide-eyed.

She forgot about that show until yesterday when, in the middle of her bath, she began "juggling." She juggled all through her bath, during the walk to her room to get dressed, and throughout the rest of the afternoon. She would stop me periodically and make sure I knew exactly how it's done. With her hands full of imaginary juggling balls, she'd look at me and say, First you have to throw them up in the air like this. Then, her body straight as a board and arms out in front of her, she'd toss them up and begin moving her hands up and down to mimic the characteristic motion of rapid catch and release.

It's cute and all, but I'm a little afraid that if I encourage this sort of behavior, she'll end up like that guy in college who road around campus juggling while riding on his unicycle.

And, no, that wasn't my husband.

:: I've been doing my own juggling act of sorts lately. Writing one article a month for a local publication wouldn't seem like a big undertaking, but when you add that to what is essentially a season of single parenting due to Matt's busy schedule right now, I feel like I'm spinning many plates. Unlike Karis and Matt, I fear my juggling skills are a little lacking, evidenced by the mess and curious odor in my kitchen at this very moment.

So what do I do? I ask to write a second article for the upcoming issue. I'm writing a restaurant review, and the truth is, I'm really excited about the opportunity. On Monday, I went to meet the owner of a local Ethiopian restaurant, and I tasted and loved (!) the food. The above picture is a little preview of what's to come.

Click here (scroll down to pg. 9) to read the latest article I wrote where I reminisce about childhood baseball memories with my father. It was a fun piece to write.

Sophie's eggs

2010-06-07T17:26:00.011-04:00

I can never buy store-bought eggs again, and I've got my neighbor Miranda to blame. She told me about a woman in her church who raises chickens and sells the eggs. The directions were simple: give Miranda $3 and she would go to church, pick up the package, and bring me back a dozen, light brown, delicately-speckled fresh eggs. That's good neighborliness of an Anne of Green Gables dimension.

Well, kind Miranda dropped off the purchase this morning, and it's official...I'm in love. I mean how could I not love these 12 beauties (11 actually...I fried one, posthaste) which were laid just yesterday at a family farm mere miles from my home?

To compound the matter, Miranda informed me that the care and responsibility of raising the chickens, gathering the eggs, washing, and preparing for sale falls solely on the eldest daughter, Sophie. It's essentially her own business. She does the work, she keeps the money.

Sweet, hardworking Sophie.

I've never met her, but you can rest assured I'm already drafting up a plan to do just that. I want to thank her in person, perhaps watch her work a little, and ask (in a most unassuming, non-creepy manner) if I can take a picture of her doing her chores, working hard so that my family can eat those fresh, organic, meaty-flavored eggs.

I'm not sure if I can pull it off, but I bet good neighbor Miranda will help.

Cleaning

2010-06-02T21:44:00.008-04:00

::Karis' closet

I spent Memorial Day with my head buried in Karis clothes and shoes, and I emerged a happier, less cluttered woman. How is it that a child's closet is a revolving door of work? Clothes in, chothes out. Repeat until they are old enough to responsibly do this on their own. (When exactly is that?) Little yellow flip flops have no problem making the cut, though.

::The earth

April and May have teased our garden relentlessly. The forcast would call for certain rain. Matt would report certain rain, and I, being the cynic in the family, would laugh knowing full well that the skies have only taunted us lately. I've learned you can't trust a dark cloud, no matter how looming and scary it is. So our gardens have seen a lot more of our hard-earned city water than we would have cared to pay for--that is until the last few days. The skies have finally let go.

::Toy Store

In my recent purge of Karis' room, I tackled her out of control toy collection. I bid adieu to anything that could break easily, was made up of a million tiny pieces that migrate to every corner of the house, or had fur on it's body. (I just don't care for dust animals...I mean stuffed animals.) I brought in some plastic containers and, in the end, was pleased with the organization. Karis, on the other hand, was pleased as punch with the bag that I stuffed, on a whim, with random plastic jewelry, hats, purses, and a tou tou and labeled it her "dress up" bag. Score one for me and her.

Big

2010-05-26T15:27:00.006-04:00

Karis never stops talking. Her lips simply don't stay closed long enough for her to take a break. She came out of the womb like that, her sobs deep and powerful. Her bedtime prayers are giant run-on sentences that start off reasonably with prayers for family members, then drift into prayers for random inanimate objects she can see in the room around her, digressing into a made up language with words like "tetch" and "ratcha", and then finally morph into questions such as, "Mom, do you remember the pink elephants we saw at Disney?" (Yes. And we're praying, remember?) Her friend's house was termed "adorable" yesterday, and when engaged in a discussion about God, she informed me, "We like sin." (Official family policy: We don't like sin.)

I never imagined I would be answering so many questions a few months shy of her 3-year-old-birthday. Most questions revolve around the names of people we come into contact with. What's the mom's name again? What's the babies name again? She rehearses the names over and over again, for days on end, until she remembers them. She just wants to know.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'm often exhausted by her constant interjections and nonstop babble from the moment her eyes open until...well, she even talks in her sleep. Truth is, I think she believes she's an adult like everyone else around her. She acts a little surprised when she looks in the mirror and sees a little kid standing in front of her. She'll even gasp a little bit and then say, "Cute!" (Confident.)

As we took our family walk last night, I watched her saunter down the street, too-long hair swaying from side to side, jean skirt bobbing playfully up and down with each step, and I was reminded of the awesomeness of parenting. Which awesome? Both, really. This is good and heavy stuff, parenting a little person with a big personality and zealous thirst for life.

But don't be fooled by her colorful vocabulary. No sooner will she use a big, made-up word like "unconstanable" to describe her nap than she'll turn to you tearfully and say, "Hold me." And I do.

Housekeeping

2010-05-25T16:40:00.010-04:00

Just wanted to drop in and let you all know you can view the article I wrote for EU Jacksonville here. Scroll down to page 18 to view my article. For you locals, here is a list of Jacksonville establishments that carry EU monthly. I had so much fun writing this article, and I just finished writing my second!

As for that wedding, it was a great experience! It had its ups and downs, lessons learned, and knowledge gained. In a sentence: wedding photography is a tough gig! But the night was beautiful! It was a small wedding taking place in an old, southern plantation-style home. The ceremony was on the lawn under the oak trees, and after the sun went down, the reception took place in the quaint, candlelit dining room. So laid back and beautiful. Here are a few of my favorites from the night. Enjoy!

Aunt, ants, and anteaters

2010-05-21T16:17:00.010-04:00

Aunt:
My bright-eyed, color-purple-loving niece turned 3 last week, and I took a little trip to fulfill my aunt-y duties. And when I say "duties", I am talking about a fun trip to sunny Ft. Lauderdale to eat, laugh, swim, and shop with my nieces, brothers, sister-in-law, and parents. It's a job I'll gladly fill anytime it's asked of me.

Ants:
Late spring has brought with it more than the typical humidity and sunnier evenings. Our home has become a haven to countless ants. Apparently, the initial scouters came to inspect and sent the word back to the whole crew beyond that our home was hospitable to their kind. So we've called in the cavalry to reinforce our shameless animal cruelty. My father-in-law kindly came to spray up and down, inside and out of our home today. It turns out that Karis and Me-Ma's intermittent sprinkling of ant killer on the many ant piles in our yard just wasn't cutting it. Though it did make for a sweet picture.

Anteaters:
Living a mere 5 minutes from the Jacksonville Zoo has it's definite perks. Just the other day I woke up and thought, "We should go to the zoo this morning just to feed the giraffes." Thanks to our annual pass, it would have been a great idea, and, in my ever-so-humble mind, I thought it might just make me the coolest, most spontaneous mom ever. Well, title not fulfilled that day. But we did go for a visit a few days later with our friends. We hit the highlights: the giraffes, monkeys, penguins (pictured here), and anteaters.

Regarding that last animal, my friend and I heartily agreed it might possibly be the craziest-looking creature on the planet. It's huge, awkward, and feeds mostly on ants. Weird, right? And yet I could totally have benefited from one roaming around my house over the last few weeks.

Free time, then and now

2010-05-04T21:11:00.013-04:00

I walked past Karis' room yesterday and found her feverishly "washing" something in her play kitchen sink. I did a double take as I walked past, putting on the breaks to get another peek at the item. It looked too paper-ish and important to be in her hands. Sure enough, she had swiped my college journal from the bookshelf in the office and was playing with a piece of paper I stuck in there nearly 11 years ago.

It was a list describing the 10 weeks I spent studying abroad in Eastern Europe, each week containing a few notes on the highlights of that week. I stood there and reminisced over the details. Italy in week 2. The gorgeous countryside of Salzburg in week four. The festive, gypsy concert and awkward bathhouse experience of week six's Hungary trip. And how could I forget Vienna and all of it's gorgeous Christmas decorations in week 10? It was there that I tasted the most mouthwatering bratwurst sandwich at a Christmas festival in the park.

My daydreaming continued as I thought for a few moments about my 3 roommates. I won't soon forget our dancing parties in that old, communist-style, Slovakian dorm room, washing our travel-weary clothes by hand in a stand-up shower, or keeping the entire Slovak bird population fed when we left our perishable food out on the balcony one freezing cold night. I couldn't help but consider how we'd all changed since those days. Dianna is now mother to 7 children. Brooke traded in her dancing shoes to become an adopted mom to a beautiful, teenage girl. And Jessica went on to get her master's degree in nursing, marry the man of her dreams, and pass away after a long battle with cancer.

Along with the list of countries, I had also jotted down a few observations and lessons learned while traveling. The following are my favorites:

It is funny how a weary traveler will territorialize a space no matter how small and dingy it may be. It becomes home. No one can touch that 3 feet you have sealed off as privately your own.

You know it's time to go home when you rate a nice warm bed and a hot shower right up there with seeing a famous, beautiful, historical landmark.

Now please understand that I wouldn't trade my current stage in life for anything in the world, but I did enjoy standing there daydreaming about all of that single, college girl independence. How could I forget the incredible feeling of hopping on a train whenever the travel mood struck or climbing up an old, winding staircase to get to the top of an ancient stone castle? Those experiences leave a lasting impression.

But I found it funny that, according to the notes above, the footloose and fancy free, 20-year-old me would have traded a trip to a historic, European castle for a nice, warm bed. At that time, I envied something that the current me has plenty of: a home, plenty of personal space, a warm bed, and a hot shower. Granted, that personal space is littered with books, dolls, and miniature versions of Mickey Mouse. And certainly that hot shower only comes late into the night after everyone else in the home has nodded off. And a warm bed? I've got that too, so long as I've remembered to wash, dry, and put the sheets back on the bed in a timely fashion.

As I stuffed the note unceremoniously back into the journal and slid it back into it's spot on the bookshelf, I couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. Even if I tried, I couldn't have thought of a more fitting place to rediscover this piece of paper, a relic of my former youthful and independent days, than between the grubby hands of my 2-year-old daughter as she washed them down the drain. That might just be my favorite definition of irony ever.

Here I am at one of the many castles I toured, an experience that apparently I would have traded for a few domestic comforts. I think the look on my face says otherwise.

[Top photo] Taken atop the Untersberg Mountain in Salzburg, Austria following a hearty yodelling session with Jessica.

The view

2010-04-30T18:53:00.000-04:00

Karis and I headed downtown for an early morning appointment. I entered the parking garage hopeful for a spot amongst the early birds and lucky ones. I was neither. So higher and higher I drove, one floor after the next, feeling some sort of disappointment with each floor, though any floor past the first only meant a short, insignificant elevator ride. (I'm trivial beyond measure.)

As I rounded the bend leading to the fourth floor, the last floor before the rooftop, with a large patch of sunlight beaming through from above, I noticed the view and close proximity to the helipad just beyond the railing. We both squealed at the sight. And that's when I remembered. I'd been in this same garage about 6 months prior. I'd experienced the same slow and disappointing drive up, and the same excited reaction at the view upon arrival.

I was reminded that there is so much joy in the waiting and trusting.

Thursday's snapshot

2010-04-29T10:12:00.004-04:00

Watering the flower beds...and Karis' hands.

I've been a little slow at blogging lately, but I'm gearing back up to write, photograph, and share it all with you. There is so much to share with you...the update on last week's wedding, the article which hits the streets tomorrow, and other general noteworthiness. But for now, I'm just going to aim to get my blogging engine back up and running. Toward that end, I thought I'd post a few snapshots of our life over the next few days. Some words but mostly pictures that capture the moments worth remembering. I've missed this place. I'm glad to be back.

Look who I found crawling through the garden this morning. And, yes, I know I have a thing for snails. My obsession has been well documented.

Him

2010-04-21T16:32:00.005-04:00

:: Sexy
After a hard day's work, Matt sits across the dinner table from Karis and me and says, "It's great to be home with you, ladies." These two ladies giggle and smile from ear to ear.

:: Sexier
We've been doing a lot of gardening in our front yard. Weeds pulled, rocks and other debris excavated from the flower beds, and flowers planted. We've been having a lot of fun shopping for flowers and exploring all the varieties available. So much fun, in fact, that Matt called me in the middle of his workday on Monday to say he'd gone shopping on his lunch break to buy some African Daisies which he'd seen a few days prior and just had to have. I smiled when I heard his voice over the phone, "I guess I'm a daisy man." Not only is that statement sexy, but it's also incredibly manly, not to mention wonderful for our home's curb appeal.

:: Sexiest
Of all Mexican cuisine I've tasted, pork carnitas stand proudly and deliciously at the top of the list. I've recently discovered a great, relatively simple recipe from America's Test Kitchen. I made them for the second time last week but was a little disappointed with how they turned out compared to my first attempt. But when Matt tasted them, he instantly declared, "If these are your 'bad' carnitas, I'd gladly have them any day of the week."

(Sigh)

It's perhaps the sexiest thing he could ever say to me.

Eggs-traodinary

2010-04-15T10:38:00.006-04:00

Good friends don't keep secrets from you. They come for a visit and share with you the divine nature of soft boiled eggs. At weekend's end, they pack up their bags, say good bye, and leave you with the recipe for future enjoyment.

Make such friends. Keep such friends, and for the love all that's beautiful and yummy, make these eggs.

Soft boiled eggs

Bring water to a rolling boil. Carefully lower each egg into the boiling water, making sure that the eggs don't bump into each other as they are very fragile at this stage. Boil for 5 minutes, remove from water, and peel immediately under cool running water. Season with a dash of sea salt and ground pepper. Enjoy with a few thin slices of toasted Italian white bread.

Full on

2010-04-12T14:04:00.006-04:00

::Into my 30's
I turned 31 on Saturday. The gift of sleeping in, a trip to the beach with old friends, spicy chicken fajitas, and a gooey chocolate fudge cake were on hand to help ring in another wonderful year and help me ignore the reality that 31 means I'm solidly into my 30's.

::Bribery
With a bed pushed up against the guestroom window, 5 o'clock sunlight teasing me, and Karis antsy to do some jumping, I began shooting. And when Karis got tired before my creative drive did, Reese's Pieces were generously promised. I realize I'm creating a monster here.

::Writer's block
I'm easy with the words on my blog, so long as no one's grading me or, more importantly, giving me a deadline. I love the total artistic control and freedom that blogging allows. But now that I'm scheduled and expected to deliver? Blank. Nada. Zilch.

At least I'm writing about something I care about, visiting the Main Street Library. But it's almost too good. I can't narrow my thoughts down. And so what do I do to help jog my brain? Blog. Here's to hoping blogging does the jogging...

Pictured here is Karis admiring the 3 story murals at the library last week.

In the balance

2010-04-06T18:28:00.007-04:00

I took an unintended break from blogging last week. Life just seemed so full of "to do's" and "to do right nows" that I couldn't help but ignore blogging and mostly anything creative during that time. I've been tossing around thoughts in my mind regarding how to maintain a level of creativity in the midst of the busyness and responsibility of life. I've asked myself, "Does growing up mean giving up the artistic and creative?" NO, I say a million times over. I was made to create art.

But I will admit I'm not sure how to balance them both, especially when life enters a busy phase, which our little family seems to be entering into right now. Matt is taking on some large projects in the next few months on top of a full-time job, and in an effort to minimize his stress, I'm taking on more responsibility at home, i.e. paying bills and managing the budget. These are yucky tasks, ones my brain balks at, my will digs its heels against, and my emotions insist it can't handle. (I'm obviously not one for drama, right?) But it's true. I don't love the finer points of budgeting, only the broad, sweeping strokes such as walking up to my husband and carefreely asking him, "Is there money for me to buy a new dress?" I'd simply rather not figure it out myself.

There have been tears shed and words thrown haphazardly about so as to hurt the hearers (read: former budget-handler). But I am making head way in accepting this balancing act of juggling wife-ing, mothering, budgeting, cooking, cleaning, shopping, befriending, so on and so forth. But creating art? Sitting down and typing out words in such a way that I feel fulfilled, rejuvenated, and full of purpose afterwards? Picking up my camera and snapping shots of my beautiful life around me? No. I'm no good at this balancing act. It feels like a trapeze walk, a brain-exploding act.

There has been very little photographing and writing going on lately. But I don't want to give you the impression that I've done nothing related to my artistic abilities in the last few busy weeks. That's not true. I have been busy pursuing creative outlets for the future. In fact, I have a few projects in the works, and though I've kept my lips shut before now, I think it's high time I come clean.

For starters, I'm photographing my first wedding next weekend!! The opportunity fell into my lap, and since I'd been looking to challenge my photography skills and branch out, I couldn't very well say no. It was, I believe, exactly the challenge I was looking for. As a result, I've been doing a lot of preparing, i.e. reading books, blogs, and my camera manual. The best photography resource I've found so far is the book Understanding Exposure by Bryan Peterson (Go get it! It's awesome!). Every time I read some of this book, I walk away gushing about how much I love photography and how well this book explains it. Just ask my husband. He'll testify to my gushing.

Secondly, I recently contacted a local arts and entertainment publication in my city, EU Jacksonville. I submitted some samples of my writing, and I've been invited to contribute a monthly column focusing on the idea of exploring the arts in Jacksonville with my child. If you read this blog regularly you'll know how much this is right up my alley! That combination of writing and pursuing an artistic life with my child in tow is something that could have me talk (or write) about for hours. And, coincidentally, I have to write my first article by April 15, the day before the wedding! So are you beginning to understand why I've felt so busy (a.k.a. strung out)?

But I have to go back to my earlier point on balance. For me, I find comfort in some truths integral to my faith. Anglican priest and writer John Newton writes this about God, "Everything is needful that He sends; nothing can be needful that He withholds." God is sending creative opportunities, and He's also sending budgeting responsibilities. I have to balance them both, not neglecting either one as they are both vital to my survival.

I'm not sure how this will go. After all, anxiety is my middle name and perfectionism my last. It's a terrible combination. A dream-stealing combination. But nevertheless, my plate is filling up, and I both love it and fear it.

I'm reminded of a fantastic HBO movie, Temple Grandin, which I recently watched. It's based on the real life of Temple Grandin, PH.D., an autistic woman who has achieved amazing success in her life in the midst of her immense struggle with autism. A reoccurring theme in the movie is doors. Throughout the film Temple struggles to convince herself to walk through the doors of opportunity that come along, and as each new door opens, she reminds herself that it is a passage to a new and better world. Clearly, she's all the better for having walked through them.

I have no idea what will come of these current opportunities in my life. But I see doors, people, and I'm walking through them.

Easter lessons (of the unspiritual variety)

2010-04-04T18:55:00.006-04:00

Dying eggs with three toddlers will cause the moms to wonder if this is more fun "when the kids get older."

If lacking a special Easter dress, pin a fabric flower to your favorite necklace and you've got an outfit worth celebrating.

Photo shoots before lunch are never appreciated.

If Dad hides the eggs, Karis may end up sticking her hands into strange, not mom-approved places. (She's not in pain here, just straining to get the egg out. Dad eventually stuck his hand in and got it out.)

But hiding an egg at the top of a gravel "mountain" is totally fun.

When Daddy B (grandpa) sits down at the piano, Karis will saunter up and demand "Holy, Holy, Holy." They will sing it together, and it will be a picture worth taking.

Happy Easter to you and yours!

Spring tree

2010-03-26T22:29:00.009-04:00

When you've publicly sworn you aren't a crafty person, does making this tree turn you into a liar? What if you were feeling sick all day and Karis was content with play-doh at the table and you got a whim to make the awesome paper tree you saw here? Liar still? If so, you are not alone in your disapproval. Matt came home as I was mid-project and looked quite confused. He saw the shards of cereal box cutouts and magazine clippings littered about the dining room floor and me feverishly cutting away little paper leaves and carefully sticking them on the tree while happily exclaiming, "Look what I'm making."

He probably asked me 3 times throughout the night, "So what's up with that tree?!" He knows me better. I don't craft. At least not under normal conditions. I think his concern only proves how much he loves me.

I do love the way the tree turned out, but a quick scan of the paper/play-doh disarray at the end of the night reminded me exactly why I don't normally do this sort of thing.