Praying for Peonies

Friends, it's spring! I wore flip flops this week - oh yes I did! Are you loving it as much as I am?

I've been incorporating fresh flowers into my home and cruising the internet trying to find the floweriest flowers I can for our backyard. I planted tulips and grape hyacinths in the fall, and right on cue they are lining my driveway and shouting the arrival of the new.

I love flowers, every one - even the little yellow weeds that pop up and spread all over the yard, killing everything in their path. I love it when tiny, pudgy hands place those precious weeds in mine, having picked them with me in mind. Flowers, any kind, are always a gift, I say.



But peonies. Peonies are the loveliest of all the flowers. I hesitate to pledge my full allegiance to them because there are some close contenders - hydrangeas, for example, are pretty spectacular - but then I remember how every peony I ever see takes my breath away. I've always just sort of viewed them the same I way I do designer clothes and the French countryside - lovely in all the ways, but not within my realm of possibility. And then it hit me: living in Colorado means there's a chance I might actually be able to grow them!


via GIPHY

I don't have a green thumb by an stretch of the imagination, and when we lived in Florida I had just BEGUN to learn what I could and could not grow there, but as it turns out, many of the showiest flowers perform better when they get real cold in the winter. So, when I was walking through Costco and saw the bag of peony bulbs on sale, I did not even hesitate. I didn't know where I would plant them or exactly how to grow them. I just grabbed those babies up. I also failed to recognize that they won't bloom this year at all. They may not even bloom next year, and that could feel disappointing - but...

So much of what we do is about small, steady growth. Plant and tend and prune and pray and wait - and then one day you peak around the corner and see little buds of color appearing, and you can hardly conceal your excitement about what's been happening just beyond your view. I can imagine the side of our lovely blue house lined with peony bushes. Jude at four or five, rolling trucks through the dirt while I clip off giant blooms to bring indoors. Planting peonies helps me envision our future here in this wonderful neighborhood, and how I do so hope our home becomes known as a place that is rooted and established in love.

What sort of wonder is spring bringing you this year?

Ole Stuck-Leg

I remember the first time I heard them scratching – just above my head, actually, while I typed away on my little laptop in the dark basement office with chalky white walls and popcorn ceilings. I sat in our still new first home, and listened carefully. Nothing. “Maybe I’m hearing things.” Tap, tap, tap, I continued on the keyboard. And then there it was again, and this time I was pretty sure something was about to scratch right through those popcorn ceilings onto my desk.

This continued for a few months. We’d hear them in our room at night, in particular, apparently hosting a dance party that we were not invited to. And then the squeaking began, and I nearly put a For Sale sign in the yard. There’s nothing quite so unnerving as waking up in the middle of the night to repeated sqeaks in the walls behind you.

Josh is more rational than I, thank goodness, and so he decided to hold off on selling and call an exterminator instead. A nice gentleman in a grey shirt with “Todd” monogrammed on the pocket in red, came and crawled though our attic for long enough to emerge red-faced, his shirt soaked through, and with the declaration that we did, indeed, have roof rats. Naturally, I sprinted to my laptop and Googled the little suckers while Josh performed the polite duty of seeing the man out. They looked like field mice but with rat tails – the thick pink kind. I threw up a little in my mouth and told Josh we needed to pay the man all the dollars to get rid of the things! Mr. CheapSkate – I mean money-saver – declared that he would handle it himself. And that, my friends, is where our story begins.

After sealing up the spot where they were getting in and out of our attic and walls and insulation – he strategically placed some of those snappy mouse traps slathered with peanut butter throughout our attic. Over the course of the following weeks, every few days we would hear a loud “whap”. We would look at each other with eyebrows lifted, half pumped, half disgusted and say, “Got another one.” Josh would climb up into our low ceilinged attic and emerge with a Target bag sagging in the middle, at which point I promptly cussed under my breath and ran far, far away.

Then, one fateful evening toward the end of our rat-capades, after we settled our two little girls into bed, we began the nightly work of dishes and counter cleaning in our tiny little drop-ceiling kitchen – oh, the blessed 70’s era of making rooms feel smaller just for the heck of it – and as though it was happening on my shoulder, I heard it: Whap! Josh and I both jerked our heads toward one another and stared wide eyed in fear and shock as we listened to the follow up: scrape, squeal, scrape, squeal. My heartbeat quickened and I grabbed Josh’s arm, “What is happening?!” He chuckled, as he always does in nerve-racking and/or inappropriate situations, and said, “It sounds like one got stuck in a trap and is dragging it around.”

I could have died right there. Was this really what our life had come to?! Why did we have to buy a stupid house?! Why didn’t we have a landlord to come and get rid of the vermin? Why, oh why, were they OUR vermin to deal with?! And why couldn’t we just have paid nice, sweaty Todd to get rid of them FOR us?!

Josh climbed into the closet, turned pantry in the hallway and hoisted himself into the attic to get a better look. Sure enough. Ole’ Stuck-leg was dragging a trap all over my dad-gum ceiling! I finished cleaning up the kitchen, whilst humming loudly in an effort not to hear the torture that was happening above my head. Josh went to gear up.

Here’s what you should know about Josh. He’s a gentle fellow, a lover, not a fighter, but also he will do what needs to be done to take care of business without making much of a fuss. This is one of the things I love the very most about him. So, when he appeared from the garage wearing his headlamp and carrying his BB gun – let’s just say the situation went from disgustingly tragic to hilarious very quickly.

I settled into the armchair in the living room to peruse the newest Southern Living magazine while I listened to him tromp around above me. Nothing is quite so humbling as waiting for your man to bring out the dead rat in the middle of your brand new cherry wood floors. After a few minutes there was a pause, then the pumping of that precious BB gun, and pop – squeeeeaaaallll. Scrape. Squeal. Scrape. Squeal.

At this point, Josh began talking to Ole Stuck-leg: “Yeah. That’s right. Come over this way a little.”

Then more pumping of the BB gun, and pop – squeeeeeaaaaallll. Scrape. Squeal. Scrape. Squeal.

This continued for a few more pump and pops until finally I heard, “Seriously?! I got you in the head that time!”

By now, I was honestly feeling sorry for Dear Stuck-leg. He probably wanted to die but neither him nor Josh could quite figure out how to make that happen. And also, I was laughing hysterically – giggling to the point of tears imagining my lover-not-a-fighter BB gunning that poor field mouse turned rat into an oblivion! After a few more minutes of scuffling and another very loud, Snap, there was silence. Down came my sweaty, head-lamp wearing hero with the sagging Target bag. He’d finally coaxed the little guy into another trap and put him out of his misery once and for all.

Rest in peace, Dear Stuck-leg. You gave us a story for the ages.

A Bone when I Need One

Y'all. On this uncharacteristically dreary Florida Spring day - this happened. For 30 straight minutes my girls voluntarily played downstairs by themselves while I enjoyed salad, and French Bread, and Pottery Barn eye candy.

I wondered what it would be like to "shop" for the kids' bedding for a "summer home". Then I remembered it's rude/sinful to judge people who do and also, pastors don't generally have summer homes so it's a bridge I'll likely never have to cross. Phew. Because we all know it's easy to judge until you're the one being handed a summer home.

No one touched me or called my name. I think I heard Marilee flush the downstairs potty 83 times, but I let it go for fear that correcting her would draw attention to the fact that no one was touching me or calling my name. I checked later. She didn't flush actual items. She's just fascinated with the flushing "button" as she calls it. 

 

Also, at some point during this day, I laughed hard with the girls over the sheer joy of bubbles.

 

Jesus loves me. This I know, for he throws a girl a bone when she needs one.

 

The end.

 

Lately and that Corn Chowder Recipe

Today we are having a "lazy day". Apparently I label days, and Adelle has come to know their names. Last night she said, "Mommy, when are we going to have a lazy day?" It's been sorta chaotic around here - girlfriend knew we were due one. So far there's been bed playing, book reading, and Alice in Wonderland watching...and a few loads of laundry. There's no such thing as a TOTALLY lazy day for mommies.

We had a fun weekend with all of Josh's team leaders. They came over for gumbo, potato salad, and two really great pies! It was so nice to visit with all of them and just to have people in our home. I am coming to learn that our houses feel more like home when we invite people into them.

We also got some new treats for the living room...it's looking so much more homey in there. Slowly but surely this very large house is becoming our sweet little home. I am grateful.

We even got to visit with Uncle Jonathan and Laura on Sunday night - Adelle is totally crazy about them!

Adelle has informed us that she loves to take care of people - and she really, really does! Here whole being lights up when she is able to serve others with purpose, and I am fascinated by the way God has hardwired us all so specifically.

Marilee is into everything. She is walking like a pro - nay, running when she is headed for something that is off limits. She can say all sorts of little words that only her family can interpret:

Mama, DaDa, Deh [Adelle], Nana, Pah [Pops], she hasn't quite got the "ee" sound in MiMi, but she watches me really closely when I say it, and Daddy Joe gets a pass because it's the same as DaDa for now ;) Bah [bath], Tttt [light], Tah [cat], Day [Thank you]. She is f-u-n-n-y...and that's all there is to it.

Alright, on to the main event...Uncle Richard and Aunt Irene's Corn Chowder. You are welcome.



 

2 small onions, chopped fine

2 green peppers, chopped fine

1/2 stick butter

6 ears corn, cut off the cob [I used a bag of frozen corn and it was just right]

4 fresh tomatoes, chopped

4 Tbsp. flour

1 quart milk

Salt and pper, to taste

Cook onion and bell pepper in butter till limp. Add corn and tomatoes and cook till done; add flour and cook for awhile. Mix with hot milk, to which a pinch of sada has been added to prevent curdling. Season to taste.

 

My mouth is watering again right this very second. Good glory, this was so good! Truly the only thing that could make this better would be the addition of crawfish! Shrimp would be good, too, but crawfish would be divine! This was super easy and a hit with the fam. We ate French Bread with it. Enjoy!

Painted Pumpkins and Buttermilk Pie

Right before we left for D.C, we decided to paint our pumpkins. I don't love the carving process, so we paint.


And while we were painting, Marilee was climbing the stairs and grabbing for our paintbrushes over and over again.

 

Until Josh finished and could do this with her...



 

She also has finally decided she'll be walking now...



 

Figaro hung out, too.



 

On that particular night, I also decided we'd be needing some Buttermilk Pie after dinner.



The light in my kitchen is tragically yellow and the sun had already slipped below the horizon on this Pumpkin Painting night when I thought to get a shot of the Buttermilk Pie. I haven't eaten this since I was a kid. It was every bit as good as I remember, but I can only eat a sliver at a time because it.is.so.rich. You need some stout coffee or a good glass of milk to go with it!

Uncle Richard and Aunt Irene's Buttermilk Pie

1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened

1 cup sugar

2 Tbsp. Flour

Dash of salt

3 eggs

1 cup buttermilk

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 (9 inch) unbaked pie shell

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. In small mixer bowl, cream butter or margarine and sugar until light and fluffy. Mix in flour and salt. Add eggs one at a time, beat until well mixed. Add buttermilk and vanilla and continue beating until well mixed. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake 50 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

I baked this for an hour - probably just depends on your oven. Mine is affectionately referred to as the Easy Bake Oven because it is so blasted small - so if you have a super power, beastly oven, 50 minutes might do just fine.

 

Green Beans and Cold Spaghetti

We sit across the table over plates of green beans and cold spaghetti. Yes, it's kind of weird but weekend food is just kind of weird around here. Marilee screams loudly and bangs on the French doors while she smudges her spitty cheeks all over the glass panes. She's watching her sister play hard with the poor Figaro, the cat, who has proven to be QUITE the good sport.

Marilee's screaming, banging, and squeaky smudging tagged onto Adelle's thumpity-thumps on the deck outside. Cold spaghetti. Desperate stares.

I finally say, "We need..."

And Josh jumps in, "...like 7 days away."

We take a moment and imagine where we would go and what we do. We don't come up with anything very exciting because, really, how would any of it ACTUALLY happen? I tell ya', we haven't been away from our children for more than 24 hours as a couple in about 2.5 years. I recognize that this probably isn't unusual.

You know what I'm talking about, right? About how you scratch the plan to watch a movie because, hello, it's already 9 pm and tomorrow is Sunday/church/THE most exhausting day of the week and there's no way staying up until 11 pm is a wise decision for anyone. Or how when you ask your husband for one thing you could work on and his response is, "I know part of it is just our stage of life, but...um...is there any way you could, like, not fall asleep on the floor as soon as I get home?" Or how you seriously wonder - just for a split second - how bad it would be just to leave the kids in bed and run to Lowe's together. Or how your man gets excited for his bathroom time - because it means he gets to be alone. Or how your most intense fantasy now consists of mostly sleep and possibly a little communication or hanky panky - but probably not both.

Tell me you KNOW what I'm talking about. That we really are not alone. Because if not, I'm going to have to feel jipped in some major way.

You do. You know. And I'm here to tell you that we do, too. That we are desperately fighting to have enough nice left over for each other at the end of each day. That a lot of days we just don't. That when people tell us to enjoy these years because they are the best of our lives, we nod because we know that in some ways they are right and that, either way, we really should be polite, but on the inside we are imagining them clipping the handle bars of their bike on a road sign causing them to flip off awkwardly - not falling hard enough to really injure themselves but big enough to make us laugh hysterically. [I may or may not have witnessed this very scene happen to the detriment of a very cute twenty something girl. I slowed down to make sure she was okay. And then I only giggled a little because I am all too aware that it could have been me - but instead of the cute twenty something I'd be the really tired "so-a-mom."]

Somehow we will make it through, and with the help of Jesus there will be a lot of joy and laughter mixed in along the way. All together now, let's push forward in this great parenting and/or marriage adventure...fists in the air, shout it out loud, let it be your anthem: Green beans and cold spagheeeeettiiiiiii!

Once upon a time I was a good mommy...

Once upon a time, I was a good mommy. I played and played and played with little A. We went to the park and the library and the mall and Chick-fil-a until we oozed fun and togetherness. There was no one cooler or more wonderful than me in those blue-green eyes of hers.

Then I had a miscarriage; then I had another one; and then I got pregnant and it "stuck" and we had to make it through those nine months of fun. Then Marilee was in and out of the hospital for three weeks and the hand, foot, and mouth disease and worst stomach virus ever, and the Job-like fiasco of September 2012. Then we had an infant and a new member of the family to adjust to. Then we bought a house and moved into it.

Somewhere between the crazy and the busy, I stopped being a good mommy - at least in little A's magnificent blue-green eyes. It's not that I didn't take good care of her. I did. It's not that I wasn't doing the best I could do given our circumstances. I was. It's not that she ever actually thought in her little pondering brain, "Mommy is dropping the ball like woah!" She didn't. But now that we are beginning to peak out from beneath the layers and layers of too much, I'm getting back into my groove. There is play time, people. There is soccer kicking and frisbee throwing. There is doll house playing and balloon bopping. There is - time.

A tide has turned and she is lighting up around me again. Girlfriend sucks down quality time like a drug. When I build towers or check out the roly polies, I say, "I love you." She is hearing it again loudly from me for the first time in a long time, and I'm full up with happiness because of it.

Today we traipsed back across town to our old Winter Park stomping grounds. Nothing beats the kid's section at the Winter Park Public Library. People, they have gerbils. And blocks. And ancient puzzles. The area is small so I don't have to worry about Miss Magnificent carrying her hiney too far away.





I let Marilee crawl all over the floor and put Legos in her mouth. My how things have changed. Also, when I pulled out her bottle to feed her, I set it on the table to get everything else situated. She arched her back and squealed at the top of her lungs. Two divas - excellent.

Adelle spontaneously grabbed her pants and proclaimed, "I gotta go tee tee!" So we packed everything up just to go to the bathroom. As we entered, we passed a lady on her way out. We smiled politely and then we entered the tiny one seater space and slammed straight into the brick wall of smelliness. Adelle jerked her little head around to look at me with the funniest stinky smell face I've ever seen. She kept saying, "Shoo-wee, Mommy! It smells weally bad!...Oh, Mommy...phew...this is disgusting!" As I balanced Marilee on my hip, helped Adelle wash her hands, and breathed through my mouth - I laughed until I cried.

And, as a freebie, I'll say this: I wore a K-Mart bra today. I'm pretty sure this was it's inagural donning [it's been in my drawer for a lot of years] because the straps, which are removeable, popped off no less than 5 times. As in, I had to hop right over the propriety line and hook those babies back on in the middle of the library, walking down swanky Park Ave, playing soccer in the park with Adelle. There's a reason we don't buy bras at K-Mart. You're welcome.

Speaking of the park, that's where we headed next. We ate lunch. Or, Marilee and I ate lunch while Adelle chattered endlessly and hopped all over the blanket trying to escape the bugs. They were gnats. She was flipping out. In all fairness, there was one stray june bug that, of course, found it's way to her leg. It was over after that. She could not consume another bite for fear that her stillness would bring on another june bug attack. Then the train rolled through and she freaked out again, but only minorly. Even so, she would.not.stop.trying.to.sit.on.me!

The girl is undeniably mine.



We played a round of kick the sort of inflated soccer ball. Adelle ordered me around in a roudy game of "do work while baby sleeps." I cannot make these things up, folks. I took pictures of these little beauties with the fancy camera. I came prepared because it's so pretty there!







 

I swoon.









 

You should know that the following shots were taken by force. I was peeling her off of me far enough to get a shot of her face. She was holding tightly to my shirt, which revealed my wonky K-Mart bra to the world. We were both laughing hysterically.



 

I'm wild about this girl!





We loaded it all up and headed for the fountain so that Adelle could make her penny contribution to the needy [insert eye roll] Winter Park area. Upon arriving at the side of the fountain, as I was digging for change in the bottomless pit of a bag that hung from my sweaty shoulder, the Magnificently terribly timed One grabbed her pants again and yelled loudly, "Ahhh! I gotta go tee tee! I dust went a widdle in my panties!"

You're welcome, elderly gentleman enjoying some peace and quiet on the bench beside us.

We hauled hiney to Barnie's - two birds with one stone, I thought. Mama needed some coffee.

Fail. The one seater was occupied and after our experience at the library, I didn't feel that sad about it.

Four stores down, Williams-Sonoma saved our lives/pants.

We made our way back to the car, skipping right past Barnies. Upon arriving at the car, I peeked around to find this:



Sweet Nugget of tasty chubbiness...wrecked my plans for a lengthy afternoon nap.

My consolation prize?



 

The one by my house has a drive through - glory!

So, if anyone is at the bottom of a lot of layers of too much, I hope this gives you the strength to push through another day of heaviness. Let's all raise our arm in one, unified fist pump and shout, "It will get betterrrr!!"

 

A Gift of Tenderness

Here's the truth - I have something I'm dying to tell you about - a thing God is doing in my heart that makes me deeply and entirely excited. I got up at 6 am ready to take full advantage of the presence of The Hunk's laptop [because our computer is busted...again] - to fill up a post with words about God bending low to undo me and do me back up again. About how He's thrilling me in who He is, what He's doing, and about His life-altering Word. About how I don't really know how to let people in, to show weakness, or to accept help. About free for the sake of freedom.

BUT Miss Magnificent woke up early this morning because her tummy is [still] hurting. She then requested that I lay beside her on the blow up mattress that is in our family room because we, in fact, have no furniture to go in there - while we watch Toy Story 2. Then she needed her Toy Story figurines - obviously - and the TV remote wouldn't work, naturally, and I had to heave myself up off of the deflating mattress about four times before we settled in. Also, she won't.stop.talking to me, and she wants her breakfast. Now Miss Marilee's little voice is dancing over the monitor.

I'm trying to learn to accept these things as God's providence - a gift, even - and not some tragic twist of fate designed to thwart my opportunities to do what I deem important.

So instead I just want to tell you about yesterday. Thursday. Thursday followed Wednesday, which followed Tuesday. Oh, Tuesday - the breaking point. I'll tell you about that another time, but we'll call it The Day I Cried "Uncle" at the feet of Jesus, and on the phone with my Mama, and before The Hunk. I believe my exact words went something like, "I just need to know He sees me. I need to know His will is not just about beating me senseless because my personality is so strong and stubborn. I need a little tenderness."

Josh surprised me and picked Adelle up from school yesterday and came home early, just because. We spontaneously spent the beautiful afternoon at the park as a family and made a Target run. We made homemade pizzas and break and bake cookies. We watched a movies and danced in the wide open family room. It was nothing extraordinary at all, but it was one of the first glimpses of normalcy I've had since Marilee was born.

It was a gift of tenderness.















Tomorrow - maybe tomorrow is the day that I get to tell you about my undoing but right now there are waffles to be made. How do I know? Little A is wallowing all over my right arm as I type.

When a Thing Is from God

I have not touched the adoption topic since I found out I was pregnant with Marilee. I realize that this may appear to be an indicator that we no longer plan to adopt. That is incorrect. Whether or not we adopted never hinged upon whether or not we would be able to have more biological children. We will adopt because God has called us to do so.

Yesterday was Orphan Sunday, and as I watched this video, the awareness that our family is not complete struck me again. This is how I know a thing is from God - when it makes no sense; when it is the LEAST convenient and/or do-able thing I can imagine in my life right now, but I am still inexplicably, undeniably attached to it, absorbed in it, swept away by it. Then I know that it really and truly is a thing that is holy and divine. It is a thing that beckons me to obedience.

So, yes - we are still adopting...most likely from Honduras, which currently has a 2 to 4 year wait period. We are hoping to start the paper work in January!  We ask you for your prayers as we nail down a country and begin preparing for another addition to our family - whenever God so chooses.



What is beckoning you to obedience today?