Playing Babies

Do you have a special way that you connect with each of your children?


Yes, it changes over the years with each.


But right now, Oldest Daughter and I love to watch the occasional reality show . . . Project Runway, John and Kate (before it became emotionally traumatic), Say Yes to the Dress. We sit smooshed together, one arm wrapped around the other's one arm, giving insightful commentary, stunning analysis, and witty criticisms along the way. They're our dates. No other kids allowed.


Oldest Son likes to talk. And it usually happens when I pop in to say good night . . . when it's dark . . . and it's already 11:30 . . . and he needs to be asleep. Come to think of it, maybe it's just an evil ploy! Oldest Son talks and talks and we solve world crises and analyze the newest song he downloaded and laugh at random lines from Jim Gaffigan comedy.


For Middle Son, it's all about physical touch. Hugs and tickles and hugs that you think are going to be hugs and turn out to be tickles. And heads on shoulders and scratching of the back and rubbing of the feet. And, did I mention, hugs and tickles?


Youngest Son loves to play games. And so he coerces me into a quick game of King's Corner before bed. Or he corrals me into The Farm Game when he really should be practicing his handwriting. Or he destroys me in Memory (which really isn't fair because his mind has one thing going on in it and mine is playing Memory, thinking through what's for dinner, planning my to do list for the morning, and preparing for a phone call later).


And then there's Youngest Daughter. And her current way of connecting is "Playing Babies."


Ahem.

It's not that I don't like the idea of "playing babies." It seems a great way to connect with a six year-old. It's just that I've "played babies" for a long time. Seventeen years, to be exact. And sometimes I just don't want to "play babies."


But then, just as I'm finally tackling the mound of dishes teetering in the kitchen, a soft hand touches my leg and a quiet voice says, "Mama, will you play babies with me?" And what's a mom to do? Say "no" to this request that won't probably be posed in another 6 months? So, we "play babies."

The hard thing about "playing babies" with Youngest Daughter is that we must slow down . . . slow way, way down. We must sit on the floor, we must arrange all the babies, we must lay out all the clothes. And my mind, which could keep whirring while I watch reality shows and discuss life and give hugs and play games with the others, must slow down to a crawl and engage with the mind of a six year-old "mommy." Because we must discuss what the babies will eat, which ones need to go to the bathroom and which ones need diapers changed, what games they will play, and when they should nap. And Youngest Daughter knows . . . yes, she knows when my mind starts wandering and I'm mentally sending an e-mail to the Chairman of the Sports Activity Committee instead of cutting up the plastic corn and making sure the baby is eating as she is supposed to. And she corrects me . . . and keeps me focused on the task at hand . . . "playing babies."

And I'm reminded that no matter which child I'm interacting with, this time is fleeting. It's such a gift. And I need to be "all there" whether I'm tickling or passing "go," cheering designers or discussing basketball moves . . . or playing babies.

Autumn . . . As It Should Be

To My Dear Friend, Autumn ~ ~

You just haven't been yourself lately, so I'm so glad to see you've finally snapped out of your month-long funk in the last several days.

I've been waiting for you to come for 9 months, and then when you came, you were so grey, so drizzly, so depressing. Was this the Autumn I dreamed of and waited for and bragged about. I've always called you "my favorite," and I'm sorry to admit that for the last several weeks I've been just a little disappointed.

But now you're your old self again.

Autumn . . . the way it should be.

And you'll have to forgive my self-absorbed view of our relationship, but I really do love you so much better this way.

I love your clear, blue skies . . . without a single cloud. I love your snappy, crisp air that makes my lungs tingle when I take my first morning breath outside. And I love, love, love your colors.

Startling oranges:

Reds that set the crepe myrtles on fire:

Shimmering yellows:

Yes, I'd say our relationship is just about perfect now. Because when it comes to us, Autumn, I'm afraid it IS all about me.

Me loving all the splendor and variety and brevity of you.

Game Over

Hurricane Volleyball is now done. And the same can be said for me . . . I am done. I am sooooooo done with the season. It was wonderful while it lasted. But now I am done!


I have taken admissions, sent e-mails, washed uniforms, collected monies, and planned parties. I have been a cheerleader, line judge, team mom, intercessor, and chauffeur. I have been communicated through, screamed at, bumped to, paid for, and spiked over.


And I have loved it!! But now I am done. And the two most wonderful words in the world to me would be "Mediterranean . . . . . vacation." Smile.


And I'd do it. Yes, I'd do it. Don't know where I think I'd get the money, but I'd soooooo do it. I'd march right over to some travel agency and book a flight to Greece and pack my bags.

Except for three words.


"JV . . . . . Basketball . . . . . Season."


Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!


And I will love it. Go Hurricanes!

Things to Delight The Heart of a Five Year-Old

Glitter shoes from the consignment store:

Destroying the competition in a fast-paced game of Kitty Memory:

Black olives on all five fingers:

Blowing bubbles at a wedding:


Six candles on a plate of cupcakes . . . celebrating that you're five no longer:

Happy Birthday, Youngest Daughter!

It's Time for Comfort Food

I had a hard time letting go of summer this year . . . a really, really hard time. But after about a week and half straight of grey skies, drizzling rain, and wet-cold air, I'm ready to concede and face the reality that summer is, indeed, gone.

So, in turning away from the joys of warm air and headily sweet flowers and cotton clothing, I am embracing one of my favorite joys of winter and autumn . . . the deliciousness of comfort food!!

Comfort food just doesn't work in the summer; does it? There's something about sitting down to eat dinner on a sweltering night in July, knowing that in the morning you will be taking your children to the pool with nothing between you and the world but a scant piece of spandex-enhanced nylon that makes tucking into a plate of homemade macaroni and cheese with buttered bread crumbs on the top less than inviting.

But autumn and winter? Now, that's a different story. Bring on the comfort foods! A large, flaky chicken pot pie, perhaps? Or Shredded Italian Pot Roast . . . bubbling away all day in the crock pot.

Yes, this past weekend was time for Italian Pot Roast. So, in tribute to the joys of cool air and dazzling fall leaves and grey, dripping skies, I'll post the recipe below. And you can celebrate with me!

Shredded Italian Pot Roast

8 oz. sliced fresh mushrooms

1 large onion, cut in half and sliced

2 1/2 - 3 pound boneless beef chuck roast, trimmed (I used eye of round, which the recipe said was a lower fat

alternative. It was wonderful!)

1 teaspoon pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 - 1 oz. envelope dry onion soup mix.

1 - 14 oz. can beef broth

1 - 8 oz. can tomato sauce

1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning

3 tablespoons tomato paste

2 tablespoons cornstarch

2 tablespoons water

Place mushrooms and onion in the bottom of a 5 1/2 quart slow cooker.

Sprinkle roast evenly with pepper. Brown roast on all sides in hot oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Place roast on top of mushrooms and onion in slow cooker. Sprinkle onion soup mix evenly over roast. Pour beef broth and tomato sauce over roast. Cover and cook on HIGH 5 to 6 hours or until meat shreds easily with a fork.

Remove roast from slow cooker and shred.

Skim fat from juices in slow cooker. Stir in dried Italian seasoning and tomato paste. Stir together cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl until smooth. Add to juices in slow cooker, stirring until blended. Cover and cook on HIGH 20 to 30 more minutes or until mixture is thickened. Add shredded roast back to slow cooker. Cover and cook until thoroughly heated.

Serve over hot, cooked egg noodles or hearty brown rice.

Forever Young!

I have a pretty great brother-in-law, which is exactly why, when celebrating his birthday, I made a generous offer. I told him I would make any . . . any dessert that he wanted for this big birthday . . . this very big birthday!

This would, of course, include any type or kind of cake:

any variety of delicious pie, cobbler, or crisp:

any sort of pudding, trifle, or "delight":

It would, of course, even include the prima donna of all desserts, and my personal favorite:

Now, before I tell you what he chose, I have to tell you that this is a guy that still flies kites on the beach, can't wait for the 4th of July to set off fireworks, gets excited over all his nieces and nephews sporting events, and lights up the house at Christmas within an inch of its life. Definitely a kid at heart!

So, it should be no surprise that when offered the chance for any dessert he asked for:

Yes, Pillsbury "Funfetti" cake with Betty Crocker whipped butter cream frosting. The addition of sprinkles was mine because you can't do "funfetti" on the inside of the cake without doing confetti on the outside!

You've just got to love a guy that stays "forever young"!!

Caught in the Middle

I had an odd experience this weekend. I walked down the front walk, up the front steps, in the front door. There to my left were 5 smooth, perfect pumpkins . . . waiting to be carved. Mmmm, lovely fall images come to mind at the sight of those pumpkins . . . wickedly glowing jack-o-lanterns, candy corn, the mad bobbing to bring an apple up out of a tub of water, crisp mornings. Fall . . . such a tinglingly delicous season.





I walked through the house and heard a noise in the back yard.

I walked out the back door, across the back deck, down the back deck steps. There in front of me was Youngest Daughter . . . wearing a bathing suit . . . jumping on the trampoline . . . with a sprinkler blasting up from the bottom of the trampoline . . . freezing water wetting her down. The sun up above roasting hot.

(Please excuse the tattered net. Yes, of course there's a story, but now is not the time : ) )

In that moment, all fall images faded away. And I was instead pulled back into the world of popsicles, sunscreen, flip flops and beach towels.

And the house . . . it was caught in the middle fall at the front door, summer out the back.

I love this time of year when for a little while I can drink deeply from the cup of both seasons.

Summer winding down . . . wearing out. Fall gearing up . . . sashaying in.

And for a little while I can have "the best of both worlds."