"Purse"-uit of Excellence

Our theme for Young Women's Evening in Excellence.  The program was incredible...everyone gave so much to make it a phenomenal night.  My part:  75 little cakes (and very poor piano playing).

(white chocolate handles, buttercream topped with marshmallow fondant over a moist white cake, dusted with pearl shimmer powder before piping more white chocolate)  

I'm usually a good manager on large project baking.  I make and freeze cakes 2 - 3 days ahead.  Decorative work is done two days in advance.  Frostings & fondants, the day before.  Planning cuts down on both mess and overload.  Well, this week threw me some emotional & physical curve balls and my game plan was definitely off.  So, on Wednesday morning I had two choices:  1.  breakdown.  2.  ask for help.   I'm not really the #2 type of gal (unless my mom is around & she was working), so that choice in & of itself was a breaking down of sorts.  But I was so grateful I did.  Both Mandi and Kay came to my rescue.  And, even with six hands, we finished just in time.  I think I'd still be busily cutting fondant if they hadn't come.

The neatly ordered pans of greens, purples and oranges belie the mess that was my kitchen by Wednesday 5:30 pm - when I was already supposed to be at the church, but was still frantically piping my last cakes, wondering how I'd get by without a shower.  A spray of perfume, touch of mascara, pause for pictures (I really wish I had taken them at the display at the church!), and I was out the door. 

Marveling.  

In the morning, when I was working solo, the t.v. was on for quite some time in an attempt to keep my boys away from the kitchen.  At one point there was a show that was talking about how everyone's name has a special meaning.  One little girl walked in carrying a big heart, telling her friends that "Amy" means "one who is loved."   I smiled, told my boys what their names mean, and kept working. 

But when the night was over...dinner served, program finished, cakes eaten, floors swept, my heart was full.  Feeling as enormous as the sign that little Amy had carried.  And the thought came that I truly am loved.  By Mandi and Kay, who readily jumped to my aid.  By friends and family, who offer constant support.  By Jim, who gives his all for this little family.  And, perhaps most importantly, by a Father in Heaven whose tender mercy is fully evident in my life.   Yes, I feel it even now.  A love that's beyond a thought or feeling...that has a tangible weight and swell. 

And for this {all} I am grateful.  A perfect start to our November. 

mothering thoughts

I let my kids eat candy all day today.  I know, I know.  Good mothers hide, throw away, divert with apple slices and cheese sticks. 

Then…

This evening, Aidan hit me with a “guess what I learned at school today?”  I’m usually prying lucklessly for this info, so my anxious, wide-eyed “what?” came quickly.  The revelation:  “People should take baths every day.”  And my boy was incredulous…wondering why this blessed mystery of frequent bathing was far from the reality of his home.   

Yes, I know.  Good mothers don’t forget baths, spare clothes, sunscreen, lunch (yes, lunch).  And they probably wash their own hair daily…not to mention taking off make-up at night rather than smudging it on pillowcases that are definitely not washed weekly. 

Yes, I know.  Each home has its flaws, its dirty corners. 

But thinking on my mothering mishaps, this occurred to me:  My children will inevitably grow up.  And with that the concrete reality of what they take for granted in this home with this mother will be rocked.  And I’ll be revealed.  Stripped of the Super (a bias of innocence & youth) “My Mom” status.  Traded in for merely human.  Which is fine.  If I manage to mingle a good deal of Mercy into all I teach them in this captive time. 

No doubt I’ll need it later.

make lemonade??!

 

On Saturday I bought two lemons at the store for part of Sunday's dinner.  While I despise grocery shopping as a whole, produce sections often make me giddy.  Surrounded by potential chopping, freshness, flavor.  And the whole reach out & touch/smell sensory necessity.  But Saturday's trip was alone with Aidan, and I relinquished some of my produce selecting.  There was plenty of giddy for both of us in his joy at my "grab two heads of garlic" or "pick out two good lemons".

Oh yes, the lemons.  I pulled them out today.  Cut & pressed the first.  Then swung my knife over to half the other, greeted with a hollow tap.  A tap that sounded strangely like plastic.  I picked up the lemon in confusion and discovered that it was just that... Plastic.

So, I know that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.  

But what if life hands you plastic lemons? 

I'm straining for a lesson in that.

coping

 

I've been lamenting D's arrival at the proverbial "two's".

But this post-tantrum picture made me pause.
In realizing that it's as difficult for him as it is for me.
This whole "becoming" business.

the hunter or the hunted?

As the boys were traipsing about in the grasses on top of Escudilla, I told them this was just the sort of spot a hungry lion would like...So Aidan (and Jenna!  sidenote:  everyone needs an Aunt Jenna) crouched down in their best lion stances...as I warned them to watch for an unsuspecting zebra lunch. 

 
D was down on all four's, minus his typical lion growls,
so I asked why, and he replied: 

"No, I zebra." 

But the zebra gets eaten. 

 

Still, he insisted.

 And was eaten.

Just what I need!  One more contrarian (one who revels in the state of being contrary) on our family roster!  Of course, Jim showed all the signs of producing children like this.  And my parents claim I'd argue with myself if no one else was around.  I really should have known it was coming...my days are now filled with two tiny independent dependents who desperately vascillate between copycating and "I do it myself". 

 

I like *spirit* in a little, sparks of creative independence, but it definitely comes with a price of *attitude*. 

 

Jim is sure to disagree. 

And add something of his nights with three independent dependents.

We're truly an incorrigibly perfect (perfectly incorrigible?) match

With a child who - of course - wants to be the zebra instead.