Piecing Our Lives Together

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Last night Jeremy's aunt was telling a story from her childhood when her sister interrupted and said, Wait a minute. I've never heard that story! The two women looked at each other. Then Jeremy's aunt smiled and said to her sister, Well, it's a good thing we have each other because eventually we'll get our lives pieced together. These women are nearly seventy years old.

I love those moments when you hear your parents, spouse, siblings, or children tell a story you've never heard before and then you look into a face that is as familiar as your own and think to yourself How could I have not known that about you? I thought I knew all your stories. 

Jeremy's aunt's response, that together they would eventually get their lives pieced together, feels exactly right and true. When I tell stories about my childhood they sound one way. When my mother retells the same stories they sound a little different and of course both versions are true. Stories are organic, and our perception of the past will always be imbued with our own experience and point of view. But how boring is the single, straight forward version? Jeremy always teases me that I don't let facts get in the way of a good story, and he's right. But that's what makes my stories exciting and funny. And how boring to think we've already heard everything there is to hear. I prefer a quilt with many colors. I prefer hearing multiple versions of the same story, and to expect that the people closest to me can still surprise me with their stories. When I'm a grandmother I sincerely hope my sisters and I will still be piecing together our lives.

Strawberry Cheesecake Pancakes

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All around my house I see tangible evidence that it’s officially summer time. Swimming suits hanging in the bathroom, flip flops crowding the back door. A freezer loaded with Popsicles, flower pots bursting with jam colored blossoms, and a backyard littered with soccer balls and scooters. Last night I sat with my kids making a list of all the fun things we hope to do this summer, but after they were tucked into bed I sat down to make another list. What to feed our guests who are coming to visit?

There is something incredibly intimate about having guests stay in your home. When I open my front door I’m inviting others into the interior of my life, inviting them to watch how I am with my children, peek in my fridge, and find out where we set our thermostat. So, I figure if they’re going to sleep in our beds, eat our food and be part of our family for a few days, I might as well try and make the experience a good one! And over the years I’ve learned that much of the comfort and goodness I can offer my guests happens at my kitchen table.

One of the challenges of cooking for house guests is that as hostess I’m usually over scheduled and under slept. I’m planning menus, grocery shopping, making up beds, taking my guests to do fun things, and then staying up way too late talking. So over the years I’ve collected a few tried and true easy, delicious breakfast recipes that will bring everyone to the table in a good mood, and Strawberry Cheesecake Pancakes is my current favorite. A big thanks to my friends David and Steph for introducing them to our family over Memorial Day weekend! Nothing says summertime like fresh strawberries, and I promise if you serve this recipe to your guests the problem won’t be making them feel comfortable at your table, it will be getting them to go home at the end of the week!

Strawberry Cheesecake Pancakes

1 ½ cups strawberries, hulled and sliced

2 Tablespoons seedless strawberry jam

2 Tablespoons warm water

2 cups flour

2 tsp. baking powder

3 Tablespoons sugar

½ tsp. baking soda

3 eggs

2 cups buttermilk

¼ cup vegetable oil

2 cups diced frozen cheese cake

2 cups fresh whipped cream

Mix together strawberries, jam and warm water in a bowl. Set aside. Sift together flour, baking powder, sugar and baking soda in one bowl. In a separate bowl mix eggs, buttermilk and oil. Gradually add the wet ingredients into the dry. Fold in diced cheesecake pieces. Pour ½ cup onto a hot, oiled griddle. Serve with the strawberry sauce and fresh whipped cream. 

This Is What Graceful Looks Like

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I had a moment with one of my daughters the other night.

Madeleine loves to dance. Unfortunately she's had a tough time finding the right fit over the past two years. Some of the common complaints we've heard around here include Ballet is too hard, my teacher is too strict, the classes are too long. Even as my daughter complains she still insists she wants to dance, and I constantly find myself negotiating the fine line between forcing her to stick with it, and allowing her to give up and back out. So it's been a tightrope walk, trying to understand she is a little girl, but not wanting to raise a wishy washy quitter.

So we've moved and shuffled around with dance lessons the past two years, and even as we've made changes I've tried to gently remind Madeleine that longevity matters in dance, particularly with ballet. The students who stay in ballet for a few years, even when they hate it, gain a foundation that influences and informs every other style of dance. For two years she has sighed and blown me off. And then the other night she finally saw firsthand what I've been telling her all along.

We were at a birthday party with some extended family members and the little girls started doing impromptu dance performances. For those of you who have little dancers, it is recital season which means your child is probably leaping around your house at all hours too! Anyhow, a couple of the girls at the party have stayed steady and committed in some of the difficult ballet classes that Madeleine chose to leave a couple of years ago. I watched my daughter watching these other girls dance and soon she began to wilt around the edges. From across the room I saw her slumping further in her seat as the other girls leaped higher, moved faster, and danced...better. When her eyes filled with tears I couldn't take it anymore and I crossed the room to put my arm around her.

I want to go home, she whispered. I leaned into her ear so no one else could hear me. First of all, I told her. It's important that you be gracious about other people's accomplishments. These girls have worked so hard to improve their dancing and I'm proud of them. You should be too. This is not a contest, and you can be happy for your cousins that their hard work has paid off. Second, you don't need to compare yourself and feel badly. You'll get there. You love to dance and that's the most important thing. So, hang in there and it's just a matter of time. If you work hard you'll eventually get there too. 

A few minutes later the group urged Madeleine to perform her dance recital number. At first she shook her head, adamantly determined not to be compared to the other, stronger dancers. She looked at me, asking me what she should do. Go ahead, I prodded her. You'll be great. The honest truth is that a part of me cringed even as I said that to her. But we were among family, and I knew that while her less experienced performance might not dazzle, her efforts would. Still, it was kind of painful to watch because I knew what she was feeling. Her pride was on the line. She was trying to clap and be happy for the other dancers, but since they're all roughly the same age she keenly felt the role of being the least experienced and least capable. But even so she cued her music and took her place in the middle of the family room.

I'm completely struck by the grace and courage that children possess and sometimes choose to show us. Evidently I wore it on my face too, because afterward one of the other moms said, I loved watching Madeleine dance, but even more so I loved watching YOU watch Madeleine dance. You looked so proud, she said to me.

I thought about that on the drive home. I felt proud, yes, but not so much about the dancing. I've told my kids a hundred times I don't really care if they want to be dancers, painters or soccer players, I just want them to have something that they work for. Something that matters to them, where they can start off rough and see improvement over time. We can do hard things, I tell them at least once a week. And so yes, I was proud of Madeleine and my faced showed it, but it wasn't for her dancing. It's hard to stand up in front of your peers feeling as though you're the "worst one" but by agreeing to dance Madeleine was saying, This is something that matters to me too, and so I'll do my very best and hope you see what I'm trying to show you. 

And she did. And they did.

10 mph

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I think it's both my personality and the circumstances of my life that require me to always be in a hurry. Even when I don't have to be anywhere first thing in the morning, I regularly find myself ripping my car out of the driveway with wet hair, a piece of toast balancing precariously on the cup holder next to me, and a pair of shoes for Elisabeth in hand... which I then toss over my shoulder and spend the next five minutes of driving time asking, insisting and finally cajoling her to strap them to her feet so that when we arrive at our destination we can rush inside and not be even later. I would say this is pretty much our daily routine.

But now it's summertime.

In the past few days we've made homemade strawberry ice cream and spent over an hour lingering in the children's section of the local library. We roll out of bed when we feel like it, the early risers at a dependable six am, the sleepyheads closer to nine. We've walked around the yard in bare feet inspecting our flowers, and sprawled across the tiled floor in the kitchen painting nails. Yesterday I called Jeremy at work and asked him out on a date. Let's find somewhere to eat where we can sit outside, I told him.

Of course not every moment of the day is relaxing. Yesterday I burst through the door of Kate's doctor's appointment ten minutes late with a hungry, crying baby on my hip and all three of my girls in tow, tripping over each other and loudly complaining about who was supposed to push which elevator button. The doctor patiently herded us into a conference room so that we could inspect Kate's new hearing aid and learn how to work it, but I confess our attention span and focus were a wee bit compromised. Elisabeth was mad the doctor hadn't set out a tray of cookies like last time, and as I tried to quiet her indignant tears I began mixing together a jar of pears and rice cereal so that I could spoon feed the baby. Multitasking is the key! (Just for the record, it did occur to me that hauling out a grocery sack full of a bib, bowl, spoon, baby food and an entire box of rice cereal was possibly not the most graceful way to pass the appointment, but since I had to pull the baby out of bed the moment before we left and it was a forty minute drive, what's a mom to do?).

But we lived. And we have weeks and weeks ahead of us that won't require much beyond ten miles per hour. Plus, the promise of watermelon, sidewalk chalk, cloud watching, and afternoon siestas will sustain me through the doctor's appointments and Costco trips with all four kids. I can't complain. It's summertime!

It Happens Every Year

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Kate's teacher wrote the following message in an end-of-the-year farewell email a few days ago. Sniff sniff! I love teachers. I love teachers who put their heart into their work, and so many of them do! Thank you to Mrs. Halborg for being exactly the right teacher for my daughter this year. We love you. 

It happens every year.  The growing older.  The leaving.  The saying goodbye.  

Teaching is a funny business that way.  You pour your heart and soul in to each child and give it everything you've got, and then ten months later, they walk out the door.  Even after all these years, I'm still not used to it.  It's yeah-sob-yeah-sob-yeah-sob-yeah!

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to get to know you and the honor of entrusting me with your child each day.  We learned so much from each other!  I can only hope I've been able to make as much of a positive impact on their lives as they have on mine.  

Although they are leaving second grade for third, then fourth, then the rest of their lives, my door remains open to them, and you, for whatever you need.  My heart is full with all my students!  They are stuck there permanently.  

To close, I'll steal a quote I recently saw from Winnie the Pooh--"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

The Kind of Life that Matters

A few days ago I was invited to do a reading for a group of women at a church event. The purpose of the evening was to celebrate women...which in this case meant a beautifully laid tea party complete with scones, cucumber sandwiches, and gourmet cupcakes. Side note: I would like to add that cream filled cupcakes with freshly made berry frosting are a good idea if you plan to spend an evening celebrating anything.

Anyhoo, after we'd set down our forks I stood and shared a couple of brief excerpts from some of my favorite books, a blog post that I wrote back in January, and the short essay I published in Seeing the Everyday Magazine last year. Each of the four readings touched upon a different corner of celebrating women...what we love, what we need, what makes us abandon our rotten children in the middle of dinner and retreat to the bathtub, and to close, what we are capable of giving. I had been asked ahead of time to write something that could be printed and sent home with each guest at the end of the evening. And so I sat down at my computer and tried to imagine what I might say to a room full of women of differing ages, circumstances, interests, and doubts. What is the common thread that might encourage them to take a second look in the mirror, a deep down look? What is it that we can all celebrate? This is what I came up with...

The Kind of Life That Matters 

The days and weeks are long, but the months and years will fly past. Isn’t that what people always say? And by “people” I’m referring to old folks who can scarcely believe their once-smooth skin has turned into a calendar of the years, and their grandchildren are middle aged. Folks who’ve lived long enough to know what they’re talking about! What they’re really saying though, is not to let it pass you by. But what this advice assumes is that we all understand what the it is that we’re in danger of missing. Some days I wonder what it is that I'm hoping to accomplish, what meaningful, lasting offering I might give amid the stress and the changes of everyday life? I think the answer must look a little different for each woman.

Some days I wish a sense of personal fulfillment would happen to my life all at once, like a Jack n’ the Box toy popping open. Ta Da! It would say. Your little contribution made a difference, but you’re done for now so feel free to sit back and enjoy the rest of the ride. But living the kind of life that matters is a start to finish endeavor. From spring mud puddles to the crinkly, fading leaves in the fall, every season of life is significant. A child and a grandmother are equally capable of leaving their mark.

It’s difficult to know what to focus on since there are so many factors that demand our time and energy, influencing our sense of accomplishment. We are our bodies and our intellect, our faith, work, creativity and friendships, and of course, we are our children. Of these parts there isn’t any one that on its own can transport us to the greener grass on the other side of the fence where everything is exactly what we wished for. If only it were that simple! But we are not our work alone, or our lovely hair, our childhood, our homemade bread or our mothering skills. It is the sum of all the parts, and in a way I think it's both the grief and the glory of womanhood that we have so many demands to master and maneuver. But I suspect our success will be determined by our willingness to try.

I’ve often heard others insist on using every part of the chicken when cooking, letting nothing go to waste, and sometimes I think of that when I try to imagine what it is that I’m supposed to be doing with my life. And truly, what a world we might have if every woman could say with confidence,  I took a long look at the many good things inside of me and figured out a way to give others the best of it, nurturing whatever was good, beautiful and right. I tried to make my life matter! 

On Top of Spaghetti

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I don't really like spaghetti. It's always felt like one of those meals that I associate with being so basic it's boring kid food and therefore it gets relegated to that unhappy dinner category called Back Up Plans, as in  I don't have anything else in my cupboard tonight so I guess we'll have spaghetti.

Maybe I just ate too much spaghetti as a kid, but regardless it's one of those meals that I make every now and then and afterward I think, Yeah, that wasn't a very good dinner. Until I tried my friend Ashley's recipe for homemade meatballs. It's still a kid pleaser, but it is also a grown up pleaser too! At our house we save the leftovers for meatball subs and eek two meals out of this recipe. Bon Appetit!

Homemade Italian Meatballs

1 cup Italian seasoned bread crumbs 

1/2 pound ground beef

1/2 pound Italian sausage

1 egg

1/2 cup water

1 tablespoon minced garlic

2 tablespoons olive oil

salt and pepper (I did 1 tsp salt and 1/2 tsp pepper)

Parmesan cheese (I used ~ 1/4 cup)- Freshly grated is always best

basil and parsley (fresh or dried, 1 tsp dried/1-2T fresh)

* Jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce

Place bread crumbs/crushed croutons, hamburger, sausage, and all other ingredients (except spaghetti sauce) in a larger bowl and mix  well by hand. Form into balls. I make mine somewhere between 1"-2". Place balls onto foil lined 9x13 pan. Pour sauce over meatballs, adding ~1/3 cup of water to the jar at the end to get all of the sauce out. Bake at 400* for 30 min then cover and bake another 20-30 min at 350*. 

* I usually double the recipe and freeze the uncooked meatballs that I am not using that night, leaving me with enough meatballs for 2-3 easy dinners. The frozen meatballs can be put directly into the foil lined pan and covered in sauce. They bake for the same amount of time (closer to 30 min for the second baking).