Going Green and Halloween

Watching the excitement in my boys build up the closer it gets to Halloween, is one of the moments in parenthood that I enjoy the most.  Early in October, costumes were selected and planned for and every day all month long, I was asked the same question: "How many days until Halloween?  I want it to be Halloween now!"  While some of that was looking forward to a bucket of Skittles and chocolate bars, they were just as excited to dress up.  Since they were babies, that has been my favorite part - watching their personalities embrace their favorite superheroes and movie characters.

This year, we had a very cool Spiderman (with web wings - and you should know that is the most important part of the costume according to Jacob).

And a Tony Stark! 

Ya'll.  I pitched the idea to Tommy months ago about being Tony Stark for Halloween and to my utter glee, he was totally down for it.  I made a light up arc reactor out of a tap on LED light, drawn with the symbol and covered in some light blue fabric to give it a bit of a blue color.  I found the really real glasses online that he wore in Civil War because I couldn't help myself.  The day they came in the mail, Tommy was with me when I went to check the mailbox, and he let out crazy happy screams.  Watching his joy and excitement about them was the best thing ever.  I darkened his hair and drew on Tony's facial hair which was his favorite part. His costume literally made my night.

And did I dress up as?  Well, I had originally planned on being Disgust from the movie Inside Out.  Unfortunately, the green dress I ordered didn't come in until the day after Halloween so I had to improvise.  

 I'm Hulk's girly twin sister.  Obviously.

When I finished my costume, I came out of my room to show the boys and they squealed with excitement.  Jacob lit up and said, "Oh mama!"  He ran to me and hugged me and said "I love you so much!"  He stared at me in wonder and asked how I made myself green and laughed when I put on his Hulk hands.  In that moment, I could see in his eyes how much he loved seeing me dress up with him, entering his world of play and pretend and imagination.  He beamed with pride at me all night, "Look at my mom!" he would say to everyone.

We made a few stops to see all of the Grandparent's.  The boys filled their buckets with all of the candy and knocked on a few doors.  Each time, Jacob would show the person at the door his web wings and Tommy held his Ironman glove out.  I tucked away another year's worth of silly and fun memories in my heart, praying I would always remember the fun we had together.  Of Jacob's running and posing as he would use his web shooters. And of Tommy's swagger in the way he walked and carried himself all night long.

I'm not certain how it's November already. 2017 feels like the year that went by in a blur.  Time seems to be going my faster, my boys growing tall and confident right in front of my eyes.  I find myself in that place in motherhood wanting time to slow down a little bit.  The years I have with them like this are going just as fast as every other mom told me it would.  Tommy will be a grown man in ten years.  Jacob starts Kindergarten next fall.  A couple of gray strands here and there show up on my head of hair reminding me that I'm growing and aging right along with them.  It can't be stopped but it can certainly be lived fully. 

Tommy and Jacob, how I love you so.  You are my deepest joy and my greatest pride and being your mama is the best thing I've ever done.  I will cherish these memories, this childhood you got to live with me, forever and always.

Grammy

My Grammy’s house always smells like Nivea cream and sugar cookies.  No matter which house my grandparents have called home over the years, their home is calm and bright, like a Christmas carol all year long.  Even now, the inviting aroma of her home takes me back to my childhood where she would teach me the arts of pie-crust curling and gift-wrapping and convincing me I needed to learn how to sew.  “You’ll have a husband someday and what are you going to do if he needs a button sewn on to his shirt?” she would ask me.  “I would buy him a new shirt,” I would reply.  I was quite resistant to sewing lessons.  Much to her dismay, I never did learn how to sew and she’s gasped a time or two realizing I’ve put my children’s Halloween costumes together with hot glue.

 

I spent a lot of time with my Grammy as a little girl.  She would read and color with me.  She let me try on my great-grandmother’s vintage jewelry that was kept in a wooden box with a silver latch and silk lining inside.  There were colorful gems arranged in gorgeously gaudy necklaces, beaded bracelets and sparkling broaches that made me feel like royalty.  On the best of days, she would take out her old book full of paperdolls from the 30’s and 40’s and let me play with them.  She would instruct me how to handle the old paper and to turn each page of the book she kept them in with care and gentleness. 

 

Making pies with her was my favorite.   We worked the shortening into the flour, getting it to the right consistency so it would roll out just right.  “Gold medal flour and ice-cold water are the keys to a perfect pie crust.”  She explained this every time.  I would watch mesmerized as she would crimp the edges ever so perfectly, so it curled all the way around.  She showed me dozens of times how to do it, but my fingers never seemed to get whatever magic she possessed in her own fingertips.  Store bought pie crusts were never acceptable, so I learned early on that if I were going to be like my Grammy, I would someday, have to master the art of her perfect pie crust.  I am proud to say that in my 30’s, I have finally arrived in the pie department.  Not only can I make a tasty and flaky homemade crust, but a beautifully curled one as well. 

 

Recently, I sat across from a friend who asked me a question I had never been asked before. 

 

“Jenn, where did you feel loved as a child?  Who loved you?  What did that feel like?”

 

I was taken aback.  Her question was kind and invited me to reminisce and remember pieces of my childhood where it was lovely to be a little girl.  Memories quickly bubbled to the surface of my dad and how he read me a Bible story every night and how I would dance on his feet in the kitchen.  Of my mom braiding my hair and making my favorite cake for my birthday.  My Uncle Goolie and I bouncing on old bean bag chairs together and giving me a ride on his shoulders while I would pull his hair directing him where to go.  And Grammy…..she was my very first best friend.

There have been few moments where I’ve reflected on what was good and delightful about my childhood.  Over the years it has felt like I was mostly invited to re-enter scenes of trauma and sort through pieces of my past in efforts to find some kind of healing.  My friend’s question led me to ponder something new and different about my heart and about Jesus.

 

She explained to me that, if there is any goodness at all in our childhood – that if we experience any enjoyment or delight or love, that it was Jesus loving us through those people.  Jesus uses our wounded and broken mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins alike to be little gifts of His grace, kindness, gentleness and love.  My family was no exception.  Embracing this has brought a kind of healing to my heart and story that I’ve long hoped for.  My childhood, while still full of some trauma and wounds that forever pierced my heart, was suddenly rich with sparkling and beautiful moments where I was tenderly and dearly loved by those that God hand-picked to be a part of my family.  

 

I could suddenly see my younger self dancing on the nail pierced feet of Jesus and standing over me as I attempted to crimp the edges of a pie.  I saw how He let me ride on His shoulders and laughing with me as we jumped on bean bag chairs together.  He was there in my Grammy and my Dad, my Uncle Goolie and my Auntie Laura.  My mom and cousins and all of the precious faces that make up my family.  Oh how He made His love known to me as a little girl.

 

If I asked you the same questions:  Where did you feel loved as a child?  Who loved you and what did that feel like? I’m almost certain you would share a story about a special someone, and it would sound an awful lot like Jesus.

 

I like to imagine that Jesus is much like my Grammy and her home.  Calm and bright like a Christmas carol all year long.  And smelling of Nivea cream and sugar cookies.

The Family that Sings Together, Stays Together

I come from a singing family.  I mean, we are basically the modern day Von Trapp's, except there are more of us and we a lot more showy-offy.  Every last one of us is musically inclined in one way or another, and for as long as I can remember, our family gatherings have almost always included music and a time of singing.  Some of my most favorite family memories are tied to music - times spent in worship around a guitar, watching musicals together, or sponteanously breaking out into harmonies together.  In the past, we have even put on family Christmas concerts where we all sang together, in trios or duets and invited people to hear us sing!  See?  Showy-offy.

Over a month ago, my cousin Aimee had the brilliant idea of hosting a family karaoke day, where we could all get together and sing our favorite songs from Broadway musicals.  Because we are a singing family, we have all grown up with a deep love for musicals.  Oklahoma, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, West Side Story, Les Miserable, Phantom of the Opera, Showboat, Carousel, Grease, The Sound of Music, The King and I, My Fair Lady and Calamity Jane are just a few family favorites.

We all got together over the weekend, to show off our musical chops and sing together.  Some of us had practiced pieces and others were done off the cuff. And when I say some of us had practiced, I most definitely mean myself.  It was a hilarious, sweet, precious, fun time together.

My Poppy is the patriarch of our family.  I think we all see him as the cornerstone of our extended family and all of us have been shaped by him - his faith, his character, his correction of us, his love, his spiritual guidance.  And of course, his musical talent.  He is 82 and still has an incredible voice. He started us off with a performance of Some Enchanted Evening from South Pacific.

And then he sang When I Fall in Love (not from a musical) to my Grammy and we all teared up at the sweetness of the moment.

And then we cried our eyes out when he started dancing with her.  Almost 60 years of marriage together....

The day was sweet.  Reconnecting with family and enjoying one another without the distraction of a holiday or a birthday.  I loved it.  I sang Think of Me from Phantom of the Opera and perhaps won the award for loudest-singer-ever afterwards.  And Tommy and I had rehearsed Do-Re-Mi from The Sound of Music and sang it together.  I got a little choked up with emotion - seeing where my Grandfather's legacy is being passed down to my own children.  And Tommy can sing for real ya'll.  I was so proud of him.

There were plenty of shenanigans on Saturday.  My sister knows every single word and lyric to Officer Krupke from West Side Story by heart and impressed us all with her incredible theatrics.

We all took turns, singing, laughing, entertaining.  I wondered how we had never thought of doing something like this before!  One of the highlights was singing Summer Nights from Grease all together as a family and then listening to my cousin Jon and Poppy fumbling through the words of Oh What a Beautiful Mornin' from Oklahoma!

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We ended our time together in worship.  It felt fitting to close like that after a day of fun and silly together

Days like that day remind me of how grateful I am for my family.  We aren't perfect and we certainly all possess our own measure of dysfunction.  But, we all know the Lord and our hearts are knit together in a special way - much because of the music we enjoy. 

Karaoke day 2.0 will happen again in December when my Aunt and Uncle and three cousins can join us for Christmas.  Time to start practicing!

Easter is my Favorite

I often catch myself saying things like:  Christmas is my favorite!  Thanksgiving is my favorite!  Independence Day is my favorite!

And what is actually true is that holidays - holidays are my favorite.  I am a natural partier.  Celebrating things is my jam. 

And Easter is no exception.  After all, Easter is my favorite!  Much like Christmas or Thanksgiving or Halloween, we have our own set of traditions for Easter as well.  Egg dying, church, barbecued things, silly pictures.  Easter fell in between my two surgeries and I was grateful to be present for one of my favorite holidays.

We dyed eggs with our friends.

 

We had cascarone wars - which apparently is a total San Antonio thing.  If you don't know what a cascarone is, it's a painted eggshell full of confetti  You smash them over people's heads for no good reason other than it being fun.  I get cartons of senseless fun every single year.

We went to our church play on Good Friday and watched the story of Jesus' life play out before our eyes.  His birth, His life and ministry, His death and ultimately His resurrection.  It is still my most favorite story.

 I scaled way back on Easter baskets this year getting much smaller baskets and fewer items.  I bet you can't guess which one is Tommy's!

And where I come from, Easter isn't Easter without barbecue.

 We took a lovely family photo.

And our favorite Easter traditional photo where we wear Easter eggs for noses.  We started this years ago, and we do them every year.  My boys will be grown and I will still make them do this. They have no choice when they have a partier for a mom who's favorite holiday is all the holidays.

We hope your Easter was full of the same kind of family fun! 

Circle the Wagons

My Uncle died Saturday morning.  Suddenly, shockingly and devastatingly fast.  Our family is in shock as anyone might be.  He was 52, healthy, thriving, and full of life.  And yet, here we all are, waiting to wake up from some kind of dream as deaths this sudden take some time to really settle in.

I got the call while I was out getting Tommy a haircut.  My cousin's words of "My daddy is gone, my daddy is gone," still play back vividly in my mind.  I nearly fell to my knees on the floor of Sports Clips and wailed and sobbed loudly.  Everyone there stopped and surrounded me.  Strangers hugged me and asked what they could do.  A very kind man helped me to the car, strapped Jacob in to his carseat and paid for Tommy's haircut.  I was grateful to experience the kindness of humanity that day.

We all made our way to my Aunt and Uncle's house.  One by one, family by family, we all showed up.  We spent the day huddled together.  Crying in waves, recalling memories, making logistical plans, wondering if this was all real. We talked about how we always forget how precious life is until something like this happens.  It's as if we all wake up from a daze and realize that traffic jams or your neighbor's annoying dogs or silly disagreements really don't matter at all, because if you lose your family, you've lost a piece of your heart that you can't ever get back.  And how much of our lives we waste being "busy" when all of us threw all of our plans out the window that day and came together.  Nothing else mattered but family then.

Saturday and Sunday I wanted to keep close.  To have my people near me and where I could see them.  I wanted to do nothing more than sit with all of my family - my parents, my sisters, my Grandparents and cousins and just be together, because it felt safe.  Like nothing else can happen to us if we are all joined together as one.

For the handful of people that come here to read, I covet your prayers for our family.  We rejoice, knowing that we have hope in Jesus, that we will see him again.  And someday, there will be no more pain, no more tears, no more sudden goodbyes.

For now, we've circled the wagons.  And together, we cry and grieve and ache, yet we don't despair as we look forward in faith to that very day.

Bread baking day with Gramma

My Gramma is a special lady and I am more than blessed to still have her in my life.  She's 80 years young, feisty and full of spunk.  I've never known anyone who posessed the kind of joy she exudes.  It's something that oozes out of her and you can literally feel her joy when you're near her. 

A few weeks ago, Gramma spent the day at my house teaching me how to bake homemade bread  It's something she still does regularly and she wants to pass on the bread-baking tradition to her grandchildren so that when she is gone someday, we can bake bread and remember her when we take a fresh batch out of the oven.

Now, Gramma does not believe in bread machines.  She doesn't believe in electric stand mixers for that matter.  Every part of the process is completely done by hand and she wouldn't have it any other way.  She says it's the only way to make sure the love gets in, and the love is what makes it taste so delicious in the first place.  That, and her "seasoned" bread pans.  She saw how shiny and unused mine looked and proceeded to laugh at me.  Aparently, I have a lot of bread-baking to do in order to have my pans make the varsity team.

To bake Gramma's famous bread, she starts with 5 cups of very hot water and two packages of quick rising yeast  After that is stirred together, she puts sugar into the center of her hand until it looks just right and pours that in, and follows the same technique with salt.  She said our hands were about the same size, so my sugar and salt ratios should match hers.  I don't know what to tell the rest of you whose hands are of varying sizes.  But, she blew my "baking has to be exact measurements" thing out of the water, because she didn't measure a single ingredient after the water.

She adds "about" a cup of shortening to the water mixture and gets in there with her hands to break up some of the shortening.  And then the laborious task of adding flour begins.  She does not measure her flour, but keeps adding it until the dough feels just right.  I think she may have used close to five pounds of flour, but I'm not completely certain.  Gramma says that depending on humidity or temperature you may need more or less flour, which is why it's important to keep going until it feels right rather than concern yourself with recipes and measurements.  She let me feel the dough when she thought enough flour had been added.  The dough feels smooth and just slightly sticky.

 See?  Joy.  She is the jolliest woman I know.

When baking bread, Gramma goes by feel and texture and smell, relying on her instincts to let her know what the dough is needing.  With years of experience, her motions are fluid and familiar.  Baking bread is second nature to her and I delighted in watching her work, her aged hands and arms kneading and working the dough.   After this long process of adding flour and working the dough, she puts the bowl in an unwarmed oven covered with a towel and lets it rise for about an hour.

"Seasoned" bread pans folks.

After that hour, she puts a small amount of shortening on her hands and kneads the dough.  Then back into the oven it goes for another round of rising.  That is repeated again. 

 Dough perfection.

The third time, the dough is separated into loaves and put into her seasoned pans in an unwarmed oven to let those rise another 45 minutes - more or less depending on how quickly they rise.

And finally, after all the flour and the rising and waiting and kneading, you get to turn on the oven to 350 degrees, and cook for about 25 minutes or until golden brown. 

My house smelled like bread heaven.  Gluten divinity.  Something very godly and holy as five loaves of homemade bread baking in the oven would smell like.  Tommy eagerly waited, as did I, for the bread to finally finish.

To Gramma's surprise, my shiny new loaf pan that has been used maybe three times ever to make something silly like pumpkin bread, produced the largest, most beautiful loaf of the bunch.  She had never seen such a thing and she had to admit that perhaps my pans weren't so bad after all.  She did say though that if it was such a perfect loaf now, imagine what it would be like in ten years  She has quite a life expectancy of my bread pans.

Then the best part came.  The slicing, and buttering and the eating of the warm fresh-out-of-the-oven bread.  It tasted just like my childhood winter breaks that were spent at her house.  When it was gray and weary outside, but cozy and warm inside.  It tasted like all of the memories I have of my Great-Grandma, how she always wore matching sweatpants and sweatshirts, and would scold us for sneaking too many cookies out of her cookie jar.  And it tasted just like the love she had put into it, and I am convinced it had been made any other way, it wouldn't have turned out the same.

I don't know how many more Saturdays I'll get to have with my Gramma that get to look like this.  Each time I get a moment, a whole day like this one, or any sweet minute of time to make memories and enjoy her, I tuck them away safely into my heart.  I am grateful for her presence, grateful that I have her, and grateful for the here and the now and the new memories we're creating at 80 and 34. 

The best thing ever really is a slice of homeade bread fresh out of the oven.  The only thing to top it, is sharing that sliced bread with your Gramma.

Summer Road Trip

Vacation was vacation.  It was relaxing, and fun, full of play, naps, good food, and a measure of hard and stressful too because real life happens even on vacation.  We had our share of misadventures and unexpected hiccups, like having to replace the steering on Todd's new truck the day we were supposed to make the drive back home.  Let's hear it for warranties!

I was unsure about the road trip idea from the beginning.  It was Todd who thought we could do it, even with two young boys.  And to my surprise, it was great.  Fun even.  The boys stayed occupied with sticker books and Disney Pixar movies on repeat in the backseat for hours on end.  Apparently, junk food and movies will make any long trip bearable.

We traveled first to North Dakota to spend a little bit of time with Todd's extended family and Todd's parents who were also vacationing there.   We stopped for a day in Minnesota to see the Mall of America and spent the rest of our time in Michigan to catch up with our dear friends who moved there a few years ago.  We got to do life and have dinners and share adventures with Darin and Bethany and their boys Wyatt and Sawyer.

As I get older, and my boys keep growing, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the memories we are getting to make with them.  The stories we make together as a family and how experiences and times away together will shape their hearts and minds.  There were some days I had nothing better to do than read a book or take a nap.  One afternoon, I laid down with Jacob and watched him sleep and felt myself enter into a kind of rest I have not known in a long, long time.  As all vacations go, it had to come to an end but we made so many fun family memories and were so grateful for the time we had with our friends.

Below are the highlights of our trip, and in no particular order whatsoever.