The Blessings of Creation

I'm a little better rested then I was last time we met. Rosemary is now sleeping most of the night only waking twice(at least that is what my husband says, I am sleeping down the hallway in Norah's room and am summoned when the baby needs to eat).

The neck is another story. I have now had this throbbing in my neck and forehead for 12 days. I've decided that I am going through menopause or something as equally devastating(hormonally speaking). In lay man's terms, my body is whack. I suppose I should go see my OB, especially since I never went in for a six week appointment.

The good news is, I have had the pleasure of being distracted by many a project this week. Of course, there is YW. I dreaded it's arrival on Tuesday only to find that the headache disappeared while we(again)made chocolate. Seriously, I'm so sorry Rosemary, I only had 3 bites.



She soon forgives me though.



Abram, on the other hand, is always a heart breaking project. He loves me, he loves me not.



The above is right before he hit me for daring to capture his tantrum.



On a sunnier note, I've been organizing and claiming the office as mine.



It is a warm, sunny spot that I can breath in and be my own.



I get to be the Martha that creates(a little)everyday, and it feels good.





Here are a few things I've been working on:







I am working on matching quilts for Norah and Lulu as we prepare to move them in together(oh brother). This is my first pieced quilt and it is not perfect, but I've really enjoyed it, although through this quilt it has come to my attention that I do not know how to count or how to measure.





I've had pictures and clippings stashed and set aside now for a years, waiting to grace a board. Now, since I have claimed this room as mine, I decided to go ahead and make one.



I bought extra fabric to make pillows for this window seat at the front of the office.



I've been decorating my home a tiny little piece at a time. Do you mind if I document each tiny piece?



One other thing I would like to document is my awesomeness at placing 2 children in time out at the same time.Holy mothering skills, I usually(very unsuccessfully)am only able to make one sit and not very quietly at that.

And I did all of this with a sore neck!
Blogging is the only way to (re)write history, no?

Back to Good

On August 3rd, 2008, when I was called into the bishop's office and asked to be the YW president, I was 2 days overdue with Rosemary. That day was also fast Sunday and my birthday(I know I've been over all of this before but I like to repeat myself). I obviously accepted and on the short drive home my husband gave me the look(the look that says, "what the freak did you do that for?"). All I could think was, "I don't know, but I'm trying to trust that there is a reason".

My faithful husband then decided that his fast(for the remander of that day) would be to be blessed with a good baby. You see, we are blessed with the most beautiful children in the world(this is not up for debate), but our first 3 children were very trying infants. Even though the pages of many sleep and baby books have been worn, weathered, and studied, our children were sleepless terrors. In fact, Abram, at 2 years of age now, just barely started sleeping through the night.



But his eyes are just too intoxicating to begrudge the injustice that he has laid upon his mother.

Back to my story, the days came and went, shortly(or not so shortly, by pregnant woman definition), I gave birth to Rosemary. And she was good. So good. There is a God!



She rarely cried, she slept like a dream(only waking a few times a night); she was basicly perfection in pink.



In the last month, on most nights, she woke only once. Sometimes I like to read into things that don't need being read into and pretend that just maybe God was smiling upon me because I really deserved this angelic being.



But tragedy struck. Last Saturday, she developed a fever. She was up multiple times that night, the next and the next. As her fever subsided, a throbbing in my neck intensified. When her illness passed, my neck pain was at a fever pitch. And even though the virus has run it's course, she continues to wake, 6-7-8 times a night. I don't think I need to tell you what this has done to my neck and to my sanity.



On Friday, when I was about to throw myself off of a cliff, I pleaded with the doctor to fix it, fix it all(is that to much to ask?). She shot a steroid into my neck(not as horrible as it sounds), and promised that the pain would subside.

It is now Monday, and still there is pain(cursed steroid), and no sleep.



My feeling is that the pain in my neck will not go away until I get some sleep.
So my question is, what do I do? I have a lot on my plate, and I had it good for a while,but now it's gone. How do I get it back? Is it typical for a baby to fall out of sorts after a sickness? Should I sleep in the basement and let Rosemary duke it out with my husband(remember I breastfeed, and the basement is cold)?

I'm tired.

Magic Resides on Ravencrest

As the pink morning sun chased the last bit of night from the rosy bedroom, I pulled an electrically charged fleece pajama top over a tumble of caramel colored ringlets.



When the fleece separated from the tiny body which it had warmed, the ringlets sprang to life, a la Medusa; wild and radiant.



Lulu squeals, "Mom, look at my hair". I say, "Yes, it's crazy hair".

"No, it's not!", yells Lulu. "No, it's silly hair...", I say.



Lulu replies in a hushed voice, "No mom, it's wondrous hair".

She places her hand on my shoulder and with merriment, whispers in my ear, "It's magical hair mom".



Yes it is Lu.

Resolve

It is on a sunless day such as this, stripped of babies, duty, demands, and distractions, that notice is taken. A stillness is replaced by somber and seeping emptiness reveals a cavity. Gone is the glitter and diamond encrusted snow, exposed are soiled patches of faults and short comings.

As the slate sky casts it's unforgiving shadow over me, I am forced to become acquainted with the chasm between what is and what may be.



Through my window is a gully; deep, dividing, precarious. Gazing at the barbed, barren scrub brush, I feel conquered and oppressed by my deficits. It is cold. The slope is unyielding.
But somewhere, lightly grazing the weight of hopelessness is a promise. Beyond the boulders and tumbled weeds are wholeness and clarity.

So I will seek:
Him.
answers.
understanding.
the ones whose hands need holding.
the daughter who tries me, again and again.
the daughter that needs extra love.
more connection.
cleaner hands.
a pure heart.
dependency.
self reliance.
charity.
forgiveness.




And as I commence on yet another venture to become better, the sun breaks through and beckons me.

Weighty Review

A few months ago, in an early Christmas-ish spirit, I gifted myself with the loss of baby weight and gained a once again semi-quasi half-baked hourglass figure (OK, so who am I kidding, this hourglass is more of a half-hourglass since the middle is not as slender as it once was).
Then Christmastime's visions of gluttony, overindulgence, and splendorous insatiable wolfing filled my head. In all fairness to moi, I have been on a bit of a fast these past 4 months (I use the term fast loosely, and only when it fits my agenda). Rosemary told me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to lay off the sauce, chocolate sauce that is, and anything resembling chocolate sauce.
Earlier this month, one of the young women wanted to make brownies from scratch. We decided to make peppermint bark brownies. I made a batch pre-activity for the girls to eat, then the girls made their own batch which continued to bake at my home even after the young women had left. As they cooled they sat fragrantly, immodestly, seductively. I indulged and betrayed my babe. Oh how I payed.



There was a crime.




There was a victim.



And there is punishment.

Onto my point, for Christmas, I gifted myself with at least 3 pounds of butter, and all of butter's mothers, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins and kitties. Oh glorious dairy, thou art beautimous (I thought I'd try out that word, Lu's OT LOVES it and uses it frequently). I suppose one could say my binge was brought on by my abstinence. I don't really know, all I do know is that I am now 5lbs heavier, 10 minuets slower, and at least 3 IQ points dumber. And it feels good.

For Christmas Eve, we made this.
Not to be outdone by Christmas Eve, Christmas morning we made this.
For Christmas day dinner, my father asked me to make something with brussels sprouts. Brussels sprouts are the 13th member of our family, right there in between a dog and a newt that sacrificed itself to a century old radiator. So, to keep up my momentum, I made this.



You may be asking yourself, "Is Christmas all about food?". Of course not, it's about the 'stuff' right?



So I am now the envy of all foodies with my array of kitchen scissors. Would you like to see me cut the backbone out of a chicken?








Before my husband and I ever had a first date, he purchased 4 children's story prints that coincidentally happen to feature 3 girls, and one boy. Brad had them framed and they now adorn and brighten the children's play area (would you like to place bets on how long they last?).



My good husband also took the children sledding and tubing at the massively hill laden park down our road.
Whatever you do, do NOT ask Abram about his pink snow pants and his pink boots.
I believe he is on the road to recovery and we do not want a relapse.



In an attempt to distract attention from my butter bum I have been wearing a felted red rose in my hair. See?! You can't even tell that I have been overindulging, right?










Santa gave me the cardigan of my dreams (my husband would tell you it is the 15th cardigan of my dreams, but cardigans are like butter, you can never have enough, and one taste just makes you want more).





Abram bears the unfortunate burden of being the middle child who has nothing of his own. That is until this Christmas, now his bedroom shelf holds little reminders that we do love him (nothing says I love you like toys, right?), we do know who he is, and we do understand that he is a boy.



We also thought you might like to know that we are no longer Godless. Brad finally gave me the painting of Christ that I have been wanting since we've been married.







Christmas was bright, joyful, and delicious. There is so much to be grateful for and humbled by.
In mourning the passing of 2008 and in celebrating the birth of 2009 I believe I will make this*, and declare it the year of butter, for what is better than butter?

*Just in case you think I always cook like this, I don't, only special occasions. But if I could, I totally would!

True Love

There is something you should know.
I am helplessly, hopelessly, undeniably, ablaze with desire for perfect chicken.
I'm not talking KFC. Sacrilege.
I'm talking perfection.



Over time I have come upon some fairly brilliant chicken recipes that I've fallen for.

There was the Chicken Kiev. A butter lover's dream come true.

Ina's chicken bouillabaisse. Where I learned to overcome my fear of raw eggs in the name of felicity.

Ina's chicken with 40 cloves of garlic. When flavor reigns over delicate breath and friendship.

Tyler's ultimate chicken salad sandwich. Brie, toasted walnuts, apples, yes, yes, yes.

None of these prepared me for the yearning and devotion I now posses for this beauty. Oh.My.Goodness. Last night may have well been Christmas for me. It was a bit of trouble. My kitchen was a bit smoky. My wrists are a bit sore from lifting the heavy pan in and out of the oven, but, oh...the love.

Some of my favorite things in life:
pine nuts.check.
garlic.check.
arugula.check.
crusty bread.check.
perfect roasted chicken.check.
crispy blistered chicken skin.check
buttery chicken juices.check.



Try it. You will not be disappointed. For the crusty peasant bread, I made this, simply because I forgot to buy some at the store, but it was a good find.
This may be the holy grail of chicken, if it's not let me know what is please?

To the one who is providing us the 12 days of Christmas

The dress-ups are GOLD!

Thank you.