Put the Baby Back!

When I got married and we celebrated our first Christmas together, I realized that something was missing.  A Nativity set.

Having a Nativity out during Christmas was something my Mom did every year.  I can't tell you why for sure, because it's not like my parents went to church, but I think there was something soothing and peaceful in the tradition of having that little Nativity set on display every year. Plus it was really cool art.

So when my husband and I celebrated our first Christmas together, I knew that in the spirit of the season, I wanted my own Nativity set.  Something that would be in the family for years to come.  Something that my children would grow to love and expect every year. 

The problem is that all the Nativity sets I wanted were really too expensive for our budget.  In my mind, I couldn't justify a purchase like that quite yet.  Not until I had a family.

The search for the Nativity set took a different turn after my daughter was born.  I joined this Mom's group at church and one of the sessions around Christmastime was titled (appropriately) "How to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas with your family."  There were a bunch of experienced Mom's talking about how they had found a Nativity that was "kid friendly" so that their children could play with the pieces and the parents could talk about the Nativity scene and Jesus' Birthday.  It all sounded great to me and so I went off in search of a "kid friendly" Nativity. 

Here's the problem.  And here is where I am a little snooty when it comes to the whole Nativity thing. 

To me, Nativity scenes are a work of art.  I have seen some so beautiful that they make me want to weep (and that was before I saw the price tag).  So the idea of purchasing a Veggietales Nativity scence where Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber were some of the key players hadn't quite grown on me yet.  Neither had the Fischer Price Little People Nativity where all the characters looked like they were short and fat.  Seeing as my daughter was only 9 months old during this Nativity hunt, I couldn't rightly justify purchasing anything that I wouldn't be okay with her teething on.  You see my delimma?

I finally settled for a Nativity set I happened across in a nearby Christian bookstore.  The price tag was right, the characters were sort of this rubbery/plasticky material that wouldn't break, and the box even said the set was "kid friendly". 

The first year we had the Nativity set, my daughter didn't play with the pieces so much as throw them across the room.

The second year we had it, when she was almost two, her throwing had better aim.

By the time she was almost three, she had learned to play with the pieces.  She had conversations with the animals in the stable and told the donkey, "Happy Birthday." 

And so it went, my daughter slowly progressing toward playing with the Nativity and understanding the Christmas Story.  Last year, as I was putting the Nativity set away after Christmas, I couldn't find the baby Jesus.

"Where's baby Jesus?" I asked my family.

No one knew.  And I feared that my one year old had swallowed him whole.  I watched his diapers for a week waiting for the baby Jesus. Nothing.

I eventually had forgotten that the baby Jesus had been lost from the Nativity set until six months later when I found a wise man hanging out under the couch.  I didn't even know he had been missing.

"I found a Wise Man!" I told the five year old and set him in my "junk cup" on the kitchen counter so I would see him for the next six months and not lose him.

"Did you find the baby Jesus?" my daughter asked. I can't believe she remembered he was missing.


Now here is the part where you think that I could just put the Wise Man away with the rest of the Nativity set, but you would be sorely mistaken because I don't go into my garage.  Ever.  It scares me.
And since the Nativity set was packed away in the garage, the Wise Man got to hang out in the "junk cup" for six months.

So here comes Thanksgiving and I'm thinking, "I have a Nativity set with no baby Jesus. This cannot be."

I break down and buy the Fischer Price Nativity set with the short and fat Joseph and Mary and the chubby baby Jesus that lights up and plays music when you press on the manger.  I do this because I have a two year old son who can throw farther than any of us combined.

I put up both Nativity sets.  The missing baby Jesus Nativity set is on display because it now has sentimental value to me.  I look at the donkey and think of how my daughter told him "Happy Birthday".  I look at the empty manger and think of how it will be filled in our hearts on Christmas morning.

And I look at the Fischer Price one and think that it's sort of cute and the light up baby Jesus kind of grows on you. And the pieces are easy to find because they are so fat.

I spend the majority of my evening collecting Nativity pieces that have wandered throughout the house ("Where did you take Mary? Have you seen Joseph?") and putting them back on their perspective tables. 

Tonight, as we were decorating the Christmas tree, while my two year old simultaneously removed decorations from the tree, I found the missing baby Jesus in the ornament box.

"Hey! It's the baby Jesus! Look!" I shouted.

"Hooray!" my daughter yelled, and she put him in his rightful place in his manger bed.

"Wook!" my son cried and ran off with the baby Jesus and the camel.

"You bring that baby back!" I yell after him.

"Baby Yesus!" my son yells back at me.

"I'll go get him," my daughter sighs and takes off after the two year old who is waving the baby Jesus in the air as if to tease us.

I got distracted by ornaments after that, and it wasn't until the children were finally deep asleep in bed that I thought to go look for the baby Jesus again.

There was the baby Jesus.  Lovingly placed in between Mary and Joseph. My daughter had placed him in his rightful spot with the Wise Men and Angels looking on.

Lately, it is in the quiet moments of my heart that I find I get the most meaning out of Christmas. Sure, I love the making presents, and wrapping presents, decorating, and lights, but this year it seems I feel the happiest just staring at those little Nativity scenes by the light of the Christmas tree. I find my heart kneeling down in front of the manger and simply absorbing the beauty of a baby born in a stable.

My moment was broken by the realization that the manger has gone missing.

Poetic License with a Sewing Machine

So this is how it starts.

I go out shopping with my Mom and she says, "Oh, I have to take you to this one place..." and then adds one of the following hook lines: "It's so cute." "You'll just love it." "I thought of you."

And just like when I was thirteen, I'm blindly following the only woman who really taught me how to shop, my Mother, into some place that will be my downfall.

A few months ago I followed my mother into a shop that declared the clothes weren't really clothes, but "wearable art".  I ended up buying a blouse that cost me about a day and a half worth of my paycheck.

It is art. I just want you to know.

Now it's art with a small spot on it that I'm hoping a dry cleaner can get out.

So last year my Mom does that "let's go shopping" thing with me and I end up in a store that makes napkins.  Well, napkins and cute little aprons. Mostly napkins.

"They make napkins," says my Mom, "Aren't they great?"

For the record, my Mom owns like 457 napkins and placemats. She doesn't even own that many shoes.

I tell her, "They are great."

And then I say, "You know, I used to sew. I could do this.  I could make us napkins. I just need a machine."

My Mom says, "You could make napkins and sell them."

My daughter says, "Can I get this apron? I need this apron."

Four sets of napkins and one child size apron later, I'm daydreaming of my own napkin business.

The only problem is I don't have a sewing machine and I haven't used one in over twenty years.

Fast forward to Mother's Day of this year when I tell my husband that Costco has a sewing machine on sale.  I hold out the coupon to him and say, "This is what I want for Mother's Day."

"It's not very romantic," says my husband. (He always says that).

I proceed to tell him all the amazing things I could do if I could just have this sewing machine.  I tell him about mending clothes, adding ruffles to things, and yes, making napkins.

I get the sewing machine.

It sits in the box for two months until I finally get up the courage to open it.

"Wow," I say to my husband.

I find a video online that shows me how to wind a bobbin and thread my machine. I watch it three times.

"That looks scary and complicated," says my husband (who has an IQ of over 150, mind you).

"Yep."

I dive right in. I buy thread and material and start making this "strip blanket" that I saw on Pinterest. Basically, it's a bunch of strips of material sewn together that somehow become a blanket.

After day one of my sewing strips of material together, I decide to fortify myself with goodies by going to Trader Joe's. 

Who should I bump into at Trader Joe's, but the woman who ran the Costume Shop for the Theater Department I was in during college.

"This is fortuitous," I tell her, showing that I am a college graduate by using big words, "I just bought a sewing machine."

"Oh, dear," she says, "Do you want my phone number?"

Apparently, she remembers how I sew better than I do.

I take her number.

I also tell my friend who designs and sews costumes for a living that I bought a sewing machine and I might be needing her help.

"What can you sew?" she asks.

"Flat things," I tell her.  "Blankets. Tableclothes. Napkins.  Straight lines."

I finish the blanket for my daughter. It looks better than I thought. I have to admit, I feel a thrill in knowing that I did it without anyone's help. Well, except the online lady who told me how to wind a bobbin and thread a machine three times. The strips of fabric are crooked and according to my daughter, the blanket already has a hole somewhere. So what? I made it.

"Can you make me a Nemo costume?" my daughter asks.

"I don't think so. I can make you a napkin."

"I don't want to be a napkin for Halloween."

I still haven't made a napkin. I've made part of a tablecloth and I've made a curtain to go on the play room closet.  I contemplated a Halloween costume for my kids, but how many Halloween costumes are out there that only require one to sew straight, flat lines?

Anyway, if you see a bunch of people dressed like napkins for Halloween, chances are it's my family.

What Mommies Love

Do you know what Mommies love?

Don't count children, spouse, house, friends, and the many devoted things Mommies do to keep these things going.

Mommies love time outs. For themselves.

  Give a Mom a book, a quiet place, a cup of hot tea, or a glass of wine, and say, "Go! Have Fun!" and a Mommy will run with that and not look back. (Okay, she won't look back after she's made sure everyone is taken care of and someone has been left in charge with a list).

Recently I had a LONG time out. A whole weekend. Don't hate me.

My parents live in this really beautiful area of the central California coast. And while it's in the 90s where I live, it's in the 60s at my parent's house. They have a view of the ocean. It took me 6 hours in traffic to get there. (Some of you are making that "little violin" sign with your fingers and whispering sarcastically, "Poor baby!")

Anyway, one of the things my parents really enjoy is food and wine. Not necessarily in that order.

 And since I didn't have the kids with me this weekend, I actually got to eat out at some of my favorite places. I noticed a common theme. Figs. Figs must be in season, because lots of people are serving figs.

  Here's what I ate at the restaurants I visited this weekend. For lunch my Mom and I split a dish of Crostini's with Brie and this Olive and Fig Tampenade. This was at a restaurant in Cambria. They actually sell the Olive and Fig Tampenade for $10 a "jar". I bought two. The rest of the meal was fabulous too, (Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato, and Avocado Sandwich with red pepper aioli and sweet potato fries) but honestly, nothing compares with that fig and olive stuff.

For dinner, my parents and I began the meal by sharing an appetizer of assorted (fancy) cheeses, figs, real honeycomb with honey, and toasted raisin bread. I know. Amazing, right?

So when I got home, at the nearest opportunity, that being tonight, I made my own version of a spread to put on top of bread and cheese. We're having friends over for Bible Study. And we always do appetizers and wine on Bible Study night. Don't judge. It's awesome.

My creation is no comparison to that fig and olive tampenade that I'm saving for when we go camping in a few weeks, but it will do in a pinch. Here's what I did in case you want to duplicate or make your own twist on this.

Lisa's Fig, Date, and Olive Spread

What you'll need:

Kosher Salt
Minced garlic (like 4 or 5 cloves worth)
Olive Oil 6 or 7 figs (I think mine were dried? Or already peeled? I'm not really sure...)
6 or 7 dates
1 can of sliced black olives (I used a small can, but you can really use a big one)
Pinch of sugar
dash of whiskey

What you need to do:
Cut figs and dates in half. Take seed out of dates.
Pour a decent amount of olive oil into a pan and heat (I started with medium heat, and then lowered it. It just got too hot).
Sautee figs and dates in the pan and when they start to change color, add garlic and stir around until fragrant. figs and dates should change color a bit, but not burn.
Put fig, date, and garlic mixture into your food processor.
 Drain olives and add.
 Add olive oil.
Add more because you didn't add enough.
Add a pinch of Kosher salt.
 Add a dash of whiskey (just a dash...or you could try Brandy. Why not?) and a pinch of sugar. Pulse,chop, or grind in your food processor until it looks like a spread.
Check consistency with a spoon.
 If it's too thick, add more olive oil.
 If too sweet, add more salt.
Give it a spin in your processor again.
Serve warmish over toasted baguette spread with warmed brie cheese.

Enjoy!!

  Best served with a view of the ocean. I have to go to my parent's house for that.

She Finally Gets Me...

Hello? Hello?
  Is this thing on? (tap, tap, tap)

It's not that I haven't had anything to blog about since March, but I had this thing called "writer's block" where I just couldn't commit anything down.

It really was annoying.

  And then I thought about the last few days.

Yesterday I took my daughter to the beach. Just me and my gal. We went to the beach because a friend of mine from out of state happened to be vacationing at the beach and I wanted to see her. I haven't seen her in 11 years. I've known her for over 40 years. That's all my life. You have to understand that this was the friend that I "grew up" with. I saw her at least twice a week, every week, throughout my entire childhood.

Anyway, this friend, who still holds a special place in my heart, took to my daughter like glue. Within five minutes my daughter was ready to leave me for her. And I wasn't even jealous because I was ready to follow my friend to the ends of the earth within five minutes too. Some people just have that affect on us, I guess.

This special beach trip of ours did exhaust us, though.

  Did you ever notice that when you spend a whole day at the beach, even if you are just sitting in the sun, watching your childhood friend bury your kid in the sand, you are exhausted and sort of feel like a walking zombie the next day? I love that feeling.

That feeling is even better when you are a kid and you are on vacation at the beach and you have nothing to do but play at the beach all day for a week. Pure awesomeness.

We only had a day at the beach and today my daughter and I were sort of doing the zombie-after-beach-thing. And I have pink eye and a sore throat so I had to go to the doctor today. And I had to pick my car up from the fix it place to the tune of six hundred and thirty two dollars (that's enough to make anyone a zombie). And I had laundry to do and coffee-filter butterflies to make.

  Seriously. It's been a full day.

A part of me was ready for bed before I even put dinner on the table. But then we walked to the store after dinner and had to get the kids ready for bed. Every night my husband reads Bible Stories in our bed to my daughter before bed time. It's a sweet bedtime ritual that gives them their special time and it gives me some time to myself. I was half-listening to what my husband was reading and I heard him say, "Jesus needed some disciples, so he went to Barnes and Noble."

  I started giggling. My husband is not especially fond of being interrupted during Bible Story time, so I got the look.

  "What did you say?" I asked him.

"I said, 'Jesus needed some disciples, so he went to look for helpers'."

  "Oh. It sounded like 'so he went to Barnes and Noble'."

My daughter can't help herself. She starts giggling.

My husband says, "Well, if it were today, maybe he would go to Barnes and Noble, but back then he went to some fishermen."

My daughter giggles some more.

I think to myself that really, you probably could find anything you want at Barnes and Noble. Kinda like Target.

  I can't help myself. I smile at my daughter and say, "Barnes and Noble." She giggles harder.

My husband and I both say "Shhh!" because we don't want her to wake her brother, but I am smiling.

  Because my daughter is starting to get my sense of humor. It makes me feel like at least if she followed one of my friends back to their house, she'd take me with her. 

Girl Talk

Not much has happened lately on my blog and I apologize to all of my 8 readers.

I have no excuse. And I have a lot of excuses that all add up to being incredibly tired for the past six weeks.

Seriously, it's been so busy around here and we've lost so much sleep that my husband and I walk around like zombies and neither one of us retain information very well.

This weekend I went to go visit a friend for her birthday back East. back East does mean Connecticut, although I guess since I live in California, anything can be considered "back East", but in my head "back East" = New England. Anyway, my husband had to ask me five times when my return flight home was. After the third time of asking me, I pulled the ol' teacher "repeat after me" game by saying, "I'm coming home on Sunday. What day am I coming home?" and he would say, "Sunday." I would then give positive reinforcement by patting his arm and saying, "Right!" and smiling big. But as any teacher knows, even this method is not always a guarantee of retainment of information, so after the fifth time he asked me, I sighed and wrote it down.

I am not blameless in this either, though, because my husband has reminded me several times of things he has on his schedule and I still end up saying things like, "You never told me that."

And before anyone starts suggesting ways of how we can remember things, please understand that we both have computer calendars, post-it note reminders placed within our line of sight around the house, and a very nice dry-erase board calendar in the upstairs hallway. It's just that we are too tired to write anything down on the calendar upstairs (that requires walking up the stairs and consciously writing on the calendar-who has the energy for that?) and we can't see our post-it notes in the kitchen because we're zombies...so we wander around mumbling our schedules to each other hoping the information will stick.

My husband did remember to pick me up at the airport. I expected this huge chorus of "Mama!" from the backseat. I expected my children to great me with hugs and kisses and shouts of joy. They were both bent over asleep in their car seats. "They've had a long weekend," my husband explained.

I did too. I had a great, long weekend.

I flew out "back East", as I stated earlier, to surprise my friend for her birthday. It wasn't just any friend, though, it was one of the only people in the world I consider a "kindred spirit", so to speak. We met twenty years ago this summer,we both were camp counselors at a christian summer camp. We did not become close, though, until the following summer, when we returned as counselors to the same camp. For some reason, the friends I made at this particular camp are sort that I consider my closest allies in navigating the world and all that life entails.

Anyway, this particular friend is probably the one I would chose if anyone had to say who is your "best friend", although that term sounds sort of silly at our age.
But remember when we were young and best friends meant you stayed up all night talking about boys and music and movie stars until all hours of the morning?

I stayed up all night talking this weekend, but our talk was the talk of grown women with responsibilities. Austistic children, children with emotional anxieties, husbands, financial troubles, relatives we struggle with, schooling, spiritual growth, spiritual needs,housework,jobs, etc...we still managed to laugh and even giggle, but it was apparent by the lines on our face and the softness of our child-bearing bodies, that we are older.

And the great thing about being a grown up is that sometimes you get to have these kinds of conversations with a glass of wine in your hand and the kind of wisdom and love that only comes with twenty years of friendship.

I came back exhausted. I can hardly think straight. And my poor husband has had parent duty all weekend, so he's exhausted too.

But it was totally worth another upcoming week of zombieland.

Little Linguist

I’m pretty sure that although my daughter has dreams of being a lounge singer, she is better suited to be a linguist.

And it’s not just because her father is a genius and uses words I’ve never heard of before. And it’s not because before I had children, I had a pretty good vocabulary myself.

It’s not even because I suspect my husband of sneaking J.R.R. Tolkien books under her pillow at night, hoping some of Tolkien’s linguistic talent will go to her head through osmosis.

It’s because she’s already started down the path that leads to being a linguist.

I think one of the talents you must have to be a linguist is the ability to make up words on the spot and define them and then convince everyone that your definition is correct. She’s really good at this.

For example, during the Christmas season, we would drive around town looking at lights. If there was a house that had a display of lights that might put Las Vegas to shame, the Four Year Old would say, “HungaMunga!”
Without even waiting for the question that would ask for clarification, she would define her word for us: “HungaMunga. It means A LOT of lights.”

Pretty soon we were all bursting out with “HungaMunga!” anytime we saw a house with a lot of lights. Then my husband began to use it in a sentence, “That house has a lot of HungaMunga. Wouldn’t you agree?”

One day last week I was driving around completing errands with my kids in the car and my daughter started crying. If you know my daughter, it’s not very unusual for her to burst into tears all of a sudden and scare the heck out of you. Sometimes I can be strong enough and patient enough to deal with these little emotional outbursts. Other times she is so spontaneous in her crying that it surprises me and I respond by practically jumping out of my seat.

“What is wrong?” I asked. If you want to, you may believe that I asked this in the most patient and loving Mommy voice. If you want the truth…I probably asked it with a tone of exasperation.

“All the HungaMunga is gone!” she wailed.

I didn’t know whether to laugh because it’s obvious this word has become part of our family vocabulary or cry because I was too tired to explain the cycle of Christmas decorations yet again.

I could make a list of the words that she has made up and have become part of the household vocabulary, but I won’t because I need that list for future blog entries. I have to stretch the fun out.

Another language “issue” I’ve noticed about the Four Year Old, though, is her ability to make sure that everyone understands that words that are used in past tense, are REALLY used in past tense. What I mean is that she throws an extra “ed” on the end of a word to make it as meaningful as possible. She doesn’t just say, “Mommy, I missed you.” She says, “Mommy, I missed-ed you.”

I know this is a typical preschooler thing to do, but I am going to kind of miss (ded) those words when she grows out of them.

It's not easy being green

The other night I almost had a heart attack.

Well, not really, but I did almost do a cartwheel and shout, "Yippee!"

You see, my daughter ate a vegetable.

Not just any vegetable. But the green one that looks like trees and that one must usually smother in cheese sauce to make it appear edible to anyone under the age of thirty.

"What is this called again?" asked the Four Year Old, holding up her fork that had speared one of the small trees (not covered in any sauce, mind you).

"Broccoli."

She stuck it in her mouth. I waited.

"I like broccoli now."

Inside my head, the crowd was going wild. Cheers of joy filled my head. I mentally spoke to the vitamins in the green stuff she had just swallowed, asking them to find their way to the most vital parts and take root, because who knew when she would eat another vegetable. It took me four years to get her to eat this.

"Oh, good." I said.

"I don't like the white ones, though."

My husband said, "That's cauliflower. That's different. It's okay if you don't like it. You tried it at least."

My daughter ate another piece of broccoli. She could have asked me for anything she wanted and I would have given it to her. Would you like a pony? I will go get you a pony. Thank you, thank you, for eating a vegetable.

Did you ever notice that they make it as easy as possible to lie on the Wellness Questionaire at the Pediatrician's office? Maybe not at all doctor's facilities, but at least in ours. They put all the right answers in one column, and all the wrong ones in another. Does anyone smoke in your home? Is your water heater turned to the right temperature? Do you put your baby in a car seat? It's all yes or no, check this box, type of questions, all the correct answers in the same column to make it convenient to just check down the row. I wonder if whoever wrote that questionaire knew that most mothers are suffering from lack of sleep and multi-tasking headaches, and thought, "The poor dears, let's just make it so they don't have one more thing to think about." So I'm taking my son to get his wellness check up (four months late) and to get his shots and I'm filling out the form, feeling like I could get an A or a happy face sticker on the form for being such a good mom. And then the form says, "Do you offer your child vegetables at every meal?"

I actually hesitated. Like I held my pencil in the air and stared at the form and considered lying by marking "yes." Why, yes, my children are offered vegetables at every meal because what kind of mother would I be if I didn't do that? I'm certainly not the mother who throws five chicken nuggets on a plate in the microwave and asks, "You want ketchup with that?" and calls it good. I'm certainly not the mother who considers chocolate cheerios a decent snack.

I had visions of being tied up to a chair and being questioned by Jack Bauer (Okay, if you never watched 24, you won't get it) on my children's eating habits. Then being declared some sort of vegetable hater or terrorist and hauled away never to be heard from again. Caught by the Counter Terrorist Unit in defense of all things veggie. No, Jack, don't hurt me, I promise to offer peas and carrots.

I marked "no". I do not offer vegetables with every meal. Let the chips fall where they may. I can take it.

That Pediatrician didn't even look at my questionaire.

I still felt guilty - I made a promise to myself that I would make an effort to at least offer vegetables with dinner. And even if they don't eat them, I will have done my job. I was rewarded with 4 small trees of green being eaten by the Four Year Old. The Toddler just threw them on the floor.

You can't win them all.

I gave the Four Year Old cake for dessert.

A use for bacon

As if anyone needed to be told a use for bacon. I just couldn't think of a clever title.

So I was looking for good crockpot recipes because, let's face it, they are few and far between it seems, and I found one. But then I tweaked it because I felt it needed bacon.

Here is the recipe. It's a navy bean and ham soup. With bacon. And sauteed onions. And carrots. And cream. Basically, I rewrote the recipe. It turned out quite yummy, but rich. A little goes a long way with this one. I also threw on some asiago shredded cheese on the top. I served it with fresh asiago cheese bread.

You will need :
A bag of navy beans. Soak 2 cups overnight in 6 cups of water. Drain.
A whole package of bacon (I used applewood smoked. It was quite extraordinary)
3 or 4 large carrots
1 yellow onion
whipping cream
1 box of chicken stock (low sodium)
a bunch of ham, cubed
pepper to taste
throw in some garlic with the onions while your sauteing if you want.


After soaking beans over night and draining, throw them in a crockpot.
Cook all your bacon, pat dry with paper towels and crumble. Add to crockpot.
Save the bacon grease. While bacon grease is still hot, saute one diced, yellow onion.
When onions are mostly soft, add to crockpot.
Slice carrots and saute in onion and bacon grease. When carrots are completely coated and change color a bit, remove and add to crockpot.
Add cubed ham to crockpot.
Add in one box of chicken stock (about 4 cups or so) and 1 cup of water.
Stir and cook on low for 7-9 hours.
About 1/2 hour or so before eating, add in some cream. I did about half of a small carton.
Serve in bowls with a little sprinkled asiago cheese.

Enjoy!