god

I am the kind of mother who touched her children every night and prayed to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I asked that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I asked to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I prayed to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I wanted god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that wept when they failed.

I shook when they are on stage and I gasped when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waited patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who said wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explained boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch anyone under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who said you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

Rising to the Gifts of the Husband

My husband is a different kind of man.  Being a Game Warden, he is more earthy than most.  He hunts and fishes.  He has no concern over the often gruesome tasks of his job, necropsy and autopsy of long passed critters.  He often deals with the very fortunate plantation owners and rich hunters of dove and the not so fortunate "redneck" hunters who are both sporting and shopping for food.

The people he meets, meet is a word which I use loosely, have the variety of values that most have with one difference.  They all have guns.  And knives.  And the will to hunt or at least the belief of the will to hunt. So knowing that about him, one could expect his view of the world is different and his idea of presents and gifts might be unique....

So it started long ago, with valentine presents in heart shaped boxes with red ribbons that either contained pocket knives or garter snakes.  And it progressed to a case of my favorite tea in bottles or a set of camouflage pants.  One year, he gave me a vacuum cleaner, at least an ORECK.

There were no years of jewelry or fancy clothes.  But there were many years of children and toys and relatives and gift wrap.   There were several years of Cape San Blas and cold water polar bear swims!  And as the kids got older and the jobs more demanding, we stayed in Tallahassee or Gainesville or sometimes the farm in Madison.

I have tried to minimize gifts and the marketing side of Christmas and Valentine's day.  A gift of stock or a 401k contribution is nice.  An agreement of siblings to not get gifts and spend money on a holiday that is really not about shopping (blasphemy!) is working well.  Less clutter, less muss.  This year, after the socks and underwear were opened, the entertainment was nerf guns and all had a fabulous time.  With so many boys in the family, we had an all out sponge war going.

But back to the husband gifts.  He bought me a fishing creel once and a net, that I think was more wall decoration than real.  The gifts were never traditional, and usually, not expected.

So this year, it is my turn.  I am giving him something he wanted.  He retires in February, and he bought his retirement boat.  Cash.  Done.  I have to tell you as the household accountant, I felt a shortness of breath when he told me he was paying cash.

So, over myself, I hope he loves it.  I hope the Valentine beginning to his retirement is lovely.  and full of fish for me and mine and his and ours.

Happy Valentine's Day Charles Higman and Happy Retirement!

Rising to the Occasion of Yuletide Presents and Baking

Tonight, I pulled the two, go to, Bakers on my list for Cookies that express my feelings.  My two favorites are Martha Stewart and Joy the Baker.  And pistachios and chocolate are the things they have in common.  I love working with both of those in the holiday  baking efforts!

Planning ingredients and number of bags and tins that I will prepare, I stop to ponder some of the best gifts that I have received in holidays past.  Food for sure, there is someone who gives me homemade fig preserves every year and I love it.  But this is the "best column" that does not include gifts from children or husbands, not rings from grandmothers, or family heirlooms.

No, I mean gifts from friends or co workers that really strike a chord.

The presents that I use the most are sort of simple and so easy!  First, is an initialed  leather manicure kit that came from a mail order catalog that I normally would associate with old people ( I get to say that now!).  It is from a friend that I don't see anymore, but I think of her with every trip, when I pack the little kit. Thanks you Laura!

The next is an MP3 player with music on it.  I love that little orange thing.  And someone else taught me how to use Amazon music to download new tunes.  You have no idea how many different dancers I have been, Ginger Rogers, Christina Aguilar, Charo, Shakira or Patty Cantu.  The friend who gave me that, gave me so much happiness.  Floors have never been mopped with such enthusiasm or rhythm.  thank you Tami!
The last is the gift card.  True confessions, I give my gift cards to charity.  I am blessed with a job that gives us cards for the holidays, so I give the excess to charity in honor of someone else.  The Children's Lighthouse is just down the road from me.  I got this idea from a friend who gave me a gift from Heifer International.  How many times do you get to say someone gave you chickens in a flock for Christmas!

I know they are simple, but simple counts.  Especially, when needing a set of jumper cables, which is not something that you contemplate when it is an emergency.  And my brother is the jumper cable King.  He gave them to me and all of my children in a nice little bag for our cars.  And actually taught me how to use them as well. Gifts that keep on giving, I can tell you, I have loaned them more than used them. Thank you Charles Bawl!

Not knowing the people that I am baking for (my husband's co workers), I am forging ahead with my Martha Stewart and Joy the Baker recipes. Because I don't know this crowd well enough to know that they would like a monogrammed anything.

My thought is to try your best, keep it simple and then stand back and let the season happen. the  beauty of the holiday is that it passes and no one says, "oh no, it is not time for cookies".  

I have a correction to make.  While the yuletide spirit of recognition for Mike giving me the Heifer gift was indeed my memory, it is incorrect.  Mike gave me a local food bank gift.  I had the thought right, but the gift wrong.  So thank you Mike.  and Thank you Heifer.  I am still buying chickens for the people in Ecuador...  And you inspired that.

Update, I used the other gift that keeps giving tonight, the Christmas measuring spoons. Pistachio smoked salt dark chocolate cookies and of course those Chocolate Pistachio biscotti!

Update Two: those Christmas measuring spoons give again with the feta scones!

Rising to the Occasion of Three?

Staring at this blank page, I wonder how to tell you the difference between a fabulous trip and a fabulous trip.  But there is a difference.

The last two trips with my daughter, we went off to Seattle and then to San Francisco.  It was girl out extravaganza   We went everywhere on foot, bus and bike.  WE exhausted each other and then exhausted each others' ideas.  Foot travel, cocktails, scenic views, heights and horses.  Just a meal difference in mood and outlook.  I can tell you that there is nothing I treasure more than the stressed out, fun loving, active, challenging cross country weekend with my daughter.

Flash forward. First trip with number one son and the daughter.  Dynamic changes. Winds shift.  Fun happens without me, then around me, but not me. Fun happens with me, with them, with the food.  But then, fun shifts and there is fun with one and not the other, and fun with the other, and not the one.

Though the energy required is the same, the effort felt is more with three.  Not just three.  Three with one male.  I can't help but think if it was three gals, we would be arm and arm down the street, moving our legs in unison, this way and that.  The swag, the sway, the together movement of female time. But the guy, oh the guy is there, even if he is the brother.

And then there is the dynamic of the MOM.  Yes, adult children do return to the children in the presence of the MOM.  Children return to competitive persons.  Mom's return to the boss.  The people who were three flying separately across a nation to be together, seem farther apart than three planes in the air.  The past, the present, the gender, the gap, the competition, the time change.

Not the most relaxing weekend across the country that I have had, but certainly one to remember.

The capitals, the space needle, the five course wine pairing dinner (oh the five course dinner), the stroll on the campus of PSU and the shopping at the used clothing store.  The brother takes the sister to the mountain, through a town named Corbett and the water falls.  The brother goes with the sister to Powell's Bookstore in Portland.  The brother follows the sister to the campus and the fresh produce music art filled student fun market and the mass transit that is everywhere.

But then there are three and there is distance and space that wasn't there before.  Burgers bring us back together. Simple burgers and fries.  So american.  Then ice cream.  Too much ice cream. And some hurt feelings and some great laughs.

And I am reminded of the joy of motherhood, the wonderful human beings that are my children and the gift that they give me of their time.  Frustration, tension, trust to be that way.  Love no matter what.

Rising to another cross country weekend.  Love it all!

Rising to the Occasion of Motherhood

God

I am the kind of mother who touches her children every night and prays to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I ask that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I ask to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I pray to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I want god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that weeps when they fail.

I shake when they are on stage and I gasp when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waits patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who says wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explains boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch any one under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who says you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

And ten years after writing these words, I am still praying.

people acting as baby pigs?

Explain this one to me Reddit - Imgur