What My Mom Told Me

On June 12, it will be two years since my mother died. I could tell you, I suppose, about the last two years of her life, how she fought, or how we prayed and begged God to stop the enemy troops that marched deep inside her body. Maybe I should tell you about the way we sang her home in her bed, and rubbed her feet and whispered to her as she drifted into Jesus' arms. I could tell you about the time since then, of the numbness that turned raw, of the loss that brought tiny new things.

But I won't.

Those memories are in a different memory-building than all the other memories of my mother, and the door is locked, and I don't have the heart to pick it right now. Maybe another time.

Sometimes I hear other people talk about Julie – sometimes I hear myself do it too – and she starts sounding less than real, like a statue of a saint. Now don't get me wrong. My mother was a saint. One look at our house with all the children and the homeschooling and 80 dozen ears of corn every year and the rabbits in hutches and the home business … sainthood was a requirement in her job. No, I mean she starts sounding one-dimensional and serene and haloed and wearing something satin and lemon-colored. That just wasn't her. Yellow wasn't her color.

I want to remember her today by telling you some of the things she told me. If you ask me, they are things every girl should know.

Find a way.

When I was in college, I went with my singing group, WCC, to Europe. It was lovely and I ate loads of Nutella and saw Notre Dame... and got terribly homesick. I remember one place we stayed – all I remember was how dark it was, and everything seemed upholstered in velvet, and I called her from a little box in the hall. I had no money, so called collect, told her what country I was in, the name of the building and asked her to call back at 10:00. (This was pre-google and instant knowledge.) Because I knew she would. I knew that no matter what, I knew she would find a way, never give up, get it done. I don't remember her making excuses for very many things. She found a way.

If it's important, it will be important.

When I had my first baby and was whining about losing the baby weight, she just said “If it's important, it will be important,” and kept doing what she was doing. Well, yeah. It took me a while to really grasp what she meant. If the size of my bum was all that really mattered, it would absolutely matter. It would be small and perfect. If, however, learning the secrets of my new baby were a teeny bit more important than that, the bum would have to just take a backseat, so to speak.

Fight for your family like a badger.

OK, she didn't actually say that. (see Mom, I am still 'twisting everything you say' as you used to accuse us of doing!!) But she did it. Case in point: when we were really small, my dad logged for a living (and was a park ranger on the weekends. He worked hard.) Anyway, on this momentous day, he forgot his packed lunch and was out in no-man's-land doing hard labor, foodless. Mom packed up the food, packed up us kids and we walked into the woods to take him his lunch. Across a creek. Up the bank. Over stumps. Under branches. (Mind you, I quake taking my kids to Wal-mart. This woman rocked.) She fought for what was important. It was us.

Memorize. Memorize. Memorize.

Since I've already misquoted her, I will continue. My sisters and I were always spouting movie quotes to each other (Mawage is what bwings us togever today. Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia. Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters.) and she was always saying, “If you kids could just memorize scripture the way you memorize those movie quotes!!” She said with a smile because we were memorizing scripture too. And, oh, how I've needed it. When I was pregnant with the twins, throwing up six times a day, I took to saying into the toilet as I knelt in front of it: Your grace is sufficient for me. Your strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Cor 12:9). Quailing inside a scary MRI: The Lord is my shepherd, I will not want for anything. (Psalm 23) At moments of self-doubt: Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. YOU ARE MINE. (Isaiah 43: 1, emphasis mine) I tell my kids what she told me – hide them in your heart and when you need them, they will be yours for the rest of your life.

Champion the ones you love.

Tina Fey once thanked her parents for having faith in her that far out-measured her capabilities. If she thought they were laudable, she hadn't met Mom. My mom mailed countless support letters for missions trips, sent letters to camp before we went so they would arrive when we were there, sewed dresses so the girls would match, bought coon skins caps for the boys, taught us to drive stick-shift on winding roads, tirelessly fanned the little flames of talent in our lives, applauded, cheered, motivated, prayed. She championed us when we ourselves didn't see much to champion.

Make do.

I don't mean make do in the “make do or do without” sense of the word, although she knew how to do that. I mean that she rolled with the punches. No buttermilk? Oh – throw some vinegar in that milk there. No brown sugar? A drizzle of molasses in white sugar. A snap. Have you tried putting whole wheat flour in that? Tastes the same, much better for you. She was a seamlessly improvizational woman, doing hat tricks we never even realized she was doing. I learned it without even knowing I had. No flour to thicken the soup? Instant mashed potatoes. Tastes better too. Have you tried spinach in that? What recipe? This also works for rained out plans, missed directions, just about anything. Make do. Find a way. (And it is a surprising amount of fun.)

Celebrate the Days.

In our house, birthdays were a super big deal. Not costly parties or anything like that. Just good food and lots of people and laughing. And graduations. Baby showers. Bridal showers. Open houses. Well, Sundays, if it comes to that. My mom liked to make days worth celebrating. Her 4-H training to good use, we had lots of good, colorful food and people everywhere. It didn't have to be fancy or wildly decorated, or really even that tidy. Just lots of people having a rollicking good time. (And by rollicking good time, I mean speed scrabble.) Looking for things to celebrate in our every day lives makes every day something special and good.

This morning, Ellie declared Breakfast in Bed Day. Didn't know how to make dippy eggs? Oh, she was sure she'd figure it out. Threw it together. Had everyone around the table, laughing and talking with their mussed up morning hair, waiting for her to bring their breakfast(so much for the 'in bed' part). It made me smile. She's learning the Julie way already.

Things That Go Bip

I was feeling a little rocketish today.

This weekend a friend was telling me about a concept from the book “Leading on Empty” which says there are things in life that take away our serotonin – that natural chemical our bodies produce that makes us feel happy and in turn productive – and there are things in life that refill our serotonin. When we aren’t doing enough “refill” things to supply the demand, the serotonin depletes and our bodies start running on adrenalin, the rocket fuel of our bodies. This is all well and good for a very short time and then we, like every rocket we have ever seen, ultimately crash and burn.

I thought of what he said today when I started feeling a little rocketish – eight baskets of clean laundry that needs folded, grass clippings tramped all through the kitchen, kids’ rooms that look like a episode from Hoarders, school portfolios that need finished, a design deadline looming – you get the picture. My rocket boosters are starting to rumble again just thinking about it. While my initial thought was coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee, I tried to think of the things that fill my serotonin reservoir.

The big things leap to mind right away -- The intoxicating combination of book/chair/beach (without that other less enticing beach combo of: sand in diaper/where’s the middle child/when did you put on sunscreen); A big city, no plans, and me; A dim, cluttery used-bookstore where all you can smell is Book; The moment before you try something unpronounceable at a new restaurant. Sure, I love the big stuff that costs money and takes time … but it is the little bitty things that fall into my bucket of happy, almost unnoticed, that keep it from emptying.

It is times that God whispers my name.

For me, it’s the things that go bip.

The bip bip bip of lily pads scudding against Luke’s paddles when he kayaks. The pink stripe of neck above his swim shirt, and his hair sticking up, and the paddle going like a windmill. I am right behind him in my red arrow of a kayak, the lily pads obligingly bipping for me too.

The bip… bip… bip… bip of Will tapping away at his animation software. While I am not entirely sure of the marketability of an animated short called “Weirdo and FubFub learn Microbiology,” I love to watch that kid’s mind work and I love to watch him giggle.

The BIP BIP BIP of strong coffee dripping into a pot for a friend and me that will be the catalyst of a jumble of half-sentences we spill out to each other, a mélange of: It’s OK to admit this is hard – when does life stop spinning so fast – My word, I love what I do!

The almost scandalous beauty of my dove gray poppies with their hidden charcoal hearts that bloom beside the house and sway drunkenly with their ungainly splendor, bipping into each other.

The bipbipbipbipbipbip of my keyboard when the story inside is bubbling over and wants out. Writing is my mother tongue, I like to say, so much easier than the rambling speech I am prone to, and my keyboard knows that better than anyone.

In this rocketish life with places to go and things (and things and things) to do and people to grow, we all at one time or another echo Bilbo Baggins when he said he felt like butter scraped over too much bread.

How do we fix it – this disconnect between giving and refilling? I suppose we could all get a personal assistant, live-in maid and meal delivery.

And if that proves to be cost-prohibitive, we can keep looking for and enjoying the things that go bip in our lives.

Actually, just the second thing. Cleaning that grass off the floor wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be.


Bip.

The Accidental Learner

Last year, I wanted an iPad (I really, really wanted an iPad), but in classic Cara fashion, convinced myself that I could 'make-do' with first an iPod touch (too small of a screen for researching out-of-print books) and then the Asis eeePad (no Netflix, not very user-friendly). When the customer service dude at Best Buy, who by now knew my life story, saw me in line the third time he said, “Are you just going to get the iPad this time?”

Now, I am not going to comment on my own obsession with this little gadget right now lest I start sounding very much like Gollum (precious! My precious!), so I will tell you how I love using it as an educational tool. It fits my credo of creating learning opportunities in the midst of life, not just in the classroom. I mean, after all, I sneak good stuff into their food -- spinach in the spaghetti and meatballs,  yogurt in the milkshakes -- so why not find apps that combine learning with fun? And yes, we do have the goofy, silly apps where you can melt Grandma's face, and fight dragons and slice various exotic fruits, but these are my top favs for a little accidental learning: 

With the help of reviewers Ellie and Will, here are our top eight learning apps for the iPad:

Barefoot Atlas. $7.99 . Our rating: **** (or 11. This one goes to 11!)

$7.99 was the most I have ever paid for an app, but well worth it! It is my current favorite kids app. It combines sumptuous oil painting graphics (a twirling ballerina over Russia, a snapping piranha by the Amazon river, a churning riverboat on the Mississippi) with the useability of Google Earth. Tapping a country shows its features, attractions and landmarks and a narrator can read facts aloud if you wish (great for the pre-readers!). Combine this with statistics like current time, temperature, weather, value of currency, and this is an app that is fun to use, gorgeous and makes geography a treasure hunt. Love it, love it.

Anything by Dan Russell-Pinson. This man has somehow figured out how to make history, geography and math cool, interesting, and integral to saving the planet from aliens. Here are his apps:

Rocket Math. $.99 You are building a rocket to go into outer space. To earn the money you need to trick out the rocket, you have to solve addition, subtraction, multiplication or division problems. Once your rocket is ready, you choose a mission – anything from finding pennies to shapes to even and odd numbers. A great lower level elementary school game. Cons: Must be a reader to play independently, my kindergartener wants to play himself and can't read well enough yet.

Stack the States. $.99 Answer questions about state capitols, mottos, bordering states, state shapes and other stuff to earn a state. Stack your earned states on top of each other to reach the finish line. OK, this game is addictive and even my early readers have a blast stacking the states. My kindergartener knows the shapes of all the states and where they fit in the US. For 99 cents? Yes, please!

Stack the Countries. $.99 Just like Stack the States, except now it's the whole world (read: why didn't I learn this stuff! This is hard!). A great way to learn geography – the kindergartener know all the countries of South America and the 4^th grader just told me today that only two countries in the world have the shape of their country in their flag. Do you know what they are? No, I didn't either. Again, 99 cents, big pay-off.

Presidents vs. Aliens. $.99 The White House is being invaded by aliens (clearing throat) and you have to fend them off by answering questions about the presidents (there are levels of difficulty). Pretty easy way to help early elementary school kids put all the presidents in sequential order and understand time periods and events. Plus, you get to use their heads like hockey pucks to fight aliens. Win-win.

For the twins (or as they are known this week, the Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat), I like Monkey Preschool Lunchbox. $.99. Preschoolers help little monkey pack his lunchbox by choosing food in specific, colors, numbers or letter-sounds. Plus, as one reviewer said, “The music and sound effects aren't nearly as annoying as they could be.”

Licking Letters. $.99. Help the frog 'lick the letters' of words like dog, cat, jump, etc. Complete words give the kiddo points which she can use to dress up the frog (honestly, it falls apart a little bit there for me, seeing the frog in a basketball jersey and a rainbow afro, but the kids like it). Good for letter sound recognition.

And while I do not strictly consider this an educational app, it got props from Will for “good brain exercise” so I am including Cut the Rope. $.99. It is a series of crazy puzzle game that involves physics and strategy as you try to feed a piece of candy to Om Nom, the little sweet-tooth whatsit. It is harder than Angry Birds, and not ridiculous (and I can't really figure it out), so I guess that it deserved his rating. <grin>

Note: I am not really sure how many of these are available on non-Apple platform. 

So there you have it! If you have a tablet or smart phone, what is your favorite learning app? 

The Beard is Always Bushier on the Other Side

My husband is growing his beard out.

See, in the fourteen years I have known Jon, he has always had a beard. It is as cyclic as the seasons – the scruffy brush on a tanned face in the summer, a wild Chia-pet thing during hunting season that makes him look like an extra from Braveheart, a neatly trimmed Tony Stark goatee in the fall. But suddenly I wanted it gone.

Variety is the spice of life (especially my life) and shaving is not a big deal. It was the reason I came up with.

The beard had suddenly joined my nonsensical “If” list. Other notable entries to the If list have been the following:

• If I had a really nice desk, I would finish this novel.
• If I wasn't spending all my time at home teaching, doing laundry and tending five active kids, I would be thinner (and possibly even be able to fly! Be able to prove Einstein's theories! Have an immaculate house!)
• If I was wearing/doing/accomplishing <insert geographical location, job title or brand of haute couture cosmetics>, I would be happier than I am now.
• If <country> was stamped in my passport, life would be perfect.
• If the kids were older...<insert wildly improbable goal>
• If I had more money, I could <fill in altruistic mission>.
• If I had more time alone (this one is always joined with – 'I feel so disconnected!')

So the beard joined the list of crazy. If it was gone, I could run the back of my finger over a smooth face, I would kiss him without brush burn, I could see that Ken doll cleft chin in all its glory. In other words, it joined my list of “I would be happier than I am now if something other than me changed.”

So he shaved, and, like any other things from my crazy “If” list, I realized that contentment and happiness runs deep underneath our lives, like the secret rivers of blood that course under the hair and dermis and connective tissue. It is less affected by our surface than our surface is affected by it.

So he shaved, and while I liked the new look, the face of all my memories wasn't there. The one that got teary at the Muppets movie, that face that came into focus while I staggered slowly out of anesthesia, the one that laughs with me at awkwardfamilyphotos.com. The face from all the incandescently proud hunting pictures, the face pressed up against a new baby's cheeks. Isn't it funny what a few facial hairs will do?

It reminded me again that in this ennui of life – the discontent we can find in the long stretches of living and the ongoing sacrifice of adult life – the Ifs can build up, sometimes making us want to change things around us when what we should be changing is us. The beard is little and insignificant, but sometimes restlessness makes us want to change big things – marriages, homes, friendships. Discontentment is a creeping vine that keeps us from living today's adventure. If always look forward to a mythical future; they never look down at the yellow green shoots of grass under our bare feet today.

So when Jon came home from his fishing trip to Cape May on Saturday, as golden as a child on summer vacation, with that dark stubble all over his face, and he said “Should I shave it?”, I didn't hesitate a second in my reply. I wanted back the face that I loved.

Well, there's one thing off my If list. 

Friday Night Pizza

Nearly every Friday night is pizza night at our house. We make our own dough, and the kids help top the pizzas. When we have friends or family over, it is usually on 'pizza night' because we already know what we are having and the house is clean(ish).

Let me be the first to admit that the thought of making my own yeast dough put fear in my little heart because a) I always thought that yeast was a fickle lover and b) because “homemade pizza night” sounded like I was on my way to some kind of domestic hades, in which I was destined to knitting my own ill-fitting clothes and spending all my free time weeding and tending to animals that I didn't like – but I don't think you really want to know about all that.

My lovely friend Kendra led me down the path of easy and happy breadmaking, and once I saw how easy it really was – Panera has been tricking us, friends – I never went back. The good news is that I have debunked both of those illogical myths – yeast is startlingly forgiving, and I am still wearing clothes that I did not stitch. So far, so good.

The recipe (this will make 2 small pizzas or one stromboli; I double for our family and triple when we are having company. The directions follow)

1 c. lukewarm water (think safe temp for a baby's bath)

1 T. sugar

1 T. yeast

stir gently, set aside to proof – bubble madly

3 c. white flour (mix whole wheat or semolina if you want a heartier crust)

1/4 c. olive oil

2 t. salt

Mix in KitchenAid or knead until elastic and smooth. (five minutes or so)

Put olive oil in a bowl and put your dough in it.

Cover and let rise until double while you are prepping your other ingredients. THAT'S IT. SO EASY.

OK. Now on to the toppers. These are different every time, depending on season, my mood, and what's in the fridge.

Here's some favorites:

• bacon, tomato and spinach
• mozzarella, Parmesan, garlic and basil
• buffalo chicken (chop cooked chicken, Red Hot, ranch dressing powder and 8 oz. Cream cheese. Glob it all over the pizza. Yum.)
• chicken and pesto
  
  
  Today's is bacon, tomato and feta. 
  
  
  
  
  
  Oil (and sprinkle cornmeal if you want) a baking stone or cookie sheet. I prefer baking stones.
  
  
  
  
  
  Roll it out fairly thin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Top with sauce, cheese and toppings.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then bake at 425.
  
  
  
  
  
  If you are baking more than one pie, put one on each rack and rotate half-way through cooking time. Pies are done when the crust is brown and the cheese is melted and golden – about 20 minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Some notes:
  • I generally use a really cheap spaghetti sauce for my tomato base.
  • If you are in a terrific hurry (cough) and it is for an informal little meal, the dough does not need to rise fully (or at all). For a great pizza crust, let rise.
  • When I am making a lot of pizzas (I usually make about 6 different kinds for birthday parties) My kids like to make signs so we know the toppings (see the header for Will's pizza signage)!
  
  
  Thanks to Luke for his great photography today!

Here we go!

A few people encouraged me to start a blog way back (you know who you are, you wonderful women), and I resisted for a while based on the fact that there are SOOOO many mommy blogs out there, most of them very well done. What could I possibly add that was new and different. Does the world need to see another crayon craft or hear about how many messes little kids make? We know how many messes they make. I just found 37 hand-prints made out of dried mud on the back of my white-sided house.

But recently, I have been finding that there are things I want to say, show or share that don't fit my Facebook account, and also I have come to the realization that while there are oodles of blogs out there, there is only one me.

Revolutionary, I know.

For instance, while you may have freezer meals made for the next two weeks, the raw ingredients for my dinner are typically frozen SOLID an hour before we eat. And while so many mamas create dazzling projects with their kids, I scrounged up money to buy a science museum membership this year for my five so they wouldn't be subjected to hearing me cuss in German every time I tried to strip wires for their school science experiments. So I think it is safe to say that just the fact that I am writing this from my chaotic, happy, slightly off-kilter head, it will be new and different.

So I am starting “Wabi Sabi Seven” – a place where we can live intentionally and find beauty in the imperfect and incomplete. I don't really have an agenda or master plan, but you can expect to hear about most of my favorite things: Christ-following, the epiphany of parenting, homeschooling, cooking and books/movies. And whatever. It's living intentionally, which in my dictionary means forcing myself to walk off the map every once in a while.

Today, inspired by my friend Amy Rebecca, we are starting out with the beauty of pizza. Here we go!