Compliments of Uncle Dunkle, a whistling song for your Wednesday morning.

I should caution, in case you're playing this seventeen times for your kids and they're trying to sing along, the first verse has a blasphemy--so mute that, although I couldn't understand Hippie Guy saying it until I read the lyrics--and during the part where Hippie Guy speaks to Hippie Girl in the middle of the song, there is a slightly vulgar word.

(I'm not sure why a synonym for "donkey" is a slightly vulgar word, except that people generally think it's rude to talk about what I've heard coyly referred to as their Situpon.  Maybe they associate the word with "Balaam and the Ass"--the Bible story that could just as accurately be told under the Sunday school heading "Balaam the Ass".)

I'm pretty sure they will just be obsessed with trying to whistle, though.

Cheers,

Breanna

Tuesday Afternoon

Our life isn't that riveting.

We made chocolate-chip muffins--and the Chickabiddies, as Miss Boo refers to herself and her brothers, were charmed because I pulled out the mini-muffin tin and made Kid Muffins.

Buddy got ahold of a pen.

He could be writing a letter to the President, I suppose.

"Cheese!  Cheese!  Cheese!  I'm saying cheese Mama!  Cheese!"

Standing on one foot to say cheese!  In a messy bedroom!

Watching oneself say cheese!  In a messy bedroom!  (You see the evidence there that we had to get EXACTLY the right pair of pink pajamas last night?  Because otherwise we could NOT go to bed.  And no, you can't wear the Dora top with the Kitty bottoms.  Hello!)

Littleman had a sort of schizophrenic day.  This morning he really, really did not want to wear his diaper, for about two hours, and insisted on pottying in the bathroom.  Then he promptly pooped in a diaper all afternoon.  So how is Elimination Communication going?  I expect I don't speak Baby well enough yet to reliably catch everything.  What I need to do is take a day or two and (*shudder*) leave him in a cloth diaper with no cover, and watch him like a hawk.  Oddly enough I don't seem to have enough empty days to do these kinds of projects, but given his discomfort with wet pants I think we might have to just carve out a day.

Blueberries?  Bugs of some kind? Paint? Bits of fuzz?

Nope.

Blue crayon, chewed up and spit out by Mr. Furious here.

See, he knows he isn't supposed to eat crayons.  And they can't taste that good.  And yet he still, every once in a while, can't resist.  They need to invent a 12-step program for toddlers.

I like this rooster and...

...the chickens and chicks that go with him and...

...the piggies.  Have I shown them to you before?  They are the Heirloom on the wall in the boys' room, from  the Husband's side of the family.  Mostly I like that the Heirloom seems to be made of bits of this and that, and that it was made back when by another woman for her kids.

A plate on my wall, also from the Husband's side of the family.  Isn't it elegant?

"CHEESE!  CHEESE!  CHEESE!"

"TCHEE.  TCHEE.  Wama.  TCHEE."

(Translation:  CHEESE.  CHEESE.  Mama.  CHEESE.)

"Wama, Mmmmmmm.  NUH-UH."

(You know what "Nuh-uh" means in an adult, right?  An emphatic denial?  Buddy has opted out of the traditional two-year-old route of saying NO to everything and has settled on NUH-UH as a valid replacement.)

"Mama, ARE you taking my picture?  Can I see it?"

Shortly thereafter she said, "Take Pat-pat's picture!"

I feel we have enough pictures of the dog who goes outside, rolls in pollen, and then comes inside to shake it near my nostrils.  I never had pollen allergies until I got pregnant with Littleman, and now it's looking like I'm going to have them for a while.

Speaking of allergies, I discovered that apple cider vinegar is sort of a wonder-drug for me.  (No, I didn't buy the gallon size.  I only use two tablespoons at a time, for pete's sake; I just wanted you to see which brand I picked.)  Even Heinz works, although it seems to me like the "natural" brand with the cloudy goo in the bottom works a bit longer.

What you do is this: mix a tablespoon or two into about half a glass of water, brace yourself, and chug.  It tastes about like you would expect.  However, within about sixty seconds my itchy, runny nose, itchy eyes, and itchy ears go away.  I have to dose again anywhere between 2-4 hours later.

I don't have anything against normal allergy medicines, you understand, I just can't take them right now because they usually dry up breastmilk.  Frankly I thought the vinegar was one of those things from the Land of Woo that work only in people's imaginations, but if this is placebo I'm pretty happy with my little placebo effect.  Maybe you can have a placebo effect too!

And now Buddy has brought me his wooden train, a way of saying coyly, "I need new pants, and guess who I picked for the job!"

Ah, motherhood has its perks.

Cheers,

Breanna

Mead, Writing, and Strawberries

You remember I told you I'd tell you how the mead came out? We made a second batch last night, one jug of "original" and one of strawberry.  Strawberry ferments so fast the pinhole in the balloon whistled all night with escaping gas.

Here is the original batch being filtered.

Here is Miss Boo tasting a strawberry.  Believe it or not, this turned into a happy smile.  She likes strawberries.

So does Bud.

...and he likes Fruity Puffs, too.

Here's a glass of the finished mead.  It smells--and tastes--like flowers; it has, however, no delicate flower-like kick.  A glass of it goes down pretty smooth and will affect you about as much as the equivalent amount of whiskey.  Viking hooch indeed!

Here is Littleman, in a shirt that Daddy's cousins from Germany sent us.  Littleman is newly 3 months old; the shirt is size 4-6 months and it fits perfectly.

 He also doesn't understand that 3-month-olds are not supposed to 1) roll over 2) spin around on their stomachs 3) try to crawl or 4) insist on sitting up by themselves.  (Most interesting baby in the world, remember?)

 Here is what the living room looks like when Mama's been cranking out novel chapters all weekend.

 Here is another strawberry face.

Here is the desk when Mama's cranking out novel chapters.  It's going to be good, I swear.  Even if it will be under a pseudonym.

Cheers,

Breanna

Mother's Day as a Mom

I didn't take any pictures because the general craziness of daily life still pervaded--the, for instance, trying-to-get-to-the-potty-chair-and-not-quite-making-it-and-deciding-to-come-tell-mama-about-it-instead-of-yelling-from-the-original-ground-zero-and-trailing-the-mess-around.

However.  The Husband is nothing if not good at giving people things and celebrating stuff. ;)  So I have on my table right now a bunch of velvety red roses, and on my back porch a potted tiger lily, which is sentimental because I had them in my garden in Montana.

Miss Boo wrote her name, carefully and in large letters that were (more or less) in order, several times on a card for me.  Buddy scribbled, Littleman batted at the pen while his daddy held it, and, the Husband informed me, the dog licked the card.

Mostly, however, I just spent the day enjoying my babies.  They were (pretty) good through church, and kept coming to cuddle on my lap and just generally be adorable.  I watched one of my favorite movies, I Remember Mama, on Turner Classic Movies.  (TCM and NickJr are the only reason we have satellite outside of football season.)  Of course the book is even better.

The Husband roasted a chicken, which came out delicious and crispy-golden, and then children kept presenting me ceremoniously with scraps of paper (the giving of the card made an impression).  It was a delightful day, all in all.

I'm so glad to be a mom.

Thanks, Mom. ;)

Cheers,

Breanna

A Little Trick

So you all know I used to work as a nurse.  For many reasons this can be a crazy-making occupation, not least the fact that if you screw up someone can die.  However, I worked in a really good office with good doctors who had adequate people skills (for the most part).  And I was good enough at my job that when I quit to have a baby they all wheedled me to stay.

Despite that, I used to periodically get into little whirlpools of worry.  What if Dr. Soandso came up to me the next day and took issue with the way I charted things, something I had organized the day before, or something I had done with a patient?  What if...

It got to be quite a hassle.  And then I realized that there was no foundation for the worry.  And that's when the whole key to dealing with the thought pattern burst over me: if nothing has actually changed at work to prompt this feeling, it's not real.  It's an attack, a temptation to the sin of worry or anxiety.

The moment I figured that out and asked the Lord for help, the mood went away, rarely to return.  The devil knows not to press a bad strategy--once you know the truth, you'll never be fooled by a trick again.

Now let's apply that to homemaking.

Today is a pretty normal day.  The kids were sick yesterday and are tearful for small causes today.  I have been down all morning, and have felt like throwing my responsibilities to the wind: cancelling appointments, ignoring housework, and "forgetting" to get dinner going.  In God's grace I remembered my old experience and began to analyze the root of my feeling.

Basically, when I came to analyze it, I was depressed because there are no mountains in my part of Texas.  It would be very strange to have mountains here, geologically, but I miss them.  However, it's silly to be depressed because of the flatness of Texas.  And once I could bring myself to admit that, the depression began to dissipate and I realized I am mostly just tired.

Here's my new revelation:  it can be tempting to stay depressed, upset, or irritated, because feeling that way has its immediate compensations.  It would be kind of nice to wallow in feeling sad that there are no mountains here, but it would also be insulting to the God Who both flattened Texas and decided I should live here.  So I decided to stop feeling depressed--not to squash, repress, and deny the feeling, but simply to decide that the temptation to dwell on the feeling and what was causing it was as wrong for me, in that moment, as the temptation for someone else to dwell on lustful feelings.

I hope maybe this helps someone out, because I think we tend to view our feelings as mostly out of our control, and hence to excuse behavior that is really not excusable.  It's not all right to snap at people because you had a rough day, and it's not all right to allow your mood to get worse without trying to stop it.

All the other things about getting happy apply, of course--eat enough and good food, get enough sleep, get outside, do things you enjoy.  But everyone's going to have bad days.  Don't let them determine your thought life.  Analyze your situation.  Is there really anything warranting the emotions you're having?  Was what that person said really THAT bad?  Is there really any change in your circumstances from, say, Last Wednesday when you were happy to justify the conviction today that You Hate Your Life?

Usually not.  There are some circumstances I can think of where sadness is justified, but I'm not in one of them.  Remember: now you know the truth, and you won't be tricked again.

Cheers,

Breanna

I've Been Reading Old Books Again

Kindle books.  The ones published before 1923 are usually free, and I've been reading Kathleen Norris, a lady who wrote, among other things, a book called "Mother." That's probably one of the better ones that I've read of hers, but like a lot of prolific early twentieth-century writers she tends to run on a theme.  Her theme?  Good domestic management is the key to world peace and personal happiness.  At least for us'ns with the two X chromosomes.

Less trite than you'd think, the way she treats it.  Certainly it's a lot harder to conquer the world if you are continually sneezing in dust, eating bad food off of dirty dishes, and trying to sleep in grubby sheets.  It's inspiring, even if I don't really believe that cleanliness is next to godliness (actually I think cleanliness is relative, and godliness isn't).

So, although today found me with...

...two feverish, runny-nosed, coughing, sneezing individuals (who you see here having a bilateral potty try), I cleaned house this morning.  Hey, at least they were both on the couch for a reasonable amount of time.

This is a picture of a calm-eyed Madonna ad Child, above my sink.  (Because I don't know WHY I might need the reminder to take a breath and be calm...)

My Delft on the wall, which makes me happy.

Miss Boo explaining a dosage syringe to her brother.

Littleman, whom we decided looks EXACTLY like his great-grandpa.  (Yes, Graps, you ARE Great.)

We got a lot done today.  Which just goes to show you never know what you can do if you set your teeth and gut it out try.  Doing things is a wonderful antidote for feeling abused and unlucky.  Give it a shot sometime. ;)

Cheers,

Breanna

Worth Noticing

I don't usually plug other blogs, which makes me a bad blogger and unlikely to win any awards or anything.  And I only use the free designs Blogger gives me.  So when I plug a blog, you know that I actually really like it, and am not just returning a favor.

This is the blog Eat At Home.  The lady gives you, free, each week a menu plan, shopping list, and recipes for 6 dinners and 1 dessert.  She often shops at Walmart.  This is the kind of menu planning I can get behind.

Last week I used one of her menus and shopped for it, breakfast/lunch foods, a dinner party we were giving, and laundry soap, and I spent $150 at Walmart, which is pretty good considering.  (Our breakfasts are generally eggs, oatmeal, homemade granola, or peanut butter sandwiches with milk or frozen OJ.  Lunches are leftovers or sandwiches, often with fruit.)

The food's good, and I don't spend more than about 30 minutes cooking.

Check it out!

Cheers,

Breanna