Thursday, January 23, 2014

The Girl Who Must Be Named

I am 32 weeks pregnant, measuring 35 weeks. Another giant baby? Could be. I'm still looking for a March 20th entrance (est. due date is March 19th officially).

Still no name. We've tried a bunch out. Luna, Joan(ie), Mae, Bright, Corrine... Nothing conclusive.
We shall see. I'm sure we will find the best possible solution for The Girl Who Must Be Named.

At the midwife today the nurse told me I "had the prettiest pee (she'd) seen all day."
Really. She told me that. I never knew. I've decided this must be because of my perfect levels of hydration.
Anyway I told her that that was the best compliment I had had all day. How else do you possibly respond to that?

Very anemic. I guess taking halved iron supplements and slamming the sugar snap peas isn't doing it. Why do I have so much bloods and so fews irons!!?!?

I've been reading the Nikki Heat series. It is a better read than you'd think. Still, I'll file it under guilty pleasures with Stephanie Plum.

Nikki Winslow? Stephanie Winslow?
I cannot hear a name without automatically pairing it with our last name. Actually, I cannot hear nouns without doing it... Hell, I have even started doing it with verbs.

Mexican Winslow. Lonewolf Winslow. Cul De Sac Winslow. Abide Winslow.
No, no, no, well maybe...

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Winter activities

Marley loves cooking with Bob. I love taking their picture. Solomon loves to kick, throw, and catch the ball... And engage inanimate objects in 1on 1 battles. :) it's not such a bad winter.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Solomon wins the booger cake walk.

I got outlogic'ed by a three year old.

Backstory: Granny and Popop came over last night to make a cake with Marley and Solomon. The cake is a family tradition and called "snot cake". Named because it is green pistachio cake with green frosting. (Recipe included at the bottom).


Solomon: I don't want to call the cake booger cake.
Me: Ok. What would you want to call it?
Solomon: Carrot cake!
Me: You can't call it carrot cake. Carrot cake has carrots in it.
Solomon: But that cake doesn't have boogers in it.

Solomon wins. But a cake by any other name...

1 box white cake mix
1/2 cup oil
4 eggs
1 1/4 cup water
3.5 boxes of pistachio pudding

Mix ingredients listed together.
Grease bundt pan and coat grease in sugar.
Place ingredients in bundt pan.
Cook at 325 degrees for 45+ minutes.

Delicious. The frosting is really just... umm.. icing on the cake. You don't really even need it.

Monday, January 6, 2014

The boy and the girl

We were out to eat with Granny and Popop on New Year's Eve and Solomon earnestly asks "Do they have broccoli?!"
"No, I don't think they do."
"Good. I hate broccoli."

Solomon (calling down the stairs 3 seconds after being put to bed): Mommy I had a dream.
Me: Was it about civil rights?
Solomon: No, just robots.
Marley (asking about YMCA programs on the flier): What is that?
Me: Silver Sneakers. It is a fitness class for older people.
Marley: Oh. Like you.

Thursday, January 2, 2014

On being a flower.

Since my Grandma first got sick, our whole family changed. She was a vibrant, gracious, almost-domineering force of hospitality and social graces. No one else could do what she did (in the way she did it). But, as I said, our family changed. Changed as in adapted because that is what you do when someone gets sick, or dies. It is fueled by our basic needs for survival and socializing. So now my mom does a great job playing the matriarch of our family. Not like Grandma did it, but in a gentler, uncomplaining, and beautiful way.

Grandpa died in July, years after Grandma. He was what held her things together. The things she left behind when she died. The accumulated articles that represented her memories and personal preferences; china patterns, an extensive collection of porcelain roosters, magnets from travel adventures. He downsized a few years before he died and many of those items, counted precious, were given to my mom, or her brothers, or us grandchildren. There wasn't enough room at the new house.

Now I can't help but think how many of those things have dwindled having been sold, donated, stored in unrecalled locations. While several things are still cherished and used, most are not. The physical evidence of my Grandma, though the memories we hold of her are strong, vivid.

I'm pregnant with my third child. I'm sad she will not know my Grandma or my Grandpa. Only see the evidence of them in pictures and in the way we live our own lives. Last night I was overwhelmed by the thought that her children will have even less evidence in their lives of two of the people who are such significant players in my memories. And the generation after that? The law of diminishing returns prevails.

It takes only one careless generation to let ancestry disappear forever. People who have contributed to our existence and lifestyle whose names are completely unknown.

Understatement to say this is depressing. We work so hard to make it through our own lives doing things that matter and have an impact. But the ripple in the pond slowly becomes bigger, less defined and further and further away. So what, then is the point?

It isn't this life. All of this depressing realization can fall away because this life isn't the end. That our great-grandchildren should remember us, passing along beautiful things or powerful lessons isn't to what we have been called. Unless those things and those lessons are about the powerful God we serve, the Christ who came humbly, served, died and rose again.

Our significance on this earth is limited unless we draw our significance from God. Then when our dishes are broken, the meals we served forgotten, the art of our hands gone... We will still have rest and joy. Forever in the heaven where our God lives, secure in His love. Let the life of humility and kindness He called us to be our legacy to our children and the generations to follow, because He is what endures.