Tip # 2- Find Your Happy Place

           Remember the movie Finding Nemo, where the terrifying little girl taps on the fish tank and the little starfish tells herself, "Find a happy place! Find a happy place!"?  Oh, how many days do I feel like that poor little starfish stuck in a glass box getting tortured repeatedly by small children!

           Before writing this, I was convinced my one and only happy place was my garden, but that's not entirely true.  The happy place is a state of mind, reached through things like the garden, and writing, and consuming obscene amounts of baked goods.  In the wee hours of the morning, the happy place is snuggling the baby on my chest while I burp her, fuzzy warm head nestled under my chin.  Sometimes it's my kitchen, particularly when I'm joined by my husband and the girls and we're all in a relatively good mood. 

           There's certain times when I've been in such moments and taken a step back in my own head, looking upon the scene and realizing it's one of those I'd thought about way back in my single days.  Just being present in the moment with my family has brought me tremendous joy.  Of course, it also brings me tremendous stress when Mommy is due for some alone time.  That comes with the package of Mommyhood.  But to be present in the moment, it means letting go of preconceived ideas, or worries over how your hair and clothes look, or the never-ending list of chores in your head. 

          It's about not worrying over the mess when you're baking with your kid and the two of you wind up getting flour everywhere.  It's piling on the couch watching Tom and Jerry cartoons while the baby drools on your arm and the older child insists on taking pictures of you with her toy camera.  It's reading stories for the hell of it, not just at bedtime. 

          I understand so well how important it is to have Mommy time, to have something to do that doesn't involve snotty noses and poopy butts.  But I'm finding more and more that the key to the happy place is to relax and enjoy the ride sometimes.  In fact, it's part of why I named this blog.  Just by doing our best to do right by our families, we've already won.  So whether it's snuggle time, movie night, a private bubble bath, or a coffee-fueled shopping trip, find your happy place and visit often.

Dirt Won't Hurt!

I doubt many of these will actually make it to the kitchen.

Doesn't matter if you're a veteran gardener or just starting out, late winter is prime time for the condition known as Spring Fever.  Symptoms include poring over seed and plant catalogs and pining away for the colorful beauties that you're sure would make your yard look like a magazine cover.  Personally, I like to hoard seed packets like other women hoard shoes.  I'm not that interested in stilettos or wedge sandals, but get glassy-eyed over heirloom tomatoes and flowers. 

Rosemary by the garden gate. 

Every year I do my best to plan carefully, as my raised beds have limited space and the greenhouse will get unbearably hot around May.  The grow boxes are a wonderful solution to the limited shelf space and variable greenhouse conditions.  I know the temperature will stay consistent, and the seeds will get plenty of light. 

Still, there's plenty of room to stay flexible.  For example, the baby lettuces I've transplanted in the greenhouse are already looking a tad wilted.  They're tender little things, and hate too much heat.  So unless there's a freak ice storm coming, they may have to go into a raised bed faster than expected. 

Gotta love Arkansas weather.

I really shouldn't complain, knowing that some folks up North won't be able to put things out for another month, and even then it's a big gamble.  I've grown collards and kale over the winter in the past, never really worrying about them succumbing to the cold or snow.  The snow melts off after a day, anyway.  And one ice storm a season won't kill my year-round residents.

With Jon being home a few days this time, it's refreshing to get out in the light and fresh air.  It's even exhilarating, with a cold drink on hand and Credence Clearwater Revival blasting on my outdoor speaker. 

Tulips starting to peek out of their mulch blanket.

Mostly, it feels damn good to be doing something creative and constructive that doesn't involve wiping someone's butt.  I love my girls, but being cooped up with them in the house the past two months was starting to get to me.  I don't mind having babies in winter, but it does make for some serious cabin fever.

So I brought Evie out with me once she got up from her nap.  Even wearing play clothes, it took awhile to convince her that it was okay to get dirt and water on them.  She then proceeded to snitch my tools for the very important task of digging for worms, before helping me sow radishes and sugar snap peas.

Growing things in the garden was one huge tradition I couldn't wait to pass onto my kids.  Even living in an apartment building with only four to eight square feet of dirt, my mom always made sure we had something planted.  In fact, my sister and I used to hunt nightcrawlers there and sell them for bait to an older neighbor of ours.  It was one of those spaces, no matter how small, that are very evocative of childhood for me.  And when I got married and started having kids, I made the same vow:

No matter where we live, or how rich or poor we are, we will grow things. 

And so, the greenhouse and grow boxes are full of good things waiting to happen.  Mistakes will be made, like they are every year, and wonderful discoveries will be made.  The best part, is that this time around, I get to see them through my daughter's awestruck eyes.

Tip # 1- You Don't Have to Like Being a Mom

            I'm feeling particularly maternal and content this evening, after a good time at homeschool co-op and a relatively peaceful afternoon and toddler bedtime.  I try and savor the feeling, because it tends not to last very long.  And for those of us on this crazy mommy journey, it's sometimes the only payment we get for our labors.

            I'm even drinking a cup of motherhood tea; an herbal blend of fenugreek, fennel, coriander, anise, and blessed thistle that's supposed to help you lactate more.  Since starting my birth control a few weeks ago, I've noticed a significant drop in the amount of extra milk I'm able to pump.  And though I still make enough to feed my cute little beastie, Mama sure does like having extra milk in the fridge so she can get out once in awhile.

           Before Jon left on his last work trip, I confessed something that had been bothering me all day.  As usually happens when I clam up and don't confide in him, I started getting snappy with the three-year-old and was nearly in tears for turning into the Mommy Monster again.  I told him this, and he said it bugged him the entire trip:

Some days, I really don't like being a mom.

          You'll notice I didn't throw in the towel and say I didn't want to be a mom anymore.  Nope, whether we admit it or not, we don't like being moms all the time.  In fact, some days it downright sucks.  You've got very unreasonable small people demanding constant care and attention, all the while trying to juggle a home, husband, job, activities, and Lord only knows what else.  Add that to the sheer, skull-breaking exhaustion and sleep deprivation, and you've got a recipe for a mental breakdown.

          It took me awhile to learn that this feeling is normal, that it's okay to not like motherhood all the time.  It's okay to silently scream and curse in my own head when I feel like giving up and shoving my little darlings in daycare.  It's okay to give myself a break and not have a guilt party to add to the jaw-numbing depression I'm already battling with.

          It's okay to not like it.

          It's okay to not be great at it.

     Just so long as you do it the best you can, even if that best means PB and J's for dinner and letting the kids watch Frozen so you can go have a cry in privacy.  It's okay to beat the pillows and bitterly wish, just for a moment, that you could do anything else.  It's okay to let the house go a little so you can cuddle your baby through a colic episode, or let your toddler pick out mismatched clothes.

     We all have those days, and my God, I'm amazed at how strong we are.  When people talk about the family unit being the foundation of our country, I think they really mean mothers.  We are the rock and cornerstone of our families, even on our weakest days.  So long as we rely on God, and especially one another for help, we can learn to like and even love being moms.

Promise Made, Promise Kept

       I can't remember which book this post title is from, but I distinctly remember this phrase appearing several times whenever a promise was fulfilled.  One chilling scene was when one character finally got his vengeance and said it while running his enemy through with a sword.

       There's a long history of broken promises in my life, so I'm very careful not to make one unless I can keep it.  Christians always like the story of God putting a rainbow in the sky as a promise to Noah, but my favorite of God's promises are the ones that pop up in the spring.  Namely, seeds and bulbs.

     Every year, like so many gardeners with the winter blues, I start poring over seed catalogs with starry eyes and dreaming up ideas for spring.  Since my greenhouse is still too cold to keep seedlings in, that usually means crowding a sunny window with seed trays.  Some of those babies make it, but mostly they grow long stems and shrivel mysteriously.  I recently discovered that this is caused by seeds being too far from the light source, and growing "leggy" to reach it.

Big, fat DUH moment.

So I needed a cheap solution.  Something that would allow me to get a light source close to the seed trays.  Some gardeners have grow closets with racks and shelves rigged with lighting, but Mama doesn't have that kind of time or money.  So I found an alternative, one that has worked beautifully and didn't break my wallet.

I found a tutorial on YouTube from another blogger on how to make a grow box with a plastic storage tote, aluminum foil, and a clamp light. (Full list of supplies are below with instructions.)  And oh, baby, was it easy!

It's been about ten days since I planted the seed tray, and within three or four days I saw sprouts.  In
fact, as of this post, most of them are ready to be transplanted.  For that, I bought a bigger tote to hold a bigger pot tray so the babies could still have their light.  Y'all, I'm pumped.  Even more so than usual this time of year, because now it looks like I might actually have a good shot of success at growing things like lettuce and cabbage and cauliflower before the summer heat fries them.

If you've got a few bucks to spare and a half hour to put this thing together, it's highly worth it.  I'd like to give a big thank-you to Gary Pilarchik at The Rusted Garden for posting the how-to and making it idiot-proof for people like me. He's got a very informative, active

 blog worth checking out

And with that, here's the materials list and directions:

Materials
 1 18-20 gallon plastic tote
 duct tape
 aluminum foil  
 1 light bulb, 100 watt CFL (1600 lumens, 5000 kelvin)
1 8.5" clamp light
1 12' household extension cord, if needed

Directions
1) Tear off vertical panels of aluminum foil deep enough to cover the insides of the tote.  Tape them in place with the reflective side facing toward the middle.

2) Cut a square hole in the middle of the lid big enough to fit the cord and top of the clamp light through.  Then, cut a line to the side as long as the clamp itself, and a smaller line perpendicular to that. (The following video demonstrates it in better detail)

 3) Carefully screw in the bulb, plug the light into the extension cord, and turn it on to make sure it's working.  Then turn it off, and insert the clamp light underneath the lid, fitting the clamp onto the small line cut.  

Thanks, Gary!

UPDATE: Since I started this draft, not only have my little seedlings flourished, but I've made a bigger version of this box to fit a flat of 4" pots with transplants in them.  Here's how they turned out!

 

My Kryptonite

Ugh........

Mornings are not my strong suit. Never have been.

I wish I could be one of those bright-eyed morning people who accomplish everything by noon and quietly breeze through the rest of the day with an easy confidence.  But I'm not.

Despite ongoing sinus congestion and now a cough, Katie Beth slept alright between feedings last night.  It was Mama who tossed and turned from 3am until 7am until Daddy took the baby and sent her back to bed.

All superheroes have a weakness; mornings are mine.

I guess I got into the habit in college theater, and it suited my night owl persona.  Tech rehearsal till midnight? Sure! Strike a set and load out at 2am? No problem! Biology lab at 8am on a Wednesday? I'm the walking dead.  The problem with this habit is that toddlers and babies are largely morning people.  Very happy, hyper morning people who need sippy cups, diaper changes, and activity and need it all RIGHT NOW.

The only things keeping me conscious right now are coffee and writing, and the only person keeping me sane is my wonderful husband who lets me sleep whenever possible.  He officially starts back to work this weekend, and I'm seriously considering tying him up in the laundry room so he can't leave.  Not all wives are so lucky to have a man who does so much without their asking, and this guy has been invaluable the past couple of months.

So while Lissa the wonderful cleaning lady organizes the master bedroom and digs through my closet, I am sitting here trying to stay awake until the baby wakes up for her next feeding.  A good part of last night was spent thinking about that and being embarrassed at the thought of her tidying my messes.  But maybe it's enough for now that I work on the mess inside my head first, so that I can be there for Jon and the kids.  Maybe I'm not a lazy slob, but a sleep-deprived and depressed mother struggling to survive these early days. 

I so wish society would relax its expectations of new moms and more of us would seek help.  Most of the time, our own insecurities cripple us like kryptonite does Superman, and we become victims of our own criticism.  This blog was founded to fight that mentality of trying to be perfect all the time, so it doesn't do me any good to lament my lack of energy and productivity lately. 

Instead, I think I'll try and count the things I can do; change diapers, feed the baby, rock her to sleep, read stories with Evie, drink coffee, write, throw laundry in. 

I think that's more than enough to earn my Superman cape, right?

A New Beginning

Some time ago, I posted photos of three old recipe boxes jam-packed with recipes that my dad had given me at our last visit a year and a half ago.  They were recipes written and used by him, my Nana, and my Grampie over many years, and now all this time later, I'm finally getting around to testing them out. 

Since I had a rocky relationship with them most of my life, the ongoing project of cataloging and testing these recipes are a way for me to both heal and forge a new beginning.  And for the first experiment, I chose a recipe that promised to be both easy and comforting; Hawaiian Cake.

The card is written out in what is likely Grampie's neat handwriting, since my dad and I both have a hand that looks like a kindergartener's scratchings.  It's not nearly as aged or spattered as some of the others, which leads me to think it was only used once or twice.  Maybe one of these days I'll ask if they remember it. 

Anyway, I normally prefer to make cakes from scratch.  Something about building it up in layers of
creamed butter and sugar, flour, and other goodies makes me feel like an artist layering paint on canvas.  For me, making cake from a box mix is the equivalent of a paint-by-numbers kit.  But since sleep deprivation has me in a death-grip lately, I settled for the compromise. 

And in my haste to get the thing in the oven, I spattered pineapple juice everywhere when I went to open the can of crushed pineapple.  Compared to the mess I have to clean when the baby fills her diaper, though, it was small potatoes.  And I managed to get the juice drained out like the instructions said.

From then on, it was a simple dump and mix operation.  I could have fired up the electric beaters or used my stand mixer, but I needed to take my frustrations out on the batter.  So my pastry fork and I went to town, and in the greased and floured pan it went.

 I had to bake it a bit longer than 20 minutes.  In fact, I almost had to double the baking time trying to get the middle to set up.  But it did, and I set the cake out to cool for the next day. 

This next part I missed, because my husband graciously did it while I slept like a hibernating bear in the next room.  We were at my mother-in-law's getting ready for her birthday dinner while our cleaning lady was organizing the kitchen at our place. 

So Jon graciously let me sleep, and used electric beaters to blend the milk, pineapple bits, pudding mix, and cream cheese.  After spreading it over the cake, we both realized there wasn't going to be enough room to spread the Cool Whip on top.  So we opted to dollop each individual piece instead, then sprinkle with nuts. 

The final verdict was a big two thumbs up.  Icebox cakes are more of a summer thing, so this recipe will probably get an encore around Memorial Day or the Fourth of July.  Preferably with some barbecue, corn on the cob, and a frosty pitcher of margaritas.  Until then, if you need a mini vacation or a cake off the beaten path, here it is:

Hawaiian Cake

Ingredients

1 pkg. yellow cake mix
1 8 oz can crushed pineapple
2 eggs
1 8oz pkg. cream cheese
1 small pkg. instant vanilla pudding mix
1 cup milk
1 carton Cool Whip
flaked coconut 
chopped walnuts

Directions
1)  Drain the pineapple.  Add water to the juice to make 1 1/2 cups of liquid.
2)  Add the liquid to the cake mix with the eggs.  Beat well.
3)  Pour the batter into a greased and floured 9x13 cake pan.  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until the middle of the cake sets (use the toothpick test).  Allow to cool.
4)  Combine cream cheese, milk, pudding mix, and pineapple and mix well.  Spread the mixture over the top of the cooled cake.  
5)  Top with Cool Whip, then sprinkle with coconut and chopped nuts.  Refrigerate.

Bread, Part One

One of these days, I'm going to get Evie to smile without looking like a deranged squirrel.  Until then, she's all too happy to pose for pictures while we're making a mess in the kitchen.  And since Jon's coming to the end of almost two months of FMLA leave and vacation, money is tight.  Tighter than Nicky Minaj's jeans tight.  So we're back to making our own bread.

I know it sounds like a crunchy, earth-mama task, and in a way it is.  What's more basic and comforting than bread, fresh and warm and crusty?  Not a lot.  It also makes me feel very sentimental, like listening to Jon sing "Diary" (by the band Bread, coincidentally) to Evie at bedtime.

Not long after we first got married, Jon found a book about making your own bread without having to knead, rise, and repeat.  He bought a pizza stone for the oven, and the next few months were carb-a-licious.  Since then, we've refrained from baking bread much, and instead use the recipe mainly for pizza dough.  The advantage here is that you make one batch of dough, and it's enough for 3-4 loaves of bread or pizzas.  Simply mix the dough, let it rise 2 hours on the counter, and throw it in the fridge.  No, really!

While the dough has no preservatives, it will keep in the fridge for up to 2 weeks, and by then it takes
on a sourdough flavor.  I promise, even those of you out there with no baking prowess whatsoever will be able to do this.  And it will taste good.  And it will make you want to make a big batch of soup or stew just so you have something to dip all that crusty goodness in. 

Especially in winter, having the oven on and the house smelling good smooths out the rough edges of sleep deprivation and toddler mayhem.  Any day I put on pants is a good day.  A day where I have time to drink coffee is better.  And the best is when I somehow manage to scrape together enough energy to get a pot of something good on the stove and a loaf of bread in the oven.

Since the baby's been congested and it's doubtful she'll stay asleep long, I'll save the baking phase for another post.  But rest assured, there will be photos and instructions, as well as a link to the Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day website.  For now, here's enough to hopefully get you started with your own dough.  You don't need a baking stone right off the bat, and can use a loaf pan if you want.

Artisan Bread Dough 

by Zoe Francois and Jeff Hertzberg

http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/

Ingredients

6 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose white flour
3 cups lukewarm water (not hot, or you'll kill the yeast)
1 1/2 TB kosher salt
1 1/2 TB yeast (any kind, I use active dry)
                                                       
Directions

1) In a 5-6 quart bowl or lidded dough bucket, dump the water in with the yeast and salt.

2) Dump in all the flour at once, and stir with a long-handled wooden spoon or dough whisk.

3) Once it comes together, it will be wet and rough.  Put a lid on the container, NOT airtight, and let it sit at room temperature for 2 hours.

4) When the two hours is up, either store it in the fridge, or go ahead and bake.

Just to clarify, I know there's a bag of wheat flour in the above picture.  Lately we've been experimenting with different ratios of white to wheat flour when baking bread.  Straight wheat tastes good, but it's more dense than Donald Trump.

And on that note, I'm off to finish this glass of wine before the baby wakes up snorting like a Pug from all the snot clogging her sinuses.  Am I looking forward to sucking the boogers out while she screams bloody murder?  Nah.  Not really.