Finding my Feet

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to go to Knoxville to spend the weekend in a More to Life training re-grounding myself. It has been a rough few weeks with one of the kids and I needed time to recommit to my purpose in parenting. 

I appreciate that wherever I am, I get to benefit from the wisdom and experience of those around me. Having some distance allows me to see with my heart what I was struggling (and failing) to see with my brain. Mostly I see how blessed I am.

All I ever wanted to be was a mom. Have I said that lately? It's true. I planned it from the moment I could make plans. Mom and teacher. Teacher and mom. That was THE plan. It took me a good long time to get to both of them but I did eventually get to both, in spades. And then I was blessed with these five beautiful, sweet-hearted children. They are truly, each of them very kind, loving, generous and good. They all love me, which is AMAZING, and I am so very grateful to have them. 

Other adoptive parents will understand. There is a weird experience we have in which people say to us, "You did a good thing, adopting these kids" (or something of that nature), usually in reference to foster kids. Know this. It was never that way. The big secret is: we all went into for ourselves. We came to adoption because it was how we got to be parents. It was for US. And if you know much about adoption you know, grief and pain is a part of the process, especially for the adopted person. It's an extremely hard road. It is really never a clear path for most adopted people and can often remain unresolved forever. It's so very challenging, if not devastating. So to have someone say we did something that was in some way "good," is awkward and really hard to know what to do with. And even more so when we are struggling in our parental role.

But I digress. Knoxville happened. I went in knowing I wanted to handle some surprises of the past couple weeks that I hadn't really processed. I wanted a way forward that was both proactive and loving, as opposed to reactive and defensive. I unearthed that out there. Among the truths I uncovered were these simple ones: 

My purpose as a parent is to love.  

I can count on Life to deliver the lessons. 

Yep you heard that right. My purpose is to love! No more long lectures are needed! I can count on Life to deliver the lessons. I know that's true because I've had plenty delivered to me! 

A friend of mine said it well last weekend. He said,: "I'm laying down the drama of the teaching parent. My new parenting style is Love First". Every day this man is going to pray for an open and loving heart and every night, he is going to ask himself: How did I show love and acceptance to my children today? 

It's beautiful, isn't it? 

I can hear you doubting right now. "All this love stuff sounds too pie in the sky", you say. Too hippy dippy. Well, let me tell you, when you have walked on this dusty road I've been on for the past 13 years with these last 3 precious ones, there are some diamonds that get uncovered in the trenches and one of
those gems is this:

I, Dreena Tischler, am most definitely not in charge of anyone

                                                                        (except myself).

That's right. My part is to love, because in the end, that's actually all I can do. We've done the teaching  . . . at this point, the choosing is up to them. They have to get their own life-shocks and their own learning; and we hope it is not all the hard way. And apparently, some of it is.

We're all still learning, right?  

So that's me, right here, right now. I've found my feet again and it's a good place for me to be in. I am grateful.

PS - I've had queries about our middle child. He's entered his rehab program and is in good spirits. He's in the beginning phases and we are hopeful. Send your arrows of love through the ether! Right now he can't have cards or visitors aside from "Dad" and me, but maybe one day. They are in a lock down situation. Actually, if you want to wish him well, you can email me or send me a card and I can save it until he can have it. That could work. Or I can read it to him over the phone. He gets calls. So if you want to help, there's a way. Bless you!

The Importance of Being Earnest

I am keenly aware that like most bloggers, I post mainly bright news, the happy stories. If you know me "in person," you'll know that's pretty true to me; I tend to lean optimistic. My motto growing up came from a Sunday School song: "Brighten the corner where you are."

That said, it's important to also be frank. I know our family is not the only one struggling but families tend to keep these struggles private. That sinister voice whispers, "It's all your fault; you're a terrible parent" and when we listen to that inner lie, then human nature is to hide it, to cover it up, and try to look good.  No one is helped by this.

Thus, here I am with a true story of three adorable children and how hard life  sometimes is with them. I am hoping that my talking about it might help other families who are struggling. 

Our "Littles" came with baggage: hundreds of toys, plenty of clothes and many books . . . as well as,  tox screens, prematurity, neonatal drug exposure, past head injuries, PTSD, learning challenges, and more. Their paperwork is literally over a foot high. I am the constant recipient of parenting advice. I have read more books and articles on parenting in the last 5 years than most people read in a lifetime. We talk about parenting every day. We try it all. It all helps a little . . . and nothing "works."

Foster kids are different. People cannot understand it because it's not a world most have lived in and it's not talked about. They have baggage. And lugging all that baggage around as a very young child changes them. It doesn't just change their attitudes, it changes their wiring. Thinking can be changed, hearts can be moved, but beliefs -- especially the ones formed when one is pre-verbal -- are very hard to change. Their little hearts have been broken in ways we cannot -- and do not want to -- know.

So they do what they do.

Tink acts inappropriately a lot of the time; she laughs too loud, talks too loud, acts suggestively, breaks things, drops things, runs into things, and generally seeks attention almost constantly. Her teacher kept complaining about her behavior but would not try the interventions we recommended. Finally, I spelled it out. "This child is not like other kids. She never gets enough love and attention. She didn't walk until she was 18 months old because she survived life in foster care by eating. She was huge. She was in foster care because when she was 8 months old, her mother's paramour threw her across a room and into a wall. She had brain damage that healed but her heart is broken in a way we can't begin to understand. She will do anything to make you love her. Please try to love her."  The letter helped. Things got better. She's the "easy" one.

The Blitz, generally a loving and happy boy, wants to have friends, but doesn't really know how to. He's smart as a whip but motor skills are such a challenge. He has tantrums the likes of which I've never seen. They are doozies. They may last 5 minutes, but 30 minutes to an hour is more common. A century ago, someone seeing a fit like his would call an exorcist.  It's terrifying; he looks (and acts) likes he possessed. His common refrain is, "No one loves me; no one cares about me." And it's devastating; it breaks your heart. There is nothing we can do to stop or shorten it. So far he has not done this at school but it is  only a matter of time. Their frequency and intensity is increasing. He has a 90% happy, wonderful life, but the 10% is very, very dark and terrible.

The Captain has serious learning challenges and he is in a tough position; he knows he's not like other kids. He's an amazing athlete and very good at making friends. Yet, he knows he can't do what his peers can do. His PTSD flares up when least expected. The oddest things set him off and he can be very scary.  He has a very fierce and hot temper. He tries hard to control himself, but he just is not able to. He is a brooder and will stomp and slam for an hour after the most minor correction. He has learned skills to help him cope but anyone who has lost control can tell you, it is a very tough thing "in the moment" to force yourself to call upon those skills.

Our house is a mess. They are chewers: they chew their clothes, books, bed sheets, fingernails, toenails, anything that doesn't bite back. They'd probably chew on the dogs if they dogs would let them. They're "pickers" too and bits of wallpaper are missing all over the house. They've flooded their toilet a dozen times. Their carpets are destroyed. Their toys are in pieces; we could have named them all "Bam-Bam." We teach, we correct, we re-teach. They are slowly improving. This destruction is somehow in them and hard to root out. Personally, I think it is a form of self-destruction.

Yes, of course we are doing things to help them. All we do is talk about how to help them. Our pediatrician is trying to help us find a new therapist; none of the dozen I've contacted will call me back. Medicaid therapists who treat children are few and far between and most have a waiting list.  Both the boys see the developmental pediatrician but we can't miss an appointment; the waiting list is a year long. The Blitz may be on the Autism Spectrum; that would explain his tantrums but not do much to impact them; stay tuned on that one. The Captain has just finished a long and intense series of tests to narrow down his learning disability and in January, he will finally begin receiving more and  -- more appropriate --educational interventions. Tinker is finally in a good place, behaviorally at school; we have to stay on top of it. Academically, she rocks.

Do not misunderstand: I love these three with a ferocity I'd have not believed possible. I will move heaven and earth for them and I would not trade them for the world. They are my training ground.

Nonetheless, life has irrevocably changed.When the school calls, I pray that it's a fever or a field trip form not returned. I never thought I would be "that mother" dreading calls from the school, but I admit that I am now that person.  The big, happy family I'd dreamed of looks a lot different than I thought it would. Almost no one asks us over; we're  too big a challenge. We don't have much company here either; life is too volatile and unpredictable. I thank God every day for big sisters and grandparents who love you no matter what. [Add to that cousins, Aunts, Uncles and shoe-string relations; our families have been AMAZING.]

Speaking of sisters, life is hard for the older girls. I try not to raise my voice but do, at least once, every day. Daddy, more often. The Littles can be naughty. Sunshine's friends are very understanding but you really never know what is going to happen. Both the Bigs have sacrificed a lot for the Littles. One person told me I'd ruined the older girls' lives. I disagree. It has changed their lives, certainly and in ways I never could have predicted. The calm, sweet life they had as little children is not the life these kids have and it's not the life they have anymore, either. It's raucous, it's crazy, it's loud and it's chaotic.. It's what it is. It has been hard for them but I have faith that it has also been instructive for them in ways books can never teach. They are self-sacrificing. They have a sense of family and responsibility that I never could have taught them. They know what it means to love. It comes from having to work at loving another person. When you fight for that love, it never leaves you.

There is a lot I don't do any more. I don't live in a clean house or even a tidy one. I don't put up Christmas lights. I don't write a lot of cards. I don't scrapbook. I don't even try to talk on the phone during "awake" hours We don't -- or rarely do -- go to restaurants. I don't go to the gym; I exercise at home. I don't stay up late; I go to bed early and get up at the crack of dawn because I don't have much left at the end of the day. We don't go to church every week and the kids don't go to Sunday School because last year was basically a disaster. I don't take them anywhere for play dates; I have only very rarely dared to leave them in that way. And, I don't give up; I can't.

I do get tons of advice, all of it honestly well-meaning, I do keep trying different things. I do keep hoping and praying, reading and making calls. I do advocate for them and their special needs and I am well known at their school. I do keep trying to clean and organize and one day, we'll get there. I do play with them and correct them and tell them every day that I am very glad they're mine.

Perhaps more relevant, I do thank God every day for these three beautiful souls. I thank Him that I am able to see that beauty in them and that, in fact, I love them more every day. I thank God that they love me too and can see beyond my impatience and -- at times -- my hopelessness. I do surrender; I finally get that I am not in control and I am not in charge. I can't change them, but I can love them and love does change people, in Love's own time.

I have said all this because you probably know a family like ours. Their kids came from Russia or Louisiana or the next county. They are adopted kids or they came the "usual way." They are "That Family." They make a ruckus at church. Their kids misbehave in school. Their house is a mess. The parents look stressed and you whisper to your kids, "Don't play with them. They're naughty."

That is the family you need to reach out to. Meet them in a park. Take Mom a cup of coffee.  Pray for them. Kiss your own kids and thank God that they have had YOU all their lives. You are the best gift you can ever give them.

God bless them; God bless you.

PS -- Please check out this link offered by my friend Sue Sneed:  http://supportforspecialneeds.com/2015/11/18/daily-dose-13/

Parenting in the Presence (cross post)

Please stop by one of my other blogs for today's thoughts on parenting! 

(Just click the colored words for the link)

Waiting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The Blitz is a huge cake lover.  He takes after Sunshine who loves all cake, but is particularly fond of a cake mix called "Funfetti."  It is pure and true junk food and a rare treat at our house.

I bought said cake mix and matching frosting for Sunshine because she is not a "scratch" cook.  It sat on the counter for three days and tortured the baby.  Finally the day came where we decided to make it, and the youngest two watched anxiously as I mixed the batter.  I allowed them each a tiny taste  (raw eggs you know) and popped it into the oven.  Thus began the 28 minute fit of a century.  When I got out the camera,The Blitz postponed his tantrum to talk to me, but spent the best part of the time lying on the floor in front of the oven moaning and trying to eat the box.  But I will let you hear it from him:

Finally, he got the cake.  I didn't even wait for Sunshine to frost it!

Trauma

Because we love The Captain, Tink and The Blitz so much, it's easy for us to forget their past.  They have been here 11 months in actual time, but it seems like they've always been a part of us.  They, however, can not so easily escape the reality of their early lives.

They have different ways of showing their stress.   A couple of weeks ago we were preparing to make a trip to North Texas to celebrate Grandma Clair Simmel's 100th birthday. 

As we were bustling around, packing suitcases, loading the car and shoveling breakfast into everyone, The Captain was stressing.  He kept dictating the movements of his younger siblings and intimidating the dog.  At every turn, he had a tantrum.  I kept pulling him aside to reassure him that all was fine, we were just going to Gram and Grandpa's all together and he would be okay.

  Paul missed most of this excitement as he was off on an errand.  So when he returned home to witness the Captain ordering The Blitz around, then getting sent to sit on the steps, then dissolving into a fit, he said, "What is going on with him?"  I postulated that every time we go somewhere, he thinks we are leaving him there -- that he is getting another new home.  Dear Hubby sat down by the distraught boy and said to him, "Are you worried that we are going to leave you somewhere?"

He nods mournfully.  "No, honey," daddy says.  "We are your forever family.  We are all going to be together forever.  We are leaving together and staying together and then coming home together."

That fixed it temporarily.  He needed to hear it from Daddy.

The Tink handles her stress differently.  She tinkers.  She gets into things, she drops things, she sasses, she refuses to eat or wants to eat all the time.  She was a little sass-pot at the in-laws house.  I mean sassy.  She dropped her milk cup 50 times.  She touched everything she got near.  She walked around with her hands on her hips.  She refused to say "please," or "thank you."  (To her credit, she never once wet her pants!)  She doesn't tend to outright misbehave, she just constantly pushes the boundaries.  This is how stress (or worry) shows up in her.

We got home Sunday night late, well after bedtime.  We popped them quickly and efficiently into bed and they all went straight to sleep.

Monday morning I was bustling around a bit getting The Captain ready for school.  As I threw on my shoes to take him to the bus, Tink grabbed my leg.  You have never seen a sadder face.

"Are you leaving me Mommy?"

"Oh, honey girl, never ever will I leave you!  I'm just putting brother on the bus."

"Okay Mommy."

And then her joyful play resumed.  Simple as that.  No sass, no cup dropping, no touching everything in sight.  Just normal life.

These two will likely not have conscious memories of their other homes.  They were pre-verbal when they got here, so those memories will largely be inaccessible and inexpressible to them.  The trauma of those moves and broken attachments, however, remains in their subconscious.  Sometimes that's heartbreaking . . .  for all of us.

Oh, No

Today in my best "lazy mother" voice, I said to Sunshine, "Please go check on Tink in the bathroom."  

I had that nagging feeling she'd been gone too long.

"Mom, come quick -- Tink flooded the bathroom."

Shoot.  I knew it was too quiet in there.  I shift into Dictator mode and in minutes have used kitchen tongs to remove the 1/2 roll of toilet paper, plunged the beast and used the carpet cleaner (thanks, honey) to suck up the water.  Then the young mistress was called in for a little lecture and quite a bit of frowning.  It was a minor disaster, averted due to Sunshine's quick thinking in turning off the water to the commode.

An hour later, Tink, comes in from outside to go potty.  I trail a few steps behind and lurk outside the door.  I hear talking.

"Don't break da toi-wet.  Don't  break da toi-wet.  Pull up your pants.  Don't go bare bottom.  Fwush da toiwet.  Now fwush da toi-wet."

I hear her hand on rattle the handle, and then in the most deflated voice you have ever heard,  "Oh, nooooo."  

I peek around the corner and she nearly jumped out of her skin.  "What's the matter, honey?"

 She puts her hands on her head.  "I don know." 

"Don't worry.  Mommy fix it."

 It was fine.  I'd forgotten to turn the water back on , but it's safe to say, I think Tink has learned her lesson.  She was the best girl ever for the rest of the day.

Please Pass the Pepper

I never knew how great it was to have a high-schooler.  No, I am not (for once) being facetious.  It is truly fun.  I can see Pepper more and more coming in to herself.  I see her working less at what she thinks she should be and just relaxing into who she is. 

She is so funny and clever.  I love sharing humorous movies and books with her because she gets it on a deep level. She enjoys slapstick, sure, but she also loves dry wit and irony, in particular.   Her sense of humor is what earned her the nickname "Pepper."  She just has a bunch of zip.

She's well read, and I think that will stand her in good stead in the future.  In addition to having a broader, better-informed view of life, well-read people make interesting conversationalists.  I read a lot of books when I was her age, but they were mostly junk.  She reads the good stuff;  the challenging, complicated literary works that exercise her brain and her imagination.

I did not know that part of mothering would be this almost clairvoyant ability to see one's childrens' abilities and capabilities.  As she talks about her future career paths, I can see the possibilities.  There is so much potential for her;  she's a good student so academically, she has a lot of choices.  And she has a lot of creative possibilites too; cooking, art, needlework, writing.  I can see it all.


 

I especially appreciate her choices early on not to be a conformist -- but also not to be a rebel.  She is -- simply --herself, and most of the time, she is great with it. 

Several years ago, she made a decision "not to be embarrassed."  This is a huge relief to a high school mom.  I can't embarrass her!  Whew!  If she trips over the door frame or blurts out something "untoward" -- she forgives herself.  She wastes no energy on embarrassment.

Sure, from time to time she doubts herself -- she thinks she should be more popular or whatever -- but mostly, she is a gal with her feet on the ground.

She's a marvelous creature, "wondrous to behold."

  I'm immensely blessed to walk this path with her! 

On the Table, if You Please.

First things first.  I cannot thank the Round Rock school district enough for the automated call yesterday letting me know school was canceled  and would be made up on May 30.  Oh and they called plenty early, too, so I wouldn't spend unnecessary time getting The Captain ready.  5:20 a.m.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Oh and thank you so much for waking up all the Littles too.

Yesterday The Tinker was running around with the wooden alphabet blocks while I was cooking.  She loves to play with them right at my feet (of course) so I said to her, "Please play with those on the kids table."

Here's a very short video about her interpretation of what I said:

Finally, it snowed yesterday.  Yep, it was beautiful.  But I ran out of battery so the only real pics are Sunshine's on Facebook.  Sorry!

A Reunion, of Sorts

All five of our kids have been "open adoptions but their stories are different. Here is one.

For most of her life, our 14-year-old, "Pepper," has had no interest in meeting her birth family.  She is a calm sort of person.  It looked like she had decided she would know when the time was right.  On occasion when I brought it up, I had assured her that I would do what I could to help her if she ever changed her mind.

In truth, I felt this was the best decision for her because her birth mother never responded to my letters and photos.  Although it was an open adoption, that does not necessarily mean that the parties meet.  Many years ago, I spoke briefly with her birth grandmother who assured me that B-mom was always excited to get the letters and photos, but was not yet ready to see us.  In subsequent years, I regularly searched for the family on the internet and in this way learned when one of Pepper's half-brothers died in a car accident.

In December  of 2009, I sent her a Christmas card with a handful of photos.  In early January, the card came back and the postmaster had handwritten on the envelope, "Sorry.  Deceased."  She was a woman my age!  Shocked, I scoured the internet for an obituary.  Sure enough, I found it -- she had died in January of cancer.  Oh dear.

I was a terrible thing to have to tell our child.  She was in shock for a few weeks and then she grieved.  Oh, how she grieved.  I think the biggest loss was that of the opportunity to meet her birth-mother.  She had reserved this for when she was "ready" and I had supported this choice, neither of us remembering that we never know how many days we have to accomplish such things.

I wrote the funeral home and they promised to forward a note to Bmom's mother.  I sent off a sympathy card and 3 days later, the phone rang.  It was Pepper's birth-grandmother.  I could hear her voice shaking as she identified herself.  In a few sentences, she filled in the details of her daughter's illness and death.   I heard myself promise to bring Pepper to meet her -- with no idea how I would convince my daughter to do such a thing.

About the same time, I realized that Pepper's surviving half-siblings would all be adults.  I looked for the only female child online and found her in My Space.  I sent her a brief note that read, essentially, "I was sorry to learn of the death of your mother.  I am Pepper's mom.  Do you know who I am? If you do and are willing, I'd like to be in touch with you."

Only hours later, she responded.  I couldn't believe it.  Not only did she know who I was, she had been looking for us.  She and I became My Space and then Facebook friends.  A few weeks later, Pepper "friended" her too.  We finally set a date in April to make the 5 hour drive to Pepper's birth city to meet her Grandmother and birth sister.

The day for the meeting finally arrived.  Birth-grandma had just had knee replacement so she was in a rehab facility and the meeting would take place there.  Birth-sister and her 10 month old baby would meet us in her grandmother's room.

Even though this meeting took place 9 months ago, I have a few salient memories.  First and foremost, I remember B-Grandma's ear to ear smile when we walked in.  In pain and temporarily bed-ridden, she was still the consumate hostess.

"Come here, honey," she said to my daughter; "Sit down and let me talk to you."

She told my daughter the circumstances of her birth and the reasons her birth family -- not only her birth mother -- made an adoption plan for her.  We were both surprised to learn that Pepper's birth mother and her birth uncle had also been adopted.  B-Grandma reiterated over and over that love was the overriding reason for the plan.  It was balm for my daughter's aching heart.

The meeting with her birth sister was equally surprising. She and my daughter look quite alike and have the exact same mouth. It was uncanny.  As we visited in B-Grandma's room, sister was pretty quiet, but at lunch afterward, she talked a lot about her life growing up.  She had been 7 when my daughter was born, and she had not had an easy childhood and adolescence.   Those stories were hard for my daughter to learn.

We ended the day with a visit to the foster family that loved her for her first three weeks.  In many ways, this redeemed the visit.  Seeing the love with which they surrounded each of their foster kids, partaking of their love of cooking, being in their warm home (and warm embrace) made her day.  She needed to end the day on a high note and this did it.  I am not sure what the future holds, but I think it holds more meetings, more photos, and more depth of knowledge.  And as Pepper gets to know herself, we know ourselves better too, somehow.

Grief and loss is inherent in the adoption process.   The infertile couple has lost something, the birth family have lost something and, certainly, the adopted person has lost something.  As parents who long ago began to love this child unconditionally, we can temporarily forget.  But she can never forget and there is always a remnant of that loss with her.  It is holy ground to walk alongside someone on such a path.

Is our open adoption story like the fairy-tale we were presented at our first adoption seminar?  No, but we had done our adoption research and we were prepared for complications which we have in fact, encountered.  More importantly, perhaps, it is our open adoption story and it is still unfolding with each of our kids.

(Note -- I am sorry for the long delay in bringing this story "to press."  Our storage device crashed some months ago and it has taken a long time to retrieve the pictures; I finally decided to publish now and add pics later.)

Gracias!

I've lived in Texas a long time so there is quite a bit of Spanish mixed into my vocabulary. Obviously,  I want the kids to know Spanish, so I am sharing my meager knowledge figuring we will have a plan for formal learning later.

Yesterday I was rushing around trying to get supper on the table and of course everyone under 4 feet tall seemed to be under my two feet the whole time.  The Captain was entertaining everyone with a paper airplane Grandma made him on Monday.  Finally I said, "Can you please fly your airplane outside the kitchen?"

"Okay, Mama."  Out he went with his two followers.

"Gracias," I said.

He smiled.

"Do you know what 'gracias' means?" I queried.

"It means 'Get out of my kitchen!'"

Okay.  We'll leave it at that for now!

Enterprise

The Blitz has found a couple of new ways to wreak havoc in his little world. He is still small enough to walk under open drawers in the kitchen but recently discovered he can reach over his head.  So he opens the drawer and fishes around to see what he reach.  He has known for some time where the "hair stuff" drawer is but has recently taken an interest in discovering the contents of all the other drawers.

He spent quite a while Saturday pushing a stool around the kitchen.  This enabled him to reach the stuff on the counters that we have carefully pushed just out of reach.  He was very amused by this game and ran around the kitchen climbing up on the stool and yelling "touch it!" I tried to get this silly activity on tape, but got the camera on just in time to witness him finding something actually interesting. So at least I have a little clip of that bit!  (I still have not figured out how to get my videos to load directly to my blog but at least I figured out how to embed the YouTube clip!)

Makeover Day

Sometimes a picture truly is worth a thousand words.

Here's a link to a silly video  I made during the photo shoot.

And for something completely different, a couple of seconds of Bennie saying Cock-a-doodle-do.

"I Did It!"

These days the most commonly heard phrase in the house is, "I did it!"  Yesterday The Captain became commander of his wardrobe.  He buttoned his shirt.  It was a two-button shirt but he did it in such a way that he only needed to button one of them.  Here's the photo evidence. 

He is also gaining pretty good command of language.  The other day he was put in a rare time-out for hitting Tink -- even though she had it coming!  When his time-out was over, I said, "Why were you in time out?"  He looked mournfully at the floor and said, "Well, Mom,  I made a poor choice."  I had a terrible time not just cracking up.

The Tink is busy as ever, but we have managed to direct at least some of her business to toys.  She is a big fan of our new horse, "Elbow."  Here she is giving her new baby (also from Santa) a ride. 

She is still Little Mama.  If I even whisper the word, "laundry,"  she drops everything to run in there and help me.  The Blitz is usually hot on her tail but he is significantly less helpful. Tink pulls the clothes out of the dryer and throws them up on the washer for folding and then pushes the wet clothes into the dryer.  All the kids love this game and try to get their heads beneath the falling clothes to get the laundry on their heads. Sillies.

The Blitz has been enjoying dumping out all the blocks and books lately.  I keep telling myself that it is a developmental stage but things around here have never been messier.  Yikes.  But look at him -- he's so cute!  He was a huge fan of the Christmas music and has a charming rendition of Jingles bells that involves a lot of head bobbing and yelling "Hey!!"   

He is talking SOOOOO well these days.  One Tuesday night when I was putting him to bed, he said "Hee hee," which means "help me" get into bed.  The next morning when I was dressing him, he looked at me and said, plain as day, "Help me."  He is working to refine his language and is so proud of himself.

Pepper and Sunshine have been so busy, I've hardly seen them.  We've had lots of spending the night, both here and away; is this the world of teens?  I miss them!  Sunshine is headed to Houston this weekend for a special Sweet Sixteen party for a friend -- I will get a picture of her in her new dress.  Likewise, Pepper is headed to the opera re-cast tomorrow with Aunt Dark -- I'll get a picture of her all dressed up too.

I'm glad Paul is back to work, Pepper and The Captain are back to school and I can start to tame the mess.  We all were ready for resumption of "normal" life!  That's it for now --thanks for reading!

Grandma Huntley

Today my Grandma, Ada Poland Huntley, would have been 105.   She was the wife to Guy Huntley and mother to 9 boys and 1 girl, 4 of them already passed on.  All of them are living or have lived interesting and productive lives.  She loved each and every one of her kids and was widely known as a good cook who could create something delicious from virtually nothing.

I lived over 1000 miles away from her for most of my life, so I did not get to know her well when I was young.  However, when I was 9 or 10 years old, she came to stay with us and left me with one memory so vivid I can still taste it.  She taught me how to bake bread.

I remember she got a little cross with me because I wanted to go play while it was rising.  She set me straight right away.  Instead at her behest, I sat with her at the kitchen table and she taught me how to play solitare.  There is something very wise in teaching a kid to entertain herself.

When that bread came out of the oven, it smelled heavenly.  And although I had been spoiled by my mom all my life with homemade bread, none ever tasted so good as those first loaves I baked by my own hand.  That was some 40 years ago and to this day, I never bake bread without thinking of her.  She did so much more than teach me the art of dough making, kneading and baking.  She invited me to cook, which has been my creative outlet of choice ever since.

Grandma was like so many of the mentors of my life:  She taught me something which was in this case a process, bread making.  But more importantly, she recognized that glimmer -- that spark of true passion -- and she blew on and tended and fanned that spark until it burst into flame.  That is what the best teachers, coaches and mentors do and if you are not blessed to have such a mentor or coach like that in your life right this minute, drop everything until you find one!

 I still, on occasion, bake bread.  Five children and calorie cutbacks have curtailed that a bit.  But every day -- every single day -- I love creating nourishing and delicious food for myself and my family.  It is my favorite part of every day.  Thank you, Grandma.

9th Day of Christmas

It's the 9th day of Christmas and it still looks like it around here!  The kitchen seems to stay a perpetual mess and I have to admit, I am really glad the feasting is over!  Yesterday we had a modest feast of ham, mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas --- but since I did the potatoes in a big batch for freezing, it took 45 minutes to peel them and all hands to get the meal out. 

I don't have too many pictures of Christmas since I was too busy having fun to take pictures, but here are a couple of shots from Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  I have few pictures of the big girls -- probably because they were as busy as I was!!

The tree before the Grandparent presents filled the room!

The Blitz ready for church

Tinker

Christmas Doll Baby -- don't you love the Miss Muffet leggings?

First sighing of Santa's bounty

Sit and Spin!

The Captain in a rare moment OFF the horse!

Aunt Dar

I couldn't get this photo in the right spot!

Sunshine, Tink, Pepper, The Captain and The Blitz