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Passover, Easter, whatever you’re celebrating this weekend, we know aside from the beautiful church stuff, the gist of it is foooooooood. We love food around here. Food, food, food. This pic is from Christmas a few years back. We like meat (except my sister Bridget, who lovingly hates it). I’ve blogged about our feasts before {Feasts!}. We also like a fancied up table: This Easter will be no different. Although we have a smaller gathering than usual, with my East Coast sibs not coming back in town, it will be delicious still. I hope. Unless I burn the ham. 1) Ham. My aunt Helen is a rockstar among chefs. She’s teaching me on Saturday how to make her amazing ham. Nota bene: I hate ham.…
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How loving are you all! Your response to my sharing about the dark times within was so truly, well, loving and light bringing! Thank you from the bottom of my pitty-pattering heart. Your insights, openness about your own dark times, and love keep me wanting to write this blog. After further examination as to why it’s so dark in here, I wanted to share a little about why we all do go inside the dark parts of ourselves, and how that relates to this week. In the world of Christianity, this is a big week. It’s called Passion Week. It’s the week leading up to Good Friday (saddest/happiest day of the year), Holy Saturday (hold your breath and wait for it while He’s rocking the…
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SuperBoy is Mr. Church. He loves church. He loves mass, he loves vespers, he loves Stations of the Cross, he loves anything related to being inside God’s house. He loves our church. He loves our priests. He loves it all. But last Sunday, in sharp contrast to the above norm, he was a holy terror. It all started because I took him to the bathroom during the sermon instead of his Dada. That was it. Downhill from there. He refused to go in the Ladies’ Room. “Mama, I want to go in the other bathroom.” “Well that’s for men, and when you’re with me, I can’t go in there, so you have to come in here.” “No! I’m a gentleman!!!” Much negotiating later, including threats,…
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A girlfriend who recently moved to the East Coast brought me the most amazing bread in the world after we’d had SweetPea. I finally hit her up for her ah-MAZ-ing recipe. She gave me a collection. This is the first in the series. Nummy nummy is all I can say. Look for a comprehensive post on bread baking next week–a lesson from my eldest sister! Peasant Boule Makes 4 1-lb loaves 3 C lukewarm water 1 ½ tbsp granulated yeast (or 2 packets) 1 ½ tbsp kosher salt (or other coarse salt, not table salt) 6 ½ C unsifted, unbleached, all-purpose white flour 1.5 tbsp of wheat bran added by yours truly Equipment: pizza stone, empty broiler tray, pizza peel and cornmeal (or parchment paper)…
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I wrote on making judgments without being judgmental a few weeks back {Judgers Judge} and the topic has come up again in my life: how do I deal with friends and family whose parenting styles are different than my own? The bottom line is for me has become: unless it’s a moral issue, parenting styles vary. Get over it. Thus the questions become, what’s a moral issue in parenting and what’s not? When is the variance great enough such that it’s hard for me to view their choices charitably? And what’s the difference between admittedly poor parenting and someone just doing the best they can with what they have? 1) Moral issues. If another parent is allowing or pushing inappropriate sexual activities, yeah, we’re probably not going…
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Yes, some of us have had two children under two years old! Many of my friends’ children are further apart than two years, either intentionally or not. Some lost a baby, some struggle with fertility. SuperBoy and SweetPea are 22 months apart. That means I had a raging toddler when I was pregnant (and throwing up daily, etc). That also means I had two in diapers, two who needed to be carried, and two who loved snuggling. Loved that last two out of three. Here’s a quick list of 12 ways I survived having two kids who were under two years old: 1) Pregnancy is tough. Take all the help you can get. Your friend offers to host a playdate with your toddler and hers…
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