tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35284361060268501962024-02-20T14:12:39.708+08:00Steeped in HopeRebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-36740588386384768822018-12-10T10:06:00.003+08:002018-12-10T10:06:35.424+08:00More pie!Today, we had our children's Christmas play at the church. It is done! It went well! And yesterday, I made the last two pies to share at lunch after service today. They're all done! Some went well!<br />
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A B C D E<span style="color: #a64d79;"> <b>F</b></span> <span style="color: #783f04;"><b>G</b></span> <span style="color: #f6b26b;"><b>H</b></span> <span style="color: #e06666;"><b>I</b></span><span style="color: #351c75;"> J</span> <span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>K</b></span> <span style="color: #f1c232;"><b>L</b></span> <b>M</b> N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BPZopvpa08GEufhKm5EDf_w4hLjqwXN_hX3z6iulY4-UjqXCIRyxbdXcVgrAB5Ucc3ujM-SoW09y_2nNAXde9yep7Js6Shb4ky44eCbniFjSXFAd8BVLY0V_Qy_Gcc30E6vFHi98tWA/s1600/fig+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="color: #a64d79;"><b>Fi</b><b>g Frangipane</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BPZopvpa08GEufhKm5EDf_w4hLjqwXN_hX3z6iulY4-UjqXCIRyxbdXcVgrAB5Ucc3ujM-SoW09y_2nNAXde9yep7Js6Shb4ky44eCbniFjSXFAd8BVLY0V_Qy_Gcc30E6vFHi98tWA/s1600/fig+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BPZopvpa08GEufhKm5EDf_w4hLjqwXN_hX3z6iulY4-UjqXCIRyxbdXcVgrAB5Ucc3ujM-SoW09y_2nNAXde9yep7Js6Shb4ky44eCbniFjSXFAd8BVLY0V_Qy_Gcc30E6vFHi98tWA/s320/fig+pie.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BPZopvpa08GEufhKm5EDf_w4hLjqwXN_hX3z6iulY4-UjqXCIRyxbdXcVgrAB5Ucc3ujM-SoW09y_2nNAXde9yep7Js6Shb4ky44eCbniFjSXFAd8BVLY0V_Qy_Gcc30E6vFHi98tWA/s1600/fig+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">ff (fortissimo)</span>, awesome! Not that it was a loud pie. It was a tasty pie. A frangipane filling is made with egg, vanilla, and almond meal (and sugar). It was my first frangipane, but not my last. The fig was good, but I'd like to try it with plums. And then you can't read it musically (unless you play too much Brahms and then you can <i>poco forte/plum frangipane</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> your heart out. I used a recipe I found online. Ricardo's?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><b>Gingerbread Pie (no picture)</b></span><br />
I tended to make more than one pie at once and I'm pretty sure the partner to gingerbread was W. It was an unusual weekend of pie. And, interestingly enough, also made for a lunch at church. Moral of the story, if you want pie, come to our potlucks.<br />
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Gingerbread pie was the flavour of gingerbread in a cheesecake-like texture in tart shells (read: small pies). I thought my kids would like it. They did not. But they didn't even TRY W.<br />
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<span style="color: #f6b26b;"><b>Honey, honey</b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcIFzatUdu5vrF9scFDDslV6JyY4JuRiyi0xDDSNCP9e40ZTygdaLDt7UUymxcV0Hp7LKktKj443abWQu6aDIh1cWNc3nV2gxyKoV6QJmqkDL1j1PO-DBJeMoQpiRNw11_QahRe_-9uU/s1600/IMG_20181006_180306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcIFzatUdu5vrF9scFDDslV6JyY4JuRiyi0xDDSNCP9e40ZTygdaLDt7UUymxcV0Hp7LKktKj443abWQu6aDIh1cWNc3nV2gxyKoV6QJmqkDL1j1PO-DBJeMoQpiRNw11_QahRe_-9uU/s320/IMG_20181006_180306.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></span><br />
H was one of those difficult letters. Honeydew? Hazelnut? Wait, I could have done hazelnut!? I want a do-over. I mean, I want YOU to make me a hazelnut pie because I'm tired and I've been making Christmas cookies all day.<br />
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What I ended up making was "honey-lemon pie". It was from a honey cookbook I have. I thought straight honey would be too cloying and the lemon would tone it done. It sounded a bit too much like the title of a cough drop, but nothing's perfect. And it really was nothing like a cough drop. Not hard, more silky and it did nothing for my cough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcIFzatUdu5vrF9scFDDslV6JyY4JuRiyi0xDDSNCP9e40ZTygdaLDt7UUymxcV0Hp7LKktKj443abWQu6aDIh1cWNc3nV2gxyKoV6QJmqkDL1j1PO-DBJeMoQpiRNw11_QahRe_-9uU/s1600/IMG_20181006_180306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a>Anyway, I always have lemons so we were off to the races! Or so I thought. At a crucial step in the recipe, I ran out of honey. It did have some honey in it, but not enough. So, to finish and not have to run to the shop, I substituted in golden syrup for the rest of the honey. They're both sweet, right? Both thick and sticky?<br />
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BAD IDEA.<br />
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It was sweet, with a flavour of sweetness and a hint of sugar. This was a pie that was not finished. We had a slice (as did my poor in-laws). We did not need/want more. Probably this would be better as a petite-four. You know, like really, really small portions.<br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">To bake the <b><span style="color: #e06666;">Impossible Pie</span></b>, to eat the whole coconut jar!</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOsH9zt9PolT4ayXfOwk4nH4Mzzvktvo8N4oroKd0SKCvoEjx8g8Xn6Jujnweb16CPeCu91Aq66FWBeD7Nt-NR3BxrCy-crc05X1autiJ1HvVxnJ2-3seomKsghFGs2klYipnrLSxBB0/s1600/IMG_20181003_173318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOsH9zt9PolT4ayXfOwk4nH4Mzzvktvo8N4oroKd0SKCvoEjx8g8Xn6Jujnweb16CPeCu91Aq66FWBeD7Nt-NR3BxrCy-crc05X1autiJ1HvVxnJ2-3seomKsghFGs2klYipnrLSxBB0/s320/IMG_20181003_173318.jpg" width="240" /></a>Impossible pie is one of those things where you mix all the stuff, plonk it into the pan and throw it in the oven. You may be sceptical that it will make its own crust. You may be sure that it won't taste nice at all. But at the end of the day, it's a coconut pie that made it's own crust and tastes like more. It was even one of my dear friends' (who ate many of the pies) favourite!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNe49NN2nJgTHIZBJng1QT4q5vRIl4wrq3EVyNL6bFi5H1sJuYp1WRvznk67aqyhM8-zyERqcODN5Aw3362BRS_dj7FWmfuxeYWBzKsREnApR5cd1CysyKZGIYB5yfmSIBI_zFogi3J4/s1600/jam+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNe49NN2nJgTHIZBJng1QT4q5vRIl4wrq3EVyNL6bFi5H1sJuYp1WRvznk67aqyhM8-zyERqcODN5Aw3362BRS_dj7FWmfuxeYWBzKsREnApR5cd1CysyKZGIYB5yfmSIBI_zFogi3J4/s320/jam+pie.JPG" width="320" /></a><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #20124d;">Jam tarts</span></b><br />
I doubled the crust from my frangipane and made tiny tarts, topped with jam: blackberry and strawberry pear. I chose those specific flavours, because they were the first ones that I managed to grab from the fridge. Word of warning: jam somehow expands and turns to boisterous lava when cooked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bvr6-1Q6QHNm-dQL1WPDXCAubKbuQBdD-Nxk919WVqmsoNE0Q4PRvsj0LwdMcvzFHsL8AB8qG_D7yxJHR0HylafYpRNuyAVShm7V8_TOYx7jRAncA8s2ImtfaSwwu6FOjHM2o7jkhPg/s1600/key+lime+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bvr6-1Q6QHNm-dQL1WPDXCAubKbuQBdD-Nxk919WVqmsoNE0Q4PRvsj0LwdMcvzFHsL8AB8qG_D7yxJHR0HylafYpRNuyAVShm7V8_TOYx7jRAncA8s2ImtfaSwwu6FOjHM2o7jkhPg/s320/key+lime+pie.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Key Lime</b></span><br />
It's delicious. It's three ingredient - key limes, condensed milk, cream.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlBK6iTGu110FcIw5nqeYlHRObKMKbR8AuO2MNxrWxi9V72j9EwtYOZXdzicYnbyRBPcIF1wU8LiqBxhADJ68iDcisuuUAu0d1cgNwYVAVnBmCqCF-KtOPQqNoIpyNJv84f6BaAKjWDA/s1600/lemon+blueberry+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlBK6iTGu110FcIw5nqeYlHRObKMKbR8AuO2MNxrWxi9V72j9EwtYOZXdzicYnbyRBPcIF1wU8LiqBxhADJ68iDcisuuUAu0d1cgNwYVAVnBmCqCF-KtOPQqNoIpyNJv84f6BaAKjWDA/s320/lemon+blueberry+pie.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #f1c232;">Lemon pie with blueberry sauce</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlBK6iTGu110FcIw5nqeYlHRObKMKbR8AuO2MNxrWxi9V72j9EwtYOZXdzicYnbyRBPcIF1wU8LiqBxhADJ68iDcisuuUAu0d1cgNwYVAVnBmCqCF-KtOPQqNoIpyNJv84f6BaAKjWDA/s1600/lemon+blueberry+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>It has the distinction of being the first pie I made in 2018. It was good, but also a long time ago. I always have lemons, so it made sense to jump on the list. The blueberry sauce was nice, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkEq-eUG8KlHXmsvK35BNkksLyN79llcYKqkSfmYCkcDnVLtLMLQ_XQERWc4CO3ZUP7u_DmNCbs82ZgOuo6SnClmkxunQEWwkfFEfVqUfqZWTXNAo9LIu5dnvR-Df77d4QMCArQE3jrE/s1600/macaroon+pie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkEq-eUG8KlHXmsvK35BNkksLyN79llcYKqkSfmYCkcDnVLtLMLQ_XQERWc4CO3ZUP7u_DmNCbs82ZgOuo6SnClmkxunQEWwkfFEfVqUfqZWTXNAo9LIu5dnvR-Df77d4QMCArQE3jrE/s320/macaroon+pie.JPG" width="212" /></a><br />
<b>Macaroon</b><br />
Note the double o. This was not an almond meal circle sandwich, this was chocolate and coconut in happy harmony. Well, pretty happy harmony. See, I had this theory that dark chocolate and coconut are both sweet enough to make a pie without adding sugar. Had I been using 45% chocolate and sweetened coconut, I'd have been right. Instead, I was using 85% and unsweetened. It was satisfying, but dark. Good with coffee. You only needed a small piece. (Note the white chocolate melted on top of the pie to make it a tinge sweeter. The other pie is banana cream.)<br />
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Okay, that's enough sweet talk for one day. If you decided to pie it up one year, I recommend this: SHARE. Baking is fun. Giving away baking is more fun. You get a bit, others get a bit and no one's hips start shouting. Happy Baking!<br />
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Next time - N is not for noodle<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-49380595481388246722018-11-11T17:20:00.001+08:002018-11-13T06:16:49.761+08:00Chippy the Christmas Squirrel: The Lost Files of Stuart McLean<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Jones family weren't excited about Christmas that year. Work was too hard, the days were too long, life was too demanding and there just didn't seem to be money for extras. As tired out and grumpy as they felt, Christmas just seemed to be an extra. An extra full of extras.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chippy the squirrel sat in his tree outside their house and watched them as they trudged out of the house in the mornings and slumped into the house in the evening. Even the house itself seemed to sag with melancholy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chippy was sad for them, but then really, what can a squirrel do to alleviate the worry of a household? Chippy thought awhile longer, because he could feel the sadness rubbing off on him. No one wants a sad squirrel, he thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was then that he had his idea. He could make them happy with what made him happy. He enlisted his friend, Oslo the beaver. Oslo was always up for a good chin-wag and soon they'd fixed the plan good and proper.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oslo got to work right away. He worked and worked through the night and, by all accounts, the Jones family should have noticed when they left their house the next morning. Such was their collective fog of stress, they just passed right by.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's difficult to pass by a beaver chopping down the tree in your front yard, but if you get distracted enough, you can manage it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">With the tree down and the glum folks away, Chippy and Oslo had time to get the tree into the house. They might have broken a lock to get in, but it was that dodgy one that Mrs Jones had been meaning to get to anyway. If they hadn't broken it, it would've broken itself soon enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">With the tree up, they set to decorating. It wasn't the prettiest sight. A squirrel and a beaver are not known decorators. Still, it was done. It was thorough. From a scavenged Barbie at the top of the tree to a not perfectly round wreath of nuts on the front door. It wasn't meant to be perfect, though. It was just meant to be a piece of joy, a little spot of light to shine through those clouds that had blocked out the Jones family smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When they got home and realized what had happened, even as they almost couldn't believe it, they felt that joy. They saw the half-gnawed doll tucked in the tree. They saw the badly misshapen nut </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">wreath on the door. They looked at the stump in their yard and at a squirrel racing around trying to refill a summer's stockpile of nuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Jones family was no longer under a cloud of too busy and too tired. They seemed to bounce through their days, the merriest part of the street.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">That year Chippy got the biggest Christmas present he'd ever seen. It was a kind of dog kennel, but fitted up with tunnels to hide and play it. And nuts! There were nuts from countries that Chippy had never even heard of and more than he'd need in three years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next Christmas, Dave and Morley would be surprised to find that they'd gotten each other squirrel kennels. In fact, it was a very popular gift on their street that year. Oh, it wasn't a matter of keeping up with the Joneses. No, they were hoping that they'd get a piece of that joy and glow that the Jones family had seemed to have all year. A pet squirrel would be worth that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the Jones family knew that joy came from efforts that seem impossible, like maybe you couldn't believe they really happened. Joy came from someone loving you enough to give up everything. Every Christmas they managed to find joy. They always hung an acorn on the tree as they celebrated their little reminder with the very big heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is not actually written by McLean, but it's funnier if you read it in his voice. No disrespect meant.</span></i>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-24381199729333632282018-10-27T11:31:00.004+08:002018-10-27T11:42:41.540+08:00A is for Apple... E is for?(Oh yeah, that's why I stopped blogging. No time!)<br />
<br />
Me to 4yo: "Eat a bit more meat."<br />
4yo: "I just want kale!"<br />
Me to 4yo: "One more piece of meat and then all the kale you want."<br />
4yo: "And broccoli?"<br />
...<br />
6yo: "Can I have more kale?"<br />
7yo: "Look! I just finished it."<br />
<br />
These are the people that I'm trying to convince to eat pie. These beautiful, strange people who would rather eat freshly made kale chips. Actually, this pie adventure (pieventure?) has been beneficial. They are more likely to try new foods. Of course, that could just be because we make them try new foods all the time. Still, we've gone from our boys eating pie NEVERNOTINAMILLIONYEARSHOWDISGUSTING to two of them having a favourite pie.<br />
<br />
Our daughter, on the other hand, will eat all of the pies but the kale she shredded and dropped on the floor. It's cute but irritating when she finds a food she doesn't like. She sneakily* drops the food on the floor instead of just ignoring it. Then gets more and drops it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq91qNPRiq-s4Fmcjr_9uLH2gGQ5RYxgfqjzVacjt8s0ZD1GkeiKmWYdm1X50MYoYcDnPbzAr_PWTvCq09lJpmkxmVnU1WzXSn3jAYmxj_1NzBJuqKY5AqUGkxOj_P4EFeXooijLKbAEs/s1600/DSC_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>Without further ado, let's talk pie! I have not made the pies in alphabetical order, but will tell you of them in that order.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: red;">A</span><span style="color: #f1c232;"> B</span><span style="color: #783f04;"> C</span><span style="color: #660000;"> D</span></b><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b> E</b> </span><span style="color: black;">F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"></span><b></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Apple Crisp Pie</b></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Apple crisp pie is something that happens when you want apple crisp but you've made some stupid plan to make a lot of pies, you are behind in making all of the pies and you have accidentally over purchased apples.**</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"></span><br />
When I make apple pie I use the method that involves cutting up the peeled apples very finely and then coating them in the sugars/flour/cinnamon/nutmeg mixture. Apple crisp is a much easier beast as you just peel and cut the apples and have the seasoning come from the crumb on top. In deference to it being pie, I did add a bit of liquid to the apples as well as butter (which is what you do with apple pie, but not with apple crisp.<br />
<u></u><br />
<u>Vague ingredient list/Prep</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxn9WicY4EC2mLop5fDEsc0FBhf3zgpolYxg4YKMrEMXhODMoN-AIBIJCz6O9D09TuslD506Pm-1nwVVXCP3QRyJ0y_Q2z3wRxG7nHc2teI0qc3VO1O1-sIF3642sMUdUcYKQnErQhNM/s1600/DSC_0520b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="1600" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxn9WicY4EC2mLop5fDEsc0FBhf3zgpolYxg4YKMrEMXhODMoN-AIBIJCz6O9D09TuslD506Pm-1nwVVXCP3QRyJ0y_Q2z3wRxG7nHc2teI0qc3VO1O1-sIF3642sMUdUcYKQnErQhNM/s320/DSC_0520b.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxn9WicY4EC2mLop5fDEsc0FBhf3zgpolYxg4YKMrEMXhODMoN-AIBIJCz6O9D09TuslD506Pm-1nwVVXCP3QRyJ0y_Q2z3wRxG7nHc2teI0qc3VO1O1-sIF3642sMUdUcYKQnErQhNM/s1600/DSC_0520b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxn9WicY4EC2mLop5fDEsc0FBhf3zgpolYxg4YKMrEMXhODMoN-AIBIJCz6O9D09TuslD506Pm-1nwVVXCP3QRyJ0y_Q2z3wRxG7nHc2teI0qc3VO1O1-sIF3642sMUdUcYKQnErQhNM/s1600/DSC_0520b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxn9WicY4EC2mLop5fDEsc0FBhf3zgpolYxg4YKMrEMXhODMoN-AIBIJCz6O9D09TuslD506Pm-1nwVVXCP3QRyJ0y_Q2z3wRxG7nHc2teI0qc3VO1O1-sIF3642sMUdUcYKQnErQhNM/s1600/DSC_0520b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Cut some peeled apples. Put them into a pie shell (unbaked), or if you are lazy, a sheet of puffed pastry in a pie dish. Add a couple of tablespoons of milk and a bit of cubed butter. Cover with crumble topping (scant 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/2 cup flour, 1/2 cup rolled oats, 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp nutmeg, 1/3 cup softened butter). Bake at 180 (375) until it's done, approximately 40 minutes.<br />
<b></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBITgziSvgq7PeZT1kuKLSK8rSnzLuNG6QBau-pIUSQdkyajGZ218_-fMivTX-fLIsAVAomoSJaZFrJY-gm5tKoavSlfdK99wqiH4Qs5-xY9OVRhvW0ZOw5bdgz0CpPH06lozsA9jjYYM/s1600/DSC_0543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBITgziSvgq7PeZT1kuKLSK8rSnzLuNG6QBau-pIUSQdkyajGZ218_-fMivTX-fLIsAVAomoSJaZFrJY-gm5tKoavSlfdK99wqiH4Qs5-xY9OVRhvW0ZOw5bdgz0CpPH06lozsA9jjYYM/s320/DSC_0543.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><b>Banana Cream</b></span><br />
Banana cream is a pie that reminds me of home. It was one of the first pies made, way back in January. In a homemade pie crust, you put in a layer of sliced banana, cover with a homemade custard and then top with lightly sweetened meringue. Bake until the meringue is lightly coloured. And awesome.<br />
<br />
As this isn't a food blog, that's all the info you get, dude. Want a recipe? I'll give it you.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #783f04;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #783f04;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #783f04;"><b>Citrus Coffee</b></span><br />
This was a bad idea.***<br />
<br />
Not enough?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPYNlJHZjRApoo4RsBOwd8ThE_0VJP08Sq_AHVLWHUfI-IIfzw9d3WcZGBQVhx01RUIYUdJHndvs3YM4rF6dlVqUyilZ8tPQuCLlT1UEu_uIDdqySL5mI57hsJV2CsfGM1jflwqIlnls/s1600/DSC_0570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a>Okay, so it was a citrus custard****. I wanted to use oranges, but we only had mandarins and I figured, what's the difference? Answer: punch of flavour. Oranges have a much stronger flavour and zest, so the citrus was a bit weak. The other problem with this is that I tried to be fancy and put it in a "crust" made of ladyfingers soaked in espresso. Tiramisu with a twist! Or, you know, a bit of a sodden mess. It tasted okay, but in a "well, it could've been worse" sort of way. I don't know about you, but at the end of a cooking adventure I like to have the bar higher than "this was edible". Also orange + chocolate = yum. Mandarin + coffee = meh.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPYNlJHZjRApoo4RsBOwd8ThE_0VJP08Sq_AHVLWHUfI-IIfzw9d3WcZGBQVhx01RUIYUdJHndvs3YM4rF6dlVqUyilZ8tPQuCLlT1UEu_uIDdqySL5mI57hsJV2CsfGM1jflwqIlnls/s1600/DSC_0570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="991" data-original-width="1600" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPYNlJHZjRApoo4RsBOwd8ThE_0VJP08Sq_AHVLWHUfI-IIfzw9d3WcZGBQVhx01RUIYUdJHndvs3YM4rF6dlVqUyilZ8tPQuCLlT1UEu_uIDdqySL5mI57hsJV2CsfGM1jflwqIlnls/s320/DSC_0570.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<span style="color: #660000;"><b>Date</b></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPYNlJHZjRApoo4RsBOwd8ThE_0VJP08Sq_AHVLWHUfI-IIfzw9d3WcZGBQVhx01RUIYUdJHndvs3YM4rF6dlVqUyilZ8tPQuCLlT1UEu_uIDdqySL5mI57hsJV2CsfGM1jflwqIlnls/s1600/DSC_0570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>All I can say about this is that I "made" it. That is to say, we were visiting my family and Mom and I made a pie, except I actually played with my daughter and then made the meringue to pretend I was helping. My boys were fishing with their father and grandfather. A good pie, a good memory.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b></b><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Everything</b></span><br />
That's right. With five letters left in the alphabet (E, F, J, Q, Z), it's time to get creative. Egg pie? Isn't that a quiche? Or egg tart? I've got a similar one coming! Everything pie was a triumph. It was good and fully made from me standing in the kitchen and adding whatever I could find that seemed pie-ish.<br />
<br />
This everything pie:<br />
baked pie crust<br />
with a layer of cream cheese blended with icing sugar,<br />
finely sliced banana evenly spread,<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq91qNPRiq-s4Fmcjr_9uLH2gGQ5RYxgfqjzVacjt8s0ZD1GkeiKmWYdm1X50MYoYcDnPbzAr_PWTvCq09lJpmkxmVnU1WzXSn3jAYmxj_1NzBJuqKY5AqUGkxOj_P4EFeXooijLKbAEs/s1600/DSC_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a>slivers of fresh, juicy mango,<br />
topped with small pieces (rectangular) of apple, cooked with smashed blueberries, the juice and zest of a lemon and a lime and a bit of powered sugar and water.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq91qNPRiq-s4Fmcjr_9uLH2gGQ5RYxgfqjzVacjt8s0ZD1GkeiKmWYdm1X50MYoYcDnPbzAr_PWTvCq09lJpmkxmVnU1WzXSn3jAYmxj_1NzBJuqKY5AqUGkxOj_P4EFeXooijLKbAEs/s1600/DSC_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq91qNPRiq-s4Fmcjr_9uLH2gGQ5RYxgfqjzVacjt8s0ZD1GkeiKmWYdm1X50MYoYcDnPbzAr_PWTvCq09lJpmkxmVnU1WzXSn3jAYmxj_1NzBJuqKY5AqUGkxOj_P4EFeXooijLKbAEs/s320/DSC_0643.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq91qNPRiq-s4Fmcjr_9uLH2gGQ5RYxgfqjzVacjt8s0ZD1GkeiKmWYdm1X50MYoYcDnPbzAr_PWTvCq09lJpmkxmVnU1WzXSn3jAYmxj_1NzBJuqKY5AqUGkxOj_P4EFeXooijLKbAEs/s1600/DSC_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
It looked like beetroot. It had a yummy zing. Each mouthful had a slightly different taste. Served with ice cream or cream (two different days) just to prove that it was made of everything available.<br />
<br />
So that's the pie du jour!<br />
<br />
<br />
*not sneakily, but super obviously but she thinks no one notices<br />
**accidental apples: when you and your spouse run to the shop for a few things (over a couple of days) and both buy a large bag of apples, believing you are out<br />
***I have MANY bad ideas, but like a fool, will follow them through assuming it will work out. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't, spectacularly.<br />
**** Oh, there was cardamom too, which was the saving grace, as I recall.<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-40745464703077997582018-10-04T18:18:00.000+08:002018-10-04T18:18:15.652+08:00Alphabet PieHello!<br />
<br />
It's been awhile. This blog is nearly as dusty as my high heels! I had good reasons for not using either, as I recall. The one hurts my knees and the other - well, I wanted to tell funny stories of things that my children got up to, but it seemed unfair to write things that they would one day be upset that I'd shared. It's one thing to tell a funny story about your child pooping on the side of the road to a friend, but different to share it to the internets in general. Not saying that my children have ever pooped on the side of the road. My children don't even poop. Stop starting rumours like that.<br />
<br />
(I've just realized that this post was meant to be about food and it started with poop. It's an interesting thing to have to segue. Like, should I start singing the "Circle of Life" or...)<br />
<br />
So, this year to shake things up, I decided to make my new year's resolution doable. None of this self-improvement malarkey, this year was a challenge: Alphabet Pie.<br />
<br />
See, even though I've lived in this country for 9 years, I still miss sweet pie. Pie tends to be savoury down here. If you casually mention to someone that you'd like pie, they won't hand you a piece of cherry. More likely steak and bacon! I quite like pie (both sweet and savoury) and I like cooking/baking. Why not put these things together?<br />
<br />
The challenge: Make 26 pies over one year. A pie a fortnight. Easy. Except, have you looked at the alphabet lately? That thing is crazy with its x and w and q and e. And h. It actually has been a challenge to accomplish. I got a bit of a slow start, however, at this point I've made 19 different letters of pie. Some were tasty. Some were shared. Some were just a bad idea.<br />
<br />
You would think, "Alphabet pie, that's easy! Apple, blueberry, cherry, doughnut, eggplant, fish.." but you have to remember that I can't do anything the easy way and tend to decide to make pie before I look in my pantry/fridge. It's been unusual.<br />
<br />
Oddly enough, this plan to eat has backfired and I've actually worked out pretty regularly and try to eat healthily.<br />
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It's been fun, this pie adventure and I want to share it. But how? That's where this blog came in. While it is not transmogrifying into a food blog, it could be the place where you look into my pies. (Ha. Look into my pies - you are getting hungry, hungry!) But if you don't want to read about my pies, I'm not wasting my laundry folding time typing about lemons and coconut. Let me know. Should we give it a go?<br />
<br />
[First up, Apple Crisp Pie]Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-65146621865720846642017-09-21T19:52:00.001+08:002017-09-21T19:53:32.102+08:00Aesop's Fabled Entry: A Birth Story<span style="background-color: #a64d79; color: white;">It has been years since I've used this blog, but I wrote the birth stories for the boys, so I thought I should do one for my daughter as well!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a64d79; color: white;"><br /></span>
The real question with a birth story is where do you start? At the very beginning would be great, but I think that would be inappropriate, so no thanks Maria von Trapp.<br />
<br />
On Saturday, I went into hospital at 1:30 pm. My darling daughter was born at 2:55 pm. The end.<br />
<br />
Not enough? I'll try again. (I'll bold the actual birth story, but there is a decent amount of backstory to help explain it all)<br />
<br />
On Saturday, I gave birth to our only daughter, who is our fourth child. All three of her brothers were born in week 37, so I assumed that she, too, would be born in week 37. All through the pregnancy, I focused on 37 as the week when all would be revealed. I had all things ready by the start of week 37, except for one and it was stressing me out a little bit. Our second son's birthday party was scheduled for 37+2. Based on the fact that I made it through a wedding having contractions three minutes apart whilst labouring with our third son, I kind of figured that I could make it through the party even if I was in pain.<br />
<br />
The party came, the party went. Even with all the frantic getting ready and the release and relax of being done, there was no baby. Not a problem, plenty of time still in the 37th week.<br />
<br />
Except, there kind of was a problem. I had gestational diabetes this pregnancy, as I had with my 3rd. The main difference was that now living in Victoria, I noticed that they approached the subject of gestational diabetes differently. Here I was under much higher surveillance. The extra appointments were wearing, as they took time and energy I didn't really want to spare. Home schooling and growing a person felt like enough to be focused on.<br />
<br />
When they called for an extra ultrasound toward the end of the pregnancy to find out if baby was overlarge (which can easily happen with gestational diabetes), I agreed willingly if a bit grumpily. I wasn't measuring large and my sons weren't huge, so I thought this child would be no different. And the ultrasound backed me up. So the next time I went in, they asked me to get another ultrasound, this time to make sure the baby was growing big enough. I flatly refused. I had already had four ultrasounds, one of which no one could explain to me why it had been ordered or what its purpose was. They wanted baby not to be giant. Baby was not giant. Baby was growing and that was good enough for me.<br />
<br />
It wasn't enough for them, though. See, this beautiful child had an interesting way of hanging out in my womb. She curled around to the right side. Her feet would kick at my side. You could see it. She was obviously over there. Unfortunately, this made my measurements a bit iffy. When you are 36 weeks and you get 32-33 cm, health care professionals get all edgy, even though you can state that your child moves almost constantly and hey did you see those feet poking out over there? They called for another ultrasound which I reluctantly booked in for week 38 (whatevs, it'll all be done by then, right?)<br />
<br />
Every time I went into get checked, people would start up with the "your baby is too small" thing which would stress me out, though I'd calm myself down and remind myself that she'd been growing fine and was active. Her cord had plenty of blood going through it. She was fine. It got to the point, however, where my blood pressure would go up when I was at clinic. They then had new things to stress about, GD and (slightly) high blood pressure! (My blood pressure was normal when checked at the regular doc and no protein was leaving me, so she was fine).<br />
<br />
So there I was, in the 37th week, hoping that any day would be baby's day and I could cancel all the upcoming appointments. It seemed as though my plans would be fulfilled. Through the party and the days before I had plenty of Braxton Hicks. Honestly, I'd been having Braxton Hicks for months, but now they were coming every afternoon and lasting until the evening.<br />
<br />
I spent the Sunday afternoon cleaning walls and other crazy things and was rewarded with a painful Sunday night. But the contractions stopped in bed that night.<br />
<br />
Every day I had Braxton Hicks. Every day they'd get fiercer as I did things and back off in the evening. One day, after a long walk with my sons, they got very fierce indeed. It was go time.<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
I started calling baby "Aesop" as it was like the boy crying wolf all over the place. I'd alerted the friend who was to watch the boys one time when it got painful, and then felt like an idiot when I called off the alarm that evening. The Braxton Hicks started coming when I got up in the morning and would go only when I was lying in bed in the evening. I was tired, mildly pained, stressed and grumpy. Ever grumpy. I got sobby one day, believing baby would never come out. I'd try to help the contractions become real by getting work done, but it just made stronger Braxton Hicks. I couldn't even get out of my ultrasound!<br />
<br />
The Saturday of my 38th week came. A young uncle of mine died unexpectedly. The pain of it, the distance that I could not cross to get there and be with my family burned. My grief for my 52 year old uncle who had always been full of joy seared my soul and the Braxton Hicks came on again. I thought the shock had sent me into full labour. It was a hard day, but my grief was not assuaged by birth. My husband loved me. My sons hugged me, but still I sank in grief and frustration.<br />
<br />
On Monday, the ultrasound tech was nice and explained that the doctors around here tend to be cautious. It's not a bad thing, I suppose, to be cautious, but man oh man it was difficult to live through. Baby was still growing. All was well. I went to see the doc that aft and he was nervous. Blood pressure high! Baby not a giant! Did I want baby out that day?<br />
<br />
No, no I did not.<br />
<br />
I was allowed a reprieve of three days. On the third day, I went back. I was checked to see if all the weeks (months) of Braxton Hicks had done anything. Nothing. I left with tears streaming down my cheeks, feeling broken and scared. All of the fear was eating at me and though I daily tried to give it back to my heavenly Father, I didn't know what was happening. The boys had come without help. The boys had come before I had expected them. Here I was at 39 weeks, feeling like I was 42 (as I'd perceived full term for myself at 37, so felt overdue though I wasn't). Here nothing I did made the baby come. Ahead of me was uncertainty and fear. I was to be induced the next day.<br />
<br />
All the Friday passed in a bemused fuddle. My uncle was being buried. I was not there. I did not know what induction would do, but I heard it was painful. The fear of the unknown played with my fear of failure to grow baby properly. I went through my day and hoped it would just start. Baby would just come. I played soccer with my young son for the first time in weeks, hoping the running and jostling might do something.<br />
<br />
<b>At 4 that afternoon we went in, I tired from weeks of bad sleep (Braxton Hicks may not eventuate to anything but they can be darn painful and they had gotten painful on the Thursday and stayed painful), but resolved to be induced, pleased that the day had come to finally meet our child. The days of crying wolf had passed.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Or had they? My exam showed that I was 3 cm. Come back in the morning unless it starts up. We picked up dinner on the way home, not having anything prepared (the boys were having takeaway as we thought it was a special day). The whole evening was full contractions, even as the day had been. They were intense. They were close. I sat down in the evening to see if they would continue. They slowed to three times an hour, though they were still jaw jarring in intensity. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The night passed slowly. I slept between contractions and waited for them to speed up. They didn't. My dreams were odd and would end strangely. Like, I'm at a lake with someone from uni and we're going to go canoeing - just wait I need to have a contraction -- and I would wake up having a contraction. I tried to be silent so Adrian could rest.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>We went in on Saturday morning at 7 as we were instructed. They listened to baby again and sent us on our way - an emergency had come in and there were three other women labouring. Maybe they'd call later, maybe the next day. The contractions stayed strong, but not regular or close enough, so I gritted my teeth and went on with life. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>They called again around lunch time. We'd gone to a parking lot fair very briefly to check it out and I'd wandered around trying to ignore contractions while the boys enjoyed the things they saw. When the hospital called, we were getting ready to leave anyway. I said I'd be in after I'd eaten. We got to the hospital at 1:30 pm.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I was 6-7 cm, though my contractions were not regular. They broke my waters at 1:45. The midwife set out to get an IV in my hand. With the complications of blood pressure and GD they wanted it set up in case it was needed. She blew the vein in my left hand and then my right hand. I didn't care as the pin in my hand was much less than the contractions I was having. Fun trying to sit still for a needle whilst contracting.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>She gave up. The doctor came in to put the IV in my arm. The midwife moved on to feeling baby's position in the womb. Adrian was doing his best to relax me and started to massage my feet. It all struck me as funny and I made a joke about it being the worst day spa ever. I'm always making jokes when I'm in labour. Because I'm a crazy person. With the needle in, I got up to dance with Adrian as I enjoyed the music. Upon standing I had contraction on contraction. Adrian was amazing as he always is, talking me through all of the contractions. Then I felt the pressure.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>But it was too soon. I hadn't been at the hospital long enough. It couldn't be time. I was up on my knees on the bed. I had to push. I pushed. It was happening, that bone breaking pain. I bore down through a couple pushes for her head and it was out. One more for her body. We were just so excited that our baby finally had come. The midwife checked baby out.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Is it a girl or a boy?" said Adrian. "Check for yourself," said the midwife. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>A girl. I scooped her off the bed. They undressed me and urged me to turn and sit. I couldn't be bothered. I had my little joy in my arms. The pains of the weeks melted away and bliss came in the form of a squalling little girl. They convinced me to turn, easier to deal with the fourth stage then. I went back to silly jokes, not able to believe it was done, that she was there, that she was a she having been sure it would be a fourth boy. My legs still shook through the day hadn't been as long as I'd thought it would. We'd only been in hospital for an hour and a half.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And that's the story. The girl who cried wolf now cried in my arms, now comforted in my arms, now warming my heart.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The end.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>(Oh and the midwives and doctor that day were great, though the doc did comment on my Canadian accent and how I said "about" while she stitched me up)</b><br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-39693694649314851202014-11-19T18:40:00.000+08:002014-11-19T18:40:56.742+08:00SaraMy friend Sara went home to Jesus today.<br />
<br />
She had a terrible disease. She was 32. She went peacefully and for that, I give thanks.<br />
<br />
Death is a terrible thing, and not a friend. We need Jesus. He has prepared a place for us in heaven. He has destroyed the enemy death. He has taken Sara home. Away from the terrible pain, the terrible frozen disease that immobilized her.<br />
<br />
I miss her.<br />
<br />
I've missed her for a long time, as I haven't seen her in a few years. It was hard when she got sick, being so far away. I wanted to be there for her. To help in some way.<br />
<br />
Thoughts and prayers are good, but it's nice to give hugs too.<br />
<br />
She was a funny, fantastic person who I spent ridiculous, random adventures with drinking pots of tea, driving the prairies, growing up. She was thoughtful, caring, generous, clever and she loved serving and helping people. She was good at what she did: caring for people. I know many people will miss her. As I think of all of those years where she was a major part of everyday, I weep. She was like a sister and I'm so glad to have known her.<br />
<br />
Goodbye, Sara. One day we will meet where there is no death and no crying.<br />
<br />
<br />
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-68866798906416593472014-07-23T18:32:00.000+08:002014-07-23T18:49:52.083+08:00The long long long way backAs you might know, we moved recently and our delightful little family had the fun of moving across Australia. Well, 3000 km across it, anyway.<br />
<br />
Because we moved around the time of Anzac Day, the movers packed up our things on the Wednesday and loaded them on the Thursday. We were leaving on the Monday following. I can hear you thinking that one through. Did we camp with three youngens? Are we experienced in the way of the air mattress? That had been our intention, but a wonderful family from the church offered us their place in town (often farmers have a small apartment in town because the drive is long!), and so we moved in to that place on the Wednesday.<br />
<br />
Tall says "new home, yay!". No, Tall. There is more driving yet to be done. That whole last week was bizarre. Adrian was still working, but we were also trying to do all the visiting we could. 3000 km is a long way and there are many people we knew we would (and currently do) miss that we wanted to catch. We didn't manage to see them all.<br />
<br />
Oh, how I miss that land. I can see it in my mind's eye.<br />
<br />
The boys were happy with the new place. New things to explore, different toys to play with and Mommy driving them to the beach all the time...<br />
<br />
The last days came. We had decided not to start early on the Monday, but to leave after lunch, eating at our favourite restaurant in town. It was a glorious, sunny, warm day and the boys and I went for a play date (wear the kids out before the long drive, no?) while Adrian ran a few last minute errands (one of those was to pick up a couple greeting cards which I finally filled out and sent two weeks ago. Because I'm nothing if not prompt. Waiting for a thank you card? Trust me, it's on the list). I also got him to get me a little notebook so I could write things like fuel prices. My mother does it. His mother does it. I was suddenly consumed with a need to do it. Perhaps I will knit soon, too.<br />
<br />
We went about 400 km the first day. The way across the bottom of Australia is long and fairly straight. If you look at the map, it looks like there are a decent amount of towns spread across, but when you actually get to these places, they are a roadhouse and servo. Often with a motel component. That's it. I was nervous about driving into the middle of nowhere with three small boys and we thought easy days was the way of it. Also, we'd heard okay things about that roadhouse (I'd heard much about most of them having mice and cockroaches). We pulled up for the day before the sun set, had dinner and settled into the room. The boys went to sleep well and Adrian and I tried to plan for the next day. We crouched on the floor of the room, peering at the map by the light of the bathroom. The trip had gone okay and the short days weren't seeming as necessary. That, and I wanted to see a whale. Four and half years beside the ocean and I hadn't seen a whale. There was a place at the head of the bight where at certain times of the year they <i>guarantee</i> you to see whales. We were a few days off that time of the year, but we thought we'd try. <br />
<br />
This, however, gave us a problem. If we stopped where we'd been planning, we'd have to wait until 8:30 in the morning to get moving. That seemed like a lot of wasted time. I started looking up reviews online about the roadhouses near there. Not good. We looked at the map. We looked at each other. We decided to get up at 4, put the kids in the car, hope they stayed asleep so we knock off some of the journey.<br />
<br />
We hopped into bed very early (for us, so probably super early for you) and lay in the dark listening to the boys sleep, while we whispered and giggled like ninnies at sleep-away camp. Who can sleep that early?<br />
<br />
The morning came, as mornings do, and though I had listened VERY carefully, I heard no mice and saw no cockroaches. We loaded the car in record time, put the boys and as Adrian said, should we check the room, I said no. We'd be fine. Had only brought in minimal luggage.<br />
<br />
The boys woke up in the cold morning air. We blasted the heat and drove away while Tall said from the backseat "Going to X-----, new home?"<br />
<br />
200 km later when we sat down to breakfast (please, let me never not see a bacon and egg sandwich for a long while, the trip was full of them), I realized something that we had left behind. Two safety rails for beds. 400 km trip to get them? Not so much.<br />
<br />
The day went well. We sang, read books, played with toys, explored a bit. We caught glimpses of the ocean (this rested my soul), looked at cliffs, looked at signs, counted eagles (we saw: a lot. What? My blue book is somewhere over there.) We paid for gas at $2/L. We opened presents (special for the boys) and ate bickies (gifts from our old congregation). Baby pooped explosively in his seat early in the day. I cleaned it up as much as I could and then had to sacrifice a blanket to it. There was nothing else to be done until I could get to a washing machine. We ate sangas and drank terrible coffee (seriously terrible coffee. Were I to do the trip again, I would make sure to pack the french press. Adrian said we should, I thought it would be a bother. He is a brilliant, brilliant man.) We got to the whale place within half an hour of it closing. <br />
<br />
It was a lovely, beautiful walk outside the car. The ocean was spectacular, even if the sand was the wrong colour. There was only one thing it lacked.<br />
<br />
Whales.<br />
<br />
Anyway, we drove on and by the end of the day we had three boys who <i>wanted out of the car now</i> and two parents who wanted <i>to eat something and not be sitting anymore</i>. This is why we ended up sleeping at a pub. Because at 980 km and a 14 hour day, we were done. But still, no mice or cockroaches. And cheap as.<br />
<br />
The next day was a good time. We were back to not pushing it as we neared civilization. We had about a two hour break at Wudinna, which is a great place for a stop. Good coffee, good egg and bacon sandwiches, and AWESOME playpark. The jumping pillow! The random stranger who grew up Lutheran, but converted to Catholicism as her husband was Catholic, but who still knew lots of people Adrian did. <br />
<br />
Seriously, the man knows everyone in Australia.<br />
<br />
We stopped early that night so the boys could play before dinner. They were okay with that. You would think after the third day in the car, they'd be busting to be out of the car, right? Okay, so when we went to have a break at one point in the afternoon, the two big boys threw a collective huge tantrum as they didn't want out of the car. It was one of the funniest situations of all time. "No play with ball, stay car!" But we all got happy again.<br />
<br />
The drive to the Barossa was lovely, the winding hills and roads that curved a nice change from the flat outback. The outback is very cool, but it was nice for a change. We spent a couple of night with good friends in the Barossa, played in Adelaide, went to the zoo on a cold and wet and windy day, saw planes and basically ran around like crazy people.<br />
<br />
Then we went to Adrian's folks's place for a visit, where, for the first time on the trip, we had no cell phone reception.<br />
<br />
We came to the new town a few days later and waited for our furniture to arrive. As we waited, we got to know the town. We played a bit. We experienced frost. It was great.<br />
<br />
And here we are. Settled (mostly) into the new home. We pushed really hard at unpacking for awhile and then the last couple of boxes took a long time. There are still a few things waiting for homes, but soon, soon, soon, I'm sure it will all go away.<br />
<br />
The frosts in the morning are great. Going from a land that was in drought to a land where the grass did not dry for a month (no exaggeration) was unusual. I miss the ocean, though we have managed to visit it a bit.<br />
<br />
So that's how we made it home. Though for the first month, Tall kept asking when we'd get there.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-766485941711750872014-07-02T19:29:00.000+08:002014-07-02T19:37:51.380+08:00Running Commentary<i>Say what?</i><br />
Mom: Tomorrow we're going to go on an adventure!<br />
Tall: Tall go on adventure? And Small?<br />
Mom: And Baby and Mom and Dad.<br />
Tall: And chairs.<br />
Mom: And chairs? You'd need a lot of packhorses.<br />
Tall: Pack horses? Yay!<br />
<br />
<i>Wherein there was spaetzle in the chicken noodle soup.</i><br />
Dad: Wow, this spaetzle really soaked up the moisture.<br />
Mom: It's like a camel.<br />
Dad: Camels' humps are actually full of spaetzle.<br />
Mom: Camels were invented in Germany?<br />
<br />
<i>Colloquially speaking</i><br />
Mom: The spoon's in the curry. That's sounds like a phrase, doesn't it?<br />
Dad: What?<br />
Mom: You know. [Affects broad Australian accent]. The spoon's in the curry; it's off the table, mate.<br />
[Speaks normally] That sounded like an Australian phrase, right?<br />
Dad: So Australian that I couldn't understand what you were saying.<br />
Mom: No, no. The spoon's in the curry: it's off the table.<br />
Dad: That just sounds like you're describing an event.<br />
<br />
<i>Dinner Manners</i><br />
Dad: [Sternly] It's dinner time. You should be sitting in your chairs eating or you should be dancing!<br />
<br />
<i>Poops-a-doozy</i><br />
Mom: [Upon discovering a nappy rash]. You really need to tell me when you poop so this doesn't happen.<br />
Small: [Toots in Mom's face without nappy on] Poop!<br />
<br />
<i>A Miracle?</i><br />
Dad: [During evening devotions] His legs weren't working and Jesus made his legs better so he could run.<br />
Mom: Where's he going? [Referring to a picture where the man was running]<br />
Tall: To watch TV!<br />
<br />
<i>Imaginarium</i><br />
Small: [Spies a ute canopy on the ground]. Quack, quack, quack! [Like, crazily excited]<br />
Mom: Do you think ducks live in there?<br />
<br />
<i>Who needs school?</i><br />
Tall: Tigers live down in the trees.<br />
Mom: They do? In the trees in the jungle. What do they eat?<br />
Tall: Tigers eat rocks.<br />
<br />
Tall: Tall is a farmer. Makes cows out of horses.<br />
Mom: What?<br />
Tall: Makes cows out of sheep.<br />
Mom: How?<br />
<br />
Mom: What do crocodiles eat?<br />
Tall: Bugs<br />
Mom: Crocodiles eat fish and...<br />
[Tall's eyes bug out. He runs into the kitchen to look at the fish tank]<br />
Mom: Not your fish!<br />
<br />
<i>Say it again, Sam</i><br />
Dad: And this story is about Jesus. Can you say "Jesus", Small?<br />
Small: [nods]<br />
...<br />
Dad: And they were on the water. Can you say "water", Small?<br />
Small: [nods]<br />
<br />
<i>A long time ago when we were working on word clarity.</i><br />
Mom: Say "water".<br />
Tall: Wagain<br />
Dad: "WaTER"<br />
Tall: Water<br />
...<br />
Tall: Train-car<br />
Mom: Train track.<br />
Tall: Water!<br />
<br />
<i>It's been a long time since I'd posted and I have too many things to say and no idea how to start, so I thought you should just get to hear some of what goes on here.</i>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-77128777986375925822014-04-27T09:06:00.000+08:002014-04-27T09:06:02.546+08:00Fare thee well
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today is Adrian’s last day of work here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow we leave and start our 3000 km
journey to our new home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want to go, but I know we have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are called to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we deliberated the call, it was
easy to see how God was calling us onward, yet when we said yes, it suddenly
became a much bigger deal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I have moved 9 times in my life (4 of which were
large, either across Canada or to Australia), I find this place harder to
leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has become my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s because we started our
marriage here, or because our three sons were born here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s the stage of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s the beauty of this place or
the people who live here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
it’s the memories that crowded the empty house we cleaned yesterday.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All I know is that it is time to say goodbye, or rather
“farewell”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fare well, my beautiful town with your lovely, pristine
beaches. Fare well, first house of our marriage – the place where our children
grew, where I painted a tree on the wall, where we played and danced and sang,
cooked and cleaned and worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fare well to the place that was sometimes unbearable for me – the
distance away from nearly everything like when I couldn’t even contemplate
going to my grandmother’s funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fare well to silly poetic thoughts of the glorious and terrifying
ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well to friends met
and made by all of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well
to two lovely congregations who have cared for us and challenged us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well to some of the best
coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well to shops where
the keepers know me (and the children) by sight and ask after them if they are
not with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well to windy
days and middle of the night towel banks by the front windows in rough
rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fare well to long drives north and west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roads known so well, filled with
conversations and silly things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fare well to walks in the bush and on the beach, around the
neighbourhood and over rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare
well familiar sights and smells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Farewell lovely people whom I will miss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fare well habits and schedules, birds and trees.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fare well to dreams unfinished, hopes unrealized and plans
undone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love you, my little house of dreams; goodbye. May God
bless this place and these wonderful congregations that made this place
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pray God will bless you
with a faithful pastor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello to the future, to not knowing what’s around the corner
bu<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>t going boldly where God has called us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With our home in our hearts (and future
vacation plans) we go forward to new dreams, new hopes, new plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Farewell.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-56454019459498525472014-04-18T20:14:00.001+08:002014-04-18T20:14:30.796+08:00Good FridayToday has been a very difficult day for me. From a mishap before the grocery store this morning and large frustration afterward to little boys acting up in church and being rough so that they were disruptive through service this morning to spew in my hair, it's just been a full on, hard day. As I sat in church with my head in my hands, wondering if all this congregation will remember of me is this moment where I feel like the most useless parent, a new thought strikes me.<br />
<br />
No matter how hard this day gets for me, it is Good Friday.<br />
<br />
The Good is mine. The Good is done. The Good was because this was Jesus' worst day ever. As I sit with the weight of three little boys wrestling in my lap on and off, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.<br />
<br />
Have you ever had a sin weigh on you? You know you did something wrong and you can feel that weight pressing you down? Jesus had that sin on him. All of the sins of all eternity, of every person, he took on all the guilt, the shame, the wretchedness, the pain and suffering of all and he broke it.<br />
<br />
He died and took to death all of that sin. He was crushed for our iniquities. By his stripes we are healed. It is finished. He has died for the sins of the world. The sins of a world that does not acknowledge him, a world that constantly mocks him - he even bore that sin.<br />
<br />
And he did it uncomplainingly. He did it because he is love.<br />
<br />
And you know what else? He is risen.<br />
<br />
As I tucked my boys into bed at nap, my anger and frustration were gone. Jesus' love and sacrifice has healed my soul, not through any deserving of mine, but because of love.<br />
<br />
Let us love one another. Not be tolerant or stupid, but actually love. Care for, build up, encourage each other to go the right way. Not the way of the world, but the way of our Saviour. Trusting in his mercy, holding fast to his promise to never leave us or forsake us, clinging to the cross.<br />
<br />
<i>Come Lord Jesus, come into this weary world. Oh, how we long for you to come, Lord, come.</i><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Themes taken from Isaiah 53, 1 John 3 and a song by Robin Mann.</span>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-49516218876471703302014-04-17T20:45:00.001+08:002014-04-17T20:46:44.745+08:00A Song<b>Jesus, I Will Ponder Now</b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">--Sigismund von Birken</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Jesus, I will ponder now on your holy Passion; with your Spirit me endow for such meditation. Grant that I in love and faith may the image cherish of your suffering, pain, and death that I may not perish.<br />
<br />
Make me see your great distress, anguish, and affliction, bonds and stripes and wretchedness and your crucifixion; make me see how scourge and rod, pear and nails did wound you, how you died for those, O God, who with thorns had crowned you.<br />
<br />
Yet, O Lord, not thus alone make me see your Passion; but its cause to me make known and its termination. For I also and my sin brought your deep affliction; this the shameful cause has been of your crucifixion.<br />
<br />
If my sins give me alarm and my conscience grieve me, let your cross my fear disarm, peace and pardon give me. Grant that I may trust in you and your holy Passion; if his Son forgives anew, God must have compassion.<br />
<br />
Jesus, Lord, my heart renew, let me bear my crosses, learning humbleness from you, peace despite my losses. May I give you love for love! Hear me, O my Savior, that I may in heaven above sing your praise forever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Tune: Jesu Kreuz, Leiden Und Pein (Melchior Vulpius)<br />1<sup>st</sup> Published in: 1646</i>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-26516568214252857702014-04-15T19:16:00.000+08:002014-04-15T19:16:24.997+08:00AwareI've tried to start this post about 10 times and every start just isn't right. Too pithy or silly or whatever.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was asked to promote this site on my blog. Please check it out. Sure, the official week has passed but we all need to be made aware of things in life. Be careful. And help get rid of dangerous things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
http://www.mesothelioma.com/heather/awareness/</div>
Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-32003889204804482282014-03-06T13:16:00.000+08:002014-03-06T13:16:15.426+08:00Hospital VisitLike Fleming McWilliams and David Bowie before me, I find that I am afraid of many things. Not Americans so much (although I wouldn't want to run into Scarlett O'Hara in a dark alley. She be crazy.<br />
), perhaps, but a lot of little things. Driving on ice. Snakes. Singing in public. Singing in public while driving with a snake on ice.<br />
<br />
What really scares me though, is not being able to help my boys. A few weeks ago now, when Baby was just three weeks, the dreaded gastro bug that has been circling the town (nay, the world it seems) hit the boys. We caught vomit, both with our clothes and our hands. Baby somehow got it too. One day he vomited so often that I had to change my clothes more than ten times and Adrian at least four. We took him into the hospital as he had gotten jaundiced too.<br />
<br />
I hated being at the hospital. I have great respect for (most) doctors and nurses. I am impressed by that which they have to contend. They checked out my boy. Thoroughly. They watched as he vomited on me again and again (on special occasion, he managed to vomit across the room and into my open handbag). They brought him blankets and towels to be rugged up in to get away from the vomit. They ordered tests and admitted us.<br />
<br />
It is a bizarre experience to be admitted into a hospital as a companion. There was nothing wrong with me and yet I was in a hospital. My boy was that sick. And I couldn't fix him. Neither, it seemed, could they. <br />
<br />
That's when it got scarier. They took obs. they checked his blood sugar. He screamed whenever he got hit with a needle. He screamed in general really. Definitely if I put him down or someone else held him. When I'd run off to have a shower, I could hear him scream from down the hall and tried to hurry back as quick as I could. I could not stand to see him in distress. Heck, I was in distress. I wanted to be home, especially after a night of less than two hours sleep holding my sad, sick, loud baby. Home would mean he was getting better. Yet, the spew kept coming. I gave up changing until I was entirely covered. They came to take blood and had to stab him four times to get it. I was ready to punch everyone in the face and run off with him, even as I knew that they were doing their best to help him.<br />
<br />
We had to stay a second night. I cried. It meant my family was still split apart (and yes, only for a couple nights), but because of terrible sickness and unknown. They would not let him go because he was not stable. Not stable? Were his obs. not fine every time they checked him? How was he not stable?<br />
<br />
Babies are fragile. We all know not to shake them and to support their tiny necks, but I've always been impressed with the strength of newborns. Birth is not the most gentle of times. Babies, I thought, were highly resilient. Babies, it seems, can go downhill incredibly quickly when they are sick and he needed to stay.<br />
<br />
I cried.<br />
<br />
I cried so much in those days. I cried when he cried out of pain in his belly. I cried when they took his blood. I cried when they told me they had to take more blood later that day. I cried when they took it. I cried when my boys visited and asked me to come home with them. I cried when Tall told me he loved me. I cried when he had blood three days later and five days later at his ultrasound when he wailed (at that age, the vomiting could mean a problem with his digestive system and needed to be checked out). <br />
<br />
The boys visited a few times in those couple days, but even though they enjoyed the toys in the paeds. department, they were a bit too active for the ward. I missed them. I ached for Baby. I longed for the comfort of being with Adrian. I read the Word for strength. I worried and prayed and fed and fed and fed and prayed it would stay down.<br />
<br />
Those days are past now. Baby is fine now, praise God. He still vomits occasionally, in the way that babies do. He is content and healthy according to all tests.<br />
<br />
It was a scary time and it was short. My heart goes out to all of those families for whom hospital visits are long and prognoses not good. I know some of you are going through this and that you have pains you are suffering: you are in our prayers. May God our Father grant you comfort and healing and may you ever trust in the gifts He has given through His Son - life everlasting and forgiveness bought through His own suffering and loss.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-14934757956805468832014-02-07T13:38:00.002+08:002014-02-07T14:17:23.368+08:00Third Time's the CharmWelcome to the birth story of my third son! Upon careful reflection, I cannot determine how much of this story to share, so it shall be presented in two forms:brief/succinct and too much information. Wait, you say, shouldn't a birth story start with labour and end with birth? To that I say, probably, but I can't help myself..<br />
<br />
Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: cyan;">The Birth Story</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">On a Saturday evening, my third son was born after my being at the hospital for 4 and a half hours. He is healthy and only took two pushes?! Also, he was the largest of my three sons at birth.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">The End.</span><br />
<br />
But it just doesn't seem like enough, does it? So let us go back in time, back to the beginning of labour.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: lime;">Thus It Begins</span><br />
Our story begins on a regular Thursday afternoon. Okay, so it wasn't a regular Thursday. It was the Thursday in my 36th week of pregnancy. I had long been worried that I would go early with birth of my third child. People kept telling me that I had dropped and expressing surprise of when my due date was. Evidently, I looked a cow who needed milking. Really, I was measuring the right number for the right number of weeks, but still all these idle comments sat on my mind, and combined with the fact that my eldest son was born at 37 weeks +4 and my second son was born at 37 weeks +2, I worried. I tried not to worry. I prayed about it and gave it to my heavenly Father and three minutes later tried to take it back again. I cleaned the house and got told off for nesting too early. I was exhausted from all that my mind wanted to get done before I had three to run after. I had this theory that the baby wouldn't come until I'd finished off my to do list (ask many mothers about their birth story and the baby seems to come as a case of relief - "As soon as I finished [insert large task here] I felt done and whoosh, the waters, they broke".), thus I kept adding to my to do list. I got a good deal accomplished.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Thursday (36 + 4)</span><br />
Whilst sitting at my sewing machine during naptime, I realized that I was having regular tightenings. I had been having those on and off for the past day and passed it off as Braxton-Hicks, but these had a definite constancy to them. They didn't hurt, but it was still before 37 weeks and I was nervous (also, people are always claiming that the more babies you have, the faster they come). I called my husband and after the boys woke up, we went to the hospital. I went so that they would tell me they were Braxton-Hicks, maybe tell me to put my feet up for a few days and la-dee-da all would be fine.<br />
<br />
Except. They told me I was in labour. Early labour, sure, but the contractions were registering, consistant and constant. I was advised to go home and wash the floor, which I did with alacrity. I had wanted to scrub that floor for quite sometime, but first I celebrated by thoroughly vacuuming. It was delightful. Sure enough, that evening I was having somewhat painful contractions 3 minutes apart. Went to the hospital. After about an hour, they slowed down. The midwife considered breaking my water, but said the head was "ballotable*, I was only 2-3 cm," therefore it wasn't a safe option. Anyway, it was my third baby. Baby would hurry themself up soon, surely, she thought. I sent myself home to get some sleep before it started up again. They calmed down while I slept. Fine and dandy, I thought, false alarm. Except. The next day I was still in labour. Constant, consistant tightenings. Even at night, when I'd get up to use the washroom, they would be there.<br />
<br />
I was somewhat pleased, as I was concerned for my dear husband. Sure, we had lovely ladies from the church to come and help out when we were at the hospital, but I couldn't expect them to be there all the time from birth 'til I came home and Adrian still had to get work done. Getting work done with the boys "helping" is sometimes interesting. Add a computer to the mix and you've lost the day. Fine, I thought, this baby can hold on for awhile. Just need to get to 37 weeks! And then it's not early. And if I can make it until my sister comes, whoo!<br />
<br />
It was not a comfortable wait. The contractions stayed with me, never longer than 10-15 minutes apart and softer when I slept, but always there. They got worse when I was active. I had two young boys to play with. It was often uncomfortable. The end of the day was usually worst, though some mornings would start with strong, frequent contractions. Sitting slowed them.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Tuesday (37 + 2)</span><br />
The contractions would not ease up and were three minutes apart. I waited until the boys were asleep (just as I had the first time) and then my husband and I called lovely ladies from the church to come and sit with the boys. I was crying in pain. Surely, this would be over soon. I was worn out from the constant pain. Everyone and her sister was telling me that a days-long labour like this meant a quick birth. Bring it on. I wanted to meet my baby. Sure, my sister wouldn't be around for a couple more days. Adrian could survive with the boys. Except. He had a wedding on Saturday.<br />
<br />
At the hospital, I was told that the head was still ballotable and I was 3-4 cm. After sitting for awhile, the contractions slowed again. I got frustrated. And left. And sobbed in the parking lot. On the walk to the car. In the car. Huge, racking sobs of frustration, of longing to meet my child, of anxiety, of confusion - surely my body should be able to manage birth a third time. The pain was real. The contractions were real, but there was no result, only pain. Only waiting. And I was tired. Weary of patience, of wondering if this was really happening.<br />
<br />
We took the long way home from the hospital and stopped at the ocean. We stood in the dark and I sobbed on the wooden railing while Adrian held me and understood my frustration, my ache. He's good at holding me.<br />
<br />
We got home and had tea with the lovely lady in our house. I bit back pain and ignored contractions and tried to be a pleasant host - something that I fail at on a good day. As I crawled into bed that night, I felt oddly powerful. Like even though I could not cause birth to happen, I was somehow able to stop it progressing. Surely, then I would be able to hold this baby in until my sister came. I would not go back to the hospital until my water broke, because then I would be sure that it was happening, no more second guesses.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Wednesday (37 + 3)</span><br />
Loss of mucus plug. Lots of wondering and waiting.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Friday (37 + 5)</span><br />
My sister arrived.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Saturday (37 + 6)</span><br />
The day was like any other. The pain was there. Movement made it worse and more often. Naomi started to time me about lunch. Only five minutes apart. So what, I thought, I've been there before. The wedding was scheduled for three. I decided to sit around and not do too much. While I got ready for the wedding, they were 3-4 minutes apart and so strong and long that I started to cling to things to remain upright. Fine and dandy. Weddings aren't long. I can make it and then lie down and calm the contractions again. <br />
<br />
It was a lovely day for an outdoor wedding. The sun was shining and filtered through the trees in showers of brightness. The bride was late. The contractions were 2-3 minutes apart and lasting about a minute-minute and a half. Adrian invited people to sit. I adjusted my sunglasses and hoped no one looked at my face as I stood behind the chairs and watched Naomi mind my sons. I could not help. I could not move. As he got to the sermon, I had to sit. Use my power. Slow this madness. I had to wait. I collapsed on the ground. My sons climbed on me, ran past me, went up the hill. I closed my eyes and felt the sun bite my shoulders. I shifted slightly to the shade. The contractions slowed. I was winning.<br />
<br />
The wedding was finished and Adrian came to me. The act of standing brought the contractions to full force once more. I clenched my jaw and asked to leave, then said, "No, do they need you for photos?" So off he went for photos. When they realized I was in labour, they decided to do the group photo right away. We smiled for the photos and then got in the car. Dropped Nao and the boys at home, got changed, burst of pained tears coming from me. I wiped them away and hid the pain from the boys, held them close, told them I loved them and got in the car. Got to the hospital at 4:30 pm. I told Adrian if I wasn't at least 6 cm, I was leaving the hospital. I was 6 cm. I writhed in pain waiting for baby to rush out the way everyone had promised me baby would. <br />
<br />
Baby would not be rushed.<br />
<br />
The pain grew worse and worse, the contractions held long. My water still had not broken. The midwife couldn't get enough to make it break, the head pushed down so firmly. I felt like I needed to pee a lot, but didn't really. I must be sweating off the water I'm drinking, I thought. I took a shower and screamed when the contractions hit. The screaming scared me. In my other births, I only screamed when pushing, when the pain got too hard for me. How was this too hard for me now? My third birth, I should be able to do this. I gave up and asked for gas. So I couldn't go natural, it was just gas, just like I'd had for my first two.<br />
<br />
Through it all, Adrian held and supported me. He talked me through the pain and gave me something to think about. The stories that worked best were the ones about the boys, or our marriage. Even against the wall of pain, I could hold an image of my beautiful sons and I could stand through the pain, bear through it. I would hang on Adrian's shoulders and crouch through the pain. It seemed to help, the bouncing up and down, like I could do something to help that baby out. I only bit him once. I pray a lot in labour. Mostly prayers for mercy and help. After the shower, I wore a hospital gown, but as I hung off the top of the raised end of the bed, it was in the way. I apologized to the midwife. I make a lot of jokes during labour, in between pain. It's strange, but when the contractions aren't, the pain really goes away. The midwife was used to me. She had helped birth Small.<br />
<br />
I felt the need to push. She agreed, I was definitely at 10 cm. The pain was unbearable though. I needed to push, but I was unable to push. I could not push. I tried so hard, but it wouldn't work. Like my foot was on the floor, but the car was still in park. All the revs in the world wouldn't make it go.<br />
<br />
Suddenly at 8:42 pm, my waters broke. I felt relief. Blessed, sweet relief. God is merciful. I was crouched on the bed, holding the raised bed head. I could breathe again. The midwife called the doctor. I needed to push. One push and his head was out. I could feel it. Adrian said it. Even as I was still processing that, my body needed to push again, and out came his body. The midwife only had time to get one glove on to catch him, my perfect, beautiful, amazing son, born at 8:45 pm.<br />
<br />
It was so odd, how quickly he came out. With my first two, it took half and hour and then an hour of pushing to get the baby out. It had been odd processes of bearing down when not pushing to hold the child in place and work him out. Not this time. Gravity helped. God helped. A week and half of labour helped. I take it that as much I wanted to meet him, he wanted to meet me. And then I had to turn around and sit down so I could hold him. I cannot explain the moment of holding one's own child for the first time, but it is incredible. Magnificent. It makes you feel whole, and like your heart will explode with joy.<br />
<br />
The doctor came in. And then the other news happened. My placenta was stuck. The cord had torn and it was not coming out. After giving birth with only gas, my option was to now get a spinal block and have it removed.<br />
<br />
Being wheeled into the surgery was so bizarre. I felt for women who have to have an emergency caesar. The room is cold. Everyone is there and contributing to your lack of modesty. Time passes and you can do nothing. And not being able to feel your legs?<br />
<br />
<b>The Land of Too Much Information</b><br />
As a matter of procedure, they catheterised me to make sure I was empty. I probably will be, I said, talking too much from nerves, from joy at having a new son and from fear. I trusted the doctors and staff, but I did not want to be in the room, away from my son and husband. I wanted to hold them still. Sure, I'd been holding Baby since he was born, but I craved him. Labour is such an intense time and such an oddly wonderful time as my husband helps and supports me so much. It's an intensely private time for the two of us and I cherish those moments together when I get to appreciate my other half - the one who enables me to keep going.<br />
<br />
Even though I had peed so many times in labour, I was not empty. Far from it. They got off 1 1/2 litres from my bladder. The number shocked me. Them, as well.<br />
<br />
They started explaining to me why birth had been so hard. With a full bladder and full waters, Baby could not get past and manoeuver down. Probably, they theorized, my bladder had not been emptying properly for the week of labour and that's why he couldn't progress. Why was this? My bladder had gotten kinked somehow. It could have been from my body being worn out giving birth to three babies in three years. At any rate, placenta was removed and the process of healing my bladder was it's own adventure that probably doesn't need to be discussed. I will say this, I stayed in hospital until Monday night and it is all fixed thankyouverymuch. (I think the closest you can come to experiencing this would be to cut the ends of an empty pop bottle, put a (large) squid in a bag full of water and affix another bag of water in the tube. Then try to force the squid through the tube. Fun, huh?)<br />
<br />
My Adrian and son were waiting for me in the room. I held them and they held me. We had tender, delightful moments and then I sent Adrian home. It was after 11 and he had church and three baptisms to do in the morning.<br />
<br />
I didn't sleep much that night. Baby made noises, and because of the GD, they needed to keep a very close eye on his sugars. Everytime I started to fall asleep, I was woken up by a nurse or Baby or just the odd odd feeling of my legs coming back. Like when you go to the dentist except for the freezing feeling was everywhere from my ribs down. I got them back by 5 am.<br />
<br />
This birth was my hardest. It was the longest I've held a baby in (still haven't made it to 38 weeks). But this Baby is no less loved, no less cherished. All of my sons' births are precious memories, even if they are hellish to experience. But I wouldn't trade my boys for anything.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Ballotable - the most frustrating term in the universe, meaning that the mass (in this case, head) can be moved. It is one of my least favourite words and can now cause irrational frustration in me.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-1613145446588267982014-01-24T07:44:00.002+08:002014-01-24T08:27:05.156+08:00How Shall I Call Him?On Saturday last, we welcomed a new little boy into the family (this is not the birth story. I'll post that another day). He is a wonderful little joy to us.<br />
<br />
There is only one problem that I can see here. I don't know what to call him. Don't be like that. He has a name. Quite a good one, we think. I'm just not sure what to call him on the internet. Already we have Tall and Small. So Tiny? But then, Small is not so small anymore. What to do?<br />
<br />
Small, Medium, Large?<br />
Baby, Toddler, Boy?<br />
Tall, Grande, Venti?<br />
Monkey, Monkey, Underpants?<br />
Sleepy, Happy and Doc?<br />
Child 1, 2 and 3?<br />
<br />
Any ideas are welcome. Post them in the comment section. If I choose your suggestion, you win a prize! Which isn't a dirty nappy, I swear.<br />
<br />
[We don't use their names on the internet, because we would like to give them some privacy. It's also why I don't post about everything that happens. They may not be stories that the boys want shared with the world at large.]<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-71909850134346333462014-01-06T19:25:00.002+08:002014-01-06T19:42:58.261+08:00Gestational DiabetesI found out that I have gestational diabetes a couple of months ago. I was not overwhelmingly pleased. We got the call from the doctor's office at lunchtime. I was over it by dinner time, but that first half hour was not my finest.<br />
<br />
To my understanding, gestational diabetes means that the placenta is killing my insulin and so more of the sugars are getting to baby who in turn would produce more insulin. Insulin is a growth hormone, so they put strict limits on diet and whatnot so that the child does not grow too big. The extra growth can cause early labour and other complications, should the child be allowed to stay in. We shall not talk of those complications.<br />
<br />
I was advised to see a dietician, a diabetes consultant and to learn as much as I could online. The information online was good, but somewhat confusing. I was quite pleased to see the dietician so I could get some things cleared up (and also pleased to learn that my interweb gleanings had been good and I was already following the diet).<br />
<br />
In essence, to maintain a steady blood sugar when personal stores of insulin are not working properly, one must eat small amounts of carbohydrates regularly. This was a bit difficult for me, as after I finished feeding Small, I attempted to give up snacks and just eat at mealtimes. Being told to eat six times a day was a shock. After meeting with the dietician (more good news), I got a blood testing kit and got to prick my finger four times a day to make sure the levels are good.<br />
<br />
Thus, a good day should look like this:<br />
Wake up: fasting blood prick blood sugar, 4-4.9<br />
Eat breakfast: 2-3 units of carb (30-45 grams)<br />
Two hours later: blood sugar, 4-6.7<br />
Eat snack: 1-2 units of carb (15-30 g)<br />
At least two hours later, eat lunch: 2-3 units of carb (30-45 g)<br />
Two hours later: blood sugar, 4-6.7<br />
Eat snack: 1-2 units of carb (15-30 g)<br />
At least two hours later, eat dinner: 2-3 units of carb (30-45 g)<br />
Two hours later: blood sugar, 4-6.7<br />
Eat snack: 1-2 units of carb (15-30g)<br />
<br />
Also, everything had to be low or no-fat while making sure that the flavour hadn't been replaced by sugar or the wrong sweetners. And, you should have some protein with the carb. Basically, you spend the entire day thinking about food. You plan out meals in extreme detail. I've done weekly meal plans for awhile anyway because it makes grocery shopping easier. This was just another step, where you measure out your pasta with a cup measure.<br />
<br />
The truth of it is, though, gestational diabetes isn't so bad (I could live this way if I had to, I'd just a bit grumpy around Christmas when I had to skip the cookies.). We'd already been trying to eat healthily, though I must admit I had been enjoying the occasional Pepsi to keep some pep in my step. Little boys who were not sleeping well due to teeth and undiagnosed ear problems who somehow had energy in the day were wearing through my already depleted energy supplies. I had sometimes enjoyed some yummy chocolate or a doughnut to keep going. That all had to change. Whole grains are recommended. We already ate multi-grain bread and had tried wholegrain pasta, but hadn't enjoyed it. We've found out that now we do. And whole-grain couscous! We already only used whole-wheat flour (or spelt if white is necessary). And there is stevia in my cupboard now, but that has the most nasty aftertaste ever. Just use a bit of raw sugar (15 g is 1 tsp).<br />
<br />
In fact, gestational diabetes has given me a few things. Other than a nervous twitch of reading nutrition labels, I mean. It's given me an appreciation for people who have to deal with this all the time. My dear sister is type one diabetic and I never fully appreciated how difficult life must be for her. I knew that she had to think about food a bit more, but there are charts devoted to glycemic index and how to make healthy food choices into healthier food choices. And she has to survive with insulin! My sugars have been pretty easy to regulate thankfully, mainly because I've learned that my willpower is pretty good. I love this child so much that I want them to be healthy and I've kept to this diet more than I ever thought I could. Because my blood sugars have stayed within the healthy levels (4-8 in a blood prick, so says the doc), no extra insulin was needed. I've also had the chance to try to new recipes! I had gotten lazy about the recipe thing because the boys had gotten a bit difficult about trying new things and cooking two meals sucks. Unless you have to, and then it's a chance to explore.<br />
<br />
Some recipes that we've stumbled across:<br />
<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Sun-dried tomato and artichoke quiche</span></u><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">One sheet of puff pastry</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Some sun-dried tomatoes, drained thoroughly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Some marinated artichokes, drained thoroughly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Half of a small container of ricotta</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">4-5 eggs</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Pinch of herb salt</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d;">Beat the eggs. Add the other stuff. Pour onto the puff pastry, which in your greased quiche pan (but greased with EVO oil, not butter. Gotta watch those carbs). Top with grated cheese. Bake in a hot oven (240C) for 25-30 minutes. Actually, Small taught me the last bit. He turned up the oven on me from 190 and I could smell the quiche much sooner than I thought I should. Upon checking it out (well and truly done in half the normal time), I learned that dinner prep could be done sooner and Small likes to play with dials.</span><br />
<br />
<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Best Ever Brussel Sprouts</span></u><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Quarter some brussel sprouts and boil until the water turns green. Drain.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">In the meantime, toast some pine nuts. Keep your small sons away from the oven if you wish to maintain a regular temperature.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Drain some sun-dried tomatoes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Grate parmesan cheese.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">Mix all these things together with some minced or dried garlic and a bit of herb salt.</span><br />
<br />
And then realize that brussel sprouts are delicious.<br />
<br />
<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Tomato Salad</span></u><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Chop up some small tomatoes of different colours.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Chop up a couple drained roasted red peppers.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Toss with a few capers and some garlic.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Add some dried multi-grain bread, a swoosh of EVO oil and balsamic vinegar.</span><br />
<br />
And then there's that eat any brassica (kale, broccoli, etc) after it's been roasted in olive oil for 20 minutes in a hot oven and then sprinkled with parmesan and sprinkled with fresh lemon juice.<br />
<br />
Cheese is a surprise delight of the whole GD thing. Milk has carbs. Yogurt has carbs. Cheese? Carb free. About a month into the diet I asked my doctor if I could have fat again. I was losing lots of weight (2 kg in one week) and my blood pressure was a bit low. I've been back on fat since (woot, woot!) and that makes cheese consumption even easier. Bocconcini is my special treat right now. If I'm feeling peckish, it's free food! For whenever! And has calcium which is good for everybody's bones. It's a bit odd when bocconcini becomes one's candy.<br />
<br />
So where are these carbs found then, these highly regulated and documented carbs? In delicious things. In fruit. In starchy veg (peas, lentils, corn, etc). In pasta and potatoes and bread and cake and anything made from wheat. In nuts. In candy and chocolate and milk and yogurt. In fact, carbs are liberally spread through everything, especially prepackaged things. Again, it's been cool to have a reason to push forward and try to make things from scratch, but sometimes when you're massively pregnant, dealing with two delightful boys that make life full, you'd like to order a pizza. But you've done the carb count, and you can only have two pieces. And that sucks. But you can have salt and pepper squid salad! So that's something. And all the other veg you could want. Although, it does have some carb in it, so you have to think about everything that goes into your face.<br />
<br />
(I just pricked my finger - 5.3. Dinner was chilli-cheese sausages and pea salad - peas, celery, cashews, mayo and italian dressing. It's surprising, but it hurts everytime. Next time you see someone with diabetes, kiss their poor fingees. Or offer them some bocconcini.)<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">[What is a unit of carb? One piece of bread. A medium-small potato, but as they have a high GI, eat them only occasionally. A 125 mL glass of milk. A small tub of natural yogurt - which I now prefer to any sweetened. A quarter cup of dried fruit and nuts. One large cracker with peanut butter. A teaspoon of sugar. Good luck getting that medicine down. Half a cup of cooked pasta. Half a cup of cooked rice (basmati or brown, please). 3/4 cup of oatmeal. 1 medium or 2 small fruits. 3/4 cup of grapes. Still hungry? Load up on proteins and non-starchy veg. It's good gear. Who doesn't want a poached egg with that? Oh - the trick to a perfect poached egg: Add enough water to a low-edged pot to cover an egg. Bring to a boil. Add a splash of vinegar and a pinch of salt. Crack an egg and drop in the water as closely as possible. Cook for 4 minutes for soft. 10 for pregnant ladies hard-style.]</span><br />
<br />
That, in a nutshell, is gestational diabetes. If the nutshell was the size of a commerical airplane. Any questions? Bueller?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-32424690237436028422014-01-04T19:02:00.000+08:002014-01-04T19:02:12.097+08:00Third ThoughtsYesterday, I learned that someone else I know can't have children. It hurt to hear about it and it put some things into perspective that sometimes get skewed.<br />
<br />
There is much suffering in parenthood, but at least we are parents. On somedays that is the silver lining. My heart aches for those who don't get to experience it and I pray that this impasse would be destroyed for them.<br />
<br />
Both of our sons have been sick and needing antibiotics lately and the lead up to those doctor appointments made life quite difficult. Lack of sleep, whingy children, reverting behaviours have all been the norm this last month. Being 36 weeks pregnant and stressed that I could go into labour at anytime (thank you people who keep telling me I look ready to pop... since November) does not help matters. <br />
<br />
And yet even on these hard, hard days my sons amaze me. The joy they get out of a mud puddle. The utter bliss from a treat out of a stocking. The way they are growing up. My nearly 16 month old wants to <i>walk </i>when we go for walks now. What's up with that? The way they play together and help each other out. The little ways that their palates are opening up and they are willing to try new things. Tall ate ham the other day. Pink meat! It's all a process, this parenting thing. A long, involved process with no days off, no hours off (yes, I know babysitters exist. And do use them.). It's a process where you say the same things and do the same things and try to train away the same behaviours everyday.<br />
<br />
It's not easy. It's rather hard. Without those spots of joy sprinkled on each day, the days would be impossible. They are even more impossible on days when I let myself get sidetracked from prayer and Bible time and try to go it alone. In fact, we've gotten into the habit of thinking fond thoughts of the children before we go to sleep. Even on the hard days, we think through the drudgery and glean the beautiful moments, the little sparkles that show how they are growing up or the silly things that make them the loveable, frustrating, incredible little men that they are.<br />
<br />
And the hard isn't confined merely to the children. There are no holidays from laundry, although some weeks get more piled on them. Dishes need to be done. Meals need to be made. Life does not take sick days.<br />
<br />
With the joy splashed on all life from these children, life seems different. No matter how hard the day is, it is special because of these boys. Sure, we get less sleep now. So what? We have the privilege of helping these boys become good men. Growing up is one thing, but growing good men, that's a tall order.<br />
<br />
My belly rocks and bulges as its occupant stretches and tries to find a way out. It must be getting tight in there. My back aches and gestational diabetes is sometimes a pain in the bum (I'll write a post about GD later). I do not relish the thought of labour, but I long to hold this child in my arms and meet them. To gaze in his or her eyes. To feed and sustain a new little life. To fall even deeper in love with all of my children as I see them interact. <br />
<br />
If you know someone who can't have kids, hug them. Encourage them to adopt, sure. There are plenty of children who need homes and hopefully the system works so that parents are given children. But, just hug those people and try to splash their lives with joy. It must be a special kind of pain and it needs a special kind of love. I feel guilty when I complain about life as it has these blessings in it. Cherish your blessings. Give thanks for them. Take care of them. And love those who don't have them.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-8311076947053397062013-12-20T13:22:00.001+08:002013-12-20T14:03:05.551+08:00Book FareThe boys like to be read books. Tall (when he was small), would bring a book to me and put it in my left hand and sit in my lap. This indicated it was time to read. Once finished, if he wanted to hear it again, he would put it back in my left hand. Small does similar things, carrying around books and putting himself in my lap.<br />
<br />
They are nothing if not subtle.<br />
<br />
This morning when I tried to lie in bed until 6 am, Small brought me <i>I Went Walking </i>and sat on my chest as I tried to read it to him. The room was dark, so perhaps "recite" is a better word. Tall came in few minutes later with <i>Wildlife ABC</i>, but none of this darkness thing for him. He turned on the lamp too.<br />
<br />
We are quite happy to read to them. It's important, I think to engage people in a love of books wherever possible. I love reading myself. Adrian has started reading more too. The turnover rate of books on our bedside table is quite impressive, and while his tend to be non-fiction (and mostly theological), it keeps us all happy.<br />
<br />
It's fun to make the voices and point out the different things on the page. It's great now that they are old enough to read page books instead of just destroying them. Board books are great too. Highly resilient. I've just had to toss away one page book that had too many pages reft from it.<br />
<br />
The only problem that I have with all this reading is when the books are wrong. I'm not speaking here of the specs on a motorbike. Probably those are right, or at any rate I can't correct them. Plus, the boys are mainly focused on "geen bike!" more than the PSI of the tires (tyres for you Aussies).<br />
<br />
Reading teaches us things. It teaches us to ponder on why things happen. It lets us see other worlds and ideas. It broadens our horizons. And fundamentally, it teaches us minor things like grammar, syntax and spelling.<br />
<br />
How much more basic can a sentence be than "See Spot."? Implied subject. Verb. Object. These are the building blocks of forming sensible sentences.<br />
<br />
So, it bothers me when a book I read to my children says things like this: "When going down hills, you should go <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">slow</span>." Are adverbs so insignificant? Let them thrive, children's book publishers! "When going down hills, you should go <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">slowly</span>." And then we all learn together. Beauty. I know that it is not in vogue to care about the state of our poor language, but it is everyday ravaged by morons on youtube and anywhere one can comment. Breaking grammatical rules can be fun and effective for a point, but should we not try harder at these first sentences? We try harder with first foods than that which follows.<br />
<br />
And it frustrates me when I see a page in a comparisons book that throws the rules away at the end. Picture some nesting dolls and beneath them these words "biggest bigger big small smaller tiny".<br />
Seriously, what is that? First of all, you need to read it from the middle of the page and outwards for the comparative and superlatives to make sense and then, what, just deny the pattern and throw away an easy superlative like smallest to replace it with "tiny"?!<br />
<br />
Or that children's book that a friend told me about where beside the letter P there was an elephant. Unless the rest of the book was aimed for mensa-babies, I'm not sure that they meant pachyderm. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, it's just the content that leaves me baffled. I read one book to my sons about "bravery" except it was played out as peer pressure. And the sheep failed. <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Jump over the puddle!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">No.</span> <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Jump over the puddle!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">No. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Jump over the puddle! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">And then he fell in.</span> Because his friends forced him to do something and wouldn't take no for an answer. Brilliant. Let me get the whole series.<br />
<br />
This may seem ridiculous to you. I am a ridiculous person and not really that serious about the whole thing, but there is a bit of permanent marker in a few of our books. Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-51284106584206219522013-12-17T13:26:00.003+08:002013-12-17T14:34:20.780+08:00Snailboxes, et c.Man, first trimester is a difficult thing. If it weren't for first trimester, I think I'd have 15 kids! Well, that and labour. And teething. And...<br />
<br />
While I am aware that I've been out of first trimester for awhile, the real boost of energy and go-to drive that accompanies second was a bit delayed this year. If you get good and worn out, that energy can't buoy you up. After the international travel, it takes awhile to boost up the old batteries. Add to that a beautiful (now) one year old who has problems teething and registers his protest with vaccinations in the middle of the night, I've done a few miles in the ol' rocking chair and relearned just how painful it is to step on toys in the dark. My husband is an amazing man who helps lots with night time woes. He lets me have an extra rest in the morning so I don't get out of bed til quarter after 6, or even 6:30!<br />
<br />
Because of the duration of lethargy, it's only just recently that second trimester zip has zapped me. I'm still tired, but now I'm tired and armed with cleaning utensils. I also haven't blogged as much. Here then (after the lengthiest intro ever) are a collection of stories that I have been collecting for months. About 6 of them. Say 22-24 weeks' worth. (I started this post a month ago. Yeesh. And the mornings are a bit earlier. Today I got up at 4:25)<br />
<br />
(And because it has taken me three months to write this post, I'm now 8 months pregnant. And half the stories I was going to share, I can't even remember. Shucks.)<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Snailboxes, et c.</span><br />
A long time ago now, a friend from church came by one afternoon to play with the boys. We played outside and she, being a very experienced mother and grandmother, was coming up with all sorts of different things to do to keep Tall going. It is a very true statement that some children need to keep doing and doing as their energy multiplies faster than bunnies. One thing that she showed him to do was to pick up a snail and pop it in the hole in the mailbox. Fun times, no? Hand-eye coordination and all that. However, for the next few months all he wanted to do when near the mailbox was fill it with snails. We have plenty of snails on offer, but I can't say as that's what they were meant for. And when he had put all the snails away, he wanted to take them out and put them away again.<br />
<br />
Fine and dandy. Keeps him occupied and as long as the snails <i>leave </i>the mailbox at the end of the play, no problems, right? Except perhaps when you go for a walk a few days later and he finds a piece of trash on the ground and before you can squeak out "No, Tall, stop!" he deposits in a neighbour's mailbox. What do you do at that point? Do you open the mailbox and remove the trash? No, because you can't touch other people's mail. It's illegal and all that. And then you know if you open someone's mailbox, that vital information will stay with him forever and ever and all walks will be filled with a Tall miscreant opening mailboxes to the chagrin of his tired mother.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">The Muffin Men</span><br />
Small quite enjoys eating muffins. Tall quite enjoys stirring. It is not uncommon for me to bake something merely for the entertainment it affords the children. Somedays are easy-peasy and all goes well. On other days, I have made breakfast cookies (oatmeal from the milk calendar) that didn't have any sugar in them. Or there was that time I made Small's birthday cake and Tall dumped in extra flour, so Mom added a bit of milk and miraculously it all turned out (and was quite yummy, if I do say so myself). Or the time that Tall "helped" with the salt and we had some very tangy popovers. Tasted good with tomato... Muffin time often ends with dry ingredients on the counter. Or floor. Perhaps my eyebrows. I'll also be mildly frantic, trying to put out fires (figurative, thankfully. Only one literal and that wasn't the boys fault...) and when the muffins get in the oven, the vacuum comes out. Vacuums are a very exciting thing for children and I'm not sure why. At any rate, I have to say, I don't know why people claim that baking is an exact art. My kitchen often proves that bread will prove (ha!) without knowing what exactly went in it and that baked goods will see taste good even if the measurements are all wrong.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Climb Ev'ry Mountain</span><br />
Small is a climber. Enough to strike fear in the hearts of the toughest of people, a climber can get into anything, anywhere, anytime. When he was just 10 months old, he independently climbed 14 steps in order to play with bath toys with his cousin. When I went looking for him a minute or two later I was shocked at where those boys had ended up. He's climbed up the back of chairs, on top of the vacuum cleaner, from pillows onto the couch, into chairs, up the side of his brother's bed via bed rail... Tall sees him climb and remembers how much fun it was to climb and goes one further. Onto windowsills, the back of the couch, into wheelbarrows, up the shelves of the hall cupboard to have a "nap" on the third shelf. One time recently Small saw an opportunity and used it to the full. The step stool had been left by the sink for his potty training brother. Small went up, grabbed the comb and attempted to tidy his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth (thankfully with his toothbrush and not anyone else's). It was delightfully cute. He was so proud of himself. Shortly thereafter, the stool moved again. Another day, he used his brother's chair to climb up on to the table, not once, but twice (even though the chair had moved away from the table in between time) and at the second time, decided to dip the remotes (on the table to be out of reach of his brother) into a handy glass of water. He's determined! Even after we added an impediment to the back of the chair (cardboard covering all footholds), he turned it around and learned to climb the front.<br />
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Maybe I should put them in gymnastics or something. Ninja Warrior, maybe.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Forts 'r' us</span><br />
One sure fire way to keep little people entertained is to hang a sheet over a couple of chairs. A fort! We do love our forts and they get made often. Lately it seems like forts are made to be broken however as Small attempts to climb onto them (why!?) and Tall likes to "cookie" them (more on that later). But forts are a delightful way to spend time. Everything is a bit more fun in a fort. I don't know why. The act of hanging a sheet over a piece of furniture means one thing: fun. I don't get it. They do. This is why my living room looks that way.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">"Cookie" Monster</span><br />
Tall is interested in putting things together, but also interested in taking things apart. When he does, he sometimes says "cookie, cookie". I wonder if Cookie Monster's bad eating habits appear to my dear son as just a delightful form of destruction. Cookie Monster never seems to gain weight. Perhaps there is something there for us all to learn!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Balloon Animals</span><br />
For Small's birthday we blew up balloons. Want to see kids go crazy? Blow up balloons. No idea why this works, but balloons make for fantastic times. You can run in them. Kick them. Throw them. Draw on them. It's all good and it's all hyper.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Yes Man</span><br />
Small has started nodding lately. It's hilarious because it's actually a pretty good help as to what he wants. If you walk near the kitchen and he starts nodding - he's probably thirsty. If he nods when you eat a snack, he wants it. If he nods in answer to a question, he usually means it. It's a very cute little thing. "Small, do you want to read a book?" He nods. "Small, do you want to go outside?" He nods. "Small, do you want to antagonize your brother?" Oh, wait he doesn't nod to that, he just relishes in it. "Small, do you need a bum change?" He shakes head. But that, of course, is a lie.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">The Mud Puddle Jumped on Me</span><br />
What does a hose mean to little boys? Mud puddles! What does rain mean to little boys? Mud puddles! What does a bucket at the beach mean? Mud puddles! Anywhere and anytime possible, mud puddles are made. The best thing to do with a mud puddle is to jump in it. If you are wearing light coloured clothing, so much the better. Especially if Mom has just changed you for some reason. Even better if your little brother is there and he can mosey on through on his belly. We've had quite a few jumpsuits mudified. And the best time to make a puddle? When Mom has turned her head for three seconds. I usually just let it happen at that point. They have fun. They get dirty. It's not like the clothes can be salvaged at that point and there's something about mud that's just so appealing to little fellows. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm sure my washing is pleased. It never gets neglected.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">The Plot of (Almost) Every Kid's Movie About a Horse</span><br />
Once upon a time there was a young urban girl who, for some reason, has to go to stay with a male relative on a rural farm. She is none too pleased about this and is frustrated/whingy/lonely (choose one). One day she is given/finds a horse that is lonely/neglected and the two of them have adventures together. Suddenly, she is pleasant and happy and helps out on the farm. Something happens to the horse. Probably, he gets lost. She is sad. The male relative helps her with this horse problem. She is then given the opportunity to leave the farm. She chooses to stay. And they all live happily ever after.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Whether the Weather...</span><br />
It is gross outside today. I've just come in from hanging the laundry. It's like an oven. It's 44C with a hot, dry wind. Your feet sting as you walk across the paving stones (even those in shade) and the spiders come out and wait for you to kill them. It's just too hot to hide today. What do you do with two little boys who prefer outdoors to indoors on such a day? The pool? Not really. The rec center air has open windows all day long so the temperature is much the same as outside. Except stacked with humidity. The beach? I could feel my skin toasting as I hung towels and flung nappies (which were not only dry but hard like boards and hot) into the basket. Movie about horses and play in the tub? Sounds like the afternoon. I don't even want to bake (which is entertainment and delicious) because I don't want to turn on the oven. Here's hoping that it's not like this next week, 'cause I have a turkey in the freezer and he desires to be Christmas dinner.<br />
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At any rate, happy Christmas! I'll try to blog again one day. It'll have to be short, because this three months to write one post thing is a wee bit ridiculous.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-68056274872956941872013-09-17T20:03:00.001+08:002013-09-17T20:07:40.767+08:00Small MilestonesLast Monday was Small's first birthday. Yesterday was Small's baptismal birthday.<br />
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I'm not going to lie, I was tired before the birthday and not entirely looking forward to making cakes and setting up for a party that he won't remember. Birthdays seem to matter less as an adult; after all, they come every year! It's not that I don't love him. Life has been really tiring and trying lately and it's hard to want to do more than is already necessary. I was not adverse to celebrating him, just tired out and not wanting to put in the effort. <br />
<br />
And yet, when that day dawned (even before it truly dawned - I was awake by 4:30), everything was different. No amount of effort was too much. When the clock struck 4:38 am, I wished my beautiful boy a happy birthday. My heart burned with a special pride as I looked at my not sleeping boy. Just one year ago, he was born. For just one year (on the outside), he had been making our lives more special, more challenging, more amazing. I told him bits of his birth day. I marvelled at what one year can do. I watched my Small fellow toddle about the place, playing with his brother, exploring, discovering and viewed with wonder all his little habits and quirks. His little machine gun laugh. His penchant for glasses. His love of cuddling.<br />
<br />
Suddenly I had bursts of energy and wanted to shout out to the world, "Look at my boy! He's one already! How he has grown! How he has changed! How he has changed me..."<br />
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The day was spent in relative normalcy, but there was a special hue to the day, as if joy had been rubbed on all the tough bits and smoothed them out. His brother helped me make the birthday cupcakes (chocolate with lemon buttercream icing). They barely touched their cupcakes (the second cake for the party went over much better for the birthday boy - banana cake with buttercream icing and candy berries).<br />
<br />
It was a good day. Nah, it was a brilliant day. Praise be to God for my little boy. I'm so glad that we have little things like birthdays to sit back at peruse more deeply the blessings God gives. Days that we celebrate the everyday blessings like how fast a little baby boy can grow (and climb!).<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Small. It's been a wonderful, difficult, incredible year. I'm so glad you're part of our life.Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-44985411439020667772013-09-03T13:28:00.000+08:002013-11-03T19:13:39.453+08:00To do some moreI haven't written much lately. I could tell you it's because I'm not on the internet much, but that's not quite true. I don't spend tonnes of time on it, but I certainly check facebook and buzzfeed. I could tell you it's because I have nothing to write, but that's completely untrue. I write posts in my head - just outlines and titles, certain phrases. Indeed, part of why I haven't written is because I have things to write.<br />
<br />
Our family is getting bigger again in January (please God). It makes me very happy to know this, but also very tired. There is this state that I like to call "first trimester" wherein all one has energy for is lying on the couch and feeling nauseated. However, when one has two children, aged 2 and less and than 1, lying on the couch is not an option. Not until nap time. So when I thought about blogging, it remained thought. And on the off chance I had energy, I had this news to share, which I couldn't share yet.<br />
<br />
And with this lovely news, comes a brand-new to do list filled with all sorts of things that are important and need doing. Indeed, this list combines many things. So many that I haven't been able to bring myself to write it down. When will accomplish these things? Nap time is only so long and my couch is ever so inviting. Plus, I do get stuff done on the couch - like folding laundry.<br />
<br />
At any rate, this post is turning into a great big stall instead of what it was meant to be: two lines to indicate that I have a big to do list that I am afraid of -- well, not afraid of, more overwhelmed by -- and which therefore I have not scrawled down on a scrap of paper as is my usual modus operandi.<br />
<br />
Without further ado or rambling except for this sentence which promises to get longer and longer -- hey look, clouds! -- I shall post my to do list with the hope that you will help me get things done by occasionally saying "Hey, how's that item on your to do list going? Or are you just a giant slacker who gets nothing done? And why are you not working on something right now? Because you appear to be checking online to see if I'm holding you accountable, and frankly that's just adding things to <i>my </i>to do list and that's not fair, missy!". Or perhaps you aren't saying that at all. All I can say in my defence, is head colds and housework don't mix.<br />
<br />
<u>To Do List</u> (some of these items are in fact permanent fixtures of the list. They get ticked off, but never removed as they are to be done on a daily or weekly basis. Just like me. I get ticked off, but never removed from the housewife roster. (Is that the longest title you've ever seen to a list? I'm such a good procrastinator. Procrastinator is a cool word. Like terminator. Or lemur.))<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">dishes</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">laundry</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">wash nappies</span> (a subset of laundry, sure, but deserving of its own line)</li>
<ul>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">fold nappies</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">sweep</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">vacuum</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">clean bathrooms, sinks</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">wash floor</span></li>
<li><strike>eat chocolate</strike></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">make dinner</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">bake with the children</span></li>
<li><strike>paint the boys' new room</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>buy paint. Spend weeks agonising over colour choice and end up choosing in two minutes</strike></li>
<li><strike>realize will never have time/energy to paint boys' room</strike></li>
<li><strike>hire painter</strike></li>
<li><strike>wait for painter to be available</strike></li>
<li><strike>move everything out of boys' new room for painter</strike></li>
</ul>
<li><strike>move the furniture into the boys' new room</strike></li>
<li><strike>paperwork that appears from nowhere and always seems to be the same thing as that which I've just accomplished</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>misplace paperwork</strike></li>
<li><strike>find and complete paperwork in the final weeks before it is due, feeling stressed and frustrated</strike></li>
</ul>
<li>clean out storage room</li>
<li><strike>determine where the old furniture from the boys' new room will go</strike></li>
<li>set up nursery</li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">go for a walk</span></li>
<li>potty train eldest</li>
<ul>
<li>there is a whole subset list to this which may become its own blog post, provided I can do it in a way that is truthful but not too scarring for life for my child</li>
</ul>
<li>develop outdoor hobby</li>
<ul>
<li>write blog post about outdoor hobby</li>
</ul>
<li>determine when swimming lessons start up again and sign up children</li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">put away toys</span></li>
<ul>
<li>develop a better system for toys being away</li>
<li>buy storage containers, OR</li>
<li>throw away all toys and give children one cardboard box to play with</li>
</ul>
<li>Christmas shopping (I like to get the international stuff done early)</li>
<li><strike>ultrasound</strike></li>
<li><strike>sort through the boys' clothes, getting out larger and putting away smaller</strike></li>
<ul>
<li>also, the closets for nappy exchange</li>
</ul>
<li>correspondance</li>
<li><strike>prepare for second son's birthday party</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>invitation</strike></li>
<li><strike>decoration</strike> (<strike>thoughts</strike>/ <strike>purchase</strike>/ <strike>make</strike>/ <strike>arrange</strike>)</li>
<li><strike>cake</strike></li>
<li><strike>other food</strike></li>
<li><strike>clean house first.</strike> AND <strike>after</strike>. (This always seems unfair to me. Is it wrong to give guests dustbusters and tell them to look after themselves?)</li>
</ul>
<li>vehicle exchange</li>
<ul>
<li><strike>find suitable vehicles</strike></li>
<li><strike>realize that there are no suitable vehicles within a 350 km radius of home</strike></li>
<li><strike>get frustrated</strike></li>
<li>figure it out</li>
</ul>
<li><strike>reorganize pantry</strike></li>
<li>make playdough</li>
<li><strike>buy carseat</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>research carseats</strike></li>
</ul>
<li>buy chest of drawers</li>
<li><strike>desire to go to IKEA</strike></li>
<li><strike>look through IKEA catalogue</strike></li>
<li>go to IKEA, but not for a few months yet, so can be super pregnant and cranky whilst shopping with a little boy and toddler</li>
<li><strike>lament living in the middle of nowhere</strike></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">go to the park</span></li>
<li><strike>run errands</strike></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">go to the library</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">put away DVDs and books and everything else that the toddler has strew about the house</span></li>
<li>teach children a foreign language</li>
<li><strike>or how to count to ten</strike></li>
<li><strike>or what, metaphysically, is a horse</strike></li>
<li><strike>realize need new maternity pants</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>purchase pants in 2 minutes during online shopping, having no time to be leisurely at shopping even in own house (after being frustrated that a local clothing shop will not stock them as live in too "regional" an area - because as we all know, people in small towns do not have babies)</strike></li>
</ul>
<li>work on boys' baby books</li>
<li>and scrapbooks</li>
<li><strike>look longingly at coffee pot and wonder when coffee will taste good again</strike></li>
<li><strike>sort photos on computer</strike></li>
<li>back up computer</li>
<li><strike>print photos</strike></li>
<li><strike>more correspondence</strike></li>
<li><strike>set up playdates</strike></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">groceries</span></li>
<li><strike>figure out what toddler will eat now that he wants to feed himself</strike></li>
<li><strike>make soup anyway because soup is delicious</strike></li>
<li><strike>develop head cold at the same time as children and try to care for them and keep moving</strike></li>
<li>read that book about toddlers </li>
<li><strike>and that other book that is made of funny things</strike></li>
<li>edit</li>
<li><strike>clean out laundry</strike></li>
<li>buy steam cleaner</li>
<li>find beautiful print of the Lord's Prayer</li>
<ul>
<li><strike>get frustrated with etsy</strike></li>
</ul>
<li>mail correspondence</li>
<li><strike>read terrifying article about canola oil</strike></li>
<ul>
<li><strike>buy sunflower oil</strike></li>
<li><strike>realize that sunflower oil works and tastes better</strike></li>
</ul>
<li><strike>buy more kleenex</strike></li>
<li><strike>dance</strike></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">teach boys to be good men</span></li>
<li>go to the beach</li>
</ul>
<div>
And there is probably more. I'll come back to this and add or cross out as I finish things. How's your to do list going?</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-63336978632522950062013-08-06T16:19:00.000+08:002013-08-06T16:19:45.009+08:00To Ashley and OwenCongratulations, my wonderful friend! Congratulations, very smart man!<br />
<br />
I'm so happy for both of you that you have been married this weekend. The weather cooperated, the dress was gorgeous and it was great to see your smiling faces on that day - that special day when God made you one forever.<br />
<br />
(No, I didn't sneak in the back, I saw a photo.)<br />
<br />
Here's to you as you take these first steps as husband and wife. Here's to you as you reorganize cupboards and share the closet. It's surprising how much room men's clothes can take up in a closet. Here's to you as you share meals and cookbooks, get into a rhythm, start traditions, discover quirks that have remained hidden the last couple years. Here's to you as you struggle through small spats and get over inadvertent wounds. They happen when people fuse together a life. If welding can cause a bit of heat, people are much worse. And harder to melt and reform. So here's to you as you forgive and salve hurts in the little ways that only you can, as you hold each other, kiss and dance to the music that you can agree on.<br />
<br />
Here's to the future, full of memories yet to be made, adventures yet to be taken, paths yet to be walked. Here's to you as you share your love and your lives -- that is to say, your life. Here's to you as you work at maintaining your friendship as well as cultivating your love. Here's to silly moments that only you two know about.<br />
<br />
Everyone raise your glass to this lovely couple as they celebrate their two day anniversary. Every anniversary is worth celebrating, after all. We wish you all the best and will keep you in our prayers.<br />
<br />
PS - I hear Western Australia is a lovely place for a honeymoon.<br />
<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-19272631185420045472013-05-08T13:03:00.000+08:002013-05-14T19:29:40.394+08:00Awesome Movie Song Quote<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Who needs just obscurity when you can sing too? These choices are all from songs sung in the movie, not background music. Many of them have been stuck in my head a time or two - three of them today alone! Enjoy the sing-along!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[Hint: Disney movies have lots of singing.]</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. What I love most about rivers is</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> You can't step in the same river twice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The water's always changing, always flowing. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Just Around the River Bend - </i>Pocahontas<i> </i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. I'm in a store and I'm singing. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I'm in a store and I'm singing! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i> </i>Buddy the Elf in Elf</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. The very words that they had sung</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Became their last communion<br /> On the lonely barricade at dawn</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Empty Chairs at Empty Tables - </i>Les Miserables</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4. Can't make no vows to a herd of cows.</span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Now when the men folk went to fetch 'em</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The women would not be fetched.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> It seems when the Romans catch 'em,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Their lady friends stay catched. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Seven Brides for Seven Brothers</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">5. Say you love me every waking moment,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Turn my head with talk of summertime... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>All I Ask of You - </i>The Phantom of the Opera</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">6. There goes the baker</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> With his tray like always<br /> The same old bread and rolls to sell <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Belle - </i>Beauty and the Beast</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">7. And ready to know what the people know</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Ask 'em my questions and get some answers<br /> What's a fire and why does it - what's the word?<br /> Burn? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Part of Your World - </i>The Little Mermaid</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">8. Some other folks might be</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> A little bit smarter than I am<br /> Bigger and stronger too<br /> Maybe<br /> But none of them will ever love you the way I do<br /> It's me and you <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>You've Got a Friend in Me - </i>Toy Story</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">9. The violins sing with joyful ring</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The violins sing with joyful ring!</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The clarinet, the clarinet </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Goes doodly-doodly-doodly-doodly-det. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">You've Got Mail</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">10. When I was a young boy</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> My mama said to me<br /> There's only one girl in the world for you<br /> And she probably lives in Tahiti<br /> I'd go the whole wide world<br /> I'd go the whole wide world<br /> Just to find her <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Whole Wide World - </i>Stranger than Fiction</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">11. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">He had a green card, new house, big cash</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> So made a wish with every fallen lash</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> For you to do the journey with him</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> To smile when he got home ask how his day had been <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>No Life Without Wife - </i>Bride and Prejudice</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">12. I'm dreaming of a boy,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> A very special guy.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I wish that I could pluck</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> A fairy from the sky. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Get Over It</span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">13. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;">Never ever thinkin' there was danger in the water</span></span></div>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> They were drinkin', they just guzzled it down
Never dreamin' that a schemin' sherrif and his posse
Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Robin Hood and Little John- </i>Disney's Robin Hood</span></span></pre>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span></pre>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">14. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;">I just wanna see the floating lanterns gleam</span></span></pre>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: normal;"> Yeah And with every passing hour</span></pre>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I'm so glad I left my tower<br /> Like all you lovely folks,<br /> I've got a dream. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>I've Got a Dream - </i>Tangled</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">15. Perhaps I had a wicked childhood<br /> Perhaps I had a miserable youth<br /> But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past<br /> There must have been a moment of truth. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Something Good - </i>The Sound of Music</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">16. Why are there so many songs about rainbows<br /> And what's on the other side?<br /> Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,<br /> And rainbows have nothing to hide. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>The Rainbow Connection - </i>The Muppet Movie</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">17. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;">I'm gonna be the mane event</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre;"> Like no king was before</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre;"> I'm brushing up on looking down</span><br />
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I'm working on my roar <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> <i>I Just Can't Wait to Be King - </i>The Lion King</span></span></span></pre>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span></span></pre>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span>
<br />
<pre></pre>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
18. Soon all the church bells will be ringing</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And I'll march with Ma and Pa.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> All the church bells will be ringing,<br /> With a hey nonny nonny and a hotcha-cha cha. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Fit as a Fiddle - </i>Singin' in the Rain</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">19. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;">Prince John and the Sheriff</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: pre;"> They was running the show</span></div>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Raising the taxes
'Cause they needed the dough
A reign of terror
Took over the land
They was shaking down the people
Just to beat the band
Hey!
- Hey nonny nonny and a ho ho ho <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Opening Song - </i>Robin Hood Men in Tights</span>
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<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
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<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">20. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px; white-space: normal;">A robin feathering his nest</span></span></pre>
<pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 21px; white-space: normal;"> Has very little time to rest</span></pre>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> While gathering his bits of twine and twig<br /> Though quite intent in his pursuit<br /> He has a merry tune to toot<br /> He knows a song will move the job along <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>A Spoon Full of Sugar - </i>Mary Poppins</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;">21. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;">Oh, there's no fire in the fireplace<br /> There's no carpet on the floor<br /> Don't try to order dinner<br /> There's no kitchen anymore<br /> But if the road's been kinda bumpy<br /> And you need to rest a spell<br /> Well, welcome home<br /> To ----------------------------- ! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Happiness Hotel - </i>The Great Muppet Caper.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; line-height: 21px;">And there you have it. I'm just shocked that I forgot to put a song in from Pirates of Penzance. This lack of sleep thing really catches up with you after a few years...</span></span><br />
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Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-16036078249963632602013-04-05T20:41:00.000+08:002013-04-14T16:38:32.891+08:00Two DayToday my eldest son is two. It's shocking and amazing and wonderful. I can't believe two years have gone by already. I can't believe it's only been two years.<br />
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To celebrate Tall, I thought I'd tell a few stories about him.<br />
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<i>Helping Hands</i><br />
When Tall wants something done but he finds himself unable to do it, he's always got a plan. He might grab a chair and climb higher. He might dig a bit deeper. Often however, he realizes that he needs help to get it done.<br />
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That's when he reaches out for a helping hand. For over a year now, he's grabbed my hand and put it on a book he wants read. Or put the book back in my left hand if he wants to hear it again. He puts a shovel in my hand if the ground is too hard for him. He takes my hand to climb higher, to walk on curbs, to get down stairs, to work the computer, to use the television (in such times, the hands may not accomplish that which is desired), to get things opened, to get things closed. He sometimes uses my finger to point to things to learn what they are. "Car!" Pig!" "Lemur!" In essence, he uses my hands as an extension of himself. It's nice to be so trusted and needed.<br />
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One day whilst eating yogurt for dessert, he started eating with his fingers. Upon being reprimanded, he grabbed my hand dipped my finger in the yogurt and quick as a flash ate it. *Sigh* There are many things for which to have a helping hand, but eating yogurt is not one of them.<br />
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<i>Want to go for a Walk?</i><br />
Walking with my two year (oh goodness, he's two!) is always an adventure. I've had to train myself to not get frustrated with all of the stopping and exploring. Exploring is good and a ten minute walk taking 40 is fantastic. He's the kind of kid with energy to burn - the kind who siphons it off unsuspecting parents and would prefer to use it outside please.<br />
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He tries to walk off the path, though the thick grass. He points out trees and foliage, animals and trucks. He knows exactly where in town all his favourite things are and when you are steering him away from them. He will trudge along acting exhausted, wanting to be carried until he realizes he's headed to a park and then he tears off, running as fast as his boots can carry (which by the way, is slower. If you're trying to slow down your kid, let him wear rubber boots.).<br />
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These walks are great though. He sees so many things that I just don't notice. Any sound is a reason to stop. A bird. A plane. I'm sure he would stop for Superman, but we're just so far from Metropolis City. We study trucks and flowers. We pick up sticks and put them through fences and try to put chocolate milk containers in mailboxes (and no, I'm not sure why he thought was a good idea). We know the location of every dog in a four block radius.<br />
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<i>Good Boy?</i><br />
Somedays Tall does things he shouldn't. We don't want him playing with the split system heater/cooler, so when he climbed on top of something he shouldn't have to open a drawer he shouldn't have to play with a remote that he shouldn't have, I took the remote away and put it somewhere I thought was safe. Later that day, I saw him playing in that same drawer and went from reprimand to confusion when I saw the remote back in the drawer. I asked Adrian if he had moved it. No. Tall had found it and was putting it back where it belonged when I caught him. I then tried to commend him. Ah, all that can happen in the space of a minute.<br />
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We're trying to teach him to put his drink on a coaster on the table. Not that we care as much about rings on the table, but he tends to put drinks on the edge of the table and we have the coaster much further in-land. I caught Tall wandering with his milk the other day (a definite no no) and saw it stop on the couch. I went over the rescue and noted that he had found a coaster, put it on the couch cushion and put his cup on it.<br />
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And the digging! Oh, the time we spend outside. And I want to be out with him because I don't like bugs and there are like 8569 kinds of bugs in Australia and 9342 of those want to kill you. Yeah, I know there are more that want to kill you than exist. That's how serious they are about the whole thing. So I just don't think he's ready to be outside by himself for long right now and so we dig and play with balls and all sorts.<br />
<br />
Oh, the last two years have been the most frustrating, exciting, worrisome, tiring, amazing, incredible, beautiful, full on, best years of my life. That little boy is a blessing, whether he's trying to help his brother play or playing on my last nerve. Thank you God, for Tall. And help me be a better mother to my wonderful fellows.<br />
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<i><br /></i>Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3528436106026850196.post-38704698789179718542013-03-31T15:57:00.001+08:002013-03-31T15:59:18.646+08:00Love for loveI started this post on Ash Wednesday. I'd just been to service with my two sons and after we returned home, marked with our sin and repentance, I really had something to say.<br />
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Don't ask me what it was now; it's Easter Sunday and Ash Wednesday was a long time ago. I'm sure it was profound though. All lost thoughts seem to be tinged with profundity. Profundity is probably a shade of chartreuse. Provided that's the green one. I always get chartreuse and vermillion confused.<br />
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All that stuck with me was this line from <i>Jesus, I Will Ponder Now</i> - "may I give you love for love."<br />
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I find that Holy Week is often a time of pondering for me. I try to take time to meditate specifically on the Passion on Good Friday. I like cold parks and solitude. I didn't find it this year. Solitude is a rarity for me at the moment. The pondering found me and once again I tried to really understand the depth, the width, the height of the sacrifice that God made in sending Jesus to die the most horrendous death, abandoned, alone, covered in the filth and stench of eons of sin. I still can't comprehend it. I can imagine the happenings, I know them so well and not enough. I can picture faces and expressions, but they are stapled together fragments from paintings and pictures I've seen across the years. I still feel anger toward Peter, forsaking his Saviour. I revile Judas even as I pity him. I weep with the Marys at the foot of the cross.<br />
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It's a strange thing, though, coming at this from a hindsight perspective. I know what happens next. The despair and confusion that all of Jesus' followers were plunged into, that I cannot fathom. It's as far removed from me as petticoats. It's something that happened, but I know now so well that that then just doesn't compute fully. I understand that it happened, but the overwhelming joy and hope that has come from Jesus' resurrection on Easter has so pervaded my thinking, my being that I just can't fully understand Holy Week.<br />
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I get caught up in the daily humdrum. It's full of trials and difficulties, sure. But that's not the same thing.<br />
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And even now, living as I do, a life where I know that my Redeemer lives and because He lives I too shall live, I still struggle and fight and wrestle with my own ridiculousness. My own selfishness. My own sin. I try to take on my struggles by myself. I fall flat a lot.<br />
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I do not give love for love. I give struggle and frustration and all sorts and get back love. I fail and fight and flee and I am given love. I try to love and get distracted and still I am given love. The struggle of sanctification can be boiled down to trying to give love for love. It is the eternal pursuit.<br />
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And still I am made free by the blood of the Lamb, shed for me.<br />
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This makes no sense, I realise that. I guess when it comes down to it, all I'm trying to say is: "Blessed Easter". So,<br />
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Blessed Easter.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #38761d;"><b>Jesus, I Will Ponder Now - </b><i>Sigismund von Birken</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #38761d;">Jesus, I will ponder now</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #38761d;">On your holy Passion;<br />With your Spirit me endow<br />For such meditation.<br />Grant that I in love and faith<br />May the image cherish<br />Of your suffering, pain, and death<br />That I may not perish.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">Make me see your great distress,<br />Anguish, and affliction,<br />Bonds and stripes and wretchedness<br />And your crucifixion;<br />Make me see how scourge and rod,<br />Spear and nails did wound you,<br />How you died for those, O God,<br />Who with thorns had crowned you.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">Yet, O Lord, not thus alone<br />Make me see your Passion;<br />But its cause to me make known<br />And its termination.<br />For I also and my sin<br />Brought your deep affliction;<br />This the shameful cause has been<br />Of your crucifixion.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">If my sins give me alarm<br />And my conscience grieve me,<br />Let your cross my fear disarm,<br />Peace and pardon give me.<br />Grant that I may trust in you<br />And your holy Passion;<br />If his Son forgives anew,<br />God must have compassion.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">Jesus, Lord, my heart renew,<br />Let me bear my crosses,<br />Learning humbleness from you,<br />Peace despite my losses.<br />May I give you love for love!<br />Hear me, O my Savior,<br />That I may in heaven above<br />Sing your praise forever.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></span>
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<br />Rebeccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13553906012605473999noreply@blogger.com1