The Return

I've returned hale and whole from my Women's Retreat in Deer Lake, WA. It was beautiful; there were evergreens and fog and rain and food I didn't have to cook. There were no bedtimes and no alarm clocks, even hot chocolate that came out of a dispenser. Heavenly!

This is what I thought sleeping through the night would feel like. It turns out it's not that much different from waking up with a baby. I just ended up remembering my dreams a lot more vividly and that's not really such a boon since almost all of my dreams are food related. (i.e. I dreamed I ate a hamburger and then I woke up. Boring.)

It was good to rest, though. I've been so busy lately it has felt like an impossible feat to just sit and rest and simply exist apart from the chaos. I'm usually really good at being able to distance myself from the hysteria that is so inherent in motherhood, but it just wasn't coming to me; God knew I needed a break--a real one.

So He sent me to see my trees and to commune with some really fantastic women. God is good!

Coming home was a wonderful feeling; this was the first significant time I'd spent away from Audrey and Bailey and it was so strange to see how much they'd changed in a mere 48 hours. Bailey was much squirmier and talkative than I had remembered and Audrey seemed so much smarter, like she had everything figured out. I guess that's pretty accurate. Her newest phrases are: 'I have a question', 'I need to tell you something' and 'Bailey getting in trouble?'.

It's good to be home!

Run away! Run away!

Or should I say: Retreat!!

For some reason, when cornered by our MOPS coordinator last Spring and asked if I wanted a position on the steering committee, I replied 'yes'. Why? Why would I do that? I was living in a happy state of irresponsibility where I could choose to devote an entire day to cheese making and eating cereal for lunch if I so pleased. Now I have meetings and emails and phone calls and events to plan and people to arm wrestle. It's exhausting. Who needs pregnancy? This stuff is wearing me out.

Monday was our first MOPS meeting of the year and I'm in charge of making sure there are enough volunteers to watch all 598 children we didn't know were showing up. Add in a little anarchy and some Lord of the Flies situations and it makes for a hectic morning.

Did I mention I was also hosting Bunco that night? No? That wore me out too.

Luckily, the next morning my friend Jackie brought me Starbucks and sat around my kitchen helping me make paper lanterns out of balloons and tissue paper (don't ask) while I neglected all the other household chores that needed to be done.

Today I got to take a nap. And Karen and Elizabeth made dinner so I didn't have to.

Things are looking up. Which is why I almost feel bad ducking out for our church's women's retreat this weekend. We're staying at a retreat center just outside of Spokane for Friday and Saturday night.

That's right--I get to sleep through the night. Two. nights. in. a. row. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! Amen.

I'm hoping I'll be able to take the time that's being given to me and to treasure it just long enough to start missing my girls and that wacky husband of mine like crazy. I mean, really--what use is sleeping through the night if your favorite space heater is two hours away?

Happy Thoughts

Well folks, I'm back from the sourdough wars...I fought the good fight and was thwarted by a rookie mistake at the first turn. I won't even go into details except to say that my compost heap is now growing by leaps and bounds...and my sourdough starter? My beautiful mature sourdough starter? It is no longer with us. I'd like to take a moment of silence to mourn the 8 days I fed and babied that puppy.

But never mind about that! Let's talk about something happy!

How about magic?

Or better yet, how about my newest love?


My unpaper towel dispenser from Made In The Red Barn on Etsy! It's beautiful, it's made from upcycled wood and it makes my crunchy heart sing! I didn't even know what upcycled wood was until I stumbled across this beauty, but my heart went 'a pitter patterin' and I knew it was love.

I was so excited when it came in the mail (Did I mention the sellers live in WA?) I opened that box with uncontained giddiness...to have everyone in the house give me some version of Audrey's "whats 'sat?" "Huh?"

To her credit, Karen at least tried to give me some enthusiasm, but it's probably because I opened the box in her presence. I imagine it's like trying to get excited about your Aunt Bertha giving you socks for Christmas.

Actually, I get excited about receiving socks as gifts so that's probably a bad analogy.

Maybe Aunt Bertha's socks smell like moth balls.

Moving on!
To my original point: baking. I am not the world's best baker-maker as I had originally assumed. Does that mean I will stop trying? Heck no! Until I'm there, I'll continue to support our local bakery from the farmer's market. The owner and I had a long talk Friday about sourdough. He suggested I come work the night shift for a week or so just to get my technique down. I passed. I'm awake enough at night as it is.

All recent baking catastrophes aside, I did have some mild success with making my own burger buns yesterday. This recipe is absolutely phenomenal. All I have to really work on is getting my second rise perfected; it's all about timing. And I'm guessing my burger buns went from perfection to rising out the yin yang about the time I was attacked by two small children and pinned to the floor in a wrestling match.


Life happens.

Glutton For Punishment?

Or just gluttony? I can't decide.

Either way I've decided that I must secretly be a master baker (I just made the title up. Roll with me here.) and thus, I would be morally remiss if I were to spend one more day without providing my family with a never-ending supply of delicious homemade breads of every variety. Now, I say 'secretly' because to the untrained eye I would appear to be an abysmal failure as a bread maker...baker...baker-maker. For example, my latest attempts at whole wheat sandwich bread wound up here:


Yes, under the eggshells...and asparagus cast-offs; that's where that lump of doughy confectionery delight landed. I hope the fungus and bacteria in my compost heap enjoy it; I spent hours in the kitchen first with giddy delight, then peevishness and finally belligerent rage trying to craft that yeast and flour into a masterpiece. I know I can bake bread! Would someone please relay this message to the insolent doughy loaves that refuse to proof for a second time? If they do not comply I will be forced to bring in a bread machine. Nobody wants that.

Luckily, I've had some time to cool down and in true Willian fashion have decided to press forward and ambitiously master the art of sourdough bread. Which means I had to implement this little puppy:


My first ever sourdough starter. Now, from all I've read there are a million different ways to fail at making sourdough bread and the dough is known to be especially finicky. Why did I decide to wrestle with this particular culinary monster? Because I am as bull headed as that Butter-Haired Dragon and masochistically enjoy taking the hard road.

Usually I fail.

But at least I can pat myself on the back for failing at the hardest task.
So, here I go! Tomorrow this glob of yeast and milk and flour will be transformed into the best sourdough bread these taste buds have seen.


...or perhaps they'll make a nice crouton.

Film at Eleven.

The Time is Flying

I don't have any pictures to post; I'm in here. The camera's in there. It just wasn't meant to be. Sorry for the hiatus on the blog lately. I've been canning. And I mean CANNING. When I'm not canning, I'm online researching canning recipes and bread recipes and ridiculous things like how to make my own yogurt. Oh, it's gonna happen.

I've been feeling very crunchy lately. All this putting food by has gotten me very worked up; it's made me thankful for the things that have grown for me in the garden and makes me want to hug the Earth back a little bit. So, I've started composting and trying to be more aware of where my food comes from and what packaging it comes in. I'm menu planning for the month and buying in bulk. I'm putting local food by for the winter and trying to cook/bake as much food from scratch as I can. We're even talking about building a coop in the back-40 and raising laying hens.

I also have children I frequently care for...you remember them? They keep me busy too. Bailey has two teeth and is crawling like a pro. She loves to use one leg to turn herself in circles while she's sitting on the floor and she can pull herself up on the couch too; she's got places to go. The little bear just started trying to talk this week. Apparently the light bulb just went off one night at dinner and she started babbling "rarr rar rarrr rar" Before we knew it she was saying Dada and Mama. She desperately wants to be able to say Caba, but I have a feeling that one will be in the works for a while. Did I mention the kid weighs 21 pounds? She's a chunk. We call her 'cabbage' since she bears a striking resemblance to the cabbage patch dolls.

Her big sis has been having a heck of a time; she's been sick for the past week. Last weekend Audrey came down with croup (pitiful, pathetic mess, she was) We took her to the doctor on Monday and she was prescribed an anti-inflammatory steroid to get the swelling in her throat and vocal chords down. Let me tell you about roid rage. I didn't recognize my own child; she transitioned from sweet movie-watching pathetic lap child to psychotic belligerent wiggle wart in about 2 minutes. That medication lasted two days before Mama declared it to be not worth the drama.

We thought Little A was recovered by Thursday, but she had another relapse and refused to eat, drink or take her medicine for several hours. By the time bedtime rolled around I was pondering a strategy for explaining to her that if she didn't hydrate herself someone would do it for her and they would have a large, scary needle in their hand. Luckily I got to keep my alarmist parenting skills on the back burner--I force fed my daughter water and apples with peanut butter. You'll be happy to know The Dragon seems poised to make a full recovery.

As far as things around the house go, the Moore's are in town for the long weekend and Audrey is loving all the attention. We've been going to the park and eating lots of fried chicken and pizza; the kids are getting the most out of the pool before we close it for the season and I've been letting Hannah practice driving my car.

We're also in the middle of step one to our kitchen renovation; we're clearing out and rearranging cabinets so we can knock down the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. The official demolition party is scheduled for next weekend--I can't wait! I promise I'll actually post pictures once that happens...and that means I'll have downloaded a sweet video of Bailey crawling too. Remain on the edge of your seats until then.

On Baptism

I'm going to be baptized tomorrow. I hadn't planned on writing anything on the blog about it until I received an email from our pastor asking if I wanted to speak to the congregation before being baptized in the river. Before that message hit my inbox, I had planned on silently walking into the river and being baptized. I thought it would be an excellent way to witness to other Christians.

And then I got that message.

I read it while I was up with Bailey at two in the morning and God changed my heart as he has so frequently in the wee hours of the morning. I knew, without a doubt, that there is something I'm supposed to say; that walking into the river isn't testament enough.

I couldn't sleep and when I did dream I was filled with stress and longing to know what I should say and do. I know that my baptism is a public act of faith; a testament to believers and unbelievers that the Lord is my savior.

You all know I've struggled for a long time with the concept of witnessing. At first I felt it was wrong to impose myself on others and when I realized the horror they would face without knowing God, I began to fear I would push unbelievers further from Christ by saying or doing the wrong thing. After much prayer and deliberation, I've thrown up my hands; I can do nothing, be nothing and say nothing of consequence without the grace of God. My baptism is a symbol of giving my life to the Lord, that He may use me as He pleases. My life is His and only He can give me the wisdom and the words to help save another soul.

God, I pray you would use me to save another child from being ripped from your love and grace; that You would send me where I am needed, not where I am wanted and that in all things I may give glory to Your name.

On Need...

John recently returned from a quick business trip to D.C. It's been a long time since he's been out of town without us and we (read: I) were slightly wimpy in dealing with separation. Needless to say, his homecoming was a sweetly anticipated event. I brought the girls with me to the airport; Audrey talked animatedly the entire way there about her Papa. ("Mama, we pick Papa up at the airport? You excited Mama? Audrey excited!") It was like Christmas. Little A was the first one to see John and she gave a sweet cry of excitement before running to him. It doesn't get much better than that.

When we got home, Audrey opened a present her Papa had brought back for her with barely-concealed anticipation. It was a snow globe with the capital building at its center. She was mesmerized by the flitting snowflakes and the smooth glass bulb; she showed it to everyone and reminded us that (Mary) Poppins had one too. She probably would've slept with it if she could. I was the perfect little token from her Papa...and then after several warnings from her parents about keeping it on the carpet the next day, she dropped it on the tile in the kitchen and it shattered.

que crying.

I wanted to cry too.

I talked to John on the phone and told him what happened. He thought maybe it was a sign that he needs to be more aware of how age-appropriate her toys are. But after honestly mourning the loss of that snow globe, I realized: wait a tick. That was just a snow globe. It represented the love that a Papa has for his daughter, but it didn't replace it. It was just a possession.

Now, that may seem harsh, but it's true. And how often do we let possessions overcome our homes because we feel they give us value or make us feel good? I know the Schweighardts are notorious for not letting things go (trust me, we're working on it) but everyone falls victim to the idolization of personal possessions. So, it's in that spirit that I've begun de-cluttering our lives. Now, I never in a million years would have gotten rid of that snow globe, but I've begun to look differently at my personal things. How much of this stuff to I actually need? I mean really...NEED.

You'd be amazed at what you don't need. And how hard it can be to accept the mentality that you really don't need 6 light-weather jackets. I have a jacket obsession. And a purse addiction. I recognized my lust after purses a long time ago and just stopped carrying one. But you can't stop wearing jackets. Apparently I also couldn't stop justifying the purchase of them either.

My wardrobe has certainly been under heavy attack, but I've begun to look around the rooms in this house--at the excessive amount of stuff that two small children can accumulate--and I tell myself we don't need it. And it's freeing.

Material possessions will not fulfill or define my life or make me feel loved; God does that. Any time I find myself thinking "but what if I need this later?" while tossing something in the give pile, I remind myself that God is the one providing for me. If I really need something, I'll have it.

Now, I'm not talking about living on bare bones here. There's room for toys and games and ice cream in this little experiment. I think what I'm really striving to discover is why I hold on to the things I have, why I covet the things I don't have and in the jumble I'd like to figure out what it is I really need. Wouldn't that be liberating?