Let's Go to Morrocco!

OK so I was inspired by my friend Stephanie Steen to start sharing some of my more daring recipe experiences via my blog. Today's judges are yours truly and 5 very opinionated children. Tonight's new try was Moroccan Tangine of Chicken accompanied by Moroccan Couscous....See a theme here? OK so first off let me say that anytime my kids get wind that I will be trying a new recipe panic sets in. I'm not sure exactly why as many of my "new" recipes have become family favorites, (i.e. pasta with pesto, fish tacos, shrimp bake and much more). It must be like when something traumatic happens and we just seem to remember them more clearly. There were a few failures although I've blocked them out....So where were we? The chicken. So what exactly is a Tangine? Just as the cook in many American kitchens has her own potato salad recipe, in Morocco, the tangine is the dish that is defined household by household. In a nutshell it's an easy braised stew This dish called for either skinless, boneless thighs or skinless, boneless breasts. You could also use a combination of both. I prefer thighs when I'm making a slow simmer dish and opted for organic thighs. The dish starts with a spice rub that included Hungarian sweet paprika, ground ginger, turmeric and black pepper. After cooking the chicken in a little olive oil for 3 minutes on each side in a non-stick skillet you remove the chicken and cut it into strips. Add onion, fresh plum tomatoes, salt and garbanzo beans and you simmer this fragrant dish covered. While the chicken was simmering I moved on to the dish that made me the most nervous.

Can You Just Smell This?!

The Moroccan couscous. Now, I've made couscous before but it has come out of a box. This was my first attempt at making it from scratch. This delicious dish came from my favorite website allrecipes.com It included toasting some interesting spices that included ginger, garlic, cayenne, cumin, cardamon, coriander and allspice. Onions, sweet red peppers, raisins, garbanzo beans, zucchini, orange zest and a broth of chicken broth and orange juice made my kitchen smell amazing!! After the concoction boils you mix in the couscous and cover, removing it from the heat until the couscous absorbs the liquid and fluffs up. Here's where I ran into a problem. My couscous never exactly did that. I tried cooking it a little longer, soaking it longer and well, it never really fluffed up.

The Spices and Orange Zest Were Amazing!

I wasn't calling it a failure yet, so I garnished my chicken with freshly chopped cilantro, skipped the fresh mint garnish that was called for in the original couscous recipe and dished out the aromatic food.

OK B- for Presentation

My kids saw the food and the whining started immediately. After I reminded them that this is not a restaurant and whatever I cook is what they eat, they reluctantly started to try it. Jason said the chicken was edible in spite of his two least favorite ingredients in it (tomato and garbanzo beans). He definitely didn't love the couscous, but he cleared his dish and walked away grumbling something about starving to death. OK so 1 fail. Charlotte's vote doesn't really count here because unless it's tacos or macaroni and cheese she pretty much says she hates it. That said, she did eat all of her chicken and some of the couscous. Luke ate everything with gusto except for the zucchini which he picked out. Maddie ate it all and Gwen who doesn't like chicken actually went back for seconds. My opinion was that it was quite excellent. The couscous didn't have that fluffiness that I was looking for but the flavors were amaaaazing! The chicken was great too, but I felt that it needed a little more salt. So votes.... 1-No Way, 2-Maybes and 3-More, More! Will definitely make again!

Leftovers Anyone?!

Well, I started having dreams about tropical locations while asleep the other night. That means one thing.....it's the dead of winter. It's interesting that something primordial inside of me immediately rejects reality and brings me to places of warm tranquility in my subconsciousness when the harsh reality of...well reality...is sub-zero wind chills and feet of snow.

When I was a kid I used to love this time of year. I remember listening for the firehouse sirens at 7am which would signal a snow day. If there was a snow day I didn't go back to bed. Oh no, I used every ounce of that day to do the things that I couldn't do while wearing the shackles of a student. I watched early morning cartoons until my Peanuts eye-glasses needed a stronger prescription. I donned my snow gear, (Which, btw, never consisted of snow pants. I'm sure they were invented when I was a kid, but apparently my parents never heard of them because I knew it was time to come in from my fun when my Jordache jeans were soaked straight through, frozen stiff again and my legs burned with the warning signs of severe frost-bite), went outside and played until well, see my side-bar... We'd go to the County Park, rub the rust off of our sled blades and cruised down that hill over and over again. I remember snow piled so high in my front yard that I'd climb it and be as tall as the second floor windows. Snow men with real coal for eyes and buttons were built in my backyard. I'd come inside to a steaming hot cup of Ovaltine with marshmallows and my mother would lay all of my wet snow gear on the furnace so that I could go back out again. I remember fondly the hissing of the radiators as they dried my mittens and I'd curl up next to them and play with my toys until everything was dry.

Not to be too nostalgic, but what the heck happened? Now, when I get the automated call in the morning or blessedly the night before, I breath a sigh of relief because I know that I don't have to wake up at the crack of dawn. I sleep right through those early morning cartoons. I use my day to catch up on organizing, dusting and laundry. When the kids start to kill each other I throw them out in the snow. They don't have to trudge 1/2 a mile to the park to sled and yet they complain. We have a few great hills right in our own backyard and inevitably they're in the house faster than it took me to get them in all of that snow gear, which yes, includes snow pants! They of couse want hot chocolate and so I whip them up some Drostes on the stove with organic cane sugar, complete with Jet-Puffed marshmallows and then promptly throw their gear into the dryer so that if they do want to go back out it's all ready for them. Boots are toasted by the wood-burning stove even....yet....they never seem to want to go back out there. This is when the cabin fever sets in for Sara.

I often wondered if we were a snow-sports family if winter would be a little more fun. After looking into the cost of being a snow-sports family, I quickly decided that $1500 for just the kids wasn't possible for us and would actually make for a nice vacation for me and the hubby. Not that we have $1500. So without the chance of being snow bunnies, what's a girl/mom to do?

Oh we cook together...henceforth I put on my winter coat of extra weight. We play games....did I ever tell you how good I am at "Pictureka!"? We do go out sledding in the yard....I threw my back out last year but so far so good this year. I dream of ice skating, but again it's not so cost effective. Not to mention I actually find that once I get out into that cold...gasp....I'm cold! I mean really, really, cold. Like old-lady cold. Like, give me a hot cup of tea and an afghan because I really don't like this stuff anymore, cold. Don't get me wrong, I push through it. Never to be a quitter, I go hiking in the snow, take the kids out, stand at the slopes to watch my 14 year-old snowboard. I just would prefer it to be about 60 degrees warmer, that's all. I know, I know, we're not supposed to rush these things. We should revel in all that life gives us as it's just a fleeting moment and will all be done in a flash. I can't help but feel...blah, blah, blah...yadda, yadda, yadda to that one.

I will admit, I love the beauty of nature the day after a heavy snowfall. The way the snow covers everything in a sparkling coat of white. I value the comfort of a warm blanket while listening to the wind whistling outside. I love the crackle of the wood in the wood-burning stove and the soft hiss of the kettle on top. I enjoy the savory creations in the crock-pot that help to warm our insides. I just can't help but look forward to the crocuses popping their heads up. The pussy-willows soft buds appearing. The vibrant yellows of forsythia and deep purples of lilacs decorating my property.

I won't rush winter away....what choice do I have I'm not Mother-time? I will keep that bin of snow-gear ready in my dining room. I will keep a box of Droste's Dutch cocoa stocked in the pantry. I'll continue to mop up the melted snow on my kitchen floor. I'll play play referee to the cabin-fevered children. I'll make as many snowmen as I possibly can. I will wake up early to help my daughter prepare a crock-pot meal for us all. I'll just continue to do it all with one eye on the warmer seasons with the fragrance of sweet flowers in the air and the opportunity to shed my winter layers and come out of hibernation with a new found appreciation for the time of year where everything seems to wake up and come to life. I guess that includes Spring sports, dance recitals, violin concerts, graduations and the parties that follow, and the craziness of the end of the school year. Now that I think of it, this time of year isn't so bad after all. :)

Not much to say.....but so much to say

Mourning is a many-faceted state of being. My sweet brother in law Tim passed away this week and this has been a week that can best be described as having a tornado rip through your life. I have felt sadness, fear, loneliness, gratefulness, unbelievable love, and shear exhaustion....sometimes all in the span of 2 minutes. There is no right or wrong to mourning, you just have to go with what is natural for you. It's hard and frightening to trust the process, both in your own life and in the live's of your loved ones. I am amazed as to how different the process is for each person and how that process changes day to day, moment to moment.

As a mother, watching my children mourn has been heartbreaking. I've seen it before only once when my grandfather passed away 4 years ago. It affected them so much that my daughter's still pray for Pop-Pop every night. This situation is so different for so many reasons. This was not an elderly, sick grandfather but a vibrant, young uncle. Someone my children could relate to on a different level than they could with their own parents. Uncle Tim was closer in age to them. He was fun, funny, loving, giving and always made time for his nieces and nephews. Also, he was seemingly healthy and happy. That makes this so much scarier for my kids. "Why did he die?" "Is what he had contagious?" "Are you or Daddy going to die too?" "When are we going to see him again?" Trying to answer these difficult questions often leaves me feeling utterly inadequate and hardly up to the task. Some questions are even more heartbreaking, "Does this mean we'll never get to wake him up again?" "You mean we can't play X-box anymore with him?" "Are grandma and grandpa OK?" I wish that I had the balm for their broken hearts, but I know that I can only offer them prayers, my love and lots of hugs. Time and God will take care of the rest.

This is my first experience watching my spouse go through a devastating loss. I'm not sure what my role is here. Do I give him space? Do I insist on keeping him grounded in some regular activities? How do I allow him his process while still protecting my children and making sure that they are getting what they need from their father? How do I deal with the fear and loneliness I feel as I lose him to this? It is so hard to watch the people you love suffer so deeply and to be utterly powerless to help them. I know full well that he has to go through his grief in his own way and I continue to pray for patience, compassion and understanding as his wife.

As a mother, seeing my mother and father-in-law suffering through this loss is one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever had to witness. I can't help but put myself in their places. Just earlier this evening as I was carrying my sleeping 4-year-old to bed I realized that she is my 5th baby as Tim was their 5th baby and I could never imagine burying my sweet baby, no matter how old she was. There must be a hole in their hearts so enormous that must seem to go on forever. Yet their amazing strength, love and just about the best hugs you've ever experience, is their very real legacy.

Then there is my very own loss. This one is especially complicated as I feel as if I don't have the time to feel it. I know how important it is for me to allow myself the time to feel my loss, but I am being pulled away from it so that I can be there for my loved ones. I still have to make sure the beds are made, the meals are cooked, the laundry is washed, the kids are clean....and on and on. When I do have the downtime to really feel my loss I don't welcome the pain, and it is very painful for me.

I met Tim right before his 12th birthday. Bill and I were a very new couple, but already we knew that we were both in it for the long-haul. Bill invited me over for church and Sunday dinner and at that dinner they were going to celebrate Tim's 12th birthday. I remember clearly all of us singing and Tim blowing out the candles on the cake and with that sweet blond head of hair and big blue eyes Tim smiled and said, "Yep, next year I'll be a teenager and I'll hate my parents for no reason." I knew at that moment that I loved this kid! He was adorable and so clever! I remember when he was so young, he was very protective of me and when I was struggling with some difficult things at that time he was always very verbal as to how he was going to protect me. I still have the little black-bear Beanie Baby he bought me for Christmas. I had the honor of watching that baby-faced boy grow into a handsome young man who could play soccer, and play bass and speak French. I got to take him to his first show at the Limelight and introduced him to one of my friends, a guitarist that he truly idolized and had hoped to play with one day. Tim and I often had heart-to-heart conversations. I don't know why, but he seemed to feel as if he could share things with me that he wasn't comfortable sharing with his parents or siblings and I felt honored that this intelligent young man trusted me so much. I remember the compassion he possessed for me too. When Bill and I first got married, I got pregnant almost immediately. I lost that pregnancy at the end of my first trimester and Tim was one of the first people to check on me. He was crying a little bit and he was so young but he really was concerned and wasn't too proud to show it. As the years progressed and as more babies were born Tim was always so anxious to be one of the first people to hold his new nieces or nephews. He'd visit in the hospital and so comfortably hold those newborn babies with a confidence that most young guys his age didn't possess. As the kids grew he made time for them in so many ways. Whether it was playing video games, or giving out bubble gum, or showing up to the father/son soccer game for Jay when Bill couldn't be there, Tim truly loved his nieces and nephews. In the most recent years Tim kind of holed-up in his room more, but would always come out when I stopped by during the days and evenings where I had to use my in-law's house as a "home base" while carting kids to and from activities in Bergen County because my own home was 20 minutes away. I'd make a pot of coffee and we'd sit together shortly and chat. I always tried to get him talking about things as I could tell he was suffering or at least struggling. He often didn't need my prompting and would open up to me.

He was always there to stand in when I needed an on the spot babysitter. Just 5 days before he passed, he helped watch Maddie on the morning that she had an asthma attack and I had to go to work. Sometimes he'd help me out just by sitting in the van while one of my kids napped and I had to run into a store.

The funny thing is what I'm going to miss about him most is the little things. The way that his hands were always playing some bass line while he was standing there talking with you. Sitting across from him every Sunday meal watching him make a lake with his mashed potatoes and gravy. Enduring his constant ribbing over my dislike of greenbeans...."What's the matter Sara? Aren't my mother's green beans good?" "I'll eat the green beans Tim if you eat the asparagus." The conversations over the latest movies we saw. That scruffy face and touseled hair as he stumbled up the stairs at 3:30pm to grab a smoke, say hi to the kids and get ready for bass lessons. Just his dry and yet so insightful, if not sarcastic, sense of humor that was so intelligent and could get me laughing like nothing else will so be missed.

I really wanted to see Tim live out his dreams of being a musician. Maybe see him play with Maddie. I had dreams for Tim that he didn't share. I wanted to see him married and I wanted to love the nieces and nephews that he was going to give me. I wanted to pay him back with supplying them with too much gum and baggies of quarters. I wanted to be able to make jokes at his expense and love them on a level that only an aunt or uncle could.


With him gone, those dreams are gone. I will say that every cloud truly has a silver lining though. As much as I loathe cliches, I have seen that silver lining even in the midst of this horrible tragedy. I have seen the hearts of my husband and in laws like I have never experienced in the 12 years I've been in this family. Usually quiet and holding their emotions close to the cuff, I've experienced the true depth of love that exists in the hearts of my mother-in-law, father-in-law and brothers and sisters-in-law. This has been a real gift that I don't think would have ever been realized without this tragedy. I've been allowed to take care of my mother-in-law who had barely allowed me to make so much as a meal for her all of the years that we've been family. I've been loved by so many people that my heart bursts and tears come down every time I consider the acts of loving kindness that have been shown to me and my family. I was able to see a strength and eloquence in my husband that I had never witnessed before. I have felt free to express my true love and gratitude in a way that I normally would be too shy or embarrassed to express. I've also witness the miracle of the gift of grace that the Holy Spirit brings.

I've had the honor of reading his journal and it struck so close to home for me as a lot of my journal entries at his age were similar. The darkness he often felt, coupled with the gift of writing that he possesed and the amazing insight of a special man truly resonated with me. The real relationship he allowed himself to have with his journal was one that I could relate to.

I just wish that he could have felt the love that others had for him. I wish that he knew just how much he was not alone. I wish that he knew that his nieces and nephews would forever be changed with his passing and that his entire family would forever have a dark cloud lingering in their hearts. I know that it never pays to dwell on the should've, could've, would'ves so I won't dwell on that. I will, however, hold onto the strength that God has been gracing me with, the amazing gift of the love that I experience from my friends, and the immeasurable blessing that my family is. I choose to remember Tim often and fondly. To celebrate his short life every moment I get and to honor it by encourgaing my children to be who they are and to love who they are and to know that they are never alone and worthy of love because God loved them first.

Take Me Out OF the Ball-Game..

OK, I have a confession to make. I loathe going to my kids' sports games. That was "loathe" people, not "love". Don't get me wrong, it's not the actual watching of my children playing the various sports, it's the fact that I don't get to actually watch any of it! I am always being distracted by the various siblings who are either bored, hungry, hurt, have to go to the bathroom, angry, tired....etc, etc.

This all started with my firstborn. I was so excited to finally be a "soccer mom" and watch my little guy play on his first sports team. I had no idea that there would be no sitting on bleachers cheering for my shining star, no cute cardigans tied around my shoulders. No, there would be pushing a double stroller with infant twins who had absolutely no interest in allowing Mommy even a moment to be a doting spectator. This would be followed by attempting to nurse said twins, and never actually being able to sit anywhere. Walking them around the soccer field over and over. The upside was that when Jason played goalie as I was making my laps by the goal I could tell Jason right to his face how proud I was of him. I can't even tell you how many of his goals or saves that I missed. I'd hear other people cheering for him and looking up from the puddle of baby vomit that I was trying to remove from my hair, I'd pretend that I saw it and give my guy the thumbs up.

Years went by and the twins grew up. They were finally at an age where if I could manage to shove enough food down their throats they were too busy to cause too much trouble. That's when I had Luke. Luke was actually a pretty easy-going baby so for a short while there it was enjoyable. I had a small glimpse of what it was like to be one of those happy parents who couldn't wait to cheer on their kids. Small glimpse. It was short-lived as the twins soon acquired the superpower of hearing a snack being opened from a mile away and I'd have to keep my voracious kids from eating everyone else's food. They were like a food-grubbing tag-team. This was about the time that Luke started walking. (One day, ask me to show you a picture of Luke around the age of 1. He looks like Rocky Balboa. I'm not exaggerating. The kid would fall head first about every 5 minutes. Usually on concrete. ) I spent a lot of time walking away from games with my screaming toddler so that I could get some ice from the snack stand. I think they had a First-Aid kit labeled "Van Goor" that year.

Without a break, sweet Charlotte entered the cheering team that was my fabulous little brood. She hated sports in the womb. Maybe it was all the yelling she heard while still in there as I was trying to keep my kids from ruining America's favorite past-time. At this point I'd already earned the reputation of the mom who had so many kids she was shell-shocked. You know like that that little old lady in the shoe? We only lived in town a few months and people would see my troop heading there way and clear a path. I felt like Forrest Gump on the school bus...."Seat's taken." Yeah, don't worry, I won't actually be sitting, I just need a place to put my diaper bag, first aid kit, cooler, toy box and coffee maker. OK, I'm ready to cheer now. I think at this point Jason would have preferred that I didn't bother coming at all. It had to be embarrassing when the soccer ball hit him in the face because he got distracted by the screams of his fighting siblings.

Well, like all things, the torch gets passed on. The time came for Maddie and Gwen to have their first soccer game. Bill was at another field with Jason and I was at Maddie and Gwen's game with Luke and Charlotte. Already an old-hat at this, I came fully prepared. Gone were the days of the stroller and here were the days where I could bring a bag of sand toys a few snacks and hand sanitizing wipes and sort of pay attention. Of course, the day before that first game we had torrential rain. Luke and Charlotte managed to fall completely into said mud-puddle. Great, it was cold and the one thing that I didn't have with me was a change of clothes. The game had just started and even though the field was a good 20 minutes away from home (in the same town as I live mind you), I figured I could run home, get them changed and run back to make it. I didn't know anyone yet as it was the first game, and being that I now had 5 kids, I felt very little guilt leaving my twins and running out. Little did I know that the game ended early because of the condition of the field and I came back to find my little girls sitting alone on an empty field. (Wouldn't you like to see the email that I sent their coach?) It'd be more normal if my girls were crying and scared, but after so many years of Mommy just doing the best she can, they were fine and all smiles, just wondering where I was. No, I did not get Mother of the Year that year either. Then there was the time that my girls had a softball game and Luke had to use the porta-john. Just love those smelly-cess pools. This was before had his operation. Let's just say that I can tell you just how pee tastes.....no I'm not kidding. Look thinks it tastes like stale pretzels.

Tonight was Luke's first soccer game of the season. For some stupid reason, (probably the same reason that we continue to have more than one child.....we forget! Otherwise human-kind would be extinct already) I thought that with the twins being 9 years-old and Charlotte being 4 this was going to be my year. I was going to show up at a game without looking like I just rushed home from school, got 3 kids to finish their homework, worked out Jason's transportation from his soccer practice, made dinner, fed it to my kids, got Luke changed into his uniform which consists of a shirt that goes down to his ankles and socks that are too big hand me downs and slouch like elephant legs, and actually look like a human being. This consisted of pulling my hair into a neater pony tail and trading my yoga tank for a long-sleeved yoga shirt. (Hey, I have to start out small.) After illegally parking so that we didn't have to walk a mile to the field, I lugged our chairs up to the field and a few water bottles for the kids. (We've scaled down quite a bit!) This is where Charlotte and Gwen decided to become the worst tag-team in history....the hysterically bored and starving divas. No matter that they just ate a huge dinner and were surrounded by hundreds of potential playmates. They were going to stand in front of me blocking my view of Luke dribbling that soccer ball towards the goal. I had one of those, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" moments. I told them to get out of my way or I was going punish them in a way that.....well, actually I had no idea how, but I wasn't going to let them know that....would make them very upset. Strong words, I know. I think they could sense the danger they were in. My kids know when Mommy has snapped. It's happened on a number of occasions. I'm not sure if it's instinct or if I turn green and muscles explode out of my clothing, but they know. They decided that they were going to take a sisterly stroll around the field. So there I was tonight, sitting on my portable chair, cheering for my Lukey and because things come full circle, my kids were walking themselves around the soccer field. Maybe it was comforting for them from so many trips in strollers that each one of them made as I pushed them trying to avoid the goose poop. You know a bit of nostalgia.

All I know is that I am still far away from saying that I love going to my kids' sports events, but if things truly come full circle I can look forward to sitting at my grand children's games and although I probably still won't be watching the grandchild on the field, it will be because I'm too busy laughing at my children pushing their children around that soccer field wondering why in the world they are there. Because it's fun kids. :)

See You in September...

I know I should be sleeping.... it's after midnight and I'm still in "summer mode". I think we can call this a classic case of denial. My kids start school tomorrow and I'm on the computer with an interesting movie on HBO playing on the TV. I can sleep in in the morning right? Tomorrow when that alarm clock goes off I am going to be hating myself. So why am I still up? I guess it's that stubborn little girl that's still in me. The one that keeps me banging my head against the proverbial wall of reality. The one that says, "It's not even Labor Day, there is no way that school is starting....right?" It's the reason that I did school supply shopping today, the day before school. (Thank goodness for Walmart!) I just spent over an hour organizing backpacks and supplies and lunch bags. That should be sobering, but I always find it comical how very automated, like a factory, I have to sort the chores of caring and preparing things for five children. The line up of backpacks, the mechanical filling of lunch boxes. It's sort of fulfilling. Seeing the chaos of the supplies on the table, neatly filling those backpacks. Knowing that these tools are going to be used by my children in their process of learning. The excitement of opening a fresh box of crayons. Remember that smell? That neat feeling of a newly sharpened pencil. Swearing that you'd keep them that sharp and neat all year long...... I guess I can relate to that and feel the nostalgia.

The excitement of seeing friends that I missed over the summer. That crazy denial (yes, I had it even then) that it was too hot to wear that new outfit I bought that involved long pants and long sleeves. The nervousness and yet positive anticipation of seeing friends that I hadn't seen all summer. I can remember the days before school started floating on a raft in my pool, thoroughly soaking in the sun and then the breeze would blow. I'd hear a certain rustle in the trees and smell a familiar smell and i knew that school was on its way. No matter how much Hawaiian Tropic suntanning oil with the scent of coconut and pineapple that I applied could cover the impending responsibility of the school year. Certainly, the fact that my high school was literally behind the fence in my backyard didn't make things easier for me...

I guess I always really loved the first day of school. Even though in my awkward days of adolescence and teenager-hood (is that a word?) the first day of school always was slightly frightening. Did I make the right decision with the outfit I chose? After all, first impressions were so important in those silly days of status-climbing/securing. Was my acid-washed denim skirt with the bandanna fringe "cool" enough to start the year off on the right foot? Apparently not as I didn't get the memo that everyone else that year was wearing a tapestry vest with jeans. Bummer, I couldn't quite afford that vest that year, but I'd try harder next year.....

I'm so glad that my kids don't have to deal with that kind of social pressure in the schools that they attend. Sure there is still the need to fit-in but is is surmounted by the emphasis on a relationship with God. Even thought the girls will surely be comparing outfits from Justice and Abercrombie and the boys will be making fun of each other for everything they possibly can, theyu are in a school where they have the freedom to pray for each other They can lose the socioeconomic bounderies and connect with their peers in a way I never could...

So as the bittersweet first day of school arrives. I look forward to the stability of a schedule. The amazing love that my children feel as they are enveloped by the Christian staff and student-body. The "freedom" for me that comes with my kids being engaged by others, and the comfort that they are in loving hands. I may mourn the passing of summer. I may balk at the progression of my children's years because it means that time is moving on and my "babies" are growing up. But deep down I know that wonderful things are to come. That the growth of my children is imminent and is a true blessing. I see where I am today and the path that has taken me there. From floating care freely on a raft in August to packing four backpacks years later. I am where God has designated I be, and I am blessed right where I am supposed to be.

Old Lang Syne

Wow, it's be awhile since I wrote here. It's already July 7th and summer is in full swing. I actually got suckered into playing Ms. Betsy Ross during the Ridgewood 4th of July parade and once again for a performance at the band shell before the fireworks. It was a red banner day as I didn't have a panic attack on stage (thank you Zoloft)....As I write this, my husband is whistling "Grand Old Flag," because it's stuck in his head from Luke singing it. We're definitely in a patriotic sort of way....

Summer is one of my favorite seasons. I definitely love Fall as by the time it's in full swing I'm ready for the change. The coolness in the air, the colors of the leaves, the smell on the breeze are all welcome after a seemingly long, hot summer. This year, it may be more welcome than usual as we've been having temperatures that have exceeded 100 degrees. But I remember summer-times-past fondly.

My earliest memories of summer involved me swimming by my grandparent's . They had an above-ground pool canopied by a cherry tree and we'd visit almost daily to take advantage of the cool bliss that it offered. I learned to swim at an early age. My grandfather would basically let me go and fend for myself in the water and I probably learned to swim at age 4. We'd swim all day, dine on a lunch of bologna sandwiches and maybe play a game of Atari Pacman (sitting on the floor in our wet bathing suits in the a/c) or maybe Pinball or Super Breakout. There were loads of twin ice pops, (you know the kind that were frozen together like Siamese twins with two sticks, mostly tasting like a chemical version of orange, grape or cherry). Watermelon was a staple during those hot, lazy days.

Dinner was always fun by Grandma and Pop Pop's house. There was the hot dog and french fry dinner t.v.-side while watching Scooby Doo. Or one of my favorites, fried fish from Rick's Fish on Rte. 17. Yum! Of course, a charcoal grilled hamburger was always a favorite. After dinner we'd run outside to play in the pool again, or have a fun game of H.O.R.S.E with the basketball net on the driveway. This was just a minor distraction as we waited for the inevitable sound of Little Jimmy's Italian Ice Truck. I still remember the quick rush of adrenaline as the tune of "The Entertainer", by Scott Joplin announced Little Jimmy's arrival. The promise of sweet and cool refreshment was always welcome. Rainbow flavored anyone?

After a day of fun and feasting the adults would make their way outside, sitting on lawn chairs with a cool drink in hand. The smell of citronella candles in the air, it was time to catch the lightening bugs. We'd grab a Mason jar from my grandma's cellar and poke a few holes in the lid and the quest would begin. The goal was to catch as many lightening bugs as we could and maybe make a glowing necklace out of them (I know, gross!!). Once the lightening bugs were gone, my mother had a bath run for me, complete with Avon pink bubbles. The chlorine and dirt of the day, washed away, I'd slip into my baby-doll pj's and get buckled into the car for the ride home where I'd inevitably fall asleep. The next day promising roller skating, jump-roping and lots of games of kickball, wiffle ball, sticker trading or Garbage Pail Kids card trading.

As an adult, I remember these times fondly and hope that I can offer my children experiences that can become fond memories for them. I guess that's why we went to the drive-in theatre the other night, and had a sleepover with a best friend, and went to the lake almost daily, and went swimming by Aunt Barbara's, and are going to the Jersey Shore for the weekend......There's no cherry tree-shaded swimming pool anymore. Atari has been replaced by Wii. The lake has taken the place of grandma's pool, but the memories are still ready to be made. The fun is ripe for the picking. The ice pops are still cold, the watermelon is still juicy, the sun still bakes the pavement, and I'll make sure that my kids get to experience each and every bit of summer.

Swings and Other Things

Wow it's been a whole month since my last post. I thought about posting a few times, but then when it came down to it, honestly, I got lazy. It's so easy to forget that putting my thoughts down is actually therapeutic for me. Speaking of therapy, I'm currently practicing my favorite form. The weather is actually nice enough for me to be sitting on my porch with a hot cup of decaf and the sun shining down on me! I missed this time for myself in the mornings. Winter mornings were bleak and drab. It was so hard for me to get out of bed, but when it's this gorgeous when I open my eyes I bound out of bed and don't look back. So what if the people on their way to work drive by and see me in my fluffy robe and slippers? I absolutely love feeling the sun on my face and listening to the wind chimes tinkle softly. The Spring robins are busy getting their early worms and there is even a woodpecker on one of our trees tapping out a rhythm adding to the music of my beautiful morning. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to have a few deer or the odd wild turkey stroll by.

During this time of Spring renewal I'm always reminded of the miracle of rebirth. Isn't it amazing how only a few weeks ago everything was brown, dry and dead? Now my lilac bushes have tiny green buds on them. The daffodils are promising to open any sunny day now. My forsythia are the brightest of yellows. My motivation re-awakens in Spring too. I feel the pull to start looking ahead. My garden planning has begun. In spite even of the fact that every year I have to fight the elements and the pesky wildlife and each time I wonder if it's really worth all the work, when Spring comes I look forward with excitement to planting my vegetables. The winter wonderland that was my backyard is quickly becoming my Spring and Summer paradise.

I can't help but be reminded of my childhood on days like today. I must've spent a lot of time outdoors because there are certain bird calls and certain smells even that spark distant memories for me. I heard a cardinal's call this morning and immediately I found myself thinking of my grandfather, who I affectionately called Pop-Pop until the day he died. He always grew excited upon sighting a cardinal. They are a beautiful bird and he found so much joy every time they'd come to visit his bird feeder. I think he felt as if they came just for him. I spent a lot of time with my Pop-Pop growing up. My mother worked full time until my younger brother was born and my Pops worked the night shift on the docks so he would watch me during the day. I have nothing but fond memories of him. He was strong and warm and loving. He was always smiling, (except when his Yankees were losing). His faith was what has helped me to build my own on. I was so fortunate to have been raised by such and amazing man.

I can remember on days just like today spending the morning with my mother's aunt who lived upstairs from my grandparents. Around noon my grandfather would wake up and I'd go downstairs to start my day with him. We'd begin by washing the breakfast dishes together. He always had the patience to let me "help" him. I'd pull the kitchen chair up to the sink and we'd have fun with the bubbles. I couldn't help but see the tree swing out the window that was over the sink and would begin asking as to when we could go outside. My Pops with a twinkle in his eye would promise that as soon as our chores were done we could. I think he looked forward to pushing me on that swing as much as I looked forward to swinging on it. This time of year the blossoms on the pear tree would be a thick and fragrant canopy over us as my cries for, "higher, higher!" echoed off the adjacent school walls. We would be sure to visit his green house this time of year and check on the seedlings that were coming up already. Another amazing gift of my grandfather's was that he had the greenest thumb ever. I loved the smell of the warm dirt in that greenhouse. As the weather grew warmer those seedlings would find themselves lovingly planted in his garden and diligently worked until they met their full potential. It amazes me today as a mother and adult that my grandfather had the patience to include me in each of his chores, making them seem like a game for me and still having the time to take me on adventurous walks to the local park, or to the corner store for an ice cream.

Yesterday was Easter. I host my family every year and we all can't help but feel the void that was left when my Pop-Pop passed away 3 years ago. His smiling face, him saying Grace before we ate are missing. I thought of him often yesterday as I watched the kids running with so much joy trying to find just one more Easter egg. He would have enjoyed their youthful exuberance so much. His spirit has touched me so that I find myself reminded of him in many of the things that I do. The most important, I think aside from his faith, were his patience and his ability to make time for what was important. Taking the time with all of the busyness of hosting yesterday to sit and partake in spending time with my family was so important to me. Every time I go into my garden I know he's guiding me. When I don't really feel motivated but I still take my kids for a walk to the park, he's smiling down on me. Most importantly I am reminded of his faith that kept him going through those hard years as cancer stole his strength to till the garden, his legs to take those walks and ultimately his life here on earth. He never once wavered in his faith that he was going to meet Jesus and that this life was wonderful but what lay ahead would be more amazing. I will never waver that one day I will once again find myself being pushed on a swing under a blossoming pear tree as my Pop-Pop and I bask in the love of our Creator together, once more.