These are the Days

Three years of changing diapers. That's 1,095 very long, very messy days. Our son decidedbefore he was twenty-three months old that M&M's were enough motivation to pee on a potty and he hasn't looked back since. He's only been wearing a diaper for his nap and nighttime sleep and he has been a bathroom champ.

Her on the other hand- well at eighteen months she looked me square in the face and said, "Uhoh... poop! and by golly she actually went on the toilet! We all cheered and screamed and shouted loud HOORAY's but, that was the last time. Reese is now two and we have been telling her for so long, "Just tell us when you have to use it. You can do it!" She has been the toddler who stands in a corner quietly and when I look over to say, "REESE, what are you doing....??" she sheepishly rolls her eyes and says, "I poooopin." Noooooooooo!

One cold afternoon this week I had the privilege of staying home with the kids since our poor sitter was sick with the flu. It was in the single digits outside and I thought, "What a great day to just stay inside!" Reese woke and there was something different about her; it was like she had slept and gone through a major milestone. She was rambling and spitting out words faster than I could understand and somewhere in one of them I heard, "I go potty..." I decided to take her pants and diaper completely off, just to see, and sure enough she ran to the bathroom on our second floor. She sat on the toilet like she had been doing it her whole life and after she successfully went, she shouted for her big brother. Pierson exclaimed, "REESIE CUP! You PEED! You DID IT! You get a sticker on your sticker chart!" and Reese sat there, clapping her hands as she yelled, "YAY!!!!!"  After that, she went on the potty ALL day. SO much that she completed her entire sticker chart.

The next day our sitter was still sick, so my husband stayed home. I told myself not to get too excited as I know many kids will use the potty a few times but then quit again. A couple hours into the work day I received a text message: "Reese just took herself to the potty and peed!" And then again, and then a third time. And all of a sudden it dawned on me- this is the last baby we will ever be potty training. I thought back to the countless diapers our Diaper Genies have held and I realized, soon we get to throw those nasty garbage pails away! And just like that, this chapter to baby raising is closing. No, I don't expect to be rid of diapers entirely anytime soon, but I do know we'll need to buy less and less. And after this milestone, another one will begin and end. And sooner than my heart wants to admit, these 'baby' years will be over. 

Suddenly it is sinking in. The hundreds of time a stranger at the Grocery has told me, "Embrace it. Cherish these moments. These are the days." There has been many times I have almost laughed in their face. As my two toddlers have exploded into simultaneous fits while riding in those god awful Cars carts, I have almost said aloud, "Really?! THESE are the days? THIS moment I am supposed to cherish?!" But it goes beyond than that; than the public tantrums or the loud chaos that makes up our home. And it goes deeper than the many poopy diapers I have changed- even at one point when I had two babes, 15 months apart from each other, needing them changed what seemed constantly. 

These memories are fleeting. 'The days are long but the years short,' said by author Gretchen Rubin, rings so true for me. I remember bringing Reese home like it was yesterday. The doctor placing her in my arms, the span of time she refused to nap longer than 45 minutes straight, when I questioned if I was doing anything right, and now I am taking her to the toy store to pick something for this huge accomplishment. I am so proud and my heart is so full. And as long as the days are, as messy as they may be, I believe so sincerely that these really are the days.

Perfectly Imperfect

The smell of warm bread drifted through our cozy hundred year old home the entire day. Kentucky finally had its' first snow, at least in our region, and the snowflakes softly fell. We were all staying warm, wearing comfy clothes and me in my fuzzy socks. All Sunday afternoon, I read the recipe 100 times, watched the yeast rise and fall, molded the dough into a ball and finally- finally, it was done. 

Doesn't it look beautiful? Like it would taste delicious, fresh and hot from the oven?

It wasn't. At all. It was a baking project that took me several long hours, one that required so much patience, and it had our taste buds anticipating the first bite ALL day long. I grabbed a large chunk with my eager fingers and as soon as it was in my mouth I exclaimed, "Oh NO! Yuck, no, NO!" My husband tried to be sweet about it- "Oh let's wait a while longer and see what happens (as if it would change). Maybe it'll become more dense and taste more like.... bread." It didn't.

Isn't this kind of like life? We plan for things and wish for certain events to happen. We work hard and pray for a beautiful result and then--it's nothing at all like we hoped for. My husband and I plan rigorously to provide healthy, well rounded meals for our family. Sitting around the table with one another to talk about our day is something that of course, is ideal. But after long work days, it is more of a reality that Frozen is playing for the umpteenth time and chicken nuggets is the glorious meal being served.

Perfectly imperfect. When I think that painting with two toddlers is a good idea and five seconds later am pulling my hair out at the red and blue sloshing all over the table. But they made their own masterpiece and cheered each other on the entire time.

Or the suggestion for them to get creative using Play-doh and moments later I am scraping the bits and pieces out of the cracks in our ancient floors. But their little fingers worked so hard and I watched their glowing faces each time they made another snake, or horse or human.

 I can even relate this to my current teaching career: I plan what I expect to be a freeking awesome lesson; surely the boys (I have eight), will all be engaged and thrilled to discuss the inspiring explorers Lewis and Clark. Right?! OR they'll instead get caught up on the fact that Sacajawea had a baby at seventeen ("It's not even possible to have a baby at seventeen, that's way too young," says one. "Well that was back in the day, like a LONG time ago, so it used to happen but it can't anymore," another replies). Okay sooooooooo not what I thought would be ten minutes spent in Social Studies. BUT, it did lead us to an awesome conversation about how brave and strong the female Native American was who helped Lewis and Clark reach the Pacific Ocean. The boys were awed by her courage and strength as she braved mountains and crossed waterways, all with a baby on her back. Not how I expected the lesson to go, but it turned out better.

God gifted me with the art of photography and I was blessed to discover it several years ago. But just because I am talented at snapping a good quality photo, does not mean that our life is all sunshine and roses. From the moment our kids were born, I made a very conscious decision to post what I post. I personally don't think crying photos of them are cute, that's a preference. There are a lot of other things that I would rather document. And when I spent all day making my first attempt at homemade bread, I took a lot of time and effort to take the photos that I did. When we took our first bite out of this very pretty loaf, I felt myself frown, my chest tighten up and for a second I thought, "What a waste."

The truth is, it wasn't a waste at all. Pies may be more up my alley but I've always wanted to try baking bread. Everyone says it is such hard work (PREACH!), like an art in itself; and although I longed for it to be a delicious masterpiece, the end result was a big loaf of perfect imperfections. The old floors in our house creak, 90% of the time there are toddlers running, screaming, arguing and laughing. Favorite movies are played on repeat, the corners are crowded with an abundance of toys and some days, despite how hard you try, how well you plan, you have to accept that your life is a masterpiece.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie

There is one delicious exception to my "I'm-not-a-sweets-girl" theory...

Every year on my Dad's birthday he wanted a chocolate peanut butter pie. A quaint little bakery in my hometown of Allegan made the perfect one and whenever Mom brought it home, I was ready; fork in hand with a glimmer in my eye because THIS, this was my favorite pie e-v-e-r. 

It's not surprising then that I craved peanut butter pie with both of my pregnancies and while I am obsessed with our local Sweet Surrender's version, going for a slice was never enough and I couldn't justify spending twenty bucks for one as often as I craved it. So praise the Lord I found THIS pie; even if it was two years ago since I had my last babe ;)

If you've followed along, you know that my 2015 Resolution was to bake a new pie each month. Well, December finally came and this would obviously be my very last pie... I had to make it count! I was at my parents home in Michigan, our 'fake Christmas' was in a few days and I knew I wanted to bake something to contribute. My genius husband was actually the one who thought of a chocolate peanut butter pie and my sister-in-law volunteered to make a grocery run with the men while I took kid duty. I asked her to look for a simple peanut butter pie recipe, and that I wanted a chocolate crust. So it's thanks to her for finding The Pioneer Woman's recipe on Food Network so that I could simply re-create and therefore EAT it. I promise you don't want to miss out on this peanut butter, chocolate goodness. Every ounce of a whipped bite is going to have you in absolute pie heaven.

Crust Ingredients:
1 package of chocolate sandwich cookies, such as Oreos
4 tablespoons butter, melted

Filling Ingredients:
1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 eight-ounce package cream cheese, softened
1 1/4 cups powdered sugar
1 eight-ounce pakage whipped topping, such as Cool Whip (thawed)

Directions for the crust:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Crush the cookies until they're fine crumbs (I used a food processor). Pour the melted butter over the top and stir with a fork to combine. Press into a pie pan and bake until set, 5-7 minutes (it took my crust 10). Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely.

Directions for the filling:
Beat the peanut butter with the cream cheese until smooth. Add the powdered sugar and beat until smooth. Add in the thawed whipped topping and also beat until smooth, scraping the sides as necessary. Pour the filling into the crust and chill for at least 1 hour before serving.

And that's IT! THE easiest chocolate peanut butter pie recipe. Did we like it?! Heck to the yeah we did and my dad especially was wowed. I am fairly certain now I need to make this pie again asap because now I'm drooling.

Mommy Put Me Down

"Mommy put me down!!!" are the four words we hear in our household every.single.night. 

Our two and three year old have gotten accustomed to asking for me, each and every night. "I want MOMMY!" Reese will say. "It's Daddy's turn, Reesie," I gently respond. Her arms shoot up, giant tears well in her eyes as she reaches for me. Sometimes it's a little more smooth sailing and she is okay to give me a giant kiss with some crocodile tears. But lately, no.

Why? Is it because I am a really fun Mom and they think I just put them down better? Nope. Dad is the giant toy here. It is with him they crack up laughing as they Hulk smash each other, as soon as he walks in the door. It is Dad who makes us smile and helps us get out of our afternoon funks. Is it because I am super patient and selfless? I'm sorry to admit that it would be for this reason even less...I think I was a semi patient kid, but it started dwindling in my adolescent years and by the time I was an adult, it's like something snapped. Noise, chaos, incessant tapping, whistling...oh boy. I better stop admitting all this. But toddlers fighting? Shoving each other? Demanding which toys are whose and stomping their feet through it all? What patience? Another high five for Dad on this front. And if there is anything motherhood has taught me, it is how quickly I crave selfishness. I don't remember what it's like to pee alone. When I come home from work, my husband still has another two before he joins us. I get the kids a snack, a drink and I allow for a few minutes of TV or i-Pads so that I can change clothes and clean up. It takes all of three minutes for me to do this and the entire time I literally pray, "Please don't kill each other." Some days I can count down-- "5, 4, 3, 2...."

"MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!" Pierson screams at an ungodly pitch. Reese screams back. Something knocks over. Feet scuffling on the hardwood floors. Silence. "Oh, CRAP, one of them is dead."

So it's not my selflessness they're attracted to. But it never fails. This phase of life is all about Mommy. Mommy put me down for nap, bedtime; Mommy to hold me when I'm upset, Mommy I run to for tattling. That doesn't mean they each get me every night. My husband and I are great about taking turns and Pierson may soon be on the verge of being completely okay with this. When I put down Reese, he does Pierson, and vice versa. But there's still the asking, on repeat. Usually before dinner starts, a few times during the meal, in the bath, and then the battle begins. All day long I've spent seven hours pouring into other children- attempting to teach them all the core subjects in school as well as how to love and respect one another. I get a mere four hours with my own and I will be 100% honest; when I walk in the door, my heart is often heavy, my feet are tired, my bra comes off and the last thing I feel prepared for is motherhood. But this hat comes first: Mommy. I may be exhausted, my brain might be a little (okay, a lot) frazzled, and some nights I have actually cringed at the high pitch cries of "Mommy put me down!"

But it's all becoming so real- the fact that they won't be toddlers forever. I know they will be able to do their bedtime routines themselves and after they do, they will be perfectly okay with a simple hug and kiss for the night. Their little bodies won't fit so perfectly nestled against mine, Reese won't beg for me to rock her a little longer, and Pierson won't need me to sit in his chair to sing "just ONE more song."

Most days I don't feel worthy. I'm insecure and I often doubt who I am, what I was created for. But then I hear their voice and Mommy Put Me Down assures me that I am doing the right thing.