Ready…

…set…

…hug!

*No brothers or wee-ones were hurt during this hug-fest.  Just a whole lot of hugging going on.

Soup…

I have a new dinner obsession.  I tend to do this – fall into a dinner rotation that I love and stick with it through thick and thin.  Once we’ve had our fill it’s time to move on to a new rotation.  The changing of the seasons also helps to facilitate this – summer with its fresh produce, winter begging for warm and cozy dishes.

Currently, soup is the word.  I can’t seem to get enough of this warm meal that happens to go perfectly with a loaf of crusty bread, cheese, a tossed green salad, and perhaps a glass of red wine or beer {depending on the day…}  Soup is really the perfect meal.  Double the batch and it almost always freezes well.  {Who doesn’t love a dinner that is always ready to eat?}  It is also forgiving – baby needs to eat?  Turn down the heat and it will wait patiently.

{As a total side note – I swear that I read somewhere that a great way to stay healthy – beyond the obvious like sleep and water – was to eat plenty of chicken broth.  So not only are our soup dinners easy {leftovers!} and yummy, they are protecting us from H1N1.  Alex claims that this falls under the “Libby theory” category, but I remain confidant.}

My current favorites?  Homemade chicken noodle soup.  {So easy!}  Butternut squash soup with cider cream.  It’s so yummy – especially when served with grilled prosciutto, salami and cheese sandwiches.  And the newest addition to my soup repertoire: Zesty chicken soup.  A friend made this soup for us after William was born and I finally made it myself last week.  It has such a unique combination of flavors – Alex and I couldn’t decide if it was an Indian inspired soup?  Yet with the cilantro garnish it took on a Mexican flavoring.  Indi-mex?

{I don’t typically photograph our dinner before it’s served, but before eating Alex suggested a picture because it looked so good.}

Zesty Chicken Soup

1 tablespoon olive oil

3/4 cup chopped onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 tablespoon curry powder

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut into 1/2 inch pieces

1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper

1 tsp. grated or minced ginger

1/4 tsp. dried red pepper flakes

28 ounces chicken broth

1 can {14 ounces} diced tomatoes, with their liquid

1 large Granny Smith apple, cored, peeled and coarsely chopped

1/2 c. orzo

3 tablespoons dried currants {dried cranberries and raisins can be substituted.}

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Chopped cilantro for garnish

Plain yogurt or sour cream for garnish

Heat the oil in a large stockpot over medium-high heat.  Add the onion and saute until tender, about 3 to 5 minutes, then add garlic and saute 1 minute longer.  Stir in the curry and saute for 1 minute, then add the chicken, red pepper, ginger, and red pepper flakes and stir for 2 minutes.  Add the broth, tomatoes, and apple and bring to a boil.  Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes.  {The soup can be made a day ahead at this point; cover and refrigerate, then bring to a simmer before continuing.}

Add the orzo and currants to the soup and simmer until the orzo is tender, about 10 minutes.  Season the soup to taste with salt and pepper and ladle it into bowls.  Garnish with cilantro and a dollop of yogurt or sour cream.

{Yes, there is some “zest” but my boys still happily ate this soup and didn’t proclaim it to be “too spicy.”}

…to nuts.

Or why I’m nuts.

This weekend I spent Saturday in Seattle shopping with my mom and William. {I know, Alex is the best husband ever.}  While I was innocently paying for my purchase one of the sales gals {not the one helping me} smiled at me and said “What a cute mom outfit you have on!”  Good thing the other sales clerk had already taken the pen away from me.  What?! Had I not been shopping in Nordstrom I would have blacklisted the store forever, but we know that’s never going to happen.

Yes, I have three boys – which does make me a mom.  But doesn’t a “mom outfit” include something like “mom jeans?”  {For the record – I was not wearing mom jeans.  I was actually in the process of purchasing some new skivvies to replace those that had seen me through a pregnancy, or two…  And no, I don’t refer to my undergarments as skivvies, I’m just trying to avoid any weirdo google search people…}  I mean really.  A mom is one of those nuts that writes about soups…

I digress…does this look like a mom outfit to you?

Don’t answer that.

Good-bye sweet Razor.

You were cutting edge when we first met back in 2006 {2007?} but I guess things have changed a bit.  Last night Alex brought home your successor.  {I’m hoping this means that the “2006 {2007?} called and they want their phone back” jokes will end?}

Yes, I’m being forced to join 2009 and all of the “features” that come with it.

Dear Razor, I won’t forget you.  Your small slim frame – a big selling point – made it so easy to slip you into a coat or jeans pocket.  That same feature also caused me to lose you repeatedly, but I don’t blame you.  I’d hear from others that they had tried to call me, but you silly phone were always playing games with me.  Sometimes you would ring and other times you weren’t up to the task.

You were quirky.  The same was true for your battery.  We went through three.  I was patient – I knew we would find one that you agreed with.  It wasn’t important that some days it would run out in two hours and other times it would stay charged for days.  Predictability, reliability – who needs it?

You had your own agenda and I liked that about you.  Voice mail too was hit and miss.  Sometimes you would keep messages to yourself for days.  Only when the time was right, would you share them.  Perhaps you were simply teaching me not to become too reliant on technology?  And texting?  We never fully explored this part of our relationship.  Go figure – apparently it’s all the rage, and not the “fad” we both thought it was. But we chose not to take part in that because really, who had the time to type out a message {click, click, click, finally reaching the right letter, click, click, click…} when it was just easier to pick up the phone and call?  {That is if you weren’t “hiding” at the time.}  As for e-mail and the internet?  We both agreed that’s what computers are for.  I just recently learned that this is not true.

You were stubborn. {A trait we both shared.}  You didn’t like change {again, something in common!}  When it was time for you to give up your SIM card last night and officially retire, Alex asked me how to get it out of the phone.  “The phone won’t open on its own” I explained, “you will have to drop it on the floor – it will open up that way.”  One funny look and a half-hearted drop later I told him, “No, you have to drop it like you mean it.”  He did.  And you cooperated.  We knew each other well and accepted the things that made us unique.

I will miss you dear Razor.  You have been good to me.  But Alex has promised that this new “phone” will make my life “so much easier.”  {Does it do laundry?  Dishes?}  I’m guessing that he is hoping I will use the handy calendar feature, and perhaps give texting a try.  {Apparently he doesn’t like it when I try calling five times in a row while he is sitting in a meeting.  While that may be my code for “its really important that I talk to you – RIGHT NOW” some find it rude.}

And you dear Razor?  Perhaps you will find happiness in the hands of a younger generation.  {Or not.}  But I do thank you for sacrificing yourself and serving as a distraction from my new phone {with which drool does not agree with.}

Yes, it pains me to retire my phone that does still work.  I’m frugal at heart.  {High-maintenance frugal, Alex would call it – and yes, the two can happily co-exist.}

There is this saying that most mothers {especially those with young children} know.  It goes something like “the days may be long but the years are short.”  It’s true.  While it may seem like William just joined our family yesterday other days it seems like I’ve been the mother of three for years.

I’m in the thick of it.  I’m officially a sleep-deprived woman.  That “new mom” adrenaline has long since left the building, and left me with three kids.  All dependent on me.  I’m knee-deep into those days when one second you have a dreamy moment with your toddler {think happy kiddos, hugs, everyone is following directions – bliss} and the next moment you are sending your kid into time-out for pushing.  {“You’re not my friend anymore mom!”}  Days where you find yourself dreaming about simply going to the bathroom without an audience.  We seem to have plenty of those days.  Days when there are diapers to be changed, laundry to be done, dinner to be made, noses to be wiped.  It feels a bit like a three-ring circus and apparently I’m the ring-leader.

Everyday I promise myself that this will be the day I finally return all of those phone calls/e-mails/text messages.  But I forget.  Again.  Instead snuggle-time, re-heating my coffee, making another batch of cookies and playing yet another round of tiddlywinks took precedence {again}.  There is always tomorrow I remind myself.  Tomorrow I will complete my to-do list.  Today we will read stories.

I never thought I would become one of those moms.  You know the ones – teetering happily on the edge of crazy.  I’m a “doer.”  I get things done.  But I’ve discovered that by fully diving into the role of motherhood it’s a much deeper and richer experience – one that otherwise would have passed me by.  This isn’t a job intended for dabbling.  This immersion into motherhood means that I’ve had to learn how to let things go.  Because I know that I’ll be one of those old ladies that looks back fondly on these days.  Not with regret, or a series of  “if only I had…”  There will be plenty of days in my future when I won’t trip over that darn toy every morning, and I will miss the pitter-patter of footed pajamas.  I want to look back and remember these days fondly.  Crazy yes, but oh so full of love.

While there may be plenty of those days, time continues to fly by.  At night when everyone is tucked into bed, I tiptoe in to kiss their sleeping faces and my heart feels as though it will burst.  I know that I will miss these days.  Because no matter how challenging, repetitive, and chaotic our days may seem, I love these little boys.  I pray for patience and peace each day, knowing that as mom, my attitude will set the tone for the day.  That even during the most chaotic of times, I do have a choice in how I will react.  And if my patience seems to have disappeared, I gently remind myself {yet again} that tomorrow is a fresh start.  Another chance to catch a smile, give hugs and laugh.  Another day in which a million little miracles in the mundane will take place – moments that make our life with three boys so beautiful.

And in the event that a meltdown seems inevitable?  There is always the “emergency” bubble bath.  Works every time.  {Kids are contained, happy, clean and gives everyone a chance for a fresh start.}

And yes, if you must know “teetering on crazy” may or may not include typing this while still in your pajamas {with wet hair}, drinking your coffee, and doing laundry.  All while a certain toddler toddles around in his jammies and proceeds to spit-up {throw-up?} his breakfast into the baby’s car seat.

Leaving mom to frantically rip off the cover and toss it into the wash {it must be both washed and dry in time to pick up Henry from school.}  During this, you note {yet again} that scrambled eggs are definitely not attractive the second time around.  It looks like it might be one of those days.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Prepare yourself for some adorable baby photos.

I happen to think he is the most beautiful baby ever.  {And I’m not biased at all…}

And that smile?  It melts my heart every time!

Those squeals, coos and gurgles?  Music to a mama’s ears.

You are perfect sweet boy.  A perfect addition to our family.  We love you so!

It hardly seems possible, but William is two months old.  Being the dutiful parent that I am, we visited his pediatrician this week for his two-month check-up.

Here are the stats on quite possibly the cutest baby ever.*

Height:  23 inches – 48%

Weight: 10 lbs. 14 ounces – 26%

Head circumference:  39 cm – 24%

*{Yes, I say that to all of my kids.  Of course William is the cutest baby in my world.  Just like Charlie is the best two year-old and Henry is the most handsome four year-old.  I also say things like “You are my favorite Henry/Charlie/William ever!”  And I mean it each time, for somehow they are each my favorite, the cutest, and most charming.}

Henry has always embraced the outdoors.  Originally it was a simple love of mowing the lawn, but he maintains an always growing list of “favorite” outdoor hobbies.  They range from golf, skiing, tennis, “gardening”, baseball and riding his bike.  He has also shown a strong desire to follow in his dad and Pop-pop’s footsteps by becoming an avid outdoorsman.  And yes, this includes a love for bird hunting.

I am always working on making this hobby more “age appropriate,” which results in conversations like “Henry we don’t talk about shotguns at school” and “We only pretend to shoot at birds, never at people.”  One of my favorite conversations involved Henry’s teacher.  After expressing my concern about Henry’s newfound fascination with hunting, Mrs. R. stated that she and Henry had a conversation about his new hobby and “as long as he ate what he killed it was fine with her.”  Right.

I assume that these conversations are just the beginning of a long list of discussions I never imagined having, though I’m certain to have again with two other boys coming up the line.

That’s why I was beyond thrilled when Henry re-discovered a game that I purchased at least two years ago (before he only had a heart for hunting.)

Remember this classic?  For only $4 (the good ol’ days at Target) I bought “Let’s Go Fishing” – a current favorite around our house.

Even Charlie is trying out his cast (with the help of a very patient older brother.)

I kid you not – this game has earned me extra hours of sleep in the morning and squeals of laughter in the afternoon.

Henry takes his “fishing” very seriously and proudly recounts each and every fish tale.

And it has introduced my boys to a simple version of a classic “outdoor” hobby that doesn’t require us to shoot anything.

While the fishing game has taken the focus away from some of the hunting fascination, I know it’s only temporary.  Friends, I’m officially “that mom.”  The one who has the kid that turns everything into a gun.  Who likes to shoot things.  Please tell me that this is only a passing fad…my white flag is waving

It’s one of the most frequently asked questions I receive.

Is he or isn’t he?

For the longest time I haven’t really known how to respond.

“Well sort of…”

Exploring your room and checking on your baby brother…

You darn rascal Charlie, you’ve been teetering around taking four or five steps at a time for a few weeks now.  And you have long since mastered using the push walker, which you now use to run races with your big brother.

But the moment anyone dares to cheer you on or point out that you are indeed walking (sometimes even across the entire room) you immediately drop to the ground.

For days now I’ve heard rumors that you were walking.  At the church nursery, when playing with other friends.  But you have been holding out on your mama for some reason.

Charlie choo-choo (our long-standing and favorite nick-name for our sweetie) something about today must have just felt right.  Because sweet boy you decided that today was the day.  (When will mommy ever learn that it’s your decision to make?)

It’s officially a good day for walking!  (Which will make picture taking a whole new challenge…)

I’m so proud of you my sweet Charlie choo-choo!

Since I’ve already shared my true feelings about Halloween I might as well put it all out on the table.

I hope my kids don’t ever want to go to Disneyland.  And I think the Duggars (from TLC’s 18 and Counting show) are one cool family.

Oh boy.  Before you think I’ve stepped off the deep-end hear me out.

On Disneyland:

Yes, I realize that my children would have a blast and in all honesty I probably would too.  However in all seriousness, (and before you completely write me off as a terrible mother) I’d better explain why I’d rather not take my kids to Disneyland or embrace all that it entails.

I guess it’s not so much Disneyland – it’s just an easy target and therefore prefect example.  Without a doubt many happy memories have been made there and I’m certain that our family will make the pilgrimage at some point.  It’s just that I’m not one for the super-commercialization of things.  (If you must know yes, it bothers me that my son recognizes Sponge Bob.  It bothers me that I have now written about Sponge Bob.)  I feel it’s worth asking: Why can’t we go to a place like Disneyland or the grocery store for that matter without someone trying to sell my kids something?  As Henry gets older I’m realizing how everything is marketed to our kids.  I’m not buying it.  I do my best to avoid character themed clothing and to encourage toys without character themes into our house.  Yes I realize that my days are most likely numbered and I will lose some control over this as our kids age, but for now I’m taking full advantage of my mom “veto” power.

A disclaimer, yes Henry loves Curious George and we have plenty of George books and a couple of stuffed monkeys.  I think the key here is m-o-d-e-r-a-t-i-o-n.  I don’t think Mickey Mouse is the devil.  However my kids aren’t wearing Elmo diapers while munching on a Hanna Montana endorsed cereal, which has been marketed to them during High School Musical, while they sit in their Transformer chair, drinking Donald Duck orange juice.  There is a difference.

My point?  I will not intentionally allow my children to become commercial billboards.  I want my kids to know that they can do and be anything – not just what is sold to their “target market.”  That just because every other little boy in America was a themed costume character, it’s still OK (and way cooler) to be Henry the fireman.  Or Henry the golfer, the architect, or yard guy.  I want so much for my son and I never want him to judge his worth by a product that he either has or doesn’t have.   My intentions for him are so much greater than some company that is just looking to make a buck at my child’s expense.

And just when I thought I was the only one that had such crazy thoughts in the middle of the night (struggling to stay true to what you believe – even when it’s not cool, or the easy way) I stumbled across another dad who has similar thoughts on the subject.

He writes:

…If the only thing you’re feeding your children is fantasy for breakfast they’re going to be starving by noon, crash, and want a taste of the solid safe everyday life. All of the sudden you blink, they’re 3ft tall, opinionated, and they’re feasting on Happy Meals and soaking in Dora the *&^%#@ Explora like some new kid religion. So when you set to drag them away from it, throw them an apple and suggest a walk they think you’re being a mean #^&%$#. They think you’re depriving them of the good life. I don’t want this to happen. I can’t let this happen. So what has become vital to me, is to teach them that they can have more, but at the same time making sure that I am never feeding them delusional promises I can’t deliver myself. If I want them to believe that anything is possible, than I have to show them proof of that in their own lives. It isn’t enough to say that the world should be explored, we will just have to go out and explore it– that kind of a thing.

This little family of mine has children that are still too young to know the difference between the things that they are “supposed” to have, and the things that they simply just need. They have a chance like all children do to live a truly unique life. I am living under the belief that I will provide them that unique life. If I didn’t believe that than I couldn’t smile everyday like I do.

Love it.

(I’ve edited this a bit, making it more G-rated, but you can get the full post at Pacing the Panic Room.)

On the Duggar family:

I have a eight-week old baby.  Clearly I’m spending quite a bit of time on the couch nursing.  This has resulted in a DVR full of “18 and Counting” episodes ready for me once the kids are in bed.  Some may call this lame.  Heck even I originally thought so, but even my sleep-deprived mush-for-a-brain was able to pick up some pretty cool themes.

I’ll give it to them – I think they are really on to something.  No, I’m not totally on-board with the whole 18 kids myself, but their decision to put family first is pretty darn cool in my book.  They aren’t afraid to go against the grain, choosing not to follow the “norms” that our culture has embraced.  Instead they have decided that people are the priority.  They don’t look at their children as burdens, and I’m doubtful that with 18 kids they have much in the way of “free” or “me” time.  But they are a very happy and loving family whose desire is to serve as an encouragement to other families.  And based on my postpartum observations that’s something to look twice at.

I realize that this post might make it seem like I’m teetering on the edge of crazy.  But I strongly believe that as mom, my role is to protect and guard my little ones as long as I can, because if I don’t then who will?  It may involve making choices (big and little) that will take our family down a road less traveled, but I’m ready for the adventure.

Slowly stepping away from the soapbox…

*I’m curious…your thoughts please…

**And yes I realize that as fate will have it next year I will end up with a Transformer, Handy Manny, and Clifford in our house for Halloween…

I promised, so I’ll keep it short.

Happy Birthday.

To a way-cool dad with a fan club of three adoring boys.  (Though apparently only one has taken a recent photo with you.)

And husband.  You’re tops in my book too.  Hey, maybe we should take a picture together sometime.  Novel idea.

Love you.

A fireman, dalmatian puppy and a tiger.

Could they get any cuter?

I didn’t think so.

————-

A confession.

I don’t like Halloween.

I love fall – the leaves changing colors, the fresh apples, the pumpkins and squash galore.  But the holiday?  I could do without.  Sure its fun to play dress-up with your little ones, but I imagine that once they start clamoring for the polyester/plastic mask combos and slasher kits, it will lose any remaining bits of luster.

I also will confess that I buy an assortment of pumpkins for our front step at the fruit stand.  By myself.  No trips to the pumpkin patch, hay-rides or corn mazes with the kids.

Does this make me a bad mom?  I’d argue quite the opposite.  Instead of trekking to the pumpkin patch (along with our multitude of strollers, baby carriers, and a stuffed diaper bag) we have the freedom to make our own traditions – baking pumpkin bread or playing in the backyard with a pile of leaves.  I can assure you that the stress that I’m avoiding by doing this will earn me at least a few extra (and calmer) years.  And yes, I’m also certain that I’ll have to get over my dislike soon, as my boys will no doubt grow to embrace all of the rituals involved in this night of candy and treats.

That said – I’m pretty sure I spotted the cutest fireman-tiger-dalmation puppy trio – who just happened to be dressed up on well, you know – Halloween.