On Being a Boy

Boys will be boys. It sounds trite, but it's true.

Little boys do things like pick up large birch branches

and drag them through the sand

to float them in a canal

in order to play for a bit

and be able to chase them down

and do it all over again. The gloriously simple world of boyhood.

What a Difference a Year Makes

August 2010 (our first day alone with James)

August 2011 (and a month after adoption finalization)

What a difference a year makes!

A Plate of Goodness

I didn't entitle this post lightly. Our family heartily echoes my love for this dish, although they don't typically consume the leftovers for breakfast as I do.

Cottaged Potatoes. Even the name sounds cozy. I especially like it with chicken or pork, but will eat it alone with a spoon and a movie if given the chance.

Cottaged Potatoes
10 medium-sized potatoes, cooked in jackets
1/2 lb. Velveeta, diced
parsley
1 onion, diced
salt to taste
1 T. minced parsley (or dry parsley flakes)
1/2 c. melted butter, plus more for browning breadcrumbs

some milk to moisten

1/4 - 1/2 c. buttered bread crumbs, browned

While boiling the potatoes, brown breadcrumbs with butter in a saute pan. Set browned breadcrumbs aside while assembling the dish.

Melt the margarine in the 9"x13" pan in which you will bake the potatoes. Then add the other ingredients in layers:

1. 1/3 of the diced potatoes

2. a little salt

3. 1/3 of the onion

3. a little parsley

4. 1/3 of the Velveeta

Repeat twice. Add just enough milk that you can see it peeking through the potatoes, then sprinkle with bread crumbs just before baking. (Note: you want to moisten the potatoes with milk without drowning them. Add the milk slowly and once you see it, STOP!)

Bake at 350 degrees  for 45 minutes or until heated through and cheese is melted. To eat as leftovers, add a dash of milk before reheating.

1st Day of School

I love Meg Ryan's line in "You've Got Mail" when she talks about how fall makes her dream of boquets of sharpened pencils.

Ahhh . . . school days. I love the excitement and activity school days bring. I love it all - until the homework and studying suddenly strikes. But before that, the idea of school is filled with wonder and potential.

I love all the new outfits and backpacks and lunchboxes displayed on the first day of school. I love the extra boxes of Kleenex tucked under scrawny arms and watching all the emotions of brand new experiences wash across little faces. I love the transformation of aging that shows up on the first day of school; the scared little faces of the Kindergarteners clinging to mom's offered hand and the stoic calm of independence and indifference held firmly on the sixth graders' countenances.

It's a study in humanity and I'm in the middle of it, snapping closeups and successfully embarrassing my offspring. It's part of the Mom Code, you know.

Schnickle and Fritz are still young enough to want mom there to wave her goodbyes. Moose wasn't all that interested and wandered over to the soccer field at the first chance he got.

But the first day of school is always bittersweet, cause you're so proud of their growth and so struck by the lightning speed of time. Schnickle is wearing the same size shoes that I wear. Fritz's hand feels like a grown boy when clutched in mine. And before I know it Moose will be joining the backpack-wearing crew headed to higher learning. May I treasure these days. Even the homework.

a birthday party

In case you couldn't do the math on your own, I'm WAY behind in blogging. Someone is probably making a motion right now to banish me from the blogosphere. It's bad. 80 days bad.

So I'm going to throw in a few memories from the months of August and September just for fun (and because those pictures are already downloaded to my computer).

August is Schnickle's birthday month. Schnickle loves birthdays. Schnickle loves to talk about birthdays and ask for birthday presents 50 weeks before her next birthday. Schnickle invites strangers and neighbors and classmates and family members to future birthday parties that may or may not take place.

So this year, Schnickle had a birthday party. We held it exactly 3 days after arriving home from a week-long vacation. Note to self: refrain from doing that ever again.

We had 18 little girls running around our place for 4 hours. (I never realized before how long 4 hours can feel).

Aren't little girls just the cutest? I love how they know everything and never stop talking - even if they're all talking at once.

We played Candy Basketball
We ate Walking Tacos (tacos in a Fritos bag)
We crafted personalized cupcakes

We ate colorful cupcakes
We opened presents
We had Freezepops
We waterballooned
We swam (I say "we" loosely here)
We swung

And had an all-around good time. Schnickle was in her glory and I think all the girls had fun (please don't tell me if they didn't). We sent them on their way with a framed photo of the bunch and a bag of goodies. Then we crashed, did laundry from vacation and began planning for the first day of school, which was only a week away.

And now the countdown to her 10th birthday has begun.

Adoption Day!

It's official . . . Moose is a keeper!

Schnickle and Fritz were disappointed when they found out we weren't going to the Supreme Court for Moose's adoption finalization.

The judge shared in their disappointment when we relayed their feelings to her. She promised she'd invite them to visit if/when she was appointed to that auspicious institution.

Little Moose spotted that yellow bus as soon as we entered the courtroom. And for those of you who are unfamiliar with our little Moose, once he wraps his interest around something, it sticks.

"Bus . . . bus . . . bus . . . bus . . . bus . . ." We acknowledged the bus and smiled sweetly at the Keeper of the Gavel, admiring the yellow transportation vehicle, while suddenly remembering the other two offspring weren't yet able to speak at their Adoption Days. Being the Uptight Mom that I am, my mind suddenly began darting to and fro to all the things Moose might utter and rating their position on the Appropriateness Scale.

Then he spotted suckers and it was all over. His repetition became more intense and demanding, "sucker . . . Sucker . . . SUckeR . . . SUCKER . . . " We continued to smile at the Robe-Wearer, trying desperately to retain The Perfect Family status.

The judge immediately offered suckers to the children and their mother nodded sweetly while demanding with her eyes that the Older Children thank the Powerful Lady for her generosity and quietly hold on to colorful treats until The Pronouncement of Parenthood and Child Foreverness could be completed.

So, all of Moose's pictures have a sucker stick poking from betwixt his lips with a mixed look of glee and wariness that someone might remove said stick before all flavor had been consumed.

Then she declared Moose officially ours!

What fun!

Adoption Day is truly miraculous and amazing. I'm not sure why it feels mysterious. There are no surprises. There is no fear. It's just that one minute you enter a room as the parent of 2 children and the next, you exit with 3. After so much work on the front end, the process ends so quickly and effortlessly. You wipe away the tear while unable to wipe the smile from your face.

And while it feels like something is finished and that a weight you didn't know you were carrying has been lifted, it's only just begun and upon that realization, a new, monstrous weight crashes back on your shoulders. But it's ok. Because you own that weight now.

As an adoptee and an adopting mom, I've heard a lot about grafted family trees and forever families and nature vs. nurture, but really, the Lord makes the whole thing all about growing your heart for one more soul. It's beautiful and complex and noble. Yes, little Moose needs all the love and guidance our hearts can muster, but it's our mustering hearts that receive all the joys and blessings.

All that to say, Adoption Day is the. best. day!

You ought to try it!

It's been ages and ages since I posted something. Sorry about that. We've been busy fighting with our house and my health.

Turns out our puddle-producing basement also grows mold. Lovely, I know. Here's just a peek:

I won't post any more

Ok, maybe just one

So after discovering said growths, I've self-diagnosed myself with a mold allergy. (I'm hanging out a shingle tomorrow. Make your appointments early.)

Trouble is I'm here all the time. In the morning. During a morning nap. At lunchtime. In the afternoon. During dinner prep and consumption. Through evening rituals and all night long. I never leave. Well, almost never.

But after labeling our basement a petrie dish, I fled fast and furiously to my in-laws. For a week.

They graciously holed up myself and 3 children for 7 nights. Aren't they saints? We'd trek to their home each evening and unpack (Schnickle packed a suitcase and toted many a tote bag each night) for the night. Then we'd head to school to drop off 2 kiddos before risking life and limb at our own house for most of the day. Then back we'd go, new tote bags and all to start the process over again.

See, if I weren't allergic to the mold (which, by the way, hasn't been verified by an actual MD) I'd be the cleaning crew. I tried. Really I did. But even with a respirator from Lowe's and orange industrial looking gloves, it was not to be.

I've drawn the line this time and roped my hubby and sweet parents into my Forced Labor Camp of Scary Stuff. Bless them one and all.

So, it's mostly gone. And the wood panelling has been treated.

Oh, and I'm sleeping back at home again. Although . . . Kevin did mention that he enjoyed the ceiling fan being on high while I was gone . . . I wonder if mold removal really needed to take a week . . . hmmm . . .

Then I found some more on the main level (and learned all I ever want to know about ice damming). But the good news of all is that our insurance company (three cheers for AAA) will be taking good care of us. It includes carpet and such. Phew. I'll be taking my mask and gloves off too. Expect the glassy, empty look to remain for another week or so.