The Grater

I worked out today.  It wasn't much, just the Biggest Loser Cardio Max video.  And no, I didn't even make it all the way through.  It was a 20 minute video, but after the twenty-eighth lunge or so, I pretty much gave up and tried to do crunches.  My crunches are pretty lame, but that's beside the point.  

Here's the point.  I haven't worked out in a long time. When I haven't worked out in a long time, I always push myself too hard on that first workout, and I end up feeling a little sick.  So I got all red-faced, nauseous, and while breathing hard, I told the girls (who were "working out" with me in the garage) to get inside, because mommy needs ice water, fast!  The girls know by now that when they see a red, sweaty mommy face, she means business.   So we rushed inside, where I lay on the cold tile floor for a few minutes to stop myself from really getting sick.  Which worked!  I didn't get sick.  

So, after my full recovery, I totally logically decided to make some homemade macaroni and cheese.   This is not only a ridiculous decision for the obvious reason, but it's also crazy since my kids won't eat my mac 'n cheese, they only want the orange stuff from the box.  But I continued, undeterred by this knowledge....toward my doom.

I knew the video had wiped me out somewhat, but I had no idea how much.  That is, until I pulled out the cheese grater.  My recipe called for an entire pound of sharp cheddar cheese.  Usually I buy the pre-grated cheese to save time, but I'm a frugal mom these days, and the huge log from Costco was a better deal.  

I started grating, and my right bicep started burning almost immediately.  "This is crazy!" I thought, I can certainly grate cheese!  But then the burning continued, and got worse.  So I stopped.  And took a picture of my progress.

I knew I could finish, and it was almost like I could hear that cardio instructor on the video encouraging me to "Keep moving!"  I picked up that wedge of cheese and pushed it down the side of that grater with grit and determination!  No grater is going to get the better of me!  I'm tough.  

It turns out, I am tough.  Even though my right bicep is now a full 1/4 inch thinner around than my left, it was the price to pay for shredded cheese. Sadly, after all of that effort, the kids still didn't eat it.  And even more sadly....that leaves more for me.  

The Tool Man Cometh

At a very critical time in my young son's life, our house was full of construction workers.  These workers carried around hammers, drills, nail guns, and saws.  They had every kind of tool imaginable.  J.D. was fascinated by these men and their vast collection of machines instantly.  This happened, I believe, at a moment in his development when he could have leaned in just about any "boy toy" direction.  He could have gotten into trains, planes, trucks, cars, blocks, army men, the list goes on.  But since he saw men in his house every day for five months (a lifetime in the life of a budding toddler), a love for tools was born, and boy did it stick.  

During the five months or so of the kitchen remodel, one could easily find J.D. standing a safe distance away watching the men working.  He would usually have his little orange handled hammer in hand, waiting for a look, a word of encouragement from one of the men.  Since the men didn't speak his language (they spoke Spanish and English and J.D. spoke, well "James-ish," which is incomprehensible to most other humans), an approach was never made to include him in their work.  That is, until Luke came to work at our house.  

J.D. had absolutely no qualms about standing right next to Luke, watching his every move.  After all of those hours watching Luke, while Luke patiently allowed J.D. into the inner sanctum of the construction world, I truly believe J.D. can now do his share of tightening screws around the house.  

Anyway, very long story short, J.D. received a pile of tools for his birthday.  Danny got him an authentic tool box, and filled it with real tools that couldn't do any real damage.  Tools like a rubber mallet, a drill with no bits, and various other items, but they were the real deal.

J.D. screamed with delight when he saw the tools.  He did a happy dance.  Then he went crazy searching through the treasures in his new tool box.  After that, he really didn't care about the other gifts....at all.  

Is this a picture of pure joy, or what?!

The boy could not stop smiling.  

Then the smiling turned into maniacal laughter.  The kind of laughter from a villain about to take over the world.  Wooohooooohooohahahahahaha!  

He and his partner in crime, Cubby, shared a moment of pure bliss while sorting through the tools.  "She gets me," he seemed to be saying.

From this day forward, J.D. wakes up and immediately repeats the same three words over and over and over again.  He always asks for daddy when he wakes up, that's a given.  Now, however, he also asks for his "ma-moh," his hammer, and his "too-uh," his tools.  The boy want his dad, his hammer, and his tools.  Well, I think those are some pretty healthy requests for a little two year old boy.  Happy Birthday little tool man!

Fiesta! a.k.a. Breaking in the New Kitchen

I like to entertain.  I like the decorating, cooking, and preparing.  I like the way a house can become transformed through adding a colorful bouquet or a pretty tablecloth.  I don't pass up too many opportunities to gussy up the house. 

My kitchen remodeling project, however, put all of those fanciful ideas on hold.  I hosted only a handful of playdates during that entire five month remodeling period.  Forget about organizing and hosting a dinner, I barely scratched dinner together for my own little family most nights!

The much anticipated counter stools arrived late this last week, so I decided to host a little family dinner party for the twins' second birthday.  Because the party was so last minute, I used the decorations I had on hand, namely, Mexican blankets.  I bought colorful paper tableware and snipped some flowers from the yard for the main bouquet.

It worked!  And even though it wasn't the best decor for a couple of two year olds' birthdays, it all came together just fine.  Once Danny cut up the delicious Carne Asada, Susie unwrapped her savory cheese casserole, and mom pulled her beans out of the oven, the party got started.  Aunt Bette helped out with the salad, and mom also brought her version of Aunt Diane's homemade salsa.  I made three ice cream pies for the desserts and also whipped up a batch of the Pioneer Woman's guacamole.  Even though there was a wonderful array of food, the happy faces around the table and island made it a perfect party.   

The beautiful orange and yellow flowers sitting in the middle of the island are from my Mexican Bird of Paradise shrub in the backyard.  E had the brilliant idea to pick those for the center bouquet.  That girl has an eye for color!  

With all of its leaves, the dining room table is large enough to fit ten people!   

The buffet and new picture window in the background bring in so much light and help define the space. 

Emma helped decorate the kids' table.  She added a little Hawaiian flavor to the party (note the leis hanging from the chairs).  It works!

The peninsula between the dining room and kitchen now provides a handy place to serve drinks and snacks.  This is becoming a heavily used area!

Needless to say, in my eyes, the party was a huge success.  The kitchen has proven to be a warm and  welcoming place for our family, which in the end, was the ultimate goal.  

I think it is truly wonderful that we were able to mark the twins' second birthday, which was a huge milestone in their lives as preemie twins, with our first party in the kitchen.  I will remember this Sunday's celebration as a gigantic changing point in our lives.  With the new, welcoming, spacious kitchen and four happy, healthy children, I can only look forward to more wonderful memories created in this place that truly feels like home.  

You've Come a Long Way, Babies!

On this day, two years ago, I went into labor.  I was nine weeks away from my due date, had been on bed rest for two weeks, and went into labor with the twins.  They were born via emergency C-section at 10:30 AM. 

I woke that morning to the pain of contractions, but thinking it was just another round of false labor, I waited a while.  Then the pain got worse, the contractions grew heavier, I started crying, and Danny and I got on the road as fast as we could toward the hospital.  When we arrived the doctor took one look at me and said, "You are in real labor."  Then the tears really started.  I didn't plan on having pre-mature twins, I wanted to carry them longer.  I knew all the risks that went along with pre-mature babies.  I had tried to be careful while carrying them.  I wanted full term babies.  I was scared and shocked.

But God had other plans, and the babies came nine weeks early.  J.D. was born two minutes after little G.  He weighed four pounds.

Four pounds is actually a pretty good weight for a twin baby this pre-mature.  He immediately contracted pneumonia, and we all feared the worst.

He was so tiny, and kind of bruised up from the unorthodox birthing experience.

The nurses told us not to stroke his head, just press gently.  The pressure is supposed to remind him of being in the womb, "where he is supposed to be," one nurse commented. 

G, although only 3 pounds, 10 ounces at birth, was healthier from the get go.  She stayed in this "tent" for a while to maintain her temperature, but she gained weight much faster than her brother.

Only three pounds, and that girl had a big set of lungs!

Although I should have been completely wiped out from the ordeal, the adrenaline and God's grace took over.  I didn't feel much pain or exhaustion until a day or so after the surgery.  I was able to hold and love on my babies without the stress of pain.

And here is Danny, forever my family's greatest champion, holding his third daughter. 

This is a cherished picture.  The girls are so young here, and so in awe of the whole experience.  E is only three and a half, and Cubby has just turned two.  So yes, when the twins were born, we had a three year old, a  two year old, and two pre-mature infants.  Crazy.

Three weeks later....

The twins have grown and changed tremendously during their stay in the NICU. 

J.D. still has his feeding tube, but very soon it will be taken out, and he will take a bottle of milk. 

Only three weeks old, and G is already defined by her chubby cheeks.  Nothing made me happier in those days than those fat little cheeks.  We left the hospital after a 31 day stay in the NICU.  We brought the babies home and have struggled these past two years to balance the needs of our twin newborns with the needs of a our two older daughters.  Danny and I have felt like on most days we were barely surviving with his farm to manage, our house to keep clean and running, and six mouths to feed. 

Needless to say, I have looked forward to this day for the past two years. 

TWO YEARS LATER....

J.D. is a happy healthy toddler.  He loves his dad.  He loves his tools.  He loves his grandpas.  He gets mad when you take him away from something he is doing that he loves.  He enjoys playing rough and tumble with his big sisters.  And nothing makes him happier than a hose turned on.  He is our only boy and we love him dearly.

G is a now a fiesty, loving, laughing toddler.  She adores her older sisters, puts up with her brother, and basically has everyone in between charmed by her endearing cuteness.  She talks constantly and has a new word or two everyday.  She provides endless comic relief in our family, and demands plenty of cuddle time from me and Danny.  She is our third daughter, and we love her dearly.

And here they are.  My beautiful, hilarious, sometimes exasperating twins.  I can't imagine life without them.  They complete our family in a way I never would have dreamed.  What great wisdom God has in knowing what is best for a family!  You've come a long way from those days hooked up to monitors in the hospital, babies!  But look at you now!  Happy 2nd Birthday!!

Peach Crisp

I'm a sucker for a good old fashioned home baked dessert.  Wait a second.  I'm all of a sudden wondering if this is why I just can't lose this "baby" weight I'm carrying around.  Oh no, I'm sure that's not it. 

Anyway, I baked up a peach crisp today because with my new kitchen, I feel awfully homey and domestic all the time.  I practically wear an apron to bed.  I'm not really a peach kind of girl, I usually go for the apple desserts.  Peaches are so temperamental.  One day they are hard as a rock, the next, soft, mushy and bruised.  They need therapy, and I just don't have the time. 

So why did I make a peach crisp?  Well, a good friend bought me this great cookbook by the Pioneer Woman.  The Pioneer Woman is this fabulous mom/cook/blogger/homeschooler/photographer/ranch woman who writes about her everyday life in a way that always makes me laugh. She also includes yummy recipes which make me want to run to the store to buy every ingredient she lists and whip up a home cooked meal for my hard-workin' hubby.  She's good.

One recipe I've been wanting to try is her peach crisp.  So for Father's Day, I bought a pallet of peaches from Costco, and made a crisp.  Well, the peaches were giving me some attitude that day, and stayed hard as a rock.  The crisp was tart and disappointing.  Today, however, the peaches reached their perfect zenith of ripeness.  I wasn't planning on making a crisp, but when I saw them smiling up at me from the bowl this morning, I knew it had to be done. 

Here's the finished product.

And here's a sideways view of the cookbook.  I don't know why I took the picture sideways and I don't know how to fix it, so here you go.  I'd better not pass up this opportunity to give a shout out to my homegirl...thanks Heather for the fabulous book!!!

As the crisp baked and bubbled in the oven, the children were happy.  They would never dream of asking over and over and over again, "When is it going to be done?" in whiny voices.  Oh no, not my children.

Yum.

Double yum.

This is almost too much.

While I was serving up the peachy goodness, I asked the girls to take a serving out to their dad.  A few minutes later, I joined the family on the back porch, only to find this....

Did I expect any different?

No, but apparently, Danny did.  He assumed that bowl was all his. 

But being the gracious father he is, the children were fed, and he was left with the bits at the bottom. 

The babies felt like they didn't really get a fair deal either, since they each had to share with two other people. 

Popsicles were in order to even it all out.

And everything was all right.

We spent another harmonious evening in the backyard with our four sticky fingered kids. 

And one other very deserving family member went back for seconds.  In my book, farmers get all the peach crisp they want, especially the incredibly handsome ones. 

A Father's Love

Before I even begin, I'd like to ask you to excuse the huge amount of sappiness that is about to be expressed.  I can't help myself.  Father's Day, for some reason, is a more emotional day for me than Mother's Day.   I especially get choked up at the loving relationship between fathers and daughters. 

Let me get the sappiness straight out of my system.  So oblige me, if only for a moment. 

First, Danny took our oldest daughter, little five year old E, to her first Purity Ball last night.  For E, this was a REAL ball; like, no different from Cinderella's ball.  What is so absolutely priceless and adorable is that she had absolutely no hesitation about attending this ball with her dad.  How long is it going to last that a little girl will not only attend one of these things willingly and excitedly, but will attend holding her dad's hand with nary an embarrassing eye roll in sight?!  OK, I am getting a little choked up, so I'll move right along.

Now getting E ready for the ball was quite an experience for me.  We spent close to an hour fixing her hair, getting her dressed, painting her nails, and adding the finishing touches.  Auntie Ayron picked out, ordered, and paid for the entire glamorous outfit.  So E wore a gorgeous little dress with a dark pink bow and sparkly skirt.  She had matching light pink gloves, a sparkling tiara, and pink glittering strappy sandals with little heels!  The details matter so much to E.  She was thrilled with those little shoes, and  the heels were maybe a half inch tall.  I watched her primping before the mirror and glimpsed a sixteen year old version of E, getting ready for the prom.  I watched the way she delicately put on the rhinestone covered bracelet Danny had given her, and felt a lump come to my throat.  Ahhhh! It's happening again, now.  I'll move on.  I guess it doesn't help that at this very moment the girls are watching Dumbo and the mommy elephant is singing "Baby Mine."  That song kills me!

                                         

E is only five years old here, but I feel like I can see the lady she will become someday.  She is sweet, loving, smart and strong.  God willing, she will have a family and a husband who treasures her as much as her dad and I love her.  What's funny is that the minute I started curling her hair, and she started to see how it was all coming together, no one and nothing could wipe this grin off of her face.  She knew this was going to be a special night.

Did you know that princesses walk differently from normal people?  Yes, they have to walk a certain way. The gloved hands are up and are gently holding a sparkly bag.  A princess takes careful steps and maintains excellent posture.  E was the perfect little princess from the moment that dress went over her head. 

This princess had time to pose with some of the local gentlefolk  from around the neighborhood.  Here she is posing with her younger sis, Cubby, who was not just super thrilled to be left home with boring old mom.  She got over it, but she is not going to let anyone forget that she will be old enough to attend next year.  And she wants a purple, sparkly dress, thank you very much.

A few of the townspeople didn't want to see their lovely princess leave.  It was an emotional time. 

Ok, I'm really crying now.  Is this not the sweetest thing in the whole world?  E loves her dad and is bonding with him at an incredibly fast rate right now.  This is what it's all about.

And then they were off.  They left for the ball with hardly a backwards glance.  E smiled and waved like the princess she was, and Danny grinned with the pride and love of a father looking forward to honoring his lovely daughter. 

That night, after the ball, I grilled Danny on the Purity Ball experience.  He got kind of misty eyed, and said that the ball was as much for E as it was for him.  E enjoyed the flowers, the music and dancing, the fancy dresses, and the beauty of the whole experience.  But Danny left with a new understanding of his role as father.  Danny signed a covenant to protect and care for his daughters.  He is their protector and guardian.  With a pack of daughters calling him Dad, Danny feels he must rise to the occasion of raising and protecting them from the hurts in this world.  Ok, I really have to go now.  Does anyone have a Kleenex?

Smoothie

Danny is our resident smoothie pro.  The guy can mix up a pretty outstanding icy cold, fruity extravaganza with a handful of random ingredients.  I love him for this talent. 

Thankfully, the kids also share in my awe and appreciation of their dad on this particular skill.  The word "smoothie" was an early favorite in the vocabulary of all four of my children.  G will now say "moo-die" and point at the blender, and we all know exactly what she means, in fact, we're all usually thinking the same thing. 

Today, Danny whipped up a berry concoction.  It was dark purple; the color that makes most moms cry, since they know they will spend quality time scrubbing it out of a cushion, the carpet, or both.  G heard the blender working its magic, saw the delicious end result, said the magic word, and was plopped into her highchair with a tall one. 

Only.....she doesn't fully appreciate the beauty of a regular cup.  She's still a sippy cup girl.  Sippy cups have lids--for good reason. 

The berry smoothie tasted pretty good, but she decided it would work quite a bit better as hair gel.

She was right.

"Look!  I got it all over my hands! Isn't this great?!"

"Uh oh.  Maybe it's not so great."

"I don't like sticky hands."

This is G's, "OK, I have had enough of the camera, the laughter, the jokes at my expense.  Now please pull me out of here and get me cleaned up.   I'm serious,"  look.

That smoothie went fast.  I was tempted by this lovely scene to have a small glass.  Then I remembered my 9 pounds of victory, and held off. 

Now you may be asking yourself, where is J.D. in all this purple chaos?

J.D. was in his crib.  He spent some alone time contemplating this little unfortunate spill on the living room couch.  Danny valiantly swooped in and cleaned it up, and I don't see a hint of purple.  Oh, and no tears were shed during the incident or in the re-telling of this tale....by this mom anyway.