return of three truths and one lie

I have decided that we are in desperate need to play a GAME. What do you say? Game playing this week?


I propose the following: I'm going to tell you four things--- three of them true and one of them most decidedly NOT. And you get to guess which one is the fib. But there's more. Each day I'll tell you the background of one of the true stories until it's obvious which one is the faker. If you're in the mood, you should play along on your blog too. Let's see which one of us is the better liar. If you're playing along - let me know and I'll link back here.

That's all I've got, this fine Monday morning. The announcement of playing a game, an invitation for you to do the same, and then nothing else.

Except this: I had one of those surreal string of days last week where I had several MAJOR things to accomplish and I was scared into a daze of doing none of it. Like I found myself actually floating aimlessly and fitfully around the house saying to myself SO MUCH TO DO and then resumed my fitful floating. During the fitful floating I started fixating on the fact that we have exactly three photos hung on our walls and we've lived here for five years. So what does any intelligent person do when they have SO MUCH TO DO? Clearly they clean out the garage and extract a large box of unused frames that they then become convinced must be hung on the walls of the house. Immediately. So then (still not doing anything that I actually REALLY REALLY REALLY NEEDED TO DO) I shopped around the house to find some walls that would take frames well. This took a large chunk of time. After the walls were chosen, there was a good amount of staring and thinking and imagining which frames to put where and exactly where those frames should be positioned. Enter stage left: Insane Planning Whimsy armed with paper cutouts of the frames to tape on the walls to more fully envision the final product of frames-on-walls. And even then, after all the flitting and the frame shuffling and garage cleaning-out, there was frame PAINTING in the driveway and a trip to Home Depot for a refill of black spray paint.

The end result: I am STILL not done with my SEVERAL ITEMS THAT MUST BE COMPLETED IMMEDIATELY but I have nearly two walls of frames hung. So... win? Win for me?

I guess the lesson we learn here is that even when you think you have all this junk that should be done RIGHT NOW, it turns out that maybe it can wait several days. And dude, right now is a great time to hang some frames.

(In case you were wondering: no pictures in the frames. At least not yet. That's going to wait until the next time I have too much to do.)

So to recap: tomorrow we're doing three truths and one lie. And you should play too. How was your weekend?

an excellent way to start the morning

...or end the day, as it were, if you ever make pancakes for dinner.

It's possible that Bean and I imbibe in the occasional dinner pancake. I say possible meaning that we totally do eat pancakes for dinner from time-to-time. The beauty of mothering a two-year-old carbisaurus is that she has no problem eating pancakes at any time of the day.

These were my attempt at this recipe.

I made a few changes--- and I'm happy with the results. These are not your everyday up-and-at-em pancakes. More like special occasion sweets. Soft and fluffy and warmly comforting. Vanilla and brown sugar. They will make your whole house smell like a freshly baked cake.

The first time I made them, I chopped up the strawberries and put them in the batter. But they made the pancakes a little mushy. Second time around, fruit right on top and spot on yum.

I would suggest you do the same. With powdered sugar and the sweetest berries you can get your hands on.

Sweet Vanilla Pancakes (with fresh berries)

1 1/4 cup flour (I used 3/4 cup all purpose and 1/2 cup whole wheat)

2 tablespoons brown sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 egg, room temperature

1 cup milk

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and allowed to cool to room temperature

2 tablespoons vanilla

fresh berries

Put your skillet on a medium burner while you're mixing up your batter so it will get hot. Mix dry ingredients in large bowl. In smaller bowl, beat your egg with a whisk. Add milk, melted butter, and vanilla. Pour wet mixture into the dry and mix with a whisk. Allow the batter to sit for a few minutes and then you're ready to make some pancakes. Pour 1/4 cup batter onto the skillet. It's ready to flip when the edges are dry and there are some bubbles forming on the surface.

Serve with powdered sugar and berries. Enjoy!

thug

Think motorcycle gang and don't-mess-with-me headgear.

It's a street-rough fashion choice.

A look that isn't for everyone.

But she makes it work.

Tough girl.

she was wearing pants earlier in the day, I promise

Not that any of you asked, but in case you wondered about yesterday's post and my stellar choice for her outdoor chalk drawing attire: earlier in the day, Bean had been wearing pants. A dress, actually. But then she spilled a whole cup of milk. On the floor, on her nearby standing Whimsy, and on herself. While I frantically stirred rice pudding to stop it from burning, Chip whisked a soggy Bean upstairs and "changed" her. And by "changed" I mean he took off her milky dress and leggies and brought her back downstairs in just her onesie. Eh, it was fine. Late in the day. And sort of heartbreakingly adorable.

Why is it that only children approximately 3 1/2 and younger can get away with wandering around the house in their underwear and still be cheek-pinchingly cute? Perhaps your significant other would disagree and would add that you look adorable trotting around the house in your skivvies, but I think that's a very personal choice. And a personal opinion. Because even though I adore my husband I'm not sure I'd want him standing in our driveway doing chalk drawings in his unders.

So there's that.

In other news, it is very handy to have the husband home for a few days because he has done the following things that I myself could not do:

- Fished a crayon out of the depths of our dishwasher innards (where Bean had kindly stored it, claiming she was MAILING THE CRAYON by sticking it into a small hole underneath the handle).

- Killed, removed, and excavated not one but TWO wasp nests that were coming along swimmingly above my studio window. I tried to get photographical evidence of his work but it's both disgusting and also not very telling. You will have to use your imagination, but in that dreamworld make sure you insert WASP LARVA and also WASPS ZOOMING FROM THE NESTS LIKE FIGHTER JETS LEAVING THE BATTLESHIP and you'll have a pretty accurate picture of what we did on Saturday.

- Cleaned the stop of our stove. Because he's a darling.

- Swept and mopped the floors like only Chip can.

- Performed various and sundry daddy-appropriate jobs including lifting, twirling, swinging, carrying, tickling, and kanoodling.

Oh, I love it when he's home.

summertime canning and preserves

There are moments I want to bottle up, to stamp them into a glass cylinder and hold them tighter than tight inside that small space. To put them up on my highest shelf and bring them down from time to time, to wipe the settled bits of dust from the shiny glass surface and peer inside to revisit the moments worth savoring over and over. To swirl them around, tip them over--- to the left--- to the right---- to see what remnants float lazily to the front.

The sound of the dishwasher busily chugging and sudsing, a plate of cookies sitting half-eaten on the kitchen counter in the early summer evening light. We know that light: it's marigold and lemon.

Chip and Alice clamouring in the backyard, their voices reaching octaves higher than whistles. Watching Chip swing Bean's small shape way over the grass as she squeals.

Toes puckered and pruned from a too-long bath while Chip serenades Bean on his guitar.

Naptimes that go long enough for me to lay prone and comatose on the couch. Reading a MAGAZINE. (Can you just imagine?)

The words that have been created in these last couple of ruffled years with Alice. Words ending in -ie and -eeee and -uppity. Words that are beyond the imagining of an adult human before they have children.

Conversations like this one, in a too-warm dining room with a too-tired little peanut:

Bean: Crayons, mommy? Pease have crayons, mommy?

Whimsy: No, honey. You can't have your crayons right now.

Bean: PEASE?!? CRAYONS PEASE?!?

Whimsy: Sweetheart, no. You wrote on your FACE just a minute ago. No more crayons tonight.

What I come to realize, again and again, when I revisit these moments, is that they are sweet beyond imagining. But sweeter still because there seem to be so many of them. They pile on top of one another and sandwich out those that I haven't taken the time to catalog and save in bottles. It is memory on top of memory and the sweetness can make your teeth ache for its unbearable wonder. It is beauty found in every millisecond I spend with these people who are gracious enough to call me family. The everyday miracle of every day rediscovered with each new morning and each tired-ended day.

I know I don't say it enough, I don't clutch these memories tight enough in my hands to make them stay, but I love my life. I love it. I love it for its peacefulness and its chaos, for the gifts I've been given and those that are still to come. I love it for what it lacks and what I miss in it. I love the trouble, the heartaches, the neck aches. I love the full glasses of milk spilled on the clean kitchen floor. I love the worries, the messes, the monotony. I love the few gifts of graceful peace when I'm teaching something new to Bean or she is teaching me something so very old. I love Chip's scratchy chin kisses and his voice carrying down the hallway. I love every crevice of trouble and every bright moment of joy, because it's mine.

I'm going to excuse myself now. On this Sunday evening as I write this, my two favorite people in all the world are doing chalk drawings in the driveway.

I don't want to miss anything.