simple pleasures – Page 2

Sara Lee, my first love

I just so happen to be one of the unfortunate souls who’ve been cursed with a sweet tooth. Mine doesn’t hide in the back with the molars, but actually lives up front and center and it makes sure that it gets noticed when a hankering comes along, which is just about every day around four o’clock. And sometimes at 2:00, and it’s been known to complain at 8:30 in the morning and then give me fits about every 2 hours afterwards.

I’ve kicked the sugar habit in the past before and really, I’ll agree, that the first 2 or 3 days are the worst but if you can make it past that, it does get easier. I need to kick the sugar habit again, but it is hard when Sebastian the Sweet Tooth bellows and moans and groans like he does. He’s like a spoiled child in the grocery store kicking and squalling until you give in on the candy aisle. He needs quieting and that comes in the form of any sort of sweet in the house. I happen to be married to a fellow sweet tooth harborer, and you can bet there’s usually a cookie or a brownie, a cake or a scone lying around to curb the fit. When I’m in dire straits to hush Sebastian the Sweet Tooth, I pop open the Semi-sweet chocolate chips and have a small handful. Sometimes two. And sometimes with a spoon of peanut butter.

But the worst temptation of all for Sebastian the Sweet Tooth is Sara Lee All Butter Pound Cake. It’s actually not allowed in the house unless there’s a special occasion or a weak moment, usually the latter. It doesn’t last; the pound cake not the weak moment. And I mean it won’t last 2 days. Even if it’s the family size all butter pound cake. Family Size means just enough for me and Sebastian. I like it cold, not frozen or room temperature and I find myself with a butter knife in hand, eating it by the slice repetitively. My sweet husband will buy it for me every now and then as a profession of his love because obviously he doesn’t mind loving a curvy woman. He knows the way to my heart.

This past week J-Dub went grocery shopping. Unpacking the white plastic sacks, he reached his hand in one and with a coy little smile he said, “I got you something.” I was hoping I was right when I guessed. Yes. Yes. Yes. Sara Lee All Butter Pound Cake. I waited until the next morning around 8:30 when Sebastian the Sweet Tooth awoke grouchily. I noticed on opening the package that the lid stuck to the cake more than usual and pulled off quite a bit of the top layer. I sat down with my cup of coffee, because there aint much better than coffee and cake wouldn’t you agree, I sliced the end piece, took a bite, and made a dreadful face.

It was awful! So I took another bite. I had to. Perhaps my taste buds had gone awry over night. It was sticky, and instead of a firm texture it had more of an angel food cake texture, sort of spongy, and a terribly salty aftertaste. Well, I finished the piece, thinking surely it was just me, but I didn’t enjoy it.

So at lunch, Sebastian the Sweet Tooth and I attempted another piece since that crusty end piece really is never all that good. But we got the same results. Awful. I checked the date on the package and it had like a year left, you know all those preservatives. Upon further inspection, I noticed something I had never noticed, and you can bet I had looked at the cover of that pound cake plenty in my time. But right there it said “now more moist”. What????? That could only mean one thing. My taste buds are fine and dandy and instead the recipe to my beloved All Butter pound cake had been altered.

Now I’ve been upset before in my life. When I get upset, the first thing I want to do is react in some way that is unbecoming to myself with screams and stomps and plenty of embarrassment and regret following. So more often than not, I allow logic to win and I start talking to that street fighter in my head. I talk him out of any reactions that are bubbling in my belly, expanding with force and trying to push themselves to the top of my throat and out of my mouth.

But this? This was too much. They’d gone and messed up my Sara Lee Pound cake. I couldn’t just let it go.

So I emailed them and asked them if they had indeed changed the recipe and kindly told them that I prefer the old cake better and to please change it back. I received an email from them in about 24 hours, explaining that yes they did change the “formula” because people complained about it being to dry, but they received an overwhelming amount of new complaints with the new “formula” and were returning to the original. My heart leapt.

Today I received a coupon from Sara Lee for a free product up to $6.99 in value. That amount will more than cover a family size *ORIGINAL* pound cake for sure.

Sara Lee, Sebastian and I thank you!!!!

Feeding the Big Chickens

We recently had a family picnic at the park. It was a beautiful September day and we were in the big city, so we decided to grab a couple burgers and enjoy them under the treetops.

The park has a big lake with walkers and joggers circling it. A few fisherman had cast their poles into the water and were waiting patiently in their lawn chairs. A sweet elderly couple sat at a picnic table, his arm draped around her shoulders, enjoying the day.

We sat right at that other picnic table fighting off the flies. I watched that little old couple and my thoughts turned romantic. I smiled at the idea of how sweet and long-lasting their love is. Like something Nicholas Sparks would write. And then as I eavesdropped a little more, I discovered that they weren’t an old married couple after all, but new companions. He was telling her about the time when he was twelve and they visited Wisconsin. He talked about the war. She asked questions about his former marriage. As we got up to leave, I snapped their picture, glad to know that new love exists. That little white-haired couple lifted my spirits and reminded me that no matter how old you are, there is still time to make new friends.

We saved a little bit of our hamburger buns for the ducks. Is it just me, or do you get a little wigged out when all the ducks start surrounding you, crowding into your space, honking and quacking? I was attacked by a duck once, I guess you could call it that, and ever since that experience, I’ve been a little gun-shy. Or duck-shy.

EK has a way of expressing her delight. She OH’s. When she sees that little black baby boy on the Pamper’s box, she says Oh, Oh, Oh, but drags it out. She Oh’ed at the ducks and the swans. I wonder what her little mind was thinking of those gigantic birds. Maybe something along the lines of “Whoa man, that is one big chicken.”

She was just as curious as they were and when it mistook her bare toes for bread crumbs, she didn’t cry, she just Oh’ed at it.

When all our hamburger buns were either eaten or growing soggy in the water, we took a little stroll around the lake and enjoyed the moment with dreams of many more to come.

Outside

Our baby girl loves it outside.

No matter the mercury reading, she hasn’t learned to complain about the heat yet.

We haven’t cut her hair to look like a mohawk on it’s way to growing out, it’s just the way her hair, well is growing out. Possibly one of the reasons she’s mistaken for a boy frequently.

The chickens are as curious about her as she is of them. But everyone’s on their best behavior so far. No pecking or feather pulling have occurred.

I just love everything about her. The birth mark on her forehead that reminds me of Australia, those lovely long eyelashes framing her deep brown eyes, the way she smells like “outside” after only a few minutes. But heck, so do I. Even the little skinned place beside her nose where her fingernails got her.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget her two brand spanking new pearly whites.

Peace, pecks, and pigs—Randomness

It’s a peaceful kind of morning. No hustle, no bustle.

There’s a cool breeze, and it’s a nice respite before the West Texas July sun follows it’s usual path in the cloudless sky and the daytime temps rise to scorch and wither. But after all, it is summer. What else do we expect.

EK and I sat outside for a spell. Me with my coffee, she with her glee.

Watching the world through the eyes of a baby brings on a new light. I read that every day to a baby is like a visit to Paris for the first time for us. The new smells, the new sights. We would be on high alert, taking it all in.

Her yard is a far cry from Paris, I would have to imagine since I’ve never visited there. But oh, how she takes it all in. She notices the smallest things. A leaf blowing across the yard, a black bird flying to rest in a tree top, the bark of Drew and Grace from the backyard saying, “We want out, let us out, we want to see you this morning too”, the choo choo whistle as it rolls down the tracks.

A chicken flew up on the arm of our chair with her beady eye and pointy beak. Me, I’m a bit intimidated. I don’t know why I suddenly became afraid of my chickens, as if they could peck me to death or something. I usually shoo them away afraid they might peck EK, but today we just sat. The chicken jerked her chicken neck around studying us, and EK stared back. I put EK’s hand on her feathers to let her feel.

The other day my mom mentioned how the baby needs one of those toys, you know the kind we used to have as a kid. Where you pull the string and the animal makes it’s sound. I said, “Mom. Look around. Why does she need that? We have horses that say neigh, dogs that say ruff, chickens that say bawk, cows that say moo, right here.”

That seemed to satisfy my mom, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she pulls up with a pig in the passenger seat one day.

Mountains

I’m sitting at the base of a mountain, more or less, breathing in a piney smell, listening to birds, an occasional hummingbird’s soft sound and then the loud obnoxious caw of the crow. The sky is dark with rain clouds, the thunder is booming in the distance. It’s a cool 70* which just so happens to also be the high temperature of the day. My senses are Alive. Aware. Awake.

Glorious. That’s a word that can be used, and is used by the locals around here. The rain comes daily this season, beautiful, refreshing, life-giving rains. It waters the tall pines, rushes over rocks in little streams, wets the pine needles cluttering the ground, cools the air until little goose bumps rise from my skin. “Isn’t it glorious?” the people say to no one in particular. They speak to the pines, the deer, the birds.

Yes, we all agree silently.

Glorious.

8 years ago yesterday

On Monday night at about 9:30, J-Dub says something to me from across the living room. Since my ears aren’t exactly what they used to be, I repeat back to him, “Oh crap, you have to get groceries tomorrow???”

He repeats himself. This time much louder and stressing every syllable as a vein pops out of his forehead, “I SAID,’OH CRAP! OUR ANNIVERSARY’S TOMORROW.”
“Oh, crap. It is.”

Now last year, I would’ve known that our anniversary was the next day. I would have bought a mushy card, and just tried to catch him in forgetting it, since men are notorious for that. But that just goes to show how much a new little wee one sucks every brain cell right from your formerly astute mind. I’m lucky to remember to turn off the iron these days.

So on June 12th (our 8 year anniversary), we arose at 5:00 a.m. J-Dub told me Happy Anniversary first since I forgot again, then made me an anniversary coffee before he saddled his horse, while I stumbled around readying myself and EK for a small road trip to help a friend work his cattle.

I never have made much of a hand in the cattle working department, and now since I have EK (whom one of his friends has nicknamed Sticker. He says she’s like a little cactus and once she sticks to you…..well, I don’t remember exactly how it goes, but you probably get the idea.) Anyway, since I have EK, I’m completely exempt from working at these cattle gatherings. I wear shorts and flip flops and hang out holding the baby.

After the day of cattle work, and getting my car from the shop, and visiting with my mom for a while, we loaded up the baby and drove to Amarillo that evening. Since we’re die-hard romantics, we figured we might as well celebrate a little. So we grabbed some supper and ordered extra egg rolls at Pei Wei, which I pronounce Pee Wee and Jason insists its Pay Way. Just another petty argument which has helped make the past 8 years blissful.

I’m sure he’s right since he usually is.

No really.
He usually is.

Then we stopped at Starbuck’s for a frappuccino (mine with whipped cream, his without) before heading home and straight to bed for me and EK. He probably fell asleep in his chair watching Monty Walsh. Then there came a heck of a rainstorm in the night.

556228_4204500637624_602206039_n — me and my honey

And that’s our life.

I raise my frappuccino to simply enjoying morning coffees, spending time smelling cattle hair burning, fussing over how to pronounce a word, rainstorms, falling asleep in the recliner, and of course our little Sticker, who is bringing our marriage and our ability to love to an entirely different dimension.

I’m so blessed.

Saturday

It’s the first Saturday in June.

The first Saturday of Summer Vacation.

Maybe we’ll go to the beach.

Listen to the seagulls call overhead. Smell the sunscreen and sunshine on our bodies. Feel the cold water lap around our ankles as I hold EK up on her wobbly legs. Taste the saltwater as she sucks it from her fingers.

Unfortunately, the nearest beach is about 12 hours away. Not exactly a day trip.

Instead, we’ll settle for the prairie grasses of the Texas panhandle. Instead, we’ll listen to the cluck of the chickens, smell the oil rigs pumping nearby, feel the wind tussle our hair, and taste the freedom of summertime.

The freedom to sleep later than 6:00 a.m.

The freedom to go barefoot all day long.

The freedom to splash in a kiddie pool and instead imagine it’s the saltwater of the ocean.

Today, I celebrate summer. And the days to come.

I did not sign a contract to teach school next year.

In faith, knowing God will provide for all our needs. In faith, knowing He did not give me this baby so that I cannot enjoy every moment with her. In faith, knowing I now have a new purpose and job. In faith, knowing these years are going to fly by whether I make money or not.

I am officially a Stay-at-home-mom.

And I am grateful.

Thank you Lord for your awesomeness.

Thank you Lord for Emma Kate.

Happy Summer, y’all.

2 months

My dear Emma Kate,

You are two months old already! Time is zipping past. I can’t hardly stand it. I’m cherishing every day I have with you. The biggest piece of advice I get from other moms is to not blink and take lots of pictures because you’ll be grown before I know it. They aren’t lying either. You are surely growing fast.

Today at the doctor you weighed 11 pounds 4 ounces. You’ve gained 4 pounds since birth. Thats about an ounce a day. You were whopping 23 inches long. Your growth chart shows you to be in the 75th percentile, which means only 25% of other 2 month olds are longer. Me and your daddy can’t figure out where you got your longness. If you keep it up, you won’t have to stand on the front row of your class pictures like your dad and I always did.

You are becoming much more vocal. That’s mommy’s nice way of saying you’ve started having crying jags! They’re not bad at all, but sometimes you begin to cry and we don’t know what’s wrong. But you eventually settle down, and are your happy little self again.

This month you visited both Ruidoso, NM and Tahlequah, OK to meet kinfolk. You stayed with babysitters for the first time ever. The first one being you Aunt Linette who kept you while your daddy and I went for a walk together. You’ve also stayed with your Grand about 4 times now. So far, that’s going real well. Mama only has 2 weeks left before she returns to work and it’s going to be so hard leaving you every day. But the evening time will be ours. We will cuddle, and hug, and kiss, and play. And then summertime will be here and we’ll have all day together again.

We’ve been spending some time outdoors since the Spring weather has come. You have no interest at all in the chickens, or horses, or dogs, even though they are real interested in you. Drew and Grace want to smell you and lick you and find out who you are. The chickens think you’re some kind of treat I’m bringing out to them, and the horses just think it’s feeding time too.

You still smile like a champion and are making some pretty high pitched squeals that will soon turn into laughs. You hate being on your tummy, but Mama makes you have tummy time everyday anyway. It’s good for you.

You get a nightly massage after your bath and I love that sweet time with you. I think you like it too, except you’re pretty ticklish on your belly. Even though your daddy said it would never happen, you are sleeping with us in the bed, but you’re not sleeping through the night yet.

The Bible says children are a reward from the Lord. A reward!!! I don’t know what we did to get a prize like you, but I thank God for you everyday!

We love you more than you can ever know.

XOXO,

Mama

Just Emma

Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.

Our days zoom past.

Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.

And I’m not just talking about EK either.

Eat, sleep, poop, repeat.

Sometimes in addition to the aforementioned, we take pictures.

And on occasion, I’ll get a request from a family member for more pictures of EK.

They pretty much all look the same. EK is either sleeping or awake.

This past weekend my niece, Ash, decided to play photographer. Inspired by my friend Lacee who recently crammed my baby in a bucket and took some amazing pictures, Ash tried to reenact the same look, with some decent results like the one below.

I must go now.

One of us needs to eat, sleep, or poop.

And I’m not saying who.

My dream

Upcoming monumental events cause me a bit of angst, anxiety, and apprehension.

For example, each August I methodically prepare to meet a new group of second graders. I hang posters, write out name tags, copy wonderfully engaging papers, plan ice breaking activities, and decorate my classroom door all in eager anticipation.

It seems that no matter how long I’ve been teaching, every August I still get nervous. With those nerves come dreams. My anxiety permeates my subconscious. It never fails, that my dreams are unpleasant. No matter how prepared I am in the real world, in dreamland I am usually very unprepared for the first day of school. My papers are not copied, the children are rowdy, no one knows which seat belongs to them, I’m late to class, or simply have no control over the students. After a dream like the aforementioned, I usually wake up, mop my brow, and expel a big “Whew, glad that was only a dream.” And then the first day of school comes off without a hitch.

Considering my past, I’ve been a little concerned as to why I’ve only dreamed about my baby once, and I haven’t dreamed about the labor or birth of my baby yet. I mean, it’s not as if this is not an upcoming monumental event! Or it’s not as if I’m not experiencing some angst, anxiety, and apprehension. By now I should be riddled with night terrors. But I’m not.

I woke up this morning with a smile. Why? Because she visited me in my dream, and it wasn’t a horrific labor that caused me to sit up with sweat gluing my gown to my back. Nor was she sick or crying. She was sleeping, and I walked into her nursery and there she was lying on her stomach (yes I know, she should be one her back).

She was a tiny little thing sleeping peacefully. I reached down into her crib and placed my hand on her back to rub her gently. She awoke. Not the sleepy-eyed, grumpy kind of awakening, but rather a “yea, my mommy’s here!” kind of awakening. You know how weird dreams can be, so although her body was small, she was much older and developmentally capable of more. She sat on her knees with her arms outstretched. I picked her up, but I couldn’t see her face. Her hair was brown and mussed and it grew down into a point on her forehead, kind of like Dracula needing a haircut in the worst way. I remember wanting to see her face so badly, wondering what she looked like. I was seeing her for the first time. I reached my forefinger towards her hair and swept it to the left out of her eyes. And there she was. She wasn’t anything spectacular or breathtaking to behold. She was a baby. My baby. A baby I’ve never seen before until last night.

She had small brown eyes, and chubby cheeks, and a pudgy little nose. And when she smiled, two little bottom teeth appeared. She was happy and energetic and glad to see me. It was as if she’d been waiting to see me as long as I’ve been waiting to see her. But what made the dream so realistic was the fact that her nose was dirty, and her eyes were sleep-filled. Little dried sleepies rested in the corner of her eyes, and her nose had run in the night and she had dried crusties on the edge of her nostrils.

Then I carried her to the living room and handed her to her daddy because I was late for work. My house filled with people, strangers that I didn’t know. I was upset because no one had woken me for work, and my face scrub was missing out of my shower, and someone had rummaged through all my cabinets and nothing was where is was supposed to be. Then I was running a race on the highway. You know how weird dreams can be.

I wanted to write my baby dream down however, because I am clinging to that image in my mind. As the hours pass, it’s vanishing, ever so slowly, because that’s what a dream will do. There will be a fading, and then a fragment here and there, until it’s forgotten completely.

We’re down to 11 days until her due date. On Thursday, I’m having a sonogram. There isn’t any concern, but the doctor would like to get a birth weight estimate and check my fluids. I think it’s just a way to get more money, but at least we’ll get to see her little face and I’m sure I’ll post the pictures.

And then, a few days after that, we’ll get to see her face for real. It won’t be long until we’ll stumble through the house in the dark, sweep her hair off her forehead, pick her up from her crib, clean her crusty nose and boogery eyes, smother her in kisses, tell her how glad we are to see her, and how much we love her.

It won’t be long.