On Making Ravioli and Children

Hey, I have a good idea. Feeling frustrated? Irritated by some circumstance in your day? Why don't you go ahead and try to make one of the more difficult pasta dishes by hand, from scratch? It's sure to be therapeutic in an opposite sort of way.

Yes, that was me today-- plunging ahead into a ravioli making endeavor even though I spent most of the morning struggling to look at my children without losing it on them, listening to whining and fighting, missing my husband who has been gone most of the week and last night and now today as well, dealing with the same water spilling and bowl breaking issue over and over again with this little one year old.

So after the little guy was down for his nap and the other two were happily engaged, I started rolling out the pasta dough and brushing the edges and filling the little squares, some with pumpkin and some with a spinach/ricotta filling. Starting out, I really did think I was kind of an idiot, knowing how foul a mood I was in and thinking that if this didn't go well it was only my own fault for attempting it on the least patient and long-suffering of days.

Thankfully, it all went fine. The dough did not stick to the counter in a huge sheet of gluey mess as it had in my one and only previous attempt at fresh pasta making. The filling was ready thanks to prep I did earlier in the week, so the process overall was less tedious and time consuming. The kitchen was not a flour covered sea of disaster and did not take long to clean up. The cute little things looked good with their rustic fork pressed edges, and were even kind of fun to pull together.

And the quiet, hand-consuming work gave me a little time to reflect, to let my mind wander over the day and the little people that have filled it. Imps, urchins, cantankerous little devils with wills and selfish needs all their own. That is how I responded to them most of the morning. There were a few glimpses of hope, a few moments where goodness seemed to seep in the edges of the conversation and sprinkle a few drops of grace on an otherwise stormy situation, but most of the time I was on edge and raw. I could see the mirror slapping me in the face as I implored one child to think not of his own interests... but remember that Jesus always ignored his own rights and poured out his love for us, even when we were at that very time sinning against him. I just kind of sat there, quiet-- the child waiting for me to say more-- and all I could think of was my own need to digest this.

Later, as I was carefully pressing the edges of each little pocket of pasta, all the words I had read over the week seemed to converge in my mind.

"If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all." And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me." Mark 9:35-36

One of the more staggering things about our great God is the very particular way he cares for each and every human life, and calls that one life sacred. In that, he calls me to join him, even as he knows I am an impatient, selfish woman who is constantly veering back towards my own needs and wants. He must have known all that when he looked at his flesh-crusted disciples and said to them, "whoever receives one such child in my name receives me." He knew he was calling incapable people to act like him.

I have to find some kind of precious hope in that, when feeling incredibly full of incapability. How do you get there, from I am super irritated and can't say nice things to you, to receiving and responding to these children as if they were the God-man himself?

A little like ravioli making maybe? You confess that you are an idiot. You admit it seems a task with little prospect of going well. You believe that it is still worth your time and effort to go ahead with. You plunge ahead. You pray for grace, for help. And the Spirit of God always helps us in our weaknesses. He is real, our faith is required, trust is implied, and obedience is the way forward.

A Wee Bit of Wonderful

I do not come from "Big Birthday Bash" stock. We celebrate small. We keep it pretty simple. I am not saying this is a virtue in any way. At some point my children may grow frustrated and disappointed by my lack of birthday fervor. They may require counseling or a book on how to deal with childhood deprivation. But for now, they remain happy and content with the little we do, and the lack of pressure or house teeming with screaming, sugar induced children has probably added a few years to my life and a better outlook on my job as a mother.

I do have to say that I take my hat off to, and stand in awe of, and greatly admire (and sometimes wish I was so wired) those who enjoy and pull of such creative and delightful celebrations for their little loved ones.

But back to me, and my mine.

We celebrated with a bit of pink yesterday. She who runs around like a cowboy and wrestles with Big Brother without fear, who builds Lincoln Log houses (having no doll house) and demands that someone play catch with her or let her be goalie, firmly announced that she wanted a pink cake... pink all around if you please.

She also got a doll. A sweet and perfect little handmade doll I had asked my mother to make for Scout since she was turning three and does need some girlie things of her own. Grandma came through and finished a simple little version of this pattern by Wee Wonderfuls. She also made a small line of adorable outfits, half of which we gave her yesterday while the other half waits for Christmas.

I was pretty excited about this gift- this one and only gift (save the dress our out of town guest and old neighbor gave her in the morning, and the few little trinkets of stickers and cards from friends sent over on the plane) but was not sure how much of a liking our little girl would take to her new little girl. Needless to worry- she was soon hugging and peppering her with kisses, talking sweetly to her and tucking her under her arm wherever she went. The following day has seen much of the same. "Sarah," she has been named, and so our celebration of turning 3 has been deemed a small but beautifully simple and meaningful success.

 

Making Do

In another land, far far away, the "football" (or as my son says, heavy on the accent, "it's football for the one where you say "hut hut hike!" and it's futball for the one that you play with your feet") season is in full swing. Here, we know little about that except for those who can search the internet and ESPN.com. But for the rest of us we are not surrounded by any of the hooplah, and yet as the result of a Friday night viewing of "Remember the Titans" last week, we have had our own little season opener that does not appear to be letting up any time soon.

It has been this small little bit of grace for me, watching my children this past week. Of course, you know, with my current down swing about our living situation I need these things! Living in a city and small apartments has had it's struggles for us with raising small children, something that was affirmed and also encouraged by an audio talk we listened to last year about Raising Your Kids in the City given by Tim Keller. Some of his points continue to stick with me. But anyway, even with the many withouts we muddle through, it brightens my spirit to see my kids flourishing in spite of it all.

They can make do with anything. Or so it seems, today at least.

They create homemade football teams and run plays in the smallish living room, even including little Scout who is probably the best Defensive End of them all. They come up with team songs, flags, and uniforms. They read about Moby Dick and create whaling ships with their legos (never mind all those other important themes that zipped right over their heads). They watch Chariots of Fire and make hurdles in the "hallway" behind the couch with their blocks. They listen to The Call of the Wild in the evenings before bed and spend the next morning constructing dog sleds out of Lincoln Logs and pulling one other around the hardwood floor with a blanket tied around their waist.

We had a day off of school on Monday, and being as tired as I was and having been away from the weekend with much to catch up on, I was sort of dreading a rainy day inside with three small kids. But they blessed me again by playing most of the entire day together, happily, with inclusiveness. I truly did have to give thanks. It was unexpected.

They are so full of observations and ideas and enthusiasm. A birthday card Skills wrote to his dad the other night read

Dear Dad,

I love you more than life itself. Or if I were to describe it another way, if someone were trying to steel you I would save you. But let's get that out of your mind!

I love you so much.

Happy Birthday.

It just cracked me up, this six year old and his way with words.

Then you have these two, settling in for a "drink" before going out to... I don't know, rustle up the outlaws in town?

Yes, that is all I have to say today. I am thankful for my kids. They make do with what they have and they don't even know they are doing it (and that is without saying I know they have A LOT).

It's good to observe their childlike way of life.



Parting Gifts Part II :: Love Your Neighbor

These are my nieghbors. We love them.

They are far more than just neighbors. More like family. Steph and Carolyn are roommates and teachers at our school here, but to my kids they are like fixtures: steady companions on Sunday evenings and Thanksgiving and Saturday morning when we need eggs or a babysitter.

One of my favorite things about these pictures is that it is so evident how comfortable my kids are with both of these wonderful women. We are really going to miss them. And like any true family member, they are not only loved by my children (though that's all we could get in the photos), but are dear friends to me as well.

Firstborn as Trailblazer, Me as Sappy Mom.

I waited for him, stuffing my face full of turkey and potatoes and a piece or two of pumpkin pie. Six short years ago, I waited, with my sides bursting and my skin stretched taut like an air balloon so full it's rubbery skin becomes almost transparent. But he knew I didn't want to miss the most famous meal of the year, so he made me wait.

He was the first to make me a mother. And I told him, he is also the first to make me the mother of a six year old. Should I take a class? Is there a manual? I've never been the mother of a six year old before. He looked worried, and a little proud. This is his lifelong role, to lead us into unseen waters, to take us where we as parents have never gone before. I think he feels a bit like a real life version of Luke Skywalker, the young hero who must learn from his master but is bound to lead because of his bravery and untapped skill. Follow me into six year old land, he says. And then, a little concerned, do you really not know what to do?

Well, I know to make pancakes even though you didn't ask for them. And I knew to get you a chapter book of your very own, even though you've never read one before. And you're already on page twenty one. And sometimes that seems to be just about all I know. 

But, yes, I know other people to go to for wisdom and I know to spend time on my knees. And I know I'm terribly proud of you but too often worry about being embarrassed. I know that most of what you're good at has little to do with me, and I have to remember the same is true for most of what you struggle with. I'm a shaper and a mentor, a guardian and a nurturer, but I'm not your Creator nor am I the keeper of your soul. 

But you, being six, think little about all these things, though I wouldn't be surprised if you did. Your mind, like a maze of whirring gears, is tuned in to every detail and step of reasoning. I think you would have made an excellent addition to the Enlightenment. But here you are in post-modernity, and with a mother who wants you to be free from all its trappings. You're so resilient though. Making light savers out of wooden sticks and DS's out of cardboard cut outs. 

And yes, you're six, sitting there with your hair falling wet on your slowly thinning face. Your profile sending flashes of what I may be looking at in ten or twenty years. Can we stop? Can you sit just like this and help me drink in every six year old moment? The questions you ask and the way you fly about kicking balls against every surface of the house and gobbling plates full of food, taking your sister for rides and shouting kung fu orders at your brother, can you help me remember these moments when they are gone? 

I love you getting older, I love every new minute of you being so enamored with your six year old self. It's no small deal, making it this far. I'm trying my best to keep up with you, to remember my place and to remember yours, and to delight in the every day we have together. You made me wait for you, remember? So now return the favor and be patient with me as you blaze down this trail of growing up much too fast. 

Has It Only Been Two Years?

I feel like she came out rolling just like this. At 10 lbs. 3 oz. (or about 4.7 kilos) she was already a bit of a barrel, and in the first year of her life docile was not a word often on our lips. 

I've watched her leap and jump and fast forward her way into toddler-land, and though there have been many hazards along the way, she has started to exhibit her own bit of grace.

And who wouldn't love that mixture of strength and beauty, the ability to take on her older brothers tackle for tackle, but giggle over a floor length dress and sit patiently while the curls are tucked into place. 

Two years into it, her personality is just emerging; making inroads and splashes and leaving clues of an inner person it will take a lifetime to get to know. I love it all... the obstinance (I mean, look at that glare!), the glee, the abandon, the clinging, the sense of purpose, the way she loves more than anything (and more than she used to) to cuddle safely in your lap, letting these arms that can only shape so much, hold and mold for the little time that they have.

Happy Birthday Sweet Sadie Girl.

[Hunt for a Red October] When Grandpa Comes to Town

When Grandpa comes to town...

Five year olds learn chess 

(jumpstarting to intermediate or even advanced level, as only grandpa's can do)

Four year old's watch five year old's learn chess.

Archery skills are honed and take flight.

Books are read in a decidedly deeper, more booming voice, and without as much character enactment.

Tree forts plans are birthed, talked about, and then scaled down due to environmental reasons

(nevertheless, there is much pride in "my Grandpa knows how to build" and the fact that he is out there, directing the scrap gathering and construction.

Meals are shared and much time is spent gazing adoringly at this larger than life presence, 

who is actually here, with us.

Stories are told, of rivers and cabins and pet crows and the childhood dreams of another generation.

It is blessing my heart beyond what I am letting on, that the walls of separation, even for just these few short weeks, are being battered down and trampled to bits by all of these beautiful Grandpa moments.

This post also a part of The View From Here's theme of the week, {Our Gang}

[Hunt for a Red October] star gazing

[star gazing]

My dad arrived today, all the way from the other side of the globe. He brought, among other things, coffee.

I'm so grateful for his arrival, for this unexpected visit that we've only been planning for a few weeks now. The kids are over the moon excited... they are sure he will want to join in and help them build a tree house outside our apartment, "because he likes to work and he likes to build stuff!" They are right about that, but I'm not sure anyone has tried to build a tree house in the neighborhood courtyard before.

Anyway, the best part is that he is here, but the second best part is that we are drinking coffee again, after a several day hiatus due to unfortunate circumstances. I did break down and buy this one cup pictured above. And then I realized that I've taken more than one or even two photos of coffee related items, so I gave them their own little home over on flickr. I'm excited to add more to the family in the future.

A few months ago I had no idea October would hold such a gift from home... Grandpa and java and new books and bows and arrows and new yarn... can't wait to wake up tomorrow to it all.

The Twelve Project :: September

This family photo once a month thing is a great idea... but my lack of creativity is starting to show when it comes to family group shots. I need a remote for my camera so I can go somewhere fun and get something a little more interesting. This let's-all-line-up-on-the-couch thing is getting old. It's not my camera's fault or it's lack of a remote, really (you already knew that), I need to get myself a little more organized and motivated I think.

But anyway, here is September's lovely photograph, and a bit of the beforehand while I was trying to set up. Too bad I had to join them... they were having so much fun picking lint out of each other's hair and playing peek-a-boo and air guitars.

{Close to Home} They Lay Their Heads

Most of the time when I walk into a room I see all that needs to be picked up. It's a fairly common phenomenon, experienced by most people who have a place to live in and have people who do just that, live in it. I'm forever wanting to clean things out, weed through the baskets of toys and the closets stuffed with everything from art supplies to linens to hand-me-down-bins to basketballs and football pads. We have pretty limited storage space, you see. But I still think we have too much.

It's when I come across items like this that I have to pause, and more than pause, I have to wonder and think about what makes me buy certain things in the first place and if I am too hasty, and if I care well enough for the things I already have.

It's just a piece of green burlap cloth, with simple drawings etched in permanent marker. But my friend, Andrea, she drew it when we left to make our home in this other land, and she made it for our boys to play with on the plane when the hours grew long, these roads and houses that say things like "Jack's house" or "Uncle Brian's apartment." I sift through these toys again and again and each time this little piece of cloth sits on my lap, but I can't part with it, even though it mostly just sits in the basket these days.

And every day when we straighten up the beds and we put our clothes away, when I say for the four thousandth time to not leave your underwear on the floor and to put the books back on the shelf please, I have to wonder at why we do it over and over and over again. But it comforts me to know that this act is, in a sense, a God-given way to undo some of the curse-work, some of what has gone wrong in the world. It's our making things right, day and after day after day. And I sense the peace and calmness and restoring power of things put back in their place.

And each morning, when I pull those wiggly legs up on my lap and reach for something to cover them with, I am thankful again for the thrifty generosity of others, who have supplied nearly the entire wardrobe of my fast growing child, for nearly the entire length of her life. It's no shabby wardrobe either. Her charming ensembles rest squarely on the shoulders of the fashionistas who have gone before, and have not forgotten to leave some for the little people coming up behind them.

The lives of the little ones who share these rooms, the life I now live, none of them are of are not lived in isolation. We are surrounded by the gifts, the thoughts, the prayers, the memories of others. The way their dad hauls them off to soccer each Saturday, it is not without some measure of memory from the years of glory he too experienced at 6 and 7 years old, and his picture reminds us that he too was a squirmy, energetic, sport loving boy not so very long ago. And once in awhile, when my eye sits long enough, I see two laughing Chinese boys and remember the people I shared this card with, and how many times it exchanged hands, and how much each of those hands had a part in the shape of my own life. 

Sometimes all I can see is what must be put away. But there is much more here than that. And when I notice, when I take care to be mindful, I can sometimes see that both are important... the daily routines and the lives that are lived around them.

Getting Away

The last time we went away overnight, without any children, was when Curls was still in in utero and the eldest was barely walking. Being the brilliant romantic weekend planners that we were, we not only scheduled this wonderful get away when I was busting out at eight months pregnant, but also decided to start off the festivities with a viewing of an independent film at the local Doylestown theatre (how I love Doylestown!). 

This film however, was one of the most physically and emotionally depressing movies I have ever viewed, being about child widows in India and the awful plight that is theirs even as young as 8 or 9 years old. It ruined our entire weekend, as we struggled to rise out of the slump that viewing this tragedy sent us into.

More than four years later the memories of that film still haunted me, but so did the way it had affected a much needed weekend away with my husband. So when dear friends saints agreed to watch our three early risers for a night, we decided to start it off with a sunset walk by the sea and a cup of coffee... and to skip the movies. It was a good choice. Now I only hope we don't have to wait four more years to do it again.