Not too long ago, at roughly two in the morning, my littlest decided she absolutely needed me. So, I stumbled my way into her room, flopped onto her bed, and promptly fell back to sleep.
My assumption that my presence would be enough to comfort her was an erroneous one. Shortly after I dozed off, I was wakened by a little whisper, "Mommy, it's a crocodile."
Disturbing news when you're trying to sleep. Upon opening my eyes, I discovered the crocodile that had scared my sweet baby. Someone had left the closet door ajar. The shadow cast by the nightlight did, indeed, look like a crocodile, complete with bulging door knob eye.
"No, it's just a shadow, see the door knob. Go back to sleep," I quickly reassured her and dozed back off.
"Mommy, it's a crocodile. It's going to eat me."
This was not going at all like I thought it would. I tried again. "No. It's not a crocodile. There are no crocodiles anywhere near here. It's just a shadow. Go back to sleep."
She still wasn't buying it and became more insistent. "No, Mommy. It's a crocodile. It's going to eat me."
By this time, I had fully woken up and realized the futility of reasoning with her further. I sat up, shut the door, and turned to her. "There. Crocodile's all gone."
She looked up, satisfied. "Thank you, Mommy." And with that, went back to sleep. That's right, crocodile, no dinner for you.
The next night, I made sure the closet door was closed all the way before I put Leah to bed.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Gnocchi
My grandmom is an interesting lady. She once told a mobster to stop calling my grandfather or she'd call the police, she can out dance anyone I know, and she got bored with making her own bootleg limoncello before it was hip to home brew.
When we were younger and my family drove down to spend a few days or she came up to our house, suitable grandmother/grandchild activities included happy hour while listening to the Rat Pack and drinking Shirley Temples and playing poker. I could tell you what hands beat a full house before I made it to second grade. After my sister and brother and I went to bed, my parents would stay up and play cards with her, too.
It's not that my grandmom doesn't do things considered typical grandmother things for her generation. In fact, she excels at sewing, her house is always immaculate, and she once attempted to teach me to crochet while she was up for a weekend visit. I wasn't an apt enough pupil, and we stopped to play cards.
She did, however, enlist our help in the kitchen, whether we were visiting her or she was visitng us.. We had to eat everyday, so she didn't eschew this particular task. She would set us to sorting through lentils or snapping the ends off of green beans.
One of the worst tasks that she had for us was helping with gnocchi. First of all, I'm not terribly partial to gnochhi. Secondly, we had to help peel the potatoes. Which doesn't sound too awful. Except that first she would bake the potatoes and we'd have to peel them hot. By the time we were finished, our hands would be bright red and burning. Grandmom would take the potatoes and put them through a ricer, while the rest of us went of to stick our hands in ice.
As I was describing the process to my husband one day, he asked why the potatoes had to be peeled hot. He's an engineer, and "Because my grandmother said so" wasn't really a good enough answer for him. It was all I had. In flipping through the food network one day, someone was making gnocchi. The chef also said the potatoes had to be peeled hot, and had an actual reason why. I don't remember what it was, but Grandmom was vindicated.
The biggest problem with gnocchi is that even after enduring first degree burns, ricing the potatoes, making the dough, cutting the gnocchi, and rolling it down the back of a fork to give it ridges, it might not work. Too much flour, and the gnocchi will be too heavy and dense. Too little flour, and the gnocchi won't hold together in boiling water.
Of course, my grandmother doesn't have a recipe. She can't tell us how many potatoes she uses, or how much flour or anything like that. In truth, she adjusts these things based on the number of people she's cooking for and the humidity. She does it all by the feel of the dough. And, even after decades of cooking, she still gets nervous making them that they won't "come good." She always has pasta waiting as back-up. And you know, I never remember her using that pasta. She always had it, and always there was that moment of trepidation as she dropped the gnocchi into the boiling water. But we always went back to playing cards with bellies full of gnocchi.
When we were younger and my family drove down to spend a few days or she came up to our house, suitable grandmother/grandchild activities included happy hour while listening to the Rat Pack and drinking Shirley Temples and playing poker. I could tell you what hands beat a full house before I made it to second grade. After my sister and brother and I went to bed, my parents would stay up and play cards with her, too.
It's not that my grandmom doesn't do things considered typical grandmother things for her generation. In fact, she excels at sewing, her house is always immaculate, and she once attempted to teach me to crochet while she was up for a weekend visit. I wasn't an apt enough pupil, and we stopped to play cards.
She did, however, enlist our help in the kitchen, whether we were visiting her or she was visitng us.. We had to eat everyday, so she didn't eschew this particular task. She would set us to sorting through lentils or snapping the ends off of green beans.
One of the worst tasks that she had for us was helping with gnocchi. First of all, I'm not terribly partial to gnochhi. Secondly, we had to help peel the potatoes. Which doesn't sound too awful. Except that first she would bake the potatoes and we'd have to peel them hot. By the time we were finished, our hands would be bright red and burning. Grandmom would take the potatoes and put them through a ricer, while the rest of us went of to stick our hands in ice.
As I was describing the process to my husband one day, he asked why the potatoes had to be peeled hot. He's an engineer, and "Because my grandmother said so" wasn't really a good enough answer for him. It was all I had. In flipping through the food network one day, someone was making gnocchi. The chef also said the potatoes had to be peeled hot, and had an actual reason why. I don't remember what it was, but Grandmom was vindicated.
The biggest problem with gnocchi is that even after enduring first degree burns, ricing the potatoes, making the dough, cutting the gnocchi, and rolling it down the back of a fork to give it ridges, it might not work. Too much flour, and the gnocchi will be too heavy and dense. Too little flour, and the gnocchi won't hold together in boiling water.
Of course, my grandmother doesn't have a recipe. She can't tell us how many potatoes she uses, or how much flour or anything like that. In truth, she adjusts these things based on the number of people she's cooking for and the humidity. She does it all by the feel of the dough. And, even after decades of cooking, she still gets nervous making them that they won't "come good." She always has pasta waiting as back-up. And you know, I never remember her using that pasta. She always had it, and always there was that moment of trepidation as she dropped the gnocchi into the boiling water. But we always went back to playing cards with bellies full of gnocchi.
Monday, July 28, 2014
As a speech language pathologist, I have learned that one of the most powerful strategies for encouraging communication, is also one of the simplest. That is, in theory, it's one of the simplest. In reality, it is one of the hardest strategies to implement. It requires discipline, self-control, and the ability to tolerate just a little bit of discomfort. It is one of those things that we often don't think about because it seems too easy. It is simply this--wait. That's it, just wait. Offer a comment, question, choice, or thought, and then wait. Don't attempt to fill the silence with prattle, or try and play a guessing game to get at the other person's thoughts. Just wait. Make eye contact, lean forward a bit, and wait for what the other person has to say.
It almost seems like a cop-out, doesn't it? Like just doing nothing. But waiting, and waiting expectantly, can be so powerful. It can give the child who has trouble with comprehension time to figure out what you have just said, and formulate a response. Waiting could give the adult who has had a stroke and may have trouble finding words the time he or she knows to come up with a name. It can take the pressure off of someone who may have trouble speaking fluently. And even if it accomplishes none of these things, waiting will let the person you are communicating with know that you have the time to figure out what he or she wants to say.
I find that I am not as good about applying this concept at home as I am at work. But when I do just wait, that's when things really seem to happen. If I wait, my four-year-old is able to get his own socks and shoes on. If I can just keep myself from taking those shoes out of his hands to get it done quicker, he will learn.
If I wait, my six-year-old really can write that thank you note all by himself. He can even sound out the word reasonably well, if I just wait and let him.
And my two-year-old is perfectly capable of figuring out the stairs, if I wait and let her, instead of scooping her up and getting where I'm going.
If I wait when I am talking with them, they actually talk. They tell me things they think are funny or things they find sad, or they just point out the things they notice around them. Either way, waiting is saying, "I'm here, and I'm listening."
I have to admit, waiting is a real struggle for me. Who has time to wait? I have kids to teach and take care of, dinner to cook, a house to clean, gardens to weed, a dog to walk, and somewhere in there I'm supposed to actually eat and sleep. And yet, in the Bible, God tells us:
31 But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.
Wouldn't it be nice to not feel weary? Like we've been running our race, and not be at all tired. And in this verse, God tells us the key to that is waiting. Waiting on the Lord's timing, waiting on his will, waiting on Him. And He'll give me the energy and the strength to do what He has for me. It is such a simple concept, and one that is so hard for me to carry out.
So, my challenge for this week is to practice waiting, and waiting expectantly. Wait a little longer for that child I'm working with, stop and wait for my kids and not spoil the moment, wait and discern what God has for me so that my strength is renewed instead of feeling like I couldn't possibly do another thing. Because I have been learning that when I wait, things happen.
It almost seems like a cop-out, doesn't it? Like just doing nothing. But waiting, and waiting expectantly, can be so powerful. It can give the child who has trouble with comprehension time to figure out what you have just said, and formulate a response. Waiting could give the adult who has had a stroke and may have trouble finding words the time he or she knows to come up with a name. It can take the pressure off of someone who may have trouble speaking fluently. And even if it accomplishes none of these things, waiting will let the person you are communicating with know that you have the time to figure out what he or she wants to say.
I find that I am not as good about applying this concept at home as I am at work. But when I do just wait, that's when things really seem to happen. If I wait, my four-year-old is able to get his own socks and shoes on. If I can just keep myself from taking those shoes out of his hands to get it done quicker, he will learn.
If I wait, my six-year-old really can write that thank you note all by himself. He can even sound out the word reasonably well, if I just wait and let him.
And my two-year-old is perfectly capable of figuring out the stairs, if I wait and let her, instead of scooping her up and getting where I'm going.
If I wait when I am talking with them, they actually talk. They tell me things they think are funny or things they find sad, or they just point out the things they notice around them. Either way, waiting is saying, "I'm here, and I'm listening."
I have to admit, waiting is a real struggle for me. Who has time to wait? I have kids to teach and take care of, dinner to cook, a house to clean, gardens to weed, a dog to walk, and somewhere in there I'm supposed to actually eat and sleep. And yet, in the Bible, God tells us:
31 But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.
Wouldn't it be nice to not feel weary? Like we've been running our race, and not be at all tired. And in this verse, God tells us the key to that is waiting. Waiting on the Lord's timing, waiting on his will, waiting on Him. And He'll give me the energy and the strength to do what He has for me. It is such a simple concept, and one that is so hard for me to carry out.
So, my challenge for this week is to practice waiting, and waiting expectantly. Wait a little longer for that child I'm working with, stop and wait for my kids and not spoil the moment, wait and discern what God has for me so that my strength is renewed instead of feeling like I couldn't possibly do another thing. Because I have been learning that when I wait, things happen.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
About Me
I have been married for eight years to a wonderful, smart, kind, funny caring, compassionate man. He keeps me steady and I'm pretty sure I keep him from getting too bored by coming up with new schemes. We have three children, whom I homeschool. Homeschooling was an agonizing decision, but one we couldn't be happier with for now. Well, most of the time, anyhow. Some days I wonder what the heck I was thinking and feel like registering the boys at the local elementary school and leaving them there. But most of the time, we love it! It has been an adventure. We have three pets-a dog, a cat, and a rabbit. The cat is the only animal we have that has proven her use in the eleven years we had her, since she once caught a mouse. But we love them all anyway.
I also work as a speech language pathologist for the five and under crowd. My work brings many interesting people in and out of my life, is rewarding and challenging, and reminds me to cherish the little lives entrusted to my care, whether at home or work. I drive from place to place for my job, which leads to plenty of time for thinking. Hence this blog. It has also led to a hobby of reading bumper stickers and trying to figure out vanity license plates. Small print on bumper stickers is a pet peeve of mine.
In my free time, I love being outside with my family, baking, singing, acting, hiking with my family, visiting parks, and crocheting. I love Jesus, my family, my friends, my pets, my job, and brown sugar peach pie.
I also work as a speech language pathologist for the five and under crowd. My work brings many interesting people in and out of my life, is rewarding and challenging, and reminds me to cherish the little lives entrusted to my care, whether at home or work. I drive from place to place for my job, which leads to plenty of time for thinking. Hence this blog. It has also led to a hobby of reading bumper stickers and trying to figure out vanity license plates. Small print on bumper stickers is a pet peeve of mine.
In my free time, I love being outside with my family, baking, singing, acting, hiking with my family, visiting parks, and crocheting. I love Jesus, my family, my friends, my pets, my job, and brown sugar peach pie.
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