What We're Wearing

Ponytails are very in at our house. A fashion necessity for C, lest she consume her own long locks. And at long last, a request from A, lest she be outdone by her baby sister.

Rainbows

We were talking about Noah during our school time at home last week. The art included painting a watercolor rainbow above an ark picture. She really liked making rainbows.

How To Explain?

I love this time of year. Mainly, it's the cooler weather. I think that's why most Texans enjoy fall and spring--they aren't summer. But I get antsy in October. There's this holiday at the end of the month that makes me really uncomfortable. We have decided as a family not to celebrate Halloween. But how to explain that decision to all of our friends and extended family who really enjoy the building momentum of this holiday?

People ask, "What costumes are you getting for the girls?" I'm not. My daughter wants to know what that scary statue is in the store window. I have to censor her usual tv shows because they're doing Halloween specials. I formulate answers to her questions about what she's heard at school, church, or the park. "There is a holiday this month that lots of people celebrate called Halloween. As best we can tell, it's a celebration of scary things and being scared. Daddy and I don't think this is something God wants us to celebrate, because He is not a scary God and we don't need to be scared of Him. So we skip this holiday and wait for Thanksgiving, when we can celebrate all the wonderfully good things God has given us."

God, please help our girls understand. Give us the words to express the conviction you have placed in our hearts. Defend us from the temptation to turn it into something self-righteous. Give us courage to live it out and not compromise to the default of our culture.

I don't know where she gets it

For the life of me, I cannot figure this one out. I understand that I can be a little compulsive sometimes, but this borders on Monk-like tendencies. Girl has been eating frozen waffles for breakfast for most of her little life and will not, I mean will NOT, eat the corners. How does one achieve corners on a round waffle, you ask? I have tried several variations on the cutting of a round waffle and she always finds the pieces that end up as triangles instead of squares or rectangles. Obviously, these little triangles are inedible. Exhibit A:








Doesn't that just beat all?! Fortunately, she has begun to refuse syrup and request "big" waffles with only butter. No cutting = no corners = whole waffle consumed (most of the time), which is good because I have bigger fish to fry, like purging all of our clothes with bent lapels. No, not really! None of our clothes have lapels.

Sit down

This is crazy huge. Are you sitting down?

Yes, it's a chicken. A raw chicken. A raw, whole chicken. Only thing missing is the head and feathers. Any one who has known me for any length of time knows that I have an irrational neurosis about preparing or eating meat that resembles its original source too closely. That doesn't mean I don't want my meat to be fresh. I just prefer to not be able to envision the poor thing that gave it's life for my pot pie.

That said, I have come to terms with the fact that roasting a whole chicken is much more economical than buying chicken breasts. Alas, my penny-pinching has defeated my animal-lover. I did of my own accord and by my own hand prepare, roast, and consume the aforementioned chicken. (J did help take the leftover meat off the bones, but I was perfectly willing to do it.)

I had planned to document the whole experience in photos, because this is a pretty big milestone for me. But digital cameras and raw chickens are not normally good co-workers. So you only get the one photo while it was still nicely wrapped and sanitary, and only vaguely in the shape of a poor little chicken body.

Once I unwrapped said chicken, well, there you go. No mistaking it now--that's a headless chicken. The directions were easy enough. Rinse, pat dry, remove giblets from cavity, season, roast. I can do this. I even allowed myself only 15 minutes to get it done so I wouldn't hesitate. Rinsing done, little wings getting slightly more flappy. We'll skip the patting dry business. Remove giblets from cavity. Hmmm. Now that it's over, all I can say is that the directions were just trying to be polite. What I really had to do was put my hand inside the chicken's southern-most body opening, locate and remove its internal organs--all easily identifiable from my freshman biology class. That was obviously the most traumatic part, but then came the Great Pan Debacle of '09.

After seasoning the chicken, I put it in my pan of choice only to find that the lid wouldn't stay on. Wash hands, find new pan. Try again. Same dilemma. Allow me to point out that I have a big roasting pan, but the recipe pointed out the importance of using a pan that was just big enough so that the chicken would stay juicy and not dry out. So, wash hands, find new pan. Rinse, repeat. Finally ended up with the original pan, held closed by foil. You can imagine by this point how floppy the little bird had gotten at being handled so much. I really wanted to try holding it by its pitiful little wings and making it dance, but I was afraid I would rip the bones out of their sockets and the whole thing would have gone in the trash.

I am happy to report that this post is so long because it was a cathartic experience for me to have accomplished this and knowing I could blog about it gave me the wherewithal to do it. I have since learned that summoning the courage to insert my seasoning inside the chicken will yield more flavor (hat tip to my big sis), so I am willing to try again. In a few months.

Just another October day in Texas

Why not? It's almost 90 degrees and 120% humidity.

Pink Arrow First

A's latest milestone came while tussling with Daddy on the couch this afternoon. He gave her a hearty tickle to which she protested, "Stop, stop, stop, Daddy! You're messing up my hair!" To my knowledge that is the first time she threw a flag on the play due to hair interference. (I have to mix in some sports metaphors to make up for the lack of actual sports being played in our house--Wii bowling doesn't count.)

J isn't much of a hunter (which I am ever so grateful for), so I don't think that is a sport that he is missing with his daughters. The only hunting that goes on around here is some intense hide-and-seek. We play at least three times a day. A has even learned that Mommy can play "just with your eyes" if my hands are otherwise employed. J says he might could keep up the hunt a little longer if A wasn't so obvious, "Okay, Daddy, you count to ten and I'm going to go hide in the pantry."

And our final pink milestone for the day...J asked me to teach A how to play bunko! Can you imagine?! I hadn't even thought of it as a viable pre-school game, but he knew she could do it and it approximates a board game (one of his favorite pastimes). Sure enough, she caught the fever. I can hear them at the table now, "I got one 2, Mom!" I told her that three of a kind makes a bunko and she was the perfect pupil when she rolled her first one. "BUNKO!" she yelled, practically quivering. J said the only difference between her and the noise at a usual bunko game is the size of her body. Notice he didn't say the size of her voice. Bunko, baby, BUNKO!