Four Chairs

Ever feel like you're in a creative slump? Maybe it's the weather, maybe the mood, maybe the undercooked fish you ate for dinner two weeks ago, but whatever it is, you just feel ... blah?

Those are times when the only way out is forward. What works for me is thinking of ONE thing I can do -- just one! --  and starting there.

Last week I had my nose in the most terrific book: The Gentle Art of Domesticity: Stitching, Baking, Nature, Art & the Comforts of Home. This, my friends, is a book to rush home to -- and it's NOT about to clean your oven or make your window blinds sparkle. The writing! The photos! The homages to Cary Grant! Here's a sample for you:

"We no longer need to knit socks, exhaust ourselves on "baking day," stitch quilts to keep ourselves warm or sew aprons to wear in the kitchen, and we are no longer judged on the quality of our hemming, party or heel-turning. The gentle arts have moved into a new realm in contemporary life, a realm we can choose to enter should we wish, and one in which the act of doing is as important as the result. Ignore all calls for perfection and focus instead on what can achieve, and the pleasures of the gentle arts will be yours for the taking."

In other words, we modern-day homemakers have an advantage: we can limit ourselves to the drudgery of chores, which are never permanently done, or we can choose to expand our skills and make our environment one of beauty ... because we want to. And I believe many of us do want to, secretly or otherwise, because we're made in the image of the ultimate Creator.

So, last week it was spray-painted chairs. [I also scoured the fridge. Guess which was more fun?]

Today, we're making pencil cases.

And the man in the big brown truck just dropped off this book.

I think there's hope for us.

Poetry Friday: Peaches

This is Just To Say

I have eaten
the peaches
that were in
the Costco crate

and which
you were probably
hoping
would last all week.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so gigantic
and so wholesale-priced.

-- With apologies, once again, to William Carlos Williams.

{A repost from the archives that once again fits the bill in time for Poetry Friday -- and could also be applied to the organic raspberries I stocked up on this week.} 

P.S. Wondering what to do with an abundance of summer fruit before it spoils? Try a pavlova. I'm not kidding, y'all. It's super easy, light, grain-free, and guest-wowing. Bada bing bada bing. 

The Gift of Hospitality

We entertained a few angels last week.

Some of them looked like this.

Was it always convenient to have six extra people in our house, cramming kids and dog into our own room, feeding the guests two meals a day, having very little access to my computer, and staying up late to talk when they arrived home from the church conference some were attending? 

Uh, no. 

Did the kids' rooms get massively cleaned and decluttered? Did I get to watch my daughters play with, and help care for a toddler? Was it oddly energizing to pour out the effort, learning a tiny bit more of Mary's spirit in a Martha week? Did we receive as much love and blessing as we gave, and then more? Did we mourn our guests' departure, feeling their permanent presence in our hearts and ours in theirs?

Definitely. Absolutely. Indubitably. 

244. Hospitality -- given and received.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2

The Weekend Report

Hello, friends. How was your weekend? Here's hoping it involved more relaxation than mine did, because this Saturday was the collision of a) The Professor and our boy being AWOL on a Boy Scout campout, and b) our yard sale. How's that for timing?

I did the yard sale with two more experienced friends: Melissa and Tsh. I spent bits of weeks and days decluttering, sorting, pricing, tagging, consulting helpful posts like this one.

The night before, Tsh and her husband and kids dropped by, and we fortified ourselves with this scrumptious pavlova, which you should all run to your kitchens and make this very minute. I'm just telling you this because I love you.

How did the sale go?

Well, it may or may not have coincided beautifully with a near neighbor's well-advertised yard sale (we both used Craigslist ads and ample neighborhood signage).

We may or may not have all been scrambling to get our stuff set up, sweating bullets and foregoing breakfast while our first customers milled about.

Another neighbor/friend, walking by at that hour, may or may not have been pressed into service.

I may or may not have sold all my maternity clothes to the perfect customer.

We may or may not have found frequent use for our rusty Spanish.

Tsh and I may or may not have made the exact same amount of money, and it may or may not have taken us at least six brain-fogged, food-and-water-deprived, attempts to calculate our earnings. How many writers does it take to divide up a pool of cash? 

That amount of money may or may not have approximated $140, which means we may or may not have earned minimum wage for our labors. (But compared to donating it all ...)

My brother-in-law, ever faithful, may or may not have carted a truckload off to Goodwill after the sale wound down.

I know! The whole thing is just so shrouded in mystery!

But here's one thing not shrouded in mystery, because I know someone's going to ask. How did we keep our collective three daughters and one dog safely occupied for five hours when they weren't, you know, rendering entrepreneurial service or indulging in cooperative, independent play? Answer: A babysitter, then a movie. Over and out.

At the Farmers' Market

"It's tempting to reach for melons, red peppers, tomatoes, and other late-summer delights before the summer even arrives. But it's actually possible to wait, celebrating each season when it comes, not fretting about it's being absent at all other times because something else good is at hand." 

- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life

"And the earth brought forth grass, the herb that yields seed according to its kind, and the tree that yields fruit, whose seed is in itself according to its kind. And God saw that it was good." Genesis 1:12

On a day when I wanted to throw my apron over my head like Susanna Wesley for a few minutes' respite from ...

"Mom, where is my pencil?"

"Mom, how come my pencil isn't sharpening evenly?"

"Mom, where did I put my book?"

"Mom, did you see me stand on my head?"

"Mom, why did you say that one word more loudly than the others?"

...

This moment was good. 

The Best Little Chore Chart in Texas

{All right -- on our street, perhaps.}

Do you like?

It took me months -- YEARS -- to make a reliable chore system, but when I did, I couldn't resist some aesthetic flair.

Here's how it works. We  have a bunch of cards, each with a daily chore written on it. I also have some chores that only need to be done twice a week (changing the hand towels, e.g.) that have a double border on them, and some once-a-weekers that have a single border on them. Like helping Mom clean out the van or dusting the living room. It works out to about 10-12 chores per day.

After breakfast, we divvy up the duties. The kids rotate through first, second, and third choice -- Monday Caroline gets first pick, Tuesday Eliza gets it, etc. Guess who always gets last pick? (Can you even call it a "pick" if that person, who happens to be the tallest and theoretically most mature, just gets whatever's left? The orphan chores, so to speak?)

Everyone picks three. When you're done with the chore, you take the card out of your pocket and stick it in the "Done" pocket.

If you feel uninspired, Helpful Mom has thoughtfully put motivational words on the chore chart to fire you up about contributing cheerfully to the family. It works every time!

Uh-huh. Yeah. That's exactly how it is.

 At least it's kind of pretty!

House Beautiful? We're Getting There

Big doings at our house today.

Remember the flood? Well, three weeks later, we have new floors! This means that in a matter of days, the Professor and I can stop sleeping on the pull-out couch in our Ugly Room (a.k.a. the Bonus Room, a.k.a. the converted garage) and move back into the master suite. Remember to interpret the term "master suite" generously. Remember that this house was built before the term "master suite" was birthed into the English language family. Like, when my dad was sporting long sideburns and wide fluorescent ties, if you can imagine that.

Our hallway at 8:15 a.m. today:

Our hallway and bedroom at 1:15 p.m., after the children and I spent the morning as refugees at the library ("I cannot IMAGINE how those flooring guys do their job without wearing earplugs," Ian remarked somewhat bitterly.)

It turns out, our entire room has to be re-painted. There's even a possibility that our entire bathroom will need re-tiling, because, oh so sad, one of the amazingly beautiful seafoam green floor tiles that you ONLY WISH you had in your own bathroom, broke during the drying process. And you cannot retile the floor without retiling the seafoam green walls and seafoam green shower surround. It simply cannot be done. (Or so says the contractor sent to us by our insurance, and who am I to argue? In fact who am I not to bake him a plate of exceptionally fudgy brownies?)

Here was my thought when I heard, "The whole room will be need to be repainted": "Hmmmmm ... we have made no noticeable renovations to this house in the past five years. Maybe this is my chance for a little change? Maybe I should go look at paint swatches? Maybe I should browse home-decorating websites for some inspiration? Maybe a new bedding piece or two is in order? Maybe I could paint a piece of furniture or two? Maybe our room will somehow become a lovely sanctuary?"

Here is what the Professor said when I broached the subject of new paint. Obviously, I didn't fling all those ideas at him, because he has a Y chromosome. Just the paint color issue.

"Why? I like the paint color the way it is."

Thud.

That was the sound of my decorating frenzy hitting the new wood-laminate floor.

But I'm happy to report that this floor is resilient, and my idea bounced. It refused to stay splayed out on the floor. It has returned for another dance in my brain. Because I have two X chromosomes, and that's the way it is.

I'll let you know how things play out.

Thank you, Number 29

This animal here goes by the name of #29. 

Or should I say, WENT by the name of #29. 

#29 is now wrapped up in 1-pound packages in our freezer. Also, in my sister's freezer, my mother-in-law's freezer, and our friend Quinn's freezer. (It was Quinn's idea to ask our lovely rancher for a photo before our steer was, um, processed.) 

So you know how we were inspired by Michael Pollan and The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Mealsto start owning chickens a few years ago, so that we'd know where that tiny fraction of our food (the EGGS; we don't "process" our chickens) was coming from? 

This is the same deal. A few years ago we bought an entire grass-fed bison with a few friends. A couple times since then, we've done beef. It's partly an ideological notion -- building a relationship with a particular rancher, supporting a local farm, knowing the meat on our table came to us thanks to one happy, healthy cow, reducing our pesticide and carbon load a bit, yadda yadda. It's also a way to eat organic, grass-fed beef with less of a whomp to the wallet -- New York strip steaks cost the same per pound as ground beef. 

(An aside: Don't think that if I come to your house -- should I be so fortunate -- I'll turn up my nose at your grain-fed, factory-raised beef. Food is about nourishment and communion around a table -- not about snobbery and judgments.)

We also got the organ meats. Am I brave enough to try and cook up the heart and liver? I know they pack a huge nutritional punch, but I'm just not sure I have the courage. Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope. 

By the way, today I made reservations for the night we're going to spend at Great Sand Dunes National Park during our upcoming road trip to Colorado. A mom at swimming lessons this morning told me that was her favorite stop on their three-week trip. We'll stay at a lodge right outside the park, where we can see the sun rise and set over the dunes. 

Okay, that had absolutely nothing to do with beef. Or happy cows. Or #29. Just a bubble of excitement that had to work its way out. 

What's Special About Wednesdays?

Well, this, for one thing.

And this. 

Wednesday brings a box of mysterious delights from local farms thanks to Greenling. Maybe not the bestest thing in the world for our grocery budget, but excellent for our vegetable intake. After all, when you get all that produce, some of which you've never heard of before, who's going to waste it? 

Hungry yet?

Housecleaning? Bring it on!

Photo by Lancaster County Market

I have a dirty little secret.

I'm going to whisper it, so you'll have to lean in real close.

Lately, I've actually enjoyed cleaning my little house. Why this burst of clinical insanity? Well, I simply follow these four motivational steps, and guess what? YOU CAN TOO.

Step One: Have a cleaning schedule.
    Folks, if it's not on the list, it doesn't happen. Wait; correction: If it's on the List, but I don't look at the List, it doesn't happen. The List is key. The List makes my cleaning world go 'round. The List keeps my workload nicely parceled out across the week. The List costs me only $8.00 per year, and believe me, I consider that a bargain, considering that my sanity is worth waaaaaaay more than $8.00. Three Cheers for the List! I get mine from Motivated Moms here.

Step Two: Use cleaning products that make you happy. Not sneezy. I personally use Basic-H from Shaklee, which is so economical it's almost frightening, since one bottle of the stuff lasts me at least two years. In a reusable, environmentally-friendly spray bottle, I mix my warm water, my tiny bit of cleaning concentrate, and whatever essential oils I deem necessary to the psychological health of my family.

Step Three (my favorite): Load up your MP3 player or personal listening device with something fun. This could be something spiritually enlightening or, as is more often the case with me at cleaning time, something quite humorous. I DARE YOU to scrub your toilets while listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me and not enjoy yourself immensely.

Step Four: Accept imperfection. Resolve to do your best within the time you have allotted and let that be good enough. If you're struggling with this concept, read Mrs. Potter's Pig to your little ones for a sense of perspective. The goal is sanitary and comfortable, not museum-ready.

Remember, we're not just housekeeping -- we're keeping a Home.

Speaking of Ma Ingalls ...

The Professor has decided that he is comfortable enough with his manliness to allow me to share his latest accomplishment.

But first, look at this:

See? Very manly. Are we all agreed?

So, moving right along, he has, or HAD, this gigundous stack of T-shirts. So abundant that often, I could barely close the drawers when putting away clean laundry. It's been an issue in our marriage from the very beginning. But we don't need to get into that. That's what therapy is for.

Yesterday, no doubt inspired by a surge of love for me, he decided to purge the stack. Helen of Troy's face launched a thousand ships; mine launches about ten T-shirts.

But sharing my abhorrence for waste, he didn't want to do something so dastardly as throwing them all away. And we have more than enough cleaning rags, thankyouverymuch. So, are you ready for this?

HE CUT THEM ALL INTO STRIPS AND BRAIDED THEM INTO A RUG. And, at her request, a jumprope for Caroline.

And tomorrow, he'll begin a three-day walk, just like Ox-cart Man, to the nearest city to sell our wares.

Or not.

I made this (and you can too!)

Seriously. I really did. Try not to collapse in a faint.

Not only the outfit, but the model inside. Of course, I had quite a bit of help with that one.

Which brings me to my point. Ahem.

How Sewing and Childbirth are Alike:

1. Childbirth is laborious work.

Sewing is laborious work.

2. Childbirth mystically connects you to millions of women who have traveled this earth before you, drawing you into its productive sisterhood. [Note: I remember thinking this very thing as I paced my front lawn under the stars, laboring to bring forth Eliza.]

Sewing (for one's children, especially) mystically connects you to millions of women who have traveled this earth before you, drawing you into its productive sisterhood.



3. When childbirth is accomplished [and considerable time has elapsed], you're so entranced by the cuteness of the finished product that you forget the words "NEVER AGAIN!" and start to think, "Hey, maybe I could do this again!"

When the sewing is accomplished, you're so entranced by the cuteness of the finished product that you forget the words "NEVER AGAIN!" and start to think "Hey, maybe I could do this again!"


4. After childbirth, you can't help but marvel at the tiny, detailed perfection of what you have wrought.

Um. Sewing is also a pastime.



[Time to give credit: directions for the skirt can be found here, complete with photos. T-shirt was made using a pumpkin stencil, fabric scraps, and something called Wonder Under. Can't help you with how the girl was made. Most of y'all are moms (I think). You've figured it out. Let me know if you make the skirt, though!]

Hannah Bandana

Because I have the sewing skills of, like, an octopus, I was super happy to discover this recipe for super easy, super cheap, and -- according to my child-size models -- super stylin' -- bandana pants.

Eliza got the first pair. Total cost of materials: $2.00. Total time: 45 minutes.

Ian became mildly jealous and requested a pair. You got it, buddy.

(Caroline is still waiting for hers.)

So then my niece really, really wanted a pair. And she's about a size 12. So I started pinning about three hours before her birthday party, and realized I needed to run to Hobby Lobby and buy a third bandana. Of course, HL was out of that particular pattern, and I decided to kick things up a notch and go for a combo of fuschia/white polka dots and yellow bandana print (cooler than it sounds, I promise). I hurried home, washed it out in the sink, threw in the dryer for preshrinkage, and began hastily cutting and sewing, not really pausing to consult the directions on how much of a, um, crotch to cut out (yikes, that sounds like it belongs on another kind of blog). Got all the stitching done save the elastic waist, held up the shorts, and ... PERFECT!

... for an Oompa Loompa with saddle sores, that is.

If only I had a photo of this particular masterpiece. Or a photo of me rolling on the floor laughing at the sight.

I think we'll be sticking to the basics from now on.

Now go forth and sew!

Keeping the main thing the main thing

Here's a quirk of mine: I love walking through cemeteries, and I always have. They're quiet, peaceful, burgeoning with secrets and stories at which one can only guess. I love reading the inscriptions on the headstones and wondering about the lives summed up in so few words, and about the ones who chose those words for their departed. 

But here's the thing. In all my rambles, I have NEVER, not a SINGLE time, encountered a headstone to this effect: "She always kept a spotless house." Not once. 

I've also read through the entire Bible several times, and never encountered anything that leads me to believe God particularly cares about how closely our homes resemble an ad for The Container Store. 

Over the years of childbearing and childrearing, I've gradually surrendered many of my perfectionistic standards, although they haven't gone down easily. But this week we get put to the test, with four houseguests coming to stay, two of whom we know and love, and two of whom we're never met (we're helping out with a conference our church in hosting). 

Of course I'm cleaning, decluttering, making sure all the beds have sheets, etc. But in the midst of it, I'm also trying not to lose sight of the main thing, which is an attitude of hospitality. Yielding to the temptation to try to have things JUST SO, I will not only kill my family but also allow resentment to creep in, not to mention a hope that these guests appreciate my efforts. Not good. 

Instead I want to keep the main thing the main thing. People are more important than things. We'll get things as ready as we can. But when it comes down to it, I hope what we really have to offer our guests is a peaceful home and an open heart. Even if there's a smear or two of blue toothpaste on the edge of the bathroom sink.