The Baby

Dearest Milly,

Right now I'm watching you stand at your little play table and create a cacophony of noise. Some of it is that irritating table that has somehow survived your older siblings and is now singing at you whenever you whack the appropriate colored tabs. The other is a mix of laughter and a long WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE of discontent. You keep changing moods at the speed of light, Milly Bean. Can we discuss your bipolar nature? I hardly have time to get the camera up to get that cute picture before you're off again with the WOE IS ME and OMG I'M TIRED BUT I'M NOT TIRED PICK ME UP NOW PUT ME DOWN.



Now you're in my lap watching me type and grinding your teeth. You only have 5, darling. Is that the best idea? Also, can I have my arm back? Typing with one hand is difficult. Can I offer you a cold teether? You're the only one who likes icy cold teethers. The others always spit them out and gave me awful looks. You chew so hard I'm honestly afraid you're going to puncture them. Seriously, I've already googled "Is the stuff in teething rings poisonous?" Still, I would rather you work out those puppy teeth on hard frozen plastic than my hands. You've already drawn blood. TWICE.



Aaand you just spit up. Not on yourself, mind you, but on the couch. You have perfected the art of leaning over and yacking on me, the furniture or anything else. You rarely spit up on yourself. I keep bibs on you but it makes no difference. One can only hope that your marksmanship turns into a good quality. Maybe you'll work for the CIA one day.



As I watch you crawl all over the living room, I'm struck by how big you are. Wasn't I just whining about your feet in my ribs last week? Now you're 18 pounds of determination ready to follow your sister and brother wherever they go. You cruise, crawl and are ready to walk at any time. You have very little interest in staying still. There's too much to see and do. There are toys to fling, books to inspect and forgotten Cheerios to choke on.

I love you, Millicent. I love your spirit, your laugh and your chubby, cuddly little body. I love how you curl up with me for your last bottle of the day and then jam your thumb in your mouth with a sigh before fluttering your long lashes onto your full cheeks. I love your curiosity and will. Every time you tumble down to the floor, you shake your little head and climb right back up. When it's a little too hard then you cry for kisses.

Mama will always kiss your hurts, Baby Girl.

Crockpot Turkey

Eventually I will have a separate place on my blog for all of my cooking posts. For now, I'm going to start putting my recipes up whenever I feel the mood is right.

Tonight, the mood is right.

Turkey is problematic. It is usually eaten only once or twice a year and is fairly tasteless. It dries out quickly. What do you do with the leftovers? I'm here to tell you that turkey doesn't have to be a once a year grind with sandwiches for the next 2 weeks.

BEHOLD! My crockpot turkey breast recipe!

The Stuff:
4 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons paprika
1 tablespoon onion powder
1 tablespoon dried thyme
2 tablespoons black pepper
1/2 tablespoons cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons garlic powder
1 8 pound frozen turkey breast
EVOO

The Process:
Thaw your turkey in the fridge. This is going to take a while. Just ask my sister about the time she hosted Thanksgiving.

Go on. Then dodge the chair she throws at your head. She's a good shot.

Anyhoo, once you have a thawed carcass, stir all of your spices together in a small bowl. Hold this bowl far away from your nose or you will violently sneeze all over the kitchen. If this happens, try to miss the turkey. If you sneeze on the turkey, take a moment to rinse it off. Please. For the children. Smear some EVOO on your turkey and then generously rub AAAAAAALLLLL of those spices into the turkey breast.

Massage the turkey. Make sure to get all of the nooks and crannies. Don't feel weird. You're just rubbing a dead animal like a lover.

It's weird, isn't it? I really hate this part.

Get it over quick and plop that bad boy in the crockpot. Turn it on low and walk away for 8 to 10 hours. When you come back then you will have wonderful juicy meat falling from the bones. Serve with dressing, potatoes or whatever your heart desires. This got thumbs up from Ben and Gideon. Sophie is going through a vegetarian phase. Animal flesh holds no interest for her unless it comes from a pig.

Time to look up some ham recipes!

An Addendum to the Last Post

Dear Aging Hippie in the Sprouts parking lot,

I forgot that I had left my radio volume on 60. I'm sorry that Kansas began screaming Carry On My Wayward Son loud enough to make you nearly drop your bag of organic fruit bark and tofu nuggets, poop onto your vegan TOMS and slam the door of your silver Prius.

I'm not sorry I giggled all the way home.

Songs That Soothe

When you are an adult who must act like an adult but is still afraid of generally everything then you need to find ways to soothe your addled soul and mind.

My way? Music.

Hillsong's Greatness of Our God says it perfectly.

"Give me eyes to see
More of who You are
May what I behold,
still my anxious heart."

"Give me grace to see
Beyond this moment here.
To believe that there
Is nothing left to fear."

"No sky contains,
No doubt restrains,
All You are,
The greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
To all You are,
The greatness of our God."

Thank you, Lord, for working through these amazing people.

Mama Wears Pink...Easily

Brain Buzz

My Back: "Ouch."

Me: "This sucks. I want to watch / surf in my bedroom but I have no computer and my iPhone screen is tiny."

Laptop: "Hai, I'm portable!"

My Brain: "I'm so frickin' tired."

My Kids in 30 Years: "Sorry for ruining your brain. And your thighs."

Geeky Dream

I fell asleep listening to the Harry Potter soundtrack a few days ago. Evidently my subconscious took this and ran wild.

Melissa, you're going to want to read this.

OK, so I was in 6th grade. I received a letter saying that I had been accepted into an elite 7-year boarding school and could choose my location. I found out that my best friend had also been chosen. Since we were Harry Potter geeks, we chose to go to the England location. The one that looks JUST like Hogwarts but it doesn't teach magic. It's in a giant castle, you take a train to get there and there are four "houses" but it's not Hogwarts. We were in the Blue House. This was obvious in our school uniforms and we stayed in one of the wings of the castle with the rest of the Blue House. We played field hockey. The schools are all made up of about 75% of the native country's population and about 25% foreigners. The American school is located in the Adirondacks and is a large Colonial plantation. All of the schools met once a year for a massive academic competition. There were schools in Russia, France, Spain, Egypt, Ireland and Brazil.

That was one AWESOME dream.

Just A Peek

It's days like today that make me wish for my old coping mechanisms.

I feel like holing in a booth or a chair with unlimited cups of diesel fuel coffee and chain-smoking while I journal. I want a big soft hoodie to shield me from the outside. I want to plug my ears with my iPod and journal through the music.

I still use music. It's hard to connect with my feelings. I don't like to face them. I would rather bury everything and just clean my sink or sort laundry. Instead, I sit down with an empty page, a pen and a few playlists. Rage Against the Machine pounds in my ears while I mark up my journal in big block letters. I let the anger flow out of my body and onto paper where I can deal with everything without it being so jumbled. I turn the music to Alison Krauss and let the tears smudge the page while I allow myself to be sad and write about why I'm sad.

The coffee keeps me alert and focused. The cigarettes make me calm and take away the facial twitch that seems to get worse whenever the anxiety gets in the red.

I can't do this anymore. I can still journal. I can still listen to music. I have to limit my caffeine so that I can get enough sleep to get up in the morning and take care of the kids. Smoking is right out. Can't pick that habit back up.

I'm a suburban mom of three. I have to act like one. Take my medicine, say my prayers, stop complaining and just do what has to be done.

Still, every once and a while, my finger itch.

Mama Means Business