Just so you know…

I am not on a real blogging hiatus.  I just keep getting interrupted in my blogging by stuff like…

kids who are tired
kids who are hungry
kids who are cranky
kids who want to play

floors that need cleaning
toilets that need scrubbing
laundry that needs washing
food that needs cooking

etc
etc
etc

Right now, for example, I need to be cleaning out Molly’s ears, playing with the little boy at my feet, reading to the little girl climbing all over the couch, calling my credit card company since somehow I lost my card, emailing friends to whom I am sorely overdue on emails, pulling venison out of the freezer to thaw for tomorrow’s soup, making cleaning products, replacing all the stuff from the bathroom and kitchen which are all over the dining room since I just mopped the floors, decorating the bare tree in my living room…

etc
etc
etc

In the meantime, here’s something you might enjoy listening to.  A couple of weeks ago on NPR I listened to an interview with Jon Cohen, who recently produced the new album, Spirit of the Glen, with the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.  As they played “Amazing Grace,” I stood in the middle of my kitchen and just cried.  This album isn’t coming out in the US until February (although somehow I need to find out how to get it sooner so I can give it to my dad for his birthday), but I found a 1972 version on YouTube.

 

Pecan Pie Wars/Jesus & the Kingdom/Pecan Pie Update

Yesterday afternoon I promised my friend Rachel an upcoming post on domestic feminism.  At the time, I was discussing with her my grandiose plans to make a pecan pie from scratch.  I was going to don my pretty oilcloth apron; mix my own Crisco, flour, and water; dust my kitchen table with flour; and roll out a beautiful, perfect crust.  Then, I was going to fill that perfectly crimped pie crust with a rich, delectable pecan pie filling.  Before embarking on this task I launched into an impassioned speech to Matt about the lost art of pie-making.  

And then I got into a knock-down, drag-out fight with my rolling pin and clumpy, flaky pie dough.  

While it is true that last night I had to physically stab through the pie to cut it, it actually turned out, well, delicious, even if I do say so myself.  I do need to spend some time revising my ideals of domestic feminism, however.

In the meantime, I wanted to share with you all a video we watched in church last night.  Have any of you ever read Lily’s Purple Plastic Purse?  There’s this line repeated over and over in the book that reads, “Wow.  That’s just about all she could say.  Wow.”  Rachel and I repeat this phrase to each other whenever we encounter some awe-inspiring event.  Well, last night, had there been a cartoon bubble over my head while I was watching this video, it would have said, “Wow.  That’s just about all she could say.  Wow.”  I really encourage you to check it out.

Pecan Pie Update
Today, I used my grandma’s recipe for pie crust.  Why didn’t I use that recipe yesterday???  This was so much easier!!!  Below are pictures of my pie crust and then a picture of the pie as it was headed to the oven.  It’s not perfect, but then, neither am I!  Now, if I can just remember to pull the pie out of the oven in 30 minutes….

Cleaning Remix

This week has been crazy.  I feel like I have been home long enough to rush around, make a mess, not have time to clean up after myself (or, more accurately, ourselves), and then I head back out the door again.  Earlier today I told Matt that I was going to spend the evening catching up on cleaning and clutter.  One phone call…”Um, honey, I’m about to disrupt your evening.  My clutch went out”…and those plans flew out my fantasy window.  Ah well.  It wouldn’t be so big of a deal.  There’s always tomorrow night, after all (oh wait–not tomorrow night–more plans), but you see, my friend Karmen is coming for coffee and apple strudel tomorrow morning, and I couldn’t have her see my house looking like an overworked dad, a scattered mom, one I-can-create-a-huge-mess-in-2-minutes-preschooler, and a little fella with lots of baby gear lived here, now could I?  Of course not!  So, everyone went to bed, and I went to work.

Well, sort of.  I decided I needed cleaning music.  Hmmmm….what’s near the CD player.  VeggieTales? 
Nope.
Raffi?
No thanks.
Miscellaneous kids’ songs sung by miscellaneous kids?
Definitely a no.

I started flipping through my CD album, and I approximately doubled my cleaning time by playing a song from one CD…then two songs from another…until I had tripped down a musical memory lane.  Here’s a sampling of some old, memory-making stuff:

the cranberries…”No Need to Argue” always makes my heart ache.

Michael W. Smith…yes, I went back that far.  When I was a sad, angry, confused 95-lb anorexic, the song “I’ll Lead You Home” was on the radio at least 3 of the 5 days I dragged my starving self to the gym at 5:00 in the morning to run (and then to walk when, one day, I realized I didn’t have the energy to run).  I would cry, then grit my teeth, clench the muscles of my empty stomach, and trudge wearily into that cold, empty gym.  And another song I listened to on repeat in our apartment: “Breathe in Me” (“So breathe in me I need you now.  I’ve never felt so dead within.  So breathe in me.  Maybe somehow, you can breathe new life in me again.”)

Alanis Morissette…my queen of angst.  Still love her. 

Emmylou Harris…”My Baby Needs a Shepherd,” “The Pearl” (“Like falling stars from the universe, we are hurled / Down through the long loneliness of the world / Until we behold the pain becomes the pearl”)

Lucinda Williams…”Broken Butterflies”  This is such a beautiful, sad song.  At this point I had to make myself a screwdriver.  Perhaps a mistake, but you just can’t listen to her more than approximately 30 seconds without spiraling into a deep depression.  I had to cope somehow.  There was still laundry to do and floors to sweep. 

sixpence none the richer…this is poetry:
“melting alone”
tonight the lamplight swirls and glistens
melting upon my face
I’m hanging my silhouette near the shoreline
I’m swimming underneath the noontime

will I ever know what’s wrong with me?
will I ever see your hand again in mine…

tonight the rain is pelting rooftops
there is no fire to melt the cold
I’m straining to hear a human whisper
and I’m painting images on soft stone

now I’m drinking alone
amidst these figures of stone
I’ll raise the glass once again
then lay my head on the pillow

So that was my night.  A little cleaning.  A lot of listening.  Tomorrow, Karmen, I may have to sweep Amélie’s art supplies to the opposite end of the table so that we can sip our coffee and nibble our strudel, and you may may want to wear knee pads in case you trip over an exersaucer or a bike or a scooter (or all three), but I’m guessing you won’t mind…too much anyway.  And now, it’s after midnight, and I’m going to bed (at least until Jack wakes up hungry).

I make milk. What’s your superpower?

I heart this.  I want this. 

Cheers to all of us milk-makin’-mamas.

Crunchy Update

I am trying to transition over to natural/non-toxic cleaning products.  I think I was a teensy weensy bit too excited about the 2 gallons of vinegar and the 12-lb bag of baking soda I bought over the weekend…. 
Yesterday morning I decided to make my own all-purpose cleaner: 1/2 cup vinegar, 1/4 cup baking soda, 1/2 gallon of water.  No one told me that mixing vinegar and baking soda together caused a bubbly mess of volcanic proportions (does everyone know that but me?  remind me of this when Amélie needs to perform a science experiment.).  I ended up just using a mixture of vinegar and water, which seemed to work great, but the smell elicited some household complaints.  I was busily cleaning the bathroom when Amélie woke up yesterday morning, and soon after she walked into the bathroom, she stalked right back out with her cute little nose all wrinkled up and pronounced, as only a 4-year-old can, “EWWWWWW!”  She wasn’t very happy with the vinegary smell, and she absolutely, positively refused to use that bathroom.  She trekked all the way upstairs instead.  Fine.  Then today, while she was at preschool, I mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors with vinegar water.  That didn’t go over so well either.  My house is clean, but it does rather smell like it’s being pickled.  Does anyone know of a more pleasant scented cleaning product that I could make?  And, does anyone know how to mix vinegar and baking soda without it exploding everywhere? 

I took the plunge and ordered cloth wipes.  When I ordered my Fuzzi Bunz the company sent me a wipes solution recipe that I’m going to try.  It doesn’t include vinegar, thankfully.  I’m a little bit concerned about the whole cloth wipe thing and poop.  I know I can just toss them in with the cloth diapers, but still….  To quote Amélie, “EWWWWWWW!” 

You know those Laura Numeroff books, If You Give A Moose A Muffin, If You Give A Pig A Pancake, etc.?  Well, here’s a rather poorly written knock off I just wrote called If You Give A Crunchy Mama 30 Minutes of Free Time in Front of the Internet.  Now all I need is an illustrator.

If you give a crunchy mama 30 minutes of free time in front of the Internet, she’ll probably spend some time looking up diaper rash creams that won’t ruin her Fuzzi Bunz and that won’t make those diapers smell like fish (did you know that Desitin is made with cod liver oil, and that when you wash diapers after slathering said diaper rash cream on your baby boy’s bum that your diapers will smell…fishy?). 

As she hops from site to site looking for fish-oil-free diaper rash cream, she will get distracted at an on-line drug store that also sells the Diva Cup, a product she’s been meaning to buy to meet her ecologically-minded menstruating needs (um, perhaps I won’t want an illustrator after all).

While comparing Diva Cup prices, she will remember that one of her favorite blogs, the Crunchy Chicken, issued a Diva Cup challenge a few months ago.  She hasn’t looked at the Crunchy Chicken in awhile, so she will spend several more minutes browsing the new posts. 

As she is drifting deeper and deeper into the Crunchy Chicken’s archives, she will read about ecological cleaning products, and she will remember that she had pledged to try to go green with her own cleaning products, so she will start looking up cleaning solution recipes. 

As she becomes more and more inspired to make cleaning products, she will decide that perhaps she could make her own diaper rash cream, so, she starts to look up diaper rash cream recipes. 

She then decides that she’s crazy, so she gives up on that idea, but she becomes filled with despair that she has most certainly ruined her diapers with Desitin (even though, in fact, she really hasn’t), and she decides that she might need to order new cloth diapers.

And chances are, if she looks for more cloth diapers to order, she’s going to need some cloth-diaper-safe diaper rash cream to go with them.

The end.

A Lazy Saturday

We were enjoying a lazy Saturday morning, or, at least, as lazy as you can be with a 4-year-old and an almost-6-month-old.  The 4-year-old was busily and happily occupying herself, by herself (a small miracle), and the 6-month-old was taking a nap.  I was in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee so that I could take it back into the living room with me while I surfed the Internet, a luxury I haven’t allowed myself much lately.  Suddenly, Matt bolted into the kitchen and announced, “Mark’s here.” 

Mark???  As in, Matt’s boss Mark?  What the heck was he doing here?  It was 9:30 on a Saturday morning, and although I had been up since 6:30, I was still in my pajamas and sporting mucky hair and gritty teeth.  Amélie was in the bathroom pooping (Oh yeah.  That’s why she was happily occupying herself.  She plops herself on the toilet and stays there forever).  As I said before, Jack was napping.  Matt was in his underwear.  Yes, his underwear. 

I immediately ran to the bathroom with Amélie and slammed the door.  I happened to have my phone with me, so I called my mom.  “Mom!  Mom!”  I hissed.  “Mark is at our house!  I am in my pajamas!  There are newspapers on the floor!  Matt is in his underwear!”  She thought that perhaps Mark was here to fire him.  Lovely thought. 

Thankfully, that’s not why he was here.  The website was down.  Matt’s phone was on vibrate so he didn’t get Mark’s frantic text messages and phone calls.  And if you can’t get in touch with your employee, I guess you just show up at his house! 

And now Matt is working.  In his underwear.

So much for a lazy Saturday.

P.S.  It’s 4 1/2 hours later.  Matt is still working.  I am getting angry.  Grrrrr…..

P.P.S. Matt is no longer wearing his underwear (well, he’s wearing underwear, but he has pants on top of them), but he just realized that his shirt is on inside out.

P.P.P.S. This is completely unrelated, but my way cool pastor, Paul Hill, was quoted in an article in the New York Times on Sunday.  Check it out.  I’d recommend reading the whole article, but he’s quoted on p. 8 if you don’t want to read the whole thing.