It’s eight weeks or so into the New Year… how are you doing on those resolutions?

My first response to this question, even though it is posed by myself TO myself is, “WHAT?! Are you smoking something very expensive? No way in hell it has been eight weeks. Nuh-uh.”

But then I have to tally it all up and right there on the calendar, the truth stands firm. EIGHT WEEKS. In that time, we’ve weathered a full-family bout of stomach flu, 74 birthdays (ok, maybe just 4, but still, it seems like a lot). A dear friend, only in her early 30’s, suffered (and survived) a mini-stroke. There’s been my mom’s knee replacement surgery and, last week, a sudden and tragic death. We have been to the pediatrician for well-checks, a popped ear drum, chronic cough and, of all things, shingles (ouch!). They have suggested we set up a cot in the back storage closet and just stay close to save on fuel.

Good things have happened, too, not to imply it’s all been stressful or sad. We went to a formal party, dressed up and talked about things other than diapers and sibling rivalry. I indulged in the spa day my (amazing, handsome and also very strong and manly and wonderful) husband gave me as a Christmas present. Jack learned to sit up all by himself and started sleeping through the night. Silvia turned four in a flurry of new dresses, cake, princess crowns and Hot Wheels (this little princess will never settle for a carriage. She wants a Porsche). Kurt and I went to see Spamalot for his birthday and laughed louder and harder than we have in eons. (“You must bring us… a shrubbery!! Or we shall say ‘Nie!’ again!”)

Throw in laundry, cleaning, and your general everyday minutiae and the time seems to have filled itself all the way up to the tippy-top before I could turn around to take a breath. What happened to my resolution for simplicity?

Fortunately (or unfortunately?) achieving simplicity is not so concrete a task as balancing your checkbook every night or losing 10 pounds by your birthday. It is a process. Back in January I said the first step towards slowing down is gratitude. Even though everything lately seems to move at light speed, I find that still holds true. Even sadness, grief, is a form of gratitude at its core. After all, you wouldn’t feel sad if it didn’t matter.

So, sure, it’s February (almost March, if I’m being honest) and I haven’t pared down my kitchen or tried to spend more time unplugged. I don’t feel like I’ve fallen behind on any goal, though. In the interest of simplicity, in fact, I’m just not going to bother with all the “should’s” I’ve missed out on in the past weeks. As cliche as it sounds, life is short. The unexpected happens. But my friend survived whole and healthy. My mom is recovering well. I’m so happy that the wake for our family friend was absolutely packed with people honoring her, a gracious example of a life well-loved.

Simplicity is a process and I’m going slowly, laying the path before me as I go along. Whether it takes eight weeks or eight years, the foundation is there and for that, I’m grateful.

On my never ending road to…I’m not sure what, I took a canning class last weekend. When I told my husband I was going to spend my Saturday morning doing this, I have to say he did a double take. Unusual maybe, but I am always looking for my “next big adventure”.  I am also dying to learn how to make fabulous ice cream. That will be upcoming I am sure but last week, canning was the new adventure!

So the class was held at a little place called The Farmer’s Kitchen right in the heart of Hollywood – Hollywood and Vine actually, a very famous corner. It’s a really cool place that has wonderful classes that promote using fresh produce to create nutritious meals on a budget. The Farmers Kitchen creates an additional venue for farmers to market their goods directly, thereby helping ensure the economic stability of local farmers which is so important these days! If you can find a place like this in your area I highly recommend giving it a try – you’ll learn something new and support a great cause at the same time.

I learned how to make different types of jelly’s and jam’s and met some other amazing gals to boot.

Here is the delicious recipe for the blueberry jam we made:

Ingredients:

5c. blueberries

1Tbsp lemon juice

1/2 tsp nutmeg or cinnamon

51/2 c sugar

3/4 c water

1 package of regular powdered fruit pectin

YIELD 5X 8-oz jars

Directions:

1. prepare canning jars and lids (Ball jars website)

2. Wash and then crush BB in lg saucepan.  Add lemon juice, spice, and water. Whisk in Pectin until dissolved.  Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring constantly for 1 minute.  Remove from heat and skim off foam.

3. Quickly ladle into your hot prepared jars, leaving a 1/4 inch head space.  Wipe ri.  Center lid on jar. screw band down until resistance is met, then increase to finger tip tight.

4. Place jars in caner pot ensuring they are completely covered with water.  Bring to a boil and process for 10 min.

Wait 5 minutes, then remove jars, cool, clean, label and store

yummy….

The last month has brought many highs and several lows. Some that are hard to wrap my head around. On the high, my kids were all home for about a month and now that they are adults or close to, we can really enjoy the “people” they have become. We had numerous meals out, laughing and sharing stories…such a delight. Our two older children were just happy to hang out with us, which was very sweet. My oldest son, at 23 now, says he can’t even fathom what all his conflicts were when he was in high school…thankfully neither can we (almost). It was a very gratifying time as a parent.

During this happy, “high” time with my own family, we experienced some very trying, “low” times with some friends. My close friend’s husband had surgery and we did as much as we could for him, visiting him often, bringing him food, etc. Watching my friend worry so much was difficult for me and I tried to offer anything I could, even just driving her around to do her errands. Anything to make it easier for her to deal with the stress.

While he was in the hospital some very close friends lost their 19 year old daughter suddenly. It rocked our entire town. I still cannot quite wrap my head around it. The minute I heard I ran to their house with homemade soup and hugged them so tightly. The next day when I knew all their family was coming to town I made the largest pot of pasta, fresh loaves of French bread and took that, along with everything to make Ceasar salad. Once again I dropped it off, hugged and left. I wanted so badly to comfort them, but did not want to intrude in such a private time. For me, I wanted to comfort them and food was a way I could. It was a long week of mourning and everyone is still so sad. This young girl was a friend to so many. I think over a 1000 people came to the memorial service. It was beautiful but so heartbreaking! I have my call into the mother’s closest friends to please put me on the list of people to help out in any way I can. Now will start the SLOW path to healing.

I realized during all of this is, that we are all these kids parents. Our kids have all grown up together – school, little league, etc.  Its times like this that we must all rally around and keep the parents buoyed and loved. I think you can not hesitate in a situation like this because you don’t know what to do or say…you just have to go for it with all your heart. As my friend (the father of this girl) said, the day his daughter died put the biggest hole in his heart and all the out pouring from friends and family is like one scoop at a time filling it back up.

We will all experience highs and lows in our lives. What’s important to remember is that when you are in the midst of a high, there will surely be some around you in the midst of a low. Be there. Do what you can. Even a little gesture can go a long way.

A couple weeks ago, after four days of Jack’s non-stop “ouch” crying (if you have kids, you know the sound), I finally decided to take him to the pediatrician to check for an ear infection. (Side note: don’t you wish you could do that at home? So annoying to go to the doctor just to have him shine light in their ears.)This isn’t the easiest endeavor, but most days the girls have adjusted enough to cooperate with our “so sad, too bad, now get in the car” reality.

We came to the top of the stairs in front of the doctor’s office in our traditional gaggle: me leading the way with Jack in my arms (I often leave the baby seat in the car now, it just ties up my arms too much to easily track the girls in parking lots and stores), Anna and Silvia following up in a line behind me. Of course, their version of a line involves more loops, skipping and doubling-back than most people would qualify as precisely linear. But I figure if they generally follow me it’s basically the same thing.

As I went to open the door, two women stepped out and stared at me with a vaguely nasty look.

“Jeez! I feel exhausted just LOOKING at you! Three little kids, oh my god! You really have your hands full!”. She then turned to her friend (as she let the door slam closed in my face), “Can you just IMAGINE!? I am SO glad that’s not me!”.

Now, there are a number of things I could have said, from the passive aggressive, “Thanks for holding the door!” to the more pointed, “I’m glad it’s not you, too, I’d feel sorry for the kids”. Instead I just gave her a blank stare, opened the door again and ushered the girls through.

I let it slide for a couple reasons. Firstly, I was exhausted, it’d been a long day and I was worried about my baby (turns out he was fine, just randomly miserable). A needless confrontation with a stranger was pretty low on my to-do list, right under “wash poo out of car seat”.

Mostly, though, I’m just used to it. People say this kind of crap to me ALL THE TIME. Some try to couch it nicely: “What beautiful children. You must be so busy, I don’t think I could do it.” However, more often than you’d imagine, the comments are nasty, whether intentional or not. The “I’m SO glad it’s not me” one is my absolute favorite. I’ve heard it from strangers and friends alike.

Yes! I am busy! Often exhausted, even! And, wow! I actually DO have my hands full! What a great, huge, massive load of children I have! How terrible!

Except, excuse me, it’s not terrible. It’s hard, sure, but in point of fact, people through the years have had gaggles of kids (gaggles much more substantial than mine) and been JUST fine. Crazy thought, I know. I’m sure it’s a hard concept to follow, so I’ll try to keep it simple for the empathy-challenged of the world. I LOVE MY KIDS. It is all worth it and often more rewarding in a way your little world will never know.

So next time, dear incredibly rude strangers of all varieties, keep your mouths shut. And hold the frickin’ door.

Last January, at about 12 weeks pregnant, I mostly found myself walking about in a stupor of depression and excitement. The mix of the two left me mildly nauseated and irritable—or perhaps that was the so-called “morning” sickness. The first time I had to venture into a maternity store for stretchy pants I sat in the dressing room and cried. Then I nearly bit the head off the well-meaning sales girl when she asked me if I needed another size. About an hour later I was posing in front of my bedroom mirror to admire the curvaceous effect of my tell-tale bump.

This month my baby is six months old. The six-month mark is one that other mothers-of-three (or more) have held out to me as the turning point of adjustment, reconciliation and balance. I have to say that, for the most part, they’re (GASP!) right. It has gotten easier.

It’s not that Jack himself has gotten easier. He is, after all, a six-month-old baby with all the sleep issues, neediness and constant feeding therein. He has now thankfully passed through his colic (also known as that four-months-he-never-stopped-crying-and-I-almost-went-bald-from-stress-and-depression). He’s still a mama’s boy, still prefers me to most anyone else, but that’s ok. Even when it’s frustrating to not be able to put him down, it’s gratifying, too. Being needed is a nice thing.

My daughters need me, too, and the mastery of such split attention has taken at least these six months. Truth be told, I don’t see myself fully tackling that beast any time soon. I’m always putting someone off, whether one of my kids, my husband, friends or just myself.

I never would have thought it before, but the biggest adjustment has been in my marriage. There’s no time left for us unless we forcefully seize it. Those first few months we were happy just to make it through a 24 hour period with most of our world still intact. It’s easy to forget that in addition to making enough time for each kid, we also have to make time to be a couple— not just parents but an actual couple. It was, and still is, harder than I would have believed. We’ve learned to laugh more, though. We appreciate the fleeting nature of this time in our lives all the more for how intense it can be and what a surprise it was.

My biggest fear during my pregnancy was the specter of returning postpartum depression, which blindsided me for nearly two years after my second child. From the first moment after Jack’s birth, we knew, I knew, this time would be different. Holding that small, shaky baby I felt a fierce connection and devotion that I was denied when my daughter was born. While I did struggle with depression in the first few months, it was nothing compared to that other darkness. In fact, considering the adjustment, colic, general exhaustion and isolation of that time, it probably would have been strange if I hadn’t felt at least a little bit lost and hopeless.

So it has been six months. My figure is still curvaceous (HELLO nursing boobs!) but my jeans fit again (sort of), no stretchy panels in sight. My hair has stopped falling out and I don’t spend a large part of the day crying while my daughters sit and wipe MY tears. (Well… most days.) I take the kids out all the time, no longer fearful for what triple mayhem could ensue. I know I can handle it. I still have moments of surrealism where I’m surprised to see my reflection in a window: little kids running around me and a baby on my hip. But I’m so GLAD there’s a baby on my hip. I’m so happy my daughters get to be big sisters.

Turns out, I am a better mother now, more at peace, more confident and much more relaxed in my parenting. For all the challenges we’ve come through, I know without a doubt that we’re going to be just fine. And the best part? Because I know it, so do they. It’s not all sunshine and roses, of course. Our house weathers its fair share of storms (you wouldn’t BELIEVE the noise that trio can make!). But we’re all closer and stronger for it all. Because of Jack. As a good friend told me recently, “I think he was the cherry you were missing on top”.

Ain’t it the truth?

I have always had an urge to purge. I grew up in a home with stuff—all good stuff, clean stuff, neatly piled and organized stuff (anyone want to come see my mom’s non-fiction collection? It’s all in the Dewey decimal system.), but stuff nonetheless. Perhaps it’s a rebellion of sorts that I NEED to get rid of things from time to time. Most likely though, I think I just feel like by clearing out closets, book shelves, drawers and cabinets I’m exerted some level of control over my life and made room for new possibilities.

For example, there are my books. I love books. I adore reading and holding a physical novel in my hands. The smell of them, the comforting weight, the pages so easy to casually flip through and re-visit for a brief interlude one day—it’s all part of my upbringing, too. (See comment on Dewey decimal system. My childhood home has an actual library. With aisles and everything.) No Kindle for me, please.

In the interest of a clutter-free life, however, I have just two large bookshelves. I more likely to hit up the library first these days before I bring a new book home. From time to time, when I notice that the shelves runneth over, I pull out a box and purge titles. There are two boxes actually—one for charity and one of borrowed tomes to return to, you guessed it, my mom. I have made it a point to contain my collection to these limits and pass on the rest.

Right now, though, I’m not thinking about books. (Well, no more than usual. I always think about books). The object of my attention is my wedding dress. It sits entombed in a white acid-free box, clean, preserved. Since the day I said “I do”, it’s been in the guest room closet, slowly buried under out-grown kids clothes waiting for their chance to be handed down.

About a year ago, I opened the whole thing to show to a friend. We were toying briefly with the idea of re-shooting some scenes from my wedding, since the photographer at the event left a LOT to be desired. I even pulled the dress on, feeling once again the weight against my frame. Well, until it fell off. Turns out, I am much thinner now than I was then and the strapless glory slid right down to my hips. Obviously, there’s no way I’ll wear it again, though it’s not like that opportunity awaits around the corner anyway.

Then there’s the lie we tell ourselves about saving the dress for our daughters to wear. I think that’s sort of like saying you’ll wear a bridesmaid dress again. Almost no one does it. Most of the brides I’ve known want their own dress, a special moment made solid in soft layers of fabric.

So save it? I’ll never use it again, my daughters are unlikely to want it either. It will slowly turn yellow with age, acid-free housing notwithstanding. And as bad as those pictures are, I’m not going to have it refitted for do-over wedding photography.

The dress is not a book. I cannot open its pages and re-live my wedding day. I don’t think I’d want to. It’s not the dress that makes my wedding, or my marriage, special. My memories of the day focus on Kurt’s glowing face as he spoke his vows, the smiles of those around me, the beautiful mountains surrounding us as a living reminder of the enduring promises we made. True, we have gone back to the bakery once and ordered a mini-version of our wedding cake for a little tasty reminiscence. It was a really good cake.

It’s a lovely dress, though. I could easily sell it on consignment. I could donate it to Brides against Breast Cancer and do some good. Hiding away something beautiful just for the sake of keeping it feels wrong. Still, even with all this conviction, it feels hard to let the dress go. I’m in no rush to make a decision here. After all, it has waited this long. Until I make up my mind (and heart) for sure, the dress will stay where it is, tucked away in the dark, waiting for nothing.

What have you done with your wedding dress? Do you think of it as an heirloom or something worth passing on to someone else’s special day?

I think too much. The holidays provide a nice reprieve as I delve self-first into the warm pile of seasonal distractions. Music, food, family, and lights sidetrack my more serious sensibilities and my family and I enjoyed a wonderful holiday season. Now it’s back to ordinary life and work.

I return often to Joan Didion’s direction, “Read, learn, work it up, go to literature.” My post-holiday-winter self steers directly towards heavy contemplation of the previous year morphing into a fresh and more pure possibility. I consider resolutions for the approaching year, and also reflect on lessons learned during the year departed. However, life’s steady demands of children, work, and life impede the time needed to sort out such interrogations. Having been stranded in Florida for an extra five days due to the east coast blizzard, I find myself just getting around to the whole sordid subject a week into this year. I went to my shelves, I went to literature:

“After a still winter night I awoke with the impression that some question had been put to me, which I had been endeavoring in vain to answer in my sleep, as what-how-when-where? But there was dawning Nature, in whom all creatures live, looking in at my broad windows with serene and satisfied face, and no question on her lips. I awoke to an answered question, to Nature and daylight.” – Henry David Thoreau

Resolutions

This excerpt from Mr. Thoreau’s well known Walden begins the Chapter titled “The Pond in Winter.” It so precisely encompasses the way in which I attempt to view the coming year, with heavy questions left behind. I look to 2011 to be the same rising dawn that Mr. Thoreau so keenly observed – no question on her lips. I’ve decided on only one resolution this year – to be light. In all manner of being and living and deciding and carrying and observing and declaring – I shall be light. For my kids, my husband, my parents, siblings, and friends, I attempt to shed much of my tendency for over-thought and worry.

Anti-burden behaviors that I will master:

• * Spontaneity with my children: childhood is a sacred and fleeting place that is more memorable with a mother that is surprisingly spirited and truly present;
• * Friendship with my husband: more time laughing and dreaming and less conversations directed by our business of running a household;
• * Creativity: writing for the sake of the act, not the work produced.
• * Meditation: dedicated time for redirecting a busy mind towards a more silent and simple method of processing daily life.
• * Giving of my time: the fail-safe to any self-centered behavior.

The Work

Motherhood means always moving. My children grow and challenge me and need me and reward me. The self that remains, that sits here now, apart from sleeping child or absent spouse also challenges me and rewards me. Without fail these symbiotic relationships demand the most work I’ve ever attempted whose course is truly a blessing.

I wish you and your family a year filled with happiness, peace, health, simplicity, and success.

PS. I was happy to baptize the year with a dip in the ocean on the first day of the year.

I can’t believe another year has gone by. It seems like yesterday I was sharing last year’s holiday adventures with all of you. Crazy! All of my kids are older and my two oldest live away from home so the holidays are a great time for us to be together. It is so fun for me to decorate the house, have a fire going and something great smelling baking in the oven for their return. It felt so warm and welcoming and we were all so happy to reunite.

A couple of days later we headed on our annual road trip to Colorado for Christmas. This year we went a day earlier and stayed a day later, so it was a nice vacation. It really gave everyone (mainly parents) the opportunity to relax. We had the big group of extended friends and their families for Christmas Eve. The food was amazing and like always a few of the guys bring out their guitars and one keyboard and start singing songs. Before you know it everyone is singing. It is such a happy memorable night for all of us.

On Christmas night my friend Carrie always makes turkey (leftovers) tacos. She sheds a head of lettuce and the Turkey, tosses in shredded cheddar cheese, a chopped onion, a little V8 juice and a little salsa. She then fries corn tortilla shells into folded taco shells….YUM.

We hung out a lot by the fire, everyone doing their own thing. Playing music, knitting (me), reading…whatever.  So nice and peaceful. Everybody skied or snowboarded and we all ate TOO much, but hopefully it was balanced out.

One night my friend Marty made this delicious pasta with short ribs you might want to try (recipe below).

All and all we filled our cups with love and friendship and returned home ready to tackle the new year!!!!!

       (Modeling the scarf I knitted)

Pasta with Short Ribs

Ingredients

• 4 pounds beef short ribs
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1 large onion, diced
• 3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
• 5 Roma tomatoes, cut into eighths
• 1 cup red wine, such as Cabernet Sauvignon
• 3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• 2 cups low-sodium beef broth
• 1 pound penne pasta
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Directions

Place an oven rack in the lower 1/3 of the oven. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Season the ribs with salt and pepper. In a large heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or ovenproof stock pot, heat the oil over medium-high heat. In batches, add the ribs and brown on all sides, about 8 to 10 minutes. Remove the ribs and set aside. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, for 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes, wine and mustard. Bring the mixture to a boil and scrape up the brown bits that cling to the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. Return the ribs to the pan. Add the beef broth, cover the pan and place in the oven for 2 1/2 hours until the meat is fork-tender and falls easily from the bone.

Remove the ribs from the cooking liquid. Using a large spoon, remove any excess fat from the surface of the cooking liquid. Using a ladle, transfer the cooking liquid in the bowl of a food processor. Process until the mixture is smooth. Pour the sauce into a saucepan and keep warm over low heat. Remove the meat from the bones. Discard the bones. Using 2 forks, shred the meat into small pieces. Stir the shredded meat into the sauce. Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, about 8 to 10 minutes. Drain the pasta and place in a large serving bowl. Using a slotted spoon, remove the meat from the sauce and add to the pasta. Pour 1 cup of the sauce over the pasta. Toss well and thin out the pasta with more sauce, if needed. Sprinkle the pasta with Parmesan cheese and chopped parsley before serving.

By Jennifer Rawlings
I am so happy that the holidays are over and I can get back to my “normal life” of driving the kids around, cooking, cleaning, helping with homework, nursing skinned knees and broken hearts, amateur therapist, expert brownie baking and working. I love the holidays, but the workload becomes too much. I have to do all of my normal tasks plus shop, wrap gifts, trim the tree, cook fattening foods and eat candy for breakfast.

I have vacuumed up the pine needles, stored the ornaments and hidden all recipes that call for three sticks of butter and if I even see the words “egg nog” in the next 10 months I might puke.

Holidays are wonderful, but I have come to realize that the days I cherish the most, the moments that have the biggest impact, are the “ordinary days”.
Sure, I love watching my kids rip open their gifts on Christmas morning and the sight of my husband carving a turkey on Thanksgiving melts my heart. Who can resist a champagne toast with friends on New Years day?

The real moments for me happen on the most ordinary of days; the days that piece together our weeks and carry us from one season to the next. It’s on these days that we have the heart to heart talks with our children as we drive them to school; it’s the boring Tuesday that they learn how to cook a meal, or they finally master a song on the clarinet.

I love the simple mornings when my husband sits in a chair doing Sudoku while I read the paper and we have coffee. I look forward to our walks in the park with the dog when we talk about everything and nothing in particular.

Holiday parties with friends are wonderful, but the moments I treasure most with friends are the simple ones. Sharing a glass of wine with a girlfriend while the kids play Clue, going for a hike, inviting a friend over for dinner for no particular reason and eating “ordinary food” instead of “guest food”.

If you are feeling blue because the holidays have passed: STOP and begin to unwrap the extraordinary gifts that every ordinary day holds.

Happy New Year! It’s resolution time. In the immortal words of the wise Scooby-Doo, “Ruh-roh, Raggy!”

There’s just something so CLEAN about a new year. The excesses of the holidays are behind you; all the luscious dinners, delectable sweets and treats and, let’s admit it, the overflowing cups of wine or (spiked) eggnog all in the name of holiday spirit. As everyone heads back to work and school next week, it just seems like a logical time to put in action things put off for the last few months. A new year feels like the perfect chance to fix everything wrong in your life.

At the same time, it’s no surprise to anyone that most people get about two weeks into a New Year’s resolution before it falls through the cracks of every day life. Turns out, even though January 1st FEELS like a fresh start, it’s really just the same life you had before with all the same challenges and disappointments. So unless your resolution is to move to a new country, switch jobs or in some other way make a huge change in life, you’re really still right in the middle of the same reasons you didn’t start your goals last month.

Depressing stuff, reality.

I’m one of those hypocritical resolution makers. I always SAY I won’t make any and then, in the privacy of my own little head, I start to make lists of all the things I want to do differently. Exercise, saving, organizing, routines, etc, etc and so forth.

This year, though, I’m just going to go for it and come right out of the resolution closet. But I’m keeping it simple. In fact, that is my entire goal: simplicity. Within the confines of the exact same life I had on December 31st, I hope to create a little more breathing room… and a lot less claustrophobic hyperventilating.

When it comes to implementation, simplicity seems to start with an appreciation of what you already have– which is where 2010 comes back into the picture. The year may be over but everything I gained from it, even if that knowledge came the hard way, is still with me. Instead of a list in my head about everything I need to fix, today I’ve got one of everything that’s right. Turns out, gratitude makes for a much longer tally. Who knew?

Anyone else resolving to take things a little bit slower and softer this year? What are you grateful for that you DON’T need to change?