Sippy Cup Chapel

I promise that not every post will mention Pinterest, but here's a photograph of an old prayer that has been pinned by me, my sister, and a dear friend.

There are many moments in each day when it would be good for me (and thus for my kiddos) to pause and offer this prayer. There's certainly weariness, confusion, and noise to spare around here. I know my eyes are not always "gentle and smiling" but perhaps they will be tomorrow.

A few weeks ago, I printed this prayer and taped inside a cabinet door. It's the cabinet with the shelf that houses the children's cups. Several times a day, I stand at this cabinet trying to match cups with lids and keep track of who wants what. Regular milk in big boy cup with straw? Got it. Water with ice in a sippy but no, not in that one but that other one? Done. Can I have a sprite? No. I changed my mind and want chocolate now? Too late, well okay, actually not. Don't spill. Who needs more ketchup?

Anyway, since I stand there so often, especially at mealtimes when confusion, noise, and disorder are high, I taped the prayer there. I'm hoping it will remind me to pause and find patience, perspective, and joy in the moment.

What have you or would you like to tape inside your cabinets?

Pinteresting

Here's a job I would like: Pinteresting. I would sit at the computer uninterrupted for an hour each morning, with a chilled Diet Coke and some delightful carb by my side, and pin things on Pinterest. Maybe I could be trusted with an important client project like "Pin all the best ideas for a nautical themed birthday party for a two year-old boy" or perhaps I would just be so admired as a pinner that I could pin and categorize whatever struck my fancy. Then, I'd go about my day as usual, taking care of the kids, doing school pick-up, heading to the park, making lunches, etc. At around 1:00 p.m., after Sweet P goes down for her nap, someone would come in and clean up the kitchen and family room, transition the laundry and occupy the boys for about ninety minutes while I got out my glue gun, paint, oil drip pan (yes, really), and ribbon and got to town turning my Pinterest dreams into realities. Actually, since I won't be beaten down by the thrice daily tidying of the kitchen, I will have the patience to let the boys join me in Pinteresting.

Some of you are nodding your heads like, "Oh, yes, I hear you MEP. I also am addicted to Pinterest and want to apply for a job as a pinner too."

Others are all, "What the hell is Pinterest?"

It's an online home for every recipe, design idea, craft project, gorgeous photograph, handy tip, inspiring quotation, or party plan you've ever been tempted to rip out of a magazine (and obsessively sort and save in binders you rarely open -- wait, that might just be me). Since all the cool stuff is there, you just "pin it" on virtual boards in categories of your choice. If your friends are on Pinterest, you can see what they're pinning and "repin" their cool finds. I love seeing what my friends pin and it makes me happy to think that so many people are seeking inspiration and outlets for creativity.

So, here's a recent example of Pinteresting at Casa MEP.

I repinned a friend's link to this template for a beautiful thumbprint tree, intended to be a wedding guestbook (guests place thumbs in ink to make leaves for the tree). The tree was meant to be printed out large-scale, but I cropped the image (did not need the text on bottom for my project) and pasted it into a word document and sized it as I wished.

I then threw the ink pads on the kitchen table and said, "Go to town, peeps!" Ha! I hovered a bit and strongly suggested they not use the blue ink and only the purple very sparingly because "don't we want our trees to look Fall-like and beautiful?"

Luckily, the boys ignored me and did their own thing.
Bub made a fist and pressed the whole side of his hand on the ink pad to create a flaming maple type effect. Love it.
Little Bit used the same fist trick and was drawn to the very blue and purple ink I had strongly suggested they avoid. The result -- a lovely, twilight effect behind his tree.
Sweet P needed a little help getting her small digits pressed into the ink far enough, but she caught on and enjoyed herself.
I typed each child's name and the season and year before printing. I think if I did it again though, I'd have handwritten those details in the corner to make the trees seem more like the pieces of beautiful art that they are.
I loved the final result so much that I popped them into some inexpensive frames from Michael's and cleaned off the mantle so I could display them.

New plan is to come up with a creative take on Thanksgiving and then Christmas to rotate into the frames. I think I might stick with digit prints for now and will, of course, search Pinterest for ideas. It will be tough though, to switch things out, because looking at the autumn fingerprint trees is making me so, so happy.

What about you? Do you Pinterest?

And, what are you waiting for? Follow the link above to the tree template and get cracking!

What's in a day?

My dear friend E... recently wrote about a day when she cried over spilled milk, a day when she asked herself, "Where has this day gone? Any why can't I accomplish anything, except walk around in the ten foot path between the kitchen table and sink?"

I have those mom days too. Days frittered away in a haze of cleaning up the kitchen, begging the boys to pick up the Magna Tiles and then doing it myself, wrestling my Sweet P for diaper changes, settling arguments, preparing meals that I am embarrassed that my kids eat, and, sadly, getting so caught up in trying to create some order around this place that I'm less mom and more worker drudge.

As a mom and an individual, I want to be loving, energetic, fun, creative, attentive and, most of all, present. I'm doing the best I can.

One quality about myself that I have come to appreciate is my hopefulness and my faith in my own ability to grow, change, improve, evolve ... whatever you want to call it. I like thinking about the projects I want to accomplish (Pinterest -- I heart you), the books in my to-read pile, the recipes yet to be tried, the notes to be written, the exercise plans to be implemented, the fun stuff to be experienced and enjoyed with my husband and kids. I wake up many mornings, especially Mondays, thinking maybe this will be the day that I figure out how to do it all. Not sure that day will come and have certainly had many days that end in frustrated, brain dead, semi-exhaustion ...

But I still have hope for what each new day might bring. For what I might bring to that day.

With that in mind, I share with you a few glimpses of a new favorite children's book, one that would, in my opinion, make a better graduation gift than Oh, The Places You'll Go (though, that's a good one). What human being of any age or stage couldn't use a little inspiration regarding the value of a day?

Cynthia Rylant is one of my very favorite children's authors. I've given her book Give Me Grace as a baby gift many times and love reading the the rhyming prayers for each day to my kids.

In addition to Rylant's eloquent and inspiring text, I love Nikki McClure's illustrations in this book, which she created by drawing images on black paper and cutting them out with an X-Acto knife.

I love how simple the palette is: black, yellow, beautiful blue/gray.

I almost get chills here with "A day is all you have to be, it's all you get to keep."

How can you argue with that?

Okay, find a copy of this book so you can enjoy and be inspired by the whole thing. Then, buy some copies for people you love.

And go fill today up with you.

Disclaimer: I checked this book out of my local library. I was not compensated for this post. I will be buying copies of All in a Day as part of new baby gift bundles.

Same old story, but with a sweet(less) twist

Okay, I'm not fishing for compliments. I think I look fine (not fine as in "Oh, Mickey, you're so fine" but fine). I've looked better. I've looked worse. I'm not anywhere near crisis mode about my personal appearance. That being said, I like to be able to button my jeans and pants and still feel like I can breathe. If possible, I like to put some jeans on and not have excessive spillage of the muffin top variety.

If you find that a good three-fourths of the pants in your closet are feeling too snug for comfort, one solution is to purchase some new bottoms. And, yes, I did that.

But I was also considering another common solution to the breath-constricting-pants problem: lose a few pounds.

In an ideal world, I would combine good (or even just reasonable) food choices and some exercise and kiss those pounds goodbye. But whenever I think of weight loss, my mind does not head straight to "balance and moderation." I think: I need some rules. I need a program. I need a plan.

I have a legal document box full of diet books that could attest to how well this train of thinking has panned out for me. And yet.

And yet, a few weeks ago, I found myself reading this book.

Not too bad as diet books go. Indeed, the author's suggestion for transitioning back to normal-non-diet eating after weight loss made a lot of sense to me. I had the feeling that if I could stick with the program, I could lose five or ten pounds and maybe keep it off.

But here's the thing, even if I possibly could stick with the program, I don't freaking want to. I got about three-fourths of the way through the book, flipped through the recipes and menu suggestions in the back and thought, "MEP, who are you kidding, you are not going to make yourself a fancy French pancake out of egg whites, yogurt, and oat bran every day." No, just no. NO.

I don't want to make that galette every day. I don't want to give up my obvious carby friends or slowly introduce vegetables and fruits back into my life after a period of eating lean, almost-pure proteins. I really enjoy the varieties of Greek yogurt with fruit on the bottom, but I am unwilling to buy into a lifestyle that considers such yogurts to be treats. I'm not saying this diet couldn't work or that it's bad or crazy (I've definitely read and tried worse). I'm just saying, I'm not interested. And yet.

And yet I do need some rules. I do do best with a little structure. So I came up with one rule that I thought I could follow and that might make a difference.

Stop eating candy.

Yes, I'm thirty-six years old, and I am on a no-candy diet.

No reaching into the hiding spot thirty times a day for some peanut butter M&M's. No buying Reese's Pieces at the checkout at CVS or Jewel or Walgreens or Home Depot. No eating a miniature Snickers for dessert ... after breakfast. No eating whatever other candy crosses my path--even if it's just a dum dum here or a Skittle stuck in a car seat there--just because it's there. Not no candy forever because I really love candy. Just no candy for now.

And, guess what, three weeks now with no candy and I think it's helping. Our scale needs a new battery so I can't get that kind of progress check, but my pants are a bit looser, despite having had access to two birthday cakes and a container of extra homemade buttercream frosting. As it happens, when you make one good choice, you are kind of motivated to make others. Sure, I ate some cake and frosting, but it could have been worse.

I had plenty of opportunity to make poor choices or start a bender while passing out Halloween candy, but I didn't and it wasn't even that hard. So now I feel kind of strong and proud of myself, NTB.

So, there you have it, thirty-six years old and on a no-candy diet. For now.

Before you know it, I will even be exercising twenty minutes a day.

Baby steps, you know, steps the size of peanut butter M&Ms.

Any M&M-sized or King-Sized Reese's steps you're taking to achieve or maintain a healthy weight? Please share in the comments.

Notice the badge in my sidebar? I'm going to make my annual attempt to participate in NaBloPoMo, the nationwide movement of bloggers who pledge to post every day in November. Please check back and comment if you have the time. I'd love the encouragement, especially as I've had difficulty making time for blogging this Fall. Thanks!

The places you will be from ...

I'm back. I've missed you. Here's a quick recap: I cleaned our house for a thousand (slight exaggeration) showings this summer and then packed up a thousand place settings of Fiestaware (again, slight exaggeration, but I do have an obsession), a thousand books (accurate), and everything else we own so that we could finally, finally move to one of Chicago's Western suburbs. We have been wishing and hoping and cleaning and dreaming and praying that we could make this move for two years now. We're here.

Yep, we're here. There's work to be done, but we look forward to doing it (or saving enough money to have it done--baby steps). We're happy. We're healthy. We have some more room (if one steps around the boxes, toys, and strewn packing materials) to breathe.

We are thankful for the past decade in Chicago, and we look forward to the next chapter.

All is well. The ending and the beginning.

I will miss our street in Lakeview, but not hanging out in the van during showings and not the heinous apartment building across the street (see far left).

I will miss this view, glimpsed from our pediatricians' office. Not everyone gets this view with their amoxicillin prescription, and I appreciated it.

I will also miss this view from the boys' Lil Sluggers class. Lake Shore Drive high rises in one direction and the lake shore itself in the other. I have great memories of long walks along the lakefront during my first two years in Chicago -- back when I woke up after 9:00 a.m. and still listened to my audiobooks on cassette tapes.

And how about those Lil Sluggers?

Even though our new community has a super sweet, well-stocked, fresh-smelling, beautiful library, I will miss my "home" branches of the Chicago Public Library. Sulzer, Uptown, Lincoln/Belmont, I'm talking to you.

And I'll miss the free museum passes you can check out at the Chicago Public Library to go places such as . . .

The Nature Museum

The Museum of Science and Industry

The Adler Planetarium

Seriously, look at the skyline view from the Museum Campus.

And look at the little beach behind the Planetarium that it took me ten years to find.

The library's free museum passes helped get us out of the house during several showings this summer. Better at a museum than at our other "showing safe haven."

That's right, Target. To be honest, I won't miss my Target. I've been there on too many super hot or super cold days, hoping to find some refuge for me and the kids. We'll just get some stuff on our list, get something to eat, pass some time, I tell myself. And we do, but only after I've spent money on crap I don't need, called out/yelled for Little Bit fifty times, and possibly sprinted to locate him. We won't even talk about Bub's favorite Target Cafe snack (cinnamon sugar pretzel dipped in ten packets of mustard, yep). Okay, I'm finished now. I won't miss my Target or the way city living forced (?) me to return there time and time again. Makes me feel sad. [Note: I chose this photo of Target because the boys always run to the doors, even when the path is icy or covered in puddles.]

I will miss my Wrigley McDonald's big time -- this photo taken from its drive-thru window! How will I ever make it without my go-to spot for $1 large DC's?

And the Southport Jewel. It took me a while to warm to this Jewel, but the store won my heart. I grew to love it when it was the small and slightly grubby store affectionately called "The Little Jewel" at our house. I continued to be a fan after it was knocked down, closed for a year, and then rebuilt to become "The New Jewel." The Jewel employees at Little and now New Jewel are the best ever. Seriously. I'm tearing up. I'll miss my Southport CVS too, but I forgot to take a photo. Oops.

My whole family will miss St. Andrew, our church and school community. Kind of an ugly day to snap a photo of a place that has been a source of light for us. We'll miss our friends there -- many kind, down-to-earth, fun-loving families.

And our little house? The one we were so proud to buy back in 2005. The one whose front door opened to many friends and family visitors over six years. The one we thought would be good for one or maybe two kids and ended up housing three. The one with the nice moldings and the quirky layout. The one with the big tree and the "huge backyard" featured in the photo. I will miss our house. I will miss the feeling of getting a little one settled for the night and pausing on the landing (where above photo was taken) for a moment of peace and a glimpse of our little corner of the larger world. At this moment, I feel like I'll remember everything about our little house in the big city.

But I don't know what my kids will remember. Chicago(land) has been my home for almost ten years now, but it will never be "where I'm from." What struck me as I was crafting this post is that our new house and community is the place that my kids will identify as where they're from. And then I thought of the lines from the late nineties classic "Closing Time" about "the places you will be from" and how "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." Will be from. Some other beginning's end. Cheesy as hell, I know, but once I thought of the song, I could not not include it. I won't stretch the song lyrics much farther, except to say that I hope we'll all find some friends.

There's more that could be said about the other beginning's end and this new beginning, but I'll just leave it at so far, so good.

Any new beginnings or ends for you this summer? How did you spend my blogging hiatus? I need updates please!

Note: All photos taken on my phone.

Parenting Truth #1

Context: Helping one's child put his/her shoes on.

Truth: If you hold up the right shoe in preparation of easing it on, the child will lift his left foot. If you offer the left shoe, the child will lift her right foot.

Artsy and Fartsy

Looking for some summer fun that doesn't involve Tom and Jerry, Max and Ruby, or Phineas and Ferb?

Check out Canvastic, where your child can create works of art that can be saved and/or printed. There's even a place to add commentary. Bub the artiste, age five, named all of his pieces but the first, and I typed in his titles verbatim.

I'm going to let Bub's work speak for itself. I ask that you respond to his creations as a supporter of the arts and not as a therapist.

I admit I was a little worried about Bub during the two minute pistachio and brown phase, but he seems to have pulled himself out of it.

Any favorite web sites of the children in your life? Would you like me to send any of Bub's creations to you, free of charge, in an email attachment? Signed prints are also available upon request. Anyone? Anyone?

Disclaimer: No one from Canvastic compensated me for this post. I found the site when Bub asked me to find him a place "to do drawing on the computer." There are ads on the free version I linked to, but I can honestly say that Bub expressed no interested in heading to JoS. A. BANK (the largest ad) after creating his masterpieces.