Sweet

Last night I had the pleasure of hanging out with my 3 nieces, all 6 years old. One was feeling under the weather and we mainly camped out upstairs with her. Coloring, crackers, apple juice and countless episodes of the Smurfs were involved plus a little time with The Beaver.

As the evening progressed I parried with 6 year-old logic and tried to discipline a crafty little one who snuck some bread after we brushed our teeth. She pulled some classic moves, when I discovered the heist I asked what she thought we should do. She looked up at me under her long lashes and meekly offered "Waste it?". She's a smart one, offering to take the high road. Love her. I was trying to be firm and keep the smile out of my eyes. She ate her bread reasoning that it wouldn't hurt her teeth and heaven forbid we waste it.

Phil joined us later in the evening and brought with him his Wall Street Journal. As he completed sections of the paper he placed them on the floor. "S" grabbed the paper and began to "read". This lasted a good 10 minutes and the WSJ is not known for it's pictures.

Deep discussions were had with one who had just lost her tooth, we secured it safely under her pillow and as I was tucking her in she asked me what I thought the Tooth Fairy looked like. I asked her what she thought and she gave a glowing description and snuggled in wondering what she would bring. Sweet innocence. I love how she believes.

Childhood is beautiful and motherhood divine. I can't wait.

My Views & To Do's

There is finally evidence of a bit of Christmas Cheer in this home:
The tree is up, fluffed and thanks to it being prelit, it sparkles. I have yet to further adorn it's boughs; I may not. It is simple and clean. Haven't we been counseled to simplify?



It is dark and dreary out, my house is borderline too cool and I have yet to touch the thermostat.

We're thrifty like that...

Preferring more economical ways to warm up.



I find it does the trick.



I must brave the elements and leave my cozy abode to replenish our supplies. Phil will be most appreciative as hot dinners have been lacking around here. A lot of this to do. And I have enjoyed it.



A trip to Sprout's is in order, healthy goodness to buy and meals to cook. I think today calls for a hot & hearty pot of Chicken & Dumplings. Then there are gingerbread men to bake and decorate with the youth.

It is more than drizzling now; I may need another cup to go.

Six Words

After dressing Camden for his funeral and saying goodbye for the Last Time: May 5, 2006

I fleetingly entered a giveaway on another photographer's blog. I didn't win but it made me think. The photographer, inspired by Hemingway, challenged you to write your own story in just six words. It was rumored that Hemingway was challenged to write a story in a single sentence, and has since become the standard to which micro-fiction should aspire. His story is as follows:

"For sale: baby shoes, never used."

Amazing. Perfectly succinct and to the point.

What could I write? Obviously the pinnacle of my life to date has been dear Camden. How do you sum up the birth and death of a son? How do you describe the deep scars that are etched in your heart? The longing, heartache and yet, the happiness? With only six words.

I am not the only person who has encountered trials; others who entered the contest spoke of cancer, betrayal, and loved ones lost. I felt Hemingway already wrote my story. How could I say it better?

I know my life is not just about Camden's birth and death. The most important thing I have learned is that our life together is not over; we have a second chance and that is the one that matters most. Without the knowledge that I have, my life could be defined just by loss and that would be tragic. So here are my six words:

Eternity. Knowing makes all the difference.

What are your six words?

To do, to do...

1. Finish editing 2 shoots from last week. Begin editing the FOUR sessions from this weekend.

2. Perhaps tackle the mountain of paper that is threatening to overtake my desk. It is no longer a threat actually; it has overtaken the office. Someone procrastinates filing.

3. Spread some Christmas cheer. Maybe.

I am just not feeling it this year, perhaps the 75 degree weather has something to do with it, perhaps not.

4. Quit lolly-gagging around with the blog and get my disheleveled rear in gear. Shower and perform the magic of make-up and a blow dryer to get party ready. After I finish editing because I know nothing else will get done until the photo season is over.

How to Bake an Apple Pie

Prepare the crust the day before and let chill in the refrigerator until ready.

Thanksgiving morning arrives, wake early and begin peeling Granny Smith apples, a lot of them. Toss with yummy goodness and transfer to pie shell. Sample a few. Smile.

Make crumb topping, place over mound of apples and transfer to hot waiting oven.

20 minutes into baking take a peek, remove protective foil from crust and see juices dripping onto oven floor.

Get baking sheet lined with foil and place under pies. Problem solved.

Right.

15 minutes later notice smoke coming from the oven through the little vent near the back burner. Remark to husband about "smoke". Open oven to see this:


(Fire was much larger but due to current crisis status the photographer did not capture the blaze in all it's glory.)

Mildly freak out. Notice the pie drippings have obviously caught flame and are dancing dangerously large in the middle of the oven. Worry about the integrity of your now smoked apple pies, remove from oven. Grab something metal to pull out the fiery droppings, continue freaking out.

Remove lower oven rack with baking sheet, run it outside.

Return and repeat stupidly "What do I do? What do I do?"

Husband takes over. Mildly caustic remarks are exchanged. Have the "clarity" to grab your camera and document the event as hubby is bravely taking control.

Set off fire alarm. Grab oven mitts and jump wildly in the air waving the mitts at the alarm to shut it up.

Return to "help" hubby.

Succeed in fire extinguishing efforts. Put pies back in oven to finish baking. Fret over smokiness.

Look around the house and realize you cannot see for all the smoke inside. Open every window and door. Turn on all the fans. Go outside to breathe freshly cleansed air thanks to the rain.

Smell yourself outside. You stink. Like you spent the night in a fire pit. Return to the crime scene. Remove pies from the oven. Let cool.

Sigh with relief that they are still gloriously wonderful and oozing thick apple juices, the same juices that started this mess.





Set oven to "Clean" and begin taking care of the aftermath of Thanksgiving baking/fire fighting efforts. Enlist help of husband and tackle the neglected house, especially kitchen. Sweep twice, mop last and finally make yourself presentable for dinner.

Juggle 4 pies in the back seat as you drive to dinner. Arrive safe and sound. Eat. Be thankful.

Pinch Hitter

This past week has been a hairy one for me. Lots of photography shoots and then the hours of editing that comes with it. When this happens my domestic duties take a back seat. Usually the weekend consists of full house cleaning, laundry, preparing good meals and meal planning/shopping for the next week. Didn't happen this week and cereal has been a frequent visitor around these parts. I managed to do the laundry, Phil folded and it is now taking residence not in our drawers and closet but on the couch. At least we have clean clothes, right?

Saturday we are driving home from a shoot and I tell Phil he is in charge of Sunday dinner. He agrees. We had Ranch Rotisserie Chicken Wraps after church, went to more meetings and then Phil whipped up some homemade spaghetti sauce. He brought me a plate of steaming spaghetti and Parmesan complete with a salad where I sat at the computer editing. We ate together in the office and then he went to clean up the kitchen. As he came back to retrieve my plate he said "I feel like your wife!" I laughed agreeing that it was a role reversal. And that was fine by me! It is nice every once in awhile.

Phil can wear many hats and for that I am grateful. He makes a good pinch hitter and a mean spaghetti sauce.

Manly Phil

Domestic Phil

(Taken when we were first married circa 2003, I don't think he's donned an apron while vacuuming since)

Morning Ritual

Phil has a morning ritual. After showering, dressing, and eating in preparation for his daily departure he likes to inspect the "grounds". True, our "grounds" are hardly stately nor majestic. They aren't vast and supreme. But they are ours and Phil lovingly tends them as much sweat and effort have been invested.

Usually while brushing his whites he roams. Wandering from front to back, tree to tree, bush to shrub he casts a meticulous eye over the greenery. And he does this almost every single morning. Me, on the other hand? I usually exit via the garage door in my black chariot and as I shift from reverse into first gear I cast a quick glance to make sure the garage door is closed before I pull away.

On one such morning, Phil was meandering in the back yard and turned his eye to the hopeful navel orange tree. I say hopeful because "someday" this young slip of a tree will produce succulent, juicy citrus, one of Phil's favorites. And hopefully we shall still be here to see that day. But probably not.

Wait! What is this? Something has been feasting on the glossy leaves! Shock & horror!



What the?!



"Heather!! Get out here!"

I, having just arisen from my cozy warm slumber, groggily slip on my glasses and slippers and join the panicked Phil to inspect this interesting specimen.



"Can it be a caterpillar?" we ask ourselves. We lean in for a closer look.

Whatever it is it's not pretty! AND it has eaten the leaves! That alone is grounds for immediate removal. But neither of us make a move to touch it.



Do you see it's eyes and gaping mouth?

Freaky is the consensus. Mildly disturbing. But it may turn out to be a beautiful butterfly and it's last meal was our glossy green citrus leaves. Whatever it is, it better be pretty.