(Almost the) Weekend Update

Angela has struck the records and wishes to amend her previous statement. She now concedes that Anthony is “almost as cute as Jesus.”

We are busy busy busy today as we prepare to fête our back-to-back birthday girls. Cate turns 9 tomorrow and Felicity turns 7 on Sunday—oh, the excitement!

(Oh, the planning! Oh, the errands! Oh, the good-natured grumbling that Daddy won’t even be here!)

(It’s their fault, he claims, for having been born during the deer hunting season.)

(It’s okay, they claim, as long as he brings them back a present.)

(Deer don’t count.)


Happy Friday, Everyone!

First Fruits Part II

Now that Anthony’s gotten a taste of solids, he is keenly interested in what I’m eating. Nestled in my arms at the dinner table last night, he complained angrily about not getting a bite of my DiGiorno’s Pizza.

It’s not that good, kid. Let it go.

Clearly my 6-month-old wants more solid food than he’s getting yet I’m afraid of overdoing it, especially with the processed stuff. So far he’s only had organic rice cereal and some pureed mango and banana. That’s it! You can tell that it’s been awhile since I’ve done the baby thing.

I know to introduce new foods gradually and keep away from such foods as peanut butter and honey. But what about bits of egg and bites of bread? He’s teething and wants to chew.

So I’m asking you for your opinion: Is six months too soon? At what age do you start giving your kids table food? In what order do you introduce things?

No Offense Taken

Angela: “Anthony thinks he is cuter than Jesus but he’s not.”

Though evidently he’s still cute enough that his siblings share their candy.

You know what all this hand-to-mouth nonsense means, don’t you? It means that I need to clean my floor! (This is so not one of my strengths.)

And yes, I took the sucker away from him.

Just as soon as Jem got a photo.


All for the greater glory of God,

Now we’re cookin’!

Subtitled: I really, really love my husband.


So here’s a funny story for you. When I first proposed getting a gas stove to my husband, he was concerned—and rightly so—about the high costs involved. One of the biggest expenses we’d incur, he said, was the installation of a gas line beneath our decades-old electric stove. (It was here when we moved in—a trusty, if not perfect, appliance.)

Cue sweet Maggie to the rescue.

I met Maggie about a year ago when I spoke to their Catholic Moms group. When she read my post about our no-stove predicament—and about my deep desire for a new gas range—she emailed me with a proposal. Her husband’s a plumber, she said, and installs gas lines all the time. Would I be willing to watch her cutie-pie little girl now and then in exchange for her husband’s services?

Um, let me think that one over awhile.

Not!

We made plans for them to stop by the very next night.

Being the big prideful thing that I am, I pulled out my stove to clean under it before they got here. (You would have done that too, I know.) Well, guess what I found when I pulled it out?! Yes, yes, I found crumbs and coffee grounds and plastic fridge letters and more coffee grounds…but what else???

You can’t guess? Okay, I’ll tell you.

I found a gas line! (My husband blushed audibly when I phoned to tell him.)

Cue my friend Cathie’s recommendation of a warehouse appliance sale this past weekend and you have…

Our new stove.

Ain’t she purty? I just keep sighing.

Before...and After

The rest of our appliances are white but I don’t care.

And look!

There’s even a warming drawer!

“Why are you taking a picture of that?” Jem wondered.

Because it will never again be as clean as that.

Nor will the oven.

It’s almost a shame we have to use it.

One of the first things I made on the stove was gravy. After all that soup, I needed gravy.

And after that, I baked.

There is a scene in “When a Man Loves a Woman” (how I love that movie) where the Andy Garcia character says, with the perfect blend of humility and pride, “I…bake.”

“You bake?” The Meg Ryan character is both incredulous and delighted.

I bake.

Oatmeal craisin scones for the feast of St. Margaret of Scotland.

That is, I do now.

Do you see the convection oven feature? I haven’t a clue how to use it.

But I’ll learn.

I promise.

As we were sitting down to our fresh-baked scones—the first homebaked goods, mind you, that we’ve had in weeks—Angela exclaimed, “Mom, this is such a cool stove!”

I agree. Even better, though, is that it’s hot.


All for the greater glory of God, and that includes baking and braising and broiling,

Post-Recital Radiance

This was Joe’s first recital under the tutelage of his new instructor, Miss Mary Beth, who is as awesome and dedicated a teacher as I could ever want.

The recital was fun.

No mistakes were made.

We’re home now. So’s our stove. ☺

In the Key of C

Once again, it's the weekend.

On the very full list for today is:

• Little Flowers for my two little flowers, in two different parts of town;

• A piano recital for my son Joe;

• And a couples' potluck in the evening.

We don't have a sitter for the couples' potluck so I will be attending solo. That's just wrong. Do you think they'll even let me in?

Oh, and guess what? While I am on one side of town dropping off my girls at Little Flowers, my husband will be on the other side, picking up a new gas range!

God willing.

So say a prayer that all goes well and I'll do the same for you. Can you babysit for us tonight? Even better. You could heat up some soup on our new stove.


Ad Jesum per Mariam,

At the Art Museum

On Wednesday we went to an art museum.

We were supposed to go the day before, but some of us couldn’t find our shoes.

Do you ever have days like that?

So Wednesday it was and on Wednesday we went, to a museum across the river. (It’s rather hard to read the name of it, isn’t it? That’s so you can’t stalk me.)

I gave the kids the standard lecture before we got there. “Don’t touch the paintings. Don’t touch the sculptures. Don’t touch anything. Okay?”

My five-year-old’s thinking, “Well, that sounds fun.”

Not really.

Sure enough, we had no sooner entered my favorite room and I was scaling the heights of aesthetic rapture when…

“I’m bored.”

“Kind of interested, but mainly bored.”

“Okay, really really bored.”

You know that scene in It’s a Wonderful Life when the old guy on the porch complains, “Ah, youth is wasted on the young!”?

Well, the same goes for great art and most 5-year-olds.

Not that I blame them.

Looking but not touching is definitely a learned art.

Still, there were many small magical moments and a couple of great big ones, like when the kids encountered The Carpet Merchant (pictured above). We have a framed print of it hanging in our dining room, so to see the original up close like that…

Well, I don’t think they’d ever thought that there was an original.

But, of course, there is.

There almost always is.

We ended our day in the best possible way, with a visit to the new exhibit. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any photos of The Louvre and the Masterpiece because A. They wouldn’t let me, and B. I didn’t want to.

So there.

It’s a cozy exhibit—just three small rooms—but for me, it was quite magical. They had a Da Vinci there, my friend! They had a Michelangelo! Call me an art geek and I’d agree, but I get giddy in the presence of the Masters.

If you have a chance to see this exhibition, take it. If not, pick a different gallery!

It’s worth the effort to see great art up close.

Little lost shoes and all.


Happy Friday, everyone! Give the kids a hug for me.



Ed. Note: That last photo was taken during recess outside the museum, where fresh air and breakfast bars proved crucial to the success of this operation.

Overheard This Morning

...When doing this DVD with my three little hens:

“Can you…make her…take a...break?”

Mind, we were only doing Level One.

And I needed that break as much as they did.

First Fruits

Actually, it was rice cereal.

Not that my five-and-a-half-month-old minded.

He was pretty durn interested regardless.

Just look at him! It’s a bowl of mush and he can’t take his eyes off of it.

(I don’t think he’s realized yet that this bland but delicious concoction is…
for him. He has grown so accustomed to his momma eating in front of him that such rudeness doesn’t faze him.)

You know what I like about rice cereal? You don’t need a stove or an oven to prepare it.

How providential.

(Oh, and please ignore the messy countertops. This is real life, people. )

When Anthony saw that the spoon was headed his way...

“Excuse me? I’ll take that.”

And in it went.

Do you like the close-up of my fist? If I’d have known I was going to be in the picture, I would have stopped biting my thumb nail.

As if.

Anyway, the following photo will plainly testify that Anthony's first reaction was...

“Give me more.”

Second reaction? “Needs salt.”

And—best of all—the third reaction:

He gives my cooking a whopping five stars!

Thank you. Thank you. I opened the box myself.

The shining eyes are all the proof we need. The kid is definitely keen on solids.

“The world is my oyster!” he’s all but singing.

Even better, it’s my bowl of mush.



All for the greater glory of God, and that includes messy mealtimes,