In the Heart of my Home

It's Good To Be Her

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Happy Birthday Sarah Anne!

 

Halloween 2008 was the scariest Halloween ever.

But all that scary memory fades and what is left is just knowing His grace and seeing it come alive anew in this little girl every morning. Happy, happy birthday sweet Sarah Annie! You still have us all wrapped around your little fingers.

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{I'll be back with needle & thREAD late this afternoon}

For Sarah Annie, On Her Fourth Birthday

You are from a pink and purple bedroom with bluebell photos on the wall,

from a tiny but still too big pumpkin hat on the day you were born,

from handmade dresses and sentimental sweaters, patchwork Toms and special Hannas.

You are from a red brick house that smells like blessed candles, from icons on the walls, and the many voices of big brothers and sisters echoing off hardwood floors.

You are from the tulips and the stinky pear tree in the spring, from pansies and mums in the fall-- the front porch welcoming committees that smile at you as you come and go.

You are from American Girl dolls and shelves crammed with picture books

from Foss & MacDonald, Grzymala & DeMell

from athletes and dancers and thoughtful writers

from passionate politicos, media pioneers, and quiet crafters.

You are from soccering on weekends, dancing all day every day

from writing it all down and taking lots of pictures.

You are from handmade rosaries, the Angelus at noon, and a tiny medal around your neck

from Chick-Fil-A and sushi and eggs-and-toast-and-toast-to-dip-in (but not all at the same time)

from three grandpas in the Navy and road trips to Charlottesville and Ponte Vedra.

You are from Disney World with the best brothers and sisters, who made it all magic just for you; from Bluebell Week every year in dear, familiar woods

from a Daddy who lights up at the mere whisper of your name, scoops you up into giant hugs, and snuggles you through the night.

You are from a mama who has held every moment captive, cupped your sweet face in her hands a dozen times a day, and thanked God again and again for the gift of you.

You are from a family that reminds you daily that you are a miracle and we are so grateful for the grace and joy you bring to our lives.

You are the littlest of the girlies, still a wee bit fragile, ever darling, always loved beyond measure.

 

"I am from" poem templates here. 

needle & thREAD (and Giveaway Winner)

It all began with this skirt. Karoline loves this skirt. It's a Hanna Andersson, circa 2002. Mary Beth wore it for years (the beauty of a tiered denim skirt with elastic waist), then Katie wore it. Now, it's Karoline's. 

But Sarah wanted it. She really, really wanted it. She said she liked long skirts. She pulled it on. It fell to the floor around her ankles. I tried to explain that the skirt was really old and there was no way to get one in her size. Then, I remembered that Mike had put this shirt in the giveaway pile.

Please excuse the poor picture. It was a denim shirt given to Mike by a cable network back in his freelance days. Since he no longer works for that network, he really can't wear a shirt with its logo. The shirt was still in great shape, but the logo earned it giveaway status.

I knew I had several spools of jumbo ric-rac stashed in the sewing room.

I told Sarah I had an idea. She was kind of horrified to see me take scissors to Daddy's shirt.

But a few hours later, she had this new skirt to wear. I tried to pesuade her to wear a different shirt, but she has a signature style and this is it.

And it passed the twirl test!

Two twirling girls in ric-rac skirts! I so love ric-rac. And denim. And happy girlies. (Don't look too closely; there are still some basting threads in Sarah's skirt. She was rather eager to wear it.)

No picture of my book this week. I'm reading a PDF advance copy of Vinny Flynn's new book. It's a good read; I'm sure I'll share it with you more completely later.

 

The winner of Joanna Figueroa's With Fabric and Thread is Leah, who said:

I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Prayers for a speedy recovery. Definitely a good idea to wait until you're feeling better to continue your project. I've messed up many projects in the past not heeding that advice. The buttons are so cheery; I'm sure the the girls will love them, and they complement the sundresses beautifully!

I've been following Needle & ThREAD since its beginning and have finally decided to join in. I'm not tech savvy, and I'm new to Flicker, so I hope I did everything right. Here's a link to my current project:http://www.flickr.com/photos/leahsblessings/7559471330/in/pool-1961221@N22

Leah, please email me your mailing address and I'll send it out to you lickety split.

Do be sure to pop over and check out her beautiful quilt topper. And remember, you don't have to blog to join us. Just upload your pictures to Flickr.

What about you? Sewing? Reading? A little of both? What's on your summer reading list? Do you have a summer sewing list?  Or are you embroidering? Pulling a needle with thread through lovely fabric to make life more beautiful somehow? Would you share with us just a single photo (or more) and a brief description of what you're up to? Will you tell us about what you're reading, also? Would you talk sewing and books with us? I'd love that so much.

Make sure the link you submit is to the URL of your blog post or your specific Flickr photo and not your main blog URL or Flickr Photostream. Please be sure and link to your current needle and thREAD post below in the comments, and not a needle and thREAD post from a previous week. If you don't have a blog, please post a photo to the needle & thREAD group at Flickr. 

       Include a link back to this post in your blog post or on your flickr photo page so that others who may want to join the needle and thREAD fun can find us! Feel free to grab a button here (in one of several colors) so that you can use the button to link:-).

 

 

Best Birthday EVER!

Sarah Annie had an amazing day. We all thoroughly enjoyed it.

Here, from Mary Beth's computer and camera, are our memories.

 

We spent the afternoon at Cox Farm, a very nearby autumn amusement. We ventured there last week when Linda begged me to meet them there. It's ridiculously expensive and, of late, very crowded with school groups. Back in the day, when our small town was a country town, we had a tradition of spending Patrick's birthday there. Slides and hayrides and country fun--we pretty much had the place to ourselves. Over the years, it's grown to a ginormous autumn destination and very much lost the local feel. Even the Obama daughters came out this way in October. So, I was reluctant. I'm not big on crowds.

Linda was persuasive, even when I warned her that it looked like rain. Didn't look like rain at her house, so she overruled me. It started raining as I pulled into the parking lot. We stuck it out about an hour and then a very kind farmer-type handed me a free bag of Kettle Corn and suggested I take a raincheck. Then we left town. That left one day to redeem our raincheck: Halloween.

We moved Bible Study from the afternoon to the morning and cleared the afternoon for Cox Farms, Take 2.

It was pretty crowded when we got there at 1:00, but cleared out nicely by 2:00 and we had a beautiful afternoon.

We returned home, full of fresh air and sunshine, and made Sarah's requested birthday dinner: Pizza Rolls. Recipe tutorial forthcoming, I promise.

After dinner, it was costume time. Stephen decided he was too big to Trick-or-Treat. Nicky was a bit adrift at this news. He threw together a boxer costume at the last minute.

The Colonial Doll, Little Red Riding Hood, and the Birthday Princess were decidedly not the last minute types. They've had their costumes all laid out, right down to the hair ribbons, since last Wednesday.

And then, we returned home for birthday cupcakes, candles and wishes.

Somehow I'm sure they'll come true.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Sarah Love

Deep breath. 

I will not cry while writing this post.

Too late. 

I love this sweet baby so much.

I love those chocolate eyes and the blond bangs that fall in her face but that she won't let me clip. And her big sister won't let me cut.

I love that she insists on starting and ending her days with a snuggle and she cups my face in her hands and tells me she loves me all day long.

I love that she says, "Thank you," as often as she says, "I love you."

I love that she wants to be held, to slow me down, to linger long here in babyhood, ever since the beginning.

I love that her whole world revolves around her daddy. 

I love her as much as she loves egg nog.

I love to read her stories. The ones with princesses are best.

I love pink. It's our favorite color. (And Daddy's, too.)

I love that she calls her sisters "my girlies" and she's lonely without them. 

I love that she calls her brothers "my boys-ees."

I love that she went to sleep last night in a princess dress and she told me she *had* to because it makes her look fabulosa. I love that I let her.

I love that Halloween will never be the same again, not since that miraculous night three years ago, when we received a sweet sugar sack, all five pounds of her, six weeks early.

Oh, my sweet Sarah Annie girl, I love you.

Patchwork Twirly Skirts and thoughts on some other stuff

When I was twelve, I had my first babysitting job. I absolutely fell in love with an 18-month-old named Andrew. He called me Yay-yay. We were pretty inseparable. Looking back, his mom went out a lot. I babysat for 75 cents an hour and I saved my money to make my first purchase: a patchwork quilt from the Sears catalog. It was $48. I remember it in vivid color. I wanted this quilt in particular because the patchwork was made of actually pieced squares, not screen printed squares. I am still that girl in love with patchwork. 

I loved every minute of making these skirts.

Mary Beth got me started. She had long been eyeing the project in the Stitch by Stitch book. While she had to be persuaded to do all the other projects, for this one, she had persuaded me to buy the Amy Butler charm squares weeks ahead of time. When I told her we were going to hold off on the curtain project and the pillow projects that precede this one, because I wanted to make some fabric decisions for both later, she was all too happy to forge ahead into the patchwork skirt for Sarah. She did all the layout and the sewing on her own. The only time I stepped in was when she wasn't pressing her seams. Mary Beth noted that there were no specific instructions to do so. I emailed the author for clarification and Deborah affirmed that pressing is preferred. Mary Beth made this whole project look effortless. 

 Sarah Annie was so thrilled with her skirt and her sister.

You all have already seen a good bit of this skirt. That's because it has quickly become what we refer to in this family as a "That Shirt."  When Michael was two, every morning he insisted on wearing "That Shirt," an ugly red, black and blue striped shirt that lives today in my hope chest to remind me how over-indulged my eldest was. And here I am again. Sarah insists on This Skirt every day. Furthermore, she will only sleep with the quilt Katie made. Perhaps she's not overindulged. Perhaps she is the rare toddler who appreciates the real value of handmade. {Here I confess that I have already ordered some stacks of newly-released Delighted to make Sarah a second skirt. As I recall, That Shirt had a companion-- "The Other One Shirt"--that allowed us to launder the first choice on occasion.}

About patchwork, if I'd any idea back when I was 12 how much fun, how completely satisfying, how peaceful it is to move squares of pretty fabric around until it looks just right, I have no doubt I would have saved babysitting money for a sewing machine and quilt camp. Oh my, I mentally composed thank you notes to Kate Spain, designer of the Terrain fabric I used on Katie's skirt and Bonnie and her darling daughter Camille, who designed the Ruby fabric I used for Karoline.

I think all the time about how we are called to use our talents to bless others, how the right turn of phrase can bring peace to someone who is looking to put feelings into words. I think about how music moves us; how dance and drama transport and even transform us. But fabric? Well, yeah. Fabric. This is art--color, texture, design. And it can fill our senses. There is beauty in those cotton squares and beauty moves. It does.

Karoline helped me sort squares by color and pattern, an exercise we will surely repeat again. She loved guiding me as I layed out the rows, first on the dining room table and then again later on the living room floor, to get it just right before I put the strips together. I actually made Kari's skirt after Katie's and the notes I'd made as I learned with Katie's made Karoline's a snap to sew.

Katie helped me to lay out her squares and she sewed them all into strips under my hovering supervision. There was no pattern for her size in the book, so I added a tier and tweaked the math (Yes, Dad, you read that right. I tweaked the math.) to make her a bigger skirt than the ones in the book. I used every square in 3 charm packs, so I was careful not to let Katie make an irreversible mistake. But she did do all the sewing of squares into strips. I took over from there, gathering ruffles into tier after tier and loving the process. It took me much, much longer than it did Mary Beth.

I think that as I age, I am becoming more conscious of the peace in the process of things. When my friend Cari first tried to teach me to sew in my mid-twenties, I was only too happy to have her do the mundane pressing or careful snipping of threads. I just wanted to get on with it already. Now, I am happy to press and every single thread is meticulously snipped. I'm sure this is about much more than making a patchwork skirt. It's an entire lifestyle shift. I'm holding onto the moments, measuring them and remembering to smile as they happen.

Skills we learned:

patchwork

gathers

casings and elastic

hemming

matching side seams

* *This project is a thread gobbler. Make sure you have a new spool and wind your bobbin as full as you can before you start. You'll still need a new bobbin to finish.* *

Stitch-by-Stitch projects so far:

My very favorite jeans and a quilted belt or two.

An Eye Mask and a Whole Wardrobe of Aprons

Reversible Totes

See our knitting needle cases and Kindle case here

See our Fancy Napkins here.

 

 

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual.  Photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Intentional Weekend: The Free Balloon at the Grocery Store

~magic~

    

Thank God for Little Girls

Counting feminine blessings, today.

~Sweet, giggly sleepyheads ever so excited about strawberries, cream, scones and tea and a chance to watch a real live princess walk down the aisle to her prince.

 

~Sighing and smiling and countless requests to watch it again on Youtube.

~A full day of playing wedding, each of them taking turns being the princess bride.

~An evening spent with Mama's and Daddy's wedding album: Mommy looks like a princess, too. And see how Daddy is smiling at her? That's because they love each other.

~Her insistence that they show the album to Daddy when he gets home and that they make him sing all the songs from his wedding.

~Fifteen hand-painted notes for him, stacked on the office desk, awaiting his return.

~The way they refer to themselves as "the girlies." 

~And the way the littlest one refers to the others as "my girlies."

~About a million hair bows.

~The way her hair makes tight ringlets in the rain.

~The way the others love her curls (and wish they had them, too).

~Laundry separated into lights, darks, and pinks.

~Monday ballet afternoons and the outrageous noise level of fifteen giggling, dancing girls.

~And the three little ones all want to grow up to be just like the big sister.

~All five of us knitting together--and teaching Gracie and Mel to knit, too. That way, as Gracie so aptly put it, "We'll all have something to do when we're old."

~Utter delight in the first meal of the season taken out of doors.

~Them begging to go back to  the bluebells.

~Littlest one reaching over all the other pretend cupcakes so that she can have the chocolate pretend cupcake.

~An afternoon of dressing up, posing for the camera, and somehow blurring the line between props and real life, so that they are sure they just had a fancy tea party in the woods.

~The tender care they take of their rather large family of baby dolls.

~The way they don't play "House" (as I did), but they play "Babies" and the favorite game of all, "Babies and Friend Moms."

~Sweet smelling bathtimes, pink fingernails and toenails, rub-rub after the tub.

~Long, curly eyelashes on barely pink cheeks in the glow of the hall light when I kiss them goodnight one more time.

~My heart filled to the brim with my sweet girlies.

{all photos courtesy of the amazing Lori Fowlkes}

 

 

The Magic Hairbrush and Other Tales

Once upon a time a fair young maiden received a package in the mail. It had lots of special stamps on it and it came all the way across the water from merry old England. The fair maiden was so excited as she unwrapped that packaging.

Nestled inside was a hairbrush. Beautifully made of wood, this hairbrush had her name painted on it in pink.

Karoline

Karoline looked upon the brush with wonder. And not a little trepidation. This young maiden distrusted hairbrushes mightily. In her vast experience, they hurt. Those fair, fine curls tangled upon each other when she slept and created such a muddled mess that hairbrushes were feared more than dragons in the maiden's household.

But look at this hairbrush! It came all the way from England! And upon it is inscribed:

BY APPOINTMENT TO HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN

Oh my! Be still small heart! And she shouts, "Katie, the Queen of England sent me a magic hairbrush!"

We brushed. It was, indeed, a quite remarkable hairbrush. And it did make the dreaded chore  more pleasant. But soon it was resolved that perhaps taking a few inches off the long and lovely mane of hair would help keep it from tangling so.

And we did.

Very carefully, following all the Curly Girl rules.

We trimmed.

It looked lovely really.

The fair maiden was quite pleased.

The wee littlest maiden thought that she, too, would like a wee haircut. Her Mama put her in the chair and made scissors sounds close to her ear. But nary a snip fell.

No, the Mama was not yet ready to part with the baby wisps.

She thought ahead to the enchanted tea party planned. She wanted a picture of this littlest dear with that littlest dear, two darling heads with hair that looked like the gnomes were making mischief in there while they slept. No, the haircut should wait. "After the tea party,"  she told the curly maiden, "we'll give the Wee One a proper trim."

Alas, the young maiden with golden curls fell ill on the day of the enchanted tea party. There was much weeping. And there were no photos.

There was no haircut.

Three days later, the fair maiden was overcome with horror at the sight of Wee One's tangles. Her Mama was wrapping packages nearby. Fair child quietly came up behind her and took the shiny scissors from the table.

"Shhh, " she said to Wee One, "Be very quiet. I will give you curly hair."

The Wee One very much wanted curly hair.

Fair Maiden then cut off every single tangle. And every bit of bang. And then she swept all those golden wisps into the trash.

The Mama gasped.

And laughed.

And cried.

And then she dearly wished that the hairbrush from merry England were indeed, magic.

If only.

May I Have This Dance?

Blessed Birthday, Sarah Annie!

My sweet Annie-girl! I think the most magical thing about two (so far) is knowing what is on your mind. You tell me things. You tell me everything. Still very much my baby, you look upon me as an extension of yourself and let me know every little thing that pops into your sweet head. And, oh my goodness, what a privilege and a joy it is to hear you think! You have so many interesting and delicious things to say.

I've spent nearly three years holding you. In the beginning, I held you inside of me, praying every moment that I could be a safe place for you to grow. And then, it wasn't safe any more and there you were, earlier than we expected-- tiny, fragile, perfect. How I held you then. All day and all night, close against my skin, breathing with you, willing you to breathe.

And even now, you still want me to hold you. And even now, I wish I could do just that forever. But I can't. Because you get bigger every day and you have so many things to do beside me, instead of upon me. One day, I know, you will not even need me next to you. My tiny miracle girl will sprinkle joy in the great big world.

So right now, I'm holding your dear fingers and I'm listening ever intently to every single word you lisp.  I'm thanking God for the miracle of you and the gift of watching you grow.

 

 

 

 

Celebrating all the Saints (the long version;-)

 

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I think it's easy, clicking around on the web, to get the idea that Catholic families are feasting almost all the time. It seems there is a "special" day weekly, if not more often. In reality, most families observe just a handful of days that are important in their particular homes. True, there are feast days and memorials nearly every day and we pray them with the Universal Church. But the cake and the finery? In most families, those are the exceptional days.

Many of our exceptional saints' celebrations are tied to our  name days or birthdays (or both). It's as if the feast finds us and is forever ours. So it is with All Saints Day. Beyond observing All Saints Day as a Holy Day of Obligation, the day really never stood out for me. I'm not a big fan of Halloween. (This isn't any kind of moral indictment. I dislike talking to strangers and I was never all that fond of candy. Dressing in a costume to ring doorbells and ask for candy was a nightmare of epic proportions to me as a child. And I've never really gotten into it as an adult, either, though it's more fun to dress my children than it was to dress myself.) All Saints Day was sort of The Day after Halloween for a long time. It was a day of incessant battles over the candy and dealing with fallout from sugar fatigue.

Then there was my Year of the Saints. That was the year that Sarah Annie came into our lives. All sorts of saints found us that year. And they found their way into my prayer book. I got to know them, to appreciate them, to love them. Some of them, we celebrate on their own feasts, but the others, well, they introduced me to All Saints Day. And like so many unbelievable blessings in my life, they came to me in a hospital bed.

The night that Sarah Anne was born began early in the morning, just a few ticks past midnight. I remember staring at the puddle of blood and thinking, "I hate Halloween. Can't we possibly wait?" Um, no. But then, there were the hospital miracles and what looked like a crash delivery in the wee hours turned into a peaceful delivery well into the vigil of All Saints. I delivered right at trick-or-treat time. And as soon as I was sure I was alive, I started planning a party. That was last year: Sarah Anne's first birthday.

All Saints Day was on a Sunday last year and fit right in with my party plans. And as soon as I swept up the mess and wrapped the last of the cake, I wondered what to do with her birthday this year. I didn't want to share it with Halloween. I didn't know how to meld it to All Saints Day.

Care to hop down a rabbit trail with me?

I had a very recent conversation with a friend. She commented that in my daybook this week, I had a Julian of Norwich quote and a picture of Sarah Anne with Nutella. She said how cool that was, what with the hazelnut being a symbol of Blessed Julian and all. I wish I could claim such seamless ingenuity, but this was all news to me. So I did a little research.

In her book Showing of Love, Julian of Norwich writes about how God showed her the magnitude of His love:

And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazelnut , lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, 'What may this be?' And it was answered generally thus, "It is all that is made."' I marvelled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nought for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding:It lasts and ever shall for God loves it.   And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.

       In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that he loves it. And the third, that God keeps it. But what is this to me? Truly, the Creator, the Keeper, the Lover. For until I am substantially oned to him, I may never have full rest nor true bliss. That is to say, until I be so fastened to him that there is nothing that is made between my God and me.

      This little thing that is made, I thought it might have fallen to nought for littleness. Of this we need to have knowledge that it is like to nought, all things that are made. For to love and have God that is unmade.

      For this is the cause why we are not at ease in heart and soul, for we seek rest here, in this thing that is so little where there is no rest, and knowing not our God who is all mighty, all wise and all good. For he is true rest. God will be known, and he likes us to rest in him. For all that is beneath him cannot suffice us. And this is the cause why no soul is rested, until it is noughted of all that is made. And when he wills to be noughted for love, to have him who is all, then he is able to receive spiritual rest.

 

In the same coversation, but on an entirely different tangent, my friend and I talked about those wooden saints dolls that we've come love so in this house. We call that basket the "All My Saints basket." And then it hit me. I had already established an All Saints tradition. Just like Michael always has a Devil's Food cake (spiked heavily with Kahlua) on his Michaelmas Birthday and Patrick has angel food cake on his Guardian Angel Birthday, Sarah Anne will continue to have a hazelnut cake with all her saints. We'll do it again. And again. We already know she's a hazelnut fan. A tradition is born.

 

So there's the dessert part. Recipe at the end of the mega post.

To prepare for the feast, we'll pray the litany of All Saints, beginning October 23 (which is happily Mary Beth's birthday). The litany is quite long. You can find it here. This is an ambitious prayer undertaking for a family with lots of small children, but we'll give it a go and see where it leads. That litany will be follwed by this novena prayer:

My heavenly brothers and sisters, from those most renowned to those of greatest obscurity, I come before you now in all humility and commend myself, and all who are dear to me, to your intercession.

Pray for us always, that we may awake each day with a burning desire for the Lord whose Face you behold, that we will maintain an intimate personal relationship with Jesus, our Savior and Head, and that we will not hesitate to proclaim God’s greatness to others, and love them as the Lord loves us.

As you offer your continual praise before the throne of God,   I raise my heart to you now to implore your powerful intercession for these special needs:  (………).

I am confident that your prayers on our behalf will be graciously heard by our loving and merciful Lord.  By his grace, may we someday join you in the glory of the Father’s house.

If necessary, we can do the litany at one time and the novena at another.

Our family icon wall has lots of saints on it and the children all have icons of their name saints in their rooms. Usually, I put the saint of the feast on the desk in front of the wall, like it is above, pictured on the Feast of St. Therese. I think for the Feast of All Saints, I'm going to gather them from all over the house, open the desk and prop them all up there. Then, we'll take all the statues and put them on the nearby piano (we may need to temporarily move the Emmy to make room.)

So that's the plan. The Novena Starts Saturday, on Mary Beth's birthday, and finishes on October 31st, Sarah Anne's birthday. I love it when things work out just so!

This recipe came to me from Stephen's Godmother, who is an extraordinary baker. Anything less than extraordinary in this version is my embellishment, but I can't remember what's mine and what's hers.

Hazelnut Cake
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon Frangelico (I used more, probably a Tablespoon or so.)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/4 cup sifted cake flour
3/4 cup hazelnut flour (get from Trader Joe's)
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
12 TBSP (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter (or use regular butter and omit the salt), SOFTENED

•     Trace your 9" round springform pan onto parchment or waxed paper & cut it out. Grease pan, put in paper, then grease and flour.
•     In a medium bowl lightly combine the eggs, 1/4 of the sour cream, and the extract.
•     In a large mixing bowl combine the dry ingredients and mix on low speed for 30 seconds to blend. Add the butter and remaining sour cream. Mix on low speed until the dry ingredients are moistened. Increase to medium speed (high speed if using a hand mixer) and beat for 1 1/2 minutes to aerate and develop the cake's structure. Scrape down the sides. Gradually add the egg mixture in 3 batches, beating for 20 seconds after each addition to incorporate the ingredients and strengthen the structure. Scrape down the sides.
•     Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the surface with a spatula. Bake 35 to 45 minutes or until a wire cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean and the cake springs back when pressed lightly in the center. The cake should start to shrink from the sides of the pan only after removal from the oven.
•     Let the cake cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes. Loosen the sides with a small metal spatula and unmold or remove the sides of the springform pan. Allow to cool completely before wrapping airtight.

I made four times this recipe to make a 12 inch, two layer cake.

Filling

The filling was chocolate ganache. You can also use raspberry jam and chocolate ganache. Mike doesn't like fruit with his chocolate, so we don't mess with jam. BUt if you're jam fan, just spread a thin layer of seedless raspberry jam on the bottom layer. Make the ganache by heating whipping cream almost to boiling, then adding an equal volume of chocolate (I used Trader Joe's brand chips) and stirring until melted (1/2 cup each is probably enough for one cake, but if you make more and it's too much, it freezes well--or you can eat it plain the next day; that's what we do!). When the ganache is cool enough (it thickens a bit as it cools), spread or drizzle it over the jam and refrigerate a bit before putting on the top layer. Alternatively, spread Nutella (hazelnut/chocolate spread) between the layers.

French Buttercream Frosting

So worth the effort!

It is rich rather than sweet. It sounds like a lot of work, but it really just takes planning. Do the cooking part in the morning and the beating part at a later, convenient time. One batch makes about two cups, enough to cover the 9" cake. 2 batches covers the 12" cake to a substantive thickness.

French Buttercream
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup flour
3/4 cup milk (any kind)
2 sticks of butter--one salted and one unsalted
1 tsp vanilla or Frangelico (hazelnut liquer) I used WAYYY more Frangelico, to taste

•     Combine sugar and flour in saucepan.
•     Stir in milk. Cook over medium heat and stir constantly with a whisk until very thick. Remove from heat and pour into your mixing bowl. Cool to room temp (I cover w/ waxed paper).
•     Cut butter into several pieces and add to mixer as it's beating. Add vanilla or Frangelico. Beat at medium-high speed until smooth. It will be scary if you watch to closely, because it will appear to curdle and you'll think it will never get smooth--don't worry! Check for smoothness by tasting--it's the only way to detect butter lumps.
•     This icing is soft, so spread soon after mixing. Cake should be stored in fridge if made in advance, but take it out at least two hours before serving or the icing will be as hard as ... butter. :-)

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Messy Mudpie Mornings

Many thanks to Ginny for reminding us how much we love mudpies:-)

by Mary Beth

After Bath Sweetness

by Mary Beth

One Small Step at a Time: For You, Mom

Small Steps for Catholic Moms is available here.

Dandy Day!

The day began with an announcement from Karoline:

"Mama," said she, her fist full of dandelions for me to put into a tiny pitcher, "we have so many beautiful yellow flowers and the neighbors have none. I'm going to pick them all and scatter them in everyone's yard just like Miss Rumphius. Then, there will be beautiful yellow flowers everywhere."

 

As luck would have it, Catherine shared a recipe for Dandelion Syrup on Kind Conversation. So, we suggested that Karoline and her sisters and her friends gather the flowers for syrup making purposes.

 

They spent a glorious couple of hours making their fingers a lovely shade of yellow.

They stirred some "dandelion soup."

They measured until there was enough.

They brought it in to boil and steeped.

We read Miss Rumphius and Dandelions  and The Dandelion Seed and Stars in the Grass at bedtime.

The next day, we added sugar and cooked and cooked.

Dandelion Syrup.

Brings sweet tea to a whole new place:-).

When I tucked Katie into bed that night she commented, "Some people call dandelions weeds. Don't they see the flowers? Everyone should have a girl to show her the flowers when all they see are the weeds."

Everyone should.

 

And then there is Easter

I have to write this post. It's a little scary though, because I have no idea where it's going. I just know it's going.

There is a place in this big world where I predictably return every year. In this place, burnout is remedied, love comes to life in the budding of flowers and the greening of trees, friendships are renewed and sunshine-starved souls welcome the spring.

Year after year, predictably, I go there. I bring my new babies for their first taste of springtime in this great, glorious world. I even go when extreme nausea and fatigue prevent me from going anywhere else. Somehow, I get myself down there.

I didn't have a new baby this year. And I didn't have a baby on the way. That was different.

And more than a little sad.

My children come with me. They propel me there, begging to be there, begging to stay. There we are. This place is us. And I love it.

But not this year. This year I returned there. And it just wasn't the same. I went through the motions. I took the pictures. I willed it to be so. But it wasn't.

This year, the flowers bloomed early. They caught me by surprise. I was exhausted when they burst into color.

Utterly and completely exhausted.

This was not burnout. At least not the garden variety. This was complete depletion.

Lent had been long. My husband was gone for most of it.

 

It began with a betrayal of trust, an awakening to the understanding that some women were not at all who I thought they were. This was a strange place to be. All through Lent it raged around me; I was oddly calm in the face of it. One friend reminded me that we melancholy types often struggle with something much later--kind of a delayed reaction. I appreciated her concern. But I wasn't worried.

 

I had good counsel throughout that trying time. I read good things, went almost daily to Mass, surrounded myself with good and holy people. 

Out there, in the computer world, women picked apart my life. They questioned my faithfulness to the Church. They questioned the way I am raising and educating my children. They even picked apart the story my daughter wrote for her little sisters and said all sorts of unkind things about it. That was probably the most difficult of all. Do what you want with me, but really, don't hurt my kids.

Here at home, I was too busy to spend much time dwelling on what was happening in the computer. I had children who needed me in very big ways and they were stretching me beyond what I thought possible. So many of them. So little of me. Such big issues.

In hindsight, I recognize that I did what I usually do when I am stressed, only I did it to an extreme I've never done it in the past. I tried valiantly to perfectly order my environment. It was as if I thought that if I could control every last detail in my house, somehow I could bring healing to my hurting children, and quiet to an unkind crowd, and peace to my troubled soul.

So, I slept four hours a night for all of Holy Week and invested everything I had in my home. I made sure that we did all the traditional Holy Week things we always do, despite the fact that Mike was gone and Paddy was gone and Christian and Mary Beth were both too sick to help with anything. I cooked, I cleaned, I ordered the world in my control.

I pushed and pushed and pushed myself as if I could vacuum away the hurt and bleach out the sorrow.

Easter came. The sun shone. Mike arrived home just after sunrise. All was right with the world.

Or at least is should have been that way.

But I was so tired I couldn't even function. As nature would have it, Easter Monday was our first Bluebell Day. I cried on the way there. I cried on the way home. I cried the next day, too. And the next.

It was as if, now that he was home, I recognized that it was safe to fall apart. And so I did.

It wasn't pretty. I did that melancholy thing. 

And I wondered again and again. Why do I do it? Why do I put myself out there and offer my life in this space and in nearly 17 years of family life columns? Why do let myself be in such a place of vulnerability?

I don't know.

But I do know that every time I wanted to give up, to snap the computer shut and never look back, there was a perfectly timed email from a total stranger. Someone took the time to let me know that the words that appear in this place somehow made life a little better for her.

I was glad for that.

Glad to encourage.

Glad to help.

Glad to have taken the time to care.

But mostly glad for the opportunity to share God's grace.

Because He's here.

He's here even when the hard days stretch into entire seasons.

He gives me time and words and beautiful pictures.

He gives me 10 glorious reasons to get up in the morning.

I went back to the bluebells today. I went with my best friend in the world and her youngest children and a small band of my children. I had a good, honest talk.  I understood the great gift of forever friends.

The flowers are fading--it's a stretch to even say it's still bluebell season. But the trees are a lovely leafy green that wasn't there two weeks ago and the forest floor a regal carpet of lush color.

It's a beautiful life.

Sometimes, even a beautiful life hurts.

And then, there is Easter.