Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

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Chutes and Ladders was more fun when I was the kid

Our daughter is a few months from turning the magic age. Three, it seems, is to children what 16 is to teenagers and 21 is to college students. Worlds of possibility open at the age of 3.

Take, for instance, the Happy Meal. She will soon be eligible for the regular, not the under 3, toy every time. And we won’t feel guilty for giving her toys and books that say, “Small parts, not for children under 3.”

Perhaps most exciting is the entrance into the realm of board games. I grew up in a board game family. Some of my best memories are nights spent playing Monopoly with my grandparents or Taboo at Thanksgiving or Guesstures at Christmas. We’ve been reluctant to buy any kid-friendly board games because, while we think she’s brilliant (what parent doesn’t think their kid is a genius?), even we could recognize that she needed to be of a certain age before we attempted game play.

So, for Christmas, she received Chutes and Ladders. This week, especially, while her brother naps, she’s been asking to play it. She likes the fun pictures of the kids.

Here’s how one of our games tends to go:

I explain the rules to her.

She dances her game piece across the board.

I tell her she needs to spin.

She spins, then stops it with her fingers.

 I tell her to spin and let go.

She spins.

 I move her game piece to the correct spot.

She whines, “But Mommy, I want to go to the movies!” (one of the spots in the middle of the game board, at the top of a ladder is of a girl going to the movies).

I explain that she has to work her way up to that square.

She gets quiet.

 I spin and move my piece.

She moves her piece to the middle of the board without spinning.

I swallow the urge to walk away from the game.

I explain the rules again.

She says she wants to go ice skating (another of the spots on the board).

I explain that the ice skating square is a bad one because it makes you go back toward the beginning.

You get the idea, I hope. I suspected this might be a problem for me earlier in the week when she was playing with her vTech laptop, too. I don’t know the age recommendation for that, but I’m pretty sure she’s at least a year too young for it. All she wants to do is push the buttons and click the mouse with no regard for the rules. I want her to learn, but most of the time I just want to grab the mouse and play the games for her.

I’m a rule-follower. I like precision and doing things the “right” way. Sometimes, I can’t even color with her because I want to color the characters the way they’re “supposed” to be. (Are Dora’s shorts red? What color are Boots’ ears? Is Spongebob all yellow? These are the pressing questions in my life.)

Then I remember that I don’t do things right all the time. I don’t always follow the rules. I’ve messed up. I’ve made mistakes. Sometimes God has stepped in to stop me from doing wrong. Other times, He let me make a mistake and learn from it. And I realize how much love there is in that non-action. And how incredibly difficult it must be.

I don’t want my kids to make mistakes, especially the grievous, hurtful kind that can change a life forever. But I also know that I can’t do everything for them in life. That some things they’ll have to learn on their own. And sometimes they’re going to do things the wrong way, and I’m going to have to watch them do it, learn from it and grow from it.

For now, that means loosening up a little while playing games. So what if she doesn’t follow the rules? She’s not even 3 yet. She will learn in time.

And maybe, if I chill out a little bit, she’ll even WANT me to teach her.

A winter outing (or why I may not leave the house again until March)

It started out as a good idea. Well, maybe even that’s a stretch. How many ideas from the mouth of an almost-three-year-old can truly be called “good”?

Two active children and winter, I’ve found, don’t mix well. Or maybe they don’t mix well because I’m more an indoor, sit on the couch and read type of winter person than say, head out and enjoy the snow kind of person. I like being outside. I don’t like the idea of putting 2 or 3 layers of clothing on 3 people, two of whom are running away from me while I’m trying to outfit them in winter attire.

This day, though, I almost had no choice. We had colored a picture for MeeMaw, for her birthday, and even though it was Saturday and her birthday was Monday, Isabelle, the 3-year-old, WOULD NOT REST until said picture was in the mailbox. Any attempt to explain to her that putting the letter in the mailbox Saturday was just like putting it in the box on Monday was futile. “NO. We HAVE to put it in the mailbox.” I might add that vehicle transportation was not an option as my husband was at work and wouldn’t be home till after dark.

So, I ventured into the unknown, a little fearfully, a little confidently. Certainly I could dress two children for an outdoor excursion a block and a half away, in winter, accomplish our mission and live to tell about it. I mean, it’s not like I was taking them on an Antarctic expedition.

Because it had snowed, I opted to dress Corban in his snow pants so he wouldn’t have to sit in snow in the wagon. If you have ever seen “A Christmas Story” you might guess what’s coming next. As I was outfitting his sister for the ride/walk, he fell flat on his face. If he wasn’t crying his little eyes out, I might have laughed. Isabelle wasn’t yet dressed, so I had to find a way to prop Corban up against me as I finished her weatherfitting. In my haste, I couldn’t make her snow boots fasten across her pantleg, so one boot was loosely secured on her foot.

Snowpants and jackets on, it was time for gloves and hats. Usually this isn’t a problem. Hats and gloves stay with the coats the kids usually wear, but since they were wearing their winter coats, I had to search for the other snow accessories. And for the life of me, I could not find two matching mittens for Corban. By this time I was flustered and rushed yet committed to the mailbox mission, so I grabbed the first two Corban-sized gloves I could find.

We made it out the door and remarkably, I strapped Corban into the wagon only to discover that the two mismatched mittens I’d found for Corban were both lefts. But we were already out of the house, so there was no turning back. Isabelle had decided to walk at least some of the way to the mailbox. She has a tendency to pick up on moods, so as we set out on our journey, she shuffled along muttering, “I’m sorry. I just want my Dad.” Could any other set of words break a mother’s heart like those did? I asked her why she wanted her Dad. “Because he would fix my boot,” she said.

Then and there, my attitude flipped. I apologized to Isabelle for being hyper and frustrated.

We were cold, but we accomplished what we set out to do. Corban sat sort of chill in the wagon, and Isabelle kept up with us as she walked. And MeeMaw received her picture, at least the week of her birthday.

Determination is an admirable quality, but I hope she saves these wild ideas for spring. I’m not sure I can handle many more winter outings like this.

Then again, cabin fever is the pits, too.

I’m learning to laugh about stuff like this. If I don’t, it’s going to be a VERY long winter.

The difference a day makes

I’m one of those strange people who sort of enjoys cold and winter. When I had to be to work at 6 a.m., though, I hated winter, especially Illinois winters, when snow was practically a guarantee and the plow hadn’t reached my street by the time I had to leave. I have vivid memories of digging my car out of snowbanks, gripping the wheel for the 15 miles to work, shivering while the heater warmed up.

Things have changed. We live in Pennsylvania now, in a part of the state that is apparently immune to snow, at least so far this winter. I don’t work outside the home anymore so I usually don’t have anywhere to be, especially not at 6 a.m. And my husband typically digs our car out of snowbanks.

Winter’s not my favorite season, but I like the change it offers. The reminder that we’re in a different time of year, that something new and fresh is coming, if only we’ll hang on for a bit.

The kids and I took a walk around the block yesterday afternoon. We aren’t in the habit of doing that in winter because of the cold, but I just needed to get out of the house for a little while. When we reached the street that parallels ours, I noticed the temperature change and realized we were on the “wrong” side of the street because the houses blocked the sun. In summer, we relish this side of the street because it keeps us cool and protected from sunburn. But in winter, we need to be in the sun to stay warm.

I thought about the winters of my life, and how the cold, dreary, dark days made, and still make, me yearn for the Son and the Light. I’d be miserable, near death even, if I stayed in the shadows of winter.

And when life brings me summers, I need the respite and protection of the shadows. I think of the Psalms’ references to the shadows of the wings of the Almighty.

How good it is to have a God who both keeps us in the light when the days are dark and gives us protection under his wings in the heat of the day.

2010 in review

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 6,400 times in 2010. That’s about 15 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 125 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 146 posts. There were 123 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 144mb. That’s about 2 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was July 19th with 133 views. The most popular post that day was Mommy 911.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were networkedblogs.com, valandshawn.blogspot.com, facebook.com, digg.com, and blogger.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for god ruined my life, how god ruined my life, depression destroyed my life, kids ruined my life, and machine shop smell.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Mommy 911 July 2010
4 comments

2

God ruined my life June 2010
3 comments

3

And just like that, it was over November 2010
6 comments

4

Nothing April 2010
2 comments

5

The myth of happily ever after May 2010
3 comments

Good eats in Chicago

 It’s no secret we like food, and good food at that. So, when we took two days in Chicago, food was definitely on the agenda. My husband planned it all, so I didn’t have much clue about where we would be eating.

Tuesday, for lunch, I had the directions to navigate us to our restaurant location, but I didn’t know where we were going until Portillo’s came into view. I had mentioned something about wanting a Chicago dog recently. But I ended up with the garbage salad.

Phil enjoyed a dog and an Italian beef and we shared cheese fries. It was a good start.

Next up for dinner that night was Italian Village. I don’t have any pictures of this because we were later than we wanted to be for dinner and almost missed the ballet. We ate in the Village section, the top floor of three in this unique restaurant. We had a 40 minute wait, then waited another 40 minutes or more for our food to arrive. We filled up on bread, soup (for me) and salad (for Phil) while we waited. The time ticked away and we soon realized we’d either be inhaling our food or leaving it. When it came to our table, we had about 3 minutes to eat it and pay before we needed to head out the door. Even at that pace, the food was delicious. I wish we could have enjoyed it more. I ate cannelloni with a cream sauce. Phil had mostaccioli with arrabiata sauce and meatballs. This was one instance where knowing how to eat fast because you have children who require it comes in handy. We did make it to the ballet. You can read more about that here.

Wednesday morning we took our breakfast at Fox & Obel in the cafe inside the grocery store.

I had biscuits smothered in chicken gravy topped with sunny-side-up eggs. The biscuits were sweet and reminded me of my grandma’s sugar cookies. A hint of almond flavor, I think. Phil ate a croque madame, which was a fancy egg sandwich — scrambled eggs, country shaved ham, Gruyere cheese, baby greens and a bechamel sauce between two slices of toasted bread. His came with home fries and fresh fruit cup. Wonderfully delicious, all of it.

We browsed the market that day after our breakfast. By lunchtime, I wasn’t too hungry, but my husband assured me lunch could be as light or as heavy as I wanted. We went to Christkindlemarket to take in some German fare. We ate bratwurst in the Nuremberger style, which Phil had when he was in Nuremberg for Army training.

We also had Austrian strudel: half a box of cherry and half a box of cheese. Warm and gooey, so tasty. We made a mess, but it was worth it.

That night, we didn’t want to make the same mistake we made the night before, so we headed to dinner early. Our short walk down Michigan Avenue found us at The Purple Pig.

Earlier in the day, Phil told me that he wasn’t sure how dinner “worked” exactly so he’d have to ask some questions. This sort of scared me because I thought dinner was a self-explanatory sort of thing. But after we got there, I understood why he said that. The Purple Pig serves its food on small plates, family-style, so you’re encouraged to order several items and share. You’re also seated at a table with other people not of your party, which is kind of fun if you don’t mind an invasion of privacy. The motto, or subtitle, of The Purple Pig is “cheese, swine and wine.” Let me tell ya, they use every part of the pig in ways you can hardly imagine.

Here’s what we ordered:

Shaved Brussel Sprouts, Pecorino Noce & Parmigiano-Reggiano — it was a bold and refreshing way to start. Brussel sprouts like I’ve never tasted them.

Pig’s Ear with Crispy Kale, Pickled Cherry Peppers & Fried Egg — this was on my husband’s list of things to eat here before we walked in the door. I was skeptical about eating pig’s ear. It wasn’t my favorite, but if I didn’t know it was pig’s ear, I wouldn’t have guessed that’s what I was eating. It was served in a little pig shaped bowl, which was a nice touch.

Chastelfranco, arugula with Sunchokes, Hazelnuts & Apple Cider Vinaigrette — a palate-cleansing salad with a fantastic blend of flavors.

Roasted Bone Marrow with Herbs — another dish my husband had pre-selected because it was one of the top 50 must-try foods in Chicago. Served in the bone, the marrow is cooked until spreadable. Smear it on a piece of toasted bread, top with a caper-onion-parsley-cilantro salad and sea salt and eat. It was good. Better than I expected. We made the mistake of using too little marrow to start and had to heap it on at the end to use it up with the remaining bread.

Milk Braised Pork Shoulder with Mashed Potatoes — by far, my favorite dish. So tender and melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The recipe was posted on the Web site recently, but I’ll be surprised if we can duplicate this to exactness.

We also ordered dessert: Sicilian Iris which is a ricotta and chocolate chip-filled fried brioche and toasted cinnamon soft serve ice cream.

This place is a foodie’s dream, really, but save up if you plan on going. It’s not cheap, but it’s a unique dining experience. Even if you’re a picky eater and parts of the pig I’ve mentioned don’t appeal to you, you won’t go hungry.

Eating at The Purple Pig, for me, was just another reminder of why my husband is the perfect match for me. I would never have chosen to eat there on my own, and I certainly wouldn’t have tried new foods, especially parts of the pig I didn’t think were edible, without him. He stretches me in good ways.

For breakfast the next morning, we went back to Fox & Obel for pastries. Their bakery is one of the top 10 bakeries in the country. We ordered a cinnamon swirl, a creme orange danish and a brioche tart. After shopping a bit in the grocery, we also bought egg nog lattes and took our breakfast back to the lobby of our hotel. It was the perfect way to end our trip. We sat, ate and talked without interruption. Of all the things we did, it’s hard to choose a favorite, but this was the moment I felt most connected to my husband.

Some people eat to live. At times, we live to eat. This was one of those times.

A hidden Chicago gem

One of our first stops on our Chicago getaway (click here for the overview blog of our recent trip) was the Garfield Park Conservatory. It’s not far off the interstate, and I’m sure I’ve seen the sign for it dozens of times, but I never gave it much thought. My husband chose it as a place to kill time before checking into the hotel and as an addendum, of sorts, to our Longwood Gardens  visit in Pennsylvania in late summer. We took the kids there, which isn’t always conducive to a leisurely walk through the gardens.

Here, though, on our own, we could stop and read the plant markers, savoring the sights and smells of green.

When I look at these pictures, I can’t even believe I was in Chicago when I took them. The city never ceases to surprise me in some way.

The conservatory has palms, ferns, poinsettias (in season, which they happened to be), fruits and desert plants.

Here’s a cactus skeleton, 100 years old:

And beautiful art mixed with the beauty of nature. These are glass sculptures the conservatory purchased after housing an exhibit of this artist’s creations.

I’ve not been much of a plant person in my life, but it’s growing on me, pun not necessarily intended. I have an aloe plant in my kitchen that sparks something in me when I see it. A sign of life. I’ve never been very good about taking care of plants, but I suddenly want to add them to the decor in our house. There’s a sense of peace that comes from greenery.

So, we left the conservatory with a souvenir. A tradescantia zebrina plant, also known as an inch plant or a wandering Jew. (Seriously, who comes up with this stuff?) We’re tending it carefully until we can get it back to Pennsylvania to repot it and take better care of it.

A cool souvenir. The start of more to come, I hope. I can feel my thumb changing from black to shades of green.

All because of a couple of hours spent in a conservatory in a somewhat rough part of Chicago.

Did I mention the conservatory is free with free parking? If that’s not reason enough to check it out, then nothing else I can say or show will convince you.

Chicago for two

One thing we’ve lacked since having kids is pictures of just the two of us. Our trip to Chicago helped fix that.

Here’s a few from the Garfield Park Conservatory.

OK, so that middle one is just me, but my husband likes it. It’s probably been since our honeymoon that he’s had a picture of just me.

This one is from the show room, full of poinsettias. The staff person who took this was so proud of herself for the framing of the photo. She eagerly offered to take our picture. We thank  you, whoever you are!

This next one is my favorite, I think.

We took the following picture at the Christkindlmarket because we’d seen The Nutcracker ballet the night before. We didn’t have a chance to take any good pictures when we saw the ballet because we almost missed it. Our dinner at Italian Village ran late, so we had to run (me in heels!) to the ballet. We made it as the usher was making the final seating call. We dropped into our seats almost as the lights were dimming. So glad we made it on time, even if I had trouble walking for the next couple of days. I’m glad we had the chance to get a picture with The Nutcracker, too.

The next ones are our shots in the “Bean.” It took us several tries to get these.

Great memories!

Chicago in winter

For a month or so, my husband has been planning a secret two-night getaway for just us while we’re home for the holidays. Only a week ago did he let slip (because of tiredness) our destination city — Chicago. He planned our entertainment, our lodging, our eating without any input from me. That was difficult at first, but the string of surprises was fun as we walked through the city. This post will be the first of four about our trip, including pictures and commentary about food, a photo page of us in Chicago, and my impressions of the Garfield Park Conservatory. Not since our honeymoon 3 1/2 years ago have we taken an overnight trip without children. Long overdue. Much needed.

We stayed at the Hyatt Regency because my husband found us a couldn’t-pass-it-up deal on Hotwire. My first overwhelming moment of the trip. We’re not exactly Hyatt material, in my mind, so I immediately felt out of place. I got over it and enjoyed the downtown views, the river traffic, the amenities. It was the perfect location for walking everywhere we needed to go.

Night and day views from our hotel room window:

Here’s some of what we saw on our three-day trip to Chicago:

The Christkindlmarket, a German Christmas celebration in Daley Plaza (above). It was this busy. And the nearby Chicago Christmas tree. We saw it at  night our first night in the city but didn’t have time to stop and take a picture.

Speaking of trees, check out this 10,000-light beauty at Macy’s.

We also strolled the street to read the “Yes, Virginia” window stories. I’d never done this before and was amazed that the construction was all made from paper and takes 35 weeks to complete!

Next stop after Macy’s was the Bean.

Our second evening, we saw “A Christmas Carol” at The Goodman Theatre.

My husband bought us box seat tickets, which was another surprise. Even though our view of some of the stage was obstructed, we felt super important sitting all by ourselves. We had an up-close view of most of the production, which was moving and captivating.

Hold on to your hats, ladies, when I tell you this next part: We spent two evenings in Chicago and the Bulls and the Blackhawks were playing each of those nights. Yet  my husband chose to take me to The Joffrey Ballet’s The Nutcracker one night and to “A Christmas Carol” on stage the next night. Some of his decision involved money and seating, but let me tell you, I felt loved and blessed. The ballet was breathtaking and stunning, something I’m not sure I would have chosen and expected to enjoy, but I loved it. And it’s been years since I’ve seen a professional stage production.

My husband knows me well, and he did a fantastic job planning our getaway.

If I wasn’t already, now I’m totally in the Christmas spirit. At every stop, since I didn’t know where we were going, my husband would stop and say, “Merry Christmas.” It’s definitely a Christmas to remember.

Why I won’t be offended if you don’t invite us to your house

There’s this theory among single people and couples without children that when a couple becomes parents, they suddenly start hanging out with only other parents. My husband and I have a wide variety of friends in different stages of life, so I was sure this wouldn’t happen to us. Not by our choice, anyway. We aren’t the kind of people to dump friends or hole up in our house because we have kids.

Or so I thought.

Lately, I’ve become much more comfortable with the idea of NEVER leaving the house again. With two active kids (an almost 3-year-old and a just-turned-1-year-old), even going some place relatively safe, like the grocery store, where I can contain at least one, if not both of them, in a cart, has become a bit stressful. Especially with it being cold and wintry now. Coats, hats, mittens on, out of the house, into the car, strapped into seats, out of the car, into the cart, into the store, at least hats and mittens off, shop, hats and mittens back on, coats zipped up, in the car, out of car, back home, outerwear strewn across the floor.

Is it worth it? I sometimes ask myself. Maybe we should just become hermits and emerge when the children are, say, teenagers. Of course, by then, they probably won’t want to leave the house anyway.

But back to the friend issue. It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with singles or couples without kids or whose kids have grown and gone; it’s that sometimes, doing so stresses me out, especially if I don’t know the layout of the house. At one recent get-together, I spent most of the evening worried that the 1-year-old was going to take a fall down an open set of stairs. And I didn’t know where I could change a diaper. And the 2-year-old rearranged most of the decorations in the house.

At another dinner, the 2-year-old continued her streak of breaking something when we visit. This time, it was a Christmas decoration. Glass. She shattered it. The last time, it was a bunny figurine. Our hosts assured us it was fine, but even without the carnage, I was stressed by having to bring toys and a high chair for a chance at fellowship.

When we first moved here, and had only one child, we didn’t receive a lot of dinner invites from our church family, something I guess we sort of expected because that’s how we tend to get to know people better. As time went on, I figured it was because we had a baby. As time goes further on, I rarely expect to be invited anywhere because of the wee ones, and when we do get invited, and my husband says “yes” without asking me, I stress out about all the extra preparation involved, unless it’s to one of the “safe” homes on my list. (To make the safe list, you probably have kids around my kids’ ages or have grandkids that age, are relatives, or don’t keep a lot of nice things in your home, or you are so persistent that we can’t say “no”.)

I’m not an outwardly social person most of the time, so I don’t know why it bothers me that having kids limits my social circle a bit, except that I’m also insecure so I don’t like to be left out of things. I struggle with this even at church. Our church is smallish and has trouble staffing the nursery from week to week (with people other than a willing few who step in often to fill a gap). Since more Sundays than not my kids are the only ones in the nursery, this sometimes makes me feel like we’re a burden on the church and shouldn’t be there. (Not true, I know, but it’s the thought process I go through.)

Jesus said we’re to welcome little children in his name, so I keep that firmly in my mind when the children are crying, shouting or screaming during a serious or silent moment. Jesus wants them here, I tell myself.

I can’t always use the same argument for being at people’s houses, though. Even if Jesus wanted my children there, that doesn’t mean the homeowner has to agree.

I’d love to hear some other thoughts on this topic. Does anyone else struggle with this? I don’t want to use my kids as an excuse to not go places, but I also don’t want them to break something valuable, stain the carpet or swallow something inedible. Nor do I want to be hovering so much that I don’t enjoy myself or make the person hosting feel like less of a person because they didn’t babyproof their house for me.

Let’s hear it, moms. Tell me I’m not crazy.

A tale of two funerals

The world lost two great men this week. One was a household name, especially to baseball fans. The other, known mostly locally to his family, his community, his church. Both were laid to rest at 10 o’clock today in Illinois.

Both battled illnesses that eventually won the fight for their bodies. Both lived long lives.

One was a hero to his sport, a man who never complained about the illnesses or diseases that wracked his body, even when they made playing the sport difficult. And to the children who benefited from his commitment to raising money for juvenile diabetes.

The other was a hero to his family, a pillar of faith, a joy, a strength, a compassionate, humble servant.

One made a name for himself in the world, whether he wanted it that way or not. The other made a name for himself in heaven.

I am unqualified to speak much about either man, having never met the first in person and not being family or close friend to the other. Perhaps others more qualified can add their memories to this post.

What I do know is that both deaths leave a big hole in their circles of influence. Listening to Cubs’ broadcasts won’t be the same. Baseball won’t be the same. The Cubs won’t be the same. That’s a hole I don’t know how will be filled.

For the second man, his family won’t be the same, his church, his community, either, but that hole I know will be filled by their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. This man left a legacy of faith to his children, his grandchildren, to others who had the privilege to know him.

Two grieving families, two worlds, two funerals at the same time on the same day. One honored, celebrated and remembered on national TV; one honored and celebrated locally. Both men may have fussed over the fuss of their respective remembrances. Jesus, and the hope of salvation, was preached through both of their lives.

May that legacy continue beyond their lives, beyond the celebration of today.

I couldn’t ignore the timing of these two funerals, being reminded that the celebration, remembrance and honor we receive on this earth is not the important thing. It’s the being with Jesus in heaven part that counts. It’s what we store up for the eternal world. Most of us won’t have a nationally televised funeral or the kind of influence that comes with fame and notoriety. But we all have a chance to affect eternity, starting with ourselves.

Death always reminds me of that — to take account of how I’m living my life, where my treasure is, what I’m living for, working for, valuing. What’s really important.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” — 2 Corinthians 4:18