There's a story.

I've waited all day to give life to these words.  Physically, my fingers spent most of my early morning alone with the weight of this image in their possession. Before the rest of my house awoke from their slumber, I spent my minutes magically staring into the end result of Mom behind the lens.  There's not one corner of this photograph that my eyes have not poured over.  Invested in the outcome of then, I have taken such delight in this captured treasure.

Time and schedules have a way of moving.  Don't they though?  And, by mid-morning, my physical presence was procured away in proximity from this image focused onto film.  But, my mind held a steadfast clamp on this scene above.  Today I searched all about him.  Today I remembered and reminded myself of the he who he is.  I settled into my Dad and stayed right by him all day.

There's a story.  And, I want to tell it.  For this story is everything the man my Dad is to me.  This story sits inside this photograph rich and content as if it has no desire to leave this hallowed space & time.  But, telling it is where the beauty of my Dad begins.  

The setting was around Thanksgiving as I am wearing my Indian headdress freshly fashioned from Mrs. Carlton's 1980 Kindergarten class.  {a special thank you to Jason Lemming who secretly cut for me during craft time as I was left handed before the world of Crayola thought of inventing left handed scissors}  My brother and I are standing in chairs.  We always stood in chairs when Dad was in the kitchen cooking.  The brown bucket is the same bucket we used to wash our dogs, Pete and Muffin.  The fresh flowers in the vase were a normalcy in our home.  Dad made sure that Mom had fresh flowers in her kitchen.  They were never the custom ordered flower shop variety, but more the ones found in the local grocery store.  He would arrange them always just for her.  The kitchen.  It used to be  the carport.  My Dad's 2 hands alone transformed it into a more useful space for our family.  He worked tirelessly after long hours at work and school to make this dream a reality for us.  The curtains were sewn by Mom.  They were the same curtains that hung in the Volkswagon bus that brought me home from a Colorado hospital 5 years prior.   His watch.  It hangs on the knob of the cabinet.  Free from pumpkin guts and water spills and cleverly placed for viewing sake; my Dad is adeptly skilled in resourceful maneuvers of the simplest things. 

My brother is to my left.  He's the one manning the wooden spoon with the big metal pot {insert loud banging here}.  I have no doubt music surrounds us in addition to the ad hoc orchestra-of-one to my left.  Possibly Jim Croce or Gordon Lightfoot.  Dan Folgeberg or John Prine.  

Then there's him.  A picture of absolute happiness.  You can feel it before you see it when your eyes take gaze.  He knows it too.  Suited in his white t-shirt and worn Levi jeans sans one pocket, peace & joy radiate from his face.  Pumpkin gutting and with us.  His face sends out signals as if to say everything in the world I need is right here.  In this kitchen.  

This image is so much a part of his DNA to me.  It is work and joy and love and doing and together.  It is cleverness and romance, resourcefulness and simplicity too.  It is laughter and living.  He embodies all that this reflection of light can withstand to hold.  The story of this image has seeped out of this hallowed one dimensional space and run rampant through me all day.  

Today I searched him. Even though physically we were not together on this 24 hour vigil set aside for Fathers, I settled into my Dad and stayed right beside him all day. He is light.  He is hope.  He is stronger than he realizes in the story of me.  

Thank you for your kindness and for making my socks feel just right on my little girl feet.  Thank you for my "apple or orange?" in the morning and for falling asleep on the floor by my bed reading me Cinderella. Thank you for telling me I would die if I ate the center of a donut and for showing me the power of a smile.  

Today I settled into you and stayed right beside you all day.

I love you, 

.mac 

I made cake.

Ineptness frequents me this time of year.  I find myself clinging to the intangible.  I struggle with the ordinary.  I whither within myself, too. Truth sneers into my heart leaving it ramshackled & rummaged to a state entirely out of proportion.  There are years I allow this incessant ineptness to completely break me.   Like a poor choice of a plastic spoon for ice cream thick & dense, I snap.  Popping off right at the base, I leave behind only the rigid white plastic shaft of myself as a reminder I was there.  Last year was one of those years.   Then there are years when the numbness includes me.  Gosh, I love the invite, too.  The numb years may be the best ones of the lot.  No huge shockwaves of memory.  No jigsaw puzzles valiantly assembled only to realize that out of 1,000 pieces, you only have 999.

This year I made cake.  I don't know why.  As best as I can see it, my hands are the vocal cords of my heart.  Gravitationally speaking, I had to.  My body pursued a movement busy & task oriented before my mind could offer up any stamp of approval. I operated with a quasi-level of consciousness.  I drifted in only to find myself so far outside the entire production.  Coconut oil replaced vegetable oil because its healthier for you we were out of vegetable oil. I semi-measured.  I didn't time its baking.  I just assembled with the intentions of completion, yet with little conviction of flavor or finished product.  To beat it all, I made coconut cake.  1 out of 4 members in our household like coconut cake.  

I made it the day before.  Anticipation of the dreaded 24 hour reminder always makes me antsy.  I'm never best at facing a train heading straight on.  Particularly, when I am reminded of how many of us stand on these railroad tracks.  This train will pass faster this year; you make cake.  At least my innards thought this to be a truth worth clinging to.  

The icing. I made homemade buttercream.  I felt the anguish welling wildly within me.  I knew all too well that real butter makes the best buttercream.  I used margarine.  The sugar crystalized pudding was a poignant reminder of my state. Runny.  Fragmented.  Grainy.  The color.  I couldn't remember her favorite.  I wanted to say it was green, but then I remember our home having a lot of blues.  Damnit, what was her favorite color?  I swelled ridiculously with mayhem; I had to leave the dripping concentration for reflection.  Moreover, to avoid the inevitable.  Tomorrow was the day.  And, I knew not her favorite color.  

One hour later, with my composure somewhat regained, I worked to create turquoise.  My over mixed human altered fat source margarine could now claim a color.  I sanctified my ineptness with smears of blue-green onto a cake half heartedly created.  Lumps pooled at its base; cracks of cake rejected its covering.  I am those cracks every year.  Every year.

A loss was before me.  The unwanted, unpopular coconut flavor found itself saturated with soups of the equal parts turquoise mixture.  I couldn't remember her favorite color.  Spontaneously charged with emotion, I bounded out to right this wrong. Grasping at whatever it took to visually create an outside unscathed by the damage already done internally, I would save this cake.  I tried to do this exact same thing 17 years ago.

With new bowlfuls of real butter infused frosting made, I moved to mask the disaster.  I smoothed and rounded the sides with purpose.  Placing the knife aptly so, my tears fell.  Alone in my kitchen, I grieved her.  I charged on with even more tenacity to cover and to conceal the cracks.  

I could do this.  

I could do this.  

I could not.

Tomorrow she would be gone 17 years.  Tomorrow I would grieve her all over again.  I would remember her smell.  I would feel through the hours each & every one.  I would wait for the rain, too.  Numbness did not send me an invitation this year.  Half heartedly this cake became.  Cracks, substitutions and corrections are my reminders.

1,000 999 pieces.

I made cake.

.mac 

{start to finish}

Life is a collection of yesterdays.  And, all too often life's pace has a way of leaping us ahead of tomorrow and even already into next week or month sadly enough.  Prior to the purchase of a fancy camera or an iPhone, I took the time to document a day with the boys from start to finish here. With no words and just pictures, this 4 year old memory is one I cherish looking back on.  Now, with both the treasures of a fancy camera and an iPhone, I decided there really are no excuses for not capturing the heartbeat of our home on a daily basis more often.   No editing.  No fancy.  Life.  Real & right before us.  Happening.  It is my hope to manage memories a little more meaningful by using the gift of wicked awesome from one Mr. Steve Jobs.

I give you our 3.11.13 from start-to-finish:

{from left to right by rows}:

• I began my day in prayer.  I was on Day 21 of my 40 day prayer challenge reading this book.  It talked about praying for the discernment of God's will for your life.  I liked that it spoke of your will being for His glory.  I long to be more unselfish in my walk. He is working on me in big ways here.
• I then went to take the recycling to the garage.  Once there, I looked over to see my car freshly washed on Sunday afternoon by Kenny.  I stopped right then, snapped a picture and then thanked God for the sweet gift of a clean car from my husband.
• Math time outside with basketball and chalk was just after spelling & writing time.  Hit 2-Solve 2 is our drill.  Eli and Casey both are blowing me away with their math skill comprehension.  They get it.  They love to show they get it.  Their accuracy and proficiency is a blessing and a joy for this teacher/mama.
• Inside for carpet math.  Time & money.  Brother check and Mama monitor.  Challenges.  Quarter till.  Quarter after.  Half past.  1:07.  8:48.  Change back.  Rockstars.   
• Casey Face helped me make sandwich bread pizza for lunch.  We made a community plate and pretended we were eating in a restaurant.
• Two men delivered flowers to my doorstep.  I love getting flowers!
• After lunch, Eli wanted to count money and give himself challenges all on his own. The power of self motivation is noted here.
• We stopped to take an hour break from school so I could finish up some sewing.  I snapped this picture from my sewing studio window.  Eli is in camo gear with a muscle basketball shirt and combat helmet. Casey is from head-to-toe in Superman costume.  They are pretending they are in battle.  
• I finished 2 Nantucketts during this 60 minute time span.
• On the way to the post office, Eli brought his Harry Potter book he is reading independently.  He is on the 2nd book of the series.  At a red light, I snapped this picture of him laughing at something funny in the book.  
• On the way home from the post office, it started raining.  
• I received this image from my best friend.  It is of Jeremiah 29:11 that I sent to her in the mail.  She sent this picture to me thanking me for sending her encouragement and letting me know that OCD in her put it in a ziploc bag so it wouldn't get messed up as she planned to carry it in her purse with her at all times.  I stopped and thanked Him for her and the joy she brings my life when I received this text.
• I'm wearing navy on my nails this week.  Had a little fun with my index finger and pinstripes. 
• Upon returning home from the post office, I read with each boy for our reading time.  Snapped a picture of reading with Casey on his bed. It was sheet washing day, so we piled atop a naked bed and sprawled out to read.  He is mastering huge words.  His intonation is just the best.  He loves getting into  each character in the story.  Reading is becoming a joy with him.  I love that he has "b" snuggled up under him while reading.  This serves as a soft spot to this homeschooling Mama.  "B" wouldn't be in his classroom.  "B" makes everything possible to Casey.
• I timed myself 3 different times during the day for 5 minute intervals to stop in our living room and fold laundry.  It stayed their until it all was folded by around 9:00 PM and then just moved into piles in each bedroom to be put away the next day.  I liked that I didn't let it overwhelm or consume me to finish.  Laundry is a priority.  It is not THE priority.  Love the image of Jack & Jill, our cats, piled up sleeping together in the recliner.
• Evening time we began our monthly canvas project.  Art time brings out the best in my boys.  Their mood settles and lifts.  Teamwork beams out of them, too.  I love that they talk the entire time about their plans for the project bouncing ideas off one another
• I joined them in painting working on some dreams I have for myself.  This mess serves as sweet reminder of what together looks like.  I left this mess just right where it was to go workout with Kenny. I enjoy this time together with him.  We endure.  We sweat. We are making the choice to make our bodies stronger.  
• While monitoring Casey's bath, I drank a glass of wine and sat on closed toilet seat and talked with him.  I also sent this picture text to 3 of my girls in a group message toasting them to friendship.  I loved that I got 3 pictures back from each of them as a toast back.  Sometimes these sweet easys are the love that lifts us most.
• I love the blueberry cheesecake candle burning in my living room.  It is my absolute favorite scent I sell.  I decided to snap a picture and spread the word on my k.Mac Facebook page about the upcoming sale of this scent.  Impromptu & all.
• I snapped this picture in my socks and on the wet concrete of my back porch.  It was as if heaven was smiling down and saying, "I can hardly wait for you!"  After this, I came inside, finished folding laundry and watched The Biggest Loser with the entire family.  We then had our family devotion time where we finished our first devotion book together.  Prayers and boys to bed left time for Kenny and I to talk with sleepy eyes and in between yawns about our day in tidbit fashion.  I showered, lubed up with an excessive amount of wrinkle cream and then snuggled my guy until dreams found me.

Start to finish.  Life's yesterday. Thank you, Steve Jobs.

.mac :)

Mixed Breed

I like to cook.  I love the mixing and the motions that go into making something yummy.  Creating with food is rewarding.  I mean, I get nothing soulful from spaghettios in the microwave other than easy clean up, less time in the kitchen and processed awesomeness. And, you?  I would like to report that I have a steadfast scientific art to meals in our home, but I don't.  Yes, in my secret life of "Meghan the Great", I  would mimic the handful of friends I have who grade out  beyond rockstar. I have friends who plan their meals and grocery lists on a monthly basis.  I have friends who are utterly wicked freaktastic at clipping coupons and stockpiling like motha truckas.  I even have a friend who has pre-made homemade pancake mix in mason jars with the recipe twined around the top for guests who visit her family's home.  Coincidentally, her handwriting happens to be on the recipe card above.

And, I LOVE THESE FRIENDS.  I look up to them.  They inspire me to be more intentional.  More connected to our family's money and what it provides to the nourishment of our bodies.  On running a family fluidly, I am a mutt of sorts. I am.  I absolutely love the German Shepard pedigree status of creator/artist that I am.  But, I totally cross bred that gift with a scattered/semi-composed/quasi organized Chihuahua down the road.  Ewww, right?  I am but a fledgling in the "art of planned".  How about that for an oxymoron?  I aim to work on it.  I do.  Scratch that.  I am working on it.  S    l    o   w   l   y.

This recipe is one of my all-time easy favorites.  I beam each time I make it.  My taste buds bounce right out of my mouth just thinking about this concoction.  My sweet homegirl, Trisha, first made this dish for me at my house.  Allow me to explain how rockstar she is.  She and her daughter, Camdyn, came to stay with Eli and me the weekend before I was due to have Casey.  {I was big.  I was CAP LOCK PREGGERS. ABOUT TO POP IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT.  Go here for a looksee.}  That particular weekend Kenny, along with Trisha's husband and 11 other men, were on their annual cabin retreat.  Trisha took it upon herself to bring Camdyn down to stay with us just to make sure we were okay.  She drove 4.5 hours with a 22 month old and had a car LOADED with groceries to cook for us for the weekend so that I didn't have to. {And, she left me recipe cards for each meal she cooked.}   What the what?  I know.  That, my friends, is called friendship & compassion in action.  She will forever rank as one of my role models in so many ways.

I beam because this dish is freakin' awesome to taste.  It has fresh cilantro.  Need I say more?  Yes.  You garnish the dish with fresh shredded Parmesan cheese.  Um, I need a moment.       There.  I'm back.  I love this concoction because it's healthy too. I like LOVE donuts as much as the next doll, but I clock in overtime on things that I know my body deserves.  Good food makes me feel good.  Wine does too.  Moderation peeps.  

But, honestly, I would say the high marks this meal receives is for the memory it signifies each time that I make it.  I think about Trisha.  I think about her character and her selfless heart.  I think about a grocery laden car with a 22 month old and 4.5 hours just to help me.  To make my life a little easier.  Safer.  Just in case.  It's these people that I praise God for.  Not just then, but now too.  Those people that aren't necessarily a part of your everyday, but in your every now & again that provide a pillar of strength to you.  Through their outstretched arms and God given gifts, they press in upon your heart.  They make you more.  And, they don't even realize it.  It's just them. I am thankful for these connections.  I'm thankful for God's placement of so many outstanding characters in my walk here on Earth.  Through them, I learn so much about His love.  The Chihuahua in me is ever grateful for my homegirl, Trisha.

Black Bean & Salsa Noodle Soup

• 3 cans (14 oz. each) vegetable broth
• 1 jar (16 oz.) salsa
• 1 can (15 oz.) black beans, drained. (I use 2)
• 1 can (11. oz.) whole kernel corn, drained
• 1 package (5 oz.) Japanese curly noodles or spaghetti noodles
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 1 tablespoon lime
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1/4 teaspoon pepper
• 2 tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese

1.  Heat broth to boiling in large sauce pan.  Stir in remaining ingredients except cheese.  Reduce to medium heat.

2.  Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally until noodles are tender. Sprinkle with cheese.

6 servings
220 calories
2 grams of fat
8 grams of fiber
0 mg cholesterol


.mac :)

{missed}

Places and people.  Dang, God is good.  The above is an image of a place the boys and I adore.  We frequented our little heaven hideaway on the regular and in all seasons too mind you.  Just a 10 minute stint from our old home, this was a place of freedom and natural bliss.  I've written about this spot here and here and here and here.  Yes,  this spot has a history of happy.

This place is not perfect. It's a public state park.  Hence, from time to time, you may spot an individual with a house arrest ankle cuff monitor. You will most definitely feel, at times, that you are literally inside a tattoo catalog browsing for your next ink.  On several occasions, I have stepped in as an unbeknownst volunteer lifeguard/stand-in attentive mom to the handfuls of little ones left in the water with 100% accident proof will protect you from anything arm floaties.  Yes, this place may just be considered a nose-in-the-air to those with country club pool passes.  But, not for us.  We like it.  Maybe it's because it brings me the same kinda feeling that the place I adored when I was I little girl gave me.

{Summer 2011}

But, the place is just for starters.  The people that were a part of our hideaway are perhaps what made it most magical.  We.miss.these.people.  Above is the last trip we made to our lake before moving 2.5 hours away.  Arlene and her kiddos, Brayden & McKenzie, were our rock steadys.  They lived just a street over from us.  She and her husband, E.K., have a huge chapter written in our lives on Hillcrest Road.  Arlene and I were all the time heading out on adventures.  This post is just tiny example of the impromptu goodness we had being neighbors and great friends.  My boys miss their Brayden.  His silly antics and his happy heart.  I miss Arlene.  Her huge ticker and her hilarious ideas for fun are irreplaceable.  The green ball.  Christmas night dinners.  Easter egg hunts.  Devotion times.  The back porch.  Yes, I miss her.  Then there's Sarah.  She and her little ones, Garyn & Ansley.  I've written about her here when the most wonderful thing had happened for their family. And, again here as a memory of great times together.  Sarah's heart is precious. The boys love Garyn & his world renown Wii games.  Sarah, Arlene and I were a trio of good deal finding.  The first Saturday of the month it was guaranteed that we were together and creating a great ruckus of fun for 1/2 off weekend at the ever infamous Goodwill. Don't believe me?  Check out our good times for yourself.  And, on the topic of together, who can forget the Batstreet Boys?

{Summer 2012}

Last summer, the boys and I made a trip back to our magical. We were fortunate enough to have all in tow for another great memory to mark in our record books.  Silly things like time and miles stand in the way of what used to be our regular routine.  I'm thankful for trips back.  I'm thankful for friendships that make you better.  For out loud laughter that secures you in times when a smile is so very missed.  It's these memories that let you know you are loved by a heavenly Father who's in the spoiling business.

Spoiling business is just exactly the case.  I am thankful for these people.  For this place.  For the memories that minimize the miles between us.  {missed}.  Most certainly.  

.mac :)

{six}

  Six years have snuck past us all. That's 2,190 days to be exact.  Looking back, I recall words penned for you just four years ago ago on this day.  Three years ago, too, with your tiny newborn image.  You.  A work of art walking. Your presence is of a proper noun sense.  Specificity and tenacity mixed with an outright joy meld your stature.  Captivating is your smile, moreover your touch.  Your blue eyes twinkle when they meet others.  Gleaming with a steady, confident connection as if your interaction with them is mandatory for your pulse of life.  

You love your b. and your big brother.  Staple necessities are they to your everyday.  You have an infectious knack for story telling and expression.  Your mind maneuvers melodiously in & out of play scripts throughout your day.  Your heartstrings are easily moved when injustice or loneliness enters your arena be it through stories in books or on the screen.  You sense others and how they feel.  An association never to be underestimated; you have a strength in compassion.  

Your Mama's lap is your softest spot.  It always has been.  Your Daddy meets you in that magical place where overwhelming love and outstanding battles of will collide.  He is absolutely smitten over you as you are him. Smitten enough to hook horns and snuggle just the same.  I would imagine his trump card will be played often throughout your life so to make more of the man you will become.  Mama's too as you lack not in determination.  Training up greatness is a job neither of us take lightly.

{January 21, 2007-the day before you were born}

For lightly is not the way to live. Casey McGill, you will be a man of courage and of conviction.  You will live your life out loud and on center stage.  Your humility will be there in the honest twinkle in your eyes and the commitment to reach out to others.  Your tenacious spirit will infect so many that cross your path.  God has a plan to spread His love and glory through your smile and your actions.  Sweet son, hold to Him and be His vessel.  You are learning more and more of His place in your life.  The wheels of conviction are turning in your soul.  Beaming with an anticipation and hope, your Dad and I watch on as we see the excitement in you light up each night before our family devotion time.  

Today we celebrate you.  We celebrate the gift of life that we take not for granted.  We are thankful for the passion and joy you give to the lives around you.  Thank you for sharing it with us.  Your place in this world has a brilliant purpose. Rock this new year of life out, Casey Face!

Love you, 

Mama :)

{week 50:  my 2 in 52} 

{new}

There's just something awesome about new.  It's fresh and clear.  There is no baggage.  No cobwebs of I sucked or hints of that hurt.  There's glory in beginnings.  Grace too.  2012 was the year of rhythm for me.  Finding it.  Keeping it.  Chasing it.  Not to mention cussing it a time or two.  I pushed for more of me, the real me.  The best me.  There were moments of great success and ones that graded out blood red with flop & failure.  But, without a doubt, I'm glad I devoted myself to moving in the upward sense.  

2012 was my 365 to document, moreover, devote.  One of my favorite rituals I began last year was {my 2 in 52}.  It was simply a joy to write about my boys on a weekly basis.  With just my commitment to honoring their place in our family's life, I was able to write about them 34 out of the 52 weeks.  For this, I am most proud. Their childhood is fast paced and rapidly my mind reminds itself that these moments are just too precious not to capture.  For the boys, for me and for Kenny.  I am quite certain I won't regret the time spent procuring these memories for us all.  So begins year 2013 for our record books.

Snow.  We took mid-morning of the 1st day in 2013 to play in it.  We were in Lexington, KY for our annual New Year's Eve stay at The Stump Home.  Kenny was with his guys, and the boys and I headed out for a little winter adventure.  I love the fact that the boys chose to play football in the snow with no football.  Pretending is so freakin' awesome.  LOVE that they do this, and do this well.

Casey McGill wanted to sled.  Alas, no sled was handy.  What did he do?  Body sled.  That's right.  This boy is tenaciously driven.  I watched with a smile so big on my face as he body sled time and again.

I  mean just look at that face.  Do you see any ounce of fear?  Notta.  No wonder he has suffered injuries like this at such an early age.

Eli Garrett, the ever cautious, lacks not in tenacity either.  His is more of the planned sort.  Mesmerized, methodical and curious.  Staring for long looks at moss and how fences are put together.  His tackling skills are dead.on.the.money in ghost football like you see being played above.  

Climbed the top of a fallen tree and wanted documentation he did it.  His smile says it all, don't you think?  ::pride::

Snow angels were in order.   Eli was exact in his process so to be sure not to mutate his angel's form.

I was surprised to see Casey follow his big brother's example.  He usually is my spontaneous soul.  Yet, he listened intently and adhered to Eli's advice in creating his own icy cherub construction.

I can't quite call them angels as they are mine.  Kenny's too.  And, if you know us, you know good & well we have a little devil in us from time to time.  Lucifer in the sweetest sense, mind you.  But, our little men are definitely heaven sent.  Full of life and lots of love among other things.  One of my goals for 2013 is to be outside with them everyday.  There is good in fresh air.  There is good in new.  I look forward to yet another year of honoring Eli and Casey in this space. May I capture the glory of their childhood and the grace in their growing too.

{week 52:  my 2 in 52}

.mac :)

{baked}

I find the title of this post funny.  In many ways, I am right real baked once the k.Mac holiday making is complete.  This Christmas season has left me wonderfully blessed with business, but equally blitzed beyond the studio doors.

{my favorite cook books given to me by Kenny and my brother, Adam}

I took a personal timeout the day after the last k.Mac package shipped out.  I did this with intentions of baking with the boys in preparation for Christmas's arrival.  Goodies really are kinda nice to have around when Santa comes, you know?

And, what ended up happening?  I baked.  The boys would mingle in & out of the kitchen for taste tests and a few dough drops on baking stones.  They would roll & coat and then they were off.  Christmas music played all day in our home.  I worked at a happy pace with a sweet peace surrounding me as if my kitchen was anxiously awaiting my arrival home.

{candy cane fudge}

I concocted the above creation.  Candy Cane Fudge we like to call it.  Next year's batch will have a tiny tweaking to ensure a secured & prolonged softness in texture.  Its taste is nothing short of divine if I do say so myself.

Each family member requested a baked goody from Mama's kitchen.  Eli's request:  traditional and rich.  From scratch chocolate chip cookies.  The recipe I use is found in the cook book my brother gave me for Christmas in 2000.  

I made 2 batches as the quantity yielded is not nearly enough when living with 3 boys a tad shy of what one would call adequate.  These morsels are highly coveted in our home.  How about yours?

Next up was one of Kenny's requests.  Crock Pot Candy  Easy as pie too.  I couldn't believe how nice it was just to dump, time, stir and then glop onto wax paper.  

This was the first of our goodies to expire in our home too.  Can you say goner?  I knew that you could.

Kenny's 2nd request was lemon cookies.  Again, these are so simple to make.  I love those go-to recipes that are easy and equally delicious.  This recipe is from the Betty Crocker cook book Kenny gave to me one Christmas before we had kids.  Like, when was that?

Ahh, peanut butter fudge.  Say no more, huh?  I used this recipe only with creamy peanut butter.  Easy. Melt in your mouth yummy.  There ain't much by way of peanut butter that I don't approve of.

My goody of choice was white chocolate pretzel sticks with sprinkles.  I opted to die the almond bark green for more of a festive flair.  You know me and color by now, don't you?

The Face opted for white chocolate covered pretzels straight no chaser.  These are never pretty if I'm making them.  But, they taste glorious regardless of their curb side appeal.

Tradition, in our home, is to use the hand baked goodies to give to our neighbors and loved ones nearby as Christmas gifts.  We did just that.  Brown bags were filled with tiny wrappings of homemade goodness from our home and delivered to theirs.

Twine twirls were the finishing touches to these gifts.  We gave these goodies along with our family Christmas card & letter to our neighbors beside us and across from us.  Eli also gave this gift to his horseback riding teacher, Mrs. Beeler.  Additionally, a hit-n-run drive by drop off was successfully accomplished to Mom-Mom and Larro's house.  Papaw and Nana along with Kevin & Tash as well as Sydnie were also recipients of the brown bagged happiness.  My Dad-daddy and Aunt Sharon were also gifted some goody love on our trip down to see them on the 23rd.  In all, 9 bags were dispersed from the heart of my kitchen.  

I love the simplicity and methodical-ness of making homemade goods.  It's tradition.  It's time invested in creating something from your home, moreover, your heart. It was magic to my soul watching dropfuls of dough fall only to rise and taste tests time & again tried from my little men running amok around me.  The music and the memory of this day was just one of the precious gifts I was given this Christmas.

.mac :)

The Clothespin

my hands have been immersed in over 15 yards of baby pink satin, minky dot and damask for almost a week  --  creating a custom bumper pad in this fabric elevated my temperature so much from the manual labor, i actually stripped down to my sports bra to finish stuffing it  --  i just recently purchased a pair of shoes for $.50 from Goodwill that gave me the nickname "Meg-lo" from a texting/picture relay with a sweet friend  --  casey is over-the-moon magical about his count down to Christmas calendar  --  he takes the felt magnetic backed images on and off and loves to tell me which ones are his favorite  --  we didn't homeschool not one single stitch last week  --  eli read 6 chapter books from one of his favorite series in just 5 days  --  our Christmas tree's lower section just bit the dust  --  3/4th's lit is where we're at  --  i have an addiction to a $6.97 nose happy  --  the Downy Scent Booster pellets make me want to do laundry  --  folding & putting away is another story  --  in the past 2 weeks, i have shipped over 30 packages from k.Mac  ---  usps.com is my friend  --  bubble wrap is too  --  i bought an oatmeal seersucker suit set at Goodwill this past Saturday for $2.00  --  i can hardly wait for spring to wear it  --  i went immediately outside and captured an image of the boys the very moment i heard of the Sandy Hook tragedy on 12.14  --  i stopped and prayed and cried.

Yesterday, after church, I spent the afternoon working on a baby nursery I am finishing up for a client of mine.  My hair was down and it I wanted it up.  Without a hair clip nearby, I grabbed a clothespin from a basket I keep in my sewing studio.  My hair is very long.  I wound its ends and quickly twisted it up only to secure it to the top of my head with the simple clothespin's clasp. I then went onto continue sewing, go for a 3 mile run, visit my in-law's to help with Christmas decorations and have dinner, fold laundry and stuff Christmas cards. 

My hair did not once topple down from the clasp of the clothespin.  This physical reminder was so poignantly placed for my spirit to see.  I simply trusted in its capability.  I never once pigeon holed its job description.  

God is that clothespin for all of us.  He foresees and carries.  He runs interference and re-directs. He gives rest and He restores peace.  His place in our lives is needed now more than ever.  I find myself in contant conversation with Him. In the little & the big, He contains my humanity and supersedes my weaknesses when I trust and surrender my joy to just who He is. My clothespin.  My collection of life week in & week out that carves out the picture of the Earthly me.  Fritzed-out Christmas lights on the 17th of December, my tall reader boy, "Meg-lo", bubble wrap, sports bra stuffing, felt Christmas pictures shared with my 5 year old & all.  He gives us these real time reminders to collect and keep with our own clothespins on the string of this life.  And, His promise is these collected memories x infinity if we just trust in His presence and undying love.

12.14.12 is a reminder to us all. Collect and store up these precious everydays.  Secure them on your twine string.  Clothespin them to your heart.  And, above all never pigeon hole His magnificently holy job description. 

Thanks be to God, 

.mac 

{thankful}

Tradition is a tricky thing.  Its intentions of forever derive from an overwhelming feeling of fortunate if you ask me.  The commitment to carry out the hopeful dream of annual is not as simple as one may think. The hosts as well as the guests possess some what of an unuttered responsibility to one another and to the goodness that comes from being together.   On November 17, 2012 our family celebrated 10 years of tricky in mighty fine form.

When Kenny and I married, we wanted a tradition to reside, build and grow from our home.  We looked at what mattered most to our hearts.  From there, we brainstormed events that would help foster our heartstrings of family, togetherness and simplicity. We were certain we did not want this event to interfere with staple holidays ink-marked on the calendar.  We both agreed that the season of Thanksgiving is the nucleus of family.  It requires no gift giving other than your time and presence.  It didn't take us long to confirm the Saturday before Thanksgiving as the tradition we hoped would grow from our home.  Hence, our Cobble Gobble was born.

Ten years is a long time.  And, our Gobble has remained traditional to its roots.  Each year I put up our Thanksgiving tree.  And, on the eve of the Cobble Gobble, you will find our gift to each guest packaged and tagged underneath.

These construction paper leaf name tags have not changed in 10 years.  As each guest comes to our home, they simply unwrap their gift and place their name tag onto our Thanksgiving tree.  Our family of 4 begins this simple tradition.

It brings me great joy to see these 2 additional leaves where once was just mine and Kenny's.

And, by the Gobble's end, you will find a house full of guests all adorning our annual tee shirt gift with bellies full and stories and sharing in full swing.  The evening glow from our Thanksgiving tree reflects this goodness too.

Tom Turkey has been present for the past 7 years now.  He is the official mascot of the day's festivities.  Tom has successfully turned Kenny's opinion of yard art in a 180 degree direction.

So have these 2 you see below.  They've changed all of us really.  As a family collective, the Cobble Gobble has become a staple in Eli and Casey's existence.  They know nothing other than the importance, priority and presence of family at their home the Saturday before every Thanksgiving.

And, this does something magnificent to a little one's heart.  Continuity and collective nestle in only to take up a residency inside just who these two little men are.  Pride swells and plans made for the ones you love is staple in their boyhood.  This tradition means enough to them that they leaped at beginning the traditions for our first time family members present.  Below is our family's newest leaf on the tree.  Colton Scott made his first attendance to the Gobble this year.  Casey made sure he had a leaf and was quick to place it right next to Colton's Daddy's Grand Gobbler picture.

This day has made its mark on each of us for 10 consecutive November Saturdays with every calendar turn.  I have watched as family members have found new ways of connecting, and while at it,  recollect on the ways of old in which their puzzle pieces seem to fit too. 

 The loitering of love runs amok all over our property line.  

 Smiles are frequent and laughter is loud.  And, I think it's because we all have our home on this particular November Saturday.  Pretension was never invited. The bags of life were all somehow checked at the door.  People come to experience a memory and to be reminded of the simplicity of together.

Gifts like GINORMOUS bottles of wine are gladly accepted too.  

There's something for all of us here each time we gather.  Connections made that cannot be replaced with shiny silver or gold.  It's called touch. Presence.  A big sister feeding her new little brother for a family to see.  The pride of "He's mine." was 10 feet tall in her heart.

And, that same pride was just that tall as I wrapped my arms around my grandfather who made the trip up to be a part and see our new home.  

It's that something that keeps us all coming back.  Returning again to be reminded of the warmth that no movie, nor gift, nor vacation could ever give one's heart.

It's that something that leaves you knowing goodness is in the making.

For goodness really is.  Kenny has masterfully perfected the art of turkey frying.  And, like vultures circling their prey, so are the attendees of the Gobble.  Shreds upon shreds of ambrosia salted crispness is consumed by any and all takers.

Everyone brings a dish to contribute.  In this buffet you will find favorites requested year in and year out. Mamaw Hook rolls, Nana's Cornflake bars, Kristi's mac-n-cheese, Melissa and Jonathan's honey baked ham.

And, this feasting will wear you slap out I tell you.  Naps are taken unabashedly and in broad day light.

When turkey hits, there's nothing you can do, but sit back and enjoy the slumber.

Or, find random wigs to put on.

Yes, this happens.

Have I mentioned we laugh a lot at the Gobble?

Wig wearing is all fun and games until time for the annual Corn hole championship. Then seriousness sidles in for a backyard stay. Teams are drawn out of names placed in a wooden box made by Kenny's great grandfather, Papaw McGill, for his daughter, Ruby.  Her name is written atop the box.  This Ruby is the Mamaw Cobble treasured by so very many present on this day.

My time with Mamaw was short, but it was enough to know that she loved.  She loved big and all the time.  She was a vibrant soul and wherever the festivities were, she most definitely wanted to be.  I know she's here every year in so many of the smiles and hugs shared on this day.

All you have to do is look around to find her.

Corn hole commences and victors are determined.  Winners' names are inscribed on a plaque to designate their place in Gobble history.  Sara, Roy's wife, has her name on this plaque not once but FOUR times.  She runs shop and we all take notes each and every year. Not.even.kidding. She and Kenny battled to defeat the husband-wife duo of Delaware, Jason and Joanna.

The night ends with the crowning of the Grand Gobbler.  It's the trophy given to the best of the best from our day together.  The ceremony precedes with a speech from the previous year's Grand Gobbler to the crowd.

Then Kenny takes center stage to announce the winner chosen by Kenny, myself and the previous year's champion.

Jonathan Holcomb was our winner this year.  His presence in this family is so nice.  He is obtusely prepared for any obstacle or task, kind and loving and consistently ready to be part of family.  

Kenny and Papaw just happened to pull one over on me which was completely against the rule book, but I smiled, cried and co-accepted.

You know, I think legacy could quite possibly be a hidden secret to the success of family.  In each of us there is a golden opportunity to live out and leave behind.  What will it be?  The choice is ours really. Legacy is the simple reminder of who you were, what mattered to you and most importantly, how you chose to love.  Mistakes are inevitable, just be sure they don't become inheritable.  Being the legacy little ones long to emulate brings forth a light that this world needs so much more of.  

With that being said, there are so many faces who mean a great deal to this family.  Their copyrighted insignia on the ones who gather here leaves shoes so big to fill.  Their legacy is one of letting go and holding on.  It's no-not-never giving up and doing the most to be just a bit better than they were from the day before.  These faces have acted behind the scenes for so many of us over the years.  From helping hands, to hey I'll be there, to just listening & loving.  Simplicity that costs not a penny, but worth millions to the investment of family.

To say we are blessed would be an outright understatement.  Kenny and I are beyond honored and humbled that our hearts' hope has turned into time together x 10.

First Annual Cobble Gobble 2003

Cobble Gobble 2004

Cobble Gobble 2005

Cobble Gobble 2006

Cobble Gobble 2007

Cobble Gobble 2008

Cobble Gobble 2009

Cobble Gobble 2010

Cobble Gobble 2011

TEN YEARS-  Cobble Gobble 2012

Each year that passes leaves us lucky and reminded that love grows just where you plant it.  And, on the same Saturday every November, you'll find this very love running amok all over our property line.  Thank you, tradition.

.mac :)