baby on the way

It's hard to say exactly when the thought of another baby in the house excited me more than it overwhelmed me, but I think it was sometime last summer. And then one day around Thanksgiving of last year, I called Ryan while he was at work and greeted him with a breathless Guess what? After we hung up I scooped up my Ralphie and held him close on the couch for a bit, because in those dizzying moments after news of a big change, and your brain finally catches up with the pace of your heart, you just need to hold someone tight for a while. Especially your first baby.

Most of the winter was spent surviving on apples, trying to keep up with a toddler, and saying "I can't eat this," after preparing a full meal. That pregnancy nausea is no joke. Thankfully, my appetite has returned, and I've spent the remainder of the pregnancy feeling really good. I'm craving fruit of all kinds, ice cream by the gallon, and potluck food. I can't explain it, but if it can be found at any sort of church basement gathering, I would like to eat it. Jello salads, shredded pork sandwiches, potato casseroles. Cheese platters! I could go on, and in my head I do. All the time.

We're getting close to meeting this baby soon, which means I've been nesting and fussing with the nursery, cleaning out all the cupboards and closets, and not really sleeping much anymore (and crying at the drop of a hat because of that.) The changing table drawers are stuffed full with small pastel things that my sisters' babies wore. The day my sister Liz dropped off three garbage bags full of little girl clothes was a fun one, that's for sure. I spent an entire Saturday sorting and washing it all, realizing suddenly that we didn't really need to buy a single thing for the first year of this child's life, unless we wanted to. Which we did. The little gal will be dressed mostly in hand-me-downs, with a few new goodies from friends and family and her own dear old mom and dad mixed in, and that feels pretty special. (I've gathered the links for anyone curious-- all of my favorite baby things, new and old, down below!)

I'm just a few weeks away from full-term now, so the waiting game will begin soon. Things like Braxton Hicks contractions and swollen feet are popular topics of conversation around the house. Nightly foot rub negotiations are in full swing. I'll dish up the ice cream if you turn on a show and rub my feet. There are just a few items to check off the to do list, like packing the hospital bag and settling on a name. I have yet to crack open any of my books about labor, but I'm sure that'll come soon. Until then, I'm having more fun dreaming about what this baby might look like, sound like, sleep like...Six weeks and counting!

. . .

And now for the baby goods. Some of the very special baby things we've collected so far, both gifts, courtesy of sweet family and friends, and late-night-computer-glow splurges (you know the kind) courtesy of mom:

berry baby gown from the kind and lovely folks of Winter Water Factory
baby's first gift from momma, a little garden cap from Red Creek Handmade
the softest baby blanket from Fog Linen
dotty bloomers and a sweet teething blanket from Willaby
floral bloomers from Darling Clementine
a wooden rattle from Schoolhouse Naturals
tiny terry romper from Gap
fancy bottled belly rubs for mom, from Storq

and some hand me down favorites from the first time around:

my favorite swaddle blankets
our trusty Moses basket (ours was a gift from my sisters and this one looks very similar)
wooden hairbrush
soft, washable breastpads

Every now and then I pull out my black notebook to jot down bits and pieces of life with Ralph. I've never been good at keeping up with his baby book-- for some reason it overwhelms me. But I grab my black notebook almost nightly. It's full of lists, and ideas for things, and quickly scrawled recipes, and it's easier for me to jot down a thing or two about my boy there. I've come up with a small collection of things I want to remember-- one-liners and funny moments and sweet memories, but the things I seem to want to write down the most are the messes.

I want to remember the dry stickiness of all my doorknobs, as though someone with a spitty fist had just shoved a handful of graham cracker into his mouth, and then shut the door tight.

I want to remember the moment when he picked up a throw pillow, wiped his nose all the way across it, set it back down, and ran off to play.

I want to remember the way he follows his dad around outside, trampling plants and shoveling dirt where he shouldn't and driving Ryan crazy.

And the way he pulls a chair up to the counter when I'm working in the kitchen, rumpling the rug in front of the sink every.single.time. 

And how every day he insists on doing the dishes, guaranteeing a soaked outfit, and maybe a broken dish.

I want to remember the way sand and dirt falls out of the pockets and cuffs of his pants every time I take them off.

I want to remember the mess, because if there's one thing that drives me crazy, it's a dirty house. I cringe at the sight of all the crumbs on the floor, and sigh at the stains on my rug, and want to pull my hair out when I see even more paint chipped off the floor trim by a chubby hand and a toy hammer. Every day I clean it all up, only to watch the messes flutter back down to the floor like fuzzy, sticky pieces of confetti.

And yes, I want to remember the messes because I know they mean a wild, happy, thriving little boy lives here. But I also want to remember them for my sake. Because, every day, even on the hardest days, I love it. It's a weird thing, to spend your day doing things that drive you up the wall, that you also love. And yet, every day I am reminded: this is what I'm good at. This is what I was meant to do.

I know that Ralph is not much different than any other two year old. He's learning his colors and ABCs and how to spit when he brushes his teeth, just like the rest of them. I know that, besides a few quirks, he's nothing special-- except that he's mine. Mine! My little boy, with his dad's sense of humor and his grandpa's bright eyes and a really fantastic head of hair. Dropped into my lap from the heavens above one morning in October, quiet and sleepy and ready to mess up my life. All for the better.

. . .


PS: When it comes to neat freaks living with a bonkers toddler in the house, I think Erin said it best in this sweet interview: "A crazed monkey has snuck into my sterile little lab, and I am learning to like it."

PPS: Ralph's new favorite car shirt was so generously provided by the kind and friendly folks at Winter Water Factory. It's soft and cute, and we both love it. Thanks guys!

saturday pancakes

Saturday morning breakfast is, hands down, my favorite meal of the week to make.

It's the slowness of it all, the ease of waking up with not much to do right away, except maybe make something delicious to eat. Ralph crows at the same time every day whether it's Saturday or not, but we're not much for sleeping in too late in this house anyway. We pull him up into our bed and let him rearrange the pillows till we're good and awake. Ryan has successfully taught the child how to fetch him his slippers. Truly.

We all tumble down the stairs after a few minutes and Ryan puts the coffee on the stove. We park it on the couch and Ralph hops from lap to lap to floor to stairs to kitchen to lap again. We watch our shows (Edible Feast and This Old House) and sip our coffee (milk and sugar) and then it's time to eat.

My big kitchen window faces east and the sun shines through my curtains just right. I always try to get the kitchen extra clean on Friday nights, just for that moment-- when I walk in, and everything is so bright it practically sparkles.

I turn on some music. I set the table with cloth napkins and juice glasses and small bowls for fruit because who cares, it's Saturday. I don't have a dishwasher, but I do have all day to ignore the mess of extra dishes if I want to. I pull out bowls from the cupboards and spoons from the drawers and by that time Ralph has come in and "helped" by measuring out a bowl-ful of useless flour that I'll dump back into the jar when he's not looking. I crack some eggs-- sometimes for fried egg sandwiches, sometimes for french toast (if I've happened to grab a loaf of challah at the store the day before) but most of the time, for our favorite pancakes.

Buttery, with a slight tang from the buttermilk. Not too dense and cakey, but not too light and fluffy either. Juuuuust right. Perfect for a long, sunny weekend, I'd say.

Buttermilk Pancakes | adapted from The Comfort Table by Katie Lee Joel

3/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1 large egg

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

In another medium bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, melted butter, and egg. Add the dry ingredients to the buttermilk mixture. Mix until just combined. The batter should be a bit lumpy.

Grease a nonstick skillet or griddle and heat to medium high. Pour about 1/3 cup batter per pancake onto the griddle. When small bubbles begin to form on the tops of the pancakes, they are ready to be flipped, 2-3 minutes on each side.

Makes enough pancakes for about 2 1/2 people (heh) but the recipe can easily be doubled.

dusting off the cobwebs

Well, hello.

It's good to be back here in this homey little blog spot. I wasn't sure I'd quite remember how to do it, but I did. A few forgotten passwords needed changing along the way, but we made it.

I'd say sorry for the silence, but I don't think I'm too sorry. Sometimes it's nice to take a break. I could blame it on the long, cold winter, or the fact that much of my time away has been spent growing a new little baby (!) but the truth is that I just didn't feel like blogging for a bit. Inspiration never struck. When everything on the internet starts to look the same, and you're not sure you like the things you like because you like them, or because it's all you ever see every time you look anywhere-- well, then, it's time to peace out for a little while.

It turns out that a little time away was all I needed. I've been happy to discover that yes-- I do like the things I like because I like them. I like to cook and clean and be a mom and a wife and putter around my house, making sure it looks tip-top. I like to take a pretty picture when the light is just right. I like to make supper for my family every night. I like to love my baby. Those are my things. I'll do my things whether I blog about them or not.

And as long as I'm doing them, it's fine to blog about them. Right?

And if you happen to follow along, I hope you do so because it makes you glad. I'm not trying to impress. I only want to share some good things every now and then, in hopes that you feel a bit lighter while you're here. That's what a good blog is for, isn't it? If it's not for you, it's okay to move on. I'll understand. Not everyone cares about linen closets and fresh pizza dough recipes.

Although, if you're wondering, I happen to care deeply about linen closets and fresh pizza dough recipes.

I'll be back soon.

keeping the home | thanksgiving

Setting the scene: We'll be in Ohio with Ryan's family on Thanksgiving this year, so I hosted a little pre-Thanksgiving dinner of my own over the weekend for my side of the family-- partly because I wanted to see if I could actually do it, but mostly because I wanted the comfort of having my mom around on one of my favorite holidays. Prepping for the day took the better part of a week, but just in merry little bits here and there-- buying the turkey, picking up a few more cups to match what I already have, planning the menu, washing the napkins. The air was thick with festivity. I followed Ina's directions and set the whole table the day before, complete with sticky notes in the serving dishes. Linen fabric for a makeshift tablecloth, white dishes, thrifted brass candlesticks, grocery store eucalyptus, and leaves from the backyard. I made the stuffing the day before, nervous that it would turn soggy. (Tragically, it wound up too dry.) My parents arrived with a basket full of pies, and my sisters brought wine and cookies. My mom put her apron on and showed me how to remedy my too-salty gravy. Ryan took drink orders. Ralph and his cousins scattered toys.We sat down to eat and toasted to my sister and her family who live far away. My parents washed the dishes, and my sweet dad put them away in the wrong spots. A fresh pot of coffee was brewed before the pie was served. And when the day was done, a cup of tea, and in bed by nine.

Making this meal: A big, fat turkey soaked in this brine, then rubbed up with butter and herbs. Rosemary and garlic pureed potatoes. Bacon braised brussels sprouts. Stuffing, gravy, buttery corn, rolls. Mom's cranberries. Pie! Whipped cream!!!

Listening to: Sweet, simple, thankful hymns-- because in my mind, that's the closest thing to what the Pilgrims might have enjoyed on their first Thanksgiving. The Little Women soundtrack makes me feel sentimental and happy to be with the ones I love, and long for the ones I love that I can't be with, until it makes me a little too emotional and I cry during the music where Beth dies. On this particular day of the year, I'm happy just listening to "For the Beauty of the Earth" on repeat.

Working on: Dishes. Digestion. Naps. Christmas wish lists. Decking the Halls. Fa la la la la!

recipe | wilted spinach chicken salad

I acquired this recipe the old fashioned way. Remember before the internet, before cooking websites and food blogs and printable recipes, people used to watch cooking shows and write down what the chef was making, teaspoon by teaspoon? My grandma always did that when she would come to visit. In between cooking elaborate meals and shining up my mom's pots with ketchup and salt (that really works, by the way) she'd watch cooking shows. If she liked what she saw, she'd write it all down. Later on we'd find them, little pieces of paper with her cursive scrawl all over, almost always recipes that included vinegar or horseradish or bleu cheese, or something else with robust flavor, because she liked stuff like that.

A few Saturday mornings ago I saw a woman prepare this salad on TV. I wasn't sure of the name of the show, and knew I'd have a hard time tracking it down on the internet, so I grabbed a pen and paper and pulled a Grandma Esther. I wrote as fast as I could and I'm still not sure I copied it down completely correctly, but what I did get works really well. The mellow chicken and spinach leaves are brightened by the sharp vinegar and salty olives-- I've been eating it for lunch all week, and can't get enough. Robust flavor, I bet Grams would like it.

Wilted Spinach Chicken Salad

Ingredients:
8 cups julienned spinach leaves
2 1/2 cups cooked and shredded chicken
1/2 cup chopped green olives
1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 cup sliced scallions
1 1/2 cup diced tomatoes, fresh or canned
3 T red wine vinegar
1 T balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup cooked and chopped bacon, optional

1. In a large bowl, add spinach leaves, chicken, and green olives

2. Warm olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add scallions and stir until tender. Add diced tomatoes and stir for a minute or two more. Stir in the balsamic and red wine vinegar. Remove from heat and let cool for a few minutes.

3. Pour dressing over bowl, and gently toss to combine.

keeping the home | fall time

Setting the scene: Every year in Wisconsin fall blows in with blustery winds that shake all the leaves from the trees and smell like smokey, burning brush. Every year I forget how beautiful it is, until it's here, and everything is orange and gold and rusty red. The air has a bite to it, and I'm ready. I've washed the hats and scarves and put them all in one basket, with fingers crossed that we don't loose any mittens this year. Pumpkins have been scattered around the house, for festivity's sake, and also so I can hear Ralph's tiny voice say punkin over and over. We've been raking and crunching and jumping in leaves, picking one or two to bring inside each day. I throw them back outside when Ralph isn't looking. I'm knitting a green scarf with chunky, speckled yarn, and I'm trying to work in a row or two every night so I can actually wear it before the snow comes. It feels like I'll never finish.

Making this meal: Mexican Chicken Soup, warm and spicy, but not too heavy. Chips and guacamole. Ina's applesauce, warmed and with a dollop of sweet whipped cream for dessert. 

Listening to: Gusty winds blowing outside, leaves skit-scattering across the street, geese honking south. Inside we're playing all the Nickel Creek albums, because banjos and fiddles feel just right in the fall. Christmas music on the sly.

Working on: Improving this house's laundry situation. You know it's bad when your husband can't find his favorite jeans because you actually folded them up and put them away. I'm cleaning out the creepy basement laundry room, folding and ironing and putting away, and easing the pain with episodes of Gilmore Girls while I work.