Labels: Madalyn, photography, pictures, summer

I wasn’t very happy with his beach pictures because he had such a terrible burn in them.  Even Photoshop couldn’t compensate for the red skin, so when we got home and he was healing up a bit, I took these.

They’re ok, I guess.

At least, I know 10 years from now I will be pleased with them.

But it is so dang hard to get my kids to cooperate.  Other kids, no problem.  My kids?

They don’t want to look at the camera.  Or me.

They see me every day.  I can make them laugh like this, but it’s in a sort of detached way… not as engaged as they might be with a stranger.

I tried to get Jack’s, too.  That didn’t go well at all.

They just wanted to play with dirt… and you know…

Be boys.

Now THIS one will engage.

She has been SO sweet while I’ve been sick this past month.  She’s rubbed on me, helped with Jack, gotten things I’ve needed, and had the best attitude- has had a “Pollyanna” approach to her day, which is refreshing to be around right now.  I love them all fiercely, but this week she’s my favorite.  This week she’s not only been a great daughter, she’s been a great friend.  xo        

Labels: Evan, Jack, Madalyn, photography, pictures, sugar and spice

I always knew this day would come.  When I would have to choose.

I've worn aqua-tinted contacts over my pale green eyes for nearly 12 years. 

You can keep the color, or trade it out for better vision and moister eyes, he said.

You can stay superficial and blind, or get real and- be healed- is what I heard.

We had come straight from swim class to the eye care office. I had three wet children sprinkling rice cake crumbs around the room, there wasn't time to deliberate.  It was vanity or vision.  The choice was that simple. 

I knew what the right answer was, but still... my fake blue eyes!  My DEEP, FAKE BLUE EYES!  How I would miss them!  They were the only contrast to the rest of my whiteness.

But I'm stubborn.  I'm stubborn, gosh darnit, and that adds fervor to my moral compass.  So I forced out the answer better vision, and swallowed the lump in my throat with an audible gulp.

And here I am.  Casper, once again.  Not much difference in black and white or color.  Gone are my artificial Alice Blue's, gone is my contrast.  Boo hoo! 

That was over a week ago but still, something looks "off" when I brush my teeth in the morning.  A little dull, a little flat, a little washed out.  Maybe I should write a letter.

Then there was shock #2 of the day at the office.  When it was discovered that I am not slightly, but majorly asymmetrical.  And so- whatever, who cares- right?  But it was more that I had no idea!  That was the shock.  You would think a person would know this about herself. 

When I was fitted for my glasses I asked if they looked crooked.  She said, "oh that's just your face." 

Seriously.

My left eye is- apparently- further away from my nose than my right eye.  One eyebrow is lower than the other.  One EAR is lower.  How very ODD.  I always knew my jaw and bite was asymmetrical, but obviously the problems don't end there. 

These are my old glasses, do you SEE how crooked they are?  How MUCH lower one ear IS?  We're talking plastic-surgery-low, people.

I told her this about these old glasses, I said, "NO WONDER one of my ears always hurt when I wore them!"

She nodded like it was a real shame, as if she understood the gravity of the situation.

These are my new glasses.  Hm.  Is it just me or am I looking whiter every picture?

Now, I know what you're going to say... oh please, there's not much difference, you would never know these things at a glance, and look how nice you look.  But you're only saying that because I'm wearing makeup in these pictures.  Most of the time I look like this:

And when a four year old is styling your hair and choosing your wardrobe, having deep blue eyes is not just important, it is essential in order to keep confidence.

But enough about my self-absorbed thought life.  Let me show you who really makes glasses look good:

Not that I would wish bad eyesight on any of my children. 

But if their day comes, it's nice to know they'll wear them well...

if not goofy.

Because glasses or not...       

There's always gotta be a little bit of goofy.

Labels: doctor, Evan, Katie, Madalyn, pics, pictures

I love Summer.  Summer tans, like hers.  Summer mornings, and days, and afternoons, and evenings... like right now.

Jack and I are having appetizers; Triscuits with Muenster cheese and OJ on Ice (mine may or may not have a splash of Amaretto in it.)  The older kids are washing the dog in the shower.  Shaun has to work late, but eh, it's summer.  We'll eat cereal or sandwiches... or Triscuits with Muenster cheese.

And then there's the summer weekend mornings like this one, where the kids climb in bed with us to cuddle, and crisp summer light greets us.  (I love how you can see the word "dream" on the back of Shaun's shirt in the first picture up above.)

It is just so nice to have hardly a schedule at all, to sit with the kids while having your coffee, to do "summer" things like play in the mud puddles and go to swim school.

And let's chat a minute about swim school, shall we?  Evan is in the highest class of those tested, Madalyn in the next level down, and Jack had one-on-one lessons.  I think these lessons back-fired because now Jack LOVES to swim and both he and Charlie (the twins) jump at me simultaneously in the pool.  I literally CANNOT turn my back to watch E or M perform a dive, or there are two bobbing, clawing, flailing bodies soon next to me and thirsty for air. 

Evan was disappointed that swim class was not about showing off his tricks.  Madalyn was disappointed that swim class was not a chat room.  Madalyn ALMOST got her side breaths down, Evan ALMOST got his back stroke down... but they both learned new things and- eventually- learned to follow routine and not swim upstream. 

Still, they had their moments right up to the end of talking over the lane ropes while they waited for their turns, and swimming under them, giggling, and going back to their lane again.  It's hard to be mad when they love being together so much.  When Evan got to wear his flippers for the first time he yelled at the top of his lungs down the ENTIRE length of an Olympic sized pool, "MA-DA-LYN!  I've got FLIPPERS ON!  FLIPPERS!  LOOK!  MADALYN!  MA-DA-LYN!  FLIPPERS!  SEE??  I'M WEARING FLIPPERS!"  His swim teacher was gently gliding the kick board and trying to get him to turn around and do the exercise, but it was no use, he had an entire leg in the air and was waving it frantically toward his sister who was a half a mile away and talking the EAR off her own swim teacher. 

"FLIIIII-PEEEERS!"

Today was the final day of swim class.  This meant they FINALLY got to climb up that high dive they've been eye-balling for the past two weeks.  Evan did the whole thing in a cautious, OCD manner; in an I have set my mind on it, I WILL go through with it, but I could quite possibly wet myself along the way.  Madalyn, on the other hand, (you totally know where this is going, don't you...)

Madalyn could not get off the board fast enough.  Her red polka dot bikini a-flappin' in the air the whole several yards down.  It is HIGH.  I was a little worried about them falling off onto the concrete before getting to the end of it.  Every mom within hearing range asked me one after another, "Now how old is she?"  The older swim class students standing around waiting for the little tykes to get off their boards already were oooing and ahhhing, too.  Look!  Look at that little tiny girl!  I wouldn't have done that at that age.  Look at her!  Even the swim teachers were lifting their shades and sharing knowing looks of amusement.   

The other great thing about swim class, other than an activity in and of itself, is that I think I might have picked up two new babysitters.  Jack's teacher was SO sweet to him and they fell totally in love with each other.  He would point out all the bugs in the pool drain- "I see a bug!  You see da bug?"  and tell her "I tired of kicking," and rest his head on her shoulder. And SHE rubbed his back so tenderly, God love her.

But as short and wonderful a summer as it has been, every now and then, I am feeling that fall itch. 

Well, only in moments like this, really.  When a few hours after she cuddled so innocently, I find her letters permanently monogramming the side of my bed, on my brand spankin' new sheets.

Wasn't too bright of her to SIGN HER NAME in the felony. It's that same senseless quality that makes her such a daredevil on the high dive.

But maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.  After all, I do think of her every time I go to bed, and every time I rise.  And surprisingly, they are thoughts accompanied with a smile and fond feelings.  Feelings that make me want to smother her chlorinated hair with kisses, God love her. 

Labels: adventures in sports, Evan, here comes trouble, Jack, Madalyn, phases, pics, pictures, summer

Well, either he's brave, or just plain senseless, (and you know which one we're all leaning towards,) but he DOES resemble William Wallace from the movie, does he not?

Can you guess what he gone and done?

No, not a sunburn.

Lipstick, that's right.  You're good. 

From my makeup drawer.

Have I mentioned that he likes my makeup drawer?    

Not an ounce of remorse, tsk, tsk...  ohhhhhhhh, there would've been remorse alright if I'd known then (when I took these pictures,) what I know now... which is that he didn't leave this artwork to the porch, but also on my bedspread, my shower door, my closet wall, and the bedroom carpet.  You know how they say lipstick is one of those things you can't get out?  One of those true stains?  Well, "they" are telling the truth.

That poor bed of ours has had quite a week.  More on that another day.

Labels: boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, here comes trouble, humor, Jack, parenthood, parenting, phases, pics, pictures

Also titled" "The Reason I Take Way Too Many Pictures and Can't Narrow Them Down More; It's a Sickness."

I like this one for obvious reasons-  she's spunky, she's mean, she's trying to ruin my camera.

But I can't decide if I like black and white or color, so I edit both of each and alternate them on here...

No, you can't see her face.  So why'd I keep it?  Because the water looks kind of like snow and I just can't toss it... okay?  I can't.

I love her tongue stuck out and the mid-sprint.

I love her hands and the reflection of her suit.  And her tush.  Don't you just want to pinch it?  Okay, well I do.

I love her eyelashes and the wisps on her neck, so even though the next one is more ideal, I can't toss this one either.

The one you definitely don't toss.

She was collecting clams all day and asking me to help her and she has chipped polish.

Her wedgie.  She insists on wearing this suit even though it's too small for her.  She LOVES this suit.

The splash.  The splash is the reason this one wasn't trashed.  It's nothing great, I know... but this is precisely my point- I have issues.

The pony tail swinging.  It's too precious, sorry... can't toss it.  Don't ask me to.

The expression. 

The ponytail stuck to her head.

I don't have to explain this one, this one would be kept if I only picked three... (but don't ask me which the other two would be, that would be like Sophie's choice... not because they're all awesome, but because I'm sentimental and- let's say it all together now- "have issues.")

The expression.

The ponytail holder sticking out of the water, curly and pink like a literal pig tail.

Fully submerged... the kick and the motion in the water.  It's a sickness, I know... this one could've been tossed... no, no it couldn't have.

The babyish coordination.  She ALWAYS wipes her hair out of her eyes this way and when it's not in pigtail holders she walks around looking like the Swamp Thing.  It always makes me laugh.  one day she will learn to come up with it smoothed back and I will be sad.  I might cry.

More of above... but I liked the angle and weeds because it shows where we were.  (Don't make fun.  Shut up.)

The light.  I just like the light on her body and the fish on her back... no good reason to keep it, but, well, a sickness doesn't make sense, this is what I'm saying.

She was making a pineapple out of a pinecone.  Chipped polish. 

You can see the grains of sand falling off her feet... even better when it's not downgraded.

So serious.  Drama queen.

Pointed.  More girly than the first foot pic.  I know... totally excessive and does she have another foot, anyway?

The fake smile smirk that she and Evan are so very good at now.  And I haven't even posted the ones of the boys.  Somebody send help.  I am drowning in gigabytes over here.  Throw me a recycle bin, QUICK!

Labels: Illness, Madalyn, photography, pics, pictures, summer

I have been wanting to post this for a while now but just never sat down and took the time.

As most of you know, about a year and a half ago, Katie, my wife, started a photography business.

Understand that when she first approached me with this idea my reasoning for agreeing was based upon a "wellllll...okay" sort of mentality.  I honestly believed that we would spend a lot of money and time and the result would be somewhat of an "eh....".

Wrong.

We started off spending what seemed like a fortune on cameras, equipment, logos, designs, web hosting, etc.  We also purchased Adobe Photoshop which I knew she would never use because she hated it when "blogger" or "Picasa" didn't act right and I usually had to "fix" it. 

Wrong again.

The first few times she sat down with Photoshop I tried to help.  I had some minor knowledge of the application because every now and then my job requires me to do some design work.  I hate design.  I hate it because I am NO GOOD at it.  I can take someone's design and implement it programmatically but that is it.  All of that said, I tried to help her a little.  I thought I knew the 'right' way to work Photoshop.  I thought I knew the 'professional' way to work Photoshop.

All together now... "WRONG."

You see, I have learned a lot about Katie throughout this process.  She's a perfectionist when it comes to her work.  She's creative when it comes to her work.  She's good at her work.  She is an artist of the most unique kind because she made photography her own.  She took the business of photography and it flourished because she made it hers - unique and non-replicable. 

I come from an industry where "patterns and practices" are what everyone follows.  My industry (software engineering) is based upon good standards.  The same goes for many businesses I have seen.  A lot of software engineers, graphic designers, database designers, etc base their success on HOW they did something and HOW they implemented the standard (standard = the 'right' way to do things) that they stopped caring about the result of their work.  In some ways, professionalism becomes more about 'knowing' than about 'doing'. 

Katie did it.

Katie took her gift of photography and made her tools (cameras, software, etc) adhere to that gift.  She didn't conform to the standard and she was wildly successful.  I mean, I truly didn't believe she'd make a profit.  I planned our finances around that belief.  She made Photoshop her own.  She made art with a very advanced tool.  Art is not a standard.

Katie took pictures on the weekends and edited on the weekday nights.  She spent the days with the kids being a mom (which she told me yesterday she "loves being a mom more than anything else").  She became so busy and so popular that we had to slow things down and start turning clients away.  To this day I am amazed.

The response she received was incredible.  She never advertised; yet, within a few months she was booking clients 6 months or more into the future.  She was asked to present her material at a booth for the employees of David Maus Toyota (David Maus Jr. hit on her but that's a story for a different time).  She filled a 1 terabyte hard drive (that's 1000 gigabytes for those of you in Ocala) with client's photos.  I started getting really nervous about taxes because I hadn't planned for this at all (even after costs and write-offs How I Wonder Photography still owed Uncle Sam his part).  Again, she was wildly successful beyond what I could have imagined.

All of this goes to say how respectfully proud I am of Katie for being the best wife, mother and business-owner I have ever known.

Labels: business, How I Wonder, Katie, photography, pictures, technology

...I promise!

This kid...

is so boring.  Has absolutely NO personality.  I don't think I can take her monotone, unanimated stories any longer.  We simply can't have her over again.  YAWN...

Okay, kids.  Get yourselves organized.  When I say jump, you say how high?  JUMP!      

How high?

Well, so much for the "organized" part, but not too bad for a bunch of white kids.  Except for the one in the middle.  She's a real melon.

The Chef, of course, (who is has chosen a cooking party for his next birthday celebration.)

Can't get enuff of your love, bay-baaay... 

Look at them, are they excited or WHAT?  No wonder the kids weren't so sure about the whole sparkler thing at first.  You'd think they were washing the car or walking the dog or... sleeping, maybe...

Someone should tell that woman it is perdy tacky to leave your bra straps hangin' out like that and the cute baby in the picture doesn't negate the fact.

Oh look, she also talks while having her picture taken.  Well, the babe is almost cute enough in this shot to negate the fact.  Because he's cuddly.

Popper thingamabobs.  Caution: do not give to children who have not yet developed large motor skills.

Love how they're covering their ears, but the bra straps, geez, lady, the bra staps!  Get 'em under control.

It was difficult to not offend their fathers with their constant "Oh look at that one of there!  That one's REALLY big."  I wish those were my parents, that dad really has his game on.

But they humored their measly fathers much as they could. When the other shows were between bangs.  What do you think they are?  heartless? 

Labels: friends, Guests, photography, pics, pictures

Two peas in a pod.  (Okay, okay, a SANDBOX.)  With no sand.

That smirk means trouble

I knew it!  Trouble.  One bat, two toddlers... you do the math.

Where is your father, little boy?  Somebody should teach you how to act.

Heartbroken.  Just heartbroken, look at him!  Where is that blonde kid's parents, already?

Interestingly enough, if you make that blonde kid share, if you nicely ask, "Jack, will you share the bat with Caleb?"  He will willingly share with a smile on his face.  But because he is the youngest, he is NOT COOL with having things ripped out of his hand.  He was NOT gonna let that happen.  No way, no how.  It's an unfortunate thing, birth order.

Oh good, they're kissing and making up...

Well, the nice one's kissing, the blonde kid is just receiving.  Typical.

A little bit of parallel play, that's good, work it out, boys.

Now that no one's looking, Goldilocks is gonna pay for what he done...

Whatever happened to these days?

Labels: boys will be boys, friends, humor, Jack, photography, pics, pictures

Ahhh, young love.  A tight embrace.  So tight that the boy's head might pop off.

But it wasn't enough-  she felt she must hold on tighter still

He had no complaints

How could he?  She was a delight, swept him off his feet

So swiftly and passionately that his shoe was left behind

She was six months younger than him, but mature for her age

which became blatantly obvious when he tried to reciprocate his love-

only did not yet have the understanding of physics that she had, and grabbing her entirely too high up to lift her well,

took on much more of an endeavor than he had set out to take on

Still, he knew what to do, and pulling her feet off the ground (with her bending her knees to help,) he let out a fierce, Last of the Mohicans roar from deep in his warrior spirit. 

It's all the more instinctual, animalistic, and testosterone-filled when viewed in black and white... hear the lion growl as if in slow-motion.

(Disclaimer: I swear I do not read romance novels, although a friend gave me one in high school to read and about the time I got to the part where the Viking warrior returned, when certain body parts were compared to certain metals, my mom swept in to the rescue and explained that such books were to some women what Playboy was to some men.  That was the end of that.  The above is narrated in the voice of a narrator off of National Geographic, please read accordingly.  Thank you.)

Labels: boys will be boys, Evan, friends, milestones, photography, pics, pictures, summer

Little girls are cute and small only to adults.  To one another they are not cute.  They are life-sized. 

-Margaret Atwood

Madalyn was especially bored at soccer practice last night, so when two 8ish year old's appeared, she was greatly encouraged.  She tugged on me, "look mama, two friends are here- I have someone to play with now!" and ran off to introduce herself.

Watching from a short distance, I thought maybe they didn't hear her when she said, "Hi!  My name's Madalyn, what's your name?"  They giggled and whispered with cupped hands, their bodies turned in to each other.  It was like there was a wall between them and Madalyn, like they couldn't hear her, nor knew she existed.  I waited a minute before interfering.  Madalyn spoke up, much louder, thinking, as I had, that perhaps they didn't hear her. 

Still, they giggled and whispered.  I strained to hear what they were saying but couldn't make it out, but what I COULD see, what was absolutely unmistakable, was the expression on Madalyn's sweet baby face.  I still couldn't articulate what I saw there- whether embarrassment, frustration, humiliation- but whatever it was it pained me.  Deep; struck a chord in a place I didn't know existed in me. 

I thought about walking over there and making them answer her, telling them that they were big and she was little and it would mean a lot if they could answer her... but by the time the thought had finished processing, she was off playing by Jack and his two-year-old, little soccer brother side-kick, Jaden.  She almost seemed as if she were trying to act content with their company just to save face because I'd never seen her play with them before.  But enough of it already, I was probably over-analyzing things and being a micro-managing soccer mom once more, so I would let it go... until that night.  When I tucked her into bed.

We sang and prayed and then she said, "Mom, my friends at soccer weren't very nice.  They laughed at me.  They said I talked funny.  They said 'Madalyn, she said Madalyn,' and laughed.  And they wouldn't answer me.  They wouldn't tell me their names.  They said 'she talks funny.'"

Should I just end it there?  I mean you already have an inkling of what ran through my veins- pure hatred, utter wrath, vindictive drive.  First, I wanted to rewind the clock and wring their proud little 8-year-old necks.  I wanted to snap their cupped, whispering fingers into two.  I wanted to yell, "She's THREE!  THREE!!!  Of course she talks funny! But what I want to know, is what kind of 8-year-old gets off on making fun of a baby??"

See, I've been somewhat prepared for this sort of moment with Evan, as sensitive as he is, and as different as he can be, but Madalyn is one tough cookie.  It's kind of like when I throw up.  (Just go with me here.)  I have an iron stomach (or is it stomach of steel- what's the saying?)  Anyway, by the time I feel the pain in my stomach, by the time whatever it is that's wrong inside is enough to make me nauseated- it's gonna be a rough, long night.  A LOUD, aggressive battle, an all-out war. 

That's how Madalyn is- she's tough- so it would take a lot to penetrate, and when it did, it would be painful. 

And it was.  For both of us.    

I kind of want to end this post here, because this is where it ends for me.  (Well, it's that, or me launching into all the stories about my encounters with mean girls... and my mother's... who bit all her charms off her charm bracelet, one by one, for a fat bully girl at her lunch table.)  But I feel that I owe you a happy ending.  A happy ending I don't have.

Of course I said a million things to her to try to sew together the tear they ripped in her sweet little heart- she named all the people who loved her and did think she talked well, she said her daddy and her Evan loved her and Jesus was in her heart and loved her- that He died for her (she said these things all on her own,) then together we talked about how those girls were missing out because she's such a cool kid, how she needed to make sure to never treat anyone that way because doesn't it hurt, and about how Jesus says she is fearfully and wonderfully made- but none of that helped. Me.  

My words sounded, to me, like melted butter.  Nothing of substance, no steel wool stitching to mend the giant gash in both of our hearts.  I felt utterly ill-equipped to protect her from the world in that moment, and also highly aware of the reality that I had no resources for fixing her wounds.  I could only leave it.  I could only pray that God would use that pain to draw her to Himself, and pray that He would use it to make her a better vessel for spreading His love, and then I have to leave it.

I guess in a way that's what this post is; a place to dump it at His feet, an intentional way of saying, "You see it. It matters to You, so You can have it." 

But it still hurts.

She loves pretending to be a bride right now, ever since my cousin's wedding.  She drags me in stores at the mall just to see "white bride shoes like Scottie's."  She will ask things like, "when I grow up I can get married?  And I can marry Evan and be a bee-yoo-tiful bride just like Scottie?"  

Labels: Madalyn, milestones, pictures

Madalyn insisted on wearing her red "sparkly shoes" to school yet again today.  No matter that her clothes were pink and green. 

I feel like her shoes mark out the seasons of our lives.  When she was a toddler she had red Mary Jane's that squeaked when she walked.  She wanted to wear them and only them.  All the time.  Now she has the ruby slippers and it's same song, second verse.  We punish her by withholding the shoes- do we need to take away your squeak shoes, we used to ask her, and it'd straighten her right up. 

But it's precious to me.  I will NEVER be able to part with these shoes, NEVER.  No matter how worn, no matter how smelly.  In some way, those shoes will keep her three-year-old self alive forever to me. 

I was reading my friend's blog this morning and really appreciated these sentences she wrote about her two-year-old daughter:

Yesterday, she was playing with my long hair and then I saw that she reached up and pulled her beautiful little curls, trying to get them to come down by her ears like mommy's.  It moved something in me... to fight for her against all the elements that tell a women she's not enough of whatever.   In that moment, I realized the only way I could protect her would be by believing the same for myself.  To live the difference for her.  I cannot teach what I don't believe.

For some reason it made me think of these pictures below of Madalyn in the accessories SHE picked out that day, and about how she really has a strong sense of who she is right now, regardless of anyone else's opinion.  She is constantly putting on shows, performing tricks, making up songs, and preaching. 

Oh you heard me.  PREACHING.  And she can preach.  She can make me cry, and not just because she's my child, but because she preaches with such passion and conviction- not because she thinks I will respond, it doesn't seem, but because the tomb was empty, glory!

She will launch into some long and spirited monologue on how some things she does might make God upset but He always loves her- that the tomb was empty- that He is sooooo wonderful and gives her sparkly shoes and the food she needs, and her Baby Ice Cream (stuffed dog.)  Each word is drawn out and her expressions are half the sermon.

And we love our enemies.  We don't love the things they do but we love them because Jesus wants us to love our enemies!  

She asks daddy if she looks beautiful every morning and he is more than willing to rave.  She blushes and starts walking very feminine when he does this.  You can watch her respond to his esteeming words in that very moment.  She starts swaying her hips and dragging pointed lingering toes behind her while he coos.  She suppresses a smile and starts batting her eyelashes, cuts her eyes up to one corner. (I didn't know that battling eyelashes was a real thing- I thought it sort of developed through cartoons...) until I had Madalyn.  She started working those eyes at 8 months old.  And I really hope and pray that we not only preserve those ruby slippers, but that- together- Jesus, daddy, she, and I- we are able to preserve that confident Spirit in her, so that she knows she is a child of the King.  A true princess. In the strongest sense of the Word. 

Here are some pictures of her "tricks" which involve her striking a pose like Madonna.  Okay not LIKE Madonna- Heavens no- but statuesque, rather: 

I particularly like this last pose- I MEAN TRICK- with the twisted legs.  Please note the seriousness in her face.  This is very serious business.  It takes work.  It takes concentration.  Takes FOCUS, people.

These three above demonstrate her fabulous summersault.     

It's electric!  

Her Aerosmith moment. 

Go, party girl- GO, GO, GO! 

This is her "whatever you do, don't smile" face.  

She's about to break... she can't hold it anymore... here it comes-

SHE BROKE!  I told you.

Labels: Madalyn, pictures

We're getting an early start to Summer 'round here. Well, not me, personally. I just don't prefer 20 degree temperatures and leftover rainwater for my swimming, but these guys don't seem to mind. Madalyn keeps talking about how she can swim "because it's summer," as if the season itself is responsible for her progress in taking breaths and crossing the pool, nevermind that it's actually SPRING right now.

Speaking of Madalyn and summer- today, we here at McDonnell Place will be baking Strawberry Pie, per Madalyn's request. I'm not sure why she wanted to cook this particular pie- maybe Strawberry Shortcake (as in the cartoon girl from the 80's who lives in a dessert house- not the dessert Strawberry Shortcake,) had something to do with it- but it is a first for me. I didn't even know people put strawberries in pies. But it is in keeping with the lovely Spring weather we're having here. (Or Summer weather, depending on who you're talking to.)

So let's start, shall we?

Ingredients:

First, we will rally our kitchen assistants. We will give them **VERY BLUNT everyday knives to help remove the stems from the washed strawberries:

Interesting. Is that a bundt pan sitting there? Oh, right. I took this picture back in February. Still, the kids look the same. (Some with less hair, some with more,) but more or less- the same. Jack- quite the ladies man with those lips, and the cherry coupe in his hand- what a stud.

After trimming the berries and baking your pie shell you fill it with whole strawberries, like so:

It's okay if your pie crust slides into itself like this. In fact, it is to be strived for as it makes it appear more, er... "homemade."

Next, mash your remaining strawberries:

Add sugar:

And stir.

And cornstarch.

Which by the way, comes in a nifty can now. (Am I giving away how long it's been since I've baked?)

Add water, too... stir. Boil this mixture only about 2-3 minutes as it gets thick really fast.

Now, I'm going to do something that isn't in the original recipe, that I read in a review. I'm going to add butter while it is still really hot.

Every recipe needs butter and I was a little disturbed to see this one lacking, and thus, very thrilled to read Shellberry's review on allrecipes.com, in which she says she added 1 T butter. HECK YEAH, girl!

Hmm. Does that look like a tablespoon? I may add a smidge more, who can really tell. Point is, ADD BUTTER, then pour mixture over berries already in caved-in crust:

I know, my mouth is watering, too. But wipe your chin because we can't eat it yet. We will scald our mouths senseless. Into the fridge it goes:

When you have three children and a part-time job and are a terrible multi-tasker, you purchase many pre-packaged items at your local store, OH-KAAAY?

Then you wait. And you change the smelly diaper you've ignored the last 5 minutes that is starting to ruin the scent of strawberries. (That kind of scent combination could be scarring, so take care of it, already.) A short hour later we will come back and get it out.

Oh, look at that. It's an hour later...

I WISH you could taste this!! And I don't even like fruity things much.

Well, it's pretty and all, but we can't have such a lovely piece of food on a paper plate! We better give this one to the kids and start over.

(SIGH...) MUCH better. But isn't everything better with ice cream? And whipped cream. I only wish I would take a picture of it all running and oozing together, but I can't because I'm speaking in present tense when, in fact, the pictures were taken about a week ago- and- okay- I have to end abruptly here because I'm suddenly STARVING.

Labels: let there be butter and sour cream, Madalyn, pictures, summer