Outtakes

"Amos, look at the camera.  Isaac, keep your eyes open, and try to do something with your brother's head.  Theo could you smile a little less . . . like that?"

"Does this seem like an improvement to anybody?"

"Isaac, what are you--"
"Mom, I don't know why you let him hold the--"
"WAAHHH!"

"Whew.  Good catch, bruh."

"Theo, what kind of photo shoot do you think this is?  And can somebody get Amos's tag?"

"Oh, foley shucking hit."

"Don't you even start, kid.  Don't you even."

Flu, flu, go away. Come again . . . nevermind.

I am not getting the flu.  I am not getting the flu.

Max is definitely not getting the flu.

Second Week of Advent

Mini-Max wants all y'all Jesus people out there to remember that it's the second week of Advent.  He's singing "People Look East" and "Lo He Comes With Clouds Descending," not "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" or "O Christmas Tree" or "Silent Night." (Definitely not Silent Night.  He's only a month and a half old.  Nighttime is still snacktime.)

What Professor-Theologian-Moms Do Between Sets of Papers

Having a newborn is fun.

Teaching is fun.

Being a theologian is fun.

Heck, life is fun, even when it's absofrickenlutely crazy.

And being a theologian at a teaching college while parenting a newborn (and his three older brothers) is a wee bit crazy.

But it's what you do with the crazy that matters.  And this is what professor-theologian-moms do with the crazy:

Brudders

Double kissies!

Now Presenting . . . .

Well, we decided it wasn't enough to get to read the Narnia series and the Little House series for the "first" time three times.  So, just for the chance to read all the greats through one more time . . .

(Well, okay, maybe for some other reasons, too. . . )

Welcome to the world, Maximus Kenneth Murphy [Our Last Name].

Max says, "Hi, y'all.  'Scuse me while I rest a bit.  It's hard work being born."

The Way-back Cuisine

Quick!  List ten foods you used to make/eat that you don't make/eat any more.

How many of them are used-tos because you 1) know better now, 2) can't afford them anymore or can afford better now, and 3) don't frickin' have that kind of time any more?

Most of my list falls under category 4: We don't live in France any more, and consists of my five favorite cheeses, two favorite wines, and snails.  (Seriously.  I used to make snails.)

But the other two things on my list are from The Grad School Years (Take One)--during the Master's degree, when money and time were short and when I didn't actually cook everything from scratch.

Hot Pockets, and ramen noodles.

Oh, how many Hot Pockets and Cup O'Noodles we took to school.  How many weekend lunches were ramen noodles.

I will never, ever, EVER eat Hot Pockets again.  If they were paying shoppers to take them out of the grocery store, I would pass.

But I did get an unaccountable yearning to have ramen noodles again.

They're actually pretty tasty, if you dispense with the "flavor" packet and use actual soup ingredients.

Voila.

Real chicken broth, veggies (including some from our own garden), and a lovely soft-boiled egg.

Isaac had three bowls, and then asked why we didn't have ramen noodles all the time.

I, of course, answered, "Grad school."  (Dave Ramsey often says he doesn't eat tuna fish, EVER, because when he went bankrupt, he ate tuna salad sandwich for lunch every day for years.)

Isaac was uncomprehending, even after I explained about the "flavor" packet.

In fact, he asked if he could add the flavor packet to his (fourth) bowl, at which point the other two chimed in and begged for the same.

Rotten little ingrates.

Wake-up Call

Nothing will get you out of bed faster than certain sounds.

Previously, the top performer was the sound of a child retching, because, well, you know.  Second place was the baby gate being pushed over, because that meant the Kraken had escaped.  Sounds of potential home invasion were way, way down the list.

But we added a new one yesterday: the sound of a seven-year-old saying, "Don't worry about the ironing, Mommy!  I did it while you were sleeping."

Yes, he did.  A napkin, one of his brother's school shirts, and a pair of gym shorts.

The shirt looked great.  And he remembered to unplug the iron when he was done.

He left the iron face down on the ironing board, but, well, singe marks don't hurt anything.

So.  That was exciting.

We decided that it was past time to teach him to cook, then, since his appetite for Doing Dangerous Grown-up Things had clearly been unsatisfied.

Scrambled Eggs À La Theo it was, then.

If you want to make them, here's how:

Mix eggs (one per person, plus one extra), salt, and cream in a bowl.

Pour eggs into hot pan with melted butter.

Burn your finger a little, so that Mom remembers that people should wear shirts while cooking.

Stir gently to keep eggs from burning.

Enjoy a good breakfast with Mom.

Finished Objects

I haven't been knitting for quite some time.

But a recent road trip provided lots and lots of knitting time, so I did get one little project done:

Of all my boys, Amos is the one to have mastered satisfying expressions of gratitude.

When I finished the first sock, I put it on him to try it for size.  He got wide-eyed, put his hand on his chest, and said, "Do you make-ded that sock for ME?"

I said yes, and he said, as effusively as any child actor assigned a "thank you" scene, "Oh!  THANK you, Mommy!"

When I finished the second sock, he hugged them, and then he hugged me, and he refused to take them off for the whole day.

Now, I recognize A Certain Son's genuine gratitude as expressed through a surreptitious, "Yo, thanks, Mom," and A Certain Other Son's as expressed by pestery requests for three more of whatever I've just given him.

But, you know, Amos's way is a nice change of pace.

Leaves

This is what I'm looking forward to most about our first summer here in [our town]:

I have four tree seedlings--two of them rather sizeable, and two rather not.

I really, really, really hope I get at least a few figs out of this.

It doesn't have to be enough to make all the fig things I'm planning--fig jam, fig ice cream, fig pie, roasted fig and blue cheese salad, fig and chevre pizza, etc.

But, you know, some figs would be nice.

What would you make if you had an abundance of figs?

Battle Squirrel 2014

Well, that organic squirrel deterrent wasn't.

Not much from the spring planting survived.

A few broccoli.

Some herbs and peas.

And the pretty pansies, which really have been cheering.

The onions were squirrel-proof, as promised.  A few got dug up and nibbled, but the rest were entirely left alone.  But they didn't stop the squirrels from traipsing their way through and eating all the greens.

So, we're trying something new.

Stephen built me a few pest-deterrent cages.

 
(He had lots of help.)

Wood frame, covered in chicken wire.

All right, you vermin.  Here's another salad bar for you.  Come and get it.

Oh, Pinterest.

Pinterest promised me that I could make heart-shaped cupcakes without a heart-shaped pan.

They promised.  Marbles.  That's all I needed.

Well.  They didn't exactly turn out heart-shaped.

In fact, they look skull-shaped to me.  (So, I'll keep it in mind for my next Dia de los Muertos celebration.)

But a little judicious decorating helped.

And, of course, the benefit of living with a bunch of Y-Chromes is that no one fargling cares what the cupcakes look like.  They just shove them into their mouths as fast as possible.

Okay, so, sometimes Theo appreciates my alleged artistic skills.  That's why we keep him around.

Battle Squirrel 2014

Okay, last year's garden was an unmitigated disaster.

The squirrels ate everything, and everything the squirrels left, the cats dug up, and every thing the cats left the bad soil left stunted and bitter.

But hope springs eternal in the gardener's breast, so I'm trying again this year.

Parsley and broccoli and lettuce, with onions standing sentry around the outside.  The bare spot is where I've planted some peas.

Two boxes of broccoli, red cabbage, and lettuce, again with the protective barrier of onions.

Chard, cilantro, and lettuce, plus some overwintered pansies that may be starting to flower.  And our good friends, the onions.

I'm really, really hoping that the friend that told me onions repel squirrels is right.  But, just in case, all the white powdery stuff is an organic pest deterrent.  (Pepper oil and cinnamon oil and such.)

So.  There we go.  Spring planting.

(Six-year-old added for scale.)