Julie just whupped me in back-to-back games of speed Scrabble. Now she’s dancing around the house letting everyone know that apparently Mom is NOT smarter than a fifth grader.
Sigh.
Next time I’m playing against Maddie. The longest word she knows how to spell is “dog”.
Compliments of my very talented brother…. I dare you not to cry.
By the way, if you like it, let me know in the comments. I’ll pick one name and send out one of his cds to the lucky winner.
(Ummm… turns out I don’t really know how to imbed a song, even though I followed the instructions on Blogger help. You can download the song here. I hope.)
(In case you’re new here and don’t know the connection, Jack’s mom is my sister, a.k.a. ccap.)
And then one day, you’re on a crowded bus, hugging your duffle bag to your chest because all the seats are full, and the song your brother wrote for two special babies comes onto your mp3 player, and all you can do is let the tears flow even though you have no kleenex to wipe them and people are glancing at you and wondering if they should intrude or leave you all alone in your weepiness.
All you can think about is that season of loss before your particular verse of that song had any inspiration to exist. When you waited for weeks in the hospital, hoping against hope that your little one would see the light of day. And then living through that horrible, horrible moment when the downfallen look on your doctor’s face as he looked at the ultrasound told the story you didn’t want to hear. Followed by the phone call to your husband at work, when he answered the phone so cheerily and you had to tell him. The. baby. is. dead.
And the most vivid memory the song evokes is that day you first heard the song in your living room and you clung to your sister-in-law in your shared loss and longed for the day when the skies seemed a little more blue for both of you and hope peeked in your window to lighten the shadows of grief and pain.
And those thoughts can only lead you to one place. Jack.
And you pray through your tears, with every ounce of earnestness you can muster, “please PLEASE don’t let there be another verse to that song.”
And you know without a doubt that if falling to your knees on that bus full of people meant that the prayer had any more power, you would do it in an instant.
I’m sitting here munching on my yummy bran muffin and sipping my morning tea. Because these are quite possibly the best bran muffins in the world, I thought I’d share my recipe. It’s one of those recipes that is so well used, the stains on the cookbook page are starting to make it hard to read.
The next time you’d like some bran muffins that are tasty and oh-so-moist, but still low-fat, try these. I’m pretty sure you’ll be pleased.
Pumpkin Bran Muffins
¾ cup natural bran
¾ cup whole wheat flour
¾ sugar (last night I used about ½ cup honey instead)
1 ½ tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 cup raisins
1 cup cooked pureed pumpkin
2 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
½ cup plain yogurt
In a large bowl; combine bran, flour, sugar, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda, salt and raisins. Toss to mix. Add pumpkin, eggs, oil and yogurt. Stir until just combined. Spoon batter into 12 paper-lined or non-stick muffin tins. Bake at 400 F (200 C) oven for 25 minutes or until firm to the touch.
So apparently yesterday was the saddest day of the year.
Normally, I probably wouldn’t disagree with Dr. Arnall about blue Monday in January, but this year’s an exception. For one thing, I think I got the January blahs over with in the middle of December when I was so burnt out I could barely think.
Plus I have a trip to look forward to, which always helps to wipe away the blahs. Ah… dreams of curry and saris and warm sunshine and new smells and new tastes and new acquaintences dance through my head.
On top of that, for some reason, I’ve had an energy burst in the past few days that’s gotten me feeling elated rather than blue. I’ve caught up on so many of the household things that have fallen behind lately that I’m downright proud of myself. Yesterday alone I hemmed 6 pairs of pants and mended 5 more. (Yes, some of us in the household were getting a little desperate in the pants department.) And on the weekend, we finally returned the basement to a liveable state, so I no longer need to stare at the mess and despair that it will ever be presentable again.
I think the energy boost has something to do with the fact that I’m finally eating a little healthier, plus life seems a whole lot more managable at work.
So today I wish you all “happy-day-after-the-saddest-day-of-the-year!” Things can only go up from here!
Nikki (incredulously): “Mom, we’re learning about racism at school. Can you believe I was the ONLY kid in the class who knew anything about the Ku Klux Klan? And the ONLY kid who knew that Martin Luther King had been assassinated?”
Sheesh! Aren’t those OTHER parents teaching their kids ANYTHING? (She says smuggly, knowing full well that her daughter’s love of history came from the OTHER parent in this relationship.)