Epic summer road trip 2018. Week One.

Last summer we decided upon this summer’s family vacation location:the East Coast.  The purpose was manifold.  First, we had two nieces and a nephew living in Boston whom we had never met!  We wanted to visit them (and their wonderful parents).  Second, we wanted to visit some of the early historical sites for our church (located in Ohio and New York).  And third, we wanted to go to my birthplace in New York City.

Planning began early, and it all revolved around the Hill Cumorah Pageant, a performance about the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, performed by volunteers in Palmyra, New York for a week and a half each summer.  Since Palmyra is a small town, and the pageant draws throngs of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from across the country, stressing the rural area’s accommodations, we booked early.  Then planned everything else around it.  Tim insisted on driving, which gave us the flexibility to stop in a few other places to visit family and see various historical sites.  As a bonus (and as per tradition), we invited Tim’s parents and siblings to join us for the adventure.  Lucky for us, they took us up on it.

We kicked off our trip on the Fourth of July in Lehi, Utah, with a visit to my family.  Not pictured: fireworks.  Jack and I enjoyed them from inside our car because he couldn’t handle the noise.  quite a show, though.

For the next three days, we trekked across the U.S. to the Midwest, staying in a few places for the night and hopping out for a minute to get a picture of Egbert, Wyoming.  Just because.

We landed in South Haven, Michigan, where Tim’s extended family lives.  It’s a beach town on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan.  My kids were in heaven, playing with cousins, frolicking in the fresh water, and eating bounteous amounts of food provided by Aunt Lori (and Sherman’s).

Family time was abundant and my kids so enjoyed being with their cousins(and 2nd cousins) that they declared we should move to Michigan.  If only…

After a few days of bliss, we moved further eastward to begin the church history portion of our trip.  Continued in Kirtland, Palmyra, and the Priesthood Restoration Site.

 

June iPhone dump.

The month of June this year can be characterized by three things: cooking camp, summer school carpool, and home remodel.  Oh yeah, and an infusion for Jack.  We might have squeezed in a trip to the park, a visit to the zoo, stocking up at the library.  The usual.

Here’s what my iPhone revealed about June 2018:

A last-minute visit from my parents and aunt Jill over Memorial Day weekend.  (Yes, I realize that’s still in May.  I’m not here to get technical.)

The final day of school coincided with National Donut Day, so naturally we combined the two celebrations.

Tim and Anna all geared up and ready to cheer on our runners at Boise’s annual Capitol Classic race downtown.

The runners themselves.  Alongside their biggest fan and photobomber.  Betcha can’t guess who crossed the finish line first…

Eve’s cooking/sewing camp with friends.  Rachel and Anna both did cooking camp, too, but I neglected to take pictures of them.  They all loved it.  SO much more fun learning to cook with friends.

Jack strapped to my back for a quick visit to the zoo.  (Giraffe is in the background… sort of.)  He had just completed his second day of infusions and I was on summer school carpool duty.  Rather than waste my time driving home only to have to leave again, we made the most of the 95 degree heat and spent it with the animals.  Jack looks thrilled, doesn’t he?

Celebrating our favorite dad on Father’s day.  With Strawberry Custard and Cream Pie.  Delish.

Summer rain.  Otherwise known as, another reason to delay working on our remodel.  Living in the west I should be grateful.

Jack helping us pick out granite for our new countertops.  Considering how many times we took him to the showroom, he was an angel.

Grout options for the tile in our bathroom (and for our kitchen backsplash).  So many decisions.  Tim and I spent early mornings selecting tile and carpet, lunchtimes looking at hardwood, and Saturdays picking out doors, trim, lighting, and all sorts of nonsense.  On the bright side, we got lots of “dates” in this month.

Eve, all dressed up for a photobooth picture during a family history activity organized by the church.

My last day of summer school carpool!  Happy day!

The one picture I got of our Roaring Springs trip this summer.  Note to self: leave the toddler at home next time.  For heavens sake.

Our most enthusiastic raspberry picker!  The berries were aplenty this year.  We were lucky enough to be in town for the harvest.

Not pictured: an enormous battle with our HOA over a policy change requiring us to remove fruit trees from the common area.  We had planted them 10 years ago with permission from the HOA board and in response to a wildfire that had occurred in our neighborhood.  The trees have provided an effective fire barrier in an area that is dominated by dry weeds.

Our HOA board decided to alter the existing policy to exclude fruit-bearing plants from the allowable plants that homeowners can cultivate behind their property lines in HOA desert common areas.  It was a arduous battle that generated ample support from many homeowners in the area and still resulted in being denied the right to plant firewise edibles in the common area to protect our homes.   The HOA board wants to maintain the area as they see fit (which means they will do pretty much nothing).

The fight occupied way too much of our time during a month where we had little to spare.  Losing our battle was a big blow.  Fighting the battle was, however, heartwarming because we felt the support of our friends and neighbors as we argued for the benefits of fruit-bearing plants in otherwise un-maintained common areas.  We felt loved.

And that’s a wrap for June.

 

 

 

 

May iPhone dump.

Lily’s choir at her final concert of the year.

Anna receiving an award for being a super-duper accompanist.

Eve showing off her singing and acting skills in her third-grade class play.

Rachel itching to steal home in one of many softball games.

Jack and his friend stealing the show during Rachel’s school music program.

Harriet Beecher Stowe wax museum project.

Anna receiving an award for most outstanding math student at her ninth grade award assembly.

Anna standing to be recognized as an “honorable mention” for one of many categories-she’s awesome like that.

The rest of May was comprised of an amazing trip to Hong Kong (more to come on that) and the beginning of a major addition to our home.

Our lives are turned upside-down by the remodel and it’s a wonder we survived to the end of school.

But you’re not MY dad.

I really hope no one actually says this to their husband on Father’s Day.

Because, as far as I can tell, the way my kids honor their dad is directly linked to the level of respect I give to him.

On Father’s Day, that means making a big fuss over him-whether that’s what he wants or not. It means slaving in the kitchen to create delectable meals and treats.

Not just because the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, although that’s part of it.  It’s because special food is a celebration-and children need to know that their dad is one to be celebrated.

I taught a youth Sunday School class today at church and our discussion led us to reflect on what our dads do for us.

One of the girls in the class said: “My dad doesn’t do anything except yell at us because the house is always messy.”  I know this girl’s family and I’m confident her dad is a dutiful father.  I also know teenagers will say things just for shock value.  Which might have been the case here.

Still, I wasn’t going to let her off easy.

I asked her to dig a little deeper and think of what her dad does for her.  And I reminded her that even if he is a crappy dad when he comes home at night(he’s not), he spends all day working to provide for their family.  That alone demonstrates incredible love and sacrifice.

It did make me wonder, at least a little about what my kids would say about their dad.

To be sure, Tim is certainly not perfect.  But he is a fantastic father and a great role model for and friend to our four daughters (and son, too).  Somehow, though, I wonder if much of that would be lost on them if I didn’t take the opportunity to sing his praises once in a while.

I thought about the times I’ve complained about him getting home late.  I hope my verbal (and visible) appreciation to him exceeds those occasions.

I thought about the times I’ve undermined him when it comes to discipline.  I hope I support him more often than not.

I thought about when I’ve teased him about his bathroom habits, or his nerdiness, or how he can’t seem to end a conversation.  I truly hope I build him up far more than I tease.

As I said before, Tim is not perfect.  But he should be darn near it in his kids’ eyes.  And whether or not they revere him has almost everything to do with me.

And, remarkably, when I build Tim up, not only do the kids have an elevated view of him, but he BECOMES more of the type of father I want for my children.

So Tim, you’re not MY dad.  But you can bet that on Father’s Day, and every other day, for that matter, I will celebrate you in front of our kids.  I owe that you AND to them.

Happy Father’s Day handsome!

How far we’ve come.

Jack and I have spent the last few days together, just him and me.  We’ve been doing it every few months since he was three months old, these pesky infusions.  It never gets easy.  Still, after ten(or more, I’ve lost track) visits to get his bone juice, it’s remarkable to see how far we’ve come.

The difference is night and day.

We’ve gone from subjecting an innocent infant to multiple unsuccessful vein pokes before resorting to the bulging vein in his forehead to Jack the toddler confidently strutting his way into “his room” in the medical facility-figuratively saying, “bring it”.

Those early days were rough.

It took three nurses and myself to hold Jack still enough to slide a needle into a vein, only to barely miss.  Or have it blow.  Or any number of things that could go wrong when working with tiny veins.

Jack would work himself into a frenzy, screaming bloody murder while we held him captive.  His eyes would plead with me to make it stop, not realizing that the very thing that was causing him pain was also the antidote to future pain(in the form of bone fractures).

 

I’ve thought a lot about these tender experiences.  The sadness I’ve felt at my son’s suffering.  Think of it.  His own mother, the one who is supposed to protect him, ignoring his helpless screams to end it all.  It must have been confusing to him at the time.

And yet.

Here we are now.  Jack’s veins are bigger and stronger, resulting in less frequent attempts to locate one successful enough to handle three days of infusions.  He’s done this enough to know that the pain is but a moment.

I hold him close and reassure him as the nurses prick him.  He whimpers quietly, uttering, “Mama, hurt.  Mama, ow.  Mama, all done?”

His resignation tugs at my heart.  His willingness to submit demonstrates strength.  And trust in me as his mother that despite the pain, I’m doing what’s best for him.

Being a parent helps me understand my heavenly parents more deeply.

Those with limited insight proclaim that a god could not exist, else why is there so much suffering in the world?  They imagine a god who caters to their every whim and cushions them from the blows of adversity.

I see a God who is our Father.  A parent who knows that challenges, difficulties, yes, even pain are THE VERY THINGS that strengthen his children.

Jack’s medication has prevented fractures, bone pain and bone loss, an outcome we could not have reasonably anticipated when we received his ominous diagnosis over two years ago.

So too, are the painful experiences in life for us.  A loving Father in Heaven allows them to happen, knowing the full picture.  And, just as I never left Jack’s side during his suffering, rest assured, our Heavenly Father is always there to comfort us.  It is our job to trust Him.

 

Op art weaving project.

I try to incorporate a wide variety of mediums into my art classes each year.  Though one wouldn’t initially think of weaving to teach op art, this project turned out to be fun.  Not to mention, the kids practiced a lesser-known skill.  I was a bit surprised by how foreign it was to several of the fifth-graders in the class I taught.

We began by learning about Victor Vasarely and studied a few of his works to identify the various components of op art.  This powerpoint presentation taught a few principles of op art and outlined the steps of the project.

It basically went like this:

I also created this printable, which I printed onto neon paper.  Each student selected his/her own shade of neon and was able to cut along the lines to obtain the correct size of paper strips to complete the project.

Motherhood IS what I want. Why is that so hard to understand?

A couple of weeks ago, I sat down during Jack’s naptime to write up a schedule for a friend of ours who would be taking care of our five children while Tim and I took an international trip.  I did my best to include only the essentials, nixing a few lessons and practices to make the schedule more bearable for her.  It took me almost four hours.

The spreadsheet included what needed to happen and when, who would be taking whom and where, what needed to be prepared ahead of time, which of these events she would need to attend, and when/what to have each person eat so no one would get hangry.  Seriously, it was quite the process.

And that didn’t even include basic instructions for caring for Jack, essential rules to keep order in our home and other suggestions for ensuring a smooth six days!  (I typed those up the next day-it took another 2 1/2 hours).

Rarely do we as moms (and dads, for that matter) sit down and quantify all the minutia required in running a household and caring for our families.  We settle into a groove, waking up at insane hours to care for children, clean house, meet schedule demands, and fill stomachs.

We rarely keep a tally of the daily sacrifices we make for these humans we love so deeply. Sometimes not quantifying these mundane tasks can create a sense that what we do day in and day out doesn’t count for much.

Oh, but it does.

I was raised to believe that motherhood was next to godliness.  I learned it in church, I watched it modeled by my mother, and I saw my father’s appreciation for what she did on the homefront while he put bread on the table.   I felt the love that one can only feel when a mother prioritizes her children over worldly pursuits.

My mom is truly one of the best.

I pursued an education, understanding that I could perform well in any career I chose.  My intellect, among other talents (in music and languages) was strong.  It would have been easy for me to rationalize that a career would satisfy me better or that my talents would be wasted if I stayed at home to raise my children.

I held firm in my motherly aspirations.  My goal was to pursue a field that I enjoyed, get a degree (or two or three) and be flexible if/when marriage and children came along.  Fortunately for me, both of them did.

Though my plans for law school were sidelined, my performing opportunities stymied and my earning potential decreased, there is no doubt in my mind that I am doing exactly what I was born to do.  And I have zero regrets.

Why?  Because I have an unshakeable knowledge that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that the modern feminist movement has steered women away from our homes by teaching us that home life is mundane and “beneath” us.  This misguided philosophy has contributed to what I see as a crumbling society.  Truly.

Think about it.  When our children spend more time learning at the feet of their peers than their parents, what are the outcomes?  When our children see that our careers take up more of our days than time spent with them, what messages do we send about their worth and value?  When family dinners consist of grabbing take out and shoveling it in on the drive home, what benefits do our kids miss out on?

I’m not trying to make people feel bad, particularly those who need to work.  We all have to make choices based on our circumstances and limitations.

But I am trying to empower women who choose family over career.  Absent the accolades and financial benefits that working mothers attain, mothers who do not work outside the home need reassurance that their work is enough.  Valued.  Essential.  Indeed, next to godliness.

I am abundantly blessed to have a husband who provides adequately for our family and supports me staying home 100%.  That is a gift I do not take lightly.

But we cannot underestimate the damage that society faces when we decide that women should do anything and be anything they want.  And that wanting to be a mother doesn’t count.  It’s too…beneath us.  It lacks aspiration.

There are costs to this dangerous philosophy.

One of my daughters engaged in a discussion with some peers at school a few weeks ago.  Her teacher overheard her saying something to the effect of: “If I don’t get married, I’ll probably do something in the medical field.  If I DO get married, I’d like to pursue photography so I can stay home with my kids.”

Her teacher, overhearing this portion of the conversation, could not pass up the opportunity to set the record straight.

“Lily, you can do whatever you want.  You don’t need to adjust your dreams based on whether you start a family or not.”

You know what?  She’s absolutely right. Lily can do whatever she wants.  But since when is doing whatever one wants best for society at large (or even for oneself, for that matter)?  Why can’t we, like Lily, be a little less selfish in our approach to family life and careers?

Is it so unfathomable that what my daughter wants most is to be a mother?  And why is that aspiration greeted with the suggestion that she’s being complacent?

Stick to your guns, Lily.  What so many people think they want out of life turns out to be fleeting.  What you want?  Motherhood?  The impact spans eternity.

Hong Kong is home.

In February, my brother Eric invited Tim and I to join him and his wife (and my mom and dad) on a trip to Hong Kong.  I jumped on it, despite the fact that it would be during May (brutal weather in Hong Kong and brutal end-of-school schedules back in Boise).  That, and we’d be knee-deep in our home remodel at that point.

We hired a family friend to hold down the fort while we were gone, assured our kids that we still loved them even though we were ditching out on their dance recitals and school presentations, and said sayonara to being mom and dad for six days.

Air travel is brutal.  But the fact that I didn’t have to meet any little people’s needs more than made up for the cramped quarters of economy class.  Tim and I caught up on a few movies and before we knew it, we were on the other side of the planet.

Eric timed our flights perfectly to land at 7:00 so we’d have just enough time to shuttle to the hotel and fall into our beds from exhaustion.  I woke up bright and early and met my dad to take the subway to the Hong Kong temple for an endowment session. Perfect way to start off the trip.

We got back in time to join the others for a light McDonald’s breakfast, and hit the subway again to see the temple with the rest of the clan.  We then headed to the Hong Kong Heritage Museum to see the temporary Bruce Lee exhibit before it closed this summer.  Fascinating person.  Good quotes.  And air conditioning.  Can’t forget the air conditioning.

Our schedule was flexible, accounting for Eric’s profuse sweating issues and my dad’s knees.  It was different from my typical cram-in-as-much-as-you-can style of traveling.  But because this trip was as much or more about the people than about the sights, I was more than okay with a less-frenzied pace.  Which seemed odd, considering that everyone else in HK was moving at a ridiculously fast pace.  While crammed together in small spaces. Like so.

So, while a few of the group took a nap from 4-7 pm (which soon became a habit for all of us), Tim and I explored the neighborhood surrounding our hotel (Tsim Sha Tsui) by visiting the harbor and Kowloon Park.  Tim kept commenting on the crowds(“THIS is where you grew up?”) and the heat/humidity (“you LIVED here?”).

We then met up for dinner with old family friends from our Hong Kong days and a trip to the top of the ICC (118 stories high) for a drink at the Ritz-Carlton that cost us as much as a ticket to the observatory would have been.  We had a good chuckle over it, but I’d say we made out pretty well. A drink AND a view.  For the price of one.

Sunday began with church in Wan Chai.  The church sold the building (Kom Tong Hall) that our family met in for Sunday services the entire time we lived there so it was strange to attend church in a souped up 14-story building in a neighborhood like this:

But, as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints services vary little from location to location, we were uplifted by the meeting and the humble people who attend the ward there.  As a side note, Eric and Renee took an Uber to church and the driver was insistent that there was no church at the address he gave him.  I guess a 14-story high rise doesn’t exactly scream “church” but whatev.

Eric arranged for a 4 hour “nostalgia tour” of the island so we could visit various places that were personal to each of us.  We jumped in a car and spent the afternoon reliving the glory days in good old Hong Kong.

First stop: Adventist Hospital.  My baby sister Jill was born here but since we didn’t participate in that occasion, it was more memorable to Eric and I because of the countless ER visits our family of six kids generated in our years in Hong Kong.

From there, we drove to Shouson Hill, where we lived from 1985 to end of 1988.  The house we lived in, a four-story structure with green pagoda roof, had been torn down in the 90’s to make room for apartment buildings.  Typical Hong Kong.

Then on to the Hong Kong Country Club at the bottom of Shouson Hill, where we swam our lives away and charged food to our parents’ account.

Repulse Bay, where we swam out to stinky pontoons and dove off into warm, jellyfish infested waters.  They’ve made it look more luxurious than I remembered and the grocery store we frequented there – now gone.  As was the McDonalds where I spent my 5th birthday.

Further south on the island is HKIS, the elementary school I attended for grades 3-6.  Another buildling razed from the ground up and rebuilt.  Are we seeing a pattern here?

This place was exactly the same.  Chung Hom Kok was our second home in Hong Kong (after Hong Kong Garden in mid-levels).  I learned to ride a bike here, lost a few teeth here, explored to my heart’s content here.  The community was gated so the best we could get was a picture just outside (and barely inside) the gate.

Eric and I both attended Kellett school during our early school years.  Being a British school, we actually started at age four, which I’m sure was a shock to my mom to send her littles off at such a tender age.  On a bus, no less.

We enjoyed traveling roads we’d taken day after day after day, passing friends houses where we’d made cherished memories, and taking in sweeping vistas of green jungles and blue ocean around every turn.  Tim was stunned at the variety Hong Kong had to offer…until he nodded off for a nap in the back seat, that is.  I thoroughly loved taking this trip down memory lane.

Now that it’s months later, what we did on which day gets fuzzy from here on out.  I think we got really hungry and got our first dim sum of the trip (to go) and scarfed it down on the Star Ferry.  The ride took about 5 minutes tops, a far cry from what it used to be.  All that landfill has made the harbor much narrower, and the Star Ferry ride shorter, consequently.

Nap time became a regular thing, weirdly, from about 4-6 p.m.  That night we ordered pizza, and I screwed up by ordering the large.  When I got there and saw the size of it, I said, “I thought I ordered the large” (in genuine shock).  You can guess how they responded.  This ain’t a Pizza Hut “large” that’s for sure.  We had to hail a cab to get it back home.  Laughs all around

The next day, Tim got a bout of what the Chinese like to call La Duzi(“large” pizza, perhaps?) and spent an entire day and a half in our hotel room so he missed out on some of the best.  We hit up mid-levels for the Sun Yat Sen Memorial Museum (our former church building).  They don’t allow pictures, so all I got was a shot of the courtyard which served as our parking lot for Sunday meetings.  We’d pack it full, rim to rim, so that those who got there early and parked at the rear had to wait until everyone else had left in order to leave church.  Space is at a premium in Hong Kong.  We walked over to Hollywood Road for a bit of shopping and then began the remarkably difficult quest to fill our bellies.

Eric and Renee were uber-savvy, and Mom, Dad and I took the mid-levels escalator into downtown to meet up with them.  This is how Hong Kongers commute.  The escalator goes down into the Central (the downtown business) district from mid-levels (a residential area just above downtown) until 10:30 a.m. and then it travels up the rest of the day for commuters headed home.  Fascinating.  Being after 10:30 a.m., we got to take the stairs.

We tried Shake Shack for lunch, but the line was abominably long and, being midday, the heat was brutal, so we opted for the deli just inside our hotel (to which we became “regulars” over our days in Hong Kong).  What a view at Shake Shack, though.

That night we took a trip up to Victoria Peak on the famous “Peak Tram” for one of the best views in the city (there are many).  Then we made another attempt at Shake Shack.  The line was still long but the heat less oppressive so it worked.  It was 9:30 at night.  Lines are a fact of life in Hong Kong, I guess.  Well, that and Shake Shack had just opened its first HK location a week earlier so the novelty hadn’t yet worn off for the locals.

The next day we hit up Stanley market, a famous outdoor shopping area on the opposite side of the island.  We rode a double-decker bus out there, which was an experience itself, with windy roads and steep drop-offs on one side of the road.  It was pretty much like I remember it, despite being somewhat improved and built up.  We had Indian food for lunch and headed back for our traditional nap.

Eric had scheduled a harbor cruise, followed by a fancy shmancy dinner at Tang Court, a three-Michelin star restaurant right in our very hotel so we got dressed up for the event.  And it WAS an event.  Melt-in-your-mouth meat, if you can imagine that.  Each course boasted delicate flavors to satisfy each of our palates.  What a way to end our trip.

We flew out the next day, relationships enriched, memories relived and created, and travel bugs satisfied (for now).  Thanks to Eric for making it all happen!

 

 

 

 

Decorating the home to reflect what you value.

We’ve lived in our house for almost thirteen years.  When our family first moved in, we’d only been out of college for 2 years and had two children, 2 and under.  So naturally, our possessions were insufficient to fill the space we had purchased.  Not that I minded.

I took my sweet time decorating the space.  My innate frugality and my husband’s love of white space lent itself to being deliberate about what went up on the walls.

By the end of our first year, we might have thrown up a cherished wedding photo, our most recent family picture, a framed copy of The Family: A Proclamation to the World and a sketch of the San Diego temple my aunt and uncle had gifted us for our wedding.

The space was left wanting, as one would imagine a 2500 square foot home with only four pictures on the wall.

Time marched on.  Over the years, we’ve added ample decor-from practical solutions like wall shelves to house the kids’ artwork and  prized trophies, to sentimental ones like a shadow box housing all the sand dollars we collected on a family trip to the Oregon Coast.

My favorite(and really only) type of wall-adornments are customized.  They have to carry meaning for me. Though outfitting my entire home all at once (and inexpensively) by shopping at a discount store tempts me, I’d rather stare at bare walls than ones laden with generic housewares, no matter how classy.

So, in my quest to make my home reflect who we are, I’ve slowly but surely racked up a few items of note.

  1.  PEOPLE.   Most recent family photo on the fireplace mantle and an assortment of oldies but goodies arranged on the wall by the stairs.

A clock that my grandpa(now deceased) crafted and gave us for our wedding seventeen years ago.

A print made by my mission president(a former art teacher) for each of the elders and sisters who served under him in Taiwan.  The scene captures a town(now city) that he served in as a young elder in the 1950’s.  He passed away this past year so this has particular significance to me now and I’m delighted to display it in my home.

2.  WORDS.  A word cloud of principles upon which successful families are built as found in The Family: A Proclamation to the World.

Repurposed tiles painted with a beloved teaching of Jesus Christ.

A chicken wire quote board that can be used interchangeably as a Christmas card photo holder during the holidays.

My personal favorite: a cozy corner housing enormous printed copies of The Living Christ and The Family: A Proclamation to the World.  Said corner has special meaning to me because the blue Barcalounger once belonged to my grandmother.  And it’s the most comfortable seat in the house.

3.  Places.  Places we’ve been, places that have special meaning…

For example, as a cornerstone of our home, a vintage picture of the San Diego Temple, where Tim and I were married.

Or a painting of my childhood hometown of Hong Kong.

As we prepare to add on to our house, additional ideas rest on the back-burner until I find the perfect spot.

One of them is a bulletin board map, which Tim and I are DIY-ing.  I searched high and low for a map to match our space and decor, cut a particle board and cork board to size, and glued the map on.  Last step: build a custom frame.  Should be a snap.

Another is a gallery wall of name art.  In my parents’ home, each child’s name along with its meaning and a corresponding scripture from the Bible is framed and housed on a wall along with his/her senior picture.  I remember feeling a sense of pride in my name and a desire to live up to the scripture that accompanied it.

I hope that my kids feel the same way once we slap these suckers up on the wall.

How does your home reflect what you value?  In what way do you decorate to create that type of home?

The best things in life are homemade.

This morning at breakfast Anna commented to me, “These pancakes are GOOD!”

“That’s because I made them from scratch,” I replied.  (Right down to grinding my own wheat into flour).

I prepare breakfast for my children four out of the five school days each week.  Pancakes make a weekly appearance.  Mainly because the simplicity of adding water to Costco’s Kodiak Cake mix means I can sleep until 5:45 and still whip them up before Anna is out the door.

Pancake mixes are lifesavers, for sure.  As far as I’m concerned, any breakfast that appears on the table at 6:00 a.m. is a freaking labor of love.  But to suggest that a mix and pancakes from scratch are one and the same is simply untrue.

Think about it.  When attending an event where dessert is potluck, which ones disappear the fastest?  Including the crumbs.

No one’s calling up the local grocery store bakery to get their chocolate chip cookie recipe.  But you can bet they want mine.

I’m a creature of convenience as much as the next person.  Despite my cache of tried-and-true recipes for whole wheat bread, granola bars and banana muffins, I (more often than not) raid the snack aisle for goldfish crackers and wheat thins.

I might even have snagged a giant bag of Costco rolls a time or two.  My kids don’t mind a bit.

In my heart, though, I know that I’m giving my best when I’ve slaved over a stove or oven to present a fresh, unprocessed version of the same.

It’s not just because homemade(or homegrown, for that matter) tastes better.  Or even that it lacks the lengthy easy-to-mispronounce ingredient list on the side of store-bought packages.  Although, that’s part of it.

Somehow it satisfies me to know that my vanilla ice cream recipe contains only four ingredients compared to the 19 listed on our favorite store brand.  I even brag to my kids that my recipe is “healthy”, though arguably anything containing heavy whipping cream is most certainly anything BUT.

Still, homemade goodness is more than just goodness.  It’s love.

It’s the message it sends.  Messages like, “I was willing to get up a few minutes earlier to make you pancakes from scratch.”  Or, “I know how much you love my homemade granola bars so here’s a few dozen to tide you over for, oh, two days”.  Or, “I appreciate how hard you work to put food on the table for our family so I’m willing to sacrifice my time to make that food delicious.”

Food just might be a love language, I’m convinced.  Its power cannot be underestimated.  While you won’t find me swearing off prepared foods entirely, you can bet I’ll keep sending love notes in the form of edibles for years to come.