Henry and I were looking on Youtube for some video of salmon swimming upstream to go along with our study of vertibrates — fish, specifically.
As I often do, I marvel at the scope of material out there on that new-fangled durn youtubey thangy. It’s amazing — seek and ye shall find. Sort of. We sure were surprised when we came upon this one. A good laugh was had by all.
A few years back we made a Jesse Tree to use as part of our advent preparation. I believe I said something like, “So help me, we’re going to have a holy advent if it kills me.” So my dear spouse fashioned the tree. Helen decorated the ornaments, I tied ribbons and hot glued and our tree grew from wooden dowels and discs into a much-treasured family tradition.
Starting on the first day of advent, we read daily scripture that tells of the genealogy of Jesus. Then we hang a little ornament on the tree. It’s similar to an advent countdown, but with a scriptural focus.
Jesse is a friend.
This is our fourth year, so the readings are familiar to the older children. Henry can’t wait to hear about Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac and the stories of destruction–especially the serpent in the Garden of Eden and the great flood. Mary Claire takes charge and organizes our nightly gathering and does most of the reading or designates a reader.
I’m especially eager this year for the readings about the birth of Jesus because Lillian is all about the nativity. We’ve been reading books and are frequently talking about the birth of Christ. We make special efforts to stop and admire all the outdoor nativity scenes that adorn the local landscape. (Because if we don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from my 30-pound back-seat driver.) And every time she sees an angel she folds her hands in prayer and says solemnly, “And the angel of the Lord said, hail Mary, full of grace.” I look forward to her recognizing those same stories as we gather as a family and read from our Bible, counting down another day closer to Christmas.
The best part about the Jesse Tree is that it brings us together nightly. It’s a series of quiet (okay, not always quiet) moments that have turned into memories we will treasure. And those memories are centered where they should be — around Christ.
So I don’t scare anyone off with the previous yogurt post … you make it like this:
Directions below.
I bought a yogurt maker a few weeks ago. The thing about a yogurt maker is … it doesn’t make yogurt. You do. You just put the milk in the maker to keep it warm until it turns into yogurt. But, I also discovered, you don’t need a yogurt maker to make it. You can do it very simply in a wide-mouthed Thermos.
It’s really very easy and hands down, the best yogurt I’ve ever consumed. Even people who aren’t really yogurt fans like it. So here goes … This recipe is for two cups (that way you can fit it in a small wide mouth Thermos).
Here’s what you need.
Heat two cups of milk in a tall saucepan. Bring it to a boil (so it climbs the sides of the pan) for two minutes. (Watch it! Because it will happily bubble over and make a mess.) Stir it occasionally to prevent a skin from forming. If it does, just scoop it out and discard. This is only a few- minute process with only two cups of milk. You can use whole milk to skim milk. You choose.
After the milk has boiled, let it cool to 110-100 degrees (use a candy thermometer. $3 at Kroger). You can just let it cool on the stove top. I put the pan in a bath of cold water and stir. If I let it cool on the stove, I’d get distracted and then it would cool too much, then I’d have to heat it again … blah, blah.
While the milk is cooling, I fill my Thermos with warm water (to prime it). I just use water from the tap. Not boiling hot water but from-the-tap-really warm water.
When it reaches 110, you need to stir in one tablespoon of live active yogurt. That means plain yogurt. It can be Greek yogurt or any variety of plain yogurt with active yogurt culture. Use a milder yogurt, you’ll get a milder yogurt, etc. I’ve discovered it’s better to stir the yogurt with a few tablespoons of the cooled milk, so I can be sure it’s all dissolved, then I stir it into the rest of the milk.
I then empty the water from the Thermos. Wipe it dry and pour in the warm milk and tightly close the cap. That’s all the work. Now you just let that yogurt do it’s thing. In about 4- 5 hours, check it to see if it’s getting a custardy consistency. If it’s not thick enough, let it sit longer. Check it every hour or so. After you’ve done this once, you’ll know how long to leave it when you make future batches.
That’s it. Here’s key stuff to know.
Give it a try. If it’s too tangy, you used too much started yogurt or let it sit too long prior to refrigeration. The nice thing about the yogurt maker is I can make 4 cups at once in separate little jars. I make organic whole-milk yogurt for the baby and include a little heavy cream when boiling the milk. The cream then settles on the top, it’s beautiful and so rich and creamy. (Babies need all that fat for brain development. I just want the fat … because it’s yummy.) Lowfat works beautifully, too.
I buy frozen berries from Trader Joe’s, put about a tablespoon in a bowl, heat for about 30 second on high in the microwave, then one teaspoon of brown sugar, a small handful of walnuts and 1/2 cup of yummy homemade yogurt. Heavenly. You can add honey or jelly or whatever. The nice thing is, you’re in control. The texture is beautiful and makes me wonder what the heck is in store-bought yogurt that makes it so springy. Yuck.
I hate yelling at my kids. But like many moms who philosophically disagree with yelling, I still find myself doing it more than I’d like. Why? What’s the secret to getting their attention without raising my voice? Have I conditioned them not to respond unless I yell? Is a normal toned request the white noise of their lives? Is it normal to yell when you leave the house with simple instructions to follow through on one or two simple things and you return without those things being done? How, then do I make my point? It seems ridiculous to punish someone for not putting the milk back in the fridge, so I raise my voice instead. As if that’s punishment enough and going to drive home the point. And guess what? Next time, they probably will still forget to put the milk in the fridge, even if I asked. And the only thing I accomplished is breaking my own desire for calm parenting. I’m all for suggestions. Got any?
I’ve been a complete blog slacker these past few weeks. I’ve started about a dozen posts, all requiring more thought than my time allows. With Thanksgiving and a bunch of other important things — like our dear priest in critical condition with H1N1, I’ve just had other things on my heart and mind. Please continue to pray for Fr. Gerry. He needs our continued prayers.
Sleepy Girl
We put saying the rosary on our calendar. That sounds like it takes away some of the romance of our relationship with God. But like any good relationship, there is work involved. You have to make time for each other. The truth is God always makes time for us, we’re the slackers. So that’s why that rosary deserves an entry on our calendar. Actually two.
Sundays and Tuesdays are Rosary days.
Imagine this, I call the children, singing their names: Perpetua, John Paul, Benedict, Agnes, Damien. I’m blinded by the streaking light of their bouncing halos as they jump to their knees, eyes toward Heaven …
Okay. It’s nothing like that.
The plan is to gather the kids and pray together as a loving family of God. It’s just that sometimes the loving part of the plan is foiled when expectations aren’t met and someone is late, or the little kids are more rambunctious than usual, or a certain teenager who has the ability to stay up until the wee hours starts to fade by the end of the second decade, or a dear little baby complains through the whole thing.
But still, we do our best to follow through. We say intentions for people and causes, we end up laughing at least once or twice (because if we didn’t, we’d go insane). And we get through that Rosary, always grateful that we took the time. By the end I’m often looking forward to our next attempt and wondering if I’ll ever actually know the words to Hail Holy Queen.
Last year, Lillian quickly decided the man in the big red suit is scary.
You better watch out!
We went to breakfast with Santa at church, and as soon as he made his appearance, she disappeared under the table. And fast. There was no overcoming this fear. I carried her up to see him, with the hopes she’d see it was all really harmless. But no luck. She clung to me for dear life. She accepted a gift from him, with me as the conduit. There was neither hand-to-hand nor toy-to-kid contact with the jolly guy.
It is clear this year that she has an understanding of Santa’s role in the present giving. She’s always joyfully pointing out his image whenever we see stores decorated in the Santa-centered “holiday” theme. She’s told me countless times that she wants Santa to bring her a princess castle. I thought, great, she’s over whatever fear she had.
Today while we were driving, she announced that I needed to give Santa some money so he could buy her the castle. We chatted about this idea for some time, then I reminded her that she could just sit on Santa’s lap and ask him for the castle herself.
Silence.
“You don’t want to sit on Santa’s lap?” I inquired. “How about if we write it down? Then you can just slip him a note when you see him.”
Silence.
After some thought she finally responded, “No, we can just mail him the note in the mailbox instead.”
Last week, we attended a Halloween party hosted by a lovely family. They have five children, seven and under. The house was decorated adorably, games were planned and played, even the food fed the theme. All of that was great, but one moment made it the best party ever.
Fostering Love
Our hostess was busy preparing her laptop to show the guests a video clip where her children’s faces were fit into a comical clip of the Monster Mash. As her computer loaded, it revealed a desktop photo of their baby getting baptized.
Her five-year-old son pointed to the photo, “That’s when Itty Bitty got dunked. When he got baptized. Right Mom?”
Through the busyness — waiting for the computer to finish booting up and the website to load — his mother affectionately smiled at him and said, “Yes, it is.”
Then he inquired, “Did the judge say we can keep Itty Bitty yet?”
She looked at him and said, “Not yet. Hopefully soon.”
Other adults in the room inquired about the status of the baby’s adoption. Postponements, future court dates were briefly mentioned. Then, that dear boy looked up at his mother and asked, “The judge said you can keep me, right?”
“Yes. We can keep you.” She reassured him. “The judge said we can keep you.”
He asked a few more times, interjecting his query Continue Reading »
Five Halos 