Our Impossible Adoption Story
If you're looking for the unbelievable account of how "impossible" became "done" in 5 business days, start here.
Chicken Curry Stew
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!
And I quote:
“This is really good. I could eat this once a week.”
I’ve explained that my Husband appreciates food. And he likes his spice shelf. (Because the spin-y spice rack only holds about 20 jars, and who can cook with only 20 spices? Absurd.) And most slow-cooker recipes lean toward bland-ish, Midwestern, cream-of-something flavors.
He likes this one, though.
(Not that I managed to do this one right either, but my little edit didn’t seem to mess it up too badly. That fun story is here.)
It’s based on another recipe from my ever-growing, slow cooker Pinterest board, but we, of course, added some extra spices. This is our version. Download the recipe cards below, or get the whole thing after the break!
On Drool and Unconditional Love
I wish you could have seen me yesterday.
Standing in the corner of the kitchen cabinets – blue jeans and a white v-neck with a spray paint can decal on the front, hair that hasn’t been washed in days.
I’m holding an eight-week old baby in my left arm, calm, finally, because this is just one of those days that he doesn’t really want anything except to be held. (And I get that it’s a very real physical need for infants, and I mostly love it.) My right hand is trying to demolish three cloves of garlic with a serrated kitchen knife – because the dishes are already piling up again and I refuse to use more than one knife on a crockpot meal – and then transfer the remains via the horizontal blade of the knife into the crockpot.
I have curry powder on the front of my shirt. The baby has curry powder on his left sock. Read more…
I Want To Remember His Morning Stretches
I want to remember the feeling of him waking up in my arms forever.
After the last pre-sunrise diaper change and feeding, when he starts to wiggle against my chest and test the limits of my folded arms because something has determined that now is the time to wake up.
I want to remember the contortions of his face before he even opens his eyes – discomfort, disappointment, frustration, surprise. Seriously. I want to remember the way he arcs his eyebrows, and pushes his whole forehead up into a set of tiny wrinkles as though he hadn’t expected the morning to come and yet …
I want to remember the tiny squeal that seems to come, involuntarily, from some over-pressurized valve inside of him – just a sudden, long release – and I want to remember the huge sigh that always follows because, darn it, waking up is just so hard. Read more…
Will You Love Me?
I have never really suffered unrequited love.
I was not prone to crushes in my adolescence. I was never the girl pining away for some guy in class, or nursing a broken heart.
My parents are still married today, and I don’t recall feeling, for even a single moment, anything but love and acceptance from them. I mean, I was a teenager like most teenagers, and was probably convinced they hated me at some point … but not really.
I have been married for seven years to a wonderful, supportive, passionate, affectionate man.
I have never loved someone and had to wonder if he (or she) loved me back. (And I realize that is an immeasurable blessing.)
But early in the mornings, as Husband gently closes the door behind him and the sun starts to paint the sky blue between the bedroom blinds, I watch my little man sleep, inches from my face, and I whisper, “Do you love me? Will you love me?” Read more…
Spit-Up Ambush
I’m trying to get Meatball to come to the table with some ideas on an early warning system for spit-up, but so far he’s not interested in negotiations.
Poop is predictable. He makes that face. You know … that face. Then he gets calm, and moments later, he lets it rip. And anyone within a radius of probably 20 feet is well aware of what just happened. Pretty easy.
The pee fountain is less foreseeable, but quickly addressed, so it’s not so much an issue.
And I know what you’re thinking: How much of an issue is a little spit-up? Lemme tell you … Read more…
Spits and Wiggles 