View from the Prairie Box

First I need to acknowledge that I am a sentimental goofball. Because next I’m going to acknowledge that I cried a lot while watching The Sound of Music recently.

Livia and I watched this awesome Christmas present (again, thank you, Jeremy!) over a period of three to four sessions. I’m pretty sure each session involved me folding laundry because the laundry situation around here is just that bad. I was impressed that Livia, lover of animation, stuck it out and watched the whole show with me. Loved that.

Is there anything better than the dramatic score of The Sound of Music? I’m pretty certain is was the soaring musical numbers that got me all teary. Maria in her wedding gown? Goosebumps and glossy eyes. The entire family climbing over the Alps at the end? Definite tear-jerker:

Climb every mountain
Ford every stream
Follow every rainbow
Till. You. Find. Your. Dream.

Such intense moments require singing along, so then I, the laundry-folding mommy, end up with arms raised in triumph in the living room, singing along in my best warbling and dramatic falsetto.

Oh, Julie Andrews, how I love thee.

**January Reflections are writing prompts from the thoughtful and creative Corrin of The Glorious Impossible.

Alternate title: The Day the Food Processor Died

That there in the background is my [now dead] food processor. I was shredding carrots and marveling at the fact this little machine has been processing away since my wedding 12 years ago when it breathed its last breath. Or shredded its last carrot, more appropriately. Twelve years is good for a small appliance, right?

Livia and I were making carrot cake for our friends’ wedding. Dylan and Emily asked a bunch of buddies if they’d be interested in making layer cakes for their wedding reception. There were a few moments during the baking process where I wondered why I agreed to help. Namely, when my food processor up and died and when the cake layers came out with sunken centers. But overall, I considered how awesome it was that 20-30 amateur bakers around Lincoln, Nebraska, were, at the same moment probably, making cakes for this awesome young couple. I imagine a lot of us were praying for Dylan and Emily and for their new life together. And in that way, God was using a group of slightly incompetent pseudo chefs to bless this wedding—and in turn, we were also blessed.

As it turns out, love and cream cheese frosting cover a multitude of sins. Sunken centers did not ruin anything.

The Bill’s Big Carrot Cake recipe is posted at Needs More Butter. You can also check out the recipe for a yummy Curried Chicken & Cauliflower Soup I recently made. And, if you feel so led, you can email me any healthy and delicious recipes your family adores. I’d appreciate that!

Livia’s class teddy bear, Theodore or Teddy as he is often called, came home with her this weekend. She was ecstatic about this development and proceeded to cuddle him at every opportunity.

The one requirement at the end of Teddy’s visit was a small story on what he did over the weekend. The writer in me needed restraint to not embellish Livia’s words in the classroom journal. After recording her story, I gave her a set of colored pencils so she could draw a picture. The following image is what Livia came up with.

Do you see what she wrote next to the picture? Do you see her first sentence? Yaaaayyy, Liv!! I asked her later how she wrote the sentence and she said she “turtle talked” it. Sometime you’ll have to ask Livia for a demonstration of turtle talking—it’s a fascinating method of sounding out words and I have no idea why it’s called turtle talking. Anyhow, when you adopt a kid you just don’t know much about their development. When is she going to walk? Talk? Read? Write? Etc, etc. And, as mothers often do, you worry a bit about your child. So it is with great pride and great joy that I mark my child’s first sentence. What a beautiful thing.

Today is Livia’s first snow day, but I’m not sure she grasps the grandiose nature of it as the morning seems a lot like our mornings for the past two days. Lots of tv, lots of cuddling on the couch. Ah, the lazy hazy days of… winter?

These shots were taken yesterday as the snow began to pile up on the ground. Livia’s never met a flake of snow she didn’t want to eat. Let’s just say I’m glad we have fresh snow for her to munch on. Keeping the old stuff out of her mouth seemed futile!

Walking down my stairs makes me happy. It’s not the walking, it’s not the direction, and it’s most certainly not the stairs that improves my mood. It’s the recently acquired artwork.

A while back I decided that my house needs to represent me better and that it sure could use a splash of color on the walls. As easy as painting appears to be, it’s a challenge for us literally unhandy Tredways (if you don’t get that, I apologize—it’s another blog post for another day). What I wanted was artwork. Made by friends. I know a number of really creative, really talented people and I wanted their handiwork on my walls.

So, from my sister-in-law Kristin, a photograph. Emily, my childhood cat, lived her happiest years with Adam and Kristin. The image is the sweetest composition of Emily, basking happily in the sunlight on top of an armoire, and it sits above my desk, at the base of the stairs, for inspiration.

Then my friend Liz Estudillo Chaffee showed her work before leaving the states for a new job. I had spent the day at the last garage sale I will ever host—really, I mean that—and I ran my weary self over to the gallery with permission to buy an anniversary present for myself. Within minutes of walking by Liz’s paintings, I knew which piece I wanted and Liz even commented that she thought that one was for me. It’s companion piece resides with my friend Christina, which is a little fact that makes me happy. When a friend kindly hung it above our stairs, just opposite the front door, I felt for the first time that my house reflected me.

Kristin’s photo. Liz’s painting. And now, Collin Geldmeier’s work.

We have two very tall friends at church. Collin in the younger tall dude and he is a talented photographer. I’ve enjoyed viewing his work over the last year and I am so glad he answers my photography questions with grace and his characteristic laidback attitude. I was immediately attracted to the work he showed at the Redeemer gallery last summer and was thrilled when those pieces came into my possession. They are photos of winter scenes, from Colorado I believe, and they are perched above the window in our stairwell. Every time I walk past them I think, “Thank you, Collin.” They add quite a bit of elegance to such a small corner of the house.

I walk up and down this staircase a lot. When I do it with my eyes wide open, I find beauty from the handiwork of some awesome folks. Trust me, it’s much better than the blank walls that were there before. Much much better.

**This post is part of a series called January Reflections. It is hosted by Corrin of The Glorious Impossible and I’m doing it because I like to write but sometimes need a bit of prompting to do so.

Images like this are the best thing about waking up early(ish) in the dark winter months.

After ten days off of school, I did not look forward to rousing Livia for school this week. The house is dark and cold, and frankly all of us would rather continue to snug under warm down comforters. But praise God, Liv has been energetic and sweet all week—and we both got to witness this amazing sunrise.

The Master Artist at work, ladies and gentlemen. I paint in digital images; God paints on the sky.

Livia: Mom, can I stay with you?

Me, thinking of an upcoming trip: What do you mean?

Livia: When I’m a grownup, can I always stay with you?

Me, heart melting: You can stay with me as long as you want to.

There will come a day when Livia is ready to move away from my side, when she finds her first apartment or moves across the country to a dorm room. But for today, for this moment where she needs her mommy and wants to stay close, I am grateful. I pray I have the grace to let her go when it’s time for her to not need me so much.

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After school Liv told me about a video she watched with a ballerina and a toy soldier. This led to questions about real soldiers and, as I often do, I told her way more than she needed to know. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Afghanistan, President Obama, Congress and, oh yes, God bless the USA. I told her there are some countries where people aren’t allowed to worship God and meet together for church, and there are other places where women aren’t allowed to vote or be in charge of the government. There are some countries where children have to work instead of go to school, and there are some places where the government doesn’t take good care of its own people.

She thought seriously about all this, then asked, with great concern in her voice, “Are there places where kids can’t have play dates?”

I love the six year old mind. Because really, what could be worse than not being allowed to have play dates?

We were standing in the long and winding line to the restroom, that post-flight line where the ladies’ room is always full of folks from your own flight, when an older woman began complimenting my daughter.

You see, our flight from Omaha, Nebraska, had almost reached Milwaukee when we experienced a lot of turbulence. A lot. As in, Dear Jesus, my husband won’t survive if Livia and I both go down with this flight kind of turbulence. A giant storm system was sweeping the midwest that morning and our little plane was attempting to land among 50 mph winds in an area that had been hit by tornados a few hours before. The plane jumped and shimmied as it decreased in elevation during this, my first flight alone with my daughter. I tried to be cool and totally failed, my fingers gripping Livia’s hand on one side and the armrest on the other. What did Liv think of it all? She laughed. And whooped with joy. And laughed again at the giant swooping dips the airplane was making. The rest of the passengers, adults mostly, felt like throwing up and/or making last confessions while my daughter enjoyed the ride.

So, in the line for the bathroom, the older woman told my daughter how she had enjoyed Livia’s laughter on the plane. It made her smile and laugh, too, and made the landing not so scary. In that moment, I saw Livia Raine for the amazing little person God has made her to be. While I see, on a regular basis, the struggles and challenges related to her exuberant personality, I could also see how her joy for life is infectious and how it can elevate the mood in a room. I suspect her jubilant, story-telling personality was also the reason airport workers gave her extra chocolate chip cookies on most every leg of our trip.

Our trip alone together was an adventure that contained many moments of fun and happiness and many moments I wish I could do over the right way. In short, it turned out to be like the rest of life. But that moment where a perfect stranger found delight in my daughter is a moment I want to remember for a long time. I praise God for my exuberant little girl.

**I am joining my friend Corrin in a project called January Reflections. Check out Corrin’s blog The Glorious Impossible to learn more.

Corrin is starting January Reflections, a writing project to encourage bloggers as they look ahead to 2011. My favorite part about January Reflections is its writing prompts. I don’t know about you, but it’s that time of year where I could use a little outside inspiration. Go check out the project!

Today is warmish (49 degrees!) and sunny and most Nebraskans I’ve seen are not even wearing their coats today. I, however, am still clad in my winter coat and knit hat because I’m a wimp.

Livia and Papa headed out the back door and onto the frozen lake. A fisherman said the ice was five inches thick—and that was when I decided to relax a little. With the sun shining overhead, Livia took off her boots and put on a pair of slippers in hopes of adequate sliddage on the ice. Apparently, we now are in the market for a size 1 pair of ice skates.