Workmanship

Well.

I finished my infinity scarf.

Sorta.

I mean, it's finished ... just don't look too closely at it.  Especially that back part that I intend to hide under my crazy curls or stuff in the collar of my coat.  And that missed stitch there in the middle ... the lone loop that sticks out and says, "Oops!" ... just look away.  And the way that the left-hand side is a bit wobbly?  Well, let's just say that it lends itself towards adding a handmade touch.

The truth of the matter, is that I didn't follow a pattern and I didn't really have a plan.  I looked at a similar scarf that my sister had and I thought to myself, "I could do that."  Without any actual directions or blueprint, I just started knitting.  I cast on twenty-some odd loops (see how specific I am?) and began.  

Knit across.  Purl across.  Knit again.  Purl again.  Knitting.  Purling.

As the length of the scarf began to drape across my lap, I found myself at the end of the first skein of scarlet yarn.  I held up the fabric and bit my lip.  Hmmm ... how long does it actually need to be?  I draped it across my shoulders and decided it wasn't yet long enough.  I knotted on the next ball of yarn and continued.

Knit across.  Purl across.  Knit again.  Purl again.  Knitting.  Purling.

Finally, as I stood up, the scarf cascaded down past my hips.  I imagined the ends knitted together and guessed that there would be enough there to twist and loop back over my head.  With excitement, I cast off the scarf.  It was finished.

That's when I ran into some trouble.  It wasn't until I had knitted my way off the needles that I began to consider how I was going to knit the two ends together.  What exactly was my plan?

After contemplating the two ends of this scarlet scarf, I finally resorted to doing a little research.  A quick Google search for "infinity scarf how-to" led me to a few unfortunate revelations.

1)  This type of scarf is typically created on a set of circular needles.

2)  I shouldn't have cast off the scarf.

3)  I should have consulted a pattern before I invested several nights in this pile of red yarn.

4)  I was in a spot of trouble.

Poor Brett sat next to me as I grumbled and mumbled.

"All that work ... and now I'm stuck.  Grrrr...."

Eventually, I hodge-podged a solution to my un-infinitied infinity scarf.  By de-casting-off the end of my scarf and attempting to catch all the original loops, I managed to re-cast both ends together, alternating loops from the top end and from the bottom end and then the top and then the bottom.  Essentially it was a loopy, droopy mess, but I persevered.  When I had all forty-something loops stuffed onto one knitting needle, I proceeded to complete the final process of casting off.

When the scarf was finally free from the needles, the seam actually didn't look to shabby.  And as it turned out, it is in fact long enough to loop over my head a second time.  And it's warm.  Oh my, is it warm.

As I fumbled and mumbled my way through this masterpiece-wannabe, I was filled with gratitude that while I might create things on a wing and a prayer, God doesn't it.

The God of the universe Who knitted me together had a plan.  

¹³ For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. (Psalm 139:13-14)

He saw me as His finished masterpiece long before I was made.  He didn't "oops" and "woops" His way through His creation of me.  He set His hands to work and I am who He intended me to be.  I am made with a plan and a purpose.

¹⁰ For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Ephesians 2:10)

And you are, too.

Oops. I Missed It.

After an extended season of summer, we have suddenly and decisively entered fall.  It was inevitable!

Everyday for the last week, I have marveled at the glorious changing colors of the trees of our neighborhood. The crisp temperatures have brought out the golds, reds and oranges.  Or, should I say, the Crayola colors of burnt sienna, chestnut and goldenrod.

One tree in particular stood out among all the rest.  Just across the way, an elm tree stood and turned from forest green to brick red to scarlet.  It was incredible!  The leaves blazed against the dandelion cottonwoods and canary aspen.  The color didn't actually seem real, it was so bright.  It glowed in the sunlight.  A tree robed in majesty!  It brought to mind the verses from the Bible that describe God as our King ...

 ¹ The LORD reigns, he is robed in majesty; 
   the LORD is robed in majesty and armed with strength; 
   indeed, the world is established, firm and secure. (Psalm 93:1)

Each afternoon we left the house to pick up kids from school, I would say, "Oh!  I was going to grab the camera.  I need to get a picture of that."  And each afternoon as we came home from picking up the kids from school, I would drive right into the garage and forget all about getting a quick snapshot.

Until yesterday.

Finally, camera in hand I walked across the street and took a picture.

Kinda sad, isn't it.

I missed it.

The tree had been at its very best last week and I failed to record its beauty.  I didn't seize the moment to capture its momentary glory.

Of course, God's glory is even more majestic than this elm tree ... even at its peak, it didn't rival the beauty or majesty of our King.  How grateful I am that not only is God more worthy of adoration than this tree, but neither is He fleeting! In His sovereignty, He rules and blesses His creation with the same generosity and wisdom that He has since the beginning of time.

¹⁷ Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. (James 1:17)

Even if I missed out on the short-lived splendor of this tree, I will never miss out on the care and favor of my Father!

Day 1:  Mom in the Midst

Day 2:  My Button is Lame

Day 3:  Splendidly Lavish

Day 4:  Keeping My Head Above Water

Day 5:  Time-Warp Wednesday ~ Little Me

Day 6:  Me, Myself & I

Day 7:  Food For Though ~ Bacon

Day 8:  The Aches and Pains of Service

Day 9:  I Heart You

Day 10:  Who is Me? {part 1}

Day 11:  Who is Me? {part 2}

Day 12:  Who is Me?  {part 3}

Day 13:  Handmade with Care

Day 14:  Food For Thought ~ Carmel & Apples

Day 15:  A Bunch of Rocks

Day 16:  Not Recycled ... Redeemed

Day 17:  What Do You Do?

Day 18:  Washed on the Delicate Cycle

Day 19:  Know Thy Limits

Day 20:  One Snapshot ~ Many Stories

Day 21:  Food For Thought ~ Malt-O-Meal

Day 22:  Cartwheeling for Jesus

Day 23:  Take a Load Off

Day 24:  Listen!  Do You Smell Something?

Day 25:  Dinner Time!

Day 26:  Where Did It Go?

Day 27:  I'm on the Hunt

Day 28:  Food For Thought ~ Milk, It Does the Body Good

Day 29:  Oops. I Missed It.

Where's My Keys?

To say that I was nervous would be an understatement.

It was one of our first dates.  If you don't count our trip to the circus, that is, which was our official first date.  But this was our first date that was just the two of us ... and a few college clowns at a nearby table.

I don't remember what we talked about as we sat there at Margie's Java Joint, but I remember that it was the first time that I ever had authentic chai tea.  It was served in that little french press and the cloves made my lips feel numb.  In my nervousness of sitting across from you and trying to appear cool and confident, I sipped and sipped and sipped my tea.  And several glasses of water.

At the end of the evening, you drove me home.  We chatted in the car for a few minutes and you offered to walk me to my door.

"That's okay.  Thanks for a nice evening.  See you tomorrow?"

As I walked up the sidewalk, I reached in my pocket for my house keys.  Drat.  My roommates were all out for the night and now I was locked out.  It was at that moment that I experienced a very strong feeling.  Pride.

There was no way that I was going to turn around and admit to you that I didn't have my keys.  I'd look foolish and maybe a bit irresponsible.  So I walked under the porch light, opened the screen door and pretended to unlock the door.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see you peering through the passenger window.

I waved.  You waved.  Then you drove away.

I waited until your tail-lights disappeared around the corner and then I hightailed it around the corner of the house.  We kept a spare key in the little storage shed in the back yard.  If I could get the key, I'd be home free.

As I approached the shed, I became aware of how dark it was in the back yard.  Even with the porch light over the back door, it was hard to see.  But in the glint of the light I could see the lock on the shed door.  Drat.  Again.  There was a little combination lock keeping the shed door secure.  It was at that moment that I experienced another very strong feeling.  The need to pee.

Why had I had so much tea to drink?

I fiddled with the lock, but I knew that it was too dark to manipulate the correct numbers.  Especially while doing the "I gotta go" dance.  I was starting to panic a little bit and wishing I had turned around on the front sidewalk and told you the truth.  Too late now.  I needed to get out of this pickle all by myself.

I pulled on the shed doors in frustration and I was delighted to discover that even with the lock the sliding doors could be separated a little bit.  Maybe just enough to squeeze my hand in.  I fought down every fear prompted by every scary movie I'd ever seen and stuck my fingers through the doors into the pitch black shed.  I fumbled around for a few moments and finally located the magnetic hide-a-key.  Yahoo!

I ran across the lawn to the back door (as fast as someone can run while trying not to pee their pants), threw open the door and bolted to the bathroom.  Whew!

I'd like to say that I learned my lesson that night and never locked myself out of my house again, but that would be a lie.  In fact, I locked myself out enough times that you were tempted to get a copy of my house key made just so we wouldn't have to trek around to the shed so often.  Maybe that was God's way of preparing you for the future.

Because of my past key issues, you weren't surprised by my phone call all those years later ...

As I stood outside our van in the school parking lot holding Ashley's hand and my oh-so-pregnant tummy, you left work to help me with my locked door predicament.  And you didn't even tease much when you discovered that the passenger window was rolled down.

You are a wonderful man, Brett.

___________________________

Prompt #1 - Locked Out

Food for Thought

Oops.

That is a common refrain in my kitchen.  I realize that may come as a bit of a surprise because typically such yummy things come out of my kitchen, but there are moments.  I'm afraid I'm a bit of a, "hmmm, I don't have that, but I have this" sort of cook.  I've also been known to say, "That's a silly step, I'll just dump it all in one bowl ... oh.  Maybe not."  Periodically I also feel that some of those measurement things (teaspoons, tablespoons, etc.) are a bit of a pain.  Let's just eye-ball it.

This behavior does drive my husband a little batty, but seeing as 99.6% of the time, the meal still turns out tasty, he has grown to over look it.  But it's the times when the recipe turns out a bit wonky that he asks, "Did you follow the recipe?" and I have to sheepishly respond with, "Sorta."

This is one such recipe.  My mom made these delicious Butterscotch Rolls many, many times over the years during my childhood.  It was always a special morning when she would take the time to make the dough, roll it out and sprinkle the delicious nuts and raisins over the sugary goodness before rolling them up, cutting them and popping them in the oven.  It's like a sweet, ready-this-morning version of cinnamon rolls made with a biscuit dough instead of yeast bread.  One of my favorite breakfast delights!

I have made it right a hundred times ... but I've also made it wrong enough times that Brett is a little cautious about the first taste.  And for good reason.

Over the years I have ...

• halved the recipe, but forgot to halve the shortening, resulting in greasy little hockey puck rolls.

• forgotten the brown sugar resulting in pasty, decidedly unsweetened raisin rocks.

• miss-measured the milk resulting in a batter that couldn't stand up to the jelly roll technique and ended up just cut, scraped and chunked into the pan before baking.  Ugly, but tasty.

• selected the wrong seasoning out of the cupboard.  FYI:  Chicken Jerk is not a good substitute for cinnamon, unless you want your breakfast rolls utterly inedible due to the spiciness of your sweet rolls.

In spite of these disgusting mistakes - I keep making them.  It just goes to show that I'm a full-blooded optimist, "This time I'll get it right!"  And in this same spirit of positive thinking, I thought I would share with you this recipe ... and do my best to transcribe it correctly!

Butterscotch Rolls
(My mom's recipe ... from way back.)

Biscuit dough (enough to make 16 biscuits)
1/3 cup butter softened
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup chopped nuts (I like pecans.)
Cinnamon

You can use any biscuit recipe, but this one is the best:
2 1/4 cup flour (I use half white/half wheat flour.)
4 t. baking powder
1/2 t. cream of tartar
1/2 t. salt
2 T sugar
1/3 cup shortening
2/3 cup milk
1 egg

Combine the dry ingredients in a medium-sized bowl.  Cut in the shortening with a pastry cutter until the shortening is well distributed.

I love my pastry cutter, hence the sproinged wire parts!

Add the milk and egg and stir with a fork just until the dough is combined.

Don't mix more than this, or you'll have tough dough.

Flour the countertop surface and turn the biscuit dough out.  Knead the dough just a few times, adding flour as necessary, if sticky.  Roll the dough out into a rectangle - about 1/4 of an inch thick.  Apply a thin layer of butter over the entire surface.  This will help the sugar stick to the dough.  Next sprinkle the brown sugar in an even layer, followed by the raisins and nuts.  Sprinkle the entire surface with cinnamon.

Be as generous as you'd like with the fillings.

Now roll the dough up as you would a cinnamon roll.  You may need to use a floured spatula to slide under the dough and separate it from the countertop.  Once you have it assembled, mark off nine rolls, cut and place spiral side up in a greased 8x8 cake pan.  Be sure to space them apart as they will plump upon baking.  Bake at 425 degrees for 15-20 minutes or until golden brown.  We like to top ours with a smidgen of butter or softened cream cheese.  Delightful!

Yum!

P.S.  I double checked the ingredients ... you're good to go!

Butterscotch Roll

Time-Warp Wednesday

A few minutes ago, when I was half-carrying, half-dragging my little two-year old upstairs for her nap, I found a little treasure.  Right at the top of the stairs leading to the living room (right about the spot where Liddy collapsed in a puddle, rolled over on her back and screamed, "Hode Me!") there is a lovely, drippy, smeary smudge of cherry juice.  It's a terrific shade of burgundy and it stands out nicely against the butter-yellow wall.

Actually it seems to shout, "Someone snitched a cherry!  And squished it right here!"

I'll give you just a few clues as to who that little culprit might be:  She's short, she's dark haired and she was recently half-carried, half-drug upstairs for a nap.

This dripping, crimson splotch is evidence of a well-known occurrence taking place in our house right now.  I call it the "Me Do" phenomena.  And it would appear to be genetic.

My grandparents (who faithfully read my posts here ... I love that!) would be quick to tell you about how I, at the tender age of 2, would toddle around, exploring the world, and declare, "me do!" to anyone who tried to help me with my shoes, blowing bubbles, eating breakfast or feeding the dog.

"Me do, me do, me do!"

Right now, Lydia is a full-fledged "Me-doer".  Hence the cherry juice at the top of the stairs.

In itty-bitty Liddy's budding independence she is now fully capable of putting on her fop-dops (flip-flops), pouring her own cereal, changing her clothes, getting ice and water from the refrigerator, giving Gimli his breakfast and getting her own snacks (see cherry sploosh above) ... to name a few of her favorite tasks.  She is also aching to be able to wash her own hair (too many eye-burning bubbles), ride her own bike (too short of legs) and pour her own milk (too much to mop up).

Which brings me to today's snapshot flashback ...

Another little two and one-half year old and the unfortunate results of them independently getting themselves a snack.

Oops.

In the picture you can see sweet Ashley in the midst of a "Me Do" gone horribly, drippily wrong.  I actually remember quite vividly running from my room to the kitchen at the sound of the hysterical screams piercing the air.  I then remember, equally vividly, running back out of the kitchen to find the camera.

She was only attempting to pour herself a bit of milk following her nap.  And much to her horror, the milk just kept on coming!  For your own information, that is what approximately what half a gallon of milk looks like when it misses the cup, pours off the table and spreads across the floor.  I love that she's still clutching the empty yellow cup and is simply staring at the puddle.  What you can't hear are the sobs and sniffles from her failed attempt at independence.

So ... seeing as this is the sort of "Me Do" messes we have experienced in our house in the past, cherry juice rubbed into the stairwell wall is really no big deal.  I guess.

It's a Short-Cut ... Sorta

If being a mom has taught me anything, it's that evolution is complete and utter nonsense!  If evolution were true, then I would have six arms, a set of eyes in the back of my head and the ability to cognitively listen to my four kids with four different ears.  But as of last check ... I'm just a regular, old, two-armed, two-eared, two-eyed mom.  Bummer ...

In light of my normal body configuration, I am required on a regular basis to compensate for these short-comings.  Often with unfortunate results.  While attempting to complete several normal tasks around the house more quickly or more efficiently, I frequently find myself with more work to do, due to goofs and gaffes.  Let me elaborate ...

While bringing in the groceries one afternoon, I ended up with an huge mess, just because I was going to be stronger and quicker.  Little Aaron was about a year old and I was preggo with Norah.  It was summer-time and we were living in a little duplex on a lonely street.  It was hot, Aaron needed to take a nap and I had three grocery bags to lug inside quickly.  In my mad dash attempt to get-er-done, I grabbed the three plastic sacks in own hand, Aaron and my purse in the other and, kicking the car door shut with my foot, headed for the front door.  About three staggering steps from the threshold, I felt my grocery-bag-hand slipping.  One bag fell open and crash! the jar of spaghetti sauce fell to the concrete and shattered.  Oh-no.  I plopped Aaron on the couch and the bags on the kitchen table.  I walked back to the front door.  Rubbing my temples with one hand and my aching back with the other, I stood there a moment and looked at the devastation.  What a mess.  Then I shut the door, scooped the tired boy in my arms and we went and took a nap.  I don't really remember cleaning up the mess (maybe Brett does!), but I do remember taking an extra trip the next time I unloaded the groceries.

Another time I was loading the washing machine with a load of laundry.  I had tossed all the dirty clothes in only to discover a couple of socks had escaped the basket ... probably with a little "help" from Lydia.  I leaned down to scoop up the socks and tossed them back toward the washing machine.  The washing machine that had the lid closed.  The socks slid across the top of the washing machine and down the side to the dark murky crevasse below.  Grrrrr ...  Our washer and dryer are snugged up against the wall which means that unless I have Elastic Girl's arms, I have a job ahead of me.  While the washing machine waited patiently for its last two items, I squeezed my left arm down the wall with a ruler trying to flick the wayward socks back to the light.  Eventually I was successful, but not before I made a mental note to place the clothes in the washer instead of flinging them.

Finally, I had a rude awakening of the need to not try and take a short-cut when I tried to cram two hours worth of errands into 45 minutes.  It didn't go well.  It was the middle of a really crazy week.  We were celebrating a birthday, doing the usual school & gymnastic routines, volunteering in the kids' classrooms and trying to support our kids by attending an open house at their school.  And that was in the midst of just the regular life stuff ... you know:  feeding people, kissing boo-boos and keeping some sort of peacefulness in our home.  Suddenly Wednesday rolled around and I found myself with about 45 minutes and more than enough to fill it up.  Off to Target we ran, literally, to fill the cart with birthday items, toiletries and last minute gifty things.  With one agreeable child and one who wasn't.  Forty-three minutes later, we bundled back into the car and one-third of us were smiling.  I had yet another reminder that when I stretch myself too thin ... it hurts.  This short-cut of getting something done quickly ... something that would be impossible to actually do in the time allotted makes for one tired mommy.

When, oh when, am I going to learn that short-cuts and quick-tricks typically cost me more than they are worth?!?  In each episode above, if I had slowed down and taken a breather, I would have seen the logic in going back for an extra trip, looking before tossing and shopping when I actually have time.  And my kids would have enjoyed a less crazy, less frantic, less stressed mom.  Here's to hopping I've learned my lesson ... but don't count on it! :)