On having one's hands full

The things folks say to Mr. Blandings and I are pretty much what you'd expect.

Do you ever get any sleep?

I guess you're used to it.

How do you ever get anything done?

Do you live on a farm?

How old will you be when this one graduates?

I bet you never get any alone time.

Is this your last one?

You must really like kids.

Your house must be chaos.

It's typical stuff, and anyone with any number of children has probably heard it all before. I fall into the camp of believing that most of the people, most of the time, mostly mean well. Yes, I wish people wouldn't share their observations in front of my children. And yes, I've had a few less than WWJD moments where what came out of my mouth probably did more harm than good for the cause of large families everywhere.

But by and large, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. Just as the people spouting the pithy-isms usually have no idea of where we've been and how we got here, I also rarely have more than a moment's glimpse into the full story of their lives. Assuming ill intent (or stupidity) is just plain unfair. 

And you know, some days I do have my hands full. So there's always that.

There are tons of blog posts, articles, and memes snapping back at the people who want to know if, you know, they're all yours. And they're funny stuff, if I do say so myself. Cute, snappy, "Man, I wish I had thought of that when ..." stuff. Having actually been asked if I had taken neighbor kids with me to the grocery store before, I do see the absurdity (and humor) inherent in being a large family in a small family world. Going out in public is often a foray into a potential minefield of dropped jaws, if you know what I mean.

But on a day to day basis, I don't go out into the world armed with comebacks. I don't look for opportunities to evangelize folks on the merits of more than one or two children. And, as someone who languished in a painful season of infertility and longing, I never, ever tell people that I am blessed or just following the Lord--because while it is absolutely true, the inferred connotation to others is that they are not blessed, and they are not following God. Try that zinger on for size and see how Christian it feels.

So what do I say? In the library, when someone has just stopped us in the video section and manually counted each one of my children, then pointedly asked if there are any more lurking in the stacks? Or as we're loading into the van, and someone slows down to gawk, then asks if I know what causes that? Or when a young lady beams at my baby and asks if he's my first, only to open her eyes wide as I give her the full head count?

What do I say?

I say yes.

And then I move on.

The best part

The best part of adoption is this--

People with no shared genes,

no common blood line,

no biological link,

no compelling reason at all,

loving one another,

growing up alongside each other,

being a family.

Yeah, that's the best part of adoption.

Cake, family culture, & a recipe to boot

A couple of years ago, our family Bible studies slipped from simple, elementary themes and on into deeper theological waters. In other words, they finally gained the traction that one gathers once general knowledge is down pat and real theology comes to the forefront. Another way of putting it would be to say that they got more fun.

And longer. There's always that.

Sitting around the kitchen table, with the hum of the dishwasher as our background music, we have debated elements of the early church, women in ministry roles, and predestination. We do not conduct Bible study as a "Now hear this, children!" affair. Rather, we invite (require?) that everyone bring their thoughts, convictions, and questions to the table. We walk through it together., and we talk until we run out of steam. Not the kind of ruminating one should do without a proper sweet within their reach, in my opinion.

Thus was the Blandings Bible Study Dessert tradition born. When we sit down to chew on the Word, it's with a cup of tea or coffee (your choice) and a little something extra to sustain you through what could be quite a ride.

It's not always a fancy offering. It could be a scoop of ice cream or slices of in-season fruit and a nice cheese. Even these are served with presentation in mind, because the whole point, in my mind's eye, is creating a family culture of gathering, savoring, reveling, and enjoying. This time, I decided, should not be an afterthought, no matter how rough the day has been. It should feel special. It should feel sacred ... because it is.

Perhaps because it is thought of as a privilege-- and something of a story time/tea party/Q&A session-- we don't have rolling eyeballs when Bible Study time rolls around. Quarrelsome littles who have lost the chance to stay up beg to be allowed to linger for our gathering time, rather than being put to bed. In other words, it seems to be working. Our family loves and looks forward to this time together.

And while I can't guarantee that your family will find the same joy in a Bible Study Dessert tradition, I can at leat get you started with a tried and true favorite recipe. This is a classic, adapted to my family's tastes from my Mamaw's recipe. It's requested about once a month here, and is so easy to make that I rarely turn down the asker.

MG's Bible Study Carrot Cake
makes one 9x13 cake

Cake:

4 eggs
3/4 cup canola oil (or coconut oil, for a very moist cake)

1/2 cup applesauce

1 cup white sugar 

1 cup light brown sugar

3 teaspoons vanilla extract 

2 cups all-purpose flour 

2 teaspoons baking soda 

2 teaspoons baking powder 

1/2 teaspoon salt 

3 teaspoons ground cinnamon 

2 cups grated carrots

1 cup crushed pineapple, drained 

1 cup chopped pecans 

Frosting:
1/2 cup salted butter, softened 

8 ounces cream cheese, softened 

4 cups powdered sugar 

1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray a 9x13 inch pan.
2. In a large bowl, beat together eggs, oil, applesauce, both sugars and 2 teaspoons vanilla. Mix in flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Stir in carrots & pineapple. Fold in pecans. Pour into prepared pan.
3. Bake in the preheated oven for 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool in pan while making frosting.
4. To Make Frosting: In a medium bowl, combine butter, cream cheese, powdered sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Frost the still-warm (but not hot!) cake. Serve immediately. Store leftovers & fridge & serve cold. (My personal fave!)

Spring {still winter}

It's spring (technically) but still feels like winter. Knitting, baby with a cold, preschooler with a fever, the spot in front of the fireplace being claimed as prime real estate by whomever can get there first. Books being read, music being played, chess board in constant use. A very cozy, very home-bound season.

Create

Logan, my artist.

Logan: "I want new watercolors. Not the pastel kind. I want dark watercolors. Ones where you can slightly see through them, but where the color is deep."

Atticus: "You have watercolors. Why don't you save up your money for something you don't have already?" 

Logan: "Because you can never have enough paint, or enough Legos."

Learning

Manolin will be five in June. And as you probably already know, five is that magical, mystical age when people around you start expecting you to do something, you know... educational... with a child.

Because the previous five years' worth of coloring and storybooks and birdwatching and manipulating blocks don't count, I guess.

Anyhow, Mani is nearly five. And, right on cue, he is asking the kind of questions I have come to expect of five year-old boys.

What does that sign say?

How do birds fly?

What's inside the tires on a dump truck?

Why do flowers die in the winter?

Does God take naps?

Like Logan (and Oli) before him, Mani is showing no signs of being interested in reading for its own sake, or in taking pleasure in the arbitrary adding of numbers on a worksheet. What does rock his world is figuring out which canister on the counter holds flour and which one holds sugar by running his finger over the inset letters and asking me the sounds each one makes, or folding just the right number of cloth napkins for each family member at dinner time. He's also especially tickled by movement--any kind of movement. Be a bear, be a bee, be a man climbing a mountain ... be anything, as long as it involves motion.

Since this is not my first trip around the sun with a 5 year-old boy, I'm comfortable watching what I consider the perfectly normal development of a busy, bright, loving little man on the verge of a huge burst in knowing. I'm also cherishing these days with an especially soft glow knowing that Oli has yet to find this particular place and may not, ever. In special needs parenting, there is always, always that keen sense of sadness even as there is joy when you watch one of your neurotypical children progressing along just as they should.

So forgive me if my idea of education at five looks less like phonics and arithmetic and more like nature walks and finger knitting. I've been here, and done that. And the one thing I learned --maybe not the first time, but definitely by the third go-- is this: five slips into six, eight, twelve before you know it. The books will be read. The chemical equations will be learned. But the days of kneading dough because you were inspired by a story, or of drawing rainbows on the driveway because you saw one and just had to know which colors went where ... those things will fade away just as quickly as they have come. You are, after all, only five once.

Meanwhile ...

Seven has outgrown her 4T clothes.

The Pup is getting bigger.

Guess who is obsessed with finger knitting?

Babies are lovely distractions for big brothers.

The iPad is getting a workout thanks to the yucky weather.