on my mind: little hands

They can always find the goodies in a lineup.

Impressive, no?

a red jalapeño

A red jalapeño in our garden? What can this mean?

Nice of you to join us, bell peppers. Get growin'.

Corn silk is lovely. I want a bouquet of it.

Dear corn stalks,

Please don't grow much taller than me.

Love, Veronica

Don't ever let anyone tell you you can't, cantaloupe.

Can't wait to hold a sliced watermelon smile up to my face.

A squash escapee scales the six-foot cinder block wall. I have a feeling he will become mayor of a town, assume responsibility for a young orphan girl, and turn his whole life around.

Our red potatoes are dying. Help, someone?

Just praying the pigeons and doves prefer crickets to corn on the cob.

Angel Deacon

There I was in the hall at church with my nine-month-old, going on two years. She had fought a good fight with impressive strength I couldn't hope to subdue in the pews. The poofs of her pink dress made her look like an angelic flapper at sunset. Now she was content on the floor in the vacant hallway advancing the crumpled state of a church program. She scooted like a trainee in the army. She clapped her chubby hands. She squealed with joy, all as if nothing had been wrong 20 minutes prior.

I picked her up to avoid a 12-year-old class from tripping over what they'd surely mistake for a bundle of cotton candy on the floor. She let out a holler in protest. I could feel everything escalating as the hall filled with more and more bodies as classrooms let out. Darcy was screaming, I was panicking, and the fire-hazard population continued to grow in waves of children and adults.

Suddenly Darcy was still, and I looked up to find that she was eye-level with a young, smiling face. A smile with braces. Darcy sat quietly, eagerly waiting for what the 12-year-old boy would say to her. He was paying attention to her. And she was thrilled. She loved him immediately.

"She probably likes my braces," he said, purposefully grinning for her. He was tall for his age, but appeared lower, as he was hunched down, speaking to my little girl.

"What's the matter?" he asked in the truest sincerity I've ever heard come from a 12-year-old boy, or any man, for that matter. I knew immediately he had to have been an angel sent to calm my unhappy child. And he was a 12-year-old boy! If that wasn't enough, he turned to me and said, "Don't worry. When I was a baby, I cried too. My mom was probably out here in the hall 75% of the time in church with me." I almost expected him to proffer a shoulder for me to cry on, but he waved goodbye and hurried to rejoin his class. To say I was touched would not sufficiently cover how profoundly this young man impacted me. Tears filled my eyes. This young man did what Christ would have done. He had the countenance of Christ as he lowered his tall frame to show kindness to a mother and baby.

I am grateful for this young man's ability to see the young mother drowning in a crowd. I am grateful for his example of loving someone you've never seen before. I am grateful for his example of doing what Christ would do.

the desert shall rejoice

We joined the desert this morning for an especially glorious Easter celebration.

We stood watching tunnels of draping yellow shower lightly to the desert floor.

I thought it must have been what heaven is like. Our walk reminded me that everything on this earth testifies of God's love for His children.

I know Jesus Christ lives and loves me. And you.

If you don't know now, you can again. You knew it before you were born.

Happy Easter!

the FREEdom

Total without coupons: $82.42 Total with coupons: $38.65

I think there comes a time in every woman's life when she realizes six dollars for a block of cheese is unacceptable. Even the cows know it's ridiculous. For me, that time is now.

It all began with faith. I knew there had to be some way to feed my family without emptying the "keep Veronica air conditioned" fund. I felt like a woman living in 1830, searching for the truth. (Almost.)

Jamie enters at this point in the journey. We were good friends in high school, and made up two of the "Three Sopranos," until one blessed day, we learned we were actually cousins! It was almost the best day of my life. Jamie is one of my friends (cousins) on facebook, and she started posting all about her life as a couponer. She was saving several small towers of money on each shopping trip. I was inspired. I had found my answer, and it was coupons.

My favorites from this grocery trip are the free dozen eggs, free cake mix, free skittles Easter eggs, free computer paper, free Frosted Miniwheats, two boxes of Captain Crunch for a dollar, and the six free deodorants. The latter coupled with air conditioning should keep me smelling like a budding rose all summer long.

Thank you Jamie, Krazy Coupon Lady, and patient cashiers.

Oh, and these were free too.

Old Blue Sparkly rides again

Please donate your old modest prom dresses to Sue's Closet! I'll love you forever, as will dozens of girls going to prom today.

Eight years ago, I was excited to get to drill team practice after school. I wanted to show all the girls a catalog with the dress I was hoping to wear to junior prom. It was all we talked about when we weren't practicing. And there's no place for surprises when it comes to prom. Girls have to thoroughly discuss every stitch and hue of their gown.

When I got to practice, I was crushed when I showed one girl, who showed another, who showed another, each laughing louder than the last at the dress I'd proposed wearing. You see, this catalog showcased gowns with sleeves, backs and fronts.

"Are they ALL like this?" One girl asked, flipping the pages in hysterics.

"How can you even dance in that?"

"I'd wear this one at my funeral."

I wanted to cry, but I managed to reclaim my catalog and secure a safe place for it deep in the abyss of my backpack. I got the dress anyways, and I felt beautiful. I had a fun time with my friends, and I'll never forget the sense of peace I felt in choosing a dress that didn't compromise my standards.

And I danced like crazy that night. Win, win.

A purple tinkerbell skirt my mom altered to make knee-length for winter homecoming. When I thought happy thoughts, and with a little pixie dust, I started floating.

Sue's Closet needs donations of prom dresses, hangers, skirts, shrugs (to go over sleeveless dresses) and money to construct shrugs. If you are in the area and have a dress to donate, just call Melanie at 480-567-6822.

I told Melanie to continue posting pictures of the girls in the dresses they rent out on their facebook page, because I wanted to see these babies out painting the town, where they belong.

Oh, and in case you were wondering...
how many pictures were taken to get the tink shot...

1

2

3

4

5--Ta-da!

ever feel like you're climbing Everest with no legs?

Me either.

My husband and I have become enthralled with everything Everest. We are deeply fascinated by the special breed of human spirit that attempts this feat. These people can endure unrelenting mental suffering that comes with each step towards the summit. I admire the over 2,000 people who've stood on Everest's summit, as well as every capable mountaineer who descends its slopes, weeping in defeat.

We found a reality show documenting real Everest expeditions. The first season had a double amputee, a chronic asthmatic, and a man whose every bone was held together with metal bolts and contraptions. (AKA, he rides motorcycles.) After months of climbing, the double amputee stood at the roof of earth. Mark Inglis is the first man to reach the top of our world with no legs. The asthmatic and metal guy came within a few thousand feet of victory.

My eyes were opened to real endurance. I felt like God was asking, "Do you see what my children are capable of?" Thanks to this man, I now understand that my limitations are grassy hills dotted with spring in comparison to his 29,000-foot avalanching, -40-degree mountain. This image flashes in my mind every time my brain screams at me to stop and trek back down my mountain.

"Mark Inglis climbed Everest. I can certainly finish a 30-minute run!"

"Do you think Mark Inglis complains about grocery shopping? The answer's 'no.'"

"Relax. Breathe in the voluptuous oxygen levels at 1100 feet. Then deal with Darcy's sweet potato painting."

Escape

Too late to rescue Tonka Timmy, the crew decides to save their own lives while they still can.

Don't you just hate cliffhangers?

Happy Friday!

I wish you many restful naps.

Hopefully you can cuddle with something cuddlier than spools of thread. 

"I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious."

Superstition Mountain, April 6, 2011

My husband offered to take me to The Melting Pot for our anniversary. I was thrilled about three things: one, the melted cheese; two, the melted chocolate; and three, that my husband would offer this. Steve works very hard to keep us all fed and clothed and sheltered. And a Melting Pot dinner for two is just like feeding a hundred dollars to the small flame under the pots of cooking food.

Steve was flabbergasted when I suggested we hike Superstition Mountain instead for our fourth anniversary. It's a well-known fact to the mountains of the world that I hate them. I grew up in the Sacramento Valley. And any time I've ever gone on a hike, I feel like the slow, blind donkey in the lineup.

Hiking with Steve is so different from all my bad experiences in the past. There's absolutely zero pressure to sprint up the mountain. He stays with me. He stops with me. He's patient and calming. He's always been this man for me, hiking or not. He's the sole reason I haven't had an anxiety-induced heart attack yet.

After forty minutes of hiking, we reached the congratulatory bench. Beyond this point you need Sherpas, ladders, rappelling equipment and terms like "belay." This was the setting for the romantic dinner I had planned while we watched the sunset.

The bench rested against the base of a living mountain blooming with cactus flowers. We sat perched near the top of Superstition, tucked into its chest. From our protected alcove, we watched rain and thunderstorms march past on all sides while we munched smoked salmon on bagels with cream cheese, smokies, a bucket of strawberries, veggies and dip, and See's truffles.

Some might say the view was a little ominous for an anniversary setting. But I thought it was perfection. It was like watching a replay of our lives at the top of the world, and a preview of what was yet to come. Storms were pounding the desert. Yes, we got rained on and a little cold. But we were untouchable to the bulk of wind and rain as we stood elevated, attached to something bigger than ourselves.

Happy anniversary to my best friend. We will make it through the storms of life together.

"Mom, what's buttermilk?"

I talk to my mom every day on the phone. We talk about family, world events, books, and the future. She is my favorite person to talk to on the phone.

Most of the time, these hour-long conversations are followed up by a few mom/wife questions:

Mom, why won't Darcy nap?


Mom, why is my banana bread falling apart?


Mom, what is buttermilk?
(I was definitely standing in the pasta section of the grocery store. You'd think I'd at least be in either the butter section or the milk section.)

Believe it or not, homemade buttermilk waffles are made without rigatoni!

Recipe here.

I am now three for four in hot breakfast week! Steven says he wishes every week were hot breakfast week. What do you think? I love seeing him gobble the food I make especially for him.

Today is our four-year anniversary. We are climbing the top of a mountain (sans baby) and picnicking among candles, red rocks, cacti, and a delicious menu I've put together.

Can't wait to tell you all how it goes!