The M&M Story

As I little girl, I loved....wait....repeat in all caps....LOVED watching the yearly Christmas specials on television.  Right after Thanksgiving, I poured over the weekly TV guide (remember the paper version?), highlighting all my favorites.  There was The Year Without a Santa Claus .  I was definitely Team Heat Mizer.  Cold Mizer had the chill and the height, but Heat, he had the sass.  Then there was Rudolph and Charlie Brown and Frosty and the Grinch. Loooved the Grinch in all his humor and grinchiness. I marked each and every one on my mother's calendar, happily anticipating several evenings of laughter, hot chocolate, and blissful escapes to chilly claymation wonderlands.  But in all my giggly girlhood, there was always one that rather rocked my world. That little drummer boy. I think every emotion pulsed through my eight...nine...ten year old self as I watched this 22 minutes year after year.  Fear. Laughter. Joy. Tears. Those evil bandits. T...

Most nights when we sit down together for dinner, we reflect on our day by naming our A and our Z.   A couple of years ago when we were visiting my college roommate and family, we were introduced to this idea.  I think their family called it Hi/Lo. My boys renamed it at some point to A and Z. Recently, my sweet Briggs explained his Z.     "My Z is that I almost cried in class today.  We were watching Ramona.  She ran away and when her family saw her again, I had to hold my cry inside. I didn't want to cry in front of my friends."  As he finished saying the word friends, he burst into tears.      Fighting back my own tears at his sweet story, I responded: "You don't need to hold the cry inside anymore. It's always okay to cry at home."  He nodded between sobs and crawled into my lap. I wanted to hug away all his pain.  "Feel better?"      As his cry tapered off, "Yes, much, much better."

I think I'm just beginning to breathe again. Another start of the school year.  August?  Gone with the wind. September? Washed out to sea. October?  Thank God you are here, but don't run away too fast!! I just pulled out my pumpkin candle yesterday.  I need a little time to enjoy it before we are singing Christmas carols and sipping hot chocolate. So much has happened in the last two months.  I'll reflect and write about it later.  But before I forget, there are a couple little conversations with the boys that deserve some screen time. M:  Mom, what color is an omelette? Me:  Well, it's typically white on the outside, or maybe a light yellow. M:  No, the kind of omelette you wear around your neck. Me:  Do you mean an amulet? M:  Oh, that's it. B: Mom, why is it bad to point your middle finger at someone? Me: Well, it's a gesture that says to someone that they are stupid or that you hate them. (The best analogy for a 7 yea...

I've never been one to stringently follow the rules or conform too much to the next best thing.  Sure, there have been moments when someone says go right and I head left and oops, maybe I should have gone right. And there was that time in 7th grade when all the girls had these wedge shoes called Yo-Yo's, and my mother wouldn't buy them for me. But for the most part, the freedom to create or invent or re-arrange has blessed my life immensely. Mosaic art has been around for centuries. It was the Ancient Greeks that took it to the next level and raised it to an art form. They used the pebble technique with precise geometric patterns to create detailed scenes of people and animals. The styles and skills evolved through the years, but the art of making mosaic has generally stayed the same. Small pieces of glass, tile, stone arranged together to create a picture or design or pattern. Each piece being important to the whole design. Several summers ago, I was in a small group t...

Watermelon is sliced and served on the back patio. Max:  "Watermelon is my paradise."

'Tis the season.  Ceremonies, parties, dresses, gifts, diplomas, celebrations.  This spring I attended a high school graduation (professional) and a grad school graduation (personal--but not me.  My sweet hubby.)  I loved hearing the clickety-click of high heels as young girls, soon to be women, dashed down the hall to their place in line, hand grasping their cap.  I loved watching big boys, soon to be men, walk across the stage and nonchalantly glance around the room to find mom and dad. So much joy in the accomplishment. A milestone reached. The end of a season, so to speak. But now what?  Graduation may well be an end of season, but in many ways, it is just the beginning. Excitement.  Anticipation.  Expectation. And the beginning of anything isn't easy.  It takes perseverance, boldness, and strength.  It takes creativity, tenacity, and endless, consistent prayer. It takes patience and lots of breathing exercises to keep from...

Briggs' published story from the winter---this was written on his own, not for school.....I think the last line is one of my very favorites ever. The Lonely Cat By Briggs Maynor Once there was a lonely cat. He had no mom and dad.  And he had no Home. Nobody wanted him. He was so cute. I love him. But he had a basket that he snuggled in and he had a stuffed animal. And he had a baby that was so cute. I wish I could have him. The Next day I got him!! I adopted him! I was so happy I could hardly breath.  The End. Published Date--December 2010

Writers write from what they know.... Max Maynor #9 31 March 2010 The Brave Dragon          Once upon a time in England during the Middle Ages, there was a brave dragon named Briggs.   He lived in a castle with a prince named Max and a princess named Carsyn. Prince Max and Princess Carsyn were in love. They were happy because they were friends and liked to play with each other.   Their brave pet dragon Briggs always kept them company. The castle was near a forest and there was a dwarf named Susan who used to live in the forest but now lived in the castle for her protection from the evil king’s army.          One day Princess Carsyn was on a horse ride in the forest and the evil king Todd jumped out from behind a tree and kidnapped her. He took her to the evil castle on the other side of the forest. When Prince Max found out she had been kidnapped, he snuck through the forest to the other side...

On Easter, Max was not at his best.  He actually spent the afternoon on the couch, completely uninterested in food. On the Monday morning after Easter, he shuffled out of his room and announced: Max:  "Mom, I can't go to school." Me:  "Why, honey?" Max:  "Well, I feel like I have seaweed in my stomach, at least one beehive in my throat and a jackhammer in my eye." With that, he shuffled back to his room and crawled under his covers. Interesting symptoms.  I wonder his diagnosis....

Yes, I think so. If it didn't, I might want to crawl under the covers and go back to sleep for say, the next forty years of my life.  The Easter season holds powerful lessons for me.  Many, many moons ago, my father entered the gates of heaven, unexpectedly in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. It was about three weeks before Easter.  Nine years ago, Max, my creative, funny, and often poetic first born joined us in this earthly life. It was about two weeks before Easter.  Seven years ago (three weeks early), Briggs, my strong and so lovable youngest son was born, and it was about a week before Easter.  And then six years ago, my sweet first husband--Brian--was diagnosed with terminal cancer in the rainy days of March. It was about three weeks before Easter.  This time of year.  It is often a tornado of emotions and feelings and joys and sorrows and blessings.  And promises. And I don't mean I-promise-to-buy-you-an-ice-cream-if-you-clean-yo...

Briggs stayed home for the fifth day in a row.  Well, two of those were weekend days. Saturday morning his outcome for health looked promising, but a high fever and a trip to urgent care said differently.  Today he was fever free and recovering from four days of being sick. This morning, unbeknownst to me, Todd had asked him to make a list of things he wanted to do today. (It was Daddy's turn to stay home.) I was buzzing around the house gathering my things when I noticed him on the sofa, pensive and still. Catching my breath, I asked, "What's up, buddy?  Are you feeling bad?" He wasn't totally himself yet, but my concern was we had missed something that morning and he was, indeed, still feverish. B:  "No, I'm just thinking about my list." S:  "What list, honey?" B: "My list of things I want to do with Daddy today. And we are going to rest between each activity." S:  (I was melting in puddle of love for this little guy):...

I've watched this a bunch of times. I've shown it to my students in class. I've posted it on Facebook. Clearly, I really, really like it and think it should be on my blog. Permanently. Laura, one of my rock star video students, made this last fall. She wrote it.  She directed it. She edited it. She was 16 at the time. The ballerina is one of her best friends, also one of my students. I think this video teaches how beautiful redemption really is. I hope my boys, as teenagers, will grasp this understanding.

I've decided that I might be the most selfish and discontented person alive.  And narcissistic to boot. "I could do that better....." "If I just could.....maybe if I did this.....what if this were this way.....and that was that way...." Yes, I'm that shallow and that discontent and that, well, sinful. I like to pretend that I'm all wise and have learned, but that doesn't take away the fact that God, in His mercy, saved me from myself. Desire.  What exactly does that mean? God gives you the desires of your heart.  Okay, but my heart is pretty nasty. It envies. It covets. It judges. I wish it didn't. I wish I was perfect. Therein lies the problem.  Good thing I have a Savior. This devotion recently showed up in my inbox at precisely the same moment I was banging pots and pans around as I unloaded the dishwasher. Then I began ungracefully dropping silverware in my silverware drawer because my perfectly planned plans had been thwarted b...

Chocolate Chip Cookies. Redefined. Remade.  Feel free to Recreate. (And she wonders why her thighs just won't shrink...) Ingredients 2 sticks unsalted butter (to room temp) 2 cups bread flour (add ¼ more if you like cak-i-er cookies) 1 teaspoon kosher salt 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 cup sugar (prefer raw--just because) 1 ¼ cups brown sugar 1 egg 1 egg yolk 2 tablespoons milk (preferably raw whole or cream) 1 ½ teaspoons + a splash of vanilla extract or vanilla liquor or amaretto (so good!) or combination thereof. 1 tsp espresso powder 2 cups (or more) semisweet chocolate chips or combination of white and chocolate (preference) Hardware: Parchment paper (preference) Baking sheets Mixer Directions: Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. (I wish I was good at preheating....) Soften butter to room temperature--this is important!  I mean, you *can* melt, but soften is better. I’m sure I can come up with a thesis and support, but trust me, it’s for a smooth cookie. Sift ...

My sweet Max is nine years old.  Halfway to 18 when he may pack his bags and head out to find his fortune. To My Eldest: I love the way you look at the world. I love your humor. I love your curiosity. I love your poetic nature. I love your stick fort. I love your collections. I love your creations. I love how you love Tiger. I love your heart. 

Saturday, we went to a Zoo birthday party for our little friend Norah, who turned two years old. Todd had parked by the Muny because it was insanely gorgeous out and the entire city of St. Louis made Forest Park the day's destination. On our way to the car, we passed one of my favorite spots in all of Forest Park, the World's Fair Pavilion. The fountain below, drained of water, made for a great climbing spot. As the boys jumped and leaped and "snow skied" from rock platform to rock platform, Todd and I made our way to the bricks in front. After Brian passed away, I purchased a brick through Forest Park Forever to honor him and his love for making things more beautiful.  Brian had the gift of envisioning brokenness into beauty and was filled with the grace to embrace that process. On his brick is engraved: Brian Maynor Lived and Loved By His Grace After the boys had leaped and jumped to their heart's desire, they made their way down to see Daddy Brian's br...

Several weeks ago I spent three days with four beautiful women.  Four strong, independent, brilliant, creative, lovely women. I listened...I absorbed...I breathed their various perspectives and invaluable wisdom on work, motherhood, faith, and family. And I, like Luke to his Obi-Wan, began a journey of...let's say....rediscover. In the last twelve years, I've become a wife, a mother, a widow, and a wife again. All good....all beautiful, even in its challenges. I think maybe as I've entered middle age, I can honestly say I comprehend the great calling of being a wife and mother. Loving, serving, and caring for my husband until he entered the gates of glory taught me the fragility of human life and the acceptance that I am not in control of my universe.  Being a widow taught me how strong I can be and how God made women with great purpose. Finding love again taught me about grace.  The grace to love and be loved. The grace to trust. The grace to belly laugh.  The g...

As we were looking at lamps in Home Goods, Max said, "Mommy, you are not a fancy kind of girl. You are a normal girl, and I like that." Briggs, as he is telling us his bad dream: "So the bad guy came and took Squishy from me and it was terrible.  Then I put my mind on pause....."  (Oh, how I wish I could put my mind on pause!) After Briggs was diagnosed with strep throat and told to not kiss or get too close to his brother:  "Mommy, when can I go near anyone I love?  It is hard not to get close to you and Max and Daddy." Max to Daddy:  "You look like a real dad."

I've decided it might be time to post the mommy prayers I elicit most days.  And then some nights.  And, well, then some mornings because my prayers are never ceasing.  For survival. Dear God, Thank you for valentines.  Not that I really love Valentine's Day, but I love that my boys love Valentine's Day. Create. Plan. Execute.  What more could a mommy ask for?  Well, maybe a dozen roses....or a night off...or a bottle of my favorite wine...or a pedicure...but really, a create/plan/execute is far more beautiful and keepsakeish than any wine/pedicure/roses. Thank you for little boys. They are just perfect---in their puppy love, playful-wrestle sort of way. They love deeply.  And passionately.  Give me patience...and wisdom as I love these puppies to adulthood.  Or at least until they are able to feed and clothe themselves.  Please give me insight into their characters....into their passions and desires and motivations. May I please h...

Okay, so I know I posted a few days ago my base quick bread recipe.  Well, I tried something else, but this is only for banana bread.  I like banana bread, but I'm always looking for ways to make it more interesting--and less fattening.  So this is adapted from The Canyon Ranch Cooks: Preheat oven to 350.  See below for pan prep. 3 small, ripe bananas, mashed--about 1 cup 1/4 cup brewed coffee 1/2 cup brown sugar (could sub regular sugar--i just like how the molasses flavor mixes with the coffee) 1/4 cup unsweetened applesauce (i usually blend an apple with a little water--it's easier than stocking applesauce) 2 eggs 1 1/2 cups spelt flour (you can use regular whole wheat, but sub a little bread flour for the rise) 1/4 cup coconut flour (can skip if you don't have it--but use one less egg) 3/4 tsp baking soda 1/4 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp (or more) of allspice 1/2 tsp (or more) of cinnamon splash of almond extract ( if you prefer vanilla, that works, t...

In the words of The Beautiful South--"I want my wind-swept, Ingrid Bergman kiss."   No wonder we cheer for Maximus and Frodo and Harry Potter.  For years, I've loved dissecting movies and books, engaging with the hero and his quest as he searches for his elixir. It's good to know it's the way we are designed.   A Sacred Romance In all of our hearts lies a longing for a Sacred Romance. It will not go away in spite of our efforts over the years to anesthetize or ignore its song, or attach it to a single person or endeavor. It is a Romance couched in mystery and set deeply within us. It cannot be categorized into propositional truths or fully known any more than studying the anatomy of a corpse would help us know the person who once inhabited it. Philosophers call this Romance, this heart yearning set within us, the longing for transcendence; the desire to be part of something larger than ourselves, to be part of something out of the ordinary that is good. Transc...

I thought that might get your attention.  I love to bake.  I sometimes follow a recipe but more often than not, I improvise--mostly because a. I don't necessarily have all ingredients on hand or b. I need to raise the nutritional content or c. I'm not a rule follower.   And then there is my love affair with spelt flour.  I love spelt.  It can be substituted 1:1 for wheat flour, but it is nuttier, sweeter and higher in protein.  It is also easier on the digestive system.  My new base recipe for pumpkin and banana bread. 1.5 cups spelt flour .5 cup coconut flour 2 tsp baking soda 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 cup sugar--I use the "healthy" kind--evaporated cane juice.  But really it's just sugar.  1/2 tsp maca powder (Optional.  You can add more if you like, but be careful, this stuff is STRONG) 2 eggs  1/2 cup  (or a dribble more) of buttermilk 1/8 cup unsweetened applesauce--I usually just put my...