A Continuum

Before we welcomed our adoptive kids into our family (I was tempted, for the sake of ease, to say brought them home, but then I stopped myself as I am conflicted about using that terminology. As if they did not already have a home. They did. Both of our children have living fathers who {painfully} chose to relinquish their little ones to the care of another family because of their inability to amply provide for their children's needs. Personally, I see the movement as largely lateral, from one family to another family, from one home to another home. I actually have no idea what phraseology is pc in the adoption community or what adoptive parents would say about the topic, it's just my perspective.) ((Whew, that was a looooong parenthesis!)) Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, prior to Meadow and Flint making their debut in our lives I would read the blogs of folks who had adopted and wonder to myself as they spoke in general terms about their struggles, "what exactly is it that makes adoption in this way (older children, that the adoptive parents have never met, from a foreign country) challenging?" Truthfully, I wanted the nitty gritty details!

It was only after we brought them here that I began to understand why lots of people were probably less than specific as they addressed the issues facing their children. There is a sense of  protection for these young lives who have been through so much - not to mention the feeling of vulnerability involved in relaying our own struggles for the "whole world" to see. Adoption can rock a parents life, as well as a marriage, siblings, and a family unit. As we try to discuss the subject, it becomes quickly clear that there is a very fine line - wanting to be honest and transparent enough for those who are facing the same challenges themselves to find comfort and consolation in the reality that they are not alone - and endeavoring to protect our kids' privacy. It is my sincere hope that I am able to do both, to some extent, coupling as much graciousness and openness as I can muster. 

"They" say that your children have to be with you as long as they were away from you for full attachment and bonding. For us, who met our children at the ages of 4 and 6, that can be discouraging news! If this is true, we still have a long haul toward proper attachment. And yet, to get to the nitty gritty, I will say that the #1 issue I encounter as an adoptive mother is varying degrees of unattachment. It makes me wonder if they are right.

A deep emotional bond makes everything you do for someone, with someone, easier. Everything. Everything. Love requires great service. Caring for adoptive children with the immense needs they often present is bound to be a task heavily laden with sacrificial servitude. No doubt, it would likely be harder to do all that I do to for my biological children if it were not for the time I spent caring for my babies when they were small and helpless. Had I not fallen in love with them from the instant I saw 2 lines on the pregnancy tests - had I not experienced the miracle of their births, deeply breathed in their sweet fragrance, felt their warm skin on mine, cared for their every need, witnessed their first smile, coo, giggle, laugh, step, I would surely not be as utterly, hopelessly bonded to them as I am now. I can still see the image of their faces as babies in my mind's eye when I look at them. It takes my breath away. They, my babies, big as they are, take my breath away. We have an ooey gooey kind of love.

Meeting Meadow and Flint was an entirely different experience. They were already big kids. With lice and ringworm and a host of emotional issues, none of which were their fault. From day one, we were in for some intense labor. Only it wasn't in the form of the tender moments involved in caring for infants. It came through trying to help kids with opinions of their own and no constructive means to express themselves due to a language barrier, who were reeling from a sense of change and loss and grief and feeling completely out of place, while I myself was reeling from a sense of change and loss and grief and feeling completely out of place. The bonding that was required to form a cohesive parent child relationship had to be formed through some pretty severe circumstances. It is not easy to develop ooey gooey love when you are wading through a constant level of turmoil.

There is no way the feelings of love I knew as a mother were going to effortlessly appear with my adopted children the way they did with my biological babies. Love is a great motivator - it fuels the fire of service. It makes all that we do less of a chore, more of a joy. It has taken time to build with the beautiful Ethiopian treasures entrusted to my care. Hence, there have been times where the necessary work has felt quite a chore. I was "mommy" to all 7 of my kids. But in my heart, I could feel a definite distinction between the children I gave birth to and those I adopted, which brought me such shame. And that, my friends, has been my most significant challenge. 

Today, as we approach the two and a half year mark, I am able to beat myself up less because I don't carry an equal level of emotional attachment and deep bond for my biological and adopted kids. Do I feel for Meadow and Flint precisely the same way I do for Jayla, Onyx, Tyden, Stryder and Clover? No, I do not. Our journey together has been nothing alike. And, through much careful consideration, after swimming in a sea of self imposed condemnation, I've allowed myself to stop expecting that, to stop comparing. Instead, I am choosing to find joy and hope in the truth that I do feel for them. Very much. Little by little, as I watch them learn and grow and develop before my eyes, my mother's heart for these precious people grows too. More and more, these big kids are becoming my babies. Sometimes, they even take my breath away.

Maybe it will take 4 and 6 years to "arrive." But, I really try not to worry anymore about that. Because the way I see it, love is less of a destination, and more of a beautiful, blessed, fluid continuum, apt to evolve gently, with time.

What I wouldn't give for one of those....

In Evangelical homeschooling circles, long have I heard Susanna Wesley lauded for her remarkable impact not only on her children, most notably sons John and Charles, but for her mark on Christianity during the 1700s. Unquestionably a progressive and bold woman for her time, she is said to be the "mother of Methodism."

As I've raised and educated my own children, the thought of Susanna and the nineteen, (yes 19!) children she bore has often crossed my mind. I too would like to my life to speak volumes. Why is it I often fall short of the ideals I hold that are so easily articulated while my kids are fast asleep then get thrown out the window the moment they begin bickering over their breakfast cereal? How was she able to conduct her limited time in such a way to leave such a noteworthy legacy? It wasn't until I read her biography myself that I realized one very key point.

She had servants.

Servants!

People to assist her with the daily responsibilities of raising children and keeping a home and preparing food, enabling her to spend more of her time, energy, thought, and focus on the deep spiritual matters she wanted to impart to her sons and daughters, and others as the opportunity arose.

Her babies were even cared for at night by their maids. (What mothers of infants would give for an occasional night of interrupted sleep while the baby is cared for by another!)

Shifting gears, I remember vividly one evening before we left for Ethiopia sitting in front of the computer with my husband, watching a youtube video highlighting the ministry of the people who run the guest house in which we would be staying. Full of philanthropic spirit at that time, I was deeply moved and inspired by the founder of this ministry, who was a woman with four children. I admired her passionate goodwill and commitment to increasing the quality of life for others. Subsequently, I wondered where she found the time to conduct such extraordinary work which literally aids thousands of people, enabling hundreds of children to stay in their extended families rather than be placed for adoption? How doe she do that?

It was when I went to Ethiopia and saw her life, face to face, that I understood. Proudly, while sitting in her living room, she uttered these words to me "I'm not busy," which dropped my jaw. (Conversing with her that day, it was definitely my understanding that being "busy" does not hold the same perceived, inherent value there that it does here. I certainly can not speak for the Ethiopian culture as a whole after my one week stint there, but I will say that to this businesswoman in that moment, it seemed that busyness was not viewed as an indicator of importance.)

Want to know how she could make such a claim about not being busy while overseeing a guest house, a feeding program, an orphanage, and a family preservation ministry? You guessed it. She had servants. Wonderful, kind hearted, capable, generous, beautiful, servants whom I later had the pleasure of meeting and falling in love with. How I wished at the end of our stay that I could take one of them home with me!

Probably not unlike you, my life feels anything but "not busy." From morning until night I am constantly negotiating unrelenting demands on my time, my energy, my thoughts. Caring for each of my children who are ever with me, while maintaining a home, keeping the family's budget, planning and preparing frugal yet nutritious meals and snacks, washing the clothes, cleaning the home, entertaining the guests, advising the issues, overseeing the chores, teaching the school, mentoring character/moral development, not to mention the plethora of other tasks I don't have time or space to mention, keeps me very, very busy. Doing my best to ensure that each individual child's needs are met - emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically, developmentally, while working to be a thoughtful and encouraging wife who is pleasant to dwell with, and finding ways to fill my own personal cup as a woman, and a friend, as a person who has needs of her own, is a full time job. This is no small feat. There are many balls to juggle.

I have no servants.

This is not to take anything away from either of these two outstanding, trailblazing women who have left and are leaving an indelible mark on the world. Not at all.

It is simply to say that when I really stop to look at things, I alone am doing work that could occupy the schedules of several. It's a lot to handle. There is no wonder I grow weary - fall short of my ideals - keenly feel stress - become acutely aware of my own limitations.

Yet, morning by morning I wake up and give it another go, doing the best I can to grab hold of my immense responsibility, to guide those around me to the utmost of my ability. Which is completely, utterly, unequivocally, enough.

I am but a servant.

The babies

There goes my promise about frequent blogging...

Has it already been a week? Why yes. It has. Where does the time go when you're continuously occupied wrangling hungry children who insist on being fed 5 times a day minimum? I did plant a garden bursting with vegetables to assuage the appetites of the aforementioned chitlins, in between moments of (attempt toward) taming a house that erupts in spontaneous fits of disarray - a battle in which I ne.ver. seem to be able to claim victory.

That is surely the one thing I will love best about having grown children who are scattering debris all over their own homes; once again maintaining a tidy abode. I have tried, oh how I have tried to accustom myself to find peace with the mess. Truly. I just can not get a grip on my need for (some semblance of) order. I crave it. My body has a physical, biochemical, adverse reaction to clutter. Which is a good thing...yes. And, a not so good thing. It is not uncommon for friends who come into our house to say, "Wow! How do you keep it so clean with this many kids?" I laugh it off, chalking it up to my 7 "helpers." 

Deep down though, I know. My honest reply: There is a price to the neatness my friends sometimes exalt. If you show up at my door and I knew you were coming, it is likely that I spent the last 2 hours shouting elevating my volume at my children to CLEAN UP THEIR STUFF threatening that if they didn't get it all put away, I was going to THROW IT OUT in preparation for your arrival. Not exactly a primary relationship enhancer. Even when no one is coming to visit, my inordinate affection for a tidy home can get in the way of other, far more important, pressing matters. Like stopping what I'm doing to turn my body and look into their eyes as they speak to me rather than forcing them to talk to my profile as I'm focused on something else, or walking over the pile on the floor on the way to the table to play a game of cards, or pushing the books on the couch aside to sit down for a much needed heart to heart with my daughter, who craves her mother's undivided attention the way her mother craves order.

And so...that's how I do it.

They are only mine for an all too brief moment in time. It's racing, running through my fingers faster than I am ready to let go. Our hours, our days, our years together, under one roof are finite, bittersweetly limited.

May my priorities be what are in order.

********************************

My grandma told me she is now making homemade laundry and diswasher detergent. She enjoys them thus far and said she likes trying new things.
For some reason, that warmed my heart like you wouldn't believe.

********************************

We had some pillowcases that were fraying at the edges and had a couple small holes in them. If it were not for my ever shifting thinking throughout the last month since we began to seriously consider our waste and the practical ways we could reduce our impact, I would have thrown them out. Instead, Jayla cut them into small pieces for me and they now sit in this basket on our kitchen counter. Anytime I would have reached for a paper towel, I use one of these instead, then throw them in the wash {along with the other 5 million loads I was doing anyway.} Wala. Easy, no cost, impact reduction.

Dear precious carbon dioxide absorbing trees, you are more than welcome. I'm sorry I didn't work harder to save more of you sooner.

Grandpa's bird (and companion!) Whitey. 

My mom is watching the other 6 kids tonight so daddy-o and I can have a date with Jayla.

She and I are going to spend some time sitting on the couch, with cups of tea, while we chat. ♥ 

Thinking of a Title is Too Hard

The Deutschlets and I were sitting at the kitchen table looking at Stryder's birthday cake as the kids each began recalling what their own cakes were this year. Flint: "I had a Cars cake with Maynard on it!" Jayla: "Mine was a house. Remember those pretzel windows?" Tyden: "I had a super tall rainbow cake." Clover: "My heart cake had a clover on it. Teeheeheeheee." (Because when you're a 4 year old girl, every proclamation deserves either a giggle, scream, or flood of tears at the end, simply for the sake of dramatic flair.)

Meadow's birthday was in February. She could.not.remember. her cake. Just couldn't. Nor could she recall that her gift was a new purple (her favorite color!) bike. And that's just the way it goes with Meadow. Her memory is not extremely stellar. It's tough to describe, but I would say it's like a pervasive "mental blankness." She has very little recollection of so many things that take place - at home, at school, special events, holidays, etc. This presents some serious challenges when it comes to education, and if I think about it too much, I can easily become really frustrated with her inability to absorb and assimilate information. I work hard at making you feel special, cherished, loved - at teaching you the things you need to know. How can you not remember any of it? (Woe is me! Exposing my case of poor, poor martyr mom syndrome.)

In that instant, on that day, Stryder's birthday cake displayed in the middle of the table, kids scattered around it, as we all turned toward Meadow who was struggling hard to summon in her mind what came so easily to her siblings but was terribly difficult for her, I had a choice to make. She was looking at me, her eyes fixed one mine, desperately eager to please but unable. It was then that I realized that this girl would believe whatever I told her about herself in that moment - good or bad. The other kids were awaiting my response as well. This isn't the first, or fiftieth time we've encountered Meadow's memory challenges. That's when I really felt it. To these precious people, I am a powerful woman.

All too often, I choose poorly.

Lord, let me lift them up. Even when it is hard and I have grown weary by way of repetition. Even when a firm hand is needed, may I speak words that encourage, thoughts that inspire. I know this for sure: what I tell them about themselves, they will believe.

___________________________________

No new purchases this week! How about this (amazing! old!) percolator though? Oh my gosh. I super duper like it. Pot - $6.99 at Goodwill. Cord - $12.00 on Ebay. Coffee - hot and excellent.

After watching the documentary (um....3x) which I found completely inspirational and entertaining, I am now reading the book for more nitty gritty details of the project. Guess what? I am finding it completely inspirational and entertaining!

The positive psychologists confirmed scientifically, in other words, what simple-living advocates have been asserting for so long anecdotally: a life lived with less emphasis on acquisition might have the effect of leaving more time for richer, less resource-intensive life rewards, making both the planet and the people happier. - Colin Beavan

YES!!!

Is anyone interested in making dishwashing detergent?  You could put it in an old coffee can with a fancy schmancy label like I did which is all kinds of cool. If so, here is a recipe. (She put hers in a sleek little yogurt container, which is not nearly as awesome, but I suppose it works for people who don't wash 2 loads/day requiring the use of a (large!) old coffee can with a fancy schmancy label.)

Look what my baby boy was given as a birthday gift from his grandparents! He is so happy.

I will enter the devil's lair for the happy boy. Clearly, my love knows no bounds. ;-)

Surprising my children, my husband (and even myself!) like a regular farmer girl, I dug this up for planting corn that I wanted to get out of our garden this year because it takes up too much room. Documenting so I can remember that at 37 years old I could do such a thing. Then years from now, I can look back at the good old days, when I used to (1 time) dig up my own plot(s!) for planting {all those} crop(s!).

My babies.

How lucky am I going to be this Mother's Day? ♥





The boy who refused to stay little

(And his Ben 10 cake...)

I am a powerful woman

Stay at home moms make very little mark on the world.

At one point in time or another, we surely have all come across someone who holds fast to that belief.

Moms that choose not to maintain careers are easily underestimated - possibly even dismissed by those who view them as women failing to live up to their full potential by opting to keep their skills and aptitudes largely within the walls of their own homes, rather than honing them toward the goal of accomplishing a greater, more worthy impact. They may feel that the scope of an at home mother's influence is minuscule. That the breadth of her reach is undoubtedly, virtually, sadly, inconsequential. Her work, tending to the care of her children's affairs is mostly insignificant. It's a shame she won't do something with herself, she could have been so much more...

It is when I look into my children's faces as I speak to them, offering words that will build them up or tear them down, that I know it is not wise to underestimate people like me. I hold impressionable, fragile, trusting hearts in my hands. In their eyes, I have the authority to accept or reject - to edify or condemn. I can crush spirits. I can esteem. I can criticize. I can validate. I can break. I can mend. I can nitpick. I can encourage. I can squelch. I can set their sights on soaring. I can help them realize their potential. I can neglect. I can make excuses. I can invest.
I will send them out into the world. For better or worse, they will make a splash.

My choices are of tremendous significance.

I am a nurturer of souls. A keeper of secrets. A rocker of babies. A guard of hearts. A disciplinarian of behaviors. A teacher of academics. A guide of consciences. An advisor of matters. A builder of character.  I am one who trains, admonishes, instructs, directs, listens, accepts, understands, cares like none other, loves truly unconditionally. No matter what.

Day by day, hour by hour, situation by situation, I provide a living example - one I would like them to emulate or leave far behind.

The world at large may not know me at all, but my children do.

To them, I am indeed a powerful woman.

1, 2, & 3

1) It's hard to believe we are nearly a month into our year long challenge. Time flies by when you're busy not buying stuff. ☺ I actually have found it surprisingly easy (with the exception of that one thing...well, two... ok, three items I have purchased brand new.) Truthfully, on a personal level, it hasn't t changed my life much as I wasn't a huge shopper to begin with. I almost wish that weren't true. It seems as though it would be a more noble endeavor with a broader learning curve had there been the need to drastically alter habits. Yet, it is what it is. I still find great value in doing this together, as a family. And, it does cause me think outside the box when something comes up that I would otherwise buy new and I hunt for it used. My hope is that there is much insight to be gained for our children who have been born into a sadly wasteful, consumer driven, disposable culture.

Last night while dining out with some girlfriends one of them was astounded that I don't shop at Walmart....ever. {Or very rarely Target, for that matter!} How do you go to Walmart without buying anything new? Well, I don't go there. So....I guess that really helps. ☺ Yes, perhaps contrary to popular belief, it is plausible in this day and age in the U. S. of A. to have 7 children and continue to clothe and feed them all in a cost effective manner, without a smiley faced superstore. The fact that we all continue to draw breath, wear clothes, and eat food is evidence of this surprising reality. ☺
In the spirit of full disclosure I will now share my slip ups:
a) new camera {must have!}
b) replacement pitcher for my blender that fell off the drying rack and broke into pieces {must have!}
c) a glass pitcher with a lid to hold rice milk {really wanted!} I mean, I'm making homemade rice milk. I think I deserve a glass pitcher. {Clearly, an entitlement issue!}

2) Speaking of glass, I had been wanting to buy glass plates and bowls for the kids in an effort to weed out most of our BPA laden plastic usage for years, and I finally did! Already-broken-in Corelle. Is there anyone on earth that does not love Corelle? Nope. Don't think so. It's unanimous love! See the {chunky, heavy} stoneware plates that we picked out before our wedding (at a time when we would have had a good, hard, laugh at the notion that seven human beings would one day call us mom and dad) next to our (new to us, used) {sleek, light} Corelle plates? Some of them are even the same pattern that my mom had when I was a kid. Nostalgia in a dish. What's not to like?

3) Yesterday I was scolding Jayla for doing something she knew she shouldn't. As I looked into her face, focused upon mine while she listened to me drone on and on in useless lecturing extol the virtues of admirable conduct, "I expect more from you...blah, blah, blah" I very suddenly became absolutely struck by her beauty. Oh my goodness. She just looked so pretty to me. Affection for her swept.over.my.senses. engulfing my heart, making it swell up, big and happy with unencumbered love for the girl and absolute wonder that she could be mine. I stopped dead in my tracks and gave her a hug. Try to do better next time baby, I love you. End of discussion. The way it should have began....
Thank you God for this child who tenderizes my soul. She makes me want to be a better person.

Dinner at Chick-Fil-A to celebrate the end of the school year at the kids' charter academy where they were given 4 free kids meals {which left a mere $40 tab for rest of the family. ☺)

I'm pretty sure since the day she was born,

Jayla wanted one of those individual cake making oven toys.

I could never bring myself to buy one. 

How long would it take to make 7 cupcakes, one by one?! 

The joys of thrift store shopping - you never know what you may find.

Perhaps there will be a recycled, brand new, never used, tiny cake making oven for $7

that will fill a girl's heart with joy

(while tying up countless hours slaving away to produce mini desserts for her siblings.)

Whatever makes you happy. ♥

Chicken Diggs

After {several} {long} days of {hard} work, the coop is complete! (Can I get a hallelujah?) Bobby built this from scratch, without a plan or kit, so I am very, very proud of him and thankful for his labor. It was not a simple task. This is it from the back, where the nesting boxes are:

The nesting boxes with outside access to collect eggs,

IF the chickadees cooperate and lay where they are supposed to....:-)

6 places to lay lovely eggs:

The bigger of the 2 runs:

The door to the run that lifts from the outside with a pulley so we can let them out without going in:

{Genius!) 

The front:

The door cut in half so we can look in on them without them running out:

The inside:

Happy girls:

*Not shown: Happy mama :-)

Viewpoint

Yesterday, I was helping my husband paint our new chicken coop barn red (oh, how I ♥ a red barn!). The wood posts had white primer on them and as I began applying the dark paint, I quickly became discouraged at the streaky and uneven look my brush strokes were making. Some parts were dark, others light. No matter how hard I tried to transform this coop into the picture perfect image I held in my mind, the first coat of paint refused to look the way I envisioned it should. Much more of an experienced painter than myself (not to mention an all around the house project man who can build and fix any.thing.) Bobby told me not to worry about it. He said if I kept going, as I made my way around to applying the second coat I would see it even out. (As a good wife should ☺) I did as he said and found out he was right. The color started to take shape and become more uniform. With a little more time and effort, things were definitely looking up.

And still, as I stood near the coop examining my work, I could easily see the imperfections. The places I had gooped too much paint and let it drip. The spots that were thinner. The darker and lighter parts. Even when I was done, as I examined it closely, it didn't look as I had imagined it would.

I came in to make dinner while Bobby kept working. As I went to the door to call him in to eat, the sight of the coop took my breath away. It was gorgeous. Many an hour was spent poring over coops trying to decide how to house our hens before making a selection - a red barn with exterior nesting boxes and a red run on each side - and as I saw it in that moment, tools and scrap wood all around, still very much a work in progress, I could tell it would be just right. Exactly what we hoped for.

Stepping back and viewing it from a distance, allowing a little space which offered perspective, I no longer noticed every flaw and drip and thin spot. I saw breakthrough. I saw change. I saw imagery that was once only in our minds' eyes unfold turning what used to be a plain patch of prairie grass into a special home built buy the work of my husband's hands for our family's chickens that would serve to teach us all many lessons as they provide wholesome nourishment.

Strangely enough, this made me think of our children - Meadow and Flint.

One of my facebook friends is now in Ethiopia at the Guesthouse we stayed in when we picked them up. Her updates have reminded me of what it was like there. I wondered if we were to go now and stay in the same place with our adopted children, how different things would be.

Vastly. They would be vastly different.

Flint is no longer that scared little boy that darts away, literally running from us every chance he gets. Meadow no longer loudly wails, shedding tears of sorrow over the slightest upset. They make eye contact. They give hugs with open hands. They respond with "I love you too" when being tucked in at night. They read and write and do math and laugh out loud and speak English and swim and ride bikes and eat food without complaint and play with their siblings and make friends.

Last time we were at the Guesthouse, they were strangers, foreign to us in every way. If we were to go again, that wouldn't be the case at all. We would be able to predict their behavior with a level of accuracy, and they ours. They would not run away from us. They would not wail. They would look to us for guidance. We would offer it. No longer strangers, we are their parents. They are our children. I don't know about you, but that strikes me as pretty remarkable.

I'm sure that most of the time, just like with the coop, I'm looking at things too closely, too near to the scene to form a fair assessment. I can so easily see the challenge, the strain, the exerted effort, the repetition, the sowing and sowing and sowing taking place day by day when it feels as if very little reaping ever occurs. The confusion and bewilderment I experience as I try to figure out how to help them cope, grow, learn, make up for lost time, heal past hurts, is right at the surface. What they say is true, it's difficult to see the forest in the midst of the trees.

It's only if I take the time to really step back and look from afar that the imperfections fade from view. It is then that I can truly grasp the beauty of this experience.

Together, we have taken barren land and cultivated it through many hours of labor....turning it into a special home built by the work of our hands for our family that will serve to teach us all many lessons as we give and receive wholesome nourishment.

My heart rejoices.

A Favorite Discovery

Although they've been there forever (used nearly exclusively by fringe hippie tree hugging type people who fill the aisles with the scent of their essential oils as they bag their goods) I never used them. Not once. Until I became increasingly, painfully aware of the reality that all that highly nutritious, pesticide and fertilizer free, whole grain, organic food I was buying came in absurd amounts of packaging. Mostly plastic. {Lots and lots of plastic that would stay on the earth for 300 years, long after my children's bunny grahams (not to mention my children themselves) are gone.} Then, paperboard is thrown in over the plastic, for good (advertising, which hugely increases the cost) measure. Can you say e to the x to the cessive? Oh, the waste. Now, I use them for all kinds of things - rice, popcorn, quinoa, couscous, chocolate chips, trail mix, almonds, peanuts, cashews, dark chocolate covered almond clusters, grits, flour, powdered milk, spices, oats, dried fruit, etc. I just load my stash in these fantastic little bags and these and I go to town filling them up with every manner of necessity and goody required for a well stocked pantry, then store them in handy glass jars, leaving little to no waste in my wake. It was love at first scoop.

They are The Bulk Bins. And I am their (fringe, hippie, tree hugging, lavender scented) groupie.
It was meant to be. ♥

The biggest jar holds the chocolate.

It's all about priorities.... 

Hiccup

Exactly one week to the day after we began our buy-nothing-new-for-a-year-challenge, our daughter broke our (year and a half old) camera. ((Noooooo!!)) Yes. In one quick (highly unfortunate) maneuver, she dove under the desk, where the camera was attached to the computer by the USB cord, snapping it to the ground. (Crash!) (Crack!) (Break!) *Mom's Tears* Ok, not real tears. But let it be known, I was definitely crying on the inside.

I.can.not.live.without.a.camera. Collecting memories is one of my primary purposes in this life (due to the sad fact that my brain is so full of clutter ridiculously forgetful that if I don't record events it is as if they never existed!) The man of the house and I don't own phones with cameras. Our iTouches don't have cameras. We were virtually, hopelessly cameraless. (The horror!) It was a whole lot like being naked in public. Pathetic. My baby boy lost his first tooth and I couldn't take a picture to commemorate the (exciting!) (once in a lifetime!) occasion. *Mom's Tears*

We had every intention of buying a used replacement camera. There are lots of them online. First though, in an effort to take our year long goal of reducing our impact very seriously Bobby checked out several pawn shops, looking for a local, used camera. (No transport, no packaging, supporting local businesses.) The trend there seemed to be either a) super-expensive-way-out-of-our-price-range cameras or b) beat up pieces of junk cameras. Strike. *Mom's Tears*

We took a look at Amazon (where we have cancelled all of our subscribe and save deliveries, more on that later) and found a nice, inexpensive replacement that would meet our needs perfectly. They had some that were used! The used ones cost $20 less than the new! $20 is not very much money when you're talking about a camera! It didn't seem like enough of a savings to be worth it! We bought a new camera! Not yet 2 weeks into the venture we fell off the wagon! *Mom's Tears*

The only consolation to be found is that I've always maintained the opinion that most rules are begging made to be ignored broken.

Brushing off our post-consumer-roll-in-the-hay dust, we climbed back into the saddle to continue on....snapping photos along the way....☺

The little black purchase of shame

Rice Milk

For a whole bunch of reasons, not the least of which is the sheer number of non-recyclable containers we use (and throw in the trash!) {Ouch!} I'm trying my hand at making my family's favorite cow milk alternative -  rice milk. So far, so good....
I saw some recipes where people simply blended the rice and water - but unless you are a fan of rice chunks in your milk, I prefer to strain it. This is the recipe I used. There is a lot of other, very interesting and probably little known, information that may be of interest listed above the recipe.
Brown rice and water costs a fraction of the price of store milk, so this is a hugely economical endeavor.

I don't know about you, but saving all that money, along with pouring milk from homey, old fashioned glass jars is enough to make me all.kinds.of.happy. :-)