Seed Fever

This morning, Dory, her arms wrapped around my neck, whispered in my ear, "Let's go see my seeds growing."



One of Matthew's dear, thoughtful co-workers picked up a set of these herb plants for her son and a set for Dory too. This is one of the sweetest gifts I think Dory's ever received. She even labeled each little plant and the garden itself.



Dory and Matthew planted them last night. We checked their progress this morning and, well, not much yet. She was not discouraged. And standing in our kitchen, on a rainy Tuesday morning, with her little monkey arms and legs around me, I wasn't either.

After that, we had tea. Dory served.






If a day can start off this well with no visible seed growth, what will a day with a little visible green be like? I cannot wait to find out.

Sunday Morning

Ahhhhh.

Would the deliciousness of Sunday morning be lost if all mornings were Sunday morning? Of course it would, at least a little. So I tell myself Monday morning. Today, though, nice to dream, what if this was everyday?

Right now, my Sunday morning looks and sounds a little like... dog sleeping at the bottom of the bed. Husband and daughter thumping through the house, accompanied by sweet, high pitched child's voice bossing daddy about. Birds chirping outside. Some knitting in front of me, Cascade Superwash on the needles, slowly becoming Child's Placket Neck Sweater. Just finished listening to Keeping Chickens on Mother Earth News radio. Rumbling tummy requests hot tea, with some yogurt and granola. Granola was a treat from our local Co-op this week; Dory carried the bag through the store with gritty, three-foot tall determination, and finally I gave in, because, honestly, it looked delicious. Turns out it is. Too pricey for an every week buy. (Add to to-do list: find good granola recipe.)

A little later today, Husband and I have plans for a rare and exciting trip to the movies, maybe even getting lunch beforehand, while Grandpa and Grante (pronounced Gran-T) Mojo look after our little girl. Movies were once an every weekend excursion for us and now I average perhaps three or four a year. Something I thoroughly enjoy regardless of film; the experience is a thrill simply for its uncommon occurence. My Sunday morning lesson; the rarity makes it more precious.

Happy Sunday to you all!


(No worries, Dory is not suddenly regressing, suffering from some kind of Merlin backwards-aging. No new pictures to show, so found one from this time last year. Can you believe the change?)

What Will They Say About Us?

Since Dory started enjoying books (really enjoying them, not just wanting to mouth them or rip the pages) we've been reading stories at bedtime. This has been months now, maybe even a year? Hard to recall in fuzzy mama memory.

Occasionally its a quick night; on nights where she's exhausted, she's out in the middle of the first book. Most nights, its anywhere from three to eight stories and lately I've felt impatient. Impatient to finish, for her to fall asleep.

(Dory at eighteen months)

Last night, on the sofa, I performed my typical feats of nursing and reading simultaneously. Just as thoughts, that mental chatter, started to pop up ("surely it will be soon; she must be tired") and words to follow ("one last story, OK, sweetie? Last one."), an entirely new image popped into my brain. I imagined her, as an adult, relating to me how our ritual of reading at bedtime was a cherished childhood memory. I heard her, really, almost heard the words, saying she treasured that time, she felt special, loved, safe and valued. That she, as an adult, appreciated that we would read "one more story" and then "one more story" after that, that we read them gladly and with pleasure.

(Dory at two and a half)

And the words "last one, last time" disappeared. We read until she fell asleep, somewhere near the end of "The Sword and the Stone" from Walt Disney's Classic Storybook, a book she loves though I don't think she's actually seen one movie from the entire collection. And then for another half hour after that, we stayed cuddled there on the sofa, she, this long, slender toddler, sprawled across my arms and I imagined myself, saying back to her, in those later years, "Dory, our bedtime stories are some of my best memories too. Some of my very best."

(Last week, napping the day after I declared 'She's all done with naps, I think!' Ah, we wise and all-knowing parents...)

New Bedtime Ramblings

While naps are not entirely gone, they are mainly phased out. At two and a half, Dory can handle a good solid ten to eleven hours straight waking-time before nerves start to fray. An hour after that she goes to bed. So suddenly I have free evenings! Already I have started some laundry, emailed a few friends about getting together for lunch, eaten a quiet dinner, and found two different Meryl Streep films to alternate watching. (Julie & Julia and Defending Your Life). I don't watch nearly as much television as I once did (any guess as to why?) and it feels positively glutinous that, with the press of a "Back" button I get double Meryl. Her laugh, in both films, is infectious.

Other happenings.

I want to learn to sew. I have many friends who are accomplished sewers but only one in town. She has recently moved. I am now faced with finding time for class (difficult) or finding a book, getting out the machine my Grante Suzanney so kindly loaned me and just figuring it out. I want to be brave and bold and just do it. So tonight at the library I checked out Socks from the Toe Up. Exactly. A knitting book. I'm not ready for brave and bold sewing but I am ready, after four and a years of knitting, to learn a new cast-on. I will stay posted on progress.

The library trip merits a mention. Tonight, Matthew surprised Dory and I by arriving at work (where I nanny) and picking Dory up. They came home to play and, when I left work twenty minutes later, I stopped at our neighborhood library and... wandered. Now, Dory and I visit the library weekly. I consider her an avid reader by the number of books she enjoys having read to her. We come away with a stack for her every time we come home. Because of Dory (well, mostly- I might have had a few) I have officially hit my book loan limit and had to put books back. (How many does Knox County consider too many? Anything over 35.) I mean only to make the point, I get my library fill.

I had one book on hold to pick up. Yet to wander the shelves, even for ten minutes, on my own... temptation was too strong to dash in and out again. Just like, I imagine, anything in life, it can be nice to do it unaccompanied. I gave myself a few extra minutes and just wandered. Because of this I discovered the socks book and a new Amelia Peabody mystery that I would not have known was available had I not chosen to meander. I might also have come home with Barbara Kingsolver's , a book I've read a couple of time nows, but which I always find inspirational, especially as my fingers start to dog-ear pages of these new seed catalogs.

What a good, happy ending to a strange, bumpy month. Welcome, February!

Good Eatin'

In the spirit of adventure, meals around the Mojo household are a little different than usual.  Inspired by Simple Abundance and Matthew being home to keep track of Little One, I've been on a new recipes jag.

First we tried Rachael Ray's "Beef Horseradish Strudel," exciting because it dealt with puff pastry, something I've normally considered too fiddly to fool with.  


Gorgeous I think, but My God! that's a lot of food. We still have an entire loaf of meat-pie in the fridge. Hungry anyone?

Next on the menu was Peppercorn Pork with Parmesan Smashed Potatoes from Ellie Krieger's The Food You Crave.  Yesterday we made Ellie's Pumpkin Muffins for breakfast:


and for dinner last night, Spaghetti with Turkey Meatballs and Spicy Tomato Sauce. Healthy and yummy!

The reviews of all the new cooking have been favorable.  Even the turkey meatballs earned high accolades from Matthew, the ultimate carnivore.  I humbly took my praise and assured him it had more to do with the team of sous chefs I had helping.




I think all good cooks would agree, you're only as good as the babies chewing on ladles and dogs licking the floor in your kitchen.

A Bit of Elbow Grease

"I had almost forgotten
How lovely it is.
To be tired and leave
Things to themselves."
Lars Gustafson, translated by John Irons

Recently, my mama went to an estate sale and picked up, for me, the most soothing and delicious book, Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach. SA is an authentic and soulful work, filled with spiritual and applicable thoughts and advice. I am, when I'm not nervous about it, excited about the paths it takes me down.

This week's topic has been money, and the daily essays are filled with both mentally enriching and practical advice for thinking of, handling and managing money. For the most part, I've absorbed it readily enough. Today however, while trying to sort out bills, I got in a good, heavy funk. Here was a situation with no immediate resolution and I fell into worry, an ineffectual heart-crushing action.

A conversation with my mom helped tremendously, enough to remind me there was a bigger and greater energy in the world than that of bills or the national economy. We hung up, and I felt a little restored, but still unsatisfied. While Dory napped, I rallied enough energy to do two things: scrub my bathtub and talk with God.

These conversations are still so new to me, something I've begun in the last few years. They start abruptly, not kneeling sweetly in front of my bed at night, but in the middle of five o' clock traffic or silently in a chaotic get-together or in a half-sleep in the middle of the night while nursing Dory. They can be anything from "I am so grateful..." to "WHAT is going on..." Today I started with some kind of chemical cleaner with bleach for the tub. In my conversation, I fretted, accused and worried out loud about two weeks from now, two days from now, two hours from now. I didn't get anywhere with either track, so I gave up both of those.

I tried a second, natural cleaner and requests for help. Help in seeing the positive, help in finding the best in the situation, help to not waste anymore of my life in worthless, wasteful worry. Anne Lamott, a particularly brilliant writer on the subject of faith, says her main prayer is "help me, help me, help me, and thank you, thank you, thank you." I stuck with help me.

I gave up on cleaners and moved on to a good solid scrub brush, with a fat handle and thick solid bristles. At some point, in asking for help, I'd grown calm enough and clear enough to ask the question: "What does my life look like, right now, through the eyes of God? What does my Authentic Self, as Breathnach calls it, know about me?" That question, finally, resonated. What does Spirit see? A woman with... great health... a gorgeous, thriving baby... a gorgeous, thriving husband. A woman with loving, thriving parents. A woman with a warm home, running water, electricity. A woman with lovable, though fairly smelly, dogs. A woman with great friends. A woman who loves knitting and fiber. A woman who enjoys walking when she makes the time. A woman with a passion for writing and literature. A woman who likes to laugh and has plenty of reasons to everyday. The grime started to streak and abate; the scuffed white tub underneath began to show through. Both the literal and metaphorical cleaning worked their magic. I threw my back and heart into it, knowing the time before Dory woke up was brief and that, once she was up, I wanted to be present with her.

What did this woman really want? Comfort. I wanted a little comfort, a little serenity and ease in my present moment. I can't know with absolute certainty what will happen in the next few weeks, next week, next day. But this worthless, wasteful worrying- agh! This felt helpless and served no purpose.

Looking at a white bathtub brought me a little comfort. Picking up Dory and cuddling her in my arms brought me more. I decided to seek comforts for the rest of the day. Fresh sheets on the bed. Putting Dory's pumpkin hat on her. Making a good friend's potato soup recipe for dinner. Chatting with Matthew about his day at work. Reading the SA essay for today again. Putting this lovely girl to bed and seeing, as always, how very, very blessed I am.



It wasn't easy and several times, actually many, many, many times I felt that old fear start to creep back up. What about- tomorrow? this person? this event? Each time, I dragged my mind back, back to the present, the here and now. I had everything I needed right now. Today. In this minute. Still my mind wandered, and still I brought it back. I wasn't blissfully, wildly, outrageously happy getting ready for bed. That would have been lovely, but a stretch. I was quiet, thoughtful and grateful.

The most important part of the day? Remembering the second part of the prayer and taking it to bed with me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.