Dishes, dishes, dishes.

There are days when it seems like all I do is dishes and yet they are never done.

Behind me, the sliding and shuffling and clanking of a baby hard at work. I want cabinet locks on all the cupboards in the kitchen because I’m tired. Tired of cleaning the same things over and over and over. Tired of trying to be patient when all I want to do is scream. Tired of overreacting and hearing the children say,

“It’s OK. Mommy just hurts because of Tiggy.”

I turn around. Three pots, four lids, two ice cube trays, the lid to the yogurt maker and all the plastic parts of the juicer are back on the floor. The floor which is now carpeted with the pages of my favorite cookbook. It was already falling apart. The pages had been stuffed in the front, out of order, with the intent of some day straightening it all out.

And there’s Micah at an open cupboard, pulling out the slide-out shelves until he finds what he is looking for. A red plastic lid. He looks up at me and sees me watching. With a smile and a giggle, he shows me his plastic lid and adds it to the growing pile of things on the floor.

“Are you working, too?”

He giggles and I can’t help but smile. I sit down on the floor and start putting the pages back in the cookbook.

“You know, someday I just might decide to cook something and I just might want to sit down and browse through my cookbook first rather than just printing it off the internet.”

He hands me some pages. I bop him on the forehead with them and he grabs his head with both hands with a smile so cute I can’t help but do it again. This time he giggles.

“Oh, Mookie, what would I ever do without all of your help?”

I put the cookbook with its loose and out of order pages in a drawer he can’t reach and hand him a spoon. He doesn’t know what to do with it so I take another one and tap a pot with it. Now he wants both spoons and bangs happily on his assortment of instruments from my cupboards. His notes join those of five siblings who all sat at my feet drumming on my pots and pans while I worked in the kitchen.

“You make such beautiful music, Mookie. And music makes work light.”

I return to my dishes and decide maybe I don’t need those cupboard locks after all.

[If you are interested in purchasing kefir grains, I sell them for $10 (which includes priority mail shipping) to anywhere in the US.

I ship them every Wednesday and include an instruction sheet to get you started. If you try to order and this indicates I'm sold out, drop me a quick message and I'll let you know when more will be available. All profits are donated to Tiggy's House. Thank you!]

I have for the longest time wanted kefir grains. I used to make kefir using the powder which made a lovely kefir, but knowing there was something out there that would keep the culture going forever without having to buy more, well, let’s just say it annoyed me.

So I finally splurged.

And apparently, my excitement over finally having kefir grains was contagious.

But I had no experience with kefir grains and the first week I spent with them were frustrating. My first batch turned to curds and whey. And my second batch. And my third. I started paying more attention to my kefir than I do to my pets. As soon as the milk started to thicken around the grains, I strained it, thinking it would finish thickening in the refrigerator.

At least that is what one person on YouTube said should happen. But not for me.

Then I threatened it. “If you do not start giving me kefir, I am so feeding you all to the dogs.” I even tossed some to the dogs, just to emphasize my point.

And 24 hours later, I had kefir. And realized that my problem all along had been that I didn’t quite know what to watch for. So here is my pictorial guide to making kefir for all those people out there like me who need it to be harder than, “Put the grains in milk and leave it for 24 hours.”

Because that didn’t really work so well for me.

Step One:

Put it in a jar and fill it with milk. They say approximately one tablespoon to 8 ounces, but that varies depending on so many different things. You’ll figure it out, but that is a good place to start.

Step Two:

Watch it. You won’t need to do this so much later, but at first, close observation will help you to know when it is ready later. Within a couple hours, the grains will mostly be floating at the surface and the milk will thicken around them.

Then it will get really thick . . .

And the whole mass will start to rise up to float on top of the milk.

You can stir it at this point. It helps the culture, but if you stir it very much or very briskly, the kefir will be more sour.

This is where your judgment and taste buds come in. Strain it too soon, and you have odd tasting milk that will never thicken. Strain it too late, and you have curds and whey. Just watch that layer that looks like water under your floating mass. It will get lower and lower as your milk turns to kefir. When it reaches the bottom, you are ready for step three. Also, especially in the beginning, taste it. A lot. You can taste when it is going from an odd tasting milk to a tangy tasting kefir. Once you have that kefir taste, you can strain it. The longer you let it culture, the stronger it will be.

Step Three:

Stir the kefir and strain through a plastic or stainless steel strainer. If it is too thick to go through the holes, you can thin it with a little milk.

Note:

If you leave your jar too long, that thin layer of what looks like water won’t look like water anymore. It will take on a yellowish hue and look like whey. Because that is what it is.

And when you stir and strain it, you won’t get kefir. At least not much. You will get a bowl full of whey and a strainer full of this stuff.

But never fear. All is not wasted. After you finish sorting through that to reclaim as many of your kefir grains as you can find, you can pack the rest of that into some cheese cloth and hang it over a bowl.

Then you can measure your whey and add equal parts whey and flour to make the most wonderful sourdough starter. In 24 hours, it will be ready to make your first batch of bread. It makes wonderful bread from the start, but the characteristic sourdough flavor will develop over several days.

And then you can take down your ball of curds which is now a sort of kefir cheese. It tastes very good on that sourdough bread.

Even my kids think so.

And if you think you might like to try raising your own kefir grains, let me know. I will be selling off my extras now and again for $10 (which includes the shipping). And all of that, excepting what the post office takes, will go to Tiggy’s House.

Slicing through the plastic wrap on a frozen pizza, I look at my counter and think it is the perfect summation of my life right now. In the corner, an incubator with its second batch of eggs. They are starting to come in faster than we can eat them so we put a day’s worth of eggs in only two days after a successful test hatch yielded two little chicks.

Lined up under the cabinet are three jars of kefir culturing with my new kefir grains which are taking up as much time as the puppies sitting at my feet hoping for dropped crumbs.

And behind the dish rack, my sourdough starter, bubbling away as it prepares to produce two fresh loaves in the morning.

But it is seven in the evening and I never really thought about dinner so it is frozen pizza again tonight.

Slowly, in fits and starts, we are moving forward again with the vision of a life that drew us out here to this property. To a life of hard work, fresh air and fresh food. Last year, we did a lot but more because we didn’t know what to do other than the next thing on a list I had sketched out only weeks before Tiggy died.

But this year, as we go over our plans for the spring, I catch glimpes of that original vision. I see Tiggy’s little hand reaching up to slow me down to his pace during chores and I see little Micah holding his jacket on top of his head because he wants me to put it on him so he can come, too. And I want this for our family as we grow into this land together.

And I have been thinking a lot over the last couple of weeks about what I want for this blog. It’s going to change as our lives begin to change. There will be more about chickens, and dogs and fruit trees. There will be more about the business we are hoping to grow. And there will, of course, be the stories of our life I have been sharing for the past two years.

I just need to figure out how to organize it and then find the time to get started.

Reviewing Head & Shoulders Itchy Scalp formula was so much fun, I agreed to do it again, this time with their Head & Shoulders Apple Shampoo and Conditioner.

This may well be my first dandruff free winter. It also leaves a nice, light apple scent with minimal fuss. That’s important because I have way more important things to do with my time then mess with my hair.

Like homeschool my children, care for the livestock and run a jewelry business.

Dandruff, it turns out, is most often caused by a fungus that lives on everyone’s scalp, feeding off the extra oils produced by the hair follicles. Usually, it causes no problems. But for some people, it produces a minor irritation that leads the scalp to produce more skin cells that tend to clump as they fall off. Those are the flakes we all know as dandruff.

To treat dandruff, products generally either treat the organism responsible directly, reduce the oils produced or help scrub away the extra skin cells (though this can lead to increased drying and flaking if used too long). Head & Shoulders uses pyrithione zinc which treats the fungus, thereby reducing the inflammation.

Healthy Hair Starts from a Healthy Scalp™, and Head & Shoulders collection of soothing products promises to ease three scalp and dandruff problems: dryness, itchiness, and sensitivity. With 84% of surveyed scalp issue sufferers concerned about these issues, Head & Shoulders has combined the effectiveness of their HydraZinc formula to alleviate these conditions leaving your hair beautifully flake free.

While I may not make any great investment of time into my hair, I’d still rather not have white flakes snowing down on my nice sweaters while I’m out and about. Especially on the very rare occasion that I actually get to go out with my husband, for like a date night kind of thing.

I don’t normally do anything special, even if date night is a rare event. I might go so far as to wear my white jeans which look nice until I go outside and the dogs jump on me. Other than that, I brush my hair, dress, and go because grandparents only want to be left alone with five children, five dogs and so many chickens I’ve lost count for so long before they begin pulling out their hair.

What’s your routine for getting ready for a date night? Leave me a comment to be entered for a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card.

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This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older.

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Did you know there are more slaves today than there were before the Civil War? And that the trafficking of humans is one of the most luctrative forms of crime worldwide, behind only drugs and weapons? And that some researchers think it is quickly passing weapons for the number two spot?

This is what Tiggy’s House aims to fight by providing a home for impoverished children as part of Tiny Hands International’s Dream Center in Nepal.

That’s why we are proud to be a part of Such Fun to Give’s effort to raise awareness of modern slavery through a series of giveaways on her blog. Click on the button. Enter giveaways. Share with friends. Help fight slavery.

I sit down to write feeling energetic. I have a plan. A purpose. And with the house quiet, it is time to start working.

A cloud fell over my spring plans for chicks and ducklings and goslings and the garden when an order of chicks got left in a sorting facility rather than sent on and all the chicks arrived dead. We were defeated before we began and I wondered how many more springs I could look forward to by telling myself, “This year will be different.” How long before I give it up and accept that everything I do will be marked by failure?

But then the responses started coming in about our little road trip for Tiggy’s House and I was busy trying to juggle schedules for stops in Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas. And so many people asked us about heading east that we’re already sketching out possibilities for September. It’s a good busy. And a reminder of why we are here.

So I close my eyes to my own feelings of failure and determine to move forward with the plans that have been made.

And then I walk by the incubator and see a chick. And an egg cracking. And suddenly all of our dreams for this property seem possible again.

So I sit down to write, feeling more energetic than I remember feeling since before that night. That horrible night that robbed the present of its life, the past of its warmth and the future of its promise. I sit down thinking how to put down in words that moment when I felt I could say, “I’m looking forward to . . . ”

I want to capture that moment somehow, if only in a few words written late at night while thinking of other things.

But I am interrupted by little feet coming up the stairs. And then those eyes . . . so lost. So hurt. So alone. And little LE leans her her head against my shoulder.

“I miss Tiggy.”

And the tears begin to flow. Her whole body shakes as I hold her and my own tears begin to fall.

I don’t know what to tell her. There are all the things I’ve said a thousand times before, but I still don’t know what to say. I want to take this burden from her, cry out to take this burden as mine and mine alone and scream that this just isn’t fair. So I hold her and don’t say anything at all.

But Mookie has something to say. He slides down out of the chair next to me and hugs his big sister. Peering around her side, he looks up at her tear stained face.

“Hi?’

He says in the gentlest, most loving voice.

“Hi?”

And she looks at him and he smiles softly.

“Oh, Mookie,” she says, and gives him a hug.

He catches the edge of her pajama top and tugs until she starts to follow. He leads her in a circle, around and around until she smiles.

“Where are you taking me, Mookie?” she laughs.

He stops to giggle and clap. They’re both giggling now.

And I never knew you could hurt so much and feel so blessed all at the same time.

Now that we have a house sitter lined up, I am excited to announce that we are planning a little road trip at the end of February! We’ll be on the road from February 20 to February 27 and heading south to San Antonio. Mattias birthday is on the 23rd and we wanted to do something special to mark the day. We have already made arrangements to meet up with a couple of families that have been an encouragement to us and have a couple of dessert parties planned for the fellowship and as a fundraiser for Tiggy’s House. And it seemed like such a fun idea, we decided to see if anyone else would like to join in!

If you live anywhere between Lincoln, Nebraska and San Antonio, Texas and would be interested in organizing a brunch/soup/chocolate/braiding/game night/whatever-sounds-good-to-you party, send me an email (dhanleyATtiggyshouseDOTcom) and we’ll see if we can work out a schedule and visit with as many people as we can.

What is involved?

1. Decide what you wouldl like to do (brunch, soup, chocolate, braiding, games or whatever).
2. Invite your friends over for a time of fellowship.
3. Ask them to bring a dish and a suggested donation. (My mom did $10 at the one she did and it was quite successful, but you know what would be most appropriate in your circle of friends!)
4. We’ll come over and enjoy the time of fellowship together and hopefully raise a little money for Tiggy’s House at the same time!

Don’t feel like you have to raise hundreds of dollars to make it worth stopping at your house. We’re making the trip anyway and we really would like to meet some of the wonderful people who have been so incredibly supportive to us over the last year. Anything we are able to raise in addition to that is just like icing on the cake!

We can just chat if you like, or we have a bit of a piece put together on grief to help people know a little what it is like and how they can help friends and acquintances going through difficult times. Of course we’ll talk a little about Tiggy’s House. And if there is anything else we might be competent to talk about, just ask!

If you would like to host a braiding party, let me know. I would love to bring my marudai and enough Kumihimo disks for everyone. I would have to charge $10 per person for that rather than leaving it strictly to donation, but everyone will be able to make a bracelet to take home with them and keep their Kumihimo disk to make as many as they would like at home. I would also love to give a lesson to your homeschool group! (I would also need an approximate count as soon as possible to be sure I can order enough in.)

If you have any questions or would like to start trying to work out a time and a date for us to stop by, drop me a note here in the comments, on Facebook or via my email: dhanleyATtiggyshouseDOTcom (replace the letters in all caps for the appropriate punctuation.)

And if you live in another part of the country and this sounds like something you’d like to do, let us know! Of course, you don’t need us, but if you would like us to visit, we may plan one of these again sometime and head a different direction.

All money raised will be donated to Tiny Hands International toward the construction of Tiggy’s House, a children’s Home in Nepal to fight poverty and sex-trafficking.

Thank you so much!

The baby naps, Bear and Mouse watch a movie, Bug and LE are having a picnic, the house is quiet. The stillness of the house makes the churning in my stomach grow louder. I wander a bit from sweeping the front room to making the bed to filling the sink with water to staring out the window. Our property and the adjacent field is bathed in golden light and I decide to take the dogs for a walk.

And I think back on last year. On the hours spent playing board games with the kids. On the hours spent pacing through the house. On the hours spent staring out my window. On the moment life became a prison sentence. And this churning in the pit of my stomach knows no end.

I think of the conversations I have had with other mothers who tell me the second year was harder than the first. To the counselor who told me it can take years to really recover from the shock of losing a child unexpectedly. But I don’t have years. I have children. Children who need more than a mother who is coping.

But I know it has gotten better. It doesn’t always feel like it has, I think because so much of last year was lost to a haze I can scarcely see through. I don’t really remember what it was like. Not clearly. But I do know that a year ago I would not have stepped outside. To feed the chickens, yes. If the children called me out, maybe. But because the property was bathed in a golden light and I thought I might find some peace standing in its midst? Never.

A year ago, I was dead inside and I didn’t really care if I ever felt anything else. Now, there is just this churning, this continual anxiety that rests in the pit of my stomach and never quite takes over and never quite goes away.

“Lord, please . . . “

I ask. But I don’t quite know what I’m praying for. My soul pleads, but there are no words so I turn toward the cemetary where I can see the cedar trees lining the northern edge. The dogs stop at the edge of our windbreak, waiting to see if I’m going to walk to the pasture or just stand there and then I see it.

A beautiful rainbow stretching across the sky. One of the most beautiful I have ever seen.

And the tears begin to flow and my chest heaves with its sobs. I know what the rainbow means, but I want those promises for me. I want to know my children will come through this. I want to know that Micah won’t struggle because so much of his early life was dominated by his mother’s grief. I want to know that this won’t happen again.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

I hear Bug calling from the windbreak. I struggle to regain my composure as she runs up to me.

“Mommy! Mommy! Do you see the rainbow? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, it is sweetheart. It’s very beautiful.”

I say it without looking. My back to the rainbow, I look at her shining face.

“Look, Mommy! You have to look!”

I turn, and I look, and I see. A double rainbow.

And the knot in my stomach eases just a little bit.

__________________________________

Julie is looking to possibly head up our first book discussion if there is any interest. If you would be interested in joining in a discussion of the book “When Life is Hard” by James MacDonald, pop in and let her know!

I started a community. A support group of sorts. For anyone who is hurting and would like encouragement to seek out joy. Why would I do such a thing?

This Christmas season has not been easy. I find myself pacing through the day, unable to settle my thoughts, unable to concentrate. Nights bring an anxiety that rests in the pit of my stomach, driving sleep from me and leading me to watch shows I’m scarcely interested in until even hulu asks if I maybe need a break.

And it reminds me of last year when, after several months of shock, I decided to take a small step forward and join a few support groups online. Only it really wasn’t a step forward. Not for me. I cannot begin to express the level of despair I felt talking to women years ahead of me in this journey who seemed to wear their grief like a badge of honor and a sign of loyalty to the child they lost. Who seemed to turn every conversation into a competition for who was hurting the most.

That’s when a woman hurting after a miscarriage and fearing that she might not be able to have children said to me, “At least you got to hold your baby.” And I didn’t really know what to do with that, so I left.

And I realize that what I want is a small space where people who are hurting can come together and share their burdens so they are easier to bear and where we can encourage one another to seek out joy a little bit each day. So I decided to try to create one and I guess we’ll see where it goes from here.

You don’t have to have lost a child to join. You just need to want to seek out joy even when it isn’t easy.

I should have realized that agreeing to do a book review so soon after Christmas would leave me putting off reading the book, but in the end, it didn’t matter much. Once I finally started reading, I had trouble putting it down and those are the best kinds of books.

The Magic Room by Jeffrey Zaslow weaves together the stories of life and shattered dreams and hope from several women — daughters — as they intersect on a small pedestal of a mirrored room in a bridal shop in a small midwestern town. It is a story about love, from the kind expressed at home to the kind hoped for while selecting the perfect dress for the wedding day. Each of the women travelled a different path to this spot. Whether abused, divorced, widowed or sheltered within an intact and loving family, all view their experiences as strengths that will see them through this next phase of their lives.

I enjoyed each of the stories. The mother refusing help with the dishes year after year as her legacy of love to her daughter who now has fond memories of her mother every time she washes dishes left me pondering how our lives might be affected by continually and intentionally viewing household chores as acts of love and humble service. The love for an infant who died in a simple accident that was shared with siblings who never met her and that affected their views on love and commitment and loss left me hopeful that my children will carry more from this last year than just the hurt of losing their brother. And of course the refreshing commitment of a group of sisters who had made vows of purity and saved their first kiss made me hopeful that my daughters, too, might approach their “happily ever afters” with such seriousness.

I thought of my own dress, borrowed from my aunt and hemmed by my grandmother as I waited to walk down the aisle that was decorated by the ladies of the church. There was nothing flashy. The entire thing didn’t cost much more than what most brides pay for just the dress now. And the ring . . . well, when I read that the jewelry industry is setting a standard that the young man should expect to pay two months salary on the ring, my jaw dropped. I know how much my ring cost because I gave him the money to buy it before I went to class. He had spent almost all he had coming to America, but if he had spent that kind of money on a ring, I think I would have said no.

So far, it seems to have served us well. What was your wedding dress like? Did you have time to reflect on the new life you were about to begin, or were you too overwhelmed with the details and excitement over the wedding to worry much about what came next? And did anyone else go from proposal to wedding in one month?

_______________________

Disclosure: This is a paid review for which I also received a free copy of the book, The Magic Room, however all opinions are my own and were not influenced by any one else.