Apple pie, anyone?

making memories

texasnorth — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 11:35:35 +0000

You guys are seriously talented in the Naming of Longhorns. Gold stars for all of you, and something extra special for the owner of the name chosen. Yee-ha! Vote below for your favorite OR write in a new answer. If there are some significant new options, we’ll do a run-off on Thursday.

Take Our Poll

•

For the first sixteen years of my life, I travelled with my family around the world and back as a military dependent. I started and finished my career as ARMY brat in Ft. Hood, Texas. Oddly enough, when I think back on my five houses… well, they all look the same. The blue blanket on Mom and Dad’s bed. The Hummel figurines on the shelves. The ivory Corelle dishes with brown flowers. The oak coffee table with lace table-cloth. Most all of these things have been replaced over the years, but when I think about ‘home’ that’s what I see.

What will my kids see?

It’s only taken me seven years to believe I had some sort of personal ‘style.’ How do you transition gracefully from the stenciled kites of youth to the French posters of college to the metal signs of single adulthood? It’s tricky. No one teaches you how or when or where to buy grown up things. One day you turn 25 and realize you have acquired a bunch of… crap. Your previous roommates had all the good silverware and movies and you are left with the trash can, your childhood dresser, and some camping gear. Where’s the good, solid stuff? Where’s the stuff in memories?

You have to start somewhere. Our walls have been blank these past years… waiting for inspiration. The nesting bug finally got a hold of me when I was pregnant with Gideon and I began to put some life on the walls.

I hate for pictures to hang alone. It always looks naked to me. The yard sticks are all from family or special trips… and marrying them to another collection keeps my random buying at bay AND carries the primitive, sewing, folk theme throughout the house instead of quarantining it to one lonely display.

Michigan and Texas drawings (from HERE), framed in Hobby Lobby barn wood. I took a 50 cent embroidery hoop and some striped ticking fabric to make the heart for in-between. The yard stick is from Beulah, Michigan, near where we camp every summer.

Framed Psalm 96:12 (made whilst pregnant with Gus Man), more framed fabric in embroidery hoops, and a colored yard stick advertising vodka. Mmmm hmmmm.

Yard stick from Gramma Kluska’s closet. Crosses collected over time… from San Diego, from Curt, from Steph while de-cluttering for Spain, from a bridesmaids’ gift. The framed photo is a Cavanaugh print of Soldiers Field in 1949. They raced dirt track on Soldier’s Field! Wicked.

This display is not finished- I’ve got to make liners for the filing baskets (which are from Katie Brown for Meijer) and hang my hats above the yardstick, but I had to put it in here. See Gideon? He’s swiping my hammer in the 2 seconds I stopped to take this ridiculously poor photo. Punk Kid. He is why everything has to be off the floor and out of reach. The cubed yard stick is from North Carolina, and reminds me of Bec and Sunday and Jess and Annie and Becky and all the rest of you… every time.

• more decorating: we talked about the hooks here and the nightstands here

it’s that time again

texasnorth — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 12:01:14 +0000

Time when you get to live out your secret dream of being a farmer and living with me out in the middle of nowhere. Help us name a girl from the herd! Mmmm Hmmm. Put on your overalls and your best plaid shirt. Grab your fancy (and clean, I bet) boots out of the closet. Throw a sassy straw hat on and get’ta thinkin’.

[LAST] [YEAR] Last year, you did us some serious proud with Rio Safari and Barbie Doll’s girl. Girl from Ipanema is happy and healthy out in the pasture as we speak.

This year, you are naming a sweet lil’ thing (literally)… baby girl of ‘Sugar and Spice’ and Rio Grande.

That’s her right there. Cute as a button. And that’s her Mamma. Mamma is a big girl. Sugar doesn’t tolerate any kind of anything from anybody or anything. Can you tell? She’s the boss. Sugar is our girl who meets you at the gate and paws the dirt like she’s straight out of Plaza de toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballería de Sevilla. Try putting THAT on your business card. But, we love Sugar. She’s got spirit. Yes she does.

So yell ‘em out! Show me what’cha got! Live the dream! Do me proud!

sanity

texasnorth — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 12:15:35 +0000

The stillness implied in this photo is such a total lie. Thank you, Laura, for catching a magical moment.

We have three children now.

The first question out of everyone’s mouth is, “How’s it going?” The second is, “So, are you done?” Well, we’re doing great and I dunno. I really don’t. Neither Curt or I have that overwhelming feeling of completion we were told we’d have when our family was all here… so there very well may be another on the way.

Someday.

Not right now.

sunnuva

It’s certainly been an adjustment, having three short humans to buckle in every time… but, thankfully, it’s been the easiest adjustment of the three. Here are a few material things that have smoothed the way:

A whole new reason to love Burt… the hand salve. I did so much better this 3rd time around packing for the hospital. Comfortable pj pants, my own tank tops, my own socks… and my own Burt’s. This hand salve is perfect for Mamma’s dry hospital hands AND newborn skin massages.

This rocker by Fisher-Price has been lovely. It’s completely NOT intended for your 30 pound 2-year-old, but I have to admit it has held up well under his affection. Gus and Rylie are sharing a room right now, but he’s still in the crib and will be until Jesus returns. Abby has taken up residence in the rocker until she’s able to roll over. I searched high and low for a wooden cradle deep with story… perhaps made by English nuns during The Great War, but it was not to be. Instead, this little guy kept popping up in reviews. It’s lightweight, up off the floor, bed-height, and inclined. For $40, you really can’t beat it. I wish I had found it when Gus was a newborn. (PS: Gideon is pretending he is sleeping in the photo, in case you needed some help.)

So, that’s not me in the photo- though I really love her skirt. I did break down and buy an ergonomic baby carrier for Abby last week… we went with the Boba 3G because it fits kiddos starting at 7 pounds without having to buy a newborn insert. It’s by far the most luxurious thing I’ve purchased but already so worth it. With as much as we are moving, moving, moving these days, I need that baby attached to me and both hands free. I love it.

There are a number of new and soon-to-be new arrivals in our Apple Pie neighborhood. I’m curious to know what things made your life easier when your kiddos were teeny-tiny?

out of the blue

texasnorth — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 12:00:25 +0000

Shortly after I took a blog break in August, I received an email from an online friend and illustrator, Catherine, asking if I’d be interested in regularly contributing to a collective of writing at Baaaaa.com.

Catherine is easily one of the most encouraging people I’ve ever met, and I often feel like her blog posts are Divinely written directly at for me. Her request came at a time when I needed desperately to be a part of something bigger… like, perhaps Someone was watching out for me and my heart. I’m so thrilled to be a small part of her idea.

Here’s my first contribution, and below is my second (post-pregnancy-induced, obviously):

•

Dear God,

Father.

Hey.

I’ll try to keep this short. (Who am I kidding?)

I know we’re both busy.

Thanks so much for the baby girl this December. Abby June is a simple and pure joy. Her brother and sister are adapting well and certainly seem to love the new addition. Thanks for that, too. Lovely planning on Your part. Really. Nice work.

I do seem to be having some trouble in the parenting department. My children are so incredibly beautiful… but high-maintenance. Gracious. Mostly, I’m struggling with the repetition of it all. I feel like we cover the same ground every day. Sometimes, multiple times a day. Hour?

Questions, all the time. And the same questions, all the time. What is it with that? Daddy to work? Yes. Daddy home for dinner? Yes. Cookie for breakfast? No. Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow. Dog outside? Yes. Me outside? No. It’s 14°. Cookie for breakfast?

[sigh]

I have to remind them, every day, they need socks to be warm. That we don’t kick/bite/hit family members. (We’re working on the rest of humanity, too… we just need to conquer local first.) That I can’t reach the back of the van when I’m driving. That we don’t lick things off the floor, especially when strangers can see us.

Every day. The same lessons every day. Different clothing, maybe, but the same lessons.

Frankly, I’m a little exhausted. I’d like to teach something once, say something once. I’d like to get good eye contact, a smile, and a ‘thanks for changing my life for the better, now I’ll go play by myself for 30 minutes so you can work on dinner alone’ skip-to-my-lou-and-they’re-off. That’s what I’d like.

Is this making any sense? What do You suggest? Time-out for the biting and licking? Clearer, simpler words for the explanations? Writing a handbook that can be referred to over time and in my absence?

When, exactly, does the repetition end and the learning take root?

And, have You ever felt this way?

Please advise.

Thanks so much.

Love and sincerity,

Katie

•

Every day, Friends, our beautiful God could write a letter like this… about me. About you. About me, again. By all grace and mercy, He doesn’t.

Besides, to whom would He send it?

1 Corinthians 13:11 • When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. – New American Standard Version

mountains and valleys

texasnorth — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 11:41:13 +0000

Nora stood at the front of our church last month, her husband smiling beside her. It was a communion Sunday, and she was giving the introduction. Only her extremely short hair gave any hint to her battle with cancer. And she began to talk, and she continued to smile, and she explained that this would be her last corporate communion…

because they were done fighting,

and her minutes remaining were few.

You could see the shock wave roll through the church as bodies immediately straightened and eyes began to water. But Nora continued to smile. She talked about regrets… that she had none. She talked about family… that she loved and was loved immensely. She talked about confession… that it was essential. And then they passed the wine and the bread, and we gave thanks for a sacrifice made on our behalf that we might know a better life than the one we were living. That we might love more than we thought possible. That we might forgive the unforgivable, beginning with ourselves.

What beauty.

What unexpected beauty in the face of unimaginable tension.

I imagine Christ felt the same way

sitting at that table so many nights ago

as He broke bread with his closest friends.

•

Martin Luther King, Jr., became the voice of hope and determination at a time when people were desperate for change and leadership. The night before he was assassinated, he spoke these words:

‎”Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life — longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over, and I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. So I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything, I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

full text HERE

NPR story HERE

What beauty.

What unexpected beauty in such an ugly, ugly time.

•

Patty singing the song inspired by MLK’s last speech

Sometimes I feel like
I’ve never been nothing but tired
And I’ll be working
Till the day I expire
Sometimes I lay down
No more can I do
But then I go on again
Because you asked me to

Glory, Glory.

Truthfully,

I am so tired.

My Rylie and her battle

and my position in that battle

and her weapons for that battle

and especially her heart in that battle…

the mountain is so very high.

It’s messy, spilling into every part of our lives.

And it is exhausting.

But I think…

I think I’ll keep walking.

A bit slower here;

a bit faster there.

Bravely singing on Wednesday

to drown out Tuesday’s cries.

What more can I do?

I am nothing if not inspired by those-

so much greater than I-

who have walked the road before me.

May you continue on,

whatever mountain you are climbing, Friend.

Miss Abby comes to town

texasnorth — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 12:26:22 +0000

Abby June arrived, as scheduled, on December 15, 2011. This was my third c-section and, quite honestly, the roughest. Gracious. Nothing like 5 years of scar tissue to make things interesting. I am assured it was all completely necessary. My doctor told me (as they were stitching me back together… which, when you think about it, is a terrible time to have a conversation) that I was nowhere near ready ‘naturally.’ No signs of labor, nothin’. I am nothing if not consistent.

I so very much wish I had taken a picture of Dr. I for you… my anesthesiologist. She was lucky to be 5 feet tall, short hair you couldn’t see under her cap, and a t h i c k Russian accent. I question, honestly, whether she is employed by the hospital OR, in fact, the FBI. She carried only a pen and a paper… no chart, no needles, no doctor things. And she barked questions to me that made me both giggly and terrified at the same time.

Name? (Mary Kathryn Mulder)

[scribble scribble scribble]

Allergies? (no)

Heart disease? (no)

Cancer? (no)

Thyroid problems? (no)

Family? (yes… lots of family)

[sigh] [reverse scribble]

Thyroid issues IN YOUR FAMILY? (sorry, no)

Open your mouth. (?)

Wider.

WIDER. (I can’t.)

You can’t? (I can’t.)

Mmmmm.

[more angry scribble]

•

Stick with me, Folks. I meet the craziest people. I don’t know how they find me but they do.

Curt and I right before we donned our awesome blue scrubs and hair nets.

It took Abby forever to cry. I even had to ask, “She’s not crying. Is everything ok?” The doctor laughed and said, “Yep- she’s fine! Completely fine and content.” And she’s been that way ever since.

Rylie and Gideon came up the first night to see their new sister.

Gus was super pumped about her hat. It was a winner.

Seriously… she favors Linguini from Ratatouille, no? It’s ok for you to agree.

She is, as she was inside, completely calm. Chill. She looks like Rylie a little… and Gus a little… but she truly has her own thing goin’ on. She started nursing in the recovery room and never looked back. There’s still the mystery of breast-feeding, though. How much are they getting? Is it enough? According to her diapers, absolutely. According to her weight gain, no. So, we press on and add a bottle of formula here and there to make up some slack. But mostly, we just press on because there is no time for dawdling anymore.

All in all, I’d say we’re running at 90% capacity. Happy. Healthy. Three kids who haven’t seriously injured each other- yet. Makin’ it work.

I am blessed.

Tricia, Darling, you won the baby pool! You knew that. Nice job. Email or Facebook me your mailing address and I’ll send off your prize

extra extra

texasnorth — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 18:06:52 +0000

There’s an extra post this week, Friends…

but you have to pop over to Baaaaa.com to read it!

Christmas 2011

texasnorth — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 12:25:45 +0000

I don’t know about you guys, but ideas for gifts for my parents have been particularly evasive the past 5 years or so. What do you get for folks who have paid off their house, have kids who are independent now, and can buy their own underwear?

Chicken wire, that’s what you get ‘em.

You take an old frame, you staple chicken wire to it, and then you leave it around your house for about 6 months. You’ll trip over it and move it 14 times, but your children will still find it, drag it out, and cut themselves on it repeatedly requiring about 17 band aids.

After you give birth to your third child (which we’ll talk about Thursday- there’s a Russian Spy involved, so get ready), you tackle your children and scrap piece of paper. You trace their cute little choclately hands. You think once will be enough, but then you’re surprised at how difficult it is to get a really decent, non-amoeba-like trace of a child’s hand… particularly the 5 day-old child. She’s wicked strong.

You cut out the hands and then trace them again onto a beautiful piece of plain fabric. Use a disappearing pen for this part. Ask me how I know. These pens fade when you put water on them. It would appear from my photo that I didn’t erase the blue erasable pen lines, but I did. I just took my pictures unprofessionally.

Let’s all comment on the fact that Gideon’s hands are exactly as wide as Rylie’s but half as tall. Chubby little bruiser. And what’s wrong with Abby’s pinky? She’s brand new, right? Shouldn’t be broken yet.

Now, grab a few strands of thread and trace over your lines. Imperfection is fine. Charming, even. Rylie’s hand is purple because she wishes she herself and everything around her were purple. Gideon is brown because he and dirt are tight. Layers and layers of symbolism in this gift, I tell you.

If your mother happens to be a prolific quilter, you can frame your art on a vintage quilt square and double the impact here. The goal with moms is always tears- that’s how you know you got it right. Then, simply attach the finished piece to the chicken wire with a little knot in each corner.

And there you have it: a meaningful, painful, handmade gift for the woman who has everything.

Merry Christmas, Mom!

What do you get your parents these days?

best. ever.

texasnorth — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 11:59:39 +0000

Oh, Lawd.

I turned 35 on December 28th. I did.

I got this card in the mail and nearly lost my mind. Everything about it… the lighting, the curtains, the sender, the face LORD THE FACE on the beautiful lady laughing… everything about it makes it the best card ever.

I hope it gets a least a giggle out of you, too.

Happy Birthday to me.

Happy weekend to you.

let’s do this

texasnorth — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 12:37:44 +0000

I’m a big fan of starting over. Love Sundays. Love new journals, fresh pens. Moving to a new city, starting a new book, getting a second chance. Or third or fourth or eighty-th. Yes.

I hope your holiday was lovely. Truly, I hope you caught a glimpse of the Peace this time of year is supposed to bring…

Unfortunately, family + friends + holidays do not always = peace and calm…

but you know what I mean.

One of my favorite sermons… ever… discusses the issue of Jesus being born in a stable. Mary and Joseph had been called home to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Everyone was going home. But upon their arrival… in a culture that has limitless honor and hospitality and love of family… upon their arrival they were told there was no room. Not for you, our son Joseph, not for your pregnant girlfriend, not even on the porch.

So they found space in the manger. Together. Alone. And they started over.

If anything has ever clarified the mystery of God becoming Man for love of me, it is this concept: He knows what it is like to be left out, to be misunderstood, to be on a secret mission, to be hurt by loved ones, to be loved by strangers. He had all the good… and all the holiday family co-worker weird neighbor crappy day stuff, too.

He knows what it is to start over.

I generally have to start over every hour, but that is another story.

Here’s to new years, new beginnings, new babies, new ideas, new motivation, new spirit, and new jeans.

And may you know that there is always a way to start… again.

she is a new beginning