How-To Tuesday: How to Make Chicken Noodle Soup

Alternate title: How to make your husband go absolutely weak in the knees.



What's that? Your husband's love language isn't homemade chicken noodle soup?

Well.

Make this, and it will be. I guarantee it. That sofa you've had your eye on? A girlfriend's trip to Paris? Make this soup for him, then casually drop into the conversation what you're wanting, and he will be powerless to resist you.

[Not that I'd know anything about that, ahem.]

This is an ancient family recipe, going back generations. It was a staple in the Husband's childhood home, and has become one in ours. It could not be any easier, and I feel it a sin if you waste your life on soup any less worthy.

Step one: Take a whole chicken and throw it in a large stock pot. We love to make this with leftover turkey at Thanksgiving the best. Second in line would be the pre-cooked chickens they sell at Sam's Club. But even just a regular, boring, everyday whole chicken will cook up nicely.

Add: A few whole carrots (unpeeled), a large onion (quartered, and with the skin left on), a few celery stocks (leaves still attached), a bay leaf, and some salt and pepper. I used a red onion here because it's what I had, but red, yellow, or white - any of them will work.

Pour in enough water to cover the chicken by a good inch or two. Then plop it on the stove and bring to a boil, lowering the heat and letting it simmer for a few hours at a soft boil.



During this part of the process, your house will smell divine. Your children will salivate. Text messaged photos sent to your husband's phone will result in meetings being canceled and him walking through the door MUCH earlier than normal. I'm telling you, this soup is like a magnet that pulls your loved ones home.

Once it's simmered, boiled, and married all the lovely flavors together, pour everything through a colander to a large bowl. Notice the splash and spillage of broth out the sides? Tragic is what that is.

(It's also wise to do this step in the sink. Unless you like the feel of hot boiling lava on your bare feet.)

I like to then re-strain my broth through a very fine colander or cheese cloth to remove any remnant chicken bits. Your broth will have a lovely yellow color and smell positively delicious. At this point, you could freeze your broth and save it for another day or even another cooking purpose. But since our hearts beat to the drum of chicken noodle soup, that is where we'll be headed.

If I can, I make the broth a day ahead and refrigerate it, bringing all that lovely fat to the surface. It makes it so easy to scrape it up and out - keeping your inner thighs free for other fatty treats. But with this batch I was in a hurry, and we wanted to eat right away, so I poured the broth into two containers and froze them both.

Splitting it like this made it so that the broth could cool/freeze faster, resulting in a lovely layer of fat just waiting to be removed.

Pour the now-fatless broth back into your stock pot and put it over medium heat on the stove. By this time, your chicken should be cooled enough to remove all the meat from the carcass. Probably the worst job in this whole process, but a necessary one. Discard the bones and vegetables once all the meat is removed.

Chop your chicken finely. Add it to your broth on the stove.

Recruit a minion or two with the promise of knife usage and you will find help abundant in the kitchen. Have the minion peel and chop 5-6 carrots. Or ten if you like. Whatever suits your fancy. Then add them to the pot.

Next comes the step that MUST NOT be skipped. Don't be tempted to throw a few handfuls of rice or (heaven help you) store-bought noodles. The whole point of this soup is the homemade noodles.

Take:
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 egg. beaten
1/2 egg shell full of milk or cream

Mix all ingredients together, adding more flour or milk to make a pliable dough. Also? We typically double or triple this for a big batch of soup.

What can I say? Girlfriend likes herself some noodles. So do her peeps.

With a rolling pin, roll the dough flat and slice it into strips with a knife or pizza cutter. Don't be worried about getting them all even and perfect. Homemade noodles should be of every height, width, size, and breadth.

Just like people.

When your broth is at a medium boil, drop your noodles in, one at a time. Simmer for 15-20 minutes.

Then, ladle up a big bowl. If you are really awesome, serve some warm bread and butter on the side. Then sit back and watch your husband's face carefully. With the first bite, and its earthy, homemade goodness, you will see precisely just how much he loves you. He will be unable to hide it. You will be delighted.

Now it's your turn. What can you teach us today? Leave the link to your own how-to post in our Mr. Linky below. Then be sure to copy the html code (under the blue button on my sidebar) into your post. Sit back, and wait for the internet to bow at the throne that is your genius.

I'm waiting. Anyone?

Oh well. Next time.

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Not seeing the boy

He walks through the door, dropping his jacket and backpack in a large heap behind him. I trip over his shoes as I bend down to grab the wrapper from his after-school snack off the floor.

"Do you have any homework?" I ask, wearily.

He launches into a tirade of all the projects he is working on. I groan, knowing just how much time all those things will take.

Grabbing a paper towel, I wipe up the milk he has just spilled. I snap at him for his carelessness. Reaching for another towel, I stumble over his trumpet case.

In an instant, all the petty annoyance bubbles up and spills over. I chew him out for not practicing often enough, making threats about canceling his trumpet lessons. I move to the projects he has coming up, and remind him angrily that he better get them done before scouts. I grit my teeth and spew venom about the mess he has made on the counter.

I turn around to continue my rant, and notice his blue eyes fill with tears. He hangs his head and apologizes softly. He promises he will practice more. He reaches for his backpack to start on homework, as the tears spill over his lightly freckled cheeks.

Guilt and regret instantly turn my irrational rage into compassion.

I move across the room and take him into my arms. I apologize for snapping at him, and tell him that I love him. He sobs quietly, as he tells me how overwhelmed he is feeling today. How the projects at school seem insurmountable, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to find the time to get it all done.

I wonder then how I didn't notice the sagging shoulders and somber expression when he walked in the door.

How could I only see the mess and the shoes, and miss the boy completely?

I curse myself, wishing I could take it all back and start again. Today was a total mom fail. Doesn't matter that I am right. He does need to practice more. Those projects have to get done before he runs off to play. He should have been more careful with the milk.

But he's only a kid.

And he's my kid.

And today, instead of noticing that he needed to be picked up, I knocked him down. Instead of being that safe, warm place to come home to, I hit him with anger and annoyance the minute he walked through the door.

I need to remember when I'm tired and cranky, that I have no right to take it out on him. I need to look first, and yell later (or not at all). I need to be grateful that I have such a good kid. A kid who gets straight A's, is friends with everyone, and always tries to help those around him. I need to tell him how much I love him, and how proud I am of who he is.

Because at the end of the day, the trumpet, the milk, and the homework do not matter one bit. What matters is that he knows just how much his mama loves him.

a quick thanks

How awesome was our first ever How-To Tuesday?

It was so awesome. Seriously. Made my day.

You need to click through and read every post. (Except for my idiot brother who thought it would be funny to link back to me. Whatevs.) They were fantastic! I am so happy you all decided to play along. If you missed it this week, start thinking of ideas and join in next Tuesday. Really, anything will work. How to make cookies. How to get marker off a wall. How to successfully carry on a telephone conversation with children nearby. How to eat cookies and not get fat.

Anyone? Anyone have the answer to that one? I'll pay. Really, I will.

Anyway, heading out the door to run about nine billion errands today. Sheesh. The people around here seem to think that having food is important. Oh, the nerve...

How-To Tuesday: How to tailor a shirt

Welcome to the very first installment of what I hope will be a long series of highly informative, entertaining, or just plain silly posts on our How-To Tuesdays.

[I know it's Monday. I wanted to get it up early to give you all a chance to link up. And make sure I did Mr. Linky right.]

Today I am going to share with you a little secret that tailors everywhere do not want you to know: How to tailor your own shirt.

You see, last year, the Husband decided one morning that he wanted to get in shape. All he pretty much had to do was decide that and 20 pounds fell off his body.

I tried really hard not to hate him for it.

Being the frugal man that he is, he did not want to run out and buy all new shirts. We figured we could tailor the ones he wanted to keep, and buy some new ones, as well. So we researched how to do it, purchased a sewing machine, and made the greatest discovery ever. This is so easy, it's ridiculous.

Start with the shirt you want to take in. Put it on inside-out.

Pull the fabric to your desired fit, and start pinning. You need to pin both seams on the sides - going all the way up the length of the shirt.

In order to avoid any bunching, you need to make a continuous seam from the sides to the sleeves. If you are not taking in the sleeves at all, just sew up around the armpit and taper off until you meet the existing arm seam. If you are taking your sleeves in, keep pinning to the end of the sleeve.

Carefully remove the inside-out/newly pinned shirt from your model, being careful to not scratch his face with the pins.

Because when you do that? He doesn't like it. At all. And WILL complain loudly.

[Cough*wuss*cough.]

Then sew a straight line from the bottom of the shirt up to the sleeves, again, tapering off as necessary. Because he didn't want to take the sleeves in (you know, to accomodate those large, manly biceps), I simply tapered my seam until it met the existing arm seam.

Before cutting off the excess fabric, try the shirt on (right side out this time) to make sure it is a good fit. If you need to take it in a little more, you can. If you took it in too much, you can unpick the seams and start again.

Then carefully, OH SO CAREFULLY, cut off your excess fabric.

Be sure your shirt is not bunched up underneath, or you will cut a large hole in the shirt. And it might happen to be the expensive dress shirt that was your husband's favorite. The one he loved more than all the other shirts. And there will be no repairing it. And you will feel terribly guilty. And he will feel terribly sad.

Not that I'd know anything about that, ahem.

JUST. BE. CAREFUL.

And that's it! Takes less than 10 minutes to do, and saves you oodles of money at the tailor. Which then leaves more money for shoes. Yay!

It works great for women's shirts, too.

Especially if you happen to be smaller-waisted and larger-chested like me. In order to find shirts to fit me in the chest, they are often baggy and big at the waist. Drives me insane.

Enter the self-tailoring.

I bought this tank top at Ann Taylor Loft and fell in love with the ruffly flowers and beading. See? Look how adorable:

Only problem was, all they had left on the rack was a size L, which was too big for me. Rather than walking away from the store in despair, I bought it, knowing how easy it would be to tailor the shirt myself.

Here is the before:

Notice how baggy the fabric is at the waist (and chest). Not a good fit. Made me look larger than I actually am - something I avoid like the plague.

And here is the after:

So much better, right?

I do this now to any shirt that doesn't fit well. If I find something I love on the rack in a store, that maybe is too big in some spots, I buy it anyway, take it home, and fix it right up. Works like a charm.

Now it's your turn. What can you teach me how to do? Type the link to your post in our Mr. Linky here, grab a button from my sidebar, and play along. We all have something we can do. Let's share it.

How-To Tuesday: The launch party begins in two days

While pondering life thoughtfully doing the dishes this weekend, I was struck with a genius idea.

So great in my mind was this idea, that had I been a cartoon, there would have been an actual light bulb in the air above my head.

And it would have definitely been switched on.

Besides my plans for world domination, peace in the middle east, and creating the pill that magically burns fat, this might have been one of my greatest ideas.

What was my genius inspiration, you ask?

This:

It's our new project: How-to Tuesday.

(And by our, I do mean yours and mine.)

What I propose is this: Every Tuesday, we all write a how-to post. It doesn't have to be complicated or long. It doesn't have to take hours of your time or include award-winning photography (but certainly could, if that's your thing).

Some possible topics could be: How to travel on a plane with a toddler. How to make your own curtains. How to host a party. How to decorate on a budget. How to teach your children to eat without leaving a large pile of crumbs on the floor.

(Anyone? Anyone have an answer for that one? No? Crap.)

Whatever your skills, ideas, or know-how, this is the place to share them. I will put up a Mr. Linky and we can all pop around the web and read each other's how-to posts. And, if the tutorials on the internet have led me correctly, I might even have a button for you to grab and put on your own blog.

I know. I'm the gift that keeps on giving.

And at the end of the day, we will have learned something we didn't know before. We will have shared with a stranger our wisest ideas. We will have visited a new blog or two, and maybe even made a friend. It will be almost as good as the fat-burning pill I long for daily.

So let's start it this Tuesday, shall we? Be thinking of your post, get it on your blog Tuesday sometime, and link up with our very first inaugural How-To Tuesday party.

I can't wait. I need your mad skillz in my life.

Please play along, won't you?

All she needs now is juicy shorts and a tramp stamp

As I whined about mentioned last week, the Husband was gone on a six-day ski bender. Two states, countless runs down the mountains, and a couple of very sore legs later, he staggered in the door with a smile on his newly-scruffled face.

Once the children had let go of their manic death grip on his legs, he pulled out the souvenirs. Tee-shirts for everyone (myself included). The boys snatched theirs up and ran to try them on.

For us girls, he had two shirts - both the same size - and said that Hannah and I could decide between us which one we wanted.

[Pause for interjection: Obviously, I am not a child size 7, nor will I attempt to squeeze myself into one. The shirt for Hannah will be a little big. Just clarifying in case you had me confused with Kate Moss. Or Hugh Hefner's girlfriend(s). Now back to our story.]

Hannah, whose favorite color this week happens to be blue, took the blue one. Not really caring which one I got, I happily agreed.

And then I read the shirts.

Here is the black one (rejected by Hannah on the basis of color alone):

Aaaaand, the blue one. Her shirt of choice:

Seriously. I tried to tell her what a cute pajama shirt it will make, and her eyes welled up with tears. "Why? Why can't I wear it to school?"

Why, indeed.

I know she doesn't get it, but her teachers certainly will.

And once again, I have become THAT mother. Yay me.

Stie has gone global. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Hello, peeps. Can I just say thanks? Thanks to all of you who played along in our little mapping game. It was so fun for the kids and I all weekend. They rushed over to the computer every time it made the little 'ping' letting us know there was a new comment. Made the days go by so much faster.

And, hello? Some of you get to live in just about the best places ever. I am highly jealous. I would love to live in a little fishing town in Scotland. Or Denmark. Or Australia.

Heck, on this cold day, I'd happily take California.

I am highly intrigued by the reader living in Qatar, however. In my ignorance, it sounds positively terrifying. And the reader in Singapore! Sounds very exotic.

But maybe the grass isn't greener. Maybe you wake up in your respective cities, bored, tired, hungry, and head off to work. Or you grit your teeth and clean up spilled milk, wishing desperately to be somewhere else. Somewhere really exciting like Missouri.

Nah. Pretty sure your lives are awesome.

Anyway, here is the rundown, with the states highlighted in white having no commentors. Clearly, I am not loved in the Dakotas. Or that big chunk that runs down through Arkansas.

As you can see, I am represented by you fine people elsewhere though. I am highly adored by the good people of Utah, with California a close second. Ironically, no one from my own state of Missouri commented, though theoretically I have friends and peeps here. I'm pretty sure a few of my real-life friends read. But maybe not? Maybe I'm not as cool as I think I am.

Oh well. At least I'm loved in Australia. And maybe one of the readers down there knows Hugh Jackman? If you see him, tell him to call me.

Anyway, thanks for keeping us busy and entertained on what could have been an otherwise hard weekend. You are the best.

And if any of you have guest rooms and would like me to visit, just say the word. I'm just generous enough to impose myself upon you for weeks at a time.

Except Qatar. I'm slightly scared of things over in that neck of the woods right now. Matter of fact, Qatar, shall I ready my guest room for YOU?

**Updated to add: I misappropriated my Netherlands reader! So sorry - you mentioned being from Minnesota, and I put the tally there by mistake. I have people in the Netherlands! Woo!

Where in the world are YOU?

It's been a long week, peeps. The Husband had a business trip, followed by a little ski vacation with his brothers. I begrudge him neither - that man continuously bends over backwards to let me go play with my girls. He lives to ski, and I am thrilled he gets to do it.

However, it will leave us home this weekend without him.

Which is hard.

The weekdays without him? We are used to that. We're pros, actually. But the weekends? The weekends are all about him. We rally around him, bask in his laughter, and make the most of our family time together. Friends are told no, phones are turned off, and emails are left unanswered. To say that we all live for the weekends would be a huge understatement.

If the weather were better this weekend, I might not feel so forlorn. But old man winter has reared his ugly head once again, and I find myself a wee bit melancholy.

So do me a solid, will you? Drop me a comment, tell me where in the world you are. Just your city and state. Or country. Or planet, if that's the case. I promise to not stalk you, send you anthrax, or demand you become my new BFF. I just thought it might be a fun little project this weekend for the kids and I to graph out the readers of this little old blawg. See where everyone is and map it out statistically.

Play along, won't you? Even if you hate to comment, indulge me this once? Pretty please?

How to be the hostess with the mostess

I have made no secret amongst my family and friends how much I love having visitors. Maybe it's the excitement of showing off my city to visitors who've never been here. Or reconnecting with loved ones that we haven't seen in a while.

Quite possibly it's the week-long manic cleaning fest I engage in when I know guests are coming.

Whatever the reason, it's something we all look forward to.

And because I am bored awesome, I am going to share some of my hosting secrets with you.

I know. Try to contain your excitement.

In our current home, we are fortunate enough to have two extra bedrooms that we use as guest rooms. We've not always been so lucky (I'm talking to you, tiny townhouse in San Diego! And you, two-bedroom apartment in Boston!) but we are thrilled to be able to offer guests their own bedroom and bathroom now.

When we've not had lodgings to spare, we've kicked children out of their rooms, scoured every surface in bleach, and put guests in there. A key for happy visitors is not having to share a bunk bed with your three-year-old who is having night terrors. Privacy is a must. If you simply can't spare the space, offer to sleep on the hideaway in the living room, and put the guests in YOUR room.

Remember, they've come a long way and likely spent a pretty penny to get there. Make them feel welcome and comfortable.

Extra towels are a MUST. I always stock the guest bathroom with fresh towels, and put a stack of extras at the foot of the bed. I can't think of anything that grosses me out more than using a towel after someone else - be it my own husband, children, or otherwise. Towels cost only a few dollars at Wal-Mart or Target. Plus? When your guests leave, you have new towels to add to your own rotation, as well.

One trick I learned on my first visit to Casa de Gabi was the guest basket. I loved having one of my own at her place, and have never let a guest sleep in my home without one since.

The contents vary by visitor and my anticipation of their likes/needs, but the gist is the same. Magazines, snacks, water bottles, and spare toiletry items. You know never what you'll forget at home on a trip, and it's nice to have it on hand.

I also call each visitor a few days before their arrival and ask if there are any drinks/foods/snacks that they'd like me to pick up. My mother-in-law's drink of choice is far different from my own, and I know it makes her happy to find it waiting oh-so-cold in the fridge. If there are kids coming, what do they like for breakfast? What passes for a morning meal around here may not work for someone else's kids. Everyone is most comfortable when familiar foods abound.

Another thing I like to do is have a stack of recently-read books on the nightstand. I am not necessarily a book saver - if I've read it and liked it, I am happy to pass it on to the next person.

Plus? Maybe your guests are speed readers and have plowed through their 18 books on the plane or in the car. (No, Daniel, I'm not talking to you. I realize you're barely literate). But it's always a nice treat to have a new book to read or put on your list to be read next.

Lastly, be prepared with fun ideas in various price ranges for sight-seeing. Your guests have not likely prepared an itinerary of every local spot they want to hit. They are relying on you to know the best restaurants and sights to see in YOUR city. Have ideas ready so you're not spending half a day trying to decide what to do.

So, now I just have to ask, who is going to come visit next? Your room is all ready...

It's too early in the morning to buy a gun

This morning, it being a holiday and all, I was ecstatic to sleep in.

At a quarter to eight, I felt my bed jiggling and heard the whispers.

"Is she awake yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"Is she alive?"

"Yeah, she's breathing. Just not awake."

"Dangit!"

I cracked a wary eyelid to find my boys' faces a mere three inches from mine, studying my every move, searching for any signs of life.

"She's awake!" they shouted in unison. I reached blindly for my glasses, looked at the clock, and wearily dropped my head back onto the pillow. I groaned and wondered silently if it was legal to sell kids on Craig's List.

"Mom, can we go to the store? Dad said I could spend my money on a new airsoft gun and I have the money. Can we go now? Let's go to the store. Pleasecanwegotothestorerightnow?"

Apparently, the Husband had given him permission to buy yet another massive piece of deadly machinery.

I acquiesced, trusting that the Husband knew what he was doing. I threw on my sweatpants (breaking my hard and fast rule of never going out undressed) and drove to the sporting goods store. Tragically, weapons of this magitude require an 18-year-old to purchase them, so I was forced out of the car and into the store against my will. The boys practically ran through the store to the gun section, and before I could catch up to them, were running back to the register, gun in hand.

Once home, it took some serious work to get it out of the package. Both brains nearly exploded with glee when it finally came loose from the plastic. The aim was tested and ammunition loaded. I think they would have gladly fired a few test shots at my leather sofa had I not been there to intervene.

The backyard is a much better alternative, don't you think?

Apparently, acting as a chauffeur for their weapons acquisition is enough to make me "like seriously the best mom ever!"

I think, however, I share Hannah's sentiment on the matter:

{Yawn} Can I go back to bed now?

To my real valentine

A Recipe for Happiness

Take one tow-headed little boy:

And one farmer-tanned little girl:

Wait about 20 years, then mix in some awkward dancing, hand-holding, and head-over-heels falling:

Combine it with a ring, a nervous proposal, and lots of kissing:

Mix gently with an early morning wedding, newlywed bliss, grad school, and several cross-country moves:

Let it simmer, bubble, boil, and cook for almost 17 years, and you will have this:

Thanks, baby.

Thanks for loving me in spite of the very hideous perm years. And the pink gravy I made in our first apartment. And the pregnancy rage.

Thanks for helping me see what you see when you look my way.

Thanks for three beautiful children who are, as it happens, turning out to be quite a lot of fun.

Thanks for getting on planes very early in the morning, multiple times per week, and working into the wee hours so that I don't have to.

Thanks for not complaining when I am less productive than I should be.

Thanks for holding my hand, letting me cry, and hugging me tight this past year. I would never have made it without you.

Thanks for loving me anyway.

I totally get it now

A few weeks back when I delighted you all with the smutty details from the dream, many of you wrote in and said your night-time fantasy man was Hugh Jackman.

I wrinkled my nose and judged you to be insane.

All I could conjure when that name was said was this less-than-stellar image:

Gross, right?

But then my friends Mindy, Beckie, and Shilo staged an intervention and tried to convince me otherwise. Mindy suggested several You Tube videos of Hugh hosting the Tony Awards.

Beckie dropped off the movie "Australia" and demanded I watch it.

Shilo told me (for the millionth time) that I was just plain crazy.

And lo and behold, what do you think I discovered?

Oh, yes. I get it now. He has quickly moved to the top of a very short list of men I wish to be given in my next life. He can sing, dance, and break a wild stallion in the outback. He grows a fierce man beard and is tall enough that I think it would work out between us. In fact, I think we make quite the handsome couple, don't you?

Hello, Drover...

Yes. Apart from my hideously awkward Kidman-esque skin tone, I think we are quite striking together.

But, alas, there is also my other boyfriend. The first boyfriend. The one I will love from now until the end of time. And the one that belongs to me. So don't even think about it.

Don't worry, Darcy. You will always have a special place in my heart. Even while I'm off in the outback with my newest boy toy.

What's that, James? You had something to say?

I know, Pookie. Don't be angry. You know they can't help it. I'm just too attractive to resist.

Oh...coconut cake, the beach and a very hot man all in one place? It's the ultimate trifecta.

However will I choose?

On humor and cannibals

The other day I had a very memorable conversation with Chase. It went a little something like this:

Me: Ha ha hee hee ha ha ho!

Him: Hey, Mom, what's so funny?

Me: I'm just reading a really funny blog post.

Him: Is it about man-eating sharks or cannibals filled with bacteria?

Me: Umm, no.

Him: Oh. [Shoulders shrug in disappointment]

Although, had I been reading a post about either of those topics, I'm sure it would have been hilarious.

Something about an apple? Not falling too far from...what was it exactly?

A few days ago, while driving in the car to church, the boys were bickering and competing with each other over highly controllable things like height and shoe size. Fed up with it, the Husband settled the debate for them with the following statement:

"Relax, boys. Your life is not a competition. But if it was? You'd both be losing to me anyway."

THAT, my friends, is exactly why I married him.

Lucky Thirteen

[My all-time favorite picture of you. I can't ever get enough of it. Photo courtesy of Heidi Ballou]

Dear McKay,

Well, I finally did it. Finally found the time to sit down and get this letter up for you. I had no idea you had been checking the blog all day Friday for it. I feel terribly guilty that it wasn't here waiting, but what can I say? I was up at 5:30 to get your birthday breakfast ready. Then I was making your cake from scratch, and brining and baking your birthday brisket (all per your request).

The funny thing is just how well you understand. Of all my children, you are definitely the most forgiving. Like that picture above? The one with the dog we had for a total of two days before having to give it back due to horrific allergies? You smiled and shrugged it off, though I know it broke your heart. Your brother? He asked if it would be possible to keep the dog and send ME away.

But not you. You accepted the bad news and made the most of the time you and the dog had left.

You are still like that today. When things don't go your way, you never pout or get angry. You never slam doors or yell in frustration. You simply adjust your way of thinking and move on to something new. Your disappointment is never carried around on your sleeve.

Oh, but I envy you that trait.

I think it will serve you well in your life. I think it will make you a fair and just companion. You are quick to forgive and so easy to love. (And I know you did not get that from me.)

When retelling the story of your birth last Friday night, I looked at you in awe and wondered how it was that 13 years have gone by since then. It seems like only yesterday. I can still feel your warm body in my arms, as they handed me this wrapped, red bundle of baby. I recall with vivid clarity, watching with teary eyes as Daddy held you for the first time - you, just minutes old. It was that precise moment that we became a family.

Oh, but you made parenting so easy. Your happy laughter filled our tiny apartment. Your smile made the winter seem like spring. You brought us a new level of joy that we had never known before.

I am particularly loving your new independence in the kitchen. Many a gourmet meal has been served lately - and all of them prepared by you! I flatter myself that your interest in cooking is not due to my lack of abilities, but as a result of your own drive to learn new skills.

Yeah. That's it, right?

Either way, it's been so fun to see you try new things. You never seem daunted by difficult recipes or techniques. You were born fearless, and it extends into every part of your life.

I love you, kid. I cherish your obedient nature. I see you trying so hard to do your best - in school, at church, and at home - and I sit here and wonder what I ever did to deserve you. You have the heart of a giant. You love everyone around you, and make it impossible for them not to love you back. You work hard and expect the absolute best from yourself.

I hope this year is your best yet. You. are. amazing.

Love,

Mama