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Monthly Archive for April, 2010
With the arrival of each new grandchild, our family has developed a little liturgy. (This just sort of happened; it wasn’t really planned). After the birth and after the initial regrouping of the family, we are all called into the room to meet the child and hear the name. Then Doug puts his hand on the little one’s head and says, “Welcome to the Covenant!” It is a fitting announcement! One more little covenant member added to the swelling number! And I don’t mean just the number in our own family, but in the community of believers. And think about what a number it is!
Our little grandkids are growing up knowing who they are and who their people are. They are Christians. They worship the Triune God of Scripture. And they are Merkles and Wilsons and Jankovics. There has never been a moment in their lives when they weren’t sure of who they were. They have been worshiping God since they were freshly born. At some point they begin to take in the surroundings, to lift their hands and bow their heads and Continue reading ‘Welcome to the Covenant!’
Our lovely little overdue granddaughter, Blaire Aubrey Alette, arrived today around 5 p.m. and weighed in at 9# 4 oz. Her mama is doing well, and the Janks siblings were all aglow. (Well, Titus may have been more interested in figuring out how to turn the lamp on and off…. but his sisters were just tickled and delighted with a fresh baby to love on.)
Thanks to our good and gracious God, and thanks to you all who sent encouraging comments to Rachel!
It’s official: I am overdue. Just like a library book racking up fees while it hides under the couch. Except that I do not fit into sneaky, skinny spaces so much, and no one is forgetting about the deadline that we passed. Except maybe the baby. Maybe she forgot? Maybe she is frantically trying to throw on another pound before she feels ready. But in truth, being overdue is not so bad. I can feel free to lie down on the couch in the morning and doze off, waking periodically to give the kids more pretzels while they watch cartoons. When else would we consider that sort of mothering par for the course? I also like the feeling that we are coming up on a real finish line (instead of this illusive one we already passed). The end really, really, really must be near now! Compared to the last time I was pregnant, I don’t even feel all that weighed down!
I have a little window here to do some things that I had not gotten done before the due date. So far I have started to knit a pair of baby socks, bought new earrings and make up (including the new Clinique de-puffing eye serum which I expect to need), repainted my toe-nails (I can actually do this myself this time), and even scheduled a hair appointment. Now, all we really need is the star of the show! Ok – I can’t help myself – here is a comparison of bellies between this time and last time. Neither are good pictures, but the one from the twins is so funny to me now, especially because it is sort of a picture of a belly-mountain with my head on top. The expression is really one of smiling, blank abandon. I bet I looked like that a lot back then! Also, the recent picture is taken of me a couple days overdue, while the one with the twins was taken when I was 36 weeks or so! (Note: Let this be a personal warning to any expectant mothers of twins . . . never wear a turtleneck and expect good results. Also, black is not always slimming.)
Here we are now. 3 days overdue.
And now – brace yourselves – here comes the one of me 4 weeks early with the twins.
I like to hope that I’m not the only mother out there with this problem . . . but every time the weather changes I am caught off guard once again by the fact that my kids have nothing to wear. We’ve only just finished acquiring enough tights and snowboots for everyone, and then all of the sudden they’re supposed to wear flip flops and shorts. And we don’t have any. Last year’s versions are either torn, stained, too small, or missing entirely. The reason this is coming to mind at the moment is that fact that it is absolutely gorgeous outside, the tulips are finally blooming, and I’m getting that ominous feeling that we are, once again, unprepared for it. It occurs to me that it’s just possible that one or two of you are in the same dilemma. Your girls can’t continue to wear the long sleeved velvet dress to church indefinitely, as handy as that would be. So in the interests of the greater good, and under the general heading of spreading sweetness and light, I am giving you a 20% off coupon for Amoretti. Hopefully that will do something to ease the strain.
And no, it’s not a Grecian Urn I’m afraid. If this pot could tell stories I’m willing to bet that they’d be far more wholesome and free of suggestiveness than whatever dirty deeds were afoot on that urn Keats was so taken with. 
What we have here is an enameled cast iron dutch oven that my grandparents bought in Holland in the fifties. It’s huge. It weighs a ton and three quarters. And for all of my early life, this was the only large pot my mom possessed besides her canner. Pert’ near everything was cooked in this pot. When Mom made spaghetti she would boil up the water in this pot and drop the noodles in . . . sideways. (I don’t think she bought a stock pot until I was in high school!) This was also the one-stop-pot for homemade mac and cheese. Noodles were boiled in it and then drained, the roux was whizzed up in the now-empty pot, everything was reassembled therein and then chucked into the oven. Very versatile pot, this. And due to it’s long years of tireless service, it is now straight black inside.
I thought for a long time that it just needed a real deep scrubbing of some sort. Many’s the time I’ve washed it and felt a twang of conscience for not really laying into the black bits with some sandpaper or something. It’s only lately that I really clued in to what’s going on here. All the enamel has worn off the inside, and we’re down to the bare iron. Which means, of course, that we’ve either eaten all the enamel over the years, mixed tastily into the mac and cheese, or it’s been over-zealously scrubbed one too many times. (And if that’s the case then we can rest assured that it is Mom and not I who’s responsible for the situation.)
Mom has a gorgeous array of pots these days – Le Creuset in beautiful colors. But this lowly dutch oven still puts in its fair share of stove top time, and I always love seeing it humming away with steam billowing out the sides.
I’ve discovered that I could get more of these on ebay . . . some of which are in pristine condition and their interiors are still a spotless white enamel. And if I didn’t mind paying obscene amounts of money for shipping I would totally start collecting them. But I have to say I’d miss that black interior. In my humble opinion the black adds to the charm.
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