hot soup
This picture was taken two weeks ago...
Something dramatic happened in the weather yesterday, and it turned cold. And very, very windy. I think these first days of the change of season are very jarring. I kept thinking yesterday, "Oh that's right, the wind sucks the breath from your mouth. I hate that." And then I remembered that I need to wear my contacts on rainy days when I'm running errands because they steam up so badly from building to building.
But I'm trying to take this change of seasons with a positive attitude. I do like to hunker down and cozy up. We started a hopeful new tradition at the Groves house this fall. We call it "Soup Sunday" and try to make a big pot of something each Sunday afternoon. So far we've had a few winners including chicken and dumplings, chili, wild rice soup and chicken noodle.
Here are two absolute winner recipes:
Byerly's Wild Rice Soup
Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup (best ever.) **I recommend using a rotisserie chicken and two boxes of Chicken stock and I left out the cooking sherry because it was too expensive...
Hope the thoughts of warm goodness keep you toasty today!
T-minus one week...
...more or less.We're due a week from today, and I'm not getting any smaller that's for sure. My belly is so tight, and it is getting less and less comfortable. Rory and I were at Cub the other night and he picked up a pumpkin. I asked that he kindly shove it under his shirt for the rest of the shopping trip just to see what it is like to have such a heavy load. He set the pumpkin down, smiled and me and told me that I am doing a great job carrying our child.
Sleep and I used to be really good friends. I remember the days when my head would hit the pillow and sleep would welcome me immediately into a deep rest. But not so, lately. I get completely out of bed about every hour just to stretch my belly and let everything settle back into place. Rory is also sleeping horribly, and we are in awe of how accurate everyone's words were that this stage is just preparation for the sleepless nights that are to come.
I am nesting in the deepest sense of the word. The past few days I have been digging out every single box we own and going through each item with not a whole lot of sentiment attached. Nothing is safe. It feels good to deep clean like this though, and thanks to my mom and my helpful husband who are carrying my loads away, I think I'll finish the basement before this baby comes.
Still amazes me that this baby could come in two days or in two weeks. I can't think of any bigger life event that is wrapped in so much mystery!
And finally, speaking of mystery, at our last doctor's appointment he asked us if we had any questions. I didn't but I commented on how I still can't get over the miracle that is happening inside of me, and how hands-off this whole process of creating a life has been. He said, "Not to get all spiritual on you or anything..." And Rory interjected, "Oh, please do." And then he did. He told us miracle after miracle of the timing of birth. How right now there is a shunt blocking the blood from flowing to my baby's lungs because it's not necessary yet. But moments after my baby is born, that shunt will close up, flow through the vein and in an instant there will be blood pumping to baby's lungs. He smiled and said, "Now you go find a group of engineers who can duplicate that."
He went on and on. The three of us were just excitedly chatting about this miracle of life and it felt so right to celebrate like that with our doctor. It was cool to see him still get so excited about something he has been practicing for decades now. The thing is, the wonder and mystery of life just never gets old. It is pure gift and by far the greatest gift we have ever been given.
Sleep and I used to be really good friends. I remember the days when my head would hit the pillow and sleep would welcome me immediately into a deep rest. But not so, lately. I get completely out of bed about every hour just to stretch my belly and let everything settle back into place. Rory is also sleeping horribly, and we are in awe of how accurate everyone's words were that this stage is just preparation for the sleepless nights that are to come.
I am nesting in the deepest sense of the word. The past few days I have been digging out every single box we own and going through each item with not a whole lot of sentiment attached. Nothing is safe. It feels good to deep clean like this though, and thanks to my mom and my helpful husband who are carrying my loads away, I think I'll finish the basement before this baby comes.
Still amazes me that this baby could come in two days or in two weeks. I can't think of any bigger life event that is wrapped in so much mystery!
And finally, speaking of mystery, at our last doctor's appointment he asked us if we had any questions. I didn't but I commented on how I still can't get over the miracle that is happening inside of me, and how hands-off this whole process of creating a life has been. He said, "Not to get all spiritual on you or anything..." And Rory interjected, "Oh, please do." And then he did. He told us miracle after miracle of the timing of birth. How right now there is a shunt blocking the blood from flowing to my baby's lungs because it's not necessary yet. But moments after my baby is born, that shunt will close up, flow through the vein and in an instant there will be blood pumping to baby's lungs. He smiled and said, "Now you go find a group of engineers who can duplicate that."
He went on and on. The three of us were just excitedly chatting about this miracle of life and it felt so right to celebrate like that with our doctor. It was cool to see him still get so excited about something he has been practicing for decades now. The thing is, the wonder and mystery of life just never gets old. It is pure gift and by far the greatest gift we have ever been given.
hymn cards
I remember sitting beside Rory's grandpa's bed as he was beginning to pass away. Papa was a remarkable man, a powerful speaker and a passionate preacher. It felt odd to sit there and watch him sleep with such labored breathing, seemingly so far away. We decided to sing some hymns to him. For each hymn we could usually get through most of the first verse, belt out the chorus and then end up fumbling over words, inserting la la la's for unknown words and looking at each other in a panic and skipping to the chorus once again. I remember being overcome by giggles that night with Rory. We had been sad for long enough and our emotions snapped the other direction and our tears streamed not from crying, but from laughing, trying to sing verse two of "The Old Rugged Cross." Not the funniest song in the world, but that night, it had us in stitches. And even though this laughter was perfect and helpful for that moment, I still wished I had known the words. In general, I wish I had more lyrics committed to memory. I remember working on the advanced memory loss floor at Mount Olivet Home and beginning Beautiful Savior and listening to the residents sing all four verses. Men and women who didn't remember their own children would remember every word to every verse of these songs that had been shut up in their bones. 
So to help me, I made these hymn cards for our baby nursery. Rory and I are excited to sing these favorites to our little one. My plan is to have 6-7 hymns on rotation at a time. If I'm super ambitious, I'll change them for different seasons. (Christmas is just around the corner!) But at least we'll have the words visible to look at as we rock and snuggle and coo at each other. My Uncle Jake made the welded metal stand that they are sitting on and it's perfect. They are set on a shelf that looks directly at the glider rocker, so I have a feeling they actually will be used. I've been practicing already. 
a life of journals
Have you ever met someone who has written in a journal their whole life? When I read about writers like this I always have a tinge of jealousy...wishing I had that sort of written history.But today I realized that I do! My mom came over for most of the day and we went through boxes in the basement, getting rid of a whole lot of paperwork and school binders that I have held onto over the years. And in one special box we came across more than a dozen journals that I have kept since the 1st grade.
It was so perfect to discover these notebooks of written history with my mom! We laughed as we read entries filled with memories of hurt feelings, excitement, disappointment and all sorts of age-appropriate "stress." It was obvious that I have always been a bit of an extreme writer, very feeling, and very dramatic.
The above text killed me. It is from the very first page of my journal from second grade. To think the same little girl who wrote these misspelled, poorly constructed sentences ended up loving words, and still loves writing, is a pretty cool thing.
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