because Ann came to visit and Josie had a dinner party

This is my new sweater thing. I don't know what to call it because I've never seen one before. I just made it up in the 30 minutes I had planned to clean up and shower before joining my cousin for dinner. But inspiration and cute, free clothing supersede clean hair. (Thank goodness for headbands.)

Two days earlier I had spent 24 wonderful hours with my dear friend Ann who drove herself and her kids to town for a visit. After weeks of nothing but work and fighting a cold, I was feeling pretty worn down and uninspired. There's nothing like hanging out with a beautiful artist to turn me around.

Usually the inspiration comes on Ann's turf, surrounded by her quilts and artwork and books and recipes. This time it came on mine, in non-stop conversation about faith and parenting and books and cooking and sewing. Oh, yes, sewing. I forgot how much I love talking and dreaming about sewing. And how lit up I get when I actually do it.

I brought out my sewing books for her to flip through (after I sheepishly showed her my totally trashed "sewing room"), like The Sweater Chop Shop, Born-Again Vintage and Betz White's Sewing Green. I love to look at these books (although I hadn't in a while) but I get bogged down in deciding what I could tackle. I get paralyzed by the possibilities and then get distracted by the paying work and leave the sewing machine untouched. It takes a birthday or a baby shower to get me in there, ignoring the disaster surrounding me, whipping something up. Turns out a dinner party works too.

Saturday night my cousin Josie had a fancy dinner prepared for her and a small group of friends by her two daughters and three nieces. Her mom Ruth, the girls' grandma, had the girls give the dinner party to Josie as a Christmas gift and then Ruth made it happen. And what an amazing gift it was! The food was fabulous and the girls were adorable, serving us like caterers.

That afternoon I had an idea for something to make and I was itching to do it. I wasn't sure if it would work, but with the idea that there would be an event that night to wear it to, I figured it was worth a try.


In one of the many piles in my "sewing room," I located a soft Merino wool turtleneck sweater I had thrifted (and already washed and dried - shrunk a bit). I cut off the bottom of the sweater just below the arms. Then I cut straight down the front of this piece (Note: If you try this, be sure to mark the front of the sweater before you cut off the arms!). I found some wide lace I bought for nearly nothing at an estate sale and cut a piece a little longer than each side. I pinned and sewed on the lace, then topstitched around the top of the whole piece. The lucky part (as I had no idea while sewing this thing as fast as possible how I was going to fasten it) was digging up the cool vintage broach, also thrifted, I've held onto, unworn, for years.

It may look like I simply ended up with a silly sweater thing. But that's not the whole story. Barbara Brown Taylor sums it up beautifully in her book An Altar in the World when she writes,

"What is saving my life now is the conviction that there is no spiritual treasure to be found apart from the bodily experiences of human life on earth. My life depends on engaging the most ordinary physical activities with the most exquisite attention I can give them. My life depends on ignoring all touted distinctions between the secular and the sacred, the physical and the spiritual, the body and the soul. What is saving my life now is becoming more fully human, trusting that there is no way to God apart from real life in the real world."

Whether I'm slicing an apple while deep in conversation about potty training, Japanese quilts and a dear friend's pentecostal childhood, or I'm drooling over a bite of perfectly cooked beef tenderloin while listening to a new friend laugh about her life as a stepmother, or I'm keeping a line of stitches straight in a small bubble of stolen time, something holy is happening. I don't understand it, and I sure can't explain it. But even now, when I look at my silly sweater thing, I tear up, just to know it's true.

::

Thank to Tara at Go West Young Mom for reprinting my post about struggling with keeping a clean house and to all the wonderful commenters. Evidence, I'd say, that it's good and right to leave the dishes in the sink in order to sew for 30 minutes.

the best vegetable soup

Wednesday and Thursday evenings are packed with activities. In the midst of shuttling here and there, I struggle to put together a decent dinner. As brave (read: crazy) souls who work for ourselves, we have been scraping bottom for the last few weeks, clinging to our last ten dollars, waiting for the windfall that is next month. As a result, other than the unexpected organic vegetable delivery that came yesterday, it's slim pickings in the food department.

While I locked myself in the bathroom yesterday afternoon to get a break, I quickly scanned through various cookbooks to see what I could make that would be quick and easy and make everyone happy. With the ingredients I had on hand, not much. An Herbed Vegetable Soup in the Big Book of Soups and Stews (that has some really outstanding recipes), inspired me to put together this soup. It was a hit! I can't wait to eat it again for lunch today.

The Best Vegetable Soup
2 T butter
1 onion, chooped
2 garlic cloves, minced
~3 cups chopped veggies (I used 2 carrots, 2 celery stalks, 2 small peeled potatoes, 4 mushrooms, a handful of cauliflower florets)
3 cups vegetable broth*
1 t salt
1/2 t basil
1/4 t oregano
freshly ground pepper
a couple handfuls of whole wheat pasta**
grated parmesan

Heat butter in dutch oven and saute onions and garlic about 5 minutes. Add veggies, broth, spices and salt and pepper. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer 15 minutes. Stir in pasta. Cover and simmer another 10-15 minutes. Ladle into bowls and top with cheese. (This soup is more like a stew. We liked it that way. Just add more broth or water if you don't.)

*I hate how much organic broth costs and the waste of all the cartons. We steam a lot of broccoli and cauliflower and green beans around here, so I have been saving the vitamin-rich water that results after steaming. (I remember that my grandma used to cool and drink this water on the spot. Probably one of the reasons she was hardly sick a day in her lovely long life.) The steamed veggie water makes excellent FREE broth!

**The only pasta I had in the house was whole wheat spaghetti. So I grabbed a bunch of spaghetti and broke it into thirds. I think the noodles are part of what made this soup so yummy.

beyond the crudité

For the last several weeks, I've been co-leading a study at church called Just Eating? Practicing Our Faith at the Table. In one of the sessions each participant was given a slip of paper with a small amount of money written on it. Each was instructed to bring food in for the group the next week without spending more than their limit. My amount was 25 cents.

What can be bought for a quarter to feed even a bite to eight people? As I walked down the produce aisle, I had an idea. Grapefruits were 24 cents. I would peel and section it the way my grandma often did and my stepmom still always does.

If you have never peeled and sectioned a grapefruit - where you painstakingly free each section from its bitter membrane, attempting to keep the beautiful, bursting fruit intact - you are missing a rare moment of zen. Grapefruit peeling is an art form. It is meditative and rewarding, not only because the final product is so luscious and delicious but because the act itself feels holy.

I explained to the group that I chose the grapefruit because although the money I had to spend was small, each bite of the shimmering, sweet red fruit on the plate was precious. I couldn't imagine wasting a section because of the effort and care that went into preparing it. How often do we look at our meals this way?

Amazingly, all the items offered up that night, for which we had each spent $1.50 or less, were thoughtfully prepared and presented. And they were all real, whole foods. Nothing preprepared. No sugar. No junk.

One participant brought homemade carrot-apple juice. Another, a savory dish of rice and beans. Another, chopped veggies in a vinegar-oil dressing.

The thing that surprised me most was how we each took such care with our very meager budgets. We wanted to bring the best, most delicious, most wholesome food we could to share, even when we had so little to spend. Or, maybe, because we had so little to spend. The limits required creativity and care. Two aspects to eating that have been lost in our extravagant, convenience culture.

I took home one idea that night and have been making various versions of the chopped veggie salad ever since. A couple carrots, a cucumber, some cauliflower. I have always just cut them into sticks and slices and florets and dipped them in ranch. An okay way to eat raw veggies, but after a while, pretty boring. The salad, however, transforms the crudité. I eat it all day. Sometimes I add tomato or chop a red pepper. It's lovely to prepare, look at and eat. Food becomes holy. The way it should always be.


Chopped Vegetable Salad

3-4 cups of chopped, fresh veggies
4 T olive oil
2 T rice wine vinegar
1 t agave syrup or honey
salt and pepper

Chop. Observe the vivid color of the carrot. Chop. Inhale the clean, subtle fragrance of the cucumber. Chop. Marvel over the odd beauty of the cauliflower. Mix up the dressing. Enjoy knowing that none of these ingredients were created in a laboratory. Toss the vegetables and the dressing together. Add your own variations. Give thanks for the farmers who grew the vitamin-rich vegetables. Take a bite. Say thanks to the God who made them. Take another bite. Eat. Savor. Eat. Smile knowing that you just ate a whole plate of raw veggies and it wasn't boring. It was actually pretty darn good.

intention #1: a plan for giving

A couple months ago I was flipping through a Family Fun magazine at the library and was inspired by an article with an ingenious idea for giving. I had been wanting to find a way to implement the idea but it wasn't until a car ride home from Wisconsin between Christmas and New Years that I found the moment to spring it on my family.

"I'm hungry," my six year old whined from the backseat, just outside Beloit. Not having food or a plan, I asked him what he thought we should do.

"Go to McDonalds?" he excitedly suggested, leaning forward in his seat.

Ugh. I hate McDonalds, which is why my son has been there probably five times in his life and why he thinks it's so wonderful. Plus, it wasn't dinnertime yet and a snack of fries would probably just make everyone feel hungrier.

"I have a better idea," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, knowing this probably wasn't the moment to turn a request for fast food into a lecture on the needs of others. But, sometimes I really can't help myself.

Liam threw himself back and sighed. He knew all too well my better idea was not going to be french fries.

"What?" he pouted.

"Well," I said. "What if instead of spending money for food at McDonald's we wait until we get home to eat something. Then we write down what we would have spent there and put it that piece of paper in a jar. Every time we go to buy something extra or spend our money on something we really don't need this year, we'll think about whether we could not spend the money and write it on a paper for the jar. The jar will be our Giving Jar. We'll pick a special place we want to give the money, then we'll add up the amounts on all the slips of paper and write a check for the total. What do you think?"

"YES!" my son shouted. He really did this. My husband just about crashed the car.

"How much can we write on the slip?" my son asked excitedly.

We figured between french fries and drinks we'd probably spend $10. Then we discussed what or who we should be saving the money for. Because of our connection to Lithuania, we agreed that in a few months we'd add up our papers and write the check to our sister church in Taurage, specifically for the playground they want to build for kids in the community who have no safe place to play.

My son never said a word about being hungry the rest of the 90 minute drive home. I was stunned. Did this really happen? Can a focused family giving plan silence a kid who would give his front teeth to eat at McDonald's?

We'll see. In the meantime, we've started making our pizza on Friday nights: $8 for foregoing a Home Run Inn. And working at the library instead of the coffee shop: $2 for not buying a cup of tea.

I don't think of us as frivolous spenders. These days we're especially careful with our money. But I see this exercise as a good lesson in what we need versus what we want. And what we can give up - even the little we think we have - to help someone else. I also think we'll all discover that spending money doesn't make our lives richer. But seeing it fill the Giving Jar? We're already finding that that's a different story.

old sweater gifts

Last spring I collected and cut up more than a dozen sweaters to make a patchwork sweater blanket. This month I gathered up the remaining scraps and, voila, teacher gifts! Between my two sons, we had 15 - oh, yes, 15! - teachers and therapists to show some Christmas love. And we had zero dollars to spend.


Almost all of our gifts were sweater coffee cozies. I used a fancy stitch on my grandma's wonderful Bernina and guesstimated how to creatively sew some scraps together to fit a to-go cup. Each then got a button or two. If spending had been an option, we would have tossed a coffee shop gift card in the cup. Instead, we got creative and mixed up our favorite cocoa, bagged an individual serving and attached the recipe and a little candy cane.


For Liam's wonderful, special teacher (who he has blessedly been with for two years), I made fingerless gloves from the sleeves of a beautiful white sweater. She has a lot of style and loves stores like Ruche and Anthropologie, so the mismatched buttons were the perfect finishing touch.

I see a lot of sweater scrap sewing in my future. Maybe even an Etsy store. Stay tuned!

back to basics :: small change number two

Last month I wrote that I (and, by default "we") was (were) going to participate in a movement to make one small change a month in order to try to be more earth friendly. Our January effort to cut back on the flow of paper into our house was a bigger task than I ever imagined. It is astonishing how much printed material goes straight from the mailbox and the curb into the recycle bin. Over and over again.

Here the change: Now every time I receive something I could care less about (which, for me, is nearly every catalog, flyer and circular that comes in the door), I login to Catalog Choice (thank you, Ann!) and get myself off that mailing list. Or, as a last resort, I find a number to call. So far I'm doing it. Not sure yet if it's working. But it feels like more of a conscious effort.

This month I again decided to tackle one small change that would reduce our environmental footprint in some miniscule way as well as help me with my effort to simplify. And I chose... no pre-packaged convenience foods. In other words, make all meals from scratch.

Okay, this probably sounds like the opposite of simple, but in my view, "simplify" ultimately means to pare down, to de-clutter and to get back to basics. Taking simple, wholesome ingredients and making good, easy meals fits into this picture. Plus, the amount of trash that piles up when we eat mostly meals pre-packaged vs. the amount of trash that's left after cooking a meal from scratch is huge. I would love to know how often my grandparents filled a 30 gallon garbage can when feeding six kids three meals a day. It is frankly embarrassing how much trash and recycling is generated by our little family of four on a weekly basis. I am guessing we generate at least three times as much garbage as they did.

The other added bonus of our new way of eating is that we save money. Not surprising, I know. But, still, for someone who has had a habit of running to the store every other day to "pick up some stuff for dinner," getting back to basics in the kitchen is a relief in more ways than one.

Our twice monthly organic fruit and vegetable delivery from Timber Creek Farms helps keep veggies at the forefront of all our meals, and is yet another way to keep the packaging waste to a minimum. If you live within 100 miles of Chicago you MUST check this out.

Anyway, here's what we're eating for dinner:

:: Big baked potatoes with toppings (for the Brit: baked beans, for Liam: loads of fresh parmesan, for me: broccoli and cheese)
:: Crustless quiche any and every way (here is how I make it)
:: Black Bean Burgers (Liam practically made these alone - five stars!)
:: Mediterranean Soup and any other good homemade soups I can convince my dear husband equals dinner (bread helps)
:: Gingery Chickpea & Tomato Stew (five stars!)
:: Spaghetti, sometimes with bolognese sauce
:: Beet risotto or other types depending on what came in the vegetable delivery
:: Lots of variations on our favorite penne, greens and beans

And, of course, bread and bread, and cookies and cookies.

I plan to make pizza soon. Although I imagine that is one area where we'll cave. Not sure I could ever match Home Run Inn.

Any other ideas?

good will hunting and sunday pie

Yesterday afternoon my friend Heather and I spend nearly three hours scouring Good Will for good stuff. I picked up this pile of yummy sweaters, not because I plan to wear them but because I plan to transform them into something like this. I also scored a pair of long J Crew jeans in my size (a huge find for a tall girl) and a couple great sweaters (to wear). I am not a shopper. It usually makes me tired and sick feeling, unless I'm at Good Will. There, I feel right at home. It's really cheap, inspiring and adventure filled. Plus, it's better for everyone and everything to buy things used.

Getting away for three hours on a Sunday afternoon was a treat, and needed after a long morning home with my boys. Elliott had a bad cough and we didn't want to take him to church. Since Andrew was playing guitar in the service, I had to stay. I hate missing church. But rather than be all grumpy about it, I decided to be nice mom and let the guys do pretty much whatever they wanted, including building a massive fort in the dining room and painting. I also let Liam make one of his famous "cakes." Usually these are completely inedible, but somehow the planets aligned and the concoction I pulled from the oven actually looked and smelled quite tasty.

I quizzed Liam on exactly what he mixed into it. (He is supposed to ask me before he uses each ingredient, but you never know.) Upon assuring me that there were no "secret" ingredients, he popped up on a stool and divided his dish onto three plates and insisted that I try his "Sunday Pie." I will not lie. It was delicious and the entire thing was gone in less than 20 seconds.

If anyone wants the Sunday Pie recipe, Liam says to mix up some graham crackers, marshmallows, chocolate chips, chocolate sauce, peppermint chips, sprinkles and melted butter, then cook it in the oven. If you think that sounds like a minty s'more, you'd be right. Liam told me that if I keep being nice mom he'll make me Sunday Pie every week. I just might.

beyond green

Today was the final day of our semi-annual church rummage sale and I spent a few hours helping out. As I folded heaps of clothes, I pulled along a shopping bag, sticking in an occasional find. Days before I had helped with the sorting and had sneaked in my pre-sale shopping, proud of the incredible bargains and the fact that I was reusing rather than buying something new. I was feeling like an all-around resourceful and resource-saving gal.

While I worked today, I noticed a shopper hauling her finds - baskets and garbage bags full of clothes and shoes - to a corner of a room where she began the long and tedious task of folding and rolling each individual item so she could fit as much as possible into brown grocery bags. Today you could fill a bag with anything that was left for a flat $5. She was smartly trying to stretch her dime as much as possible.

Throughout the morning I kept peeking at the bag lady, checking her progress and trying to guess what she might be doing with all the clothes. I figured she must own a resale store or somehow plan to turn a profit. She clearly had done this before.

When the woman was finished packing her bags - nearly an hour after the sale had ended - a worker graciously brought over a cart and helped her load up the eleven bags. After she left, I asked a woman who had worked the rummage sale longer than I if she knew anything about the lady who was buying all the clothes and shoes.

"Oh, she's been doing that for years," she said. "I don't remember the exact story, but she sends most everything to Europe - to Poland and the countries in the former Soviet Union - where clothes are incredibly hard to come by."

As I stood packing up boxes with unsold items, my eyes welled up with tears. Stretching my dollar, being environmental with my purchases, even giving my time for a good cause (while working in an opportunity to scan the dirt cheap merchandise for the last good buys) was really still all about me. And here was a woman giving her time and energy and money to do all this same kind of good . . . for someone else.

Tonight as Liam and I did our new bedtime ritual, asking each other the questions, "What are you most thankful for today?" and "What are you least thankful for today?," I remembered the bag lady. I thank God for her because she reminded me of how much more good there is to do, and that giving of yourself (not so you can pat yourself on the back and say, "look how good I am," but really giving of yourself) blesses not only the people who receive the gift but also the people who stand back and watch.

making due

I love cooking. Not so much the preparation or the process or the cleanup. I love the results. I have never been a fan of prepackaged or processed. I am deeply suspicious of any product that contains more than five ingredients or that includes "foodstuffs" I cannot pronounce, much less identify. Plus, homemade just tastes better. So much better.

I used to think that made from scratch also meant made for less. But often I happen upon a recipe that sounds like the perfect dinner but I lack an essential ingredient or two. For a while I'd been making a grocery run nearly every day. That wouldn't be so bad if I didn't leave the store with the two items I needed for the dish and ten other items that were on sale/could really use/looked fun to try/would be a good snack for the drive home. The biggest problem with this way of shopping and cooking is that other perfectly good items, with plenty of recipe potential, slowly go bad on the countertop or in the veggie drawer.

This week - in honor of Earth Day and in response to limited cash flow - I am trying an experiment to make due with what we have and see what kind of creative dishes I can pull out of our fridge and cabinets without running to the store every other day. Yesterday, I noticed three bananas well past their prime (can we say, rotting) on the counter and quickly searched my favorite cooking site for a quick and easy transformation. Smitten Kitchen's Jacked-Up Banana Bread looked like the perfect afternoon snack and, lucky me, I had all the ingredients (although I substituted dark rum that I bought seven years ago for a rum cake for the bourbon). I gave myself an extra pat on the back for making use of that obscure ingredient taking up space in my cabinet (albeit just a tablespoonful). Hands down this was the best banana bread I have ever put into my mouth, and the smell was enough to drive the neighbors half insane with jealously that they didn't have rotting bananas on their counters, too.

The other had-all-the-ingredients recipe I made that is worth noting is carrot soup. I know, ugh. Who eats carrot soup and likes it? Well, we do. This is a recipe that has been passed around my extended family and I have no idea where it originated. It is chock full of powerful nutrients, kind to the pocketbook, surprisingly easy and unusually delicious. It's one of those dishes that doesn't look like anything special but you just can't stop eating it. And, chances are you have all the ingredients in your kitchen right now.

Carrot Soup

2 T oil
1 1/2 lbs sliced carrots
1 large onion, chopped
1 1/2 c. diced potatoes (peel if they are russet)
1 clove garlic, sliced
4 whole cloves
1/2 t. sugar
1/4 t. ground pepper
4 c. chicken or veggie broth

Heat oil in a big pot and add all the veggies. Stir often for 8-10 minutes. Add cloves, sugar and pepper and stir another minute. Add broth. Bring to boil; then reduce and simmer 20 minutes. Very important: Remove and discard cloves.* Use an immersion blender to puree 3/4 of the soup. Serve with dollop of sour cream.

*Once I forgot to remove the cloves and they were pureed. Not good. Carrot soup became clove soup. It did not go over well. Definitely remove the cloves!

::
One quick note about grocery shopping. I detest it. If I spend too long in a big box store, I start to get queazy, hyperventilate, that sort of thing. Because I have long been on the search for the perfect food store - one with a pleasant environment, not too large, natural lighting, bargain pricing - I have been to nearly all of them. Here's what I discovered if you're looking for the best deals on any of the items above:

:: rotting bananas :: Meijer sells them for next to nothing. So if you are craving that jacked-up banana bread right now and you have no bananas, run to Meijer. Just go straight for the rotting-produce cart and then straight for the register or you might end up with a cart full of groceries rather than what you came in for - a pile of speckled bananas for 20 cents.

:: butter and eggs :: Costco reigns here. A dozen and a half of organic, free-range eggs costs less than just a dozen of the same in any other store. Butter, too. I freeze the extra boxes and they thaw perfectly fine.

:: produce :: An overwhelming store for a capitalism wimp, Caputos does have great produce at great prices. I won't give up my organic vegetable delivery - also a bargain - but in a pinch, I know where to find my onions and berries.

:: broth :: I used to buy the quart-size boxes of broth that you can find at just about any food store these days, but I hated to do it because the boxes aren't recyclable where I live and what a lot of waste for four measly cups of broth. Then Trader Joes introduced little tiny packets of condensed broth that, when added to boiling water, each make a cup of broth. For the price of a one-quart box of prepared broth (equal to 4 cups of broth) you can get one box of 12 packets (equal to 12 cups of broth). Much less waste, much less expensive, much more sense.

chore boy

Lately Liam has been asking for stuff: more LEGOs, Star Wars books, new bike. A recent conversation went something like this.

"Mom, I need a new bike. This one's old. Can you go to the store and get me a bigger one?"

Hmm. True, his knees hit the handlebars when he tries to ride. The bike is a little small. But simply running out to the store to buy a new one is impractical on so many levels. First, we are trying desperately not to buy stuff. Any stuff. And when it's really needed or necessary, to only buy it second hand. Second, we want to teach our kids about the value of money, that it doesn't grow on trees and that spending money you don't have is, well, a pretty bad idea. We want our kids to learn some good money lessons early rather than learn the hard way like their parents have often done.

This weekend I decided it was time to start giving Liam a small allowance. But rather than simply giving him money for his bank each week, he has to earn it. There are many schools of thought on allowance. Some say chores shouldn't be tied to one; others say a child shouldn't get an allowance without doing some work. I figure since Liam actually enjoys doing jobs, why not reinforce the activity with an opportunity to save up and buy something special?


So, together we made a chore tin, covering an old tea container and writing various chores (that Liam helped me think up) on craft sticks. Each day, he draws a stick from the tin and goes to work. Two days after we began the new ritual, he promptly got the flu. I knew he was on the mend this morning when he came downstairs, curled up with me on the couch, popped his thumb out of his mouth and asked excitedly, "Mom, can I do my chore today?" Now, if that ain't worth ten cents.

cost cutting

Lately we've been looking for ways to save money. Starting Liam shaving at age 4 is not one of them, but cutting hair at home is. (Very needed as this photo shows!) For most of Liam's life, I have paid $20 a shot to have a stylist cut his hair every eight weeks or so. Most would think this price excessive for a boy's haircut but this isn't just any boy hair. Liam has some of the thickest and most beautiful hair of any boy I know. It takes a stylist longer to give his hair a trim than it does to totally style mine.

I have had a little experience cutting hair. In college I gave a potential love interest a ROTC haircut. It didn't go well (although he dated me anyway). I also had my own hair chopped off in kindergarten by a fellow student - from ponytails to pixie in minutes flat. Needless to say I don't have a lot of confidence around scissors.

But $120 a year is a small chunk of change we could spend elsewhere, so I followed a great blog tutorial on how to cut a little boy's hair and gave it a try. Liam was such a great sport, sitting still for over a half hour while I repeated over and over, "Just about finished, honey." He sat happily listening to "his" music (female-fronted progressive metal), anticipating the Twix bar he would get when the job was completed. It was a pretty special time and the result was, well, not too shabby. That's the thing about cutting expenses - sometimes you end up with a whole lot more than money in the bank.

good intentions

Usually, I throw catalogs into the recycling bag as soon as they arrive in the mail. Why be disappointed or tempted by things we can't afford? This week, however, Liam fished the Pottery Barn Kids catalog out of the mail pile in the dining room, and I found him comfortably reclining on the couch giving it a look. No surprise, he was engrossed in the Halloween section.

As he was showing me all the items he wanted, I found myself wishing I could get him something, even contemplating something "reasonable," like the pumpkin-design puffy treat bag he pointed out. A mere $12, which is cheap by Pottery Barn standards. Even though a puffy treat bag is the last thing I need to be spending money on, it seemed a small amount to satisfy a kid who adores Halloween.

This morning I attended an event put on by my cousins Chris and Alli to promote Hope International, an organization that provides microloans to entrepreneurs living in poverty in the developing world. The one sentence Chris said that has been running through my head all day is this: "Our good intentions rob the poor of the opportunity to be givers." In other words, when we just give people handouts and we do it repeatedly, as "good" as our intentions are, we are just creating dependency and we are not giving people the opportunity to become self-sufficient and, in turn, to be able to give back. Chris recounted compelling stories of people who had benefitted from Hope's microloan program, creating thriving businesses and pulling themselves out of poverty and then blessing other people in their communities in huge ways. One woman in Congo, a single mom with six kids, went on to adopt four orphans in her community after she rose out of poverty. Another woman in the Dominican Republic used the money from her successful, microloan-funded sewing business to start a school in her home and then pulled her community together to build a school for kids who are the poorest or the poor - over 400 of them.

Today I decided we would do well to apply the Hope principles to our family. Every parent want their children to be happy. We want to be sure they have what they need and, when possible, what they want. But there is a downside to satisfying wants and whims. They don't really satisfy. Our good intentions create kids who feel entitled to whatever they want to buy or do or not do. As a music teacher, Andrew struggles against this all the time. The majority of kids are unmotivated, uninspired, selfish and downright rude. And based on the experiences of other teachers I've heard from, I don't think this is an overgeneralization.

As a parent or a charitable organization, good intentions often equate to taking the easy way out. It is probably easier to repeatedly deliver food and clothing and medicines to a community in need than it is to set up a meaningful, efficient and successful system for dispersing microloans and ensuring that borrowers have the support, relational collateral and motivation to pay them back (over 99% of Hope's loan recipients do). It is also certainly easier as a parent to just give your child what he or she wants than find a different way to address the desire.

Since we didn't order the treat bag this week, I proposed to Liam that we make our own. Truthfully, I wasn't thrilled about the idea at first - the mess, the possibility it wouldn't work out well - but I shut off my editor and went for it anyway. I had a sudden brainstorm to try something out of papier mache. So, with a balloon, newspaper strips, flour, water and paint, we came up with an alternative to the puffy treat bag. There was a lot of waiting between steps and wondering whether the thing would even turn out at all. But the resulting creation has brought out pride (I made this!), deeper creativity (Can we make a mummy costume out of this stuff?), laughter (It's a pig pumpkin! - in case you can't tell), togetherness (Mom and Liam on the papier mache, Dad and Liam on the painting, Liam and "Banjo" on the face), problem solving (What to do about the handle?) and a giving spirit (Elliott needs a treat bag!).

All week I thought I was just saving $12. Thanks Chris and Alli for helping me see the bigger lesson.

to buy or not to buy

Friday I took Liam with me to a children's resale shop to look for a little girl's shirt to embellish for a birthday present. Before we went into the store, I explained to him that we were there to look for a shirt for Julianna, not to buy things for him. I didn't think the one-item trip would be an issue until I saw the Halloween costumes.

Liam has an insatiable passion for Halloween - the dressing up, the promise of candy, the odd spookiness of it all. The minute we walked into the store I knew we weren't getting out of there without some kind of disguise. It didn't take long for Liam to track down a batman costume in his size - a nicely made one with a cape and mask for just $8. Okay, I told him, but that's it.

As we were heading for the counter with the costume and the shirt we found for our gift, Liam spied a gun and holster set.

"Mom," he said running it over to me. "Batman needs this."

I patiently explained that the real batman never carries or uses a weapon. Plus, we were only getting the costume today.

"But, mom," he pleaded. "I really want this."

"Well," I paused. "You can have the gun set or the costume - just one - your choice."

I held my breath as he carefully and quietly looked them both over and then, thankfully, pointed to the costume.

Later that day, after several hours enjoying his new personna, Liam plopped himself on the couch, crestfallen.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I wish I had the guns."

"Honey, we can't have everything we want."

"But that's not everything, mom. That's just two things," he said. "I really wanted all the costumes."

Well, if that ain't our sorry human condition. We don't just want the thing we didn't get to have. We want everything, and more.

When I was in high school, I was dying for a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. If I only had them, I pleaded with my dad, I would be happy. My dad wisely suggested that the jeans wouldn't be the end of my quest for happiness. Something else would be next, something else I needed to make me happy. And he was right. The desire for things never ends.

I probably shouldn't have bought the costume to begin with, but it was so darn cute. Now I wonder if that sets a bad precident. What's the healthiest way to approach shopping with kids? Probably the same way it would be to approach it with myself - if you didn't come in to buy it, don't buy it. Let it go; think about it for a day and then come back if it's still something you need or want and is within reason/budget. How hard it is to do this with a child. (It's hard enough to do it with myself!) You see that excited longing or are faced with that agonized pleading and you give in. You want to see them "happy." But I'm beginning to think that this is pretty short sighted.

I am thinking about starting an allowance with Liam and letting him decide how he wants to spend or save his money to learn about the disappointment of blowing it on something frivolous and the satisfaction of saving for something special and the joy of giving some of it away. I feel like my own childhood was a strange combination of being inundated with purchases I didn't really want or need (but that I think my mom wanted for me) and being denied simple items I longed for (because whoever I was asking just wasn't in the mood to buy or didn't think was worth it). In a word, my experience with buying stuff was random. And that's pretty much how I continue on today.

It's going to be hard work to make life different for batman. But I'll do it. Because I know that the quest for happiness should never involve anything that comes with a price tag and, well, you just can't have everything you want.

::: Anyone with good ideas on how to teach kids about money, give an allowance, to buy or not to buy, etc., please share. I can use all the help I can get. :::

one bed at a time

Our yard has become the eyesore of the neighborhood. It happened so slowly I hardly even noticed. And, yet, I knew. I knew the beds were getting weedy. I knew the forsythia bushes were beginning to overtake the sidewalk. I knew the creeping Charlie was, well, creeping. But it's just too much work. There's a house to tidy, kids to play with, money-earning work to complete. I couldn't even imagine how to begin improving the yard. So I ignored it and hoped Andrew would cave first and at least mow the lawn.

This noon as I drove up to the house transitioning out of work mode and ready to take the reigns, I felt embarrassed by our little neglected corner. So as soon as I put Elliott down for a nap, I rallied Liam and dug out the mower. I was just going to cut the weedy grass but I couldn't stop. My little helper and I pulled enough weeds to fill a lawn bag and hacked away at the bushes until they actually sort of looked nice.

There are still weeds galore in our yard and other bushes that need to be trimmed and, of course, the lawn will need to be mowed again. But we made progress. Even a neighbor noticed and marveled at how nice our front yard looked tonight. (Yes, it was that bad.) It wouldn't have happened if we hadn't just started.

The three hours spent in the yard had me thinking a lot about our financial situation. For years we've been winging it and ignoring the weeds. Digging in, budgeting, developing a plan, it all seems so overwhelming. So we try not to look too closely. But, like knowing your lot has become the ugliest one on the block, not having a grasp on your finances is stressful and embarrassing.

So tonight we just started and opened three savings accounts through ING Direct: one for emergencies, one for taxes and one for travel. These are three areas where we always seem to get ourselves into a bind and have to pull out the credit card. The accounts are small but like the yard that can only be weeded one small bed at a time, it's a start. And the landscape looks better already.