treat for momma

This afternoon: 2 cups of blueberries unthawed (of course that was 2 days ago) and a few minutes to spare equalled a treat for tomorrow morning.


Induling early: Radiating from the oven a delicious smell to tickle one's nose, blueberries so plump as if they are trying to jump into my mouth, coconut dripping from the heat . . .








. . . you guessed it, I indulged! My new favorite muffin. Try one (I didn't have an orange, but a lemon worked just fine) and sip your favorite drink, relax and think of me (as I now have 15 minutes to feed Blaise, kiss Ambrose goodnight, and hop in the car to go play volleyball, another treat; what a sweet day!)

Oatmeal, Blueberry & Orange Muffins
1 c rolled oats
1 c whole wheat flour
1 t each baking powder, baking soda & salt
1 1/2 c flaked sweet coconut
grated rind of one orange
1 egg
1/2 c honey
3 T canola oil
1 T vinegar
juice of 1 orange & add water to make 3/4 c of liquid
1 - 1 1/4 c fresh or frozen blueberries


Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine dry ingredients. Add coconut and orange rind. In a separate bowl beat the egg. Fold in wet ingredients. Fold in blueberries.


Bake 20-25 minutes.


BTW . . . here is what Ambrose and Blaise were doing while I was indulging! What a good big brother, making sure Blaise has enough toys.

the moments

A list of highlights according to Ambrose:
-golf cart rides
-eating
-building stick houses (who knew the 3 Little Pigs could have such impact?)
-helping take out the garbage followed closely by helping to grill

the scene: Harbor Island, SC

Nestled between St. Helena and Hunting Islands in Beaufort County, Harbor Island is a 1,400-acre private community on Harbor River. A small group of people call the island home year-round. For a week we enjoyed it as a quiet and secluded vacation spot.

A moment:
Walking down the boardwalk it was so peaceful, hardly a sound just the whisper of the wind against your ear. The cattails stand erect as morning glories dance among their feet and across the sand. Butterflies are flitting everywhere, as if late for work. Blue sky with puffy hand painted clouds yearning for a child to lie down and ‘discover’ images. Smell the salt laced air as our steps announce our arrival through the creak of each board, every step. They say that full moons bring the lowest of low tides and the highest of high tides; we were rewarded with both.

High tide:
Barely sand to walk on as the waves crash into beach; the little feet next to me are uncertain about the waves. It is fascinating to watch Ambrose move away from the waves since the earth he is standing on is not as solid as he has expected. But a second later surrender to their enticement and run kicking up his feet to welcome the water’s splashes.

Low tide:
Deciding now is the time to take a picture of Blaise getting his feet wet and capturing the ‘moment’. Walking, walking, walking . . .why did I wait til low tide? Where is the water, when will we get there. Amazing that a few hours ago we couldn’t walk on the beach . . .

tree tunnel

Little feet plodding behind

curious what bigger feet will find.

Outside on a crisp autumn day

with cousins to play.

One found sap on the tree

and a *tree tunnel the little one did see.

*woodpecker's hole

carrot soup jig

Whirring, little fingers pushing, bright colors spinning around. . .

wait, don't dance off the counter.

Full bowls, spoons clinking, mmmm. . .

empty bowls, full tummy. Thanks, Aunt Cathy!

precious cargo

As the world is full of so many choices these days; we were anxious to hear what would headline Ambrose's birthday list this year. The list enunciated to us ever so carefully and in total just one simple item; a wheelbarrow.

What 'outdoor worker' doesn't need a wheelbarrow? We've discovered that our first bud is a worker bee. Take when our neighbors watched him the other night. Their two kids were running around playing as Ambrose was picking up sticks. On a fairly regular basis he will let us know that we 'need to work outside'.

Worker bee here comes your wheelbarrow with some precious cargo inside! Blaise always willing to help, happily obliged to see just how much would fit in the new red wheelbarrow. Sshhhh . . .Ambrose's birthday isn't until 11/2.

work is not a chore

This was shared with me recently from Sarah Jorgensen and so apropos today: “It is important for us to know the nature of a child’s work. When a child works, he does not do so to obtain some further goal. His objective in working is the work itself, and when he has repeated an exercise and brought his own activities to an end, this end is independent of external factors.—Maria Montessori, From Childhood to Adolescence

When children work, work is not a “chore.” A little understanding of the difference between the way adults and children approach work goes a long way toward making family activities rewarding for everyone. An adult works efficiently, using the least effort. Children work with every molecule of energy focused on the task at hand. An adult tires after working hard. Children seem re-energized and refreshed after periods of intense work. And of course, an adult’s outwardly visible goal (a leaf-free lawn, for example) is of little consequence to the child wrapped in the rhythmic, whole-body experience of raking. When you work outdoors together this year, scale the task to the children’s abilities, provide tools that fit their hands, step back, and enjoy.

Tools in hand and a quick trip down the road, we arrived at the greenhouse ready to do some 'work'. Ambrose immediately defined his role as 'once you pull the weeds I will put them in the can'. Ah, my own personal 'collector'. Blaise cozy in his lazy boy giggled and cooed while weeds were ushered past him.

My bud, Ambrose, was beside himself with glee from the fruition of the day. The excitement vibrating off the glass as he announced yet another vegetable he recognized. As an adult I'm also enamored with the way things grow. But from a vantage point of approximately 3' a whole new world must be revealed. I try to imagine myself on my knees, as if I'm 3' tall, walking around the greenhouse open to the bounty our earth provides . . .