One of my first cakes after taking Course 1...
I learned how to pipe animals, which was fun...thinking of a barnyard theme for Preston's bday.
Here is Kristen's bday cake I made. I am very proud of this!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Cake Decorating
One of my first cakes after taking Course 1... I learned how to pipe animals, which was fun...thinking of a barnyard theme for Preston's bday.Here is Kristen's bday cake I made. I am very proud of this!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
This I Believe
I believe that becoming a parent makes you constantly strive to become a better person. You change when you bring home that sweet little bundle of joy. In addition to becoming insanely sleep deprived, your life has shifted drastically. Your previously self-absorbed persona retreats and the beautiful child becomes your world. Suddenly, a new set of eyes absorbs every word and action you make, emulating you for better or for worse.
I will never forget the day that I saw how much the words I spoke were heard from my child. My son, Aidan, had just turned four and he was about to read a book about a boy entitled Dan At Bat. Excitedly, Aidan told me he already knew the word “Dan” and what it meant. When I asked him to explain, he said, “It is just like the “dan” floor that is broken!” Realizing that I had not watched my language, I laughed but quietly reprimanded myself to change the way I spoke around him.
Children constantly mirror your behaviors, from playing with your cell phone and keyboard to yelling at the dogs. If you look closely, you will see yourself in their actions and words and sometimes what you view is not what you hoped for. As a mother, I have been ashamed at seeing some of my negative traits so acutely displayed and I have constant motivation to become a better role model. If our children look up to us, we must display actions that are worthy of their little eyes.
Last week, I was happily surprised to see that singing my children to sleep over the years has paid off in full. I was getting out of the shower in the morning and heard a noise on the baby monitor. Listening closer, I hear my older son singing a lullaby. I quietly peeked into the bedroom and saw that he had climbed into his brother’s crib and was lying next to him, stroking his hair and singing to him in the sweetest voice. It was touching to see the genuine love and devotion that they shared and I believe that he learned this from the love my husband and I show to our boys.
I am a far cry from being perfect, as all parents are, yet my sons believe that I am. Although one day this dream will inevitably be shattered, I hope to become a better person every day in my thoughts and actions so that I am worthy of their admiration. I believe that parenthood does not make you perfect, but it sure makes you want to be.
I will never forget the day that I saw how much the words I spoke were heard from my child. My son, Aidan, had just turned four and he was about to read a book about a boy entitled Dan At Bat. Excitedly, Aidan told me he already knew the word “Dan” and what it meant. When I asked him to explain, he said, “It is just like the “dan” floor that is broken!” Realizing that I had not watched my language, I laughed but quietly reprimanded myself to change the way I spoke around him.
Children constantly mirror your behaviors, from playing with your cell phone and keyboard to yelling at the dogs. If you look closely, you will see yourself in their actions and words and sometimes what you view is not what you hoped for. As a mother, I have been ashamed at seeing some of my negative traits so acutely displayed and I have constant motivation to become a better role model. If our children look up to us, we must display actions that are worthy of their little eyes.
Last week, I was happily surprised to see that singing my children to sleep over the years has paid off in full. I was getting out of the shower in the morning and heard a noise on the baby monitor. Listening closer, I hear my older son singing a lullaby. I quietly peeked into the bedroom and saw that he had climbed into his brother’s crib and was lying next to him, stroking his hair and singing to him in the sweetest voice. It was touching to see the genuine love and devotion that they shared and I believe that he learned this from the love my husband and I show to our boys.
I am a far cry from being perfect, as all parents are, yet my sons believe that I am. Although one day this dream will inevitably be shattered, I hope to become a better person every day in my thoughts and actions so that I am worthy of their admiration. I believe that parenthood does not make you perfect, but it sure makes you want to be.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Where I Am From
Where I am From
I am from the back porch swing, from cold Stewart’s Root Beer, and fireflies we caught at dusk.
I am from the big brick house with large bay windows, looking out on a quiet street.
I am from bluebells picked in Norway, the peaceful Hudson River where we listened to jazz and blues, dancing by the water.
I am from rice grud on Christmas Eve, toasty warm as we searched our bowls for the hidden almond, from Hagens and Hendricksons, Norwegian, Swedish, American.
I am from sitting by the fireplace as the adults laugh and talk until the embers slowly die and dancing through the house to the polka, swing, or any music that moved our restless feet.
From a long line of proud, headstrong women and doting mothers, from Master’s Degrees and never settling.
I am from the passive Methodists who rarely yell “Amen” and quietly pass the offering plate. I am from religion you must know but do not feel until you are older.
I am from suburbia, upstate New York, with Scandinavian blood coursing through my veins. I am from kransekake, lefse, and boller.
I am from the clinking of my father’s wedding ring on a frosted stein to the beat of Van Morrison’s music that filled the house. I am from the gentle hugs of my mother whose scent of night cream enveloped me.
I am from pillow case races down the stairs with my sister whom I could never seem to keep up with. I am from my Bessa who knew every bird like a friend, and my Far who slept much too late on Christmas mornings.
I am from childhood snapshots in a photo album that has pages waiting to be filled.
I am from the back porch swing, from cold Stewart’s Root Beer, and fireflies we caught at dusk.
I am from the big brick house with large bay windows, looking out on a quiet street.
I am from bluebells picked in Norway, the peaceful Hudson River where we listened to jazz and blues, dancing by the water.
I am from rice grud on Christmas Eve, toasty warm as we searched our bowls for the hidden almond, from Hagens and Hendricksons, Norwegian, Swedish, American.
I am from sitting by the fireplace as the adults laugh and talk until the embers slowly die and dancing through the house to the polka, swing, or any music that moved our restless feet.
From a long line of proud, headstrong women and doting mothers, from Master’s Degrees and never settling.
I am from the passive Methodists who rarely yell “Amen” and quietly pass the offering plate. I am from religion you must know but do not feel until you are older.
I am from suburbia, upstate New York, with Scandinavian blood coursing through my veins. I am from kransekake, lefse, and boller.
I am from the clinking of my father’s wedding ring on a frosted stein to the beat of Van Morrison’s music that filled the house. I am from the gentle hugs of my mother whose scent of night cream enveloped me.
I am from pillow case races down the stairs with my sister whom I could never seem to keep up with. I am from my Bessa who knew every bird like a friend, and my Far who slept much too late on Christmas mornings.
I am from childhood snapshots in a photo album that has pages waiting to be filled.
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