sing like wildflowers

My full and kooky life as a homeschooling mommy to 2 great kids, raising a child with HLHS (Hypolastic Left Heart Syndrome), coping with depression, following Jesus, and being much too camera happy.

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about

Welcome to my blog! My name is Esther and I’m so happy you are here. I’m an avid nature photographer and a daydreaming thinker. My posts revolve around photos of nature’s beauty, homeschooling adventures with my 2 kids, sporadic reflections on my child’s heart condition, Bible reading reflections, gardening feats, and other mish mash things. Hopefully you’ll leave encouraged, pensive, or smiling at the simple things of life. Thank you for stopping by and hope you’ll find some interesting posts to read!

  • Baking for the holidays

    Baking is a mystery to me. I have friends who can bake moist, fluffy, delicious, too-pretty-to-eat desserts. Mine, on the other hand, emerge from the oven misshaped, too hard, lumpy, or burnt.

    I’ve been told that baking successfully requires meticulous measurements of ingredients and following directions closely. Those requirements kill me. I tend to improvise and hope for the best.  Past experiences obviously show me that I need to change my ways. I must stop improvising,  eyeballing measurements,  or substituting ingredients.

    I need to take it easy.  Think before I do add too much of something and botch the batch.

    This month marks off a new start to bake well. It started with Elliot taking a few baking classes.  And the stores have all kinds of pretty and sparkly baking supplies.  It’s hard to resist.

    Chris doesn’t bake with us directly, but he plays an important role too. He is our official taste tester and last-minute-grocery-pick-up-person. He sometimes offers unwanted advice or comments about the taste, but I’m ok with that.  I need to stay open to constructive criticism.

    We’re hoping to share our baking goods this year, so we’ve been busy. The kids take turns measuring ingredients, mixing, stirring, rolling dough into balls, and watching the cookies expand inside the oven. I have this fantasy that baking with kids is an overly delightful activity where laughter fills the kitchen over spilled messes; silent music playing in our ears; glowy sunlight pouring into the windows; and the kids beaming with smiles. Yep, if you’re shaking your head by now, I totally get it. Like I said, it IS and WILL remain a fantasy.

    It’s a messy and noisy activity. They fight over who gets to hold the spoon, how many turns each one gets to stir the wet ingredients, pointing fingers at who spilled the sugar, and wanting to do whatever else the other person is doing. It’s hard to stay calm when I’m multitasking and mediating petty arguments. I sometimes want to sit in the small pantry to get some alone time.  But that still wouldn’t stop the kids from fighting; they would relocate their fight to where I  am hiding out.

    Anyhow, we’re striving to bake fancier treats before Christmas. We’ve successfully baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, gingerbread man cookies, and cornbread (except for a recent rock hard batch that got tossed into the trash). Our next baking adventure will be sugar cookies so we can finally use our Christmas cookie cutters, which we got on clearance the day after Christmas last year.

    It’s going to be a baking experiment. The key word is experiment, meaning that it will be a lot of trying out and messing up. It’s also a parenting experiment for me: try to overlook the mess kids make and loosen up. Who cares if they prematurely dump all the ingredients together, drop spoonfuls of sugar on the floor, not follow instructions, or turn cookies into icing creations? (just listing these examples made me cringe inside) But for the sake of creating a memorable holiday tradition, I’ll adopt a better attitude about baking with small kids. It’ll get better each year as we hone our baking skills.

    Baking is an art that takes time,  practice,  and patience to make delicious treats.  If you are planning on baking this holiday season,  I hope you have fun being creative and messy!

    Ready to make apple pie from scratch in baking class.
    We gobbled up the apple pie Elliot made in class.
    Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies… the tiny ones are made by Ellis.
    Supplies we got to make gingerbread man cookies.
    No more hand stirring. We’re going fancy with the hand mixer.
    Into the oven… fingers crossed that they don’t crack.
    Ready to decorate.
    Worthy of sharing.
    These gingerbread cookies are too crazy-looking to share with anyone besides family.
    Melted Wilton chocolate in snowflake chocolate mold.
    Amazed the chocolate held its shape. Kept it in the fridge for 1 hour before popping out the chocolate pieces.
    Awful cornbread… Rock hard. We’ve been having lots of cornbread success,  but this batch was hard to chew. Got thrown into the trash.

     

  • Last bit of autumn in December

     

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    A little sprout growing among fallen leaves
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    Acorns and moss discovered on a nature walk
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    Kids thought this wild mushroom was a dinosaur egg

    I’m a leaf hog. I admire leaves of every kind, shape, and texture. So autumn is that wonderful season for me: a sweet transition phase from the blazing summer heat to the cold wintry weather. 

    One thing I could watch for hours is leaves falling off branches. How do they gracefully swirl like that? It’s a magical yet fleeting moment. These sights produce in me “wild delight” and “perfect exhilaration,” words from Ralph Waldo Emerson to describe his experiences of nature. It makes me marvel at the vastness of God’s imagination for his creations.

    I would enjoy this view more if it wasn’t for the slight panicky feeling that sets in: the beauty I see today will have changed tomorrow. Soon the branches will be bare and the leaves gone. So I take lots of pictures, probably too much if you ask my kids, to capture the landscape or object in nature that was breathtaking. But they show only a sliver of what I saw, most likely due to my amateur photography skills. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy my snapshots of autumn’s beauty.

    According to Wikipedia, it’s officially autumn until December 21/22.  Strange how we, I hope you don’t mind me making this collective assumption, slip into winter and holiday mode right after Thanksgiving dinner. Makes me sad. We barely have time to digest our big meal and put our pumpkins away. I hope to prolong this season and enjoy a leisurely transition to winter. I’m going to have to try really hard, because I have a tendency to live in the future and overlook the present. There’s still time. It’s early December.

    I hope you all take a moment to breathe deeply,  inhale the crisp air,  enjoy nature, marvel at the moon,  drink hot chocolate,  stay under warm covers, or do whatever else warms your heart!

     

    Checking out the shapes and crunching them up with his fingers
    On one of outfit walks, we found a pile of leaves and couldn’t resist a leaf fight…
    Looking up at the falling leaves…
    I love fall colors!

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    After the rain

     

  • Kid whining = mommy going nuts

    I don’t like uncertainty. I don’t like to wait. I don’t like ambiguity. In other words, I want answers now. I don’t like to wait and see.

    But life keeps throwing me circumstances that require me to “wait and see,” a phrase often used in Ellis’ doctor visits. Our current concern is getting her vocal chord to recover its usage again.

    One thing I know for sure is that Ellis’ left vocal chord is not moving. This was evident at an ENT appointment earlier this week: a long thin tube with a camera at the end was inserted into her nose down to her throat. I held her face forward in my lap while a nurse stood behind me holding Ellis’ head steady. The doctor told Ellis it may be slightly ticklish when the line goes into her nose and may even find some boogers while it was there.

    She did a charity chuckle. She wasn’t buying any of it. She had two tasks while the camera recorded her vocal chord movements: say “eeeeeee” and drink a few sips of regular water and then the thickened water. It was traumatic: lots of screaming, crying, and rapid breathing.

    The camera recording of her throat showed that only the right vocal chord is moving. Normally both the left and right sides open and close shut together to keep food or liquid from entering the airway. But she has a small gap where the right one does not meet the left when it closes. Her body intuitively knows something is not right, so the right vocal chord is compensating for the lack of movement in the left one.

    Afterwards, she met with a speech therapist to do a vocal quality test by making different sounds into a microphone. Her voice sounds raspy and breathy because air leaks through the gap in the vocal chords.

    Saying “eeeeee” as long as she can into the microphone
    Later that day, a visit to the lab for a blood draw
    Elliot demonstrating the raptor yell he did to the lab technician for poking Ellis with a needle. I want to hide when he goes into this mode.

    Elliot was upset that he couldn’t come to this appointment with us. So I explained that this was not a regular check up that he is used to seeing; this one would have freaked him out. Ellis bravely, with a proud look on her face, described to him what happened at the doctor’s office. Elliot was surprised when he heard that the right side was helping the left and said, “awww, that’s so nice of the right side to do that.”

    Her body has gone through a major ordeal, so it’s only natural that recovery takes time. In the meantime, I need to stay vigilant so she doesn’t sneak in gulps of thin liquid; make sure she gets her daily amount of water intake through mouth or stomach tube; remind her to do a slight chin tuck and turn her head to the left so it helps to close the left vocal chord…this is when she absolutely must drink water for sanity purposes (for all of us); and have endless arguments…I mean cordial dialogues…of why she needs to trust me with this.

    The whining is wearing me out not to mention the constant monitoring I have to do. I offer her thickened liquid when she wants water. She cries, gives me a mean frown, and yells, “OK, this is the LAST TIME. Tomorrow I want regular water.” After a sip, she presents me with her ever changing requests for pretty things. And so the cycle continues new every day. There is no definite time frame of when it will heal.

    I need an attitude change in the meantime. Patience is low and self-criticism is at an all-time high. I feel the need to do more and be more…whatever that means. It’s a constant nagging thought I have that I’m not doing enough. Sigh.

    This would be the perfect time to pray although it’s the last thing I want to do. Then there is another side of me that believes God listens and answers prayers of all kinds. He’s done it so many times in mysterious ways! I need to trust that he’ll get me out of this funk soon and replace it with peace that is not driven by life circumstances.

    One of the many bible verses that help me remember this:

    “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”     Philippians 4:6-7

     

     

     

     

  • Jello water is not regular water

    Since my last blog entry, the kids and I have been running around town enjoying our newfound freedom. We’re still wary of colds and viruses for Ellis’ sake, but we’re not afraid like we used to be.

    (update: 2 weeks after I started writing this entry…Elliot just finished his 5 days of antibiotics for bronchitis. Ellis caught it from him and aspirated from water she sips in secret. Mama’s usual paranoia made a quick comeback.)

    The one thing I absolutely wanted to do this autumn was visit a pumpkin patch – on a farm. Previously, we’ve only been to the seasonal pop-up pumpkin patches on vacant lots around town. They’re fun too with their assortment of pumpkins and other activities, but it doesn’t feel like the real thing. An actual farm setting would have less traffic noise, less fences, and less concrete.

    We finally crossed off pumpkin patch on our list of to-do activities! It involved a hay ride on a tractor around the sunflower and corn fields, playing on hay stacks, and riding new rides by themselves (first time ever), and exploring different kinds of pumpkins. Ellis enjoyed the setting but she would’ve been happier if she could drink regular water like the rest of us. Every time she sipped her thickened water from a thermos, she would whine, cry, or get angry.

    Other than the water ordeal, Ellis is doing great. She’s still on the thickened liquid till her vocal chord heals. It’s uncertain how long it will take to heal or how to fix it in the meantime. She asks me constantly why everyone drinks regular water but why does she need to drink “yucky, jello water.” I’ve learned to keep electronics away from her durung these fits: she tries to throw my computer to the floor, yank off chargers, or press a bunch of random keys.

    I remind her, with a forced gentle tone in my voice, that this will not last forever. It’s to keep her healthy, which means we can go adventuring together to fun places.

    She nods yes, but two seconds later, she repeats the same question. I then talk about how her lungs don’t like water, but regular water could sneak in there and make her sick. It’s as though she’s making up stuff about what I’m explaining. She asks, “What’s lungs? Is that inside my body?” In her mind, I’m probably the stingy witch who gluttonously drinks water herself but withholds this precious commodity from her parched daughter. The evil laugh is shrouded in long-winded talks about health and lungs.

    I anticipate therapy sessions for all of us. However, as she matures, I hope she realizes how hard it was for me to say “no,” when the first thing I want to do is give in to her simple request. Doctors tell me to supplement her hydration by giving water through her stomach tube if she refuses the thickened liquid; I can’t even begin to imagine how that feels.

    In my internet search of finding pre-thickened liquids, I learned that difficulty swallowing is more common than I assumed and can stem from various causes. I found thickened coffee too, decaf and caffeinated kinds. As a coffee lover, I don’t know what to make of that. But I’m sure that if that’s the only coffee to drink, I’d buy them  by the crates. I may even learn to savor the taste.

    She makes an effort to drink it. When she holds the straw to her mouth, Elliot and I begin our cheering chant. “Go, Ellis, go! Go, Ellis, go!” After she takes a quick sip, looking very focused with her eyes closed and nose squished, we finish with a group hug and tell her we’re very proud of her. Now she wants us to cheer every time. Oh this DIVA!

    Through these experiences, we’ve all learned to become caretakers in our own ways. I thought Elliot would resent his sister getting a lot of attention, but he’s proving to be a good big brother: playing along and making a big fuss over her. Other than that, usual squabbles still occur and sibling competition is fierce. Having grown up as an only child, it’s interesting to observe the constantly shifting dynamics of love and hate between them.

     

    Trying to get a butterfly to land on his finger.

     

    Surprised that pumpkins are also called munchkins.
    A barrel ride around the farm.
    Upset that I put jello water in her water bottle.
    Ready for trick or treating!
    We finally made it to the California Academy of Science in SF.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Rethinking life’s interruptions…a clam chowder spill at the hospital cafeteria

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    One of many beautiful trees at Allied Arts Guild in Menlo Park

    While driving home from an errand last week, I saw an unusual sight by the sidewalk. A heavily tanned man, wearing navy shorts, a thin tattered tank top, and no footwear, was standing on top of an overturned shopping cart under a medium-sized tree. With bare hands, he held onto a branch with leaves bunched into his fists.

    It was an unsettling sight.  My first thought was that he was trying to injure himself. I looked for a rope or something of that sort above him. Nothing.

    Yes, I know. I tend to think catastrophically.

    Another fleeting thought: maybe he was looking for something in the tree and he couldn’t safely get down. He did look precarious standing on the shopping cart. Did he need someone to help him get down?

    People who noticed him stared: driver, pedestrians, me. I could imagine these people asking themselves the same question I had, “What the heck is going on with his guy?”

    From what I observed waiting at that stoplight, no one offered help. Within that short amount of time, I got critical of the lack of empathy around me. I thought that if my kids were with me I would stop to help; it would reinforce a hands-on lesson of helping others.  If I see something like this again next time,  I’ll stop. That was my rationalization for ignoring what I saw.

    Then it hit me! I was being a hypocrite.  How can I expect others to do something that I wouldn’t do myself? How can I expect a rerun of this situation next time? That man will move on to another place.  Also, I would hesitate to stop if the kids were with me; they would freak out in the backseat and cry just like the time someone tried to jump-start her car with my battery. No one knew how to open my car hood, so after lots of sounds and people stopping by to help, I heard the kids wailing.

    Although I was reluctant to do so, I made a U-turn to ask him if he needed help. I was scared, so I stood right next to the opened car door. When I asked him if he needed help, he didn’t look out from the leaves. Instead, he gave me a thumbs up sign and waved.

    Next I asked him if he needed anything. He made a money sign with his hand: the okay sign with thumb and index finger making a circle shape. Digging through my purse I found a few dollars. I put it in his hand that wasn’t holding onto the branch.

    Overall, it wasn’t a memorable or life-changing encounter.  But I realized something I already knew about myself: I don’t like to deal with life interruptions, even small ones.

    There is another side of me that believes detours, surprises, and interruptions make life an adventure. That’s the hopelessly optimistic side of me talking. But the reality is that interruptions to any day, schedule, plans, and life are all inconvenient and sometimes a real pain in the butt.

    A few weeks back I was that annoying person who interrupted a stranger’s life at a hospital cafeteria. I was on day 4 or 5 of Ellis’ hospital stay, and I was starting to show signs of wear and tear. Even though I put on clean clothes and makeup, there was no way of hiding the gloom and doom on my face.

    During the busy lunch hour. I rushed down to the crowded hospital cafeteria to fill up my coffee cup with extra ice. It was the last thing I needed to do before driving home to rest until I switched shifts with Chris in the evening. In one hand, I carried a plastic comforter bag with laundry. On the other,  I held my cup of coffee and a purse hanging from my shoulder.

    With fresh ice in my cup, I turned around to leave.  In that split second,  the side of my plastic blanket bag knocked over a bowl of clam chowder soup on a stranger. He had just poured some soup into the bowl and hadn’t yet secured the contents with a lid.

    He was an Asian man probably in his early 30s. He was wearing a nicely pressed red and white plaid shirt,  navy pants,  and brown leather shoes. Not anymore though. From waist down,  he was dripping clam chowder soup.

    I interrupted his day big time.  I don’t know what he was doing at the hospital: maybe he was one of the staff at the hospital; maybe he was visiting someone; maybe he was a parent. I will never know. But I will remember him as the Soup Guy.

    His response to my clumsiness blew me away.  While wiping the soup off his clothes, he consoled me and told me not to worry; he was ok. It was an unexpected response. This encounter sparked a flood of emotions in me: feeling sorry for almost burning him with soup, anxious about Ellis’ recovery, worried about the impact of this disruption in Elliot’s life, Chris and his well-being in the midst of chaos, mother in law’s health as she held down the fort for us, and feeling burnt out. I broke out into tears catching the stares of people standing by the salad bar.

    I interrupted his life that day big time. But he was gracious about it. If he had responded otherwise, it would’ve deepened my guilt and made my experience that much more stressful. Maybe he realized I was one of the many frantic and worried parents in the hospital.

    What a lesson I learned in how a stranger’s reaction to an interruption I caused can be handled with immense kindness and understanding. I wanted to adopt that attitude too. I can’t count how many times people have showered me with kindness and love when I least expected it or when I needed it most.

    It’s humbling, inspiring, encouraging, and life-giving.