answered prayers

The Lord decided to answer my most fervent prayer in Michael's Craft store.

The Lord often answers my prayers in Michael's, but they are more of the please Lord let them have brass lobster clasps so I don't have to schlep my kids to the bead store variety.

This one was a biggy.

I went to Michael's for crystals, glue sticks and glitter, you know, the essentials. I got all these things and the answer to a prayer that has been weighing deeply on my heart.


Lately, when Sugar Daddy and I crawl into bed at the end of the day, we are exhausted. We look at each other too tired for any hanky panky other than footsie and we say, "Seriously. I don't think we can handle another child." So we lay there playing footsie and talk about how hard the day was. How Birdie spit up a billion times and cried every time we put her down. We talk about how sassy Thom can be and what we are going to do about that. We say, "We just aren't cut out for more. We can't do it."

And we turn out the lights and I roll onto my side and think about Birdie and how she is the little girl I always wanted and how she makes me feel complete and whole, even if she does wear me out and stain all my clothes.

I'm good, I'd think, I'm perfectly happy with two.

But there remained a little nagging feeling at the very back of my consciousness.

I was crouched down looking at the meager selection of embossing powder when I over heard a mother in the other isle. "Don't touch that Ella. Come here Ella. No Ella. I said don't touch. Don't push your sister Ella. Ella!"

I had to get a look at this Ella character.

A beautiful, fit, pulled together woman came around the corner followed by two little girls in matching outfits. They looked to be about the same age. Ella was fair with curly hair and big round eyes full of mischief. Her sister was dark with black hair and eyes and a shy quiet demeanor.

I'm not sure what came over me. I am usually shy and a little reticent in public, but I felt an overwhelming need to know.

"Excuse me, but do you mind me asking? Did you adopt your one daughter from China?"

She didn't skip a beat."Yes! And Ella is only four months younger! We got pregnant with her using IVF."

"So tell me, how is it? I might be headed down the exact same road and quite frankly, I don't know if I can do it."

"It's wonderful." She said. And I knew she really meant it.

And then she ran after Ella who was pulling something apart.

We talked for some time right there in the yarn isle.

So this is how, on a Wednesday afternoon, in Micheal's Craft store, the Lord told me that, yes, indeed there is another child that needs to come to our family and yes, I will be able to handle it.

stone's throw

We like traditions in our family. We are a traditiony bunch, us Meekers. Traditions help you tick off the years of your life more accurately. They help you remember the good times. And the bad.

Every fall, we go to Oak Glen for apples. Oak Glen is the only place a person should get apples. It's pure magic.

Every year we go to the same farm, Stone's Throw, owned and run by Jim and Pat who are now in their early nineties. Yes, I said nineties. And still married. I think I would go every year even if they didn't grow apples, just to see two people who are still in love after an impossible amount of time.

Jim wears flannel shirts and suspenders. Pat wears her hair in a bun. They walk amongst their customers, calling most by their first names. They carry old carving knifes and offer samples of each of the varieties they grow. They tell the story behind each variety. Berkley Rome, Pippin, Arkansas Black, Jonagold, Pink Lady, Braeburn, Fuji, Red Delicious, Big Green. The list goes on and on.

Each sample is scrutinized. Much discussion ensues. Which apples will make the best for baking. Which are the most crisp? What to buy? What to buy?

My children tend to like the tarter varieties.

This year was extra special because it was Birdie's first. We were having an amazing afternoon enjoying the Fall weather and apple samples until Thom went missing.

We found him waiting in the backseat of the car, pouting because he wasn't allowed to eat an entire apple before lunch. It was one of those mom moments when you want to beat your child senseless and smother them with hugs and kisses all at the same time.

Ah memories.

Someday, when Thom is grown, I will say to him "Remember the year we couldn't find you at Oak Glen? I think you were six and we all nearly went out of our minds calling for you. I thought you had fallen in a shaft or been eaten by a bear. You better take me out to lunch next Thursday to make up for that."

sidebar flare- you need it

Okay girls.

There are still some registrations slots left for Spark. Why? I haven't a clue. I mean, who wouldn't want to come?

Seriously.

So.

Put this little gem on your blog sidebar, link it to http://www.sparktheevent.com/, and you will be entered to win the earrings above.

They are some of my favorites you know, these earrings.

Also, if you come to your senses and sign up to come to Spark, you will get a second entry.

Earrings plus Spark?

Fabulous.

Leave me a comment on this post letting me know that you linked up and if you are registered to come to Spark. I will announce the winner on Halloween!

treasure quest

Escalante, Utah

A story told in photos

Photo credits go to my dad,

a talented photographer and terrific grandpa.

weekend

Thursday

On Thursday evening Thom came bouncing into the kitchen to show me the pocket knife that his father had given him to use for the weekend.

A pocket knife.

He's six.

At that point I decided to pray fervently that they would survive and leave it in the Lord's hands.

Friday

The boys left on Friday to search out Butch Cassidy's hidden treasure. They drove eight hours to Escalante National Park where they met up with two outlaws named Papa and Uncle David, got some lunch and then headed out into the wild.

Saturday

On Saturday, Rosie, Birdie and I went for cupcakes.


Just outside the door of my favorite Bakery, one can find this fabulous old piano and violin, languishing in the flora.

Aren't they just simply romantic?

Rosie ordered up a strawberry kiss cupcake and I had chocolate toffee. We split a "mustachio" which is a pistachio cupcake with a chocolate moustache.

For my one sweet of the week, it wasn't too shabby.

The boys got home safe and sound with no sizable wounds to speak of. They found the treasure. Pictures to follow.

For now I give you a gratuitous photo of my beautiful baby girl looking oh sooooo sweet in her new Tea tunic.

la petit sabatour

If Birdie had it her way I would:

• never work out and remain nice and plump and cuddly
• never do house work
• stop going to church
• give up all arts and crafts
• give up personal hygiene
• bounce her until my arms fell off
• wear my hair down every day for her pulling pleasure
• talk like Minny Mouse all the time
• never carry on a conversation with anyone
• never sit down
  

It's hard to be a responsible, sane, productive human being with a little one around. I may just become a bag lady.

october 1

Good heavens.

I do love this season.

song bird

I think I might have eaten a booger this morning, but I can't be sure.

Birdie has taken a hard stand against morning naps and so we wrestle it out in the rocking chair. She slaps me in the face with her flailing free hand and works up a froth of spit and boogers to try to repulse me. To any regular person it would be a great defense. But I'm a mother, and it takes more than snot to send me packing.

It's our morning smack down. I hold her close to me and I make sure to never ever lose.

And I sing. Sometimes hymns, but mostly I sing Native American chants that I make up while I pat her bottom to the beat.

We sing a lot in this house. Not well. But we do sing.

Birdie Sings a Ballad from April Meeker on Vimeo.

I thought I had a hang nail this morning and I went to bite it off with my teeth but it wasn't a hang nail. It was salty.

I went ahead and swallowed anyway, because after all, I am a mother. These things don't phase me anymore.

fat camp

The stress has come home to roost. And when I say "come home" I mean on my thighs.

I may or may not have been eating Now and Laters and Fritos into the wee hours of the evening on more than one occasion.

So.

I was totally game when I came downstairs to find that Natalie, a.k.a. Rosie, had typed up a weight loss plan for me. Evidently she was a little tired of hearing me complain about tight jeans as I stuffed as much bread pudding into my mouth as possible.

I was genuinely excited about our twice a day work-outs and smaller portions of healthier food.

"And", she added, "Only one sweet per week."

"Yes. Yes. You're right. No more bread pudding! Skinny jeans here I come!" I was really getting pumped up.

"And..." she held up her hand to calm me, "and I hid your secret chocolate stash."

Excusez moi si vous plait?

When Rosie was little, her taste buds didn't develop correctly and she doesn't like chocolate so she had no idea what she had done. I stood in stunned silence and watched her prepare to eat her lunch.

That chocolate stash was there for my health! I heard once on Oprah that eating an ounce of dark chocolate everyday was like taking a vitamin and I have lived that gospel for some years now.

I tapped my finger on the counter and slowed my breathing.

"Okay then, put the moussaka back in the fridge." I said right before she took her first bite.

"Really?"

"Yes really. Healthier food. Remember?"

So far, I'm up two pounds.

truth

Let us begin by committing ourselves to the truth-

to see it like it is and to tell it like it is-

to find the truth, to speak the truth and live the truth.

I'm going to level with you here.

I'm in over my head.

I've been running a show that is too big for me to handle. I'm at my limit. Strung out. Kaput.

And Jenny is to blame. She is the one that said, "You can do it! You have to do it! Everyone will help." Dear sweet girl that she is. God love her, she's just a sucker for a good party and she couldn't abide the fact that I wasn't going to throw the Meeker Extravaganza this year.

She talked me into it. Damn her.

I've have spent the last few weeks of my life in a haze, choking on what I had bit off.

Rosie worked diligently to save my sanity. She picked up the slack. She changed poopy diapers and loaded the dishwasher and and cut and pasted and arranged things to look just the way I like them. She is a saint and when I look at her I think I can make out the slight aura of a halo about her head.

But still...

I had a moment earlier this week when I swore that I was going to call everything off. No party. No Secondsister Winter collection. No church stuff. No more screaming baby. No more getting showered in the morning.

My little sister sent Thom an ant farm for his birthday. Isn't she sweet? Isn't she just a peach? I was so thankful I sent her daughter a full pack of Lick-Um-Stick sugar powder.

Anywho, she sent these ants and I was sitting, in despair, on The Boy's bed watching the ants. Let me tell you, those ants, they are hard workers. They seemed to be in a frenzy to move the sand around to create a little cozy space deep down in the habitat. They moved the sand grain by grain until they had it just so.

In my delirium, I realized something. And bear with me here, because this may seem like a very odd analogy, but like I said, I was a little crazed at the time. I realized that I could really learn something from those ants.

For the past month all I've heard is bad news. This person is getting divorced. This person's child has scarlet fever. Bankruptcy, family fights, death, rehab. No one had good news to tell me. I was getting down right depressed.

I realized Jenny was right. We needed a party. We needed to create a cozy little space where things were good and fun and lighthearted. And the way to make it happen was to take it on grain by grain.

So Rosie and I worked like the ants. At times crawling over each other to get the job done. And Jenny, because she is true blue, showed up at the eleventh hour to bust her tail and help us out.

And then the guests showed up. Fifty or so people with smiles and veggie platters and baba ganoush. And some of them had really good news to share. This person is pregnant. That girl just sold her first novel. This couple is being considered by two birth mothers! Weight loss, new jobs, goals met, birthdays!

And in just a few hours, it all became worth it. I nestled with my friends in our happy little space in the Universe and we celebrated. AND we raised a nice chunk of change for a family in need. I always have a raffle with really great prizes donated by all my uber talented friends and this year we raised more money than ever before.

I find that each year, more than anything, this party, this crazy party, reminds me what great friends I have. They are generous and funny and interesting and I really don't feel worthy.

So the truth is this:

It is only possible for me to live a creative, artful, fulfilling life because I am surrounded by people willing to help me. In a way, my entire life is photo shopped before you see it here. I seldom mention all the dirty work behind the scenes, but you should know, the truth is, there is dirty work to do and I have an army of amazing cronies that are there for me.

So if you are reading this, and you are one of those cronies, I just want to say thanks.

I owe you one.

The quote at the beginning of this post was taken from Richard Nixon's nomination acceptance speech.

Now that you know my secrets, the truth of how I do all the things I do, we must never speak of this again. I really like the photoshopped me.