One year and 264 posts later.

I started blogging at Blessed Treehouse one year ago today.

I have thoroughly enjoyed chronicling my year through words and pictures, and I can only wonder what the next year has in store for my Blessed Treehouse.

For now, here are a few highlights of the Blessed Treehouse's first year:

• First post
• First pictures of Henry (on the blog)
• First picture of Harper (on the blog)
• First vlog
• Post receiving the most comments (non contest)
• Second most commented post
• My personal favorite

Thanks for following along on this journey. Without y'all, I don't think I'd still be doing this, honesty and truly.

When we get dumped on . . .

. . . we put the kid to work.



Who is in charge of shoveling your walk?

*Disclaimer: My husband is always the snow-shoveler. I think I've shoveled twice since we've been married. But he enjoys it, and it appears that our son enjoys it, too!

Rolled Sugar Cookies

These really are the best rolled sugar cookies. You simply cannot go wrong with this recipe (courtesy of allrecipes.com).

I made these over the weekend, and soon I'll post pictures of what we did with the cookies.

The recipe yields 60 cookies, but I only needed a quarter of that. I quartered the recipe, and I still managed to roll out 20 cookies.

Next time you need rolled sugar cookies, DO NOT BUY cookie dough from the grocery! This recipe is so simple, easy, and DELICIOUS!

Wiener.

Matt recently found the following email. I sent it to him in April of '09.

Jaeger was sitting at the top of the landing facing the living room (he does this often; he has his front paws on the top step and his bottom on the landing). While sitting there, he had a giant red rocket sticking out. I could see it easily from the couch. Well, I guess Henry could also because Henry crawled up the stairs and grabbed Jaeger's wiener.

I don't want to be the mom of boys anymore.

Do you have an I-don't-want-to-be-the-mom-of-boys/girls-anymore story to share?

Non-Maternal Instincts

One of those days

I'm having one of those days.

One of those days when I wonder why God even gave me a brain because all I ever do is nurse and surely the only part of my body that serves any purpose is the same part of my body that causes me disgust when I look in the mirror (gravity, you are mean, mean, mean).

One of those days when I wish the changing table came with those straps that they used to tie down my arms when I shimmied my big pregnant butt onto the operating table so that they could surgically remove the same baby that now kicks and squirms and twists when I change his diaper.

One of those days when I open my closet and see: tank top, sweatpants, tank top, sweatshirt, tank top, maternity top, maternity top, sweatpants, stretchy jeans - the reality of my life equates to one lame wardrobe. The bottom of my closet is lined with leather stilettos and six-inch peep-toe wedges, a sick reminder of a life that once was.

One of those days when my son wipes his forever snotty nose on the curtains, and I don't even flinch nor do I plan on doing anything about it.

One of those days when I contemplate opening the front door and letting the dog run for his life. I don't chase after him.

One of those days when my son has spent half the morning in time-out, and though he's been disobedient, my fuse is short. It's a bad combination.

One of those days when my daughter has spent more time crying and less time being consoled, because frankly, I'm not in the mood.

It's been one of those days.

But you know what? It's only one day. It might be one very ugly day, but it's only one day. Just one day of me bitchin' and groanin' and moanin'. Just one l-o-n-g day and I'll pout my miserable self to bed and pray for forgiveness. Because let's face it. I'm the one choosing to be a pisser about nursing and diaper changing and snotty noses and a yellow lab and frumpy clothes and a crying baby and a testy toddler. It's not their fault that I'm having one of those days.

Today may be one of those days, but tomorrow doesn't have to be. God is so stinkin' gracious like that.

*I wrote this several days ago.

I still pinch myself . . .

. . . when I think, I have a daughter.

Practically Green

I'm not going to tell you how I discovered Michael Pollan because, well, I'm just not (10 points if you know), but I'm so glad that I did discover him.

In an effort to become a more conscious consumer, I've been referencing his Linking page daily. It's chalk full of fantastic resources related to eating locally and sustainably.

And I added his newest book, Food Rules: An Eater's Manual, to my Amazon Wish List.

Finally, my husband doesn't know it yet, but I'm going to ask if I can go to Denison University in April to hear Pollan speak. The event is a few days before the opening of turkey season, so it might be my last opportunity to get out and do something before my husband leaves us for turkey killing. But I ain't complaining. The turkeys my husband potentially kills will be as free-range as they come.

What are you doing to be a more conscious consumer?