Contentment

I was watching my kids play in the snow last week. I watched their red cheeks, stretched tight with cold and laughter. The snow balls flew through the air, and their bodies pressed angel-shaped into the snow-covered grass. Confetti clouds of white were tossed against the bright, blue sky. Shrieks of bubbly laughter surrounded them like a thick blanket.

And then the question creeped into my mind, ever so softly.

When exactly did I grow up?

I don't remember it happening. I just know that it has.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to pinpoint the moment that dipping my face into the snow sounded less like an adventure and more like torture. When did I decide that a snowball in the face is not the least bit funny? When did it grow so cold out that I chose to watch instead of play?

I think it happened so gradually that I hardly noticed it.

There was a time that I was the one with frostbitten fingers, tossing snowballs at my brothers' knitted caps. I was the one who donned moon boots and a striped coat, and stayed outside for hours -- returning to the house only for lunch or a quick cup of cocoa. I was once the one who made snow angels and tossed confetti clouds of white against the sky.

My days now are filled with schedules, carpools, laundry, and dishes. I have bills that I pay. I have a car that I maintain, and a house that I own. I have worries, stored up in a tired mind, that always seem to unleash themselves the minute my head hits the pillow.

I am the one who locks up the house at night, and climbs into bed in the dark. Nobody checks my closet for monsters or tucks me in with a kiss.

I am now the grown up.

Every once in a while, I miss the little girl who liked to have that kind of fun. But mostly, I sit content with myself now. Watching over my little snow babies from the warmth and security of a soft chair by the window. Looking up from my book now and then to laugh with them. Hurrying to ready a warm cup of cocoa when I hear their boots stomping in the garage.

Because the little girl I once was? She never knew what it felt like to warm the hands of her babies, listen to their laughter, and find that she loves them so much it hurts.

If she had, I'm afraid she might have been in a much bigger hurry to grow up.

Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister

Internet, meet the adorable Miss H:

Now meet her beautiful sister, Miss A.

Are you in love yet? Because pretty much all it took for me was one look and I was sunk.

I had a session for some headshots with these adorable girls last week, and I just had to share some of my favs. I could not get over their expressive faces, their spunky personalities, and their radiant beauty. Loved meeting them.

By the time we were done, I wanted to stuff them both in my pocket and take them home.

But I didn't. Figured their mama would really miss their dancing (of which I was treated to a performance myself, and it's definitely most fantastic).

Thank you so much, darlings, for the best winter session yet. You two are going to be rock stars, I just know it.

Hershey's peanut butter chip cheesecake

All right, all right. I'll help you people out. Because I love you.

And because it is my life's work to fatten the rest of you up so that maybe eventually I'll look thin.

[Insert maniacal, evil laugh and diabolical hand wringing]

Okay. Got that out of my system. Let's make a cheesecake.

Take 1 1/4 cup graham cracker crumbs
1/3 cup butter, melted
1/3 cup cocoa
1/3 cup sugar

Combine and press into the bottom of a greased springform pan. Set aside.

Take 3 packages of softened cream cheese (the 8 ounce size) and combine with 1 1/2 cups sugar.

Do not, under any circumstances, notice how many calories are in the cream cheese or make mental calculations as to the calorie content of this dessert. It will cause depression and self-loathing, which require the making and eating of MORE cheesecake. Which will in turn cause more depression and self-loathing. Let's just avoid that vicious cycle all together, shall we?

Beat sugar and cream cheese well. Add 4 eggs and 2 tsp vanilla. Beat just until combined.

Add 1 2/3 cup Reese's peanut butter chips. This is the small 10-ounce bag found in the baking aisle of your grocery store. Or measured out of the extra large billion-ounce bag they sell at Sam's Club. You know, the one you can grab handfulls from anytime you happen to be in the kitchen?

Yes. Get that one. My bum will thank you.

Fold in peanut butter chips gently.

Pour over prepared crust and pop into a 350 degree oven for 50 to 55 minutes.

Bake until slightly puffed and center is set except for a 4-inch circle in the center. I have found that with my oven, I end up cooking the cheesecake probably 60 to 63 minutes total.

Remove from oven and cool for 30 minutes. With a knife, loosen cheesecake from the side of the pan. Cool completely.

When completely cool, remove side of pan, and get ready to make the chocolate drizzle.

For the chocolate drizzle: Melt 3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips and 1 Tbsp shortening in microwave on high for 30 to 45 seconds or until smooth when stirred.

I like to fill a pastry bag with the melted chocolate because I'm uber fancy, but you can easily drizzle it from a spoon if that's how you roll.

Drizzle chocolate until you're satisfied or it's completely covered- whichever comes first. Pop into the fridge to set for several hours.

Invite people over to partake and find that you have won friends and influenced people.

Yeah. You're welcome.

Bye Bye Blackbird

Question:

Let's say a little black bird gets trapped in your fireplace and is unable (or unwilling) to fly back out the chimney to sweet, sweet freedom.

Do you:

A) Ignore it for two days until the Husband gets home from a business trip

B) Stand helplessly by and watch sadly as the Husband is unable to get the bird out after several hours and multiple attempts over the weekend

C) Panic come Monday morning when you hear it pecking maniacally on the glass door covering the fireplace

D) Open all the windows and doors, put on one of the kids' bike helmets, and stand with a broom at the ready while gingerly opening the fireplace door

E) Proclaim your awesomeness and rejoice loudly when the disturbingly large black bird comes tearing out of the fireplace and heads right outside as you had hoped

F) Sit down peacefully at your computer, but pause and feel a shudder of fear run down your spine when you hear maniacal pecking coming from the fireplace of doom once more

G) Shine a flashlight into the blasted fireplace and see, TO YOUR HORROR, that there is another bird inside

H) Don your fabulously sexy broom and helmet a second time, open all the windows and doors (even though it is freezing cold outside), gird your courage about you, and, once again, open the fireplace door

I) Shriek loudly when the large black beast decides to bypass the open doors and windows, opting instead to fly angrily around your kitchen

J) Scream, cry, and shout obscenities while chasing the @#$!! bird around your house with a broom that you are sure it can snap in one bite with its massive, car-sized beak before turning on you and your squishy, supple, delicious flesh

K) Call the Husband on the phone and curse him for being employed and out of town in your desperate hour of need, while also tearfully giving him instructions for your impending funeral

L) Firmly resolve that you will not relinquish your home to this black feathered beast from hell, gather your courage about you, and swat at him again and again

M) FINALLY watch as the talon-footed monster from Hades soars out one of the open windows, and fall into a sobbing heap of joy on the floor, sure that you have evaded death itself

N) Look up sheepishly to find your neighbors staring at you in your helmet/broom combination with a very puzzled look on their sweet elderly faces

O) Promptly shut your windows and doors and drown your shame in chocolate and diet coke

Or do you do:

P) All of the above?

I'm just wondering. You know, in case anything like this should ever happen to me. Ahem. Not that it did. You know. Just trying to be prepared.

Always be prepared

Recently, our church has been working on forming an emergency preparedness plan that would provide help and strategies for our congregation in the event of a major disaster. They've divided us into groups based on our geographic proximity to one another, and the Husband is our team captain.

So last night, we got our group together to help form our team plan. In true Stie form, I provided sustenance in the best way I know how:

In sugar cookie form:

In red velvet cake pop form:

In peanut butter cup cookie form:

In chocolate peanut butter chip cheesecake form:

And in my most favorite of all, coconut cake form:

I feel confident in saying we will be the most prepared group of them all.

Or the fattest.

Honestly though, either one works for me.

Twelve

Dear McKay,

Today, at 12:33 a.m., you marked your twelfth year in my life. You have been lamenting all week, impatiently waiting for your birthday to arrive. I sarcastically commented each day that had you been born remotely on-time like you were supposed to have done, you'd have already had your birthday.

To which you laughed, smiled sheepishly, and said, "Geez, Mom. I couldn't help it."

You'd think after 12 years together, I'd have forgiven you for being a week late.

But I couldn't help it, you see. I had waited four long years to even have a glimmer of you in my life, and another few days just seemed like torture. I was so ready to meet you, and hold you, and have you in my arms.

You changed me forever, Mack.

You made me a mama.

I was digging through scrapbooks this morning to find old pictures of you, and seeing some of the ones from your toddler days reminded me of what it was like to get you dressed in the morning. You were such a wiggly little thing. It was as though I was asking too much for you to sit still a whole three minutes and put on a shirt. Because those dump trucks, and books, and balls? They just weren't going to throw themselves, you know.

But one day, as we were having our daily wrestling match, I noticed you watching me. You didn't fight or wiggle this time. Your wide, blue eyes just stared at me - taking in my every feature as though you were seeing me for the first time. And then suddenly, and without warning, you threw your arms around my neck and held on tight. Your soft, dimpled elbows wrapped around me, and tears filled my eyes as it hit me.

You loved me.

You know what, kid? I still see that love today. I see it in your easygoing nature. I see it when you cheerfully do your homework and practice your trumpet without having to be told. I see it when you sigh and resign yourself to a game with Hannah, even though you'd much rather do something else. I see it when you let your brother have the bigger half of a treat you brought home in the first place.

You simply emanate love. You open your little heart wide and love everyone around you. It is impossible to resist. You make it so easy to love you back.

So, this morning, when your father pulled that big green gun-shaped case out of the closet, your squeals of glee left us no doubt as to your feelings on the matter. Against my better judgment, I let him buy you a big, scary weapon. Because I know that you are trustworthy. I know that you are responsible. And I know you'll always do the right thing.

Plus, I'm pretty sure this makes us even for any embarrassing stuff I may happen to do in the next five or six years.

Happy birthday, darling boyo. I love you more than you will ever know. Thank you for sharing a little bit of heaven with me. And if it's not too much trouble, could you make the next 12 years go by just a little bit slower?

Love,

Mama