If you find yourself in a Thanksgiving bind, Ava has a time-saving turkey recipe for you.

Thanksgiving Day Turkey

by Ava:

1. Get it from a turkey store.
2. Stir it on a pot on the stove for 7 minutes.
3. Then in the oven for 8 minutes.
4. Take it out and sprinkle spices and little pepperonis on it.
5. Put it on the table and eat it!

There you go, spicy turkey in 15 minutes.

I’m thankful for a daughter who writes me poetry while we eat our morning granola.

I’m thankful for your face.

I’m thankful for your name.

I’m thankful for your rosy cheeks.

I’m thankful for your hands.

I’m thankful for your soft, soft arms.

I love you, Mama.

And I’m thankful for everything around you.

***

Hoping that your thanksgiving day is full of lovely people and scrumptious treats.

Oh, the canned jokes. Thank you so much for all your contributions! They have provided Ava with a steady source of giggles and HungryMan with unpreventable eye rolls.

I think he has distributed more than one “groaner foul” in the past week. Personally, I think he reserves these for the knock, knock jokes that I create.

I don’t think that it helped matters that I tested out the interrupting starfish one on him. He wasn’t nearly as amused as Ava and I were. Perhaps it was too early in the morning.

The Dwayne one is my dad’s all-time favorite. It’s actually the first one I learned and the first one I taught Ava. She loves it and I love to hear her attempt to lisp.

The olive one has become a favorite as has the turkey one.

Watching Ava try to say “Moo” before I say “interrupting cow who?” has made me laugh so hard that I cry. Ava has a knack for interrupting that is unparalleled among her peers, a little weakness that we work on most every day.

However, the pre-planned break-in is more than she can handle. She hops up and down, flapping her arms with her lips pursed so hard that her face turns red. She’s a little tea pot ready to shout. Except she gets so steamed up that when she hears her cue all she can say is “Ah, Ah, Ah!” until finally the “Moo!” pops out of her like a screaming whistle top.

Oh, it is so fun!

Now teaching Ava the banana one has proven to be a serious tactical error. I should have gone with my first instinct to keep that one tightly wrapped around pieces of Laffy Taffy. That way school girl Ava would meet “Banana, who?” while chewing her way through a square of artificial banana flavored sugar in the company of like-minded classmates thus sparing this Mama of the endless repetition. (Three cheers for giggling girlfriends and run-on sentences).

And then Shari posted in the comments and I felt obligated to pass it on. At last count I have said “banana who” about a gazillion times. No lie.

On Wednesday, I said, “Banana, who?” all the way from our driveway to the mall parking lot two suburbs away. True story.

I finally began to answer, “banana, go away,” which caused an eruption of laughter from the backseat and had no affect on the persistent Banana whatsoever.

When the orange finally arrived on the scenes, she said, “Orange you so glad that I didn’t say ‘banana’ anymore!”

Oh, Ava, you have no idea.

We are headed to the library today to find some banana-free joke books.

At the very least, we have to keep HungyMan’s eyes spinning.

“Mama, under the grass is dirt, right?”

“Right.”

“Dirt where the worms live?”

“Yes, where the worms live.”

“What’s under the dirt?”

“It’s different in different places. At our house there is sand and then clay, which is like hard play dough, and then there is water.

“Well what’s under all that?”

“Rock.”

“What’s under the rock?”

“More rocks.”

“Well, what’s under all the rocks?”

“There are lots and lots of rocks. The rocks go very, very deep under the ground. For miles and miles and miles. It’s farther than from here to St. Louis or even from here to Paris. That’s how deep the rocks go. And after that there is dirt again.”

Well, what’s under that dirt?”

“There is grass again and people on the grass. It’s the other side of the earth.”

“No, Mama, that’s not right cause the people will fall off. They’ll fall off if they are all the way on the bottom.”

“Ava, do you remember gravity? The gravity keeps them on the grass, just like the gravity keeps us on the grass right here. It’s the same on both sides.”

“But, but, Mama! Mama, how do dead people go up to Heaven if we put them under the dirt and the grass?

“Mama, I always want to be with you. We’ll always be with be-chother. We’re with be-chother now and when we go to Heaven we’ll be with be-chother.

And then God will have all the boys go to one part of Heaven and all the girls go to the other part of Heaven. So all the girls will be together, and not with the boys.

But we’ll still be with be-chother. Right, Mama?”

that was covered with vines lived one little girl in one straight line.

Ava has loved Madeline since the first time I read her the book. By age two, she had the entire book memorized and could “read” it cover to cover.

When she was three, she went with her preschool class to see the Madeline Christmas play. She was devastated that she wasn’t able to be Madeline. This led to a long discussion about the theater process starting with a little thing thespians like to call auditions. It’s kind of like your ticket to the stage.

Shortly after Christmas last year Ava began hatching plans about how she was going to be Madeline for Halloween. While this bypassed any auditions, it certainly created costume drama.

I was raised by a crafty mother who sew bits of this and that and rummaged through thrift shops to outfit her children for trick or treating. So far, I had followed in her path dressing Ava up in what I could find or what I could sew. Madeline, however, presented a far greater challenge than the Fairy Princess Ballerina or Little Bo Peep. I had no interest in sewing a big blue coat and did not where to buy a large yellow hat?

In May, I was dropping off some clothes to consign when I spied a shiny blue coat on a clearance rack. It was perfect. I couldn’t believe it. I bought and then immediately regretted buying it. How was I going to find a yellow hat? It isn’t quite Madeline without the hat. And all the yellow hats on ebay came with blue coats.

Later this summer I found an Easter hats that my mom had saved from when I was a girl. A little yellow fabric spray, a bit of black ribbon and a glue gun turned Easter white into French school girl. And thanks to Grandma Penny, Ava already had a little Parisian smock and black velvet shoes.

Of course after I had finished all the parts of the Madeline costume, Ava announced, “I don’t really want to be Madeline this year. I want to be a butterfly, a sparkly, puple butterfly with gorgeous wings then I can just fly to all the houses!”

She spend the better part of last week dreaming up a glittery, sparkly butterfly costume. I almost gave in. HungryMan, however, could not be swayed. He took one look at the blue coat and one look at Ava and said, “Ava, you’re either going to Madeline or you’re not going trick or treating.”

There’s nothing the promise of brightly wrapped candy to influence a four-year-old’s wardrobe.

This little Madeline has already brought her “bonjour” and “merci” to two preschool parties and the park.

The weather is gorgeous, so were “off to the next one!”

Me: Who’s there?

Ava: Boo.

Me: Boo who?

Ava: You don’t have to cry about it.

Thanks to Sara Groves and her Station Wagon CD, Ava has discovered knock-knock jokes. With a repertoire of about five knock-knock jokes, it’s been non-stop entertainment. Non-stop monotonous entertainment.

What’s your favorite knock-knock joke?

We are in desperate need for new material. Seriously people, how many times can one mama “cry about it”?

Ava and I are reading Little House the Big Woods before her rest time. Last week Ava was fascinated (and slightly disgusted) to learn that Pa made a balloon for Laura and Mary out of a pig’s bladder. Of course she needed to know what a bladder was. This led to a 4-year-old anatomy lesson of the digestive and elimination systems.

“They’re playing with a balloon that holds pee? Yuck!”

Yesterday, we read the part in the story where Pa kills a bear who was about to eat a pig. He brings home both the bear and the pig in his wagon much to the delight of his family and Ava.

“Oh good!” Ava shouted, “Now they can have another balloon!”

After rest time, Ava came out of her room with a droopy Trader Joe’s balloon from our shopping trip the previous day.

“Let’s play with the balloon, Mama.”

Up to this point in Ava’s life a balloon was only exciting while it floated in the air. When it came to rest on the floor it met its fate of a scissor snip and a place in the trash.

Now the balloon presented undiscovered possibilities for play. At first Ava wanted to toss the balloon back and forth like she saw Laura and Mary doing in the picture. Then she wanted us to back farther away from each other, throw the balloon, and run to see who could catch it. We spent the next hour taking turns thinking up games to play with the balloons.

Here’s what Ava and I came up with:

• Balloon toss
• Balloon toss and run
• Keep the balloon from touching the ground
• Keep two balloons from touching the ground
• Count how many times we could catch the balloon without dropping it
• Simultaneous catch with two balloons
• Keep two balloons away from Ava
• Keep two balloons away from Mama
• Balloon chase
• Follow the balloon
• Creep up and pounce on the balloons
• Stick the balloons on the wall with magic static powers
• Say “hot” and “cold” to help the other person find the hidden balloons

What would you add?

And thanks to advanced technology, we didn’t have to wash our hands after playing with our balloons.

Last week at I was collecting my freshly cut pieces of chenille at Joanne’s, I heard the quick patter of boots and a little voice squeal, “Oh Santa, I’ve missed you!!”

I turned to see Ava embracing an Ava-sized Santa in the premature Christmas display. Seriously, I have hardly come to terms with the fact that Halloween is in two weeks. I’m certainly not ready to start Christmas preparations with the whole costume thing is still up in the air.

Ava does not share this sentiment.

“Oh Santa, Santa, Santa! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you! I’m so glad you are back. I’ve missed you so much. Oh Santa, I love you!”

At this point I think she may have kissed the doll.

She went on to tell Santa how wonderful he is and how she so excited about Christmas. Then she asked him if he was the one who put presents in her stockings. Of course, this Santa is a mannequin only capable of a prerecorded “ho, ho, ho.”

She abandoned the counterfeit and followed me through the silk stems with her trail of questions: “Mama, did you really put the presents in my stocking or did Santa? Santa came to my house, didn’t he? Didn’t he, Mama? I know he did. Didn’t he?”

I played dodge ball with her questions as I’m caught between my desire to uphold Christmas as a celebration of Jesus’ birth and my propensity to encourage her imagination.

“Is Santa really real? Did you see him? Did you help him put the presents in my stocking and that’s why you said that you did it? You saw Santa, didn’t you?”

Apparently, somewhere, somehow Santa heard this unremitting faith in his existence. It appears that he had done a little early Christmas shopping in London and decided to send Ava a pre-Christmas gift.

The boots have been on the move ever since.

Thanks to Santa Ava has a matching mackintosh and wellies that she will not take off.

And thanks to Santa, she’s now determined to “keep my eyes open all night” on Christmas eve.

I predict that we are going to need a large plate of cookies.

On Saturday morning I was invited to be a part of a blogger breakfast. This was a treat on two accounts. First, Hungryman is not a fan of breakfast fares, so a breakfast date is rare and lovely. And, I got to see the faces and hear the voices behind blogs that I read.

Look at what a nice bunch they are.

(Clockwise from bottom left: Heather at Extraordinary Ordinary, Kelly at Love Well, Sara from Greetings from Butterville, Whitney from Baby Tunnel Exodus, Jenny from A Latte Talk and Heidi from Minnesota Mom.

Not an axe murderer in the bunch. And the husbands were so scared.

I stuffed my cheeks with pumpkin pancakes while they discussed all things bloggerly. I tried to contribute between bites, but a plateful of pancakes that I did not make was a temptation that I could not overcome.

After our lovely morning together, I began to question why I blog? Is it beneficial? Is it helpful? What is the purpose? What is my purpose in it?

I was thinking about writing a post to work this all out and then today Kelly, one of the breakfast bunch, tagged me with a meme about how blogging has affected me. Perfect.

Here are the rules:

1. Write about 5 specific ways blogging has affected you, either positively or negatively.
2. link back to the person who tagged you
3. link back to this parent post
4. tag a few friends or five, or none at all
5. post these rules— or just have fun breaking them

So, I’ll just go ahead and break the rules by rewriting them to fit my present conundrum. Here are five reasons why I blog (be warned: I’m working this out as I write the post. I may ramble and I’m not sure where I’ll end up):

1. Stories. For as long as I can remember I have been mesmerized by stories. I love to hear stories and to share stories. If you tell me something in the form of a story, I am likely to remember it forever. Even if it is your story and you have forgotten it.

It’s true. Ask my cousin Heather. We moved to the same town when I was ten and she was twelve. I spent the entire first summer in New Mexico staring up at her canopy enraptured by her tales of Texas. Today, she asks me to fill her in on details about her own childhood.

I’m a storyteller. If you are in my physical presence for any period of time you will undoubtedly be subjected to stories. And all of my stories always leads to another story. In fact I’m known for interrupting my own story to tell another story in the middle.  And I often say, “Oh, I have two more things.” Really, I always have two more things to say. And they’re almost always a story.

Blogging affords a place for my stories, and a place to savor your stories. So many of your stories are so compelling. I am pulled into your stories like I am to characters in novels, but you’re actually alive and in the present.

2. Creative Outlet. I’ve always been drawn to the art of writing. I love how you can string words together to create a picture. I love rhythm and rhyme, alliteration and assonance. I love how sounds create moods and changes feelings. And I love words.

I wait for the perfect word. My blog drafts are full of “Ava BLANK the rosy apple off the branch.” BLANK is my marker to go back and insert the best word. This means that I am not a fast blogger. I’m a fast reader and a slow writer.

This blog is my place to play with plot and setting, irony and surprise. This is the schoolyard on which I’m learning more and more about writing well. Welcome to my rough drafts.

3. Connection. I started this blog to share pieces of my life with my friends and family who live far from me.

I feel akin to the writers of I John when they say, “We write this to make our joy complete” (1:4). While I’m not always writing about the gospel or even important matters, I feel the same way. Sharing an exciting or silly story increases my pleasure in it, especially if I know that you also enjoyed it. This is where those comments become a dialogue, a shared enjoyment over an experience.

At first this was between myself and people I physically know. Now it has extended to people I have yet to meet. It is true what they say, I do feel connected to you through your blogs and your comments. And I like you and I’m honored that you come here.

4. Guilt. Okay, so this is not a reason to blog. Nope, this would be a reason not to or at least a issue to overcome. I have to confess I feel guilty, actually guilty when I haven’t blogged for a few days (or, gasp, weeks). It’s a nagging sort of guilt that follows me around tapping on my shoulder. I don’t like this at all.

I am one of the persons who tends to live in the moment. What I am doing in the present is all that I am doing and all that I’m thinking about. Multitasking is not something I do, or at least not something that I do well. Shocking, I’m sure. Isn’t a mother what a multitasker is? Well, that I am not (the multitasker part that is, not the mother part). I cannot watch TV and talk to someone at the same time. This baffles my friends and especially my husband.

So as far as blogging goes, it is either all I’m doing and not at all what I’m doing. I can go for days (gasp) without opening my laptop. There are just too many exciting or pressing things in my present physical world.  And then there are days (gasp) when I can’t get off my laptop. Hello, if it has been days since I’ve opened my Google Reader, there are a LOT of blogs to go through. Those are not Ava’s favorite days. I fear that this puts me on the fringe of the term, “blogger.” I suspect most of you bloggers shift more naturally to and from the keyboard.

5. Encouragement. “Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today” (Hebrews 3:13).

Blogs are a tremendous platform for encouragement. Many of your posts have been a beautiful bouquet of words delivered to my door step. I have come away from many blogs rejoicing in the testimony of God’s love and faithfulness.

Paul writes in Ephesians that we should “speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs.” That is what I have wanted this blog to be, a space to share that mercies that God sends me each day.

When I considered whether or not to share our experience of losing sweet, unknown babes, I felt that if our experience could be helpful to someone else walking through that path then it was worth it. However, the overwhelming encouragement that I received through your comments, e-mails, and letters have far surpassed any comfort that I had hoped to give. Thank you for extending yourself to me and lifting me up. I have been blessed through blogging.

So that is why I blog. I think it is good. I’m done wrestling for today.

I’m curious now. Why do you?

Or, if you are a reader, why do you read blogs?

I am supposed to tag five others, so I’ll pick three old friends (Yvette, Kristi, & MckMama) and three new friends (Liz, Leah, & Nikki). Yes, I do know how to count–I’m just breaking the rules again.

Really, I loved to hear from more of you. If you choose to do this meme, let me know in the comments and I’ll post a link here.

It’s time to shut to the laptop. Bye.