It’s hot!
We’ve had record temps here in the Pacific Northwest for the last week.
You aren’t getting any complaints from me, though.
I dig walking to the gym instead of circling the parking lot in the rain for the closest spot to the door. You know you do it too.
I dig pouring Pea Daddy the tiniest cup of coffee in the morning and the putting the rest in a jar in the fridge for a mid-afternoon iced coffee. I need it more than he does.
I dig tank tops and exercising my right to bare arms.
I dig that The Bachelorette starts tonight and I’m over my self-imposed ban on trashy reality TV. (That has nothing to do with the heat or anything else relevant to this post, but is intended to inform Pea Daddy of my absolute control of the TV between 9:30 and 11 p.m. tonight.)
You know what else I dig?
Eating banana splits for breakfast.
And I totally dig anything on a stick.
Banana Splits on a Stick
Inspired by this Pinterest find
Makes 6 pops
- 3 large bananas, cut in half
- 6 popsicle or lollipop sticks
- One 6 oz. container strawberry Greek yogurt*
- 1/4 c. chopped nuts
- 1/3 c. chocolate chips or chunks
*For a dairy-free option, try So Delicious Coconut Strawberry Greek Yogurt. For an extra protein boost, stir in a tablespoon or so of your favorite vanilla protein powder.
Insert a stick in the center base of each banana half.
Using a mini-spatula or pastry brush, paint on yogurt. Sprinkle on nuts and chocolate chunks or chips.
Transfer banana pops to a plate that has been lined with waxed paper and place plate in the freezer for 45 minutes or longer.
Remove and enjoy!
We love goodies like these that I can always say “yes” to.
Afterschool snack? Sure.
Dessert? Help yourself.
Breakfast? Don’t mind if I do.
And if you happen to be challenged in the front teeth department, there’s an easy solution for that.
Just slice, top and pop ‘em straight in.
If you got a problem, yo, I’ll solve it.
But not until after breakfast.
Even though Sunday won’t be my first Mother’s Day as a mother, it still feels very strange to me that there is a holiday that honors me for getting to experience the greatest blessings of my life. For someone to give me a gift on top of that feels a bit silly.
That’s not to say that motherhood hasn’t had its difficult, gut-wrenching and even nauseating moments.
I can recall far too many ER visits in the past seven years.
An ill-timed blowout during my grandmother’s funeral.
The near daily exasperation from both girls’ inexplicable aversion to book jackets. Every single book we own is naked. And there are book jackets coming out of couch cushions, toy boxes and sock drawers. I don’t get it.
But it’s better than being covered in poo during a eulogy.
No matter what kind of day we’ve had, whether we’ve lost teeth or just tempers, the girls and I have our nightly ritual that brings me right back to that spot I need to be as a mother. A place of love, appreciation and silliness. And it’s not just because I’m giddy that it’s bedtime and I’m guaranteed ten hours of peace.
My favorite part of our routine is after we’ve read our devotional, Gigi having explained effortlessly, with words that can only come from above, what the Bible verse we’ve read meant. Meanwhile Lulu has done upside down “headstands” off the back of Gigi’s bed, her nightgown falling over her head and muffling her prayers. Bless her. Please.
I tuck them into their beds, their blankets up to their chins, a worn Lambie, ratty-haired Rapunzel and greying Blankie tucked under their arms. Their freshly washed hair is splayed out on their pillows and I smell the sweet mingling of shampoo and toothpaste.
A pair of little arms goes around my neck and a voice commands, “Eskimo kiss!”
We rub noses.
“Butterfly kiss!”
I flutter my eye against a small cheek.
“Real kiss!”
I press my lips against a small pair, a pair that presses back hard, in the hopes of capturing some gloss or lipstick. Most nights I’m a disappointment in that regard, to daughters and husbands.
And then the final command:
“SNACK!”
We erupt into giggles, knowing there will be no snack, but amused by the nightly request nonetheless.
There’s a final “good night,” an “I love you,” and I turn out the light. I glance back in the room as I shut the door, feeling grateful for the night light’s view of my sweet daughters burrowing in their covers, snug and most importantly, smiling. They drift off feeling love and feeling loved. As we all should.
Happy Mother’s Day, to my mom, and to all the other mothers out there. May your day leave you feeling love and feeling loved.
And a snack wouldn’t hurt either.
