Father's Day California Rolls

When Mr. Brown Eyes and I first got married, going out to eat was a major chore. We would spend hours just trying to decide where we wanted to go. Sometimes, the decision was so impossible to make, we just ended up staying home.

That was before Mr. Brown Eyes was introduced to sushi. And before we discovered some amazing conveyor belt sushi restaurants not far from where we live.

Now Mr. Brown Eyes is very predictable when it comes to eating out. He wants sushi every time.

Which at least makes the decision of where to go out to eat a whole lot easier.

Because I love his stinking guts, I made Mr. Brown Eyes (well, and me) this pan of scrumptious little beauties for Father's Day dinner:

 

Not authentic sushi, of course, but still delicious.

 

And this was the first time I made California Rolls (almost) entirely by myself, so I was pretty proud.

 

Happy Father's Day, Mr. Brown Eyes. I love you (and your love of sushi).

 

California Roll Queen,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

 

 



Rocky Point 2015

Our second year in Rocky Point flew by.

 

"Five days on the beach," we told ourselves. "That should be enough."

 

Um, no.

 

Really with travel time it was only three days on the beach, and it flew by so fast it doesn't even feel like we were there.

 

Thankfully, I have the proof: 

 

 

 

 

Between playing in the ocean, building sandcastles, eating tacos (and donuts), and discovering all kinds of sea life, we had a blast.

 

In closing, I wanted to show you this. It is a mango sprinkled with lime juice and chili powder, the juiciest, sweetest, most succulent thing you will ever eat. My life is changed forever. I will never look at a mango the same again.

Happy Friday!
The Brown-Eyed Girl

Pregnancy, Tender Mercies, and George Washington

This pregnancy has been one of wondrous little tender mercies.

After thinking I was pregnant at the end of December and then finding out I wasn't, I basically gave up and figured it would be months before my body got itself into gear to get pregnant. My cycles have always been really irregular and I've had to take Clomid to get pregnant since Brown-Eyed Boy.

But then, sometime in the middle of February, I started to wonder if...maybe...possibly...? I didn't want to get my hopes up. I didn't want to take a pregnancy test and then be crushed when it was negative. So I prayed to Heavenly Father that if I was pregnant, to please please give me a symptom.

The very next day the morning sickness hit.

Moral of the story: be careful what you pray for.

But I was so grateful to be sick if it meant I was pregnant. In fact, when, still in my early weeks, the morning sickness started to dissipate, I began to worry. I went to my first midwife appointment terrified of miscarriage.

Toward the end of the appointment, the midwife said, "It's probably a little early, but why don't we try listening to the heartbeat?"

I agreed doubtfully. I had never heard the heartbeat before twelve weeks with either of my other children, but I figured we could give it a try.

The midwife put the Doppler probe to my belly. Immediately we heard my heartbeat, slow and methodical. She moved the probe around, then, after a moment, exclaimed, "There it is!"

I stared at her. "I don't hear anything."

She held the receiver up closer to my ear, moved the probe around some more, and suddenly, I could hear it--underneath the pound of my heart, a steady flutter, fast and strong.

Tears spilled down my face. My baby had a heartbeat. He was all right.

The Lord is mindful of us. Even in the smallest of ways. I was only eight weeks pregnant that day. It's really unusual to hear the heartbeat that early. But the Lord knew I needed reassurance, so He blessed me with that sweet, tender mercy.

And yes, I have been calling my baby a "he" all this time. And I was shocked last week to learn that "he" is actually a "she."

Oops.

So much for my motherly instincts. But it's good she's not a boy, or Brown-Eyed Boy might have insisted we name her George Washington.

The girl name he picked out is much better.

Excited for baby girl #2,
The Brown-Eyed Girl

Life and Death

If there's one thing pets are good for, it's teaching kids about life and death.

Except I think I'm taking the lesson harder than they are.

We lost one of our ducks this past weekend, probably to a dog. Brown-Eyed Boy had named him Paper. He happened to be the favorite duck, the outgoing, silly one, the one that Brown-Eyed Boy was referring to when he told me multiple times, "I just love him too much, Mommy."

Brown-Eyed Boy was crushed when I told him, of course. He cried in my arms and then said a prayer that Paper would come back. Then he got distracted playing with his cousin. I was the one who spent half the morning sobbing.

Pregnancy hormones, I tell you.

We buried Paper the next morning. Brown-Eyed Boy watched for a moment as dirt piled up over Paper's once-shiny black feathers, then slowly walked away, head hanging down.

"Are you ok?" I called after him.

"I am just sad," he replied, not looking at me.

Mr. Brown Eyes and I exchanged sad looks, then we heard Brown-Eyed Boy call from the front porch, "Mommy! I want an icee!"

Children are so resilient.

Mr. Brown Eyes caught me staring off into space last night, and laughed when I told him I was thinking about Paper.

We all miss Paper, though. It's not the same walking outside and not seeing him waddle-running toward us, webbed feet slapping against the sidewalk. I miss watching him and Fluffy splashing in their kiddie pool or in the irrigation in our yard. I even miss yelling at Brown-Eyed Boy to stop chasing him.

To which he would always tell me, "I just love Paper too much, Mommy."

I guess I did, too.

Mama Duck Minus One Baby Duck,
The Brown-Eyed Girl