the chickens are outside!

Elsie delights in the chickens. They make her laugh, they hold her attention and basically we can set her near them and they serve as six little babysitters, scurrying about to keep her content.

The thing that surprises me most about the chickens is how pet-like they are. If they hear my voice, all six come running to me what are you up to? oh you're going over here. we'll come too. so you're painting the trim on the shed. alright. oh careful not to step on us. here, we'll just stand on your feet while you paint. it looks real nice. we like you. a lot. glad you came outside again. 

They are much more like mammals than birds, in this way. And I can see how people can quickly become crazy chicken ladies. I believe I am well on my way.

a tour of the coop with Ivar

Today the chickens got all settled into their new coop. But before we brought them outside, Ivar got to play a bit while his dad worked on a perch for the birds. That box sticking out on the side will be divided into three nesting boxes, and we'll lift the lid to get our eggs. The little square door on the other side is the chicken run that has a ramp leading to the great outdoors. The screens are for cross ventilation, and the front doors swing open so we can change the food and water (and the bedding every so often).

Rory made up his own plans and figured every part out as he went along. He blows my mind. Sometimes I rub my eyeballs with both fists and scratch my head and think I did marry a computer guy, right? So who is this guy?

The chickens are out there now and they love their new place. And after today I'm pretty sure the next item on the 'to build' list is a playhouse for Ivar with lots of doors and windows.

joyfully becca

When I tell people my blog is called Joyfully Becca I sort of cringe. I mean, I picked it, but I also have some issues with it. I imagine when people hear it they picture me twisting my pointer finger in an imaginary dimple on my cheek. Like I'm always happy. Always smiling and laughing and high fiving.

The truth is this: I am quite the half glass full kind of girl. Even when things are going poorly I will often think, "well, at least this will make a good story." I tend to enjoy life a lot. And I do tend to be joyful.

But I'm not always happy. I'm an emotional girl. But I have learned along the way that happy is the emotion and joyful is the choice.

Especially the last two months.  I can now see that this rough winter was a combination of a lot of things: some postpartum depression for sure, some seasonal affective disorder with winter blues, adjusting to life with two kids, lack of sleep and incredible anxiety over things out of my control. The combination was pretty awful.

March and April were not happy months. But I still enjoyed them. We tapped our trees during this time, we got our chickens, we watched Elsie become mobile, Ivar started asking to play with his little sister. Life was good, and looking back March and April were joyful.

I've been signing every email and letter Joyfully, Becca since my junior year in high school. I completely stole it from my best friend Heidi who also signs everything this way. Heidi is my role model in all things joyful. We still laugh about a stressful day in high school when she told me, "You gotta choose joy, Bec." And I lashed out at her, "You want me to choose phoniness Heidi?!! Because I'm not joyful!"

But Heidi understood joy was a choice. I didn't have to be happy. But I could still choose to rise above whatever high school drama I was living that day. The earlier we learn this lesson, the better.

The source of joy comes from knowing Jesus and knowing exactly whose I am. Especially when I am walking through so many identity changes all at once (becoming a mother, moving to a new town, still finding my footing through it all) it is a great relief to always know whose I am. I am Christ's. And that knowledge right there, is joy.

So here's to joy. And to choosing it for yourself.

Joyfully,
Becca

a rainbow cake for sonnashine

My freshman year of college, I was assigned work study in the cafeteria. The first day I showed up in this room with fifty other students and they started calling out areas they needed help in. "The Grill. The Wok. The Pasta Station. The Bakery." And up my hand flew. So then five of us went to the bakery and they listed off other tasks, "Cookies. Bars. Cake Decorating." I was the last to pick and they said, "we'll put you on cake decorating."

It was awesome. I had a whole counter with every color imaginable. I had five gallon buckets of frosting all around me and a list each time I showed up of students who had a parent order them a birthday cake. There was every tip you could imagine for the piping. There was every color frosting in the world. It was like a little playground for me.

Only trouble was that I had no idea what I was doing. And those first cakes were horrendous. I had a great time making them, but my lesson was brief and the bags felt huge and I was awkward. My signature cake became one with confetti and big balloons because once the bag hit an air pocket and burst unplanned frosting all over my cake, I had no choice. Confetti and balloons covered all.

No one knew I was the cake decorator and I always thought that was a good thing. And no paying customer (the parents) ever saw the cake they paid for. Another good thing.

All this to say, I kept thinking about my days in the Gustavus bakery as I decorated this cake because this one, though it took time, was so easy to decorate. I used a large tip and made little imperfect circles, just going for texture and color. It's my favorite cake I've made. And has my head swimming with new ideas for the next one.

It took four recipes of Aunt Jan's cream cheese frosting. It took two white cake mixes to make the six layers. It took one day to make. It took seven minutes and thirteen six year olds to consume. And it was awesome.

I was planning on pastels on the inside, but wow that food gel is potent. I kept trying to use less and less but it wasn't meant to be. For the frosting I figured out how to just use a toothpick drop of color for each layer, and that gave me the pastels I was going for.

Sonna was my perfect client. She was thrilled and told her thirteen kindergarten friends, "Everyone has to close their eyes when my aunt cuts it, because there is a surprise inside! Ready. Close them!"

So Happy Birthday Sonna! We love you so much. You are the perfect colorful personality to have such a colorful rainbow cake.

tonight at bedtime

Me: Ivar, tomorrow is a very special day called Mother's Day. Who is your mother?

Ivar: Elsie.

Me: Nope.

Ivar: Baby Elsie.

Me: I am your mother. Your mama is your mother and tomorrow is a special day to say, "good job mother."

Ivar: Oh. (quick pause) Who's my dadder?

I kid you not. Verbatim. Stood up to write it down as soon as it was said. 

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And now, for some awesome Motherly Wisdom from years ago, click here.