Thanks for checking back here for an update. I’ve had a lot of people ask me, “where did you go?” And there is a perfectly good explanation, but the good news is, I finally have a big girl website!!! You can hear more from me now at salinabeasley.com. Check it out. If you do, you can find out my other little piece of news…

image via Mark Peter Davis

For the past three years, I have relayed the topsy-turvy narrative of home, family, and other inspired thoughts here at Lady Lullabuy. I love my little corner of blogging-realestate, and yet lately, I have been feeling the need to renovate the space– new look and feel, streamlined content, user-friendly features… the works. {You know how I love a good Before & After.} With that being said, you can be a dear and comment below with some post ideas that you have found most helpful and/or topics that most interest you. Keep checking back for updates, and as always, thanks for joining my journey.

{Image via Semi-Handmade}

In an attempt to woo my way into the hearts of my son’s preschool teachers, I have been baking batches of the following chocolate chip cookie recipe:

Old-Fashioned Chocolate Chip Cookies

Ingredients:
1 cup butter-flavored shortening
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 cups All-purpose flour
2 tsp vanilla
3/4 tsp salt (I like ’em salty, but if you don’t like salty as much add only 1/2tsp)

Preparation:
Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees. Combine shortening and both sugars. Mix with electric mixer on “low” just until blended. Add eggs, vanilla, flour, baking soda, and salt and mix well on medium/low speed. Stir in the chocolate chips by hand. Drop cookie dough by teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 9-12 minutes (or until golden brown).

Tip: Do NOT leave these lying around the house. I cannot resist them which is why I promptly give them away.

Here’s to making my friends and neighbors fat one chocolate chip cookie at a time!

Happy Monday!

{Image via Naive Cook Cooks}

Clark and I recently attended a bandmate’s wedding. It was a beautiful sunset celebration and in many ways a musical reunion. We bumped into people we haven’t played a note with in years with whom we experienced late night recordings, long lay-overs, and impromptu song writing sessions. That was long before any of us had spouses, kids, or even a warm-bodied date to a fancy wedding. We struck up casual conversation with an old friend who’s wife is expecting their first child. Before we could edit our verbal commentary, we became that couple– the Consummate Parental Spoilers who say things like, “Get ready. You thought marriage was tough. That was nuthin’. Just wait until you have that baby. Hardest thing we ever done.” Picture Willie Robertson slapping an acquaintance twice removed on the back of the shoulder while offering unsolicited parenting advice. That was me in Aldo stilettos. Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I could see the color draining from his childless face. All I could think was, “I’m a moron. Someone stuff a spring roll in my mouth before I say something else royally stupid.”

What IS the matter with me?

The truth is that in the early days of marriage, Clark and I wanted a lot of kids. Four. Maybe five. That was before we knew first-hand how hard child-rearing could actually be. A friend of mine with two grown children recently said, “This parenting stuff… it ain’t going to tickle”. He’s right. It already feels more like my heart has undergone the emotional equivalent of an Indian burn than anything remotely tickling.  And I’m only just getting started. This morning at breakfast, a cheerio rolled under the refrigerator sending Salem into orbit just as the school bus pulled into the driveway. While he was desperately trying to retrieve his orphaned breakfast, I was yelling at him to hurry up because God-forbid he be late to preschool and risk his chances of being accepted into the Ivy League.

I yelled at my son for trying to save a lost cheerio.

The guilt of sending him to school with my booming voice still ringing in his little ears sent me crawling back to bed while pulling the covers over my head. Not only did I underestimate the identity-splitting nature of parenting– that I no longer hold the rights to my body, my schedule, my interests, or even my thoughts, but I grossly overlooked the emotional stamina required to shoulder the weight of worrying about another human life.  Nothing about motherhood has turned out to be quite what I thought it would be. In many ways, it is worlds better. In others ways, it it the reason why I will soon be gray beyond a bottle job.

Last night, I was falling asleep to Paradise Valley’s track, Dear Marie {insert shameless John Mayer fan plug here} when I got stuck on the lyric, “Dear Marie… Well, I got my dream, but you got yourself a family”. Family… kids… sticky fingers, board books, scrapes and bandaids, lisps and animal crackers…. this is one {single} man’s observation of An Ultimate Success Story. I do believe with every sane corner of my shrunken brain that raising these two kids is {and will be} my life’s greatest endeavor, and yet, I can’t shake the feeling like I stepped off of a cliff, and I am caught in a never ending free fall. Oh, how I wish it was a more graceful dive. But the truth is…

…I sometimes go weeks without locking eyes with my husband.
…I am afraid of waking up 20 years from now and no longer recognizing the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
…I yell at my kid before he goes to school.

And the stress of it all has me tangled up between thoughts of “Aw heck, let’s give the Duggars a run for their money” and “I don’t even remember how to spell the word B-A-L-U-N-S-S-E much less maintain it with my quiver full ‘o two.”  But these are common thoughts of common struggles, right? {Please, tell me I’m right.}

But here’s what I hope: I hope that the woman staring back at me in the mirror 20 years from now has few{er} regrets of how she raised her children. I hope she is less of a control freak than she was when her kids had sticky fingers. And for the love of all that is holy and just, I hope she has more social decency than to bully a former bandmate at a wedding who has no idea what he is in for. Some things are better left to figure out on one’s own, {right Joe?}

How has parenting turned out to be different than what you expected?

{Image via Casa Sugar}

There are still people in this digital world who prefer to keep a paper calendar. Are you one of them?

{image via Anthro Home}

{image via H + B Kids}

{Photo Disclaimer: Mia puttered her way into the utensil drawer this morning and deemed the corkscrew more appropriate as a rocket ship. Who are we to thwart creative puttering genius? We are not proponents of underage breakfast drinking.}

Rules of the Game:

1. No member of the family is allowed to question or criticize another’s choice of puttering activity. If Mia wants to give every single one of her princesses a bath and then take them for a ride in the rocket ship, well then, who am I to judge?

2. No member of the family is allowed to choose a puttering activity that might make another member of the family feel guilty. In other words, I am not allowed to clean out the garage or else it will make Clark feel guilty for watching guitar gear videos on YouTube all day.

3. All puttering participants are required to pick up after their own putter.

It isn’t picnic-ing on Red Top Mountain, but so far, we’ve drawn our names on the ceiling with a flashlight, bathed until pruny, and mastered the marketable job skill of marshmallow tower-making. I must say, engaging in mindless activity has proven to be surprisingly enjoyable!

Happy Labor Day!

What are you doing this Labor Day Weekend? Me and the fam and some friends are going to Red Top Mountain for a picnic and a hike. We’re auditioning the location for a family camping trip sometime later this Fall. Have you taken your little ones camping? Let me rephrase…. would you ever take your little ones camping… again?

PS I am thinking about making these coconut macaroons

Have a great Labor Day Weekend!

{Image via BHG}

I’m not one to get all soap box-y, but after re-reading this New York Times article, I wondered if the Britons might add to the list of Things They Don’t Admire About Americans how Syria can be on the brink of a civil war, and yet the biggest scoop to hit US headlines this week is Miley Cyrus’ twerking episode on the VMA’s.

PS. Spell Check still flags the term “twerking”. Does this mean that I can get away with being a little sudsy today?

Have a great Thursday!

{Image via Harshit Verma Photography}

Oh, what I wouldn’t give today for a cup of Death Wish Coffee. The name might sound like caffeinated poison, but DWC claims to pack twice the caffeine than your average cup of joe. I was up late last night working on a deadline, but the kids didn’t get the memo to sleep in this morning. Hence, the need for Death Wish.

How much coffee do you drink in a day?

{Image via The Dropp}