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Thursday, December 17, 2015

Kitchen Phoenix: Banana Bread

It's still pouring rain here. Steady, heavy rain all day long added more to the already soaked ground and high rivers. Many of the smaller rivers here are in flood warning, and we learned that our friends' house has a couple feet of water underneath it (again).

Life is exciting, isn't it?

I had a couple of nasty old bananas sitting around, so to combat the dreariness outside, I decided to bake my cares away inside. This is a recipe that I received from my mother-in-law in the form of their hometown's County Cookbook, published in during the county's centennial in 1985. She not only was an involved contributor, but she also saved a copy for each of her future daughters-in-law.

Small-town North Dakota, people. Like straight out of a movie. (There were no murders.)

I love the look on The Husband's face when he comes home and sees (and smells!) banana bread cooling near the stove. He's like a kid on Christmas morning!

Food is totally my love language.

Banana Bread step by stepBanana Bread

Banana Nut Bread

courtesy of my MIL

banana nut bread recipe


Ingredients:
1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1 cup mashed bananas (two big old nasty ones)
1/2 cup chopped nuts (walnuts or pecans work well)

Directions:
Preheat oven to 330 degrees F. (Not a typo. 350, I've found, is too hot.)

Cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well.

Sift together flour, baking powder, salt, baking soda, and nutmeg.

Mash bananas (if you haven't already).

Add, alternately, flour mixture and mashed bananas to the butter mixture until incorporated. Don't overbeat.

Mix in nuts.

Pour into a well-greased loaf pan. Bake for 60-70 minutes until golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from loaf pan and cool on wire rack.

PotD: GO BANANAS!

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Wednesday, December 16, 2015

My PMB Post: Christmas Cookies!

I did a little blogging over at Portland Moms Blog today. Head over there to check out my handy mom's guide to Christmas Cookies, which includes links to all my go-to recipes for this time of year. It doesn't matter if you are an experienced baker or don't even own an oven, I've got you covered! (And while you're there, check out some of the posts from other Portland-area moms!)

Christmas Cookies Mom Guide

PotD: Providence

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Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Eight Great Traits of Living in a Small House

I live in a small home. While that's a pretty subjective statement, I can't help but see the large houses in the subdivisions all around me. They're pretty big. In the (relatively) modest subdivision next door, the houses are between 50-100% larger than our house. And if I were living alone, my house would be plenty spacious, but thankfully I'm surrounded by my family, which means there are five of us living under this dainty roof.

I could complain about my small house. But I won't. Because at the end of the day, I have a house. It's dry and warm, clean and safe. I'm happy that I live here. And I've realized some pretty cool advantages of living in smaller digs.

eight great traits

1. I can vacuum my entire house without unplugging the vacuum cleaner. It also doesn't take that long to vacuum (or dust, or clean the walls, or...). Plus, I don't have to deal with stairs.

2. Because I can't fit very much furniture in my house, it's much more inexpensive to furnish. No formal living room set. (Does anyone even host gatherings here instead of the actual living room?) No chaise lounge in the bedroom. (Do they ever get lounged upon?) No china hutch. (It'd get broken anyway.)

3. For better or for worse, we can't escape each other very easily. There are definitely times where one (or all of us) has completely burned through their patience for people. But guess what, sweeties. You gotta learn how to get through those homicidal tendencies. It's a life skill, kids.

4. Baby monitor? Who needs one when you can hear when the baby wakes up clear on the other side of the house!

5. If my kids' bedroom is only 10 feet by 10 feet, there's only 100 square feet of space they're going to have to clean up at the end of the day. If my three kids each had their own bedroom at a more modern 13' x 13', that'd be 507 square feet of space to tidy up, a five-fold increase. Plus, my kids can't hoard toys with which to spread about the house. After every Christmas we must go through to weed out all the toys that never get played with so that they'll have places to put their new ones.

6. I am more aware of what is going on with my kids throughout my home, since I can often see and usually hear what they are doing. Annoying? Yeah, it can be. But it also gives me opportunities to correct when misbehavior is happening that I wouldn't get if I was far, far away in a big house.

7. Home maintenance and utilities are cheaper. Does the carpet need to be replaced? It's cheaper to replace 800 square feet than 1800, potentially by thousands of dollars. Heating is also cheaper. Typically property taxes are cheaper as well (especially in older homes that have locked property tax increases). Really, pretty much everything is cheaper.

8. Forced simplification. If I had a walk-in closet, you bet I'd fill it up with things that I "need". Well, I don't have a walk-in closet. Anything unnecessary goes to a new home (if it even makes it through the door to begin with). I don't feel like I'm drowning in stuff. (Up to my neck in it at times, yes. But never drowning.)

In the end, I really do love my little house. It's so cozy. What do you like about your house?

PotD: A Break In The Rain

A photo posted by KungPowHausFrau (@kungpowhausfrau) on

PotD: I'm a dork.

A photo posted by KungPowHausFrau (@kungpowhausfrau) on

Monday, December 14, 2015

Puddle Jumping, and This Week's Menu

December in Oregon is has nothing to do with the weather itself but rather the attitude of the person in it. Case in point: We've been getting amazing amounts of precipitation this month--magnitudes that I have never seen since we moved here almost ten years ago. There is a lot of lowland flooding, and the Tualatin River is astonishingly high.

Naturally, the rain is cold and wet, which makes certain people pretty miserable. And I admit, flooding makes people miserable. And achy joints makes people miserable. I get it.

But sometimes you've got to turn the drawback into a strength. Rain makes puddles. When was the last time you did some unabashed puddle-jumping? The Husband and I took advantage of some kid-free time last weekend and ventured out into Tryon Creek State Park. We hiked a short-ish loop and I got to field test my birthday present: a pair of (snow?) boots that are great for marching through puddles without caring about my feet turning cold and wet.

boots in mud

We stomped in puddles like a pair of hyper kids. We hid in tree stumps. 

Gnome

We had fun.

We're dorks.

Monday, Monday, back to the grind. I've got a week's worth of dinners planned out, and here they are:


This Week's Menu

Monday: Gyoza and stir-fried veggies with yakisoba noodles
Tuesday: Cajun Chicken Pasta and salad
Wednesday: Beef Roast with veggies and potatoes
Friday: Egg Salad Sandwiches
Saturday: The Husband's company Christmas Party!

Have fun out there in the wild weather!

Sunday, December 13, 2015

PotD: Bonds

Bonds

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Saturday, December 12, 2015

PotD: Portland Winter Wonderland

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Wednesday, December 9, 2015

PotD: Afternoon Tea

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Friday, December 4, 2015

Eggnog Biscotti

Eggnog Biscotti

I love this biscotti! It's so perfect for sharing with friends, or savoring by yourself with a hot cup of coffee while the children are distracted with Wild Kratts. These biscotti can be frozen in batches and thawed and served with coffee for last-minute company. Really, you can't go wrong! I got this recipe from my friend Meghann.

Eggnog Biscotti
Wet Ingredients:
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon rum extract

Dry Ingredients:
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg

Directions:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Farenheit.

In a big bowl, combine the wet ingredients. In a different bowl, combine the dry ingredients. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix until a heavy dough forms.

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Divide dough into two pieces. Make each piece into a log that is the same length as your baking sheet, using a bit of flour or powdered sugar so your dough doesn't stick to your hands. Flatten or roll out until the dough is 1/2 inch thick. Bake both "logs" side-by-side on the same baking sheet for 15-20 minutes until it's golden brown.

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Remove from the oven and let cool until it's cool enough to handle. Slice the "logs" crosswise into 1/2 inch thick pieces, and put cut side up back onto your baking sheet.

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Bake all the pieces 6-10 more minutes until they are golden brown. Flip them over and put them back into the oven, browning the other side for 6-10 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Store in an airtight container.

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Sugar Cookie Frosting

Here's a recipe that my mom has given me for icing sugar cookies. It's great because it's delicious and spreadable like cake frosting, but hardens after a few hours so the cookies are stackable. You'll have to forgive me, since the measurements are so casual, but old recipes are like that.

Soft hardening sugar cookie icing

Ingredients:
Powdered sugar (maybe a bag's worth)
Softened butter (can substitute vegetable shortening if you need it to be white)
A few splashes of milk

Directions:
Fill a bowl with powdered sugar, and put in a half stick of room temperature butter. Add a splash of milk, and mix together until thoroughly combined. It should have about the consistency of store-bought cake frosting. If it is too thick, add some more milk. If it's too thin, add some more sugar. The main thing is to add enough milk that the cookies will harden after drying (straight up butter and sugar won't get you there), but not too much milk that they'll never dry out. Frost your cookies with a butter knife, cake froster, or spatula. Leave out to dry, and after a few hours they should be perfectly stackable.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

The Most Repulsive Meat in All the gLand

Ameteur Chef's Tip: If you buy a new meat product, either read the ingredients list before you buy it or don't read it at all and live in ignorance.

I found a new recipe to make this week, and am I sure glad I tried it out...when The Husband was away on business. I like to keep my culinary failures away from my love.

Anyway, this was a recipe for a take on bean dip, and it looked delicious on Pinterest. I thought the kids would like it, so I bought the ingredients, one of which was chorizo. I had never bought or eaten chorizo before, but I had seen it in the meat department. It looked so delicious, and conveniently cheap as well.

I am a rockin' mama, making this awesome and vaguely exotic bean dip for my kids! I got this!

I heated up my very best pan and squeezed the chorizo into it. It looked just like the cheap ground beef you get out of the tubes. As I was tossing the tube into the garbage, I nonchalantly glanced at the ingredients list. I froze, my body seized up, and my eyes widened.

I can't tell you what was all on that list, because I stopped reading after the first two ingredients out of fear. But I can tell you that I have never heard of anyone eating these cow parts.

Now I'm facing a huge mental and moral conundrum. Do I pretend I never saw the ingredients and serve it to my kids as if it were normal, while eating none of it myself? Or do I bite the bullet and just throw it away?

While I was repulsed beyond anything in my recent memory, my ancient Midwestern instinct to never waste food took over. I smiled sweetly at my daughters, who were "assisting" me (read: touching everything, doing dangerous things, and asking irrelevant questions incessantly), and proceeded to break up the "sausage" (if you could call it that) with a wooden spoon.

What happened next would have been confusing as hell if I hadn't known that this wasn't actual meat. The "sausage" actually sort of melted in the pan, turning into what looked like a red sauce with finely ground "meat" in it. At this point my oldest daughter is dubious about this fauxsage. So while I'm trying to figure out how to tell when cow yik-yak soup is done cooking, I tell her that this is the "cheap stuff," and that if I'd known it would do this I wouldn't have bought it. "Oh, well!"

This seemed to satisfy her, so after doing a quick Googling, I drained it in a bowl. It looked like red cat barf. Munchkin quite willingly gave it a taste and proclaimed that it was edible. Great, I thought. You can eat it all. Her little sister thought it was delicious, too. Brother was another story, but he's a pretty picky eater anyway.

I ended up spreading a thin layer on half of the dip, and serving that part to the girls. Like just about anything I cook, it was only picked at half-heartedly at the table by the younger two. I didn't mind mine, because at least it didn't have the gross stuff on it. It's not often I can empathize with how my picky eaters feel.

The best part was the commentary provided by Munchkin at the dinner table. Like some Cutthroat Kitchen judge, she bolded stated, "The dip was good...except for the cheap chorizo. Why did you use cheap chorizo? Don't do that next time." Ha.

So there you go, ladies. Do not trust the mystery meat, but feel free to serve it to your unsuspecting children. And as for what the those two terrible ingredients were: beef salivary glands and beef lymph nodes. I told you.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

In my defense, this should have never been my responsibility in the first place.

Step 1: Go to the thrift store and locate the PERFECT overcoat in my 8-year-old's size to dress up as Ben Franklin for a speech she's giving tomorrow.

Step 2: Neglect to read coat's tag and completely fail to register the fact that the coat is, in fact, made out of wool.

Step 3: Machine wash cold and tumble dry medium.

Step 4: ...?? Dress the two-year-old up as Ben Frankin as a stand-in?

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

I like it the way it is. (Mostly.)

DINK.

Double-Income, No Kids.

Have you ever fantasized what it would be like to be one half of a DINK? I could, but I always feel uncomfortable about it because, you know, the kids are non-existent and now I feel like a good mom because even in the chaos I would still choose my completely rambunctious children over sunning myself on the beach in Maui without having to watch three kids like a hawk so they don't drown themselves in the ocean.

I often close my eyes and remember the time roughly between mid-college and our firstborn, when I could go anywhere and do what I wanted without it being a mental and physical challenge. I also lived in the Midwest, where all the main attractions were pretty much located on the same stretch of road and it took me no longer than 8 minutes to get to any of them. What The Husband and I lacked in money, we made up for in freedom. What, it's 4 a.m. but we are both inexplicably awake? Go to the diner for milkshakes or muffins, then head over to wander the aisles of Wal-mart. How romantic!

Actually, that does kind of sound romantic. It beats staying home on Friday nights and trying to outfart each other. Marriage is funny that way.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

So they made this movie of my life and didn't tell me.

I just got done watching Mom's Night Out, which I got from Netflix.
I might never give it back.
Sorry, Netflix.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Control Freak Blues

Is it just me, or are there so many talking heads lecturing about the right way to parent, and so many different pieces of advice (many of which conflict), that no matter what you do, you are doing something wrong?

And when I'm doing something wrong, I'm not just doing something wrong. I'm doing something WRONG! W R O N G ! And now it's too late to make it right! I've completely wrecked my kids!!

But I don't think there is anything wrong with the kids. I think it's me. I think I'm a control freak.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

PotD: Peace

Peace

Shaving Sheets with Jesus

I spent 10 minutes this evening shaving my bed. You know, with a safety razor.

No, I didn't loose my marbles, although the look on my husband's face may have indicated otherwise. Rather, I was shaving a rather disappointing set of sheets that I purchased last November that haven't really held up so well. They are the nicest sheets I've ever bought and yet not even four months later the bottom sheet is covered in pills. Hence the crazed Hausfrau wielding a safety razor over her bed.

Have you ever invested resources in something that you believed to be of good quality, but in the end it let you down?

The parallels between my lackluster sheets and other investments are many. I have invested time in pursuits that I felt were a path to more and better opportunities, but they were dead ends. I have invested money into countless books about how to get your baby to sleep through the night, potty train your toddler fast and effectively, get your kids to eat healthfully, stop sibling rivalry, etc., only to find that the promises never were fulfilled.

I know I'm not alone. We've all made bad judgement calls when it comes to our resources, and I have found that the most memorable lessons are the ones we learn the hard way. And yet, we are left with empty promises and pilly sheets. And then we, okay I, act crazy trying to squeeze some value out of overpriced wares.

Are we sort of like these inadequate sheets? I mean, yeah I've gotten lumpy over the years but that's not exactly what I meant. I could be something SUPER GREAT! In my wildest dreams growing up, I imagined myself becoming something of a super woman, a world-class physician of some sort of exotic specialty, a self-sacrificing humanitarian whose world-wide medical servitude knew no bounds, and a 21st-century June Cleaver all rolled into one.

Is that even possible?

Well...maybe? Regardless, I never even came close to realizing that dream, unless you count the June Cleaver bit, but I only drag the pearls and heels out once or twice a year. No, I never went to graduate school (medical or otherwise, yet anyway), and my life has taken a very divergent path from my imagined one.

Realistically, we are all going to fall short of what we ambitiously think we can do. We want to live up to our potential, but for many of us (hey, fellow overachievers!) our potential was really imagined way too high.

I can't do enough to make myself satisfied. I can't be enough to make myself satisfied. I am always, always, just not perfect.

But I don't have to be. Because I know, deep down in my heart, that I am loved by my Creator, who is also my Father God. He made me just the way I am, even the part of me that needs to sleep 8 hours a day when I could be doing super woman things. He has a plan for my life, and even though it's not a plan I would have necessarily chosen when I was a young adult, I know it's the right one. I am so happy with my life, happier than I ever was as a student. And even though I'm not perfect, he sent his son to be sacrificed as atonement for my sins.

Christians aren't perfect, sinless creatures. We can (and often do) fall prey to the very sins we abhor. We Christians are like the Super Fancy Big Money sheets that go four months and then get covered in pills. But then we have Jesus to shave us with a safety razor.

I need to work on my metaphors. Things are getting out of hand.

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

My brain, the liar

That moment when you try to remember the thing you swore you were going to remember, and you know you will never remember whatever it was.
"Nah, I won't write it down. I'll totally remember that later."
Poof. Lost forever.
If it was the first time, I wouldn't feel so bad. But this was the 5,246th time. And I'll never learn.

Friday, February 27, 2015

Genesis of Us

This morning my best friend went into my kitchen and made me my favorite coffee, prepared it just how I like it, brought it to my bedroom and put it on my nightstand as I was struggling to make the transition from asleep to awake. (It was a hard transition. I had a cranky toddler crawling all over me.) I was then told how much I was loved and asked if there was anything else that could be done for me. 

If there was ever a best way to wake up, this is it. Well, minus the cranky toddler. And my best friend? He's also my husband.

The Husband is a great guy. And I really can't say I've done anything to deserve a man as wonderful as he is. I can't. But what I can do is look back on our life together so far and find out why we have this bliss.

We were college sweethearts, which is an upgrade from the rebound couple we originally were. Born out of a yearning to forget old flames, our relationship started on a shaky foundation that was soon shored up by an inability to be apart. It was my first college romance, and I struck gold. 

We made some mistakes along the way. Some were apparent even in the moment; others, only the growth of wisdom over time made clear. We were immature and still growing up, and we said things or did things (or didn't do things) that were maybe unhealthy or just stupid. 

But we never ever gave up. The hardest times were when we were separated by distance or responsibilities. He was in a difficult engineering program, which required more and completely different methods of study than my "easy" biology major. He worked long hours off campus. Later, he took a seven-month internship more than 200 miles away. I shrunk into my wild, early-twenties emotions, the worst of which, to my credit, I was able to hide...er, I mean, shield him from.

When he asked me to marry him almost two years after we first met, I was so shocked I accidentally plopped my elbows into my dinner in an effort to bury my surprised face in my hands. I was completely caught off guard, even if I had already known he was "the One." Apparently I also forgot to actually say "Yes," leading The (now) Husband to lose a few pounds of sweat. He explained why he didn't wait any longer to ask me: after he had recently moved away for his internship, he couldn't imagine his life without me. Why wait?

We got married a year and a half later (too long of an engagement by far, but that is a story for another day). We lived together during most of that time, and that was when his method of being awesome really began to take off. 

And this is the secret: He always puts me first. 

As a real-time example, as I finished typing the last sentence, he came into the room that I'm writing in. He mentioned that I had already fixed something that had broken, and I replied, "Yeah, but I need the pliers with the wire-cutters on them. I couldn't find them. I have some long ends on the wires."

"You need the pliers? I'll get them for you!" he beamed, as he picked up a level I had used on the job. 

"Oops, I forgot to put that away," I admitted. I really would have done it, but I forgot it was there.

"No problem! I'll put it away when I get the pliers," he said with a smile.

Do you see what I'm saying? I haven't done anything out of the ordinary to "earn" this. He's always just done this. I didn't wash the dishes for an embarrassingly long time when I lived alone: he would wash them all when he visited without me asking and without comment or complaint. I didn't even think to cook dinner: "What can I cook for you?" I mentioned that I wanted some shelves above my desk to hold all my books and stuff. I didn't even ask him. But he had a full set of shelves up before the end of the weekend. I mentioned a couple of times over the years that it would be nice to have a guitar again. And even though it was on my heart, I never said much about it because it was really quite frivolous. Then one day he came home and tentatively put a brand new guitar in my hands and waited to see if it would be well-received. 

Ladies, I'm not a crier. I didn't cry when he asked me to marry him, I didn't cry at our wedding, I didn't cry when any of our three kids were born. But I cried like a baby when he gave me this guitar I wanted but never specifically told him about. I'm not a "gifts" person; I don't like buying them and I don't like the weirdness of getting them. But I've never felt so loved as when I did in that moment. It felt like that act of love kind of summed up our relationship: we go forward in faith and love and in a quiet trust that we each other's best interests at the forefront.

I'm not sure how many wives can count their husbands as their best friends. And I'm sure there are moms, possibly without a husband by choice or circumstance, whom I have offended by, well, boasting about my awesome husband/best friend combo. To those who don't know the joy of this bond, all I can say is that I am sorry. But some things demand to be memorialized in writing. We've had more than a decade of love and I hope we will get many decades more. I'll toast my coffee to that.

Us

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Whoops.

Today I found out that I spelled Stitch's middle name wrong on her official birth certificate. Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal if she wasn't named after someone very special to me.

I am definitely feeling like Mother of the Year and Granddaughter of the Year material right now.

Monday, February 23, 2015

PotD: Harbinger of Spring

Harbinger of Spring

Ramblings on illness, and This Week's Menu

Viruses, bacteria, and their ilk must love my family lately. The Husband was ill for most of the weekend with what we figured out was either norovirus or food poisoning (the entire office got it), and Oompa Loompa (that'd be my 5-year-old son) has had a fever off and on for the last four days. Friday he woke up at about 10 p.m. with the most frightening cough/stridor/gasping for air I've ever heard. I was thisclose to calling an ambulance, but we got him calmed down and thankfully had no more croup symptoms for the rest of the night. It scared me so much that I slept in his bed with him that night so I could keep watch, which he absolutely reveled in. That boy.

It's funny how illness can affect different people differently. Oompa Loompa has always had a bad time with coughs, and this wasn't the first time he's had a croup-like cough (although it was the scariest). When Munchkin was little, she would get sick with the stomach flu more than the others ever have. She also has an interesting array of innocuous anatomical anomalies. Stitch is the only one of my kids who has ever been on antibiotics (PRAISE THE LORD!), although she started her run early with and eye infection/possible cellulitis at ten days old.

The Husband doesn't get sick very often, but when he does it is usually the worst out of all of us. Last year a round of hand, foot, and mouth disease tore through our city. Oompa Loompa was the first to get it, then the rest of the kids, then me, and then The Husband. And while we developed a few of the tell-tale lesions here and there on our hands and feet, The Husband got a hundred of them all over not only his hands and feet but also his arms, legs, and face. In his seven years on the job, he had to call into work sick for the first time because nobody wanted him in the office! While he was sick and infectious, I had about 12 different family members in town for a family reunion, and half of them were staying in our house. To top it off, a few months later he lost his toenails, which is also a side-effect of the disease.

Thank God, I haven't been sick too often, because as a stay-at-home-mom, I can't call in sick! The best I could do would be to throw some mac and cheese and some dried fruit at the kids and leave them to the Netflix Nanny. Then The Husband would have to repair any damage Stitch would have inflicted while running wild.

Weekly Menu
Monday: Sukiyaki
Tuesday: Bison Burgers with roasted sweet potatoes "fries"
Wednesday: Kids' Night (Gluten-free corndogs, more sweet potato "fries", carrot sticks)
Thursday: Firecracker Salmon, steamed broccoli, rice
Friday: Lemon Chicken Orzo Soup with Cobb Salad
Saturday: Chicken Marsala (always double the sauce!) over pasta and a side salad
Sunday: Loaded Ramen


Sunday, February 22, 2015

PotD: "Salted and Tasted White Croaker"

"Salted and Tasted White Croaker"
"This is the saddest pet store I've ever been to."

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Stella Olsen Park, Sherwood

Lazy Saturdays are my kind of Saturdays, and February is the month of Lazy Saturdays. It's after all of the major holidays and before the call of spring deludes us into thinking we need to plan the perfect family picnic outings (not that these actually ever happen as planned) or spruce up the landscaping.

This Saturday was a Lazy Saturday if there ever was one. And what better to do, when you have nothing to do, but mosey on down to the brand-new neighborhood playground?

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This blue and orange beauty is barely three days old and yet has probably had every child in Sherwood climbing all over it.

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Including these ones. 

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I'm so very grateful to live in a community where not only are we safe but we are able to enjoy the fruits of prosperity. I mean, dang, I would have been happy if they stopped at clean water and indoor plumbing, but look at this feat of engineering!

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The kids enjoyed thoroughly exploring the monstrosity, and I marveled at how beautiful the day was and how all of these families had emerged from their winter routines to pretend it was May.

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The weather has been freakishly mild and dry here, giving us some kind of false spring. I feel like Maria in "The Sound of Music," bounding on the hilltop while the sunshine warms my face.

I realize how crazy that sounds, but short winter days can do that to a person.

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These were the only rain drops to be found today.

Stella Olsen Memorial Park is located at 22256 SW Washington St in Sherwood, across from Horizon Christian Church. There are bathrooms and walking trails on site, and the park is within walking distance to downtown Sherwood amenities, including Sweet Story bakery and Symposium coffee shop.

Friday, February 20, 2015

Emotional aerobics in my coffee mug

There is nothing more terrifying than throwing back the last swill of my coffee and finding, to my horror, that it contains chunks. Mushy, mysterious chunks.

Then there is nothing like the relief of the realization that I put those chunks in there when I was dipping biscotti into my brew not ten minutes earlier.

And finally, there is nothing like the wave of stupidity that overcomes me when I remember that I did this last week, too.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Busted, Broken, and Bright

I have a lamp. Actually I have several lamps, but there is one lamp in particular that has seen better days in its short life. Here it is:


This is a lamp, my friends, that does not know the meaning of 'defeat.' Mainly due to the fact that it is a lamp. Even so, this lamp has the courage to keep lighting up my living room, despite its broken neck and busted shade, battle wounds from one of my kids knocking it over while surreptitiously hanging out behind the corner table. It is lamp that illuminates the floor behind the table where I grumpily retrieve half of a box of tissues that my toddler Stitch has thrown down there like some kind of Benevolent Tissue God of the dust bunnies. A lamp that highlights my children's artwork, which can only be described as 'not unpleasant' at best and 'stuff of my nightmares' at worst. Granted, it's a large range, but as an example, you can make out the eyeless one-horned snowman that my son made in pre-kindergarten. Creepy.

But I digress. This lamp, it serves us, even when it could probably be described as a fire hazard. In a more self-respecting household, junk. But not here. We won't forsake it, when it tries so hard to put a little light into our lives. 

Sometimes as a mom I feel kind of like this lamp. I feel totally busted, usually because my kids have tripped me up, but the list also includes forgetting to do something important, being neglectful of my spiritual walk with God, and an unhelpful yet irresistible urge to procrastinate, which often leads to self-loathing over my messy house and endless list of to-do's. And when all of these things strike on the same day, my family still needs me, even when this Lampstand would rather hide herself under a bowl where it is nice and private and nobody can poke their tiny fingers into her fluffy belly. (Seriously, is it just my toddler? Or do all of them have a fluffy mommy tummy touching compulsion?)

And just like this lamp, I know that someday I will be made whole. My brokenness will be healed by the one who loves me so much that He bought me with the blood of his own son. Just the thought makes my light shine a little brighter.

I will, however, be pretty surprised if I arrive to be glorified and Jesus pulls out some kind of Holy Epoxy Glue. Will not have seen that coming.