Dinner Tonight: Fajita Chicken Fingers

I’ve been a little hyperactive since recovering from the flu. This includes spontaneous interpretive dance as well as the completion of 42 loads of laundry. After naps I rushed everyone out the door to squeeze in an 11th hour trip to the library – I wanted books about The Passover from the Children’s section. Suddenly, the 5:00 call from Bryan came in (he calls every day on his way to the bus – I know, totally awesome).

Happy to hear from him, but totally not in the right location to be making dinner, we buzzed home with books in tow.

Did I mention I’ve been sick for a week? I wasn’t exactly prepared with a menu plan or anything, so the best I felt I could do was broiled chicken and a salad. But to be honest? Kinda tired of the big slab of meat. I didn’t exactly set out to make this dish, but it sort of built itself. Here’s how:

Preheat oven to Broil.

Put five frozen, boneless chicken breasts on a broiler pan and place in the oven with the rack in the middle.

Run downstairs to switch over your laundry to the dryer, then start a new load.*

Run back upstairs and pull chicken out of the oven. Breasts should be thawed enough to be able to slice into chicken fingers. I buy the Costco breasts, and I sliced them lengthwise into three-ish strips.

Salt and pepper to taste, then broil 12-15 minutes.

Turn, salt and pepper other side, and broil another 12 -15 minutes.

Meanwhile….

Empty two cans of black beans into a sauce pan. Add salt, cumin, chili powder, and … what the hell, just dump in a cup or so of salsa and call it a day.

Set the table.

Put out your salsa, sour cream, and shredded cheddar.

Thinly slice red or green onions (red onions would be yummy if saute’d on high heat until practically charred).

Chop lettuce and/or heat tortillas.

When the chicken is done, serve fajita style by placing a chicken finger in a tortilla and topping with everything else.

OR!

Create a fajita salad, which is what we did.

For a meal that took me 40 minutes from start to sit-down, this got rave reviews from everyone. Definitely a do-again.

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*This step can be substituted with folding some laundry. Or you could change a diaper. Or wash some dishes. Or, you could just stand there and wait a couple minutes until the chicken was thawed enough to slice. Whatever.

Influenza: chronicled

It started on Friday or Saturday with a slight tickle in my throat and a runny nose – a simple cold. It was a beautiful day. The kids played outside and I decluttered and swept my front porch, and cut the grass. Despite tickle in my throat, I generally felt like this:

On Sunday we decided to stay home from church. Ruthie was still coughing and Thomas now had a runny nose. They frown on these things in the children’s church area. I was feeling a little worse, and Bryan now had a throat tickle.

Still thinking I had a simple cold, I armed myself with a pitch fork and hoe, and went outside to turn over a new garden plot I created last fall along the south side of the house. Layers of top soil, newspaper, mulch, compost, and over-crop turned under – one back-breaking lurch at a time.

I came inside where Bryan asked me what I’d been doing. I tell him. He smirks sheepishly and says, “I forgot. I was supposed to tell you Don has a rototiller you can borrow.”

Thanks.

Sunday night explodes into a full-blown cold, and I’m now regretting that I labored in the garden because I am sore all over. I can’t get warm, so I take a hot shower. I still can’t get warm, so I snuggle up with wool socks, a sweatshirt, and a heating pad. I’m slowly killing every tree in the forest with my running nose:

Monday I wake up, feeling a little worse. Contemplate going to the gym as scheduled. Should I push through cold to work out? Will exercise invigorate me and drive this cold from my body? I decide to stay home and rest. The week is wide open, I can easily make up the workout on Tuesday.

By late morning on Monday I’m beginning to realize I do not, in fact, have a simple cold. My skin hurts. My hair hurts. It hurts to move. It hurts to lay still.

After a brief visit to wikipedia for confirmation, I realize I have the flu.

In humans, common symptoms of the disease are the chills, then fever, sore throat, muscle pains, severe headache, coughing, weakness and general discomfort.

Monday afternoon my girlfriend calls. We were supposed to hang out that evening, but I am now too sick. She says she was sick like that a month ago, and spent all week in bed. All week? In bed? I feel panicked. Her kids are school age. Mine are… jumping age. They are jumping on me while I lay helplessly on the bed. We have exhausted every PBS program and movie in the house.

I attempt a walk to the cupcake shop to run down their energy. I imagine the kids doing a lot of this:

While I do a lot of this:

But it is bitter cold, and I am exhausted. I make it 1 1/2 blocks before we turn around and end up at the coffee/wine bar instead. The one with bottles of wine lining all the walls. We are there ten minutes when I realize this was a very bad idea. We go home and resume jumping on the comatose mom.

Tuesday morning. Repeat all of the above except the attempt at leaving the house. Kids actually tire of watching tv and ask if they can play outside. It’s not even nice out. It’s cold. And wet. That’s how stir crazy they are. Also? When left to their own devices, they act a little like this:

While they are outside it occurs to me Advil might take away the sensation of getting hit by a truck. I take two, and within half an hour I feel like a normal human being again. I walk upright. I open my eyes. I actually put a load of clothes into the washing machine. I actually heat up leftover chili and make dinner. It’s a miracle! Advil is a miraculous drug! I am able to function.

After dinner Advil wears off. I cannot move. My hair hurts. My skin hurts. I swallow Tylenol PM and go to bed at 8:30 with the kids.

On Wednesday I wake up early, still feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. I am pissed. It is no longer a novelty to lay around all day, sleeping while the kids set things on fire. I actually have work I need to be doing, like the laundry:

I give The Flu the finger and start my day with two Advil and a cup of coffee, laying helplessly on the couch as I wait for Advil to kick in. I’m staying ahead of the pain.

When it does kick in, I clean the bathroom. I spray the entire thing down with Lysol, including all the door knobs and cabinet handles. I spray all the door knobs in the hallway. I spray the front and back door. I spray the couch. I spray my chair. I spray the phone. I shut down my laptop and give it a good rub down. I scour the kitchen with Lysol All-Purpose cleaner with bleach. My nostrils are now burning, and my children are growing extra toes, but my house sparkles like this:

I open all the windows to let out the toxic smell and the flu funk. I dare anyone to even TRY getting sick in my house.

A friend arrives with her children. She brings lunch. She leaves to run errands. I insist. I’m fine, I say. Let’s stick to the co-op plan, I say. How hard can it be? I say. Three out of five children take naps. The other two happily create fairies on disneyfairies.com:

The sun comes out. All children wake up and go out to play. My Advil is wearing off. Friend arrives in the nick of time and says, “I’ll take your kids home, feed them spaghetti, and bring them back at 7:30.”

I would have jumped up to kiss her if I could. Instead I wave my approval at her weakly, and pass out on the couch. I rest for an hour. When I get up I actually feel half way decent. Advil has warn off, but I am not feeling pain. I pay bills. I think about doing laundry, but remember the two flights of stairs involved. I decide to rest some more.

Children arrive home on schedule at 7:30. They are fed, bathed, and tired. I am actually happy to see them. We snuggle. They go to bed. I watch American Idol and am confused about why dreadlocks guy is still on the show.

Today is Thursday. I’m still sick with the flu, coughing up a lung and relying on Advil to function. I look just thrilled about it, don’t I?

Ruthie has preschool today so I must leave the house. I make a list of errands to run because dammit if I’m going to let this thing kill me. Miraculously, the kids are dressed and fed. I recycle dirty underwear and put on clothes from a pile on the floor. I manage to get out the door looking halfway decent, if not a little like a bitter, God fearing, gun owner:

A friend calls my cell phone and says she’s going to my friendly neighborhood Target, would I like to join her? I remind her that I’m on my deathbed without the benefit of actually dying. But the lure of seeing anything but my own walls overcomes me, and I agree.

Foolishly walking past the handicap scooters in the entryway, Thomas and I discover Friend in the clearance section. We are clearance junkies and search the racks for $3.48 clothing items. I forget I have a child, who apparently forgets he has a mother, and we are now looking for lost boy in the Misses section. Sadly, I made myself look decent enough that judgmental mothers cannot see that the sickness has caused this lapse in proper mothering, that I am obviously not in my right mind for shopping at Target on such a day.

We find lost boy who is then strapped into shopping cart as punishment. Stubborn boy spends next twenty minutes trying to escape shopping cart prison. We decide to reward this behavior by ending our shopping trip and buying him a scone at the in-store Starbucks. Friend and I have a conversation the length of time it takes for a three year old to eat a scone.

I start to feel Advil wearing off. It is time to pick up Ruthie.

I call another friend on my way up the hill and tell her I’ll be by to drop something off. I drive up hill and pick up Ruthie from preschool. Advil has completely worn off. My elbows hurt. My fingers hurt. My knees hurt. My fat hurts. I drive home in pain, completely forgetting to stop at friend’s house.

As of this writing, the latest dose of Advil is not working. All pain, all the time. Obviously, this does not stop me from writing a snarky blog post, or lamenting to all my Twitterers about my suffering. A girl has priorities.

But I have hope. I believe in the will of God. For any God who places me in just the right place at just the right time – against all logical and rational odds – to purchase these lovelies at Target for $3.48 a piece:

Is a God who, I believe, can heal me of the flu.

the cost of clutter

One thing I’ve noticed since staying more on top of things is that I don’t have room for my stuff anymore. My plastic food containers won’t fit in their assigned drawer anymore. Bryan’s t-shirts and underwear won’t fit in his dresser drawers. The closet is overrun with clothes.

Before, when I never cleaned out the refrigerator, I kept running out of containers for my leftovers so I bought more. I wasn’t getting the laundry done in a timely manner, so Bryan bought more t-shirts, underwear, and socks to avoid running out. And when he needed dress shirts or pants for special meetings, he hunted around near the washing machine where they were left hanging.

I can’t tell you how many things I’ve re-purchased over the years, even though I knew we already had one – I just didn’t know where it was. But as I slowly go through random boxes and bags of crap in various parts of the house, I continually find myself exclaiming, “THERE it is – I’ve been LOOKING for that!”

My selfishness, laziness, and lack of maintaining my household was costing us money.

In cleaning out our closets and dressers, I took six bags of clothes to the Goodwill – mostly clothes Bryan hasn’t been wearing since he lost weight, but there was one entire bag of socks. Socks! He had a whole bag of socks he could actually live without, now that I’m keeping up with the laundry!

I did purchase this closet organizer to help make use of our small closet – the downside of living in a quaint, turn-of-the-century house. But this was money well spent, along with mountable lights on the door frame, powered by lithium batteries. Clothes are much more visible, and less likely to get shoved into the dark recesses and forgotten.

And my plastic containers for leftovers? Pulled them all out, matched up lids to containers, threw out any that were missing pieces, donated ones I didn’t need, and reorganized the drawer to make it easier to find things.

As I’ve been putting my house in order, I’ve tried to re-purpose as much as possible, not buying new things unless I’m sure I don’t already have something I can use. I’ve taken baskets from the kids’ rooms to use for office supplies, a tub for outdoor toys that I now use for gardening supplies, and crates for my craft supplies that I now use for toys. I have so many resources within my own home – much more than I even knew, now that I’m uncovering lost treasures.

I wonder just how embarrassed I’d be if I added up all the money I’ve spent on buying things I didn’t really need. What a waste! What a glutton I was for stuff when I didn’t even know what I had! It’s much better to be a good steward of all I’ve been given, maintaining an organized home.

Peering underneath the floor boards

Arrogant know-it-alls stir up discord, but wise men and women listen to each other’s counsel (Proverbs 13:10).

I came across this verse one morning in The Message Bible, and read it out loud to Bryan. I’ve come across a lot of arrogant know-it-alls in my life, and had one in particular I was thinking about as I read it. Knowing exactly what I was thinking, Bryan says, “Yeah, but by definition, the arrogant person is going to believe he is the wise person, and all who disagree with him are stirring up discord.”

My response? “Yes, but I know the truth!”

We laughed, and Bryan went back to work, and I went on to more reading. But as I did, something nagged at me – the thought that I often act like an arrogant know-it-all.

All current trains of thought seem to be pointing me in this direction, lately. I can’t seem to escape the fact that I am no different from those I have hated. For the last year I’ve been dissecting several difficult relationships – relationships that are now, or have in the past been paralyzing, broken, stalled, or otherwise disrupted.

Recently, in regards to one particular relationship, I had a Kaiser Soze moment in which everything I had believed to be true suddenly flashed before my eyes in a montage of new realization: that which I judged this person for, I was also guilty of.

Realizing this triggered a domino affect which knocked down several assumptions I’d made in other difficult relationships as well. In my quest for personal justice, in my pointing out the speck in one person’s eye, I was unaware of the log in my own eye. I was crying out for justice and retribution, without recognizing my own need for grace and mercy.

Sufjan Stevens wrote a song about the famous serial killer, John Wayne Gacy, Jr., who apparently raped and killed 27 boys and buried them in a crawl space under his house. In the last lines of the song, Stevens sings,

And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floor boards
For the secrets I have hid

This is a haunting admission, and captures the essence of Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:27-28: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

These are not easy things to hear, particularly when faced with real injustice and true offense. It’s not easy to extend grace, to forgive, to search my heart for understanding, to identify with that common denominator of sin. I would rather put myself first than put Peace first. I would rather see punishment than reconciliation. I would rather be right than gracious.

But Jesus is transforming my heart. He’s telling me to quit reading the Bible as if it was written for somebody else. He is filling my heart with compassion, and when it comes to one particular person, I actually feel genuine love toward and acceptance of him. Miraculously, I no longer look at him through a lens of judgment. I don’t even look down on him with arrogant compassion.

Instead I feel a sense of camaraderie with him. Kinship. I recognize that I am really just like him, and that maybe there’s hope we could be drawn closer by our shared flaws.

As for the “one particular know-it-all” I thought of when reading the Proverb, I’m still working on it. I’ve written several drafts of a letter. I’ve tried to imagine peace. I’ve tried to imagine a future as friends rather than enemies. And slowly, these images are taking shape. They are coming into focus, and my heart does not clench in anger as much when I think about it.

But I had to first consider my own offenses, I had to consider my own heart. I had to stop pointing outwardly, and start looking inward. It has been a painful year in this regard, but I feel a sense of purging, of cleansing, of dead weight being lifted from my shoulders.

The pains of labor are birthing new eyes and a new mind, and I am hopeful.

Take me out to the ball game…

front row seats, third deck runner caught on the baseline long way down

the view from our seats seventh inning stretch

It really is true that the early bird gets the worm.

One of Bryan’s co-workers was selling a pair of tickets to last night’s Mariner’s game, and sent out an email early that morning. Bryan, being the early bird that he is, snatched them up before many had even come into the office. There were many long faces in the office that day, because not only were these seats behind home plate, but yesterday was GORGEOUS – perfect for an open-roof game.

We already had a sitter for the kids, this being our weekend out in our babysitting swap, but we didn’t have solid plans for what we were going to do. Bryan IM’d me in the morning with instructions to meet him at the office and dress warm. All day I had no idea what we were doing, and the bastard never told me.

We even had a quick dinner, and he still didn’t tell me.

Then? He takes me to a bus stop. A bus stop? I drove all the way down town, and now we’re getting on a bus? And it finally dawns on me at that point… Wait a second, I say. Are the Mariners in town? And he smiles, and says, I don’t know – are they?

I love baseball. And I love surprises. And I love spontaneity. And last night, Bryan gave me all three. Thanks, babe.

Lunch Today: Blue Mandarin Chicken Salad

voila! After we got home from church this morning, Bryan said he had a great idea for lunch. So he cooked and and watched! He is the more creative cook between us. I do a lot of tweaking of recipes, or combining of several different recipes, or adapting ideas to work for our family – generally needing a good structure to start with. But Bryan makes stuff up based on what ingredients we have available. Bryan can also eat something in a restaurant, then come home and duplicate it – as in the case of P.F. Chang’s famous Lettuce Wraps.

He’s the cooking equivalent of musicians who can play a song after hearing it once.

What he came up with today, I call Blue Mandarin Chicken Salad.

chicken saute'd with chopped almonds Saute chicken in Yoshida’s marinade until chicken is well browned and marinade is evaporated. Yoshida’s marinade can be found in the Asian isle, next to the soy sauce and teriyaki sauce. In fact, if you have teriyaki sauce at home, you could probably just mix in a little brown sugar or honey to sweeten it.

Today we used a can of chicken (comes like canned tuna – in water, needs to be drained) to save time, but in the future we will likely use 1-2 chicken breasts cut into pieces. The canned chicken still tasted great, though.

Fill a large bowl with crisp lettuce (we used romaine hearts), and a can of mandarin oranges. Add blue cheese crumbles, and chop some roasted almonds. Add chopped almonds to the chicken, and saute together until almonds are warm. Add chicken mixture to the salad, toss, and serve with salad dressing.

lettuce and manderine oranges blue cheese
chop almonds add chicken to salad

Bryan and I ate nearly the whole bowl of salad between us, and the kids ate peanut butter and jelly, so this probably isn’t a family style meal. But if you’re having a friend over for lunch or bringing something to a pot luck, this was very tasty!

If I’m not going to post often, I’ll at least make them really long.

Last week a friend called me at 8:45 in the morning while I was putting on my running shoes. She was in a pinch for someone to watch her toddler that morning, because something came up. I mentally ticked through my plans for that day, and decided it was doable, so I finished tying up my shoes, put the kids in the car, and went to pick up the extra kid.

My goal for that morning was to be at the gym by 9am. But in thinking through my plans and goals, I realized the actual goal was to not dink around all morning until time was wasted and we were chasing our schedule. Having somewhere to be was simply the gimmick I used for sticking to my goal.

Therefor, driving across town to pick up a cute boy and getting back to the gym by 9:45 was still sticking to my plan, because by the time she called I was nearly ready to walk out the door anyway. I was on the treadmill by 10, and had a great workout.

I’ve noticed that on the days I carefully lay out a plan of what we will do and/or accomplish, I’m much more productive. I was busy that day, but because I knew exactly what I needed to get done, it was easy to figure out whether an extra person would disrupt my goals. Also? This may sound like a contradiction, but sometimes having extra kids around makes my life easier, because everyone is happy to play and leave me to get something done.

I’ve also noticed that when I plan days filled with lots of activity – regardless of whether they are fun adventures or boring errands – we are all much happier, and I’m more productive. When I leave large blocks of time for us to wander around the house, we all become aimless. But when I come up with a good mix of being out and staying home, we all appreciate being home much more.

I’m laughing at myself, because the week before this happened, I had another disruption to my day that didn’t go over so well for me. In that post I lamented over the possible misconception that I was flexible:

Iâ€™ve always considered myself a very flexible person, but maybe this isnâ€™t so true? Maybe Iâ€™m only flexible when I have 24 hours notice? Or when I didnâ€™t have plans to start with? Or when Iâ€™m in charge of what gets sprung on me unexpectedly?

I think I now understand that I am flexible when I have a plan.

Proverbs 16:9 says, ” In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps.” When I have a plan for my day, it’s pretty easy to figure out how to readjust when something unexpected gets tossed at me. What probably happened the day I wrote that post, is that I started off too slow, or perhaps a little behind schedule. Or maybe I didn’t have a plan at all. I can’t remember exactly, but I’m very familiar with the feeling that I don’t have any idea what I’m supposed to be doing, so I don’t really know what I should do next.

My friend Trisha wrote a great post on being Frantic Busy vs Smart Busy, and I felt she well articulated my ongoing struggle – particularly in this line:

This busy gal [frantic] is not ever getting time to rest or to enjoy those she loves or she does do those things and lets everything else fall apart around her.

If you’ve been around my blog very long, you know the roller coaster ride I’ve been on regarding the enjoyment of my children vs Getting Things Done. Forever I have felt it wasn’t possible to do both. Either my children had a blast hanging out with their mom and my house was a disaster, or I kept a decent house and sacrificed time with my kids, making me irritable to their interruptions and prone to use the tv as a babysitter.

Trisha writes:

I could work myself in to a sweat and â€œmissâ€ those moments that God has called me to, like playing with my children, affection, words, tenderness, laughter, all in exchange for a folded load of laundry? No, thank you!

This week I’ve been tending to the particulars of Ruthie’s Kindergarten for next year. Like facing your own morality late in life, this has caused me to face the reality that my kids are slowly leaving me, that I will not always have them with me. This reality has swept me into a new perspective on Time. I suddenly realize just how much I am taking time for granted, and how my disorganization with time causes stress on my relationships.

When I’m feeling “frantic busy” I give off the vibe that my children are a burden to me, because their interruptions are disrupting an already chaotic situation. This is not the identity I want my daughter to carry around with her, that her presence in this family is a bother. I would rather she enter Kindergarten knowing that her mother cried all the way home because her presence will be missed.

I’m feeling highly motivated to stay ahead of my schedule, to carefully plan out my days and weeks so there is plenty of room for focused work and focused fun, and enough wiggle room for surprises or adjustments. I’ve been going to bed at ten, falling asleep after reading a half hour, and getting up at six. Did you know that’s nearly eight hours of sleep? Do you know how good it feels to get eight hours of sleep?! Are you aware of how much one person can accomplish in one day on eight hours of sleep?!

I never knew, because I was always dinkin around until the wee hours of the morning.

Oh, and Bryan? You can shut up about being right.

Ass-pirations

It is Spring on the calendar, even if it did snow on my cherry blossoms last Friday. Spring means I’m supposed to be 40 pounds lighter by next month, according to the trainer who evaluated me last fall. May was supposed to be my due date. My glory days. My goal month.

This being April, I doubt I’m going to lose 40 pounds in just a month.

But this Winter wasn’t a total loss, and I’m not completely depressed about the outcome. Despite the fact I haven’t lost any weight, I have developed a routine of working out at least three times a week. If I had time in my schedule, I would work out every day, because working out relieves my stress, curbs my anger, and gives me energy (not to mention that I get to take a shower in peace while my kids play in the kids club).

I heart endorphins.

I feel great. I feel skinny. I feel toned. And despite the lack of movement on the scale, I had to buy a new pair of jeans last month because my old ones were looking baggy.

One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I can’t take on more than one new habit at a time. I get too overwhelmed. So I haven’t let myself get too discouraged over the scale, and just allowed myself to settle in to the routine of working out. And now? I love it. I love working out, and I hate it when I can’t.

So this is the time to tackle the food issue. I’ve been lazy, undisciplined, and haphazard about it. I graze all day, eat the crusts I cut off the kids sandwiches, and don’t think about the food choices I’m making. I haven’t gained any weight, but I haven’t lost any, either.

So this week I’ve started keeping track of my calories. I’m not doing any particular diet, but just making better food choices and keeping track of how much I’m eating. And so far, so good.

I’ve dreaded this day for months, knowing it needed to be done, but hoping that somehow exercise would be enough. But now that I’ve got three days behind me, I don’t know what I dreaded so much. Because in reality, I wasn’t eating out of hunger, but out of … I don’t know, the convenience of being able to.

So now, October is the new May. My new goal for losing 40 pounds is October.

Dinner Tonight: Broiled Pork Loin

pork loin With all the fancy cooking I do (or at least that I’m capable of doing), every once in awhile Bryan says, “We haven’t had any kind of grilled meat with just salt and pepper lately.”

For his simple tastes, I’m thankful – especially on nights like these when my dinner plans change unexpectedly and I have to come up with something quick after being gone all day. So I pulled these pork loin chops out of the freezer, defrosted them in the microwave, and broiled them with salt and pepper.

So easy I took a short nap while I did it.

True, with solid hunks of meat you don’t get as much bang for your buck budget-wise, but there are deals to be had out there. I picked up a pack of these really thick loin chops in the “clearance” section of the meat department, marked down for a quick sale. They were $8.62 for four chops, but they are super thick. I’ll eat half of one, and my kids will eat half of the other half (they eat NOTHING. I’m surprised they survive on what they do). We’ll even have an extra for Bryan’s lunch tomorrow.

I served with steamed broccoli and a salad.

June Cleaver called, and she asked for her apron back.

housework never looked so good I’ve taken to wearing this adorable apron as I busy myself around the house. I found it at one of the antique shops in my neighborhood, and I just fell in love with the fabric and the design. It looks homemade, but is very well constructed with large pockets and feminine pressed pleats and a little rick-rack for decoration.

At first I started wearing it mostly for nostalgia, as it reminds me a little of my grandma. But as I cleaned up the living room and swept one afternoon, I found myself picking up odds and ends off the floor and putting them into my apron pockets – socks, miniature pirates and their even smaller swords, Polly Pocket accessories, etc. Clean up was faster when I could make one trip to the play room to put it all away, instead of multiple trips as I cleaned.

Am I an oppressed housewife who needs to be set free by the feminist movement? Or am I a trend setter? Perhaps stay-at-home moms everywhere will pay cold hard cash for a “retro” apron like mine. You never know. But somebody should really think about making some of these.

Don’t you sometimes wish you had the backstory?!

Found taped to a door.

Set your TiVo for stories of Mistaken Identity.

My sister knows a family whose daughter was involved in a deadly car crash in Northern Indiana a couple years ago. Five passengers in the van – Taylor University students – were instantly killed, and two survivors were taken to the hospital. In a strange case of mistaken identity, one of the dead students was identified by school officials as Whitney Cerak, age 18, and the survivor was identified as Laura Van Ryn.

lauraandwhitney.hmedium.jpg As “Laura” lay in a coma for 5 weeks, family members missed the signs of mistaken identity. Her sister didn’t recognize the shoes or clothes officials said belonged to Laura, but dismissed it as a college student borrowing clothes from friends. Her brother thought her teeth looked different, but dismissed it as trauma from the accident. Her boyfriend thought her eye color was off.

It wasn’t until “Laura” came out of a coma and began mumbling strange names the family didn’t recognize, that they took their suspicions to the next level. A nurse asked “Laura” to write out her name, and she spelled W-H-I-T-N-E-Y.

As you can imagine, lots of confusing emotions around losing a daughter you thought was alive, and gaining a daughter you thought was dead. The two families wrote a book together, titled, Mistaken Identity, and will be appearing on Dateline this Friday, March 28th, and Oprah next Wednesday, April 1st.

—
Photo from the Dateline website.
Whitney Cerak, left; Laura Van Ryn, right.

Dinner Tonight: Chicken Taco Soup!

This is one of our favorite meals for the winter – so warm and comforting! And more importantly – so easy! I make this a lot when we have people over for dinner because I can throw everything into the crock pot in the morning to avoid rushing around before everyone arrives. Here’s my recipe, which I made in a 5 quart crock pot for six adults:

Chicken Taco Soup
4-5 frozen chicken breasts
2 cans black beans, drained
2 cans diced green chilies
2 cans diced tomatoes, undrained
1 onion
4-6 cups water
handful or two of frozen corn

Put the frozen chicken into the crock pot – no need to thaw. Add the onion and all things canned, cover with water. Turn crockpot on low and cook all day. About an hour before serving, remove the chicken and shred with a fork, then stir back into the soup. Add frozen corn, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Cook another 30-45 minutes on low.

Serve in a bowl over chips, and top with sour cream, guacamole, shredded cheese, green onions and salsa.

Prepare to unbutton your pants after the meal, because this makes a generous amount – there is usually enough for seconds.

Signs of staying the same.

alexander's bad day.JPG This has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I’d move to Australia, but I don’t think Dave would want my cranky family.

Some things popped up this morning that disrupted the plan I had already laid out. And not only that, but the thing that popped up meant I need to be on the phone and the computer all morning, which means the kids have been either watching t.v. or bugging the hell out of me, or getting in trouble just to get any sort of attention from me.

It is what it is, and it sucks. But I have to admit I’m not dealing well with the stress and the disruption, as I’ve fallen into some old patterns of yelling at and barking orders at the kids.

on the potty with the clock Lately I’ve been acutely aware that time as a resource is very limited. Not just in terms of the number of hours in a day, or days in a week, or weeks in a year – but in terms of my ability to steward it well. I’m not sure if this is a word used much outside the church context, but when I say stewardship I mean, what am I doing with the ____ God has given me?

In the case of time, I feel as if I’m always chasing it. Always trying to keep up, but one step behind. I’m always late leaving the house, always late arriving at our destination, and always scrambling at the last minute for a deadline.

One day my kids will be all grown up – did I steward my time with them wisely? Did I enjoy them? One day I may need or want to go back to work – did I steward my time well while running things at home? Someday my gym membership will run out and we’ll decide to not renew – did I steward my time well and use it as much as I was able to? I could go on and on.

When I consider a day like today that was supposed to be wide open for adventure and fun, and instead is filled with chaos of attitude, time, and clutter all around us, I can’t help but wonder how much of this chaos is due to the legitimate wrench in my plans, and how much is due to my lack of stewardship over the time I’ve been given.

If I was a better steward, would I have recovered more quickly and easily from this interruption? Would I have already completed what I am now catching up on?

I don’t like feeling like I’m barely keeping it together. I’ve been working really hard to stay on top of things, and I wonder if others feel as overwhelmed as I do by the basic tasks of paying bills, keeping a decent house, making sure we’re all fed and clothed. I don’t even have high standards! It’s not like I need my house to be spotless, or that I obsess over Martha Stewart-like meals – I have very low expectations of myself.

And still, I find it difficult to meet even the most basic needs.

Keeping Watch? I don’t notice this as much when the train is running smoothly and on time. When we wake up on time and get out the door on time and get done what we need to get done, it still feels overwhelming, but at least I get it done. It’s when something extra and unexpected gets thrown into my day that I seem to lose all focus and chaos sets in. Suddenly, because of this one unplanned thing, I don’t clean up after breakfast, and I don’t start that load of laundry, and I don’t follow through with basic tasks, leaving stuff lying around until my house is full of clutter and my brain is about to explode.

I’ve always considered myself a very flexible person, but maybe this isn’t so true? Maybe I’m only flexible when I have 24 hours notice? Or when I didn’t have plans to start with? Or when I’m in charge of what gets sprung on me unexpectedly?

I don’t know the answer to this, and I was sort of hoping it would come to me as I wrote as things so often do. But it hasn’t – though I feel better for having vented it.

The kids are asleep. I will now shut down the computer and put my house back together and reset my attitude for the next part of my day. God be with you, and thanks for listening.

Lake Wilderness Adventure

We come to Lake Wilderness often for our hiking adventures, but I liked the late spring morning sun as it filtered through the trees on this day. I love the tall pines here, and the lush forest floor with its cozy trails to hug you as you approach unseen bends. When I was a kid walking through the “deep deep woods” on my grandpa’s 40 acres of land in Northern Minnesota, this is what it was like, and I think that’s mostly why I love bringing my kids here so much.

The park is not that big, and all the trails intertwine. It’s pretty impossible to get lost here so I let my kids lead the way, choosing which path to take at each intersection. Also? It’s dog friendly, so we get to bring Scout! We’ve never actually crossed paths with other people on these trails, which I don’t totally understand, but that just means I let Scout go off leash. She’s such a good dog, still always walking by my side or just in front of me.

At one point during this hike Ruthie gasped and grabbed my leg. “WHAT’S THAT SOUND?!” she asked, worried. I stopped to listen, and the only thing I heard was wind in the pines high above our heads. Have you ever heard such a sound? It’s more muffled than the sound of wind blowing through leaves – it’s not as crisp, so I could understand why Ruthie wouldn’t recognize it.

I never knew a tree could make a person cry, but I teared up a little at that sound, remembering my childhood in the pine grove next to our cabin in Northern Minnesota. I would sweep all the dried pine needles on the forest floor into a cushy pile and lay on my back, looking up at the sky through the trees and dozing off to the sound of the wind in the pines.

And as it just so happens, you can find anything on The Internet. So here, for your listening pleasure, is Wind in the Pines: