The Pile I’m Standing In

I just finished The Kitchen God’s Wife, by Amy Tan, for my book club. This was a great read, and rich with Chinese culture and history. The setting for most of the book is in China during the late 30’s and 40’s, as current-day Winnie tells her daughter about her life before coming to America.

It’s during this time the Chinese were defending themselves against invasion by Japan. If you are a fan of Spielberg’s Empire of the Sun as I am, the context will be familiar, as it takes place during the same time frame. I recognized many of the names, cities, and battles mentioned in that movie.

Two things struck me as I read this book, and they are related. In fact, it’s difficult to decide which affected the other - the age-old chicken/egg dilemma.

But I’ll start with the character of Winnie. She has strength of character that wasn’t necessarily modeled for her. She has a strong sense of right and wrong, despite the fact she is surrounded by relatives who cheat and connive and manipulate their way into favorable situations. She sees these people and their actions for what they are, and chooses to not be like them.

And here lies the other amazing thing, my second observation. Despite her strength of character and sense of right and wrong, she still submits to the system. Women in China during this time (and perhaps even now?) had no rights apart from either their parents or their husband, and marriages were arranged for them. Because her extended family wanted to be rid of her, they married her into a bad family.

She suffered greatly in this marriage, the details of which are the main plot of the book. Yet she remains strong and clear-headed. At times she rebels against her husband, but even that is done respectfully. I get the sense there were ways she could have left her husband, but she would have been left poor, a beggar, and with nothing. For years she sought a way to leave her marriage legally, and with her dignity intact.

With the closing of every tragic story I expected her tale to wrap up, for the story to return again to modern day San Francisco where it started. But her suffering continues, one tragedy after another. And though this is fiction, you get a sense that a life like hers was not uncommon in China - was, in fact, normal.

I’m not dismissing the poor treatment of women in China lightly, or advocating for their backward customs. Rather, I’m drawing from the story an important lesson for my own life. How often to I cry out for my rights! My right to be heard, my right to be understood, my right to be important, my right to hold a certain position or office or station! I fight my own battles to gain my own honor in the eyes of others. But to what gain!

My friend, Wendy, recently started a blog called Practical Theology for Women (to coincided with the release of her first book by the same name), and she posted this just yesterday:

I know deep down in my heart of hearts that my identity, even as a woman, is completely tied to who Jesus is and what He’s done for me. He is the vine and I am the branch. He is the head and I am part of His body. And apart from Him, I can do nothing (John 15). If I can’t look to Jesus to be completely equipped for my life’s work, I know I am sunk.

And in this post, she quotes an excerpt from this book:

If we believe that somehow it is up to us to take control of our lives and the lives of those we love, fear is inevitable, because we simply aren’t in control of anything. Many of us are quick to dismiss a link between our stress and our view of God. “I don’t hold God in low regard,” we object. “I live a Christian life and attend worship each Sunday, and I spend lots of time with other believers.” But if we suffer from chronic anxiety and fear, we are kidding ourselves. Our view of God isn’t as majestic as we think. A right view of God is the only thing that will dispel our illusion that we have to
control our lives and that everything depends on us.

In connecting all these dots, I was really struck with how little I trust Jesus to guard my reputation, to guard my heart, and to take care of me. I am a slave to my own worries, to my own attempts at protecting myself. Rather than trust in Jesus and be content with how he sees me, how he loves me, what he thinks of me, how he gently calls me to change, I puff up my chest and wag my finger around, defending who I am and what I do to others.

Romans 6:20-21 says, When you were slaves to sin, you were free from the control of righteousness. What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death! Death! How foolish I am to work so hard at protecting myself, when I will only work myself to the bone.

Verse 22 says, But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life. How much more peaceful it is to trust in Jesus alone, and not worry about what I feel like I’m lacking in this world.

In The Kitchen God’s Wife, Winnie has one weak moment in which she places her need to protect her reputation above all else, and the consequences of this decision are troubling. Yes, many things she suffered were troubling, but for this one thing she feels regret. She knows she could have done a wiser, more honorable thing.

So there you have it. I don’t know if this book will have as profound an inspiration on you as it had on me, but it’s worth reading, nonetheless!

Thanks to Jeffrey Overstreet for the link!

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.

—

*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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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:

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 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 “miss” 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.