The One With The Differences

We live in a crazy time. A crazy world.

Despite Election Day being past us, things still feel as unsettled as ever. The anger, hostility and divisiveness on display is truly heartbreaking. And before you start to worry, no, this isn’t a political post; I’m not picking on one side or the other, I just mean people in general.

We, as a human race, have forgotten how to be civil with each other.

The ability to agree to disagree has become a lost art form.

Granted, there are certain issues where we all need to speak up against wrong and do it boldly – but boldly never means harshly.

Hatefully.

Spitefully.

Or by resorting to name calling.

And that feels like what it’s come down to.

It makes me sad – especially as a mom – when I think about the world that my children will be growing up in.

I’m not saying this as a doom and gloom, “the sky is falling!” post. My job as a parent is clear.

I’ve been entrusted with teaching these sweet little stubborn souls that even when life is uncertain, we can have total and complete trust in the One who holds the future.

Also, I have a mandate to teach them how we are to live.

“Be kind and helpful to one another, tender-hearted [compassionate, understanding], forgiving one another [readily and freely], just as God in Christ also forgave you.”

Ephesian 4:32

We are called to live lives that exemplify love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – to name just a few qualities (Gal. 5:22).

Differences shouldn’t be ignored – they should be noticed and enjoyed.

Not as better or worse, just different – and that’s OK. Actually, it’s better than OK, it’s the way God designed it to be.

I want my children to grow up in awe of the amazing God who created so many different peoples, yet said that each one is made in His own image.

So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

Genesis 1:27

As an image bearer, each person is endowed with specific value. Specific strengths. Talents.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

Psalm 139:13-14

Sure, we each have the same fundamental need for food, shelter, relationships (albeit to varying degrees).

But beyond that, God gifted some with amazing abilities to create music, art, literature. Brains that understand mathematics, medicine, science and space.

Some exemplify kindness, patience, generosity to a level that, for others, is hard to imagine. Some have an ability to and love of teaching others. Some, a heart that cares for others coupled with a willingness to put that care into action.

Some are born with a sense of humor, others, with an innate desire to push every boundary known to man.

So, no. We’re not all the same. We’re different. Thankfully. Just think how boring that would be.

I believe God has a specific calling, purpose and role for each person.

It’s my hope that, rather than getting lost or hung up on the differences and trying to figure out how or why someone can possibly have a different viewpoint that us, we take a step back and remember that underneath the packaging of nature and nurture, we have one very big thing in common:

We are all made in the image of our amazing God.

Click here if you want to read more about what that means.

This Is For My Friend

Often, when things get heavy in the world, I shy away from saying anything, due in equal measures to not wanting to add to the chaos and, also, from feeling unqualified to speak.

I almost did that again.

I still don’t think I’m qualified to speak, but this is for my friend.

In the eight days since George Floyd’s murder, the country feels … on fire.

His death reached across social, racial, religious and economic aisles; a spark that ignited the conversation on race and privileged and quickly exploded in a way unparalleled in my recent memory.

This conversation is important and needs to happen.

It is a conversation that has made me examine myself and identify the privilege in my own life.

Case in point, my husband went running this evening when he got home from work and — aside from the nearly triple-digit heat — I didn’t have to worry.

The same way I don’t have to worry when he drives to and from work each day or goes to the store to pick up milk.

And it’s the same for our son as he grows up.

Yes, of course there are the worries that every parent has for their child, but I have the luxury of not having to worry about “the extras.”

My heart breaks for the mothers who do.

It breaks for the broken; For those who have lost loved ones, who live in fear, for those passed over, talked down to, abused, harassed, insulted, assaulted, kept back, kept down.

To you, I say, “I am listening.”

I care.

And I’m grieving.

I’m grieving because of the tainted mark that the Minneapolis officers’ actions – both active and passive – leave on the countless men and women who daily put their lives on the line because they believe in justice; they believe in protecting and serving; they believe in standing up for and defending the underdog; in protecting the innocent; in preserving right and fighting wrong.

I’m grieving because those same men and women now find themselves collateral damage in a sweeping wave of protest – and, in some cases, in danger.

Justice must be sought.

When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers. (Proverbs 21:15)

Voices need to be heard.

Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. (Psalms 82:3-4)

Change needs to happen.

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. (Galatians 6:9)

Violence does not.

In his article, Nonviolence and Racial Justice, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. urged the following:

“May all who suffer oppression in this world reject the self-defeating method of retaliatory violence and choose the method that seeks to redeem. Through using this method wisely and courageously we will emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man’s inhumanity to man into the bright daybreak of freedom and justice.”

Yes, “weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

“Therefore, with minds that are alert and fully sober, set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming.” (1 Peter 1:13)

Because of that, we can have hope.

To my friend, I say,

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

And,

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

To everyone else, I say,

“Be kind and loving to each other and forgive each other, just as God forgave you in Christ.” (Ephesians 4:32)

Let’s make tomorrow better.

Safer.

Kinder.

More loving.

For everyone.

… And Speaking Of Milestones …

YOU GUYS.

LOOK AT THE STRAWBERRIES!

IT WORKS!

… In the event that you have no idea what I’m talking about, this was something I tried at the beginning of the month in the name of science.

I blame YouTube and caffeine.

The One With The Milestones

Confession: I have this habit.

I tend to try to make life as efficient as possible for myself and for those around me.

It’s well intended.

I just like things to run smoothly and to be done right and I don’t like seeing others struggle or get frustrated when I feel like I could easily add it to “my pile.”

Because of, or perhaps coupled with this, I’m not good at delegating, which is a fact I am painfully aware of.

More often than not, I end up taking the “oh no, let me do that” approach. And it’s not that I mind taking on extra things — as mentioned before, it’s well intended. But, in all my efforts to help, I’ve come to realize one very important thing: it robs others of experiences, opportunities to learn, to grow, to be helpful, to challenge themselves and to do some on-the-spot troubleshooting — all very important things.

People need little ripples in their pond so they know what to do when the ocean of life sends a real wave their way. Sometimes expending effort, and coming out on top of a challenge, gives you the confidence to challenge yourself a little more the next time.

This principle comes into play in so many ways.

Right now, my practical application for this is giving my toddler the opportunity to buckle himself into his car seat (which, of course, I always check/correct/finish buckling) and the whole getting dressed/undressed thing.

As far as the car seat goes, aside from taking the extra three to five not efficient minutes that it takes to get in the car to go anywhere, it’s pretty cute — especially when I get to see how proud he is at his accomplishment.

The clothing milestone … has its moments.

I know many babies and toddlers who are all too happy to freebird it whenever they get the chance.

Jackson was not that baby.

Ava is, but that’s a different story.

He has dutifully waited for me to dress and undress him, sweetly putting his arms into his shirts and cooperatively stuck his toes into his jammy bottoms/jeans/shorts on command since he was tiny.

Not once did he volunteer to start the process on his own.

All that is changing.

With a little more than minor finagling, he manages to shimmy in and out of his clothes with varying degrees of good humor.

And I have to admit, it’s definitely handy at bath time, since I can now instruct him to get in the buff while I gather bath towels, diapers, pajamas, etc. — efficient, see?

It was slightly less charming when he employed his newly acquired skill this morning.

At 5:30.

Jammies and a less than pleasant present-filled diaper were haphazardly discarded in a heap in the middle of his floor.

As far as potential for disaster goes, this one ranked pretty high.

Thankfully, that potential wasn’t realize, and the situation was easily handled with a few baby wipes and a load of laundry.

Disaster averted.

NOT, might I add, an efficient way to start the day.

But I couldn’t help but smile a little.

One, because I know a lot of parents have been putting up with similar shenanigans that started when their mini-munchkins were much younger; and two, because it is just another way that my little man cub is growing up and trying new things. Maybe not things that I particularly appreciate having to clean up, but I appreciate the effort behind it, and I want to encourage that.

So, in the mean time, while we continue working on the finer points of potty training, I’m going to continue to encourage him to try … the car seat buckle … the putting on and taking off … even when it’s not efficient.

The One With the Cold Brew … And Strawberries

I fell down the rabbit hole of Internet ideas this morning.

While doing a quick scroll through my Instagram feed, The Kitchn reminded me about cold brew.

… Cold brew, and how much I love cold brew.

… Cold brew and how often I used to make cold brew before my sweet person accidentally knocked my cold brew carafe out of the cupboard, dashing it and my dreams of the delicious equivalent of liquid gold with a go-go juice chaser into a million pieces.

But that wouldn’t be stopping me this morning. Oh no.

With a hearty ounce of coffee per cup of water ratio, out came the glass party pitcher, wooden spoon and measuring cup. In between friendly admonitions to my toddler to stop jumping/get off of/stop pushing and return such-and-such a toy to his sister, I measured, sloshed and stirred the batch together with BYOB (be your own barista) alacrity.

If you haven’t yet tried cold brew, I highly recommend it. It is thick, smooth and has all of the coffee oomph with zero bitterness and it is oh, so perfect for the warm weather we’ve been graced with recently.

Sadly, I won’t get to reap the rewards for another 15 hours (not that I’m counting), but that’s a lot sooner than the second rabbit hole I found myself falling down.

Just call me Alice.

Enter the strawberries.

Around here, we are all about breakfast. Eggs, breakfast sausage and cheese are super hot commodities. The latest and greatest household obsession, however, is strawberries.

I’m fairly certain my children would eat their weight in strawberries if given half the chance.

Because we go through so many of them, I told myself it only made sense to grow some of our own (I blame Monty Don and the slew of British gardening shows I started watching when I ran out of British baking shows).

A day or two later, I happened upon a six-pack of strawberry plants during my weekly grocery run. It seemed meant to be. They quickly found a home in my blue glazed strawberry pot, and five of the six plants took off quickly, producing blooms and a handful of smaller than average strawberries.

Then I did a little research, which I technically should have done to begin with, but I’m generally not the type who reads instruction manuals prior to plugging things in. That’s why God gave me Jason. Not only will he read the manual, he will highlight the manual and inventory each part prior to starting any given project.

But I digress.

My plants, it appears, were overcrowded; hence the shrimpy fruit. I pulled two out and replanted them in their own pots, and everyone seems happier. However, they still haven’t been able to produce at a rate that outpaces my toddler’s ability to pick them before they have a chance to ripen.

I needed to go bigger.

Cue this video.

I had to try it – in the name of science.

Immediately following breakfast, I set about carefully slicing the seeds off of what are possibly the most delicious strawberries I’ve ever tasted, potted them, gave them a good drink and placed them in my kitchen window, which is sketchily close to overcrowded with rainbow coleus, rosemary and basil starts.

If all goes according to plan and these babies take off, I will have some self-started strawberry plants to go into one of the raised garden beds that will hopefully be making an appearance in our backyard in the very near future …

Pro Tip: If you do start seeds, don’t forget to label them. I made this mistake and have a mystery container in my window sill that might be … chives? I think it’s chives. I’m about 70 percent sure. Maybe make that 60 percent.

The One With The Waffles

I love traditions.

I love learning.

I love opportunities to make memories as a family – even when it is something simple.

This morning we made waffles.

As usual, Jackson drug the wooden stool out and down to the end of the counter, the legs scraping across the linoleum with a screech that makes nails on a chalkboard sound like a night at the symphony.

As usual, he counted as I measured out the mix, the water, the oil. He watched attentively as I cracked the egg and added in a splash of vanilla – my own off-recipe addition.

He usually helps me stir, but this morning he was happy to offer less hands-on support to the endeavor. Probably because he was hungry and just wanted his waffles.

I’ve been trying to involve him in my kitchen activities.

Whether it’s homemade pizza or chocolate chip cookies, the stool comes out and the flour starts flying – not the easiest thing for my brain’s need for order and neatness, but hey, what part of raising kids is, really?

Still, mess or not, I make an effort to do this for several reasons.

First, I do this because he loves it so much. I mean, this boy is all about being in the kitchen and all about helping me with EVERYTHING.

It’s sweet, really. Sweet and slow. But worth it.

Second, I do this because, years from now, I want him to look back on his childhood and remember the little things. I want him to remember being together. I want him to remember learning. I want him to remember the fun. I want him to remember me as the mom who was OK with the mess (even if she was crying a little on inside). I want him to remember that he mattered and nothing shows that more than time.

Growing up, my dad always took time out to make time for me. It wasn’t huge, grand gestures. He just brought me along with him.

When we ran out of milk, he took me to the store with him.

When he went to get the mail, I was riding shotgun.

When he came dragging home after working 10 hours in the blazing sun as a paving contractor, he still took the time to toss the football around with me or play a quick game of horse.

He did what he could, and it meant the world to me.

I want that for my kids.

My way of showing that today (in addition to the reading, the snuggles, the diaper changes and the millions of other things that go into parenting) is waffles.

Sometimes it becomes all to easy to get caught in the routine; to be together without being together.

Today, I challenge you to be intentional. Be present.

Life is lived in the simple moments. Please don’t miss them.

The One Where Exhaustion Set In … And I Still Had To Make Dinner

This has been one of those days where my “get up and go” got up and left me in the dust.

For the life of me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t making it out of the starting blocks.

I slogged through my day, pretty much from the moment my alarm went off. From moseying along the freeway on the drive in, puttering through my shift and finally staggering home 13.5 hours later, I was seriously dragging tail.

[And coffee wasn’t helping.]

Dinner, however, was a time to change that.

Dinner is a time of possibilities.

A time to experiment.

A time to channel a little – or a lot – of creativity.

A time to foster a fun-filled family environment. Which, let’s face it, when you’re chasing a 14-month-old around is pretty much the only kind of environment you’re going to get.

A red curry chicken and vegetable skillet is the perfect solution when you want to accomplish all of these things, but your energy tank is running on “E.”

If you’re like me — and I’m going to pretend you are — and you aren’t exactly the biggest fan of veggies in the world (I mean you’ll eat them because you’re supposed to but let’s face it, they’re basically rabbit food), this is a great way to trick your taste buds into eating ALL THE VEGETABLES.

I’m telling you, red curry paste is a miracle worker. This dish is delicious, mildly exotic and Whole30 compliant. Win.

And you can throw basically every vegetable in your fridge in it. Double win.

Those zucchini that you planned on zoodling but haven’t gotten around to? Throw ’em in the pan.

Your half-used onion? Stick it in there.

Random carrot(s)? In.

Left over mushrooms? Dooooooooooooooo it.

Oh, and it literally takes one pan to make. ONE PAN, PEOPLE. Well, and a knife and cutting board, technically. But you get the drift.

For those of you struggling under the mountain of Whole30-generated dishes, this is the dinner for you.

OK, enough already. On with the recipe.

---

 

Red Curry Chicken And Vegetable Skillet

Recipe:
1 Tbs. oil (olive or avocado).
4 chicken thighs (frozen works just fine)
2-3 Tbs. Red Curry Paste (I prefer Thai Kitchen’s. It’s the bomb.)
1 can coconut milk
2-3 zucchini or other type of squash
½ of a medium onion, roughly chopped
1 medium sweet potato, cubed
1 bell pepper, diced
½ cup mushrooms, sliced (optional)
1-2 carrots cut into small rounds (optional)
Salt to taste

Instructions:
1. Heat a large pan/skillet over medium heat.
2. Drizzle with oil.
3. Add chicken and vegetables to pan and reduce heat to medium-low.
4. Cook with the lid on until chicken is mostly cooked.
5. Remove the chicken from the pan and cut into ½ inch cubes.
6. Return the chicken to the pan and continue cooking until chicken is done.
7. Add curry paste to pan and stir until chicken and vegetables are coated.
8. Stir in coconut milk until thoroughly mixed.
9. Allow to simmer 5-10 minutes (depending on how hungry you are) to combine flavors.

Serve in a bowl over rice or caulirice or by itself.

The One With The Restart

When it comes to building good habits and following a healthy lifestyle, I typically take an all or nothing approach.

In the past, when I’ve decided to Whole30, my determination was a thing to behold; there was no burrito, brownie or cheesecake known to man that could take my eye off the prize.

I’m going to chalk it up to the Irish on my dad’s side.

Lately, however, things haven’t been so black and white.

Some weekends, you fall completely off the ol’ wagon have a slice (or three) of Costco pizza to keep the milkshake your hubby brought you company and you have to restart.

Let’s face it, sometimes it happens.

Maybe it didn’t used to happen, but in today’s season of sleep deprivation and a 1-year-old who has slept through the night exactly twice in his entire life, wifing, commuting, working and generally trying to be a productive member of society, I’m going to cut myself some slack.

The key is, if you happen to swan dive off the wagon, acknowledge it and get back on.

For my restart, I took a page out of The Real Food Dietician’s recipe book and gave their “Buffalo Chicken Stuffed Spaghetti Squash” a spin.

Fresh out of the oven Buffalo Chicken Stuffed Spaghetti Squash.

[Side Note: Is it just me or is spaghetti squash the HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD to cut? I swear, if I ever have a major kitchen accident, it’s going to involve a spaghetti squash. I’ll be sitting there, arm amputated at the elbow and with an eye twitch and raised Santoku knife and will shout, “At least I showed that spaghetti squash who is boss!”]

Moving on.

I got my squash sliced and roasted without any major bodily damage.

Probably because The Man heard what I was about to do and took my knife away from me.

Steve, your sauce rocks my socks.

I made a couple of tweaks to their recipe because 1) I didn’t have any Tessemae’s Mild Buffalo Sauce and 2) I didn’t have any ghee or Frank’s Red Hot Sauce to make the DYI version of Buffalo Sauce.

As everything else, my hunt for compliant Buffalo Sauce led me to the wonderful world of Amazon where I found Steve’s PaleoGoods PaleoChef Buffalo Wing Sauce. Without skipping a beat, I ordered the sauce, Prime got it here two days later and today, I went to town adding a liberal dousing all over my shredded chicken and spaghetti squash.

Then I tasted it and got a definite hint of sweetness.

Maybe it was the fact that I was looking for Buffalo Sauce at 5 a.m., maybe I just wasn’t paying attention — regardless — somehow, I missed the fact that the fifth ingredient was honey. So not Whole30, but absolutely delicious and legitimately paleo with completely pronounceable ingredients. WIN.

Anyway, now my restart needs a restart.

I got a little fancy and topped mine with homemade Whole30-compliant avocado ranch dressing.

I would say tomorrow is going to be that day, but I’ve got leftovers and they’re delicious.

Rather than focusing on getting back to my Whole30, this week is going to be focused on making generally good choices and getting to the gym at least three times after my flu-induced hiatus.

Fingers crossed that a little “sweat equity” does the trick because y’all, I got my new swimsuit in the mail and I did a silent scream when I tried it on.

… actually, I’m not 100 percent sure it was silent.

The One Where We Planned Our Vacation

Confession: In our sixish years together, The Man and my vacations have been a little on the few and far between side.

With the exception of a trip to visit friends in Houston when we were dating, our honeymoon and a trip to meet his G-ma in Oregon, we typically opt to go the “staycation” route.

The one time we planned to really do it up right and actually got our passports and booked a cruise for the Mexican Rivera, I went and got pregnant, the Zika Virus happened and my doctor vetoed all hopes of shenanigans.

Fast forward two years …

The Man now has a job that makes sneaking away during the summer months difficult, necessitating the idea of a winter excursion.

After mulling our options and being vetoed on my Italy dream due to inclement/40-something degree weather (hey — we’re California people; we need sunshine), we honed in on something more tropical: Hawaii.

Photo (c) Hawaiian Airlines

 

In the winter.

With wither bod.

Nothing — and I mean nothing — can be as inspiring as the though of having to hit the beach with fresh-off-Christmas buns of cinnamon needing to be squeezed into bikini bottoms.

It’s the kind of terror that can inspire you to mentally calculate the curvature of the earth and it’s gravitational pull to determine how long you have to wait before getting to your vanpool so you can Google the “fastest exercises to tone legs.”

As a result, I’m going to try to channel my desperation into a semi-Whole30 with hints of gyming and yoga to get me on my way and I need you — yes, YOU — to help me stay accountable.

Now that I’m somewhat recovered from the flu of the apocalypse, I’m hoping to hit the gym three times a week and schedule in some yoga two times on top of that — all while trying to keep things somewhat Whole30/paleo. Ish.

“Ish” because, let’s face it, I’ve got a life, a job, a husband and a toddler. Things happen.

Sound like a plan?

Good.

Here we go.

The One With #MondayVibes

This is to myself, more than anyone else.

Don’t allow yourself to get weighed down by negativity. You will always find more than enough to drown in and, what’s worse, you almost always end up sinking those around you.

You can choose to be different.

You can be someone’s cement shoes or their water wings/floaty noodle.

While there was no single catastrophically terrible thing that happened today, it just felt like a never-ending parade of straws that were maxing out this camel’s back.

Teething baby.

Broken sleep.

Early morning.

No coffee at the gas station.

No cashier to ring up the energy drink I planned on buying as a replacement.

No caffeine for the drive to work.

1.2 billion emails waiting for me in my Inbox.

Worst of all, people.

All the little things that I’m usually good(ish) at brushing off all caught up to me and it became a day of #killallthethings.

But it shouldn’t have been.

I should have taken a step back and looked at the big picture.

Work stress? I have a job.

Teething baby? My bouncing bundle of love is healthy and is growing and is experiencing all of the other things that healthy, growing babies are dealing with.

Text messages about missed medical payments? 1) I’ve got a cell phone that can receive text messages. 2) With only minor teeth pulling, my insurance should work this out.

Random annoyances? Opportunities to exercise patience and self-control. … which I’m pretty sure I failed at.

BUT, tomorrow is a new day and I/you/we can and will do better.

In fact, don’t wait until tomorrow.

Make today, this afternoon, this hour, this moment, now, count.

We’ve got this.