Don't Drink the Bath Water

I Was an Unfit Mother

2011-09-18T14:10:00.003-04:00

I know it's been awhile. So sue me. I guess I ran out of "funny" for a year and a half. It happens to the best of 'em, right? Let's just pretend it didn't happen and jump right back in, shall we…?

I have always been thin. I am not boasting, it's just a statement of fact. People find out that I have five children, and I will inevitably hear things like, "Did you adopt all of them?" or "How in the world did you have five children?!" Note: Even thin people feel somewhat awkward when people are gawking at them and looking at their abs rather than into their eyes. At least I do.

At a jewelry show years ago, my hostess' mother-in-law was in attendance and was a larger, rather gruff woman. I loved her on the spot. She towered over me not long after we'd met and boomed out, "'BOUT HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?" I mumbled a number and listened patiently as she informed me that I needed to have my cholesterol checked, that her daughter was thin like me and she had high cholesterol. She was very convincing and scary, and I did have my cholesterol checked after that. (Wouldn't you?)

As I said, I have always been thin (other than when I was 25 months pregnant with each of my children,) but I have never, I repeat, NEVER been fit. Let me tell you, there is a huge difference. I never had much use for exercise unless I was trying to get back into normal clothes after having given birth. I, like most people, would do my time on the treadmill, then after a few weeks or months lose my motivation and go back to just dusting the treadmill from time to time.

It was also unusual for me to eat well, at least for long periods of time. I'd do okay for a month, then go back to standing at the counter eating cookies for lunch. I remember eating out with a friend of mine and asking her if she was getting dessert. She said, "Ugh. No! I've had dessert for the past three nights!" I laughed out loud and told her that I ate dessert EVERY day, sometimes in the afternoon, too! (I may have left out that I would have dessert for breakfast sometimes.)

Back in February of this year, I took a good look at what was happening to my 35-year old body and decided that the warranty was beginning to run out. I was eating like a child who has no adult supervision and doing absolutely nothing to take care of myself. I could just feel the decline. I knew that if I didn't make some major changes and if I waited until after age 40, it would be a lot harder to make the changes I needed to make. (40 isn't old, so if you're over 40 and just got offended, please don't send me a nasty message. Everybody knows that things change when you hit 40, and I'm almost there.)

So, where to begin? I knew that as a homeschooling mother-of-five, there was no chance I would be able to start working out during normal daytime hours. Major changes sometimes take major sacrifice, so I started getting up at 5:00am to spend some time on the treadmill. I learned very quickly that I love a good runner's high, so it was no problem to begin my day that early. I also was working with some light hand weights. After a few weeks I was starting to see some small results. I was losing inches, and if the light was juuuuuust right and if you squinted really hard, you could see the slightest definition forming in my arms.

I don't know when it happened exactly, but at some point I decided that I wanted more physical challenge in my life than balancing a toddler on one hip and a laundry basket on the other. The problem was, I didn't have the first clue how to get it. Then I remembered that our good friend, Brian, had done P90X. Summoning my courage and setting aside my pride, I asked him if I could borrow it and waited for him to laugh in my face. He didn't laugh at all, at least in front of me, and he brought it to me the following Sunday.

I was a nervous wreck! I had heard so many things about the program, not the least of which was that it was a form of torture that the government was considering using with prisoners of war. I was shaking my head at myself: What are you thinking?! You can do, like, ten girl-push-ups on a good day. This is for people who have actual muscles, not mothers who look like 12-year-old boys. You know you're gonna die, right?

I was shaking a little when I hit "Play" on Day 1. As I watched these incredibly muscular people cranking out wide-front pull-ups and dive-bomber push-ups, (I believe I said out loud more than once, "Oh, yeah, whatever") all I could think of was surviving to the end of the workout. (But then I had to do the 16-minute "Ab Ripper X" routine. I can't talk about that without crying, so we'll just say that it is a miracle that I didn't throw up all over the carpet during that fiasco.) The next day it hurt to wash my hands. On Day 2 I did the Plyometrics routine and was ready to quit. Greg convinced me to get through the first week of workouts. If I could do that, he said, then I could get through the whole 90 days. By the end of week one I was so sore that I was fighting tears as I attempted to walk down the hall.

If I could go back to the middle of April, I would have been documenting this whole journey along the way. What an adventure it turned out to be for me!! I ended up LOVING P90X. I LOVED it. I loved working out for at least an hour every morning. Yes, even at 5:00am! I loved watching the progress I made as I got stronger and more importantly, healthier. I finished the 90-day program without missing a workout. I was icing body parts I hadn't known existed, and it was totally worth it.

It is now mid-September and I am more than halfway through P90X Plus. There are still days when I am working out and trying to figure out which of my children is going to discover me collapsed on the basement floor, but I love every minute of it. This December I will receive P90X2 and I am absolutely giddy about it! They do push-ups with their hands and feet balancing on medicine balls!! I'm trying to decide which of my arms is going to slide off of a medicine ball first and get broken. I am so excited!

The best part of all of this has been having the opportunity to become a cheerleader for my friends who are wanting to make some of the same changes in their own lives. Ladies who are tired of being tired, and want to do a better job of taking care of themselves. The Bible tells us that we are to do just that. It's so much more than looking good in your favorite jeans, people! I want to honor the Lord by taking care of the body He has given me. I only get one chance. And I want to be here to watch my children grow up! There is an epidemic in this country, and I want to help turn the tide.

If you are looking for help in this area, please, PLEASE let me know! I have learned to love fitness so much that I decided to become a BeachBody Coach so that I can do a more thorough job of assisting people in their journey toward a healthier lifestyle. (Don't' worry, I'm still your go-to girl for jewelry.:) Get up and get moving, people. You will feel so much better!!!!!

WHAT Did You Call Me?!

2010-02-23T17:10:00.003-05:00

I’m a pretty old-fashioned girl when it comes to a woman’s role. For example, I feel that it is my God-given responsibility as the wife and mother in this home to clean house, do laundry, and prepare the meals. I have no problem with the idea of a wife submitting to her husband (okay…sometimes, because of my sin nature, I do have trouble submitting,) and I believe that God designed woman as the “weaker vessel”. I'm totally okay with being dependent upon my husband to care for and protect me, because I know with everything in me that it is what God intended.

I detest the whole “women’s lib” movement. It is a slap in the face to a God who designed men and women for very specific, very different roles in order to complement one another in life. How could I respect Greg if he was always screaming for me to come kill a spider? (Apologies to my brother, Nate, and his precious wife, Suzanne, who is the spider-killer in their home because my brother is a wimp—I’m kidding, he’s a Marine, so he’s no wimp. He’s just more afraid of spiders than he is of terrorists. At least he has a sense of humor about the whole thing. I love you, Brother.)

When “liberated” women get all up-in-arms over my being a stay-at-home mom who home schools her children (*gasp!*) it kind of bugs me. I am always on the conservative side of a debate over such matters.

So, it came as a surprise to even me when I discovered that I was reacting to a particular internet article in a manner completely opposite my typical reaction.

I recently saw a post on the wall of one of my Facebook friends that was a link to a photography website. It was called “Moms with Cameras”. When I was unable to connect to the link via my iPhone, I decided to do a Google search instead. What I found was interesting: several links to news stories with similar titles.

I clicked on one such article and began to read. The writer was describing how the new trend in photography is this new “moms with cameras” phenomenon. The article stated that since D-SLRs (Digital Single Lens Reflex cameras) are getting so much more affordable, the photography industry is being inundated by these so-called MWACs. (Mom-With-A-Camera.) These moms are buying these cameras to take pictures of their kids, and they end up starting photography businesses.

Now, let’s set aside the fact that I bought my D-SLR in order to take pictures of my kids, having no desire whatsoever to become a professional photographer (which I am not.) This article positively made me bristle! I thought, “These jerks don’t know me at all!” They have no idea that when I take up a hobby, I am as serious as a heart attack about it.

When Jackson was a baby, I decided that I wanted to make a cross-stitch project to hang in his bedroom to match the Noah’s Ark theme. I had never attempted such a task, but I was determined to do it for the sake of my precious baby and his nursery decor. I chose to cut my needle pointing teeth, so to speak, on a 5 x 7 Noah’s Ark cross-stitch for my niece. I finished it in a couple of weeks and was pleased with how it turned out. The project that I chose for Jackson’s bedroom was 16 x 20 inches, had SCADS of colors and detail, and was extraordinarily elaborate. Keep in mind that this was only my second cross-stitch project ever, and I jumped in with both feet. It took me a total of about three months of work, but I finished it and framed it, and the result was beautiful.

When I decided to start couponing, I didn’t say to myself, “Hey, I think I’ll clip a couple of coupons out of this mailer and save 75 cents at the grocery store next week.” I read books, scoured the internet, talked to as many coupon-clipping friends as I could, and within weeks was saving hundreds of dollars in one shopping trip. I had a coupon box that would make Ellie Kay proud, and was laughing out loud on my way out of Meijer because I had just taken those people for a ride.

It is no different with my newfound love of photography. I spent six months saving for this camera. Do you seriously believe that I, of all people, am going to be satisfied with a few snapshots of my kids’ birthday parties or some group shot where everyone is blinking into the glaring sun? I think not.

Some of you know me, and some of you don’t. But if there is one thing my family would say about me, it is that I don’t do anything halfway. I have five kids, for pity’s sake—that’s a woman who’s not afraid to take on a project!

I am a wife, a mother, a friend, a pretty darn good jewelry lady, a pastor’s wife, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a great cross-stitcher (you ought to see the Christmas stockings I’ve made for the kids,) a singer, a blogger, an avid reader, a home school teacher, a referee, a doctor, a seamstress, a stuffed animal vet, an encourager, and a devoted follower of Christ. I’m not just some “Mom with a Camera.”

So don’t even think about painting me with that brush.

How to Save Money (Sort of)

2010-02-21T11:31:00.005-05:00

Who doesn’t want to save a buck?

Everywhere you look these days you can find tips for saving money. Websites abound with advice from clipping coupons to learning how to make things less expensively than you can buy them. There are books upon books about how to save money on everything from groceries to vacations to car or home purchases.

These are tough times, and our family is no different than any other. I’ve been “doing the coupon thing” for almost a year and have saved thousands of dollars in the last twelve months just by making that simple change to our lifestyle. I plan meals according to the items that I have stockpiled in the pantry and freezer, and on a typical weekly shopping trip, I save around $100.

We, like most other families in America, used to buy on credit. Notice that I said “used to”. Two years ago this month we made our last purchase on credit: a one-pound, four-ounce Chihuahua whom we named Razzle. My jewelry business was doing well, so we justified the purchase by planning to pay her off the following month. I probably don’t need to mention here that during the following month I didn’t end up making the money that I had been hoping for, “other things” came up, and we were unable to pay our tab in full. We had major buyers’ remorse over that dog, but our children loved her, so we were stuck. (Until we gave her away a year later. We think of her each month when we make that payment to the pet store…) One day, about a week after we’d brought her home, Greg and I spent an emotional time in prayer, asking the Lord to forgive us for being so irresponsible with the money that He had entrusted to us, and we vowed to stop buying anything that we could not purchase with cash.

It took some getting used to, but we LOVE the freedom we have as we climb out of debt rather than spinning our wheels each month by paying minimum payments and racking up interest that would have us shelling out (in the long run) hundreds of dollars for a $20 purchase. A little more than three years from now, we will have no debt except our house. It is a wonderful feeling to know that by the time we start the first of five kids on braces, we’ll be able to pay cash.

You may be wondering how you, too, can save money and get out of debt. If you’re like me, it is really easy to run into the store for a couple of things and end up with a cartload of stuff that you don’t really need. Maybe you’re asking yourself, “How do I stop doing that? How do I make myself stick to buying only what my family really needs?”

Well, I want to share with you the VERY best advice that I have gleaned from my experiences raising five children. It’s not rocket science, but let me tell you, it is keeping me so closely to my budget that it makes me SICK to think of spending money on anything unless it is an absolute necessity. So here it is. The #1 BEST way to stop spending money on useless stuff:

Take up an extremely expensive hobby.

For me, that is photography. A year ago, I asked a dear friend of ours to take the kids’ pictures because I got sick of telling the people at the Target Portrait Studio that we wanted appointments for five kids, making sure they understood that we wanted individual portraits and group shots, then we’d get there and they had given us one 15-minute time slot. The pictures taken by our friend turned out so well that that very day I started saving money for a nice camera.

I was able to purchase my new camera (the Canon T1i) in December. It didn’t take me long, however, to discover that photography is not a cheap hobby. Lenses cost anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars. My wish list grows every day: portrait lens, macro lens, wide-angle lens, polarizing filter, studio background and lighting, 5-in-1 reflector/diffuser, Mac Book laptop, photo editing software, photo printer…the list goes on and on. And this is just for personal use! At least at this point, I’m not making plans to do this professionally. But check out what this baby can do!!!

(I took all of these pictures myself.)

I have great motivation to not spend money on the movie I saw in the $5 bin at Walmart that I watched one time in elementary school and that I think might have been funny. My children don’t really need new socks…the holey ones they’re wearing are allowing their feet to breathe, and breathing is a good thing. According to the First Lady, obesity is a threat to our national security, so I can stop buying snack foods to keep in the house. In the afternoon when the kids come asking me for something to eat, we just sit around the table together looking at my fancy camera bag. You see? There are all kinds of corners you can find to cut when you have a hobby that would otherwise drain you dry.

You read it here first, people. Leave me a comment and I promise that I will send you an autographed copy of my first book.

Quick Meal: Cheeseburger Pasta

2010-02-06T13:58:00.000-05:00

My friend, Jaime Treadwell, sent me this recipe to share with you! Her son is allergic to dairy, so she just leaves the cheese off of his portion. This is an awesome recipe and healthy, to boot!

Thanks, Jaime, for sharing it!!!

Family-Favorite Cheeseburger Pasta

1½ c. whole wheat penne
3/4 lb. lean ground beef
2 Tbsp. finely chopped onion
14½ oz. diced tomatoes
2 Tbsp. dill pickle relish
2 Tbsp. prepared mustard
2 Tbsp. ketchup
1 tsp. steak seasoning
¼ tsp. seasoned salt
¾ c. shredded r-f cheddar
chopped green onions, optional

Cook pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat until meat is no longer pink; drain. Drain pasta; add to meat mixture. Stir in the tomatoes, relish, mustard, ketchup, steak seasoning and seasoned salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 5 min. Sprinkle with cheese. Remove from the heat; cover and let stand until cheese is melted. Garnish with green onions if desired. Yield: 4 servings; Nutrition Facts: 1½ c. has 391 cal.; Diabetic Exchange:2 lean meat, 2 starch, 1 vegetable, 1/2 fat.

Enjoy!!

Forgiveness

2010-02-02T14:23:00.001-05:00

The first time someone asked me if I had been a cheerleader, I laughed out loud. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am now friends with many ladies who were cheerleaders in high school. It’s just that I would not have been friends with them when I was actually in high school.

I was nowhere close to what one would describe as being a part of the “popular crowd” during my growing up years. During the summer between my sixth and seventh grades, my dad was called to pastor a church in a community that we discovered later was known for having residents with a lot of money. I don’t really know how my parents managed to live there—they certainly didn’t have a lot of money. But they did make sacrifices so that they could raise four children and be in the same community where the church was, as my dad always felt that that was an important thing for a pastor to do.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that the kids at my new school didn’t play by any of the rules to which I was accustomed. At (such-and-such) Middle School, if you did not have exactly the right tag on your jeans or the little blue rectangle on the backs of your canvas shoes, you did not belong. Needless to say, my wonderful, loving parents could not afford those tags or blue rectangles.

So, my adolescent years were quite difficult for me. Not always, of course. I had my good friends. But there were some very memorable moments that God would use to shape me and make me into the woman, wife, and mother that I am today.

Some of these events are too embarrassing to mention. In fact, I have a pit in my stomach right now even thinking about some of them. But I will give you an overview of some of the more minor incidents:

In the fifth grade my best friend, Katie, was in the other of two fifth grade classes. She informed me one day (with a sick look on her sweet face) that everyone in her class had made a pact to not speak to me. (Everyone except her, of course.) She didn’t know why they had decided to make this pact, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

I was in a fifth/sixth grade combination class. One day, the 6th grade boy in my class on whom I had an enormous crush informed me laughingly and in front of everyone in the room that he had been told of my crush. I was, of course, mortified and never wanted to go back to school.

When I was in the seventh grade, a similar situation took place, only the object of my crush was sitting right beside me as he was informed by another classmate of said crush. That scene plays in my mind like a bad movie. I can still see everyone laughing at me as I tried to shrink into my chair.

Do you remember the Express jeans of the late 80’s? The ones with the button fly and cool, triangular flaps that folded down toward a tapered ankle? (Nice.) Those jeans were, I think, about $45 a pair, so of course I didn’t have them. Oh, I wanted them like crazy. But that amount of money would have fed the four of us kids for a week, so Express jeans were O-U-T. I got the next best thing—knockoffs that were poorly acid-washed. BUT, they had the right fly and the flaps. I couldn’t WAIT to wear them to school! I had a cute little white, collared shirt (collar flipped up, of course,) to wear with them, and I had redesigned my big bangs to complete the look.

I was as nervous as a cat as I sat in my homeroom class, waiting for the popular kids to come in from the bus and hopefully not notice my clothes. Nothin’ doin’. Two girls who were particularly intimidating to me walked in together and noticed me simultaneously.

I will never forget this as long as I draw breath: they looked at each other and screamed. Screamed, I said. Then they took turns slowly walking past me so that they could check out the fake tag on my jeans. Horror of horrors.

Sitting in class during my sophomore year, our teacher left the room for what would become a defining moment in my life…

In this particular class, I was unfortunately seated in a desert wasteland of normal kids, surrounded by other teens who were of the popular group, all friends with each other, and apparently in need of some entertainment at my expense. I was dating a nice guy from another school at the time, and on that day I happened to be wearing his leather jacket. (Can anyone say “1992”?) The moment our teacher stepped out, the kid who sat next to me turned to me and said, “That’s a nice jacket.” It was as though he’d been waiting for this opportunity to mock me. My heart sank. I knew what was coming, and my face was already heating with embarrassment as his friends all turned in their seats to observe the exchange. He continued:

“Is it yours?”

“No.” I quietly replied.

“Whose is it?” He asked, chuckling.

One of the girls close by gave a weak attempt at saving me. “Leave her alone.”

“Whose is it?” He pressed.

I am going to throw up. “My boyfriend’s,” I responded in an almost whisper, inwardly cringing.

He laughed out loud. “YOU have a boyfriend?!”

I was horrified beyond words and couldn’t stop the flow of tears no matter how hard I tried. I was fully aware that no one in their group saw any worth in me, but it was so humiliating to have it out in the open like that.

From that day forward, I became a very confrontational person. It didn’t matter what the subject, if I felt like someone was attacking me personally, I attacked back with a vengeance. I took sinful pride in the idea that I could and would stand up for myself. I wanted people to say, “Oh, you don’t want to mess with her.”

I carried this confrontational attitude into our marriage. Greg and I had the typical arguments during our first year of marriage, but I fought dirty. One time my mom even asked me to my face, “Why are you so mean to him?” Of course it made me angry.

About ten months into our first year, I came home from work to find Greg sitting on the couch waiting for me. I could tell with one glance that he wanted to talk about something important, but I had no idea what it was. I unloaded my things and sat down gingerly, while inside I was preparing for a fight.

Greg didn’t waste any time on small talk. He looked straight into my eyes and said, “You are not the gentle-spirited woman that God intended you to be.”

He was bracing himself for an explosion, but it was not to be. I positively crumbled. I don’t recall ever having wept so forcefully before or since. Greg knew about my school years. He knew of the torment that I had endured. That night, Greg gently led me through a time of prayer and forgiveness toward those who had caused me pain. I realized then that the anger to which I was holding so tightly was causing me more anguish than it could ever cause the ones who had no idea that I was still carrying it like a shield.

If you have hurt in your past--deep, scarring events that have tormented you for years--I beg of you to let the Lord wash those hurts away. I was so miserable in my sinful anger. The bitterness that I thought was protecting me actually had me in bondage.

You may think, “Well, you don’t know what I went through. It was a lot worse than some kids being mean to me.” You’re right. I have no idea. But I do know that Christ endured more pain, more torment than you or I could begin to imagine. And He did it for you and for me. He did it because He loves you so much that He wanted to take the punishment that you and I deserve.

Colossians 3:12-13 says, “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” God doesn’t promise that it will be easy, but He does give those who have believed in Jesus the strength we need to be able to let go of the hurt and the bitterness.

Trust me, once you’ve let go of the sinful anger that is weighing you down, you will feel like the world has been lifted from your shoulders. I can honestly say that I have forgiven the ones who hurt me so deeply. Those years are behind me, and those experiences have been so useful in teaching our children how to treat (and how not to treat) others. The Lord Jesus has made me into a completely different person than I once was. Numerous friends and family members can and will attest to that.

My prayer for you is that you will allow the Lord to make you into a different person, if need be, and will give you the strength and courage to forgive the one(s) who have hurt you. He has forgiven you of infinitely more than He would ask you to forgive.

What's the Point, Anyway?

2010-01-16T11:49:00.002-05:00

There is a multitude of reasons for blogging. Some people do it because they have a service to offer. Others use it as an outlet for venting their thoughts and feelings. Still others enjoy having a blog so that they can share their latest goings-on with family and friends who they don’t get to see very often.

The whole idea for most bloggers, though, is that we like to have a place where we can be transparent with our readers. I decided to start this blog as an encouragement to others who might be experiencing similar difficulties in their spiritual walk, raising their children, or dealing with companies that couldn’t make a leak-proof diaper if their lives depended on it.

I do often wonder, though, what’s the point? Does anybody really care what I have to say? (I’m not fishing for compliments. I know that you do care, or you wouldn’t bother to read this.) Do the things that I write and post here make a difference in anyone’s life?

Sometimes I would like very much to use it as a platform for venting my anger and frustration, but that wouldn’t be very encouraging to my readers, would it? But, I’m human, right? It’s my blog and I can say what I want, right?

So, how’s this for transparent: I feel like a complete failure most days. A failure as a mother. A failure as a wife. A failure as an “independent jewelry distributor”. I have no business being a pastor’s wife. I am married to a man who makes his living by studying the Bible, and I don’t even know where mine is at the moment because I haven’t cracked it open for days. I yell at my kids, I say the word “crap” on a daily basis, and I often assume the worst about people just because I am disgruntled about something.

I recently started to read a book in which the author was encouraging readers to think about what the cross means to us in our daily lives. Is it just a story that we think about each spring as we’re filling up plastic eggs with candy, or is it the driving force behind everything we do? I had to be brutally honest with myself and admit that most days I walk past the cross with my iPhone and a digital photography book in one hand while pushing the vacuum with the other. I’m aware that Jesus is there, having taken the punishment for my sin, but do I really care? Am I truly thankful? And by thankful I mean do I go about my activities each day with a song in my heart and a prayer on my lips, constantly mindful of the fact that his life, death, and resurrection set me free from my sin? Or do I give Him a cursory nod as He is bleeding and suffering for me, and then walk away as I post my status on Facebook?

Friends, if you don’t hear another word I ever say, please hear this: Jesus paid the price that we could never have paid. He gave His life willingly so that we could live eternally. We cannot do anything to earn or deserve heaven. If we repent (turn away) from our sin, and acknowledge Him as Savior and Lord, he will welcome us into His family with open arms. We will still sin, for we have a sin nature. But He will forgive us if we but ask, and He will sanctify us (make us more like Christ) if we pursue sanctification.

And that is the point.

Julie's Got Nothin' On Me

2010-01-15T08:59:00.000-05:00

If Julie Powell (of “Julie and Julia” fame) had 65 messages on her answering machine in one day, left by salivating agents and publishers, why don’t I? Let’s leave out for a moment that I don’t have an answering machine. That’s beside the point.

If you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, the story is based on the true story of Julie Powell, a young married woman who decided that she would cook through Julia Child’s entire cookbook in one year and blog about her experiences in the process. Julie recreated 524 French recipes in 365 days. It’s a cute story and the movie is relatively clean. (There are a few bad words and an almost-love-scene.)

I will admit that what Julie did was pretty impressive, but I may just have one up on her. You may be asking, “What? Did you cook 525 French recipes in 365 days?” No, I did not. But for the past 365 days of my life I have done something infinitely more amazing.

For the past year I have allowed five children to live in my house. And trust me, there have been many days out of the past 365 when just allowing my children to live to the end of the day was quite a feat.

Not only have I allowed said children to live here, I’ve kept them fed, clothed, schooled, piano lessoned, and churched. I’ve kept their teeth clean, their laundry clean, their dishes clean. I’ve broken up their arguments, I’ve laughed at their made-up jokes, and I’ve watched their favorite movies with them.
These children have benefited from my kindness over and over in the past 365 days. I’ve bought them toys on their birthdays and Christmas, and I’ve made sure that they had fun things to do on occasion, including trips to the zoo and to the movie theater.

They’ve been showered with hugs, kisses and love. They’ve been taught Scripture, and they’ve been encouraged in their knowledge of the Lord.

So I’d like to ask you to please vote for me. I don’t really know where you would go to vote for me. I’m not running for anything. There isn’t a website that is taking nominations for a “Nice-Lady-Who-Allows-a-Ton-of-Kids-to-Live-in-Her-House” of the Year award. No agency is asking people to text in their choice between a movie made out of either my life or some other lady’s life. Although if someone was brilliant enough to make a movie out of my life, I know that it would bring in dozens of dollars at the box office.

But if you ever have a chance to choose between me and someone who just cooked all year (which I also did,) please pick me. I thank you, and these children thank you.

Let’s see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that. (No, I mean it. Can we please see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that? I could really use the money…)

Quick Meal: Lemon Poppy Seed and Chicken Casserole

2010-01-14T09:56:00.001-05:00

Here is another recipe from the cookbook that was put together by the ladies of Garwin, Iowa, my mom’s hometown. I absolutely love, love, LOVE this recipe. It is easy and so delicious. I think I could eat a bowl of the buttery cracker crumb/poppy seed topping as a meal by itself!

It doesn’t take any time at all to put this together once your chicken is shredded. I serve it with rice and a vegetable or two.

Lemon Poppy Seed Chicken Casserole

3 or 4 chicken breasts, cooked and shredded, or 1 ½ (18-20 oz.) cans of chunk chicken
1 T poppy seed
3 T lemon juice
1 c sour cream
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 stick margarine or butter (I use butter), melted
1 sleeve Ritz crackers, crushed

Place shredded chicken in a 9 x 13-inch baking dish. (If you only use three chicken breasts, this recipe works in an 8 x 8-inch baking dish.) Combine sour cream, soup and lemon juice. Spoon over chicken. Mix crushed crackers with poppy seed and melted butter. Spread cracker mixture over soup mixture. Bake at 350° until browned and bubbly, about 30 minutes. Serve over rice or noodles.

Enjoy!

Whose Turn Is It to Wash the Dishes?

2010-01-13T11:57:00.000-05:00

Let me begin by saying that Greg is always very helpful when it comes to cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. The only time he isn’t helping me in the kitchen is when he’s helping me by taking the kids to the basement while I clean up in peace.

Last night was one of those nights. The three youngest kids are sick. Two with ear infections, and one with asthma. (If I have to listen to one more coughing fit, I’m gonna go postal.) Greg offered to take them all downstairs to keep the baby busy so that he wouldn’t be wrapped around my knees whining (meaning the baby, not Greg…) while I was trying to clean.

As I was cleaning the kitchen and all of the mess from dinner, my first inclination was to be totally annoyed that I was doing it alone. (I don’t mean without Greg’s help. As I mentioned, he was helping in a different way.) I have often spoken these words in an irritated tone of voice: “I am so tired of being the only one who cares what this place looks like!” Which of course isn’t entirely true, it just feels like it sometimes. Okay, a lot.

But after the thought ran through my head that I deserved all kinds of help with my housework, it was quickly replaced by this thought: “Maybe I should be thankful. Just maybe, my family expects me to do this because they trust me enough to know that I will get it done because that’s just what I do. Maybe it would never occur to them that it wouldn’t get done.” And with that thought came a completely changed attitude toward the task at hand.

When God created Adam and Eve, the wife was to be the helper to the husband, not the other way around. That’s not to say that it’s wrong for a husband to help his wife! Greg and I are a team and there are things that I cannot accomplish by myself. But when I spend my time feeling sorry for myself for being so busy, I’m cheating myself out of the blessing of living out my intended role as a wife and mother.

Read Proverbs 31. Some would say that it is an impossible standard to meet. This woman had handmaidens, for pity’s sake. But instead of crossing my arms and saying, “there is no way I can meet the bar, so I’m not even going to try”, maybe I will concentrate on asking the LORD to give me contentment in my role as the keeper of my home, serving my family with joy.

I know that there will be many days that my sinful pride convinces me that I deserve a break (or a handmaiden). On those days I will spend that much more time in prayer, asking the Lord to give me a love for my family that is stronger than the love that I have for myself. It won’t be easy, for I am an exceedingly selfish person. But “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” (Phil. 4:13)

Quick Meal and Craft in One: Friendship Soup

2010-01-09T10:22:00.000-05:00

Several months ago, my friend, Debi, invited our daughter, Blake, to join a group of 8-12 year old girls each month for a time of Bible lessons and crafts. Each time the “Faith Girls” meet, Debi has a short lesson planned for them and after that they learn how to make a treat or a nice gift for a friend. They have made homemade jelly, chocolate dipped goodies, and candy.

In November, Blake came home with a beautiful jar with soup ingredients layered inside, and with a pretty piece of fabric and some ribbon around the lid. Debi called it “Friendship Soup”. This is a wonderful gift to give to a friend or neighbor.

In a Ball jar, layer all dry ingredients, starting with bouillon and Italian seasoning. Attach a note to the jar, making sure to include instructions for adding the ground beef, water, tomatoes, and tomato sauce to the list of ingredients, and instructions for making the soup.

Friendship Soup

1/2 c dry split peas
1/4 c beef bouillion granules
1/4 c pearl barley
1/2 c dry lentils
1/4 c dried minced onion
2 tsp Italian seasoning
1/2 c uncooked long grain rice
1/2 c small macaroni
1 pound ground beef
12 c water
1 14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 8oz can tomato sauce

Brown beef and drain. Add water, tomatoes and soup mix (do not add macaroni). Bring to boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 1 hour. Add macaroni and simmer 15 more minutes. Makes 16 servings.

The soup was absolutely delicious, and it makes a lot. So you can share a meal with friends or have enough leftover soup for a couple of meals.

Enjoy!

These Are the Days of Our Lives on Facebook

2010-01-08T10:22:00.000-05:00

This post is geared more toward my female readers. Although the content is not vulgar, it is not intended for male readers.

Oh, the drama.

I don’t know how I do it, but somehow I become enmeshed in some sort of Facebook scene on what seems to be a weekly basis. Maybe it’s not that frequently, but let me tell you, it’s all too often.

I really try to keep my activity on Facebook light. That is, I don’t post things that are controversial (very often,) and I try not to be argumentative on others’ posts.

Yesterday was an example of one of these dramatic events. I posted a few comments on a friend’s status, only because it seemed that we were in agreement on an issue. I had momentarily forgotten, however, that he is friends with someone whom I had “unfriended” a few months ago, due to her vulgarity and the offensive nature of most of what she posts. This person responded to my comments in a not-so-loving manner.

So my first thought was, “Why in the world can’t everyone just be like me? I think I’m nice, and if I didn’t know me, I’m sure that I would want to be friends with me." But alas, that is not the case. We live in a fallen world where people are sinful and selfish and leave nasty comments on others’ Facebook walls.

So although her response made my blood boil and sin reared its ugly head, tempting me to respond in kind, I quietly removed my comments from our mutual friend’s post and walked away.

In case you’re burning with curiosity over the issue, I’ll tell you. But before I do, please read what I write, understanding the gentleness with which it is intended. I don’t want to embarrass anyone or make anyone angry. (Goodness knows I don’t need any more drama.)

As most of you know, yesterday on Facebook there was a rash of postings by women that were just a color. There were “secret” messages volleying about all day long about how it was to promote Breast Cancer Awareness and all women were to post the color of the bra that they were wearing so that it would totally confuse the men out there.

There are few secrets on Facebook. The men discovered what this meant within minutes of the first post, I assure you. Now some of you may have thought that this was just a fun game, but allow me to give you some food for thought: when you posted the color of your bra (if you participated,) you instantly enticed every man on your friend list who read your post to picture you in your underwear. Do you really want your husband thinking about his female Facebook friends like that, ladies? As one of my friends posted this morning, “Here’s a tip, ladies. When you tell men your bra color, the one thing they are NOT thinking about is cancer.”

Friends, the men in your life have a huge struggle against the world. They are constantly bombarded with images all day long that Satan is using to try to cause them to stumble. We ladies have a unique opportunity to help our husbands, brothers, and friends by being ladylike women who dress modestly and behave in such a way so as to not tempt these men to sin. I’m not saying that we have to wear long skirts and turtlenecks every day, but I believe that we will be held responsible by God for the way that we handle ourselves as women.

I pray for you in your activity on Facebook or otherwise, when a situation comes up when you are given the opportunity to choose to be godly, that you will handle yourself with grace and dignity, remembering that if you are a true follower of Christ, you bear His holy name. The world is watching you to see how you respond.

May we all keep this in mind when the drama of life pulls us onto the stage and, at times, under a glaring spotlight.

Quick Meal: Pizza Pasta

2010-01-07T07:15:00.003-05:00

My sister-in-law, Christi, created this recipe and we LOVE it! It's so easy and can generally be made with items already stocked in your pantry. Make this meal on a night that your kids have sports or music lessons and you don't have hours to spend in the kitchen.

Pizza Pasta

1 12-16 oz. box of pasta
1 jar of pizza sauce
1 pkg. of pepperoni
1 lb. of Italian sausage
2c. of pizza cheese
mushrooms (optional)

Cook and drain pasta according to directions on the box. After
sausage has been browned, mix in cooked pasta, pepperoni, mushrooms, and pizza sauce. Heat through and cover with cheese.

You can also add onions, black olives, and green peppers for a "supreme" pizza flavor.

How easy is that?! Thanks, Christi!

(Note: Christi and her husband, Aaron, have four daughters with Celiac disease. This recipe can be made completely gluten-free.)

Too Many Choices

2010-01-05T12:58:00.000-05:00

Everyone is talking about “simplifying” these days. There are countless books, magazines, and websites filled with tips for clearing the clutter out of your life: out of your house, off of your desk, off of your calendar. You can even pay companies big bucks to come into your home and do all of your simplifying for you. Sadly, I am left questioning why these so-called “experts” don’t ever talk about the most obvious need for simplification—the restaurant menu.

A couple of years ago I spent a girls’ weekend with my two best friends from college. (Bridgette, I am fully aware that I still owe you $46 for the hotel room. I’m allowing the interest to accumulate so that you can buy yourself something really nice.) Tami and her sweet husband had flown Bridgette and me out to the West Coast for the weekend—what a special time it was!

One night on our trip, they treated us to a very nice dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. We sat down at an elegant table under an ivy-covered patio with low, atmosphere-inducing lighting. The server came over and welcomed us, handing each of us a large, bound menu to peruse while he filled our beverage orders.

Bridgette, who was seated to my left, lifted her menu, opened the thick cover with a flourish and said in her most soothing, story-teller voice, “Chapter one…” (I still laugh out loud every time I think of that, Bridge.)

There is a family-style restaurant nearby where we like to take our kids to eat on occasion. Now that we have five children, it doesn’t happen as often as it used to. But every now and then we spend a week or so not eating anything so that we can afford to go out.

Since we are a large party, they always take us to a back corner where the BIG tables are (and where they probably are assuming that our brood will cause the least amount of commotion.) The table is elegantly set with paper napkin-wrapped silverware and our thirty-five-page, laminated menus.

Once we’ve gotten the kids settled in and sitting next to the sibling least likely to fight with them in public, we take turns running them to the bathroom. Then we spend a few minutes picking up the crayons they’ve already dropped under the table while I’m simultaneously wiping every inch of the table with a baby wipe and wrestling the salt and pepper shakers away from the two-year-old.

The first thing we do is go around the table, taking each child’s order before the server gets to our table—this saves time. (See? We’re simplifying.) After we’ve gotten that taken care of, Greg and I are able to heave our menus open to begin the process of deciding what to order for ourselves. This is when I begin ten minutes of staring at the pages, eyes glazed over, unable to focus on anything. My eyes just sort of wander, while I’m totally overwhelmed by the description of every menu item that’s ever been invented. The server inevitably comes back for our choices, waiting as I shut my eyes tightly and randomly point at something.

Last week we took the kids on a day trip to visit some friends of ours. We wanted to meet them at a restaurant, but since there are ten children between us, our options were somewhat limited. Our friend, Tony, suggested an Amish-style restaurant “since we both have Amish-sized families”, so I called ahead and asked for a table for 14. The manager with whom I spoke was very friendly, and when I told him that of the 14, only four were adults, I believe his response was, “Whoa.”

They were kind enough to put our party in a little fenced-off area, somewhat separated from the other diners, although they were all probably wishing that our little stall had been sound-proof. Our daughter, Quincy, had her shoes off within minutes and was lying on the floor. Marshall, our youngest, was fussy and hungry, so I let him shred a few napkins while Greg walked three blocks to the end of the table to help Wyatt figure out what he wanted to eat. I attempted to visit with our friends while looking over the menu. Finally, I just gave up and when the server came back I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and ordered the buffet…

The restaurant we visited in California was wonderful. The food was delicious. In all honesty, I don’t remember how many items were on the menu. What I do remember is that the company was wonderful, the conversation was stimulating, and it was a memory-making evening spent with some of my dearest friends. And THAT is what I want when I go out to eat.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

2009-12-17T10:07:00.001-05:00

My husband has been a student at Southern Theological Seminary in Louisville, KY since the fall of 2006. Southern is about two hours and fifteen minutes from our home, and Greg was taking two classes a week at the time, requiring him to drive down and back every Tuesday and Thursday. He would leave the house at 5:30 in the morning and get home around the same time each evening.

Most of those mornings I would have asked him to wake me up so that I could reset the house alarm when he left. The alarm panel is right outside Quincy’s bedroom door, and the blasted thing beeps for a minute and a half when you set it. So I would stand there, bleary-eyed, covering the panel with a pillow to muffle the sound, while the only reason I was able to remain standing was that the wall was holding me up. Many times I would stumble back to bed and sleep for another hour before the kids were up for the day. One morning I was especially tired and when Greg came in to wake me I just rolled over, pulled the covers over my head and begged, “Can you PLEASE just crawl out a window?”

I wasn’t always able to go back to sleep, and sometimes I felt well-rested enough to stay up and prepare for the day ahead. One such morning I was in the living room folding towels a few minutes after Greg left. We live in a bi-level, so the living room sits just over the garage. As I was folding towels, I heard what sounded like one of the doors on our car closing. Now, bear in mind that it is 5:30 in the morning, it is dark outside, and my husband is gone, making it my responsibility to protect our four children. I just knew that whoever was in the garage was going to come in and kill us all, leaving the evidence for Greg to discover that night when he walked in the door anticipating five greetings and a hot meal.

I am a huge baby. I was absolutely scared out of my mind. I of course called Greg, who had been gone for ten minutes already. Greg knows how I am, so he grudgingly agreed to turn around and come home. He instructed me to go to the gun safe and take out the weapon. I told him that I already had it in my hand. I knew that it was already loaded and cocked, requiring only that the trigger be pulled in order to send my would-be attacker into eternity. I must insert here, though, that I’ve never in my life fired this weapon. I was sitting on the floor in the hall, trembling and with my eyes trained on the staircase, trying to figure out how I could find a reasonable way to ask my attacker to please show me how to work this thing so that I could blow his head off.

What seemed like an eternity later, Greg came home and took the gun from me, sending me back to our room. He made a sweep of the house, garage, and car, finding it free of criminals. He only told me later that when he pulled into the driveway, the garage door was partly open and the light was on.

Obviously, I didn’t go back to bed that day.

Greg teases me about being scared at night, but it’s really his own fault. Not long after we moved into our house, we were woken up at 1:00 in the morning by the sounds of someone or something walking through the backyard, right by our bedroom windows. Greg asked me if I’d heard something, and ironically, I was the one telling him that it was probably an animal, since the neighbors large dogs would occasionally be in our yard at night.

Of course, I laid there second-guessing myself and got totally worked up. Greg was going back to sleep, but I was scared to death and sure that there was a mass murderer on our patio. In order to calm my fears, Greg agreed to check out all the doors and windows. I wasn’t about to let him leave me in there alone, so I followed him around the house as if I were surgically attached. We got to the back door and were peering out into the darkness, whispering to each other:

Me: You know, I think it must have been a cat or a possum.

Greg: No, it was a man. It was step…step…step…

Me: Would you STOP that?!?!

Greg decided that there was no threat, so we went back to bed. Mr. There’s-Someone-Trying-to-Kill-Us--RUN-FOR-YOUR-LIFE!-Zzzzzzzzzzzz was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I on the other hand laid there in the dark with my eyes darting about the room until 4:30 when I gave up out of pure exhaustion, thinking “Fine. If someone wants to kill me, he’d better not wake me up first or he’ll wish he was never born.”

Thankfully, it’s been a really long time since I’ve been scared at night. Someone gave us a framed wall-hanging as a wedding gift that has an inscription of this Bible verse:

“I will lie down and sleep in peace; for you alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

I committed that verse to memory years ago and it has become my mantra when I hear a bump in the night. We have taught it to our kids when they go through phases of being afraid or having nightmares. It is exceedingly comforting to know that the LORD is the one keeping me safe while I sleep, not a handgun that I don’t have the faintest idea how to use.

The noise in the garage turned out to be a short in the electric garage door. It had never happened before and it hasn’t happened since. But if it ever does, I hope that Greg’s professors don’t mind having his wife and five children, dressed in pajamas, sitting beside him in class.

Peanut Butter Fudge

2009-12-14T11:26:00.000-05:00

My friend, Elizabeth, stumbled across the blog in the craziest way and sent me this awesome recipe to share with you! My mom made something similar when we were kids and it was always one of my favorites. Thanks for sharing the recipe and your sweet words about your mom, Elizabeth!

Enjoy!
~Shelby

Hi Shelby-
I wanted to share a recipe w/ you too. It was my mom's & I make it almost every year - just finished a batch tonite in fact - getting started on our gifts for teachers, etc. It's the "quick & easy" version of buckeyes - which are waaay too complicated for me. :)

My mom called it "Reese's Taste-a-Likes" - or Rees'es fudge - or really fattening, whatever you want to call it! (I have the recipe card she wrote out for me, which is special now that she's in heaven - I just cherish looking at her handwriting each year when I make it).

3/4 c. margarine
3 c. peanut butter
3/4 c. brown sugar
3 3/4 c. powdered sugar
3/4 tsp. vanilla
1-12 oz. bag choc. chips

Mix all but chips (note: gets very firm - I once broke a wooden spoon mixing it, now I make my hubby do it for me! :)

Press into a large cookie sheet. Melt choc. chips (can do in m'wave, I prefer stove top, or double boiler is best) & spread over PB mixture til coated. Let chill, then cut into squares.

~Submitted by Elizabeth Kirk, Westerville, OH

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

2009-12-11T06:05:00.001-05:00

I saw a sign at a business the other day that read: “The gift that is both lazy and thoughtful—one of our fabulous gift cards!” It made me laugh out loud, but it has also made me contemplate that little piece of plastic that you either love or hate, that either gives you butterflies in your stomach with the giddy feeling of knowing there is a shopping trip in your near future or makes you cringe with disappointment—the gift card.

My mother-in-law absolutely hates to give gift cards as gifts. She is crazy about shopping for her loved ones, and she is very good at it. The gifts she gives are thoughtful and practical. She relishes the look on the receiver’s face and their excitement as they discover the treasure that she has so painstakingly chosen and wrapped in beautiful paper and oodles of curly ribbon. Vicki Birdwell lives out the verse, “For it is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35) That’s not to say that she doesn’t appreciate the gifts that we give her. She appreciates them thoroughly. But she is a study in giving and I love her for it. (And not just because on Christmas and my birthday I get really cool stuff.)

Now, I am definitely not opposed to receiving gift cards (in case you have been wracking your brain about what to get me for Christmas this year.) I feel that the gift card is the gift that keeps on giving. I don’t perceive it as laziness. I see it as the gift giver saying to me, “I love you enough to make Christmas last just a little bit longer.” A way for the one who loves me to express, “From the bottom of my heart, I want you to take this gift card of love and make a killing on the after-Christmas sales.” For our tenth wedding anniversary Greg surprised me and flew me to Minneapolis to relax, see a few movies, and go shopping at the Mall of America for three days. Our anniversary is the week after Christmas and we made out like bandits. (I don’t mean we “made out”. At the Mall of America. Although bandits probably enjoy a kiss as much as the next guy… I mean we bought a lot of stuff for not a lot of money.) Spending a gift card can be as enjoyable as opening a gift on Christmas morning, and if you have relatives that aren’t as good at choosing gifts as my mother-in-law is, you may appreciate having a little bit more control over the end result.

My parents actually requested gift cards this year. They rarely have a chance to go out to eat because they don’t want to spend money that they don’t have. Giving them restaurant gift cards is a thoughtful gesture because it gives them an opportunity to go out on a date when they normally would be at home heating up a can of soup or eating leftovers. So when I give them a gift card I don’t feel guilty about not picking out a sweater for my mom that might not fit right or some little gadget that my dad can use to clean out his ears or to organize the junk on his dresser. (That would be two different gadgets, in case you’re wondering. But if I could come up with a single gadget to do both, I’d be rich…)

So the bottom line in deciding whether or not to purchase a gift card for someone this year is this: what is your motivation? Are you buying a gift card at the Shell station for $25 worth of corn nuts because you needed to stop for gas on the way to Grandma’s house anyway, or are you buying that card because your sister loves corn nuts more than life itself? When it comes down to it, though, you could have just given her a pretty basket that you found at Walmart, wrapped with greenery and bows, and filled with a month’s supply of corn nuts. That would be a true gift.

Or you could just scrap the gift and the gift card altogether and get one of those popcorn tins with three different flavors in it.

Everybody loves those.

Christmas Traditions

2009-12-09T15:19:00.001-05:00

While I was growing up, we were only allowed to open one gift on Christmas Eve. It was always the same thing: a new Christmas ornament. Now, that may sound dull to some of you, but it was very exciting for us. Because it wasn’t just any ornament. It was usually a Hallmark ornament, and it was always an ornament that had something to do with our individual interests for that year.

I went through a phase when I would come home from school, run in the door, and before saying hello to anyone in the family, I would ask if I’d gotten any mail. (I had a number of pen-pals at the time, and who doesn’t love to get mail?) That year my ornament was a mouse on an envelope containing a letter to Santa.

When I was taking Spanish classes in high school, my ornament was another mouse wearing a sombrero and hanging on a chili pepper that says, “Feliz Navidad”.

The year before my sister and I each got married, our parents gave each of us a “Wizard of Oz” ornament. Jaimie, the oldest, got Dorothy, I got the Scarecrow, Nate got the Tin Man, and Gabe, the baby of the family, got the Cowardly Lion. Inside the lid of the box, my dad wrote, “Never forget you’re part of a set.” I still get misty every time I hang that ornament.

The whole purpose for this tradition that my parents had with us was so that when we were grown, we would leave home with a box full of memories. Let me tell you, the first Christmas that Greg and I were married, I cried my eyes out the whole time I decorated the tree.

There were years that Mom and Dad couldn’t afford the fancy Hallmark ornaments. Sometimes they were homemade, like the yellow puff-ball bear on a sled. Then there was the time when I was about twelve that Mom and Dad could only afford really inexpensive ornaments. I opened the box with great anticipation, waiting to feast my eyes on an expensive Cabbage Patch Kid or My Little Pony ornament, but discovered an ugly blue mouse sitting on a Christmas wreath. (I’m noticing a rodent theme here…) I sobbed in disappointment, not realizing that I was most likely breaking my parents’ hearts with my selfish materialism when they had sacrificed so much to buy that ugly mouse for me because they love me so much. Every year when that mouse comes out of the Christmas ornament box, I cry and thank the Lord for my parents.

We have continued this tradition with our own children, and it is so much fun to watch their faces each Christmas Eve as they anticipate which ornament might be added to their collection that year.

We have also come up with a few traditions of our own. A couple of years ago I discovered those cute little ten-dollar ginger bread house kits at Walmart. Now that our family is growing we have to buy two—one for the boys to decorate and one for the girls to decorate. This year Blake and I found a gingerbread train! So, the boys got a train and the girls got a house. We had so much fun making a huge mess of frosting and candy while listening to Bing Crosby crooning out “Silver Bells” and “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”. On December 26th, I finally let them eat those houses, dust and all, and they love it.

Another tradition of ours is to write cards and make goodies to take to our neighbors. Since we live on a very busy street, we haven’t been able to get to know our neighbors very well, but we do make sure to let them know each Christmas how much we appreciate their kindness and that we are here for them if ever they need anything. If you haven’t checked out the recipe for Crispix Mix that we’re making this year, you can find it here.

One other new tradition that we have is to have scaled way back on the presents. When Jackson and Blake were little, we bought them each five or six gifts because “that’s just what you do”. It occurred to us as they were tearing off paper and giving each gift a cursory glance as they tossed it aside, asking for the next one, that we needed to develop in our children a thankfulness for the things that they have. So for the past several years, our kids know that they will receive two gifts each Christmas. It was disappointing to them at first, but we told them the day after Christmas that we would be starting that tradition the following year, so they were well prepared, and now it’s no big deal. They are more excited about those two gifts than they were about the huge stack of stuff that is long-forgotten, having been outgrown, broken, or given away by now.

I hope that this post gives you an idea or two, or at least has encouraged you to come up with your own new family traditions.

And most of all I pray that you will remember that this season isn’t about ornaments, or candy, or presents. It’s about remembering that God Almighty loved us enough to send His only Son, Jesus, to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. He left the majesty of heaven to be born in a stable to poor, earthly parents so that He could give us the best gift of all: eternal life with him if we believe that He died, rose again, and is coming back for those who have made Him Lord.

My Rolling Stones

2009-12-04T10:11:00.001-05:00

I’ve always enjoyed relatively good health. I rarely get the flu, and I only get a cold about once a year, at most.

I have decided, though, that each person must have a sickness quota to meet, requiring us to spend a certain number of our days flat on our backs and wishing we could just crawl under a rock and be left miserably alone.

Since I am so hale, my quota apparently was to be met by January 16, 2007—my due date with our fourth child/second daughter, Quincy. And since my pregnancy up to the week of Thanksgiving in 2006 was so uneventful, I was to meet this quota in a very short amount of time.

Greg and I had retired for the night just like always. I was getting fairly great with child and had spent my third trimester like I always do: with horrible insomnia. So I sat up in the bed for a few minutes after Greg turned off the lights, not wanting to begin the night of heaving my weight from side to side and lying awake for hours at a time. Little did I know what awaited me.

Around 2:00am, I woke up with what I thought was sciatic pain. With previous pregnancies I had woken up in the night with the baby wedged into my spine, causing me to feel indescribable pain, so I assumed the position—I went out to the hall and got on all fours in order to dislodge my precious child from pressing on my central nervous system and causing me to want to throw up.

It wasn’t working, and I was getting nervous. I woke up Greg so that he could rub my back. I walked around, laid on my right side, laid on my left side. Nothing helped. I drank tea, I prayed, I cried, I rolled around on the floor, writhing in pain, and eventually, I screamed. I screamed a lot.

The pain just kept intensifying, and after a time there was no more than a second or two between searing pains. I knew that I was not in labor, but I had no idea what was happening.

I decided that the hot water of a shower may help to ease the agony, so I resorted to that. After a few moments I knew that it wasn’t going to do any good. By now the pains were coming so fast and furiously that I knew that I was going to throw up.

I knelt down by the toilet and the force of the previous night’s dinner coming back to haunt me was so violent that it shot me to my feet as I threw up everything I had eaten since 1943. (It’s been three years, and I still can’t eat stuffed peppers…)

I yelled for Greg to please call an ambulance while I threw up between screams. Greg called 911 then spent the next few minutes waking up the children (it was now 3:30am) so that they could follow the ambulance to the hospital in our car.

Our daughter, Blake, was five at the time, and I vividly remember her standing outside the bathroom, watching me writhe, and asking with a shaking little voice, “Daddy? Is Mommy gonna die?” Yes, baby. Mommy is going to die right here on the bathroom floor.

I was able to make it to the stairs to wait for my knights in shining uniform. They arrived and I was carried out on a stretcher, screaming for all the neighbors to hear. I couldn’t lie on my back, so they strapped me down on my side the best they could and we headed to the hospital.

Since Greg was in the car behind us, the young EMT had to get my basic information directly from me. It’s probably not necessary for me to explain here that I was not exactly in the right frame of mind to be telling someone when my birthday is, but Skippy didn’t quite get it:

“Ma’am, when is your birthday? ...Uh, Ma’am? ...Your birthday?”

Shut UP, you idiot.

“Can you tell me how far along you are in your pregnancy? Ma’am?”

I seethed through clenched teeth, “Seven and a half months.” You stupid moron.

“Mrs. Birdwell, can you tell me who your doctor is?”

“OHHHHHHHHHHH! Dr. Duggan. OHHHHHH!”

“Can you repeat that?”

“Dr. Duggan!”

“Dr. Dugger?”

“DR. DUGGAN!!!!!!”

The fool had the audacity to laugh and was lucky that I was strapped to a gurney or we would have been stopping at the hospital on our way to prison.

I don’t remember much about being in the hospital that day. Greg tells me that I was in triage for about 12 hours. I do recall being wheeled around the hospital by two nurses who were supposed to be taking me to get an ultrasound but were busy slamming my bed into the doorframe, jarring my already fragile existence.

I also remember begging for more pain medication and Greg regretfully informing me that I had just received some twenty minutes before and I had to wait another two and a half hours before the doctors could give me any more.

I vaguely recall losing all dignity while student doctor after student doctor came through to check on my progress while I drooled away on the thin hospital pillow, drugged and incoherent, but unfortunately, not totally unaware.

By the next day, I felt like someone had been hauling back and punching me in the lower back as hard as they could for 24 hours straight.

As it turned out, I had a lovely little case of kidney stones. They tell me “once a stone-former, always a stone-former,” so I avoided caffeine, dairy, and The Flintstones for months. I drank so much water that my children thought I’d taken up permanent residence in the bathroom. Laugh if you will, but that is not something I want to relive. Ever.

Much to my chagrin, my sickness quota was not quite maxed out, as I discovered a couple of months later. But I’ll save that story for another day.

If you’ll excuse me, I am suddenly thirsty for a gallon of water…

Book Recommendation: Thorn in My Heart

2009-12-03T07:19:00.003-05:00

I have an older sister who for as long as I can remember has been a bookworm. When we were growing up, I rarely saw Jaimie without a book in her hand. If no book was readily available, she would read whatever she could get her hands on. At breakfast, she would read the cereal box if necessary.

In direct contrast, for most of my growing up years, I couldn’t be bothered with any kind of “book learnin’”, and reading for pleasure seemed more like a form of torture to me when there was socializing to be done. (I know my college roommate is shocked by this revelation, aren’t you, Debbie…?)

But as I’ve matured, the Lord has blessed me with a voracious appetite for books. I absolutely love to read, although I must admit that I rarely finish a book that is non-fiction—too much like school. Ick. (Yes, we homeschool our kids. Scary, huh? Thank goodness I’m more disciplined with them than I was with myself. And they’re all brilliant, by the way.)

Anyhoo, since I love to read, I’m always on the lookout for a new author. A few years ago I discovered a book by a woman (who is also my BFF on Facebook now,) named Liz Curtis Higgs that has become a treasure to be read over and over again. It is called Thorn in My Heart, and is the first book in an unnamed series of four books, continuing with Fair is the Rose, Whence Came a Prince, and Grace in Thine Eyes. These books are based on the biblical account of Isaac and his son, Jacob, and Jacob’s cousins, Leah and Rachel.

The description on the back cover of Thorn in My Heart reads, “In the autumn of 1788, amid the moors and glens of the Scottish Lowlands, two brothers fight to claim one father’s blessing, two sisters long to claim one man’s heart.”

And here is an excerpt from the same book:

“Leana slipped beneath the woolen covers, leaving one taper burning high on the dresser where it would not disturb her slumber. Clouds had moved in and blotted out the moon, for the window was dark, and her whole room, except for the tiny flame, remained pitch black. ‘As dark as a Yule midnight,’ Neda would say.

“Darkness was nothing to fear. Far greater fears gnawed on Leana’s soul. A life without love, without a husband, without children. For her it was no life at all. But what if that was the life the Almighty had chosen for her? If it pleased him, could she bear it?”

I have to say that since I read as much as I do, I have become exceptionally picky about the authors I read. There is no shortage of cheesy Christian fiction out there, and it is a bittersweet love I have for Mrs. Higgs’ books, as it has caused me to turn up my nose at most of what is on the market today.

Liz Curtis Higgs is one of the greatest writers of our time. This book made me love and hate. I laughed out loud, and I shed tears. (In fact, my sister-in-law read it and cried so hard that her husband forbade her to read it again. We’ll see…) Liz weaves a tale so magnetizing that you will be tempted to stay up reading all night, totally engrossed will you be with the story of Jamie, Leana and Rose.

You can also visit Liz’s website at http://www.lizcurtishiggs.com/ to discover her other books and to see beautiful photos of her trips to Scotland.

If you enjoy historical fiction, you will love this book every bit as much as I do.

Happy reading!

Apples and Oranges

2009-12-01T08:11:00.003-05:00

For the past ten years, I’ve been selling beautiful jewelry for an amazing company based on Biblical principles. One word of advice that I’ve heard over and over in this business is this: don’t get caught in the “Comparison Trap”. What they mean is, just work hard, doing the best you can to be the best jeweler you can be, and don’t try to be someone you’re not. You’ll run into ladies who have been at it half as long as you have, and they’re blowing you out of the water. But each person’s circumstances are different. You could be doing things exactly like the next woman, but with completely different results.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I fall into this trap when it comes to being a mother/homemaker.

I have a dear friend who is married to a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. Since they move a lot, their home is completely clutter-free. It is not only tidy, it is positively immaculate. In addition to having a gorgeous, perfect home, my friend is very crafty and creative. Once, when Debi and her four beautiful children came to our house for a lunch playdate, her kids came into the kitchen to deposit their lunch bags, each brown, paper bag with a stencil of scrollwork on the front of it bearing that child’s initial. There were two hole punches in the top of each bag, with a ribbon tied into a bow at the top. Before greeting my friend, I quickly dried my tears of self-derision for planning to serve my children’s lunch on paper plates.

Two years ago at Christmastime, Debi invited me and the kids, along with another friend of ours and her five children, over for a Christmas party. It was amazing! Debi started the party by reading a Christmas book to the children around the fireplace. After lunch she had Christmas crafts and coloring projects prepared, and a smorgasbord of icings and nonpareils for decorating Christmas cookies, including little scarves for the cookie snowmen that she had cut out of Fruit-Roll-Ups.

Debi had asked us to bring a snack to share. I offered to bring chocolate chip cookies. (In my defense, I did make them as opposed to buying them, but I forgot where I was going.) On the center island in Debi’s kitchen was a beautifully decorated buffet of glass serving dishes with scalloped edges holding candies and chocolate-dipped fruits and pretzels beside a stack of plates wrapped in a red-and-white-polka-dot ribbon.

My cookies were in a Ziploc bag.

We all had a good laugh about it, although I was a little embarrassed, but Debi reassured me by explaining that this is just how she expresses herself and she doesn’t expect it of others.

We have five children in a three bedroom home. Most days, by 9am my house looks like a giant picked it up, turned it upside-down and shook it as hard as he could before tossing it aside and walking away laughing. My house is almost always a disaster, and I live in fear of someone showing up unannounced. Oh, from time to time the rooms are all clean simultaneously—if we’re having company. It seems that the rest of the time I am just spinning my wheels, trying to keep clean a house that is full of children that are just plain faster than I am.

I have to confess that there have been times that I have compared myself to Debi, finding that I come up short and fail miserably every time. I’ve shed tears over the fact that I’m not creative or crafty, I raise my voice too much (Debi never yells,) and my home would never in a million years be pictured in an issue of Better Homes and Gardens. I have cried and cried about not being the mother and homemaker that Debi is.

But then my husband reminds me that he loves the mother and homemaker that I am. My children are healthy and happy, and they are in an environment where they won’t be able to remember the first time they heard the name of Jesus, because His name is spoken and His word proclaimed every day. Debi doesn’t compare me to herself, so neither should I.

But there is more to it than that. Shame on me for wanting to be more like Debi (as much as I love her,) instead of wanting to be more like Jesus. Even if I were the next Martha Stewart, I shouldn’t be content to remain there. I need to keep growing and becoming more like Christ. In Philippians 3:8 Paul says, “Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” May it be so in my life, Lord.

So, I will concentrate on being the best mother and homemaker I can be, relying on God’s strength to do it. Rather than focusing on what my friends are doing, I will stay focused on Christ and what He is doing.

The day of the Christmas party, I left Debi’s house to drop off some more cookies (in a pretty tin) to her best friend. Amy opened the door at 12:30pm and struck a dramatic pose in her grown-up footie pajamas and I felt much better.

Crispix Mix

2009-11-30T12:24:00.001-05:00

This is my favorite time of year! I love to bake, and I especially enjoying making all of the fun Christmas treats that we can't resist, even knowing that we will cringe every time we hit the scale in January!

Every year at Christmas we give goodies to all of our adjacent neighbors as a small gift and as a way to say “Thank you for being such wonderful neighbors!” In the past I’ve given trays of cookies, sweet breads, homemade Christmas candy, and truffles.

This year I’ve decided to give them pretty tins filled with Crispix™ Mix. I can’t even remember where I got this recipe—I’ve had it for years. If you’ve never made this easy treat, then this is the year for you to try it! It only takes a couple of minutes to prepare and it is delicious! You’d better be sure to make a double batch because you won’t be able to keep your hands out of it, and you may eat it all before you have a chance to give any of it away!

Crispix™ Mix

6 cups Crispix™ cereal
1 ½ cups red and green M & M’s™
1 cup peanuts (I may leave these out this year, since we have two boys who are allergic.)
2 cups broken pretzel pieces
1 12-oz. bag of white chocolate chips, melted

Stir all ingredients together and spread on wax paper to dry.

How easy is that?!

I would LOVE to hear from you! Please send me an email at shelbybirdwell@sbcglobal.net, sharing a recipe from one of your favorite Christmas goodies along with your first/last names and the city where you live, and I’ll share it on the blog (giving YOU the credit, of course!!)

I’m looking forward to getting some new ideas from you!

Black Friday Fun

2009-11-28T11:17:00.003-05:00

I went Black Friday shopping yesterday for the first time ever. Truth be told, I was a nervous wreck the night before. I had a pit in my stomach over the fear of the unknown: Will I get trampled to death on my way in the door? Will I inadvertently cut in line and end up with the barrel of a gun in my face? Will I be able to score any Littlest Pet Shop toys for $3 apiece, or will it all be for naught?

In the past I have avoided Black Friday like the plague, picturing in my mind the massive fire code violations of thousands of shoppers packed into one store, barely able to move past each other for all of the carts (if you’re lucky enough to get one) weaving through the mile-high stacks of merchandise. I envisioned angry people with their arms loaded with stuff, tearing through the store in running shoes, body-slamming any fool who is stupid enough to get in the way.

But alas, with five children of my own for whom to buy, it became a “necessity” for me to venture out. I was willing to laugh in the face of death and three-mile-long lines in order to save a few bucks.

My friend, Angela, arrived at my house a little before 3am as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup (I do not leave the house without my makeup and hair done, even for a bargain.) I was giddy with excitement over the day ahead and getting to spend several hours with my dear friend.

We attempted to stop at Starbucks to purchase a hot beverage to keep our bones warm while we sat in camping chairs in the parking lot of our first store, but the lines were so long that we feared being late getting into the store, so we decided to forego the coffee and risk frostbite in order to avoid being too far back in line. We tried another Starbucks that had a drive-thru, but they had the audacity to be closed.

As we pulled up to Meijer, holding our breath as we prepared ourselves for the sight of the packed parking lot, we were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t even half-full and there was no line outside at all! They were allowing people to wait inside! As it turned out, we were able to go in and do all of our shopping ahead of the 5:00 gunshot, then just had to wait ten minutes or so to check out at five, getting the deal-of-the-century on everything we’d already put into our carts. Score!

We were at Best Buy by 5:15. They had opened at 5:00, and as we passed by tents in the parking lot and approached the entrance, we had to wade through an unbelievable amount of litter on the sidewalk, left behind by all of the lunatics who had been sleeping in chairs all night so that they could get a new t.v. for $5.00. (In case you are reading this and thinking to yourself, “WHAT?! I never heard about a t.v. for $5.00!! Why didn’t I know about that?! I should have gone to Best Buy! OH, I SHOULD HAVE GONE TO BEST BUY…,” that was what we call an exaggeration.)

The place was a mad house. I couldn’t believe that I was among the crazies who were at an electronics superstore that early in the morning. But, I did get some of the things that I was looking for, then proceeded to stand in a line that wove through the appliance section and wrapped itself around the store, ending with the poor sap whose sole responsibility was to stand there in his blue shirt, holding a little purple balloon so that the patrons would know where to begin their long pilgrimage toward happiness.

Angela and I proceeded to hit Toys R Us, Kohl’s, the mall, and Target, with a quick stop for sustenance in between so that we could get our second wind and continue the marathon.

At the mall, Angela spent an hour and ten minutes in line at Old Navy while I swam through a sea of people to get to Hallmark and JC Penney, stopping back into Old Navy at one point to hold Angela’s place in the queue while she ran over to get a sweater that she had seen on her way past the women’s section. (How did we all survive before cell phones?) She told me later that by the time she made it up to the checkout she was completely antsy and ready to punch someone in the face.

After patronizing a few more stores, I sat on a bench outside the Great American Cookie kiosk to wait on Angela. As I sat there contemplating buying a cookie to snack on while I waited, I watched one of the young employees step behind a wall reaching only to her shoulder in order to blow her nose. She discarded her tissue, wiped her hand across her nose then onto her pants, squirted a token amount of hand sanitizer into her palms, and went back to work. Thank you, no. I’m full.

After nine hours of shopping we headed back to my house, neither one of us able to form a coherent sentence, and unloaded our spoils.

In the end, I must say that it was a very fun experience. I saved over $600, buying twice as much as I would have been able to buy had I not gone out yesterday, and I didn’t have my life threatened even once. I’ve decided that from now on, I can’t afford to NOT go shopping on Black Friday.

But you’d better believe that next year, if I have a craving for cookies, I’ll be bringing them from home.

An Open Letter to the Product Manager at Luvs

2009-11-25T06:37:00.003-05:00

To Whom It May Concern:

I was wondering if you take suggestions.

Before I drop the bomb of my brilliance on you, let me first say that I have five children, the oldest of whom is ten and a half years old. When he was born, we wanted to give him the best of the best, so when we went for our first package of diapers, we shelled out twelve dollars for a small package of Huggies, knowing that we were loving him more than the parents who buy cheap diapers love their children.

Since we were new to the game, it took awhile for us to realize that what we were paying for was diapers that looked cute but didn’t do much by way of absorption. So we switched to Pampers. Now, I am fully aware that P & G makes Pampers and Luvs, so hopefully you won’t be insulted by this, but we were not impressed by Pampers any more than we were impressed by Huggies.

So we’d lived. We’d learned. And then we got Luvs. Talk about LOVE! Not only were we saving tons of money by buying Luvs, our precious baby was going through fewer clothing changes throughout the day! We were happy parents, and he was a happy baby.

We have since used Luvs diapers for all five of our children. If I had to guess, I would say that I have probably changed roughly 13,000 diapers since 1999. Hey, that’s probably a lot of money lining the pockets of the good people at Proctor and Gamble! Ha, ha, ha, ha!

But there is one small problem. Since I’ve used your diapers on my children for such a long time, and because I know them like I know my own reflection, I am aware that you have made some changes to Luvs within the past couple of months. Oh, a new, inexperienced mother may not of have been so keen, but you can’t get much past a woman with my tenure.

So, whatever it is you’ve done to change Luvs has made me sit up and take notice. In fact, it’s made me take notice at 5:00 in the morning every day for the past week and a half.

My almost-one-year-old son takes an 8-oz. bottle of formula before bed each night. The “old” Luvs would have scoffed at such a threat, taking that kind of volume like a man. But the “new” version sees that coming and just crawls into a corner, whimpering and sucking its thumb, thinking, “Please don’t do this! I can’t handle it! I’m new! It’s just too much to take!”

The reason I know this is because for the past week and a half my son has woken up screaming (at 5am) because his “new” Luvs diaper has leaked so much that he is soaked to the bone, all the way up to his neck, requiring a bath (at 5am) and new bedding.

If your almost-one-year-old is wide awake after his bath (at 5am), he isn’t going to stand being sent back to bed without being fed. So, we also have to give him a bottle before tucking him back in to try to sleep until our other four children are up for the day.

The problem is that by now we are wide awake and up for the day.

By lunch-time I’m in a semi-coma, trying to take care of my family when I was woken up at dark-thirty because of your “new” Luvs.

So here is my suggestion: You geniuses at P & G take all of the money you are saving by having redesigned Luvs, and you buy a bus ticket. You take that bus from Cincinnati to my house every morning so that YOU can get up with the baby, give him a bath, change his bedding, give him a bottle, put him back to bed, then deal with the rest of my children and other responsibilities for the rest of the day.

His bottles are in the white kitchen cabinet, his formula is in the cupboard above the microwave. (He likes the water pretty warm.)

We’ll be expecting you tomorrow morning at 5:00.

Sincerely,

Shelby Birdwell

Martyrdom

2009-11-24T07:02:00.002-05:00

I’ll admit it. At times, I have a tendency to be a bit of a martyr with my husband. You stay-at-home-moms know what I mean. (At least I hope you do, or I’m about to make a monumental fool of myself…) He goes to a quiet office all day to drink his coffee in silence, working on whatever suits his fancy for the day, taking a break to go out for lunch with a co-worker or buddy. At the end of the day, he gets into his car and listens to anything BUT Disney movie soundtracks and arrives home to a hot meal. I, on the other hand, send him off to work and the mayhem ensues.

One night, about a year ago, I had decided to attempt a new recipe for dinner. I had never made Eggplant Parmesan, and was excited to be offering some variety to my family. Quincy was down for her nap, so I began the process of slicing, frying, dipping, cheesing, and saucing the dish that I just knew would have my children and my husband praising my efforts and begging for seconds and thirds. About fifteen seconds into the process, Quincy decided to wake up early from her nap. She was in her bed crying, but I was up to my armpits in eggplant, so I let her cry for a bit.

It wasn’t long before she was pretty worked up. So, I quickly wiped my hands and went in to release her from the prison that was her crib. I do not exaggerate when I say that she spent the next 40 minutes wrapped around my legs screaming at the top of her lungs. I was hobbling about the kitchen with her attached, as though I’d bought a pair of shoes at Walmart and forgotten to cut the string tying them together.

I finally finished with dinner preparation, cleaned up the mess, and picked up Quincy, only to discover that she had an insanely poopy diaper. Wracked with guilt for not checking that when I got her up, I changed her diaper and tended to her now raging diaper rash.

Back in the kitchen to attend to the rest of the dinner details, I was trying to concentrate on something when the circus came to town. Blake, Wyatt and Quincy were running in a continuous, giant circle through the kitchen, into the dining room, out into the living room, and back into the kitchen. As if that wasn’t enough commotion, Blake was playing a recorder, Wyatt was playing a kazoo, Quincy was pushing the ball popper toy, and the Chihuahua we had at the time was chasing all of them, barking her fool head off. I literally sat my pregnant self down in the middle of the kitchen floor, closed my eyes tightly, and covered my ears like a petulant child, all the while praying for patience.

The whole time this is going on, I’m thinking, “I really need Greg to come home and see this.”

Apparently my voice is like the blowing of the wind. No one was listening to a word I said as I hollered at them to knock it off and settle down. I finally gave up and went down to get a load of laundry to fold.

As I entered the living room a few moments later (FIVE MINUTES before Greg was to arrive home from work to save me,) I came upon a scene so serene that I could scarcely believe my eyes. Each child was sitting quietly, reading a book, and they had even put in a worship CD for ambiance. It was like Barnes and Noble.

And all I could think was, “He is never going to believe me.”

My extraordinarily helpful and hardworking husband actually does realize what I do all day, and he is properly sympathetic when I unload on him after a particularly difficult day. But even if he were not, I need to be mindful of my attitude and my motive. Do I do what I do to impress people? Did I have all of these children just so that people would feel sorry for me? Or do I do my job each day, “…with all (my) heart, as unto the Lord and not for men”? (Colossians 3:23)

The Lord has been so generous to have blessed us with our five children. Yes, the house is messy most of the time, the kids and I drive each other crazy on occasion, and they all hated the Eggplant Parmesan. But I am determined to be faithful to the Lord, raising my children alongside my husband with a heart for bringing them up in a home that loves and serves God, even if it is at full-volume.

Iowa Dairy Association Coffecake

2009-11-21T08:20:00.003-05:00

My mom grew up on a farm in a wonderful little town called Garwin, Iowa. When we were kids, (I’m the second of four children, two girls and two boys,) our parents would pack up our station wagon and leave Washington state for the 36-hour drive to visit Mom’s relatives. I have so many wonderful memories of our trips, and I remain close to my aunts, uncles and cousins who still live there.

A couple of years ago, the people of Garwin put together one of my now-favorite cookbooks. It is a fantastic collection of old and new recipes that were submitted by some of my relatives and folks my mom grew up with.

One of my greatest discoveries in this cookbook is a coffeecake that is so simple, but so delicious. If you’re like me, you probably have all of the ingredients already stocked in your pantry. I’ve made this for our Christmas brunch for the past couple of years, and it is always a huge hit. It's also a great change of pace from doughnuts if you're signed up to take goodies to your Sunday School class!

Iowa Dairy Association Coffeecake
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
½ tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1 stick butter, softened
2 eggs
½ cup milk
2 large cans of pie filling (I like peach.)
(If using cherry pie filling, add ½ tsp almond extract.)

In a mixing bowl, combine all dry ingredients. Cut in butter with a fork or pastry cutter until crumbly. Set aside ½ cup crumb mixture.

Beat eggs and milk into the remaining crumb mixture until it is just mixed; spread in a greased 9 x 13-inch baking dish. Spread pie filling over the batter. Sprinkle reserved crumbs over cake. Bake at 325° for 40 minutes.

If you have a favorite sweet bread recipe, please share it with us!!

Happy Weekend!