Changing Seasons · Growing and Changing · Motherhood

Like Summer’s Last Sunset

11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.”

–Ecclesiasties 3:11-12

Dear Joey,

Low and slow has been our mantra these past couple of weeks and I am not looking forward to trading it in for fast and frenzied. This summer I have been riding the roller coaster that comes with dealing with flare ups, some days feeling pretty decent and others wishing I could just stay in bed all day long and let the Goobies sort the day out themselves. In some ways, school can’t start fast enough because the sheer amount of energy it takes to keep up with all three of them all day long is more than I have in reserve. I’ve relished these stress-free days with them, but goodness, I’m thankful school is just another week away.

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Then again, I’m torn up about it. How can summer possibly be over? It flew, as it always does, and I am not sure how so many days spent at home turned into a blur of summertime memories. We kept busy these past weeks, for sure, but for the most part we spent our days here at home, getting accustomed to a slower, somewhat lonesome life. The girls joined forces against me anytime I suggested we get in the car and go explore our new surroundings, insisting they preferred to just stay home and play Barbies. I let them win most of the time because I didn’t really want to venture far from home anyway because of the not-so-fun games my tummy is playing with me. In hindsight, I wonder if they were sulking because they missed their friends so much and knew it wasn’t easy to just pop over to see them anymore.

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We rallied around our big airplane ride last week, fueled by excitement to climb aboard an airplane and make our way to Pepaw & Grandma Lori’s house–and what a fun trip that was–except for the heavy, sticky heat, which I did not love. But I did love the people and the pace and the way land was empty and green, like a comfy blanket spread out for a picnic, inviting us to kick our shoes off and relax a little. Oppressive as the heat was, being somewhere else entirely aired out the stuffy places in the kids’ souls, freshening their perspective in the process.

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By the time we got home, I was spent. Vacation zaps the energy right out of me. Does it do that to you, too? But there is no such thing as a post-vacation sabbatical, at least not with three kids in tow. The sun still rose every morning and invited the kids to come out and play, and I begrudgingly got up with them and greeted the day with a steaming cup of coffee and a long to do list. Tired as I was, I started running the moment our plane touched down and haven’t stopped until now. There were doctors appointments and sick kids and BBQs to both throw and attend and Sunday School to teach and school supplies to buy and kids to outfit for the upcoming semester. I haven’t stopped until just this moment.

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It is quiet in the house now. The only sound I hear is the scratching of my own mental checklist being ticked off as I recount the day’s activity. It’s barely August and summer seems to have ended already. The week leading up to school is a flurry of activity that leaves me already missing all those lazy summer days that seem to never end, like a summer sun that lingers in the sky well after bedtime, until suddenly, almost without warning, it’s gone.

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Addie broke down in tears today just after we finished picking out school shoes, just the two of us. She held my hand and skipped alongside me, content to be quiet and near as we wound our way through the shoe store, until suddenly she flung her arms around me and held me tight, her voice quivering as it eeked out her secret: that she wanted to stay a little girl forever. She doesn’t feel ready for summer to be over either. The immediate future frightens her, as if she’s unconvinced she’s ready to do the big girl things she’ll be expected to do once school starts next week. Putting on a brave face and brushing it off as typical first-day-of-school jitters won’t cut it with her. She doesn’t want the sun to set on summer, on childhood.

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I can’t blame her. I tease those Goobies all the time, squeezing them tight and making them promise to never grow up, to always stay little enough for me to scoop them up into my arms and nibble on their chubby little cheeks. The girls’ squeals of delight faded without my permission, and now they huff, “Oh, Mama, I have to grow up” and we giggle and hug and I can’t take it. And then out of nowhere Addie realized she is growing up and it caught her off guard and makes her want to stop inching closer to the big girl she once longed to be. Without warning, she realized that childhood really is temporary.

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I held her close and stroked her hair right and let her be the one to let go. I didn’t want to rush her. It seems I’m always rushing her. She let go and looked me in my eyes as I admitted I used to feel the same way right before school started. Her eyes softened at that, and her grip loosened a bit as I told her she would always be my little girl. Just like Summer gradually fades into Fall, childhood slowly shifts into into adulthood. She didn’t have to hurry or make herself sick with worry; there was no rush. The end of childhood will come like summer’s last sunset: gentle and glorious both, when the time is right.

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The sun will set on summer eventually, but not today. School will start soon, but summer will linger for a little while longer.  Watching these kids grow up breaks my heart and puts it back together again, changing me and creating something new in the process, and my very being is a mosaic made of those fractured, beautiful pieces.

Love,

Scratch

Dips and Sauces · Eat Those Veggies · Faith Journey · Growing and Changing

Peace, Plenty, and Zucchini Hummus

12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

-Philippians 4:12-13 (NIV)

Dear Joey,

Emery doesn’t ask to go home anymore. In the first several weeks after finally saying goodbye to that empty shell of a house on the other side of the hills, he wandered around this new house perplexed, unsure why we were sticking around so long, and wondering why we hadn’t gone home yet. “Where’s Bubba’s house?” he’d ask. “I go to Bubba’s house.”  No, bud–this is our house now, we’d say, and his quizzical eyes questioned ours. It broke my heart every time. And so, he walked in endless circles around here for weeks, disoriented and trying to figure it all out.

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The girls were quicker to understand the idea that once we waved goodbye to that little house on Broadmoor, we wouldn’t be going back. There were tears, but lots of giggles too. They thought it was pretty funny that all their stuff ended up in Papa & Nyome’s house, saying that it wasn’t their home, and unpacking their dolls and dresses here didn’t make any sense. I made light of it all, of course, telling them this year is a fun adventure, like a long vacation while we wait for our new house. In the meantime, they settle in a little more each day, and their new room becomes more their own and less the room I slept in when I was a little girl.

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Still, Addie sometimes sighs in the middle of a lazy afternoon and confesses she misses our old house, and then also says she misses her new house too. It’s sorrow and longing, clearly, missing what was and looking forward to what will be. Me too, I whisper through tears, and I scoop her up into a hug and she lets me hold her longer than usual. I ask her if she’s unhappy here, and she perks up and says, “Oh no, I’m happy. It’s fun here. I just miss our own house.” Living with her grandparents is cool and fun and cushy and all, but in spite of all that, she still keeps her eyes fixed on what she hopes for. Addie makes a universal truth so easy to understand: that this place is temporary and life here is fleeting at best. She is learning how to be content with what is, while still hoping for something isn’t. I think we are all learning that lesson.

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In the meantime, she’s adjusting. We all are. Addie still gets teary-eyed sometimes, Mia still corrects me whenever I happen to say “Ok Goobies, we’re going home now(“No–we’re going to Papa & Nyome’s house, Mama”), and every so often Emery asks where his old house is. But he doesn’t wander around confused anymore; instead, he runs with purpose and a sense of urgency unique to rambunctious little boys, living out the promise of adventure we’ve been preaching for months. As for me, I spend my time trying to make things functional and familiar enough in hopes of making these Goobies feel like we really do belong here.

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And so, we’ve gotten busy with the business of getting on with life. We eat fluffy scrambled eggs and piles and piles of sun-kissed strawberries around the same kitchen table we’ve always eaten around, this time surrounded by the in & out and to & fro of grandparents. Pajama clad, we tumble out into the backyard to feed the animals, then we weed, prune, water and pick. The girls and I pop tomatoes in our mouths, twist zucchini from the vine, and plunk velvety green beans into our garden baskets while Emery drives his yellow cozy cab back and forth, back and forth.

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Next we scurry off to swim lessons and play at the park and somehow manage to squeeze in a gymnastics lesson every Monday afternoon. After lunch I finally squeeze in a shower while the girls learn the discipline of quiet reading (and learn to love getting lost in a book). Then we ride bikes and play Scrabble and Candyland and Checkers; we come up with a thousand ways to use up every glorious bit of our summertime harvest, and slurp popsicles while the sun starts to slip under its covers for the night.

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There’s so much good all around us, both familiar and brand new at the same time. I’m learning how to be content with it. There are a million reasons why this season is sweet and beautiful and lovely and right, but there are just as many lies that twist those truths and tempt me toward jealousy and discontentment. I’m learning to ignore those voices, the voices of self-importance and jealousy that taunt me, saying my life isn’t good because I’m back here in the place where I grew up, again. 

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We spend a lot of time in the backyard, mainly because Emery is desperate to get outside practically from the moment he wakes up. Once we’re out there, I bide my time by tending to the garden, feeding the zucchini, pruning the tomatoes, and picking green beans, all of which had been doing well, happy in the place they’re planted and producing beautiful fruit. This week, though, I noticed the green bean bush is tangled and droopy with the weight of itself. I bent down low and looked beneath the cover of big, shady leaves to find that the well-established vines had grown thick and twisted, like a knot, far away from the trellis and up into themselves. The bright green fingertips of new growth poked out from under the snarl looking for a place to hold on to, clearly looking for the sun but unable to find anything but darkness. Those tender little things had wrapped themselves around the tangled old vines that were choking the life out of them. And so, I cut away the overgrowth, ripping out old and gently guiding the new to grab on to the security of the trellis, where they can be free to grow up, toward the light.

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As I did so, I realized the same thing happened in my heart. I’d been searching for peace in the darkness, grasping for it and finding it had been choked out by lies inside my own head–my perceived not enough-ness, the voice that whispers that everyone else has more, has better and is more, is better. Those old patterns of thinking returned with a vengeance one we moved here again, and were threatening once more to impede my ability to flourish in the place where I’m planted.

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I’m pulling out those old, snarled vines in my heart and making way for truth to take hold again. In the process, I’m looking to Paul as my guide. He learned what it means to be content in all circumstances–he didn’t instinctively know how to do it either. There’s grace for me–for all of us– in that. I’m not there, but I’m getting there, and I’m finding peace in the process. I am enough and this life is enough because Jesus is enough. Like Paul, I’m grabbing onto Jesus for support, because He gives me strength.

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Such lovely, life-giving things are right here, right now, in this place we find ourselves today. There is blessing and beauty and bounty in these moments, and I know it is a gift. It’s different than perhaps I expected, and I don’t know what’s next, exactly–but that’s ok. There’s peace here, plenty of it.

Love,

Scratch

Zucchini Hummus

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We have so much zucchini growing–enough to bake muffins and spin zoodles and grill and roast and more–and there’s plenty to share. The timing of it is perfect because I’m walking through some new dietary changes (Gah! Again!) and am leaning on the prolific veggie to help soften the blow of removing grains from my diet. (More on that another time.) Until then, I’ll say this: zucchini is a jack of all trades in the veggie world–it even knows how to make a truly delicious dip that my dad says he likes better than hummus. Even Emery (my two year old!) is a fan. Leave out the cumin & coriander and add 2 teaspoons of dried dill instead, or leave out the spices altogether and leave it plain. The decision is yours, of course. I won’t be bossy, but you should definitely serve this with grilled chicken and veggies.

Ingredients:
  • 2 medium zucchini (about 1 pound), peeled and chopped
  • 1/2 cup sesame tahini
  • 1/3 cup lemon juice
  • 1/3 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
  • 2-3 cloves of garlic (2 cloves if they’re large; 3 cloves if they’re on the smaller side)
  • 2 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
  • 2 teaspoons ground cumin
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
Method:

First, prep the zucchini. Cut off both ends of the zucchini and peel off the green skin. Next, chop what’s left into 1″ cubes (or so). Plunk the pieces into a high speed blender or food processer and pile the remaining ingredients on top. Close the lid and process on high until the zucchini is smooth and the ingredients have emulsified–a good minute or two, depending on the power of your machine.

The dip is ready at this point, but is a little runny. Refrigerate for a couple of hours for a thicker dip, or drizzle over grilled chicken and veggies immediately.

Allergy Friendly · Gluten Free · Growing and Changing · Love & Marriage · Pizza

On Golden State Basketball, and Golden Flax Pizza Crust

Dear Joey,

The Golden State Warriors are in the Western Conference Finals again, which of course means lots of things to lots of folks. To you, it means you caught one of their winning games live and in person during a season when they ended up moving on to the post season. To me (a girl who declined date-after-box-seat-date from you just a few years ago), watching those games with you means two things: first, people change. Second: pizza.

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Before we were dating, shoot–before we moved to this house–basketball didn’t interest me at all. It didn’t even tempt me to flirt with the idea of caring. The promise of box seats in Oracle Arena was wasted on me. But just a few short seasons later, I found myself married to you–a proven sports fanatic–and facing box seats of a different kind: seats in my own home that made me feel boxed out and left struggling because sports stole my husband.

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I made a decision just like the one I made seven years ago during the summer before Addie was born, the same year the Giants won the first of the three World Series titles they’ve won over the past several years. I didn’t care much for baseball at the time–not enough to watch every game, at least–but you did. I quickly realized I had a choice: I could plunk myself down on the opposite side of the couch and pout, hoping my mopey behavior would make you pity me enough to change the channel; I could hide myself away in the other room, fuming at menfolk for loving ball games more than their wives; or I could snuggle up to you and ask you to teach me about the game, and then listen and learn.

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Happily, I chose to listen and learn, and the more I understood about the game, the more I enjoyed watching it. Knowing there was an end to the season helped; I knew we could move on to something a little more me by the time Addie was born (because the baseball season ends before November). I enjoyed a little bit of control over the remote again that November (and for a few more after it) until sports continued to dominate our nighttime line up well into November and beyond, all because someone named Curry was doing something worth watching (whatever that meant). I rolled my eyes and felt a little defeated–and not very excited to listen and learn again. But I did, and you patiently fielded my questions, answering when you could and digging a little deeper when you could not. Now, nearly four years later, not much evokes memories so splendid of date nights at home than the idea of Warriors basketball and pizza.

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Pizza poses a problem around here though. I mean, clearly. Pizza is bread and cheese–you know, two of the three no-no’s around here that collectively make eating out a nightmare. Toss in the cost of ordering over-priced gluten free and dairy free pizza (both the expense and the risk are prohibitive, in my opinion), along with the time it takes to shop for and make homemade gluten free and/or dairy free pizza, all while trying to keep our diet consistent with that whole Hot Mama Diet thing, and suddenly we’ve got a real problem got a meal most folks take for granted. Pizza felt inaccessible. Except it’s pizza, for crying out loud! Depriving my you of the stuff at game time just felt fundamentally wrong, so I set out to make things right.

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Difficult as it may be to negotiate the Hot Mama way of life with allergy and budget constraints, it definitely has its perks. Were I not gluten free, and were we low carb a lot of the time, I guarantee I would not have even thought to use golden flax meal as a pizza crust.  True: we will never brag that this is THE BEST pizza crust ever. It is made from golden flax meal and eggs, after all. But it is the best budget friendly, awesome cracker-turned-pizza crust that allows us to eat Hot Mama pizza on short notice. Prebake a crust or two, stash them in the freezer, then load it up with yummy toppings and bake it again until its golden and bubbly. Emery even likes it topped with his beloved Daiya dairy free Mozzarella Style Shreds.  (And ok, to be fair, the girls don’t love it the way they enjoy more traditional pizza crusts made out gluten free flour, but they eat it just the same, saying it’s sort of like eating pizza on a cracker. Touche.)

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This measly little pizza crust played a big role in bringing me around to basketball though because I used it to butter you up before I fired question after question at you. Somehow you didn’t seem to mind them as long as you had something good to snack on between answers. That’s why this golden pizza crust goes hand in hand with watching the Warriors play basketball. Not because it’s the best gluten free crust I’ve ever made. (It’s not.) Not because it gives me the freedom to plop down on the couch and make pizza appear magically, as if from nowhere. (It doesn’t.) It’s a big deal because it’s quick and easy, it’s inexpensive, it’s flexible for food allergies, and it makes a dynamite BBQ Chicken Pizza that makes you feel like you’re not missing anything by watching the game at home with me, and not in those fancy box seats at the arena.

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Tuesday night when we finally got all those Goobies settled into their beds after an evening of playing the role of proud and involved parents at her school Open House, I was just as anxious to click on Game 2 against the Spurs and munch on that BBQ Chicken Pizza as you were (who am I?) because there’s no better view of the game than the one from our own couch.

img_5944-e1495149087449.jpgGolden Flax Pizza Crust

This recipe is essentially a trimmed down version of the Trim Healthy Mama recipe for Golden Flax Bread, a bread-like alternative that I never quite got on board with. While their Golden Flax “bread” is sort of eggy in texture, this one is not at all. By rolling the dough out, it becomes something like a giant cracker, and everyone knows that cheese clearly goes hand in hand with crackers. The texture is … different. But it is good all the same. If you’re watching your carbohydrates and still want a budget (or nut-free!) friendly pizza crust, give this one a try.

Ingredients:
  • 2 cups golden flax meal
  • 4 eggs
  • 1/4 cup olive oil
  • 1 T baking powder
  • 3/4 teaspoon salt
Method:

Start by preheating your oven to 350°F. Then, spray a round pizza pan (or cookie sheet) with nonstick coconut oil spray.

Next, measure all ingredients together in a large bowl. Let the mixture sit for five minutes. The flax meal with absorb most of the liquid, thickening it into a spongy dough-like mass. At this point, plunk half the dough onto a greased cookie sheet. Lay a piece of wax paper on top of it and roll the dough out until it is about 1/4 inch thick. Remove the wax paper (carefully peel back the wax paper–it sticks if you yank it off to quickly!) and put the crust in the oven. Bake for 12-14 minutes, or until the edges are well set (golden and crisp, but not at all burned). Using a stainless steel spatula, carefully loosen the crust from the bottom of the pan, starting at the outside edge of the crust and working around the circle, gently lifting until the crust is completely separated from the pan. Place the crust on a wire rack and cool.

To top the pizza: Spread sauce, cheese, and all the pizza fixings your heart could desire on top and bake for another 8-10 minutes or so, until cheese is melted, bubbly, and golden.

To freeze the crust: Once the crust is cooled, wrap it well with plastic wrap, making sure each edge is sealed completely. Store in the freezer until ready to use.

 

Bravery · Comfort Food · Dinner · Growing and Changing

Home Is Where the Heart Is … and Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole

Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.

Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)

Dear Joey,

After a couple weeks of onethingafterthenext busy, things slowed down a bit, and I feel like I’m sleeping better and catching my breath and able to be more in the moment instead of being so preoccupied with preparation: first for celebrating Addie’s birthday, and next for celebrating four of her friends’ birthdays, all within two short weeks. The clerks at Target probably have money riding on whether or not I’ll show up to grab that one last random thing I forgot (again) every single morning during the first two weeks of November. We literally  bounce our way through those first two weeks, fueled by all that sugar the neighbors so generously gave out to our children at the end of October, and then by cupcakes and pinatas and bounce houses and laughter. It’s fantastic. November is delightful madness, and even though it’s exhausting, it is fun.

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But it’s also a little…hard. Watching Addie navigate social gatherings is eye-opening for me because she watches from the shadows as the party swirls around her. As I watch her, it’s as if I’m seeing myself at her age because she is me–a blonde-haired, greenish blue eyed version of the very bashful little girl who I was. She doesn’t mean to be antisocial. She wants to break out of her shell, and I imagine she doesn’t really understand why it’s there in the first place. She wishes it were easy for her to join in with the other kids, I think, the ones for whom talking and laughing and joining in the fun comes naturally, but it doesn’t come easily, and she ends up very stressed out by it all.

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But her friends love her anyway, perhaps even because of those things. For some, she is a kindred spirit whose calm demeanor and quiet spirit speak safety to their own introverted selves. For others, she is a buried treasure, a challenge and a reward all in one cute little package. For others still, her laughter is a song in the soundtrack of life, and the album would be noticeably different without her around.

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At home, she’s strong-willed and passion-driven, all while being tender at heart and gentle in spirit. This kid is complicated, I tell you, and I’m exhausted trying to figure her out. But her timidness pushes me out of my own similar nature and toward bravery, and I have her to thank for where I am today: in a place where social situations don’t make me want to run and hide. When Addie’s bashfulness started showing up, that’s when I fully understood being brave is about doing hard things even though–and especially when–you are scared. I overcame a lot of my own timidity because of her. The past six years of my own life propelled me forward into a new sort of confidence, one I pray I can pass on to her. This came up not long ago while I was talking to a friend, a newer one who didn’t know me when I was a child. I admitted that by nature, I am a slow-to-warm sort of person, super introverted and, well, shy. Genuinely confused, she said, “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.” When I look back on myself as a child, I want to tell her to be brave and jump in and open herself up to the truth that people actually want to hear her voice. I want her to run wild with the truth that she is welcome and wanted, to be the girl in Proverbs 31:25 who is “clothed with strength and dignity, and […] laughs without fear of the future.

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Unencumbered laughter from a heart at rest is a beauty more breathtaking than much else, I think. That’s the beauty we see everyday from Addie here at home. For now, that’s as it should be, I think, because I would rather see her true self come alive only at home rather than not at all because if she cannot be free to be herself here–goofy and graceful, tender and fierce, loyal and loving and messy and imperfect–what does that say about our home? Home is where the heart is, right? Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe home is where the heart is most comfortable. Maybe home is where the heart is most fully alive. Maybe home is where the heart learns who it is, and whose it is, and finds a rhythm all its own and grows confident in dancing along with the beat. Where else can Addie’s heart possibly learn those things if not at home, where we guard and protect and encourage and grow that little girl, that sweet little piece of our own heart? Maybe home itself is a beating heart, fully alive, out of which everything else flows.

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Every once in awhile, Addie surprises us. When she’s comfortable enough, she lets go of her inhibitions and gets downright loud and silly. Most folks wouldn’t recognize her if they saw her dancing in the freedom of who she really is. But I hope, I hope, she will gain the confidence she needs to do so sooner than I did. I hope our similarities are only a passing resemblance, in that regard, and that she breaks through her own shell far before I ever did. But until then, I’m giving her space to be who she is in the safety of our home. But I’m also helping her do hard things by encouraging her with my smile and holding her hand for a little while, letting go of it a bit sooner each time. I whisper in her ear “You’ve done this before. You know how to do it, and you can do it,” as I send her on her way. She smiles at me, sometimes through tears, and does the hard things. And when she’s done, she comes flying back to me, beaming, with arms flung wide and says, “I remembered that when I am afraid, I can trust in God. And I did it.” We hug, I try not to cry, and I feel like we’ve both won.

Love,

Scratch

Classic Tuna Noodle Casserole (DF/GF/NF)

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This meal tastes like home to me because my mom made it so often when I was growing up, and every time I make it I feel a little more at ease with life. I made it again this week when the pantry was looking a little bare, but we still needed a come-together sort of meal to help us all slow down and really see each other after the busyness of the past few weeks. This non-dairy version uses mayonnaise for creaminess, and I thought that was a pretty good idea. It’s feels a little strange to add mayonnaise to a casserole, it  transforms this dish into a dinner our whole family loves so much that we rarely have much left over. The cool thing about this recipe is you don’t have to be dairy free to enjoy it. The ingredients are simple, the flavor good, and it’s very pantry-friendly. No milk in the fridge? No worries. Out of cheese, too? Don’t stress. Dig out your chicken broth, a little bit of butter and flour, and a scoop of humble mayonnaise. All will be well (which is sort of what comfort food like Tuna Noodle Casserole speaks to the soul anyway, right?). I hope one day my own children will cook it for their own children and remember pulling up their chairs at our table, scooping out a big helpings of this very humble dish, and pretending not to munch on the stray potato chip crumbles as they wait for everyone to be served.

Ingredients:
  • 4 T refined coconut oil (or Earth Balance, or Olive Oil, or…)
  • 3/4 cup chopped yellow onion
  • 1/4 cup brown rice flour (or use regular All Purpose Flour, for a non-GF version)
  • 2 cups chicken broth
  • 1/4 cup mayonnaise (not low fat!)
  • 1 teaspoon white vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1 pound brown rice noodles (we like Organic Brown Rice Fusilli from Trader Joe’s, or regular wheat noodles)
  • 2-7.5 oz cans albacore tuna, drained
  • 1 cup frozen peas
  • a few handfuls of plain salted potato chips (like Kettle Brand), for topping
Method:

First, boil the noodles according to package directions. Cook al dente so they don’t turn to mush in the oven.

Meanwhile, saute the onion in the coconut oil. (Remember: refined coconut oil doesn’t taste like coconut. Use a different neutral tasting oil if you prefer.) When the onions have softened, sprinkle in the flour, salt and pepper and and whisk to combine. (You’re essentially making a rue here.) Next, pour in the chicken broth a little at a time, whisking until smooth with each addition. It will be clumpy at first, but don’t despair. Keep whisking and it will smooth out. Once you’ve added all the chicken broth, cook the sauce until it begins to thicken. Then, add the mayonnaise and vinegar and whisk again until it is fully combined. Finally, add the tuna to the sauce, then toss in the peas and pasta and mix well. Pour the mixture into a greased 9 x 11 glass pan and top with crumbled potato chips. Bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes or so, or until the chips have gotten even more crunchy than usual.