Homemade Bagels

A few months ago, a bakery went in very close to my house. I was excited to see what they had in store, day dreaming of yummy fresh bread and novelties. Turns out they're more about cakes and events, but they did have things like muffins and bagels. I was excited and tried to talk to the sales person about how they make them. She didn't know and had to find out. When she returned from asking the owner, she told me they were from a mix. I was very disappointed. Why would I pay more for the bagels there at their bakery, when they could very well use the same mix Publix or Kroger uses? Dough conditioners and corn products included. I had thought about making bagels off and on on my own since Jackson got big enough to enjoy something like that, but I've never really had the equipment to manage it.

My last post on this blog was November 4th. My last recipe post was on September 22nd, AND the last time I experimented with something for Jackson? Well, it was a while ago, too far for me to scroll through. We've been surviving on our staples, but I got this beautiful thing for Christmas...

I've wanted one of these since Jackson was Dx with food allergies.

And the first thing I thought was, now I can try making bagels. I had been told by several people not to even attempt it without a good stand mixer. This baby is the best; so, Merry Christmas to me. *squeal*

Oh, and, that first pic above is with my DSLR. The rest of these photos are from my iPhone. It's just easier right now.

So, first things first, the recipe. I combined things from the recipe on the back of the King Arthur Flour I ordered and the Cooks Illustrated recipe I found. (Love my online subscription and app with them. Definitely worth it!)

What you'll need.

You're gonna need high protein flour. I used King Arthur Flour brand Sir Lancelot flour. I ordered it from them along with the instant yeast you see here. It's different from the active dry yeast you buy in the grocery store. Then, I used malted barley syrup, but you can get it as a powder, too. That I got from Amazon (you can get the powder from King Arthur, too). I just added the syrup to the yeast mixture in stead of the flour mixture before combining. Then just salt and water. There are little differences between the recipes, and in stead of telling you which thing came from which recipe, I'm just going to tell you what I did.

4 Cups high protein flour
1 Tbsp instant yeast (if you're using the active dry yeast, I think it's 1 1/2 tsp)
2 tsp salt
1 Tbsp barley malt syrup or powder (I think King Arthur's is called non-diastatic malt powder)
1 1/2 Cups lukewarm water

Whisk together the dry ingredients in the bowl of your stand mixer fitted with a dough hook. In a small bowl or mixing cup, combine the water, the yeast and the syrup. Let it activate for a bit, then stir together before adding to the mixer bowl. Mix at lowest speed until the dough starts to come together, about 4-5 minutes. Then increase it to speed 2 and mix until the dough is cohesive, smooth and stiff, about 8-10 minutes.

Aren't they adorable!

Take the dough out of the mixer and onto your work surface. Divide it into 8 portions. I formed a ball, then used a very sharp knife to cut it like a fat pizza into 8 triangle parts. Then I rolled each of those into a ball. Cover the balls and let them rest for about 5 minutes. I had so much fun with this part. The dough was so smooth and elastic. I was REALLY impressed with my mixer and the ease of this recipe. Roll the balls into ropes, about 11 inches long, even all over. Overlap the ends of the rope about 1 1/2 inches and pinch the entire overlapped area firmly together. You might need to use water to get a better seal. Then put your fingers through the hole and roll the overlap under your fingers or palm several times to seal the seam. The ring should be roughly the same thickness all the way around. Put the rings onto an almond meal dusted cookie sheet. The recipe called for corn meal. I used almond meal for obvious reasons. You could probably just use flour, too. Then cover them tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate them overnight (12-18 hours). The Cooks Illustrated recipe has detailed pics of this process, and they helped a lot.

Not bad for my first try.

When you're ready to bake, make sure your oven rack is in the center position and preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Fill a large soup pot (I used my dutch oven) with water. You'll need about 3 inch depth. Bring water to rapid boil. If you're not sure if the bagels have proofed yet, you can fill a bowl with cold water and drop a bagel in. If it's ready, it will float. If not, keep trying every several minutes until they're ready.

All proofed and ready to boil.

Once the water is boiling and the bagels have proofed, drop them in 4 at a time using a slotted spoon or strainer to push them down under the surface.

Why this part scared me before I don't know. Super easy.

You should only have to boil them for 30-45 seconds, just until they're lightly puffed. Transfer them, bottom side down, to a wire baking rack over a towel to drain.

They looked deflated and wrinkly. I thought I had ruined them.

Then transfer them, same side down, to a parchment lined baking sheet or stone. Bake until deep golden brown, about 14-16 minutes. Transfer to wire rack to cool, and enjoy.

Then they rose and filled out and turned out so beautiful and yummy.

They smelled amazing, tasted amazing and the texture was bakery quality. Seriously, I don't know that I'll eat another store bought bagel again.

This is what Jackson thought about them. He was SO excited, he didn't even balk when I asked him for a photo.

Don't you just love his little cow lick on the side of his head.
Some day he'll be embarrassed I took this photo.
I'm embarrassed by the dirty oven door.

Not at all as difficult as I thought they would be. Definitely not any more difficult than making my own pop tarts or cinnamon rolls. So, I think these will be another staple for us. Yay for something new!

I'm Running Away

I want to participate in National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), but I'm not really good at that kind of thing. So, I started another blog. I've been writing a lot lately. Thing is, by the time I get it out and read back through it, I usually feel like it's either not worth publishing or not appropriate to publish.

The three usual things I write about aren't working right now.

1. I love Jesus, but anything I've written about my faith lately seems to come out preachy, fake or so controversial I would never live it down in my personal life. When God inspires me to write something that is actually worth reading and something I feel needs to be said no matter the personal consequences, I'll share.

2. I love my kids and my family, but writing about them doesn't come easy. Our lives are pretty boring, like they're supposed to be. School, work, sports, dirty dishes, the usual stuff.

3. I love food, and this blog was started partially around my son's allergy to corn. Thing is, I just don't experiment and cook like I used to. Besides the occasional post about kale from my mom's garden, I have nothing to share. And then there's running.

I love to run.
I love to talk about running.
I love to read about running.
I love to write about running.
I love running.
I love buying and trying new running gear, especially running shoes.
I love running medals.
I love inspiring people to run.
I love pushing fellow runners to go farther or faster.
I think everyone should try it, but I don't recall ever picking on anyone for NOT running. Well, maybe except for my husband, but that's a topic for another day.

Running is hard, and it hurts when you first start out and whenever you push yourself out of your comfort zone. Its a constant learning process and your body revolts every now and then. It isn't for everyone, but it's definitely for me. And, many of my favorite people are runners. Actually, I've never met another runner I didn't like. There's an instant connection through this crazy obsession with running that trumps all other differences. Now, I haven't yet decided if it's the type of personality that enjoys running that makes the connection so easy or if it's the act of running that makes people more connectable. Either way, I think runners are just super cool people.

So, I'm starting a new blog about running, and I'm going to try to do this whole blog every day thing with one topic I am clearly obsessed about.

We'll see how it goes.

I Love Books

It's one of those rainy cool fall days here. The kind that is perfect for a fire, a window, a comfy chair, a hot beverage of some sort and a good book. I love books. It is such a beautiful thing how someone can weave together simple little words to create an alternate reality filled with fascinating characters, mystical objects, heroes and villains, far off lands and odd places. It's one of my favorite human talents. Authors might as well be super heroes to me. What they do is truly magical.

This fascination probably started when I was a child. My mom used to read to me and my brothers at bed time. I remember being ushered off to dreamland to the beautiful words of Tolkien, Bunyan and Lewis. I still have images in my head from each volume. Many of the characters are as real to me as actual people. The stories are like fond memories but more fantastic and adventurous. I love how something so simple and ordinary can transform into something so magical. She read. I listened. And, I'm still inspired today by many of those quiet moments spent curled up together.

I've read to my children since before they were born. Jacob heard the entire Bible between my first doctor's appointment and his first breath, all in my voice. Until he got "too big" for bed time, I read to him every night, often hearing him ask, "just one more." Sometimes he joins us now, and sometimes he doesn't, but Allie, Jackson and I try to read every night we're able.

When we're busy and I'm hurried at bedtime, I often wish I could just send the kids to bed and head up to tuck them in when I was ready. But, they beg to read. I just can't say no, especially when they hurry to get everything done so I have no reason to deny them.

Jackson asks me to "sit really close so he can hear my voice better." He and I are reading Around the World in 80 Days right now. Jacob thinks it's boring because there are no battle scenes or gross humor, and Allie can't believe there are no princesses. But, Jackson loves it. Jacob gets to pick the next book, perhaps we'll start The Lord of the Rings, and he'll come to read with us again.

The pages come to life for me, although for an entirely different reason these days. The light in their eyes when a train full of passengers jumps a canyon river or a woman is rescued from a burning funeral pyre and the wondering and calculation on their precious faces as the heroes race against the clock to reach home before their time expires, I love it.

I think it's a little like a workout. I often feel like I don't have time and wish I could just skip it, but I never regret it after. In a fast world made up more of quantity than quality, it's a rare, slow, magical moment with these sweet little people who won't be little much longer.

I hope they will one day look back and remember Hobbits and wizards, pilgrims and talking animals as if they were childhood playmates, and I hope they will carry on the tradition with their own children.

Someday, I'll curl up in my chair next to a fire with my chai and a book and read to myself. I'm sure there will still be magic, just not the same kind. That kind, hopefully, will be found at bedtime in my children's homes as they read to their own little ones. Maybe they'll let me join in on occasion and share in the magic, and maybe they'll read to me when my eyes grow too dim to make out the words. I hope so. I love books.

Pumpkin Pie Smoothie

So, I'm meeting myself coming and going these days, but I HAD to share this recipe! To celebrate Fall and all things pumpkin, I made a Pumpkin Pie Smoothie for lunch today, and it did not disappoint.

1 Cup Plain Kefir

1/2 Cup Pumpkin Purée

1/2 Banana, frozen

1 Tbsp Pecans (I mash mine before I put them in)

2 Tbsp Sweetened Condensed Milk

1/2 tsp Vanilla Extract

1/4 tsp Cinnamon

Mix it and blend it.

This fits perfectly in my single serve blender cup.

I used this as a post workout, meal replacement smoothie. It's approximately 410 calories with about 20 grams of protein. Using the sweetened condensed milk adds 22 grams of sugar. I'm sure I could lighten this up if I wanted to, just by replacing that with something lower in sugar, but like I said, this was post workout and lunch for me. And, I'm not eating pumpkin without a sweetener. :-)

For the pumpkin, I used canned purée, (not the pie filling, just the pumpkin), and I froze it in mini muffin tins so I had little blocks for the smoothie machine. You could do the same with ice cube trays. If you've ever made your own baby food, you know all about this technique. You'll use about 4-5 cubes per smoothie. I'm planning to try a sweet potato version of this, and I'll cook and mash them myself. Pumpkins are tough, and the canned stuff is just easy. I'm all about easy. Also, I freeze my bananas in halves so I have them for smoothies, and they help make it nice and thick.

If you like pumpkin, I think you'll like this smoothie.

Happy Fall, Y'all!

Naked in Public

I'm in the gym of one of my kids' schools working a table at open house with several other moms. This open house isn't like the usual ones at the beginning of the year. It's busier, and there's food and tables and lots of parents and kids eating and talking. It's more like the Thanksgiving feast than the beginning of the year open house, except everyone is in shorts and flip flops. Well, everyone but me, that is. Handing out some pertinent information on a sheet of paper I hadn't read, I look down and notice, I'm not wearing any clothes. Buck naked in the gym of a Christian, homeschool hybrid academy, I panic and run to the restroom, somehow scoring an outfit. I return to my post, only, I'm naked again. This happens several times before I wake very thankful it was only a dream.

It's probably 3am. I don't know because the clock numbers are too small and too far away for me to see them from my bed, and I don't want to check my phone. I'm just guessing since that's my usual 'wake up and have trouble going back to sleep' time. I lay there for a minute and wonder what it meant.

I've heard that dreaming you're naked in public means you don't feel like you know what you're doing, and you're afraid everyone is going to find out. Or, you're hiding something and fear what would happen if everyone knew. Afraid of being exposed = being naked in public. Makes sense, right?

I am now the mother of three elementary school age children. No more babies in this house. I don't know that I really miss those harried, messy days. (I know. What mother actually says that out loud? Answer: this one.) However, I do think they came more naturally to me than the stage we're in right now. All you have to do for a two year old is feed him, change him, snuggle him, and keep him busy. Basically, just keep him alive and smiling. Mommy is always the hero even when there is a wet diaper hanging from the ceiling fan and they've lost their toy soldier in the toilet. Of course, you might make them mad when you enforce boundaries, but they get over it pretty quick and go back to thinking you hung the moon. And, they sleep! A lot. So, that's awesome!

Older kids, though. See, they have projects and papers that make you miss the fat crayon coloring pages and magnetic letters on the fridge. They have their own opinions, and tend to voice them with an attitude that makes you wonder if you're failing as a parent. Definitely not like the sweet little broken sentences of a three year old. They have activities and relationships all their own. Mommy is no longer the playmate of choice, just an acceptable alternative when all other options have been exhausted. What am I gonna do with all those cardboard blocks and train tracks?

That's not really all of it, though, because I'm adapting ok to that. I've always been better with older kids anyway. I, more often than not, look forward to the growing and changing of my kids. I love seeing their personality and individuality develop, and the fact that they can do the whole toilet thing all by themselves, THAT IS AWESOME!

The problem? I think the reason I'm dreaming of being naked in public is that I will now be the home teacher for two of my children, and my older son will soon be beyond my level of expertise. He's in 4th grade. Pretty soon, I won't be able to correct his homework without an answer key. Actually, that's already happened. I have a graduate level education, and I struggled with some of the concepts he brought home in 3rd grade math. Seriously. I don't think I could make it on that Jeff Foxworthy game show, Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader. My 4th grader can hold his own, though.

Serious props to all you teachers out there! I'm pretty sure I got what I needed from school, used it to build a foundation for college and completely wiped the rest from my mind. Actually, I think having three children had a lot to do with the emptying of my brain. Maybe years of Dora, Bob and Mickey had a little to do with it, too.

Is he ready for this? Am I ready? Will I completely ruin his chances of college because I can't explain the difference between a ray and a line? Is there a difference? What am I doing?

Then there is my beautiful, vibrant, funny, super smart Kindergartner who is already telling me how to teach her, and we haven't even finished a whole month yet. Between fearing the complete destruction of my 4th grader's education and dreading the arguments I anticipate with my Kindergartner, I think that's enough to trigger a silly dream. Don't you?

I googled it 'cause Google knows everything, and found a suggestion, to pay attention to what the other people were doing in my dream, how they reacted to my lack of clothing. After thinking about it, I had to literally laugh out loud.

The moms working the table with me were politely annoyed, but it was at my hesitancy and continuous absences, not my state of dress. One very special woman, whom I love and will not name right now, actually told me to get my head in the game, reminded me that I've got this, and told me to stop checking out. Other moms coming to the table were all smiles and thank you's. Actually, the only people who noticed were a couple of dads shaking their heads from a distant table.

Solidarity, Ladies! I must be surrounded by the best bunch of moms on the planet, or at least I truly, honestly feel supported and loved by y'all even though I don't feel adequate.

And, that's just it. None of us have all the answers. Most of us are just trying to get our children to adulthood alive. If they become productive, responsible and independent while still breathing, we should get a bonus. If we raise them to love the Lord and follow him when they don't know what they're doing, then we have succeeded, and I think that might be the point of all this.

I do NOT know what I'm doing, but I know someone who does. Not knowing what you're doing isn't a sin. It's human, and leaning on Jesus when I'm lost is so much more important a lesson than the difference between a line and a ray. Of course, my 4th grader still needs to know all that because the kid wants to be a mechanical engineer (God, help me, I'm an artist), but if he can't seek help and learn from the Master, then he'll fail in the bigger things, the things you can't take back.

So, I'm exposing myself, and hopefully, I can encourage a mom or two out there wondering if they've got what it takes to be the mom their kids need. Yes, you do. God gave you those babies and everything you need to get them to the jumping off point, that place where they fly away to the lives they were meant to live. Don't hesitate and freeze. Don't check out and disappear. Get your head in the game. You've got this.

Well Cared For

I wrote a post about My Scrawny Spirit, and then did a 30 Day Spiritual Challenge (which I completed, but realized it needs to be revised some because it was harder than I thought it would be). I've been thinking I would like to have an image to pin. So, I threw something together today, and wanted to post it so I could pin it.

Now imagine what you could accomplish if you put the two together.

Apparently, I Can't Streak

I started the Runner's World Run Streak #RWrunstreak on Memorial Day. I've run at least a mile every day since, and I plan to continue running until July 4th at the Peachtree Road Race. My legs feel stronger than they ever have, and I really enjoy the challenge. Maybe I'll keep going. Maybe I'll streak for a year. Maybe I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself.

Anyway, whenever I feel the need to plan and conquer something, I develop an overambitious, challenge hungry mentality. Pretty much "I'm gonna do this and that and maybe this and oooo, that too." Then I take on more than I can handle and fall flat on my face. When I fall flat on my face I switch from "I can conquer anything" to "I suck and will never accomplish anything, I may as well just crawl in bed and never come out."

Yeah, so after my run streak started off so well, I decided to blog every day I was streaking. I even thought I would start a new blog all about running because I have so much to say about it that it might be cool if the whole purpose of the blog was talking about running (forgetting that you need to have something to say that people actually want to read, or you should at least try to). Then the process got out of hand, and I just decided I would post something on my current blog every day. Then I didn't. Yesterday was kind of a blur. I got my run in, but the blog post was forgotten.

So, this morning I wake up and say to myself, "awwww, I was only like 4 posts in. Apparently, I can't streak." Then I decided that I would turn this glitch into a post, and attempt to salvage my streak rather than completely give up and make it another epic fail.

This is me trying to accept failure as part of the process. I'm trying not to crawl back into bed and say forget it all. I missed 1 day. Maybe I can still make it the rest of the way. Although, most of me is still thinking, "you stink at this and should just stop."

Well, I might stink at it, but I'm not going to stop. On to another day, and maybe another post. :-)

The Integrity of the Dress

Last night at my son's baseball game, I was talking to another mom.

Pause for a second for me to share one of my favorite things about baseball, adult conversation. Most games, I try to pay attention to the game as much as I can, but part of enjoying the game is enjoying the ball park and the families that are right there along side you. Plus, this season, we've had such a great group of boys and families, that I'm really sad to see it end. Anyway....

I was talking to another mom at the game last night and she mentioned that she and her daughter dress up together for fun and play (go ahead and say it, awwwwww), and she will put on her wedding dress when they do. Wait. What? My first thought when she said that was, "you can still wear your wedding dress?" I completely forgot about how sweet it is that she plays dress up with her daughter and could only focus on one thing. She can still wear her wedding dress. I'm 35 pounds heavier than I was when I got married almost twelve years ago, and I run marathons (ok, one marathon, but I'm doing more soon). I kept thinking I probably couldn't even get it over my head, for sure not my hips, and there's NO way I could fasten it. The game went on, and we talked about other things. Did I mention how much I really enjoy talking to other moms at the baseball field. Yeah, anyway, I kept thinking about the fact that she can still wear her wedding dress. For real, I kept thinking about it. I couldn't get it out of my head. So, you know what I did? This morning after I got back from my run and got done showering, washing off the sweat left after the rain, [I always feel so hardcore when I run in the rain. Even though it was really just a drizzle, my shoes were wet and squishy when we got done, and that made me feel even more hardcore. Back to the dress thing...] I decided to put mine on. Everyone else was still asleep, so no one would see me, and I HAD to know if I could fit in it. I probably should have just allowed myself to wonder.

Here's how this whole thing went down. I couldn't get it over my shoulders. Not really sure why that is. My bone structure hasn't changed, at least not up there. I guess since I had zero body fat back then, getting it over my hips wasn't an issue. I probably never tried to put it on over my head. It's a strapless dress. So, I'm pretty sure I stepped into it the four times I wore it, once at the bridal store, twice for the fittings and once on my wedding day. Here's the thing, though, I'm almost positive I gained all 35 pounds in my hips and thighs. Stepping into dresses no longer happens for me, but with a little wiggle, I did it. I got it over my hips and almost squealed! Shhh. Don't wake the kids. Then all those darn buttons, and the zipper. Yeah, NONE of that was happening. My rib cage has grown. No for real. I'm not trying to say that when I should really say I've gained weight. It really has. That happens when you have kids, right? They stretch out your rib cage. Seems like I read that somewhere. Anyway, it really has. I sucked in like an inverted tornado and got the first part of the thing fastened around my waist, but once I got to my ribs, it became clear, I was NOT fitting into my wedding dress. It was actually ok, and I had a really good laugh at myself, sat on the floor, and took a selfie. I'm Gen Y, of course I took a selfie.

I'm not good at selfies.
I'm even worse at all the filters and junk.
Which is sad since I'm a graphic designer.

In the process of all this craziness, thinking about how much bigger I am now in nearly every way but one, I remembered something the woman told me during my first fitting. There are two cup sizes of padding in the chest of that dress. Two cup sizes. Why? Well, there was only so much she could take in due to the way the dress was made. All the beading and detail made it hard for her to do too much with it. She told me, "too much alteration would ruin the integrity of the dress." Apparently all super skinny women wearing a size 2 wedding dress have giant Barbie chests, right? Sounds like the integrity of the designer should be questioned, or maybe I should have just found a different dress. It was so pretty, though. Anyway, that was ages ago, and it's not important now.

Things got deep sitting on the floor of my closet which also happens to be my favorite place to pray.

I got to thinking about what else has changed about me since that day nearly twelve years ago. Honestly, besides the things that usually come with marriage like kids and bills and stress and the effects of long term sleep deprivation, not much. At my core, I'm still me. Still got all the goofy awkwardness I was born with. It's just packaged a little differently now. What has changed, though, is my desire to fit a mold I wasn't designed to fit. The standard must retain it's integrity. It can not be altered, or it ceases to be. I tried to fit. Pushed and squeezed and worked SO hard, ignoring the pain and the obvious signs that I would never make it happen. The more I squeezed, the more brokenness and imperfection I found. At one point or another, I couldn't deny my failure anymore. I don't handle failure well. It isn't natural for me to let broken things BE broken. It isn't natural for me to just let things be, to let me be me. I have to fix it. Make it right. I have to be the good girl, the good mom, the good wife, the best me, or at least I did. When I figured out that wasn't gonna happen, I kind of slipped into a private rebellion. If I can't be that girl, then I'll be this one. No wild partying or open rebellion, no abandonment of my family, just giving up and trying not to care. You know what changed? My desire to fit that mold, and when I realized that mold wasn't for me, a revelation of another kind came to me.

There is no mold.

I'm sorry. I couldn't help it.

I spent many wonderful childhood summer days forming little pots and figures out of the beautiful blue clay we had at our creek. I also took a sculpting class in college where we used a special rubber material to make molds of our originals so we could make copies out of resin. To make a mold, you must first have an original. The mold never comes first. See, there is no mold for me to fit into because I am the original sculpture, carved and formed by the hands of God. Now, he's not done yet. There is still a lot of work to do, but forcing me into a mold made by someone else isn't part of the plan. I was never meant to be a copy. He doesn't make copies, and his plan involves molding me into the image of his Son, sometimes with his hands, sometimes carving with tools and sometimes cutting away the excess. When he's done, though, when I stand complete, I'll be the best me, the me he meant me to be, more perfect than the image of the mold I wanted so much to fit myself into.

I get impatient very often. I struggle with no longer having that vision of perfection, that standard to live up to, but I like not trying so hard. I like feeling like I'm already enough. I like knowing all the molding is up to my Savior. I like letting the broken be broken, and knowing that healing will come. Maybe not now, but before God puts his signature on his creation and calls it good, healing will come. I will be whole. Someday.

The trick today is being ok with a dirty kitchen and laundry overflowing the room it should be confined to. I've enjoyed the day with my kids, though, and I've enjoyed writing. Here's to someday and the awe I know I'll feel when I see my Creator's handiwork complete and whole from the inside out.

The Accomplished List

This isn't me or my kitchen.

It's 8:30ish in the morning here. I've already run 4.5 miles, fed my kids breakfast, and mopped up a gigantic disgusting mess in the garage. Don't ask. It's just not share worthy. I am now sitting at my computer with my homemade latte that tastes nothing like the Starbucks latte I love so much trying to get a blogging streak going to match my running streak, 10 consecutive days and about 30 miles. How cool is that? AND, I'm typing stuff on my blog, the third post in two days. I feel so accomplished right now, I'm going to revel in it since this is probably the most I'll get done all day. Ask me what I've accomplished again at about 8:30 tonight, and I'll more than likely have the same list having only added "kept the kids alive" and "managed not to run away."

Oh, wait, we have baseball tonight. The list grows on baseball nights. So, tonight if you asked me what I accomplished I will probably say that I got two unwilling spectators ready to watch their brother play baseball. I packed a bag with a bazillion tricks and snacks to keep said unwilling spectators happy at the game. Then repacked the bag after a five year old in a panic to find the ONE toy she MUST have for the game or she just CAN'T survive dumps it all over the floor. I can say I fought over the reasons why sparkly princess shoes are not the kind of thing you wear to the ball park, and searched the house top to bottom for the socks I JUST handed my eight year old and decided to just get him fresh socks that may or may not match because at this point we're so late it just doesn't matter. (We'll probably find them as soon as we get home. Like yesterday we found them on his bathroom counter next to his tooth brush.). I will have traveled to the game, probably arriving late due to toy and sock issues, and I will arrive with a nagging headache having listened to the Frozen soundtrack AGAIN, and also having listened to my eight year old son beg me to never play those songs again, EVER, "plllleeeeeeeease!" I will more than likely have fed them something from a drive through as we are traveling to the game because in all the chaos of getting to the game, cooking is just not an option, even in the summer. Then I will probably have resolved to never feed my children fast food again hearing my eight year old, Jackson, the one with the food allergies and autism, ask me when I'm going to cook again, "I love when you cook, and I miss your yummy food." I will have gone through a dozen healthy snacks offering each one to my children who just ate fast food eventually caving in to the lure of the concession stand. AND, I will have attempted to have adult conversation with the other baseball moms while watching said unwilling spectators and also paying attention to my super star BJ Upton/Freddie Freeman/Mike Minor combo kid (I'm not biased or anything) play the game he loves so much so that when he asks me later, "did you see that, Mom. Did you see that?" I can reply, "yes, baby and it was awesome!"

So, tonight when I say, "I managed to keep the kids alive and not run away." It will mean so much more than say, yesterday when the most I accomplished was dishes, grocery shopping and boxed pizza for dinner (it was Kashi and Amy's organic). Now, grocery shopping WITH my kids is kind of like attempting to climb Mount Everest in a bikini. Ok. I'll take that back so I don't offend those super fit, crazy people who have actually accomplished that nearly inhuman feat — the climbing Mount Everest thing not the bikini thing, 'cause that would just be dumb. Grocery shopping WITH my kids is more like running a half marathon on a trail on hills that feel like you're climbing a mountain in 80 degrees and 80% humidity with the sun glaring through every opening in the canopy above knowing your super fast friend you've been chasing your whole running life is probably up ahead singing her way through the race and crossing the finish with a PR. That will be on my list of accomplishments for next Saturday, should I survive, anyway.

If I don't, then you can say, I died doing something I love trying to be better than the woman I was yesterday. If I do survive, though, you should probably know that I'm really just running this race because there are some awesome women running it that asked if I would join them. I like running for me, but I like running for others more. Well, that and it will help me keep my running streak alive, AND I have ten pounds I gained training for that darn marathon I need to get rid of. Plus, my daughter is super proud of me when I get home from a race. I want to inspire her to do things that are uncomfortable and difficult, to push herself outside the box so she has a nice fat mental file of accomplishments to draw on when she's facing a mountain she doesn't know if she can climb. And, running is awesome. It just is.

So, now I'm going to go clean my house, make sure a certain uniform is clean, and attempt to prepare ahead of time so maybe I can be on time and forego some of those 'issues' I listed in the second paragraph. Then maybe I can add "finished the day with low stress and fell asleep quickly without any worry over the permanent damage I've caused my children with my overwhelmed craziness." We'll see. It's still early.

Losing my Spoons

So, it's been a while since I've blogged. Life is hard these days. I keep looking forward to the next stage of development like it will bring with it more freedom for both me and the kids, but with each new season, I'm finding the job doesn't really get easier or less time consuming. It's just different. There are so many things you don't think about with new life stages, even when you have older ones that have gone through it before. My oldest is neurotypical. My middle is autistic, and my youngest is a girl. They don't do anything alike. It's all new. Every day.

I could write a book about the differences and how I'm always being caught off guard and off my game, but that would take time. That's not a luxury I have these days. There's something else missing in my house, though, something I'm a little more curious about at the moment. Over twelve years of marriage, five places of residence, three kids and a bazillion changes in our lives, I have lost my spoons. You know, the things you eat soup and stir your latte with, I've lost them. ALL of them. I know you're probably thinking, "how do you lose something like that and not notice the loss sooner?" It's a terrible thing really. I'm a little afraid of the green police arresting me after I publish this post, but here goes. I...I have an addiction to disposable silverware, and plates and cups and bowls. I know. It's terrible, but it has made my life so much easier. Do you know how many dishes a family of five goes through in the course of a day? I do. About three dish washer loads, and that's on normal days, not the days I bake or cook something complicated. Those days, it's worse, and I can't handle the overload. I know I'm filling up our landfills and poisoning the planet, but I can't spend my days washing dishes, the same dishes, over and over and over. I just can't. I buy organic, try to cook dinner at home as much as my schedule allows, and I recycle EVERYTHING I can, but I can't give up my disposables. I just can't. Can you hear the panic in my voice? Please don't judge me. I need them, and I'll quit as soon as this whole mommy things gets easier and I have time for extra dishes. Promise. ;-) Anyway, back to the spoon thing.

So, when you use disposable silverware, and you run out before getting more, there's a gap. That's when you go to the drawer looking for the real stuff and after the first load of dishes when you have no room for all the silverware in your dishwasher's silverware basket, resolve to buy disposable again as soon as possible. I think I may have noticed the depletion happening a while ago, when there seemed to be fewer spoons than there should be, fewer in the drawer and fewer in the dishwasher, but in all the chaos that is my life, it got put on the back burner. You know, that burner, the one in the back, yeah, it rarely gets lit. Most things sit there for ages, often forever. It's kind of a graveyard, really. Anyway, this last 'gap' we went through, there were none. NONE. Well, there were baby spoons that I can't really explain still having since my youngest is five. That morning, I ate my whole wheat cereal with a purple baby spoon. It took me twice as long as it usually does, and I made a bigger mess. My daughter who usually chooses those adorable leftovers from her childhood whenever she has a chance, even said, "Mom, I need a real spoon. Where did they go?"

Where did they go? Seriously. I want to know. Have my sock gremlins gotten bored and switched to stealing spoons? Are they building little spoon/sock forts with all their lifted merchandise? What about the forks? Why not the forks? Is there something wrong with them? Are they too sharp and dangerous? Are they rude and divisive? Come to think of it, I'm missing a lot of butter knives, too. They're sharp, kind of. Maybe the dish didn't run away with the spoon. Maybe the knife did. Maybe the knife stole the spoon away from the dish. Gasp! What kind of babies do knives and spoons make? What kind of question was that? I spend too much time with children under ten. I could continue to speculate and cause real concern over the loss of more than my spoons, but I'll cut this short.

I don't know what happened to all my spoons, but I do know that I must do something about it. I might choose to use disposable, but what kind of mother expects her children to eat their cereal with baby spoons during a 'gap'? Not this one. So, I am planning to go buy eight to twelve place settings of silverware, real silverware. This will be the first time since I registered for my wedding that I've even gone into that part of the store. This could be dangerous. I will NOT be taking my kids, and I might remember how much I like pretty real silverware and get lost in visions of dinner parties and entertaining. It might be enough to break me of my disposable silverware addiction, or maybe not. Just typing those sentences sent me off into nostalgic memories of picking out dishes and silverware and dreaming of my new life with my fiancé. Oh, to be young again. Do you ever think about what you would tell your younger self about your future life? I was just thinking that if I could go back, I would warn my younger self that sock gremlins eventually turn into spoon-nappers, and action must be taken to prevent the theft. So, if you come over and find a trap set in the silverware drawer, I'm sorry. It's not for you. It's for the gremlins.

We're talking about the loss of innocent spoons, and maybe a little more of my mind than I'm currently equipped to function without. But, see that's not a mystery. I know exactly where that went. My children took it! And, one day, I get to sit back and watch as my grandchildren take theirs. I imagine it will be very fulfilling, just like I imagine that life will be easier in the next stage of their development. Only, will I have enough of my mind left to take pleasure in what I see? I don't know. Such are the mysteries of life. The loss of my spoons and my mind.

If You Take a Five Year Old to the Grocery Store...

If you take a five year old to the grocery store, she may fight you about what to wear, and if she fights you about what to wear, you might compromise and let her do her own hair and pick out her own shoes. If she does her own hair and picks out her own shoes, she might go to the store looking like her hair has never seen a brush and her shoes might not match.

Even though her shoes don't match and her hair is a mess, she'll probably walk into the store like she owns the place and twirl and dance like she's covered in gold and diamonds, and if she twirls and dances like she's covered in gold and diamonds, she might realize she has to potty just after you've put a few things in the cart.

If she realizes she has to potty after you've put a few things in the cart, you might get frustrated and ask why she didn't go before leaving the house, and if you ask her why she didn't go before leaving the house, she'll probably reply that she didn't have to go then. Since she didn't have to go then, she has to go NOW, and since she has to go NOW, you have two options. 1. To leave the cart of groceries, take her to the bathroom and start over, or 2. Push the cart to the door of the restroom, stand by the door with your 8 year old and send your 9 year old in to make sure she is safe.

If you choose to send your 9 year old in with her, you might have visions of childhood scars and therapy visits he might need as an adult to get over the terrible things you made him do when he was 9. If you start having visions of childhood scars and therapy visits for your child, you will probably finish your shopping trip with Mommy guilt, and if you are finishing your shopping trip with mommy guilt, you will likely end up with an overloaded cart and a larger bill at the register. But, first you have to finish your shopping trip.

As you attempt to finish your shopping trip in a store extra crowded with all the families home for summer, your younger son with autism will probably say something inappropriate loud enough for the next isles over to hear clearly, and if your younger son says something inappropriate loud enough for other isles to hear, your older son will probably get tickled and/or embarrassed for him and try to fix the problem but only make it worse. If your older son makes it worse, you'll probably be even more embarrassed and forget what you were even on that isle for anyway, and if you can't remember why you were on that isle you will probably have to go back to it after you think you are finished.

If you have to revisit isles you will probably get overwhelmed and forget a lot, and if you forget a lot, you'll have to go back the next day. If you have to go back the next day, you'll probably have to take your five year old with you, and if you take your five year old with you, she'll probably fight you over what to wear. If she fights you over what to wear, you'll probably just let her wear whatever she wants even if it's pajamas or a princess costume complete with "glass" slippers.

Happy Summer! Is it Fall yet?

The Gospel and Autism

[[ I typed this post about a year ago after Jackson (then 6 years old) told me emphatically he didn't want God in his life, but decided not to publish the intensely personal and controversial struggle. I'm still worried about it being clear, but something happened today that made me feel like I should share. ]]

Have you ever tried Googling that phrase, the Gospel and autism? You get more useful hits using faith or religion and autism, but I'm often searching for tidbits and info on the things most heavily weighing on my heart. So, I Googled that phrase recently, and found something that struck a nerve.

Before Jackson's diagnosis I thought you didn't have to teach a child to lie, and you didn't have to explain God for them to believe. They just do on both counts. Well, not necessarily. While the self-preservation instinct that causes a child to lie is evident in Jackson in other ways, he didn't figure out lying for a long time, and I don't know when he would have without having learned from his brother and other typically developing kids. He has a big imagination, especially when it comes to super heroes and the tooth fairy, but he seems to struggle more with spiritual things. The way you typically talk to a child about God just doesn't work for him. I think I mentioned before how he reacted to the Sunday School talk about asking Jesus into his heart. It was a traumatic thought for him, asking this invisible God who created all things and was bigger than the universe to enter his little heart. In his mind, this would be painful and might result in an explosion.

Needless to say the communication barrier and the literal, fact based way Jackson thinks has been a serious curve ball for me. During one conversation in which I was trying to answer one of his questions by explaining what it means for Jesus to be IN you and you to be IN Him (and obviously failing at it), Jackson looked at me plain as day and said, "I don't think I want that. Nope. I don't want God." Now, you know why I'm Googling things like 'the Gospel and autism.' It broke my heart, the tears started welling up, and I had to leave the room.

Now let's pause for a moment and examine the tears. I accepted Christ when I was six years old. I can't remember a moment in my childhood where He wasn't present and active in my life. There were moments when I could literally feel His presence surrounding me. I had a little hill overlooking a cattle pasture that was my praying spot. I used to go there, lie on the ground, watch the clouds and the trees and talk to Him like He was right there next to me. I've read through the Bible several times, and each time is new and amazing. My faith is not a religion for me. It's a relationship. Now I've struggled and doubted. Done many things I wish I could take back, at times exhibiting anything but devotion to this God. I've gone through times when my faith was shaken and purged, but in the end (and hopefully TO the end) it only came out stronger. My God is not some distant figure I hear about at church, read about in an ancient book and struggle to please hoping for heaven when I die. He's my father, my brother, my husband, my friend....my everything. I cannot imagine my life without my God, and I look forward to the day I get to see His face, hold His hand and hear His voice. It's a big deal, and I want that for my children.

Wanting that same relationship with God for my children, my heart has obviously been heavy since Jackson's statement. My husband has reminded me that he's only 6 (almost 7), and it's not time to panic yet. But, my heart is heavy all the same. I kept praying, "God, he can do without many things, but he can't do without You." Oh, the restless heart of a mother. Back to Googling the Gospel and autism.

In my search, I landed on an autism forum where someone asked how you share the Gospel with an autistic child. The general consensus was that it's child abuse to teach a child, especially an autistic child, about God. That it is taking advantage of their blind trust in you as their caregiver. According to this forum, you should wait until they are old enough or developed enough to seek faith on their own. At first I was irritated almost ready to join the forum just to rebut their stupid advice. Obviously these people aren't parents. The only love greater than my love for my babies is God's love for me. And, obviously these people aren't religious. When you truly believe something, separating your beliefs from your life, as a parent or anything else, is just not possible. So, if a parent really loves their children and truly believes in the Bible, NOT teaching their children about God isn't an option. While I had plenty to say to those who answered the question, I did not have an actual answer to the question. How DO you teach the Gospel to a child with autism? My high functioning son told me he didn't want God. So, clearly I don't have the answer. Then I started thinking about where Jackson is right now.

Recently, he received a Bible and a highlighter from our pastor during a special presentation at our church. He was extremely excited about the Bible, and almost blown away by the fact that I told him it was ok to mark in it with the highlighter. Seriously, it was like I told him he could have ice cream for breakfast. This might be connected to an incident where his little sister colored a whole page in my Bible with a sharpie and I cried. Writing in books (especially a Bible) is not something he's ever been allowed to do. He highlighted the passage the pastor preached from, and he's been reading his Bible, and highlighting, excitedly since. I'm just amazed at how God can take a simple thing like a Bible presentation and a highlighter and answer the prayer of a heavy heart.

Thinking about the forum question and answers, I couldn't help but wonder. Maybe there is something to allowing a child to seek faith themselves. Maybe all my trying to explain things is making it harder for him to understand. Maybe I just need to let him read while I live out my faith and pray I can answer the questions that are sparked by his reading.

The Holy Spirit is not hindered by the same communication barriers that hinder us. God's Word is alive and penetrating, and I know that Jackson's seeking will find that same father, brother and friend that I have worshipped my whole life.

"You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart."
Jeremiah 29:13

One of my favorite autism blogs shared this in a recent post, and I can't help but share it, too.

"Dear restless heart, be still; don’t fret and worry so;
God has a thousand ways His love and help to show;
Just trust, and trust, and trust, until His will you know.

Dear restless heart, be still, for peace is God’s own smile,
His love can every wrong and sorrow reconcile;
Just love, and love, and love, and calmly wait awhile.

Dear restless heart, be brave; don’t moan and sorrow so,
He hath a meaning kind in chilly winds that blow;
Just hope, and hope, and hope, until you braver grow.

Dear restless heart, repose upon His breast this hour,
His grace is strength and life, His love is bloom and flower;
Just rest, and rest, and rest, within His tender power.

Dear restless heart, be still! Don’t struggle to be free;
God’s life is in your life, from Him you may not flee;
Just pray, and pray, and pray, till you have faith to see."

~Edith Willis Linn

I didn't join the forum or comment on the question, but I thought I would post what I've learned here. Sharing the Gospel with an autistic child is the same as with anyone else, you share then trust, love, hope, rest, pray and let God handle it from there. There are no barriers He cannot overcome.

Maybe the next person to Google 'the Gospel and autism' will run across this post and find encouragement. "Dear restless heart, be still."

Update: I let it go. I chose to wait for Jackson to be ready. I tried to answer any questions and let him take it from there. Some were easy. Some were not so easy. But, today he asked how you become a Christian. We talked through it, and he decided to accept Jesus as his savior. His heart didn't explode, but mine just might. :-)

If My Son Tells You I Have Four Fake Teeth and Need Another...

I have always liked taking care of my teeth. I brush at least twice a day. I floss. I even liked the dentist growing up. Not as much as my kids like theirs, but they didn't have gaming rooms and prize machines at my dentist. I just genuinely liked it. Crazy, huh? Well, yes, especially given the fact that I've had nearly every major dental procedure you can have before implants and dentures, well besides braces. I always thought it would be cool to have those. And, glasses, I thought glasses were cool, too. I think I may be revealing just how much of a nerd I am. I liked the dentist, wanted braces and thought glasses were cool. Add the fact that I was homeschooled and all knees and elbows and you get what my teenage dating life was like. :-) But, I digress.

I was 6 when the first 'incident' occurred. My front permanent teeth were just then fully grown in. My brothers and I were playing hide and seek at my grandmother's house. I hid in the bathroom behind the curtain. Awesome, right? I was super smart, too! Anyway, when my brother found me I took off to run, slipped on the rug and hit my face on the tub. I broke my right front tooth in half. I don't remember much else except my grandmother being really worried and that it's hard to eat a cheeseburger with a broken tooth. There was also a little teasing from my little brother. My older brother was too worried to tease me. Mostly worried he was going to be in big trouble, I'm sure. My little brother wasn't quite old enough for that to register. Actually, I don't know that that kind of thing registered to him for a very long time. So, I went to the dentist, and he put a cap on my tooth. All fixed.

About 3 years later, we were at my grandmother's house again, playing tinker toys, and my little brother was trying to pull apart some stuck pieces and either the toy or his elbow hit me in the face. Knocked the cap right off, another trip to the dentist. Good thing I liked him.

About 3 years after that, we were playing tag in our pasture (I grew up on a farm, that gives me even more cool points) and my little brother… Him again, I know. It's like he's as accident prone as I am. You would not believe how many times he went to the emergency room as a kid. Anyway, he rushed through an open chain link gate and slammed it into my face. I was just tall enough for the metal bar at the top to hit me right in the teeth. Another cap lost.

Then the dentist decided to put a metal pin in my tooth to hold the cap in place. I thought it was awesome, especially when he showed me the pin with that little dental mirror. You could see it from the back of my cap. That was the closest to having braces I ever got, and I was proud. Then I kind of forgot about the cap.

Fast forward through the awkward teen years. I swear I didn't grow out of them until I was a mom, and then I entered a whole other kind of awkward. It was the summer before I went to college. Like I've said before, I grew up on a farm. I LOVED animals, and we had ANY animal my heart desired besides cows and pigs. My mom grew up with hogs and hated them, and my dad said cows were too big and might hurt me. Ha! Just keep reading to see how silly that seems now. Well, I raised and showed sheep. Yes, another super cool thing about my childhood. Well, this thing might not have been 'cool' to other kids my age growing up near me, but it really was cool and one of my favorite parts of childhood. Anyway, we had all the equipment you needed and would go around shearing for other small farms or families who had sheep but no shears. One of these farms had the kind of sheep you think about when you picture sheep, like the ones from the Bible with the speckled faces and really long fluffy fleeces. Their ram had horns, the kind that wrapped around his ears. He was really beautiful, and smaller than our sheep. Funny how smaller often means feistier. We had just sheared him and his ewes. My mom went with the owner to clean the shears and get paid while I cleaned up the wool. This owner let us keep it. I had a spinning wheel and loom (yep, more cool points, and I should probably stop saying cool points). This little guy was about half the size of the sheep we had (suffolks), and I underestimated both his anger over being stripped in 'public' AND his ability to cause real harm….

Do you know why they use the word ram in the term battering ram? This is totally unofficial, but I'm gonna give you my explanation. Rams (male sheep) are the protectors of the flock, and even the ones without horns have really thick, strong skulls. When they go to 'ram' something (or someone, in this case) they run as fast as they can in the space they have, lower their heads so that their spine is completely straight and then lift their front feet off the ground so as to shift all momentum to their horns/skull. After they hit their target (instinctively they go for the head or ribs), while it is still down, they back up to do it again and again until their target is no longer moving or it has run away. That's what makes them dangerous. Tenacity and the whole using their body as a battering ram thing.

So, as I was bending to gather the wool, not paying him any attention because I had totally underestimated him, and the next thing I know I am coming to on the ground seeing him all blurry and backing up to hit me again. I scramble to my feet, struggle to the gate and clumsily scale it and fall over onto the other side. Have you ever been to a rodeo? Think bull rider that gets thrown hard or hit by the bull and wobbles to safety. I have no idea how long I was on the other side before my mom came to get me. Guess where this ram hit me. Right in that same spot, my two front teeth.

My right front tooth was wobbly after that, even with the pin, but it didn't really hurt, not like my head anyway. I went on to college and the joys of private Christian education, but I was really sluggish about October. By November, something was really wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Right before I came home for Christmas, my face started hurting. It centered around my two front teeth, but it was the whole right lower part of my face. When I got home, we figured out it was my teeth, and I went to the dentist (a different one by now). The x-rays showed an abscess between the size of a dime and a nickel above my right front tooth. He said something about the infection progressing away from my tooth and back into my face/jaw (why my whole face hurt). Now, it's important to note that up until this point, I had never had a cavity. No fillings. The only things I had ever had done to my teeth were the caps and pin. I was not prepared for a root canal. It was brutal and evil and any other horrible adjective you can think of. Then I had a crownish thing done. I can't really remember what it was called because a crown is what you have put on your back teeth, not the front. Anyway, fixed and forgotten.

About a year later, the same thing happened, but this time it was the incisor beside the tooth with the pin. Two root canals, and all was well, for a while. Then this happened again, one more time, infection in both teeth. Four root canals, three caps, and one pin BEFORE I had ever had a cavity. Add abscessed and impacted wisdom teeth, and I think it's safe to say the tooth fairy cursed me.

So, on with my life until those two teeth started turning yellow. Nothing makes a smile sparkle like yellowing teeth, especially when they are yellowing much faster than the rest of your teeth. After I had Jacob, I felt like I couldn't handle it anymore. So, I had veneers put on. They had to do all four front teeth to make sure they were the same shade and shape. This would also be the same time I had my first cavity. I blame Jacob. Besides the fact that the dentist who did my veneers shaped them for looks rather than trying to make them fit together with my bottom teeth thus causing them to chip to fit, I haven't had any more problems with those teeth. That little booger that grew the first cavity, though. That one is the problem now. The filling came out some time after my pregnancy with Jackson and I didn't realize it and didn't have time to go to the dentist for like 2 years. By the time I went in, it was so bad, I had to have a crown put on.

Fast forward to another giant length of time between dental visits and a few cavities, and that crowned tooth hurts so bad, the dentist and I had a discussion about recurring infections in teeth with root canals and how she recommends implants rather than doing more root canals. Why does the tooth fairy hate me? What did I ever do to her? Well, besides never believing in her. I blame my mom.

So, finally to fill in the end of the title sentence, my kids were concerned about my hurting tooth, and they asked me what the dentist said. I've told them about my front teeth, how you never hide in the bathroom during hide and seek, the ram and all that. Now I'm telling them about maybe getting an implant, a fake tooth I explain, and my super sweet son says, "So, you already have four fake teeth, and you want another? Mom, pretty soon you won't have any real teeth left." I kinda felt like I should have said "that's funny right there" or "you might be a redneck, if" but I just said, "sometimes things happen that are out of our control." At this rate, I'll be in dentures in no time. That's one hot mama, right there. Maybe I should just get it over with and pull them all. Is there a denture fairy who could curse me? I'll make sure to believe in her. :-)