Toys, toys, toys!

The upside of moving is that I have finally, finally conquered the toy beast.

Between Seven's plastic allergy (and the tossing out that had to be done), purging, flooding, and just plain clearing out, I have been able to pare down to the barest of essentials when it comes to the items designated for play.

I can't tell you how much happier I am now that nothing in my house is shaped like a miniature electric guitar that lights up and plays show tunes when you push its buttons, or has Dora's face emblazoned on it, or screams at me from the shelves of Fred Meyer to buy Just One More! to add to the collection of fifty others littering the floor of my living room.

We still have Legos. And teeny tiny little wood doll house pieces. But we have been selective-- purposeful-- in what we've let into our home. And y'all, it has been so freeing. Not seeing a mound of seldom-used junk cluttering up the house and, in truth, my kids' imaginations ... it's just priceless.

There is hope, folks. There is hope.

Here are a couple of posts that have encouraged me in regards to the choices we've made as a family:

Jess talks about how to choose toys that have lasting appeal.

A mom who took her girls' toys away a year ago talks about the effect this has had on their lives.

Thoughts on less toys by a minimalist.

And, in case you're curious, a tour of our toy shelves:

These, plus a toy kitchen, dollhouse, and accessories, are what made the cut-- not counting puzzles and board games. How about you? What are your kids playing with these days?

Orzo with Cheese & Broccoli {everyone@thetable}

With Reuven now an entity in his own right at our table, I am loving watching him dive in to new flavors and textures. I am a big proponent of not "dumbing down" food for children.  Their palates deserve to be delighted just as much as ours. Here's a favorite recipe from the Blandings kitchen needs only a few quick dices with a butterknife to be served to everyone at the table, from Daddy to babe. Bonus round for the homeschoolers among us: this is fast and easy enough to make it into lunch rotation, even if your 11 year-old handles lunch prep some days.

Orzo with Cheese & Broccoli
adapted from Skinnytaste

Ingredients:
3 cup orzo

2 cups frozen or fresh broccoli florets

3/4 cup shredded cheddar cheese

4 Tablespoons grated parmesan cheese

2 cloves minced garlic

3 Tablespoon butter

 approx. 1/2 cup milk

salt

Directions:

Add orzo to a large pot of salted boiling water. Boil for 3 minutes then add broccoli and cook for 2-4 more minutes, or until orzo is not quite done. Drain and then return to the pot. Add cheeses, butter, and milk.  Stir. Add more milk until you reach your preferred consistency.

We've found that the cheese amounts can be tinkered with once you get a feel for the recipe. Some days, it's all about the gooey cheddar. Other days, it's more about the orzo. YMMV.

(in)hospitable

I have always considered myself a truly rotten hostess. The bar was set pretty high for me at a young age, what with my mom and grandmother being the world's most comfortable, most accommodating, most "always another spot at the table" kind of women. I have fabulous memories of wandering the family room while my mom served coffee to folks who had just popped by, and even better memories of 50 people milling around my Mamaw's house waiting for the Thanksgiving turkeys (yes, plural)  to come out of the oven.

Those ladies made it seem effortless, this whole "hospitality" thing. They enjoyed it. And they didn't seem to stress over the idea of welcoming 2 or 20 people into their home on a moment's notice.

Of course, neither of them had ever seen Martha Stewart's idea of casual entertaining, either.

Part of the plan in moving to this house was to be able to invite interested families over to hear more about the work in Nepal. The two minute synopsis delivered in the church hallway with a hungry toddler asking for lunch is great and all, but really lacks the full depth of intimacy, know what I mean? We had known for a while that we'd have more of an impact if we could talk-- really talk-- to people about the need, the call, and the plan. But our old house lacked any real gathering area and barely fit my own family around the dining room table, let alone a few more.

So we moved here. And we threw open the doors. And voila--I confronted my worst fears and became a reluctant, regular hostess.

Up until now, I've really stressed over having people over. I mean, the Martha Stewart comment is funny and all, but yeah ... I seriously have always looked at my surroundings and figured that no one would really want to spend an entire evening eating off the plates Logan chipped getting out of the dishwasher, or sitting near the pillows Oli uses as blocks half the day. 

And before you ask, no, I don't judge other people's houses that way. Not at all. It's a total double standard, and I know it. But I've never been able to shake it.

Well, until now.

Out of necessity, I've embraced the life that my grandmother and mom lived with such ease. And yes, the more I do it, the easier it's becoming. In seven weeks of living here, we've had 9 families come through-- not counting Benny's people because really, I'd invite them over in my pjs for breakfast any old day.

Aside from the fact that this introvert is being dragged, kicking and screaming, from her happy shell, it hasn't been bad. In case there are any other reluctant hostesses out there, I offer these tips for cutting down on the stress and upping the "I can do this" factor.

1. Have the right tools. No, you don't need special stuff, but I quickly figured out that a few investments paid off. A thermal coffee carafe. A glass beverage dispenser. A Costco pack of napkins, paper cups. Sharpies (for labeling said cups). And an entire extra set of Ikea dishes and silverware on the cheap.

2. Make a hosting checklist. In the past, I kept a running checklist of the stuff that needed to get done before the place was presentable, and it was all jumbled in my mind with food prep and anything else that I wanted to accomplish. Simply typing up a basic list (clean main bathroom, vacuum main areas, scoop dog poop in back yard, etc.), laminating it, and posting it has been a lifesaver. The kids pick a job and do it, freeing me from handing out duties, worrying over it getting done, or, worse yet, frantically scrubbing a toilet as someone rings my doorbell.

3. Keep it up. The house, that is. Hosting people has been a huge incentive to make sure that the little stuff doesn't become big stuff. I always fought to keep my kitchen counters clear. No more. Knowing that someone is likely to be hitting the door in 24 hours or less is a big reason to take the time to not let that stack of papers get too cozy on the corner. 

4. Make a hospitality menu. We quickly figured out a handful of sure-fire meals to rotate through, along with some tried-and-true but still yummy desserts. I printed these off, stuck them in the front of my main recipe binder, and use these as my go-to to keep things simple. Hint: one of the best meals we've found is a taco bar that uses my crockpot to make the main filling. Can it get an easier?

5. Pick a time, and make that the time. I have purposefully asked everyone coming by if 4 p.m. is an o.k. arrival time on a weekend. Weeknights has been 5 p.m. Why? I know that those are doable schedule-wise for us, and I don't have to stress out over mixing up the time, because it's always the same.

6. Make it fun. This is the biggest tip I can possibly offer you. In the past, I admit that entertaining was zero fun for my kids. I stressed out over the even for days, tried to do everything myself, and was probably a Wicked Witch the entire day leading up to the arrival of our friends. Reading several books on hospitality helped me to see this as damaging, and I was convicted that I was putting effort into a show of false appearances. Ouch. Stepping back, letting go, and just being real has made this entire process-- dare I say it-- enjoyable. For all of us. Go figure!

I never in a million years dreamed that I would be in a place where having three events in my home in three days would seem not only reasonable, but actually fun. Yet, that's where I am sitting right now. God has changed my heart, given me new eyes, and allowed me to take the blessings He's given me and use them to bless others. Who knew I'd actually enjoy it?

Chicken stew and cornmeal dumplings {everyone@thetable}

With Reuven now an entity in his own right at our  (admittedly overflowing) table, I am loving watching him dive in to new flavors and textures. I am a big proponent of not "dumbing down" food for children.  Their palates deserve to be delighted just as much as ours. Here's a favorite recipe from the Blandings kitchen needs only a few quick dices with a butterknife to be served to everyone at the table, from Daddy to babe.

Chicken stew with cornmeal dumplings

(adapted from Diabetic Living Online)

2 lbs chick thighs

1 bag baby carrots

2 sticks celery, diced

1 1/2 cups frozen corn

1/2 medium onion, chopped

1 tsp. minced garlic

2 tsp. dried rosemary

1/4 tsp. pepper

2 cups chicken stock

1. In a large pot, add chicken. Cook thoroughly, debone. Discard water unless you used stock for this step. If so, retain 2 cups. 

2. In same pot, combine stock, carrots, celery, corn, onion, garlic, rosemary, and pepper. Add chicken. Bring to a boil and let simmer until carrots are almost tender.

1 cup flour

1 cup cornmeal

2 tsp. baking powder

4 egg whies

4 TBS milk

4 TBS vegetable oil

3. Combine above ingredients in mixer and beat until smooth. Using a spoon, drop Cornmeal Dumplings dough into equal-sized mounds on top of hot chicken mixture. Cover and cook for 20 to 25 minutes more or until a toothpick inserted into a dumpling comes out clean. Serve.

Making home

Our lives are in boxes. Small boxes, big boxes. Sealed cardboard containers full of both the important (baby books) and mundane (cheese grater). The things that make a life a life.

Our days are currently spent opening boxes and finding homes for the essentials. We've purposed to keep some boxes sealed-- the idea being that at the end of our stay here, we may find ourselves less inclined to label these unopened time capsules "must haves" and be more likely to part with them as we book plane tickets to Nepal. Still, the supply of boxes that must be opened and sorted seems endless. 

Even pared down, even after ruthlessly purging, even after having sent bags upon bags to Goodwill, friends, and neighbors ...

We have a lot of stuff.

So we open boxes. Put towels in drawers. Hang photos on walls.  Stack puzzles on shelves.

We make home.

The first few days here, in this cavernous, mid-century home, I felt like an intruder. A visitor comes and goes. But an intruder takes away from the space, violates it. Seeing my sewing machine claim real estate, sitting at my humble kitchen table ... all of it was wrong and unknown and somehow seemed an affront to this house, in this neighborhood, in this city. 

This is not a place we would have chosen to land. The house is more than double the size of our previous one. The style of it is all wrong for us. Our neighbors are all elderly. No one gardens anything but flowers. Well-manicured flowers. The kind that bloom with the sole purpose of being immediately cut and plunked in a vase on a coffee table.

Have I ever mentioned that we don't actually own a coffee table?

But I digress. 

Here I am, adding bits of me--of us-- to this place. Claiming it, one step at a time. Finding my footing. Embracing the here and now. Letting the foreign, unsettledness of it fade and a new ease with my norm seat itself.

This morning, as we sat at breakfast, eagle-eyed Logan peered out the open French doors. In a shot, he was up, pushing the littles along with him, shouting for Seven to grab her magnifying glass. I admit that I was irritated. There is so much to get done today, I grinched. Can't we just get through breakfast so that you guys can go off and play and I can maybe, just maybe, get this kitchen totally set right?

But the kids were too fast for me, and before I could open my mouth to berate them ("You didn't ask to be excused!") I was hearing squeals of delight. Mani came racing back in, face already flushed, voice high and thin in his excitement.

"Spiders! Four spiders making webs right out there!"

I handed Reuven off to Jo (whose interest in spiders falls somewhere between "pour bleach in my eyes" and "I could vomit right now") and followed Mani out to the deck. As advertised, four small spiders were working industriously to fill in the frames of perfect, empty webs. Each went about his or her work, oblivious to all of the eyes observing, not to mention the exclamations.

"Look at how fast they work!"

"I can see his spinnerets!"

"How do they measure it all so perfectly?"

It was Seven who finally tugged me down to peer through her oversized magnifying glass and fully appreciate the beauty of the find. She waxed poetic on the sheer joy the spider must have in making something so fabulous. Then, thoughtfully, she puckered her sweet little lips and asked the most obvious question, as only an almost-three year-old can.

"Why do the spiders make the webs, Momma?"

And I had to answer her with the only truth I know, the only thing I have to cling to right now amidst these boxes and upturned schedules.

"It's their home, baby. They make them because it's their home."

"Oh!" she clapped, going up on her tip toes and shivering with that contagious, little girl joy. "They make them for their families!"

And this is how God used four spiders, an interrupted breakfast, and a precocious preschooler to remind me that while my eyes are cast ahead, following a greater, long-term goal, I must do this thing here, before me with as much enthusiasm. Why? Because it is my home. And it is for my family.

A decade, give or take

Packing up, moving on.

I remember the first time I walked over the threshold of this house. 

It was a rainy, grey November afternoon. Newcomers to western Washington, we still hadn't figured out that rainboots are not just a fashion statement, but a requirement to make it through the cooler months in this climate. My feet were just beginning to feel damp in my tennis shoes, and Jo was already complaining about her squishy socks, which would not have been wet had she been able to resist the growing puddles at the curb. Logan was a six month-old nursling (younger than Reuven is now!) tucked into a ridiculously uncomfortable front-pack baby carrier that I had zipped into my fashionably large winter coat. Atticus was holding my hand, just 2 and a half years old and entirely unsure what this whole cross-country relocation had done to his life.

We all clustered under the long covered walkway leading toward the front door: five of us Blandings', and one very OCD realtor. From the outside, the townhouse was nondescript. Just another bit of new construction tucked into yet another Seattle suburb. When the door swung open and we all walked in, though, we knew.

This was our house. This one. This one right here.

I could see myself standing at that stove, making breakfast in my wool socks. I could see Jo twirling in the family room. I could see Atticus stacking blocks on the steps. I could see Logan taking his first halting, army crawl explorations through the dining room. I could see Mr. Blandings leading Bible study under the cherry tree out back.

The funny thing is that we went back and forth on this place versus another for a full 24 hours. Second-guessing our first impression, we wanted to be sure. We planned on living in this house a full two years, after all. It had to be just right.

A decade later (give or take) I can tell you that it was just right. This place has been all I dreamed of, and more. Not only did Jo twirl her way around this family room countless times, but now I have watched Seven do it, too. Atticus built fabulous Lincoln Log houses on the landing, and eventually taught Oli and Mani to do the same. And not only did Logan learn to crawl here, but a whole line of other babies have, too. Right on down to little Reuven.

I canned my first blackberry jam in this kitchen. Learned to sew in this dining room. Cried through the beginning cramps of impending loss in the upstairs bathroom. Laughed over our first broken-by-a-kid window in the family room. Opened the front door and saw Mani for the first time. Stood at the opened sliding glass door and listened to my husband pray with his grandfather one last time before that wonderful old gentleman passed.

It has been a good house. No, it has been a great house. At times it has felt like less than I wanted (sadly, I can covet as well as the next girl), at times it has felt too small or too simple, too urban, too far from the good stuff ... but it has never stopped feeling like home. Even right now, just three days before a truck pulls up to take our earthly belongings to a new space, a new place to grown and live and laugh. 

I am glad I did not know what abundant life would be lived inside these walls when I first felt my soggy tennis shoes hit the brand-new, blue grey carpet. I am glad that I did not know the joys or the pains that awaited me. Life truly is better lived in the moment, and I am grateful that I got to spend those moments here, in this place that my older children will always recall as their growing up place. 

Girls' room {big family, small house}

After showing off the boys' room (the master bedroom), a couple of folks actually emailed asking to see what the room Jo and Seven share looks like. Since there are only two people sharing it, it hadn't occurred to me that it was worth showcasing-- not much to learn for big families here!

But, to satisfy curiosity (and disprove that cordwood stacking theory) I present: The Girls' Room.

This shot is looking into the girls' room from the hall. This room, as you can tell, is actually painted colors. Because they are girls. And they care. And there are only two of them, so personalizing is much easier.

That's Jo's bed on the left. Yes, she keeps her bed that neat always. She's actually training Seven to do the same. I kind of love it. 

The sliding closet doors drove us all nuts, so we took them down and covered the closet with a curtain made of a full-sized sheet. Jo has two that she rotates. This one is short and bugs me, but hey, it's not my room.

The ribbons over the closet are Jo's from her 4H days. 

And this is Seven's little space. It's still in transition from her crib days, but since we're moving, I have just let it slide. 

So there you go. Two girls in one room. Easy Peasey.

Surrendering the master {big family, small house}

When people find out how many children are in our family, they tend to make one of two assumptions:

1. That we live in a sprawling house on property,
OR
2. That we subscribe to the "stacked like cordwood" mentality and have people sleeping in closets and whatnot.

The answer, on both counts, is no.

The entire stateside Blandings clan lives in one 3 bedroom, 1500 sq ft (give or take) townhouse in your basic suburb. We have a 200(ish) sq ft backyard of our own (that opens onto a nearly 2 acre common area). We converted our garage into play space, school storage, and a pantry. And we make do.

We live here because God wants us here. Because we can afford it. And, in all honesty, because we bought this place when we were a family of 5 and it seemed like we were done.

We make do by keeping "stuff" to a minimum, aligning our priorities with our family vision, and by being very, very patient with one another. That patient part? It's usually the most important.

The biggest shock, for most people, comes when they find out that years ago, Mr. Blandings and I moved out of the master bedroom. Doing the math, it just made sense. Four boys or 2 adults? Hmmmm .... I think the four boys rate the space, don't you?

This isn't a revolutionary idea in large family circles, but seems to be rare to the point of absurd to most folks. You gave up your master bedroom? The one with the private bathroom? The one with the big walk-in closet?

Yeah. I did.

So, to satisfy the curious, here's how it looks in our house. These photos were taken on a random day to most accurately reflect the situation. Please note that there is no sweet and wonderful theme to this room. We opted instead to let each boy personalize his own little space on a blank backdrop. Note also that the only real "toys" in this room are the little guys' Lincoln Logs and trains. So while there's a book shelf full to bursting that ends up scattering its contents from time to time, the room is rarely more than five minutes away from being what passes for clean. I've done this on purpose-- it's that whole "keeping stuff to a minimum" that I talked about earlier, as well as the benefit of that garage play space.

This is the view from the bedroom door. You'll probably recognize the big set of shelves from Ikea. They hold special treasures, library books, and things that teens and pre-teens don't want their younger brothers to have. Securing that shelf to the wall beside it was one of the hardest home improvement projects ever, BUT ... the end result is that I can scale it and it won't even think of tipping. Worth the hours of frustration. 

The sides of the room are divided by personality, for sanity's sake. This side belongs to Logan (top bunk) and Oli (bottom bunk). Both of them tend to be a little more on the random, messy side ... so it's for the best that they deal with one another. The wall hooks you see under the windows are for backpacks, clothes to be put back on, belts ... whatever shouldn't be on the floor. Logan's only piece of permanent "collection" is the Pooh Bear print given to him by Benny years ago. He adores it. Right now, he also has Atticus' Moon In Your Room light (also a gift from Benny) and a whole lot of flight school stuff. Oli has wall stickers that glow in the dark. He tells them good night each and every evening.

This side belongs to Atticus (top) and Mani (bottom). As you can tell, Mani is a stickler for making his bed. And Atticus decorates with mementos of his achievements, as well as a Nepali silkscreen of Jesus given to him by Bee. Those small square windows serve as night stands, of sorts, to the older boys, allowing them to keep things nearby in the night. And that stained glass window is mine, y'all. I just don't have anywhere else to put it and it makes my heart sing when I drive up to the house and see it, so it stays there.

Behind the Ikea shelf is a small area for reading. It's also where the plastic bins of trains and Lincoln Logs are stored. Those bins will be replaced with large baskets as soon as we can find large enough options for a decent price at our favorite thrift shops. And see? I told you the place was anything but perfect. That bookshelf is embarrassing.

This shot gives you a better idea of the size of the reading area. The trains and Lincoln Logs usually don't get played with over here; they prefer the larger area under the windows. However, Atticus loves to drag his pillow down from his bed and stretch out in this spot to hang out.

Looking in the closet. Those small dressers belong to Oli and Mani, and area labelled with photos to help them keep their clothes in order. You can't see the large area to the right, which holds a small table (to be pulled out when needed for play) and Atticus' hanging clothes. Those are Logan's above the dressers.

And, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that this is also, clearly, the armory. Check the lightsaber collection!

The view from the wall with the small windows. That armoire holds Atticus and Logan's folded items. It belonged to Mr. Blanding's parents, and so is a treasured piece of family history. The door to the right of the armoire is the master bathroom, which is kept heavily childproofed (and has a childproof handle) to keep Oli safe.

So there you have it. Four boys. One room. And still enough space that no one minds sharing. 

MG's Taste of Summer Muffins

I know I'm back, per se, from my new baby honeymoon, when I'm ready to start tinkering in the kitchen again. This recipe was the result of a napping baby, a sunny afternoon of outdoor play for everyone aged 2 and up, and the very last jar of last year's home-canned peaches smiling at me from the pantry shelf. They combine some of my favorite summer flavors in one not-too-heavy-but-still-moist-and-yummy muffin. Atticus wolfed down five at 6:15 this morning, so they must pass muster.

MG's Taste of Summer Muffins

1/2  quart canned peaches, drained & diced

3 1/2 cups flour

4 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 cup applesauce

1 cup sugar

2 whole eggs

2 egg whites

2 TBS. coconut oil

2 TBS. vegetable oil

1/2 cup whole milk

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Prepare muffin cups with spray or paper liners.

2. In mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt.

3. In a separate bowl, combine applesauce, sugar, whole eggs, egg whites, and oils.

4. Stir applesauce mixture into flour mixture, alternating with milk. Mix until moistened, then slowly add diced peaches.

5. Spoon into muffin cups. Bake 20 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Remove from oven & cool on wire rack, 

Makes 24 muffins.

Be that voice

One of my biggest convictions regarding the raising of my daughters has been that I do not want them stepping into domestic life as woefully unprepared as I was. Despite having spent my early childhood at my Mamaw's knee, learning how to cook and clean and bake and can and sew and do all those homey things, my teen years were spent in far more (ahem) practical pursuits. Like studying for SATs. And school clubs. And getting a part-time job.

None of which I regret or would seek to deny anyone, by the way. Just not ... well, applicable to the life I find myself living.

Despite my grandmother's best efforts, I still made spaghetti (with jarred sauce) for dinner for my new husband 4 nights out of 7 for the first year of our marriage. I still threw away my husband's shirts when they got holes in the armpits. I still looked at my hours-old daughter and wondered how in the heck I was supposed to wrangle her into a new diaper.

I was too embarrassed to ask for much advice in those first early years; I was terrified that my Mamaw would either roll her eyes at me or tell me what a disappointment I was to her. When I finally caved and begged for advice, her reaction was anything but what I had expected. On the contrary, she was delighted to be called on to share sprinklings of her wisdom. Having had no daughters of her own, and not feeling needed by her daughters-in-law, Mamaw had assumed that her chance to mentor a young wife had all but passed her by. My questions about defrosting chicken, nursing babies, soothing bug bites, and cloth diapering gave her a new lease on her own worth.

The circle was complete. She was passing on wisdom, just like God had designed her to do.

Many (most?) of us homemaking/homeschooling wives and mothers nowadays find ourselves treading new waters. Trained by society for careers in the professional world, we struggle with the daily laundry duties, the constant to-do list of running a home, the ongoing nature of that blasted meal planning. Unable to keep up, we rush to latch on to the newest ebook touting 100 Ways to Keep Your House in Order. We haunt websites that offer day-by-day cleaning plans. We create pinterest boards dedicated to organization, tips, and household stuff. 

And all the while, we lament that there is no one there--no wise woman in the wings-- willing to step in and fill that Titus 2: 3-5 role in our lives. 

And you know ... for most of us, there isn't.

For most of us, books and websites and blogs and a few friends walking in our same season-- that's as good as it gets.

So we acknowledge it, and maybe even mourn it a little. We feel somewhat cheated. But we carry on, and we make darn sure that our daughters--our young women-- they will not suffer the same way. They will know how to make a cake without a mix, how to fold those pesky fitted sheets, what to do when a skirt's hem is two inches two long. They will be ready. And if they're not-- well, we're only a phone call away.

Which is a very good, very worthy thing. 

But ...

What about the small, quiet army of new moms today?

What about your sweet neighbor who just outlined her perfectly reasonable plan to go back to work when her baby is four weeks old?

What about your new sister-in-law, who can't cook a lick, bless her heart?

What about the mom at the playground lamenting that her new baby won't sleep more than an hour at a time?

What about the lady at the library who admits she's at her wit's end trying to keep the place clean?

What about that couple at church? That lovely lady is clearly having a hard time balancing the new role of wife.

What about the woman in the grocery store staring at all fifty varieties of jarred mashed bananas and looking overwhelmed?

What about the newbie homeschooler you just met, who says she's pretty burned out already?

What if you could very gracefully, very gently, without an ounce of condemnation or implied authority, what if YOU could be the voice that somehow speaks into the heart of that woman?

What if you were the one who could teach another woman how to do more than just survive the crazy chaos that is the blessing of being a wife and mom? What if part of your role here, now, in this season, is to be a mentor to the women God places in your path?

If you're saying you have nothing to offer, you're wrong. If you've survived a year of marriage, a month of parenting, a week of homeschooling, well-- you've got a little time served under your belt. You know something. You have some hands-on learning. You can encourage, even if you can't directly help.

Salvaging burnt rice? Can do. Avoiding diaper rash? Yep. Taming two year-old tantrums? I've got some tips. Lining up your own libido with your husband's?  Let's talk.

Ladies, take a second to be that voice. Even if you can't fully take a younger woman under your wing, go out of your way to share what you have learned on your journey. There is no shortage of Titus 2 women available to teach, I believe ... just a whole generation of women who have yet to realize that they can fill the job description.

Cake, family culture, & a recipe to boot

A couple of years ago, our family Bible studies slipped from simple, elementary themes and on into deeper theological waters. In other words, they finally gained the traction that one gathers once general knowledge is down pat and real theology comes to the forefront. Another way of putting it would be to say that they got more fun.

And longer. There's always that.

Sitting around the kitchen table, with the hum of the dishwasher as our background music, we have debated elements of the early church, women in ministry roles, and predestination. We do not conduct Bible study as a "Now hear this, children!" affair. Rather, we invite (require?) that everyone bring their thoughts, convictions, and questions to the table. We walk through it together., and we talk until we run out of steam. Not the kind of ruminating one should do without a proper sweet within their reach, in my opinion.

Thus was the Blandings Bible Study Dessert tradition born. When we sit down to chew on the Word, it's with a cup of tea or coffee (your choice) and a little something extra to sustain you through what could be quite a ride.

It's not always a fancy offering. It could be a scoop of ice cream or slices of in-season fruit and a nice cheese. Even these are served with presentation in mind, because the whole point, in my mind's eye, is creating a family culture of gathering, savoring, reveling, and enjoying. This time, I decided, should not be an afterthought, no matter how rough the day has been. It should feel special. It should feel sacred ... because it is.

Perhaps because it is thought of as a privilege-- and something of a story time/tea party/Q&A session-- we don't have rolling eyeballs when Bible Study time rolls around. Quarrelsome littles who have lost the chance to stay up beg to be allowed to linger for our gathering time, rather than being put to bed. In other words, it seems to be working. Our family loves and looks forward to this time together.

And while I can't guarantee that your family will find the same joy in a Bible Study Dessert tradition, I can at leat get you started with a tried and true favorite recipe. This is a classic, adapted to my family's tastes from my Mamaw's recipe. It's requested about once a month here, and is so easy to make that I rarely turn down the asker.

MG's Bible Study Carrot Cake
makes one 9x13 cake

Cake:

4 eggs
3/4 cup canola oil (or coconut oil, for a very moist cake)

1/2 cup applesauce

1 cup white sugar 

1 cup light brown sugar

3 teaspoons vanilla extract 

2 cups all-purpose flour 

2 teaspoons baking soda 

2 teaspoons baking powder 

1/2 teaspoon salt 

3 teaspoons ground cinnamon 

2 cups grated carrots

1 cup crushed pineapple, drained 

1 cup chopped pecans 

Frosting:
1/2 cup salted butter, softened 

8 ounces cream cheese, softened 

4 cups powdered sugar 

1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray a 9x13 inch pan.
2. In a large bowl, beat together eggs, oil, applesauce, both sugars and 2 teaspoons vanilla. Mix in flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Stir in carrots & pineapple. Fold in pecans. Pour into prepared pan.
3. Bake in the preheated oven for 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool in pan while making frosting.
4. To Make Frosting: In a medium bowl, combine butter, cream cheese, powdered sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Frost the still-warm (but not hot!) cake. Serve immediately. Store leftovers & fridge & serve cold. (My personal fave!)

Allergy-friendly, toddler-pleasin' breakfast

Breakfast really ought to be easier than it is. It's the first meal of the day. The kitchen is clean. Just about anything sounds good. And yet ...


Around here, it's usually the one meal of the day that makes me want to run and hide. 


First off, we've got the ravenous littles factor. What is it about children under the age of 6 and their inability to be nice or say something without a whine until they've had something to eat? I've got three in that season right now and boy, it's no fun at all. It requires something quick, something that can be prepared by one of the older kids if I am called away to deal with a mini-emergency ("Momma! Seven unrolled the whole roll of toilet paper! Silly baby!"), and something that will make them want to actually, you know ... eat it.


Second is the "real meal" requirement. Mr. Blandings often pushes lunch until quite late in the day so that he can use his lunch break to work out. That means any breakfast I serve needs to be substantial enough to carry him through a morning that stretches into early afternoon. 


And finally, there's the allergy issue. Oli is allergic to wheat, gluten, dairy related to cows, and chicken eggs. Seven breaks out in a rash when she has cow cheese or milk. Usually, this means two separate breakfasts. Some days, though, I just can't pull it off. After whipping up a half dozen omelets made to order, the last thing I want to do is pull on another hat and play allergy short-order cook.


Which is why I thank the Lord above for oatmeal. We eat a lot of oatmeal. It's cheap. It's filling. It can be tweaked to make just about everyone happy. And no one in our house is allergic to it! Woot!


With that in mind, I thought I'd share the easiest, yummiest oatmeal recipe I have. It's a tinkered version of one that I picked up a while back. Try it. Adapt it. Make it your own. And enjoy a morning made that much easier by a breakfast that almost makes itself!

Oatmeal and Peaches 

1 quart peaches canned in light syrup (or 1 29 oz. can of peaches)
2 c. Old Fashioned oats
.5 c. brown sugar
dash cinnamon

Spray a 9x13 glass dish, and dump entire contents of peach jar in the bottom. Mix oats, brown sugar, and cinnamon in a medium bowl. Pour on top of peaches. Gently stir until most oats are wet. Bake in oven at 425 degrees for about 12 minutes or until oats are softened and appear done.

A couple of notes: I have tried backing off on the brown sugar, but my kiddos don't like it without plenty of sweetness. Also, I double this recipe, but find that it turns out better if I make two separate pans rather than simply doubling the amounts and baking them together. Go figure.

Food

Seven's favorite veggie is (drumroll please) baby bok choy

I've been reading a lot of food posts lately. Why? I have no idea. But it's been fun, and it's made me think, and really, it's helped me shake off the "it's not really summer yet" malaise that our cool, wet season has kept me floating in.

My favorites have been Anya's. Over at The Lovely Messy, she shared recently her family's journey from salads that felt incomplete without bleu cheese to shopping with a $20 bill for just what they need for the table that very day.

Oh, and they went vegan, too. Just in case the new shopping habits weren't enough to radicalize the situation.

We're not going vegan. The fact is that we can't afford it, and you know, I don't feel called to go there, anyhow. Dodging Oli's allergies is adventurous enough without worrying about animal products hiding in his dairy-, gluten-, and egg-free diet. We're roughly 75% vegetarian at this point, with fish and chicken playing the occasional supporting role on the table. Most meals are not meatcentric. In fact, my general rule is that at least half of your plate should be dominated by something raw--and since we're not serving up too much sushi around here, that's usually a veg.

Breakfast: baked oatmeal with fresh apricots

My personal food thing is knowing where my fuel comes from. The more I learn, the less inclined I am to buy items whose roots were deep in soil saturated with industrial farming chemicals. I'm also not fond of sprays and other nasties dousing what I'll eventually be putting in my body. I figure I don't chug the stuff straight from the bottle ... why should I lick the container when it's been emptied, if you know what I mean?

A recent dinner at Casa Blandings

I still buy bananas by the boatload from our local grocery store. I hate it, but I do it. I mean, they're organic and all ... but I now know a little too much about transporting food, etc. So I eye even what's on the big chain shelves and labeled "organically grown" with caution. And we're not even talking about the GMO/GE foods argument here. That one just gives me the creeps.

Thankfully, we have a local CSA that we love. We tried it last year, but quit for the winter months because we just weren't sure that box upon box of chard would seem very palatable week after week. This year, though, I think we're sticking with it past the flush of the summer months. Why?

Last night's main course--braised veggies

Because actually, it turns out that it's almost the same price as buying from a store. Say what? Yes--it's true. I did the math, and here it is: I spend $10 more per week by buying locally farmed, organically certified produce than I do when shopping at the local big box grocer.



So I can spend more and get food that comes from who knows where and is who knows how old ... or I can spend another ten bucks and walk the fields where my carrots are grown, know the guy who planted them, and eat them the day after they're pulled from the clean earth.

Yeah, I'll spend $10 more. Thanks.

HOMEschooling, HOMEmaking: Let's Do Lunch

I had such a good thing going with lunches. Really, I did. I didn't even appreciate it. The good times are always like that, aren't they?


Lunches were so easy because of one little word: leftovers. Every night, I simply set aside the leftovers from the supper I'd created. The next day, out came the tubs and bowls of good stuff. The microwave did its duty. And voila ... lunch!


But as I shared nearly a year ago (has it been that long already?), those days are long gone. We've moved into a new era of lunching here at Casa Blandings ... one that I'm not always thrilled with, but one that is making do, at least.


Our new "plan" often feels a whole lot less "planned" than I'd like. About half the time, Jo is in charge of lunch. She loves it. I'm all in favor of this--except, I admit, when she makes something that I'm not too fond of and I have to eat it anyhow. Takes me right back to the days of Not Being the Mom. Now thankfully, Jo has no idea how to make some of the yuckier, 70s cream-of-XYZ nightmares that still populate my personal cooking list of Thou Shalt Not. But still. Every once in a while I find myself choking down yet another grilled quesadilla and cringing--hopefully just on the inside, so that she doesn't feel underappreciated.


The rest of the time, I've taken to relying on a pretty well stocked fridge and pantry to get us through. Lots of nibbly type foods, some salads, platters of cut veggiesm fruits, and nuts. The menu ideas that I listed last year are still very much in rotation, and yes, I finally dove in and bit the bento bullet. While I'm only just now amassing the "fun" stuff to accessorize or DIY bento noshes, I admit that delving into the more creative end of serving up lunch has brought a little bit of sunshine to our otherwise dull routine. I recently entered the world of silicone baking cups and fruit kabobs on little animal picks. As if I need another obscure obsession. 

Bento-style Taco salad

I'd been feeling pretty uninspired by the whole thing recently, though. I've gotten breakfast back under control (it had become pretty much a seek-and-find meal for a couple of months after Seven joined us), and dinner is a snap thanks to meal planning and whatnot. But lunch? It's a no man's land pitstop of a meal. Dare I say--boring?


And then I saw this blog, and boy, did I feel ashamed of myself. Check out this momma's lunch repertoire! This is a woman who does lunch. I have no idea what the rest of her life looks like, but I can guarantee that her girls are going to remember that Momma loved them enough to invest time into sweet little creations ... just for them ... every day. 


Probably not now. But you know ... someday they'll remember. Like when they have kids of their own, right?


So I'm now officially back on the hunt for more lunch ideas to stir into the Blandings pot. Stuff that both Jo and I can make in a relatively short time--like the taco salad above, which takes all of five minutes thanks to pre-browning the ground turkey, mixing in black beans, seasoning, then freezing it in batches of 3/4 lb. 


More pasta salads, more pre-cut veggies, more dips. More variety.


Less quesadillas. 


Can I get an amen?

Value

My life's theme right now is "surrender." The season I find myself in has little room for much outside of the very real, very present, very pressing priorities of my home and family.


Raising six children takes up a lot of time. Being a good wife requires concentrated attention. Keeping a house clean doesn't happen unless you work at it. Homeschooling is no "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" endeavor.


So I'm feeling a little stretched. That's where surrender comes in. I've opened my heart before God, prayed, talked with my husband, searched Scripture, waited for answers. I promised myself that when they came, I'd listen. Not in that "looking in the mirror and then forgetting your own face" kind of way ... but in the real hearing variety of listening. Tuning in. Taking it to heart. Doing it.


Then the truth started rolling in, and the "Yes, I Can!" part of me kind of wished I had never asked in the first place.


Truth: There is only so much Mary Grace ... and there are so many good thing vying for a piece of what I have available. My husband, my children, my friends, my church, the stories that clatter through my head, the reviews, the extended family, the laundry, the projects I want to complete.


Truth: The world may want me to believe that I can have it all, but I'm wise enough to know that I can't. Or am I?


So, quietly, humbled, I listened. I started shedding the weight that I was no longer meant to bear. I scaled back. Resigned from this and that. Cancelled get togethers. Informed folks that my phone time has been pared to virtually zero. Let my husband pick up the library books.


I felt free.


It lasted about three days before a well-meaning acquaintance cornered me in the grocery store and invited me--relentlessly--to her Bible study.


"I'm not committing to anything right now," I smiled, trying to back away.


"But this isn't a commitment. It's fellowship. Besides, it's imperative to be in the Word," she continued.


"I am," I assured her, "with my husband. Daily."


"But you need the mentoring of other women. It's Biblical."


"I'm fine right now," I answered.


"The only way you can contribute to other believers is by being in community."


Clearly, she didn't realize that my family's Bible studies involve more than the required two or more. She implored me to reconsider, yet again, before I lost her near the orange juice.


I returned home to an emailed invitation from a fellow mother at my church, asking me to come to a fundraiser highlighting the evils of human trafficking. It was, the email promised, a chance for us moms to "do something of value for the Kingdom." I was instantly offended ... and saddened. I realized that several of the things I had just let go were probably, in the eyes of many, of more "value for the Kingdom" than what I had held on to. What good is changing diapers? Where is the glory in teaching math? Who will remember that I pack my husband's lunch each day?


Who, indeed.


In this season, I am doing Kingdom work with every lesson I plan, every nose I wipe, every dish I wash.  Keeping my eyes centered on my home allows me the freedom of not rushing, not overextending, and not burning out. The days will come again when I have more time to dedicate to outside pursuits. But not now. Right now I'm just too busy. Too busy adding value to my own family.