Cullinarily Challenged

I struggle in the kitchen. I am not good at creating dinners. I fully intend to get better -and I am - oh so very, very slowly. Good thing I have a patient husband who is handy with french toast and applesauce.

So, I have had a success. I have developed (developed: verb, meaning to have three or more disasters and to combine the successful elements of those disasters and create something less disastrous) an awesome granola recipe. I know, I know, I fed my family Ramen twice last week, we didn't eat till 7:45 on two of the other nights and here I am working on granola. Like I said, the process is a slow one.

So on this particular afternoon, the kids and I cranked the stereo and made granola together. There is nothing like rock n' roll and whole grains and dancing while your sauce simmers. Once again, we didn't eat till 7:30, and all we ate was granola, but everyone was smiling. Baby steps, baby steps.

I also finally made some pretty passable biscuits and gravy (Okay, I have to gloat, they are better than passable. I have had way more than three biscuit disasters in the last nine years and after eating these, my hubby said he wouldn't mind eating them every week - more if possible! !!!) I love finally figuring out the tricks. Did you know that when they say to sift the flour, they actually mean it? And when they say to cut the butter into pea sized pieces, that the actually mean pea sized pieces - not grape sized pieces? Amazing.

Here are the recipes:

Bethany's Biscuits

I am still tweaking this one, but they are awesome as is.

2 c sifted flour If you are not going to sift your flour STOP NOW. No really. STOP.

1 T sugar

3 t baking powder (a little more is fine)

1/2 t baking soda (a little more is fine)

1/4 t salt rounded (that means a little extra)

mix these all together

1/4 c frozen butter grated on a cheese grater

1/4 c cold butter flavored shortening cut into pea sized pieces in the flour.

you can use 1/2 c frozen butter instead, the shortening just gives them a little more fluff.

In a separate bowl mix the next three ingredients. (Yes really, it needs to be a new one. Trust me, it will be worth dirtying an extra bowl.)

1 egg

1/2 c buttermilk (yes buttermilk)

one dollop sour cream or FULL FAT yogurt.

Mix all together till just moistened. Turn onto a floured surface. Knead a few times (3 to 5) fold in half and roll to 3/4" thick. Cut with a round cutter or floured glass. Bake 450 degrees for 11 min on a parchment covered baking sheet.

Bethany's Granola

10 c old fashioned oats

1 c coconut (sweetened and shredded)

3/4 c raw sunflower seeds

1/4 c + ground flax

1/4 c + wheat germ

2 cups chopped nuts (pecans and almonds best)

2 t cinnamon

1/2 t salt

mix together and toast @ 200 degrees on 2 cookie sheets while you make the sauce

1/2 c oil

1/2 c water

1/4 c pure maple syrup

1/4 c honey

1/4 c brown sugar

2 T molasses

1 T vanilla

Heat to a simmer in a saucepan. Stir occasionally. Let simmer for a few minutes. Put toasted dry ingredients into a bowl. Pour sauce over top. Stir till evenly coated. Spread on two parchment covered baking sheets. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes rotating the pans (top rack to bottom) every 10 minutes or more. Stir the granola around a bit every time you rotate the pans.

Add Craisins (or raisins or dried apricots or dates etc.)

Stir

Cool

Serve.

Store in an airtight container.

Happy cooking!

Be still my soul

Sometimes a little "be still my house" is a necessary prerequisite to stilling my soul.

This morning I exploded. My internal cocktail included an 18 hour headache, a dozen or more interruptions to sleep (thank you child #2 and #3), crazy pregnancy hormones, wild dreams in which all of my child's hair fell out and there were no clothes in the world that fit me, and 35 minutes of uninterrupted screaming compliments of child#3 who has lungs Christina Aguilera would kill for and a determination that would have driven Christopher Columbus to discover Hawaii, Australia, South Africa and New Zealand while he was at it.

I flung back the covers, stormed into the kitchen, kicked all the cupboards and the refrigerator while yelling "Auuuurrrggghhh." I then called my faithful honey who was shoveling snow off the walks at the church, turned on Blues Clues for my kids and buried my head under the covers.

My husband came home, dressed all the kids and hauled them to church, which left me in a blissfully quiet house. I read two beautiful chapters in the scriptures - without interruption. I read a chapter in the Sunday School manual. I am writing and preparing a nice after-church snack for my kiddos (who are seeming cuter by the minute) and finally, finally, I am experiencing stillness in my soul.

There is great power in muscling through, and enduring all things and exercising patience. There is also great power in not being touched, pulled on, whined at for a few hours. It has been said that sometimes the Savior calms the storm and sometimes he calms the sailor. But sometimes, he looks down in love on one of His exploding, irrational daughters and he does both.

Encyclopedic Elegance

I once paid too much for a set of encyclopedias which turned out to be missing "G" and "Ch-Cz." Never before has a mistake that big (20 volumes big) turned into such a blessing. The leather is scuffed from the summer day when child #1 and her friends each took one out to the porch to look at the pictures. (I didn't mind, because really, what harm can a few scuff marks do when two whole volumes are missing.) Some days I find all three of my children strewn across the living room carpet, surrounded by a sprawl of these blue bound treasures.

The best part is the elegance of mind I am seeing in my children. I love their excitement as they bring me cool pictures to look at. My favorite moment of all occurred when my son, who is usually only interested in dinosaurs, fish and machines, pointed to a picture of native Puerto Ricans doing a dance in native dress and said "Mom, these people are beautiful." That is an elegance of mind that cannot be obtained in mindless sitcoms or light entertainment.

Just this week as I watched my son's gymnastics class I found myself between a Gucci handbag on one side, and two moms discussing exotic vacations on the other (Disneyland with the kids, cruises with the hubby, Italy in the summer, China next year, etc.) I pulled out my book on brain mylenation and dove in. (It's a book called "The Talent Code" and it is a delight. Not as well written as a Malcom Gladwell book, but close. Think of it as "Freakonomics" for neuroscience. A seriously, good read.)

Suddenly, I felt deeply ... wealthy. I had a treasure of great worth. And despite my peanut butter smudged sweater, and a hair-do provided by my two year old, I felt intrinsically elegant.

I am learning that certain experiences leave a deep and beautiful mark. They are never the easy ones - but they are the ones that give us our true beauty. Hmmm, how often do I choose an encyclopedic experience over a little mindless fluff? I could learn a lot from my kids.

A Mother's Prayer

My typical "mother's prayer" sounds something like this: "Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!"

In some moments there is just not time for deeply reflective, reverently crafted verbiage. And God doesn't seem to mind my post-it note approach to prayer. He sends miracles anyway. Those miracles may take a few days to show up, they may come in an hour. But he must love frazzled, borderline irrational mothers, because they come.

A Voice

It was one of those days. The kind that left me wondering what I had to offer to the world. All day I was given examples of powerful women: the New York Times bestselling author, the blogger who is changing the world, the woman who has conquered two chemical addictions and an eating disorder and who found God along the way, the olympian and a half dozen examples of the slim, the sassy and the professional.

This aught to have been motivating. But, for the moment, all I could see was feeding, clothing and cleaning up after my own little mass of humanity ... forever. (Sandlot pronunciation please For-Ev-Er!) I felt utterly lost.

And then I was blessed with a flashback. Several months ago, as I was polishing my stories and looking for feedback, I was speaking with a friend who has quite a bit of experience with literary organizations, editors, etc. She walked me through some fabulous information and then leaned in and said "You have a voice. Most writers feel they are trespassing in the world of literature. They feel they aren't 'real' writers. But they are wrong. Bethany, I have heard you speak, I have read your writing. I have heard your church program narrations and You Have A Voice."

I left her home with those words ringing in my brain. Once home, I flipped to an empty page in a journal and filled it with the words "I HAVE A VOICE." No one had ever said that to me before.

Flash forward to my deep, gray slump of a day. I had not shaken the world - that I know of - but I had called an old friend who had been on my mind. I had born testimony to my children of something I knew to be true. So, the day was not a complete waste. And then came the epiphany. (I hope when I see the movie of my life they will add a soundtrack of harps and heavenly choirs to those moments.)

I realized that I do have a voice, and that voice is backed up by the experiences God has hand-picked for me and for the person He needs me to be. Apparently God didn't need another Olympian when He created me. He needed a quirky idealist with a passion for words, dancing and red shoes. He needed a yard-saling, white socks with black pants wearing, health nut. He needed Me. He needs me just how I am and just where I am. And however He needs me to build His Kingdom I have the perfect set of talents and abilities for the job. I do have a voice. And it is one that will shake the eternities. It may never be heard on the Today Show, but I am realizing that the true measure of a voice looks very different than billboard charts and best-seller lists.

The Third Woodcutter

There is a famous old story about two woodcutters. The first one chops away at his trees incessantly, never stopping to sharpen his ax. He feels that such a break would simply waste valuable tree cutting time. The second, takes the time to sharpen his ax, and despite the "lost" time, is able to chop more effectively than the first woodcutter.

Is it just me, or is this story incomplete?

In my world there is a third woodcutter. Like the second, he takes time to sharpen his ax. But every once in a while, he also takes time to sharpen the woodcutter. I mean how long can a person do nothing but bang their ax against a tree? No matter how sharp that ax is, eventually, you are going to have one bored/burned-out woodcutter. So woodcutter #3 takes time to read a book, write a blog, walk into the city just to feel the concrete under his boots. He knows the worth of a Wendy's value meal and a steamer from Starbucks.

The other woodcutters shake their heads at their friend's foolishness as they fell trees right and left. Now, truth be told, woodcutter #3 probably fells fewer trees than his friends, but he is the only one who is smiling.

Somehow, this seems easier for a woodcutter than it does for me. After all, the woodcutter can write a blog without the trees whining and yelling about their un-met, needs. While he is at Wendy's, his trees don't un-chop themselves. Mine do. It is a hard thing to take time for a re-charge when your sink is overflowing with dishes and emitting an aroma that reminds you vaguely of Tuesday night's tacos.

Okay, this is my challenge to myself. I need to get out. I mean really out. And no, just now, going grocery shopping alone is not going to cut it. I anticipate an adventure. I'll be sure to tell you all about it.

Motherhood

Where have I been for the last few months? My feverish love of writing got temporarily sidelined by my feverish love of the holidays and having my children home.

I have had a thought rattling around in my brain for a while that I have been anxious to write about. Here it is: I love being a mother. I adore it. It is the best job in the entire world.

So, why is it that when some well meaning individual (invariably an empty-nester) tells me "This is the best time of your life. I hope you are enjoying it." I have to fight the urge to administer a solid right hook to the jaw? I distinctly remember the first time someone said those words to me. I was bouncing two fussy children around the church foyer when a sweet older sister came up to me, leaned heavily on her walker, and said "This is the very best time in your life. I hope you know that." I blame what happened next on the fact that I hadn't slept through the night in approximately two years. I narrowed my eyes, smiled (or rather revealed my bared teeth) and walked off without a word. I stalked the halls till I found my husband, thrust the screaming children at him and said "If this is as good as it gets, I quit."

Fast forward four years. Child #2 had just completely reverted in his potty training. He would find secret places in the house to pee (under the bed, behind doors, in the closet etc.) places which I would only stumble across by luck ... if stepping in a puddle of pee with a bare foot is luck. My house smelled like a zoo. Child #3 had begun a fascination with toilet water. When she wasn't drinking it, she was pouring it across the house via cup or soaking teddy bear. On this day, even child #1 had, had two accidents. I was rotating the children through the bath-tub when my husband came home, leaned against the bathroom doorway and said, "You know, that speaker in conference last month said that we were going to miss this. "I am sending that man a urine scented candle," I said, deathly serious. "And a spray bottle full of toilet water and vomit."

Now, I adore this time of life. I have just enough experience to have some wisdom and just enough youth to have all my faculties. I am needed by the people I love most. I have arms thrown around my neck every morning and I have all my children piled on my lap for stories at night. I can fix everything with a kiss, a band-aid, and a cookie. This time of life is is amazing. Yet, you never see other bleary eyed young mothers slapping each other on the back and saying "Woo Hoo, this is the best!"

I think that young parents in the trenches know what many empty-nesters have forgotten; that these rare and glorious moments are purchased at the highest possible price. No doubt, when I look back on these early years with a well rested mind, in a clean, quiet house, from the comfort of greater financial stability, I too will reminisce about the "best" time of my life. But, when I encounter the wrinkled forehead and dark-circled eyes of a young mother I hope I will acknowledge the immense price she is paying before I tell her - as we all need to be told - "These are some of the best times of your life. I hope you are taking the time to enjoy them."

Well, enough writing, I am going to go enjoy my children.