For my dad...

Tomorrow is the first Father's Day without my father. I suppose the idea of this is made all the more difficult by the fact that he's only been gone for just over two weeks. The mourning process has surprised me more than once, but that is not what this post is about. It's about how my father lives on.

Some say when a person passes away, he or she takes part of the people who loved him or her along to the next world. That's why those of us left behind continue to feel an emptiness long after they go. But I'm much more interested in focusing on the parts of me my father helped shape, helped complete. And in the days since his death, I've thought about how he influenced me.

My dad liked music. We always had music on in the car, no matter how short the trip. It wasn't until I rode in other people's cars that I realized that some people rode in silence. (I didn't much like it.) The radio was on at home, the stereo was played on Sundays, and there was a fair amount of singing. My dad sang himself—beautiful renditions of "Adeste Fideles" and other hymns, the national anthem, old-fashioned love songs that he courted my mother with. I inherited that love of music. I don't sing as much as I used to, but I do listen to music all the time. And when I have the opportunity to listen to live music, I walk away feeling completely at peace.

My dad was an outstanding gardener. By the time I came along, and there was just three, two, or one child left at home, the size of our garden was completely out of proportion to our needs. Rows and rows of lettuce, corn, tomatoes, onions, radishes, beets, cabbage, beans, potatoes, and peas. (I'm sure I'm forgetting something!) I've loved vegetables since I was a little girl — my mom used to call me their "garden child". I'm sure that I owe that love of veggies to my father's gardening gift and my mom's skill in the kitchen. The pride my dad took in growing things is contagious, and I'm sure he's the main reason I keep planting my little patch rather than sign up for a CSA or buy at that farmer's market.

My dad didn't worry much about other's opinions of him. He was 48 years old when I was born, so maybe he was over that sort of nonsense — or maybe he was always that confident. (I suspect the later.) He believed in himself, and he had a keen awareness of his gifts and talents. This is a side of my dad that inspires me. I still put too much stock in how I come across or appear to be to others. But I do try to use the talents God has blessed me with to help others or bring about a bit of joy. I watched my father doing this all my life, so I know it is the right thing to do.

My father knew how to enjoy life. Most of my older siblings talk of how hard our father worked. How he often went back to the shop after the evening meal to work a few more hours. I was lucky. I have few memories of him going back to the shop. I remember him going out to the garden, or being freshly showered and smelling of Old Spice as he sat with a drink or in his recliner with the newspaper. He read to learn and he read to enjoy. I'm not sure that I inherited his work ethic, the way my brother and sisters did, but I did inherit the ability to sit and take life in. And I'd argue that is just as important.

My father put God first. My father had more demands on him than many. He ran his own business. He was the sole financial support of a family of nine. He was active in his community. But he never put his faith on the back burner. Even in his final hours, God was at the forefront, and though speech was difficult, he repeatedly started the Lord's prayer for his room of loved ones to pray. I cannot get over the beauty of this. It is a beautiful, inspiring thing to be born in faith, to live in faith, and to die in faith. I've often felt lucky that I was born to my parents, to my family, but since hearing of my father's final hours, my sense of gratitude has become even stronger. How blessed I am to be given the gift of faith! I must not let the weight of the world cause me to neglect it.

I'll miss my dad the rest of my life, but I know I carry him with me. And I see bits and pieces of him in my children too. Losing someone so important hurts in a way that you can't understand until you experience it. But loving someone so important blesses you far beyond the hurt.

Facebook Fraud

This weekend, a friend complemented me in a very wonderful way on Facebook. Her complement completely caught me by surprise, and I felt a little humbled and embarrassed by it, to be honest. Why? Because she told me that I inspired her in areas that I have been really struggling in lately. And I felt like a fraud.

As we undergo a reorganization at work and the utter lack of organization that comes with a major home renovation project, I'm a little out of sorts. Every week I tell myself, this week I will work out, this week I will eat better. Every night I say, tonight I will not lose my patience. Tonight I will be engaged with my children. Or tackle the laundry. Or actually write something.

And then I fail.

But that Facebook post has me looking at things differently. It reminded me of where I need to put my energy and when I put that energy into the right things, everyone in this home is better off. It also reminded me that I need to be kinder to myself. So what if I couldn't run a 5K right now? I don't need to. I just need to try and get some fresh air, climb some steps, and eat healthful, real food regularly.

When life is full, which is how I try to refer to my day-to-day situation, the lovely things become so much more important. So I'm going to strive to focus on those pleasures. The avocado on toast. The potential of new yarn. The sound of my child sounding out words.

Of course, that is was my plan behind this blog all along — focusing on the lovely things in life. Perhaps if I get this back on track, the rest of my full life will right itself as well.

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM MY DAY: It involved a $3 cake from Aldi and my kids. Enough said.

A reflection on summer

Those who spend most days with me know that summer is my favorite season. I love being free of schedule. I love the smell of the air. I love how the warm sun feels on my skin. I love the food. Oh, I love the food.

This summer hasn't been like other summers, and for a time, I secretly thought summer was a bust. My garden certainly was. (I had a total of two tomatoes.) We didn't take a vacation, and we only made it to the beach once.

But in these unofficial last days of summer, I've been looking over my photos of the past few months. And turns out that I have just been dwelling on misery, which never does anyone any good. We actually had a lot of special moments together. When you chose to dwell on the lovelier things, you can fondly recall...

The fancy (and delicious) dessert your son made.

You can remember his birthday and the concert you took him to as part of his gift. 

You can be proud of how hard your baby worked in soccer and swimming lessons, 

but mostly you can smile, remembering how much fun she had. 

You can remember how you clapped along to the music that your daughter 

danced to during the best parade around. 

You can be thankful that a kid from France got you to go camping with your family, 

because you actually had a lot of fun. 

You'll be thankful, too, for the milestones in life. For anniversaries and last days...

And while you're feeling thankful, you will remember why your community is the best place 

to spend your summer — the library, the activities for kids, the neighborhoods, 

and your own backyard.

Just who is this family, anyway?

We will be welcoming a student from France this summer. During the application process, we were asked questions about our family's interests and how we would describe ourselves. I marked things like academic (versus athletic) and artistic (versus outdoorsy). Let's be honest: probably not the ideal environment in the eyes of most thirteen-year-old boys.

However, I have to believe that any child who is willing to venture to another country to live with strangers for three weeks has to have an open and adventurous spirit. He will be treated to any food he wants to try. He'll be given the freedom to ride a bike around town and swim every day if he wishes. We're heading to a state park for an overnight camping trip, and I'm mentally planning lots of short trips to area ice cream shops and parks.

I know that our plans aren't all that glamorous, but they are filled with the types of moments that I love to give my family. I like to think that this family is the type who loves the little things. The type whose youngest child will call me into a room, just to point out the sunset. And hopefully, one that will be thought of as being warm and kind by a stranger from France.

Sometimes, life makes it hard to be this type of family. There is always something to do, and my own selfishness gets in the way, I suppose. So I'm grateful that this student's visit will be an inspiration and reason to enjoy all the lovely things we have right here in our own back yard.

The one word I would use to describe this family (most days anyway): Happy.

Boy, was my mom lucky...

Tomorrow marks the last day of school, which means summer break for our two school-age kids. As I've spent hours with the activity calendar, said good-bye to many dollars in registration fees, and ordered workbooks all to fill their days with enrichment, I can't help but think, "Boy, was my mom lucky!"

I'm pretty sure that my mom was not concerned me being lazy or getting into trouble over the summer. She was at home with me, ready to prevent these things from happening. And forget about worrying  about the summer slide — a term that educators and guilty parents have come up with in recent years to describe academic slips. Thirty years ago the sole concern we had with summer slides was that the metal would burn our legs when we went down them.

My mom was lucky because she only worried about if I was getting too much sun during my daily trips to the pool. She didn't worry about my brain much, and since I checked out a new book every day — on my way home from the pool, of course — I think I had it covered. No matter how old I get, the idea of summer brings visions of me on my bike — riding to the pool, riding to the library, just riding with friends. I got lots of exercise and most importantly, I got a fair amount of freedom. I wasn't just free from school work, I was free from a schedule that was not of my own choosing.

Turns out my mom wasn't as lucky as much as I was lucky.

Sometimes, I wish I could allow my children to have those same types of summers. They do get to go the pool and library plenty. But I will expect some of those workbook sheets to be completed, and they will have a lot more chores than I ever did. (Turns out I'm still lucky in summer since I get major housework help.)

Despite my demands, I hope I can still pass on my sense of summer joy to my children. That joy makes these precious weeks the loveliest of the year. It's what makes an afternoon in the hammock the cheapest therapy around. It's the reason I find myself with a slight smile on my face as I grill or garden. And it's what I miss the most come January.

Here's to heat and freedom and luck...here's to summer joy.

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM MY DAY: My husband and I enjoyed a walk with the dog together tonight, and he shared some memories about his Grandpa Gassman, a man I wish I could have known when he was in good health. 

The super selfish reason I volunteer

You might say that I'm a bit of a joiner. If I'm asked to help out with something, I'll probably say yes, especially now that my children are a little less dependent on me. (I realize that putting that out there may make me a target.)

When you grow up in a small town, I think you are more likely to volunteer. Small towners don't consider it volunteering; it is simply part of your role in a small town. Everyone chips in and has fun doing it.

I volunteer because I feel socially responsible. I volunteer because I believe in the work of the organizations. I volunteer because I want to teach my children that we should help if we are able.

But there is an incredibly selfish reason I volunteer, too. I do it because it's fun. Like really fun.

I can suggest things like, "We should have a 'Let It Go' sing-along," and it happens.

And I get to hang out with people who make things like this.

And who are willing to get together to blow up over a hundred balloons. so that we can do this...

And eventually our fun becomes other people's fun. And best of all, our fun — and I suppose the work and effort, too — makes a difference in the end.

Our Pizza Problem: Solutions 1 & 2

I wish I were a photographer, but alas, I am not.
I hope that all my readers have great imaginations to compensate. 

Shortly after the new year, my husband made a very true and honest confession. He finally admitted that he had a problem: he was addicted to pizza.

I, too, suffer from this addiction, and the five-year-old is on her own path to being a pizza junkie. There are worse vices, I know, but we had recently established some new year’s resolutions. 1) Save more money. 2) Get healthy. Our addiction directly worked against both.

I realize the solution to both resolutions would simply be to cut pizza out of our diet. But come on! Why should the five-year-old suffer like that? So we’ve started a new tradition: instead of our weekly Papa Murphey’s on Sunday, we are making homemade pies!

We are two weeks in, and while I miss the ease of take and bake, I haven't felt like our pizzas are lacking in flavor. Here's what we've been doing:

For our crust, I like this recipe on bon appetit's web site. Pros and cons of this recipe:

PROS
• This recipe makes enough dough for six pizzas! That means that one batch makes enough for two weekends for us. We just freeze the three extra balls and thaw them when we need them. How's that for ease?
• Speaking of easy, you basically mix this up and leave it set for 18 hours. I actually left it for more like 20-21 and it was fine.
• Most importantly, the flavor is great and it is easy to handle.

CONS
• You do need to plan ahead a bit, but if you are a meal planner by nature, you might appreciate being able to get it ready ahead of time.

On our new pizza nights, we make three pizzas for the five of us. One pizza is always going to be a basic cheese, pepperoni, or salami. This is the fall-back pizza for our pickier eaters. The other two pizzas are a bit more adventurous. This week we ate shimp pizza with cilantro pesto and Indian-spiced chicken pizza. Here are the recipes. I'm not going to bother with measurements; don't we just sprinkle pizzas by sight?

Deschutes Chainbreaker made for a nice pair with the shrimp pizza. 

Shrimp Pizza with Cilanto Pesto
1 10-12 inch pizza crust
Cilantro pesto (I used the recipe here...you will have to scroll down a bit to find it.)
Around 8 onces cooked shrimp
Chopped green onions
Shredded Parmesan cheese

Bake as your crust directs. For us that is about 10 minutes at 500 degrees.

REVIEW: This one was tasty, and it would serve as a good appetizer. Next time, I might try it with a chimichurri sauce rather than cilantro pesto. Yum!

I'm fairly certain I used more cheese than it called for. Oh, well.

Indian-Spiced Chicken Pizza
1 10-12 inch pizza crust
Cilantro pesto (The above recipe makes enough for two pies.)
1 Indian-spiced chicken breast (See how I did it below.)
Chopped green onions
Sweet chili sauce
Shredded cheddar cheese

Bake as your crust directs.

My chicken: Sprinkle one breast with tumeric, garlic powder, coriander, and cumin. (Use your own blend, if you prefer.) Throw it in a fry pan and cook through. Slice into bite size pieces. Easy-peasy.

REVIEW: This one will definitely be made again. The chili sauce was a great contrast to the spices on the chicken and the pesto. Restaurant quality, for sure!

This is the sweet chili sauce I used...I had just enough!

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM MY DAY: I got a just-because card in the mail. Just when you are certain their is no warmth  in the season, it comes to you in your mailbox. 

She's just more...

My oldest daughter turned ten this month. I did not get a birthday post written in a timely manner. I suppose this is metaphor for the ways I have been a less-than mother to her over the years. When she was a newborn, I'm fairly certain I didn't feed her often enough. I was used to nursing a baby the way I could nurse her brother, who was a full pound heavier, so an extra hour went by here and there.

When she was a little older, I was mildly depressed due to a number of things that had nothing to do with her. And a depressed momma is a less-than momma.

When she went to kindergarten, it was May before it really hit me that "Holy crap! She's a kindergartner and that is a really big deal!" She was our second child and it was old news for us, but not for her. And as a less-than mom, I failed to recognize it.

I always feel a bit bad that I don't worry as much about her as I have her brother. Perhaps that is the blessing of experience. But I'm inclined to think it may be because, while I'm a bit of a less-than mom, she's a "more" daughter.

When I think of myself at her age, there are so many similarities between the two of us. She just happens to be the "more" version. She's a bit more dramatic. I think she's a bit messier (though I'm not sure that's entirely accurate.)

She's certainly more talented — in music, dance, acting. I can see natural talent and charisma that I never had myself.

She's more curious than I ever was. More creative. Funnier. Better at making friends. Braver.

But the most important way she is more...the more I am most thankful for is how much more she loves herself than I loved myself at at ten. She's confident. When she's joyful, she's radiant. I don't see her wishing she was more like someone else. She just wants to be a bit more of who she already is, and I can't blame her for that.

As her tweens turn to teens, my prayer for her — for all girls, really — is that she can see that her more is more than enough. I want her to remember that the girl I see light up when she makes her family laugh or when she gets to dance in front of a crowd...that girl is amazing! I want her to hold onto that girl and stay familiar with her, because life has a way of making you forget yourself during those years.

That girl is her true self, and I see a little more of her every time I watch my daughter with her friends or have the pleasure of time alone with her. That girl makes me want to be more. And with her in my corner, I'm sure I can be.

A new year

A new year makes me take stock of things.

A new year makes me think about my life's blessings.

A new year makes me think about the last year. 

The babies that were born, the unions that were made.

A new year makes me feel like I can go anywhere, 

because it makes me think about how far I've come.

A new year allows me to believe that I will find more beauty and be more beautiful. 

That I can be a better parent and partner. 

A new year shows me that I have all the means I need to change, should I desire.

A new year shows me that my life is lovely and 

even if nothing were to ever change again, my heart would still be full. 

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM MY DAY: Frittata & mimosas for breakfast, walk with my husband, a bath, and family movie time...all of my day's moments have been lovely. 

This is how Thanksgiving went down.

I may have suffered from a food coma after Thanksgiving. I indulged my every whim...almost. I settled for one piece of pie. I didn't want to go overboard. (See if you still believe that statement by the end of this post.)

It was the first Thanksgiving I've made in a decade, and the first we spent at home in five years. It was a restful, wonderful weekend, filled with fun and leftovers.

I started preparing the Sunday before by baking cornbread to freeze for our dressing. The man of the house asked for a version with shrimp. I settled on this recipe from Food & Wine. I replaced the andouille sausage with a simple pork sausage. The cornbread came out beautifully, and I'll probably use the recipe to accompany our ribs and chili in the future.

Buttermilk cornbread

On Tuesday, I mixed up the dough for our dinner rolls, choosing this simple, no-knead recipe from The Pioneer Woman. You can mix it up two days ahead of when you want to bake them.

I also prepared pecan brittle for one of the pies. Check it out:

I apologize for photos that look really weird. This was kind of pretty in real life.

On Wednesday, it was time to prepare the brine for our turkey breast. Since there were only five (four, if you don't count my recently vegetarian daughter) of us, we opted for the smaller piece of meat. I selected this cranberry-glazed version. 

I also baked pies on Wednesday night. The pecan brittle was for this maple pumpkin pie from Better Homes & Garden. I loved the presentation of this pie, which was the cover shot of the November, 2013 issue, but I should have added some pumpkin pie spice. The pie crust is placed inside a spring form pan. 

I really like how the pie looked, using this pan.
I'll definitely keep the technique in mind for future pies.

We covered the finished product with whipped cream and some pecan brittle, but not until we served it on Thursday... (Slight timeline jump!)

The finished product

The second pie was a sour cream apple. Noah prefers apple to any other kind, and I thought this recipe had some tasty additions with the sour cream and crumble topping. I was right! It was delicious. I might experiment with my baking apple a bit next time. What's your favorite apple to bake with?

Sour cream apple pie with streusel topping

Now that I've spilled the dessert, let's back track and hit some of the main event. Noah and I started cooking Thanksgiving morning. I started with that dough I prepared back on Tuesday. Here are the dinner rolls after rising for a couple hours:

Is it just me, or do they look quite...fleshy?

Here they are fresh from the oven — the perfect pick-me-up in the middle of our cooking.

Just add butter...

Time to talk sides. Noah wanted green bean casserole. I prefer not to used cream of anything, if I can help it. We compromised with the help of Alton Brown. That man is brilliant. This was the best green bean casserole I've ever had. Following the advice of a friend, we opted to buy our onions, rather than try to fry our own.   

Last Easter, I made this recipe for cheesy hash brown casserole. Again, this recipe avoids using cream of mushroom soup, and it was delicious then and better this time. (Because I used the right amount of thyme this time around!) 

Remember that cornbread...well, this is how the stuffing ended up. Next time around, I'll eat half of that cornbread and enjoy a meatier stuffing. But this was pretty darn good as is!

Our brined breast was covered in herbs, then eventually a cranberry glaze. It was juicy and delicious. I would, however, drop the cloves next time. Just my personal preference. 

Sky's selection for our meal was the traditional cookie and pudding salad. Every special event needs it. And she made it all by herself!

I figured we needed some greener vegetables. I made a kale and pomegranate salad that was supposed to change my life. It didn't, but it was pretty good. Also, the colors were lovely!

Finally, I saw this cute tray on pinterest. Cute, right? 

Well, everything was done when I remembered the veggie turkey, and I started throwing relish at the kids and asked them to make it. As they say in pinterest world...nailed it! ;-) It isn't exact, of course, but I think they did great for kids and the shortest time ever allowed. 

Phew! That was a feast for five. After lunch it was nap time, needless to say. Our November had its share of challenges, but the fact remains, we have been blessed with grateful hearts and a lovely life. 

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM TODAY: We decorated our tree today. It is amazing how the ornaments hold so many lovely moments. 

Island of perfect joy

There were very big expectations for this little girl. Her name literally means "island of perfect joy." But no worries...she has delivered.

Our Isla Bliss turns five this week. She is a beautiful, joyful girl. She loves her family and she really loves her puppy, whom she calls "Buddy". She likes to draw, she likes story time, she likes to make us laugh. She is a constant reminder of how precious this time in life is.

In honor of her fifth birthday, here's five lovely things about our baby.

1. She plans to be a rockstar, and she is indeed quite entertaining. But I often think she'd be an awesome nurse. Maybe it the way she can assess a situation and take it upon herself to get it done. I've never known a more independent preschooler, though to be honest, I've only REALLY spent time with three preschoolers, so I may be an undereducated judge. All I know is she's been dressing herself for what seems like years, and for that I'm thankful.

2. Despite this independence, she still happily calls herself my "Big Baby." I'm planning on this continuing for several decades at least.

3. She asks a lot of questions about God and heaven. Even better she has all the important answers, like, "If we hurt someone's feelings and say we're sorry, God still loves us."

4. She thinks her brother and sister are great, and she's the first to give them complements after concerts or other performances. I find this incredibly thoughtful.

5. She's enjoyed a charmed life, with four of us to shower her with attention. But she's returned this grace 100 fold. We all laugh more often and smile a little bigger when she's around. Is she spoiled? Yes. But I haven't figured out how to stop yet. Hopefully, I will before I ruin her.

Five is a magical age. The world is still a place of wonder. Childlike behavior still rules. Yet, as a parent, I can start to see the type of person she will grow into. That is what makes five so exciting. I'm certainly in no hurry for her to grow up, but it is bound to happen, and I just know I'm going to love who she becomes.