Love (and Humor) Will Mend Any Broken Heart

A few days ago, Aidan was struck by devastating news ... for a 7-year-old, that is. It's often hard for a mom to keep a straight face when her child is brought low with such horrific tragedy ... for a 7-year-old. But my boy was absolutely stricken, heart-broken, standing tear-streaked at the edge of his own life's precipice. The tragedy was overwhelming; the calamity catastrophic ...

He found out he was not invited to a girl friend's birthday party.

Oh, it had nothing to do with him -- although at first he internalized all of it and thought he had done something horrible, that he was a badbadbadbad boy. Oh no, dear one ... it's nothing like that. It's as simple as this: you're in the first grade. The trend at this age is that boys invite boys to their parties, and girls invite girls. Period. Besides, the Singing Moose has her own rules, that once the child turns 7, the parties become gender-specific. Rules are rules ... they're not personal ... but oh, did this break his little heart!

I expected a few tears when I broke the news, but what I did not expect were the sobs ... the gut-wrenching, body-wracking, shaking sobs that erupted from my little boy. "Why? Why?!" he moaned, to no one in particular. He threw himself into my arms, and I dragged him -- none to gracefully, as lanky as he is -- onto my lap to comfort him. My eyes locked on Don's above his head, and we were both half-smiling at the humorous display, half-bewildered at the severity of his reaction. But this is Aidan, after all ... my boy ... the one who inherited my oh-so-emotional strain of DNA. He wears his heart on his little sleeve, and that day his little heart was shattered. Ah, the catastrophe of a 7-year-old ...

I tried to explain to him the reasons, trying to make him see just how small a deal this really was (without insulting him in the process). I reminded him that he went to Ryan's party, and Johnny's party ... were there any girls there? "No," he hiccuped. I saw a shadow of a smile. "It's OK to be disappointed," I said. It took a little while for the tears to stop, but he stayed in my lap for a while. That part I didn't mind whatsoever.

Enter Grace, who had been watching this exchange from her seat at the dinner table with great interest as she munched on her broccoli. She saw this as a great opportunity for her to employ her natural acting skills. She floated over -- yes, floated, for isn't that what any Great Comforter shall do? -- arms outstretched. She half-closed her eyes and put on her most compassionate face. She wrapped her arms around her brother, one hand stroking his arm. She began to mutter words of endearment -- for isn't that what any Great Comforter shall do?

"Oh, dear brother, it's all right ... it's going to be OK ... Just remember I will always love you ... You can come to all of my parties ... oh, dear brother, I love you so much ..."

I had a hard time keeping in my snickers, that's for sure. She then began to plant gentle butterfly kisses on Aidan's cheek, wiping away his tears. Finally Aidan sat up. He rolled his eyes and had the most hilarious look on his face. His lips were pursed oddly, his eyebrows crinkled.

"Why are you looking that way?" I asked him, trying hard not to laugh at either of my kids.

He turned his eyes toward me. "Ooohhh ..." he said quietly. "I'm blushing!"

And with that, the tragedy was over.
All is well ... all is well ...
Oh, to be 7 again ...

Chili Days

One of my favorite things to eat in the wintertime is chili -- warm, hearty, and healthy. This week I made, for the first time, one of the best chili dishes I've ever eaten. Seriously -- I will continue to rave until the next pot I make. Thanks to my trusty Moosewood Cookbook -- a well-used and well-loved wedding shower gift from one of my many vegetarian college friends -- I read Julie's scrawled, "Mmmmmmm ... so good!" comment at the top of the page and had to try it. I just couldn't stop eating it. If you like chili, and want to fall in love with fresh vegetables, you've got to try this hearty dish.

RED, GOLD, BLACK AND GREEN CHILI

1/2 cup bulghur
1/2 cup hot water
3 cups undrained canned tomatoes (28 oz. can - I used diced)

*****
3 tbs olive oil
3 cups chopped onions (roughly 3 onions)
3 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
1 generous tsp ground cumin
1 generous tsp chili powder
1 tbs Tabasco or other hot pepper sauce, or 1/4 tsp cayenne
(for those with spicier palates, just adjust to taste)

*****
2 bell peppers of your choice (I used one green, one red)
2 cups fresh or frozen cut corn
1 1/2 cups drained black beans (14 oz. can)
1 1/2 cups drained red kidney beans (14 oz. can)
salt to taste

*****
grated cheese, optional (cheddar, Monterrey Jack, etc.)
chopped fresh cilantro, optional

***************************
Place the bulghur, hot water, and about a cup of the juice from the canned tomatoes in a small saucepan. Cover and bring to a boil on high heat, then lower the heat and simmer gently. Stir occasionally to prevent sticking.

While the bulghur cooks, heat the olive oil in a large saucepan or pot.
Sauté the onions, garlic, cumin, chili powder, and hot sauce/cayenne.
When the onions are soft, stir in the bell peppers and sauté for 2-3 minutes.
Chop the tomatoes right in the can (or omit this step if using diced) and add to pot.
Stir in the corn and beans, and heat thoroughly on low heat.
Continue to stir throughout to prevent sticking.

Taste the bulghur - when it is cooked but still chewy, add it to the pot with its liquid.
Cover and simmer for a few minutes for the flavors to meld.
Add salt to taste.

Serve plain, or topped with grated cheese and/or fresh cilantro.
Great with cornbread or a hearty rustic bread.

***************************
A few notes:
- For meat lovers, adding cooked lean ground beef or ground turkey would also work well.
- The recipe actually calls for 2 green peppers, but many folks don't care for green. Substitute this for a combination of your choice. I happen to like green peppers, and I found the added red pepper gave it an extra sweetness (along with the corn) that blended amazingly well with the spicy sauce.

If I Can Kill Slugs in December, I Can Think About Gardening in January ...

Yes, my winterized readers, it's true ... I laid my first garden plans today, thinking ahead while I am wearing a warm, turtlenecked sweater and shivering in 30-odd degree weather. I didn't see the crusty snow in my yard, however, as I gazed out my back kitchen window ... I saw garden beds and the ideas started flowing.

Now, I will admit that these thoughts didn't appear without any prompting. A few things have popped up on my radar recently which has caused me to think about my gardening prospects for 2010 ...

- We heard a disturbing report on NPR about food production in the U.S., and how "You Are What You Eat" rings true ... but not in a good way. When you eat a hamburger, the author said (and I'm paraphrasing), you're pretty much eating a lot of corn. Lovely. The food we eat today is not the food our parents or grandparents ate. That's awfully frightening ...

- Last week we received an annual Christmas photo card and accompanying letter from our old college friends, and I was mesmerized by their commitment to eating their own homegrown food. Not just vegetables, but meat as well -- and they've taken on a couple of pigs, chickens, and are planning on raising honeybees. Granted, they have the barn and the property and the resources and the perfect set-up all around for this kind of lifestyle, but I gotta admit ... I was hooked on what they were doing and really envied their ability to do so.

- In my own small realm, I've been missing my fresh herbs of summer. So many of my recipes taste so much better when using fresh items, yet I can't bear the thought of spending nearly $4.00 on a few stems of fresh basil. Don and I decided that, with some of our Christmas money, we're going to start growing an indoor herb garden somewhere in our kitchen. I'm not sure where -- space is tight -- but we'll make it work.

- All of this coincided with my own research to figure out a healthy and natural way to "cure" (heck, I'll settle for "relieve") Aidan's terrible winter eczema. At first, this was seemingly unrelated, but the more I read the more horrified I became at the condition of the food we eat. Childhood eczema, many sites proclaimed -- and especially severe cases -- could very well be caused by the foods that the child eats. Dairy and gluten are both big inflammatory culprits, and while I'm not convinced Aidan has that particular problem (for if he did, this would be a year-round dilemma) and I'm not planning on cutting these out of his diet any time soon, I was just alarmed at some of the information that was pouring out of my screen. This hearkens back to the author on NPR -- "You Are What You Eat." We are high fructose corn syrup junkies; we're eating fruits and veggies that are, in essence, "fake" -- picked long before they're ready and therefore nutritionally weaker than "homegrown" ripened produce. And don't forget the lovely patty of corn on that 4th of July's picnic. On a very small level, we're now going to try taking fish oil supplements to tackle the eczema (healing it from the inside out), their tales of glory told from one grateful consumer after another. Aidan and Grace tried them this morning -- unfortunately the only ones that Don could find at CVS, "gummies" literally coated in sugar and loaded with "yummy flavors" to hide the bad taste -- and they loved them. Figures. While I'm sure the potency isn't as strong as some better options out there, Aidan can't swallow pills so, for now, this will have to do until I find something better. But still ...

These are situations where I often feel very overwhelmed. What can I do about this -- little ol' me? I feel like I just watched a Michael Moore movie and feel paralyzed. I don't live on a lovely farm like my friends do; I can't afford to shop at Whole Foods. I can't say I have an answer now -- the fish oil idea is a bit of a baby step -- but this did get me to wondering about my garden, and wondering how we can plant more vegetables. We don't have a big footprint to work with, but there is one "odd" area behind our patio that is for appearance only. I asked my dad if we could perhaps take that little patch over -- he laughed at the idea of talking about this now, in January, but he was actually all for it. A few weeks ago my dad told me a tale of his childhood, when his dad and uncle, along with others in the community, had Victory Gardens in neighboring towns -- my dad remembers going there as a young boy and recalls the hard work they put in to those gardens, as well as the wonderful produce that was grown. In fact, he went so far as to ask if I could find a few friends around here to go into some kind of a co-op situation -- find an empty lot somewhere and transform it. Way to go, Dad! But that takes a lot of time and capital, so ... we'll see.

I killed my last slug in early December.
I think I have earned the absolute right to start thinking about my garden in January.
But I know I do want to branch out a bit and work with what we have.
We'll see how it goes ...

Rejoicing

"So are you rejoicing in the fact that your kids are going back to school tomorrow?" Jacie emailed me last night. Hmmm ... "rejoicing?" Is that the right word?

The alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m., instead of my week long luxury of sleeping in until 7:00 or -- gasp! -- 7:30. No, no rejoicing there.

I showered, still half asleep, then hit the dark kitchen to make Aidan's lunch and get the kids' backpacks ready. Still not awake, cold, and longing for my warm bed. No, no rejoicing there.

I woke the kids up and struggled trying to find something for them to eat for breakfast. They didn't want anything. I couldn't blame them, yet I knew they had to eat something or else they'd crash around mid-morning. They grumbled at each suggestion but finally settled on something. If nothing else, their growth spurts are now officially over and once again they're eating like birds. But that interchange over cereal or oatmeal or bananas took far too much of my (non-existent) morning energy. No, no rejoicing there.

We bundled Aidan up and readied him for the bus. He looked so cute, and so small out there. I felt that familiar twinge, of missing his cute conversations and ready smile. He's a good helper, and enjoys his superior role as "Big Brother," being able to help get snacks or juice out, printing out coloring pages for them to occupy their time. I do miss his company, having gotten used to having him around. No, no rejoicing there.

I just returned from driving Grace to school. Walking out into the bitterly cold morning, sitting in a bitterly cold car. Giving one last big hug to my girl who is finally feeling so much better and back to her usual chatty, hilarious self. Our Christmas Tree experiment worked -- unfortunately. The tree has been gone several days now, and with each day came much improvement. The allergen is out of the house; our girl is feeling better. Darn. She's been so cute these past few days, so happy and cheery. I'm going to miss her company as well. No, no rejoicing there.

And yet ...

The peace and quiet in my house now, as I sit here alone, is indescribably luxurious. The only sound I hear is the occasional ping and pop in the radiator, and Jack's collar tags jingling as he rolls around on the floor. Gone is the constant -- and I mean constant -- noise over the past week. Gone is the daily effort for me to try to ignore the continuous activity and sounds. I am the kind of person who needs a good, hearty dose of quiet at some point during the day in order to recharge my batteries. Over this past winter break that rarely happened. And since it was so cold, and since my kids aren't the outdoorsy type, I couldn't depend on the backyard for any support. We were all stuck in the house, together, climbing over and and bumping into each other. I would turn around there's Grace right behind me. I turn around again and nearly trip over Jack. I walk into my bedroom for a moment's quiet breath, only to find Aidan following me.

Rejoicing?
OK ... maybe a little bit.

A Decade of Something

In my survey of the many comments unread (see my big "duh" moment in the previous post), a few jumped out at me, one being Jen's response to NPR's report on someone who referred to this last era as "The Decade of Nothing." Or something like that. Now, that was just one person's assessment, and Jen said that she would think of her own list of things to celebrate about the past decade ... and rightfully so. So I got me to thinkin' ...

As Don and I sat together on the couch on New Year's Eve, we thought back to where we were at that exact moment in time ten years earlier. It was 1999, that explosive day on the verge of the dreaded (and oh-so-wimpy) Y2K. We were young(er) and vibrant, excited about the life that was going to unfold before us ... or so we thought. We had just left seminary, the world was at our fingertips. We had just purchased our first house, acquired our first dog, and started a new job at our first church. Everything was absolutely perfect, and as that rather tacky '80s song went, "The future's so bright I gotta wear shades ..."

We spent that New Year's Eve at Amy and Charlie's house, their annual evening of revels. I remember laughing with friends, breaking out of my introverted shell and loving every minute of it. I remember gathering in the back yard, wondering if the Septa terminal right behind them was going to shut down or explode when the dreaded four digits -- 2000 -- made their appearance. It was freezing cold, but we didn't care. The champagne was uncorked with much fanfare; we grabbed our filled glasses and hugged and huddled. Darin and Julie popped their heads out of their apartment window upstairs, readying Darin's hilarious creation: his own homemade New Year's Eve ball, consisting of two plastic colanders strapped together, all balled up with white Christmas lights. The ball was attached to their clothesline, and as we shouted out the familiar countdown, the ball bounced and jiggled its way down until at last it settled above us, the year 2000 welcomed, and the Septa station still lit and working, with no explosions and no Armageddon. The happiness I felt was all-consuming, a definite highlight to remember.

A Decade of Nothing? I wouldn't say "nothing" ... but it was not the decade I anticipated with such eagerness. It was a decade of struggle, a decade of considerable pain. Dream after dream was dashed; vision after vision was squelched. We lost a baby; we lost grandparents. We endured years of financial crises, due not to any irresponsibility on our part but just "life," extenuating circumstances, and a lot of My Friend Murphy thrown into the mix. We were terribly hurt by the one thing that had promised to sustain us, and we had no choice but to leave it behind. No, this was not the decade we envisioned when we walked down the aisle, said our vows, entered a vocation of ministry, and jumped into the deep end of life.

A Decade of Nothing? But Jen is right ... there is much to celebrate! Despite the difficulty and pain -- for we all have that -- there was a tremendous amount of joy and grace. Amazing friendships were established; old friendships continued to grow to new and enriching depths. The two most beautiful children were born to us, and the richness of parenthood catapulted us to a new level of life. But what I am most grateful for, having only been recently able to acknowledge this, is that I would not have what I have today had not this past decade been as tumultuous as it was. If there were no struggles, I would not have learned to grow in my reliance upon God. If there were no betrayals or malice or hurt at the hands of those we knew, I would not have learned that I can fully trust in my relationship with God alone. If our bank account didn't take the hits that it did, I would not have learned that all things come from God and that no matter what I try to do, nothing equals His provision for us. If the difficulties and hardships didn't reach the point of near-drowning levels, I would not have learned that God alone can not only lift me up above it all, but give me an unearthly and inexplicable peace with which to ride those waves.

A Decade of Nothing? Far from it. It's been a Decade of Ultimate Rescue, a Decade of -- ultimately -- New Life. Jacie wrote later on that she had just been thinking what a blessing it is for us, for example, that we are able to finally be at a place where we can buy a small, inexpensive toy for our son on a whim without feeling the pinch. How new, how ground-breaking that is for us, when we've experienced true want for years on end, needing assistance to get through the most basic of needs while putting any inkling of "wants" on the back burner. What a turn of events, what provision we now have after so many years of the opposite. Yes, indeed, feeling "thankful" doesn't come close to what is pouring out of my heart at this dawning of 2010.

I am sure that this new year -- and certainly the new decade -- will bring more struggles and challenges. It always does, for all of us. But my journey, started those years ago, has brought me to a new place, a different place, a stronger place. Oh, it's not easy ... I have my demons and button-pushers which knock on my door on a near-daily basis. Sometimes it's easy to shut them out; other times they find ways to squeeze in and brew up a hearty batch of discontent. I don't make New Year's Resolutions, but this year I think I will go back in time a bit, reading my earliest posts on this blog. I began this writing journey a few years ago, born out of a need to unload some of the questions and the pain in which I found myself, finding this particular outlet to be the most helpful and enriching. I wrote the hard questions, the wrestling moments, for keeping that all inside would have been toxic. I want to see how my written journey has unfolded over these few years, and take that with me as I take these first steps into this new year. But in a word, I have been blessed -- oh, so tremendously blessed. And that is the first thing I want to take with me now.

May you too embrace this profound peace that is laid before you, and may your first steps into this new year be those of confidence and joy.

An Unexpected "Gift"

While I have been keeping up my blog, it hadn't dawned on me until this morning that I haven't heard/read a single comment from any of my usual readers. Huh, I thought ... I guess everyone is just so wrapped up in their holidays that they haven't been checking in. That's OK ...

I had something on my mind this morning (although it's now gone, the fleeting thing) and as I was about to hit "New Post," I noticed that someone had left a comment on a previous post. That's odd, I thought. I didn't know that was there. I read it, then scrolled down to the next post, discovering more comments ... What's going on here?

Oh, how wrong I was! This was not a case of ceased blog traffic ... There were comments galore! A few weeks' worth of comments, just waiting to be read ... and I never saw them. Why?

Nothing but a "duh" thing. A big "duh" thing. A few weeks ago we had changed our telephone/internet provider, and I never thought of changing my email notification to the new address. So every time a comment was posted -- and thank you all, so much, for staying connected! -- I never received the notification. Right ... duh ...

So I just spent quite a bit of time reading all of your lovely comments -- it was so good to hear from all of you, as belated as it was. I was happy to hear of your Christmas celebrations, of your fun in the snow, of the cyber-slapping after my Facebook "slam" (hee hee -- perhaps that could be a New Year's Resolution? Although that won't bode so well, since A) I don't make New Year's Resolutions because B) I never keep them) ...

Ah, to have such wonderful friends! A true gift indeed!

First Day In ...

Happy 2010 to all! I hope your celebrations were festive and memorable. Ours were ... well, rather characteristic of parents with young children. Gone are the days of revelry past midnight, sipping champagne and laughing with friends and caring about absolutely nothing but the fun in that moment. My kids have taught me long ago that they could care less if I stay up to see the ball drop or get many hours less of my usual dosage of sleep. They'll be up at the crack of dawn, regardless of how I celebrated that famous Eve. I must now be more careful, cautious of how I spend my time, lest I reap the draining consequences the next day.

We (to be fair, I need to say "Don") did whip up our traditional New Year's Eve meal -- something posh and indulgent and delicious after the kids went to bed. Don's lobster risotto was, in his words, one of "the absolute best" he's ever made and I have no choice but to agree wholeheartedly. The meal was superb; the movie ... eeehhh. We saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and I have to say that I was sorely disappointed. Up until this point, the movies haven't been bad -- but this one was rather horrendous. It's been ages since I read the book, but even I could remember enough of the plot to recognize that the movie didn't even come close to capturing the complexity of the story that was unraveling in that thick volume. I wanted to love this movie, but what I felt was anything but that.

The kids allowed us the luxury of sleeping in until 7:30 a.m., and 2010 began the same way almost every day in 2009 did. "Can we have some orange juice?" "Can we have some breakfast?" Jack barking, needing to go out and even more importantly needing to eat; coffee gurgling in the coffee maker. Absolutely nothing was new about this morning, this new dawning of a new decade. I couldn't help but smile.

We had a lovely day today, spending most of it with my old childhood friend and her family who came home for the holidays from Maine. For several hours we tried to cram in as much conversation as we could, for months and months will go by until we see each other again. Aidan immediately teamed up with their eldest daughter of the same age, while Grace and their youngest -- also the same age -- became fast friends, two little peas in a princess-dress-up pod. It was heart-aching to see them go, to see any of these decades-old friends go.

An interesting thing occurred shortly after they left. We had just donned our coats, ready to head out the door to run an errand, when suddenly Aidan burst into tears. "I don't know what's wrong," he sobbed, throwing himself into my arms. "All I know is that I just can't go anywhere." I smiled -- my boy had finally had enough socializing. The excitement of Christmas, the constant flow of friends and cousins, playing and playing more than he's ever done before ... it had all finally caught up with him. My boy has an introverted streak after all, just like his Mama -- his energy bank had completely run dry and he broke down. He dragged his weary self over to his favorite chair, covered himself with a blanket, and just rested there. I took that opportunity to take to my bed, crawling under the covers and reading a few chapters of my book, until I too succumbed to that Lovely Beast which completely wipes out my own well of energy. I love my family, my dear friends, the wonderful chaos of this holiday season ... but it takes an inward toll, all this talking. My book fell closed as I fell asleep.

Ah, 2010 ... you are here to stay. I wonder what you will bring ...