A Happy Update

Remember back when I talked about my Southern Living angst and how I was going to give it another try because they were offering a one-year subscription for $5? If not, you can read about it here.

Well, yesterday the first copy of my $5 Southern Living subscription came in the mail and I have to say, "Southern Living, you complete me."

Really. Flipping through the pages of that magazine brought back a peaceful, easy feeling like I haven't had in a while. It was like welcoming an old friend whom I haven't seen in a while back into my home and picking up right where we left off.

I feel more like myself than I have in a long time.

I know this sounds wacky, and it's hard to explain, but until you've held the pages of that beautiful magazine in your hand, looked at the fabulous photos, read the travel tips, gotten some decorating inspiration, and ripped out a few recipes, you really haven't lived life to its fullest.

(O.K. Now my husband thinks I'm a complete heathen. B, just look away.)

Anyway, I've already found about five new recipes I want to try and a paint color that would look oh-so-good in my downstairs bathroom. And I haven't even finished the magazine yet!

I think I'll go bask in the Southern glow for a while. Be back tomorrow.

Travel Tuesday - Not!

Good evening! Or good morning (if you're reading this on Wednesday). I totally meant to get a Travel Tuesday post up today--I have some good ideas floating around in my head based on my weekend last weekend--but it just isn't going to happen today . . . Tuesday.

Instead, I thought I'd invite you into our dinner conversation from tonight. We sat around the table, eating a delicious dinner (if I do say so myself) of pork chops, broccoli, baked potatoes, and homemade cinnamon rolls, and reminiscing about the things the girls used to say when they were younger.

Things like "trash can't."

"Temperware."

"Little Bow Pete."

And, one of my personal favorites, "I can't do this; it's too EASY." (One of my girls, who shall remain nameless, had this little mental block about her adjectives and adverbs. She used to say the opposite of what she meant, much to the hilarity of the rest of us. Thankfully she grew out of that one.)

So dinner tonight was fun. We laughed so hard at some of the adorable things kids say. Even the kids who Abby babysits say cute, funny things. We know. She shared. Their mom would laugh, too.

And then I read the absolute best blog post about the things kids say. Go read it. You'll be touched.

Monday Morning and I really have to pull my life together, but first just one quick blog post

Oh my goodness, my weekend with my sister was great (and how many times can I use the word "my" in one sentence?!)! I'll be back to talk more about it later, but here are a few observations . . . .

• I'm officially embarrassed by our weather. Jenn said that when she left home the temperature there was 86 degrees. When she got off the plane in Chicago it was almost half that--44. I have no words . . .
• I know that my weather-related embarrassment is just plain irrational and stupid, but once I figured it out and put a name to it, it seemed to help me somehow. And, believe me, the weather didn't get much better as the weekend went on. Many plans had to be changed. I'm just thankful that we're not tied to an agenda when we get together. We adjusted and kept going.
• Thank goodness for that sense of flexibility because just as we were getting started on Thursday, Maggie's school called to say that she had a fever. Poor kid spent three days on the couch in the basement, quarantined from everyone else in the house. Thankfully she's much better now and was able to make it to school today. Whew!
• While strolling downtown Naperville in the rain, we discovered that Hugo's Frog Bar is just about the best place for lunch EVER. We got a bowl of lobster bisque, a wedge salad, and a filet mignon slider for under $8. And it was GOOD! I will definitely be back . . . soon.

Probably the biggest thing I learned is that sometimes this blog gets in the way. I mean, really, how many times did I start telling a story, only to have my sister look at me sideways with a wry smile on her face and to hear her say, "Yeah, I know. I read it on your blog."

I guess I shouldn't complain. At least she's reading it!

I have lots more to tell you, but that will have to wait. Today has to be about pulling things back together around here. My family would like to eat a decent meal again--too much running around this weekend to do any cooking.

What?! Me, not cook?! I KNOW!

It was shameful.

But fun.

Thanks for coming, Jenn!

It May Not be "White Christmas" but It's Pretty Darn Close

It didn't take being the mother of three daughters to teach me that sometimes sisters are going to fight. Not just disagree about whose blue American Eagle shirt is whose or about what time to leave for school in the morning so they won't be late for Student Council.

Not that I'd know anything about any of the above.

No, I didn't learn about girl-fighting from my daughters. I learned it from myself . . . and my older sister, Jenn. When we were growing up, our mom used to work every Saturday morning, putting us in charge of our younger sister, Jodi, who was only about five or six at the time. Being the much older sisters (7 and 9 years older), Mom thought we could handle it.

Boy, was she ever wrong.

Seems like every Saturday, Jenn and I would get into a tussle over one thing or another. And these tussles would turn into all-out girl-fights. We'd chase each other around the house, grabbing at anything we could--clothes, hair, you name it.

Now, I was a nail-biter when I was younger, and that became a big problem for me and a huge advantage for my sister. She was always the glamorous one--pretty clothes, hair, and skin--and she kept her fingernails long, usually polished. So while we were clutching and grabbing at one another, she had the ability to claw. I did not.

Many a Saturday I can remember those long fingernails grabbing into the flesh of my forearm, even drawing blood a time or two. I have the scars to prove it.

Have you ever seen the movie "White Christmas"? And remember the two blonde girls who are sisters in the movie? And how they sing that song: "Sisters. Sisters. There were never more devoted sisters"?

Yeah. That wasn't us.

Fast forward about 30 years, and I couldn't be more excited about the weekend ahead of me. My sister is coming for a visit! The days of girl-fighting are long gone. Sometime after college we began to see each other differently, maybe even giving each other a little slack. Somewhere along the growing up spectrum we became friends.

People who know me here know that my sister lives a long way away. About 900 miles away. And my friends here also know how much my sisters mean to me (both of them!). They know that we are all close today--we even take vacations together sometimes.

What they don't know is all the pain I went through to get to this point. (Just kidding, girls!)

Anyway, Jenn is coming this weekend, and I couldn't be more excited. She says she just wants to come hang out. To do the stuff we would normally do.

I have a feeling she's going to be bored.

I think I may just need to plan an activity or two.

So, I have to ask you . . . if your sister came to visit, what would you do together? I have a couple of things in mind, but what do you suggest we do?

Oh, and if I'm not around here for a few days, you'll know why. We'll be singing along to "White Christmas" songs.

Still Crazy . . .

Hillary, "The Other Mama," is hosting a blog carnival today with an interesting theme . . . Crazy.

Oh, there are so many ways you could go with this. You could post crazy pictures of your children. You could talk about the craziest thing you did in high school. You could share your craziest dream.

Hillary said anything goes.

So, if anything goes, I'm going to share some of the craziest stories that I've heard about in just the past few days. Because I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like the world has gone absolutely nuts.

• It's crazy that a 6-year-old boy got suspended from school over a spork!

• It's crazy that size 12 is being considered a plus-size. Puh-leeze. My friend, Jo-Lynne, wrote about that this week.

• It's crazy that the Blackhawks came back from a 5-0 deficit to beat the Calgary Flames 6-5 on Monday. (Sorry, just had to throw that one in there for any men who might possibly be reading.)

• And here's a really crazy story about funding for college that we saw on the news a couple of nights ago. The really crazy part is that colleges are giving scholarships to "undocumented students." Doesn't that mean they are here illegally? Could someone please explain to me why these people get money to help pay for college when lots of people who live here legally can't get a single cent?

I could go on and on about the craziness all around us. But I've already written a post about it called "It's All Kinds of Crazy Out There" and you can read it by clicking here. I hope you'll do that and find just a little bit of encouragement to counter all the crazy.

After you've read that one, head over to Hillary's place where you'll find all sorts of craziness going on.

I could use that gift

I just love it when what I'm reading intersects with what I'm learning in "real" life. That happened to me last night and it left me smiling and cringing at the same time.

Maggie, even though she's eleven and in middle school now, still likes it when we read together. Now, before you start thinking I'm this amazing mom who still reads with her kids all the time--and even does crafts with them--think again. Maggie and I actually have time to sit and read together about once a month or so. So it's not a super-big deal that I do this, unless you're Maggie and you think it's wonderful.

So last night we were reading the book that we've been reading together for, oh, about the past year or so. It's a funny (in the strange sort of way) little book called "The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster. Maggie read it back in 4th grade and liked it so much that she wanted me to read it. It is, after all, a book about words and plays on words. Really fun if you're into that sort of thing like we are.

I know. We're weird that way.

But as we were reading about the main character, Milo, saying goodbye to his new friend, Alec, at the end of a chapter about sight and perspective and point of view, I came across this passage:

"'I'm sorry you can't stay longer,' said Alec sadly. 'There's so much more to see in the Forest of Sight. But I suppose there's a lot to see everywhere, if only you keep your eyes open.'

"They walked for a while, all silent in their thoughts, until they reached the car and Alec drew a fine telescope from his shirt and handed it to Milo.

"'Carry this with you on your journey," he said softly, 'for there is much worth noticing that often escapes the eye. Through it you can see everything from the tender moss in a sidewalk crack to the glow of the farthest star--and, most important of all, you can see things as they really are, not just as they seem to be. It's my gift to you.'"

As I was reading I thought about the Bible study lesson I had worked on just that day. It was on a passage in the book of James (2:1-13) that talks about favoritism and how we shouldn't give the best seat in the house, so to speak, to those who seem to be well-dressed and wealthy. In other words, don't favor the rich. James points out that the poor have something to offer as well.

The passage from "The Phantom Tollbooth" reminded me of the Bible study lesson because I suddenly thought, I wish I could see people as they really are, not just as they seem to be. Wouldn't that make things easier? If we could truly see people from the inside, rather than from the outside, we'd be much better at following James' advice:

"My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism."

James couldn't be more plain. And yet, it seems, I fail at this on a regular basis. I judge others. I do show favoritism. I wish I didn't, but I do.

I need Milo's telescope, I think, so that I stop looking at the surface of things, of people, and start looking deeper, at who they really are. I think, if I would only keep my eyes open, I'd find hidden treasures of wealth and knowledge that I didn't even know existed.

Let Nothing Come Between Granny and Her Tiramisu

We live in a fairly type-A town. You’ll never catch me running for City Council or for the school board because those poor people get enough flack to last a lifetime in just one week around here. It’s a town filled with people who want the very best for their children at all times, no exceptions. People who will stop at nothing to make sure they get what they want.

Of course, half of the people want it one way and half want it another. Seriously, if the City Council decided to paint all of the street posts in our town green, there would be a group of “concerned citizens” who wanted them changed to red. And maybe a fringe group who would want some of them red, but some of them pink.

I admire those who choose to serve our city and our schools in this way, but you’ll probably never see me doing it. I just couldn’t deal with people being mad at me. I’m a middle child, remember?

Anyway, it stands to reason that all the type-A people in our town would make for churches that are also filled with type-A people. That would be our church. We love it, and we love the people there, but my observation after about 25 years is that there are a lot of type-A people in our church.

And, you know, sometimes that’s not a bad thing. We work hard. We get stuff done. We are committed, for the most part. And we send out a lot of missionaries.

When I say a lot, I mean, a LOT. Like over 150 missionary families. It’s a great heritage that I kind of like about our church.

Every year we host a huge missions conference which took place this past weekend. This year we had the largest gathering of missionaries ever—probably 30 families—came “home” to our church to get refreshed and to touch base with their supporters, friends, and family.

Yesterday’s church service was the culmination of the conference, and it was really different. For one thing, there was no sermon. All of the missionaries helped with the service by doing a type of reader’s theater. They even got the congregation involved in doing some of the reading.

And there was music. Wonderful world-music by a group of missionaries who are ethnomusicologists. No strumming guitar players for us. No way. We have to have ethnomusicologists. See what I mean about our type-A-ness?

Every year part of the missions festival is a fun evening with the missionaries. It’s usually a game of some sort and it usually involves food. Come on, you can’t have a missionary event without food. But the main purpose is to get the people in our congregation to interact with the missionaries who are in town.

So last night’s big event was just such a thing. We were greeted at the door and handed a card with instructions telling us that in order to win dessert we’d have to get three stars on our card. The only way to get a star was to talk to one of the missionaries about their work or where they lived.

It’s a great idea in theory, but in reality it played out a little differently.

Our family walked around together, each of us holding our little cards, hoping to fill them up with stars because the more stars you got the more dessert, or maybe even a cappuccino, you could get. We were hungry, so we tried to move quickly.

The problem was, all of the type-A people in our church were on a similar mission.

Pretty soon the room filled up, and it was getting tough to get near one of the missionaries we needed to talk to. Elbows were being thrown as we crowded around them, hoping to hear a little bit about their work, but mostly to get a star for our little dessert card.

At one point we spent about 10 minutes talking to an older gentleman, very politely I might add, only to have him doll out one star for the five of us rather than giving all of us a star. He was playing the game quite literally and would not break the rules for anything.

We were incredulous, to say the least.

But, not to be deterred because we’re a fairly type-A group ourselves, we moved on, hoping to find a friend who would be a little more free and easy with the stars. As the evening wore on, we started to realize what a difficult task this was going to be. We were really having to work for our tiramisu!

Finally, with two stars on each of our cards (three on mine because the older gentleman took a liking to me and gave the one star to me), we waited to talk to a woman about her work in South Africa. We inched closer and closer, already beginning to taste the gooey richness of our dessert, when all of a sudden an old lady scooted up close to her and pretty much pushed B out of the way.

She cut in line! The old lady hip-checked my husband to get ahead in line!

All five of us stared, open mouthed, at the woman and at each other. And then we decided we’d had enough.

We may be a little bit type-A, but we’re not type-A+.

After nearly an hour of making small talk and trying to get near a missionary in order to get a star, we gave up and left. We all decided that it might just be easier to go home and make our own tiramisu than to get three stars on our cards.

Later that night, B started having some back trouble. I’m pretty sure it was the hip-check he took from the little old lady.

And They Didn't Even Have a Concession Stand

Here’s a mystery of life I have yet to solve: soccer.

Now, I’m not such a neophyte that I don’t know what soccer is. And I’m not anti-American, so my children did, indeed, play soccer when they were five.

No, what I’m talking about is the upper-level soccer—high school and college.

Here’s where the true confessions come in. I will admit right now that I’ve only been to a handful of soccer games in my lifetime. I maybe went to two games when I was in college—our team was national champions one year when I was there, so I’m sure I went to a game or two that season. I’ve been to exactly one high school soccer game—and that wasn’t even at my own kids’ school. I went to watch the son of a couple of our friends play.

You can’t really blame me. My high school didn’t have a soccer team. In fact, when I was in high school, nobody’s school had a soccer team. Soccer was for East Coast kids. We Midwestern farm kids did not play soccer. We played football. RARGH!!!

But now our friends’ son is playing for our alma mater, so I guess it’s time to start going to a few games. So last night, in the spirit of supporting our friends, B and I ventured forth and headed, not to the football field where we feel most comfortable, but to the soccer field where we didn’t have a clue.

I guess it was exciting. All that back and forth and back and forth. The heading. The chest bumping. The yellow cards . . . and even a couple of reds. (I think that’s a bad thing.) Oh my!

But in the end, the score was 1-0 . . . and not in our favor. I spent 90 minutes on a cold, hard bleacher for that? One to nothing? Seriously?

And nobody even got carted away on a stretcher. Not even on crutches! Give me a good football game where there’s constant action, a good hit or two that will make you squirm in your seat, and a score. A real score.

Now, I love my friends and their son, so I definitely will be going to more games. But there’s just so much I don’t get. Starting with the uniforms. I mean, where’s the padding? And the helmets? With all that head-butting going on, it seems to me those soccer players should be made to wear helmets.

So help me out, people. Really, what is the secret to this mystery of life? Why is soccer so popular? What do you love about soccer? And what should I be looking for next time I go to a game?

Other than a real score.

2016

You’ve probably heard by now that Chicago did not get the bid for the 2016 Olympics.

Truth be told, we’re a little bummed about that around here because we had big plans for 2016. Big plans. I’m talking a big family party we were going to have with our kids, their cousins, aunts and uncles, even grandparents. Because the Olympics would have been fun, and it would have been a good excuse to get everyone together.

But, alas, it was not to be. Maybe we’ll have that party anyway.

But all this talk about 2016 got us thinking about where we will all be in 2016, and I gotta say, it kind of freaked me out.

Lordwilling, in 2016 Kate will be two years out of college. If she’s anything like her daddy and me, she could be married for two years and would have to bring her husband along to the Olympics too. Weird.

Abby will be graduating from college in 2016. She could be getting married too—if she’s anything like her daddy and me--which, she will tell you, she most certainly is NOT.

And Maggie will be graduating from high school that year and beginning her budding theatrical career college.

Of course, B and I will still be 35 and enjoying an active life without any health issues at all. We will be competing in marathons and watching our diet religiously, and we’ll be in the best shape of our lives.

Shelly! Snap out of it! Wake up!

Sorry, you caught me dreaming there for a second.

Anyway, we all got to thinking about 2016—only seven short years away—and how much
our lives are going to change in those seven years.

And I thought, too, about the first seven years of my girls’ lives. How those years dragged on and on for me. How every day seemed like a year, and I never thought my kids would actually go to school.

But they did, and once they got into school the days seemed to rev up and start spinning faster and faster. Until today when a year seems like a day and I want so desperately to stop the spinning. To keep them from moving so quickly toward 2016 and beyond.

Believe me, I am more than aware that we have no idea what our lives will be like tomorrow, let alone seven years from now. But it is kind of fun to speculate about the possibilities and to be reminded, yet again, of how much faith we need to have to put one foot in front of another and move ahead.

Monday Morning Mania - II

Good Monday morning!

Since I'm having a little bit of trouble pulling my thoughts together today thanks to a sinus headache and a late night at small group last night, I thought I'd just resort to a Monday Morning list.

It works for me.

1. This weekend I went to not one but TWO baby showers. I honestly can't tell you when I last went to a baby shower, so this was unusual. But they were fun. And interesting! My, how times have changed! Seems like these days everything is organic this and all-natural that.

One of the items on the first mom's gift list (it was the gift I gave her!) was one of those liners that people put in shopping carts to protect the baby from germs. At least that's what I'm guessing it's for. I had to kind of laugh to myself about that because when my kids were old enough to sit up in the shopping cart, the first thing they'd do was start gnawing on the handle, slobbering all over the place as they gleefully chewed and spit. It completely grossed me out, but there was nothing like these fancy covers back then to protect my kids from the crud on the shopping cart handle. I'm hoping it built up their immune system. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

2. The second shower was for some friends who just adopted twin boys from Ethiopia. Can I just tell you that those were about the cutest 10-month-olds I've ever seen? I immediately grabbed one of the boys as I walked in the door and barely put him down the entire time I was there. What a honey! The dad to these boys quickly pointed out that there are 3 million orphans in Ethiopia waiting to be adopted. THREE MILLION! That absolutely blew my mind. Three million children without parents. . . .

Any takers out there?

3. Speaking of showers . . . A couple of weeks ago I went to a wedding shower for the daughter of a friend of mine. I was laughing with a friend about how we seem to be entering a new phase of life in which we are the friends of the parents instead of the bride or groom. This friend agreed, and then proceeded to tell me that she and her husband went to 10 weddings this summer. TEN! All friends of her daughter who just graduated from college.

Definitely a new season of life.

4. And speaking of new seasons of life. Kate submitted her first college application last night. To say it feels a little strange to me would be an understatement.

5. And speaking of seasons again . . . I think we're skipping fall and heading straight into winter. It was about 40 degrees when we woke up this morning. Brrrr.

But what's better in the fall/winter than pumpkin muffins? Did you think I forgot? No sirree! I whipped up a batch of Bridget's Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Muffins yesterday and they were a hit. Definitely a recipe worth keeping and making often.



The only problem was a mistake I made. I put too many chocolate chips in the batter. Completely out of habit I just opened the package (I use mini chocolate chips because my family likes the way the chocolate spreads throughout the cookies or, in this case, muffins) and dumped them in. And then I realized I was only supposed to put in 1/2 cup. Oops! I can't believe I'm even saying this, but less is more when it comes to putting chocolate in pumpkin muffins. Next time I'll read the recipe more closely.

Alright, now it's time to move along with my day. But first I'd like to know . . . how was your weekend??

Folks, We Have a Winner!

So I'm on Facebook last night and I see that one of my dear friends and faithful readers has found a can of pumpkin and is making pumpkin squares. And another sweetheart friend of mine sends me a message on Facebook telling me that another store in the area now has pumpkin.

Can I just tell you? . . . I am elated. Thanksgiving is saved!

Yet another national crisis has been averted thanks to the power of the blog.

Now, on to the winner. First let me say thanks to all of you who submitted recipes. Some of these are definitely going to be filed away for the great Thanksgiving feast, that's for sure.

But since we can only have one winner--yes, kids, that is how life works--and I am fickle and couldn't decide, I let my family weigh in on the decision. They are, after all, the ones who will get to eat the fruits of my pumpkin labor this weekend when I make the winning recipe.

Drumroll please. . . . The winner is . . .

Bridget of Every Day Faith! Bridget submitted a pumpkin chocolate chip muffin recipe that everyone around here agrees sounds absolutely divine. (We're suckers for the chocolate chips, so you might want to tuck that one away for future contests.)

So, Bridget, in honor of YOU, I'm going to make those yummy muffins this weekend and report back on Monday. Don't let me down, girl. And I'll be putting two cans of Organic Pumpkin in the mail to you. Enjoy!

And now, on to more important issues of the day, like whether Chicago gets the Olympic bid or not.

Carry on.

Book Review - A Slow Burn

You may have noticed that I don't do many book reviews on here. I'm not sure why I don't--it's not like I don't read books. I read lots of books. But I'm no book review writing expert. I always feel like I'd either be gushing or dissing, and neither sounds good. So I shy away from book reviews.

But Mary DeMuth asked if I'd do this one. Yeah, I know, it sounds like I know Mary. I don't really--unless you count a couple of emails we've exchanged and a brief encounter in the hallway at She Speaks last summer where I went up to her and made a complete babbling, fawning idiot out of myself. But let's just not go there for now.

Mary asked on her blog if anyone would like to review her book on their blog and I thought, "Sure! I'm all about free books!" so I signed up. I really enjoyed the first book in her Defiance, Texas trillogy, Daisy Chain, and I wanted to read the sequel anyway, so reading it for free was just a bonus.

I have to warn you, the book I'm about to review is a tragedy. Not so much in the Shakesperian sense of a tragedy, but still, it's rough, raw, and real. If you're looking for a perky, fun, not-too-deep book I'd say go find a Sophie Kinsella and park it there for a while. But if you're looking for an edgy, deeply moving book that will really make you think, you might just want to check this one out.

Like I said, A Slow Burn is the second in Mary's Defiance, Texas trillogy. It picks up right where Daisy Chain left off, with a deeply hurting mother, Emory Chance, trying to pick up the pieces of her sorry life after her daughter, Daisy, goes missing and is found dead. (It's tragic, remember?)

Throughout the book, Emory confronts demons of nearly every kind. A mother who neglected her. Men who used her. Drugs that have nearly killed her. Guilt that threatens to undo her.

And then there is God who is chasing her.

Emory fights them all, including God, with a surprising ending that left me, truthfully, wrung out.

But that's how Mary writes. She develops characters that you care about--even the unsavory ones. She creates a setting that is as dry as the souls of the characters and that leaves you craving a nice, cold glass of water.

This is not one of those Christian fiction books that ties everything up neatly with a bow at the end, which is probably why I enjoyed it. Rather, it leaves you thinking, wondering, pondering.

And yet you see God through it all. Speaking to, pursuing, and loving His children.

Just like real life.

Even though it's disturbing in many places and very hard to read at times, this is a book that makes you think about life, about relationships, and about God's place in it all. I have a feeling A Slow Burn is going to stay with me for a long time.

The Great Pumpkin Giveaway

Last week's great pumpkin saga brought such an amazing response from all of you. I am still laughing about how many of you have commented about it or made comments to me in person.

Will you now agree that this is, indeed, a crisis and I wasn't just making it up?

Well, to show my appreciation for your comments/responses/sympathies, I have decided to share some of my pumpkin wealth with you. If you'll recall, I did get four whole cans of pumpkin from Whole Foods . . . at the very dear price of $2.99 per can, no less! They are sitting in my pantry even now.

But I just don't feel right hoarding the nation's pumpkin supply, so I've decided to do a little giveaway. I am willing to part with two cans of Whole Foods Organic Pumpkin--that's half my stash, people!--to the person who sends me the best pumpkin recipe.



What is a must-have in your house every fall? Is it Grandma's pumpkin bread? Pumpkin muffins? Do you have THE BEST pumpkin pie recipe? Or is it a coffee cake that you make every year?

Here's what you do . . . either write out the recipe in the comments section and post it here on my blog. Or, if you have your own blog, write a post about it and link up to it here in the comments section. Either way, I have to be able to read the full recipe. (I also have to have a way to get in touch with you, so be sure to leave your email address.)

I'd like to test them all before I make a decision, but since the pumpkin supply is so short, I'll just have to judge them based on reading the recipe. And, of course, the outcome will be completely subjective. I'll judge the recipes and let my family have the final say.

I will post the winner on Friday and then over the weekend I'll make the winning recipe and post a picture of it next Monday. Along with the Wildfam review of it.

So come on! Play along! This just might save your Thanksgiving.

Facades

At precisely 9:00 on Saturday night I came to a horrible realization--I screwed up. Big time.

There I was, sitting at a football game, blithely talking to a friend who mentioned something about someone with a sick child, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I have a friend with a sick child too. And I was supposed to do something very simple for that friend on Friday. I was supposed to take dinner to her and her family.

But I forgot.

My week was busy, B was out of town, and things weren't as they usually were. The week got rolling, and I didn't check my calendar. And I forgot to remember my hurting friend with a very sick little girl.

Stupid, I know.

It pains me to think about this, to even write it. It pains me to think that I disappointed someone, especially someone who is already hurting so much. I was supposed to make things easier on her and my forgetfulness made it harder.

I have spent the weekend thinking about this, crying over it, and I'm wondering why I can't just move on. I wonder why I can't just chalk this up to a simple mistake and get over it. I wonder why it's so hard to forgive myself.

I think there's an answer to these questions. An answer that's tied up in my sense of who I am, or, at least, who I think I am. Strong. Capable. Reliable. I spend my days owning up to these names, especially to the people around me. I work really hard to present myself as all of these things.

But with one stupid act of forgetfulness I am suddenly none of those things. It's like the exterior "me" has been stripped away and the true "me" has been laid bare. Forgetful. Irresponsible. Unreliable.

But each of these images of myself--the strong or the stupid--are false. They are facades that I wear. The truth is that I am both of these things and more at any given moment. And the fact is that my image of me doesn't matter at all and if it does, that's pride.

Here's the thing I've come away with this weekend. No matter how much I screw up, God's image of me is not tarnished. He knows my strengths and uses them, if I let Him. He knows my weaknesses, my moments of extreme forgetfulness, and yet He accepts those as well.

Even though my image may have been a bit tarnished in the eyes of my friend and most certainly in my own eyes, God knows my heart, sees it all the way through, and isn't the least bit surprised by what He finds there.

"O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. . . . You are familiar with all my ways." (Ps. 139: 1-3)

Five Words

My friend, Beverly, posted a fun little get-to-know-ya game on Monday called Five Words. She offered to send five words to anyone else who wanted to participate, so I said, "Sure! What's the harm in that?"

So she sent me the words this week and I'm supposed to write about them. I wonder if there's any significance to the fact that all the words she sent me were "F" words.

Anyway, here we go. As Jon Lovitz used to say on Saturday Night Live: "Get to know me!"

Far. Oh, this one's easy. I love to travel--far. And there are lots of faraway places that I still want to see. Probably the farthest I've ever travelled is to Sao Paulo, Brazil which is 5,219 miles from Chicago.

Funny. I don't consider myself a particularly funny person, but when I think through my days I realize I laugh a lot. Maybe that's because the people around me are very funny. Or maybe I just crack myself up. I don't know.

Fickle. Fickle people annoy me. They even scare me a little. I am not fickle at all. I know my mind, and I make decisions easily. Usually. I mean, unless I'm just not sure about something and then I don't know what to do. So I guess you could say I can't make up my mind about some things. But then other things . . .

Favorite. I don't have favorites. Having majored in literature in college, I am often asked, "What's your favorite book?" or "Who's your favorite author?" I'm always stumped by that question because with all the great literature out there, who can pick? Maybe I'm just fickle.

Fate. I don't believe in fate. Believing in fate leaves way too much to chance for my liking. I choose to have faith in a sovereign God who has said, "The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deuteronomy 31:8)

Thanksgiving Just May Have to be Postponed

We're in a crisis, people. It's a crisis of national proportion, and I feel it's my civic duty to warn you.

We are having a pumpkin shortage.

Yesterday Kate was hosting her small group at our house, as she does every-other Wednesday night. She had very nicely asked me if I would make those yummy pumpkin squares that seem to pop up around this time of year. Sure, no problem. That's an easy request.

Or so I thought.

I had one hour between Bible study and the time I was to meet some friends for lunch so I thought I'd use my one hour wisely by stopping at the store to pick up the ingredients I needed for the pumpkin squares, namely . . . pumpkin. In a can. Is that so hard?

Apparently so.

I started at Jewel, our local grocery store that has pretty much everything I need . . . unless I need something at Trader Joe's and then I go there. Perusing the baking aisle (yes, I do know my grocery store, and I do know that that's where I would find the canned pumpkin--NOT with the canned fruits and vegetables), I noticed a gaping hole where the pumpkin should be.

Thankfully, a man was stocking the shelves, so I asked him, "Sir, where is the canned pumpkin?"

"Not here," he replied. "We don't have any, and you're not going to find any anywhere else either, unless some Mom and Pop store has some."

Blood pressure starting to rise. Don't panic, I told myself.

"Why?" I asked. "Why no pumpkin anywhere?" My language capacity was starting to get affected.

"Something happened to the pumpkin crop earlier this year. Libby's is trying to get more, but they have to wait until they have enough to distribute to a wider area before they send it out."

That must be grocery store lingo, because he lost me at "pumpkin crop." Just the mere thought of distributing that much pumpkin to the entire Chicagoland area, much less the entire country, makes my head spin. You'd never know I was raised on a farm.

I mean, hello?! Doesn't he know what season we're entering?? Pumpkin season, of course.

I began to imagine the fallout. No pumpkin cake. No pumpkin squares. No pumpkin bread or pumpkin pie. Might as well kiss Thanksgiving goodbye. I was getting depressed. So I put down my little shopping basket and left the store.

O.K., he said some Mom and Pop store might have it. I'll just check around. I've got time. And I headed down the street to Walgreens because everyone knows that if you need a weird item, no matter what it is, Walgreens will have it. And at this point, pumpkin was becoming weird.

No luck at Walgreens.

Or at McChesney and Miller--a true Mom and Pop store.

Or at Trader Joe's where they did have canned pureed sweet potato and pureed turnip root, but no pumpkin.

Or at Aldi.

Or at the second Walgreens I tried. (What can I say? I'm an optimist.)

I even stopped at Williams Sonoma where I worked one holiday season and talked to my friend Dana who said, "Oh, yeah, we carried pumpkin one year. It came in this cute green can with orange pumpkins all over it. Yeah . . . but we don't have it anymore." Gee, thanks, Dana.

Are you counting? That's seven stores. SEVEN! No pumpkin anywhere.

So I headed to meet my friends for lunch where my friend, Kim, had one last suggestion. "Have you tried Whole Foods?" Of course! Why didn't I think of that? I'll tell you why I didn't think of that. I am not a shopper extraordinaire like Kim is--she would think of every possibility.

"Why don't you call them before you head over there?" she suggested. "And if they have it, have them put a can at the front desk for you." Of course.

Well, to make a long story even longer, Whole Foods said they DID have pumpkin and that they would indeed put one aside for me. At this point I was regretting not asking them to put aside a whole case for me, but oh well. I only needed one.

After lunch I drove as fast as I could to Whole Foods and ran to the front desk to claim what felt like buried treasure. As soon as I opened my mouth, the woman at the desk grabbed my hands and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry! As soon as we hung up the phone I went over to check, and we didn't have any pumpkin. That's so weird because we just had some the other day. But here's a $5 gift card for your trouble."

At least I got that going for me anyway.

Just in case you're keeping track, that's 8 stores. EIGHT. Do I love my daughter or what?

I came home feeling quite dejected. I was going to have to move to plan B. But before I did, I checked my email. Wouldn't you know it, Amy had sent me a recipe for a Pumpkin Bundt Cake that she made the other day. I emailed her back and said, "Looks like I won't be making that cake, or any other cake with pumpkin. I've just been to 8 stores and can't find pumpkin anywhere."

Within minutes Amy texted me with this message: "I have 1 cup of pumpkin in my fridge leftover from the other day. Do you want it?"

Here's all I have to say about how Amy saved my day:

One can of pumpkin: $1.19

One tank of gas spent running around looking for pumpkin: $45

One lunch, to make myself feel better about not finding said pumpkin: $7

One wonderful friend with one cup of pumpkin in her fridge: Priceless


Update: Whole Foods called me this morning to say that they had received a shipment of their Organic Pumpkin. They set aside four cans for me, so I ran in to pick them up this afternoon. And, you know, I love Whole Foods for what they've done for me, and they did give me that $5 gift card, but please . . . $2.99 a can?! You have GOT to be kidding! Of course, I bought it anyway.

There Really Is Nothing New Under the Sun

It's always fun when the blog and my real life intersect.

Look at what I got in the mail yesterday. The real mail. Not email.

Apparently my mother took it upon herself to point out that I wasn't the only person in America who had the same idea last week.

Oh well. I guess Mike Smith of the Las Vegas Sun noticed that too.

I Can't Take the Credit, But I WILL Take the Calories

I had to walk an extra mile this morning just to walk off the yummy deliciousness that I consumed this weekend. But let me tell you, it was worth every single step.

I discovered this recipe last fall when I was looking for some kind of apple dessert. Well, wouldn't you know that my girl, Paula, would come through with a winner. I just love Paula, don't you?

Just the name of this recipe, Caramel Apple Cheesecake Bars with Streusel Topping, tells you it's pretty much a perfect recipe. I mean, who doesn't like Caramel anything? And Apples? Can't beat 'em for a fall dessert. And then there's Cheesecake--pretty much a perfect dessert any way you look at it. In bar form. And Streusel--I love anything with a streusel topping, don't you?

Yep, now that I've analyzed it, I'd have to say that this is pretty much a perfect dessert. If there were any way to work chocolate into it, it would be even more perfect, but that's O.K. We wouldn't want to mess with it too much and end up with a pile of gloppy mess that is anything less than perfection.

And so, in honor of Fall, which arrives today or tomorrow (I can't ever remember), and in honor of my sister, Jenn, who told me I needed more pictures on my blog, I give you Paula's recipe for Caramel Apple Cheesecake Bars with Streusel Topping.

First, you make the base layer. It's pretty much a shortbread that you bake for 10 minutes.



Once that's done, you add your cheesecake layer.



Then some apples tossed with sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Yum!



And then add the streusel layer. Bliss!



Bake it all in the oven, then drizzle caramel topping over the whole thing. It will look like this.



And if you can even hold yourself back from taking a fork to the entire pan, cut yourself a nice piece and enjoy. With a tall glass of cold milk.



Then go walk an extra mile.

(Note: You can download and print Paula's recipe HERE. It's just so much easier to do it that way than to have me type it all out.)

I Think This Girl Has a Future Doing Something Somewhere

I am a stickler about bedtime. Really, it makes me absolutely crazy when my kids go to bed even five minutes late. I feel like they're going to be too tired to cope the next day and then they'll miss one question on a math quiz and then they won't get into a good college and then they won't get a good job and then they'll end up living on the streets somewhere someday.

Completely irrational, I know. But the bedtime thing is one of my "issues." (Oh, there are so many. I think this blog will probably run for a long time as I work through my issues.)

Of course, I can't really tell the high schoolers when to go to bed, which is a totally different issue altogether. We'll get to that one another day.

Anyway, as I was putting Maggie to bed one night this week AT EXACTLY 8:30--no later!--she noticed a book we had been reading together this summer sitting on her bookshelf. We only got about halfway through because, you know, school started and usually when I try to read to her at 8:30 I end up yawning every five lines or so and it kind of stinks.

Well, wouldn't you know, Maggie started in on me. "Mom, can we please read tonight? We haven't read together in such a long time." And then she looks up at me with those big brown eyes, batting her eyelashes and giving me "that" look.

"No. It's already 8:30 and you're going to be totally tired tomorrow if you don't go to sleep NOW." Like she falls asleep the minute her head hits the pillow. No, she's not like her mama in that way.

"Pleeaasse, Mom? I just love reading with you."

"I said no. I mean no. How about tomorrow? Then we can plan for it and you'll still be in bed at the right time. Besides, I'm too tired to read tonight," I said.

"That's O.K., Mom, I'll read to you."

I hesitated. I never should have done it, but I hesitated. That is the most deadly thing a parent can do. Hesitate.

"Pleeaasse, Mom? It's a short chapter. It won't take long."

And then I did the second worse thing a parent can do. I caved. "Oh, alright," I said. "You read."

You know what she did then? She sat up in bed, pumped her fists, laughed, and said, "YES! I should be a lawyer!"

I object.

I'm Not Above Grovelling

I ran into a friend at the gym the other day. After the usual hellos she said, “I spanked my son in the doctor’s office one time.” Huh? She must have noticed the slightly confused look on my face, because then she said, “I read your blog yesterday.”

I nearly hugged her. If I hadn’t been all sweaty, I just might have.

A couple of weeks ago I sat down at the high school football game ready to cheer the Falcons to victory when another dear friend turned around and said, “So, you’re going to write about public school, huh? Good luck with that one.”

We shared a bit of a laugh together . . . once I figured out that she had read my blog that day.

And this week I got the sweetest note in the actual mail (!) from yet another reader who mentioned that my blog was a blessing to her. Tears in these eyes, yes there were, when I read that one.

Seriously, I just love it when people tell me they read my blog. It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does, I’m always pleasantly caught by surprise.

When someone tells me they’ve been reading the blog, do you know what I do? I mentally scan back through all my old posts and try to figure out what I’ve written that might possibly offend that person. (Chances are pretty good there’s something there—keep looking.) And then I mentally think of all the silly things I’ve written—the trite and the simple—that might make them not want to come back again.

And then I smile real big and say, “Oh my goodness, you have no idea what that means to me.” And I mean it. Just the fact that you’re sitting here right now, reading my insecure thoughts about my little life even though it is just a silly little hobby that has begun to mean something to me, means the world to me.

Of all the blogs in all the world in all the blogosphere on the entire internet, you chose mine.

But sometimes I feel like it’s not fair. All of you know what’s happening in my life, but I don’t know what’s happening in yours. I know, that’s the nature of the blog, and if you wanted to splash your “stuff” all over the internet you would start your own blog. I get that.

But here’s the thing . . . I sometimes wish I knew who was out there reading all my mundane musings. I wish I knew if what I write made you think about an issue differently or helped clarify your thinking or made you laugh.

See, the internet is a community—a dialogue, if you will (I really hate that word).
You can say anything you want in the comments. Preferably things like “I love this post” or “Great points!” or “Wanna have coffee next week?” but you could also tell me I’m crazy and I should go fly a kite. At least I’ll know you’re out there.

You are out there, aren’t you? Hello??

The comments let me know you’re reading me. But they also encourage me. A lot. And sometimes I get a new idea from a comment or I see an issue in a new way. And then a new blog post gets spurred just because someone took a minute to comment.

See? I need you, readers! I need your comments. So today, I’m going to ask you for a favor: LEAVE ME A COMMENT.

If you’ve never commented before, you can easily register on Blogger if you want to do that, but otherwise you can just leave an Anonymous note—those don’t scare me. If you have left a comment before, may I just virtually hug you? Thank you so much! And keep ‘em coming!

Yep, I’m begging today, folks. I need a comment. Even if it’s just a simple “hello, I’m reading” it will make my day if you do that. If you really don’t know what to write, just tell me where you live.

So, next time I see you at the gym or at the game or at the grocery store and you say to me, “Oh, I see Kate made a college decision!” I’ll be able to say, “Yes, and I know what you think about that.”