missconginnyality's Blog

Believe in Miracles-Jeffrey R Holland

From the outside, it might seem as though I have a huge tolerance for chaos. Between my preference of being outside doing over inside organising, my (self diagnosed) adult attention deficit disorder, and the nature of so many people with so much to say and so little space in which to say it, I actually have a very specific level of chaos I can handle. Somedays, the tipping point is tiny. Enter into my life wireless earbuds. Already I had discovered the joys of audiobooks and podcasts to add enlightenment to menial tasks and distract my brain from its constant chatter. But being able to do so without the small inconvenience of an earbud wire attached to my back pocket has removed just one small bit of frustration, one less muddle in the middle of so much else going on. Wireless earbuds have been a small, ear concha size, game changer.

The hubs suggested jokingly that we find a monthly subscription for earbuds “for our family”. But until recently, none of the kids had any of their own and his haven’t seemed to break nearly so often as mine and it isn’t a completely rare experience for me to ask to borrow his because the small black charger case I keep them in so they don’t go missing is, once again, missing. In the gentlest of ways, he meant me. I’m the one. I need a subscription.

This was after we had just covered 8km of walking and running on the paved path and also on the off leash trail. We’d done stairs and bridges. Run through Puddles and mud and slush.

We finished our run, climbed 120 stairs and were 3 blocks from home when I realised that I was missing one earbud. The left one.

On this particular day I had taken it out and put it in my back pocket so I could be better at listening and visiting during our lunch together. But I also had my phone in my pocket and at some point, had taken it out to see how far we’d gone or to pause it while Zeke took a pause of a very different sort. It could have fallen out anywhere in all that time. In all that mud.

We looked for it. We retraced some of our steps, down the stairs to the bridge, then under it and up to where we started the run and also the route of our warm up walk. Each small bit of mud, Each rock, Each piece of broken black asphalt felt like a trick. We didn’t find it.

The next day I set out again, all my optimism determined to get it back. Zeke wanted a walk anyway. The sun was shining. And I needed to give it one more try before adding the purchase of another pair of earbuds to the cost of being me, a private list that gets a review whenever my weaknesses are the most public.

So I walked without success, eyes to the ground, hoping to find something so small and black in the midst of spotted leaves and dark wet sticks and clumps of mud and mire.

I didn’t find it in all the places I thought it might be. And then, coming to the end of my search, discouraged, I had just started to remind myself “Sometimes I pray about lost things and I find them. Sometimes I pray about lost things and I don’t. Either way, God is aware of me and my struggles and the details of the details of my life. It’s just an earbud. The right one seems to function pretty well without her partner. I can do okay with just one.” I took a deep breath and when I looked down to navigate safely the 3 little steps at the end of the bridge, I saw, in the gravel, a small black ring, the silicone grip that helps hold my earbud in my ear. And to the right, off the stairs, 4 feet down in the long grass was the rest of it!

“Believe in miracles. I have seen so many of them come when every other indication would say that hope is lost. Hope is never lost!” Jeffrey R. Holland

Hope is never lost. An earbud is not always as lost as we think it is. We aren’t as lost as we sometimes feel we are. I know, IknowIknowIknow, We all have big things that bring us down. But, if we are looking down, we can also be looking for a miracle. Miracles are all around us. I have seen so many of them, even in the chaos.

I love cookies. I can’t think of a situation that cookies don’t make better. Even the baking of the cookies makes me feel better, if only temporarily. Whenever I start to feel bad about my extra pudginess I always want to comfort myself with some homemade cookies. I can’t be the only one! Please, please tell me I’m not the only one?!?!? But we are trying to eat less treats at our house which means that I get to do less baking and we get to eat less cookies.

Enter this grain free banana cookie. I usually make them for breakfast so Squidge calls them pancake cookies- but they are so much better than that. And the brood can eat them for breakfast without all the jam and syrup making everything so darn sticky. Sweet and soft, and perfect anytime of the day, they are the best parts of a muffin but more fun because…cookies.

Easy Banana Cookies

INGREDIENTS

• 3 medium very ripe bananas

• 2 eggs

• 1 cup almond flour

• 1/4 cup coconut flour

• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda

• 1/4 teaspoon baking powder

• 1/8 teaspoon (a dash) salt

• 1 tablespoon sugar (optional)

• 2 tablespoons chia seeds

• 1/3 cup chocolate chips

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Preheat the oven to 350℉ and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

2. Put the wet ingredients- eggs and bananas (mashed) into the bowl or mixer.

3. Add the almond and coconut flours and mix well (I’ve found that they do better when given a bit of time to soak up some of that moisture).

4. Add in the rest of the ingredients and mix well.

5. Drop by the spoonful onto the parchment paper and put in the oven.

6. Bake 22-25 minutes. Let cool before removing from the pan.

“Gratitude Makes Things Right”— Melody Beattie

Amid a pandemic of sour dough, crochet and pinterest boards revisited, there was instagram. Without access to a pool, I have watched countless Instagram videos of other people swimming in other pools explaining technique in new ways and from new angles. This video about old vs new breaststroke just about blew my mind out of it’s swimcap (or would have, had I not been in a pandemic and instead, a pool).

https://www.instagram.com/tv/B-fJWeJhNvT/?igshid=fgkooc965rph

And when it came to freestyle, two things came up over and over. It was the catch; the moment you grip the water and start your pull. And body rotation. For an effective freestyle, traditionally a swimmers body should roll between 30 and 60 degrees. Not only does this create a stronger biomechanical angle for your shoulders and back muscles to engage, but also like a fish actually creates momentum, propelling you forward by allowing you to push off the water as you move through it. Someone explained to me once that when you swim you should imagine a pole that runs from the top of your head down through your spine. As you swim, you should imagine the pole straight and strong and your body rotating around it equally straight and strong.

As a coach and instructor and as a swimmer myself, I have taught this so often it has become a chant “reach and roll, reach and roll, reach and roll”.

But then I found Adam Walker (@adamoceanwalker). After swimming the English Channel, injuring his shoulder in a way that required multiple surgeries, he was told by doctors that he should never swim again. Instead of giving up a sport he loved, he changed his stroke to allow him to continue. For him, this meant that instead of just rolling and rotating from the shoulders he initiates his roll from his hips. And instead of rolling his body 45 degrees, he rotates 180 degrees from hip to hip! According to him this creates less resistance, takes pressure off the chest and shoulders, creating more power, allowing for greater endurance (from bigger muscles being utilized), reducing the risk of injury and allowing for easier breathing. It’s all in the body position.

On November 13, in an effort to slow down the spread of Covid-19, the Alberta government cancelled all fitness classes. As an aquafit instructor it means I’m once again out of a job. It also has meant that the pools were open for lap swimming almost all day and I could finally get into the water to practice my own stoke, learning to rotate from my hips more than I’ve ever done before.

I’m not very good at it. Yet. My timing isn’t quite right, especially when I breathe on my left side. My core is weak so I struggle to roll in a straight line and worry that my rotation is more of a wiggle. But it is more efficient. Even after months of not swimming, I use 3 less strokes/ length than I did a year ago. 3! To you this may not seem like a lot but for me it’s a huge improvement in efficiency. And I’ve been able to increase my endurance. After 8 months of barely swimming, my endurance has returned and I can swim 3000m in my one hour time slot and still have time to joke and tease with the women I used to teach in my classes as they yell at me from lanes away “Harder! Faster! If you’re smiling you’re not working hard enough!” Phrases that in normal times I love to shout at them from the pool deck.

Recently Russell M. Nelson challenged us all to focus on gratitude, turning our social media into a gratitude journal. “Counting our blessings is far better than recounting our problems. No matter our situation, showing gratitude for our privileges is a unique, fast acting, and long lasting spiritual prescription”.

Yaaas! I am a firm believer in gratitude as a game changer: “Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity…It turns problems into gifts, failures into success, the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into important events. It can turn an existence into a real life, and disconnected situations into important and beneficial lessons. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow. Gratitude makes everything right” –Melodie Beattie

As someone who is grateful for the gift of gratitude, I was happy for a week of embracing gratitude even just a little bit more. And you know what? It really was a unique experience. As I looked for and thought about what I could express gratitude for, I found layers and layers of gratitude. Feeling grateful for the beauty of the river is also gratitude for God’s creations, living where I live so that I have such easy access to the river valley and for a puppy to take for a walk. Gratitude for the joy of spending the afternoon skiing is also gratitude that with so much closed down we can still ski together and most especially for a brood who is happy and embraces new experiences and challenges without complaint. Gratitude for swimming is also gratitude for a body that can move in ways that help me feel strong, good parents who spent hours and hours and hours at the pool so I could learn to swim the way I did, kind coaches who taught me to love swimming because they loved me and gratitude that I discovered when I did how much I need movement, the difference it makes to every part of me.

As I worked on my swimming, my body position and my rotation, I wondered what I am rotating around in the greater part of my day. What is the imaginary pole that runs from my head through my spine while I swim, made of, as I move through the world? What is yours made of? Do you rotate on a strong foundation of gratitude? Faith? Hope? Abundance? Love? Or is it easy to get twisted, waving your arms and thrashing through the water of life from a place of scarcity? Anger? Selfishness or Fear?

Changing my swim stroke isn’t easy. Even knowing the way I want it to look, my muscles to move, my body to feel, I don’t get it right every time. Sometimes I wonder how long I will have to focus on swimming this way before my habits of the past become a memory and my new technique becomes my natural movement.

We just celebrated our first Christmas and now NewYears in a new state of lockdown, or for this introverted Mama, what has felt like a bit of a shut in. Maybe to you what was intended as a distancing to reduce numbers has felt more like a cut off. Maybe the things that have in the past, traditions you celebrated with friends and extended family that held you straight and strong are not an option right now. Maybe with the timing of these increasingly hard restrictions you are finding it harder and harder to remember what good form even looks like; your endurance, your resilience isn’t what it used to be. Perhaps your past NewYears resolutions were even only possible because of a predictable world that doesn’t exist right now. I understand this. Heaven’s to Betsy, I know what it feels to be ~~bent~~ out of shape. I was just starting to find my rhythm in the pool when it was closed indefinitely. I know what it feels like to have big things interrupted: jobs, school, plans. And with everyone home, what to them feels like sharing, to me often feels like a thousand small interruptions every single day. But I also know that even a small change in what is at our center, finding love and gratitude as our internal guide means that we can move through these different and new times with at least some grace, breathing easier as we inch ourselves forward stroke by stroke, new day by new day.

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My Grandma Ruth liked to make pies for my Grandpa when she was mad at him. They were a service of love to help her forgive. Growing up, my own Mum would make pies for my Dad, especially when she wasn’t mad at him. He gave us all a piece of course, but they were always his pies. When the Hubs and I got married, I think I told him that I would never be a woman who makes pies. We’ve never had a shortage of other sweet treats, so he didn’t mind. But genetics are strong and I have now a small army of boys who identify as “pie guys”. Buster even prefers pie to cake for his birthday. And now I am a woman who makes pie. But so many of us are gluten-free around here that I don’t have to fuss with keeping crusts flakey and I get to experiment with all sorts of combinations. This pumpkin chiffon pie is a dream. It eliminates all the elements that most people dislike about pumpkin pie and holds onto all the things they love. It is sweet and flavour full and light. This recipe makes 2 pies because, let’s be honest…

The crust is a variation on my Grandma Ruth’s ginger cookies

https://missconginnyality.wordpress.com/2015/06/01/dont-accept-someone-elses-interpretation-of-how-you-should-be-chieko-okazaki/. It is so good it has me thinking of all sorts of combinations. Greek yogurt cheese cake topped with lemon pie filling on this ginger crust? Yes please.

For the Crust

• 3/4 cup butter

• 3/4 cup sugar

• 1 egg

• 1/4 cup molasses

• 2 cups flour

• 1 tsp ginger

• 1 tsp cinnamon

• 2 tsp baking soda

• 1/2 tsp salt

• 1/2 cup Rice Krispie cereal

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Beat together the butter, sugar and egg. Mix in the molasses. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well.

Roll into 1″ balls and place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Don’t worry about them being too close and blending together when they bake. You are going to food process them anyway. Bake for 8-10 minutes. You’ll want to take them out when they seem a bit under-done because like all cookies they will continue to bake on the pan for a bit after they come out of the oven.

When they cool, break them up into smaller bits and pulse them in the food processor with a 1/2 cup of Rice Krispies until it reaches a sandy crumb consistency.

◦ Add to 3 cups of your ginger cookie crumbs:

◦ 1/2 cup melted butter

◦ 2/3 cup white sugar

Instructions

1. Mix the crumbs, butter and sugar together until combined. Divide between 2 pie plates and press into the bottom and sides with a fork. You can even use the bottom of another pie plate to make sure it is nice and compact.

2. Bake at 350 for another 8 minutes.

Chiffon filling

Ingredients

◦ 4 large eggs, separated

◦ 3/4 cup sugar

◦ 1 tablespoon cornstarch

◦ 2 tablespoons cinnamon

◦ 1/2 teaspoon cloves

◦ 1 tsp ginger

◦ 1/2 teaspoon salt

◦ One 15-ounce can pumpkin puree

◦ 1 cup canned coconut milk – I let it settle and then pour off the top creamy part and discard the watery dregs.

• In a medium bowl, whisk the egg yolks with 1/2 cup of the sugar, the cornstarch, cinnamon, ginger, cloves and salt until smooth. Whisk in the pumpkin puree then mix in the coconut cream.

• Using a handheld electric mixer, beat the egg whites at medium-high speed until soft peaks form. Gradually add the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar and beat until the whites are glossy, about 1 minute longer. Fold the beaten whites into the filling, being careful to keep it light and fluffy.

Pour the filling into the crust. Bake the pie for about 45 minutes, until the custard is set, and the top is slightly cracked. Cool the pie on a wire rack completely (or if you live in Edmonton, on your back step outside!) before serving.

“You May Not Find a Path but You Will Find a Way” — Tom Wolfe

This end of summer and now fall I’ve been new trail running, running in search of new places to run. It’s been a different summer (and spring and fall) in oh so many ways and it even shows on the trails. It rained in Edmonton so so much, and while everything has stayed so lush and green and the leaves have held on in a way I’ve never seen this time of year, all that green hides the trail and tickles my knees and provides obstacles of crooked trees to interrupt a good pace. In past summers, bike volunteers or city of Edmonton employees with weed wackers and fluorescent vests have cleared the single track trails where I like to run. But this year because of covid or budget cuts or overwhelm, they have been absent. The rain and the ever changing landscape of the river valley means that even many of my paved trails are sunken and collapsed and closed. And mud. There has been so much mud.

As a high sensation seeking highly sensitive person I am often looking for ways to satisfy my need for adventure but in quiet peaceful ways. Discovering new trails and constant surprise of what is around the next turn gives me a sense that I am getting somewhere new even in the midst of so many of my days seeming the same.

And I have discovered some wonderful new trails; New ways to get to the same places and new places to even begin. I have also discovered so many ways to get back and forth without getting anywhere , so so many trails that don’t really go anywhere at all. They start off promising with a solid pack ground, defined edges and a clear path into and through the trees but then somehow fade or are blocked all together by overgrown brush, fallen trees, a giant mud puddle or in some cases they lead only to someone else’s home. Sometimes its in such a way I wonder if it was even a path at all or just a hope of a path. Each time it requires back tracking or climbing in and through brush, the choice to press forward in one direction or to turn around and try again. And I am always carrying the uncertainty, wondering if the trail I’m on is really the best or maybe if I just ran a little to the left and took the little path to the right, a brighter wider more fun trail might open up? And sometimes it does. But this year, more than other years, it feels like so often it doesn’t.

Fall has always been one of my favorite times of year. It feels like the best parts of New Years without the cold and snow and darkness, the best parts of spring without all the wet. And stationary supplies: all those new pens and paper always feel like hope. After a summer of freedom and play and a lack of chores, It feels like a time to renew, reset and recommit to my goals. Usually I appreciate the rituals I can rely on like the brood returning to school and extra curriculars that allow me to plan my days and my projects and figure out the best ways to move in the worId and my home in a way that will meet all the demands, all the needs, even my own. But this year, it feels like the time to renew and recommit is replaced with learning to readjust and prepare myself for learning to readjust some more.

Kevin J Worthen, the president of Brigham Young University, in a recent speech, said “The term ‘COVID fatigue’ has now entered our lexicon. It is used to describe a number of different phenomena…But surely one of the principal components of COVID fatigue is the seemingly ubiquitous uncertainty that surrounds almost every decision we are currently dealing with. It is difficult—and incredibly draining—to work in an environment in which you do not know if the plans you are so carefully creating will be effective or even possible. And it is still more enervating to repeatedly see that your work is undone by unexpected developments, sometimes even before the task is started.” https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/kevin-j-worthen/act-while-acted-upon/

This pandemic has provided my family with opportunities we would never have had to leave the paths we have always taken and find new places and go and ways to get there. This fall follows a summer of play and peak experiences big and small we were able to do together so different from our usual summer of competitive swimming. In the time I’ve had at home I’ve learned and understood new things I didn’t know, like how much I enjoy lunchtime weights on the lawn with my hubs and that unstructured time spent outside and in nature isn’t just important because it’s grounding for children https://www.google.ca/amp/s/childmind.org/article/why-kids-need-to-spend-time-in-nature It is imperative for me too. But like the trails near my home that sometimes pan out but sometimes stop abruptly, this fall season I am not sure if any of my plans will be something I can grow and continue or if they too will hit a dead end when someone in my home gets a runny nose or a classmate at school gets sick or the world shuts down again. The uncertainty is its own difficulty, it’s own weight. I feel tired. I feel like I am covering distance but getting no where.

But there are some paths I know are reliable and some I just have to enjoy while they are before me. Because there is joy in discovery, and there can be excitement in the unknowing. 10km of back and forth through the trees is still 10km. And there is always a way. So for now I will continue to look for new trails, some with success, some with abrupt stops. I will try new ways of being and new ways of parenting. Sometimes I will run the older more proven trails even though they look a little different and I will keep doing the things that make me happy. And I will find a way, and find a way again.

“Everything and Everyone is in Process”- Pena Chodron

July now, but last month, June, was birthday month. The Lady has her birthday, Buster his half (being born so close to Christmas, we reserve most of the party for six months later), a list of uncles and grampas to celebrate, and mine at the very end. Birthdays always feel exciting and packed with feelings of anticipation. I like to make fun cakes- tangerine with coconut cream icing, chocolate with whipped mint, orange with citrus cream cheese frosting, layers and layers of lemon curd and raspberry sandwiched between crepes piled high…and the hubs is a (marvelous) bit of a cake artist: Viking helmets, mermaids, mandalas, elephants…

The day Buster turned six, he was unusually somber. When questioned why he didn’t seem happy on his birthday, he replied “It’s not that don’t want to be six, it’s just that there were things I didn’t get done when I was 5. I wanted to ride in a Helicopter and jump out of an airplane.” He’s always been a little guy with big ideas.

Usually in the summer, I coach swimming. Not this summer because the world is changed and pools aren’t open, at least not where I live. But half, literally half, Twenty, of the summers of my life have been spent in competitive swimming as a swimmer, as a coach, or as both. Last summer was one of those swimming summers spent like so many others. It’s been an interesting experience to take a break to grow up, get a job and have 4 monkeys but then come back as a swimmer; a swimmer with a memory of the races won and times I had as a younger version of myself. It’s different. I’m different. The truth is that I am slower, but not a lot slower. I don’t get as stressed about big races because I have less invested in my own swimming and more in my children’s and those I coach. But the recovery is what has really changed. It takes me oh so so much longer than 800 seconds to recover from an 80 second race. If I needed a reminder that I’m not the same swimmer I was in the 90s, standing on a dive block with shaking knees about to start before recovering from the last hard effort is it.

Last year during a coaches seminar, the speaker said something I had never considered. In this era of sport, we usually encourage kids to focus less on their place on or off the podium and more on their own race. Comparison is the thief of joy. We have no control on the success of others and just because another swimmer has a faster race than you doesn’t necessarily mean you didn’t have a total win of a race. Your best is still your best in spite of how the other swimmers are racing that day. My personal coaching philosophy is built on this idea: providing kids with as many opportunities to taste a win as possible, even when they get beaten by someone else. But doing this, often involves setting a goal time. It becomes a competition not between swimmers but between the swimmer and the clock. The clock can be a tough rival, not every swim is a best swim, not every time is a best time.

But more than that, the goals of the clock are always moving.

I am not a sprinter. I never was. I wanted to be because there is a lot less effort output in a 50m free than 200m individual medley, but a sprinters body is not what I was given. Last year, one of my personal goals was to do a sub 30sec 50m freestyle. I know that I will never win a freestyle race. That’s okay. It was about me. Me and the clock.

And I did it. At regionals. I broke 31 seconds with a time of 30.18!

I was happy. So happy. Even though I didn’t race it as a teenager, the clock announced that I had gone faster than I had ever achieved as a teenager. But that happy lasted little more than 30.18 seconds when someone said, “Great swim! Next time you’ll break 30?” Before I had even enough time to enjoy what I had accomplished, the next faster time, the next achievement was put on the table, well, poured in the water.

And so it went on. I was ecstatic to swim 2:30.00 for my 200m free. Faster than the (at the time) record breaking swim in 1993 that left me with a silver medal, a broken heart and a distaste for 200m free. It felt like a real achievement to be faster at 39 than I was at 13. And with a time of exactly 2:30.00 there was no doubt in my mind I would break that the following week. But the clock had different plans for me.

The next Sunday at Provincials, I raced 200m free again, this time with a clear goal. Working hard from the start, I touched the wall at the finish and looked up to see my time. Still out of breath, I was hit by a wake of disappointment. All the success I had felt about the swim, my positive internal dialogue about fast turns, staying relaxed, not hyperventilating, powerful strokes, good kick, and tough, how tough I am, was so quickly erased with a time of 2:30.2. Two tenths of a second spread over 200m is actually not really slower at all. It is 2 extra breaths, one less than stellar press off the wall, one streamline not as tight.

This speaker to the coaches reminded us to not let that happen for our swimmers, to have them pause and examine all the things they felt they did well in their swim before even glancing at the clock, to make the clock one factor, but only one of the many factors that determine success. And then enjoy those wins without immediately looking to the next fastest time.

Lemon thyme cake with Strawberry Preserve Frosting https://stylesweet.com/blog/2015/06/16/strawberry-thyme-cake

This week, well, last week, I turned 40. I’m not so much worried about the number, I can rise above cliches, right? Right? I‘ve had more than one person tell me that 40ish was when they really found their stride, so I’ve got some time still. I’m not so worried about looking old. I like to think that all those years I was told I was cute when other girls were beautiful means that I get to age well. But like 6 year old Buster, there are tangible things I didn’t accomplish. His regret was not jumping out of a plane. I went to bed my last night in my 30’s feeling sad and defeated because I didn’t complete an Ironman triathlon. And I know. I really do know that when I made those plans, I didn’t foresee how busy I would be. I didn’t know how much time, actual time my real life would take and how little would be left over for things like reading and gardening and serving my community, let alone hours and hours on a bike trainer. And injury. I didn’t know how something like a stiff calf could turn into achilles tendinosis and how 6 months later I would still suffer for running more than 8km. I didn’t guess a pandemic and the world shutting down so that even small races are not possible. I also didn’t foresee the other adventures I would have, the priorities I would want to set, choices I would make about the type of person I am practicing to become and the sacrifices required to be that woman. What I thought would be the best marker of accomplishment didn’t take into consideration my growth in other ways. My progress. My shifting needs. My things learned and things gained. It also didn’t take into consideration the growth of the people I love. Their progress. Their shifting needs and my contribution to their things learned and things gained.

“Our atttempt to find lasting pleasure, lasting security, are at odds with the fact that we are part of a dynamic system in which everything and everyone is in process.” — Pena Chodron

I’m in process. My family is in process. There is still time. Maybe more than 40 years more. But if I let the clock determine a pass/fail on my success, I will forever be finding reasons to feel let down by my own performance. If we see progress and then let ourselves immediately focus on the progress yet to be made, we will find it difficult to find joy in the trenches, in the journey today. Buster will yet jump out of a plane, when the time is right. And I can still become an iron(wo)man when the time is right. Until then, I have so much to enjoy about being 40, even if it looks different than I imagined. But I can still pursue that 29.99 in 50m freestyle.

For her birthday, the Lady wanted a summer cake. I will always always choose lemon but she wanted orange. It turned out so well, with the gluten free flour it was rich and dense but the citrus tones made it taste like sunshine, in a less common but equally delightful way as lemon. Being so rich, one piece was enough, a win for some of us who have a hard time saying no to something delicious once we get started!

Orange Citrus Sunshine Cake

3/4 cup butter softened

1 cup sugar

3 eggs

1/4 cup lemon juice

1/2 cup frozen orange juice concentrate thawed

The zest from one large orange

1 Tbsp lemon extract

2 1/2 cups flour (1/2cup less if using gf flour)

1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add in the eggs and mix for 2 more minutes. Stir in the rest of the wet ingredients.

Add slowly the flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda and mix until combined.

Lightly grease and flour 3, 8×2 round cake pans.

Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minute until it is firm to the touch or a toothpick inserted comes out clean. Let the cakes cool in the pan for 10-15 minutes and then turn them out on a cooling rack while you make the frosting.

Summer Cheesecake Frosting

1 Cup butter

2 (8oz) packages of cream cheese

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp lemon extract

Zest of one lemon

1/2 tsp salt

6 cups icing sugar

2 cups milk

1 small package vanilla pudding mix

*orange coloring as desired

Beat the butter and cream cheese on low to medium until combined and smooth. Add in the extracts and zest, salt and coloring as you’d like. Then slowly, a little at a time, ad in the icing sugar.

Divide this frosting in half, using the first half as filling between the cake layers.

Using an electric mixer, mix the milk and pudding according to the package directions. When it begins to set, combine the pudding with the rest of the cream cheese mixture to make a lighter frosting for the outside of the cake.

“I Was Born to Play” — Alicia Keys

I’ve been trail running. Well, I’ve been trying to be trail running again. I love trail running. It’s spring in Edmonton. This means I’ve taken a winter hiatus from the paths in the dark and cold because, for all my winterising efforts, there are parts of me that still can.not.stay.warm.ever. And now, though spring in Edmonton I feel less like a spring chicken and more like a bit of a post winter grouse.

There has been mud, so much mud. And all the time some Achilles tendonosis (itis? osis?) keeping me away from anything repetitive, weight bearing and jumpy.

But, it’s spring. The leaves are just starting to arrive. The trail mud is soft and tacky where it’s wet and kind to my joints where it is dry. And if I stay mostly on the flatter of the trails and only run twice a week and stop when it gets too painful and (according to my physio) quit when my weak calf gets tired (oy!?) I can be out again!

It’s remarkable to live in a city, a place, where I can run parallel to a golf course or a road full of cars but for the trees and the single track trail and the river, feel like I’m in the mountains. It feels like a miracle every single time.

Years ago I read an article about Simon Whitfield https://ahaaliving.com/simonwhitfield/ He’s been a big influencer in my approach to fitness as an exercise in gratitude for the ability to move. After retiring from triathlon, he’s found standup paddle boarding and trail running as a way to have fun and train in a very functional “run away from a hurricane” kinda way. Sometimes I look at my house and the brood and the noise and activity and the mess and think that I too, could benefit from hurricane training. But for him and for me, it’s more about finding ways to play.

Play, meaningful play, has six key elements https://www.journalofplay.org/sites/www.journalofplay.org/files/pdf-articles/6-2-article-elements-of-play.pdf: anticipation, surprise, pleasure, understanding, strength and poise. 6 key elements (and their synonyms) I could use more of every day.

Trail running feels like this everytime. Even when it’s hard. When my glutes burn and my calves tire and my lungs gasp. It feels like play.

It’s Mother’s Day. Well, it’s a little after Mother’s Day but we are in Covid-19 distancing and home schooling and working from home and spending each day in our small small circle and sometimes it feels a little like Groundhog Day, so why not groundhog Mother’s Day???

On my run I was thinking about Mother’s Day, my relationship to it (we’ve had a complicated and not entirely positive relationship) and all that is wrapped up in being a Mama to these people I care so much about.

And it seems not unlike trail running. It is beautiful and wonderful and so so hard.

There are hard uphills and fun downhills. Sometimes the uphill struggle together is the most satisfying and sometimes it’s the ease but the fast pace on the downhill that feels the trickiest. There are times I can’t see very far ahead but I can hope what’s coming will be wonderful. And sometimes it is and it’s better than I imagined. But sometimes it harder and I’m not sure the best way so I try side stepping or a zigzagging and I look for branches to grab. I remember what I’ve tried and what’s worked in the past and I experiment with what others have learned. Sometimes I love the twists and turns and the element of surprise and not being able to see around the corner. Sometimes it scares me and I feel discouraged at the unknown and not enough to meet the challenge. There are periods of our life that pass without mindful engagement, just one foot in the front of the other and there are moments of clarity and togetherness and common joy.

But each time, the same trail, the same kids, can change because conditions are always changing. Did it rain? Is there snow? Is it too hot? Have new roots been exposed? Did my kids grow? Do they have more going on at school? Did they not sleep enough? Did I not sleep enough? Are they snacking on foods that make them cranky? Am I eating foods that make me cranky? Too much screen time? enough exercise? Missing their friends? Too much time with friends and not enough connection with me? Or is it just a new stage of development and one that hasn’t anything to do with anything I can do anything for?

Motherhood, Parenthood, is about the long game. It’s about the experience. The overall feeling. It’s about kids coming out on the other side of the trail having learned curiosity and desire, excitement, joy, empathy, creativity, balance and dignity, feeling loved and safe.

All the fun of the trail is lost for me when I focus on the puddles, the roots there to stumble on, the possibility of mosquitoes or how tired I am. It’s easy as a mum to also focus on the details as though they are the point, the chores that aren’t getting done, the lost dance shoes, my keys, Where are my keys? Where is my mind?!?!? It’s a list of things about me that aren’t perfect and my kids and my marriage and my house and..and…and I’m sure you’ve got a list of your own.

But doesn’t it change the experience to treat it like the trail? To imagine the view from the top, the trees and the sky and river along the way? The air and the stretching and the endorphins when you arrive? The moments of play and togetherness scattered along the path.

When I got home from my run Sunday, I was met at the door by the brood with cards and poems and pictures they had drawn. Squdge had made a list of his top 5 favourite things about me. Number 1 was “She is smart and kind and nice”. Number 5 is “she teaches me to be smart and kind and nice”. He’s learning the long game. He sees my efforts to focus on the long game.

I am not a smooth trail runner. I’m not as good as I hope to be. But play offers the opportunity for poise and stamina and buoyancy. Motherhood offers the same. I’m not there yet but it’s spring. I’m practicing my long game. And I’m willing to play.

We just had the best chocolate pistachio cookies. I didn’t take any photos because I was thinking most about remembering to breathe between filling my sweet cheeks with all the chewy goodness. And I can tell you this: they were even better frozen. Stay tuned. I’ll post the recipe soon.

“Somedays I am Very Happy with what I am doing and the Next Day I am Desperate” – Eric Carle

The Very Cranky Mama – a True story.

In the light of the moon, a mama lay on her pillow.

All was quiet until -pop!- her eyes opened and out of bed crawled a tired and very cranky mama.

She started to worry.

At 4am She realised she had forgotten to be the tooth fairy for the third night in a row. And she was cranky.

At 4:03am she got caught trying to be the tooth fairy and was told by her daughter that her Hubs had already paid for the tooth directly and while it was appreciated, her effort was very much unnecessary. She went back to bed but was still cranky.

At 5:07am, unable to sleep, she got out of bed to read her book on the cold couch and she was still cranky.

At 6:59am, just as she was finally falling back to sleep, her Hubs’ alarm went off and she was still cranky.

At 8:34am She yelled at her child for the final time to stop watching tv, brush her hair and go to school right now or be late for sure! And she was still cranky.

At 8:47am, she shouted for her twins to Stop jumping on the bed and Please Please Please! Put on some underwear! And she was still cranky.

At 9:27am, after dropping off her boys she rushed to the bank and madly rang the doorbell hoping they would open the door 3 minutes early because it was her very last chance to drop off a clothing donation she had meant to deliver 60 days ago and she was still cranky.

At 9:34am she burst into tears when “This Little Light of Mine” played in the van and it occurred to her how completely unable she felt to let any of her own light shine and furthermore she could think of plenty of things to stick in places where her light didn’t…and she was still cranky.

At 9:37am, she arrived late to the park, hurriedly waxed her skis and raced off, wondering why she couldn’t just get it together and how noticeably less fit she is than last year and what happened to progress and why can she still not just be on time for anything?!?! That day she was keenly aware of all her faults and inadequacies and unmet expectations.

Then before she knew it, the birds were singing, the tracks were clean, the snow was soft and her cheeks were pink. She had a very good ski and after that she felt much better.

Now she wasn’t cranky anymore. She picked up her boys. They wrapped their arms around her neck and told her she was “the best!” She stayed in that hug a long time.

The slowly, the sides of her mouth pushed their way up and….

She was a happy Mama- the best kind of Mama there is.

The Two Most Powerful Warriors are Patience and Time –Leo Tolstoy

This week I took my bike in to get a tuneup. I knew the tires were treadbare (is that a term? It should be) and I thought maybe the gears would need to be tightened or…or I don’t really know what I thought. When I got my bike back it was pretty much brand new – tires, rear wheel, brakes, gears, chain, chain ring, bar tape…

I took her out on Thursday all clean and shiny and I thought…I don’t really know what I thought. The ride was smooth. The gears changed so well. I had brakes, and control. But I still was chasing the ladies in my group that I’m always chasing because I’m still me. I’m still the one who powers my bike. My strengths and my weaknesses still determine how all those new parts work together. I didn’t exactly kill it on one particular hill that in the past has really gotten me but Thursday the hill didn’t kill me either. In fact, Tuesday even before before the overhaul it didn’t kill me.

Tuesday I was late. Sort of. I was actually very on time- in time enough that I over estimated how relaxed I could be about dropping off the monkeys and how long I could sit and talk. When I eventually did make it back outside to my bike, only the dirt bike girls were left. They pointed me in the general direction and the challenge was on. It was so fun racing down the first hill and then powering through the park at my own speed just catching a glimpse of my group often enough to reassure and motivate me. One particular spot on the trail brought me back to the fall and how similar that ride was to this one but how different it all was too. Still late, still left behind, this time no one was crying.
Not long ago a friend of my Mums asked me how I was doing. I told her that truthfully I was better than I’d been in 2 years. She responded that “you and those babies will eventually figure it out”. I know that she didn’t mean it this way, but for the next bit when the Hubs spoke in church leaving me to handle a brood I was so very clearly to everyone in the congregation unable to handle on my own; when library books were missing and Buster and the Lady were late for School and both babies thought they couldn’t not be held without screaming; when I took all 4 swimming and realized the spectacle we were to everyone as we dropped shoes and fruit snacks and tripped on the sidewalk and wrestled and wiggled and didn’t want to hold hands in the parking lot and 5 sets of towels and suits and bags and crackers and diapers…I thought “if I was only more capable, more clever, more organized MORE- I would have this figured out by now and I would be able to handle it.”

But some things can’t be figured out. Of course, some things can- it took me much longer to figure out that if I am in a hurry to get the boys dressed, I need to close the bedroom door so they can’t escape without socks and only one arm in their sleeves. But sometimes, Time just has to pass. Enough time has passed for the monkeys to know that when I drop them off in nursery they can have fun without me and that I will come back. The boys are bigger enough that they can trail behind me without leaving a trail of all they’ve ransacked. The weather is better and I can send all four kids into the yard together while I organize my thoughts and my home. And sleep. There are finally naps and occasionally extended night hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Last summer while Buster and the Lady were training I thought that I too would swim. I was slow and it was hard. It took weeks before I felt like I could “train”. And training was hard and none of it was fun. But the last time I swam it felt so great. Still not particularly fast and not quite “training”, it felt like a base had been set and I was ready to train, could train if only I was able to organize time and my children to allow me more alone space in the pool. And I was surprised- Surprised because in my years of setting and achieving or failing to meet SMART goals I’ve just now recently realized this : On paper the goal can seem Specific Measurable Attainable and Realistic but if the Time isn’t right, none of the other factors are possible. Getting more sleep, eating less sugar, taking Buster and the Lady skating, teaching aquafit and carrying around munchkins all help me to be a better swimmer and cyclist. I’m not going to win any races soon, but I can be back to a place where it’s fun again instead of just hard. Not because I’ve been specific in my goals but because my body has had time to heal.

Sometimes like my bike, the stress of day to day, changing gears often, peddling trough hard experiences turn the need for a tuneup into the need for an overhaul. But sometimes with all the work and thought and prayer we can put into healing a broken heart or forgiving a wrong or getting over a sore foot or taking kids for more park time or learning to play the piano or even reading all the books you (I) want to read- what we really need is time.

In a world of SMART goals and the need to be always working on something and towards something, it can be difficult to be patient and allow time for growth, for healing, for improvement, for all the other factors and pieces that need to fit together to finally fit together.

Sometimes instead of wishing we were More, we just need to allow ourselves more time. So that when we find ourselves behind, trying to catch up, we can also enjoy the feeling of our own power as we move through life, catching a glimpse just often enough of where we may someday be to reassure and motivate us. Then when the time is right, we’re ready.

When the hubs and I first got married and nearly every night was date night we spent a ridiculously large portion of our expendable income on enjoying good food, mostly it was prepared by other people and mostly enjoyed in restaurants. But we also spent a lot of time cooking together and experimenting with food. Once in a while we would make something so good we would add it our imaginary menu for when we opened our imaginary restaurant. These cheesecake brownies were the first to go on our dessert menu. They aren’t too sweet and the cheesecake is light and airy.

The last time we made them, we were busy with Sunday dinner prep so the Lady and Buster made them with only a little help from the Hubs.

After we had shared them with the Lady’s Sunday school teacher, she sent me a quick thank you and called them “restaurant quality”. Our imaginary restaurant investors rejoiced at the positive review from the imaginary food critic.

Raspberry Cheesecake Brownies

2 packages low fat cream cheese
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 Tbsp cornstarch (I use tapioca starch because it’s what I have)
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup plain yogurt

For the cheese cake part mix the cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Beat in the eggs and then add the starch, vanilla and yogurt.

In another bowl

2/3 cup butter melted
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
1/2 cup flour (I use an all purpose gluten free mix)
1/3 cup cocoa
1/2 tsp salt

Brownies: Melt the butter then add the sugar, vanilla and eggs. Mix until smooth. Beat in the eggs, then stir in the flour, cocoa and salt.

In a greased 9×13 pan, pour in just enough of the cheesecake batter to cover the bottom.
Drop in a several spoonfuls of brownie batter,nap acing them out then pour in the rest of the cheesecake batter
Add the rest of the brownie batter in spoonfuls into the spaces and then with a knife, gently swirl to mix the two desserts just a little.
Bake @350 degrees for 50-60 minutes. Cool and then refrigerate. Serve topped with raspberry coulis or jam.

“Keep Showing Up with Love and Grace and Joy”—Sarah Besseyt

As a little girl my gymnastics class was learning back hip pullovers to get onto the uneven bars. It’s that move where you pull yourself up onto the bar and then swing your hips and kick your legs up and over the bar. When it was my turn I did it successfully but was met by laughter from my instructors.
One said sarcastically to the other, “Very graceful.”

Grace.

It’s my focus word for 2016. Have you heard of this? Instead of resolutions at the new year, choose a word, a principle, a guide to help you grow towards who you want to become.

When 2014 began, I’d just finished a year of tests and uncertainty and drugs and infertility. My word was “healing” and then before I’d hardly begun I was pregnant with twins and my word became more of something like “hang-on“. Last year, “survive” didn’t seem very motivating but I was really too tired to choose something better. A good friend chose the phrase “back to basics“. We were skiing when she shared it with me and I remember wondering what “back to basics” even meant? I couldn’t imagine even the basics ever feeling basic again. It wasn’t one word, but “keep going” seemed fitting because what choice did I, do any of us have? But these were words that described where I was, not words to motivate me to be better, to grow. I’ve spent my whole life needing more grace, wanting to be more graceful.

Grace.

3 weeks ago this happened. I’m still recovering.
I was in a circuit class doing a cardio set. My right foot should have planted itself safely on the floor but instead caught the edge of the step, flipping it and sending us crashing loudly to the floor. With arms swinging wildly in the split seconds between loosing my balance and landing sideways on my ankle, it wasn’t my life I saw flash before my eyes but the word Grace– A sarcastic “very graceful”.

It was the word that came to mind Thursday when I decided to make cookies and stuffed a spoonful of dough into my mouth for almost every cookie that made it into the oven. I imagine a woman of Grace doesn’t eat cookie dough with such wild abandon.

I thought of it Friday night when I was home with the babies while the others went to watch a movie with my cousin. Mid-bath Squdge pulled the plug letting out all the water. I refilled the tub but couldn’t turn off the hot water, a problem with our faucet that becomes more infuriating every time it happens. I whisked the monkeys out of the increasingly hot water and leapt over the baby gate, landing hard on my foot (yeouch!) and ran down the stairs (argh! ooch! owie!) to turn off the water. Because a woman of Grace puts away ALL her groceries, I also grabbed the 10lb bag of sugar from earlier in the day. But mid leap it caught on the gate, ripping a hole in the bottom. Sugar fell over everything.

To the sound of naked and crying monkeys who do not like being on the far side of a fence, I returned upstairs to see just how much sugar had fallen to the floor. It was a lot. It shouldn’t have but from the other side of the gate, it surprised me how much sugar there was and how much of it was on the babies. Like little Ginger Snaps, my newly bathed Boys were candied, covered head to toe in sticky and abrasive sugar. Having just turned off the all water, I was left without a good way to clean them up. I just had to put their jammie’s on, calling it for the mess it was.

My life is not often graceful but I’ve resolved to try a little harder to handle my life with Grace. Instead of matching the monkeys wails or railing at the ceiling my frustrations at my house, my life, I hobbled on my sore foot to the kitchen, got the boys some milk and gathered them for cuddles.

“The most Fearless thing we can do is keep showing up with love and Grace and Joy in our real right-now lives” Sarah Bessey

I’m not always successful. But this is my year to better learn what it means to move with more grace, receive God’s Grace, to offer Grace to others when they don’t meet my (often silly) expectations and extend that Grace to myself on my many hard days and in my many bungling moments- without sarcasm.

What is Your WORD for 2016? How are you applying it in your life?

Squdge has been recently added to the list of people living in our home who feel less cranky when they avoid wheat and dairy. He’s also the more sensitive and the less adventurous of the boys when it comes to food. I worry about how many bananas he eats and while we all love a good banana muffin at our house, I need to come up with some good snacks that don’t involve the same fruit he eats every single day for breakfast and often for afternoon snack. These muffins fit the bill. They are sweet and fluffy like a blueberry muffin should be and the coconut adds to but doesn’t overpower the flavor. You could convert the recipe and use regular flour and regular milk,but I think you’d really miss out on the depth that the coconut provides.

GF/Dairy Free Blueberry Coconut Muffins

Have you seen these at Ikea? $3 for 30 silicone muffin cups. I highly recommend picking some up for yourself the next time you’re there.

1/4 cup oil (I used coconut)
1/4 cup applesauce
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
2 cups coconut milk
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup coconut flour
1 1/2 cup GF flour
1 1/2 Tbsp Baking Powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup unsweetened coconut
1 1/2 cup blueberries
1 Tbsp flour

Preheat the oven to 350°

In a large bowl, beat the oil, applesauce, sugar and eggs until well blended.

Add the vanilla and milk and stir.

To the same bowl, add the dry ingredients and mix just to combine.

In a second bowl, add a little flour to the blueberries, stir to cover them and then very gently fold them into the batter.

Fill muffin cups 3/4 full and bake in the over for 25-27 minutes until golden brown.

The Most Wasted of All Days is One Without Laughter—E.E. Cummings

I remember being a little girl and tickling my dad’s feet, well, trying to. Not only did he not laugh, but he got so cranky. I have very few memories growing up of my dad being truly cranky with me but this is definitely one of them. It was clear that this was not a game he wanted to play, certainly not that day, probably never. Later my Mum explained that while it seemed he wasn’t ticklish, it was really that he was so supremely ticklish that it wasn’t any fun for him- the complexity of something being too great to be anything at all was something my little girl self had never thought to consider.

Years later, I watched in horror as one of his grandchildren pulled off his socks to tickle him. He didn’t laugh but smiled and told them gently that he is simply not ticklish. Wha?!…But I thought?!..How?!…

It was then that he told me the secret. If someone is tickling you and you don’t want to be tickled, all you have to do is think about Rocks. Repeating the word and concentrating on the image takes the focus away from the external stimulation and gives the control to you.

A few nights ago I was cuddling the Lady before she fell asleep. As we lay in her bed talking about the day, to her delight I started to gently tickle her. Since the Monkeys joined our family, I have significantly less free hands, less free time for tickling. She wanted more. And then she wanted to tickle me. But I know the secret. Rocks. I am not ticklish.
I tried to teach her but she couldn’t do it. Her giggles were too exuberant. Her love for tickles too great. Her joy at the experience too full.
The metaphor of rocks in a proverbial backpack making it difficult to enjoy life isn’t a new one. Neither is the image of a stone held close to your face blocking your vision. That same stone held at arms length becomes less over bearing, less dominate- Perspective.

Could it be that we hold to rocks in our lives too? Chanting silently to ourselves “rocks rocks rocks negativity rocks-cynicism – rocks rocks-I would be happy if only- rocks– unwillingness to forgive rocks rocks rocks– criticism –rocks rocks. ..” all in an effort to feel control, to shield ourselves from what we fear will hurt us or let us down? Maybe these rocks are actually stopping us from enjoying the connection, robbing us of the joy and experiences all around us everyday.
Christmas is coming. As Children make lists of the toys they want and the fun they expect, it’s easy to also be busy making lists- lists of presents to buy, baking to finish, projects to sew. While the goal of all this hustle is to make our holiday more meaningful for the people we love, how easy it is for the activities and the gifts to become rocks- burdens to carry so everyone else can have a good time all the while making us too tired, too tense and if you are like me, too over sensitive to enjoy the time we have with each other. “Not enough money to buy expensive gifts- rocks rocks rocks; my house isn’t nice or big enough- rocks; expectations of how other people should act during the holidays- rocks rocks; finding offense in the words or actions of a well meaning relative-rocks; wishing for more of what you used to have or didn’t have in Christmases past- rocks rocks rocks…”

So put down the rocks. Enjoy what life and this season are offering now. Enjoy the people around you. The relationships. The food. The music. The Christmas spirit. Let yourself enjoy the over stimulation that can come with this time of year and enjoy the connection, the love and the happiness that comes from feeling all the tickles that life has to offer.

Merry Merry Christmas from Squdge, The Lady, Squidge and Buster

___________________________________________________________________

This jelly is A.Mae.Zing. One of the Greatest compliments I’ve had about any treat I’ve made was last year. My sister took a bite and then called me over to tell me in a tone only she gets (and me when I’ve spent enough time with her) “You’ve got to try this!! It’s so delicious!….oh wait, did you bring it?” Last night my mum ate it with banana and peanut butter which really just says that it’s good enough to be good with anything.

It makes a great hostess or neighbour gift and should definitely be part of your Christmas get togethers this year.

Ginny’s Hot Pepper Jelly

4 red bell peppers
3 green bell peppers
2 jalapeño peppers (or 3 if you like it a little hotter)
1 cup apple cider vinegar
2 (1.75 ounce) packages powdered pectin
5 cups white sugar

Sterilize 7 (8 ounce) canning jars and lids according to manufacturer’s instructions.
Chop the peppers into large pieces and remove the seeds. If you don’t have gloves when working with the jalapeños, in a pinch you can put plastic bags on your hands. The awkwardness is definitely worth saving yourself from pepper burn. .
A few Cups at a time, Place the coursly chopped red bell, green bell, and jalapeño peppers in a food processor and pulse until they are minced.
Put minced peppers in a large saucepan over high heat. Mix in vinegar and fruit pectin. Stirring constantly, bring the mixture to a full boil. Quickly stir in sugar.
Over medium high heat, Return to full rolling boil, stirring often. Check frequently until when cooled it has your desired consistency. For me this is about 10 minutes.
Remove from heat, and skim off foam if there is any.
Ladle the jelly into sterile jars, Cover with flat lids, and screw on bands tightly.

Serve with crackers and cream cheese.

Two Things Stand like Stone: courage-kindness—Princess Diana

“Life is mostly froth and bubble. Two things stand like stone. Kindness in another’s trouble. Courage in your own. “—Princess Diana

To be honest, I’m not that crazy about Halloween. Even so, every year we decorate our windows and put styrofoam gravestones on the lawn. I’ve made spooky lunches complete with noodles for guts and little hotdogs wrapped in gluten free biscuit dough to resemble mummies. I’ve thrown Halloween parties for preschoolers with games like pin the heart on the skeleton and “bat bat who has the bat?”. And though it makes my skin itch, I scrape out the flesh of pumpkins so that my family can carve them into jack O’ lanterns. I do very few of these activities because I enjoy them. It’s because in August, even before the first day of school, Buster and the Lady start talking about Halloween with excitement. They start planning their costumes. It’s all about the costumes.

Buster has always been a dress up kid. It started when he was not quite 3 and even though he had been a spider for the church halloween party, he wanted, needed a second costume. The mall was having a Halloween petting zoo and he couldn’t visit farm animals dressed as anything but a cowboy. Since then, our collection of costumes has grown and grown. Buster still likes to have a costume for every occasion.

At halloween, using the bits and pieces we already have, he does a pretty fine job of creating his own costumes.

Never one to be left behind, the Lady loves to dress up too. We don’t have as many costume bits for her because of how many roles can be played with just 1 princess dress. But this year, she wanted to be a fortune-teller. For weeks she talked about it and as a tender mercy I found some great pieces on a single value village trip. We already had the boots, scarf and jewellery and some last minute inspiration to use an outdoor Christmas decoration as a crystal ball gave The Lady the winning costume in the best costume contest for grades 1-3. For her, a giant success.

This year halloween prep happened with sick babies. Worse than a baby with Hand Foot and Mouth disease is 2 babies with it-not eating, not sleeping, only crying All. Day. Long. With so little reserve I too was crying All. Day. Long. In one of those sleepless nights, only a few days before halloween, the babies recovering but still not eating or sleeping enough to allow me my sanity I saw this:

http://youtu.be/COnvQxIvkD4

There, in the middle of the night, alone except for the baby that would wake if I put him down, my emotions spilled over. I think the video was meant to show how great Mama elephants are but I didn’t identify with the mama elephant, or even her friend. I saw myself in the baby elephant, being washed downstream, struggling to keep her little trunk above water, fighting to stay close to the people who loved her, unable to keep up.

On the edge of a breakdown, I’d known for a while that I needed more help, more support. But asking for help is a complex issue and though my friends had offered, I felt like I should be better at handling my life by myself. I was afraid because I knew I needed so much more than is fair to ask of any one person- especially after all the help I’d already received, a whole year of generosity.

I was drowning. But this isn’t how I want to see myself. On -oh so many levels-, A drowning elephant isn’t who I want to be.

But like the mama elephant, I had a dear friend step in, chasing after me with frozen yogurt and some concrete problem solving. It’s true that I need more help than she can give but she was able to trumpet out for assistance. It’s amazing what a few afternoon naps with the babies away and some house cleaning visits can do- shared between 10 or 12 women, it isn’t too much to ask of any one person. My life, shared with other women doesn’t feel as daunting. I don’t have to be the Elephant in the room.

Halloween is over. Buster’s mad scientist white hair has washed out and the Lady no longer wears blue eyeshadow and bangles. Costumes are fun but they are only temporary. As maniacal a laugh as Buster pulls off, The costumes aren’t who my children really are. And though at this time in my life I sometimes identify with the fear and discouragement I project onto an elephant being taken by the current, it isn’t who I am. Not really. This is temporary. The Fortune-Teller foresees great happiness ahead.

Squidge found all the halloween hubbub a little disconcerting.
I love soup. In junior high, there were many winter nights when I would walk home in the dark after volleyball or basketball practice. Often on those nights, I would open the door to my house and be welcomed home to warmth and light and comfort and soup. Luckily the Hubs turned out to be a man who enjoys a good soup. I told the kids this week that their dad is a Souper guy. He didn’t find it quite as clever as they did.

We call this orange soup. The lentils add satisfying and filling protein, the apples make it sweet and the ginger warms you to the middle. As a bonus, it freezes very well.

Orange (Sweet Potatoe Lentil and Ginger) Soup

1 Tbsp butter.
1 large sweet potatoe, peeled and chopped
4 large carrots, peeled and chopped
2 apples, peeled, cored and chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 1/2 Tbsp fresh minced ginger
1 Tbsp minced garlic
1 cup red lentils
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
8 cups vegetable broth

Directions
Melt the butter in a large, heavy bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Place the chopped sweet potatoe, carrots, apples, and onion in the pot. Stir and cook the apples and vegetables until the onions are translucent, about 10 minutes. Add in the ginger and garlic and cook for a couple minutes more.

Stir the lentils, pepper, salt, and vegetable broth into the pot with the apple and vegetable mixture. Bring the soup to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until the lentils and vegetables are soft, about 30 minutes.

Working in batches, Puree in a blender or use a hand blender and puree the soup right in the pot.

Bring back to a simmer and add water as needed to thin the soup to your preferred consistency.