A couple weeks ago I was talking to a coworker of mine at work (peers sound like schoolchildren: colleagues sound like professors). Which makes me realize that I apparently have a profound issue with people-related terms. Anyway, this particular person is highly educated and I enjoy having conversations with him about education and healthcare. He had heard that we were adopting and began to ask me questions. It's always a tough line to walk with personal issues like this. I could talk about how God called us to adoption and how we want to love the way He loves and that we want our kids to be passionate about caring for the hurting and so on. But that doesn't translate well to some conversations. People's eyes tend to glaze over a bit, depending on their beliefs.
Some people are just plain against adoption and are at best confused why we would be doing this. Right off the bat, I could tell this would be one such conversation. The raising of the eyebrows, the slightly patronizing smile - the kind you would give a child who told you he had a million dollars or some such absurdity. This coworker told me that when he sees the commercials of starving kids in Africa, he thinks about how the economy couldn't possibly support all those kids. The world doesn't have enough resources. These circumstances, difficult and sad as they are, are just nature's way of controlling the population.
In theory, I agree with him. Plague, famine, flood, war - population control. Making sure things don't get unbalanced, sure.
But you know what? It's pretty easy to say that when we're warm and safe and fed. There we were, two people in a first world nation. Educated, gainfully employed. Sipping tea and discussing Plato's Allegory of the Cave. And discussing the injustice of the world in economy textbook terms.
All the while, a 7 year old in India was prostituting herself at the behest of a trusted adult.
A pair of young siblings combed through a Thai landfill to live off of other people's trash.
A Romanian boy with Down Syndrome has been heavily sedated for most of his life and is wiling away a sad existence in a government asylum.
What would they say about population control and survival of the fittest?
I hope it always breaks my heart. I hope my voice always catches in my throat when I talk about adoption and orphans and God's redemption story for all of us. I hope I don't get so comfortable in my middle class American life that I can't see the suffering that continually lies low, right on the horizon.
This same person made a comment on how I was so unbearably kind and caring and sacrificial that he could hardly stand it.
I don't feel kind or caring or sacrificial.
But I'm following a God who is. And He is leading us on this amazing journey where we stop thinking about ourselves all the time.
One little tiny slice of the population at a time.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
The Best Biscuits You Will Ever Eat
I'm going to deviate from my usual repertoire of adoption updates and my moronic living to share with you some recipes that I love.
This particular biscuit recipe has been circulating the internet for some time. I just found it though so it's all new and exciting.
It's a well known fact that I can't make biscuits. They continually befuddle me. I've tried various ingredients and techniques but they always turn out flat and weird. Matt loves baked goods and I've gotten pretty awesome at making bread and pies but wanted to make biscuits that were light and fluffy and filled with love. And I've always failed. Until now.
I made them last night and after Matt took a bite he said "Are there any more?" I said "Yes, one." He immediately said "I call it. It's mine."
Then today he texted that he might be late tonight from work. I told him I was making the biscuits and baked eggplant. He left within minutes.
They're that good.
I don't know the original baker of these biscuits but the recipe I followed is listed here.
7 Up Biscuits
2 cups Bisquick
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup 7 up
I know, I know. Weird and unhealthy. But that's life sometimes.
This recipe is good but here is where it gets really ultra special.
Make your own Bisquick (or baking mix if you're generic). Use White Lily Flour and get the self-rising kind. If you're fortunate to live in the south, then you're probably familiar with this type of flour. It's made with soft winter wheat and it's the best flour ever for pancakes and biscuits and stuff. Make your own baking mix with a 5:1 ratio of flour and shortening.
So...5 cups White Lily Self-Rising Flour
1 cup all-vegetable shortening.
Or 10:2 if you're mathematically gifted. 15:3...I could go on. I did just recently pass statistics.
If you have a Kitchenaid and it's beautiful and shiny like mine, use that big metal whisk thing to mix this together.
Get yourself a cast iron skillet. Really. I recently acquired mine from a friend who didn't realize how lovely and expensive these skillets are and gave them away with a wave of his hand. I shore am happy with them.
Cast iron skillets just add so much depth to dishes.
Anyway, throw a pat of butter in your skillet and put that in the oven about 5 min before the oven is ready so the butter melts. Mix your baking mix with the sour cream and 7 up. Put some flour on your palms and shape the balls of dough like hamburger patties. Sure, you can cut them with a biscuit cutter but then you've got to clean the counter. And you don't really want to do that, do you?
Make sure you put some flour on your hands. It's a really soft, sticky dough. Take your skillet out when the oven is ready and your butter is melted. Swivel the pan a bit to distribute the butter.
Bake at 450 for 12-15 min.
Get ready to be adored by everyone.
I served this alongside Baked Eggplant - recipe here.
1 eggplant, sliced
Mayo
Diced onion
Spices
Breadcrumbs
Panko
Parm Cheese
Chop the onion, mix with mayo. Coat the eggplant slices with this mixture. Coat with mixture of breadcrumbs, panko crumbs, parm cheese, and Italian Spices (I had basil and parsley. Italian? I don't know. All I had on hand? Yes).
Update: I forgot to mention in the original post that I added panko crumbs to this recipe. A mix of panko and regular gives it a nice crunch. Also, the recipe calls for no-fat mayo. Which is an oxymoron. Update over.
It's messy, so it's good to have a helper.
Bake at 425 for 12 min. Flip and bake for another 12. I actually just baked the biscuits at that temp and added a few extra minutes.
These biscuits with that eggplant? My goodness. It's happiness and joy all around.
This particular biscuit recipe has been circulating the internet for some time. I just found it though so it's all new and exciting.
It's a well known fact that I can't make biscuits. They continually befuddle me. I've tried various ingredients and techniques but they always turn out flat and weird. Matt loves baked goods and I've gotten pretty awesome at making bread and pies but wanted to make biscuits that were light and fluffy and filled with love. And I've always failed. Until now.
I made them last night and after Matt took a bite he said "Are there any more?" I said "Yes, one." He immediately said "I call it. It's mine."
Then today he texted that he might be late tonight from work. I told him I was making the biscuits and baked eggplant. He left within minutes.
They're that good.
I don't know the original baker of these biscuits but the recipe I followed is listed here.
7 Up Biscuits
2 cups Bisquick
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup 7 up
I know, I know. Weird and unhealthy. But that's life sometimes.
This recipe is good but here is where it gets really ultra special.
Make your own Bisquick (or baking mix if you're generic). Use White Lily Flour and get the self-rising kind. If you're fortunate to live in the south, then you're probably familiar with this type of flour. It's made with soft winter wheat and it's the best flour ever for pancakes and biscuits and stuff. Make your own baking mix with a 5:1 ratio of flour and shortening.
So...5 cups White Lily Self-Rising Flour
1 cup all-vegetable shortening.
Or 10:2 if you're mathematically gifted. 15:3...I could go on. I did just recently pass statistics.
If you have a Kitchenaid and it's beautiful and shiny like mine, use that big metal whisk thing to mix this together.
Get yourself a cast iron skillet. Really. I recently acquired mine from a friend who didn't realize how lovely and expensive these skillets are and gave them away with a wave of his hand. I shore am happy with them.
Cast iron skillets just add so much depth to dishes.
Anyway, throw a pat of butter in your skillet and put that in the oven about 5 min before the oven is ready so the butter melts. Mix your baking mix with the sour cream and 7 up. Put some flour on your palms and shape the balls of dough like hamburger patties. Sure, you can cut them with a biscuit cutter but then you've got to clean the counter. And you don't really want to do that, do you?
Make sure you put some flour on your hands. It's a really soft, sticky dough. Take your skillet out when the oven is ready and your butter is melted. Swivel the pan a bit to distribute the butter.
Bake at 450 for 12-15 min.
Get ready to be adored by everyone.
I served this alongside Baked Eggplant - recipe here.
1 eggplant, sliced
Mayo
Diced onion
Spices
Breadcrumbs
Panko
Parm Cheese
Chop the onion, mix with mayo. Coat the eggplant slices with this mixture. Coat with mixture of breadcrumbs, panko crumbs, parm cheese, and Italian Spices (I had basil and parsley. Italian? I don't know. All I had on hand? Yes).
Update: I forgot to mention in the original post that I added panko crumbs to this recipe. A mix of panko and regular gives it a nice crunch. Also, the recipe calls for no-fat mayo. Which is an oxymoron. Update over.
It's messy, so it's good to have a helper.
Bake at 425 for 12 min. Flip and bake for another 12. I actually just baked the biscuits at that temp and added a few extra minutes.
These biscuits with that eggplant? My goodness. It's happiness and joy all around.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
It's like exercise, only worse
People exercise for many reasons and I always want to exercise for good reasons. But sadly, that's not really the case. Do I exercise to live longer? No. Do I exercise to prevent heart disease and diabetes? Nope. Do I hope to be a good role model for my kids? Eh.
I exercise because we have a pool. And live in Florida. And basically live in swimsuits all summer. I'd really like to walk by a mirror in a swimsuit and not think for a second "When did we get a funhouse mirror?"
So my husband's company reimburses for some exercise equipment and I thought I'd give a new Jillian Michaels program a try. I've been working out 6/days a week for the past two weeks.
I know. I'm pretty much amazing.
Ideally I'd get up early and work out before Noah gets up, around 7. That's happened once I think. Between staying up late to finish homework and trudging to Noah's room to pop back in his pacifier at 1 am, the early rising is not going so well these days.
Jack and Kate like to join in too. Which is fine, except they'll talk during the workout like this:
"Why aren't you kicking as high as them?"
"Look at me, look at me, look at me!"
"Why aren't you jumping higher?"
"Why isn't Pluto a planet anymore?"
You can see how this would be difficult.
If Noah is awake, it's pretty much a nightmare. He suddenly decides he loves me and wants to be as close to me as possible.
Jillian will say "Down to the mat for push-ups (and here Noah lays on my back, arms wrapped around my neck)."
"Grab your heaviest weights for biceps curls (he'll either scream and cry to be held or run and grab the weights for him to use)."
"Down to the mat for sit-ups (no problem)."
And she'll tell me things like "Don't tell yourself this is hard, this is easy. This is easy for you."
No, Jillian. It actually is quite hard.
Or when she says at the cool down part "This is your time. It's all about you right now."
Sure doesn't seem like it sometimes.
I exercise because we have a pool. And live in Florida. And basically live in swimsuits all summer. I'd really like to walk by a mirror in a swimsuit and not think for a second "When did we get a funhouse mirror?"
So my husband's company reimburses for some exercise equipment and I thought I'd give a new Jillian Michaels program a try. I've been working out 6/days a week for the past two weeks.
I know. I'm pretty much amazing.
Ideally I'd get up early and work out before Noah gets up, around 7. That's happened once I think. Between staying up late to finish homework and trudging to Noah's room to pop back in his pacifier at 1 am, the early rising is not going so well these days.
Jack and Kate like to join in too. Which is fine, except they'll talk during the workout like this:
"Why aren't you kicking as high as them?"
"Look at me, look at me, look at me!"
"Why aren't you jumping higher?"
"Why isn't Pluto a planet anymore?"
You can see how this would be difficult.
If Noah is awake, it's pretty much a nightmare. He suddenly decides he loves me and wants to be as close to me as possible.
Jillian will say "Down to the mat for push-ups (and here Noah lays on my back, arms wrapped around my neck)."
"Grab your heaviest weights for biceps curls (he'll either scream and cry to be held or run and grab the weights for him to use)."
"Down to the mat for sit-ups (no problem)."
And she'll tell me things like "Don't tell yourself this is hard, this is easy. This is easy for you."
No, Jillian. It actually is quite hard.
Or when she says at the cool down part "This is your time. It's all about you right now."
Sure doesn't seem like it sometimes.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Random Ramblings
It's becoming more and more evident that my life is basically just a bunch of random ramblings strung together....
Bookstore
Matt and I went to P.F. Chang's the other night (with a very lovely Christmas giftcard). It's located in a large upscale shopping center. After dinner, I told Matt that I wanted to go to Barnes and Noble, as we also had a giftcard to that as well. At the first mention of a bookstore, Matt made apoplexy sounds and looked like he was suffering from a massive internal hemorrhage. Basically, the usual response.
He told me in no uncertain terms that he did not want to go. So he went home to start a fire and get some wine chilled (date night!) and I headed to the store.
Going to a bookstore for me is how I imagine cocaine is to addicts. There's an immediate feeling of euphoria. Stress and worry fade away and only the crisp scent of unfamiliar storylines linger. I run my hands over shiny hardbacks and velvety paperbacks. It's good stuff.
Ahem, back to the story. So I was enjoying my time alone, no kids to chase, no husband to make disparaging remarks about the time. I decided to get a book about adoption. Not seeing any, I asked an employee to help. He walked over with me to the parenting section and after a few minutes of fruitless searching remarked "It's too bad you don't need a book on autism." Um, yes, it is.
A few minutes after I left, Matt called. Wondering where I was, which I had expected.
Me: "I was only in there an hour, hour and a half, tops. I tried really hard to leave early."
Matt: "I don't think you did a very good job."
Irrational Fears
Let me preface this ramble by saying I'm a channel changer. If my kids are in the car, it pretty much stays on the local Christian station or a cd and I'm ok with that. But if I'm alone, I flip channels like I'm getting paid by the song. Nary a song is allowed to finish before I'm hitting that button. It's a trait I inherited from my Dad and it was the cause of many a rift on long family car rides.
That being said, I'm afraid of being in a car accident. Not the actual accident part, nor the pain or possible dying. I'm afraid that the song on the radio will be a ridiculous one when EMS arrives. I cringe thinking of a couple of paramedics trying to extricate my broken body from the vehicle saying "She listens to Phil Collins?"
I could have gotten into a crash listening to a great song, 'Bohemian Rhapsody' or 'Walking in Memphis.' But by the time emergency services arrive, the radio could be playing something by Meatloaf or Ke$ha.
(Side note: The first I heard of Ke$ha - that money sign is absurd, no? - Matt and I were watching an episode of SNL on Hulu. I remember being perplexed at first, wondering why this person was performing. I can't find a good version of it on Youtube, which is just as well. From what I recall, she was painted in neon glowing colors like a stereotypical Native American. And she was hopping about like she had a neurological disorder. I finally concluded that it must be a candidate for the Make a Wish Foundation and how nice SNL was to make her dream come true.)
So if we're even in a crash together and I'm unconscious and you're not, please make sure there are decent songs on the radio at all times. Thank you.
Iphones
The other day I was thumbing through a Wall Street Journal that Matt brought home from work. I read an article about iphones and how, even though it is still the most popular brand of smart phone, other brands are much stronger than originally predicted. Analysts were interviewed stating that everyone thought Apple would crush the market on smart phones but that's not the case. It went on to detail how Apple is trying to market each new phone as an upgrade people want to make. The problem is that many people are settling on an earlier, cheaper version of the iphone and don't consider the newest model to be worth the price. Then I flipped the page over:
House Cleaning
Anyone who knows me and has been to my house can attest to the fact that I am not that clean. Now, mind you, it's not like an episode of Hoarders or anything. I can still see the children and most of the floor so I think I'm doing pretty darn well. Now, mothers-in-law are notorious for being hard on their daughters-in-law but I am the exception. I happen to enjoy mine quite a bit and she seems to tolerate me pretty well too. The issue is that she's a fabulously clean person. If you are talking to her, she will pick up a washcloth and start wiping down the counters, just because. If you are talking to me, I will sit down next to you and we will eat popcorn together. The counters will not even enter my teeny little ol' brain once.
Early in our marriage, Matt would make remarks like "You know, my mom used to clean the kitchen floors on her hands and knees." To which I would respond with something like:
"My dad washes all the dishes in our house and brings my mother drinks and bowls of ice cream."
Or
"I'll be glad to bring you a sponge."
Or
"So move back in. Then your laundry would be done correctly again too. I hope the three of you will be very happy."
He doesn't say things like that anymore.
Whenever someone comes over, I feel the compulsion to apologize for the state of my house. Sometimes it actually is atrocious and there are just no words. Sometimes though, I say things like "Sorry it's such a mess in here" when I know darn well that it's actually clean. That way if they are a really tidy person, they might think "Oh thank goodness. They have all recently gotten over the bubonic plague and were too weak to mop. Whew, makes sense now." Or if they are not clean people, they might admire the fact that I find my seemingly acceptable house to be awful and come to the conclusion that I have really high standards.
Just covering my bases over here. Now I'd best get back to scouring these baseboards.
Bookstore
Matt and I went to P.F. Chang's the other night (with a very lovely Christmas giftcard). It's located in a large upscale shopping center. After dinner, I told Matt that I wanted to go to Barnes and Noble, as we also had a giftcard to that as well. At the first mention of a bookstore, Matt made apoplexy sounds and looked like he was suffering from a massive internal hemorrhage. Basically, the usual response.
He told me in no uncertain terms that he did not want to go. So he went home to start a fire and get some wine chilled (date night!) and I headed to the store.
Going to a bookstore for me is how I imagine cocaine is to addicts. There's an immediate feeling of euphoria. Stress and worry fade away and only the crisp scent of unfamiliar storylines linger. I run my hands over shiny hardbacks and velvety paperbacks. It's good stuff.
Ahem, back to the story. So I was enjoying my time alone, no kids to chase, no husband to make disparaging remarks about the time. I decided to get a book about adoption. Not seeing any, I asked an employee to help. He walked over with me to the parenting section and after a few minutes of fruitless searching remarked "It's too bad you don't need a book on autism." Um, yes, it is.
A few minutes after I left, Matt called. Wondering where I was, which I had expected.
Me: "I was only in there an hour, hour and a half, tops. I tried really hard to leave early."
Matt: "I don't think you did a very good job."
 |
| Not bad for $25 |
Let me preface this ramble by saying I'm a channel changer. If my kids are in the car, it pretty much stays on the local Christian station or a cd and I'm ok with that. But if I'm alone, I flip channels like I'm getting paid by the song. Nary a song is allowed to finish before I'm hitting that button. It's a trait I inherited from my Dad and it was the cause of many a rift on long family car rides.
That being said, I'm afraid of being in a car accident. Not the actual accident part, nor the pain or possible dying. I'm afraid that the song on the radio will be a ridiculous one when EMS arrives. I cringe thinking of a couple of paramedics trying to extricate my broken body from the vehicle saying "She listens to Phil Collins?"
I could have gotten into a crash listening to a great song, 'Bohemian Rhapsody' or 'Walking in Memphis.' But by the time emergency services arrive, the radio could be playing something by Meatloaf or Ke$ha.
(Side note: The first I heard of Ke$ha - that money sign is absurd, no? - Matt and I were watching an episode of SNL on Hulu. I remember being perplexed at first, wondering why this person was performing. I can't find a good version of it on Youtube, which is just as well. From what I recall, she was painted in neon glowing colors like a stereotypical Native American. And she was hopping about like she had a neurological disorder. I finally concluded that it must be a candidate for the Make a Wish Foundation and how nice SNL was to make her dream come true.)
So if we're even in a crash together and I'm unconscious and you're not, please make sure there are decent songs on the radio at all times. Thank you.
Iphones
The other day I was thumbing through a Wall Street Journal that Matt brought home from work. I read an article about iphones and how, even though it is still the most popular brand of smart phone, other brands are much stronger than originally predicted. Analysts were interviewed stating that everyone thought Apple would crush the market on smart phones but that's not the case. It went on to detail how Apple is trying to market each new phone as an upgrade people want to make. The problem is that many people are settling on an earlier, cheaper version of the iphone and don't consider the newest model to be worth the price. Then I flipped the page over:
 |
| Nice try, Apple |
House Cleaning
Anyone who knows me and has been to my house can attest to the fact that I am not that clean. Now, mind you, it's not like an episode of Hoarders or anything. I can still see the children and most of the floor so I think I'm doing pretty darn well. Now, mothers-in-law are notorious for being hard on their daughters-in-law but I am the exception. I happen to enjoy mine quite a bit and she seems to tolerate me pretty well too. The issue is that she's a fabulously clean person. If you are talking to her, she will pick up a washcloth and start wiping down the counters, just because. If you are talking to me, I will sit down next to you and we will eat popcorn together. The counters will not even enter my teeny little ol' brain once.
Early in our marriage, Matt would make remarks like "You know, my mom used to clean the kitchen floors on her hands and knees." To which I would respond with something like:
"My dad washes all the dishes in our house and brings my mother drinks and bowls of ice cream."
Or
"I'll be glad to bring you a sponge."
Or
"So move back in. Then your laundry would be done correctly again too. I hope the three of you will be very happy."
He doesn't say things like that anymore.
Whenever someone comes over, I feel the compulsion to apologize for the state of my house. Sometimes it actually is atrocious and there are just no words. Sometimes though, I say things like "Sorry it's such a mess in here" when I know darn well that it's actually clean. That way if they are a really tidy person, they might think "Oh thank goodness. They have all recently gotten over the bubonic plague and were too weak to mop. Whew, makes sense now." Or if they are not clean people, they might admire the fact that I find my seemingly acceptable house to be awful and come to the conclusion that I have really high standards.
Just covering my bases over here. Now I'd best get back to scouring these baseboards.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
The Theater, The Theater
The women in my immediate family have a lovely tradition. Every year my grandma from Indiana spends a few months at my parents during the winter. And while she's down, we pick a few shows to see in Jacksonville. We've seen Fiddler on the Roof (with the original Tevye! The hip shaking wasn't quite what it used to be but still, he's a spunky old guy), South Pacific, Les Mis, and a few others. We always go out for a bite at one of the restaurants in the lovely Jacksonville Landing on the river.
This year the littlest women were old enough to come along. Kate is five and my niece is four and it was great fun to see Mary Poppins with everyone.
This year the littlest women were old enough to come along. Kate is five and my niece is four and it was great fun to see Mary Poppins with everyone.
 |
| Checking out the orchestra pit |
 |
| These are our "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" faces. Um, yeah. |
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