Google and Shallots

I bought shallots last week.
I am not sure why.
If I have ever eaten a shallot, I didn't know it.

I have never cooked with a shallot.
I don't have a recipe that requires a shallot.
I don't even own real "cookbooks" that would tell me what to do with a shallot.

So that is how I ended up awake at 3am one night,
Googling, "What can I make with a shallot?"

And apparently they are like an onion, but not an onion.
Mostly people like to caramelize them, which I am all for.
I learned how to properly caramelize onions this summer. (it is a long process, but oh so worth it.)
I may or may not have eaten two ginormous onions that I caramelized.
I have no regrets.

But now, now my Google search has that embarrassing fact forever etched in my
digital footprint. I am sure someone at Google or the NSA is going,
"HA! What a bonehead! She bought a shallot and doesn't even know what to do with it."

I am disturbed by the Google Search History.
It's like a diary of all the stupid things we are too embarrassed to ask our fellow humans.

Google Search: Are sheep and lambs the same thing?
Google Search: What is the difference between a disease and a disorder?
Google Search: How do I read my cholesterol test results?
Google Search:  Amanda Bynes (oh yes! I did! I had to see her freakish new face!)
Google Search: Calories in a Costco Hot Dog? (don't do it, just don't.)
Google Search: Are Sequoias and Redwoods the same?
Google Search: How to zoom in on firefox? (shut up, I forgot, ok?) 
Google Search: Where does dew come from? (my kids are no longer satisfied with, 'God made it')
Google Search: How old is Pat Sajak? 
Google Search: Pee Smell in Bathroom
Google Search: Football Girdle
Google Search:  Substitute for______. There are literally tons of these in my search history. I think the sheer volume of pumpkin spice substitutes I have googled should be a clear indicator that I need to just buy some dang pumpkin spice.

And worst of all, I am too scared to search the one most helpful thing...
"How do I clear my Google Search History?"

So, I am off to search "Nancy O'Dell's plastic surgery."
I figure at this point, its go big or go home...

Corban...

~ Written 10-9-13

If you are reading this, it means I have had to post it.
If I had to post it, it means that we have had to say goodbye to
one very special young lady.

Our dear Corban Grace.
She was born 14 years ago in a flurry of first grandchild excitement,
though we all knew, her arrival was coming too soon.
She was born at 30 weeks, and doctors did not expect her to make it
through the first night... boy did she prove them wrong.

Corban had genetic issues, and other birth defects that
challenged virtually every system and organ in her little body...
yet she fought.
She lived. She grew. She made it.

Until today.

I could write pages about her, and the funny things she did.
Like the time period when her middle finger stayed extended
in a stiff manner that made it look like she was flipping you off...
and I swear, that girl had PERFECT timing with that finger.

But today, I want to write about Corban's mom and dad.
Chris and Joy, my amazing sister in law, and her husband have given
Corban virtually round the clock care for every day of her fourteen years.

She had a feeding tube, and had to be kept on a strict schedule of when, how much,
and how fast she gets her food.
Medicines were given via the feeding tube multiple times a day. There were many medications
to keep up with, and dosages for each varied.
She had a diaper, and had to be changed or given a catheter throughout the day.
She needed to be bathed, dressed, held, played with, and watched constantly.

And did I mention? Corban can be a night owl... imagine doing all these things for your
child throughout the day AND still getting up with them at night?

With each passing year, as Corban grew, I watched my petite sister-in-law still pick her up, carry her, hold her. I could barely make it through an hour. My arms got tired, I got hot, Corban would want to bang her head against me. But I could give her back... Chris and Joy could not.

Here is what I want you to catch...
In all her 14 years of life.
All the diapers,
All the surgeries,
All the late nights,
All the feedings,
Do you know how many times I heard Joy complain?

Never. Not once.

Not an eye roll.
Not a sigh.
Not an angry word.
Not a "Why did God allow this?"

She was totally entitled to be frustrated, tired, on edge, grumpy, bitter, and angry.
Instead, she chose, quite ironically... Joy. Her very name embodied the way she parented.
I am not suggesting there was never a time she didn't struggle, what I am saying is, she chose to walk this life with the circumstances she was given, and did so with grace, confidence, and faith, as did Chris.

I am proud to call these two tireless servants my family.
They showed unconditional love, and taught us much by their example.
They truly know what it means to be the hands and feet of Jesus...

Do we?
Is there a special child in your life you could serve?
A parent who might need a hand?
Find one. Love them. Help them. Encourage them. Walk along side them.

** Thank you to all the friends and family who came to be with us today. Chris stood up and shared, sang, and praised God in the midst of his sorrow. He and Joy are a testimony to the peace the Lord can give in the midst of the most trying of times. What a blessing they are to those who know and love them.** 

Thank You Amy...

If you have looked at Facebook in the last week, you have likely seen
links about the government shut-down, quotes from famous people,
and cute pictures of fall activities.

This morning, I saw something that made me profoundly thankful.
This was my friend Amy's status:

As a mom of three boys... Thank you.

Thank you for being willing to be the "bad guy" and make sure your daughter is dressed modestly.
Thank you for wanting to her mom, rather than her pal.
Thank you for helping me, by keeping your girls modest.

In return, I promise...
To make sure my boys know how to treat a girl with respect.
To not let them think young girls are there for them to ogle and cat call.
To teach them to keep their hands off.
To not let them watch TV, Internet, or any other visual media that makes women nothing more than sexual objects.
To not let them listen to music that demeans or talks about women and their bodies.
To teach them it is NOT just about keeping someone from getting pregnant, but rather it is about keeping someone pure and respectable.

So, to all the moms out there willing to do battle to keep their girls covered up, thank you.
I promise to do my part as a mom of boys as well.
After all, we are all in this together.

So, to Amy, and all the other moms in the trenches ... thank you.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions...

"I am not sure what I am going to do yet!"

 In an odd twist of irony, this fall, I sent the youngest off to school, and brought the oldest home.
This means I missed my chance for that glorious oddity called, an empty house.
Yes, this could've been my year for WHOLE days of a quiet house, time alone, and, if you read the last post, the ability to pee without interruption.

However, thanks to the miracle that is football practice, three nights a week, there are times it happens.
Micah will take all three boys and all of the sudden,

the
house
is
empty.

I don't really know how to handle this.
I feel like Chicken Little, running around going, "What do I do? What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?!?!?!"
It's akin to that TV moment when that character gets hysterical and can't calm down and ends up getting slapped in the face.
"Just do something woman!" the slapper would say to me.

Do I fold laundry? (the responsible mama's choice)
Do I take a nap? (the tired mama's choice)
Do I read a book? (the bibliophile mama's choice)
Do I scrapbook? (the crafty mama's choice)
Do I read some of the 500+ blogs clogging my feedly? (the informed mama's choice)
Do I dye my own felt to make into miniature acorns? (the pinterest mama's choice)
Do I have a glass of wine and watch Entertainment Tonight? (the honest mama's choice)

I walked around for a solid 15 minutes trying to decide WHAT TO DO?
It was too much pressure.
In the end, a truly calm and well thought out choice was never made.
I lost it all in a moment of sheer freak out crying, "THE HOUSE WILL BE MINE FOR THE NEXT THREE HOURS AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO?!?!" 
I needed that slap in the face.

OR...
Maybe I just need MORE practice at having time like this so I will be better prepared at how to handle the choices and options. Yes, that is it.
I need to do this MORE often.

Honey, are you reading this? :) 

Remembering Tea Time

The weather turned decidedly more fall like last week.
I love it.
The cooler temps mean I am back to my morning cup of tea.

There is nothing like hearing the kettle whistle
and pouring that steaming water into a cup.
Last week, I got out my grandmother's tea cups.
They are dainty, and flowered, and pretty, and...
So full of memories.

My Gramma, whom I wrote about here. used to serve us tea in them a good bit.
Hot tea, sugar, and milk.
Homemade cookies, or if we were lucky, apple küchen.
Watching her move about a kitchen was neat.
She did things "just so" and was usually humming or singing in German.
We loved using the "fancy cups", and despite the fact that I was a tom-boy who
broke things at a furious rate, she would let me use these.
I was always cautioned to "be gentle!"
And then she would often utter "Nicht Noch Einmal!"

So, taking out a cup, just one, was hard.
It made me miss my Gramma terribly.
It brought back the painful reality of death.
The things my boys will never hear from directly from her.
But if we put away these tangible memories,
we miss out on passing along the bits and pieces of the past
that make us, well... us.

So despite the pain, I choose to remember.
And today, I will have tea, in fancy tea cups, with my 11 year old son.
I made cookies and muffins for us yesterday.
I will caution him to be gentle.
I will rebuke him in German, and hopefully,
create a memory for him to share with his own children someday.

One of my very favorite quotes...

“It is often said that something may survive of a person after his death if that person was an artist and put a little of himself into his work. It is perhaps in the same way that a sort of cutting taken from one person and grafted onto the heart of another continues to carry on its existence even when the person from whom it had been detached has perished.” 
                                                                                                             -Marcel Proust