Sharing the Love: Ginger Crinkles

It's fall...how about some cinnamon, cloves, and ginger?!  My mother-in-law's mother's recipe.  Delish.

Ginger Crinkles:
3/4 c shortening
1 egg
1 c sugar
4 T molasses
2 c flour
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ginger
1 tsp cloves
1 tsp salt
2 tsp baking soda

Mix wet ingredients well.  Add dry ingredients, beat for two minutes.  Roll into walnut-sized balls, and roll in sugar. 

Bake at 350 for 10 minutes.

Enjoy!

I miss him.

He's my baby.  He's my ninja-cowboy-police officer-getting-the-bad-guys baby.  Every day of the past couple years, he's made me smile with his creativity and laugh at his imagination. 

He's kept this house free of bandits and never before has a mother felt so safe. 

He's mixed that up with hugs and kisses, and never before has a mother felt so loved. 

A hundred times a day he says, "I like you, Mom."

But today, I sent him off to preschool.  He'll be going four hours a day, three times a week.  And that's a lot for Jack.  He really does like me.  Matthew has always left me pretty easily, happy to explore whatever adventures I couldn't be a part of.  Jack would rather stay right next to me, given the chance.  At the barber shop last week, when asked if he was going to school like his brothers, he said, "No.  I'm just going to stay home with my mommy."  But he was wrong.  Because there are many things to learn that I can't teach him, and next year, when he goes to kindergarten, he needs to be prepared.

But it's hard for me, because I was Jack.  I got hives when my mom went out of town.  I cried when we got babysitters.  So I know Jack's pain.  I feel what he feels. 

Today, when I dropped him off with his really great teacher, his soft, still-chubby hand held mine tightly. When it was his turn to go in, she told him to follow the purple footsteps and put his bucket away.  He held my hand so tight.  I went to let go and he looked up at me, with a look, part panic, but mostly bravery and said, "MOM!  I need a kiss!" 

So I smooched my baby and let his hand go.  And his teacher said, "Oh!  That wasn't so bad!"  And I replied, "Except for me."  And I ran out before anyone saw my tears.

And now I sit here, with no little ninja to protect me, to hug me, to make me laugh. 
And I miss him. 

I love you, Jack-Jack.

American Heroes Day

I hereby request that from now until eternity, September 11 be officially known as United States Heroes Day. We will celebrate those who choose professions in which they put themselves in harm's way for the good of our citizens. Heroes.

I went to an incredibly touching 10-year Anniversary Ceremony of September 11 with many of the fire/police/ems employees in the State of Minnesota this afternoon. I couldn't keep it together when I saw the photos of the firefighters' funerals, or the mournful sound of Amazing Grace on the bagpipes.

An awful lot of Americans lost their lives that day. An awful lot of friends and relatives of those victims are still grieving.

And I suppose it's because of my position in life, but I can't stop thinking about those wives. Those children, who are growing up without their fathers because they ran into a collapsing highrise to save others.

Think of that love. That selflessness. It takes my breath away.

I was sitting by friends of ours, who are relatively new parents. I was thinking about how much Matt loves his daughter and how I know he wouldn't hesistate to lay his life down for her. Those 343 firefighters were men like Matt. They were fathers, and husbands. Good, kind, honest men. And in a devastating moment, they made a decision to put others, strangers, in front of their daughters, their families, because they took an oath to do so, and these are men of deep honor. But now those children, and those wives are living without those men.

So, on this day, I stand in solidarity with those women. Because my pain is no worse than another's, but my empathy for them runs deep. And no matter how proud they are of their firefighters, they must miss them something desperate.

My most sincere prayer is that none of the men and women I was surrounded with today know that agony. That none of them ever have to give everything for their profession, even though they are prepared to do so. That my husband always keeps the promise he made me: to always come home. I remain in deep love, and in admiration of each of them -- and thank them for everything they do.

Happy Heroes Day.

Meal Planning

I thought with the teenager in football and Matty in school all-day, it's time to start planning a meal for every day. Gotta admit, I'm pretty accustomed to winging it, especially when the captain is at work.  I made a list of our staple meals.  I would love to add a new item each week, so I'm more than interested in your ideas!

Here are mine:

Meatloaf/Twice-Baked Potato Pie
Chicken potpie
Meatballs and gravy with mashed potatoes
Ham
Scalloped potatoes and ham
Rice hotdish
Spaghetti
Lasagne
Stuffed shells
Stirfry
Spaghetti carbonera
Sloppy joes
Chip beef on toast
BLTs
Hamburgers/Hotdogs
French dips
Chili
Beef Stew
Wild Rice Soup
Ham Chowder
Tostadas
Nachos
Tacos
Enchiladas
Quesadillas
Mexican hotdish
Breakfast for dinner

Between Two Worlds

Once in awhile, a book socks me in the stomach.  This was one of them.  It's the memoir of a woman who is the daughter of Saddam Hussein's former pilot.  Her parents were intimately close friends of the dictator, and it's a facinating look into his private life and rise to power.  It will shock you.  It will make you cringe.

How this woman escaped Iraq and not came to live a "normal" life, but to thrive and do such wonderful work astounds and inspires me.

This story is why I hate war.  This is the woman I've always thought of when we decidedly hate all Muslims, or carelessly drop missles in other countries.  The collateral damage of war is real and prevalent today. 

Additionally, this book reminds us that there are still oppressed women everywhere.  We must spend some of our resources to help them. 

I finished it late last night and went to bed sad.  Sad that we continue to hurt people so deeply.  That one man can rise to power and destroy a nation.  Both the physical attributes and the people in it.  That we, as human beings, have that much potential to destroy.  I was feeling really depressed about the state of our world and overwhelmed with the responsibility of changing it.  Because I must.  And we must. 

It's a powerful book. I urge you to read it.

Turning pages...

I have been terribly remiss in updating you on my reading lists, but honestly...very little has blown my literary socks off for this summer (trust me -- I'm more disappointed than you are).  I commented on a couple, which you should run out and pick up or reserve at the library.  The ones without comments, you can probably just breeze over.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot

Facinating.  Absolutely brilliant. I had no idea anything like this situation existed.  It will make you think!

Unbroken, Laura Hillenbrand

You know, my sister couldn't put this book down, but I quit 100 pages into it. 

The Lincoln Lawyer, Michael Connelly

The Pilot's Wife, Anita Shreve

Dog On It, Spencer Quinn

Super fun. A man runs a detective agency and this book is written from his dog's perspective.  Brilliant, and hilarious.  A great summer read.  (Way better than The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein).

Sister Mine, Tawni O'Dell

House Rules, Rachel Sontag

This was a good book.  A little sad, but a good memoir.

Swallows of Kabul, Yasmina Khadra

Between Two Worlds, Zainab Salbi

You should read this book.  The author is the daughter of Saddam Hussein's former pilot.  The intimate social relationship with the dictator is facinating. Probably the best book I read this summer.

The 19th Wife, David Ebershoff

I'd recommend this book.  It's hard to get into, but about 100 pages in, I was hooked.  Another FLDS book...

White Picket Fence

I do not have a daughter.

I am the second oldest of eleven kids.  Of the top five, four are girls.  So the bottom half of my family is very boy-heavy. I helped raise those brothers.  I held them, and played with them, and rocked them. So raising boys now is familiar, and comfortable, and joyful.

I am not one of those women who has always pined for a little girl.  The thought of raising a girl, in fact, has made me nervous.  I have enough estrogen for an this household.  I love little girls, and I have a few very wonderful ones in my life.  I was thrilled when my ultrasound showed boy parts.  Both times.  Plus I adore my stepson, as you well know.

But I want a daughter for life.

When I see moms getting pedicures with their teenagers, my heart hurts.  When I think of not having a daughter to watch go through her life...dating...getting married...having children of her own, well...that kills me a little.

I watched The Help last weekend (which has a thousand lessons in it...I should probably dedicate an entire blog post to it, in fact.).  In it, there is a scene with a younger-self of the main character and her maid.  It's an intensely maternal moment and it struck me in a place I can't describe to you except to tell you that it made me weep on my husband's shoulder upon returning home from the movie. 

I love my family.  I love it so much that I'm planning to put up a white picket fence next spring.  True story.  My boys are awesome and healthy and someday they'll marry well and I'll have daughters-in-law, and granddaughters if I'm lucky. And I have little girls in my life to bond with, and love.  And I'm grateful.

But I'll mourn not having one of my very own for just a little while before I move on. (Because it's okay for us to grieve for things we don't have, so long as we're thankful for the gifts that we do have.)

It's my mom's fault, really.  If you know my mom, you'll know that she's kind to everyone.  She's gentle. She's an amazing listener.  I told my mom everything growing up.  I spent countless hours with her in the kitchen (not helping...just watching her work and visiting (she was a far superior mother than I was a daughter)).  I'd be sad, and I'd sit in the living room.  She'd give me some time, and then she'd come in and touch my hair, giving me permission to cry.  She loves me so deeply.  I think she's still mad at the first guy who broke my heart.  So you don't need a psychology degree to see how her beauty as a mother inspired me to want to provide that for another human being.

I'll be 35 on my next birthday.  It would be more information than you'd like (and inappropriate on a public blog!) if I shared with you why I'm pretty sure that the childbirth chapter of my life is closed.  And I trust that God knows best.  And I trust that my boys will always love me, and share with me and want to be with me.  And who knows...maybe I can even drag one of them for a pedicure someday.

Thank you to my God and my dear husband for understanding and kindness and patience, and Kleenex.  And for my white-picket-fence life.