Here, Taste This : Lemon Chiffon Cake

Spring is taking sweet forever to get to Minnesota this year.

To wit:
Last Saturday, we hit 56 degrees - for the first time since November 22.
The Twins home opener on Monday showcased a wind chill of 15.
For the entire month of March, only three days enjoyed above-average temps.
I still have snow drifts in my yard taller than my dog. And she's a border collie.

So basically, we are Canada without Tim Horton's.

Always winter. Never spring.

Unless you make this cake. Which I did, for Easter, because I needed some hope in my kitchen to celebrate the Hope in my heart.

Lemon Chiffon Cake is spring in the form of a baked good - light, sunny, moist, tangy, sweet, rich. Enough contradiction to make your head spin coupled with brightness that's irresistible.

It brought spring to my mouth.

Baby steps, Minnesota. We'll get there. Until then, we have cake.



LEMON CHIFFON CAKE

2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup cold water
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 teaspoons grated lemon peel
7 egg yolks
7 egg whites
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar

Directions:
1. Heat oven to 325.
2. Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a large bowl. Make a well and add oil, egg yolks, water, lemon peel and vanilla. Whisk together until smooth.
3. In a mixing bowl, beat egg white and cream of tartar on high speed until stiff peaks form.
4. Add about a cup of egg whites to cake batter and fold together to incorporate. Continue gently folding in the egg whites until the two mixtures are just blended.
5. Pour into an ungreased tube pan, 10x4 inches.
6. Bake about 75 minutes or until top springs back when lightly pressed. Invert cake pan and let it hang until the cake is completely cool. Remove from pan and frost with Lemon Butter Frosting.

Tips:
1. This is Baking 301. There are many intimidating tasks here, but fear not. Online tutorials are here to help. If this is your first time separating eggs, check out this slideshow and video at the Food Network. If you are trying to determine if your egg whites are stiff or not (#TWSS), Better Homes and Garden has a great explainer. Or, for a little bit of everything - egg separation, egg white whipping, egg white folding - I love this blog post at The Joy of Cooking. And of course, I am always here for you. I'd be happy to answer questions in the comments.
2. A tube pan is also called an angel food cake pan, and it is a requirement for Lemon Chiffon Cake. Without that removable bottom, I'm not sure how you'd get the cake out of the pan. (See also: Do not make this in a bundt pan unless you plan to eat the whole cake by yourself, with a fork, standing over your kitchen sink. Because it will never come out.)
3. My tube pan has these awesome little stands on it so I can tip it upside down on my counter while it cools without smooshing any of the cake. If you don't have stands on your tube pan, thread the middle tube through a bottle of wine instead and let it hang there as it cools. (The things we do for cake.)

LEMON BUTTER FROSTING

1/2 cup butter, room temperature
3 cups powdered sugar
2 teaspoons grated lemon peel
2-4 tablespoons lemon juice

Directions:
1. Beat the softened butter and gradually add the powdered sugar.
2. Add in the lemon peel and the lemon juice until the frosting is fully and of spreading consistency.

Tips:
1. I like my frosting thick, so this recipe works for me. But honestly, it's not the best icing for a delicate cake. So feel free to add more lemon juice and/or warm water, a tablespoon at a time, until you get the frosting to more of a glaze.
2. The cake must be completely cool before you try to frost it. But you knew that, right?
3. I garnished the cake with paper-thin slices of lemon to make it look pretty. If you have Meyer lemons available to you, use those as garnishes. They are sweet enough to eat.

Salted Caramel Oatmeal Cookies

I don't like cookies.

It's one of my most unpopular opinions, but I stand behind it. Why have a wafer of crumbly sugar dust when you could have pie?

But these cookies. Ahhhh. These cookies. They almost make me change my mind.

Salted Caramel Oatmeal Cookies taste like fall smells. An oatmeal base (::cough:: whole grain) combines with butter, sugar, vanilla and two secret ingredients. First, you add tiny chunks of caramel to the dough, and then you top the cookies with a sprinkling of kosher salt right after baking.

I mean....

Also, please note: all that chewy goodness sticks like mad to a regular cookie sheet. For this reason, parchment paper is a MUST with these cookies. If you don't line your cookie sheets with parchment, your cookies will glue themselves to the baking sheet and you will end up with crumbs when you try to take them off. Which would turn these magical cookies back into regular cookies. Don't let that happen on your watch.

Salted Caramel Oatmeal Cookies

1 cup butter, room temperature
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1-1/2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
3 cups old fashioned oats
1 pkg (11 oz) Kraft Caramel Bits
kosher salt for sprinkling
parchment paper

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 375.
2. Cream butter with sugars. Mixture will be fluffy in texture and light in color when combined.
3. Add in eggs and vanilla.
4. Add flour, salt, baking soda and oatmeal. Add caramel bits last.
5. Line baking sheets with parchment paper (or you will be kicking yourself in about 10 minutes). Drop heaping tablespoons of dough onto sheets and bake, approximately 8-10 minutes. Pull the sheets when the cookies are golden brown on the edges and just starting to set in the center. They will continue to cook after you remove them from the oven.
6. Immediately after taking them out of the oven, sprinkle cookies with kosher salt. Allow to cool before removing from parchment paper.

Tips:
1. That's right. Parchment paper is one of the ingredients. It's THAT important to this recipe.
2. If you are new to baking, you can always sift the flour, salt and baking soda together before you add it to the butter mixture. That ensures no lumps. But honestly, I've baked for decades, and I've never sifted my dry ingredients, and I've never had a lump. (And yes, I'm a questioner.)
3. I'm notoriously bad about letting my cookies bake one minute longer than they should. Then I end up with crunchy cookies. Gross. Don't follow in my footsteps. Pull these babies when they are just starting to set, and you'll end up with marvelously chewy cookies to accompany you throughout your week.
4. If you haven't seen Kraft's Caramel Bits before (#twss), here's a photo to take to the grocery store. I did not even know caramel bits existed until I was introduced to these cookies. Just imagine all the other uses for them.....

Summer Lovin' S'more Bars

What if I told you s'mores could be stored in your fridge? What if I promised you the taste, texture and nostalgia of a s'more but in a portable form? What if I said you don't need a campfire to indulge in one of the best parts of summer?

Because that's exactly what this recipe delivers. Gooey marshmallows, buttery graham crackers, melted chocolate, in a convenient package.

Make these for a weekend with friends at the beach, for that family reunion potluck, for the evening you'd planned a bonfire but it rained instead. Just be sure to hold a few bars back for yourself. Because you can't ever have too much summer.


Summer Lovin' S'more Bars

15 graham crackers
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
10 tbsp butter, melted
16 oz chocolate chips (semi-sweet or bittersweet)
4 cups mini marshmallows

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Crush graham crackers by either pulsing in a food processor or placing crackers in a zipper bag and rolling them with a rolling pin. Your goal is small crumbs. You should have about 2 cups of crumb when finished.
3. In a large bowl, combine crumbs, sugar, salt and melted butter until the crumbs absorb all the butter. Scoop out one cup of the mixture and set aside.
4. Press the remaining graham cracker mixture into the bottom of a 13x9x2 baking dish. Bake for 12 minutes or until golden. Remove from oven and set on a rack to cool.
5. Place chocolate in microwave bowl and nuke on medium for 30 seconds; stir. Nuke again for 30 seconds; stir. Continue at this, in 30-second bursts, until the chocolate is completely melted.
6. Pour melted chocolate over crush and smooth with an off-set spatula.
7. Sprinkle marshmallows over chocolate, pressing gently to adhere.Sprinkle reserved crumb mixture over marshmallows.
8. Preheat broiler and place pan 2” under heat for 30 seconds or until marshmallows are golden. PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO MAKE SURE THE MARSHMALLOWS DON’T BURN.
9. Cool pan on rack and refrigerate for 30 minutes before cutting.

Tips:
1. As I said on Sorta Awesome, these are RICH. I recommend you cut them into small squares, versus the normal size bars.
2. PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO MAKE SURE THE MARSHMALLOWS DON’T BURN. It bears repeating. You look away for five seconds and BAM, those marshmallows are tiny little charcoal pillows on your bars. Stay vigilant.
3. I know it's hard to wait. But do NOT attempt to cut or eat these bars until they are completely cool. They'll disintegrate, and while that pile of crumbs will be mighty tasty, they won't be presentable. I've been known to stick them in the fridge and/or freezer to speed the cooling process along.
4. If your house is warm, or you're taking these bars to an outdoor gathering, you might want to check in on them occasionally. That chocolate layer can get awful melty. That's why I recommend you store them in the fridge, if at all possible.
5. I also like to say "bars" with my best exaggerated Minnesota accent, like I'm an extra in "Fargo." I commend that pronunciation to you.

Creamy Wild Rice and Chicken Soup

January. It's cold, it's dark, the holidays are over. This is the time of year when I have to reach deep to find my love of winter, when I have to replace my Christmas tree with an equal number of fairy lights, when I build fires and light candles and admit the below-zero temperatures do offer a compelling cryogenic nostril cleanse.

This is the time of year when I need soup.

And this soup fits the mid-winter bill. It features a creamy base, nutty, chewy wild rice, enough vegetables to feel virtuous without putting off the kids, chicken - and bacon. Because January demands bacon. And bacon makes all things better. Even, especially, winter.



Creamy Wild Rice and Chicken Soup

4 cups (32 ounces) chicken broth
2 cups water
3/4 cup wild rice
1/2 cup onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 cup shredded carrot

1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup flour
2 cups half and half
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/4 tsp poultry seasoning
2 cups cubed, cooked chicken
8-12 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
2-3 tbsp sherry

Directions:
1. In a large saucepan, combine broth, water and wild rice. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer of 20 minutes. At that point, add the onion, celery and carrots, and simmer for another 20 minutes.
2. In a separate saucepan, melt butter. Whisk in flour to from a roux. Once the roux is bubbly and combined, slowly whisk in half and half and spices. Stir until smooth. Let it simmer until thickened, about 10 minutes.
3. Add white sauce mixture to wild rice mixture. Add chicken, bacon and sherry last, just before serving.

Tips:
1. My kids find the sherry flavor in this soup off-putting. So feel free to leave it out. It's still good. But I do think it adds that extra something, that unnameable umami, that puts it over the top for most people.
2. You want to add more bacon? DO IT. It only makes the soup better.
3. You can substitute milk for the half and half. The soup will just be a little less creamy. I highly recommend the half and half, but if are stranded in a blizzard and you have everything else to make this soup but that one ingredient. Fine. You have my blessing to use milk.
4. If you shop at Costco, buy their packs of cut-up rotisserie chicken for the chicken in this recipe. It's cooked white meat, already in chunks. You just need to go through and cut it into bite-sized pieces, and cut off any skin or gristle that may have gotten mixed in when they were pulling the meat off the bones. Super easy.

Fresh Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

Gardening experts always advise: Don't plant mint. Or if you do, plant it in a self-contained pot. Because mint is the virus of the gardening world. It spreads easily, sometimes mercilessly, and it's almost impossible to control. It just keeps coming back until it's taken over.

I don't subscribe to the experts advice. Because I like mint. (And because I'm lazy.) So I have a rather large crop of mint in my backyard, that grows larger every year. Come August, the mint is a little smug. "You are so toast, lady. I'm going to own this yard in a few shorts weeks, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Enter this recipe. It requires two cups of fresh mint leaves to make this ice cream, which results in some of the lightest, brightest, freshest mint flavor you've ever laid taste buds on. And pulling that much mint will show your plant who's boss.

And if it gets sassy again, make more ice cream. Or just smile with the knowledge that winter will be here soon enough. End game, mint. End game.



Fresh Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
pinch of salt
2 cups lightly packed fresh mint leaves
1 tbsp. vanilla
1/3 to 1/2 cup mini chocolate chips

Directions:
1. Add the milk, sugar, 1 cup of the heavy cream and the salt to a medium saucepan. Cook and stir over medium heat until sugar has dissolved and the mixture is warmed through. Add in the mint leaves and mix to combine, making sure all the leaves are immersed in the mixture. Remove from the heat, cover, and let steep at room temperature for about an hour.
2. Set a fine mesh sieve over a medium bowl. Pour the mixture through the sieve, pressing on the leaves to extract as much flavor as possible. Discard the mint. Add the final cup of heavy cream and the vanilla and stir.
3. Let the mixture cool slightly, then cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled. Freeze the mixture in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's directions. Near the end of the churning process, add in the chocolate chips.

Tips:
1. Your ice cream might end up with a very subtle green tint, depending on your mint. Or it might stay white. If you want that classic mint green color, add a few drops of green food coloring before you put the mixture in the fridge to chill.
2. I have a Cuisinart 1-1/2 Quart Ice Cream maker and I love it. This recipe makes the perfect amount for that size of ice cream maker.
3. If you're an ice cream aficionado, you will notice I don't call for egg yolks in this recipe. That's because I don't find the texture of custard-based ice cream to be enough of a reward for the work entailed.

Spicy Grilled Pineapple

Spicy grilled pineapple might be one of my favorite summer desserts. And that's saying something, because: Pie. Ice cream. Fruit cobbler. S'mores. Pie.

This dessert shoots to the top of my list because it's SUPER easy but unique enough that it impresses people. Plus, all that caramelized goodness on top of sweet pineapple? It's hard to beat. Don't forget the ice cream.



Spicy Grilled Pineapple

1 fresh pineapple
1/4 cup pineapple or orange juice
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cloves

Directions:
1. Peel the pineapple and core. Cut into long wedges. You should have about 8-12, depending on the size of your pineapple.
2. Combine the juice, sugar and spices in a small bowl.
3. Put pineapple in a glass container or a Ziplock bag. Pour marinade over, and cover or seal. Marinate in fridge for 1 hour or overnight.
4. When ready to grill, remove pineapple from marinade and grill over medium-high heat for about 15 minutes, turning once, or until edges are brown and crisp.

Tips:
1. When shopping for a ripe pineapple, pull a couple of the crown leaves. If they come off easily, the pineapple is ripe. (If you can't find a ripe pineapple, leave it on the counter or the top of the fridge for a few days to let it ripen.)
2. Serve this with ice cream for an extra special treat. Top the ice cream with the extra marinade if you want your friends and family to weep with joy.
3. For a grown-up version: substitute rum for the juice. *hiccup*

Here, Taste This: Lasagna Soup

I am seasonal eater.

Perhaps this surprises no one.

I am drawn to the drama that plays out every day on the other side of my window. Spring's freshness and hope, summer's sparkle and joy, fall's glory and longing. And winter. Winter's quiet and reflection. Each season speaks to me of different flavors, different sensations. I revel in the rhythm of it. I don't want stew in summer, and even though I could technically grill in January if I'm willing to stand in the snow, something about that turns me off.

No, winter demands soup.

And this soup, my friends, is all that is right about soup. It sticks to your ribs, thanks to the pasta, and it dances on your tongue, thanks to the Italian sausage, and it is bright with seasonal veggies. (Carrots, spinach, I'm looking at you.) Best of all, it's a one-pot meal that can go from start to finish in less than 30 minutes. Just enough time to hide some fresh mozzarella in the bottom of each dish, slice some baguette and rinse some grapes.

Then sit down to a steaming bowl of the best winter has to offer. Maybe, just maybe, you'll give thanks for January.


Lasagna Soup

1 lb. hot Italian sausage
1 cup onion, chopped
2 cups carrots, cut into coins
2 cups mushrooms, sliced
2 tbsp. garlic
4 cups chicken broth
1 14-oz. can Italian diced tomatoes
1 10-oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup mafalda pasta
4-6 cups fresh spinach, roughly chopped
fresh mozzarella
Parmesan cheese,
4 tsp. thinly sliced fresh basil

Directions:
1. Brown sausage in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat.
2. Add onions and carrots; saute 3 minutes. Stir in mushrooms and garlic; saute another 3 minutes.
3. Add broth, tomatoes and tomato sauce; bring to a boil.
4. Drop in pasta and simmer until al dente, about 10 minutes.
5. Stir in spinach and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes.
6. Place fresh mozzarella in bottom of soup bowls and ladle hot soup on top.
7. Garnish with Parmesan and basil.

Tips:
1. The easiest Italian sausage to use in recipes like this is bulk sausage, usually found near the breakfast sausage are in your local grocery store. If you're worried hot Italian sausage will be too spicy (aka you're Scandinavian), it's fine to use "sweet," or regular.
2. Mafalda pasta looks like mini lasagna noodles.(I will pause here for us all to embrace the cute.) But if you can't find it - and I can't, right now - feel free to use bowtie or even penne pasta in its place. I often use campanelle, or bellflowers, just because I think they are pretty.
3. If you can find the fresh mozzarella balls known as bocconcini, use those for this recipe. It's easy to throw three or four balls of cheese in the bottom of each soup bowl and call it good. If you can't find bocconcini, feel free to dice up any fresh mozzarella you can find. It will all melt the same, and what we're after here is easy meltability. (Totally a word.) Every bowl should have its own soft little nuggets of wonderfulness.
4. Does the price of basil in the winter bring you down? (Plus, it's not exactly seasonal, is it.) Then use a drizzle of pesto in its place. You get the same fresh herb flavor at half the cost.

August

Summer is finally slowing down and stretching out, like long shadows on a lazy afternoon. June and July were energetic. Three different VBS weeks, baseball, family camp, drama, church activities. We practically ran from one event to the other, powered by the drugs of early morning sunshine and fresh cut grass.

But eventually, the adrenaline wears off and tempers wear thin. Structure, even fun structure, becomes a prison. And so we limped into August and fell head-first into a calendar filled with nothing but white space.

So here we are, week three of August. We have three weeks of summer vacation left. And I'm starting to feel my shoulders relax and come down from their perch by my ears. These are the days when I make plans with friends because the openness of our days scares me a little, when I let the kids stay up until 11:00 to watch family videos, when I say, "Oh, all right" when asked if they can have a treat after eating a paltry serving of vegetables.

This is the summer Sabbath. A time to rest, for sure. To recharge and refresh. But also to celebrate and enjoy the work of our hands. August is when I remember how much I like being with my kids when we have no demands intruding on us. It's when I treasure the simplicity of life as it is right now, when I have enough silence in my soul to behold it. Little ones in fresh-smelling pajamas. Connor and Natalie laughing over a video. The sound of lullabies competing with the hush of the trees after dark.

These are the days I wish August could last forever.

Coffee, Smoothie and Lucky Charms: Life at 43

I turned 43 last week. On my birthday, I posted this picture on Instagram.

Birthday breakfast: Casi Cielo in a French press, a spinach-berry-OJ smoothie - and a few handfuls of Lucky Charms straight out of the box. Because #YOLO - and at 43, I really know the truth of that.

A photo posted by Kelly (@kellyatlovewell) on Jan 13, 2015 at 9:23am PST

It made me laugh - because Lucky Charms at 43 feels vaguely rebellious. But as the day passed, I began to think of it as prophetic. That breakfast is a fairly accurate snapshot of my life at this age.

Coffee: I know what I need. I am comfortable in my own skin. I'm not wasting any more time "looking for myself." I'm right here. I know myself, and I like her. Certainly, I have flaws; I have accepted that I cannot do everything I want or be everything to everyone. But I am OK with that now. I am done striving. I feast daily on grace. Give me this day my daily coffee. It's what I need to get through.

Smoothie: At 43, I am not who I was when I was 23. This seems obvious, but it's not when you are the one inside your own skin. It takes wisdom and observance to realize that age is happening to you. Change is required. Maturity doesn't just happen. So a few years ago, I stopped eating empty calories. I cut out obligations not suited to me, fighting the guilt that says "but you should; there's a need." I created margin in my life. I went to bed at night. I started to work out again - gingerly, after four babies. I gained new respect for my body, this physical frame that carries me through. I fell deeper in love with my husband. I started listening only to Jesus, and stopped craving other people's approval. I discovered what it's like to be nourished. My new way of life became less about what I gave up and more about how good I felt on this side of the divide. That's when change has roots. So now I start most days with a spinach-berry-OJ smoothie - not because I have to or because I fear gaining weight if I eat toast or because I want to appear Pinterest-worthy. I drink that smoothie because I love it. I do it for me, and for the God who made me.

Lucky Charms: I want to grow in wisdom and love and grace and truth. But I do not want to grow into a person who is dour and practical and predictable. Life is a gift. So let's celebrate! Have a dance party! Teach the kids to love Bon Jovi! Go for ice cream at bedtime! Love someone anonymously! Carry granola bars and water in the car to give to the homeless! Sing loud! Mourn with those who mourn. Laugh with those who laugh. Savor the sunset. Every dawn, a new party is laid before us. At 43, I'm done missing it. I color my hair aquamarine and purple, and I dance my heart out at Zumba, and I make no apologies.

This is good news for my friends who are 23 or even 33. It's your choice, of course, but life can get better with each passing year. Pain cannot dull the colors, loss cannot diminish the gift. It just grows more precious and beautiful.

At 43, I know what I need, I know who I am, and I've learned to savor. I'd say that's learning to love well.

Boo Your Neighbors: A Halloween Chain Letter In Real Life

You know what's harder than choosing a costume for Halloween?

Waiting for Halloween.

By this point in mid-October, my kids are whipped into a fun-sized frenzy. Costumes are paraded nightly, and their merits debated. Halloween classics are read (the Great Pumpkin feels less offensive in print), Halloween-themed TV shows are watched (our family favorite is the The Backyardigans - It's Great To Be A Ghost). At least three times every day, someone asks me, with an exasperated sigh, "Is Halloween tomorrow now, Mommy?"

Anticipation can be excruciating.

But fear not, gentle parents. I have a solution. Channel that pent-up energy and Boo Your Neighbors.




Under the guise of darkness, choose two of your favorite neighbors (preferably those with kids, but I imagine kids of all ages would enjoy this). Quietly creep to their doorstep and leave a bag of treats*, a You've Been Boo'd sign and an explanation of the game. (Both are below.) Try not to giggle as you sneak away.

And then watch and wait, as Boo signs mysteriously show up all over your street between now and Halloween.

It's like a chain letter - only with candy instead of a curse.

You can download PDF's of the the Boo sign and game explainer below. Or make your own! Use some more of your kids fevered excitement and let them go with markers.

Halloween Boo poem and directions
You've Been Boo'd sign

Happy Haunting.

*We all know you have an open bag of Halloween candy in your house right now. It's OK. No shame.

Seasons Change

Cold is coming. That’s what the meteorologists say. Never mind that it's only the second week in September and that most everyone in the Upper Midwest is near panicked about summer's end. Nope. Weather don't care. A Canadian cold front is coming in with a left hook. Highs in the 50s with a cold rain, they predict. Gray. Maybe even frost in the outer suburbs.

Teach us to number our days of sun, Lord, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

The dire forecast certainly sent a tingle of terror down my spine. But more than that, it gave me permission to wallow in the last few days, which were perfect to the point of myth. Blue skies, crisp breeze, bright sun that caressed my skin with warmth. “There, there, baby. I’m not gone yet.” The purple and orange coneflowers hosted a honey bee frat party, and the pool was filled, one last time, with laughing, splashing children.

It was glorious. And I relished it more because I knew it was about to change.

This is the lesson of the seasons: change is constant. So you best keep your eyes wide open for the gift of today.

My kids started school last week. There was the normal adjustment: Teyla started first grade - she's gone all day now, riding the big yellow bus to and from school with her older brother - and Kieran is in preschool three mornings a week. But for the most part, this is a well-worn groove. We know this dance. We all get up between 7:00 and 7:30, we leave the house at the same time each morning. I know every possible route to Natalie's private school, I can guess what each child wants for lunch. Everyone gets home around 4:00. It's safe. Predictable.

But I see signs of change ahead.

Next fall, Natalie starts high school, and a public high school at that. Connor will transition to middle school. And Kieran, my baby, will start all-day, everyday kindergarten.

Whew. Left hook to a momma's heart. That's a lot of transition coming for me in 2015. Good stuff, even great stuff. But all of it involves heaping piles of change.

Which is why I'm savoring this year, The Year Before. I'm 42 now. I have experience with seasons. I have learned to step back and use all my senses to treasure today. Natalie, tall and tanned, embracing her new role as oldest on campus. Basking in her last year with her friends before the high school diaspora. Connor, relaxing in to his second year at his new school. Deepening friendships, growing comfortable with routines and expectations. Teyla, delighting in first grade and the new friends and the new teacher. For her, it's all discovery and giggles. Even Kieran, dipping his toes in the educational pool and then happily joining me back at home, where he can snuggle and play guys and do karate without a single distraction or care.

I've said before, these are the good days. I know it.

And this year, I'm savoring it. Open wide my eyes. Listen. Laugh. Drink it all in, every last bit.

Because I love every season. But the one I'm in is always my favorite.

A Lament for Summer

Subtitled: The First Person to Rejoice Over the Return Of All Things Pumpkin Gets Slugged



Take back thy fall leaves on the ground
Take back thy colors all around

Take back thy pumpkin spice latte
Take back thy apple scented days

Take back thy scarves, thy boots and coats
Take back thy caps (you know, eh, toques)

Take back thy cool nights bright with moon
You come too quick, you come too soon

Take back thy school bus rumbling through
Take back thy chill morns wet with dew

Take back thy pumpkins, gourds and wheat
Take back thy cheers and football cleats

Take back this season, though but fair,
’Tis not the time for autumn’s prayer

I need more heat and pool and sun
More golden days beg to be spun

Give me sloth and hair that's wet
I'm not done with summer yet

But in four weeks, come back, thou fall
Your glory, then, I welcome, all

Just kindly sibling winter ditch
That season really is a ...
That season really makes me twitch

My sincere apologies to dear friends who are real poets, but that picture at the top is one I took on Labor Day - the sumac are already turning crimson. Thus, passion was unleashed, and this ditty was born.

The Golden Days

The wind blew crazy Sunday morning. The treetops pirouetted against the sapphire sky and the leaves skittered along the pavement and the dragonflies stayed low to the grass and tried in vain to make headway.

I went outside in my pajamas just to feel its wildness on my skin. It lashed my eyes and twisted my hair and snuck down into my soul, where it tugged like a hurricane. Faster, faster, it whispered. I bring change on my wings. You cannot stop me. 

And I whispered right back, I know, alright? I know. But I have two days left.

Simmer down, wind. Simmer down.

----------

Summer has been golden this year - piled high with laughter and sunshine and laziness like a triple-scoop ice cream. I've fairly rolled around in it like pig in slop. We didn't go on any big trips, choosing instead to stay close to home and do ... well, a whole lot of nothing. We swam every chance we got, we spontaneously met friends at the park which turned into pizza dinners at someone's house which turned into sleepovers "please mom please mom please." The big kids spent days watching YouTube videos of other people playing and narrating Minecraft, sort of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 for the next generation. The little kids went camping in their bedrooms, which essentially meant cramming backpacks with two of every toy in the house (tiny little Noahs) and then leaving them for me to discover under beds, in closets, in bathtubs. Teyla spent hours crouched low in the yard, one finger out, patiently willing dragonflies to land on her. Kieran taught himself to swim in our pool, going from life-jacket-only in June to jumping off the diving board by himself in August, part ninja, part fish, bobbing up from sparkling water with a smile and a yell.

It was the best stuff of life.

These are the sweet days, I know it. Natalie turned 13 in July. She's almost as tall as me and her thick mane of chestnut hair stretches long down her back. She takes selfies like its her natural language (which it is, I suppose) and she texts with friends from school and when I hug her good night, I close my eyes and hug tight because just a few days ago, she was my baby, and now she's emerging woman. Connor is as wirey and bronzed as some mythical snake. He does perfect dives into the pool and when he laughs, he wrinkles his nose and throws his hair back and his sun-streaked blond hair shimmers.

This summer shone brighter than the sun.

I've told many friends that I'm in a near panic about going back to school this year. I'm not ready to return to early to bed and early to rise, I'm not ready to pack lunches every day, I'm not ready to return to schedules and traffic and deadlines. I've grown quite accustomed to waking up whenever I want and doling out breakfast between 10:00 and noon and serving chips and homemade salsa for lunch and eating dinner only when everyone is hungry. Bedtime lately has been well after dark, almost always after 10:00, if I'm honest and feeling brave enough to admit that on the Internet. I'm not ready to give up days where getting dressed means putting on a dry swim suit and we can fall asleep on chair cushions watching the clouds meander across the sky.

Mostly, I'm not ready to give up my kids. I will miss each one of them when they go back to school on Tuesday. I will miss the time we've spent together this summer, just being. I will miss them as they are in this season, this moment - tanned, laughing, bored, relaxed. I will miss them so much my soul will ache.

So simmer down wind. I know I can't control you, and I know you are a harbinger of change. But I've got two more days. Still time for one more swim and one more snuggle.

I don't intend to waste a moment of this golden summer.

Here, Taste This : Thai Quinoa Salad with Peanut Lime Dressing

If I had to give this summer a theme, it would be - Just Go With It.

If not observing strict bedtimes makes your evenings stress-free, just go with it.

If watching "Days of our Lives" every night while you clean the kitchen brings you an odd sort of comforting joy, just go with it. (EJ DiMera is in prison, Sami is on a rampage, John Black is in a coma, Hope's eyebrows still shoot sky-high at the end of every scene she's in. All is as it should be in Salem. It makes me strangely happy.)

If staying off social media is a breath of fresh air, just go with it.

And if you discover a salad you like so much, you make it every week, just go with it. Variety is over-rated anyway, right?

We first met, the salad and I, at a friend's house back in March. I was smitten with the first bite: nutty quinoa, crunchy cabbage and peppers, bits of carrots and red onion and cilantro and peanuts - held together with a Thai-inspired dressing that is the perfect blend of natural peanut butter, ginger, honey, soy sauce and lime juice. It bursts with color, texture and oh-my-word-you-have-to-smell-this aroma. It's the kind of salad that pairs perfectly with grilled chicken or, my favorite, spicy shrimp. Or you can just eat it for lunch every day for the entire summer. Like you do.

Just go with it.


Thai Quinoa Salad with Peanut Lime Dressing

3/4 cup uncooked quinoa
2 cups chopped red cabbage
1 red bell pepper, diced
1/4 red onion, diced
1 cup shredded carrots
1/2 cup peanuts
1/2 cup chopped cilantro
1/4 cup diced chives

Dressing:
1/4 cup natural peanut butter
2 tsp fresh grated ginger
3 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tsp sesame oil
1 tsp olive oil
juice of 1 lime

Directions:
1. Rinse quinoa with cold water in a mesh strainer until water runs clear. This removes the bitterness sometimes associated with quinoa. In a medium saucepan, boil 1-1/2 cups water. Add in quinoa and return mixture to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low and let it simmer for 15 minutes or so, until quinoa has absorbed all the water. Remove from heat and fluff with a fork. Place in a large bowl and set aside to cool. (Note: This should result in about 2 cups of quinoa.)
2. Make the dressing. Mix peanut butter and honey in a microwave safe-bowl and heat in microwave for 30 seconds, so they will be easier to combine. Add in ginger, soy sauce, vinegar, the oils and the lime juice. Stir until mixture is smooth and creamy.
3. Add dressing to quinoa. Stir to combine.
4. Fold in the cabbage, red pepper, onion, carrots, peanuts, cilantro and chives. Garnish with extra peanuts, chives and lime slices, if desired. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Tips:
1. Hello Salad Adaptable. Do you have cashews in your cupboard instead of peanuts? Sub 'em in. Want to try honey-roasted peanuts in place of the naked version? Do it. Want to skip the cilantro because it makes you gag? Sigh. If you have to.
2. Go make this. Right now. That is my biggest tip.

The Parenting Fog

I call it The Parenting Fog.

It's easy to slip into, especially in the summer. We get home from a camping trip, we finish up a week of VBS, the relatives leave after a fun visit - and everyone collapses. Fun plus exhaustion plus emotional hyperactivity minus sleep minus vegetables equals a deflated balloon of a person. So everyone retreats to their own corners.

In my house, that means the big kids ingest hefty doses of screens. Connor plays Minecraft eight hours a day, Natalie watches equal amounts of "Good Luck Charlie." The little kids split their time between Netflix and playing "school" which involves getting out every type of toy we own and putting one of each kind into a backpack to shlep around their bedrooms. And me? I stare at Facebook and various news websites for hours on end.

In the back of our little brains, the whole engine is going "chug, chug, chug, put this memory over there, chug, chug, file this big thought, chug, chug, do that better next time, chug, chug."

I maintain it's a necessary and even healthy stage of summer survival.

The only problem is: like a bad houseguest, it tends to overstay its visit.

I know this, because last Wednesday - after two weeks of family visiting us plus Fourth of July celebrations plus a week of VBS plus Corey leaving for North Korea the same day the last family members flew home - I entered that stage. I descended blissfully, I'll have you know. "Have at the screens, kids," I mumbled before sitting at my desk with Facebook open. The fog enveloped me like a blanket, and I sighed with pleasure at the nothingness.

But by Saturday, the sun was breaking through. The fog started to dissolve a little. I could make out shapes. What is that - a child? He's hungry? Bizarre. Do I have children? What day is it?

And slowly, ever so slowly, I felt strength and determination return.

That is the moment I decided - hey, this mothering gig. I'm not doing a great job at it - unless you count throwing cheese sticks and granola bars at the fog shapes and calling it a day. Maybe I could get off my arse, put limits on screen time and actually BE with my children.

Novel, no?

So Monday, I started over. I parented with intentionality again. I made breakfast for my kids and listened to their stories, instead of retreating with my coffee to my desk. ("I wonder if anyone on Facebook has posted something in the last five minutes?") I made plans to get out of the house. We spent an afternoon at the park on the beach. We dug holes in the sand and ate chips under the trees and marveled at the fall-like temperatures. We took Teyla to gymnastics lessons and instead of pulling out the phone, Kieran and I played tag and catch and let's see who can hit the wall harder. We went to the final baseball games of the season and cheered Connor and his team and basked in the just-warm-enough sunshine and gaped at the best summer sunsets.

It only took a few days for me to remember - oh yeah, I actually like this parenting gig. It's hard and at times it's tedious and at times it's maddening. But it's summer and I don't want to waste one glorious golden moment with the people I love.

Bring on the second half of the best season, I say. Here comes the sun. And it always brings grace with it.

On Being Creative

It was one of those gorgeous summer evenings, when the concept of time relaxes into a hammock with a lemonade. The sun slanted through the leaves, the tree frogs started singing, the breeze blew just strong enough to dry the sweat on my neck and keep the mosquitos at bay. It made weeding the planting beds almost a joy.

But my four children weren't as lulled. When I finally walked inside the house at 7:30, they were famished. "What's for dinner, Mom?" they asked with varying degrees of desperation.

I opened the fridge and surveyed the leftovers. Half a cup of mac-and-cheese. Some chicken fajita slices. The pasta and ham dish I had made the night before to a lack of fanfare. Not enough for a meal.

Then it's breakfast for diner, I thought to myself, and I reached for my recipe box to sniff out some ideas. Initially I was drawn to the waffles. Peanut butter waffles are good with bananas and offer some protein. Oatmeal cinnamon waffles with yogurt and strawberries are always a hit.

But then I saw Ina Garten's Omelet for Two, and I instantly knew: this is it. I pulled out the thick-cut, applewood bacon and set it to sizzling on the stovetop. I chopped potatoes, onions and jalapeño and heard the Barefoot Contessa music in my head. It felt good to cook, even after a long day bent in half, even though my fingernails still bore the tell-tale signs of tiny black crescent moons. I tasted a bacon crackling as I spooned them out of the pan, and I heard Ina say, "How good is that?" The potatoes sizzled in the bacon grease and I whipped together a batch of biscuits to satisfy the kids.

By the time we sat down to eat, I was renewed. The act of cooking - the weight of the knife, the crisp of the vegetables, the smells of the jalapeño and the onion cooking in the pan - it had reinvigorated me.

Creativity is life-giving.

Recharge

Yesterday was a gloriously odd Monday - I had nothing to do. Two of my children were at school, but the one who requires me driving her back and forth had the day off. Bible study was cancelled because of Easter. It was a perfectly beautiful, completely empty-of-duties type of day.

My first thought was - I should write. Words are stirring again in my soul. Lately, it's the lack of time more than a lack of desire that keeps me absent from the page. But when I sat down in front of the computer, the muse hid her face. Nothing grabbed me. I spent two hours halfheartedly rearranging paragraphs and tinkering with words (and checking Facebook and reading blogs and my favorite news sites) before I gave up.

I decided to give my brain a break and work with my hands.

This is a lesson I've learned slowly, but it has become solid truth for me. Those of us who play with words, who talk, write and read for a living, sometimes the best thing we can do is walk away from the letters and create with a different medium.

Gretchen Rubin, in her inspiring and fascinating book, The Happiness Project, writes:

Long ago, I read the writer Dorothea Brande’s warning that writers are too inclined to spend their time on wordy occupations like reading, talking and watching TV, movies and plays. Instead, she suggested, writers should recharge themselves with language-free occupations like listening to music, visiting museums, playing solitaire or taking long walks alone.

So yesterday, I did just that. I turned off my computer, which is more serious than simply walking way, and I stepped outside into the gorgeous sunshine. I grabbed my garden shears and my green gloves with the hole in the finger and I set to work cutting back the dead plants in the garden. I snapped off tall hydrangea limbs, brown and brittle, topped with delicate chestnut mop heads. I cut down spires of autumn joy sedum and discovered tightly coiled green shoots right below them, ready to burst forth. I clipped the grasses that stand as tall as a sentry mid-summer, but which now bend crooked and worn after a winter of too much snow. I stopped to rub my back now and again, because I'm 42, and when Kieran said, "Mom, there's a worm!" I walked over to find a baby garter snake on the cover of our pool, desperately trying to make the climb to the surface but unable to scale the near-vertical wall. (We got him out and deposited all five inches of him down near the creek. I only shuddered once.) (Hashtag Minnesota mom.)

At lunch, I came in and decided - nope, still too many words. So I did some laundry and I washed and stored the kids' winter gear - which means, yes, I've cursed the entire Midwest to a freak late-season blizzard. I'm sorry. It was me. I laid Kieran down for a nap and I slept a bit myself. I went back outside and just sat in the sun and listened to the birds sing, carefree in the care of God. I flipped through a magazine and admired the pretty pictures, sort of a nondigital Pinterest.

By day's end, my body was spent - but my soul was oddly filled.

It was a good day for a writer, even though I hadn't written a word.

Mourning on Easter

These are dark days for those of us walking the milestones of Jesus. The final week, the last supper, those torturous hours in the garden. It is darkness and dread and fear and suspicion. The air is thick with shrieking evil, and though our eyes perceive it not, our soul knows full and well: this is the end.

Have you grieved through Easter? I have. And Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, they were cool balms on my raging wounds. They reminded me that it is not all celebration and happy endings and easy answers in the kingdom. No, there is plenty of despair and desperation here. Even the Man-God cried out for relief from it.

We are not alone.

We are not alone when we sob into the carpet, we are not alone when we think, "I can't do this! I can't stand one more minute of this pain!" We are not alone when we are numb and lonely and the fog hides us from life, from love. We are not alone when the easy answers make us spit with rage, when we shake our fist at heaven and shout, "How dare you? HOW DARE YOU allow this?"

This is why Jesus came. He came as Emmanuel, God with us, and he entered our torment because he couldn't stand to see us being crushed by it. He took the burden on his own shoulders, and even now, he stands with us - with you - right under it.

Yes, Sunday is coming, and Easter's glory outshines our pain.

But the celebration is flat without the agony of the shadow weekend. It is the darkness dissipating that makes us fall to our knees in wonder and relief and worship. The deeper the wound, the more deeply we are filled with joy, and we learn firsthand what Jesus' first disciples knew: that sorrow is the depth that adds dimension to our rejoicing.

Blessed are those who mourn.

San Diego Spring Break, Part 2

Part two of the memories, stories and lessons from our spring break trip to San Diego; part one - including how travel is getting easier for us these days and the simple joys of being outside in March - can be found here. 

Not everything on vacation has to be about us.

I love taking our kids on vacation. I love anticipating the fun and making plans. I love being in a different setting - especially when that involves escaping winter - and I love the memories and connections that happen when we have time to be fully together.

But I do worry that vacations will becomes just one more extravaganza for my kids. We have so much already, and I will fight to my dying days the entitlement that privileges seem to breed.

So when Corey told me his organization, Feed the Children, happened to be hosting on a charity event when we were in San Diego, I jumped at the chance to take a day off from focusing on us and focus on others instead.

Thus, our second full day in San Diego, we found ourselves standing outside in the bright sunshine in a parking lot just a few miles from Mexico, loading boxes from Feed the Children into the cars of 800 military families who had been preselected by the Armed Services YMCA.

Two Feed the Children semi-trucks were the backdrop - along with a battalion of Navy and Marines servicemen and women. We worked alongside them to hand out a trio of boxes that contained food, household supplies and a special box from Avon for the women of the house.

Truth: our kids were a little intimidated to be surrounded by so many "soldiers," and yes, there were a few moments of "I'm hot, I'm hungry, how much longer?" But for the most part, spending a morning serving others was a great adventure for our little tribe, and hopefully, by taking their focus off themselves for a few hours, it made the fun to come even more meaningful.

My ideal trip is a mix of familiar and foreign.

I discovered something on our trip to San Diego. The perfect vacation, for me, combines familiarity and discovery. Traveling to a city that's completely unknown is too much chaos at this stage of life to enable relaxation. I like going to a place where I already how to get around town, where I already have a few destinations in mind, where I don't have to scramble just to find a place to grab lunch.

San Diego is that sweet spot for us. We know the traffic patterns, we know the cities, we know the locale of our favorite restaurants. We have friends to visit and favorite haunts to swing by. But since we stayed with my brother in northern San Diego County, about 45 minutes north of where we used to live, there was also plenty to explore.

My brother's neighborhood, in particular, delighted me to no end. I took a walk every day; one morning, I even walked to Trader Joe's, which sits at the business end of the mixed-use development, and bought cream for my coffee. I mean, really. I walked to Trader Joe's. I constantly poured over the variety of housing styles in his neighborhood. On Facebook, I showed off four of my favorites. We visited new beaches, new parks, new restaurants. We made memories and discoveries without the stress that sometimes accompanies exploration.

Maybe best of all:

Staying with family on vacation is the frosting on the perfect vacation cake.

This isn't always possible, but for the record: I highly advise having family live in popular tourist destinations. My brother, Michael, and his lovely wife, Kristen, were impeccable hosts - letting us use their house, their kitchen, even their laundry. Our kids adored having cousins to play with, not to mention all the new toys to play with - including this dream playhouse in Michael's backyard.

Because we stayed with family, we were able to pack healthy lunches for our adventures, instead of eating out every meal. Because we stayed with family, we were able to swim in the neighborhood pool and have floaties for everyone. We used their toys when we went to the park, their towels when we went to the beach, their fridge to store our leftovers.

And the crowning glory: because we stayed with family, our kids had extended time to play with their cousins and get to know them. That was the real joy of this trip - building new connections with family.

Up next: a few of our favorite things to do in San Diego.

San Diego Spring Break

We spent spring break in San Diego this year, something you surely know if you follow me on Instagram or Facebook. Ever since we got back, almost two weeks ago, I've worn the silliest grin, even as we re-entered daily life and Corey left on a work trip and Minnesota had the audacity to (gasp) snow. I didn't care, not much anyway. It was a great trip, and I'm still basking in the glow.

I intended to do a photo-heavy post to sum up our trip in one fell swoop. But then I downloaded my pictures and looked through them all and I realized: I have more than one post here. This is the good stuff. I don't want to skimp on this in a rush to get to the next thing. So permit me a few days of snapshots and stories, like we used to do in the dinosaur age of blogging. This is the story of my family and our experiences, and the beautiful thing about sharing these memories here is that my story is often your story too.

Travel is getting easier.

We flew from Minneapolis to Los Angeles, even though our eventual destination was my brother's place in northern San Diego, because LAX has more flights and it's easier to redeem frequent flyer points at the busy airports. Our kids are pretty used to flying at this point; Connor has stopped packing weapons in his carry-on (there was that one time we forgot to tell him he couldn't take a pocketknife on the plane; thank you, Lord, for giving us TSA agents with a sense of humor), and since Corey is TSA-Pre, he can take the kids through the expedited security line, which makes everything easier.

Still, California is a good 3.5 hour flight away from home. It used to be, I packed snacks and new toys and a coloring books and a variety of clothes, diapers and blankets just to get us through.

Not anymore. At some point, on our way out, I looked across at our family row, three deep on either side. Natalie was reading a book, Teyla was playing on her Leap Pad, Connor was playing Minecraft on the iPad. Corey was working on his laptop, I was reading a magazine and Kieran was asleep on my leg.

No one was fidgeting, no one was fighting, no one had just dropped their marker for the 30th time and wanted me to bend myself into a pretzel to retrieve it from under the seat. They were all taking care of themselves. They were happy and peaceful and able to sit still without reminders.

"Oh my word. We've made it," I whispered to Corey, nodding at the relative peace around us. "I never thought we'd get to this stage, but here we are."

And then my heart burst into a million tiny pieces of confetti, because it's true. Don't give up hope, parents of toddlers and preschoolers. You'll make it too.

California is still my home.

I said on Facebook: Every time I walk out of LAX, I inhale deeply and smile. I know that distinctive smell is 95% smog, but it is so familiar and distinctively Southern California, I can't help it. Happy to be "home."

And this is true. My heart skips a beat when I spy the Pacific Ocean, racing alongside us as we head south on the 5 toward San Diego. The familiar hills, the bright flowers, the traffic on six lanes of freeway, the Tejano music on half the radio stations. It all reminds me of the decade we spent living and rooting ourselves in California. A spring break trip to San Diego would be awesome for anyone, but for Corey and I, it was also a sweet reunion.

When you've been surrounded by snow for 3.5 months, all it takes for a morning of fun is green grass.

Our first day in Carlsbad, in northern San Diego County, we decided to take it easy. We investigated the many playgrounds in my brother's adorable neighborhood. The kids were thrilled just to be running on green grass. Teyla performed a full dance recital for Corey and me, as we sat on a bench in the sunshine and drank our morning coffee.

Connor launched foam rockets, one of the many outdoor doors we were encouraged to borrow from my brother's garage. Natalie led her siblings in a game of pirates versus ninjas. It was glorious just to be outside and not be cold.

That afternoon, at yet another park, the kids took turns rolling down the hills.

It wasn't until they stopped and said, "Our arms itch!" that I remembered Southern California grass is coarsely cut. Each of our downhill rollers had tiny scraps and scratches all over their arms, like a thin road rash.

Note to my SoCal friends: in Minnesota, the worst a downhill roll will do is stain your jeans.

Up next: Familiarity vs discovery, we make our kids work on vacation and staying with family.