I Hate to Complain, But . . . - August 18, 2010

Do you ever have one of those days, the ones where all you want to do is curl up in bed and shut the world outside, but then when you do, nothing seems to get any better? That's my day today.
It all started last night when I essentially didn't sleep. I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping these days. I'm getting more and more uncomfortable as the days go by, and getting discouraged right along with it because I there are three more months of this. Waking up every hour is frustrating, having to switch positions every time I wake up leaves me cranky and feeling like I'm a bother to my husband, and in those moments when I actually do drift off to sleep, I find myself in the middle of the strangest dreams I've ever had, dreams that are usually disturbing or horrifying. It makes for a terrible night sleep and a very sleepy me in the morning.

Last night was worse because my throat felt like it was on fire all night. No amount of water would quell this burn; I thought it was all because we had a fan on last night, but we always have a fan on and this doesn't happen. After I (finally) got up this morning, nothing seemed to help, and my body just felt "off." I've spent my day doing just about nothing, except sleeping, reading, and watching just a little bit of tv. I wish I could say I felt better now that the day's almost over, but I don't. On top of feeling physically crummy, I'm feeling emotionally crummy as well. It's as if I've lost all strength.

I think today I just want to complain, not because it makes anything better, but because sometimes complaining is the only thing that seems to validate my feelings. Does that ever happen to you?
And yet I know that complaining isn't exactly the "right" thing to do. I know deep down (well, not even all that deep down) that complaining often just makes things worse. The problem is, today I can't figure out what would make me feel better.

On top of feeling sick, I feel stuck in so many ways, like I know what I want to do, but am unable to do any of it. I feel like my life is at a standstill.

Oh, it's not all bad. There are lots of good things about life right now. My attitude, however, is what is bad today, and feeling sick makes it all worse. I'm over our life right now. I'm not over Joey, nor am I over the idea that we're going to be parents in three short months. But there are aspects of life I'm over. I'm over being at my parents' house (even though they are being incredibly gracious and generous), I'm over feeling like we are always just barely scraping by financially, I'm over feeling like we're not making any headway whatsoever in our quest to pay down our debt (oh, how I loathe you, student loans!). I'm over being frustrated with where we are in life, I guess.

Most days my attitude is better. Most days I can easily see all the good in our lives and every blessing the Lord has graciously given us. But today, all I want to do is feel normal again. I just don't feel like myself and I'm at a loss to know how to get back to that girl I used to know. I liked her. But this girl? She's sort of a mess.

But I guess in our own ways, we're all messes, aren't we? The encouraging thing is that God loves us in our messiness. He digs it when we tell him how much we need him, doesn't he? And that's the point: we need him. We can't go this alone. Life doesn't work without him. After all, the joy of the Lord is our strength, right? And today, when I feel devoid of all my reserves of the stuff, I need to go back to the source.

The Art of Saying Thank You - August 10, 2010

Last week some very generous people from our church gave us a beautiful crib set, the kind that we’d only dream of purchasing ourselves but never would. It was an answer to prayer, a smile from God straight down upon us, the kind of moment that made me realize that not only was this baby not a mistake, she is purposeful in more ways than one. God is using her to teach Joey and I something about gratitude and humility. 

Saying thank you is pretty easy, right? Someone gives you something, does a kind favor, treats you well, sheesh, even opens the door for you and the automatic polite response is “Thank you.” It’s proper, it’s expected, and sure, it is nice to hear someone say it. But how often do those words really capture just how grateful a person is?

For me, saying thank you can be difficult for a variety of reasons, really. For one, I usually forget to do it in a meaningful way. I’ll usually just say the obligatory “thank you,” fully intending to do something more, and then not following through with my plan. Why? Well, because I get busy and forget to write the thank you cards, or when I do remember them, everything that I can think of to say sounds trite and seems to defeat the whole purpose. But the truth is that my heart deeply feels the thanks that I am trying to express. Those words—thank you—sometimes don’t capture just how thankful I am. Like when these people gave us the crib set. Eeking out a thank you on the phone seemed like it wasn’t enough. Like it couldn’t possibly express to them how profoundly appreciated their generosity is in our lives.

Then there’s another reason why thank you can be difficult for me. Learning to live within the confines of a strict budget makes other people’s generosity all that much more meaningful. When I can’t pay for something on my own, or aren’t sure how I’ll pay for something on my own, I pray that the Lord will provide for whatever my need is (doesn’t everyone?) and I sit and wait to see what God will do. And when he does something, I’m never surprised (because that’s just who God is, right?), but I’m always taken aback at the way he does it. I’m always humbled, reminded that God sees my needs. All of them—even the needs that seem so small and insignificant. But not only does he see them, he knows my heart, too. He knows my desires.

By having this baby, we’ve set a ball in motion. Our family is started, and knowing that we want more than one child, we’ve been thinking about how we can borrow things from our generous friends without needing to go through the cycle of needing baby stuff the next time around (because of course, our friends could be needing their baby things back by then…).  So we held off making a decision on whose “stuff” to borrow. We’d think we made a decision, but then we’d go back on it. It happened a few times. In the end, we decided that we really wanted to have our own baby furniture so that we didn’t have to worry about giving it back. We looked on Craigslist, we scoured sales, and we finally chose something we liked. It was dark wood, which we love, but simple and affordable. It was like the Kia or the Hyundai of the crib industry. Totally functional, but not what we’d have chosen had money not been an issue. Still, we were content with it and thankful we were able to get the money together to purchase it.

The day after we placed the order, I received a call from some people at our church who were moving out of state. They just happened to be going through their storage unit and stumbled upon their daughter’s nursery furniture. They wanted to just get rid of it, so they were curious if we wanted to take it off their hands. As the woman described it to me, my heart began to beat so hard I was convinced I was going to fall over. She described a dark wood sleigh bed-style crib with a matching changing table. These people aren’t the sort that need to spare any expense, so I knew it would be the Mercedes of the crib world—and they wanted to give it to us, free and clear.

Long story short, we cancelled our crib order and accepted their gift. There was a small part of me that felt a bit humbled, like “great, how wonderful to be that couple that needs to rely on the generosity of others to make ends meet…” but then that thought was washed away in a moment when I realized how God not only saw our need, but he saw our desires, too. A crib that is completely ours in the style that we loved. For free.

And that’s just one of the many times God has answered our prayers through the generosity of our friends lately. My best friend Christy stumbled upon a family who was selling infant girls’ clothes for .25 cents a piece—and she got us a big box full! She also gave us some other things from her own stash of baby gear and never thought twice about it. My friend Molly networked with some of her friends and put the word out that we’d be happy to inherit anything baby they were getting rid of, and a good friend of hers who I’ve never even met gave us a bag full of all sorts of things, from a changing table pad to bath towels.

How do I say thank you to these families? A thank you card seems trivial. A simple thank you over the phone is simply not enough. Expressing how I really feel takes more than that, doesn’t it? Saying thank you to the Lord is much easier for me, I think, because he knows my heart. I don’t have to say much at all for him to know how I feel. But making sure people know how God used them, that their perhaps seemingly small gesture was actually something very big and meaningful, that’s something that I want to make sure they understand. Not because I want to be known as someone who gives the best thank you’s, but because it’s important to me for people to know when and how God has used them. So often we go through life wanting God to use us to touch other people’s lives, but very rarely do we know when we actually are being used.

I’m learning that trusting God to provide usually means learning to graciously accept the kindness of others. Sometimes it’s humbling, sometimes it’s exciting, and sometimes (I admit) I don’t recognize it for what it is. In the end, though, I know that God is teaching me that he sees every need and every desire and is always faithful to me, just like he said he would be. It’s a gift to know people who have the heart and generosity of Jesus. My prayer is that I would have those things, too.

An Early Morning Confession - August 6, 2010

It's after four o'clock in the morning and I'm wide awake.  You'd think something profound would be on my mind, or that I was plagued with a bad stomach ache or some sort of miserable something that was preventing me from sleeping. I'm feeling ok-ish...I do have a bit of acid reflux, but it's nothing abnormal these days. No, I'm just awake. And since I'm awake, my mind wanders. And then It starts to play tricks on itself. And then I start to think of things that are absolutely untrue (but are based on some semblance of reality).

Being pregnant makes me feel crazy sometimes. I know it's nothing new and that most women feel that their losing their minds at some point in the process (right?), so I don't pretend to have stumbled upon a new idea here. What I didn't realize was just how "not myself" pregnancy would make me feel. There are certain things, certain convictions, certain choices I made a long time ago about myself, my body, my health that slowly seem to be being laid by the wayside for some reason, like my brain doesn't care what I've chosen before--it's going to take over and reverse all the good I've done for so long. Being healthy, living healthy, are things that have been an integral part of my life for several years now, so much so that it was simply a lifestyle for me. It wasn't a battle--it just was life for me. Making good choices and balancing my nutrient intake was not a problem (most of the time, at least). Sure, I'd have the occasional splurge, but that's just it: it was a splurge.

Today, I splurged. But it's more than that. I mean, I ate crap. Twice. The only veggie I had today was a pathetic little tomato on my burger for dinner. I didn't even have a scrap of fruit. And... I had two servings of french fries today (over the course of two meals, but still...). And you know what? It all tasted great. I didn't regret it after I ate it at first--it felt fine, like "ok, big deal--it's just one day out of life." Sometimes I feel like I need to give myself a break and just eat what sounds good and enjoy the process of being pregnant, not having to worry about every last calorie that passes over my lips. And yet tonight? Now all I can think about is how guilty I feel. How unattractive I suddenly am convinced that I am. How I'm gaining too much weight. How making once in awhile "exceptions" to the way that I typically live adds up, and I'm worried that the consequences will toy with my self-worth.

Awhile ago, Joey and I spoke very candidly about our big life struggles, the things that make us stumble, and how we are working toward wholeness every day. Our battles are very different and for the most part, I think we could have easily told ourselves that they are unrelated. The thing is, they are interdependent. What he struggles with is related to what I struggle with. Our struggles, unchecked, will feed the others' struggle and perhaps even make it worse.

While Joey's struggle is very typical of many men (perhaps even most men), I struggle with something common to women, perhaps even most women. Insecurity, self-image, weight--you know the toxic combination. The bottom line is that so often I don't feel "ok" with who I am. It all goes back to when I was in 5th grade and my mom took me down to our church where they had one of those huge clunky scales like they have in the doctor's office. When I stepped on, she said, "115. Alright, now if you can just stay here, you'll be ok." Ever since then, 115 has been that elusive dream that would mark me as "ok." I wasn't aware of my body or my weight before that point, but have been hyper-aware of it ever since.

It wasn't until I was about 22 that I started making the choice to be healthy, to not worry about my weight while hiding and eating my emotions. Instead, I learned about nutrition, about exercise, about making a lifestyle change, and I had success. I became disciplined and enjoyed the pay off of my efforts. It became so natural to me that it was like breathing. Weight wasn't an issue for me anymore. But I still struggled with insecurity, with feeling like I wasn't "ok" because despite the fact that I was fit, I never hit that coveted 115 mark again.

And now pregnancy is putting me out of control of my ever-expanding waistline. There is nothing I can do to prevent getting bigger. Nothing. And I wouldn't want to not gain weight--hello, I'm not crazy; I know that a woman must gain weight (at least a little) to have a baby. But, well, I don't like gaining weight. I don't like the way it makes me feel. To complicate things more, I don't like the way I feel after giving in to one of my cravings (even though multiple people have assured me that once in awhile is not a big deal...). I know that, in theory. But it's like my mind is split on this: on the one hand, I know I'll be ok, that even if I do get a little chubby during pregnancy, I will be able to lose the weight after the baby is born. On the other hand, I'm afraid to get chubby in the first place. I want to be one of those women who doesn't look pregnant, who doesn't gain anything "extra," and yet, my behavior doesn't always match that. It's like I have a split personality.
So back to where this fits in with Joey's struggle. I learned that our struggles really are fairly similar. It's about lust, in a way. About being drawn to something that we intuitively know is not good for us, a weakness that can take over if we give it an inch. Just like he would naturally want to hide it from me if he "fell" and looked at some image he knew wasn't good for him to look at, I want to hide it from him when I stumble and have a burger & fries. I'm afraid he'll judge me, make me think I'm unattractive, and basically be disgusted with me and surprised by my behavior, like he'd wonder "who is this person--you're not who I married."

And yet, in those moments when he's tempted or has had a close call, he does tell me. Sometimes it takes him a little bit of time, but he still tells me because it's important to him not to hide it from me. No, he doesn't seek the stuff out, but sometimes there are things that pop up on the computer and his eyes linger a little longer than they should. But do I tell him when I stumble? Sometimes. Most of the time I don't because I don't equate food with lust. To me, food is just food, and having something not all that healthy is ok once in awhile, whereas lingering eyes on another female form is never ok, so to speak.

So what do I do with this? I'm not sure. I'm sitting here at (now) 4:30 am pondering this while all I want to do is drown my sorrows in a box of cookies and a glass of milk. And there's a part of me that thinks "Who cares? It's just a cookie. It won't hurt you." And then there's another part of me that knows that I won't feel any better after having eaten the cookies. Not even if it's just one.
Here's the thing that's getting me down tonight: if I'm comfortable enough to spill my guts out to the world at large, I should be comfortable enough to let my own husband know about it, shouldn't I? One would think. And yet being vulnerable with him about stuff like this is harder than writing about it here because he's really the one whose opinion I care about most. And yet, isn't he also the one whose love for me is most secure? He's the one who thinks I'm beautiful, the one who chose me, who is proud of who I am...and he's the one whose disappointment would be the hardest to handle (which is why it's so difficult...).

So I guess what I do is start fresh in the morning, choosing to make the wise choices (including telling my husband about how I'm feeling) and not beat myself up about not reaching that level of perfection that just isn't reality. 

A Dose of Reality - July 27, 2010

This quote was eye-opening for me. Not sure I'll ever be a total locavore (I really, really like bananas...), but it's certainly something profound to think about.

"The main barrier standing between ourselves and a local-food culture is not price, but attitude. The most difficult requirements are patience and a pinch of restraint--virtues that are hardly the property of the wealthy. These virtues seem to find precious little shelter, in fact, in any modern quarter of this nation founded by Puritans. Furthermore, we apply them selectively: browbeating our teenagers with the message that they should wait for sex, for example. Only if they wait to experience intercourse under the ideal circumstances (the story goes), will they know its true value. 'Blah, blah, blah,' hears the teenager: words issuing from a mouth that can't even wait for the right time to eat tomatoes, but instead consumes tasteless ones all winter to satisfy a craving for everything NOW. We're raising our children on the definition of promiscuity if we feed them a casual, indiscriminate mingling of foods from every season plucked from the supermarket, ignoring how our sustenance is cheapened by wholesale desires."

- Barbara Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (page 32).

The Perfect Muffin - July 27, 2010

This morning I wish computers somehow captured smells and transported them to you. Seriously. I'll bet my kitchen smells better than yours does. Well, that is, unless you just pulled out freshly baked banana crumb muffins from your oven like I did. They're intoxicating. Seriously.
Wanna peek?



I tried this recipe after having an enlightening, encouraging, inspiring conversation with my good friend Molly who's on a quest for the perfect muffin. She's experimenting with cooking real food too, but she's got a complication that I don't have quite yet--a 4 year old with an opinion. I'm sure my kids will be the same way some day, but for now, baby number one is at the mercy of what I put in my body.

My favorite story about Molly's son Timmy is that he has to have Mac & Cheese out of the box.
Won't touch the stuff otherwise. How in the world does a 4 year old know the difference (or care about the difference)? I'm sure I'll learn very quickly once mine is out of utero.

Anyway, Molly really wanted to find a stellar muffin recipe, one that tasted really good, good enough for Timmy to want to eat it. And one that perhaps was sneaky about the fact that it was actually good for his little body. Well Molly, I think I found your answer. (And I'm bringing some over to you today for you to try!)

This muffin is so good, I actually think it could be the best one I've ever eaten. It's healthy, too. Sounds like a contradiction in terms, right? Wrong. I can't explain it--you'll just have to trust me.
It's made with whole wheat flour, sucanat (a form of unrefined/minimally processed sugar; it's an abbreviated word for "sugar cane natural"), mashed bananas, plus a few more ingredients you'll see below. The version I made does have some oil in it, but you can substitute apple sauce for the oil instead (I, unfortunately, simply didn't have any in the house...).

Here's the recipe, and here's the picture of how they looked when I pulled them out of the oven. You'll just have to use your imagination for the smell, but I promise you--it's insanely good (particularly if you've got coffee brewing at the same time).
Banana Crumb Muffins

• 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour (whole wheat pastry/soft spring wheat is the best!)
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 3 bananas, mashed
• 3/4 cup sucanat
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 1/3 cup canola oil (or replace with half applesauce, if you'd rather)

Topping, optional:

• 2 Tbsp whole wheat flour
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1/4 cup sucanat, optional

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Lightly grease 12 muffin cups. I use Pam to grease mine, but that may not be the way you'd like to go. Up to you.
2. In a large bowl, mix together 1 1/2 cups flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. In another bowl, beat together bananas, sugar, egg and melted butter. Stir the banana mixture into the flour mixture just until moistened. Spoon batter into prepared muffin cups, filling 3/4 full. They puff up, so make sure not to over fill.
3. Topping (which of course, is optional): In a small bowl, mix together 1/4 cup sucanat , 2 tablespoons flour and cinnamon. Cut in 1 tablespoon butter until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Sprinkle topping over muffins.
4. Bake in preheated oven for 18 minutes, (a toothpick inserted into center of a muffin should come out clean at this point. If it doesn't, give it another two minutes or so). 

Original recipe from PassionateHomemaking.com; I only changed a few minor things, but feel free to peruse that site for the original. It's a great site with inspiring posts (and lots of recipes!)

Reconnecting with an Old Friend and Discovering Something New-July 18, 2010

Last week I visited an old friend, one I hadn't spend time with in quite a long time (probably since I graduated from college...). Our relationship had always been a good one; I always walked away from our visits feeling fulfilled, knowing that I'd learned something from our time together. I felt inspired, empowered, and eager to return again soon.

Yes, the library. I stopped going because, well, I'm not sure why. Perhaps because it became more fashionable to visit the shiny new bookstore with my latte in hand. The problem is, I couldn't walk away from the stores with anything I wanted. I had to pick out just one thing--if that--and take a chance on whether it was what I really wanted. Oh, I miss roaming around the bookstore looking for a treasure to add to my bookshelf, particularly old bookstores where treasures can actually be found. But I've rediscovered the joy of the library this week. It was there when I needed it, eager to show me the things I yearned to find, and generous enough to let me walk away with them, if only for a little while.

These days, every dollar--every cent, really--counts. When I took it upon myself to start learning all I could about organic living, my first instinct was to rush off to the bookstore and find the newest, most reliable, most relevant title I could find. Usually I'd be able to rationalize such a purchase since it was for the betterment of my mind, and not just an impulsive, frivolous purchase (which I concede has its place, too). But this time, I truly did not have a cent to spare. If I wanted to get my hands on real books to teach me what I wanted to know, I was forced to return to the library. I'm so glad I did.

I found several things there, but here are the three that are most profoundly challenging everything I know about food and forcing me to rethink consumerism in a way that I'm actually thankful for. Becoming a deliberate, intentional consumer is something that is really quickly becoming extremely important to me. I'm truly surprised how deeply convicted I've become over this topic. I won't get preachy, but what I will say is that these three titles opened my eyes, stirred my heart, and encouraged me to find ways to take action, even if the steps are small at first.

1. King Korn (2008). Joey and I watched this last night and were surprised at some of the interesting points it brings up. The movie starts out with two best friends who set out to discover why our generation is the first to have a shorter life expectancy than our parents. Their investigation led them to find out that their bodies are made up primarily of corn (in other words, their diet primarily originates from corn). Crazy. The movie  opened our eyes to just how industrialized farming has become. Not just farming, but corn farming in particular. How strange that Iowa grows enough corn to feed the entire US, but none of it is edible; instead, it's destined to become ethanol, corn syrup, or cow feed. We were saddened and a bit disgusted at how sick America has become due to the overproduction of corn. This movie created lines of communication between us that I am so thankful for. Not to mention the fact that we were able to talk with my parents about it and encourage them to watch it too. I think this will be the catalyst for change in our family.

2. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (2008). This book is a great combination of storytelling and expose. Kingsolver recounts the year-long commitment her family made to eating locally and divulges eye-opening truths about the food industry that they learned along the way, everything from how conventional beef is fed, slaughtered and shipped, to the sheer amount of fossil fuel that is used to deliver food to our table. Plus, her daughter inserts her own anecdotes that are quite entertaining and encouraging, and she includes a few recipes that look absolutely delicious. No, not everyone is capable of making as dramatic a change as the Kingsolver Clan (they own a little farm in Kentucky), but the book does give practical encouragement for ways that we can make a difference. I don't know about you, but I'm all for practicality.

3. Sarah Snow's Fresh Living by Sarah Snow (2009). This book was more practical than Kingsolver's, but it was equally eye-opening for me. I took a particular interest in the chapter about making a green nursery (since I'll have a newborn in less than 4 months...). Not only does Snow offer advice about how to live green, but she also explains reasons why it's so important. Green has become such a buzzword, something that people tend to throw around to sound trendy or cool. The truth is, as Snow points out, that "going green" is really living life more like it was lived 50 years ago. Our parents grew up on more healthy food, things that didn't contain such high amounts of pesticides or chemicals and they played with toys that weren't made with toxic ingredients like so many are today.

No, I'm not going to be an all-out "granola" as Joey likes to call it (I promise that my children will know the joy of an Oreo cookie), but I am going to be mindful. To be conscientious, wise and a good steward of the world and resources that God gave us.  I guess that it boils down to this: what I'm learning is that to be passive is to die a slow death--and it's not just my own life we're talking about here, but the lives of my husband, my children, my friends and family--and those are just the folks in my immediate little world. This is a far-reaching problem and there is not a simple solution. I am only one person, but I'm realizing that what little I can do will change my health and that of my small little world.

My Persistent Struggle with Bread-July 16, 2010

It's always been a dream of mine to make incredibly good homemade bread that's so good it makes me wonder why I ever settled for eating bread from the grocery store. I've tried many times before without a whole lot of success. Some, but not recently. My history with bread goes back to my childhood when I would watch my mom or my grandma whip together a few ingredients and magically produce a warm, satisfying loaf. I remember being so enthralled by it that I even did a science project on homemade bread when I was in 5th grade (or was it 6th? I've lost track) in which I made several batches, each time leaving out an ingredient to determine the effect it had on the bread. Good research opportunity that unfortunately doesn't do me any good with my efforts today.

When I got a little older, I started using my parents new bread machine--after all, all I had to do was dump the ingredients in and wait for the magic to happen. My favorite recipe was for Colonial Bread, which suddenly I'm inspired to look up and try my hand at again. It was dark and warm, sweet with the flavor of molasses, and hearty enough to make me feel like it was something worth being proud of. When I got older, my dear friend Molly bought me a bread machine of my own that I could take with me when we moved into our own little apartment up at school, and it worked wonders for me-both because it produced great bread, but it also made my soul feel warm and comforted. I still have it (but admit I haven't used it in ages).

I'm determined to make a loaf of bread the old fashioned way again, but I haven't been met with much success. I've had good results with cinnamon rolls, pizza dough, and quick breads (which are too easy to really put in the same category as yeast breads), but a good ol' fashioned handmade loaf of bread is much more difficult for me. It's extremely frustrating because I know how to do it, and yet...something always seems to go wrong. I think it must be the yeast or the temperature of the water. Perhaps one has gone bad and the other isn't the right temperature. Oh well. I will press on.

This week I found what looked like an incredibly easy, healthy, tasty whole wheat bread recipe (again, from http://heavenlyhomemakers.com/how-to-make-whole-wheat-bread-tutorial). It was easy, but again, it didn't rise for me. The frustration! When my husband Joey got home from work, I had a big lump of dough sitting on the counter mocking me. He asked what I was going to do with it and I told him that I was just going to throw it away (but I wasn't ready to do so quite yet. It was too sad for me.). He suggested I made flat bread out of it.

Oh, my clueless husband. Now, I don't know how to make flatbread, but I'm fairly certain it doesn't involve rolling out whole wheat dough that didn't rise and just sticking it in the oven to bake. Still, I humored him, if for no other reason than he was taking an interest in what I was doing and encouraging me to press on to find a way to put to use something that I didn't want to see go to waste.

I rolled out the dough and used a biscuit cutter to make little rounds. We greased a cookie sheet with a few spritzes of Pam and baked the little rounds for a few minutes at 350 degrees, and wouldn't you know? They turned out better than I would have ever expected. (Turns out Joey isn't so clueless after all.) They weren't fluffy because the dough hadn't risen, but they were soft and warm, easy to chew, and made a wonderful little bread to top with jam or dip in balsalmic vinegar and olive oil. (We actually had them dipped in homemade pesto that night because it's what I had made for dinner. So addicting!) We couldn't go through them all ourselves that night, so I threw them into the freezer to use another time.



So what's my point of all this? I struggle with making homemade bread. It's hard for me, but I will persist. I will go on. I will not let lousy yeast or my own self-doubt get in my way. But now I know that if it doesn't work, there's something that can be done with the "ruined" dough. (I made sliders for Joey today for lunch--a perfect use for these strange culinary creatures.)