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this is how we do it: FOOD

Alright alright, let’s talk meal planning and grocery and all of the food things! First, read the ground rules. All set? Great!

We’ve been following the same food rhythms for nearly four years now. It works great for us, and you guys have asked lots of questions regarding. I’ll try to hit all of the main points but as always, but feel free to email!

The planning.

I meal plan on Saturdays. I use Pinterest and a pretty notebook. The hope is that someday, my very-grown kids will stumble upon the notebook and flip through their childhood menus in weekly chronological order, remembering me fondly as they recognize my slightly-awkward-but-very-neat handwriting.

No, but seriously, I use a new page for each week and date it at the top. I write down the menu for dinner each night, and list the ingredients below. I loosely stick to a goal of one easy meal per week, one meat-free meal per week, and one new meal per week. Ever since we did Whole30 a few years ago, I feel zero pressure to serve carbs (or even three items) with each meal. Sometimes, it’s just a meat and a green. There is always at least one vegetable.

The planning process takes only an hour tops, but sometimes I drag it out. I may start it Saturday morning, and pick it back up during an afternoon on the couch or before bed. I regularly ask the kids and Chris for feedback. I like Pinterest because I can search using ingredients I already have, or even a vibe or category of food I’m in the mood to try. I write the menu on a chalkboard in the kitchen and the whole family really thrives with the routine. The goal for planning is to know exactly what we’re going to eat every night of the week, which should complement our family’s schedule.

The shopping.

I make the official list on Sunday afternoons using Wunderlist. Chris and I run through the fridge and the pantries one more time, adding any staples to the list that are running low. We shop as a family on Sunday evenings, just before bedtime. This is when stores seem the least crowded and we’re most likely to be struck with the Sunday blues.

We shop at three places around town, which allows us to get everything we need for the entire week. Our main spots are Aldi, Trader Joe’s, and a typical regional grocery store (Harris Teeter). Our weekly household budget is $300, but this includes things like toilet paper and soap or a random school supply and my crazy-expensive probiotics. We typically spend right around $200 each week on food. This covers six dinners per week, and then a general supply of breakfast and lunch and snack food. Our budget allows us to eat out once per week, but you can read more about that here. The goal for shopping on Sunday nights is to prevent random stop-ins at stores throughout the week.

The eating.

Both Chris and I cook, depending on who’s home during the two hours leading up to dinner. We eat around the dining room table most nights, but sometimes in a pile on the floor in the kitchen. We try to eat every night at 6pm. This is the only time throughout the week that we slow down and connect, and it’s very important to us. We protect it fiercely. Whoever is in the house is expected to join. Guests are always allowed, even with little or no heads-up. For some reason, there’s always enough to go around. Phones are not allowed at the table.

We do not offer anything outside of what’s on the menu for dinner. If the kids don’t eat it, they go straight to bed after we’re done. They don’t have to eat seconds, but they have to finish what we serve them. If it’s questionable, we give them a very small serving. Nobody leaves the table until everyone is done, and everyone helps clear the table. All of our children help with dishes and wiping down the table. We don’t own a dishwasher, and Chris won’t let us get one. He says he’s had the best conversations of his life with his kids over a soapy sink.

The nitty-gritty.

We’ve gone all organic before, and we’ve also bought a ton of cheap and processed foods to save money. Right now, we focus on whole foods and healthy options but we aren’t going to go broke in the name of organic. If it come from the ground, we’re happy to eat it. We try to restrict the amount of refined sugar and dairy that we consume. We drink almond milk and coconut creamer, but you can find yogurt squeezers and cheese in our fridge. Our meat is the highest-quality we can get, but we also eat a lot of tofu and beans.

There is one section of our kitchen that is fair game for the kids to eat at any time, the corner that holds the fruit basket and the jars full of Trader Joe’s bars. The little ones need to ask beforehand, but we typically say yes. Both are great options for growing children to grab a quick snack without a battle. This area is also where we keep their water bottles. We only buy juice for special occasions.

Meals we frequently make: tofu/rice/broccoli/seaweed snacks, taco salad, spaghetti/salad, beans/rice bar, neat combinations with wanton cups, zuppa toscana, BBQ sammies/broccoli, grilled chicken/anything, beef/veggie stew, sweet potato chili, and a wide variety of salads.

For breakfast, we do a lot of eggs. The chickens keep us well stocked! We also keep basic cereal and oatmeal in the house. For lunch, we eat a lot of finger foods like turkey roll-ups, pickles, plantain chips, and fruits and veggies. Dessert isn’t every night, but we typically serve the little kids a small cookie treat and the big folks like popsicles and ice cream sandwiches. We get all of our sweets from Trader Joe’s.

It may sound silly, but we take this stuff seriously. As a follower of Jesus, we feel called to steward everything we’ve been given –  our bodies, our time, our money, and our habits. This means that quite frankly, I ain’t got time to stress about what’s for dinner. I want to make as much room as possible in my brain and heart for the Spirit’s leading and the work of the Kingdom of God. It’s incredible how much more margin we have when we already know what we’re eating, when we’re shopping, and how much we’re spending.

Hope this helps. Happy meal planning, food shopping, and eating to you!

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Ground Rules.

Before/during/after you read any of my “this is how we do it” posts, please review the following ground rules. Thank you!

  1. I’m a firm believer that while we can teach as we learn (in fact, it’s one of the best ways to learn), some parts of our journey are meant to be experienced in the quiet, diligent, sometimes difficult spaces. For that reason, I will only share about topics I’ve been tackling with some form of victory for at least one year or more.
  2. I have kept the comments section of my blog closed for several months, and I will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. While I’m open to feedback and conversation via email (contact form at the top), I simply do not have the margin to cultivate and maintain community on this space.
  3. I’m only going to say this once. Please do not insert yourself into my life. For my sake, for yours, for the sake of the One who made you uniquely and wonderfully. There is a very small chance that we are at the same stage of life with matching resources, dynamics, and personalities. Read my stuff, take away what you’d like, adjust some habits if it’s helpful, but stay perfectly you the entire time.
  4. There is not a single topic about which I share that could take place successfully without my husband. Christopher is my rock, my love song, and my constant reminder of Jesus’ love and sacrifice. So keep that in mind when you read about time management, or task-related things, or even self-care. And see #3.
  5. There is not a single topic about which I share that could take place at all without my Savior. I filter every rhythm, every idea, and every breath of my life through a Christian worldview. My personal experience with salvation has been tried and tested, and it’s the only way I know how to do life. So while it’s totally fine if you read my words through a different lens, I need you to know that you’re missing out if you don’t know Jesus.
  6. I might add more rules as I think of them. It’s my space, after all (who remembers MySpace?).

Grateful. Excited. Expectant. Let’s go.

motherhood

Redemption is here.

As we wrapped up dinner, deciding who was going to help clear the table and who was going to jet out early and who needed to finish the seconds for which they had begged, Ames quietly slipped way from his spot. He stepped back a few steps and said, “Look, Momma. I can do crow pose.” And the boy popped right into it, like he’d been doing it his whole life.

At the moment, I didn’t realize what it meant to me. Later I asked him to do it again, with me, so Chris could snap a photo and I could keep it forever. Because it meant something.

This boy was the first child I ever carried in my womb. His was the first labor, and subsequently the first postpartum season of darkness I ever experienced. While it was the twin pregnancy that eventually damaged my stomach muscles, that boy gave me a hernia. It wasn’t his fault, of course. But that boy made me wonder if I’d ever have strength to do a sit-up again, let alone a strength exercise like a handstand.

And yet here we were, moving together, into a pose that speaks of strength and balance and commitment. It took me a year to get into crow pose. He must have watched me, all of those times, silently observing and learning as I huffed and puffed and trembled my way upside down into the wild world of yoga inversions.

The boy who wiggled around inside of me all of those months, had wiggled his way out over the course of an entire day, had now wiggled his way to six years old and right into his own crow pose alongside mine. I felt whole. And I heard God whisper, redemption is here.

motherhood the whole & simple gospel

My grandfather’s bucket list.

When I was pregnant with my first, my grandfather shyly asked me if he could attend the birth. So shyly, in fact, he went through my mom.

Papa would really like to be there when Ames is born. He’ll stay wherever you put him, but he’s never seen a baby be born. Not even his own kids. You know they didn’t allow it back then.

I cannot even imagine what it would feel like to know my husband was out on the golf course smoking cigars while I sweated and grunted and bellowed a baby out into the world. Thank God I had him right there with me all three times for all four babies. Anyway, I told my mom that OF COURSE Papa could be at the birth. We had already announced we’d name our son after him, so it was only fitting.

I remember sitting on the birthing ball twenty-some-odd hours in. I was naked and nobody could keep me dressed to save a life. I’d yelled for my dad to be brought in, and he sat obediently and silently in the corner with a newspaper up, giving me an approving nod every now and then when I demanded eye contact. What can I say? I had some serious Daddy issues growing up.

But here’s what else I remember – my Papa. Being escorted in, after the midwives whispered that my mom might want to get him if he didn’t want to miss it. At this point, I’d lost count of how many adults were in a room cheering for me while I sat on a birthing ball, and then a birthing stool… naked. Tired, sweaty, swollen, sore. Defeated, as the night dragged on and the clock struck three and my son still hadn’t come yet.

But my Papa. Standing in the doorway, one fist in the air, smiling ear to ear with tears in his eyes. He had waited all night for this. He had waited his whole life for this. He quietly repeated himself over and over as Ames arrived into my hands.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

Fast forward six years. Ames had made the decision to follow Jesus a year prior, but the opportunity had come for him to be baptized. My grandparents faithfully made plans to attend, my mom scheduled to drive them down for the week. One night at dinner, we asked Papa if he had ever participated in a baptism. Declaring he hadn’t, we asked if he’d like to baptize Ames. He just smiled with an OF COURSE like the one I’d given him years ago.

Last night, I got to experience birth from a different angle. I stood outside the tub while my grandfather gingerly backed into the water to join my son. He stood patiently and followed the pastor’s cues, and then he helped lower my boy into the water and bring him back up again.

There he was again, smiling ear to ear with tears in his eyes. He had waited all day for this. He had waited his whole life for this. And don’t you know there was a fist in the air when it was all said and done, with a quiet but sure response to the celebration happening around him.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

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Just you wait.

I used to say that people meant well when they said it, but now I’m not even sure I believe that anymore. I heard it when I graduated high school and the world was my oyster. I heard it when I’d just said “I do.” I heard it when I found out I was pregnant, and when I took two hours to get out of the house with one baby. I heard it at the grocery store when I tried to keep eyes on the kids and the cart and the list. I still hear it when I meet a couple who has been married twenty years.

JUST YOU WAIT.

Just you wait until you get out of college with all of that debt and can’t find a job. Just you wait until y’all start having babies. Just you wait until the birth. Just you wait until you have more than one kid to look after. Just you wait until they’re asking to borrow the car. Just you wait until you’re a homeowner and the water heater bursts. Just you wait until you have an empty nest. Just you wait until the arthritis sets in and the hearing starts to go.

Can we just not? If our only job as Jesus-followers is to shine his light, can we just not talk like that to people? And while I’m on my soapbox, why do I hear the phrase coming from more women than men? It ain’t cool. It ain’t pure. It ain’t lovely.

I would’ve given anything for a sweet college grad to lead me in deep-breathing exercises while I filled out applications. This is so important, yes, but it’s not life or death. It’s just not.

I would’ve given anything for a married woman to squeeze my newly-engaged hand. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be so hard, and so holy.

I would’ve given anything for a seasoned mom to rub my pregnant belly – no, my back. Or my feet. It hurts so much, doesn’t it? Your body, your brain, your heart. This is what lovesick feels like.

To this day, I would love to run into a nice couple while I’m out on a date with my husband, a couple who stays quiet when they find out how many kids we have and instead, tells me everything with a smile. You’re doing great. These are good years.

Always the clarifier, I must do so here. I’m still in the thick of dealing with my own pride and defensiveness. Heck, I’ll probably always be in the thick of dealing with it. The last couple of years have been ones during which I’ve learned to receive correction and constructive feedback. And I’m still on that journey. I’m letting the Lord lead me to see how humble can I get, how vulnerable can I get, how soft I can get.

I know I can’t be found out. I know I’m seen and loved. I know I don’t need approval from anywhere or anyone else and yet at the same time, I try to live in a space where trusted people have the freedom to speak truth into my life and choices and relationships. But I’m not talking about the folks who have patched you up in the trenches and sent you back out to battle. I’m talking loose lips. I’m talking flippant speech. I’m talking “if you can’t say something nice…”

I’m talking about taking James 3 seriously. How powerful would it be, to shift a generation of naysayers into a generation of encouragers? What if we turned “just you wait” from a negative to a positive? What if women moved through seasons of life feeling empowered and spurred on by other women, instead of challenged and threatened? What in heaven’s name would that look like? Can you even imagine?

Just you wait, it’s gonna be incredible. Just you wait, you’ll look back on this and smile so hard. Just you wait, you won’t regret what’s coming next. Just you wait, God is mighty in you and he’ll blow your mind if you let him.

JUST YOU WAIT.

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We just make do and it’s beautiful.

When my stepson started growing out his hair, he stole my hairbrush. He’s always been very particular about his space and his belongings, and his hygiene routine is no exception. I’ve bought him products and I’ve taught him how to handle his beautiful curls as best as I know how, but I’ve got straight hair (much to my disappointment) and so I’ve sort of just let him run with whatever works best for him.

Anyway, he stole my hairbrush. I tried to convince him he didn’t even really need one with those curls, but he developed this ritual of brushing it out after the shower and after a few weeks I gave up trying to get it back. A few weeks after that, I gave up the trips upstairs to “borrow” it. A few months after that, I realized I didn’t even miss it. I’m not sure how long it’s been, now. At least a year, I think?

Isn’t it crazy how we just make do? When people find out we only have clawfoot tubs in our house, or that we don’t have a dishwasher, it gives me the same realization. Those things sound weird to me too but somewhere along the way, we just made do with what we had. Instead of brushing my hair, I just run my fingers through my hair or use of the little kids’ combs. I take baths, and I wash my hair in the sink when it feels really important. We hand wash our dishes and take turns drying and build community in that kitchen and whip each other with towels and make up after fights while we scrub. We just make do and it’s beautiful.

Don’t get me wrong, I keep meaning to buy a new hairbrush. I want a total bathroom makeover (times two) in our house. And please oh please, Lord Jesus and husband of mine, may I have a new kitchen before I die? I just find it so interesting how easily we adapt to our circumstances. Once we quit fighting the change or complaining about where we are and where we aren’t, we have the space to shake our heads clear of the cobwebs and look around. A “make do” attitude gives us room to grow and thrive and find the beauty in new territory we never wanted to take to begin with.

motherhood the whole & simple gospel

Freedom on a tether.

The John 15 passage is rooted deeply within me – pun intended, I guess. I grew up hearing about the vine and the branches all of the time. Even still, abiding is a huge piece of my daily walk with Jesus. I wrote about it last week, in fact. But I also grew up with this idea that the vine and the branches concept was an omen, a reminder that your life wasn’t going to be as fun once you were tethered to Jesus. There was this sense that I’d be giving up something if I chose to follow Him.

And over the last several years, I’ve learned that I couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I’ve learned that the fun begins when I decide to let God have his way with my life. The real adventure begins when I plant my feet firmly in his truth and let him guide my path. The vine and branches passage isn’t meant to drag me down or lock me up. It’s meant to set me free.

When we took our kids to the beach earlier this summer, my baby couldn’t stay away from the water. From the moment we set her down, she ran right to it, squealing with delight. But she always stopped just short, waiting for me. Once I had her in my arms, though, it was on. She would lean as hard as she could into the water, one arm around mine and the other splashing at the waves. Again, Momma, again. Always headed out to sea, but still holding onto me. She found freedom in that, in a wild adventure that started in her mother’s arms.

And if I can be cheesy and honest? That’s exactly what my life with Jesus has become. A wild adventure, one I experience while rooted deeply and tethered sweetly to a Father who might let me get wet, but who will never let me drown. And it’s realizations like this that make me ask, Why can’t everyone experience the Lord like I do? So I figure I might as well spread that Good News or die trying.