Tag: family

WWJJD?

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Nope, that’s not a typo. I will be the first to admit, my fat thumbs have been known to cause some crazy chaos in my texting, but that extra J is there for a reason. Here’s why . . .

My boys, they fight. A lot. And one of my biggest worries is that they will never learn to like each other, much less be friends with each other. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t actually know a whole lot about sibling relationships, seeing that I’m the only child of an only child. But seriously, the way my boys act can’t be normal. The amount of wrestling, yelling, and stomping that goes on at my house is unbelievable. It’s like WWE on steroids.

In a recent desperate moment, I knew I had to seek advice, so I did what a wise and respected Sunday school teacher, himself the father of two grown sons, told us to do in times of trouble– I turned to the Bible. And you wanna know what I found? Brother relationships that were way more dysfunctional than my boys’. I mean, let’s hope Jackson and Reeves never throw Big Boy Brooks Bryant into a pit, fake his death, and then sell him into slavery! I’m telling you, after reading about Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers, I was feeling pretty good about my parenting skills.

But I still needed some sage practical advice, so I turned to the next, most logical fount of male sibling knowledge . . . the NFL. You laugh, but the NFL is full of siblings, from players like the Mannings to coaches like the Harbaughs. My personal favorite group of siblings is the Watts–JJ, Derek, and TJ. Three brothers who like to tackle and have mega-watt smiles–sounds familiar to me.

I follow JJ Watt on Instagram, a fact Reeves has deemed “inappropriate” on more than one occasion. One weekend when I was really in the weeds of parenting three rough and tumble boys, JJ was using the question box feature in Instastories to give his followers the chance to ask him questions. I submitted mine without hesitation: “How did your mom encourage you and your brothers to get along?” (I also wanted to ask how his mom afforded to feed the three of them when they were in high school, but ultimately, I decided I might not actually want the answer, since I’m guessing it may involve selling a kidney on the black market.)

Anyway, I was soon rewarded for my celebrity fangirling as JJ responded to my question with these words of wisdom, “She locked us out of the house until it was dark.”

Now, some of you are nodding along, thinking, “Yep, that’s exactly what my mom did.” Some of you also did not grow up in Columbia in August. I’m sure being locked outside in Pewaukee, Wisconsin, on a balmy, 78-degree August day was delightful for the Watt boys, but I have a hard time believing that locking a three year old outside when the forecast is literally “hotter than the surface of the sun” is the best answer to my problem.

And honestly, I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t work. I just end up with three pitiful boys pounding on the door and whining to come inside . . . which I just realized may at least unify them in some sort of weird prisoners versus the warden kind of way.

So, I’m bringing my problem to you, friends. Surely there’s a sibling success story out there somewhere. What worked in your house? How did your parents encourage you and your siblings get along? Help a mama out! I would love nothing more than to hear your advice, and if it works, I promise to to fill in blank of What Would _______ Do? with your name.

Distracted by a Donkey

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Every year on Christmas Eve, our church has a live nativity as a part of the Christmas Eve service. We start in the sanctuary, and as the Christmas story is read, various characters join the scene. This year, Alex, Brooks, and I had the honor of being Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, while Jackson and Reeves were excited to be shepherds.

The best part of the night is always after the service when the nativity moves to the front lawn of the church, and we bring out the live animals: sheep, cows, and a camel. This year’s scene even included a baby donkey. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a baby donkey, but let me tell you, they are super cute.

Yet, as I watched everyone “ooh” and “ahh” over this baby donkey, I started to get annoyed . . . and maybe a little jealous. I mean, there I was, holding the Christ child—played by the cutest baby ever, if I do say so myself—and nobody was paying us any attention. All eyes were on that dumb donkey.

I turned to Alex and complained, “Man, Al, they’re looking at the wrong baby!”

And then it hit me. How often do I look at the wrong baby? How often am I the one who loses focus? How often do I take my eyes off of Jesus?

Let’s be real—it’s easy to get distracted in today’s world. I get preoccupied by social media, episodes of my favorite TV shows, and good books, just to name a few. This week alone, I’ve been so wrapped up in helping the boys make their valentines, I’ve completely neglected my Bible study.

Even when I try to focus on Jesus, my mind often wanders. I start to pray, and the next thing I know, I’m making my grocery list. Or, I start reading a devotion on my phone, and before long, I’m Googling why Cardi B. was so mad after the Grammy’s, she shut down her Instagram account.

I have good intentions, but I end up going down the rabbit hole, and pretty soon, Jesus is the last thing on my mind. And that’s when things start to get rough.

The boys love the story of Peter walking on water. Reeves thinks of him as a superhero with special powers, kinda like Aquaman, I guess. While there is special power going on in the story, it’s not coming from Peter.

In the story in the book of Matthew, Peter, a little skeptical of Jesus’ appearance on the lake, asks to walk on the water toward him. Things are going great for Peter . . . until he takes his eyes off of Jesus. When he looks at the wind, he becomes afraid and starts to sink. Immediately, Jesus reaches out his hand and saves Peter.

I can feel the same thing happening to me when I pay more attention to everything swirling around me instead of focusing on Jesus. I start to feel overwhelmed, like I’m drowning in my to-do list, my commitments, my fears. But when I take time to just sit and be still, to listen to a favorite hymn, to read and study the Bible, I get a sense of calm, a feeling of peace. He saves me from drowning in all that “stuff” when I turn my eyes to Him.

My distractions change from day to day, but, thankfully, God doesn’t change. He’s always there, constant and consistent, waiting for me to regain my focus.

The live nativity was a fun experience for my whole family, one I hope the boys will always remember. But for me, it was more than that. For me, the memory reminds me to stay focused on the right baby all year long.

Marriage On the Half Shell

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Most relationship experts would tell you that a relationship founded on blatant lies and Facebook stalking won’t last more than a month or two. As of Tuesday, I have eight years that prove those experts wrong.

Really, this story starts 10 years ago, when I was looking for a nice guy to take me to dinner. Seriously, I wasn’t looking for marriage or even a boyfriend, I just wanted somebody to pick up the tab at Mr. Friendly’s every now and then. So, I did what any girl would do- I set my sights on a guy and I made a plan. You should know, this plan involved crashing a Sunday school oyster roast, strategically placing myself beside the chosen one at the oyster table, and then telling him the biggest whopper I’ve concocted in my adult life.

If you will recall from a previous post, my mom always told me I didn’t let guys help me enough, so I decided this would be the perfect time to see if she was right. In order to give Alex the opportunity to be my knight in shining armor, I became the girl who didn’t know how to shuck oysters, when in reality, I was the girl who had been shucking ’em at Nance’s in Murrell’s Inlet for as long as I could remember. Alex fell for my desperate (fabricated) plea for help hook, line, and sinker, and being the gallant gentleman that he is, proceeded to give me an in-depth lesson on the art of opening oysters.

The next week, I started my Facebook page with the sole purpose of sending Alex a message thanking him for sharing his expertise. We exchanged some witty banter, and a month or so later, he asked me out. The rest, as they say, is history.

Over the past eight years, Alex and I have learned a lot about marriage. As it turns out, it’s a lot like that oyster roast we went to all those years ago.

For starters, oyster roasts and marriages require the right tools to get the job done. For an oyster roast, you need a steam pot, oyster knives, gloves, towels, and a table with a hole in the middle. For a marriage, a few tools that come in handy are patience, a sense of humor, trust, and romance, courtesy of those oysters, perhaps.

I’ve noticed one big difference between the tools though- you usually start an oyster roast with all of your tools set up and ready to go, whereas in a marriage, you are continually enhancing your tools and even adding more to your toolbox. It takes a lot of trial and error to learn how to use the tools the right way, and sometimes you rely on one tool more than the others, depending on what your relationship is facing. Without a doubt, I have grown and learned more about myself in the past eight years of marriage than I did in the first 31 years of my life.

Anyone who has been to an oyster roast knows shucking oysters requires some serious work. Marriage is no different. If I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t really prepared for how much work it takes to get to the good part. Love is as much a verb as it is a noun, and growing and nurturing a marriage is where the action comes into play. An oyster can’t shuck itself; neither can a marriage reveal all it has to offer without some effort and attention.

Shucking oysters isn’t a fast process- you have to take your time and be patient to get that shell open, but once you get to the delicious oyster, you know the work was worth it. Some oysters steam open perfectly, making them easy to pry apart, while others require a whole lot of poking and prodding. I think years in a marriage are like that- some years go along without a hitch, while others include challenges that require a little more work, a little more patience. The key is to keep working at it until you get to the good part.

When it’s finally time to eat the oysters, everybody eats them differently. Some people like them raw, straight out of the shell. Some people like them on a saltine with a splash of hot sauce. Some people like them dipped in cocktail sauce. Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks.

Marriage works the same way. Nobody’s is the same as anybody else’s, and what works for one couple may not work for another. You can’t judge another couple’s marriage by your own, and it’s a waste of time to try to make your marriage a carbon copy of someone else’s. Sure, we can always learn from each other, but too much comparing can make you lose sight of the good thing you already have right in front of you.

My favorite part of an oyster roast is the atmosphere- everyone is laid back, just chatting, laughing, and telling stories around the oyster table. Plus, everybody is quick to give props to the guy manning the oyster pot, praising and thanking him as he dumps pot after pot of steamy, hot oysters on the table.

And that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned about marriage- communication and praise are the most important tools we bring to the table. At that first oyster roast, I laid it on thick, praising Alex’s deft, if not methodical, skill with the oyster knife, suppressing my overwhelming desire to rip the oyster out of his hands and yell, “Just give it to me; I know how to do it!” (Thankfully, I was smart enough to know that an outburst like that would probably sabotage my plan.)

But seriously, it’s important to to show appreciation for your spouse’s skills and talents. The world is full of enough people ready to knock you down and tell you you’re wrong. Be the person who is there to lift the other one up. Be the cheerleader, the fan girl, or whatever else you call it- just support each other. And the talents don’t have to be super huge or impressive. Alex always takes one for the team and cleans out the absolutely disgusting vacuum canister without flinching, and I give him a high five every single time.

While Alex does have many talents, reading minds isn’t one of them. When we first got married, I thought that as my husband, he should just automatically know everything I needed and wanted without any sort of hint.  When he didn’t quite get it right, I would get angry, saying he didn’t really “know me.” So melodramatic, right? I finally realized that philosophy was totally unfair of me. How could I expect him to know what I needed if I wasn’t willing to actually communicate my desires, my frustrations, and my joys?

Alex and I have come a long way in the past eight years. I’m proud to say I’m much better about telling the truth now . . . except when it comes to ironing- I still pretend like I don’t know how to do that . . . but don’t tell Alex!

Our marriage isn’t perfect by any means- we have had plenty of grains of irritating sand rub one or both of us the wrong way. We’ve had to work together to turn those rough spots into pearls, and I know we will continue to have to add layers to our relationship. My hope, though, is that we will continue to work and communicate so that in 50 years or so, we can look back and see that together, we made a beautiful strand of pearls.

Because that’s the thing about an oyster roast . . . it’s not just about one oyster, it’s about the whole experience.

Our oyster bride and groom ornament

Why Ask Why?

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Anyone who has been around young children for any amount of time knows their favorite question is “Why?”

On Tuesday, the boys and I went to the Epworth Food Truck Rodeo, which brought on a slew of whys: Why are we going to Epworth? Why do people live at Epworth? Why can’t we eat shaved ice before dinner? Why is Daddy parking cars? Why can’t he bring his cool orange vest and flashlight home for us?
Thankfully, all of those whys were relatively easy to explain, but not all why questions can be answered in a few words, and some can’t even be answered at all. As a nation and as a world, it seems like we’ve had an over-abundance of why questions lately.
Personally, I have a running list of why questions I’ll probably never get the answers to. It starts with some frustrations about childhood illness and infertility and ends with my utter confusion over the fame of the Kardashians.

There have been times in my life when I’ve gotten the answer to a why question I was probably better off not knowing. We think knowing the reasons will bring us comfort or clarity, but we better be sure we’re asking a question we really want the answer to. It’s like asking a guy why he’s breaking up with you . . . are you really prepared to hear what he might say?

This summer, my struggle with needing to know why truly got put to the test.

When Alex lost his job in July, I immediately asked why.  I wanted details, and I wanted it all to make sense. I questioned Alex, I wanted to question his company, and I even questioned God. I let understanding the why consume me, frustrate me.  I wasted several days being angry, demanding an explanation from anybody who would listen. Finally, I realized that wasn’t helping anyone. Ultimately, the why didn’t matter. There was nothing I could do to change the why, so I needed to move forward.

Through this experience, I realized there were three things that were helping me get past my need to know why.

The first thing I did was pray. I prayed for all sorts of things–patience that Alex would get a new job. Peace not to spend 24 hours a day worrying until he did. Discernment that he would know when it was the right job. Distraction so that the waiting wouldn’t deplete his hope and his positive outlook.

Funny thing is, those are the same things I pray for when the boys get going with their whys too- “Dear Lord, please give me the patience to endure this never-ending stream of questions that makes me want to pull my hair out. If you could just send a big truck, a school bus, or a rescue vehicle down the road right this second to distract these boys, I’d be forever grateful.”

The next thing I did was to be thankful. This one was definitely the hardest. Chances are, if you’re left asking why, it’s usually because something you wouldn’t normally give thanks for has happened. Who wants to count their blessings in the middle of adversity? I don’t think that’s exactly a natural reaction, and I found it took a little creativity on my part to find the silver lining.

When I looked closely, though, I saw we have a lot to be thankful for. We have family and friends supporting us. I think I’ve gotten more texts from friends checking in over the past three months than I’ve gotten in my entire life, reminding me that we’re not alone. I’m also thankful that Alex has been able to spend more quality time with the boys than ever before. He has been able to take the boys to school, attend school events, and even coach Jackson’s soccer team, all things his long hours prevented him from doing in the past.

Finally, instead of spinning my wheels over the why, I decided to do what I could to help and offer support. Instead of letting the unknown and the unanswered paralyze me, I tried to figure out how to be more productive. It felt good to actually do something, even if it was something small like proofreading a resume or brainstorming job ideas. Taking concrete action gave me a small sense of control in an otherwise uncertain situation.

Don’t get me wrong, this plan isn’t fool proof, and there are still times I find the whys creeping into my thoughts. There is a scene in Forrest Gump when Forrest runs through dog poop, and when another guy mentions it, Forrest simply replies, “It happens.” And he’s right- we all run through the proverbial dog poop at one time or another. The important part isn’t why “it” happens; the important part is how we respond to it. Granted, it does seem like life would be easier if every why had a nice and neat, cut and dried answer. But that kind of thinking assumes we live in a black and white world, when in reality, we live in a whole lot of gray.

In 1990, Budweiser introduced a new beer to the market, popularizing the mantra “Why ask why? Try Bud Dry.” While Bud Dry didn’t make it as a beer, the slogan has had a much longer shelf life, mainly because it gets to the heart of the matter, putting actions over thoughts. Life is going to have its challenges, that’s a given. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is let go of the questions and try to help each other move forward one day at a time.

Cards, Cokes, & Chocolate Chips

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Over Labor Day weekend, several of my college friends and I had a reunion at Edisto with our families. It was a wonderful weekend of swimming in the ocean, playing football in the sand, and laughing until our sides hurt. 

On Saturday night, a few of us decided to play the card game Golf. All you really need to know about the game is that you’re dealt four cards, but you can only look at two until the end of the game when you hope you have the lowest score.

Well, before we started, I just felt like I needed to make a confession, so I shared that I used to play this game with my grandmother, and since she was legally blind from macular degeneration, I used to cheat and peek at all four cards so I could up my chances of winning.

I know, I know, it’s horrible, but clearly I still feel guilty about it since I’m still confessing to the crime 30 years later. That should count for something.

Anyway, after about the third round, when I finished with 28 while everyone else finished with 0’s, 2’s, and 3’s, my friend’s eight-year-old daughter looked at me and said, “Miss Katherine, I see why you had to cheat!” Touche, Kate, touche.

Back then, I really thought I was getting away with something, but now that I think about it, I realize Mimi had to know what I was doing. We are talking about a lady who read every book in the Darlington County Library and graduated magna cum laude from Queens College . . . she was no dummy. Plus, macular degeneration caused her to lose her central vision, not all of her vision. So the question is, if she knew I was cheating, why didn’t she stop me?

After thinking about this for a few days, I can only come up with one answer: LOVE.

Because that’s what grandmothers do- they spoil their grandchildren with love, whether that means letting them win at cards, baking them obscene amounts of homemade chocolate chip cookies, or buying them enough Barbie clothes and shoes to make Imelda Marcos jealous.

Grandmothers are lucky because they don’t have to be the enforcers. They’ve been the disciplinarians as parents, so now it’s their turn for fun. Life experience has taught them not to sweat the small stuff. Mimi knew my mom was providing structure and setting boundaries for me to ensure I wouldn’t wind up on the mean streets of Rock Hill, so she was free to conspire with me for more than a few shenanigans, usually at my mom’s expense.

More often than not, Mimi lived by the motto “What my baby wants, my baby gets.” So when I asked for a basketball and a goal for Christmas, she was happy to oblige. The only problem was, my mom wasn’t exactly on board with this plan. Not wanting a basketball goal attached to the side of her house, Mom only bought the basketball, thinking that would be enough to satisfy me and thus ending the story.

Not quite.

Mimi quickly took matters into her own hands. She bought a goal and hired some of the young waitstaff at her retirement home to come bolt it to the house while my mom was at work. When Mom pulled into the driveway that afternoon, there I was, shooting layup after layup, pleased as punch, and there wasn’t really anything she could do about it. Mimi-1, Suzanne-0.

Sometimes I watch my mom with my boys and think, “Man, she never would have let me do that when I was little.” Of course she wouldn’t have, she wasn’t my grandmother. A grandmother’s love is unique and irreplaceable. No one will ever love you like a grandmother because no one else can.

Hopefully, you can relate to this story. Hopefully, you had, or you still have, a grandmother, an aunt, a great aunt, a neighbor, or a family friend who loved you to the moon and back. A Mimi, a Nanny, a Ma, or a Gigi, a loved one who sugared you up and  spoiled you rotten and then laughed and heaved a sigh of relief as she watched you get in the car with your parents to go back home.

So much of who I am was shaped by my Mimi. She taught me the importance of reading good books, serving the church, and treating neighbors like family. Mimi was the epitome resilience, demonstrating her strength time and time again as she refused to let sickness or loss define her life.

I wish Mimi could have met Alex and the boys. She would give Alex a little love pat and ask him if he’d ever thought about shaving his beard, and she’d eat goldfish and drink bottled Cokes with the boys every day at five o’clock. It’s weird how some of the most important people in your life never have the chance to get to know some of the other most important people in it.

When I was little, I didn’t realize Mimi was letting me cheat at Golf (and Go Fish and Speed too, if I’m being honest). And I didn’t realize how much I would miss her when she was gone. As a child, I took Mimi’s true unconditional love for granted, but as an adult, I realize what a blessing she was. I would love to have one more day with her, one more card game, one more Nick at Nite marathon, one more time hearing her tell me she loves me “a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

By now, I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that you should never take me to Vegas to play cards- I’d probably get us thrown out of the casino within the first five minutes. But that’s okay . . . I already hit the jackpot a long time ago by having Mimi in my life.

It Takes a Village

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A guy typically dreads asking his girlfriend’s dad for her hand in marriage.  In the South, this process can often include a shotgun, a background check, and a lot of intense questioning.

Alex, on the other hand, really dodged a bullet when he decided to propose to me.  Since I grew up with just my mom, he only had to ask for her blessing, and she would have said yes to any guy with a college degree, a job, and a good head of hair just to get me off her payroll.

Very quickly, though, Alex realized something unique about my situation.  After one of our wedding parties in Rock Hill, he looked at me and said,

“You have a lot of moms.”

“Yep, I do.”

“It kinda scares me.”

“Yep, it should.”

And Alex was right to be a little nervous.  See, I have been blessed throughout my life to be surrounded by a pack of protective moms.  These weren’t your ordinary moms.  These women ran restaurants, held political offices, led government programs, chaired church and civic boards, and loved me like one of their own.

They taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels, how to get my ducks in a row, and how to pop the heads off of shrimp like a champ.

I continue to be amazed and inspired by the women around me

Over the years, I have watched women bravely fight cancer with courage and grace.  I have watched women lose their husbands and their children too soon, yet somehow maintain their faith through it all.  I have watched women fight for the families they have and fight for the children they long for with determination and fearlessness.

Over the years, I have watched friends lose moms before they could celebrate milestones together and have then watched these same friends honor their moms every day by the way they live, the causes they champion, and the way they raise their own children.

Biological or not, all of these women have molded me into the woman I am today.

One of my favorite movies is War Room.  If you haven’t seen it, stop finish reading this blog right now and see if you can find it on Netflix.  In the movie, Miss Clara has been a mentor for Elizabeth, guiding her through a rough time in her marriage.  At the end of the movie, Elizabeth asks if they can still meet, and Miss Clara provides her with a challenge, saying, “You need to find a young woman to invest in, and I’ll do the same.  We all need help now and then.”

I am lucky to have so many strong women as role models.  My hope is that I will take all of their love and support and pay it forward, just like Miss Clara encourages Elizabeth to do.  Navigating relationships, building careers, raising kids . . . it’s hard work.  The key is to remember we’re all in this together.  Some days, the struggle is real, but we can strive to make the journey a little easier for one another.  We all make an impact on other people, whether we mean to or not.  Personally, I want my impact to be positive, building others up the way my moms did for me.

I hope one day my boys will look back and think I was a good mom, but I won’t be able to take all of the credit.  If I’m a good mom, it’s only because I learned from some of the best.

These are just a few of my Rock Hill moms.

Nacho Mama’s Taco Salad

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Cinco de Mayo is right around the corner, so I thought I’d share one of my family’s favorite dishes: Mexican Chef’s Salad.

My mom got this recipe from a friend when she was living in Colorado and pregnant with me.  As she tells it, she went over to the Hankins’ house every Sunday in the summer for this salad and a strawberry daiquiri.  She claims the daiquiri was virgin, but this was back in 1978 when moms smoked and kids rolled around the backseat without any sort of restraint system, so who knows!  Anyway, the frequency of the meal does explain my obsession with both avocados and fruity beverages.

Mexican Chef’s Salad

Ingredients
1 1/2 lbs. ground beef
1 can dark red kidney beans
Taco Seasoning (Old El Paso or homemade)
Avocado, cubed
Tomato, chopped
Small onion, chopped
8-10 oz. Sharp Cheddar cheese, shredded
Iceberg lettuce, shredded
Bag of Doritos*, crushed

*Right now, I need you to put your right hand over your heart, raise your left hand, and repeat after me, “I, (state your name), do solemnly vow, never to use Baked Doritos in this salad.”  I know what you’re thinking, “Now, Katherine, does it really make a difference?”  In one word- YES!  Don’t get me wrong, I love Baked Doritos, but for some reason, when they mix with the dressing, they end up tasting like stale cardboard.

Dressing
Combine in blender-

1 C mayonnaise
1/4 C chili sauce
2 T sweet relish
2 T chopped green olives
1 little jar pimentos
1/2 lemon, juiced
Dash Tabasco
Dash Worcestershire Sauce

Getting Started

Brown beef and drain.  Then add beef, beans, and taco seasoning back to pan and simmer for 10 minutes.  Cool.

My mom’s recipe doesn’t call for taco seasoning, but I think it really elevates the flavor profile of the whole dish.  (PS- I have no idea what that means, but they say it on Master Chef all the time, so I thought it would add to my credibility.)

Just before serving

Combine salad ingredients in a BIG bowl and pour dressing on top.  Then, making sure you’ve washed your hands (because we all know you snuck a few Doritos and licked off the orange yumminess), toss the salad . . . yes, with your hands.  My mom and I have both tried other utensils, including a fantastic pair of acrylic salad “fingers,” but none of them quite did the job the way your own two hands will.  Sadly, once you’ve tossed the salad, it will no longer look as lovely as this beautiful sunflower Alex designed, but it will leave people begging for more.

This salad serves 6-8 people easily, so if you don’t plan on eating it all in one night, I suggest only tossing half of it with the dressing and Doritos.  They are much better crisp and crunchy.  I love to serve this with margaritas, Mexican cornbread, and key lime pie.  I’m a big fan of the pie recipe on the back of Nellie & Joe’s Famous Key West Lime Juice.  It is quick, easy, and delicious.  Sadly, neither Nellie nor Joe paid me for that endorsement.

My boys love the salad, although they do sometimes eat a deconstructed version with the chips; beans & meat; and lettuce, cheese, & dressing all in different compartments on a divided plate.  They get that quirky little habit from me, so I can’t really judge.  This meal is also a good one to take to families when they have had a baby, mainly because it is different from chicken casserole, and it can be prepped in advance.

I hope you enjoy the salad as much as we do.  Happy Cinco de Mayo!  Buen provecho!

Rockin’ Spring Break Like 1987

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I don’t remember much about my Spring Breaks as a child.  I’m guessing they involved playing Barbies, choreographing music videos to every Debbie Gibson song on the radio, and riding bikes all over my neighborhood.

The only thing I remember for sure is that my grandmother spent Spring Break at our house.  Now I loved my Mimi, but bless her heart, she was a bit of a nervous Nelly . . . so much so that when I went out riding bikes, she wanted me to come back and ring the doorbell every five minutes so she would know I was still alive.  The main problem with this plan was that I lived on a hill.  I had very short legs back then (you know, as opposed to now when I have legs like Gisele), so once I rode down to meet my friends, it literally took me five minutes for my little legs to pedal my bike back to the top of the hill and confirm my safety.  Get In Shape Girl ain’t got nothin’ on Mimi’s hill workouts!

Fast forward to Spring Break 2017.  As this year’s Spring Break approached, I started planning all the fun and exciting things the boys and I could do during the week.  I wanted this week to be jam-packed with magic and memories, the kind the boys would always remember.

It only took me until Tuesday to realize I wasn’t having any fun.

We were in the middle of dying Easter eggs when I figured out why.  I was so busy trying to dye the perfect eggs for the perfect Easter centerpiece to make the perfect memory, I was missing out on the pure joy Jackson found mixing all of the colors together into a “potion” that fizzed when he added vinegar.

Then, when I realized three of the eggs we were going to dye had cracked, I was so disappointed because the day just wasn’t going like I had planned.  That’s when a four year old, who is way smarter than I am, came up with the idea for us to use those “ruined” eggs to make egg salad and then have a picnic in the back yard.  From the mouths of babes . . .

Right then and there, I decided I would let Jackson lead the way and tell me how to make the egg salad like he did at school, and I didn’t even stop him when I thought he was adding a little too much mustard.  In other words, I stopped trying to control every little detail.  Watching those chubby little hands peel the eggs- a task I didn’t even know he could do- will be one of those memories forever etched in my mind.

When we finished making the egg salad, Jackson tasted it and declared, “Oh yeah, it’s perfect.”  And it really was.  Once I let go of all of the pressure I had put on myself to create the “perfect” Spring Break, I actually relaxed and had a perfect Spring Break.

I didn’t end up changing any of my plans for Spring Break- we still tried out a new park, ate at the boys’ favorite Mexican restaurant, picked strawberries, and spent time with friends and family.  What I did change was my attitude toward Spring Break.  Instead of trying to orchestrate all of these magical experiences, I started appreciating the little moments.  Once I got out of my own way, I was able to let the week unfold the way it was supposed to and truly enjoy my time with the boys.

Turns out, my girl Debbie Gibson was right way back in 1987 . . . sometimes the most memorable experiences really do come Out of the Blue.

Sorry, Rev, Seat’s Taken

Published on by katherinebryant2678Leave a comment

Several Sundays ago, one of our pastors asked if she could sit with us during church. She had just returned from a trip to the Holy Land the day before, so she didn’t have a part in the day’s service. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Pastor Carly-she’s from Rock Thrill, so you know she’s awesome-plus, I’d love anybody who loves my kids as much as she does.  But still, my first thought when she asked to join us was to tell her, “Seat’s taken. You can’t sit here.”

My response had absolutely nothing to do with her. It’s just that every Sunday from 11:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., my sweet, angelic four year old turns into a rabid spider monkey, and the only way we can tame him is with a steady supply of gummy bears and candy canes. (If you think it’s strange my child is still eating candy canes in April, just read last week’s post. It will make perfect sense.) Anyway, I try not to advertise the fact I’m running Willy Wonka’s candy shop in my pew for fear of my questionable parenting skills being judged.  Then it occurred to me that it might actually be good for a member of the clergy to have a front row seat to see what happens to said spider monkey when the sermon runs long and the candy runs out.

The other reason I didn’t want Carly sitting with us was that I was a bit intimidated.  See, there were three great hymns listed in the bulletin, and I was ready to rock them out.  There was only one problem:

I can’t sing.

Actually, there was a second problem:

Carly can.

I mean, I can carry a tune, but Carly sings on a whole different level.

My college roommate, who was quite the Furman singer herself, once told me what I lack in singing talent, I make up for in passion.  Looking back, that may have been a back-handed compliment, but it’s a pretty good life lesson as well.  So what if I’m not ready for The Voice?  If belting out Pour Some Sugar On Me after a long day at school makes me happy, I’m gonna do it . . . with passion.  So what if I’m the only person reading my blog?  If writing these posts fulfills a childhood dream, I’m gonna do it . . . with passion.

Is there something you already love to do or something new you want to try?  Find your passion and go for it with gusto. If you’re waiting for the “right time” to chase after your passion, you may end up waiting forever.  Who cares if you’re not really good at it? Who cares if it will never make you rich and famous?  Embrace your passion anyway.

After the service, a very nice lady sitting a few pews in front of us turned around, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “You have a beautiful voice.”  For one delusional second, I felt like Adele at the Grammy’s. Then I came crashing back to reality and realized she had really heard Carly’s voice, and since I have a thing about trying not to lie in church when the preacher is standing beside me, I gave credit where credit was due and went on about my day.

If you’re ever in Columbia on a Sunday morning and need a soprano to back up your alto, come join me.  We can sing our hearts out.  Even better . . . I’ll have candy.