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Hey readers! I took a break from posting for a while. I actually had several things I wanted to write about, but a couple of them were weighing on my mind. One in particular I really had to process for a while before I felt I could start penning my words. I had to pray for wisdom to even think about posting about it.

I’ve been a coffeeholic for well over a decade. When I started working in a coffee shop at 15 I really fell in love with the entire coffee culture. I received some of the best training from a barista – I’ll call him JR – who studied under a master in Australia for two years. At 15 the only things I was passionate about was coffee, books, and singing. I was also extremely not Christian, and if you tried to talk to me about it I would usually shake my head and walk away…or rip/burn the pamphlet you handed me after you walked away. Depended on my mood honestly.

There was only one person I would let talk to me about God, religion, or philosophy. JR. He’d push me, I’d push back, we’d debate in between making lattes, and at the end of the day we’d either go home or chill for a while and drink whatever we brewed. Now at 15 I wasn’t overly philosophical, but I could debate and hold my own. I was also stubborn as hell. JR never “converted me.” He never convinced me to see God or Christianity in a way that I could live with, but he made me think and consider, which is more than anyone else (friends, family, pastors) ever managed. He opened his own shop eventually. Before it officially opened we sat outside of it and would talk late into the night. He showed me all his plans and ideas.

You’re probably thinking we dated or hooked up. We talked about it, but never did. One of us was always dating someone or not interested at the time. He was also really conflicted about women and his Christian values. Something he often expressed was his confliction with having had sex before marriage when he was in Australia. It really bothered him, and I remember JR telling me his younger brother was disappointed in his choices.

Fast forward several years, his shop is doing well, I moved to Kentucky where I later became a Christian, and we lost touch other than me calling him about the occasional coffee question. At the moment we haven’t spoken in going on three or four years and rarely does he cross my mind unless I’m trying to remember an iced coffee recipe he created. We’re not even connected on social media. So why am I taking the time to write a whole post about him? Because I don’t know him anymore.

Over the last two weeks I’ve read dozens of articles about two coffee shop owners who were discovered to be the authors of an anonymous blog and twitter account that detailed their sexual encounters and rated them on face, body, personality, and whether they would have sex with them again. That’s putting it nicely. I read all the articles that came across my feed. I read the blog and twitter account multiple times. The content is too horrible to republish. This quote is from JR about the struggle of finding a good woman.

“The biggest barrier to commitment with most of these women wasn’t their sexuality or their femininity. It was either that I didn’t find them beautiful enough or interesting enough to warrant commitment. Many of these girls could help themselves immensely by reading a few classic novels and working out a little. But they get attention regardless, so the motivation to better themselves isn’t present. It’s unfortunate. That said, I think it’s possible to find value. If you’re willing to hang around in the 6-7 range looks-wise, you can lock down a young, intelligent, girl who will make a good partner and mother. The question is really how much you’re willing to compromise where beauty is concerned.”

The only other one I can bring myself to share is this.

“95 percent of women are just f**ksocks,” This was a tweet.

Who is this? The person being portrayed in these articles is not the same guy I knew. It’s not that I doubt he did it. He openly admitted he wrote them, but I had a hard time accepting the guy from the news and the guy I knew as the same person. He was really influential in my life, even though he probably didn’t realize it.

What he did to those women was wrong, completely, and the apology he issued was seriously lacking remorse. I just want to know what happened… What made him go from seemingly normal guy with a few insecurities to a full blown chauvinist who subscribed to “The Game” and the red pill philosophy?

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Kids say (and do) the darnedest things. Wasn’t that a TV show? Thankfully I don’t have to wait for a show to come on to get my dose of toddler humor. Sometimes Xander can be an absolute menace. He has the ability to drive me nut! But other times he literally has me rolling on the floor laughing! Here is a small collection of things he has said and done that will keep you laughing for at least the next hour.

ME: Xander, I love you!

X: Nuh, uh!

ME: Yes I do! I gave birth to you!

X: *scrunched face in confused horror* WHAT?!

Not my kid, but essentially his face…

STAGE: Saturday morning around 8 am (I’m being optimistic). A naked Xander comes running into my room and jumps on the bed before sitting on the side of my face and wiggling his tush.

X: Baby butt!

 

 

*Xander puts on a pair of old glasses*

ME: You’re so adorable.

X: No, I’m me.

“I’m me.”

We’re working on potty-training, and he does better if he doesn’t wear a diaper or underwear. I looked away for a minute and when I turned back around Xander was standing over his sister’s rain boot…peeing in it. At least he has good aim.

 

At the store the other day Xander spotted some dinosaur feet slippers. I proceeded to put them on and stomp around the store saying “RAWR!”

 

In the evening when we’re all relaxing he insists on Roger putting his feet on the coffee table and then tucks a blanket around his daddy’s legs. He grabs a pillow and then uses the blanket as a hammock.

Xander likes to help take our dog Toby outside in the morning, get him food and water, etc. He also likes to help bring him inside in the evening. The other night he went outside with Roger to bring him in. When he came inside he said, “Toby killed ferret.” Of course I’m thinking our pet ferret and I’m freaking out trying to figure out how Toby even got ahold of the ferret. Roger came in an explained it was actually a opossum. Xander is convinced opossums are actually ferrets.

 

To finish of this post, probably the funniest one  that’s happened lately. The other morning Xander put on his dinosaur feet slippers, donned his daddy’s batman belt over one shoulder and across his torso, and grabbed the plunger before running through the house like a superhero. Still no diaper.

Brothers and Sisters, Unwed Pregnancy Is Not a Sin

AFTER+MATH

There is a glaring hole in our fight against abortion. It is found in our churches among the quiet pre-service whispers as she walks by. It is heard at Sunday dinner as her name bounces back and forth across the table among interjections like, “But she comes from such a good family!” It is seen in the averted eyes and not-so-subtle head wags. “Wait you haven’t heard? She’s pregnant!”

If you’ve experienced an unwed pregnancy in your church, your family, or your circle of acquaintances—who hasn’t?—you know the typical reaction. It’s a mixture of disappointment, condemnation, and pity. But there are places across the country where this is not the response to the girl who shamefully mumbles, “I think I’m pregnant.” They are called pregnancy resource centers (PRCs). The women and men who serve in these safe-havens have comprehended something our churches haven’t yet: unwed pregnancy is not a…

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Most people face some sort of betrayal in their lives. Normally it is from another person. How often can you say you betray yourself?

I went to the doctor yesterday. A while back I posted about being diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome. Today was a checkup to see if the medicine had helped reverse it. I had to stop taking the medicine about a month ago because it made me so sick. Not only was nothing better, it was a lot worse.

My doctor actually asked the nurse if she was sure she weighed me right. She did. It was not easy seeing the scale jump nearly 15 lbs from the last visit. Especially since I wasn’t over eating and there was no cause for the weight gain… except for that pesky PCOS. Now very concerned about my excessive weight gain and still not cycling, she adjusted my Metformin to a lower dose and gave me two additional meds to help with cycling and weight loss. She was quick to add she wasn’t fussing at me. ( She really is a wonderful doctor, and super understanding). The weight isn’t something I could control even if I ate nothing but salad and ran 20 miles a day. It’s just a side effect, but she was worried. Now it’s time to start running again. Which I cool with. I missed it.

It makes me sad though. My body, by design, is supposed to make babies. It is supposed to cycle every month and when it’s not, it’s supposed to carry a baby for 9 months. My body just says no. It’s betraying me, telling me I can’t have what I really want.

On my way home I was really upset. A small part of me had hoped the doctor would come in and say congratulations! You’re having a baby! Instead I got horrible news. As someone who struggled with body image in high school, it’s hard to see that number go up when you’re trying to make it stay the same or go down.

I texted three of my friends. Erin, Lori, and Kaila had me chuckling in no time. Lori’s auto correct texts really cracked me up. They really are wonderful people and I am so happy to have them in my life.

All day I kept encountering the verse, “All things are possible with God.” ( of which a variation can be found in all 4 gospels – Matt, Mark, Luke, John). It was on the radio, a sticker on my coffee, and in my heart. It just kept popping up.

I know everything will be okay. I know that there are silver linings everywhere. We caught my PCOS early, there is medicine to help, God can help me. I’m not a lost cause. While my condition makes me sad, I know I can overcome it.

Psalm 34: 4  “Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

 

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This is a phrase I take literally and figuratively. I greatly dislike cramped kitchens be it from people or just close quarters, which is why I usually cook alone. Sometimes I like cooking with other people, or when Christine is teaching me a new recipe, but for the most part I am in the zone when I cook and I don’t like sharing that space. Plus I can be a little territorial in the kitchen. I once made Thanksgiving dinner for 21 people all by myself because I just needed shear focus and tripping over other people would have just frustrated me. (Possibly also a pride thing. I’m working on that.)

Sometime else that is hard for me to handle…teaching someone to cook. I can teach a lot of things. Cooking is not one. MLA format? Opening paragraph? Come talk to me. Frying an egg? Forget about it. There is a reason I am currently taking lessons.

What I managed to get by on for the past 15 years (I started cooking around 10) I taught myself – for the most part. The internet, cookbooks, and trial and error also played a role. Also, we eat a lot of super basic meals. Spaghetti, hamburger, baked chicken (usually too dry). But bless my husband’s heart he still eats it. I do allow him one critique per meal though. Usually whatever he comes up with I’ve already deduced myself.

Tonight I made a chicken dish I found on Pinterest (I was mostly excited I already had all the ingredients!). It was for a brown sugar garlic chicken, and it was awesome! Want to know something even more awesome? The husband didn’t have a single critique, and my son went back for seconds! *insert super excited jump here* If he had one he didn’t share it, but I’m okay with that. The only thing I want to do differently next time is to sear the chicken a little longer. The brown sugar caramelized really nicely, but the skin could have used a little more crisp.

NOTE TO PARENTS: You don’t have to be obsessed with Pinterest, but it does provide some great ideas J

Anyway, back to having too many cooks in the kitchen. My daughter loves to help me in the kitchen. Being as neurotic as I am it can be a little overwhelming for me. I’m also ashamed to say I lack patience in the department. Combine that with my fear of her getting cut/burned/etc. I’m a mess when she helps. I’m trying to work on this too. Tonight after I dinner I decided to make muffins from scratch. This is the third time I’ve tried this recipe and I’m still not getting it just right.

The first time I mixed up my flour; I used all purpose instead of self-rising. The second time while they were okay, they were too bland. Now the first batch is out and I can see the banana wasn’t fully incorporated and a couple places didn’t bake all the way through…or maybe it’s the strawberry juice. I’m not sure, but they do taste good.

Emmah was a great helper. I decided to teach her how to cut the strawberries I needed. Talk about stress. My six year old with a knife. Verbal direction wasn’t working, so I switched to visual, but she wasn’t picking that up either. She was trying to dice them how she saw chefs use a knife on the cooking shows we watch, and she kept curling her fingers by the knife point. Finally I put my own knife down and took her hands in mine, going through all the motions. She did a lot better. She was actually thrilled. I on the other hand was tense, not because I had another cook in the kitchen, but because my six year old was dicing strawberries.

Emmah did great, and I relaxed once we were finally done using sharp objects of potential death. She’s often more competent than I give her credit for. She’s really bright when she applies herself, and sometimes she lacks common sense (like when she pointed the knife at me), but honestly she is six. I gotta give her a break, right?