tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30131873927268636062024-03-06T03:25:49.013-06:00Sentiments of a SloneDiary of a Happy HousewifeAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-90162206695804085442012-07-12T23:29:00.004-05:002012-07-12T23:29:39.508-05:00The Story of Elsie Ruth’s Birth Part 3: My Breast Friend<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let’s
recap….when I was pregnant, Danny and I made a birth plan stating that we
wanted to exclusively breastfeed Elsie with no bottles and no pacifiers. We wrote that in the event Elsie needed
supplemental intake, it should be from cup-feeding, not bottle-feeding. We also wrote on our birth plan we wanted to
room in with Elsie, and we wanted an hour of uninterrupted skin to skin contact
with her immediately following her birth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After hours
of screaming “Get me out of here!”, attempting to escape the delivery room, and
one sweet epidural, Elsie was finally born.
In a matter of a few minutes, Danny cut our perfect 4 pound, 10 ounce
baby girl’s umbilical cord, they put her on my chest and I cried all over her
perfect face, she was cleaned off with vital signs taken, and she was back in
my arms for an hour of uninterrupted skin to skin. Danny and I took turns staring at Elsie and
each other and thanking God for our precious miracle. I had
read lots of literature that said mothers should breastfeed their babies
directly following birth, so Elsie and I had our first special moment of
breastfeeding. I was in a magical baby
fairy land and I wasn’t nearly as concerned about how the mechanics of
breastfeeding were going as much as I was with how happy I was that she was safe
and cozy in my arms. It seemed like only
a few seconds passed before Elsie was whisked away to the nursery for her first
bath. Danny quickly followed with a
camera to get pictures, and I left the distant memory of the horrors of the labor
and delivery room for the comforts of the recovery room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I sat in
the recovery room talking to my mom and dad, I reached down to touch my belly
to let Miss Elsie know I was thinking of her when I suddenly realized that
Elsie wasn’t in my belly anymore. This
was the first time I had been without her in 9 months, and I missed her
terribly. I told myself that she would
be right back in my arms in a few minutes, and forced myself to take a deep
breath and relax. Danny came back in the
room after taking pictures of her first bath, and said the words I’ll never
forget: “Babe, the nurse told me they bottle-fed her formula.” Instantly, white-hot mama bear rage filled my
body. How dare they bottle-feed my
baby? How dare they give her formula
when I had explicitly written on the birth plan “NO BOTTLE-FEEDING, NO FORMULA,
BREASTFEED ONLY.”?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before you
could say “Psychotic mom alert”, I was on the phone calling the nursery. A very sweet nurse answered the phone, and I
was set to give her an earful. Before I
could start unloading the fury about how they had ruined my baby with formula
and how I would now have my nipples gnawed off because they gave her a bottle
before she was a month old, she said “I thought you’d be calling.” She explained to me that Elsie’s blood sugar
had crashed, and that it was necessary to give her formula to get her blood
sugar levels back up. She said they
would need to keep Elsie another hour to see if her blood sugar levels
stabilized after receiving the formula.
Sad that I had to spend another minute away from my baby and irked that
my “plans” hadn’t been followed to a tee, I said, “I would have appreciated you
calling me before you did anything and cup-fed her instead of bottle-fed her,
as I specified on her birth plan.” The
nurse graciously explained that cup-feeding is messy and difficult, and at the
moment the most important thing was getting as much formula in Elsie as
possible to keep her blood sugars stabilized.
As I got off the phone, I was struck with a feeling of helplessness that
my baby was locked in a nursery that I wasn’t allowed in, and that I wasn’t the
one calling the shots. Talk about a
control freak’s worst nightmare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I received a
series of phone calls following that: first, that Elsie’s blood sugars went up
following a feeding, and I would get my hopes up that I would get to have her
back, only to be followed by a phone call that Elsie’s blood sugar levels
crashed again. After the first few
rounds of this, my heart sank as I realized that this was a problem that was
going to keep Elsie away from me for more than just a few hours. I held my breath as I heard the words “We
need to admit her into the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit)”. Yet another component of our birth plan wasn’t
going to happen. We weren’t going to get
to room in with our sweet baby. The
thought of her being a few feet from me, let alone across the hospital from me felt
like a hard kick to the stomach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My fight or
flight instincts kicked in at that moment, and I was ready to fight. I told myself that if I kept calm and
collected and acted like I knew what I was doing, they would give my baby back
to me. In my mind if I cried in front of
them or showed weakness, they would deem me unstable and unable to take care of
my baby. I cried anyways. The nurse was so sweet to let Elsie come
spend about 30 minutes with us before they had to take her back to the
NICU. As I held my sweet baby in my
arms, I scanned every inch of her face and tried to commit it to memory. There was no way I was going to forget what
my baby looked like and let them switch my baby for another baby. Yes, my control freak mind was on crazy
overload…seriously, why was the hospital trying to switch my baby for another
baby first on my list of concerns? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was
determined to not give up on breastfeeding, so during the agonizing hours of
waiting for Elsie to get situated in the NICU before we could go see her, I
started pumping. Nowhere in my daydreams
of having a baby did I ever picture myself sitting in a hospital room wearing a
huge gown with two huge slits in the front extending from my chest to my belly
button (seriously though, WHO has boobs that big?!?!) and hooked up to a
machine that was milking me like a cow.
Not very glamorous. I would also
like to mention that whoever came up with the expression “don’t cry over spilt
milk” was obviously a male who had never experienced the true bliss of having
your lady jugs pressed and squeezed for 15 minutes, only to produce 2 tiny
drops of milk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was time
for us to go see Elsie, and I still had to be wheeled around in a
wheelchair. I impatiently kept telling
Danny to go faster to the point where he was practically running while he
wheeled me to the NICU at the other end of the hospital. When we got there, my heart sank as I saw my
teensy little baby hooked up to lots of tubes and wires. I was fortunate to have experience working in
a hospital setting, so the “scariness” of the tubes and wires wasn’t as bad for
me as it was for Danny. He was scared to
touch her at first because he thought she might break. I, of course, was angrier at that point
because I saw that Elsie had a pacifier in her mouth. I wanted to stand on a chair and scream “READ
THE BIRTH PLAN, PEOPLE! WHEN ELSIE BITES
MY NIPPLES OFF BECAUSE OF NIPPLE CONFUSION, I’M COMING AFTER YOU!”. I was obviously grasping at any semblance of
control I had left and failing miserably.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We met our
first of many NICU nurses and I’m sure that although I had decided to be calm
and in control, what she saw was a crazed wild animal who would do whatever it
took to protect her young. As our nurse
calmly explained to us what was going on (basically, Elsie had been admitted to
the NICU because she couldn’t stabilize her blood sugar levels or her
temperature), she told us that Elsie was on antibiotics. Instantly, I felt sick to my stomach. “Wait, you put my daughter on medications
without asking me?” flew out of my mouth before I could use a filter. The nurse explained to us that Elsie could
have a virus, and putting her on antibiotics would start treating the virus, if
it were present. I knew that the nurses
were following protocol and doctor’s orders, I just felt sick that my 4 pound
baby was less than a day old and already on antibiotics…and that I obviously
had no say in most aspects of her treatment plan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I decided to
pour my energy and efforts into something that I could have control over….breastfeeding. I emphasized how important it was to me that
Elsie was breastfed and not requiring formula to supplement meals as soon as
possible. I was told that I would be
able to feed Elsie every 3 hours, but that I would only have a very short
amount of time to feed her before she needed to be hooked up to the monitors
and under the lights again. So basically
the scenario was “Hey Allison, you have 10 minutes to learn how to feed your
teeny tiny baby in a very public place with people all around you and you
better do a really good job because your baby won’t get to go home unless she
gains weight and her blood sugars stabilize.
No big deal. Oh, and don’t stress
because then your milk won’t come in.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had
pictured breastfeeding as this beautifully organic experience where Elsie would
float to my breast that God had created her to feed from, the stars would
align, and we would sink into this breathtaking interlude of magical
mother-daughter bonding. Nope. Try fumbling around wondering if you’re doing
anything right while complete strangers stare at your chest and attempt to “help
you”, while telling you to relax when relaxation is the furthest thing from
what is happening. Oh, and somehow your
teensy newborn has a million teeth made of knives…except she hides them when
you look inside her mouth. Not
beautiful, not magical. Just…ouch. It was long after we got home from the
hospital and I finally relaxed that both Elsie and I mastered the art of
breastfeeding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So Danny and
I settled into this crazy routine where he would run/wheel me down to the NICU,
I would wait for them to take her vitals and prick her teensy feet to get her
blood sugar, I would breastfeed her then supplement with a bottle feeding of
formula, then rush her back to bed. We’d
go back to our room, I’d pump, and if we were lucky we’d get a 45 minute nap in
before we’d run/wheel back to the NICU and start the whole process over
again. The nurses noticed how exhausted
we were because we were always at the NICU and suggested we skip a feeding and
allow them to bottle feed her formula while we got some sleep. I always smiled and said “Maybe”, but then
showed up for the next feeding. No way
was I going to miss an opportunity to be with my little girl. Mama Bear don’t play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let’s be
honest, I did not handle this experience with poise or grace. God had blessed me with a beautiful baby
girl, and I still somehow managed to feel like her being in the NICU was the
worst thing that could have possibly happened.
I remember being in a haze of running to feedings, trying to hold it
together so they wouldn’t say I was too weak to take my baby home, and on my
way back to my room for my brief nap I would see a flood of happy visitors
coming to celebrate the birth of a loved one’s baby. Danny and I had asked for no visitors because
they couldn’t go into the NICU to meet Elsie and we were so busy with her
feeding/pumping schedule, but I found myself being angry that I didn’t get to
have visitors bring me flowers and teddy bears and come admire my baby in my
hospital room. Why did all these other
parents get to enjoy having their baby in their arms, but I had to wheel across
the entire hospital and wait for my baby to be unhooked from a pile of wires to
hold her? It didn’t help that on our
trips down to the NICU I’d stare at my reflection in the window and wonder who
the lady with bags under her eyes and a 6-month pregnant belly was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The day that
I was released from the hospital was a really hard day. Instead of being grateful that we were
fortunate enough to be able to stay in a hospitality room because we technically
lived “out of town”, I cried because the hospitality room was sketchy. The twin beds looked like they’d seen better
days, the toilet gave me the creeps, we had to use a community shower, and the
only window in the room was covered by a huge suspiciously moldy-looking black
spot. I was feeling helpless on the
Elsie front too. They kept running more
and more tests, kept poking her feet to draw blood, and I didn’t see an end in
sight. Instead of being satisfied that
my milk was coming in, we got her off of formula within the first two days, and
she quickly didn’t need the IV to stabilize her blood sugars anymore, I dreaded
going to the NICU only to hear about another test, another reason I couldn’t
have my baby with me, another day of worry and heartache. I felt like I was on a roller coaster—the nurse
practitioner told me “I think your baby will get to go home by Mother’s day” and
I would cry with joy, only to be told a few minutes later “Nevermind, we have
to wait until Monday to run some more tests.”
At one point a doctor came up to me and told me they needed to do a head
ultrasound on my baby. When I asked why,
she coolly said “To check to see if there’s hemorrhaging in the brain. Sorry to tell you that.” and walked away
while I bawled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day I
was taking a quick nap in between feedings in my yucky hospitality room on the yucky
twin bed and staring out the yucky window when I felt God gently press on my
heart “Are you going to stare at that black spot on the window all day, or look
past it and see the sunshine?”. We had
so, so much to be grateful for while we were in the hospital. Each NICU nurse was like a guardian angel
sent from God…they were each exactly what we needed right when we needed
them. Our first nurse was very
informative when we had a ton of questions.
When I felt really sad about leaving Elsie in the NICU without me, God
sent a nurse with a sweet “mama” personality to love on Elsie and give me
confidence. When I was at my lowest
point on Mother’s Day, God sent us a precious NICU nurse to make me a Mother’s
Day card from Elsie with her hand and foot prints and a picture of her I could
take with me when I couldn’t be with her.
Both of our pastors came to pray with us and gave us words of
encouragement when we needed them most.
My mom was such a blessing, running errands for us and holding down the
fort and taking care of Miley for us while we were in the hospital for a
week. God blessed me with the world’s
greatest support person and most caring dad, Danny who held it together when I
couldn’t, sought the Lord throughout the whole process, shared a twin bed with
me so I wouldn’t feel alone, and sang to our daughter in the NICU, no matter
who was listening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Most
importantly, no matter how much I stressed or fretted or worried, He held our
tiny Elsie Ruth right in the palm of His hand.
Each test came back negative—she didn’t have any viruses, she didn’t
have hemorrhaging on the brain, her platelet levels and blood sugar levels and
temperature stabilized and we were able to take her home 6 days after she was
born. She was our tiny, precious gift we
didn’t deserve. I was so humbled that,
despite my best laid plans, God’s plan was the perfect one and the only one
that mattered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me getting
an epidural did not result in paralysis or death. Elsie using formula and a bottle and a
pacifier for a few days did not equal my nipples being ripped off. Although it was the hardest thing I’ve ever
done to be away from her for those first few days, it didn’t kill me to not
room in with her that first night. And
what’s the result of all of this? I come
away with a precious, precious baby and a beautiful perspective that I can’t
control everything in life…or even most things.
The best thing I can do is trust God knows what He’s doing, take a deep
breath, and enjoy the ride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-63564695007869151292012-06-13T12:56:00.000-05:002012-06-13T12:56:01.752-05:00The Story of Elsie Ruth’s Birth Part 2: Labor of Love<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So here’s
where we left off in part 1. I had
planned to have a natural birth without induction, pitocin, or an
epidural. At 38 weeks my doctor told me
that I needed to go to the hospital to be induced because Elsie hadn’t grown
significantly in the past 3 weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a
Tuesday evening when we were sent straight from our doctor’s appointment to the
hospital, and my adrenaline levels were off the charts. I was about to have a BABY, after all!!! Danny lugged our bags (I swear it looked like
we were planning to live in the hospital for at least a year with the amount of
things I packed) up to the fifth floor and we got settled into our labor and
delivery room. I changed into my
fabulously attractive hospital gown, handed the nurse our birth plan, sat on
the hospital bed, and waited. <i>Having a baby.</i> And waited. <i>Pushing a baby out of my body.</i> And waited. <i>I wish
I had some ice cream. </i>And
waited. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally
after three hours of waiting and worrying (and a serious craving for an Andy’s
M&M concrete), my obstetrician came in the room and said “Let’s get this
show on the road!” I, still wanting to
have as natural of a birth as possible, asked if there was any way that we
could break my water and see if the contractions would start on their own
before attempting to use pitocin. Due to
the nature of my situation (Elsie being small, the timeframe of the labor once
the water broke, etc.), my obstetrician said that she wanted to insert a
mechanical balloon in my cervix and that hopefully by the morning I’d be
dilated to a 5. If I hadn’t started
contractions on my own by 5 am, then we’d start the pitocin. All I really heard was “mechanical balloon”
and I pictured a huge red balloon robot filling up my insides until I blew up
like the blueberry girl on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Thank goodness they gave me an Ambien to help
me sleep that night. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite my
concerns about transforming into a balloon robot, when I woke up at 5 am, I was
still in human form. The pitocin was
started, and I tried to prepare myself mentally for the pain that was
inevitably headed my way any moment.
Except, funny thing, there was no pain.
The nurse told me that for every 15 minutes that went by and I wasn’t
having steady and strong contractions, my pitocin would be bumped up by 2. I started off at a 4 and watched every 15
minutes as the nurse came in and bumped up the pitocin. I grimaced, braced myself…and felt the
same. Typically my body reacts very
strongly to any type of medication, but this time I didn’t feel a thing. I convinced myself that I was going to be the
miraculous .0001% of women who didn’t experience pain during childbirth, that I
would probably just sneeze and the baby would simply pop out. No such luck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Danny
suggested we try some of the Lamaze strategies we had discussed to practice for
when the contractions started kicking in.
I would like to briefly mention that the Lamaze classes we took that
were provided by the hospital, while hilarious, appeared to send us a mixed
message. I got the impression they were
telling us “We want you to feel guilty if you use drugs to ease your labor
pains, but we have no intention of actually helping you achieve that lofty
goal. Baths are good for easing labor
pain…but we don’t even provide you with a sink in your bathroom. Birthing balls are very helpful…but bring
your own because we only have 5 in the whole hospital. Moving around the room is a fantastic way to
get through your labor pains, but we’re going to restrict you to these cords
and wires that only allow you to travel 2 inches.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nevertheless,
I hopped on the birthing ball (we brought our own for fear the hospital would
be unable to spare one of their precious 5) and Danny started reading me some
Bible passages (I love my husband so so much).
Instantly, the nurse came in the room and told me that my fetal heart
rate monitor had slipped off my belly. I
got it situated back in the right place, and no sooner had the nurse left the
room than my contractions monitor slid off my belly. The nurse came back in the room, jokingly
cursed the roundness of my basketball belly, and adjusted the contractions
monitor. This dance continued, with monitors
sliding off my belly, the nurse coming and adjusting them over and over again until
I decided to just sit on the bed for awhile to give myself and my poor nurse a
break. In the mean time, my nurse
continued to bump up my pitocin every 15 minutes until it was at 24 at about 8:45
a.m.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lucky number
24. While I was pregnant with Elsie,
Danny and I had decided to watch every season of 24 on Netflix. Talk about INTENSE! After we finished the series, I told Danny it
might not have been the best idea to watch the shows while I was pregnant
because all of the action and drama stressed me out. Danny pointed out that maybe Elsie would come
out of the womb being a hardcore terrorist avenger like Jack Bauer. Once my pitocin hit 24, like the TV series,
things got INTENSE! All of a sudden,
after hours of feeling nothing, I got slapped in the face with very strong, lengthy
painful contractions. When I asked
people what a contraction felt like, most people said “Oh, like period cramps”
or “Just a feeling of pressure in your belly”.
I felt like a giant had picked me up, given me a wicked Indian rugburn
all over my stomach and back, and then kicked me with steel-toed boots just for
good measure. I closed my eyes, pictured the strong and silent woman from the
natural birth video, and screamed my head off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s funny
how when you’re in pain, all rational thought goes out the window. In my optimistic pre-labor, semi-rational
mind I had decided that pain is subjective, that I would have the strength of
mind and willpower to tell myself that the pain wasn’t that bad, and perhaps even
convince myself that contractions felt great.
Sigh…you guys…contractions don’t feel great at all! I was dilated to a 7 when all of this
started, and my optimistic pre-labor brain told me, “See, look at you! You’re over half way there! You can do it!”…to which my crazed in-labor
brain replied, “YOU GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to
cry when I think about how sweet and patient my husband was with me as I felt
myself transform from calm, semi-rational pregnant woman to insane monster
beast. He was by my side the entire time
kissing my hand, telling me I was doing great, whispering Bible verses in my
ear, encouraging me to try the pain-management strategies we’d discussed, and
attending to my every need. He suggested
I get back up on the birthing ball to ease my back labor. When I felt a contraction coming, I would
yell “Put pressure on my back!”, and then a few seconds later I’d say “No,
hands off!”. He suggested turning on
some music to get my mind off the pain. I
had planned on burning a “Birthing Mix” and playing it at the hospital, but
since it was towards the end of my to-do list, it didn’t get made. We turned the TV onto the Christian music
channel, and the Francesca Battistelli song “This is the Stuff” came on. I listened to the song for about 3 seconds,
felt another contraction coming on, and yelled “Turn it off, it’s too happy!”. My vision of the strong and silent woman was
quickly giving way into the nightmarish reality of the evil witch monster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
obstetrician came in around 10:30 when I was dilated to a 7 and broke my
water. That’s when I seriously lost all
control of any essence of being a human being anymore. Afterwards when I asked Danny what I was like
during that time, he said “You were like a caged wild animal who was wounded
and had nothing to lose.” The only thing
that had been keeping me semi-sane at that point was my ability to move around
(it was only like a 3 foot radius, but it was better than nothing!). Then my worst nightmare came true…because the
contractions monitor and fetal heart rate monitor kept sliding off and they
couldn’t get the internal fetal heart rate monitor to work properly, my nurse
told me I’d have to lay still in the bed, to which I promptly replied “I can’t!”. The end result? My nurse had to physically hold me down in
the bed while I had contractions to prevent me from moving. And now….drum roll please…it’s time for the
three things I yelled most frequently during labor:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’VE GOTTA MOVE!!!!” </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The literal one strategy I had for easing labor pain was to
keep moving. So imagine my dismay when I
was being held down in a bed during extremely painful contractions. I was completely unable to cope with having a
contraction while laying down, and despite being held down, attempted to sit up
during each contraction…which did not make my nurse very happy.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!” </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Somewhere in the fog of pain and panic, I convinced myself
that if I could just break free from the nurse’s grips and rip off all of the
wires and monitors, I could get to the door, run down the hall, and be free. That I could literally run from the pain and
it would stay in the labor and delivery room.
Does that make any sense at all?
Nope. Welcome to my insane labor
brain.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’M POOPING!!!!!!” </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Did I really yell that?
Sadly true and highly embarrassing.
Towards the end when the baby’s head was moving down, I kept screaming “I’m
pooping!”, to which the nurse replied “And that’s okay!”. I didn’t actually poop, I just felt all the
pressure of the head coming down and apparently the only sensation I had to
compare it to was…well...you know. What
little was left of my dignity had vanished at that point.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once I lost
my ability to move anywhere, I found a new pain management strategy. During each contraction, I would grab my
sweet husband’s arm, find a small portion of flesh, pinch it as hard as I
could, and then twist it. Sweet Danny just
allowed me to inflict pain on him the first few times I did this. By about the third or fourth time, Danny
gently suggested, “Hey babe, next time you feel like you need to squeeze
something, why don’t you do it to the sheet instead of my arm?” My response, direct quote, was “The sheets
won’t react.”, to which my frightened husband replied “Babe, I think you might
be a sociopath.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When Danny
and I were writing our birth plan and had decided on natural childbirth, I had
warned Danny that I would be nuts during labor, and that I would more than
likely tell him I needed an epidural and he would have to be strong and tell me
no, no matter what I said. After my
obstetrician broke my water and felt the contractions becoming even more
intense and painful, I looked at Danny with pain and panic in my eyes and said,
“I can’t do this.” My sweet husband
grabbed my hand, kissed my forehead, and said “You can do ALL things through
Christ who strengthens you.” Full of
holiness and grace, I replied “SHUT UP!”.
Danny calmly but firmly told me that we had decided not to do an epidural
and that I had specifically told him “It’s not even an option.” After another strong contraction and yelling “STOP
TALKING!” (my fourth most common thing yelled during labor…poor Danny), I
looked at my sweet husband and said “Danny, it <i>has </i>to be an option.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Around that
time my nurse came in and asked “Would you like an epidural?”. Our birth plan had said not to offer pain
medication, that we’d ask for it if needed, but at that moment I saw an
opportunity and decided to take it.
Unfortunately, it involved throwing my saint of a husband under the
bus. I looked at the nurse and said in
my most pathetic battered housewife voice, “My husband doesn’t think I need one.” The nurse glared at Danny with the devil’s
fire in her eyes, then passionately said to me “He does NOT know what you’re
going through. He’s NOT pregnant, and he NEVER WILL BE pregnant. This is YOUR decision, not his.” By the time she finished her speech, she was
practically yelling. There was an
awkward moment of silence in the room and I felt like I needed to defend my
sweet husband who, after all, was only trying to enforce what I had told him to
enforce. I had another strong
contraction and quickly forgot about the awkwardness and told her we’d let her
know. After the nurse left the room,
Danny gave one last ditch effort plea for me to remember what I said and to
just hold out because I was at an 8 at that point. I looked at my husband’s kind, compassionate
eyes and tried to muster what it felt like to be a human again, back when I was
semi-rational and didn’t want an epidural.
The nurse came back in the room, asked “Have you made a decision?” and I
quickly blurted out “Yes, I want an epidural please!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was in a
haze of pain at that point and had no concept of the passage of time, but Danny
told me afterwards that it took the anesthesiologist about an hour to get there
after I had asked for the epidural. Once
he got there, I was dilated to a 9, but my semi-rational optimistic brain was
no longer there to tell me “A 9! That’s
awesome! It’s almost time to push, you
don’t need an epidural because you’re SO CLOSE!”. All I heard was the steady tribal chant of
the crazed in-labor brain shouting “Pain! Pain! You gonna diiiiiieeee, you
gonna DIIIIIIEEEEEE!” I do remember
asking my nurse at that point how much longer it would be until the baby came,
to which she replied “I’m not sure…it could be 30 minutes or 3 hours.” I looked at the anesthesiologist and said “I’m
hurting dude, let’s do this thing.” He
started calmly and casually telling me all of the risks associated with an
epidural. I felt another strong
contraction coming on, and yelled “Get him out of here! I’m having another contraction!”. After the contraction was over, I looked at
my nurse and told her “You tell that man to come back in here, but tell him to
STOP TALKING!”. The anesthesiologist
quickly finished explaining the list of precautions to Danny (I think he was
scared of me at this point), and before I could say “Ginormous needle in my
spine”, it was done and he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At that
point, I laid back in the bed and closed my eyes. Danny told me afterwards that
he was concerned that I had died because I was so still and silent (I knew I’d
eventually get to strong and silent, I was just hoping to have done it without
the epidural). At one point he asked “Allison?”,
to which I replied in a low, guttural voice “I’m here.” My arms were shaking uncontrollably and I still
felt the intense pressure of the baby moving down, but at least I had stopped
screaming “I’M POOPING!!!!” at this point.
I’m sure my nurse was also relieved she no longer had to hold a
screaming, flailing maniac down in the bed.
About 5-10 minutes after I had the epidural, the nurse said “I see the
baby’s head. Time to call the doctor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After that,
everyone was in a hurry of activity preparing for the birth. Me?
Just chillin’ on the bed with my eyes closed. Epidurals are awesome. My obstetrician came in, looked at me, looked
at her phone, and said “Well, I’m going to be late.” By the way, I will never again complain about
having to wait for her during a routine exam…she’s birthing babies, it’s
important work! Before I knew it, it was
time to push. At one point, one of the
nurses said “Do you know what color your baby’s hair is? Because I do!”. It sank in to me at that point I was not in an
episode of “Extreme Pain Camp: Hospital Edition”, I was having a BABY! A baby with HAIR that I would get to meet in
a matter of minutes! And, to my relief,
I realized that Jell-O doesn’t have hair.
Pushing was my favorite because everyone was cheering “Push, push, you
can do it!” I think I finally had a
taste of what it feels like to be an athlete </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.
After about 15 minutes and a few pushes, out came Elsie Ruth Slone, the
love of my life. I cannot explain in
words the flood of emotions that rushed over me as I saw that sweet baby for
the first time. The one we had prayed
for, worried over, ate cheeseburgers for, and carried in my belly for all this
time. A perfect, tiny miracle from God
that I didn’t deserve. As I held her in
my arms for the first time and cried all over her perfect face, I thanked God
for the blessing of this precious life.
Every time I would pull it together and stop crying I’d look at my sweet
husband and the pride and love oozing out of him for our brand-new daughter and
start blubbering all over again. We
thanked God for His goodness and breathed a sigh of relief. I had pushed a baby out of my body…with pitocin
and an epidural…but I was too happy to feel any guilt. We were snuggling a precious baby that was
now ours to keep. The hard part was over, right? Or so we thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Stay tuned
for Elsie’s Birth Story Part 3: “My Breast Friend” to hear about Elsie’s stay
in the NICU, our adventures in breastfeeding, and how God is good, even when
things are hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-6048277667655800412012-06-09T22:20:00.002-05:002012-06-09T22:20:24.003-05:00The Story of Elsie Ruth’s Birth Part 1: The “Birth Plan”<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Today our
sweet baby girl is 1 month old! I can’t
even believe it! To celebrate her 1-month
birthday, I thought I would share the first of a three-part saga of Elsie’s
birth story. A fair warning…I will be
talking about the three Bs in these posts: blood, birthing, and
breastfeeding. If any of these topics
upset or offend you or you do not yet know the logistics of how a baby gets out
of the belly, please discontinue reading these posts. It’s about to get real.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><u>Part 1 </u>will
discuss our “Birth Plan” and background information leading up to Elsie’s
birth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><u>Part 2</u> will
be about the labor and delivery…and why Danny Slone deserves 4,000 gold stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><u>Part 3</u> will
be about Elsie’s NICU stay and adventures in breastfeeding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Background:</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
So like…first, I was pregnant.
That was fun. During every
doctor’s visit after about 20 weeks, I was told I was measuring small, but that
it was “probably just because you’re a small person.” At 30 weeks, my obstetrician suggested I get
an additional ultrasound to make sure Elsie was growing like she was supposed
to. The ultrasound technician assured us
that we had a healthy baby, and that she was just small. Even after hearing the words “healthy” and
“normal”, I let my mind wander and freak me out. I was convinced I was housing a “little
person” in my body (who, for some reason, was dressed as a circus clown) or
that somehow (even though I saw a living, breathing, kicking baby with fingers,
toes, and eyes in my ultrasounds) that my daughter was going to come out as a
ball of Jell-O and the doctor would shout, “Oh, JELL-O! THAT explains why she was so small.” I couldn’t even let myself enjoy compliments
from coworkers like “Girl, are you sure you’re pregnant? You just look like I look after I ate a big
meal” or “You don’t even look pregnant from behind” because I wanted to scream
“Don’t you know it’s not a real baby?!?
I’m housing a gelatinous snack!”
In case you haven’t picked up on it by now, my pregnant brain was
psycho. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At 35 weeks,
I was still measuring really small, so my obstetrician suggested another
ultrasound. After this ultrasound, the
technician said “Let me go get the doctor”.
Doctor? I had never had to talk
to a doctor before during these ultrasounds.
As we waited I held my breath, trying desperately to shut out the list
of horrible scenarios that were running rampant in my brain. The doctor told me that there were a few “red
flags”: first, there was an indication that Elsie might not be getting enough
blood flow through the umbilical cord. Second,
Elsie’s head was measuring slightly larger than her belly, indicating that she
might not be getting sufficient nutrition.
Third, she was barely over the 10<sup>th</sup> percentile for
weight. Tearfully I asked, “Am I just
not eating enough? I can eat more!”, to
which the doctor replied “No, it’s nothing with what you’re eating. With this type of thing it’s almost always an
issue with the placenta.” He told me
that I would need to come back weekly to do an ultrasound to make sure she was
growing properly. The week between the appointments
felt like a month, and I was worried sick that our sweet baby wasn’t
growing. Even though the doctor said that
eating more wouldn’t help, I ate lots and lots of cheeseburgers that week just
in case. Weeks 36 and 37 we went back and
got a report that everything looked good, and I finally let myself feel hopeful
that maybe we would have a baby after all.
At our 38 week appointment, the doctor told us that Elsie hadn’t grown a
significant amount in the past 3 weeks, and that it would be safer to induce
labor and have Elsie grow outside of me than inside me at that point. I stared at the doctor with an open mouth,
and after a few moments of silence, I asked, “Like right now? I’m going to go have a baby RIGHT NOW?!?!”,
to which the doctor calmly replied “Yep.
Head on over to the hospital.” I
suddenly became aware of the fact that I wouldn’t be allowed to eat for a long
time and shoved some trail mix in my mouth.
I was on my way to have a circus clown…or a pile of Jell-O…or hopefully…a
baby! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Birth Plan: </span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m a planner…some might call it a
control freak, but I like the word “planner” better. I like to go into new scenarios (especially
important ones) with a game plan…I am capable of “winging it”, but only if I
make a plan in advance to do so. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> So naturally, when it came to giving
birth to our first child, Danny and I made a game plan. We were given a worksheet from the hospital
with a birth plan, and we filled it out.
Our basic desires were:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Natural birth</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">—Before we knew about any medical
complications, Danny and I decided we wanted to bring Elsie into the world on
God’s time, without being induced, without pitocin, and without an epidural. Almost everyone I mentioned it to said “Good
luck with that!” with a huge smile on their face. Translation: “You don’t even know what you’re
about to get yourself into, you crazy hippy.”
I had read a few books and watched a few videos on natural childbirth
and decided that the benefits for me and baby were worth a little
discomfort. In one video, a strong woman
just lightly rocked back and forth throughout her whole labor, not making a peep
except one small grunt as her baby came out.
I decided that woman was my hero, and that I was going to be just like
her. Strong and silent…yep, sounded just
like me. We wrote on the birth plan to
not offer pain medication, and that we would ask for it if needed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Breastfeeding</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">—I planned to exclusively breastfeed
Elsie, and we had taken a few breastfeeding classes. In the classes and in the breastfeeding
material I had read, there had been a few major recommendations. 1. No bottle feeding for the first 2 weeks. 2. No
pacifier for the first month. Both were
to avoid “nipple confusion” (babies use a different kind of suck to suck a
nipple than they do a pacifier or bottle).
In short, I was basically told my baby would bite my nipple off if I
introduced a bottle or pacifier too soon.
Thinking that sounded a bit too painful for my liking, we wrote “No
bottle-feeding and no pacifier” on the birth plan. We also wrote that in the event Elsie needed
to have supplemental intake, it should be from cup-feeding instead of bottle-feeding.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Rooming in—</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Danny and I really wanted Elsie to
sleep in the same room as us while we were in the hospital, even though several
of our friends and family suggested having the baby sleep in the nursery the
first night so we could get some sleep following the labor and delivery. Danny and I both agreed we couldn’t imagine
meeting our baby and then being away from her, even if only for a night, so we
wrote on our birth plan we wanted her to sleep in the same room as us.</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I gave
my obstetrician the birth plan to sign during my 32-week appointment, she
gently reminded me that I would need to be flexible, because even with the best-laid
plans, things could change very quickly, depending on how the labor and
delivery went. I smiled politely and
said “Of course!”. Leaving the office,
my last thought was “Sweet OB, she must not know how determined I am.” If I had
a time machine, I would go back and slap myself in the face, saying “Honey
child, you don’t even know how real it’s about to get.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Stay tuned
for Part 2: Labor of Love to find out the three things I yelled most frequently
during labor </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> (Oops, spoiler alert, I was NOT strong OR silent).<o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-11226732806255776182012-03-23T14:10:00.000-05:002012-03-23T14:10:24.965-05:00The Hippie<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve decided that I want to become a hippie.<span> </span>Before you freak out and picture me in a field surrounded by magical mushrooms, burning my bra while psychedelic music plays in the background, perhaps I should explain myself.<span> </span>It seems that everything in our American culture is geared towards fast pace, efficiency, stress, and productivity.<span> </span>We value people who get things done, and get them done quickly.<span> </span>We stress when things are not done in the way that we specify they should be according to the cosmic master plan that plays in our heads.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I distinctly remember sitting at the lunch table with my friends in fourth grade, telling them my life plan.<span> </span>In my purple velvet shirt with a built-in choker and massive glasses with bifocals, I confidently told them, “I’m going to meet my husband in college, and then we’ll get married the summer after we graduate college.<span> </span>We’ll spend two years together before we decide to start a family, and we’ll have one boy and one girl.<span> </span>We’ll have the boy first so he can look out for his little sister.”<span> </span>Well, I did meet my husband in college (thank goodness, it took me that long to tame my curly fro and get rid of my 2 inch thick glasses), but we didn’t get married until the summer after my first year of grad school.<span> </span>Plan fail #1.<span> </span>We have been married 2 years and are pregnant, but with a girl.<span> </span>Plan fail #2, there’s no older brother to look out for his little sister.<span> </span>Later in life, I created another “rule” for myself that I wanted to be a young mom, so I needed to be done having kids by the time I’m 30.<span> </span>Why do we make these ridiculous plans and rules for ourselves that are often beyond our control, and then get mad when our plans fail?<span> </span>Don’t we know that, despite our best efforts, we are not the cosmic rulers of the universe?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few weeks ago we went back to Blue Springs for a wedding, and I had the pleasure of attending the church I grew up in.<span> </span>I always love hearing Pastor Rodger preach, God has blessed him with so much knowledge and insight.<span> </span>This particular Sunday, he preached on being led by God.<span> </span>I often find myself making plans with little thought as to whether or not my plans align with God’s will.<span> </span>I worry that the alternative would be to never make plans, and just “let things happen”, which is not in my nature.<span> </span>In his sermon, Pastor Rodger said that it’s necessary to plan, but our planning should be flexible and conditional.<span> </span>In other words, we shouldn’t haphazardly drift through life, waiting for things to happen to us and for us.<span> </span>But at the same time, we should always leave our plans open to God’s leading, and our plans should be conditional on God’s permission.<span> </span>We have to be prepared though that God’s will for us may not always be a smooth road.<span> </span>When the road is bumpy, that doesn’t necessarily mean God hasn’t lead us in that direction.<span> </span>It does mean that we should thank God for the opportunity for spiritual growth through the trial…how often do we not get our way (or not get it easily) and decide to say thank you to God for the opportunity for growth?<span> </span>(If you want to listen to Pastor Rodger’s full sermon or read his online notes, you can find them on the church’s website marked as 3/11/2011—even though it’s 2012-- <a href="http://www.woodschapelonline.org/Pure%20CSS%20Version/wc_sermons.html">http://www.woodschapelonline.org/Pure%20CSS%20Version/wc_sermons.html</a>).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve heard so many stories the past few years of people who are unhappy with their current life situation.<span> </span>Either something <i>isn’t</i> happening that they feel <i>should</i> be happening (a boyfriend, a marriage proposal, a pregnancy, etc.) or something <i>is</i> happening that they <i>don’t </i>feel should be happening (a loss of job, loss of a loved one, marriage difficulties, etc.).<span> </span>I’m often guilty too of trying to rush along my life, fitting it into a box of what I perceive should be happening.<span> </span>But what if I shifted my focus from hyper-egocentric woman who knows what she wants and wants it RIGHT NOW to calm, poised woman who puts God’s plans over her own?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Hence where I’ve decided to become a hippie.<span> </span>My definition of hippie obviously doesn’t align with the actual definition of hippie, so let me give you MY definition of a hippie: “someone who is super chill about when things in life don’t go according to plan”.<span> </span>This may sound like being laid-back to you, but to me this is <i>radical</i>.<span> </span>This is me surrendering my grip of control, my perception of <b>my</b> plan for <b>my</b> life, and even…oh gosh…even the possibility that the plans and rules I’ve created myself may not work out, or aren’t God’s will for me.<span> </span>This means when I come up with a parenting philosophy and something needs to be altered or modified, I go with it.<span> </span>This means if my husband decides that our entire house could fall down at any moment because of those “deadly termites” and wants to spend our entire savings on “termite insurance”, I actually consider it.<span> </span>This may even mean that my throw pillows are in slight disarray when company comes over.<span> </span>I might as well be dancing in a field of magical mushrooms, burning my bra, and listening to psychedelic music, right? </span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-43106578052058030562012-01-08T21:35:00.000-06:002012-01-08T21:35:06.457-06:00A Few of My Favorite MealsI'm starting to like food again! Woo hoo! I have been taking a cooking hiatus while pregnant (aka the sight of raw meat made me want to faint and the smell of spices made me want to puke), but I am finally back to cooking again. The other day I even chopped my first onion since I've been pregnant and I didn't gag! Victory! I feel like a much better wife when I cook, and I know Danny appreciates the results! In celebration of my return to food and cooking, I thought I'd post a few of my favorite recipes and maybe you'll like them too. Feel free to send your favorite recipes my way, I love to try new things! Happy cooking (and eating)!<br />
<br />
My FAVORITE chili recipe! (Besides my dad's chili....and he won't give me the recipe):<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Savory White Chicken Chili</span></b><br />
<br />
<i>Total Time: </i>35 minutes<br />
<i>Servings:</i> 6<br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
<br />
<ul><li>2 tablespoons olive oil</li>
<li>1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces</li>
<li>1 medium onion, chopped</li>
<li>2 cloves garlic, minced</li>
<li>1 1/2 cups chicken broth</li>
<li>1 medium red bell pepper, chopped</li>
<li>1 Tbsp chili powder</li>
<li>1 tsp ground cumin</li>
<li>1 tsp salt</li>
<li>1/2 tsp sugar</li>
<li>1/4 tsp cayenne pepper</li>
<li>2 cans (15 oz each) cannellini beans, drained</li>
<li>1 can (4.5 oz) chopped green chilies </li>
<li>1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro</li>
<li>1 container (6 oz) Greek fat free plain yogurt</li>
</ul><div><b>Directions</b></div><div><ol><li>In a 4-quart saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Cook chicken, onion, and garlic for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until chicken is no longer pink.</li>
<li>Stir in remaining ingredients, except cilantro and yogurt. Heat to boiling. Reduce heat; cover and simmer 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. </li>
<li>Remove from heat; stir in cilantro and yogurt. Serve with additional yogurt and chopped cilantro, if desired.</li>
</ol><div>My FAVORITE barbecue recipe!:</div></div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;">Skillet BBQ Chicken</span></b></div><div><div class="WordSection1"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i>Total Time:</i> 1 hour, 40 minutes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i>Servings:</i> 6-8 </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>Ingredients:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><ul><li>1/2 tsp salt</li>
<li>1/4 tsp pepper</li>
<li>2 tsp paprika </li>
<li>2 Tbsp lemon juice</li>
<li>1 Tbsp sugar</li>
<li>1 tsp minced garlic</li>
<li>1 Tbsp onion</li>
<li>1/2 cup water</li>
<li>1 cup ketchup</li>
<li>5 Tbsp butter</li>
<li>6-8 boneless, skinless chicken breasts</li>
<li>1/3 cup flour</li>
</ul><div><b>Directions:</b></div><div><ol><li>Mix salt, pepper, 1 tsp paprika, sugar, garlic, onion, water, and ketchup in a small saucepan</li>
<li>Heat over medium heat to boil</li>
<li>Simmer on low (uncovered) for 20 minutes</li>
<li>Remove from heat and add lemon juice and 2 Tbsp butter. Mix well, set aside.</li>
<li>Clean chicken well, pat dry.</li>
<li>Put flour, 1 tsp salt, and 1 tsp paprika in a paper bag (I used a gallon sized freezer bag), shaking the chicken breasts (1 at a time) to coat them with the mix.</li>
<li>Brown the chicken in a skillet evenly over medium heat</li>
<li>Pour sauce mixture over chicken, cover skillet and cook SLOWLY for 40-50 minutes.</li>
<li>Turn chicken and baste with sauce several times while cooking.</li>
</ol><div>My FAVORITE burritos!</div></div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;">Baked Steak Burritos </span></b></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Total Time:</i> 30 minutes</div><div><i>Servings:</i> 6</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Ingredients</b></div><div><ul><li>1/4 cup butter</li>
<li>1 pkg (1.25 oz) taco seasoning mix</li>
<li>1 1/2 lb boneless sirloin tip steak, cut into thin bite-size strips</li>
<li>1 can (16 oz) refried beans</li>
<li>1 pkg (10.5 oz) flour tortillas for soft tacos and fajitas (12 tortillas)</li>
<li>2 cups (8 oz) shredded cheddar cheese</li>
<li>3 medium green onions, thinly sliced</li>
<li>1 can (10 oz) enchilada sauce</li>
<li>1 cup (4 oz) shredded Mexican cheese blend</li>
</ul><div><b>Directions</b></div></div><div><ol><li>Heat oven to 400 degrees F. In 10-inch skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Stir in taco seasoning mix. Add beef strips. Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until desired doneness. Drain.</li>
<li>Meanwhile, place refried beans in saucepan and heat over medium heat until heated through.</li>
<li>Spread each tortilla with refried beans to within 1/4 inch of the edge. Top each with beef, cheddar cheese, and green onions. Roll up, folding in sides. </li>
<li>In ungreased 13 x 9 inch glass baking dish, place burritos with seam side down. Pour enchilada sauce over burritos. Sprinkle with Mexican cheese blend. </li>
<li>Bake uncovered 7 to 12 minutes or until burritos are thoroughly heated and cheese is melted.</li>
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</b></span></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-76549974500087974952012-01-01T21:34:00.001-06:002012-01-08T21:39:11.696-06:00Bibbity, Bobbity, Baby!<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Happy New Year!!!! Insert ridiculous excuse here as to why I haven’t blogged for the past 7 months. Busyness? Laziness? Writer’s block? Choose your own adventure. What’s important to note is that I am back, I am blogging, and I am having a BABY!!!! For those of you who are interested in the details of pregnancy or are morbidly curious how ridiculous I have been for the past four months, please read on. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For those of you who are not, stay tuned for a post not pertaining to babies on another day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Background<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When people found out I was pregnant, one of the first questions asked was, “Were you guys trying?” This seems like a normal enough question, but for some reason in my head I picture two people wearing 80’s workout jumpsuits and sweatbands with a huge clock behind them, screaming “It’s baby-making time!” every hour on the hour. Normally I am a planner and I have timelines and organizational flow-charts running through my head at all times, but this wasn’t the case with getting pregnant. Babies are miracles from God and we knew that God’s timing was better than anything we could ever plan. If you’ve ever watched a video on the miracle of conception, you know that it is an amazing, intricate process that only God can orchestrate. My mom reads this blog, so I will not get into the logistics of how Danny and I enjoy the benefits of our wedded bliss, and therefore it was perfectly plausible that I would become pregnant. We were excited about the prospect of becoming parents if it was God’s will, but not fervently calculating ovulation days, if that makes sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How We Found Out<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a Saturday (September 10<sup>th</sup> to be exact), and Danny had gone to a float trip bachelor party extravaganza for the weekend while I went to a women’s conference in Nixa and a 1-year-old’s birthday party. The day before, Danny and I had gone for a walk and I had felt really faint, but I just thought it was because I hadn’t had enough water that day. All day Saturday I felt really shaky and weak, but I told myself it was because I drank a coffee drink for lunch and I had given up soda for the month of September, so I wasn’t used to the caffeine. When I got home that night, I tried to talk myself out of taking a pregnancy test. I told myself, “Allison Slone, you are not pregnant, you are being ridiculous, you’re going to waste a pregnancy test, and your husband isn’t even in town. At least wait until tomorrow when Danny’s home to take the test.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Despite my best convincing, I defied myself and took the pregnancy test. As I was taking the test, I prayed, “Lord, I want what You want. But I also don’t want any false alarms…so please make whatever is on this test the real deal. If I’m pregnant, let it say ‘Pregnant’. If I’m not pregnant or will be not pregnant down the road, make it say ‘Not Pregnant’.” The three minutes I waited for the test to process, I was fully convinced it would say a big fat “Not Pregnant”. I told myself not to be disappointed, that it just wasn’t God’s timing for us. When I looked at the test and it said “Pregnant”, I immediately fell to the floor and prayed “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” over and over again. There were no words, I was in complete shock and my husband was floating down a river with a dead cell phone battery. I hid the test in a drawer, then went back there periodically 50 or more times throughout the night to make sure I didn’t make up in my head that it said ‘Pregnant’ and miss the word ‘Not’. I could not sleep at all that night, so I made a sign for Danny that said “Welcome home Daddy! Love, Baby Bean” and put it in the drawer with the pregnancy test. I spent the rest of the night praying, smiling, and double-checking that I wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The next day I went to church without Danny and sat in a room full of my close friends with a huge secret to keep. I kept lecturing myself, “Allison Slone, you will be the world’s WORST wife if the very first person to find out you’re pregnant is not your husband.” This time I listened to myself and kept quiet. After church I went to lunch with some friends, and Danny met us there. I thought I was going to explode when I saw him, but I somehow managed to keep the secret through the entire lunch. One of our friends at lunch was pregnant and talking about working in the schools and having a separate “baby insurance” for when she took her maternity leave. When we finally got home (we drove separate cars because Danny met us there directly after his trip), I told Danny, “Hey, I need you to come inside and help me with something.” He said , “I think I’m going to stay out here a little while and clean out my car.” Unable to contain myself a second longer, I yelled “You need to come inside RIGHT NOW!!!” Scared of his monster wife, he complied. I told him to look in the drawer, and he did. With big eyes he turned to me and his very first words were, “But we don’t have baby insurance!” After I slugged his shoulder, we laughed and cried and hugged and thanked God for the blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Symptoms and Cravings<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Everyone wants to know your pregnancy symptoms and your pregnancy cravings. I was sure that whenever I was pregnant I would be hugging the toilet for nine months straight, only taking a break from barfing to eat chili cheese dogs covered in chocolate, but that really hasn’t been the case. My biggest pregnancy symptoms are as follows:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><ol><li><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Sleepiness. I need naps. I need pre-nap naps and post-nap naps. I have been going to bed as early as 7 pm each night and sleeping as late as humanly possible. At work I struggle to keep my eyes open the hour after lunch time, because I always tend to need a post-meal nap. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Tears. I cry at happy commercials. I cry at sad commercials. I cry when Danny tries to adjust the covers on the bed and accidentally takes the blanket away from me. I cry when I see babies. I cry when I see dads with their children. I cry when I don’t feel like eating. I cry when Danny talks to our baby in my tummy. My mom says I need to “get my emotions under control”. That makes me cry too. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">J</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Nausea.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">For a long time in early pregnancy, I couldn’t enter a bathroom, open a microwave or refrigerator, or even put my toothbrush in my mouth without gagging.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I have only “been sick” about 10 times total, mainly when I try to drink super concentrated healthy juice, eat a salad, or smell a particularly stinky toot from one of my kiddos I’m working with.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I have been generally disinterested in food, and had a particular aversion to onions (which I normally adore) and meat, particularly raw meat that I have to cook myself.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Poor Danny, the Slone household has had many a vegetarian and onion-free meal since I’ve been pregnant.</span></li>
</ol><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As far as cravings go, the only two things I have craved consistently are chocolate and potatoes in any form. I love baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, French fries, and potato chips. I have been striving to eat balanced, nutritious meals, but several times all I could manage for dinner was a baked potato. Normally I like a small chocolate or two just to leave a sweet taste in my mouth, but since I’ve been pregnant I’ve had to ask Danny to hide chocolate from me so I don’t eat the entire bag. I was hoping pregnancy would make me not such a wimp about spicy things, but I have not been very “daring” at all with spices. I crave what is bland, what is plain, and generally what is unhealthy. Those women who tell you to “Just listen to your body” when you’re pregnant obviously don’t have the crazy body that I do. If I “listened to my body” all the time during this pregnancy I would now weigh 700 pounds. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Danny’s Adorableness<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I need to take just a mushy minute to talk about how adorable my husband is. He has been a complete angel and blessing through these past several months. He is the most attentive, sweet, PATIENT man in the entire world and I thank him for it every day. For the first few months of pregnancy when all food repulsed me, he readily took over all of the cooking and gently coerced me into eating small meals. When I was taking my pre-nap naps, naps, and post-nap naps, he was picking up the slack around the house by doing laundry and dishes. When I cry for no reason, he smiles and hugs me and tells me everything will be okay. In his first conversation with the baby, he laid out a gospel presentation. Since then, he has sang to the baby, kissed the baby, and read a fatherly Bible passage about not fornicating. He helps me put lotion on when I get out of the shower so I don’t get too itchy during the day. He brings me water every night and reminds me to take my prenatal vitamin. He has read the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book cover to cover, and any time I complain about a symptom, he’ll say “Yeah, the book said you might have that.” Then he provides me with the book’s suggested remedies. I weep when I think about what a great dad he will be, and I weep when I think about how amazing of a husband he is to me now. It ALMOST makes me want to give in and let him name the baby Stonewall or Tecumseh or Jubil or Lowell. ALMOST.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Trusting God<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have been completely terrified through this entire process. When I found out we were pregnant, I was so excited but also so filled with worry. I have had so many amazing, godly friends who have had terrible difficulties getting pregnant and heartbreaking miscarriages. I wanted to trust that God was going to provide this blessing, but I also wanted to guard my heart. It took four agonizingly long weeks before we had our first ultrasound to see the baby’s heartbeat. The verse I hung over my desk and meditated on over and over again during that time was Romans 15:13 “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” God has been faithful despite my lack of faith. Our initial ultrasound was a healthy little bean with a heartbeat. One day I found out that I had been exposed to fifth disease through one of the kiddos I work with, which is not good for pregnant women and there’s a small percentage of spontaneous miscarriage from exposure. I impatiently waited 2 weeks to get the results of my blood work. One night when I was in St. Louis at a conference, I found a tiny streak of blood when I went to the bathroom and immediately assumed the worst. I angrily asked God, “Why would you give me this baby and then take it away?”. I came to the immediate realization that this baby WAS God’s to give or take away, not mine. At my next doctor’s appointment we heard a healthy heartbeat and my doctor told me I had previously been exposed to the virus, so I had the antibodies to protect the baby. There is something so humbling about carrying a miracle that God is intricately forming inside of you, knowing that there is literally nothing you can do except try to stay healthy and pray for the best. I am praying for a much greater faith in the Lord and His will for my life, whatever the outcome. It’s a hard but rewarding journey to practice surrendering control. Maybe He knew that my ultimate lesson with surrendering control would be a time where I had no other choice. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He’s so wise.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We are now 20 weeks (halfway through the pregnancy) and we find out on Tuesday if we are having a boy or a girl. I have a feeling it’s a boy, but we will see what God has in store for us in 2012. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt;">J</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-31859670490017787512011-05-16T20:38:00.001-05:002012-01-08T21:40:09.180-06:00The Dominator: Unveiling of the Bossy Housewife<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I moved to Springfield almost 7 years ago to come to college, one of my biggest concerns was finding a church that could feel like “home”. I felt like my church back in Blue Springs (shout out to my Woods Chapel Bible Fellowship family!) had set the bar pretty high for what an amazing, God-centered church was supposed to look like, and I was determined to find WCBF’s Springfield identical twin church. It took a crazy 5-year scavenger hunt through the Ozarks, sampling every shape and size of church, for me to realize that WCBF didn’t have an identical twin…or even a fraternal twin, for that matter. It’s funny how we treat churches almost as if we are consumers with something to buy. “Oh, I’ll order two of the awesome pastor with inspiring, biblical message, but please leave off the side of hokey worship music.” I kept praying that we’d find a church home where we could grow in our walk, get plugged in to a group of people who we could share life with and call family, find an outlet where we could serve…and if it wasn’t too much to ask, have some worship music that was moving rather than hokey.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My sweet husband and I have found all of those things and more in the Bridge church in Nixa. We have been going there for over a year now, and it is such a blessing to be a part of a growing, life-giving church where we feel both encouraged and challenged to grow in our faith. Danny and I are plugged in with the best, most hilarious Life Group anyone could ever ask for and have been involved in various activities, but we were interested in getting even more involved. So the other week we signed up after church to attend a meeting about getting involved at the Bridge. To my surprise, we were handed a “homework assignment” to bring to the meeting: a personality test and a spiritual gifts test. Most people groan in agony when they receive these types of tasks, but I’m one of those freaks who loves to learn about myself…or so I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Danny and I sat down to fill out our personality tests, and I was feeling great. For each question there were four statements, and I had to pick the statement that was “most” true of me. Naturally if more than one quality pertained to me in a question, I picked what I perceived to be the most “desirable” trait. After all, if someone wants to know if you “like to be in charge” or are “family oriented”, wouldn’t YOU pick that you were family oriented?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The test broke personalities down into 4 main categories: Dominance, Influence, Steadiness, and Compliance. When I completed my test, I scored myself highest in Influence. The descriptors for Influence are “charming, confident, convincing, enthusiastic, inspiring, optimistic, persuasive, popular, sociable, and trusting”. Yep. Those sound nice, right? Then Danny and I decided to take the personality test for each other without telling each other what we had scored for ourselves. Once the test was over, we went over Danny’s results first. Danny and I had each given him the exact same score, which was 100% Compliance. Compliance is described as “accurate, analytical, conscientious, courteous, diplomatic, fact-finder, high standards, mature, patient, and precise.” The discrepancy came when Danny and I compared the scores we gave me on the personality test. I ranked myself highest in Influence. Danny ranked me highest in Dominance. Dominance descriptors include “adventuresome, competitive, daring, decisive, direct, innovative, persistent, problem </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">solver, result-oriented, self-starter”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was unable to hear or read a single one of these positive descriptors because I was having a sudden and horrifying identity crisis. I was not sweet Allison Slone, woman of poise and influence. I was the Dominator, swooping in to terrorize lives and boss everyone around. Granted, the descriptors for each personality type were positive and just trying to show what the ideal working environment would be for each personality type. But all I could hear was a voice echoing in my head, “Dominator! Dominator! Dominator!” with a mental image of me towering over my husband, shaking a finger in his face and yelling, “Comply! Comply! Comply!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So I did what I do every time I have a horrific identity crisis. I called Whitney. I explained the whole scenario to her, telling her I wasn’t sure if I was more terrified that my husband perceived me to be an evil, dominating wench or if I was more terrified that he was right. Whitney, ever the voice of reason, assured me that “dominance” didn’t have to have the negative connotation I was associating with it, and it certainly didn’t mean that Danny perceived me as an evil, dominating wench. We also discussed how I scored zero in the area of Compliance, and reminisced about all the times in my life I said things like “I want to serve Danny…unless he expects it, then he can forget it!” or when I said intelligent, well thought-out bits of wisdom such as, “I do what I want!” or “Don’t tell me what to do!”. Ask my dad from experience raising me as a teenager. If there was one thing I lacked, it was compliance. I remember trying to shake my head “no” ever so slightly while he was lecturing me, trying to be subtle enough to go undetected but enough to feel I was demonstrating my distaste for his authority over me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Whitney took the opportunity to mention that Danny and I reminded her a lot of Phil and Claire Dunphy off of the TV show “Modern Family”. While I love the show, the thought of being compared to Claire made me cringe. She’s always stressed and crazy and such a perfectionist and…oh my gosh, all of the qualities about me that I dislike. When I told Danny that Whitney said that we reminded him of the Dunphys, he got a huge smile on his face and said, “That’s awesome! I love Phil!” Yeah, everybody loves Phil. One day last week we got into a tiny tiff about something unimportant, and I told Danny he needed to stop being bossy to me. Do you know what that man said to me? He said “Well, if we’re Phil and Claire Dunphy, then Claire’s the bossy one, not Phil.” Once again I got that horrifying image of me in a witch’s costume with a monster mask towering over Danny, yelling “Comply! Comply! Comply!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So we were over at our dear friends the Days house this week and hadn’t seen the latest “Modern Family” episode, so we all watched it. Not only was this the most hilarious episode ever, but it also was an episode where Claire tried to be the “fun parent” and Phil tried to be the “bossy parent” and they both failed miserably. At the end, they tied all the stories together beautifully by saying that we each play our own roles in our families for a reason, and that’s the way we were created to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I mentioned in an earlier post that our spouses act as our mirrors. While I was subconsciously attempting to “create” a version of myself through my personality test that made me feel the most flattered, my spouse was able to objectively identify the qualities that represented me most, whether I liked them or not.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So what happens when you don’t like your personality? I think the better (and more constructive) question might be “How can I embrace the positive qualities that God has given me while also recognizing my weaknesses and attempting to improve them?” What’s good about dominance? Hmm…well, I will get stuff done and I will get it done well. I will be organized and I will lead the pack when others don’t want to step up to the plate. I will make meal plans months in advance, I will coordinate social events, I will set goals and achieve them. What could change? I can practice a little more “compliance” in my marriage, looking for ways to serve Danny more and maybe even letting him do a little of the bossing every once in awhile. I can spend more of my time looking for ways to be a blessing to others and less of my time stressing about my personality.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So lock your doors…or open them. Dominator Slone’s coming to your town, and, who knows? She may even run for Governor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-23845588184911725462011-05-01T18:32:00.001-05:002012-01-08T21:41:26.008-06:00My Favorite Wedding Gift<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Weddings are the most fun ever. Not only do you get to look super hot and have hundreds of people stare at you, but you get presents. Lots and lots of them. I mean, I guess marrying your one true love in the sight of God and your closest family and friends is pretty neat too, but today I want to talk about the presents.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Each time I walk around my house and use my wedding gifts, I think about the person that gave it to us. It’s like we have a little bit of the love of our family and friends sprinkled throughout our home. When it comes to talking about my very favorite wedding gift, most people who know me well would immediately guess it’s my beautiful red KitchenAid mixer. After all, when Danny and I were unpacking everything in our first apartment, I hugged that KitchenAid tightly and snuggled it, asking Danny to give me just a few minutes alone with my precious new baby. Don’t get me wrong, my KitchenAid and I have a bond that is stronger than blood. My very, very favorite wedding gift though is just a little more precious.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The gift came from my sweet, hilarious Grandma Glenda Rose. She gave us a beautiful antique tea set that was passed down in our family, but she included in the box my most prized possession. When my dad was in high school, he carved a masterpiece in his shop class. It was this wooden block. He wrote with a black sharpie in block letters, “LOVE IS… NEVER BEING SEPERATED”. He had carved a boy and a girl and glued them to the top of the block, then drew in their faces and bodies in black.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Here are my favorite things about this painting:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"></div><ol><li><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Separated is spelled incorrectly.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> The boy and the girl are naked. Apparently they’re cartoon characters from some old show, but I have no reference for them and they…are…naked.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> When my grandma sent me this gift, Naked Boy had came unglued from the top. So although the sign said “LOVE IS…NEVER BEING SEPERATED”, Naked Boy was separated from Naked Girl.</span></li>
</ol><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I knew right away that this gift was my favorite ever. As soon as Danny and I started unpacking things in our new apartment after our honeymoon, we decided that this work of art must be displayed prominently in our master bathroom. We didn’t have any super glue, and so we just propped Naked Boy up next to Naked Girl. Every time Naked Boy fell off, Danny and I would both scream “AAAAAAA!!!!!!” until one of us quickly put Naked Boy back up on his rightful place by Naked Girl. There were a few times where we would place Naked Boy in random places in the house as a fabulous surprise for each other. One day I found Naked Boy propped up on the toilet seat. Another day, Danny found Naked Boy waiting patiently on his pillow. But inevitably, Naked Boy would always wind up back by his Naked Girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we first got the sign right before our wedding, I pondered the meaning of “LOVE IS…NEVER BEING SEPERATED”. At the time, I took it to mean that if you’re really in love, you must be by each other’s side 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I didn’t really like that idea. I adore my sweet husband, but I also need my girls’ time. As Danny and I have spent time being married and enjoying life together, I have come to understand “NEVER BEING SEPERATED” as less of a physical, presence thing and more of an emotional, heart thing. To love Danny is to carry his heart with me, even when I’m not physically with him. To think of his needs, to talk him up to friends and strangers, and to show him I love him with my actions. If we ever start to lose that emotional connection to each other, I hope that we can together scream, “AAAAAAA!!!!!!” until we regain that relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So one day our whole sign fell down and Naked Guy flew off (as per usual), but this time Naked Girl came unglued too. I was very distraught. I took it as a metaphor that our life and marriage were soon collapse around us. Naked Guy and Naked Girl sat on our dresser for weeks, just…being separated. One day I came home from work and my sweet husband had a big smile on his face. He told me he had a surprise for me. He made me close my eyes and walked me slowly to the master bathroom. I opened my eyes to find Naked Guy and Naked Girl super glued back in their rightful places in the world. I smiled, cried, and breathed a sigh of relief. Naked Guy and Naked Girl were back together again. Never to be seperated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-8829285600146917922011-04-11T21:30:00.001-05:002012-01-08T21:42:17.414-06:00Set the Boob Tube on Fiyah!<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh hi! Remember me? Come on, it’s only been…3 months. Yikes. As for the meal plans…oh, the meal plans. For those of you who were concerned, I still continued to cook meals (and also eat them) during my 3 month little break from the blog. It only took me three times of typing out the whole week’s meal plans to realize a few things. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 20.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I love food. A lot. I love to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make </i>food. However, I don’t like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">writing</i> about making food. Those of you who muster joy from writing about whisking and blending and basting, bravo! It’s just not for me. Although if there was ever a food blog that handed free samples to readers, I’d be all over it!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 20.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Life is super fun, but it can also be super busy. My time is too short to spend hours typing up….well, anything, let alone tons of recipes. I have convinced myself that blog writing should be fun only, not a chore. But if you ever hear me bragging about how amazing a meal I made last night was, feel free to message me and I will shoot you the recipe! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 20.25pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I love marriage. I started this blog to talk about adventures in marriage. So it gave me a little twinge of panic when people said “Have you read Allison’s food blog?” I’d rather it be referred to as the “Allison’s crazy random tangents and stories about life and marriage” blog. Yes, that sounds better.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, onto the latest random tangent…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have a love/hate relationship with TV. Basically I love to watch it, and I hate that I love it so much. Danny and I have had many a conversation about monitoring the things we put into our brains, but I have always fallen back on the “at the end of a long, hard day I need to fill my mind with mindless junk” excuse. It sounded so reasonable when I said it, but my brain must have been fried to think that logic was sound. Looking at it in writing, it just looks ridiculous. Danny and I don’t even really spend that much time watching television…a random show here, a little episode there, maybe a Real Housewives marathon all day on a Saturday. What?!?! Yeah.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So we decided along with our dear friends the Days to give up television for Lent. I figured spending a little extra time with Jesus instead of the cast of Modern Family couldn’t hurt for a little while, right? Well…that is until we decided to give up movies too. Oh, the pain. Movies are like my boyfriends on the side. If Danny isn’t home or he is and he’s being lame (aka working on graduate class work), I just get a little movie to spice up my life. Knowing my weakness and love of my side boyfriends, I had to physically unplug the TV from the wall. That way I wouldn’t have the excuse to say “What? The TV’s on? How did THAT happen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The first few days were the worst. Danny and I would stare longingly into the reflection of our television, willing it to produce a few flickering images for our mindless enjoyment. Then something strange happened. We started enjoying life without the TV. We went on walks, we played board games (lots and lots of them, Danny is a board game FREAK!), we talked about deep and magical things such as the meaning of life and whether or not we would give our children an allowance. We read our Bibles more, exercised more, and spent more time canoodling (yeah, I said it.). It seemed as if those few stressful hours we had when we got home from work would stretch into a longer, sweeter, more enjoyable evening. Do I think this all came from not watching television? No. We seriously don’t typically watch more than 2-3 hours of TV per week. I think it came from a switch in the routine, an intentionality behind what we were going to do with our evenings instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I also had time to read more books. Remember pleasure reading? It almost became an extinct notion for me while I was in graduate school, but I always forget how much I LOVE to read until I…like…read. Very deep, I know. My one true love Whitney gave me some books to read over Spring Break, and one of these books happened to be Ray Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451”. Somehow I managed to have never read this book before, and I’m convinced it’s because I was supposed to read it when I was on a television fast. For those of you who haven’t read it, it’s a futuristic dystopia novel where Americans are encouraged to live life for cheap thrills and intellectual thought is discouraged, with reading illegal. I was amazed to find how many parallels the novel shared with our current society. The book painted a picture of television as being on all 4 walls, where it displayed people talking about nothing, with loud music and colors but no real substance. They called the people on television “the family”. It’s funny when you’re in the middle of fasting from television to hear how many people’s conversations center around what they have seen on television. People, including Danny and I, develop some sort of emotional attachment to our “shows”, treating the characters almost as if they are like family members.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I always have this recurring panic that I’m going to wake up when I’m 50 and have nothing to show for my life besides bellybutton lint and a college degree. I think this TV fast has helped me get a better grip on how I would like to be spending my time. Danny and I just bought a house in Nixa (more on that later), and we have discussed not buying cable. We also talked about setting the TV on fire…but that might be just because we’re pyros. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-65010506836339122292011-01-22T20:47:00.001-06:002012-01-08T21:43:40.765-06:00Meal Plan 3<div style="text-align: left;">Okay, so remember when I made a meal plan 5 months in advance and said I would have to be flexible? This is one of those "flexible" weeks. This week we have done a lot of various dinners with friends, etc. Then one day we realized that we were swamped up to our eyeballs in leftovers and needed to cease all cooking until we could get said leftovers under control. We hate wasting food, so we wanted to be sure to eat what we had before we started making new stuff. Long story short, we only really made 3 solid meals this week. But what a yummy 3 meals they were! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A quick point of clarification: This is not a food blog. I know that every week that I am typing out the meals that Danny and I eat, but I am not attempting to recreate <em>Julie and Julia</em>, cook through an entire cookbook in a year, etc. I'm not a fancy chef, nor do I plan to dissect an entire lamb. I just love my husband, and my husband loves food, and therefore we make food and then we eat it. Call me outdated, but I think that cooking is one of the important (and fun) components of being a wife....or someone who likes to eat! Hopefully some of you are benefitting from these recipes, but if you aren't just let me know and I will stick to my sappy posts about the importance of love and unrequited optimism in the midst of a cold, dark world. Ha ha. Some of you may be thinking, "If this isn't a food blog, why have your last 3 posts been recipes?" Touche. I will try to post more non-food related posts! But for now, here comes the food!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><u><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Meal Plan 3</span></strong></u></div><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Chicken Noodle Soup</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Total Time:</em> 30 minutes<br />
<br />
<em>Serving size:</em> 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 2 cups egg noodle pasta<br />
• 1 tablespoon neutral oil, like grapeseed or corn<br />
• ½-3/4 lb. cut-up boneless chicken meat, uncooked<br />
• 1 medium onion, halved and thinly sliced<br />
• 1 carrot, diced<br />
• 1 celery stock, diced<br />
• 1 cup peas<br />
• 6 cups chicken, beef, or vegetable stock<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish<br />
• Freshly grated parmesan cheese for garnish (optional)<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Add the pasta and cook it until it’s just about done—there should still be a light chew to it. Drain it and rinse in cold water until cool; set aside. (If you’re cooking the pasta in advance by more than 30 minutes, hold the pasta in a bowl of cold water or toss with a couple tablespoons of neutral oil).</li>
<li>Put the oil in a deep saucepan or casserole over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion, carrot, and celery and cook until the onion is translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the cut up chicken meat to the pan, simmering until just cooked through. Add the stock and peas, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil.</li>
<li> Stir in the cooked pasta and heat until the pasta is hot and cooked through. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Garnish with the parsley and the Parmesan if you’re using it and serve. </li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This soup was really yummy and had a very “clean/fresh” taste to it. By FAR much better than the canned stuff, and it really doesn’t take a lot of time.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Baked Macaroni and Cheese</strong></span><br />
<br />
<em>Total Time:</em> About 45 minutes<br />
<em>Serving size:</em> 4-6<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
<br />
• Salt<br />
• 2 ½ cups milk <br />
• 2 bay leaves<br />
• 1 pound elbow, shell, ziti, or other cut pasta<br />
• 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter<br />
• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour<br />
• 1 ½ cups sharp cheddar grated cheese<br />
• ½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese<br />
• Freshly ground black pepper<br />
• ½ cup or more bread crumbs<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<br />
<ol><li> Heat the oven to 400 degrees F. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it.</li>
<li>Heat the milk with the bay leaves in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. When small bubbles appear along the sides, about 5 minutes later, turn off the heat and let stand. Cook the pasta in the boiling water to the point where you would still think it needed another minute or two to become tender. Drain it, rinse it quickly to stop the cooking, and put it in a large bowl. </li>
<li>In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, melt 3 tablespoons of butter; when it is foamy, add the flour and cook, stirring, until the mixture browns, about 5 minutes. Remove the bay leaves from the milk and add about ¼ cup of the milk to the hot flour mixture, stirring with a wire whisk all the while. As soon as the mixture becomes smooth, add a little more milk, and continue to do so until all the milk is used up and the mixture is thick and smooth. Add the cheddar cheese and stir.</li>
<li>Pour the sauce over the pasta, toss in the Parmesan, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Use the remaining 1 tablespoon butter to grease a 9x13-inch or like-size baking pan and turn the pasta mixture into it. Top liberally with bread crumbs and bake until bubbling and the crumbs turn brown, 15 to 20 minutes. Serve piping hot.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> Yum! When I told Danny what I was making, he said “Ugh, why? You can’t beat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, don’t even try!” After dinner he was singing a different tune. Kraft Mac and Cheese, there’s a new sheriff in town. <br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Simple Green Salad</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Total Time:</em> 10 minutes<br />
<br />
<em>Serving size:</em> 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 6 cups torn assorted greens<br />
• About 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil<br />
• About 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• Croutons<br />
• Parmesan cheese<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Put the greens in a bowl and toss them with the oil, vinegar, a pinch of salt, and some pepper. Toss and taste. Adjust the seasonings as needed.</li>
<li>Add the croutons, top with parmesan cheese, and serve immediately.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> We’ve made this salad before (recipe listed in meal plan 1), but we can’t get enough of it!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Zesty Meatballs and Rice</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Total Time:</em> 25 minutes<br />
<em>Serving size:</em> 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 lb lean ground beef<br />
• 6 Tbsp (1/2 of the pouch) Shake ‘N Bake Crispy Seasoned Coating Mix<br />
• 1 cup finely shredded carrots<br />
• ½ cup shredded cheddar and Monterey Jack cheese<br />
• ¼ cup Catalina dressing<br />
• 2 Tbsp. soy sauce<br />
• 1 ¼ cups water<br />
• 1 ½ cups instant white rice, uncooked<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Mix meat, coating mix, carrots, and cheese. Shape evenly into 16 balls.</li>
<li>Cook meatballs in a large nonstick skillet on medium-high heat 8 minutes or until evenly browned, stirring occasionally.</li>
<li>Add dressing, soy sauce, water, and rice; mix well. Bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer 1 minute. Cover. Remove from heat; let stand 5 minutes or until liquid is absorbed.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This is one of our favorites! Danny did a great job cooking this meal, it has lots of flavor and can be made pretty quickly and painlessly!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>Dessert of the Week</strong></span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Chocolate Chip/Oatmeal Cookies</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Total Time:</em> 30 minutes<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• ¾ cup brown sugar<br />
• ¾ cup white sugar<br />
• 1 cup (2 sticks) butter <br />
• 1 tsp vanilla<br />
• 2 eggs<br />
• 2 cups flour<br />
• 1 tsp baking soda<br />
• ½ tsp salt<br />
• 2 cups oatmeal and chocolate chips<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Cream brown sugar, white sugar, butter, vanilla, and eggs together with mixer</li>
<li>Add flour, baking soda, and salt</li>
<li>Stir in oatmeal and chocolate chips</li>
<li>Drop by spoonfuls onto cookie sheet</li>
<li>Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> Us + cookies = LOVE<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Appetizer of the Week</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Homemade Guacamole</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 3 Haas avocadoes, halved, seeded, and pitted<br />
• 1 lime, juiced<br />
• ½ tsp salt<br />
• ½ tsp ground cumin<br />
• ½ tsp cayenne<br />
• ½ medium onion, diced<br />
• 2 Roma tomatoes, seeded and diced<br />
• 1 Tbsp chopped cilantro<br />
• 1 clove garlic, minced<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>In a large bowl, place the scooped avocado pulp and lime juice, toss to coat</li>
<li>Drain and reserve the lime juice, after all of the avocadoes have been coated</li>
<li>Using a potato masher, add the salt, cumin, and cayenne and mash.</li>
<li>Then fold in the onions, tomatoes, cilantro, and garlic.</li>
<li>Add 1 Tbsp. of the reserved lime juice.</li>
<li>Let sit at room temperature for one hour and then serve with tortilla chips.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> There is nothing in this world that’s better than homemade guacamole. Try it, I promise it will convert you!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-38190085832249486072011-01-15T22:01:00.001-06:002012-01-08T21:45:03.952-06:00Missions, Visions, and Meal Plan 2So in my Bible Study group at church, we’re reading a book called “Jesus on Leadership” by C. Gene Wilkes. I feel like my mind has been chewing on a few thoughts based on the book lately, and I figured I’d share one:<br />
<br />
<br />
In the book, Wilkes talks about the importance of establishing our mission and vision in life. He defines your mission as what God has called you to in life. He defines your vision as your unique take on that mission. Can you fill in the following blanks?<br />
<br />
Mission: “God has called me to _______________.” <br />
<br />
Vision: “When the mission is complete, it will look like this _____________________.” <br />
<br />
Wilkes gave the illustration that his wife’s mission as a mother is to raise godly children, even when it means setting aside her personal desires for career and sometimes friendships. He went on to say that her vision is that she will teach her daughters to be witnesses or ministers of God’s love in every area of life.<br />
<br />
My first inclination was to turn my nose up at the idea of having a similar vision and mission, with the thought “I don’t just want to be a wife or just be a mom! I want to do more!” Then I thought about it more. God has called us each to various roles in life, and the roles of a wife and hopefully someday a mother are two very important roles I’ve been called to. Why do I choose to devalue these significant tasks I have been blessed with? God has given me an amazing husband who is so much sweeter, gentler, and more patient than I could possibly deserve. Why is it hard for me to view my mission as a wife as important? <br />
<br />
God has called me to be a good wife to my husband, and to ensure that I make our marriage a priority. Marriage is such an adventure, but I want to be more intentional about this particular adventure. That may mean that sometimes I will have to sacrifice girl’s nights to help Danny edit a paper for graduate school. It means I want to continue to show Danny my love and appreciation for him by serving him, including making meals and keeping the house tidy. It might even mean that I need to let Danny win an argument…occasionally.<br />
<br />
I have this terrible fear that I will get home from work, sit on the couch, turn on a reality show, and wake up 50 years later realizing I’ve wasted my life. Being intentional about carrying out the missions God has called us to is essential to a life of purpose. God has blessed me and entrusted me with so much…I choose to embrace these missions and roles rather than reject them!<br />
<br />
And now for what we ate this week:<br />
<u><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Meal Plan 2</span></strong></u><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sunday</span></strong>—Soup and Sandwich Night<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Pasta e Fagioli</span></strong> (Pasta and Bean Soup)<br />
<br />
Total Time: 45-60 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4-6<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil<br />
• 1 medium onion, diced<br />
• 1 carrot, diced<br />
• 1 celery stalk, peeled and diced<br />
• 2 cups hard vegetables (such as potatoes, winter squash, parsnips, or turnips), peeled if necessary and cut into smaller than ½-inch dice<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 6 cups chicken, beef, or vegetable stock<br />
• 1 cup peeled, seeded, and chopped tomato (canned is fine; include the juices)<br />
• 2 cups cooked beans (kidney, white, borlotti, chickpeas, cannellini, or a mixture)<br />
• 1 cup small uncooked pasta<br />
• ½ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves<br />
• 1 tsp minced garlic<br />
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese for garnish<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Put 3 tablespoons of the oil into a large, deep pot over medium heat. When hot, add the onion, carrot, and celery. Cook, stirring, until the onion softens, about 5 minutes.</li>
<li>Add the hard vegetables and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, for a minute or two, then add the stock and the tomato; bring to a boil, then lower the heat so the mixture bubbles gently. Cook, stirring every now and then, until the vegetables are fairly soft and the tomato is broken up, about 15 minutes.</li>
<li>Add the beans, pasta, and the parsley and adjust the heat once again so the mixture simmers. Cook until all the vegetables are very tender, about 15 minutes. Taste and adjust the seasoning, and add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. About 5 minutes before serving, stir in the teaspoon of minced garlic. Garnish with Parmesan cheese, and serve.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This recipe started as a chunky vegetable minestrone soup, but we decided to do one of the variations listed in the recipe and add the pasta and beans. This soup was really good, but the “hard vegetable” we picked was potatoes. It seemed a little like starch overkill to have the potatoes, beans, and pasta. We would suggest choosing a different hard vegetable (such as squash) if you want to keep the pasta and beans. If you want to, you can also trade out the pasta and beans for 2 cups of “soft vegetables”, such as green beans, peas, cooked dried beans, zucchini or summer squash to make it more of the chunky vegetable minestrone soup.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Tuna Melt</span></strong><br />
<br />
Total Time: 20 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• Two 6-ounce cans tuna (preferably packed in olive oil), drained<br />
• Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon<br />
• 1 small shallot or 3 scallions, minced (we used scallions)<br />
• 1 or 2 tablespoons capers, rinsed, drained, and chopped<br />
• ½ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves<br />
• 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 8 slices sourdough bread<br />
• 4 tablespoons butter<br />
• Several slices good melting cheese (we used cheddar)<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Mix the tuna with the lemon zest and juice, scallions, capers, parsley, and olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.</li>
<li>Put a small skillet over medium heat and add 1 tablespoon butter. Make a sandwich with the tuna mixture, bread, and cheese</li>
<li>When the butter melts, put the sandwich on a skillet (one at a time). Cover it with a plate and weigh the plate with whatever is at hand (we just pressed it down with a spatula)</li>
<li>Cook until the bottom of the bread is browned lightly, 2 or 3 minutes. Turn and repeat.</li>
<li>Do this with each of the sandwiches, using a new tablespoon of butter each time.</li>
<li> Eat immediately.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> Allison LOVES tuna. Danny doesn’t like tuna unless it’s cooked. Perfect solution=tuna melt! Allison swears she will never eat tuna salad any other way again. This tuna salad tastes so good and fresh and zingy! As a matter of fact, Allison ate a whole sandwich worth of the tuna salad fresh by itself before the tuna melts could be made. Whoops! Danny really enjoyed the tuna too, after it was cooked!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>Monday</strong></span>—Crockpot Night<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Hearty Hash Brown Dinner</strong></span> (Slow Cooker Recipe)<br />
<br />
Prep Time: 15 minutes<br />
<br />
Cook Time: 4 ½ hours<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 3 cups frozen shredded hash brown potatoes, thawed<br />
• ½ teaspoon salt<br />
• ¼ teaspoon pepper<br />
• 1 pound lean ground beef<br />
• ½ cup chopped onions<br />
• 1 package (16 ounces) frozen California-blend vegetables<br />
• 1 can (10.75 ounces) condensed cream of chicken soup, undiluted<br />
• 1 cup milk<br />
• 12 ounces Velveeta cheese, cubed<br />
• 1 can (2.8 ounces) French-fried onions<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Place potatoes in a lightly greased 5-qt. slow cooker; sprinkle with salt and pepper. </li>
<li>In a large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat until meat is now longer pink. Drain and spoon over potatoes. Top with vegetables.</li>
<li>Combine soup and milk; pour over vegetables. Cover and cook on low for 4 to 4 ½ hours.</li>
<li>Top with Velveeta cheese; cover and cook 30 minutes longer or until cheese is melted.</li>
<li>Just before serving, sprinkle with French-fried onions.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This recipe is an old standby. We like it because it’s yummy, easy, filling, and a meal in one (meat, potatoes, and veggies, all in one dish). Danny says that the meal may start to look a little like “mush”, but it tastes delicious!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tuesday</span></strong>—Danny Super Chef Night<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Chicken Alfredo Pesto Pasta</span></strong><br />
<br />
Prep time: 10 minutes<br />
<br />
Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 2 tsp oil<br />
• 1 lb boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces<br />
• 2 cups milk<br />
• ½ cup (1/2 of 8 oz pkg.) cream cheese<br />
• 2 cups red bell pepper strips (about 1 large pepper)<br />
• ¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese<br />
• 2 Tbsp. pesto<br />
• 8 oz. linguine or angel hair pasta, cooked, drained <br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Heat oil in large nonstick skillet on medium heat. Add chicken; cook until cooked through, stirring occasionally.</li>
<li>At the same time, heat a pot of water and cook pasta, drain.</li>
<li>Stir in milk and cream cheese; cook 3 minutes or until cream cheese is completely melted and mixture is well-blended. </li>
<li>Add peppers, Parmesan cheese, and pesto; stir. Cook 3 minutes or until heated through, stirring occasionally.</li>
<li>Add pasta to sauce; mix lightly.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> Danny is a SUPER chef! This meal was delicious! We loved the combination of the cream cheese with the pesto. We use a sun-dried tomato pesto blend that we really like. Perfecto!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Steamed Broccoli</span></strong><br />
<br />
Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 head broccoli, divided into florets <br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 2 tablespoons butter, melted<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Place a steaming basket in a pot, fill with water to just below the steamer base.</li>
<li>Put broccoli in steamer basket, cover, and turn the heat to high.</li>
<li>Once the water starts boiling, lower the heat so that it bubbles steadily.</li>
<li>Check the broccoli frequently so it doesn’t overcook, and check the pot to make sure it doesn’t run dry, adding more water if necessary. </li>
<li>Toss broccoli in melted butter and season with salt and pepper; serve.</li>
</ol><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>Wednesday</strong></span>—Chicken Night<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Chicken Teriyaki</span></strong><br />
<br />
Total Time: 20 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1/3 cup soy sauce<br />
• 1/3 cup sake or slightly sweet white wine<br />
• 1/3 cup mirin (we used 3 tablespoons honey mixed with 3 tablespoons water)<br />
• 2 tablespoons sugar<br />
• 1 ½ pounds boneless chicken breasts (we cut ours into strips)<br />
• 2 teaspoons grated lemon zest (optional)<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat for about 2 minutes, then add the chicken. Brown quickly on both sides, no more than 2 minutes per side.</li>
<li>Transfer chicken to a plate and turn the skillet heat to medium. Add 2 tablespoons water, followed by the sake/wine, mirin, sugar, and finally soy sauce. Stir to blend and, when the sauce produces lively bubbles and starts to thicken, add the chicken.</li>
<li>Cook, turning the chicken in the sauce, until it becomes more of a glaze than a liquid, a couple of minutes tops. By that time the chicken should be cooked; if not, keep cooking, adding a tablespoon of water if necessary to keep the glaze from burning.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> There are lots of different ways to do chicken teriyaki, but we decided to do ours in a skillet. The meal was really yummy! We would advise doubling the sauce recipe so that you have plenty extra to drizzle over the rice.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">White Rice and Steamed Broccoli</span></strong><br />
<br />
Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4<br />
<br />
We don’t really have a recipe for this to give you. We have a rice cooker and used a steaming basket to put the broccoli over the rice. If you don’t have a rice cooker, you can cook the rice in a saucepan and see the recipe from Tuesday for cooking steamed broccoli. We served the chicken teriyaki over the rice and broccoli. Yum!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thursday</span></strong>—Leftovers Night<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Leftovers</span></strong><br />
<br />
Danny and I have a rule that we always eat the “oldest” thing in our fridge first. So, for example, if this week we had soup and Hearty Hash Brown Dinner left over, we would eat the soup first since it was made first. It helps us “clean out” our fridge each week and avoid any later unpleasant surprises!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Friday</span></strong>—Out to Eat Night<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Out to Eat</span></strong><br />
<br />
Danny’s brother is in town for the weekend, and on Friday we went to Tasia for dinner. Springfield friends, if you haven’t been you should try it! It’s one of our favorite Asian restaurants. We always order the eggrolls as an appetizer and this time we both ordered Pad Thai for our main dish (Danny gets the spicy sauce, Allison gets the NON spicy sauce!). It’s delicious!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>Saturday</strong></span>—Mainly Meat Night<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Beef Kebabs</strong></span><br />
<br />
Total Time: 45 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4-6<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil<br />
• 2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime or lemon juice or vinegar<br />
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley or cilantro, 2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme or rosemary leaves, or 1 teaspoon dried herb of your choice (we did cilantro)<br />
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic<br />
• 6 medium onions, quartered<br />
• 2 bell peppers (any color but green), cored, seeded, and cut into 1 ½-inch chunks<br />
• 12 medium button mushrooms, trimmed and halved<br />
• 2 to 3 pounds beef tenderloin, cut into 1 ½ to 2 inch chunks<br />
• Chopped fresh parsley leaves or cilantro leaves for garnish<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Heat a broiler until very hot and put the rack about 4 inches from the heat source. </li>
<li>Meanwhile, combine the oil, lime juice, soy, salt and pepper, parsley, and garlic in a small bowl. Thread the vegetables and meat on separate skewers (the vegetables need a little more time to cook), leaving a little space between pieces. Brush with most of the marinade and let sit while the oven is heating.</li>
<li>Start the vegetables first, cooking them on a relatively cook part of the oven. Brush them with a little of the marinade from time to time and turn them until they begin to brown and become tender, after 10 or 15 minutes. Then start the meat, on the hottest part of the oven; grill it for about 1 to 2 minutes per side, until each of the 4 sides browns. Do not overcook (cut a chunk in half after 5 minutes of cooking to judge its stage of doneness. Everything should be done at around the same time, in a total of 20 minutes or so.</li>
<li>Give everything a final baste with the marinade if any remains, put the skewers on a platter, garnish with parsley, and serve. Remove the skewers at the table, serve with fresh tomato salsa (see recipe below) and white rice.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> We adore beef kebabs! These are phenomenal over a grill in the summer time, but this recipe in the winter on the broiler is quite the treat! It ALMOST feels like summer when we eat these kebabs. Love them! One tiny suggestion—double the marinade for extra delicious flavor! P.S. You need skewers to make this recipe. We purchased metal ones we can re-use.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Fresh Tomato Salsa</span></strong><br />
<br />
Total Time: 15 minutes<br />
<br />
Serving size: 4 servings<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 2 large ripe fresh tomatoes, cored and chopped<br />
• ½ large white onion or 3 to 4 scallions, chopped<br />
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic, or to taste<br />
• Minced fresh chile pepper (we used a jalapeno pepper) or hot red pepper flakes or cayenne, to taste<br />
• ½ cup chopped fresh cilantro or parsley leaves<br />
• 2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice or 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li>Combine everything but the salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then taste and adjust the seasoning.</li>
<li>If possible, let the flavors develop for 15 minutes or so before serving, but by all means serve within a couple of hours.</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This salsa is fresh, spicy, and DELICOUS!<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dessert of the Week</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Pumpkin Bars</span></strong><br />
<br />
Prep time: 10 minutes<br />
<br />
Total Time: 1 hour<br />
<br />
Serving size: 24 bars<br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
<br />
Bars<br />
• 1 yellow cake mix (reserve one cup for topping)<br />
• 2 eggs<br />
• ½ tsp salt<br />
• ¼ cup sugar<br />
• 2/3 cup evaporated milk<br />
• 15 oz. can pumpkin<br />
• 1 tsp cinnamon<br />
• 1/8 tsp cloves<br />
• ½ tsp vanilla<br />
• ½ tsp ginger<br />
<br />
Topping<br />
• 1 cup reserved cake mix<br />
• ¼ cup sugar<br />
• 1 tsp. cinnamon<br />
• 1/3 cup butter<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Combine all of the ingredients for the bar mix. Mix well by hand if you want more dense bars, or by electric mixer if you want more cake-like bars. Pour into greased 9x13 pan and bake for 30 minutes.</li>
<li>Mix topping ingredients together until crumbly. After bars are baked for 30 minutes, sprinkle topping over partially baked bars. Bake an additional 15-20 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.</li>
</ol><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Appetizer of the Week</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Allison’s FAVORITE Black Bean, Avocado, and Corn Dip</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 2 cans black beans, drained<br />
• 2-3 cups frozen corn<br />
• 1 bunch cilantro<br />
• 1 red onion, chopped small<br />
• 2 tomatoes, cut small<br />
• ½ cup fresh-squeezed lime juice<br />
• 1 ¼ tsp garlic powder<br />
• 1 Tbsp cumin<br />
• Salt to taste<br />
• 3-4 avocadoes, peeled and cut small<br />
<br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
<ol><li> Open beans, drain, and rinse if desired</li>
<li>Add corn</li>
<li>Chop cilantro, tomatoes, and red onion and add to mixture</li>
<li>Measure and add lime juice, garlic powder, cumin, and salt. Mix well.</li>
<li> Refrigerate a couple of hours to overnight.</li>
<li>Do NOT put avocadoes in until right before serving (so they don’t turn brown)</li>
<li>Will keep in refrigerator (after avocadoes are added) for a couple of days</li>
<li>Serve with tortilla chips</li>
</ol><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> You don’t even KNOW how good this dip is! Unless, of course, you’ve had it. Then you know.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-74649465362858899782011-01-08T20:25:00.010-06:002012-01-08T21:47:28.643-06:00Meal Plan 1<div align="left">As many of you know, I am a little bit of an organization freak. When Danny and I got married, I started making weekly meal plans so that we weren’t left wondering what to eat for dinner each night. I love trying new recipes and deciding if the recipes are keepers or tossers. One day over Christmas break, I opened up a cookbook and started writing down recipes. Before I knew it, I had written menu plans through May. Yes, I realize that writing menu plans 5 months in advance is ridiculous, and that I will have to allow for some flexibility as I go along. But the idea of not having to sit out and make a weekly menu plan for 5 whole months is pretty nice!<br />
<br />
A few of my friends have requested that I type up these meal plans for them. To type these all up at once would be very time consuming (5 months of recipes is a lot of typing!), so I have decided to type up these meal plans 1 week at a time. I will post the week’s meal plans the week after I have made them. That way, if a meal is gross I can warn you, and if I encounter any disasters I can give you a head’s up.<br />
<br />
If you are looking for the world’s healthiest meal plans, these aren’t for you. These recipes are not always the quickest, nor do they have the lowest calorie count known to man. They aren’t the cheapest, the most complex, or the most organic. If you need any type of specialty diet or only eat vegetables or are trying to lose weight or gain weight or want your skin to turn green, these recipes will not be of use to you. These are just the meals that Danny and I eat for dinner each night. Here’s the basic outline of the meal plans:<br />
<br />
<strong>Slone Meal Set-Up</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Sunday</strong>—Homemade Soup and Sandwich/Salad Night<br />
<br />
<em>As the weather warms up, the soups will change to another dish, but for the months of January and February there will be a homemade soup every Sunday to keep us warm in these winter months. Typically if the soup has only vegetables, it will be served with a sandwich or wrap with meat in it. If the soup has meat in it, it will be served with a salad.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Monday</strong>—Hodgepodge Night (Crockpot, Mexican, or Pasta Dish)<br />
<br />
<em>Monday nights are full of a variety of recipes that I already have tried and liked or with new recipes that I wanted to try. You can’t go wrong with a Crockpot, pastas are delicious and filling, and the Slone family could eat Mexican food every night of the week! Some of these recipes were found on http://allrecipes.com. This is one of my FAVORITE recipe websites, and you can sign up to have them e-mail you a new recipe each day! Love it!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Tuesday</strong>—Danny Super Chef Night<br />
<br />
<em>On Tuesday nights I work with clients until a little later, so my sweet husband has offered to make meals on this night. The recipes I have chosen for Tuesday nights are simple, inexpensive, and delicious! These are all recipes we have made before, and the majority of them can be found on http://www.kraftrecipes.com under the “Budget Wise” tab, click on the left column “1 bag, 5 dinners”. This has tons of simple, easy meals that use similar ingredients for the various meals so that if you eat them all in one week (4 meals + a frozen pizza), it should be pretty inexpensive. We lived on these recipes in the first few months of our marriage!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Wednesday</strong>—Chicken Night<br />
<br />
<em>So…chicken is good, right? I have done a lot of skillet dishes, but I was interested in expanding my chicken knowledge. Through the months, you will see grilled chicken, broiled chicken, stir fried chicken, poached chicken, sautéed chicken….the list goes on and on! I’m excited to play with chicken!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Thursday</strong>—Leftovers Night (Danny has night class)<br />
<br />
<em>Danny and I typically eat leftovers for lunch the day after a meal is made. Most of the meals listed are “serving size 4”, but can serve way more. We will definitely have enough leftovers to have a “leftover night”. Ladies, one tip I’ve found for those of you who have husbands who like to eat a lot: As soon as the meal is ready, serve the servings onto the plates and put the rest in individual serving containers to refrigerate and eat later. It’s easy to store in the fridge, and it avoids our men having an “Ooops! I ate 12 servings on accident” moment. It will not only be beneficial for stretching your meals so they last longer, it will be helpful to both of your waistlines too! :)</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Friday</strong>—Pizza/Calzone/Eat Out Night<br />
<br />
<em>The first Friday of the month, we make homemade pizza (toppings varied each month). The third Friday of the month, we make homemade calzones. Yum! And the second and fourth Fridays we eat out for a well-deserved break from cooking (and doing dishes!).</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Saturday</strong>—Mainly Meat Night<br />
<br />
<em>My husband is in love with red meat, and I am in love with my husband, so therefore it is essential that we designate one night of the week to red meat (and sometimes pork). This will be my fun night to play around with cooking different kinds of meat, from roasts to steaks to brisket. Cooking is so much fun!</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Dessert</strong><br />
<br />
<em>I love a good dessert. My plan is to make one dessert a week that will last us the whole week. We’ll see how that works out.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Appetizer</strong><br />
<em><br />
I love a good appetizer even more than I love a good dessert. Though I won’t really be making these appetizers every week, I will try to include one of my favorite appetizer recipes per meal plan. Seeing my obsession with chips and dips, they will often be dip recipes. </em><br />
<br />
These meal plans work for our family, but may not work for yours. Feel free to take the recipes that sound good and leave the ones that do not. Our taste buds may be different from yours! Enough talk, here are the recipes.<br />
<br />
<strong>Meal Plan 1</strong> </div><br />
<div align="left"><br />
<br />
<strong>Sunday </strong></div><strong></strong><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Beef and Barley Stew<br />
</em></strong>Total Time: 1 ½ hours<br />
Serving size: 4 (we got way more servings out of this meal than 4!) </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients<br />
</em>• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
• 1 pound beef chuck or round, trimmed of surface fat and cut into 1/2 –inch cubes<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 1 large onion, chopped<br />
• 3 cups chicken or beef stock<br />
• 2 medium carrots, cut into chunks<br />
• 2 celery stalks, roughly chopped<br />
• 2 medium potatoes, preferably waxy, peeled and quartered<br />
• 8 garlic cloves, peeled (optional)<br />
• 2 cups sliced mushrooms, preferably an assortment<br />
• 1/3 cup pearled barley<br />
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves or ½ teaspoon dried<br />
• Chopped fresh parsley for garnish </div><div align="left"><em></em> </div><div align="left"><em>Directions</em><br />
1. Put the oil in a deep saucepan over medium-high heat. When hot, add the meat, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook until browned on all sides, about 10 minutes.<br />
2. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes.<br />
3. Pour in the stock. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat down so the mixture barely bubbles. Cover and cook for 30 minutes, stirring a couple times.<br />
4. Add the remaining ingredients except the parsley. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then lower the heat so the mixture barely bubbles. Cover and cook for about 30 minutes, stirring once or twice.<br />
5. The stew is done when everything is tender. Taste, adjust the seasoning, garnish, and serve.</div><div align="left"><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This is the most delicious soup EVER! We didn’t really like celery, so we doubled the carrots instead. We even added this soup to our “Meal MVPs” list…yes, we are losers and have a list where we write down our favorite recipes so we will be sure to make it again. Feel free to laugh. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Simple Green Salad<br />
</em></strong>Total Time: 10 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 6 cups torn assorted greens<br />
• About 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil<br />
• About 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• Croutons<br />
• Parmesan cheese </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Put the greens in a bowl and toss them with the oil, vinegar, a pinch of salt, and some pepper. Toss and taste. Adjust the seasonings as needed.<br />
2. Add the croutons, top with parmesan cheese, and serve immediately.</div><div align="left"><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This salad is easy and SO good! The balsamic vinegar is what makes it so delicious! </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Monday </strong></div><strong></strong><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Pasta with mushrooms</em></strong><br />
Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients<br />
</em>• Salt<br />
• 1 pound shitakes or other fresh mushrooms<br />
• 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon olive oil<br />
• Freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 2 tablespoons minced shallot or 1 tablespoon minced garlic<br />
• 1 pound dried pasta<br />
• ½ cup chicken, beef, or vegetable stock<br />
• About ½ cup chopped fresh parsley leaves, plus more for garnish</div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Remove the stems from the shitakes and rinse. Cut mushrooms into small chunks or slices.<br />
2. Put 1/3 cup of the oil in a medium to large skillet over medium heat. When hot, add the mushrooms and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Raise the heat to medium-high and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms begin to brown, at least 10 minutes. Add the shallot, stir, and cook until the mushrooms are tender, another minute or two. Turn off the heat.<br />
3. Cook the pasta until tender but not mushy. When it is almost done, add the stock to the mushrooms, turn the heat to low, and reheat gently. Drain the pasta, reserving a little of the cooking water. Toss the pasta and the mushrooms together with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil; add a little of the pasta-cooking water if the dish seems dry. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Stir in the parsley and serve garnished with more parsley. </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> We used wheat thin spaghetti for this recipe. Although wheat pasta is healthier, we felt like it kind of sucked a lot of the flavor out of the dish. We’d recommend non-wheat pasta for this recipe. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Asparagus with shallot-mustard cream</em></strong><br />
Prep time: 12 minutes<br />
Total Time: 12 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients<br />
</em>• 2 tsp vegetable oil<br />
• 2 small shallots, minced (if you can’t find shallots, feel free to use 2 tsp minced garlic instead)<br />
• 1 Tbsp all-purpose flour<br />
• ½ cup fat-free evaporated milk<br />
• ½ cup fat-free chicken broth<br />
• 2 tsp mustard<br />
• 1/8 tsp salt<br />
• 1 ½ lbs asparagus, trimmed </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Heat oil in a small saucepan over low heat. Add shallots and cook until softened, stirring occasionally, about 6 minutes. Stir in flour.<br />
2. Very gradually whisk in evaporated milk and broth; bring to a simmer and let cook 1 minute. Whisk in mustard and season with salt; cover and keep warm.<br />
3. Steam asparagus until tender, about 3 to 4 minutes. Divide asparagus among 4 plates, and top each with sauce. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Tuesday</strong> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><strong><em>Cheesy Chicken Skillet<br />
</em></strong>Prep time: 5 minutes<br />
Total Time: 22 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 Tbsp oil<br />
• 1 lb. boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces<br />
• 1 tsp. dried thyme leaves<br />
• 1 cup milk<br />
• 1 cup water<br />
• 1 pkg. (14 oz) Kraft Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese Dinner<br />
• 2 cups frozen peas<br />
• 2 Tbsp. Catalina Dressing </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Heat oil in large skillet on medium-high heat. Add chicken and thyme; mix well. Cook 5 minutes, or until chicken is browned, stirring frequently.<br />
2. Add milk, water, and macaroni; cover. Cook 10 minutes or until macaroni is tender, stirring occasionally.<br />
3. Stir in Cheese Sauce, peas, and dressing. Cook an additional 2 minutes, stirring occasionally.</div><div align="left"><em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> We really didn’t like the thyme-y taste of the meal. If you like thyme, leave the recipe the same. Otherwise you might want to switch the seasoning to oregano or parsley. We didn’t add a side vegetable since meat, pasta, and peas were all rolled into the same dish. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Wednesday </strong></div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Broiled Boneless Chicken<br />
</em></strong>Total Time: 20 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• About 1 ½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded to uniform thickness if necessary and blotted dry<br />
• 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
• 3 or 4 cloves garlic, slivered<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• Lemon wedges<br />
• Chopped parsley leaves for garnish </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Heat a broiler to medium heat and put the rack 4 inches from the heat source.<br />
2. Put the chicken in the pan in which you’ll cook it and toss with the oil, garlic, and some salt and pepper. If you like, cover and set aside for an hour or so to develop the flavor.<br />
3. Broil the chicken very quickly, turning once, no more than 3 or 4 minutes per side. To check for doneness, cut into a piece with a thin-bladed knife; the center should be white or slightly pink. Sprinkle with lemon juice and parsley. Serve immediately.</div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> We haven’t really had broiled chicken before. Just a little note, if you are broiling something 4 inches from the heat source, that’s the TOP of the oven, not the bottom. :) The chicken had a little of a softer texture than we are used to, and it was hard to determine when the chicken was really done. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Quick-Glazed Carrots</em></strong><br />
Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 pound carrots, cut into coins or sticks<br />
• 2 tablespoons butter or extra virgin olive oil<br />
• Salt and freshly grounded black pepper<br />
• 1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice<br />
• Chopped fresh parsley for garnish </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions<br />
</em>1. Combine the carrots with the butter or oil in a saucepan with a bottom no more than 6 inches in diameter. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add about 1/3 cup water (or white wine or stock if you prefer). Bring to a boil, then cover and adjust the heat so the mixture simmers. Cook, more or less undisturbed, until the carrots are tender, and the liquid is pretty much gone, around 10 to 20 minutes.<br />
2. Uncover and boil off the remaining liquid, then add the lemon juice. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve hot, or within an hour or two, garnished with parsley.</div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Thursday</strong> </div><div align="left"><br />
<em><strong>Leftovers</strong><br />
</em>Self-explanatory. You find something in your fridge that is remaining from a previous meal, you heat it up, and you eat it. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Friday </strong></div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Homemade Pepperoni Pizza<br />
</em></strong>Total Time: 1 ½ hours<br />
Serving size: 1 large pizza (4-6 people)</div><div align="left"><em>Ingredients<br />
</em>For Dough:<br />
• 3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more as needed<br />
• 2 teaspoons instant yeast<br />
• 2 teaspoons sea salt, plus extra for sprinkling<br />
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
For topping:<br />
• All-purpose flour for stretching or rolling the dough<br />
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, or more as needed<br />
• 2 cups tomato sauce<br />
• 2 cups grated mozzarella cheese<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 4 ounces thinly sliced pepperoni </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Combine the flour, yeast, and salt in a food processor or electric stand mixer. Turn on the machine and add 1 cup water and olive oil.<br />
2. Mix for about 30 seconds, adding more water, a little at a time, until the mixture forms a ball and is slightly sticky to the touch. If it is still dry, add another tablespoon or two of water and mix for another 10 seconds.<br />
3. Turn the dough onto a floured work surface and knead by hand for a few seconds to form a smooth, round dough ball. Put the dough in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap; let rise until the dough doubles in size, 1 to 2 hours.<br />
4. When the dough is ready, form it into a ball. Put ball on a lightly floured surface, sprinkle with flour, and cover with a towel. Let rest until it puffs slightly, about 20 minutes.<br />
5. Heat the oven to 500 degrees F or higher. Roll or lightly press dough into a flat round, lightly flouring the work surface and the dough as necessary (use only as much flour as you need). Let the round sit for a few minutes; this will relax the dough and make it easier to roll out. If you have a peel and a baking stone, roll or pat out the dough on the peel, as thinly as you like, turning occasionally and sprinkling it with flour as necessary. If you’re using a baking sheet, oil it, then press the dough ball into a flat round directly onto the oiled sheet.<br />
6. Drizzle the round with the olive oil, then top them with the sauce and cheese; sprinkle with salt and pepper and add pepperonis. Put the baking sheets in the oven or slide the pizza directly onto the stone and bake until crust is crisp and the cheese is melted., usually 8 to 12 minutes. Let stand for several minutes before slicing to set up the cheese. </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> This pizza is amazingly delicious! You will never eat frozen pizza again! We didn’t do a side dish because we had enough lettuce left over to make another simple green salad (see Sunday’s recipe).<br />
<br />
<strong>Saturday</strong> </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Skillet Pork Chops<br />
</em></strong>Total Time: 30 minutes<br />
Serving size: 4 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 4 shoulder or center-cut loin pork chops, about 1 inch thick, trimmed of excess fat<br />
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper<br />
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
• ½ cup dry white wine<br />
• 1 tsp minced garlic or 2 tablespoons minced shallot, onion, or scallion<br />
• ½ cup chicken, beef, or vegetable stock<br />
• 1 tablespoon butter or more olive oil<br />
• 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice or vinegar<br />
• Chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Sprinkle the chops on both sides with salt and pepper. Put a large skillet over medium-high heat for 2 or 3 minutes. Add the olive oil; as soon as the first wisps of smoke rise from the oil, add the chops and turn the heat to high. Brown the chops on both sides, moving them around so they develop good color all over, no longer than 4 minutes total and preferably less.<br />
2. Reduce the heat to medium. Add the wine and the garlic and cook, turning the chops once or twice, until the wine is all but evaporated, about 3 minutes. Add the stock, turn the heat down to low, cover, and cook for 10 to 15 minutes, turning the chops once or twice, until the chops are tender but not dry. When done, they will be firm to the touch, their juices will run just slightly pink, and, when you cut into them (which you should do if you’re at all unsure of their doneness), the color will be rosy at first glance but quickly turn pale.<br />
3. Transfer the chops to a platter. If the pan juices are very thin, cook, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan, until the liquid is reduced slightly. Then stir in the butter or a few drops of olive oil over medium heat; add the lemon juice, pour over the chops, garnish with parsley, and serve. </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> YUMMY!<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Baked Potatoes</em></strong><br />
Total Time: 1 hour<br />
Serving size: 4 servings</div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 4 large starchy potatoes, like Idaho or other russets<br />
• 4 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil<br />
• Sea salt<br />
• Whatever toppings desired (butter, sour cream, cheese, salt, pepper, etc.)</div><div align="left"><em>Directions </em><br />
1. Heat the oven to 425 degrees F. Scrub the potatoes well.<br />
2. Rub each potato with about a teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil. Then rub each all over with a fair amount of sea salt.<br />
3. Use a skewer or thin-bladed knife to poke a hole or two in each potato.<br />
4. Put the potatoes in the oven, right on the rack if you like, or on a rimmed baking sheet. The potatoes are done when a skewer or sharp knife inserted in one meets almost no resistance.<br />
5. The potatoes will stay hot for a few minutes. To serve, cut a slit lengthwise into each about halfway into the flesh and pinch the ends toward the middle to fluff, sprinkle with salt and pepper, then top with desired toppings. </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> These are by far the best baked potatoes we’ve ever had. We will never wrap our potatoes in foil again!<br />
<br />
<strong>Dessert of the Week </strong></div><div align="left"><br />
<strong><em>Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Brownies</em><br />
</strong>Prep time: 20 minutes<br />
Total Time: 2 hours, 20 minutes<br />
Serving size: 24 brownies </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 1 1/3 cups packed brown sugar<br />
• ¼ cup butter or margarine, melted<br />
• ½ cup creamy peanut butter<br />
• 1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
• 3 eggs<br />
• 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour<br />
• ¾ teaspoon baking powder<br />
• ¼ teaspoon baking soda<br />
• ½ teaspoon salt<br />
• 36 miniature chocolate-covered Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, unwrapped (from 15.6 oz bag)<br />
• ½ cup milk chocolate chips </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F (if using dark or nonstick pan, heat oven to 325 degrees F). Grease bottom and sides of 13x9-inch pan with shortening or spray with cooking spray.<br />
2. In large bowl, beat brown sugar, butter, peanut butter, vanilla, and eggs with electric mixer on medium speed, or mix with spoon, until well blended. Stir in flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Cut 12 of the candies into fourths (about ¾ cup). Stir cut-up candies and chocolate chips into batter. Spread in pan.<br />
3. Bake 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Immediately press remaining 24 candies in brownies in 4 even rows of 6 candies each. Cool completely, about 1 ½ hours. Cut into 6 rows by 4 rows (a mini Reese’s peanut butter cup should be in the center of each brownie). </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Note from Allison and Danny:</em> If we could eat this all day every day for the rest of our lives, we WOULD! Allison’s favorite dessert to date. </div><div align="left"><br />
<strong>Appetizer of the Week</strong></div><div align="left"><strong><br />
<em>Cream Cheese Corn Dip</em></strong><br />
Prep time: 5 minutes<br />
Total Time: 10 minutes<br />
Serving size: 8 </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Ingredients</em><br />
• 16 ounces cream cheese, softened<br />
• 1 Packet dry Ranch Dressing<br />
• 1 small can chopped green chilies, drained<br />
• 1 can corn, drained<br />
• 1 chopped fresh red pepper </div><div align="left"><br />
<em>Directions</em><br />
1. Add ranch dressing to softened cream cheese. Mix well.<br />
2. Add all other ingredients and mix together.<br />
3. Serve with tortilla chips or Frito Scoops. YUM!<br />
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</div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-72028471942082372452011-01-02T23:53:00.000-06:002011-01-02T23:55:03.552-06:00Fears and FailuresDepressing title, right? I promise this post won’t be as “emo” as it sounds. <br /><br /><strong>Fears</strong><br /><br />I was thinking today about irrational fears. I like to exchange irrational fears with other people because it gives both parties involved a good laugh. Someone tells me his or her irrational fear, and I smile and say, “That’s ridiculous.” I tell them my irrational fear, they laugh and say, “You’re nuts.” I feel that it is a healthy exchange, as long as both parties involved realize that their fear is irrational.<br /><br />When I was a little girl, I had an irrational fear that if I left my feet exposed when I was sleeping in my bed at night, that wolves would come and eat my feet off. Obviously it was logical to assume that wolves would somehow creep into my bedroom in the suburbs undetected at night, and that they would sit at the foot of my bed waiting for my feet to be exposed. They would, of course, follow the wolf code that they would only eat my feet, and that they would only partake in the feast of my feet if I neglected to cover them. In retrospect, I would like to thank those wolves for being so reasonable. To this day, my feet must be covered by a blanket in order for me to sleep.<br /><br />Whenever I met Danny, I could not get enough of the guy. I found him so interesting, I wanted to know every single thing about him. Naturally, the conversation of irrational fears came up when we were dating. Danny said that he had two irrational fears. The first was that someone was going to come up behind him while he was getting a drink from the water fountain and shove his head down so that he would chip a tooth. We were both resident assistants at the time in the same building, and there were several drinking fountains around. Being the sweet, loving girlfriend I was, I took it upon myself to find opportunities to sneak up behind Danny while he was getting a drink at the water fountain and pretend to shove his head down. In my defense, if he was REALLY that scared he should have stuck to bottled water. Plastic bottles don’t generally chip teeth.<br /><br />Danny’s second irrational fear was a little trickier because he refused to recognize that it was irrational. Danny heard one scary story about a fan blade gone awry, and developed an irrational fear that every fan blade was going to spin off and chop off his head. I found it endearing when we were dating. When we got married, it was a different story. One other thing that I forgot to mention about living with a boy is that men are hot…literally. Danny turns into a human furnace at night. In the winter, I snuggle close to him and thank the Lord for my special furnace made just for me. In the summer, I begrudgingly attempt to sleep at the very edge of the bed, as far away from Danny as possible. Danny and I got married in the summer, so when we first started sharing a bed, it was nasty hot outside. I like to be cold when I sleep, and covered up with blankets. If Danny is hot, he just likes to sleep with no covers on at all. Obviously sleeping without a blanket is not an option for me, because those darn wolves continue in their evil plot to eat my feet. They don’t take days off, and although they honor the wolf code, they do not allow do-overs. <br /><br />Being in this sort of dilemma, I assumed the natural solution was to crank the fan on high and to make the room cold so that I could sleep happily covered underneath the covers. Danny assumed the solution was to sleep with no covers, with no fan on. What a terrible situation to be in! I turn the fan on, and my sweet husband’s head might get chopped off. We leave the fan off and take the covers away, and my feet with certainly be eaten by wolves. Beware; the irrational fears in your marriage might leave you footless, headless, and sleepless.<br /><br />I am proud to say that Danny has slowly but surely overcome his fear of the terrible fan blade. Sure, he might tense up a little when he sees one that is wobbling at a particularly alarming and unstable pace, but I hope that I have instilled in him the confidence to know that even if that fan blade flies off, he is quite speedy and could almost certainly duck and cover without decapitation. I too, have made strides in dealing with my irrational fears. I have sent a message to the wolves that my husband is a mighty furnace warrior, and that if I am left footless he will avenge my feet in a burning rage of glory. I might even be seen poking my feet out from underneath the covers for periods of time as long as three minutes. Long enough to send a message to the wolves that I’m not afraid, but of course not long enough to be reckless.<br /><br /><strong>Failures</strong><br /><br />It’s hard to believe that 2010 is over. It was such a great year! In 2010 I graduated with my Master’s Degree in Speech-Language Pathology, got a precious puppy, celebrated my one-year anniversary with the love of my life, and started my first “big girl” job. The Lord has blessed me more and made me happier than I could have possibly imagined.<br /><br />I am a huge overachiever in most areas of my life. I don’t want to just do things half-heartedly, I want to do them to the very best of my abilities. So naturally as 2010 started coming to a close, I began reflecting on a great year and things I could do to improve myself in the new year. Let me tell you, when left alone to its own devices, my overachieving mind is a scary place. My resolution ideas ranged from not eating any fried foods to going through Richard J. Foster’s “Celebration of Discipline” book and focusing on one discipline per month to draw me closer to the Lord. <br /><br />I decided to open my prayer journal from 2010 to reflect on my year, and I couldn’t help but feel like a big fat failure. Last year I decided to read through the Bible in a year….LEVITICUS, why are you always my snag?!? I definitely didn’t follow through with reading the whole Old Testament, and instead continued to focus on the New Testament. I wanted to prayer journal every day last year (my prayers are a lot more coherent when they are written out). January’s journaling looked pretty good. December entries, on the other hand, were few and far between. Sure, although I didn’t read through the whole Bible I read a lot of it, and although I didn’t prayer journal daily, I grew in my walk….but I didn’t meet my goal! <br /><br />On one hand I feel that it is so important to set goals (specific, measurable, and challenging but realistic) so that I don’t give myself an excuse to cop out and say “Eh, whatever I do is my best and enough” without striving towards anything. On the other hand I feel that setting so many goals on my own sets me up for failure…that I’m relying on my own willpower and my own strength to achieve the things that I perceive to be the most important. When have I consulted God to see what He thinks is the most important on my list of 5,000 goals? Have I acknowledged that I need Him to even take a breath, let alone run a half marathon?<br /><br />Therefore, in 2011 I resolve to stop worshipping my own willpower. I will not stand on a pedestal, saying, “Look what I can accomplish! I have selected specific, measurable, and challenging but realistic goals that I perceive to be important!” only to later stand with my head hung low, ashamed to say I have failed. I resolve to let God be in control of my life, and to put myself in a position where I am constantly seeking His guidance and will. I recognize that I will sometimes get frustrated, I will fall short, and I will fail. That’s okay! I trust that the Lord will press on my heart the goals He thinks are worthy and that He will give me the strength to complete these tasks through Him. 2011, here we come!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-79167482445191668882010-11-03T22:52:00.000-05:002010-11-03T22:53:55.178-05:00QuirksI can’t help myself, I am a huge fan of quirky people. I’m not talking about the quirky like “different but cool”, but more of the quirky like “that kid is weird”. I think deep down we are all quirky people who have our own bizarre qualities, and I appreciate discovering people’s quirks. When I met Danny, I fell in love with the fact that Danny was a 90-year-old man trapped in an 18-year-old’s body. He talked about his love of old hymns and bluegrass music, calling women “gals”. He was always stretching, and he liked to spend his evenings sitting on the porch and playing his harmonica. This one’s painful to share…one time my friends saw him in PUBLIC wearing a t-shirt tucked into his elastic-banded gym shorts, with tube socks to go with his tennis shoes.<br /><br />When Danny and I were dating, he brought me a huge branch off a tree with leaves on it because “the fall leaves were really pretty and it reminded him of me”. The branch was too big to put in water, and the leaves were dead within a few days. Really sweet thought, but really weird gesture. You can see why I fell madly in love with this guy.<br /><br />Most people keep their quirks relatively hidden, only revealing the strange things about themselves to people with whom they are very close. As a matter of fact, people may not even realize they have a “quirk” until they reveal it to someone else, who responds by telling them that it isn’t “normal”. So what really interests me is when two seemingly “normal” people with their own separate sets of semi-controlled or unrealized eccentricities fall in love, get married, and decide to cohabitate. All of those little quirks are quickly brought to light, and the result can either be horrific or hilarious. I choose hilarious.<br /><br />A few “quirks” Danny learned about me so far through marriage and cohabitation:<br /><br />1. If I am very, very angry for no apparent reason and am extremely irrational, ask me if I have eaten something recently. Chances are I am HANGRY (so hungry that I become angry), and just need a snack.<br /><br />2. In my ideal marriage world, we would always be short a chair so Danny and I had to share one. It is the simple dream of “two people, one chair”. I just really love to sit ridiculously close to Danny, and sharing a chair gives me occasion to do that.<br /><br />3. Do not step even one foot into the kitchen while I am cooking, or I might turn into an evil creature who is quite scary. I realize I am not too handy with sharp objects, so chopping may be done at the edge of the kitchen counter. If I seem abnormally angry, please refer to number 1.<br /><br />A few “quirks” I have learned about Danny from marriage and cohabitation:<br /><br />1. All clothing items, even if they are on your body (particularly blankets), must be treated with the respect of the American flag. If they touch the floor even for a moment, they are considered “unclean” and must be burned. <br /><br />2. Danny likes to invent money-saving “tricks”, such as pouring twice the amount of water into a bowl of oatmeal to stretch out the meal and create an oatmeal soup. My thought? Trick’s on you, oatmeal soup is gross!<br /><br />3. At the top of the list of the most evil of sins is wasting food. Throwing away the little bit of milk at the bottom of your cereal bowl is unheard of. Tossing out the last few bites of rice on your plate is worse than genocide.<br /><br />We both have several more quirks, but we can’t have you thinking the Slones are TOO quirky, or you won’t perceive us to be cool anymore (as if we had a chance after Danny’s t-shirt tucked into his elastic gym shorts episode)! My dad always told me that those quirks you find “so adorable” at the beginning of a relationship are what drives you nuts about the person after a while. I choose to make a continual effort to think of my husband’s eccentricities as hilarious, rather than horrendous. After all, he does deal with me when I’m HANGRY!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-22489001078678436242010-10-04T20:57:00.001-05:002010-10-04T21:01:42.020-05:00Food for Your Tummy, Food for ThoughtHappy October! It’s no secret that I love food. For the whole first year Danny and I were married, I made a new recipe every night. I only made the same recipe two or three times maximum in that year. I think I felt like I needed to try out every recipe ever created so I could find the “world’s best” to feed my husband each night. I completely stand by the whole “The best way to a man’s heart is through is stomach” motto. It is ABSOLUTELY TRUE! I know that Danny loves me infinitely more when I make him a home-cooked meal, and I feel like a much better wife when the meal is delicious. Speaking of delicious meals, I came across a fantastic, healthy, EASY recipe for all of you burrito lovers out there. I have made it twice in two weeks….which for me, is saying a lot. :) I figured I should share the wealth. Here it is:<br /><br /><strong>Burrito Guts</strong><br /><br /><em>Ingredients</em><br />• 2 teaspoons grated lime zest<br />• 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice<br />• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled<br />• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil<br />• 1 teaspoon sugar<br />• 2 cups white rice<br />• 1 (14- to 15-ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained<br />• 2 medium tomatoes, diced<br />• 4 scallions, chopped<br />• 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro<br /><br /><em>To Make</em><br />1. Whisk together lime zest and juice, butter, oil, sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper in a large bowl.<br />2. Cook white rice according to package directions<br />3. Add rice to dressing and toss until dressing is absorbed, then stir in remaining ingredients and salt and pepper to taste.<br /><br />It’s fresh, clean, and my favorite!<br /><br />Secondly, I started my first “adult” job in August. I love being a Speech-Language Pathologist, and I LOVE the kiddos I get to work with! I feel so blessed to have a job I love, and to have the chance to continue learning and growing in such a great field. Yet somehow, in the midst of the paperwork and learning new processes in the past few weeks, I have managed to become a stress monster. When I get stressed, I get what Danny calls my “frow”….a furrowed brow. The last thing I want is to walk through the job that I love with a huge frow on my face. I think that when I get stressed, I treat it as something that “happened” to me rather than something I chose for myself. My church has been reading through the book “Crazy Love” by Francis Chan. I read this book over the summer and LOVED it, but I told myself I didn’t really need to read it in-depth again. I was wrong. I was flipping through the book the other day and got smacked in the face by this little “Food for Thought” nugget:<br /><br /><strong>Worry</strong> implies that we don’t quite trust that God is big enough , powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what’s happening in our lives.<br /><br /><strong>Stress</strong> says that the things we are involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace towards others, or our tight grip of control.<br /><br />Touché, Francis Chan. Touché. So my mission for the week is to lose the frow, and instead of worrying about what I’m “going through”, to put my focus on being a breath of fresh air for others and trusting in God’s promises.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-26361822660741391012010-09-05T23:45:00.002-05:002010-09-05T23:54:47.388-05:00Lessons in MarriageHello again my friends! It’s hard to believe it’s already been two months since I last wrote a blog post. Time flies when you’re having fun! August 9th was our 1-year anniversary. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a whole year since Danny and I sweated our faces off along with all of our closest friends and family in the hot August sun and vowed to stick by each other forever. I really mean it when I say that I think that marriage is one of God’s very best gifts in life…along with dress-up dance parties and a nice bowl of popcorn. <br /><br />I know that in the big scheme of life, 1 year of marriage is not a whole lot, and it certainly doesn’t make me a sage. However, I feel that there are lots of great things that this first year of marriage has taught me. I’d like to share a few:<br /><br /><strong>1. Men are Like Waffles, Women are Like Spaghetti</strong><br />When Danny and I were dating, I read a book called “Men are Like Waffles, Women are Like Spaghetti” by Bill and Pam Farrel. The basic premise of the book is that like waffles, most men process life in little boxes, where each issue in their life has its own separate section. Men are able to compartmentalize their lives, and stay in one box at a time. When a man’s at work, he’s at work. When he’s watching TV, he’s literally watching TV and not thinking about anything else. Women, on the other hand, are like spaghetti because all of the areas of our lives are interconnected, like noodles on a plate weave through each other and all touch. When women are completing one task, they can be thinking about a million different things, and have a need to link together the logical, emotional, relational, and spiritual components of an issue.<br /><br />I learned two main things from this book in our first year of marriage. First, Danny and I think and process the world so differently. He is a solver, he wants to “fix” the problem and move to the next compartment of his life. I, on the other hand, have a deep need to process things on different levels, and I’m not looking for a solution, I just want Danny to listen to me process. It’s funny how if we get into a little tiff before we leave for work, Danny doesn’t think about it while he’s at work because he’s in his “work” box, while I let our conversation affect my whole day. Understanding how we process life differently has really helped me to accept Danny for who he is, rather than to get upset that he’s not a messy plate of spaghetti like me (thank goodness!).<br /><br />The other thing I learned in our first year of marriage is that typically men like to stay in the “boxes” they feel successful in. If I cut Danny down, complaining about his husband skills or what I think he should to do in our marriage that he’s not doing, I am making Danny feel unsuccessful in the “Marriage Box”. Trust me ladies, we want our husbands to feel that he is the KING of the “Marriage Box”! I learned I needed to remove the focus from telling Danny what he wasn’t doing, and instead place the focus on any number of the amazing things he does well in our marriage. For example, he consistently does the dishes without being asked, he gives me a massage after work every single day, he indulges me with goofy dance parties and snuggle time, the list goes on and on!<br /><br /><strong><br />2. If You Don’t Like Looking in the Mirror, You Better Hide From Your Spouse</strong><br />One of the things my pastor talked to us about in premarital counseling is that your spouse is your mirror. At the time, I thought it was a good illustration, but I didn’t fully understand what it meant until we were married. Your spouse knows every single part of who you are: the good things you want to share with all of your family and friends, the bad things that you only want to tell a select few, and the ugliest parts of your heart that you don’t even want to admit to yourself. <br /><br />I’ve mentioned before I never fully understood God’s unconditional love for us until I saw the way Danny loves me. I realize that we are all humans and we are all flawed, but Danny is probably the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever met (cheesy but true). Anyone that can handle being around a girl who literally growls in the mornings and yells “I HATE EVERYTHING!” surely has to be oozing with God’s love. There is something so humbling about knowing that there is another human being who knows each part of your heart intimately and yet still chooses to love you and even share a bed with you!<br /><br />When Danny and I first got married, I realized that I wasn’t truly sharing all of my heart with him. I would still run to my girlfriends to tell them how I was feeling about various aspects of my life. I loved Danny and trusted him, I just assumed that because he was a guy that he didn’t want to know the deepest parts of my heart. The ability to disclose everything to your spouse without fear of rejection is a huge component of marriage that took me several months to learn. I learned through it all that not only did Danny want to hear what was on my heart, he was invested in what I had to say and helped me follow through in various areas of my life. If I haven’t been spending time talking to God and reading my Bible, Danny gently reminds me how important it is. If my words come out a little harsher to a friend than they should have, Danny is the tender voice of reason. Having Danny as a mirror has really helped refine my heart and we truly encourage each other to be the best versions of ourselves.<br /><br /><strong>3. Happiness is a Daily Choice</strong><br />While I am convinced that I am blessed with the best husband in the world, not every single day of our lives is a walk in the park. Some days Danny’s energy and enthusiasm in the mornings makes me want to strangle him. Other days Danny finds my love of reality TV to be repulsive. Not all of our words are laced with sugar and we don’t end every day with a dress-up dance party. We both have the understanding that how we treat each other has a powerful impact on the other person, and that our outlook on life affects the other person’s life as well.<br /><br /> I have seen many couples let their bitterness and resentment towards each other ruin their marriage. The thought is that the spouse is not “meeting my needs” or they just “don’t make me happy”. I’ve learned this year that it is so important to be grounded, realizing that your spouse alone can never be the sole source of your happiness and can never meet all of your needs. What a huge burden to feel that another human being’s sole source of happiness rises and falls on how you, a flawed human being, treat them!<br /><br />Danny and I continue to work hard to put God first in our marriage and each other second; mainly because we know how miserably we would fail if we relied solely on each other for happiness and self-worth. We choose happiness each day, refusing to take a trip down negativity trail. One thing that has worked for us tremendously is “Do-Over’s”. Basically, when we do something that we know did not build the other person up or doesn’t come across in a positive way, we walk out of the room and try again. For example, the other day I woke up before Danny and got up to take Miley outside to go potty. This is a big deal, because most mornings I am pulling the covers over my head, mumbling “5 more minutes” for around an hour. When I came inside, I got Miley’s food out and started pouring it into her dish. Danny walked out of the bedroom and said “Allison, did you not measure her food with a measuring cup?” He then walked out of the room, walked right back in, and gave me a huge hug, saying “I’m so proud of you for waking up early to take Miley outside!” Perfect do-over.<br /><br />I have learned a lot more through marriage, but I am sure your eyes are sleepy by know if you have managed to read through all of this text. I’d love to hear what you’ve learned through marriage as well!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-85660339219263501462010-07-11T19:52:00.003-05:002010-07-11T20:04:56.064-05:00Plotting for a PuppyAs a child, I changed my mind a million times about what I wanted to be when I grew up. From a dump truck to a waitress to a professional mommy, I dreamt of it all. As I have grown and matured (and realized that a dump truck is an inanimate object, not a profession), I have been able to hone in on an amazing career in Speech and Language Pathology. I still have dreams of one day being a professional mommy. Don’t we all? Currently Danny is finishing graduate school, I’m just starting my career, and we have a few life goals we would like to meet before we embark on the adventure of having our first child. So of course, as the planner in the family, what went through my mind as the next logical step before having a baby? Puppy parenthood. <br /><br />Danny and I are both animal lovers, we both had wonderful experiences with dogs in our homes growing up, and I was looking forward to having a precious little puppy of our own. My sweet husband is very frugal and practical, and crushed my euphoric dreams by stating that he didn’t think we needed a puppy yet. Danny is like a sturdy tree with deep roots—calm, collected, and centered, weighing the pros and cons and calculating each decision with sound logic. I am more of the crazy jungle cat type—I love spontaneity, passion usually overrules logic, and I always have a sneaky surprise up my sleeve to help me get what I want. Here begins our story of Operation Puppy.<br /><br />My first not so sneaky surprise of Operation Puppy? I carried out a “Convince Danny to get Allison a Puppy” campaign via Facebook. I wanted to utilize a public forum such as Facebook to manipulate Danny with blatant propaganda from all of our family and friends to convince him that puppies were the best thing ever. Minor, unforeseen flaw in the plan—people offered practical advice on owning a puppy, along with the financial commitment of pet ownership (yikes!). Facebook campaign fail.<br /> <br />My second sneaky trick was to take him to the Springfield Humane Society. I was convinced that if I could just get him to the Humane Society, he’d take one look at those precious puppy eyes and bring one home with us that day. Have you ever BEEN to the Humane Society? We walked in and overheard a worker telling a lady who brought in a box of sick kittens that they’d all have to euthanized. You have to have a heart of stone to leave that place without an animal or two or twelve. We walked into the back room where all the puppies were. I took one look at the puppies, one look at Danny, and burst into tears. In between my sobs, I told Danny “We…have to….take…them ALL…home!” I felt completely overwhelmed looking at these precious faces who just desired to be loved, knowing that the only play toy they had in their cold, metal cage was their own feces. I held a few puppies I thought were particularly adorable, but Danny refused to hold them. He had his game face on. He was bound and determined that, despite my best efforts, we would NOT be leaving the Humane Society that day with a puppy…and we didn’t. Just call him Stone Cold Slone.<br /><br />The next tactic was to go on Petfinder.com to look at adorable local puppies and squeal in delight, reeling Danny in to look at the pictures with me and agree that the puppies were precious. I called the local vets and asked for price quotes on the first year of puppyhood, also calling my parents to ask if our puppy could stay with them when we went to visit Kansas City. I even rented a puppy training video from the library and made Danny watch it with me. I realize I’m ridiculous. I had all my ducks in a row, with every piece of information in place. Danny still said no. After my intense, hard-fought campaign, I finally admitted defeat. I told Danny I was okay with not having a dog, and that Team Slone was fine with just Danny and Allison.<br /><br />Operation Puppy was over…or so I thought. For one whole week, I was a good, respectful wife who listened to the requests of my husband and stopped my campaign for a puppy. Then one day Danny decided to leave me home alone. Bad mistake, Stone Cold Slone. I happened to just glance at Petfinder.com and found the CUTEST dog I had ever seen in my life. She was a precious Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix and I decided right then and there that she would be mine...oops, I mean ours. I e-mailed her picture to Danny, who agreed that she was quite adorable. Operation Puppy was instantly back on in full force, and I wasn’t backing down this time.<br /><br />I had already tried all of the sneaky tricks I could muster, so I was forced to resort to my last ditch effort—begging and pleading. It reminded me of my childhood, where my sisters and I would tell my parents everything we thought they wanted to hear so we could get a puppy: “I’ll do the dishes for the next year, I’ll walk him and feed him and scoop his poop EVERY day.” Only this time it was “This can be my anniversary present, my birthday present, my Christmas present…” You get the picture. I am a terrific actress, and I gave an Oscar-worthy performance. Long story short, after a long, hard battle, Stone Cold Slone melted into a big pile of Softie Slone.<br /><br />Meet Miley Foxtrot Slone…cutest puppy ever in existence. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8vBau7y09mVfTepVINnD0o-PEJp92r8-fdQ7k3h9qUtUWvKGS1mz1qP-ksCnQum3oIcvq3HvD6HmhYBFaisSX-mt7CWJDpeavWDX7kxzy6BP3NMsIRAIaB8-JeiKjjfwTd4ckO-ERrI/s1600/Miley.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8vBau7y09mVfTepVINnD0o-PEJp92r8-fdQ7k3h9qUtUWvKGS1mz1qP-ksCnQum3oIcvq3HvD6HmhYBFaisSX-mt7CWJDpeavWDX7kxzy6BP3NMsIRAIaB8-JeiKjjfwTd4ckO-ERrI/s320/Miley.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492818042035618770" /></a><br /><br />Although Danny tried to give her away to strangers during her first week home with us, we wouldn’t trade her for the world. She brings us so much joy and she has taught us so much about ourselves and each other. We now have a better idea of the kind of parents we will be. Danny will be the overly attentive, calm and steady softie who will take a million pictures of them and the kids will ADORE him. I will be the crazy, spastic, overprotective mom who will be asking “what’s in your mouth?” every five seconds and yet tries to earn their love but they will always love Daddy the most. <br /><br />By the way, I would like to take this opportunity to state that while I finally got my way and we got a puppy, I think God still punished me for being a disobedient wife. My punishment is that Miley worships the ground that Danny walks on. If Danny’s reading a book, Miley’s curled up sleeping on his feet. If Danny is washing dishes in the kitchen (yes, I realize he’s an angel, not a man), Miley is sitting at his side, watching his every move. When Danny leaves for work, Miley literally cries for a good 20 minutes and stares longingly at the door. Miley loves me too…but only when Daddy’s not home. :)<br /><br />Stay tuned for more stories on our adventures in marriage and puppy parenthood!<br /><br />P.S. If any of you blog smarties know how to center my heading, subheading, and picture at the top, can you please help me? I'm not very good at that kind of stuff yet!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-59237069260246308662010-06-30T09:47:00.002-05:002010-06-30T09:58:27.678-05:00Living with a BoyWhen Danny and I were engaged and planning our life together, I dreamt of being the perfect 50’s housewife, vacuuming the floor in heels and pearls when Danny came home from work with a delicious meal cooking in the oven. <br /><br />As our wedding day approached, our pastor, family, and married friends all told us that marriage would be a lot of work. I found myself thinking, “Why is everyone being such a downer? Marriage is just a slumber party every night with your super BFF.” <br /><br />Let me be the first to tell you that marriage IS a slumber party every night with your super BFF. There’s also a lot more to it. For me, one of the biggest adjustments I had to make when Danny and I were newly married was learning to live with a boy. The trouble first came when I was packing for the honeymoon with two of my close friends from college. One of them mentioned casually, “Don’t forget to leave room for Danny’s stuff.” An instant panic set in my heart. My nice, clean, neatly folded clothes would have to share a home with and possibly even come in contact with MANTIES?!?! In case you are wondering, manties are man panties, and manties were a repulsive thought to me at that time.<br /><br />Here’s a little background for you on this situation. I grew up in a fabulous, loving home with 3 sisters. Because my poor dad lived in a house with five women, he insisted on getting a male dog to even out the gender ratio a little. He named our dog the manliest name he could think of: Maxwell Joseph Studly Rambo Killer Hadfield. This is a true story. We called him Max. Despite my dad and Max’s best efforts to keep our house pumped with testosterone, my sisters and I spent a lot of our time watching girly chick flicks, painting our nails on the carpet (and accidentally spilling the bottle everywhere), and borrowing each other’s clothes without asking. At Missouri State, my best friend and I roomed together with matching girly pink bedspreads and lots of dress up dance parties. Throughout my college experience, I lived on a floor of 46 women and spent all of my time (if not with Danny) with my girlfriends. <br /><br />Danny, on the other hand, is a man’s man. He grew up in a house of three brothers, where roughhousing ruled and it was not uncommon to see them climbing up on the roof and pushing each other down the stairs in child cars. He loves sports and all things outdoors. He would rather go hiking in the wilderness than go out to a nice dinner. He enjoyed spending time with his fraternity brothers, doing things like seeing who could drink an entire gallon of milk at once without barfing. When I went to visit Danny at his fraternity house, I would hold my breath every time I walked in the door to avoid the pungent scent of man, which vaguely resembled human waste and body odor sprinkled with vinegar. <br /><br />So basically, going into marriage, the world of men was a mystery to me and I had picked a guy that embodied all that is man. I had no idea what to expect, but I hoped there could still be dress up dance parties and snuggly movie nights. For those of you beginning to embark on the adventure of marriage, it is the BEST! However, if you happen to be a girly girl like me, I want to give you a heads up on a few things that you might want to know about living with a boy:<br /><br />1. <strong>Boys eat…a LOT!</strong><br /><br />For years, I would buy a package of cookies and they would last me a month. I’d pack two with my lunch each day as my special dessert. When Danny and I were first married, I assumed (with what I thought was logic) that we would go through a bag of cookies every half a month now, since there were two of us eating from one bag of cookies. One day I went to the cabinet to pack my lunch and couldn’t find the cookies. Come to find out my husband eats an entire package of cookies (that lasts me a whole month) in a DAY! I was baffled. <br /><br />Besides the quantity of food Danny could eat, another thing that shocked me was what he considered a “snack”. I’m very strategic in my grocery shopping, purchasing complete meals where each element is essential to the recipe. I got home one day to find Danny eating a hamburger bun (essential component of the sausage sandwiches I was making for dinner) as a snack. I couldn’t fathom why anyone would ever eat a non-snack food as a snack! I looked in our kitchen and found apples, carrots, cookies, pretzels, chips and salsa…all appropriate snack foods. But apparently Danny likes to eat random pieces of bread and hamburger buns as a snack. I never saw it coming.<br /><br />2. <strong>Boys are not your girlfriends.</strong><br /><br />One day, I was getting ready for work and I was having what I perceived to be a huge dilemma on which shoe would look best with my outfit. I walked into the other room where Danny was reading, and (without thinking) asked Danny the question I ask my girlfriends all the time, “Which one looks best?” My sweet, sweet Danny looked at each shoe, looked up at me, and said, “I don’t know, what do you think?” Simple, true words. I started bawling and said, “I can’t live with a boy! You can’t help me pick out my clothes.” True? Yes. Ridiculous? Yes. When you come from a house of girls where fashion advice is just a doorknob away, it can really take you by surprise to realize your husband isn’t your girlfriend. <br /><br />These realizations will also come into play when you watch television or a movie. When Danny and I were dating, we were busy college students and rarely had time to just “hang out” and watch TV together. When you live together, you obviously see each other more and have more time to be around each other. Danny’s favorite kind of show to watch is anything sports, anything history, anything documentary, or anything old school that reminds him of shows he watched as a kid. Basically, anything snooze fest for me. So imagine my dismay when I am flipping through the channels, trying to find some deliciously terrible reality show, and Danny says, “Ooo ooo, turn it back! Gotta check the scores of the game.” Of a team he doesn’t even really care about. Or when he comes home from the library with 4 “exciting” documentaries on the assassinations of U.S. presidents. Remember in your premarital counseling where they’re talking about compromise? Yep, that’s it, right there.<br /><br />3. <strong>Boys are gross.</strong><br /><br />Let’s face it. Boys can be gross. I know that all boys are different, not all boys are “gross” in the same ways, yadda yadda yadda. But let’s just operate on the principle for a minute that boys are gross in a different way than girls are. I have two specific illustrations of this, both of which I have received approval from Danny to tell the blog world. After all, no one’s REALLY reading this blog, right? :)<br /><br /><em>Illustration #1:</em> I must first point out that Danny is ridiculously frugal and also that Danny will eat just about anything. The thought of seeing anything going to waste really pains him. That is still no excuse for what he did. We had a couple of cookies in the house (not homemade), that had gotten old and stale. This fact, in and of itself, is a miracle because Danny can eat millions of cookies a day. Without even thinking about it, I threw the few stale cookies in the trash. When Danny got home, he asked where the cookies were (it’s like he has cookie radar, he can detect when something is amiss). I told him that they were old and hard and gross and I threw them away. Danny was upset. Without a word, Danny walks over to the trashcan and lifts up the lid. I watch in slow-motion horror as Danny takes a cookie out of the trashcan and eats it. I am beyond horrified. Although unnecessary, I feel it is important to mention that we do not have a separate, “sanitary” trashcan where all of the yummy snacks that have gotten a little stale go. This trashcan, by definition, is full of nasty unwanted things that no human should ever ingest. I wanted to die. Danny’s response? “They’re not that stale.”<br /><br /><em>Illustration #2:</em> I almost don’t want to share this story because I feel like if I type it out it means it really happened. I would prefer to think of it as a terrible, terrible nightmare. But alas, a perfect illustration of how boys are truly gross. Danny was in our restroom…going to the restroom. I have a very very sensitive gag reflex, and I was getting ready to take a shower. I asked him if it smelled in there because I didn’t want to gag, and I also said (jokingly), “there better not be any nasty stains on the toilet bowl.” Once again, I felt that slow-motion horror sensation creep over me as I watched my sweet husband STICK HIS HAND IN THE TOILET BOWL to wipe something off. I ran into the other room, curled in a ball on the floor, and screamed. The very first thought that popped into my head was, “We’ve only been married a few months, I can’t believe our marriage is over. But how can I possibly be married to a man who sticks his BARE HAND in a toilet bowl?” Danny (after washing his hands thoroughly) came out of the bathroom, saw me curled in a ball on the floor, and said “Allison, I’m a MAN.” I looked back at him with tears in my eyes and asked, “Can you be a man that uses the toilet bowl brush?”<br /><br />Adjusting to living with a boy was the biggest transition I made when I got married. Despite all of his ridiculousness, I wouldn’t trade my amazing husband for the world. What’s shocking to me may be common sense to you. I’d love to hear your stories too! :)Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3013187392726863606.post-13964669302505203622010-06-27T20:44:00.003-05:002010-06-27T22:25:34.978-05:00Moderately Newlywed BlogRight after Danny and I got married (August 9th, 2009), Danny suggested that I start a blog to discuss all of the hilarious situations we have encountered as newlyweds. Whoops, it's almost a year later and I'm finally getting around to it. Being married to Danny is a huge blessing, I am so greatful for such a sweet, PATIENT husband who loves me despite all of my many flaws. For the last 5 years, our relationship has been characterized by hilarity. Here's a little of our history:<br /><br /><strong>How we met:</strong> My freshman year of college, I was on the Campus Crusade for Christ Social Team at Missouri State University. We were shooting a promotional video for an upcoming dance party (dance parties are my fave!) for Cru. In this video, we were stopping random people in the Plaster Student Union and having them say "miraculous" things happened to them when they went to the dance party. I saw Danny, shuffling in a hurried manner, walking out of the building and I stopped him to ask if he would be in a video. He was dressed nicely because he had just left an interview, and asked what I wanted him to say. Keep in mind I had never met this guy in my entire life. Without blinking, I said "Here's what you have to say...'I was constipated for a week straight, then I went to the dance party and let loose'." Yes, I know I am classy. Danny's face grew instantly red, and he said "I can't say that!" With much coaxing, he finally delivered a hilarious performance, and it was the highlight of our promotional video. After Freshman year, Danny and I saw each other a few times over the summer because of mutual friends. I could not for the life of me remember his name, so I would greet him as "Constipation Boy". Needless to say, he just thought I was awesome. It was not love at first sight...or second, or third.<br /><br /><strong>How we started dating:</strong> Sophomore year of college came at Missouri State, and Danny and I ended up as Resident Assistants in the same building. As Danny told me later, he was less than thrilled to be working with the crazy outgoing girl who knew him as "Constipation Boy". My impression of him at first was that he was a little too shy for my taste. I had come fresh out of a "year of singlehood", and was not looking for a relationship at that point. As RAs, Danny and I had to spend quite a bit of time together during training and I learned that Danny was not only the nicest guy I'd ever met, but he was also so goofy and fun. Danny learned that I was more than just a ridiculously energetic and crazy girl, and we started to spend more time together. I remember one day at fire safety training, Danny leaned over to me and said "All fire safety training aside, you look lovely today." As Danny and I began to spend more time together, I realized he was a 90 year old man stuck in a 19 year olds body. He called me "gal" and his dad "pop", wore t-shirts tucked into his elastic shorts, and stretched a ridiculous amount. I loved that he had a servant's heart like my dad. He was always doing things for other people, and he could make everyone feel comfortable in any setting. I also loved our conversations about our walks with Christ and how he prayed for our meals (without prompting!). I told Danny he was just a precious guy who deserved a sweet girl with a bow in her hair. I decided to have a 70's roller skating birthday party for my 19th birthday (because I'm awesome), and I wore a fabulous white jump suit while Danny wore a woman's polka dot blouse and red pants. Danny asked to pursue me during a romantic couple skate to a Boys to Men song. I knew I had a real gem when Danny took me on my first date. We talked for hours about hilarious childhood memories at dinner. Danny is THE most hilarious story teller, I laughed so hard I cried. Then he took me to a Japanese Stroll Garden, and we sat on a park bench talking. He said "I noticed when I picked you up that you didn't have a bow in your hair, so I brought one for you." Then this angel boy TIED A BOW IN MY HAIR! As I sat there with tears in my eyes, he told me how he appreciated my walk with Christ and how he would like to start a relationship centered around Christ with me. When I said yes, he said "I was hoping you'd say that" and whipped out celebratory bubbles for us to blow. Once again, ANGEL BOY. We ended the evening with Star Tripping (spinning around as fast as you can while staring at the stars, then stopping as the other person shines a flashlight in your face while you try not to fall on the ground). I realize we were about 10 years old, and I absolutely loved it! <br /><br /> <br /><strong>How he proposed:</strong> Those of you who know me well know that I am not a patient girl. Danny and I had dated for about 4 years, and I had known from about day 1 of dating that this was a special guy who God had given me to be mine for a long time...hopefully life. One thing I love and appreciate about Danny so much is that he was patient with my impatience, and that he could stand his ground in a gentle way. Danny makes very slow, calculated decisions, and he knew how important the decision of marriage was. I may have been impatient at the time, but in retrospect I am SO greatful that Danny took the time to really seek God's timing and will in proposing. I told Danny that I wanted him to pick out the engagement ring on his own, but he said he "didn't feel qualified" to make that big of a decision on his own so he took me ring shopping. We picked out a few rings that I liked, and just about every day after that I imagined ridiculous scenarios in my head about how he was going to propose each day. The ONE day that I did NOT expect to get engaged was Halloween. I mean...it's HALLOWEEN! The holiday my parents said was "of the devil" and we avoided each year. Danny insisted that night we go to a Campus Crusade dance party. I wasn't feeling it. I had a really long day, I was tired, and since I was in graduate school, I felt too "old" to go to the party. Danny insisted (and Danny almost never insists), so I begrudgingly agreed to go. Danny created an elaborate lumberjack costume, while I threw on a yellow shirt and black dress with a crown and called myself a "queen bee". When we got there, Danny's fraternity brother asked us to be in a video for Crusade about holiday memories. Danny told me to tell a story, but I was feeling a little camera shy. Danny started telling a story on camera about his grandma "forgetting the beans". At the end, he said "Family memories are great, but the most memorable ones are those that are to come." I laughed, because I thought he was being cheesy. He bent down, and I thought he was picking up his lumberjack axe. He wasn't. He was looking at me with a little black box in his hand. He tied another bow in my hair (angel boy), and asked me to be his wife. I screamed "YES!" and we had a celebratory dance to "Dancing in September". I didn't realize until later that Danny had set up the scenario to be like the first time we met (shooting a promotional video for Crusade), and that the video was just a plot to record our engagement. Sneaky, sweet boy. <br /><br />So, in short, I am so blessed to be married to a man who pursues God first and me second. He is seriously a better husband than I could have ever dreamt of. Marriage is an adventure every day. I will share some of those adventures in days to come. :)Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02406949279017732886noreply@blogger.com3