SIMCHA FISHER

What’s for supper? I thought you’d never ask! I’ve been in a kitchen slump lately, so this week I tried two new recipes. Here’s what we had:

SATURDAY
Deli meat sandwiches; Pringles; Little Debbie Goo Slabs or whatever

I was absolutely determined to have a Sunday with no big chores to do, so we crammed everything into Saturday, aided by a few of Wendy’s “Four for Four” deals: all the food and household shopping, plus two teenage girls needed pants, my teenage son needed a winter jacket, and my new ten-year-old needed her ears pierced. We made seven stops. Supper was not a priority.

The only thing to report about this meal is that Aldi had a huge sale on something called “Sandwich Skinnys” (yes, with a “ys,” not an “ies”). You know how I feel about dragooning parts of speech into performing duties they’re not suited for. I would have boycotted them on principle as a selective grammar pedant, but . . . they were on sale.  Well, they were pretty bad. But they were on sale!

The Pringles were totally a reparations purchase, to make up for the terrible bread, which I bought because it was on sale. The Pringles were not on sale. It’s because of financial savvy like this that I have enough money in savings to keep our entire family afloat for a good 72 hours.

SUNDAY
Grilled chicken with salad (a.k.a. The Dinner of Great Virtue), with black olives and homemade croutons; Jell-o and whipped topping

[img attachment=”87103″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”food blog chicken and salad” /]

Not bad at all. Chicken marinated in white wine, lemon juice, S&P and garlic. I made homemade croutons because the kids had left about eleven bags of bread open, so we had tons of stale bread, and they had mutilated five sticks of butter and smeared them with crumbs. Let these fresh, buttery, herbed, fragrant croutons be a lesson to them!

The Jell-o and Kool Whip was courtesy of my teenage daughter, who doesn’t care what you think. It was her turn to pick, and that’s what she wanted, okay?

Oh, we also had hot chocolate on Sunday. If you’re going to submit to the agony of serving nine children a beverage that will scald their little tongues and ruin their last decent shirts, you might as well make it from scratch:

For each mug of hot chocolate you want to make, put 1 heaping Tbs of cocoa powder and 2 Tbs. white sugar into a heavy pot.

Add enough water to make a thick syrup, and heat on medium, stirring, until it’s heated through. Then stir in the milk (about 10 oz. per serving) until it’s blended, add a little vanilla, and heat it through. This is rich and wonderful — completely different from any powdered mix.

We’re down to the last of our homemade vanilla, which we made about 18 months ago. Super easy, and a much richer flavor than most store bought vanilla extract, and it ends up being cheaper in the long run. Take a jug of vodka, rum, or bourbon and throw in some chopped up vanilla beans, and let it sit for at least a month. That’s it. Makes a nice gift, too, if you get decorative bottles.

MONDAY
Chili and cornbread

Even I didn’t like this chili very much. Very uninspired, just peppers and onions, ground beef, canned tomatoes, black beans and kidney beans, whatever reddish and organgeish powders I could find in the spice rack, and a can of beer. But we had plenty sour cream, so probably half the kids ate it.

Cornbread was fine. One-bowl recipes are so dear to my heart.

TUESDAY
Chicken nuggets, hot pretzels, sweet peppers and hummus

Tuesday, we spent three solid hours in the car, going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth within the same 20-mile radius.

My itinerary: Pick up one kid at one school, pick up other kids and carpool kid at other school, leave one at drama, drop some off at catechism, wait for parakeet, go to library to pick up other kid, get message that parakeet is at catechism and library kid is at home, stop at catechism to pick up parakeet, pick up kid at drama, pick up catechism kids, turn around because it turns out catechism kids were HIDING and were not actually in the van, pick up kid at work, drop off carpool kid, and then go home to get dinner started.

It was like one of those Family Circus cartoons where you see the dotted line where Little No-Neck made his adorable rounds from the sandbox to the swing set to the bathroom and back, except instead of resulting in inexplicably long-lasting cartoon career, we just got a hysterical claustrophobic baby whose diaper didn’t explode only through the miraculous intervention of St. Commodius, patron of Very Damp Situations.

WEDNESDAY
Bacon Mushroom Chowder

Okay. This soup, you guys.

This.

Soup.

Some of my kids don’t like soup, so I was determined to find just one recipe that they would enjoy. I started with this recipe from Damn Delicious, and made a few adjustments, to appeal to everyone’s basest instincts. For instance, the recipe calls for 4 slices of bacon. I used two pounds. And I went from there.

And you know what? Some of them still didn’t eat it. They had toast. Too bad! It was really good, and I’m making it again.

THURSDAY
Bangers and Mash (I guess?) with mushroom and onion gravy, and frozen Brussels sprouts

My Anglophile son has asking for this for a while. It was great! Definitely adding this to the rotation as a make-ahead meal — although I now know that you really need to mash the potatoes while they are still hot. If you wait until they are cool, they will only mash so far, and no further.

I did have some wonderful help peeling the potatoes:

[img attachment=”87104″ size=”medium” alt=”food blog benny potato” align=”aligncenter”]

Is there a recipe for bangers and mash? If so, I didn’t consult it, just fried up a bunch of Italian sausages and served them on top of mashed potatoes with gravy. And I was thrilled with the gravy, partly because it was tasty, and partly because the gravy I made for Thanksgiving was so incredibly awful. There may be a better kind of vindication than gravy vindication, but I haven’t found it yet.

FRIDAY
Spaghetti and jarred sauce

Because I’m so holy, I’m willing to endure the searing sacrifice of serving this meatless meal. Hem kissing will be available in the conference room until 11. Thank you.

Kids! Mass! Is there any way we can all get along?

Some kid noise at Mass is unavoidable, and should be welcome in any parish that wishes to survive. Many parents are trying harder than it appears to outsiders. Many kids have invisible disabilities, and many parents have invisible crosses. God is not honored by an hour-long litany of mental kvetching every week. The Church is not a museum, a silent retreat, or an old folks’ home.

But it’s also not a playground, and all parents are responsible for helping their kids learn to behave as well as they can.

The Mass is not a private time. It’s a time to worship God with other people. We feel that kids belong at Mass, both for their benefit and for the benefit of the congregation.  We gradually increase our expectations of our kids until they eventually participate as fully in the Mass as any adult.

Other families may simply decide to split up on Sundays, leaving young kids at home until they are old enough to behave well. I like having the whole family together, but that’s a personal preference, not a moral issue. You are the expert in your particular family, and you get to decide what you are trying to achieve and what’s the best way to get there.

In the seventeen years we’ve been bringing kids to Mass, we’ve learned what turned out to be 17 things about how to get kids to behave themselves, beyond all the usual advice about bringing books, crayons, and quiet toys, pointing out the features of the Church, and sitting up front and whispering explanations.

1.Remember that you may be your family’s own worst critic. Of course there are awful people who say nasty things to parents who are trying their best; but there are also parents who imagine criticism when there is none. One Sunday, this wizened old lady kept turning around and staring every time my baby boy made the tiniest peep. She had the sourest, nastiest sneer on her face, and I got madder and madder. Finally at the Sign of Peace, she leaned over and, with the same hideous sneer, she spat out, “Your kids are so beautiful and well-behaved. God bless you!” Her face. Just. Looked like that. I keep this lady in mind, because it’s a lot easier to be calm and deal with kids reasonably if I don’t feel like everyone is judging us.

2.Even if people are being jerks, you don’t have to respond in kind. If someone scowls, respond with a big grin. If someone says something unfriendly, laugh and say something lighthearted like, “Oh, it’s okay, I have a note from the Pope, so we’re allowed to be here!” It’s easier to pull this off if you plan ahead and decide that this is what you’re going to do, rather than coming up with something on the spot. You’re not trying to crush them with your wit, you’re trying to remind them, “Hey, we’re all in this together.” You may or may not change their mind, but at least you won’t be making it worse.

3.We do allow some roaming, as long as it’s mostly in the pew. I know some people think that getting out of your spot is an ejectable offence, but we don’t. Our four-year-old goes from lap to lap, lies down on the pew, sits on the kneeler, etc., along with some sitting quietly and paying attention. I figure it’s only distracting if you sit right behind us, and easily distracted people can just choose not to sit right behind us.

4.Even if you’re not in the pew, you (the parent) are still at Mass, so try not to chit chat, zone out, or check your phone. If other parents are acting like they’re at a coffee shop, it’s okay to smile politely but make it clear with your body language that you’re trying to be present at Mass.  If you’re chasing a maniacal toddler, it may not be possible to follow along at all, in which case, “Jesus, I’m here because you want me here. Help, please!” is a worthy prayer.

Of course, if someone really needs to talk to you — and needy people do often turn up in the back of a church — it’s all right to have a quiet conversation. We don’t freeze people out because we’re trying to pray!

5.Have age-appropriate expectations. Don’t take a noisy two-year-old out because he’s being bad; take him out because he’s two and of course he’s being noisy. We don’t expect kids to be able to make it through the Mass until they’re at least four years old. This is the age we’ve found is reasonable for our kids. Your kids may be different. The point is, most younger kids aren’t capable of sitting quietly for an hour, no matter how many felted Mass kits in adorable backpacks you bring. You can probably terrorize them into behaving, but you’ll just be teaching them that Mass is that place where Mom and Dad are angry.

So it may be a drag, and exhausting, and demoralizing to spend all that time either out of the pew or going back and forth, but at least you shouldn’t feel like you or they are doing something wrong. Little kids are little kids. It won’t be this way forever. It won’t be this way forever. It won’t be this way forever.

6.Even if you can reasonably expect to have small children for a couple of decades, it does get easier. If you put a lot of effort into getting your older kids to act right, their behavior will help to clue in the younger kids, so you’re not really starting from zero like you were when you were new parents. Also, older kids can take younger kids to the bathroom, and I refuse to feel guilty about this. Offer it up, buttercup. Mama’s gonna hear the second reading for once.

7.Talk to kids about your expectations ahead of time — and this includes older kids.  Give them really specific instructions about what you are hoping to see and what you will not tolerate, and follow through with any bribes or threats.

8.Model good behavior, in and out of Mass. Show with your posture and the expression on your face that this is different from sitting on the bleachers at a ballgame. Something special is going on.

Avoid doing a snarky postmortem on the way home, crabbing over the music, the liturgy, the homily, the other people, as if you were at a restaurant and you’re working on your Yelp review. You were there to worship God, not be catered to.

9.Do talk about the Mass outside of Mass. Let the kids know that you’re thinking about it, and that hour has plenty to do with your everyday life. Talk about what the readings meant to you, talk about your favorite hymns, and for goodness’ sake, if your kids did well, praise them for it.

10.Answer your kids’ questions about what’s going on. No teaching technique is more valuable than striking while the iron’s hot. They should whisper, but they should never be discouraged from asking questions! If it’s something that doesn’t have to do with Mass, you can answer one or two questions, and then say, “We’re praying to God now, so please ask me again after Mass.”

11.Master the toddler lap-sit immobilization grip. Kid sits on your lap, you wrap your left hand between his legs and your right hand around his torso under his armpit; then grip your left forearm with your right hand.  Comfortable, but squirm-proof. This doesn’t work for all kids! Some kids will just go even berserker if they’re held this close, in which case you’re just asking for more trouble. But some kids will realize, “Oh, I’m supposed to sit for a while. Hey, there’s a guy in robes up there! Cool, I guess I’ll stare at him for a while.”

12.Ignore innocent kid behavior that isn’t noisy, destructive, or deliberately irreverent. This includes a kid who is popping his fingers in and out and in and out of his ears to make the organ go “wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa,” the kid who is systematically mirroring the facial expressions of the saints on each stained glass window, the kid who is drawing or playing with his buttons, his tongue, his bootlaces, the little clippy thing on the back of the pew in front of him, the seam of the kneeler, etc. I’ve seen parents flip out over innocuous behavior just because it’s not picture-perfect reverence. This is recipe for making your kids dread Mass, or turning them into self-righteous, outwardly-focused mini pharisees. Boo.

13.Feed babies wherever you want. In the pew is where I usually do it (although I’m not a fan of top-down, whole-boob exposure. You don’t have to be a pervert to find that distracting. Yes, I realize this attitude makes me worse than Hitler). If you feel self-conscious, nothing beats the confessional for quiet and privacy. It’s like a magic trick: go behind this mysterious velvet curtain with a squalling maniac, and emerge fifteen minutes later with a docile sleeping beauty. At least you can escape feeling like and the baby are on stage for a while.

14.If you have a big family, you may find it easier to take up part of several pews, one in front of the other, rather than ranging out all along one pew. This way, parents can reach kids who need to be grabbed or tapped; and kids are less likely to feel invisible, and they’re more likely to follow along with the responses when they can hear their parents.

15.We avoid cry rooms, but they vary, and it’s a matter of preference. In my experience, they’re a little too comfortable, and if there’s soundproof glass, there can be an unnerving “hootenanny in the terrarium” effect. Better to make it your goal to stay in the pew as much as possible, and to make your second location (the cry room, the confessional, the foyer, the town limits, etc.) feel temporary, until you’re ready to go back in (even if that’s not until the final blessing).

16.If you parish is really impossible, it’s okay to look for a more kid-friendly one, but be honest about whether your kid could be doing better. If you’re getting the message that kids are completely unwelcome, it couldn’t hurt to write to your pastor (or to his bishop, if the pastor is the problem). That’s something that should never happen. But also scrutinize your own attitude. Are you treating your kid like a delicate genius who must never, ever be shushed or corrected, and the heck with everyone else in the building? That’s not right either.  Like so many things, it’s a matter of finding balance. Easiest thing in the world to say, hardest thing in the world to do.

17.The best advice I can give you: be patient. Be patient. Be patient. Be patient. Behaving at Mass is a whole-family effort, and it takes a long time to get where you want to be, with everyone cooperating as much as they are able. It’s taken us a full 18 years to get the point where, even if one or more kids does every rotten thing in the book, we can stay calm and confident and just deal with it, without strangling anyone or dying of embarrassment.

The one thing you must never consider is giving up going to Mass! Even the worst experience is better than that.

For every story about clueless, entitled parents allowing their unruly brats to terrorize the ushers and throw jelly beans at the pastor, there are ten stories about dour parishioners sending exhausted parents a very clear message: that the Church has no place for families, and that God can only be worshipped in tomblike silence. And guess what? Parents get the message, and they and their kids leave for good. Tomblike indeed.

So. I suppose you’ll go ahead and tell your sad stories in the comments section anyway, but it won’t be a good use of your time. I’ve been a Catholic all my life, and I’ve seen it all. I’ve been annoyed and outraged and scandalized at the things some parents let their kids (and themselves) do at Mass. Some people really do behave badly. It happens.

And none of that is the point.

Read the rest at the Register. 

One of my daughters turned ten last week. She is a girl of sophisticated tastes, so here’s a treat we came up with together: cookies topped with cheesecake dip topped with chocolate-covered strawberries.  Why? Because I’m not pregnant, and actually have a bit of energy for nonsense like this!

We made 36 strawberry bites*, and is a nice little, no-bake, kid-friendly, cheer-you-up project (or would have been, if I hadn’t been so crabby from trying to cut down on sugar after a week-long binge) that requires almost no cooking skill.

[img attachment=”86435″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”sophia strawberries” /]

When working in the kitchen with kids, I recommend deciding ahead of time if your main goal is to end up with tasty, attractive food, or to let the kids have fun. They do not go together. You have to pick one or the other. In this case, I did part myself, and didn’t let the kids help, and then turned the kitchen over to them, went in the other room, and plugged my ears.

*I’m sorry, I hate that word “bite” to describe a food. It shows a lack of respect for the parts of speech, and the vagueness of it makes it sound like there is something to hide. But I don’t know what else to call these food items, other than maybe “treats” or “desserts.” And I do recommend biting them, so there.

You will need:

36 sandwich cookies (like Oreos) – or brownies, or graham cracker crust, or phyllo dough, or whatever you want

3 packages of cream cheese

10 oz. sour cream

confectioner’s sugar to taste (1/2 cup or more)

2 tsp. vanilla 

36 strawberries

16 oz semisweet chocolate chips

2 Tbs shortening

 

Chocolate-covered strawberries:

Cover a pan with wax paper.
Wash the strawberries and dry them thoroughly (the chocolate won’t stick to wet things).
In a double boiler, melt the chocolate chips and the shortening, and stir until it’s smooth. You can use just chocolate, but the shortening makes the chocolate smoother, and it dries harder.
Dip each strawberry in the melted chocolate and set them on the wax paper-covered pans.
Chill strawberries for 20 minutes or more until the chocolate is hardened.

Cream cheese topping:

Using an electric mixer, blend together the cream cheese, sour cream, confectioner’s sugar, and vanilla until smooth.

Then:

Put cookies in cupcake papers, and put a dollop of cream cheese mixture on top of each cookie. Top each one with a chocolate-covered strawberry.

And just like that, you have a Wednesday post. These would actually work well for a Valentine’s day treat, too.

Are small families better for kids? The Washington Post says “yes,” citing a new study by three economists who claim that

with every additional kid born, the other siblings are more likely to suffer from lower cognitive abilities and more behavioral issues, and have worse outcomes later in life.

As the mother of a tenth child — a child who started walking at seven months, could say four words at 8 months, and who can beat the pants off her older siblings on Just Dance (as long as “It’s Raining Men”) — I have the luxury of sniggering at this article. I know that my older kids had a different experience from my younger kids, and that life changes for everyone when a baby is born . . . and that there is some good and some bad in their life because of our large family size.

That’s what life is like: some good and some bad. If we’re holding out for an experience that is 100% unmixed good, I suggest finding a comfy chair, because it’s going to be a long wait.

But what if you’re a young parent, just starting out, and you’re feeling unnerved? Should you consider limiting your family size based on the findings in this study?

Well, even my untrained brain can spot tons of red flags in this article. Please note that I’m only responding to the article’s presentation of the study, and not to the study itself. The media notoriously distorts scientific findings beyond recognition; but it’s the article that’s getting all the media attention, and people are responding to it, so I will, too.

I’ll just skim my way down the article, and make comments as I go.

The study was done by economists, but it’s being presented as a reliable measure of quality of life. Economists also did a study that, as it was reported, implied that it doesn’t really matter if you put kids in car seats. This is not because economists are liars or monsters, but because economists see the world like economists, ask the kind of questions that economists ask, and draw the kind of conclusions that economists draw. They are looking, in short, at numbers, and assuming that if you connect those dots, you’ll get a picture that looks like actual life. Which it does not.

The article says:

The paper builds on older research that claims that families face a trade-off between the quantity of kids they have and the “quality” of each kid — an awkward term that refers to things like how much education the child receives, whether they are employed when they grow up, and whether they end up with a criminal record. The research also supports now-popular ideas about early childhood development, that the time and resources that parents devote to young kids have lifelong impacts.

“How much education the child receives” — What does this mean? Graduating vs. not graduating high school? College vs. no college? Or does it mean “Small families have the time and money for Gymboree class and taking violin lessons, but big families just spend time bouncing off each other in the living room and singing songs”?

Also, is more education an unqualified positive? I want my kids to go to college and grad school if that’s what they’re called to; but I won’t consider them doomed if they opt out and end up happy and successful anyway. Families with a few children are probably more likely aggressively focus on their children “doing it right” with college and prestigious careers; families with more kids are probably more likely to realize that there are plenty of ways to be happy and successful. So the lower push to “succeed” may be a result of larger family size, but that may not be a bad thing.

“Whether they are employed when they grow up” — Is employment an unqualified positive? I know women (and some men) who are eminently employable, but they’ve decided to be stay-at-home parents for the time being. In this study, parents like that would be called “less successful” compared to someone who’s employed in a menial, unpleasant job.

“Time and resources that parents devote to young kids have lifelong impacts” — Does it compare time and resources that come directly from parents to time and resources that come from older siblings, or does it assume that a busy parent = a neglected kid (i.e., only parents can provide what kids need)? The article mentions “how often parents read to children or help them with their homework.” When I had few kids, I read to them once or twice a day. Now that I have many literate kids, I read out loud most days, and the older kids also read out loud once or twice a day, sometimes while I’m still sleeping in the morning, or after we’ve put them to bed. The same goes for homework: the older kids get a kick out of showing off their prowess. Parents aren’t the only source of “time and resources.”

They also measured “the resources (including money, books, clothes, etc.) [the parents] devoted to each child.”  Well, I will admit that I don’t buy an entire new library or an entire new wardrobe for every child. They pass clothes down, and they share books. Guilty as charged.

When the article compares small families with large families, who is included in the “large family” category? “Large families” includes families like mine, with two married, monogamous, well-educated, stable, committed parents who have similar goals for childrearing.
It also includes single parents.
It also includes blended families.
It also includes families with many siblings and many different fathers.
Some of these “large families” may mean there are four or more parents involved, who may or may not agree on how to raise children, and where kids may be suffering from the demanding effects of having to split time between households, or having to deal with the divorce or living with kids they’re not related to, or having only one parent.
The only thing all these families have in common is lots of children, but the actual home life may vary widely and significantly.

Does it include families who have adopted several kids with special needs? Many large families I know are large because they include biological and adopted children; and many of the adopted children have been added to the family specifically because they have special needs. Are these kids showing up as “not succeeding” due to family size, when they may not even have been alive if they hadn’t been adopted in a family that is happy to have plenty of kids under one roof?

Some of the bad effects the study uncovered are truly worrisome: more teen pregnancy, more criminal behavior.

Here comes my biggest question of all: does the study or the article confuse correlation with causation?

There may indeed be a link between large families and worrisome outcomes for children.  But is the large size causing the worrisome outcome, or is it just that certain types of parents tend to both have lots of children and raise their children in a less-optimal way?

People with lower socio-economic standards tend to have more children, and those parents tend to raise kids with more problems, because duh. If those same less-well-educated parents had few children, would those few children  suffer the same disadvantages?

Correlation does not equal causation. This phrase ought to be engraved on the keyboard of every writer who reports on any study of any kind. It’s so basic, yet so often ignored.

Here’s the funny thing: On the same day that the “kids from large families are doomed” article started popping up on my Facebook feed, Facebook suggested I check out a “memory,” an article I posted several years ago on this date. It was a Slate article: It’s Better to Be Raised By a Single Mom: Kids Get That Magical Quality: Grit.

It’s a personal essay by a single mom, who argues that, while it’s true her kids have many disadvantages because they have no dad in the home, they are actually going to come out ahead because of those disadvantages. They learn, she says, teamwork, independence, the value of a dollar, the value of work, and “the power of the negative example.” She says:

We are surrounded by huge homes and the other accouterments of wealth. Kids here, and in similar bubbles of affluence, find gift-wrapped cars in the driveway when they turn 16, as well as one of the greatest predictors of success: support. In the recently published How Children Succeed, author Paul Tough argues that rich kids get the encouragement and poor ones get the grit, and he claims that one without the other gets no one very far … I would maintain that children with a single parent get the winning combination.

Really, all she’s saying is that she’s been dealt a crap hand, and she’s tried hard to turn it into something good. And I’m not going to argue with her. That’s a great way to approach parenting, and one which every single parent can imitate in one way or another.

The fascinating part was that the essay was published in response to a study that said that children of single parents fared worse than children of married couples — and Slate magazine was soliciting “testimonies on why being raised by a single mother, or being a single mother, has its benefits and might even be better than having both parents around.”

At the time, I was irritated. “Humph,” I thought. “As soon as science says something that the progressives don’t like, they make this naked bid for emotional testimony and call that a rebuttal. Shameful.” But now I think that it was actually a reasonable response. The truth is, statistics almost never give us a clear, accurate, and comprehensive picture of what real life is like, but personal stories can give us a better idea of what is possible, or of what is likely, or at least of how complicated life can be.

It’s not just that there are exceptions to whatever rule a study seems to show; it’s that people aren’t numbers, and there is no such thing as following a magic formula that will guarantee the outcome you want in life.

As anyone with eyes can see, there are ways you can increase your odds of raising happy, successful kids (building and maintaining a stable marriage, for instance); but there’s no secret formula to guarantee that your kids will turn out well, and anyone who says there is is probably trying to sell a book to help for their own kids’ therapy and child support.

So don’t sweat the studies. Use your common sense, listen to the advice and follow the example of people who seem wise and experienced, and don’t let the latest social media headlines fool you into thinking they know something you don’t.

In conclusion, here is Corrie, surrounded by the siblings she’s dragging down:

Shh, don’t tell them they’re doomed! They think she’s just what we needed at our house.

There was a man who could read people’s souls, and who would sometimes deliver messages from God. It sounds fishy, but if you saw his face, especially his eyes, you’d believe it. For some reason, he visited my house when I was a teenager. When I came in the room, his dark eyes pooled with pity, and he asked, “Is there anything you would like to ask?” There wasn’t. I was on an ugly, dire path, and I knew it, but I wasn’t ready to turn around yet. So I walked out of the room. Fled, really. I could see that he was very close to God, and I couldn’t stand being that close to him.

It is not enough, you see, to recognize the presence of God. You can identify holiness, but it won’t do you any good if you’ve been living in a way that doesn’t prepare you to endure it.

Herod, for instance, recognized the Christ. Or at least he was well-versed enough in scripture to know that something big was coming, something that could change the world. But when he found Him, his whole thought was to extinguish that light, because it was a threat. Not to be endured.

Herod was a brilliant, powerful, and exceptionally brutal tyrant, who protected his throne by killing everyone who might someday threaten it, including his wife, two of his sons, his wife’s grandfather, her brother, and her mother. You cannot live that way and then suddenly rejoice when your savior comes. You don’t want a savior, when you live that way. It’s not that you don’t recognize salvation; it’s that you hate it.

The magi, on the other hand, also found and identified the Child Jesus, and had (what an understatement!) a different response. Before they ever appeared in the Gospel, they had spent years studying scripture and anticipating the arrival of the Savior. But their studies clearly brought them beyond some academic knowledge of the coming king. Isaiah spoke of glory and brilliance, a “Hero God” — and yet when the magi found Him in Bethlehem, just another poor baby Jew, they still knew who He was — and they rejoiced, and adored, and gloried in His light.

It’s not enough to identify God when you find Him. It won’t do you any good unless you’ve been living in a way that makes you ready to want salvation.

 

Several years ago, I had a little glimpse of Jesus. He was in the form of another man, someone who served God with every moment of his life. When I walked into the room, he was on his knees on the floor, binding the ankle of a boy who had hurt his foot. The boy was not grateful, not at all. He sulked and pitied himself, but the man radiated love. His posture was a living expression of love. The room shone.

This time, when I saw holiness, I didn’t run away. I stayed and watched, because the light of charity that shone in that room had something to say to me: “Be like this.”

In the first reading at the Mass of the Epiphany, Isaiah says:

Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come,
the glory of the Lord shines upon you.
…
Nations shall walk by your light,
and kings by your shining radiance.

This is a light that may reveal all kinds of things. It’s not enough for those “nations” (and we are the nations) to recognize and identify God. It’s not enough to be able to realize what holiness is when we see it.

How are we preparing, before that light appears? The magi knew it was coming, and they prepared themselves to welcome and adore it. Herod knew it was coming, and he made plans to extinguish it. Herod acted like exactly like Herod when His savior appeared, and so will we act exactly like ourselves when we meet God.

Just being in His light will not be enough. If we live like Herod, we will respond to Him like Herod, with fear, with loathing. We will see the light, and we will want to put it out.

When the glory of the Lord comes to shine upon you, what will that light reveal?

Happy New Year! Let’s eat.

Last Friday was, of course, Christmas, so I skipped the food post. I then spent the next seven days doing little else besides eating; but I didn’t try a lot of new recipes or (YOU’RE WELCOME) take a lot of pictures. So I thought I’d start the new year with a little round-up of the most successful recipes from this series so far.

But first, I do have one new one to share: Mexican braised beef, which my sister Sarah made for us yesterday:

[img attachment=”86430″ align=”alignnone” size=”medium” alt=”food blog braised beef” /]

Oh, my stars and garters, this is some very fine beef. We just rolled it up in tortillas with some lettuce and sour cream, and it was divine. Medium spicy, maximum savory, tons of flavor. We’ll be adding this to the rotation.

And what the heck, I do have one spectacular failure to share. I was really excited about this recipe for Double Crunch Chile Relleno Monte Cristo Sandwiches. Who wouldn’t be?  Are you kidding me??

Oh, the youth of the heart, and the dew in the morning. You wake, and they’ve left you with this miserable, misbegotten, hope-squandering, pointless excuse for a sandwich:

[img attachment=”86431″ align=”alignnone” size=”medium” alt=”food blog monte cristo” /]

An immensely flattering photo, believe me. The “double crunch” crust tasted like the french toast chef had come back to work too early and should have spent another week convalescing; and the inside was just cheese and chiles, hoop de doo. I was way more disappointed than anyone should be over a sandwich, but there it is.

Okay, on to the good recipes! Here are the best new recipes I discovered in 2015 — plus some old recipes that are staying on the list because we’re not tired of them yet:

Chicken
Pioneeer Woman’s Chicken Enchiladas
Chicken Cutlets with Basil and Provolone
Oven-Roasted Chicken Shawarma
Roasted Chicken Thighs with Fall Vegetables

Pork
Porchetta Pork Roast
Braised Pork with Red Wine over Noodles

Vegetables and Potatoes
Garlic Parmesan Roasted Broccoli
Fried Eggplant
Date- and Gorgonzola-Stuffed Sweet Potatoes
Creamy Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Roasted Mushrooms

Breads
Beer bread
Pumpkin bread
Corn Muffins
Popovers
Cinnamon Rolls

Soups
Beef Barley Soup
Zuppa Toscana
Tortilla Soup
Onion Soup
Chile Relleno Soup

Pasta
Spaghetti al carbonara
Bacon, Spinach, and Parmesan Pasta
Chicken and Pesto Pasta
Ricotta Spinach Pasta
Macaroni and Cheese

Miscellaneous
Fish Tacos
Suppli
Roasted Apples

Another discovery: I called two consecutive posts “Vol. 8.” Double crunch!

Well, I can think of no better way to say goodbye to 2015 (which I realize you were supposed to do yesterday, but whatever) than with this story: Thousands of People on Facebook Are Praying for a Dog with Ham On Its Face.

God bless Ham Dog, and God bless you.

 

 

 

Sometimes, I behave badly online.

No, really! Still, I am better than I used to be; and, as I always tell my kids, you can’t ask for more than progress. Here are a few things that help me from behaving too shamefully when discussing important topics (especially religious ones) online:

Remember there’s a person on the other end. When things get intense, I sometimes mention something personal to bring the conversation back to a human level: Instead of “I’ve wasted enough time with you, thickhead,” try “Gotta go throw that meatloaf in the oven now.” Someone else is likely to say, “Hey, we’re having meatloaf, too!” and everyone suddenly remembers that, if we were sitting around the kitchen and smelling meatloaf cooking, we wouldn’t be talking to each other so nastily (even if the other person really is a thickhead).

“Be gentle, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” You’ve arrived at your point of view through pure intellect, but they’ve arrived at theirs through pure malice or stupidity, right? Yeah, probably not. People who disagree with you are using their brains, but also their experience—which may have been nothing like yours. We are all kind of a mess inside, and won’t see ourselves or anyone else clearly until the Second Coming. Remember that there is no point of view in a vacuum: we all have baggage, and when someone disagrees with you, it may have a lot more to do with that baggage than it does with your idea or with you personally.

Pray before you comment. Not, “God almighty, enlighten these idiots through the workings of my keyboard,” but “Lord, bless Mr. Troll.” It couldn’t hurt, right? Or you could test out the idea, “I am pleasing God by writing the following,” and see if that changes your tone at all. If you’re unwilling to think about God being present while you write, that is a bad sign. The worst sign, in fact.

Fake it till you make it. It may be too hard to be civil for the sake of blindingly pure Christian caritas, so maybe just do it to make the next five seconds on earth more pleasant. If you can’t actually be a good person with your whole heart, the next best thing is to play one online. It’s okay to be angry, to acknowledge to yourself that you’re angry, and then speak as if you’re not angry. It’s pretty liberating, actually.  Occasionally, the person who lashed out at you, expecting you to respond in kind, will collapse and apologize in the face of kindness. And even better, speaking like a decent person may actually engender decency within you.  At very least, you’ll have refused to contribute to the overall horribleness of the world this one time.

Apologize when you’re wrong, and do it like a Catholic: in the active voice. If you’ve hurt someone, intentionally or not, then say you’re sorry for what you did—not “I’m sorry your poor widdle feelings got poked with the sharpness of my intellect.” If you got really carried away, a follow-up by personal email can make a big difference next time you meet online. If the other guy refuses to respond with his own apology, it’s his problem on his conscience, not yours.

Remember that the fate of the Church, the country, the future of the arts, the future of education, or the future of Western civilization in general does not rest on your shoulders. No matter how important the topic of conversation, it’s just a conversation, and your first obligation is to the people physically around you. Are you getting shaky? Have you heard yourself shriek, “Shut up, shut up, I’m defending Communion on the tongue!!!” Has your home shown up on Drudge with the headline “House of Filth?” If so, then whatever you lose by losing the argument is not as important as what you will gain by walking away.

Know when to go. If you’ve made your point as clearly as you can several times, and people still don’t agree with you, then there are three possible reasons: (a) you’re wrong; (b) you’re right, but not a good explainer; or (c) you’re right and eloquent, but this audience simply won’t hear you. In any case, it’s time to move along.

***
A version of this post originally ran in the National Catholic Register in March of 2011.

When in doubt, ask! Ask the recipient, or ask the person who facilitates donations. The one thing poor people feel very keenly is that no one asks them. The only real mistake we can make is to decide it’s too complicated, and to do nothing.

Read the rest at the Register. 

We finally got some snow on the East coast.We were hoping to get out the sleds for Christmas vacation, but what’s covering the ground is more of an icy, grainy, slush, not great for coasting. So I’m wracking my brains to recall more family games, besides the ones I suggested for Thanksgiving gatherings. Here’s what we’ve been doing:

 

Caption This

My sister Abby (who may have invented this game, I’m not sure) describes it like this:

“One person writes a sentence or phrase and hands the paper to the next person. He illustrates it, and then folds the paper so only his illustration is showing, and passes it to the next person. He writes a caption for the illustration, and then folds the paper so only his caption is showing, and passes it to the next person, who illustrates the caption, and so on. The round ends with a caption at the bottom of the page. Then you compare the original phrase with the final caption.”

It’s sort of like Telephone, but with words and pictures. This game works the best if you have lots of people playing, and it’s actually more fun if the people involved are not great artists. We also made it zippier by making a thirty-second limit before you have to pass the paper along.

I wish I had a sample to show you, but I may have been filling some time this week by shrieking, “We need to get this place cleaned up! I cannot live like this! Get up, get up, we need to throw all this stuff away!” So I think we threw them away.

 

One-Word Round Robin Stories

In a standard round robin story, each player contributes several sentences before passing the plot along to the next person. In this version, each person contributes only one word. So you might end up with an opening sentence like this:

“One day, four miserable Russians decided to excavate their uncle’s bedroom floor, and they found something TERRIFYING.”

This works best when you play with siblings or people who know each other’s thought patterns well, and some element of telepathy helps to keep the sentences afloat.

 

Werewolf

Werewolf is an actual store-bought game with cards that one kid got for Christmas (we have the deluxe edition), and it’s been a big hit. The play is simple, but it’s the psychological aspect that makes it entertaining.

I’m not great at explaining games, but here’s the general idea: The premise is that, when night falls in the village, a werewolf comes out and kills someone; and everyone else has to figure out who the werewolf is and what to do about it. Everyone closes his eyes, and the leader instructs one person at a time to wake up, take a look at the card that reveals his role (werewolf, bodyguard, witch, villager, etc.), and then go back to sleep. There are several rounds of play, in which the players anonymously decide to kill, save, protect, or silence each other.

[img attachment=”86257″ align=”alignnone” size=”medium” alt=”Sometimes the werewolf is the last person you’d suspect” caption=”Sometimes the werewolf is the last person you’d suspect” /]

Then everyone has to vote on whom to lynch. Players are eliminated one at a time, and it becomes more and more evident who is killing everyone, who is being framed, and who is lying through their teeth (and, in my case, who forgot the rules and accidentally blabbed too much information).

[img attachment=”86258″ align=”alignnone” size=”medium” alt=”Sometimes they are a little too eager to lynch each other.” caption=”Sometimes they are a little too eager to lynch each other.” /]

Depending on your family dynamics, you may not want to play more than a few rounds of this game! It tends to bring everyone’s core personality front and center.

And oh yes, I do have  “Where, oh werewolf” stuck in my head 24/7 now.

***
So, what are you doing over Christmas break, if you’ve got one? Any games you can suggest for us? Because night cometh, and I may have given birth to more than one werewolf . . .