365 Days

I’m a sentimental fool. I have always been one who loves to celebrate anniversaries and who has a strange penchant for remembering (and therefore celebrating!) random dates. Anniversaries of our first date, anniversaries of our first kiss, anniversaries of the day we met… you get the point. It is fun, it’s weird, it’s just who I am. I also find myself often reflecting aloud with Cole, “Do you remember what we were doing a year ago right now?” With these last few years chock full of change, it is fun to remember and reflect on how much can change in a year.  For example, on our wedding anniversary this year, we were marveling at the fact that we spent last year’s anniversary in Hawai’i watching a tropical storm buffet a beach full of palm trees while crew teams raced the waves in the distance. We’ve looked back and marveled at how our family has changed in a year – new babies, new cousins… all sorts of new additions.

This penchant for remembering is all well and good and actually kind of fun for things like that. Then, July 22, 2013, happened. And sometimes, that same penchant for remembering is not such a blessing.
My grandmother went in for a routine surgery from which she never recovered.  And thus began a two week flurry of emails, texts, phone calls and tears. And then, one year ago today, my grandmother's faith became sight, and the heavenly chorus gained one heck of an alto.

So, these last ten days have been full of very hard “Do you remember what we were doing a year ago today?”s. They are full of memories of uncertainty, fear, deep sadness, and long, dark nights. It amazes me how all the feelings can come flooding back without a moment’s notice. Grief is a funny, fickle thing.

We've now lived 365 days without Grandma. The gravity of it all is sometimes so overwhelming. I’m still not used to Grandpa arriving for dinner solo. I’m still not used to receiving mail signed only by Grandpa. I still have “Gma & Gpa B” programmed in my phone and my heart does weird flip-flop things when I see it pop up on my caller ID.  I can still occasionally smell her perfume in their house. Even after 365 days, I’m still not used to life without her.

I suppose such is the process of grief.  I have heard it said that the hole in your heart left by the absence of a loved one does not shrink with time; rather your heart grows with time to where the hole is still very present and certainly no smaller, but it no longer feels so big, so consuming, so cavernous – slowly dwarfed by the passage of time, the presence of life.  They say the first year is the hardest. (Whoever ‘they’ is) And this year has, in so many ways, been so very hard. There is so much that has happened in my life that I wish desperately to share with her. And, in many ways, I still can’t quite believe that she’s gone.

I suppose it will get easier as time continues to go by, though I’m not sure I want it to. In a way, the pain of grief still feels like a way to hang on to her, to make it feel like she’s not really gone. Though we do not grieve as those who have no hope, we still grieve. It’s hard to believe that it has already been a year and it’s hard to believe that it has only been a year and it’s hard to believe that we have so many more years to live without her. So tonight, I’m going to pour myself a glass of Chardonnay, splash two ice cubes in it, and sit at the piano and remember her incredible, beautiful life and the blessing it was to bear witness to it for nearly 25 years.

August 2nd will never be the same and I will never be the same.

When the Music Returns

Four weeks ago, my beautiful grandmother was promoted to Glory.  She shed the heavy things of this world and her faith finally became sight.  The heavenly chorus gained one heck of an alto; and Earth lost one incredible woman.  And, as C.S. Lewis said in the final book of the Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”  And what a sunrise she must be experiencing!

Three weeks ago, I cried as my grandfather, a tall, big, impressive retired Airforce Colonel, bid his last farewell to his life’s longest love as she was lowered into the ground.  This big, strong man never looked so small as he knelt beside her casket, laid a rose atop the polished, pale blue wood, and choked through his tears, “Goodbye, my love.  Thank you for loving me.”

Two weeks ago – and far sooner than I had thought – I sat on a piano bench for the first time in months. 

Everything about the piano reminds me of her.  When I walked into the house she shared with my grandfather for over 30 years for the first time since her death, I walked up to her beautiful grand piano and wept.  I lightly touched the keys and remembered song after song that she would play for us - once seated upon her lap, then seated by her side as we played duets, then seated by ourselves as she stood behind, beaming with pride.  I remembered the times that she would let us play her piano, but only after insisting that we wash our hands.  I remembered her taking the effort to turn off all other sounds – radio, tv, etc. – when we played her piano so she could hear every note.  And I remembered, whenever we’d hit a wrong note, she’d hum the correct note repeatedly until we found it.

I remembered all of the after-dinner sing-alongs around that piano.  I remembered her silly look of aggravation when her aging hands couldn’t find the notes as easily as they used to.  I remembered every Christmas gathered around that beautiful instrument as she played and we all sang, “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” and I cried to think of this year’s December 25 without her - and all the other ones to follow.  The memories flooded back with the tears as I barely touched those ivories and I wondered how life would ever be the same again and I knew it wouldn’t.

I knew, after seeing her piano sitting empty in their living room, that it would be a very long time before I could play again. She supported our every musical endeavor – attending every recital, buying music books that we would actually enjoy practicing, and even listening to my original compositions laced with teenaged angst – and calling it beautiful.  To me, the piano means her.  So, when I found myself at my in-laws’ house in the week following her funeral, I walked straight passed the beautiful piano in their office without even blinking.  For the first three days of our stay, I walked passed it.  Then, on Thursday, I sat at the bench; fifteen minutes later, I rose – not having played a single note.  Then, on Friday, August 16 – two weeks after the woman from whom I inherited my alto voice joined the alto section of the Heavenly chorus – I played the piano again.

Through my shaky hands and my tear-blurred vision, I plunked out the hymn, “It Is Well.”  There seemed no better song.  After all, this had been my anthem since the day I heard about her cancer diagnosis.  Verse after verse, I played.  After that, “The Entertainer,” a song that will forever remind me of her. Then, hymn after hymn, I realized an hour had passed and that I’d played the piano again.  And then I cried all over again.

I cannot sit before those keys without thinking of her, and I hope it is always that way.  I figured it would be months before I could play again.  But, music was so important to her; and, because of that, music is so very important to me.  What better way to honor her than to keep playing, to keep sharing the gift that she so selflessly shared with me (and SO many others).  Undoubtedly, my eyes will brim with tears each time I wed fingers to keys and play; but, it does not matter, for she loved music, I love music, and I am speechlessly proud to follow – even though hardly half as good – in her petite (yet very impressive) footsteps.

I miss her more than words can say.

Epilogue

This is a long post, and it is a boring post, and it is all about my job.  And, if reading the ruminations of a sentimental fool isn't your jam, stop now.  Otherwise, read on.

I keep this blog for a number of reasons. The primary two reasons are to keep family up to date on the super thrilling goings-on of the Boboth family and to keep a running record for ourselves of our lives and God’s faithfulness therein.  It’s always interesting reading through old posts and tracing God’s hand in all of it.

I recently realized that the days surrounding our Oregon departure were such a whirlwind that I never had time to jot down what those last few days of work were like.  So many sweet memories were made and I would hate to forget any of it.

One week before my last day of work, my coworkers threw the sweetest going away luncheon for me – complete with incredible food, heartfelt memories, toasts, gifts, and a very special dessert. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. I felt so blessed to have been a part of that community for the last three years and began to feel the “bitter” in my imminent bittersweet departure.  After three years in the proverbial trenches with these people, I suddenly realized how much I would miss them. 

 The final week of work was a surreal one. Tying up loose ends, saying last goodbyes, going to a lot of “we’ve-been-meaning-to-do-this” lunch dates…  And my last day of work could not have been more perfect.  We had one final ‘going-away’ lunch with most of the staff, and –for one reason or another- most of my coworkers left at different times throughout the day, giving me an opportunity to say goodbye to each one individually.  At 4pm, one coworker called all those remaining into his office for a special toast.  We sat around for an hour laughing, telling stories, and toasting to our next exciting season.  As I looked around the room, my breath caught in my throat thinking that I was about to leave this team, this somewhat dysfunctional family, that I had grown to love.

As the day came to a close, I said my last goodbyes, hugged each person extra tight, and retreated to my car and cried – partially because I was going to miss these people, but also recognizing the end of a very significant chapter in my life.  It felt like turning in my keys that Friday finished the last sentence in that chapter of my life.  You know that feeling when you’re reading a book and you look forward to the satisfaction of its completion; yet, once you have finished the book, you feel a loss somehow, almost a “now what?” feeling?  Yeah, that is what it felt like.  And, because I am super awesome at not being overly sentimental, I cried.

Three weeks and one transoceanic move later found me employed – again – by the same university. Yes, you read that right.  In a stroke of God’s incredible provision and faithfulness (and a little bit of extra work on my boss’ part), I had a job waiting for me in Hawai’i.  For the last two months, I have been working at a satellite office playing a tiny role in helping the staff get the office up and running.  It has been great.  And, in a large way, it has kept some homesickness at bay because I have still been somewhat connected to my former job and some of my coworkers. 

Well, all this to say, today I turned in my keys again.  If my last key-turning-in was the end of that chapter, this has completed the epilogue. The impact that this institution has had on my life is inestimable.  Even with all the stress, late nights, long business trips, and frustration over the last three years, the personal and professional growth and the lifelong friendships have made it more than worth it.  I could not be more thankful to the people with whom I’ve been so honored to work for their patience, faith in me, and good humor – I’ve learned so very much from them.  But even more, I sit here astounded at and incredibly grateful for God’s outrageous provision for us through this job.   From Oregon to Hawai’i, He has provided again and again and then some.

I do not know why I can never seem to remember that - time after time - God is faithful. He is faithful! And, even if things do not turn out as I had hoped, I can be confident that He is always, at all times and in all ways, at work for His glory and my eternal good.  I still cannot quite believe that this season has ended - I think I'm in denial, yet so thankful for these three years. I am excited to see what the next seasons and chapters of our lives hold - and I am anxious to document His Grace in it all.

Island Visitors

Oh guys. I don’t even know where to start.  I’ve obviously not done a great job of keeping this little corner of the internet updated.  Sometimes I feel like our day-to-day goings on are not noteworthy or worth writing home about – literally. Work, laundry, dishes, reading on the beach – you know, just your average day-to-day stuff – not super interesting to read (or write!) about.  That aside, this past week was more than certainly worth writing home about.  And so…. 

Dear Home, please pardon my cellphone photos - we were having way too much fun to pull out the big guns.

This last week, three of my favorite people visited us.  We hiked, ate some incredible food, boogie-boarded, ate more great food, toured Pearl Harbor, talked, ate some awesome food, hiked, talked, wore sweet hats, talked, talked…. It was divine.  Truly.  My theology may be off here, but I always feel like I taste a bit of heaven when my family is near.

The days flew by in a blur and it was over all too soon.  We kayaked up a river and saw turtles.  We ate KILLER tacos. We got sunburned. We hiked Diamond Head.  We had a sunset picnic at one of our favorite beaches. Mom and Dad wanted to get away from us for a few hours make sure that Kelly and I got some good ‘sister time’ in, so they took Tuesday for a cycling day while Kell and I did Pearl Harbor and lunch (and coffee and scones).  This week was totally not food-centric.  We loved showing our family the little parts of the island that we've discovered and, quite possibly, fallen in love with.

The Fourth was spent poolside relaxing.  Steaks on the grill and pina coladas in hand, we celebrated the beautiful, hard-fought gift of independence and prayed for God’s mercy on our country’s future.  From the backyard (of the house we were housesitting), we could see the beach fireworks; and we ended the night with our feet in the hot tub talking about theology, the future, and light matter like that.

It was pretty lousy saying goodbye to them.  We had an incredible time learning the beauties of combining mango and cilantro, pairing a great Sokol Blosser with mahi-mahi, and toasting to a wonderful week as the sun set over Waikiki.  Guys, seriously, words cannot even begin to explain how great this week was.  My family is pretty much the bestest. And I'm still trying to figure out how to convince them to come back.

Today.

Thankful.  So very thankful.

My phone beeped at me this morning. It was telling me that, in 39 days, we’ll be packing up our life here and opening a new chapter. Thirty-nine days.  As that *deadline* grows closer, the time seems to move even more quickly. (like, didn't I just write THIS?) It’s as though I have blinked and our time here is slowly (or not so slowly) nearing an end.

There are so many things that I wish I had done, so many relationships into which I wish I would have invested more time, so many boxes left unchecked.  And yet, in this moment, all I feel is thankful.  So overwhelmingly thankful.  I am thankful for the people and the places and the opportunities and the love. 

These people who have embraced us so openly, these people who have loved us so readily, these people who have become friends-that-are-really-family.  These places that we've explored, these places that we've discovered, these places that we've claimed as our own.  These opportunities that we've been offered, these opportunities that have grown us, these opportunities that have changed us. This all has changed us.

And the love.  The love that comes from growing up together in a new place.  This place that saw our first married argument.  These walls that have seen the tears, both in joy and sorrow.  This kitchen that has witnessed our best, tenderest, and, yes, even most raucous dance parties.  This little place that has held us as we have experimented our way through hospitality. 

So today, yes, I am sad as I anticipate this goodbye.  But, more than anything, my heart feels as though it might explode from thankfulness. We have been so richly blessed in our time here; it is overwhelming.  I sit at my desk throughout the day and marvel at the gift I have in those with whom I work.  I sit in church on Sunday looking around the room at the strangers-turned-family, and my heart overflows.  I look at my husband, this incredible man with whom I've been blessed to travel through life, and I cannot help but to thank God for His grace in my life.

Oof, May is coming faster than I can anticipate.  My heart has been inflicted with a serious case of denial.  Three years is more than long enough to put down roots, love people hard, and settle in.  Hold on, heart, this ain't gonna be easy.

PS - hopefully, on the other side of this, this blog will hold happier, less dramatic musings.  Just bear with my overly-dramaticism in the meantime.  Love, love, love.

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Old-Shoe Friends

My heart is full.

I know I say that a lot around here, but it's no less true.  As Sunday draws to a close, it is as though we are slowly waking up from the dream that has been the past 48 hours.  Granted, a dream from which you wake with sand in your hair and a rosy-red sunburn on your shoulders - but still.

This weekend, we discovered a Pacific Northwest gem to which we've been (sadly) oblivious for the past two years:  Pacific City, Oregon.  One of Cole's best friends from college and his wife recently moved there, and we finally got our act together to go visit them.  And what a weekend it was.

We arrived late Friday night and immediately hit the beach to build a fire and roast marshmallows.  Fire, s'mores, beer, and friends on the beach on a summer night- does it get more idyllic than that?
That night, we stayed up into the wee hours of the morning just talking.  Reminiscing about the 'good ole days,' and marveling that we are old enough to have 'good ole days' to talk about.  It was as if time stood still - that is, until we realized it was nearly 1:45am and we're not 21 anymore...

The next morning, after sleeping in and lingering over breakfast, we hit the beach to soak up some long-awaited summer sun.

 Some handsome guy charging the photographer....  ;)

We spent all day on the beach.  Throwing the football, tossing a Frisbee, watching the waves roll in, skipping rocks, talking and talking, cartwheeling, handstand-ing, running, relaxing, burying Matt in the sand.... and soaking up SO much sun.

In the afternoon, Cole and I stole away on our own for a few hours to summit a nearby sand dune.  The views were breathtaking (or maybe I was just still huffing and puffing from the climb...) and the sprint back down was even better.

Once at the bottom, we took full advantage of low tide and explored the tide pools and caves.  (You read that right, Mom.  I voluntarily explored those tide pools :)

This weekend was just too much.  It was a sweet disconnect from the stresses of everyday life, a sweet reconnect with dear, close friends, and the most refreshing weekend we've had in a long time.  The time flew far too fast. There is something mysterious and wonderful about the effortless comfort of close friends.  It's like my heart breathed an audible sigh of relief.

A few years ago, my parents coined the phrase "old shoe friends."  These are friends that they've known for a long time; friends who don't need a housekey - they just walk on in; friends who need no agenda or itinerary, but are simply content to just be together; friends who may as well be family; friends that just, plain fit.  Think of an old shoe - the way you effortlessly slip it on and it hugs your foot with an old, learned familiarity.  It is comfortable and it is home.  These are old shoe friends.

Thank you, Matt and Kara, for a wonderfully refreshing time of fellowship and fun.  What a sweet blessing friendship is.  You're the best lookin' old shoes we've ever seen.

Well, I'm off to spread another layer of aloe on this sunburn and sweep up the pile of sand that mysteriously made its way to our laundry room... the weekend was worth every grain.

Happy Monday!


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Family

I know that I've said it many, many times in this space.  And, I'll say it again. I am utterly overwhelmed at the way that we have been blessed with the gift of family.  Immediate, extended, in-laws, and out-laws, we are exceedingly blessed.

The month of March worked extremely hard to set itself up as the favorite month of 2012.  While the remaining 9 months of the year are bound to hold lots of excitement, March will be a tough act to follow.  For all throughout March, we ate and drank and inhaled and exhaled family.  Our weeks were book-ended with new sets of arms to hug, new stories to tell, and new memories to make.

March entered, bringing with it my big brother and his wife. We reveled in the pizza-making, the story-telling, the card-playing, the being.  My brother was my very first best friend, so it is a gift, indeed, to share this married-in-grad-school-without-kids stage of life with him.  We talked and laughed and felt no shame at calling it a night at a measly 10:30pm.  (Our younger selves would be incredulous.)

The next weekend signaled the beginning of SisterWeekend2012. Words upon words have already been spilled over that weekend.  What a wonderful, wonderful time it was.

The weekend that followed found us venturing back to Cole's hometown to drink afresh that sweet 9-month-old niece smell.  The weather was absolutely perfect, and sometime on Sunday afternoon, time stood still.  The sun was out, there was baseball on, sweet spring air wafted through the house, and we were together. All 8 of us.  And, for a moment, all was right with the world.  If only moments like that were catch-able, bottle-able, and sell-able.  I'd be a millionaire. Weekends like that make my heart beat with anticipation to return there, make a home there, and have weekly Sunday barbecues after church there.

March made its grand exit with a visit from my parents. My parents: fountains of knowledge, wisdom, generosity, love, and a fierce competitive streak.  Seriously.  Among 3 hour lunch dates, homemade pizza nights, shopping trips, and eye exams, we had the grandest of times.  They mercilessly cleaned our clocks at nearly every card game we played, and left us with an uncontrollable excitement for the next time we'll be together.

In typical fashion, I wasn't ready for the fun to end, simply because the month of March did.  So, this second week in April came carrying my mother-in-law. I don't care what you say about mothers-in-law, my mother-in-law is totally awesomer than your mother-in-law. (That is, unless you happen to be Carrie or Kelly Marie, duh. In that case, we'll just call it a draw.) She showed up Monday night - just in time to talk politics, catch up on family goings-on, and lose at Settlers.  Then, Tuesday, I came home from work to find candles lit about the house, the kitchen cleaned, and dinner on the stove.  On a weeknight, there are few gifts greater than that.  We spent our last evening together talking and playing endless games of Settlers.  Our time with her was too short, but oh-so-sweet.

March was a treasure that has stretched into April.  It's been the perfect medicine to keep homesickness at bay and to refresh the heart. What outrageous Grace.



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Sister Weekend 2012

You know those relationships that just fit? Those relationships where, when you are together - regardless of the amount of time spent apart - everything fits.  Those relationships that you slip into like an old, favorite college sweatshirt. Those relationships where you sit in the same room for two hours and need not utter a word... and still connect.  Those relationships where you don't have to dust or vacuum or shower before they come.

Well, folks, such is the life of sisters.  (At least these ones)

This last weekend, Sister and I reunited for our Second Annual Sister Weekend, after nearly 3 months apart. I convinced her that if you do something two years in a row, it's a tradition. Meaning, she is now, forever, locked in to coming to visit me in March to celebrate her birthday. Every March for the rest of her life. Phew, I'm glad that's settled.

We had a wonderful time doing absolutely nothing.  I picked her up at the airport on Saturday afternoon; and, by the time we got home (40 minutes later), we had already covered pretty much everything.  And I mean everything.  Sister don't no waste time.

Such is how the weekend was.  Careening from topics as important as Extreme Days to the root of our pride and how to overcome it.  From faith to food, we just talked and talked.  Three solid days of talking, cooking, eating, Friends-watching, game-playing, and laughing.  Sister knows how to have a good time. (And, let the record show: I cleaned her clock in both Phase 10 and UpWords. There's no such thing as hospitality when games are involved.)

And, even though I mercilessly dominated in our game-marathon, I spent the entirety of the weekend marveling at God's grace in putting this woman in my life. She may be three years younger, but - man alive - is she wise!  Sister has a unique insight into people (myself included); and she is not afraid to stand for what she believes in - even if it means standing alone.  Every moment with her is an encouragement and a challenge to decrease that He may increase.

On the drive back to the airport to drop her off, I commented on how there truly is no relationship quite like that of sisters.

What an immeasurable blessing it is to consider mine a friend.



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Tigers and Pumpkins and Burgers, Oh My!

I’m overwhelmed.  That’s all there is to it.  My heart is full and my head is swimming.  I feel blessed beyond belief.

This weekend, my mom drove 14 hours – roundtrip – to spend the weekend with us.  That’s a lot of driving.  She got in on Friday night and, because the Mr. was playing in a golf tournament, she and I got some special one-on-one time to catch up.  I love my mom.  She is ridiculously wise.

Then, we made Chicken Holy Basil together.  And it was near divine.

Saturday morning was perfectly laidback, complete with a luxurious walk around the neighborhood in the perfect fall weather. It was exactly what I needed as I recovered from a nasty cold/flu thing.  Then, we were off to Helvetia Tavern for lunch where the Mr. put away the JUMBO burger.  What a man.  After that, we went on an adventure to find the little people in the big world.  And pumpkins.

And we found both.

We had a great time tromping around the Roloff farms, staring at Bengal Tigers, and playing King of the Mountain on the hay bale pyramid.  Well, we would have played if there weren't like a zillion little kids around.  I mean really, what are little kids doing climbing all over a pyramid of hay bales... don't they know that that is adult stuff?!  ;)

We had SUCH a wonderful weekend with my mom.  The only thing missing was Dad at her side...  :)  It was the kind of weekend that left us truly refreshed and ready to face the week.  Also, it may just keep the homesickness at bay until we can make it home at Thanksgiving!

Also, we were able to check #4 off of our Forest Grove Bucket List. (things to do before we move)



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My Best Friend

This weekend was one for the books, ladies and gentlemen.  I'm quite certain that it was a glimpse of heaven on earth... ish.

Because the Mr. was run ragged these last two weeks (having had 7 tests in as many days), this weekend was set aside for NO studying, just US.  Friday and Saturday night were both date nights!  Two in a row... wowza.  And, though Cole had to work on Saturday, I reveled in the opportunity to deep-clean our house.  My inner-Monica-Gellar rejoiced.

Regardless of the goings-on of the weekend, I sit here - on Sunday night - basking in the glow of 2 1/2 days spent with my best friend.   Having Cole in grad school has proven challenging for both of us, so a weekend free of homework may as well have been a holiday.

Any time that I get to spend with my husband reminds me how blessed I am.  To have a man who, from the time I wake up until the time I fall asleep, works tirelessly to make sure that I know that I am loved... to have a man who, though he has a million other things he needs to do, takes time out of every day to wrap his strong arms around me and remind me that he thinks I'm beautiful.... to have man who sings the Johnny to my June and the Lionel Richie to my Diana Ross... to have a man who prays for me, with me... to have a man who dreams with me... to have a man who pursues me...

Yep, I'm pretty darn blessed.    I just love life with this guy!!



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on the kind of mother I want to be...

*No, this is not an announcement of any sort.  That is all.*

I want to be the kind of mother who chooses not to be inconvenienced by her children; rather, seeks out opportunities to teach and love.

I want to be the kind of mother who disciplines her children with wisdom and justice - discerning the difference between sinful behavior and immature ignorance.

I want to be the kind of mother who is compassionate when appropriate, but strict when necessary.

I want to be the kind of mother who is able to strike the perfect balance between mom and friend.

I want to be the kind of mother whose children never have to wonder if they're loved.

I want to be the kind of parent who makes time for regular one-on-one dates with her kids.

I want to be the kind of mother who - after an orthodontist appointment - doesn't take her child back to school immediately... just to spend a little extra time together.


I want to be the kind of mother who - when any of her kids call - stops whatever she is doing to talk.

I want to be the kind of mother who laughs with my children.

I want to be the kind of mother who is her children's biggest fan - regardless of their ability or lack thereof.

I want to be the kind of mother who teaches her children about the Lord - not just by what she says - but by the way she lives her life.


I want to be the kind of mother who has beautiful hands.  Not because they are regularly manicured and perfectly soft; but because they have changed millions of diapers, bandaged countless wounds, done load after load of laundry, washed a lifetime's worth of dishes, and - most of all - because they naturally clasp together after years and years of constant prayer for her children.

My mom and her girls

I want to be all of these things, because this is the kind of mother that I have.  All of those little (or not so little) sacrifices, all of the little "nothings" that meant everything to me... should God so bless us, I want that for my children.

From time to time, I find myself saying or doing something "just like Mom did."  And, while the Mr. and I always get a good laugh about the fact that I'm turning into my mother... I hope - with all my heart - that I am.

PS - Please remind me of these lofty aspirations when - someday-  my 4-year-old is yelling & chasing the dog, my 2-year-old is permanently affixed to my leg, my newborn refuses to sleep, and I haven't showered in 3 days.  Please, remind me that I was once so ambitious.  




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Tonight's Dinner [9-7]

I'm in trouble. Big trouble.  Like, I'm running a 10K on Sunday; and, instead of additional training today, I stayed home and cooked.  With garlic.  And part of me died and went to heaven. Seriously.

Tonight, I made Chicken Holy Basil.  The name of the recipe is actually quite accurate. Holy Basil.  This dish is truly divine.  Thanks to my sister-in-law and Martha, my life is forever changed.

It called for 10 cloves of garlic.  TEN!!!

Holy. Basil.

Holy. Basil.  Chiffonade.

Chicken. Amen.

 Ingredients

• 10 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon Asian fish sauce (Soy sauce or Worcestershire as a substitute)
• 2 teaspoons soy sauce
• 4 1/2 teaspoons sugar
• Freshly ground pepper
• 3 cups loosely packed fresh holy basil leaves, plus more for garnish
• Sticky or steamed jasmine rice, for serving

Directions

1. Mince garlic.  Heat oil in a wok or large skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic. Cook, stirring constantly, until garlic is just golden, about 20 seconds.
2. Add chicken; cook, stirring often, until chicken is cooked through, about 4 minutes. Stir in fish sauce, soy sauce, sugar, and 1 1/2 teaspoons pepper. Add basil; cook, stirring constantly, 1 minute. Season with more pepper, if desired. Serve over rice. Garnish with basil.

Served  best with Merlot.

Recipe from Martha

And all my taste buds said, "Amen."

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