180 Degrees: New Perspective New Life

Since I can remember, I have been one of those people that likes to have my hardships acknowledged. I have the need for people to recognize my struggles. It isn't excuses; it is the need to have someone praise my effort more than the result. I know why, too. Praise was rarely given in my home. Instead of a sincere gratitude for the effort that was put in, my attempts at all life was rewarded with the same response: "Look at what you could have done if you had applied yourself better." I called it the white glove syndrome. I could spend hours cleaning something with a tooth brush, and the one small spot that was missed would be noticed. And yes, I have specific instances that are seared in my mind. The result: paralysis. The mode: fear. FEAR is what began to rule every area of my life.

The question is begging to be asked. How can something as simple as not receiving enough affirmation result in fear paralyzing your entire life? It is in the bleed. Like the corner of a napkin on a punch spill, a parched soul soaks up what ever it is watered by. My soul was watered by fear.

So much of life is about effort. We are fallen beings in a fallen world. We do not have hope of ever accomplishing anything of our own effort because our best is as "dirty rags" (Isaiah 64:6 and Romans 3:23). So our natural response, or at least mine, is to search for recognition for our effort. Since we can't accomplish perfection, at least we can be recognized for trying. And so my psyche was formed. As a young child my response to lack of praise was that I would try my hardest. But even that was not enough. I was parched; I was starving. And then the fear that was already prevalent in my life from other circumstances began to bleed in. Why try? It won't be enough anyway. I was afraid to fail. But worse than failing was my fear of succeeding. Because with success came a new standard I would be held to and even more would be expected from me; a much scarier possibility.

So how does one respond to such an overwhelming fear? Excuses, of course. My rationale goes like this: If they knew my hardships, my adversities, all that I've worked through to get this far then they can forgive my imperfections. If people only knew the effort I have put into this, then they would love me, accept me, praise me; then my thirsty soul would finally drink.

And so I have lived, balancing the need for acknowledgment with a fear of failing. Balancing between a fear that paralyzes and the need to accomplish perfection. The result: running in place - going nowhere. And so I thirst, grabbing onto every drop of praise or anything like it I can find. Clinging on for dear life. Praying for rain, but looking for it from the smog instead of the clouds.

You see the reality looks very different on the outside. My thirst and longing for praise resulted in explanation and excuses - a soul begging for water from my perspective. But the actual observer interprets it as complaining and pride. The usual response to my thirst: criticism or disdain? No, worse: rejection - salt on a thirsty, dry, wounded soul. And so as the salt was poured on, the search for water grew more intense. The route for search did not change though and thus the cycle of my thirsty soul sits. Yes, the watering has been there. Otherwise, I would be dead. But the rainfall, the wellspring, life, I thirstily long for and wait for. Search for.

And then, after years of dehydration, I stumbled on the answer. In a book about gratitude. A book I have been trying to read through for the past year. On a night when I am supposed to be "working". I read it:

       A lifestyle of intentional gratitude became an unintentional test in the trustworthiness of God - and in counting blessings I stumbled upon the way out of fear.

                                                                              Anne Voskamp 

There it was on page 151 in One Thousand Gifts. By counting my struggles I was actually complaining and by complaining I was telling God he was untrustworthy. My fear had resulted in complaining, and the only way to overcome the fear, to free myself from the paralyzation and thirst was to do the opposite. To count my blessings. To say thanks. To acknowledge that it isn't me, that I can't do it myself and my effort isn't enough and that that is OK. When I take my eyes off of what I "have suffered", off my struggle and look at what He has done, what He has suffered and say THANK YOU, I am suddenly free.

I believe that when I get rid of fear and focus on the blessings that he gives I will be free to recieve the praise, love and acceptance that I have been offered. Since fear paralyzes trust, then I will be free to trust what He says when He says "I LOVE YOU".

And what does He say to me tonight:

Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears; For your work will be rewarded..." Jeremiah 31:16

The verse I just happened to open to tonight. And so 180 degrees later, I say thank you, for my blessings are many. My daily struggles are no longer laundry to be aired, they are the chance for me to look at my blessings and see the good He has done. And from there I will be free from the need for your or anyone else's praise or acceptance. Oh, may my soul quench its thirst in the only true water that is (John 4:14)

If you are interested in the book by Anne Voskamp please visit her website. Although I have only gotten to page 151, I have to say that her thoughts challenge at the core of who you are and your view of life and Christianity in all the right ways. http://www.aholyexperience.com

Same Story. Same Pain... Different Outcome. Stronger Repellant.

    Today I saw some pictures that reminded me of family favoritism. It amazes me that even today, I'm thirty and my husband is 33, I see the same dynamics in our families as we experienced growing up. The strange part is that now the favoritism is bleeding into our children. As much as it hurts to see, from years of pain, I have come to the point where I can say "C'est la vie... their loss."

    It is hard to explain favoritism to someone unless they have been on the unfavored side. I have found very few people who truly understand the dynamic.  I can't tell you how relieving it is when I am around someone who not only understands, but actually sees it without me having to explain (those friends are very close indeed). I have also found that the favored one's blame it all on perspective. Having not received the "unfavor," their eyes don't even pick up the subtleness of favoritism. I used to be angry at them for not seeing it. Now I count them blessed.

    Thankfully, I married someone who knows well the "joys" of the unfavored side and can support me. Sadly, it also means that I walked from one family of pain and rejection into another. The wounds, just healing from years of my own walk on the outside, have been violently gashed open, then subtly picked at and salted.

     But as the wounds scab over and the healing process continues I watch as the same people who have favored our siblings over us inadvertently favor their kids over ours. It is small things, ones I pray our children never pick up. I pray that their eyes are blind to these subtle behaviors because they have not been opened by my own favoritism. As I parent, I am ever aware of my heart, my frustrations and behaviors. I do not seek to be fair or even, but instead to love each one whole heartedly for who they are.     To take joy in their differences, embrace their unique gifts and gently mold their quirky weaknesses. Are there days where I am closer to one than the others? Yes, but I take it in stride knowing that by tomorrow, that same difficult child will be the one helping me as I grin and bear the quirks of another. My heart's desire is that they are oblivious to favoritism because they are so secure in my husband's and my love for them, that the nuances of the moment are just that... momentary - not something that affects their core. 

    So, as I see those subtle behaviors, I take a deep breath. I look at my children. And I remember, that I am here. I get to be with them. I get to watch their differences, I get to experience their unique gifts and I am bound to deal with their quirky weaknesses at all moments. In ending the cycle, I find healing from my wounds. In healing, I find strength. And in strength, I am less easily wounded. Ending the cycle gives hope, and hope is my repellant.

A Thousands Words - Otherwise Known as My Therapy Session

It started soon after the birth of my firstborn. After he fell asleep, I would steal into the office, slump into the uncomfortable chair a watch the screen saver - pictures of our little baby. My husband would walk in minutes later and find himself mesmerized as well. Sometimes we would sit there for 20 or more minutes. And as we sat there, the weight of the day would begin to melt away, our hearts would begin to mend, and we would remember what was important and actually kind of like our little boy.
See, in the craziness of they day, between the loads of laundry, dishes, feedings, changings, bills, yard work, projects, crying and whatever else went on, it was easy to loose sight of what mattered. It didn't help that I was averaging 4 hours of sleep total, usually in 30 minute intervals, a day, breastfeeding on average 9  hours a day and dealing with a kid that wouldn't sleep. Let's just say I wasn't to thrilled with my bundle of joy by the time I was ready for bed.
But some how, looking at the pictures was like salve on my wounds. And afterwords, I was ready to face another sleepless night. Five years, and two kids later, and it still works. The tasks have only increased, but somehow, the effect is the same. Seeing their smiles, their scrunchy noses or the playful poses reminds me of how unique, precious and amazing they are. And most important, that they are worth every bit of stress, exhaustion, and frustration.
So, I thought I would share some of my therapy with you... in a thousand words...

Life is Real- Chocolate Chip Cookies Make it Better

My kitchen floor is covered in brown spots, I have a mat in the laundry because a child pooped on it, the kitchen sink has dishes from breakfast and last night, and I have a laundry list of things to do, so when I ask my daughter what she wants to do today and she says, "make cookies," of course that is exactly what we did. We baked cookies.
You see life never stops. I have spent too much time looking around the bend, saying next week will be easier, next month won't be so busy or next year I'll be able to do that, and well it hasn't happened. Life just seems to fill up quicker than I can... well fill up. Finding time to eat is almost impossible. Finding moment's of rest or time to recharge are few and far between. So, there are time's that I need that quick pick me up. Something that feels good, that cheers up my spirit and fuels me to go on. What could possibly be better than a chocolate chip cookie to do just that?
"Ooh,  ooh, pick me. Pick me! I know!" How about cookies that taste like heaven and are actually healthy. It is not possible they say. I say it is!

You see I am a snob... a food snob. When I make things, I usually have a long lists of must and must nots that every recipe is scrutinized by before I will even consider making it. For instance, with cookies, I want them to be low sugar, low fat, whole grain, soft and chewy and well... I still want them to taste good. As if the list wasn't hard enough to accomplish, now that we reduced our intake of eggs and dairy, I am even more limited. To my absolute surprise... and I really mean absolute surprise, because I usually end up giving up or just making it up as I go, I actually found a recipe that met most of those. Ok, so I'm not perfect. I still totally tweaked it to make it fit our needs. But the concept is still there. And in my opinion the result is even better.  Cookies that you can drop everything to bake, because when are doing all the stuff you should have been doing, grabbing one of these baby's to help you get through it all will be worth it. And yes, after trying to bake cookies with a one year old and a three year old, that is exactly what I needed. A little pick me up as I swept the floor for the third time and watched my daughter eat spoonfuls of baking soda. Good times - real life. 

But the smiles she gave while eating them... even better than the cookies.

Oh, and by the way. Family secret- double the batch and throw half in the freezer. Then you will have tasty pick me ups even when you can't drop it all and bake these cookies.

My Helper

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies 

1/4 cup coconut oil, melted
1/4 + 3 Table spoons apple sauce
1/3 cup honey
1 Tbs Vanilla Extract
1 cup whole wheat flour ( I like white whole wheat)
2 Tbs ground flax seeds
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 cup rolled oats
1/3 cup chocolate chips





Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine wet ingredients in a bowl. Add flour, flax, cinnamon, salt, and soda and stir just until combined. Fold in oats and chocolate chips. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto a cookie sheet (I bake mine on a baking mat) and press down slightly. Bake for approximately 12 minutes or until they look firm and the edges begin to brown. Cool on a wire rack.

Comfort food without the guilt

Have you ever noticed that all comfort food is really... really... REALLY bad for you! Let's just name a few: macaroni and cheese, baked potato soup, fried chicken, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, apple pie and one of my favorites, broccoli soup. Every one of these is loaded with either sugar, fat or processed flours. Thus the reason we so often feel heavy with calories and guilt after eating them.
The funny thing, is that a lot of the comfort foods start out with healthy ingredients. So why is it that pasta with a sprinkle of cheese, grilled chicken, lean beef, baked potatoes, an apple, or steamed broccoli aren't comforting? Is is possible that at the true comfort foods are sugar, fat and processed food? I don't know many people that would feel comforted if I set a cube of fat and sugar on their plate when they were blue and would think "yeah for me".
So now the question that has to be asked, is how do we put the "food" back into comfort food. I've been struggling with this lately as I have been craving broccoli soup.
I used to not like broccoli, till I learned how good it was for you, and forced myself to like it. Now I have learned to actually enjoy it, in certain contexts. My favorite is broccoli soup. I used to think that I did a pretty good job of making it too... with lower fat milk and well ok... I put a cup of cheese in it. There isn't any way that it was good for me. But it was sooo good, and as I ate it, it made me happy. It truly was comforting.
But now, as we have tried to change our food choices to less animal proteins I look at my once favorite soup as a trap. How was I to fulfill my craving for creamy goodness  with something that actually had goodness in it?
My first attempt was so terrible that I actually sent it home with my in-laws (God bless them, they will eat anything). I had tried to recreate the soup's creaminess with pureed cashews and the result felt nutty, chalky and heavy. So it was back to the drawing board.
Actually, I had put the whole thing on the back burner, and stumbled across my broccoli soup fulfillment on complete accident. After buying a beautiful  cauliflower, some broccoli and leeks at my local farmer's market I realized that I had no idea how I was going to use them. At first I planned on a casserole, but when I realized that I would need the oven to bake my bread, a soup was the next best thing. So, with a fridge full of vegetables and a stiff upper lip (I haven't been the most successful lately so I had to put on my brave face), I began to create.
Oh, so glad I did. The soup was amazing. Comforting and creamy, full of broccoli flavor but without the weighed down feeling... Oh, maybe that's because there isn't a single thing in it that could remotely cause guilt. YES, I did it. I made comfort food that made me feel light as a feather, yet surprisingly grounded at the same time. Ha... sounds like I am talking about a recreational drug not soup. But then again. Comfort food is just that- recreational drugs we use to lift our spirits and ground us at the same time. And if by chance you become addicted to this soup, don't feel guilty. It's good for you.

Broccoli Leek Soup

1 Large Leek, thinly sliced (onions would work if you don't have any leeks)
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 small head broccoli, chopped
1/2 a small cauliflower, chopped
5 small potatoes, cut in bite size pieces
3 stalks celery, thinly sliced
2 tsp vegetable bullion
1 tsp oil
Water
Salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot, sauté leeks and celery until tender. Add garlic cook till fragrant. Toss in broccoli, cauliflower, and potatoes. Fill the pan with water until vegetables are just covered. Cook until the broccoli and cauliflower begin to fall apart when stirred.  Add vegetable bullion and stir. Place 1/3 of soup in a blender and blend till smooth, then return to pot. Stir together and add fresh ground black pepper and salt to taste.

Crusty Artisan Style Whole Wheat Bread (That even a kid could make)

If I told you that you could make bread that tasted better than the store would you try it?  What if I told you that it would be easier to make than to go to the store and buy? Now are you interested? 
As a mother of three children, I have learned that somethings are worth the extra effort, other's not so much. For instance, homemade bread. Ton's of effort... not worth it, or so I thought. This recipe forever changed my view of bread. It's simplicity and ease makes it actually easier than going to the store to buy bread. I know what you are thinking. Wasn't this the same person who just a month ago was spouting off about how the extra money was worth just buying the bread rather than the sore aching arms she had to deal with after her first loaf?
Well, the sad news is, that it was me. The good news is that I didn't give up and stumbled across the most amazing, easy, tasty bread. After reading about Jim Lahey's technique in the New  from Sullivan Street Bakery I played around a bit and simplified it even more. Sorry Jim, I think this recipe may have just put a whole lot of baker's job's on the line. 


Just like the pizza dough, the key to this bread is the slow rise. With hardly any yeast, and my favorite no sugar, dairy or other strange ingredients that go into bread, you really get to enjoy the flavor of the wheat. Even better is the crispy crackly crust. Yes, all three C's are in this one. The first time I pulled it out of the oven, I squeezed it and listened to the "symphony of crackle".


Slow-Rise Whole Grain Bread
   (adapted from Jim Lahey's recipe)

3 cups Whole Wheat Flour ( I used TJ's White Whole Wheat)
1/4 tsp heaping regular yeast
1 1/4 tsp salt
1 3/4 cups ( I used more like 2 cups) luke warm water

Pour warm water in a bowl and sprinkle with yeast to proof. Then mix flour and salt in and stir. The dough should resemble a wet/drop biscuit dough so you may need to add more water (The whole wheat flour requires more water than regular flour). Cover bowl and let sit 12-18 hours. Pour into a greased baking dish (I used a round corningware casserole with olive oil but a heavy cast iron pan is preferred).  Let rise 1-2 hours. Bake 450 for 30 minutes covered and 15-30 minutes uncovered (takes longer depending on how moist the dough was). The bread is done when it sounds hollow when tapped. Cool on a wire rack. 


That's it! Give it a try. Last week I added some roasted garlic and rosemary right before putting int the baking dish. It was delicious. 

Whole Wheat Pizza Dough (Slow Rise)

Last summer, my brother introduced me to the wonders of grilled pizzas. It is sooo good, but as I made the pizzas more, I began to feel guilty for buying dough that "should be easy" to make. Ha... ha...hmm. But remember, I am the one with the yeast phobia. I even compared working with yeast to a game of Russian Roulette with all chambers but one loaded.
Well, I have since grown past my fear of yeast, and have in the process, learned to even respect it. It has not been without a fight, but, the results have been worth it, and I am glad I persevered.
This pizza dough has been a victory I have cherished. The two keys to this dough, are that it is a slow rise, which gives the yeast more time to do it's magic and I used a white whole wheat flour which is less dense and lighter in flavor. Just incase you didn't catch that, because it is a slow rise, it will taste better if it is given at least a day before using. It will still work the same day, but the taste is better when the yeast has time to break down the glutens.  So, without further rambling...

Whole Wheat Pizza Dough 
(adapted from the Fresh Loaf)

5 cups white whole wheat flour ( I get mine from Trader Joe's)
1 1/2 Tbs Honey
2 tsp Salt
1 3/4 yeast
2 1/2 Tbs  olive oil
2 to 2 1/4 cups warm water

Pour water and honey into large bowl. Stir till honey is devolved. Sprinkle yeast over water mixture and let stand for 3-5 minutes (if the yeast has not started to grow or get frothy, then it is no longer active, and you will need new yeast). Add remaining ingredients and stir vigorously until well combined. Let set for 5 minutes and then stir again for another 3-5 minutes (I just used my hand) . You may need to add more water or flour, the dough should be wet, but not stick to the sides of the bowl. The dough makes four 10 inch pizzas or two larger ones (not sure how big, because I haven't tried it yet).

There are three options here...

1. Let sit and rise for an hour and then use.
2. Divide and place in oiled ziplock bags in the fridge for 1-3 days before use. Just remove from fridge and allow to warm to room temperature for 1-2 hours before using.
3. Divide and place in oiled ziplock bags in the freezer. Just place in the fridge the night before and then remove from fridge to allow to warm to room temperature for 1-2 hours before baking.

Changing it up without feeling short changed.

My husband came home two weeks ago, and sometime in the six minutes between him walking through the door and falling asleep, he announced that he wanted us to eliminate meat and dairy from our diet.

Ok, let me give you a little background. My husband is English... and American. Born in Scotland and raised here in the US, his tastes have defiantly been influenced by one thing - MEAT. Our table revolves around it. When I choose a menu, it is entirely chosen based on what type of meat we will be having. On top of that, he drinks at least a gallon of milk a week. I never thought I would hear my husband say we should cut meat out of our diet.
Ok, I am making our diet sound terrible. All things considered, I thought we ate pretty well. I prepared at least 80 percent of our diet from non processed foods and was very carful to make sure we ate whole grains, low sugar, and fruits and vegetables. I've even had people look at me like I was extreme for serving low sugar, whole grain carrot cake cupcakes for my kid's birthdays.
Yet, in the time it took my husband to fall asleep, I was already on board. Truthfully I think I jumped on bored mostly because I was bored with my menus and looked forward to the challenge of something new. I also wasn't expecting it to last more than a week. I mean... give up dairy, eggs and meat? Really? My husband wouldn't last a week... so I thought.
It has been two weeks now, and we have had lots of time to talk it over, think about it and really decide what is best for our family. No, we are not vegan. We are not eliminating all animal products. I don't refuse to eat honey because some poor bee had to work up a sweat to make it. Instead we are choosing to embrace a whole food, plant based diet. That means that the majority of our nutrition comes from plant sources, and preferably in their whole form. Our goal is to drastically reduce the amount of animal products we consume, but not eliminate them entirely (we don't want to be the one's at the party where we can't eat anything, but rather were are choosing to just not consume it at home as often). To eat in a way that we love what we eat and don't feel like we are missing anything. Because we all know that if we feel like we are missing anything then that would be a diet... and we all know how long those last.
So what does this look like? I'll let you know when I figure it out. Ha! Let's be real. This is a huge process, that is going to take years for me to work through as I completely revamp my entire recipe repertoire (A very extensive one). To make the whole thing a bit more complicated, I have three children under the ages of 5 that I have to somehow feed. Oh, I can't wait for my one year old to get some molars... that will make everything a bit easier.
So, as I figure it out, practice and succeed (sometimes) my hope is to share what I have learned along the way.

Letting go, without throwing in the towel

Be still....
Let Go...
Relax...
Accept...


Everywhere I turn, I hear it this week. Yet, I'm still fighting. I don't remember the last time I let go. My mind has been on hyperdrive since October... then again, I've also had a sinus infection off and on ( more on than off) since then, had a one year birthday, 30th birthday, Thanksgiving, burned hands, Christmas (all 4 celebrations), a 3 year birthday and all that goes between since then.

My mind has been in two states during this season- racing or a deep fog. Neither is still, peaceful, relaxed or accepting. My body has followed my head. Even when lying slack on the floor, a part of me is still fighting. But what? What is it that I am holding onto, why can't I stop and enjoy the kisses of my child? Why do I turn from my husband's embrace? What is it that is more important than those things? What is it that pulls me from worshiping, the only thing I do that truly fills my soul? What are these tethers that have bound me to this frenzied state?

As I fight these tethers, the feeling of waves crashing over me is overwhelming. Each time I feel I'm on top of it, I still feel like I'm gasping for air. As the kids pelt me with questions, whining, begging, and attention grabbing behaviors, I feel myself gasping. Yet, it is not them that I'm fighting.


Deep Breath...

My life is manageable right now. We are blessed with a stability that not many have.  But the waves still crash. What are the waves?

They are not my life, they are my emotions. Depression. Sense of being overwhelmed. Lack of a sense of accomplishment. Feeling like there is no end to the monotony, that I'll never be on top of what needs to be done. Always feeling like there is more to do... to say. Knowing that no matter how hard I try... I will fail. My kids will still need therapy... that I won't be able to do it all... that inevitably I will still hurt those I love, say something I shouldn't, forget what I am supposed to remember... or that I will be so focused on surviving my own world, that I will miss what is happening around me... or worse, that I won't be able to be who I need to be for those who need me...... Sometimes the waves are so overwhelming, I want to just give in or up, as I slump to the floor in exhaustion gasping.

Emotions, feelings, fears. Things that come and go. Things that appear very real, yet... somehow I feel like they are more like vague shadows that I swat at, but like a shadow they follow me. In my hurried pace of chasing, driving, feeding, bathing, parenting, loving, living, I can navigate without seeing the shadows, yet they are still there. I can run from them, but they follow.
I am reminded of Peter Pan... when he lost his shadow... Why would he want it back. To live a life without shadows. But can one loose one's shadows... are they not something that follow you no matter what?


Be still...
I am the light of the world....
In me there is no darkness...
Bask in the light....

I hear it. In absolute light there are no shadows. Ignoring them, swatting at them, running from them does not illuminate them.


Be still...
Relax...
Let go...

In his presence, basking in his love, enjoying his peace... rejoicing in who he is, accepting who he is, and what he has for me. Knowing who I am, only by knowing who he is- Only here can I have no shadows.

Like a catch 22, it is those very shadows that keep me from doing what I need to do to live without those same shadows- they keep me from basking. My hurried life, my chaos of kids, house and responsibility are just things that I fill my time with so I can run and hide from the shadows. But it also gets in the way of what I need to do.

Be still... 
Relax...
Let Go....
Know that I am God...


Only in his presence can I find rest.

Penny Saved Penny Earned?

Today I learned an important lesson. Somethings are just worth the 70% markup.
Ok, so today I decided to dabble a bit in the cooking arts. Just a little harmless flirtation with some pretty heavy items.

First, I baked bread. Ok, so this doesn't sound like a big deal. But you have to understand. Yeast  FREAKS me out. Until two months ago, I wouldn't even have the stuff in my house. I view yeast as a bad game of Russian Roulette, where all the barrels but one are loaded. I mean, when bread goes wrong... well it can really go wrong. I have lived in fear of the odd smelling growing stuff since I can remember. But, Sticky gooey cinnamon rolls have been beckoning me for almost ten years now. So, I gave in. I bought yeast, and after staring at it for a month, I attempted to use it. And failed. I did not give up though, and conquered the wonderful sinful mass of goodness (Best Cinnamon Rolls EVER). My confidence soared... so I decided to tackle the next thing - 100% Whole Wheat Bread. I mean come on... easy right? No way.

My problem. I want a bread that is tasty, soft, low in sugar, does not use dried milk and doesn't require a lot of  work (kneading). Apparently no one else has my ideals; I couldn't find a single recipe that sounded right, so I was forced to improvise. I did compromise and spent 10 minutes kneading my dough... the result... to be honest, I'm not that impressed. I thought eating fresh baked bread is supposed to be a nirvana like experience. Didn't do anything for me. I'll give it another try someday, but till then, I would like to say thank you to all of those bakers out there that can pull off a tasty, soft, low sugar 100% whole wheat bread. And as I rub my aching arms and hands, those few extra dollars to have it all... so worth it.

Second, when you have a fresh loaf of bread rising, why not make something to go with it right? I mean the labor intensive loaf shouldn't sit on it's own... right? No, of course it need's a labor intensive meal to go with it. So, I made Tikka Masala.... (Don't ask, my husband said curry, and my mind did the rest.)

The result was amazing. I loved it. Not as hard as I thought, pretty simple actually and the flavor... oh the flavor (I really like Indian food and don't eat it near often enough). I mean, who needs an Indian restaurant? Oh wait... what is that smell... in the cupboard... the bathroom... my bedding. My entire house smells like a bowl of Tikka Masala. Can you have authentic tasting Indian cuisine at home? Yes... should you? I'll leave that up to you. In the mean time, I will be eating out when I crave Tikka Masala and doing lots of laundry.