The last 24 hours has been pretty emotional for me. I’m starting a bible study with friends on “The Power of the Praying Wife” by Stormie Omartian and a more personal journey with “Discovering the Treasures of a Godly Woman: Proverbs 31” by Elizabeth George. I’m really excited about the Treasures aspect of a personal 20 minute a day root building.
Anyhow, day before yesterday I made a rotisserie chicken. You don’t have to start this with a left over rotisserie chicken. Any cooked chicken will do…even fried if you remove all the skin and crust. I just happen to have gotten a rotisserie for valentine’s day 5 years ago. My kiddos love chicken. I could just put the cooked bird on the table and they’d be content to pick at the carcass. No sides required or, usually, desired. So I had a little over half a bird left because there weren’t any guys home night before last. I decided that I’d really like some chicken noodle soup. Typically I’d have stock already made to begin with, but I am fresh out. So here’s my shortcut.
I started with a couple tbsp of vegetable oil in my caldero. Large diced a large yellow onion and put it in the pan. Immediately turned the pan to low because I didn’t want the onions brown, just clear.
Once they’re clear also into the pan: 3 large cloves of garlic diced, 6 stalks of celery sliced, 2 cups of diced carrots, 1/4 head of cabbage diced, and 2 liters of water. While that starts to come to a boil I placed a small metal colander in the center of the pan.
As I deboned my chicken I tossed the bones, cartilage, and fatty skin into the colander. I have small children and so, while I like the flavors that come from these bits, I’m not thrilled at the prospect of having to pick through the soup for the bones. The meat was already cooked and so it got diced and set to the side to go in at the end. I brought this to a boil and reduced to a slow simmer for 45 minutes. I added 2 tbsp of italian seasoning and some fresh basil. Then 16oz of some new pasta I found at HEB. It’s high protein and high fiber but is store brand, so only $1.15 a pack. Last, I added the chicken and cooked only until the pasta was done.
I don’t really use recipes unless I’m baking. So here’s a little plug for my Tupperware business in the form of dinner being served in my 1970’s harvest color Tupperware bowls. Yes, 1970’s. There’s a reason they offer a lifetime warranty. They can. If you’d like to place an order, this is the part where you visit my website. LOL http://order.tupperware.com/pls/htprod_www/!tw$shop.p_category?pv_ic_code=20000
Deployment update: I’ve made it through my first “illness” since he left.
People wonder what happens when mommy goes down when daddy is gone. Hopefully the kids can understand the concept of “mommy doesn’t feel good”. I am crazy blessed to have wonderful children and an awesome teenager. My kids have big hearts. Mommy’s feet got rubbed and her hair got brushed by the little ones. Alex was awesome at helping to keep his sisters at bay when I did fall asleep on the couch. He also fed his 3 sisters breakfast and kept them busy by allowing them to watch him play video games while I slept in. LOL Yeah, not kidding. I walked into his room this morning and all 3 of his sisters are piled up in his bed with jaws unhinged and hanging agape in awe at whatever gore filled video game he may have been playing. Ok probably not gory, but definitely a first person shooter game. They adore their brother and God only knows just how long they would sit there just to be there with him in the sacred den that girls are not usually allowed to enter. So today I have felt much better.
So much better, in fact, that I’m cooking up the pumpkins (finally) that Amy gave me from her garden. I’m going to turn them into pancake batter before I go to bed. It can sit in the fridge and be ready to go for breakfast in the morning. Lots of God’s bounty has come from the gardens this year despite the drought. Amy has given me zucchini and pumpkins. My own garden was late to be planted, but still has been producing. I’ve gotten some delicious yellow squash, zucchini, and lots of cucumbers. One lonely tomato sits on the vine, still green though. Of course the presence of cucumbers and a tomato in the garden just screams “SALAD” to an adult. To my girls, however, it makes them question if Bob and Larry eat salad, and if they do doesn’t that make them cannibals???
You can’t be you or I can’t be me and sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees the delimma. I have a lot of love in my heart for my friends, even the ones who live lives that I have issue with. They expect me to walk quietly along, though, accepting of these things. Worse yet, they fully expect me to see the “error of MY ways”. I’m not only NOT supposed to say anything, but supposed to completely switch my beliefs to agree with theirs. So basically, I’m not allowed to be me because I have to make room for them to be them. I have to accept them, but they don’t have to accept me? It’s all touted under the names of “freedom”, “equality”, and the “right to choose”. There’s probably a few more I could add to the list, but they escape me at this moment. My point is that those names are false and hide the real intentions. If they REALLY meant those things, then they’d agree that I have a right to stand firm in my own beliefs…they’d agree that I have a right to FEEL even if what I feel is sad, angry, offended, and even sometimes disgusted. Now let me tell you what I DON’T feel. I don’t feel hatred. I’ve been told time and time again that by not agreeing I am breeding hate. I am not. When I see someone I love walking a path that I know God doesn’t approve of I still love them. I’d like to say that I love them like Christ loved me, but not quite. I’m working on it. I’d like to shout from the rooftops right now and at the same time I’m going to say a prayer that all my friends and loved ones will hear me…I love you even when I think you are wrong, even when I don’t agree with you. I will NOT go against my spiritual and moral beliefs just to make you feel better.
Once upon a time someone told me that part of what they loved about me is that I only had one face…it might be right up in yours at times…but there’s only one. If you ever want to know where you stand with me, ask and I will tell you. With age I have mellowed and sometimes bite my tongue. I tell myself I’m not really being asked my opinion…but my tongue is sore and I am tired.