Whole30. I cheated.

Let me paint this picture for you.

Saturday night Chris and I volunteered in the 2 year old room at church. We played with the kids, told them about Rahab and the spies, worked on a craft, and fed them Goldfish for their snack. I'll clarify (mostly for you, dad): Goldfish crackers.

It was on the drive home that my brain connected the dots and my heart literally felt like it sunk through the bottom of the car. I ate Goldfish with those kids. I ATE GOLDFISH! There is absolutely nothing in a goldfish cracker that is Whole30 approved. I've been meticulous about everything I've eaten since the day I started. How in the world did that happen?? I don't even know. If you look up the definition of "mindless eating" in the dictionary, I'll bet there's an unflattering picture of me with a Dixie cup of Goldfish on that page.

I can tell you this:

1. I am not starting over at Day 1. Screw the rules. I've got a life to live after day 30, and starting over is not part of that life.

2. I'm not starting over because this was an accident. If I was intentionally going to "cheat" on Whole30, would it be with Goldfish crackers? Um, no.

3. I have the most loving and supportive husband - who laughed harder than I've heard him laugh in the longest time when I confessed in the car.

So that's how the Whole30 is going for me.

In other news, James has a thing where anything remotely small is referred to as "cutie". As in, his tiny wooden firetruck is his "cutie firetruck". When we picked up a quart of heavy cream this morning, he insited on helping by carrying the "cutie milk". Which was cute, naturally.

Whole30, day 1

I love to cook.

My dad gets a lot of the credit. Throughout my childhood and teen years my dad spent a lot of time in the kitchen creating delicious things. I've always loved the idea of being able to feed everyone around me with food I made myself. Over the past four years I've really embraced this passion of mine and have branched out in the way I cook. I love baking bread for my family, and "wowing" people with cookies, pies, and apple crisp. The majority of time now though, I've been trying to sick with more nourishing food. Less processed ingredients, more vegetables and lean proteins. Not because I'm a health nut, or some wonderful person. It's actually because I'm the opposite. After having 3 kids (and eating whatever the heck I wanted to all the time) I found myself much more overweight than I wanted to admit I was. A few months after my youngest turned 1 someone asked me when I was due. Yep, I had really let myself go. Even though I've lost some weight since then, and have put in a lot of effort to get in better shape, I'm still a work in progress.

It only seems natural that The Whole30 would appeal to me. Over the past month, I was strangely drawn to this program. After reading the book, and really asking myself if I want to try this out, I decided to do it. For me, the next 30 days isn't some kind of insane crash diet. I'm striving to change the way I view food. I reward myself, and punish myself, with food. All too often I find I am living to eat, and not eating to live. With that in mind, this is less about what I'm removing from my meals, and more about the new and creative ways I can incorporate whole foods into my everyday life. Being forced to avoid my "crutch foods" (hello, chips and queso) and stick to better options (that I enjoy!) for 30 days is actually something I'm excited about.

And so we have Whole30, day 1.

Breakfast: pesto scrambled eggs, sauteed crimini mushrooms, roasted sweet potato, tangerine

Lunch: roasted butternut squash soup topped with coconut cream and pumpkin seeds, honeycrisp apple

Dinner: cauliflower "rice" with grilled chicken, caramelized onions, mushrooms, and carrots, topped with cilantro

Situation Barbie

A Barbie. This morning, for five minutes, everything revolved around a single Barbie doll. My 8 year old who claims ownership of this doll had been instructed to relinquish it to her 2 year old brother who (let's be honest) probably only wants it because she does. But this mom wanted to enjoy her coffee in peace for at least 90 uninterrupted seconds. Keeping the 2 year old happy is the surest way to accomplish that.

Rest assured, the 2 year old doesn't always get everything he wants. And his sisters don't always sacrifice their happiness for his.
But do me a favor - don't ask them. Their memories are selective, and 90% of the time they'll tell you exactly how oppressed they are.

"Situation Barbie" is where I find myself more often than I expected. Looking for calm in the chaos of life with 3 kids. Mediating a fight between some combination of these two sisters and their brother. Concocting a snack every half hour (most days, you can set your watch to it). Sending them outside; allowing them back in. Facilitating negotiations around which show/movie they should watch together - harder than it seems it would be with an 8, 5, and 2 year old involved.

In the midst of the daily to-do list and running interference, it is so easy to forget that my purpose isn't just to get these three through the day. I'm not here simply to feed them, keep them alive, and put them to bed. My motivation to encourage them to get along can't just be peace and quiet for me while I drink my coffee. Moments like this morning are opportunities for me to remind these little ones of Jesus and how He wants us to live.

And so, that's what I did.

It was brief, but I talked with my 8 year old about sharing, and selflessness in light of Jesus in our hearts. I want to see these three grow up to love others more than themselves. So we continue to have these conversations and make better decisions, the kids and myself alike.

"Of all the commandments, which is the most important?"
"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself'. There is no commandment greater than these."
Mark 12: 28-31

The Barn Cats

I made a promise to one of my sisters years ago. I told her when the day came that Chris and I bought a farm we would have a barn cat that belongs to her, and we'd name it Tumbleweed.

When we were in the process of buying the farm, we knew that there were two black barn cats hanging around the property. We talked with the previous owners about letting the cats stay when they moved out, and they decided to leave one behind. The other was more of a family cat that would spend time outdoors when the weather was nice. The cat we inherited is named Boots, because of the white on his paws. They told us he was a jumpy, unfriendly cat, but we've found the opposite to be true. He'll hang out with us on the deck, let the kids pet him, and meow to us in a hoarse gravely voice. We like Boots.

About a week after we moved in though, I knew it was time to find Tumbleweed. I looked for kittens in the swap sheet and on Craig's List. Let me tell you, if you're forthcoming and let people know that you're planning on letting a cat (or kitten) live outside, nine times out of ten they won't give you the one they're trying to get rid of. It was baffling to me, but that's the way it went.

Finally, I found an older lady who has literally given a couple dozen feral cats the run of her property. As you might expect, she frequently has kittens to give away. I had only intended to take one kitten, but we ended up with two. The brown striped kitten became Tumbleweed, naturally. The girls named the black kitten Kevin, which seems like an odd name, until you know that Despicable Me was the movie of the moment in our house this summer. He just didn't look like a "Gru" or "Dr. Nefario", so Kevin it was.

We were quite happy with our three barn cats. The kittens were fun, and Boots was taking care of the rodents outside. Then, one day, we spotted a fourth cat. We're pretty sure she didn't come with the farm, because the previous owners never mentioned her. I suspect that she's Boots' girlfriend from another farm, and he decided to move her in for the winter. She's a calico cat, and I honestly have no clue if she's really a female. Chris called her Snickers when we first saw her, and it stuck. She's super jumpy, and won't let any of us get anywhere near her. I'm still not sure why she let me get close enough to take a picture of her for this post.

From left to right: Kevin, Tumbleweed, Boots

Snickers

Marshmallow

This is the first in, what I plan to be, a series of posts introducing you to the animals who call our 3.5 acres home.

Before we even signed the paperwork to close on "The Farm" Chris had procured us some chickens. We were given a few by a man who wasn't going to be able to care for them anymore, and we bought a handful from a local petting zoo when they shut down for the year. It took awhile, but eventually the two flocks integrated and got along.

Fast forward to this week. All 15 of them (maybe it's 17...I can never remember) have spent the past few cold and snowy weeks in their coop instead out out in their yard. Apparently, chickens get bored when they're not able to get outside to scratch and run. Instead of doing something productive with their boredom, like cleaning or reading a book, my chickens have decided to incessantly peck one of their coop mates. As it turns out, chickens are attracted to the color red, an unfortunate thing for the chicken whose head is bleeding from being constantly pecked. 

So, now Marshmallow (Samantha named her that when she found out we had a sick chicken) is beginning her road to recovery in a dog kennel inside the chicken coop. I'll post an update on the patient's status when her condition changes. This farm life is not for the faint of heart, or weak chickens.