I Could Complain, but… Creamy Penne Pasta with Bacon and Parmesan (Gluten and Dairy Free!)

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Dear Joey,

I used to have the luxury of feeling my way through dinnertime, meaning I could figure out what everyone was in the mood for, cross reference that with what we had on hand and poof — homestyle meals like Chicken Pot Pie or Kid Friendly Cassoulet graced our table. They were difficult, but I had time for difficult in those days.

The middle school years demand I approach dinner differently. Time is short because of all the activities, and our schedules are scattered: If I don’t have dinner prepped and/or cooked by 6:00, I’m sunk. Those are the days we usually eat sandwiches or make a Chick-Fil-A run.

This week has been particularly nutty. It’s show week at the girls’ middle school, and since they’re cast members of the musical, final dress rehearsals and opening night call times dictated dinnertime. Plus, EJ still had taekwondo and finished up his fall baseball season, and Mia got an ear infection. Knowing what was coming (for the most part, at least), I cooked ahead: I had Porcupine Meatballs and Chicken and Wild Rice Soup ready and waiting, and I had plans for this quick pasta.

From start to finish, Creamy Penne Pasta with Bacon and Parmesan takes 20 minutes. I love that about it. It’s gluten and dairy free, but distinctly not vegan tasting, like a lot of dairy free creamy dishes are. (Maybe the bacon helps with that. Bacon is, after all, most certainly not vegan.) I also love that it doesn’t have to be gluten or dairy free. Folks who can have wheat noodles can use those, and dairy-based cream cheeses and parmesan cheese shreds work just as well. So flexible! And goodness, I need more flexible in my life.

Sometimes I still get mad that I have to cook with different ingredients. On nights when life is hard, dinner shouldn’t have to be. I get stressed and snippy and have to remind myself that even though my kitchen is complicated, it’s well-stocked, and we’ve got plenty of recipes on rotation that taste really, really good. I could complain, but … gluten and dairy free creamy penne with bacon and parmesan reminds me there really isn’t a point in complaining. It doesn’t change our circumstances, but it sure makes them worse.

When I get this way, I remind myself about how the Israelites grumbled when they were wandering in the desert. They missed the food they were used to, and in so doing they missed the miracle of the manna. They ate the limited menu God provided, but it’s significance didn’t sink in.

I don’t want to live that way. I want to be grateful for alternative option that fills our table. It’s a gift — a grace — to have it. And I’m thankful.

EJ scooped noodles into his mouth last night, telling me he thinks pasta with bacon was a good idea. I agreed wholeheartedly. It might not be what we’re used to, but it’s a miracle all the same.

Remember all the flops we choked down in the early days of dairy free cooking? Sheesh. This delicious, easy dish is a gift to us all indeed.

Creamy Penne Pasta with Bacon and Parmesan (Gluten and Dairy Free)

Admittedly, I was too pressed for time last night to get a picture of the dish when it was freshly made, so the images here are of leftovers. (Sigh.) But the sauce is creamy and comforting when it’s fresh off the heat — a delicious reason to gather around the table before we all go our separate ways for the evening. Pair it with a bag of frozen broccoli or canned green beans and boom — it’s faster than making sandwiches or a run to Chick-Fil-A.

Ingredients:

1 pound gluten free penne (Banza brand chick pea penne or Aldi’s brown rice and quinoa penne are a great choice)

2 cups chicken broth

1 – 8 oz. tub Trader Joe’s vegan cream cheese (use another brand if you want to, but Trader Joe’s brand tastes less “vegan-y.” It’s my favorite.)

1 cup Trader Joe’s vegan parmesan style shreds (because, again — it tastes the least “vegan-y.” As an alternative, you can use Follow Your Heart vegan parmesan style shreds)

1 cup real bacon crumbles

2 Tablespoons starch (corn, potato or tapioca starch work best) mixed with 2 Tablespoons cold water

4 teaspoons onion powder

2 teaspoons garlic powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon (or more, to taste) ground black pepper

1 teaspoon white vinegar

Method:

  1. Boil the pasta according to package directions. Drain and set aside.
  2. In a large saucepan or dutch oven, melt the cream cheese over medium heat and whisk until soft and smooth.
  3. Add the seasonings (onion powder, garlic powder, salt and pepper) and stir.
  4. Add the chicken broth and vinegar; whisk until combined and smooth.
  5. Bring to a boil: Add the starch slurry and whisk until sauce begins to thicken.
  6. Add the parmesan cheese and whisk until completely melted and combined.
  7. Add the cooked and drained pasta and bacon crumbles to the sauce. Toss the pasta with the sauce until the noodles are evenly coated. Serve immediately.

From Lazy to Productive and the Easiest Healthy Homemade Granola Ever

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Dear Joey,

You may have noticed I got a little lax in the kitchen last year.

It’s a paradox, really — because truth be told, I’ve been busier than ever this past year. But I got lazy in the kitchen because life got chaotic. Going back to working full time meant I didn’t have nearly as much time in the kitchen as I used to have, and I leaned on easier foods for far too long.

But easy is expensive. Easy saves time, but it comes with a high cost. The grocery bill went up and so did our consumption of pre-made, processed foods that we hadn’t leaned on in years. Unhealthy snuck into our allergy-friendly kitchen, and before long, I knew things had to change. I started weeding out the worst offenders and stocking the cupboard with cleaner items. For the most part, you’re all on board.

But you bought a bag of granola the other day. It wasn’t gluten free, and it had all kinds of “may contain” notes on it that made it safe for only you or Addie to eat, but I didn’t protest or try to twist your arm to let me make homemade granola instead because it was easier to buy a bag than to make a mess in the kitchen. Outwardly, I smiled at you, telling you to buy whatever you wanted, but inwardly I was frustrated that the granola was laden with allergens and ingredients that just plain weren’t healthy for you, or for anyone, really.

We’re not the only family dealing with the tricky balance of stocking our pantry with healthier food options (like sprouted gluten free rolled oats and raw almonds) and feeding hungry kids who have strong opinions about what they want to eat (like Fruity Pebbles and potato chips). Cleaning out the junk and retraining ourselves to eat better-quality foods is a process, and it is really, really hard!

But this gluten free, homemade healthy granola is easy — and for busy, overwhelmed families that need an easy option? It’s a miracle.

This granola reminds me that easy and healthy can be combined into one delicious, nourishing recipe that’s doable amidst even the busiest, most chaotic schedules. Stir together simple ingredients, slip the mixture into the oven and work on other things while you wait. It’s a way to be lazy, productive and healthy all at the same time, and these days? I’m all about that.

Plus, it tastes so good that I bet I’ll get you on board with homemade again, too.

The Easiest Granola (Top Allergen Free option!)

This homemade granola is a cinch. Some recipes require a lot of babysitting and stirring, but not this one — slip it into the oven, then forget it’s there until the timer goes off. I came up with this basic recipe as a framework to follow, but it’s flexible enough so you can make it however you like it. Customize the recipe with the nuts and/or seeds you like best (or a combination of them) — we like using raw almonds. Use whatever liquid sweetener and oil you prefer. If you want to add dried fruit (such as raisins), mix a cup into the granola after it has cooled completely and before storing in an airtight container.

Ingredients:

6 cups gluten free rolled oats

1 cup chopped raw, unsalted nuts (such as raw almonds) or large seeds (such as pumpkin seeds)*

6 Tablespoons chia seeds (optional. Omit if desired.)

¾ cup oil (such. as olive oil or coconut oil)

¾ cup liquid natural sweetener of choice (such as honey, agave syrup or maple syrup)

1 Tablespoon pure vanilla extract

1 ½ teaspoons salt

* If no nuts or seeds are desired, increase oats by 1 cup instead.

Method:

  1. Preheat oven to 275°F.
  2. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper.
  3. Mix the dry ingredients: In a large bowl, combine oats, nuts or seeds and chia seeds (if using).
  4. Mix the wet ingredients: In a small bowl, whisk together oil, sweetener, vanilla extract and salt until well-combined.
  5. Pour wet ingredients over dry ingredients; mix until evenly coated.
  6. Divide raw granola mixture into two parts: Put half on one prepared pan and half on the other and spread the mixture into an even layer.
  7. Put pans into the preheated oven for one hour.
  8. After one hour, turn the oven off, slightly open the oven door, and let the granola rest for 15 minutes inside the still-warm oven.
  9. After 15 minutes, remove the pans from the oven and let the granola cool completely.
  10. Break up the granola into clusters and store in an airtight container.

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A Gift I Didn’t Appreciate, and Almond Butter and Jelly Bars

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Oh, the nostalgia one bite of these bars brings. Peanut butter and jelly are the classic kid food fondly remembered by allergy moms everywhere, isn’t it?

The irony is I didn’t grow up eating either of them.

Well, ok, that’s sort of true. I ate my fair share of plain old peanut butter sandwiches–sometimes speckled with a slice or two of dill pickles (Don’t knock it till you try it) and I greeted most days smearing peanut butter on toast, but PB&J’s were my last resort–a punishment, almost, as that was the only other option for dinner if my brothers and I rejected what was served. My parents bought Goober Jelly — peanut butter and grape jelly all in one convenient jar–once in a while, trying hard to sell PB&J as a fun food. But PB&J’s weren’t my jam. (Pun intended.) I couldn’t stand the combination.

It wasn’t until late high school I started really enjoying them. What changed? Who knows. My taste buds, perhaps. Or it could have been my vegetarian friend who seemingly only ever ate PB&J’s or macaroni and cheese. I ate them with boysenberry jam a time or two at her house and suddenly they seemed far cooler than Goober jelly ever made them seem. Go figure.

After that, peanut butter and blackberry jam was my favorite until I was a young mom pinching pennies and buying industrial sized jars of strawberry jam at Costco. My oldest daughter spent her toddler years eating many PB&J’s with me–until Mia came along and everything changed. Peanuts and gluten went on the naughty list and PB&J’s were a gift I didn’t appreciate until our go-to lunch together became a memory. We switched to Sunflower Butter, which neither of the girls really liked, until EJ joined the brood. At that point we switched almost exclusively to almond butter and we were thankful for that one safe nut.

We’re in a season of more transition around here these days. Mia and EJ are both on track to challenge peanuts in the not-so-far future, and I feel like allergy life as we know it is changing. PB&J’s might be back on rotation in the next couple years. Other things are changing too–Addie is wrapping up Elementary school and Mia isn’t far behind her. EJ goes to school full time and I’m still adjusting to a quiet house during the day. I’m feeling so much better–physically, mentally, emotionally–and I see my own life changing in positive ways up ahead. It’s all flying by, and I’m not ok. Looking at pictures of the kids when they were super little makes me cry because I desperately miss those hard, slow days, but I’m also glad they’re over. They were complicated and hard and exhausting. But I’m not there anymore. I’m in-between, and so are the kids. It’s weird.

I’ve been spending time revisiting the earliest years of mothering lately, reminding myself what it felt like to be a young mom who knew nothing about food allergies and had to learn on the fly while dealing with the domino effect of new diagnoses. It was a lot. I found myself longing for a few precious moments with my firstborn little girl during pre-food allergy life. Sharing a simple PB&J on whole wheat bread with my sweet little Addie is something I’m only thankful for in hindsight.

But the mom I am now knows ways to satisfy that craving using ingredients the younger mom wouldn’t have known even existed, let alone known how to use. Ready to prove how far I’ve come–if only to myself– I set out to make a soft and somewhat chewy snack bar that mimicked the flavors of the nostalgic PB&J to remember where we came from and celebrate where we are now.

And the best part? Addie loves them. Mia couldn’t care less about them, but there’s something about this little snack bar that makes Addie swoon, and I think it’s because it reminds her of a simpler time when food was simple and satisfying, not complicated or worrisome, back when she got my undivided attention.

Making peace with our stories is a process of silent long-suffering. Sometimes she suffering is loud too, to be honest. Crying tears of fear and frustration come naturally when what you know and count on gets snatched out of your hands without warning. Of course you miss what you knew. Breaking up is hard to do. Nobody understands the heartache until they walk through it themselves.

The good news is we wake up one day and realize we’re still ok, don’t we? We meet new things that help heal the wounds. Our hurt scabs over and scars perhaps, but we survive. You will survive. Your non-food allergic kids will too. And you might all even be better for it, in the end.

Almond Butter and Jelly Bars prove that to me.

Maybe these bars won’t prove it to you, and that’s ok. Something will. Someday you’ll be so confident with cooking differently that you will surprise yourself with how far you’ve come. You will certainly marvel at all the other glorious food options out there ready and willing to bend to your every whim. You’ll celebrate food differently, and that’s valuable in so many ways. And you’ll find new ways to connect with your most favorite people.

Oh, the joy one bite of these bars brings for so many different, delicious reasons.

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Not Quite Carbonara, and the Easiest Bacon & Egg Pasta Skillet

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One of the most challenging things about dairy free cooking is comfort food. So much of it is laden with cream and cheese, and truly: dairy free alternatives don’t do the real thing justice. But for those of us beleaguered by the unfortunate turn of events that says sayonara dairy, I have fantastic news: we can make a poor man’s rendition of creamy, comforting carbonara in under 30 minutes.

The idea for this recipe came from the cover of a fancy food magazine–you know the type: the ones featuring the sorts of recipes your single self just knew you would serve on the regular: things like Shaved Spanish Ham and Gruyere Galettes, Pappardelle with Arugula, Prosciutto and Pine Nuts; or Spatchcock Chicken with Chimmichurri. I rarely pay those magazines any attention these days in an effort to protect my still-fragile heart that misses the days I could cook anything at all.

But this recipe featured bacon and eggs and noodles–three safe, classic ingredients my irregular kitchen can handle. Mixing the three of them together didn’t make much sense, exactly, but the combinations in my kitchen rarely make sense. So I filed the idea away with a gulp and a prayer that someday my gluten free version of a bacon and egg pasta dish would make my family swoon.

That prayer was answered, people. This dish was a hit.

So ok, we still prefer bacon and eggs for breakfast, but this pasta is on point. Gluten free noodles lathered in silky, eggy sauce and dotted with crispy pieces of bacon, topped with chopped eggs and parsley? Definitely dairy free comfort food. If the idea of chopped eggs on hot pasta makes you think twice? I get that. Try topping your pile of noodles with an egg cooked over easy instead (or skip the egg on top all together. The pasta is delicious with the simple silky sauce and bacon).

It’s not quite carbonara, but it sure is an easy, satisfying substitute.

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Always Hungry, and Homestyle Hamburger Soup

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Cool weather finally showed up on our doorstep and no one was as delighted to greet it as I was. Trading shorts and salads for sweaters and soup pots is the best part of the year, in my book.

bed of white petaled flower

Cold weather always makes me hungry. I don’t know why, exactly, but I blame soup. Soup does more than fuel my body; it warms my bones. Once I start slurping, I almost can’t stop. It’s a matter of cold weather survival around here.

Chunky sweaters are part of the deal of Midwestern life, of course, but if I had to pick between hearty soups or trendy fall fashion? Soup would win every time. Cozying up with a bowl of it while dressed in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt does the trick too.

If I had to choose a favorite soup (and thank God I do not have to do so), Hamburger Soup might be my pick. It tastes like home to me. My mom made it all the time when I was young. She still does, I think. Don’t most moms have a version they serve on the regular? Gluten free, allergy life didn’t throw a kink in this familiar recipe, and I’m so thankful for that because it’s a dinner that connects our family table to the one I sat at when I was a child. We didn’t have food restrictions in our house when I was growing up, and yet I can’t recall a day when my mom’s version of this was served with a swirl of cream before serving. Simplicity makes this soup a star. Ground beef, onions, carrots and celery, and potatoes are almost all you need.

Well ok, you need beef broth too. And tomato sauce and Worcestershire sauce too, but this soup forgives you if you’ve got to leave them out. It’s flexible and fast and filling. If you’re cold and hungry and soup sounds ideal? Cook up buns for biscuits and stir up a pot of Hamburger soup. It’s not fancy, and that’s why I love it. I can cozy up with a bowl of it in under 40 minutes.

Simple and satisfying, this one tastes like home.

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Comfort Food Reimagined and Gluten Free, Dairy Free Bacon Ranch Chicken Casserole

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Casseroles are like McDonald’s: they get a bad wrap, but secretly everyone loves them.

Well okay, I don’t love McDonald’s–anymore. But gracious me, how I adored their french fries until I learned gluten’s evil reach extends to even them. French fries don’t need wheat to be wonderful.

The same is true for casserole. I know I’m not the only one with childhood memories of noodles and meat tucked into a sumptuous sauce, layered thick with gooey cheese and baked until golden and glorious, right? Casserole was pretty much my favorite, but now gluten is ornery and unwelcome at my table. Ditto for dairy, so clearly, casserole complicates my kitchen. I bet it complicates yours, too.

Allergy life handed us a whole bunch of adversity. Shoot, it’s just plain bananas sometimes, but I have learned to leverage the crazy and bake banana bread. In other words, I’m good at making the best of bad situations, but casserole creates a crummy conundrum. No matter how you slice it, alternative ingredients just don’t swap out the same way in savory dishes.

Even so, when cooler weather compels me to click on the oven and cook something cozy, casserole calls my name. I usually argue with the voice, saying things like “Dairy free cheese is disgusting” and “Gluten free noodles get gummy.” Casserole patiently nods its understanding, then nudges me to try again anyway, saying “I’m problematic, but possible.”

Over the years I have tried to prove my beloved food friend right. Try after disappointing try simply confirmed my opinion until I realized this: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is just plain crazy. Daiya does not–will not— taste like dairy Mozzarella no matter how much I wish it did.

That’s the problem: I’m expecting my taste buds to adjust to something I just plain don’t like. Many alternatives are frankly unpalatable. Others are acceptable, but some really are inspired. Sorting out the bad from the good is an exercise in patience and fortitude.

It’s exhausting.

Once upon a time Mia asked me to make lasagna for dinner. Rarely one to deny a request for comfort food, I hesitated, and it surprised her. I mean, lasagna is all about the cheese. The marriage of ricotta and mozzarella is a match made in comfort food heaven, so I panicked. But something switched that night and instead of asking How can I make that? , I asked myself How will I make that? Saying yes to her simple request taught me to re-imagine casserole instead of trying to recreate it.

Does gluten have to be involved at all? Does dairy? The simple answer is, of course, no. A casserole is really just “food cooked and served in a casserole [dish]” (According to Merriam-Webster, that is), which essentially means anything goes.

So I looked my girl in the eye and said “Let’s do it!” and we rolled out sheets of homemade cassava flour noodles and stirred together a filling of garlic-studded meat and spinach, and layered them together with a simple marinara sauce. Then in a fit of inspiration, I got out a can of black olives. As I sliced them, Mia asked if she could put them on by herself. I laughed as I watched her arrange them into a smiley face.

I can’t redefine casserole, but I can re-imagine it. Food allergy life taught me that. My kids don’t know the difference between a lasagna covered with cheese and one simply slathered with sauce. All they see is lasagna served with a smile. Isn’t that the point? Food doesn’t have to be fancy or familiar to feed my family well. If it’s served with a smile, it’s enough.

Yes, it means letting go of what I know. But it frees my heart from stress and burnout and gives me the gift of saying yes.

Casserole isn’t comfort food because it’s layered with cream or cheese: it’s comfort food because it’s home food, made with all kinds of creativity and love. Experimenting with alternative ingredients yields all sorts of casseroles with character, and cultivated a cuisine unique to our table and taste buds. We top them with olives or thinly sliced tomatoes, seasoned rice-crumbs or crushed potato chips or savory streusel or even gluten free crispy french-fried onions, and then cheer when it comes out crispy and golden. We even argue over who gets the corner piece.

I’m sure the same will be true for you, too, because casserole is a framework, an idea, a canvas for a culinary masterpiece.

This Bacon Ranch Chicken Casserole is top 14 allergen free proof that comfort food of my childhood is possible after all.

It’s not comfort food the way your Grandma would have made it, unless of course your Grandma was cooking for gluten free, dairy free folks, but my family thinks it’s every bit as comforting — and way better than McDonald’s.

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A Gift for This Moment and Wacky Cake (Gluten Free, Grain Free, and Top 14 Allergy Free)

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Necessity is the mother of invention.

I remember hearing my folks say this sort of thing to each other as they sautéed their way toward dinner. I never quite understood what they meant because it never felt like we needed anything. Dinner was always awesome. My mom would dig out a few leftover baked potatoes and dice them, saggy skin and all, while my dad dug out leftover roast beef and heated up oil for hash. They chopped up onions for good measure, then tossed it all together in a hot skillet until the potatoes were crispy and golden. Dinners like that were some of my favorite, regardless of what food my folks wished they had on hand.

Now I know that our pantry sometimes got bare. Now I know my mom bought Hyrdox Cookies instead of Oreos and big tubs of generic vanilla ice cream instead of Breyers Vanilla Bean for one reason: they fit her budget better. But even those bargains were only sometimes treats. Even so, I don’t really remember going without. In fact, a bare pantry meant my dad jumped at the chance to bake a Wacky Cake–the dessert for which we always had ingredients. The fridge doesn’t have to be fully stocked with cream or eggs or milk or butter for a slice of his famous impromptu cake.

Last week I read The Kitchen Front, a novel about ordinary women struggling to cook palatable meals during WWII England. Wartime rationing redefined pantry staples, so pantry stockpiles looked awfully paltry compared to the way they looked before the war. Fresh eggs were limited; dairy products too. Food women used to take for granted were whisked away from them without their consent or approval, and before they knew it they were whirling together bits of stale bread and overcooked vegetables to make mock roast chicken. Some of their concoctions sounded just plain awful (mock anything makes me cringe), but I admired their resourcefulness and creativity nonetheless.

I imagine it was heartbreaking to have to forego serving a cake on a birthday because there weren’t enough ration coupons for eggs. Someone somewhere figured out how to make cake without it–necessity is the mother of invention, right?–and vegan cakes were born out of a different sort of necessity back then.

When I put the book down, I couldn’t help but see the parallel to my own cooking life, of course. Wartime rationing isn’t to blame for the changes in my kitchen, but outside forces beyond my control stormed in and bossed me around too, and I find myself staring at a smattering of ingredients that don’t feel like enough, wondering how to make familiar food out of mock versions of the real thing. Like them, I was frustrated and angry but powerless to do much else than slip into survival mode at first and just keep cooking something. Little by little, they learned to let go of what they didn’t have and how to make do with what they did have, and so did I, and in the process new things are born–like grain free, vegan cake that is familiar and delicious.

Wacky Cake proves that God really does bring about good things out of desperately difficult situations. All the harrowing hardship of the war didn’t change the fact that women wanted to serve something celebratory and sweet. I know what that’s like on a much smaller scale, of course, but imagine how you would feel if you couldn’t serve cake for your boy’s birthday and you might understand a little. This crazy cake made out of cassava flour, cocoa powder, sugar, oil & water makes a decadent, distinctly not weird confection that could be served to just about anyone. It’s flexible enough to accommodate all kinds of allergies–a feat women working in WWII kitchens couldn’t imagine, and yet somehow they secured it long before we ever really needed it. I feel a kinship with them when I make it, because even though allergies and intolerances and dietary restrictions weren’t really a thing back then (like they are today), they knew the frustration and heartache of going without.

I like to think Wacky Cake is a wartime gift God gave to women two generations before me during that dark, difficult season. Food doesn’t solve everything, but sweet balances out the bitter, so cake helps. God must know that; why else would he have made cocoa beans bitter and sugar cane sweet? This dessert uses both, without any of the dangerous ingredients that we can’t serve to our people this season. When I whisk this cake together, I whisper a prayer of thanks because I am certain God knew we would need this recipe for this moment, right now, when so many of us are wondering how to serve special foods to the people we love, too.

The best gifts just keep on giving, and this gift is for you too.

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A Reason to Celebrate, and Sweet & Smoky Chicken Skewers

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Good grief I’m tired. Summer can’t come soon enough.

It’s weird to say that because last summer stretched on forever, and when it was finally over I swore up and down I never wanted the hot, sticky season to come again. Summer is supposed to be slow, but it was more sluggish than a snail last year. The lack of momentum made it feel static, not serene. And that was tiring. I feel like I only just started recovering from it, yet here I am ready for another one? It’s a strange tension.

Today I’m tired in a different sort of way–the best sort of way. The weekend swept me up in a swirl of food and family and fun, and the whirlwind wore me out. I fell asleep on the couch last night recovering. Remembering, too: the smile on Mia’s face as she turned nine. The way she laughed and played and drank it all in–the swimming, the silly jokes, the small cans of Dr. Pepper that are special treat indeed. It almost didn’t matter what I served; the people surrounding her made it the most special, especially after last year’s lockdown.

Her birthday last year was different. We celebrated, but separately. Reality got skewed and our circle got smaller and eventually summer stretched on for days on end. We grilled our way through the long, hot months, trying to enjoy the low pressure days, but secretly stressed out with waiting and wondering what would happen next. This recipe was born out of the lonesome days of lockdown, a time when life was slow and sweet in its own way, even though the world seemed to burn around us.

The days at home were good, but the strife outside our doors made it hard to guess what would come next. This recipe for sweet & smoky chicken reminds me of those days. It gave me hope for a day when we would fill our table with family and friends again–and that day came right along with Mia’s birthday. They remind me of last year when we couldn’t share meals together like this–and why it’s so important we do so again.

A shared meal is never just about the food: it is always about fellowship with the faces that share the food with us. It’s about acknowledging our need for fuel and friendship at the same time; it’s about feeding people’s stomachs and souls by giving them a reason to slow down and savor. Food is so much more meaningful when it’s shared.

And so, as a new summer knocks on our doors and asks to stay for awhile, let’s invite it in with open arms–and along with it, let’s welcome each other again. Let’s find a reason to celebrate and gather around tables together, laughing alongside each other as we pass platters filled to the brim with good things. Let’s feed each other with the sort of welcome that says “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Let’s remember the way it was for awhile and be grateful it wasn’t forever, because eating together is something sacred indeed.

Sweet & Smoky Chicken Skewers-1Sweet & Smoky Chicken Skewers

When Nice Isn’t Enough, and Pumpkin Spice Muffins

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Emery and I spent a lot of time together these days. It’s nice, but it’s not enough.

On school days I scurry through the morning like a frantic squirrel, gathering up bits of this and that and packing things away for later, scooting my pups out the door while Emery perches himself at the window wondering when everyone will get home again. He barely eats a bite of breakfast until after we circle back from school drop off to our own make-shift classroom at home, and even then, staying on schedule distracts him from satisfying his stomach, and he ends up grumpy as we work our way through morning.

Snacks help. So do small breaks to get outside and wiggle. But most of the time Emery doesn’t even want to do that–he’d rather snuggle up close to me and read an entire Magic Tree House book from cover to cover in one sitting, or sit at the table alongside me and work on math games for the bulk of the morning. The laundry sits, as do the dirty dishes. And forget about my cup of morning tea and or a hot shower or any of the projects I thought I would be working on this month–things clearly didn’t turn out the way I thought they would this season.

I know I’m not alone in this. Change charged in uninvited everywhere, and most of us are doing everything we can to make the best of it. We’re saying yes to everything we possibly can to comfort and encourage, not coddle or indulge. It’s a fine line between the two, of course. Sometimes phonics looks more like snuggling on the couch and sounding out words than sitting at the table staring at worksheets. Morning math lessons sometimes happen while I’m making muffins or when we’re sitting in carline at the end of the day.

Like so many of you, I am thankful for the extra time I have with my boy, and most days I remind myself this time is a gift. So I pray for flexibility in my heart to embrace this season despite its disappointments, but still. It’s hard.

It’s hard because for as much as I used to toy with the idea of homeschool life, this isn’t what I imagined. Like, at all. My imagination conjured up images of all three of the Goobies home together all day long, happily learning alongside each other in an at-home school room straight from a Pottery Barn catalog, dressed in corduroy jumpers and leather shoes. We’d romp through piles of fallen leaves in the morning, throwing schedules out the window because learning together out there in the real world would be a treat, not a nuisance. Then we’d huddle back inside for hot chocolate and recite state capitals while munching on chocolate chip cookies. No one would ever be lonesome because there would always be someone to play with. The kids would get bad tempered sometimes, sure–but they’d never by themselves, like Emery is. How many other children are enduring these endless string of empty days looking out the window, waiting for something to change?

2020 taught us many things: how to be flexible, how to give grace, how to adapt and adjust and choose joy anyway. It also taught us the value of togetherness from the abrupt absence of it. Visiting through glass–while nice–isn’t good enough. Waving at people six feet away isn’t good enough. Staying away altogether because of what could happen if you get too close isn’t good enough for establishing friendships or maintaining relationships with the people we need in our lives. Nice things aren’t the best things.

I know we’ve all got to make sacrifices this week, this season, this year. I get that and I’m on board with doing our part to make things work for everyone. But the harder truth is this: I also want the best for my boy, and so much alone-ness isn’t the best.

After a turbulent couple of days last week, Emery fell into bed, emotionally exhausted. He clutched my neck and held on tight, unwilling to let me go. My mama heart should have swooned, but the thought of all the broken moments that left him crying and asking questions I simply couldn’t answer nagged my protective heart. The weight of loneliness settled in as I remembered the hurt in his voice: “Why did they have to go? How come I can’t go too? Where did daddy go? When will he come back? How come the girls get to do that and I don’t? Why do I have to stay here? I don’t want to stay here.”

I know there will be a day when these moments will be a memory. The dragged out days of Kindergarten homeschool will fade into a time I wish I could return to, just like the hard and hazy first years of parenthood did. The sting of this season will wane as time ambles on, but for now, it hurts. I hug him back tight and memorize the way he breathes, and he whispers something into the dark of the room: “I would be delighted if you made pumpkin muffins with cinnamon sugar for breakfast tomorrow.”

I smiled, laughing a little as I hugged him tight and replied, “I would be delighted to make some for you.”

I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but it most certainly was not that. Hadn’t he had enough mommy and muffin mornings? But I realized there is comfort in the familiar, and when we ache, we look for something to cling to that calms us down and consoles us, steadying us for what comes next. Mornings, muffins and me–those are his constants these days. I can’t solve the world’s problems. Muffins can’t do that either, but they can smooth out rumpled feelings for a little while at least. Making them is one small act of love I can do right here behind the glass, despite the darkness swirling just outside the panes. Baking them won’t change much outside, but perhaps they’ll change something on the inside a little. After all, when love charges into the darkness, it changes things.

It might not be enough, but it’s a start. And since we’ve got to start somewhere, muffins are a delicious place as any. These gluten free Pumpkin Spice Muffins are top 14 free when you use an egg replacement. They’re warm, comforting, and flexible–just like we’re all trying to be these days–and a beautiful reminder that good things are right here in front of us when we slow down enough to see them.

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Better, Not Easier, and Crispy Baked Tacos

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Dear Joey,

The Goobies are bugging me.

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I know why: the four of us have been together constantly from the moment we left California–that’s a month and a half without much of a break. Moving to a new state compounded the normal stresses of summer, and here we are two weeks away from school starting and the day can’t get here fast enough because (confession): I’m a wreck.

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