Tomorrow, I will start back at the office just for a couple of days a week. It’s crazy to think that it’s been two months of quarantine at home. When it all started, I told myself it would probably be two weeks. Even now, it certainly does not feel anything close to normal and the pandemic seems far from over.
I think about how things may never go back to normal. How this will almost certainly be a moment in time where there is a line in the sand—a before and an after. September 11 was that. I suspect COVID-19 will be too.
I don’t know if my kids will remember “the sickness” as they call it. I don’t know that I remember much about being 3 or 4. But if they do, I hope they remember all of the adventures they had and time we spent together. I hope they remember sneaking popcicles on the bouncy house and the sun on their skin in the swimming pool and running full speed through the green grass. I hope they don’t remember the times I’ve raised my voice and lost my temper.
There have been some adventurous moments. I can’t keep clothes on these kids. One day when I was on a big call for work, a high school girl came to entertain the kids outside. She text me, “I can’t get Braun to put on pants!” I understood. Then there was the situation with the skunk in the yard with the kids and the dog while I was on a Zoom call with the office (blog on that coming soon…) One day while I was presenting online with the door closed, the kids gave the cat a haircut. There were lots of days I would be hard at it writing a blog or and article and Harper would walk in with all her make up on. And then, there was the presentation I was waist deep in teaching about capital gains taxes when my kid walked in with a marble up his nose. You cannot make this up.
There have been sweet moments too. Every Sunday, we’ve baked together. The kids got to go with us to pick out their first heifers. We’ve spent lots of time together at the North Place and the kids say things now like “we are leasing the place over there” and “look at that broom snake weed” and “let’s play on my favorite cliff.” And I’ve gotten lots of flower (er weed) bouquets from my boy.
In the end, I think what matters has been the time together. Maybe that doesn’t just sum up quarantine, but sums up all of life.
In August, I landed myself in the hospital with a lodged kidney stone and septic infection. I had never had a kidney issue in my life. They said they saw multiple smaller stones in my kidneys at that time. I’ve had a baby with no drugs…that whole kidney stone fiasco was 10 times more painful.
Today, I went in for my follow up…and there isn’t a stone to be seen. 🙌🏻🙏
Which is good because I’m just here to tell you, I’m not sure I could handle that mess again.
In an effort to avoid gaining any more of the Quarantine 15 I’ve been working on, I’ve gotten back to watching macros and tracking my food. So when my friend, Amy, posted some enchiladas that used zucchini in place of tortillas, I was intrigued. I was also skeptical because a New Mexican doesn’t play when it comes to enchiladas!
I whipped these up tonight and they were delicious. Seriously—I ate two servings and loved every bite.
You’ll see the recipe rolls them. I did one pan that way. But I had trouble getting the zucchini cut just right and had a lot of half slices, so I used those to make a second pan of flat enchiladas. I actually liked them better. I just took my thin zucchini slices and laid them in the dish, covered with the filling, then did another layer of the zucchini slices and covered with sauce and cheese.
I’d recommend Gebhardt enchiladas sauce. Old El Paso will work as well. Be sure you get the zucchini sliced really thin—that’s the key!
If you’re a food tracker, this is really similar to the Delish recipe that’s in My Fitness Pal.
I paired it with a quick chunky guacamole (large avocado, Roma tomato, splash each of orange juice and lime juice, garlic salt, minced onion, pepper, course salt and paparika.
This lady has lived her life 3 against 1, because she made the three of us do ridiculous things like wash the manure off our hands before we ate, turn in papers with proper punctuation, not get killed by hooky cows, fill up water tubs even when they were still 1/5 full, wear ironed shirts, and eat our vegetables.
She has always been in the trenches taking grenades so we could shine.
Tonight, I ran 2.23 miles down my dirt road to honor Ahmaud Arbrey. But that’s not enough.
I know that I’ve got to do more. I’ve got to pray. I’ve got to speak out about injustice and racism anytime I see it and not only when it’s on the news. I’ve got to talk to my children about different cultures and tell them about horrific instances like this so that they, too, will stand against it. I’ve got to support people of color who speak out even when it is uncomfortable for me to do so or when I don’t understand.
This article was recently published in the Purple Circle magazine.
A while back, I saw an interesting conversation on Facebook that had people pretty polarized. It all started when a mom suggested she was encouraging her children not to show animals so that their family could go on a vacation to Disneyworld.
Now, let me make clear up front, I am all for everyone making their own decisions for their own family. It is fine by me if someone wants to make different decisions for her family than I do for mine. I am sure that Disneyworld is a lovely place.
But that said….I’ll take the stock show.
Growing up, we did not go on family vacations. We went to stock shows. And while I’ve never been to Disneyworld, I’m pretty sure that the roller coaster rides, churros, and fake mouse ears can’t replace what the stock shows gave me.
At those stock shows (and the months leading up to them), I learned what it meant to work hard. My brother and I got up early, went to bed late, busted our tails in between dealing with weights and drench guns and feed regiments and wash racks. I also learned that not everyone worked that way. I remember countless times at our State Fair it would be 8:00 at night when I would come into the dorms covered in feed and hay and manure and lord knows what else, while some of the other girls would be all dressed up, make up on, and hair fixed. And while I can’t say that it happened this way all the time, but I lot of the time it was those of us who spent the week covered in manure who ended up smiling come the end of show day. That was not a bad thing for a kid to learn.
At those stock shows, I learned that I had a group of adults who were in my corner who became like family to me. There were women who would haul in enough food for an army and be sure that we didn’t go hungry by dishing out posole and beans from a crock pot in the tack pen. There were men who helped sheer my sheep and haul our show boxes in and out and had no problem telling me if I wasn’t doing something right. There was an ag teacher that became one of my very favorite people in the world with his glare for people who showed up late for feeding, and his Rainman-like remembering of the weights of seriously every lamb in the barn, and his uncanny ability to sniff out coffee somewhere in the barn before anyone else was even awake to make it.
At those stock shows, I made friends from across the state. Friends who have known me since I was 10 years old and who are still in my life 25 years later. Friends whose babies I have held and funerals I have attended and beside whom I have proudly stood at weddings. Friends who I never would have met were it not for the yearly “family vacation” to a stock show.
At those stock shows, we spent quality time with our family. After one particularly long, and I mean LONG night at the barn, that I’m fairly sure involved my dad breaking his toes after kicking something, I remember him saying that we might look back at parts of this showing deal and remember the fights, but we’d also look back and always remember him being there. Decades later, I can tell you he was right. I remember the fights for being funny now, but I remember all of the time and money and sacrifice that he and my mom made so that we could go to those stock shows. And that was a gift that is priceless in my mind.
There are certainly more lessons that shows taught me. Competitiveness. Being a humble winner and a gracious loser. That maybe there really is something to lucky shirts and lucky halters. Nothing beats the smell of sawdust and Revive. That life is not always fair. What it felt like to be handed that bright purple banner and shiny belt buckle.
So, all this to say….I’m sure Disneyworld is great. But I’ll take the stock show. Every single time.
Well two more weeks down. When this all started I kind of told myself I could do anything for a month and now we’ve blown right by that.
The CDC now recommends if you have to go out in public to wear a mask. Most (maybe all) parts of the country are under stay-at-home orders. Our grocery store has one-way aisles set up and glass between you and the checker. It’s just surreal.
1. We have started to get into a bit of a routine. It’s sure not perfect and I sure will be ready to go back to work and back to regular life, but it is ok for now. I feel like this has been really key to me not losing my mind. It’s little things like reading my Bible in the morning, listening to my favorite podcast, going on my evening run…just having some order in the chaos has been great.
2. Stores are mostly stocked back with the normal items. This has led to some excellent cooking here (if I do say so myself!)
3. The kids have really embraced this situation and have done a good job of rolling with the punches and finding new adventures every day. From playing in the snow (yes…in April), to doing science experiments they’ve made a lot of fun memories.
4. He is (still) risen. Easter didn’t look like usual. For the first time in 36 years, I wasn’t in a church. Our celebration did not involve having family over for lunch and Cousin Sean helping the Easter Bunny, as per tradition. But we had a stained glass window, empty tomb rolls, a pilgrimage to chalk the sidewalk at church, and a savior who is risen. He is risen indeed!
1. People are dying. The numbers in the US are staggering. Nearly 20,000 people dead. Since I last wrote, the first case was diagnosed in the county where I live and in the county where I grew up.
And, I’m so sad to say, the first death of someone I know happened last night. He was smart and kind and a faithful Catholic and I am just heartbroken for his family. It’s one thing to see a number like 20,000. It’s quite another to know one of them—to put a face and a life and a story with it.
2. Working in an “office” with two toddler is, well, not ideal.
3. I’ve got to quit eating so dang much. Seriously…I need someone to follow me and slap food out of my hand. I am buckling down this week because this has gotten out of control.
1. People are so kind. Several times I have sought out prayer via phone call or text or Instagram and people have come through. For a sick friend in Oregon to a little boy I’ve never met but who has my heart in Nashville to people I know fighting COVID-19, it has been heartwarming to see people step in to intercede for one another.
2. Many idols have been removed. I listened to a pastor on a podcast I love talking about how this quarantine really has removed idols that we were likely worshiping. Sports, going out, travel, hustle…none of which are inherently bad so don’t get me wrong here…are just not options right now. I hadn’t thought about this, but found it super interesting.
3. I don’t want to come out of this the same. Rachel Hollis and Jennie Allen have both talked about this, but if I am the same person coming out of this experience as I was going in, I’ve really wasted this time. I’m trying hard to focus on what I can learn and change and do to use this time well. That has looked like more praying and watching the kids play outside. It’s also looked like cleaning out the garage and seasoning my cast iron skillet. It’s involved intentionally trying to seek opportunities to kindness and baking more with the kids than I usually would (direct relation to bad item #3 above…). I do hope I can come out of this chapter better and that I do not waste my time wishing away my days.