I thought everybody knew this technique, so I never thought to mention it. About two years ago my grandmother told me to watch the neat trick my uncle had just taught her, and she showed me the iceberg coring method my own mother–her own daughter–had been using my whole life.
Apparently, not everyone knows this. But you will.
How to De-Core Iceberg Lettuce
Take the iceberg lettuce in your hand.
Locate the core.
Slam the core down on a hard surface, like a counter–not like your head.
It will loosen so you can slide it out.
Super duper simple!
Oh, palm the lettuce like this or with both hands on the sides:
Don’t hold it with one hand on the bottom by the core. Ouch.
This simple tip comes straight from Mom down on the ol’ homestead. Thanks Mom! Love you! OX
Special thanks to Elisabeth for coring this head of lettuce for all you. You have lovely hands, Elisabeth. Go practice your piano.
To see your favorite simple tips featured on The Simple Homemaker (including a link to the page of your choice), please submit it through my contact page or send an email (pictures are optional) to TheSimpleHomemaker at gmail dot com with SIMPLE TIP in the subject.
One poor mama asked me how to get her kids to eat their vegetables. She has a child that gags and cannot swallow his veggies. Poor guy.
Many people will judge. I might have after my first four girls, who ate their vegetables enthusiastically, but now I eat my veggies with a side of humble pie! Here’s why:
We went through the whole gag issue with one of our seven, our boy. He would gag with certain veggies in his mouth. If required to swallow, it would come back up. Mmm…that’s appetizing. I don’t think anyone watching the scene firsthand could say it was an obedience issue. He physically couldn’t get them down, and he was a very obedient child. We kept offering the veggies and now he inhales them all.
Here is what we did to make veggies a readily accepted part of my son’s diet.
11 Tried and True Tips for Getting Kids to Eat Veggies
1–Frozen peas and green beans are like ice cream bonbons. Okay, they’re totally not, but they’re fun to eat if your kids are beyond the choking stage.
2–Smoothies are God’s alternative to dinner table battles and McDonald’s drive-throughs. Throw in a tiny bit of veggie and gradually increase the amount.
3–I often opted for heavily veggie-based dishes instead of stand-alone veggies. Somehow, veggies are easier to eat when they’re in a different form–casseroles, veggie soup, tomato soup, stir-fry, pasta sauce, pies, even lasagna. Chop small or blend, you sneaky mama.
4–I still add veggies to as many dishes as possible, and then tell my son what he ate only after he ate them and liked them. That way he knows he has tried and enjoyed that veggie. Parsnip-mashed potatoes comes to mind. I also sneak onions into everything, and he love-hates onions. (Loves them until he finds out he just ate an onion, at which point everything is gross, although yesterday he realized he loves French onion soup.)
This pasty is sneaky–it has yummy veggies inside!
5–Pretty bowls of veggies set out as daily snacks are enjoyed by everyone, and he dives right in with the rest. Dip makes it more fun, but I only use that as a treat.
6–We cut out as much processed foods as possible (in our case, all the processed food) both to not give him an alternative snack and to help his health and tastes. This is particularly effective if the gag reflex is from a developing (or passing) allergy issue.
7–I kindly and respectfully asked my hubby, who sits by him at every meal and was admittedly not raised on veggies, to stop making remarks about how disgusting veggies are and to quit leaving them on his plate. Setting a good example is huge. Huge-huge!
8–We planted a garden together and ate the goods.
Gathering rhubarb from a friend’s garden.
9–Sometimes he would be my shopping buddy, and I would let him pick out whatever he wanted to try from the grocery store. We rotated kids, but it was new and exciting, so they tried it.
10–We required him to try one bite of the veggie dish, or one piece (like one pea or bean) for each year of his age. I apologize in advance, my dear future daughter-in-law, if you have to count out 42 beans for him. I really tried.
11–We held off on the foods that made him gag. Eventually, we reintroduced them and he was totally fine with them. It is possible that it’s a sensitivity issue.
Here’s a ray of hope for you mamas struggling to get veggies into your children (or hubby): When my gagger son (now 9) was six, he talked my veggie-phobic husband into trying Brussels sprouts, and they both liked them. There is hope! At six he was my least creative eater, but at 9 he loves his veggies and will eat almost anything, especially mushrooms.
That’s him in the background, happily munching on an “edible weed” from a friend’s back yard.
Now that I’m back from my sabbat and I’ve shared all I learned from my experience, I can open my big fat mouth again address a misunderstanding that was conveyed directly before I left regarding my time off.
Basically, the comment in question said, “It must be nice to have the money and luxury to take six months off and do nothing…not feeding the kids or taking care of the home. That doesn’t sound very responsible.” I didn’t know if I should cry or laugh my head off…so I sneezed…with my legs crossed…because I’ve had seven babies bouncing on this ol’ bladder. Keepin’ it real.
If others of you thought I shipped off the fruit of my loin and spent six months on the beach with meals being brought to me by cabana boys because I’m filthy rich and I didn’t have to lift a finger for half a year, know this:
1) We are traveling music missionaries who are subsidized by NOBODY. We lost all our investments, our savings, and our business in the 2008 crash. We don’t have money; we serve the Lord and He gives us our daily bread. We have no benefits, no employer-subsidized retirement plan, no employer-subsidized dental or health care, no paid vacation, no salary. We have us and our ability to keep going. Starving artist, starving writer, starving musician–there is a reason those expressions exist.
2) I took six months off THE BLOG, not off of life. I still homeschooled, cooked, planned menus, shopped for grocery bargains, worked for the mission, mothered, wifed, traveled the country, wrote a book, cleaned, didn’t get manicures, didn’t get haircuts, didn’t buy new clothes, and wrote articles for pay to help out the finances, which the blog doesn’t reliably do. (That “for pay” only goes with the articles, not all the other hats this mama wears.) I don’t have–nor do I want–the luxury of taking six months off of all those other activities!
3) Shhhhh. Relax. Simmer down as my Pappy used to say. The gist of my post and my sabbat is that, for a short time, I was giving up something that was not a necessity to leave room for more important things, to catch up on some items, and to rest and recharge. I never implied in any way that I or you should give up all responsibilities for six months and be lazy.
4) And the burning question I would really like to ask people who comment without TRULY reading the post is this: Don’t I hear your mother calling? Okay, so the real question is this: Is my writing THAT unclear that you would think, after all I say about family first, that I want you to disregard your family’s needs for six months and be a bum? If that is what I communicated, then I need to give up as a writer…like, yesterday. Seriously, am I that bad? I need to know the truth.
Another concern some readers had about my sabbat was that I was merely shifting my blog time to my book-writing time. This is a legitimate concern, but let me lay it to rest. Writing is my thing–I can be highly productive in a short amount of time. What consumes my time with the blog is the technical aspect–all the thingies and doo-jabs that go along with images, promotion, uploading, linking, plug-ins, advertisers, affiliates, fixing everything that breaks when I merely touch an electronic device, and blah blah blah blech! Technology is totally and entirely not my thing.
When writing my book, all I had to do was write and hit “save.” The whole process was smooth like butter. Mmmmm…butter. And it took considerably less time than blogging–considerably less. So, no, writing the book was a time-saver, not a time-replacer.
Are we all copacetic with my sabbat now? And is my writing really that bad?
I have been gone for six months and some days on my sabbat. During that time, I wrote a book, slept more, homeschooled better, got caught up on some junque, got pregnant, traveled through a dozen states, and made a little real money writing articles. It was an educational experience on some level, and I can’t have an experience without sharing it with all of you.
That said, here’s what I learned:
1. After I announced my sabbatical, many of you were encouraging–super encouraging. Go read my comments and Facebook page if you want to know who you are. You people are amazing!Encouraging words (not empty flattery, but truth and encouragement) do more than you can ever imagine. They fuel me. They fuel your spouse. They fuel your kids. They fuel that mama in the grocery store struggling to train children and stretch $2 and fill tummies and grow strong bones. They fuel that teen that is two seconds away from giving up. Keep encouraging.
2. I have trolls. I have trolls on Facebook, and sometimes on my blog, and I have trolls in real life. Trolls affect me almost more than the encouragers do. The comments of one troll can wipe out the encouragement of ten positive people. I want to say that trolls aren’t worth my time, but Jesus died for trolls, too. Sometimes we’re all trolls. Sometimes trolls say something worthwhile. Sometimes trolls aren’t actually trolls, but people with really good advice and really poor delivery. So, trolls, I read what you say, say a prayer for you, and 98% of the time mentally stuff you back under the bridge from which you emerged. The rest of the time I heed your advice, yet blame your mothers for not teaching you better manners…even though sometimes it really isn’t Mama’s fault.
3. Sleep is amazing.
4. Everyone needs a task. As soon as I announced my sabbatical I dove straight into writing my book. Because I’ve been thinking about it and taking notes and doodling on it for a few years, the book poured out of me like…well, like a fast pouring thing. Then I was left with…what? I had to do something in those early morning hours, so I slept. That worked well, since I was pregnant and exhausted, but eventually the exhaustion subsided and I popped awake early while everyone else was sleeping and I needed something to do. Writing is my something that I could do in the early hours without waking up the other 8 people in our 240–square-foot home. We weren’t designed to do nothing.
5. Nobody’s task should trump their relationships. That’s self-explanatory, but when my writing goes beyond the magical hey-it’s-time-to-get-up-and-be-a-family hour, then I need to not only shut down my computer (which isn’t so hard, because it overheats and shuts itself down pretty consistently), but I need to shut down my writer’s mind and truly listen to my family. That’s the hardest part–the brain switch.
6. The sabbatical was nice, but it’s great to be back. When we lived in a normal house like you normal people (assuming some of my readers fall along the normal curve), my kids asked for a summer vacation one year. I gave them two weeks. The first week was great. The second week was mostly spent waiting to get back to school. The first few months of my sabbat were wonderful (apart from the throwing up). During the last few weeks, I was a little anxious to get back to “work.” Of course, in a few weeks when that baby comes, I’ll forget all about you guys again. Wink wink.
7. You’re good folk. You’ve all found a place in my heart. For some of you trolls, it’s a dark place, but it’s a place nonetheless.
8. Breaks are vital. Even Jesus got in a boat or found a quiet place to take a break from his “job.” It’s not selfish; it’s like eating. Of course, it’s selfish if you eat all the pie and don’t share–moderation in breaks is important, too.
I’m sure I’ve learned other important lessons during my sabbat, but I took the test and promptly forgot them. Thanks for sticking around while I was kicking my feet up and living in luxury focusing on family and other projects.
It used to be, and occasionally still is, that people would take sabbaticals. In the Old Testament, the ground was rested every seven years. Today, professors and other professionals occasionally take every seventh year off to pursue a writing or research project. It’s a worthy practice. It comes from the Latin word sabbaticus which literally means ceasing.
I have been running The Simple Homemaker for almost four years. I’m not quite up for a sabbatical, since it’s been slightly more than half of seven years. But I need one. So I’m taking a sabbat. That’s half a sabbatical—six months.
Why?
Here’s your first clue. This one and her six siblings are growing up too fast!
Someone told me that my blog was a waste of time and that it isn’t doing anybody any good. Those were harsh words. While I tell my children to not let harsh words and criticism get them down, I also encourage them to find the truth and concern beneath the gruff delivery. Such truth and concern can help them grow.
In the case of The Simple Homemaker, I had lamented to my tactless confidante that I have been wearing a failure badge lately. Despite spending almost every hour of every day with my children for the past nearly 18 years, I feel like it flew by without me. Despite putting on my “writer” hat and pecking away at a computer for 20 years, I have nothing to show for it (except, of course, my ebook From Frazzled to Festive: Finding Joy and Meaning in a Simple Christmas, which you should buy if your Christmas season is like final exam week).
Despite my preaching of family first, sometimes I am tempted to inwardly groan when a needy child is up during my earliest of early morning working hours. When that happens, I should be putting my computer away and hugging someone small or large or anywhere in between, instead of writing about bread or children’s books or hugging your children.
Seven of the reasons I’m taking a sabbat.
In essence, despite how much I enjoy writing for The Simple Homemaker, I was spending time on my blog that could have been spent doing what I really want and need to do–focusing even more on my family, our music mission, my writing, and our traveling homeschool (our roadschool full of “Road Scholars”…not exactly Rhodes Scholars, but close enough, eh?).
I write a post lickety split in the wee hours when everyone is asleep, but, because I’m not a techie and don’t have the funds for a virtual assistant, those posts often languish in my drafts file due to the inordinate amount of time required to prep a post for publication. That writing time was therefore wasted. Boo. I don’t like wasting time unless there are cookies and children involved…which technically makes it non-wasted time.
Focusing on the music mission and the hearts of the people behind it–that’s a worthy focus.
So…that brings us to my sabbat.
I’m leaving The Simple Homemaker for a period of six months, at which time I will reappear. I have several review posts and a few giveaways that I have committed to which will be posted after those six months are up—I don’t believe in not following through on commitments, and, here again, I keep dropping the ball on The Simple Homemaker. I also have a couple of great series and those languishing posts I mentioned, all waiting patiently in the back room (mostly on a dead computer we have yet to revive).
Where The Simple Homemaker goes from there remains to be seen.
Upon my reemergence, and barring any unforeseen major events, I will have a physical book completed, one that has been struggling to emerge for seven years now. You can hold me to that. In fact, please do.
These two need more of my time and attention, because sometime when I’m present, my mind is working on blog posts instead of on them.
What does this have to do with you?
I would like you to take a sabbat, too. There is something that you are doing (maybe even something that you like, like I like The Simple homemaker), that is distracting you from…well…life.
Is crafting or shopping calling you away from hubby time? Do your kids have to wait for you to read 35 blogs before you’ll read Peter Rabbit? Are you dragging (or following) your kids to MOPS, swim, gymnastics, preschool, preschool readiness, and preschool readiness readiness? (You all know how I feel about the whole preschool readiness readiness thing!) Are you so obsessed over cooking real food or vegan food or low carb food that you and your family aren’t enjoying the gift of food anymore?
Are you so committed to creating a thigh gap that you are also creating relationship gaps? Are you wrapped up in your hair, makeup and wardrobe, in your couponing and frugality, in your own blog or work, that you are bumping out of place the things in life that matter? Is it so important to you that your family looks like you have it all together, that you aren’t focusing on heart issues?
Moments like this spontaneous piano lesson between siblings–these are so, so beautiful, that I don’t want to miss a single one. Not one.
I’ve been there, and I’ve given it all up—leading children’s choirs, heading or attending moms’ clubs, running women’s Bible studies at church, choir, sewing, crafts, insane cooking ideals and much, much, much more…now including The Simple Homemaker.
Is it hard to give up something you love? Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not. Still, eliminating these time chompers doesn’t make my life empty. It makes it fuller, because it gives me the time and energy and focus to be the woman God intended me to be, and to fully embrace and love my family.
When I die, I don’t want to hear (figuratively of course, since I’ll be dead and hard of hearing) “You know, that woman had over 10,000 Pinterest followers!” Who rinkin’ stinkin’ cares?! I want to hear, “That woman really loved her kids. You could tell.” I want to hear “She put God first…not always well, but she sure as shootin’ tried.” I wanna hear, “Well, we certainly won’t miss hearing every 30 seconds about what a hottie her husband is!” Have I mentioned my husband’s a hottie?
When people look at you, what do they see? Great hair? Stylishly dressed kids? Groovy manicure? Polished eyebrows? Amazing cupcakes? Incredible scrapbook pages? Big bank account? Awesome Pinterest page? Many letters after your name? Full calendar? That stuff is fine, but what should they really see?
What people see—those are your priorities.
My priorities right now are erasing the failure brand from my forehead by reorganizing my time. When my computer died for several weeks, I spent more time on my family and our homeschool. I loved on my pillow a bit more and on my hubby a lot more. It was…nice.
My family. I love the whole crazy, Jesus-lovin’ crew! I spend every day with them…but I want to give them even more.
And now I need to finish that book.
I am making a clean break. I will not be showing up on Facebook (unless there is a prayer request). I will not be showing up here on the blog. I will be completely invisible until May…unless you email me to tell me to get moving on that book…or you send me cookies. I know this is blog and social media suicide…but I’m okay with hearing at my funeral “She committed blog and social media suicide so she could focus on her kiddos and write that book she promised her family and smooch on her man a little more and write her Grandma letters.” I’m not just okay with that…I’m awesome with that!
If you absolutely can’t live without our antics for the next six months, we are still keeping a family travel blog over at The Travel Bags, and we as a family are on Facebook and Instagram as The Travel Bags, and, yes, there’s always Pinterest, which is also something my kids and I do together.
See you in May, friends. Enjoy your sabbat. I know I will.
My grandpa died this past spring. Before that my godparents both died. It’s been a tough year. It’s been hard on a lot of people, but right now, for this moment, I’m going to focus on me.
I knew my Grandpa was going to die. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could handle it with grace.
I was wrong.
I don’t cry. The staunch German side of me dominates my exterior personality, but inside my passionate French side cuts deeply and bleeds hard, and the bruises linger. Still, I don’t cry.
But when Grandpa died, I cried.
I cried in front of my children. I cried in front of cousins and siblings and uncles. I cried in front of strangers. I stood in front of church and in the funeral home and in the cemetery and in the shower and I sobbed. Sometimes, months later, after social sympathy has diminished and people expect you to be “over it” and to “move on,” I have to stop singing a hymn in church, because I know that inhuman guttural sobs will rise from some deep hidden pit of human sorrow I didn’t know existed and force their way out if I don’t clamp my jaw shut with all my mortal strength. (That’s a little melodramatic, I know.)
When I see a full church parking lot and a funeral procession lined up, the empathy aroused by the communal grief of all those people nearly suffocates me. I still lie in bed in the dark when everyone else is asleep and let the pain and hurt of losing one of my very favorite people win out, and I cry. Nobody hears me then. Nobody knows…except now all of cyberspace–that irony is not lost on me.
My grandpa was always there. I know people say that all the time, but right now, remember, we’re focusing on me. My grandpa is the only man who has stood beside me my entire life, who has supported, scolded, trained, and loved me, regardless of circumstances. He was there when others gave up.
He was there to give me my first pony, to teach me to work hard, to let me be his shadow and have a hero. He was there when I showed my horse, when I added another candle to my cake, when I walked over fields and across stages and down aisles. In fact, he walked me down the aisle and handed me over to Steve and told him to take care of me…because that’s what Grandpa always did–take care of everyone. He was still there after years of marriage and children, when I wanted nothing more than to sit quietly on the couch and read the paper and not talk…he was there.
He taught me that love was an action, not just a word, a commitment, not just a feeling. He wasn’t big on emotion. When I told him I loved him, he said, “Yup,” and sometimes, “Same here, Kid.” A couple times in more recent years he opened up about how he felt about me, just a sentence or two–words that will never leave me.
But he left me.
Grandpa is gone.
When parents tell their children that someone who died isn’t really gone, because the love and the memories are still there, and that person will always be a part of them, that’s a bunch of empty malarkey. It’s hooey. It’s fluffy fluff. What comfort is there in memories? What hope is there for the future thinking all that’s left of Grandpa is a warm and fuzzy in my heart and a memory of his chocolate malts? What do fluffy bunny thoughts and meaningless trite phrases about love never dying give a child?
Zilch!
When I miss Grandpa, I’m sad, I’m hurting deeply, but I’m not despairing. I have hope. When my widowed grandmother no longer has a hand to hold and my children no longer have Big Bubba to sneak them candies, they are not despairing. They are sad, but they have hope–real hope.
My grandpa trusted Christ Jesus as his Savior. He knew he blew it over and over and over. He didn’t often say “sorry” in words, but he said it in other ways, in Grandpa’s ways. He knew he needed a bridge to close the gap between himself and God, between death and life. And he had that in Christ Jesus.
People tell me I’m doing my children a disservice by raising them as Christians instead of “letting them find their own truth.” I wonder what kind of parent I would be if I gave them fleeting fluffer-fluffs to chase instead of an ultimate truth to grasp. Warm and fuzzies didn’t pluck Grandpa from hell and place him in the arms of God in heaven. Fluffer-fluffs can’t do that. Only Christ can.
I found this on the pagan homeschoolers site: “What I hate about Christians is that they think they’re right and that everyone else is wrong. They can’t accept that we can all be right.”
Well said, Random Pagan; that’s exactly true. If I believe Scripture, and I believe God when He says there is One God, that God is I AM, and I AM is the Only Way to heaven, how can I say that your beliefs and your truth are also right? I can’t! That would make me a very bad Christian indeed. If as a pagan you tell me that my beliefs are true and your beliefs are true, then you’ve just acknowledged that Christ and salvation exist but that you choose not to believe them. That’s like acknowledging the Grand Canyon exists for me, but choosing not to believe it exists in your life, and expecting to be able to drive right over it without plunging to your doom. A good pagan should believe that Christians are wrong, not that we are all right, and that would make you just as hateful as those blasted Christians.
There is ultimate truth. Black is black. White is white. Sin is sin. Christ is the Way.
What does this have to do with Grandpa? He trusted that Truth. He closed his eyes in this world only to be born into the next. When we covered Grandpa with the dirt he worked his whole life, the dirt he taught us to love, that was not the end. That was only the beginning.
What does that have to do with me? The man I loved first and longest is there in heaven where time doesn’t exist as we know it, and I will see him again…him, my godparents, my father-in-law, and most especially Jesus.
When I cry in the middle of the night and shed tears in the shower, it’s because this world hurts. It’s not because I’m hopeless–let me rephrase that. It’s not because I’m without hope. In fact, there is joy mixed with my tears–joy for Grandpa, joy for our future, and yes, joy for the memories and love. There’s not a single fluffer-fluff. You can’t cling to fluffy feel-goods–they’re elusive. Christ is real.
I miss you Grandpa. And it hurts. It hurts a lot, Grandpa.
This is a message from Past Me to Future Me written on 10/17/12 and scheduled for nearly one year from now…today in your time.
Dear Future Me:
At the time of this writing, you were holding a sleepy baby whose big hazel eyes looked up at you as she nursed. Now you are facing her second birthday in a few short months. Did you use the time well? Did you look into her eyes and her world more than into this screen? Does she know that she’s loved, safe, wanted?
As a mother you were facing new territory: a teen learning to drive, a young lady wanting to start college early from home, a bit of the “Mother, you’re being annoying” that cuts at the heartstrings. And you treaded in some all-too-familiar territory: little girls transitioning into young ladies. Do they know they are valued, treasured, cherished above all else? Do they know God has plans for them and will not let them down? Do they know you think they are awesome?
Your boy. He was struggling with moving from little kid to big boy. He was mastering “pest.” Does he know he’s loved unconditionally? Does he know he’s appreciated and wanted? Does he know he’s a really neat kid? Does he know you really like him…a whole lot?
Your husband. He was finishing up his first year as a full-time music missionary. It was a frightening year. Now you’re in the midst of your second year. Does he know you support him 199%? Does he know you treasure him? Do you respect him? Do you laugh enough together?
And you. You were going to write that book. Did you instead write Facebook posts? You were going to have a great year with your kids homeschooling, traveling, helping them adjust to life on the road full time. Did you do that, or did you lose yourself in selfish pursuits of nothingness? How much time have you wasted borrowing trouble and worrying? How many moments have been lost to regrets and what-ifs? What has controlled you more: fear or faith? Have you worn a smile on your face and faith on your shirt-sleeve, love in your eyes and grace in your words?
Knowing you (me) the way I do, probably not enough.
Every new day is another chance, but every day gone by is a lost opportunity. Savor the moment. Seize the day. Squeeze the chubby cheeks. Laugh with the big girls. Ask to see that little boy’s muscles and ooh and aah over them. Hug them all. Kiss your hubby in front of the kids.
Tell them you love the…show them you love them.
Forgive yourself. Forgive others. And forget it.
And remember that tough spot your family was in last year, leaving your home for good, moving into a travel trailer, battling illness and fear, and building a full-time traveling Christian music mission? God’s grace carried you through, didn’t it? Remember that.
Now get off the computer and make your hubby’s coffee…and how about something a little pumpkin-y for breakfast. They would love that.
