Pie in a Jar!

I love to eat food from a jar.  It's just more fun.  Pies, cakes, soups, it all tastes better coming from that beautiful glass Mason jar.

After coming across some pies in little jars on the Internet, I decided to try my own in these fancy shmancy jars I had.  We had a ton of blueberries off our bushes this year, so I've been making pies and muffins left and right--and have the blueberry stained hands to prove it!

And, you know what, pie tastes better in a jar.  Yep.  You're welcome.

Here's what I did:

 

Blueberry Pie (in a jar)

Crust
Today I used the Pioneer Woman's Perfect Pie Crust:  Pie Crust

It makes a ton of pie dough, so you'll have some left over to freeze.  If you do that sort of thing.

Usually, though, I use my grandmother's recipe.  It's a secret.  Sorry. 

Filling
1/2 cup butter (or margarine, if you count calories.  Although, if you're eating blueberry pie, why bother counting calories?)
1/2 cup flour
1 cup sugar

And, of course, you'll need blueberries, fresh or frozen.

Directions to Deliciousness:

1.  Mix up the crust, and press it into the jars. One of the great things about pies in jars is that you only have to roll a very small fraction of the dough.  Hello, freedom! 

2.  Fill the jars about halfway full of berries.

 3.  Next, add the ooey, gooey sugar-butter mixture.  And lick your fingers when you're done.

 

 

4.  Then roll out  a little of the crust.  I roll the dough between wax paper sheets because that's how my grandmother did it.  Use the ring of the jar to make the top of your pie dough.

 

 

Make sure you vent the crust.  I used a toothpick to poke holes in the top crust.

 

5.  Cover a cookie sheet with foil and put your jars on it.  Pop it in the oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour.

 

Enjoy! 

 

We wrapped ribbon around ours and delivered them to some friends--the lovely lady from my mom's Sunday School class who gives me my Humira shots and the man from Shawn's work who very generously gave us a HUGE jungle gym from the house he and his wife just bought.  All we had to do was move it.  How awesome is that?!  Definitely pie-worthy!

 

We also threw in some of these babies that we made for a dinner engagement this weekend. 

 

Mocha Brownies!

 

As you can tell, I love the Pioneer Woman.  I want to meet her and have dinner with her and watch her kids run around their ranch.  I think we would be the best of friends.  If we ever actually met.

 

Piece (of pie) out!

 

 





That Time I Lost My Mind A Little

I have always been a daddy's girl.  It's just part of who I am.  I have the sad, cute puppy dog face down to an art form.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work on my husband.  Or my mother.  Or anyone else, come to think of it...

But, man, it worked on my daddy.  As the youngest of five and a girl, let's just say he was very protective.  Like cleaning his shotgun when dates came to pick me up protective.

Figuratively, my dad had a huge, loving heart.  But literally?  My dad had a bad heart. 

His first open-heart surgery was when I was two.  Then again when I was nine.  Then he had a "small," scheduled heart attack in the hospital when I was thirteen. 

And then, when I was twenty-six, he had his last heart surgery. 

I remember praying before the surgery that it would be a success.  There aren't many times in my life where God speaks directly into my hard head, but He did that day.  He said that His measure of success was different than mine.

And He was right.  My dad's surgery was successful in that he will never hurt again.

But we sure do hurt.  It's been almost five years ago, and the hurt is still there, ever present.

Shawn and I had been married for nine whole months when my daddy died.  And he was there to watch me as I crumbled.  My whole world just crashed.  Time kept moving, but I didn't.

I don't really know fully how to describe what I went through, though it does have a simple term:  depression.  But the word "depression" just doesn't do it justice.

I remember just sitting in the floor of our living room in a too-big pair of my mom's pajamas and feeling like all my insides were on the outside and the very air itself hurt.

Incidentally, I was in my mom's pajamas because I left work early and went to her house.  My mom, who was, by the way, having to hold me together when her own husband had just died, tried everything she could to make me feel better.

But I just couldn't "snap out of it" like I wanted to. 

I left work because during a class (that I was attempting to teach) I had what I would later find out was a panic attack.

I couldn't breathe right, my whole body felt wrong, and I just knew that I was going to collapse and die right there in front of the dry erase board.  My students were going to have to call 911 and tell the dispatcher that their teacher was having a fatal episode.

The walls seemed to stretch way out and then fold in, making me feel very small and alone one minute and smothered and squished the next.

I honestly don't know how I kept lecturing about past participles; I really don't. 

At my mom's, I couldn't eat.  Putting food to my mouth made me gag.  I knew something was terribly wrong with me, but I didn't know what.  Because I thought, like most people do, that depression just means you're sad.  Oh if it were only that!

My depression came in the form of climbing-the-walls anxiety.  I reasoned that since I wasn't thinking about my dad, then all these physical symptoms must be something else.  So I called my doctor, my Crohn's doctor who has known me and treated me since I was seventeen.

When he and my nurse came in the room, I mumbled and fumbled my words and broke into huge, racking sobs.  I talked about my symptoms, and he asked if something significant had happened.  I told him about my dad, and he nodded sagely in that patient way that he has.  He ended up prescribing me an anti-depressant.

It was a HUGE blow to me that he thought I needed medicine and that maybe I was a little off my rocker, but then I thought about how Shawn had watched me holding my knees on the floor in my mother's pajamas and asked me if I was okay in a way that made me think he was a little frightened of me.  Like maybe I was some animal he was trying to calm down.

So I took the pills.

And after a couple of weeks, I could breathe without having to think about it.  I didn't feel so weighed down or like the very air hurt me.  After six weeks, I felt better than I ever had.  I started to realize, much to the thanks of my wonderful husband, that I had always dealt with anxiety and depression before.  The pills didn't change who I was; they just made me be able to be myself. 

Shawn told me several months later that when I was going through that whole losing my mind thing, it was like being married to a stranger.  He was worried that I might not ever be the same again.  But through the grace of God, the wonder of modern medicine, and a great book by C. S. Lewis called A Grief Observed, I came out. 

I realized that I could grieve for my dad for the rest of my life.  It's not something I have to ever "get over." 

Before, I couldn't deal with the sadness and loss life had tossed my way.  Now, I'm able to handle things.  I still cry.  I still grieve.  I still get angry, and sad, and confused.  I'm not a zombie.  But God has given me this wonderful tool to help me, and I'm so thankful.

So if anyone out there is struggling, just know that you're not alone.

I still take those pills to this day.  And I still thank God for them. 

I take countless pills for my Crohn's disease, a disease in which my body decides, for some unknown reason, to attack itself.  Mutiny.  That's what it is.  Depression is a disease, too.   And one that's NOT more embarrassing than Crohn's, let me tell you!

(And it's not actually "countless" pills that I take.  It's two.  And a shot.  And I complain about them enough to annoy Mother Theresa.)

This is me and my dad when I was, like twleve.  No, seriously, I think I'm about 19 or 20 in this picture.  I'm just really short.  Twelve-year-old girl short.

  This captures my dad so well.  It's in the backyard at my parents' 30th wedding anniversary.

A Blessing or a Curse?

I have a chronic disease...Yay!

This is not something you hear.  Ever.

When I was seventeen, I spent a lot of time in and out of doctor's offices and finally the hospital until they figured out what had been plaguing me for years:  Crohn's disease. 

Basically, it means that my body attacks itself in the form of horrible stomach issues.  Ulcers, pain, frequent trips to the bathroom, dehydration.  It's kind of like having a stomach virus all the time when I have a flare up.

I had a complete meltdown at seventeen, realizing that I would have this For The Rest of My Life.  Having a chronic malady, whatever it is, and being in a lot of pain, well, it changes you.  And not always for the better. 

There were full years of my whining and complaining, being terrified to eat anything, moping in my pajamas all day long.  That's right.  Years.

I had the whole Why-Did-God-Let-This-Happen-to-Me? thing going on.  Selfishness at its best.

I prayed.  Hard.  I prayed that God would heal me and take it away from me.  I still pray that.

But he didn't.  And he hasn't.  And maybe He never will.

Because you know what?  God's more interested in my salvation and my character than in my physical comfort.  He's willing to let me suffer with this disease because it is a tool that leads me back to Him time and time again.

I'm one of those Christians. You know, the ones who tend to think I'm doing things right and don't need God.  I don't intentionally think this way; it just happens.  Life goes along smoothly, and I forget to praise Him and be humbled to Him.  Life always gets in the way when things seem good.

And then, BOOM!  I'm hit with a day where I can barely take care of myself, let alone my two small children (who, by the way, ALWAYS want to be in the bathroom with me).  And I turn back to that constant praying, constant seeking, constant humbling.  Where He wants me.

And when I'm flaring, I have so much more sympathy for others who are in pain. Because I KNOW how constant pain feels.  I GET it the way people who don't have chronic diseases just can't.  They can be nice and encouraging and helpful, but they never really truly understand.  I try really hard to be happy for them.

But there are always those disease-less people who look at me and say, You are so tiny, so thin!  Aren't you so lucky!"

Sometimes I dare to tell them that it isn't luck, exactly, but a horrific ordeal with my stomach.  Sometimes people are sympathetic.  But sometimes they say the thing that I wish they wouldn't say, "Boy, would I love to have THAT disease!"

No, I always think, you really wouldn't.

  It's just the OTHER side to the weight issue.  Some people seek comfort in food, and their bodies show it.  My body doesn't deal well with food and I am often scared of it...and my body shows it.  It's just as frustrating to go into your closet and have pants that are too baggy, too big as it is to go into your closet and have clothes that are too small.  I promise.  It's frustrating trying to keep your weight at a good level, whichever way your fighting, gaining pounds or losing them.

It stinks going to my doctor's office and getting on the scales and the nurse grimacing because I've lost ANOTHER five pounds and am well underweight.  Just like it is to have those scales tip the other way.

But...

But...

But..

Here's the thing.  Crohn's disease makes me a better person.  This struggle, this heartache, this pain, it makes me softer, more aware of other's pain.  It makes me a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on.  I hope it makes me a better friend, wife, daughter, mother, acquaintance, teacher...human.

So, yes, most days it feels like a curse.  But I always have the choice to think of it the other way, the better way:  It's a blessing that God gave this to me.  It makes me understand Him more, makes me draw near to Him more. 

I know that my cure won't come until I die.  But when you think about it, it's the same for everyone.  Whether they have a chronic disease, a terminal disease, an addiction, overwhelming anxiety, too much stress, a bad temperament, nothing is cured until we are done with this life, with this body.  God allows us these things, these tiny sufferings that seem so huge, to remind us of a Greater Good.  To point us to an Eternal Healing. 

And so we can choose to be thankful or regretful.  Today, as I sit on the couch, my stomach at arms with my body, my energy already zapped, I choose, once again, to be thankful.

Leftovers

Recently, Shawn and I deeply hurt a family memeber.  It was completely unintentional, but also very, very careless on our part.  We forgot, I suppose, that actions--even the lack of actions---speak louder than words. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said:  "Your actions are speaking so loudly that I cannot hear your words."  I think it was Emerson...either him or Thoreau...anyway...it's really true.

Our words, even our heartfelt apologies, fell short because our lack of action spoke so loudly.  And I made up all these excuses to myself about how we had been so busy doing this and that and running here and there...but what it all boils down to is this:  She got our leftovers.

And that wasn't fair.

I started thinking how often I give people my leftover energy, my leftover time, my leftover patience.

And then I took it up a level; how often do I give God what's leftover of my time and energy?  How often do I say a quick prayer at night and fall asleep halfway through?  How often do I just "get by" and think "I'll have time for God later"?

Yeah.  A lot.

But the amazing thing is this:  God does miraculous things with just my "leftovers."

So today, as I was looking at our fridge full of leftover food I thought, "Okay, I'm going to do something with this.  I'm going to make the effort, starting with our food and ending with my words, thoughts, and actions, to do something MORE with the stuff left over."

We had leftover boiled chicken from the chicken pot pie I made last night.

So I shredded the chicken and threw it in a pan with some teriyaki sauce.  I added leftover fresh green beans, a couple of green onions that were hanging out in the fridge, and some dried minced onion.  Because I love dried minced onion.  And onion powder.  They're my favorite flavorings right now.

Anyway, I threw some rice and chopped carrots in a pot.

 

 

And, after letting it all simmer and cook thoroughly, I mixed it together. 

 

Wah lah!  Chicken teriyaki bowls, using leftover chicken and leftover vegetables!  Things I would ahve otherwise thrown away.

 

 

 This was Shawn's lunch.  Everyone at work was sincerely jealous.  Because it smells as good as it tastes.  Thing Two, of course, ate all of his, but Thing One, in a moment of rareity, chowed down on this chicken!  I call that a great big fat success.

 





We also had leftover cupcakes from a new recipe.  They were really dense.  It was like eating flavored cornbread with icing.  I didn't want to throw them away, so I chopped them up like this.



















I mixed together 2 cups of milk and four eggs and poured it over the cupcake cubes.  This would be a great way to use up stale cake or cupcakes.

 

I baked it at 350 for...30 minutes or so...Honestly, I'm not sure.  I got distracted changing diapers and passing out snacks and cleaning up spilled juice and soggy Goldfish crackers.

But when it turned golden brown on top, I stuck a toothpick in; it came out clean, and I took it from the oven, all while dogding a 2 1/2 year old and stepping over  a 9 month old. 

I took the leftover icing and thinned it out with a bit of water, making a nice glaze.

And there you have it...bread pudding from cupcakes I was going to throw away.

I sent a little portion of this for Shawn's dessert.  He said it almost caused a brawl at work.  I'm not exactly worried.  He can always bargain his way out with his homemade lunches.  :)

Here's to making great things from our leftovers!

We Ate WHAT for Dessert?!

Shhhhhh.....don't tell!

Don't tell my family they had beans for dessert....and LIKED it.

How did I manage to give my family a vegetable for dessert without them having any idea?

I disguised the beans!  They were like Clark Kent, glasses on, and then, BAM! They put on their cape and all their nutritious glory and made my family  a little bit healthier.

And they had no clue...heh heh heh

This is what I made:
http://chocolatecoveredkatie.com/2011/05/23/want-to-eat-an-entire-bowl-of-cookie-dough/


Cookie dough dip.

Who can resist cookie dough?  No one in my family, that's who.

I served this bean dip with graham crackers for dessert, and we were literally scraping our bowls with our fingers.  My husband even tossed the crackers aside and chowed down with just his spoon.

And I felt very, very satisfied...

And totally sneaky.

There were a couple of times I had to bite my to tongue with the side of my mouth to keep from laughing at the absurdity of my family lapping up bean dip for dessert!

But I had vowed for my New Year's Resolution that we would start eating healthier, especially where desserts are concerned.  Thing One has a SERIOUS sweet tooth, proving, of course, that he is my child.  Because this has peanut butter and chocolate in it, Thing Two didn't get to try any.  But I have a feeling he will, two months in the future, love this.  Because he loves everything that comes near his mouth.

Even paper.

What do you do?

Hide beans in desserts, that's what you do.