When we started eating a plant-based diet at home last summer, something miraculous happened.

I actually started to like vegetables.

I think veggies get such a bad rap in our country. It doesn’t help that we’ve got mass-market grocery stores who fly in tasteless produce from Mexico instead of getting it from local farmers. (We live in the best state for growing produce but where is it all going?!) Even Sprouts, the “farmer’s market” grocery that I shop at doesn’t have local produce (except some of the organics), and as a result the flavors are bland.

We didn’t notice a difference in taste until we started shopping at the local farmer’s market on Saturday mornings. Their produce is so fresh and colorful, and there’s often a huge variety to choose from. Most everything was picked the day before or that very morning. If I’m careful (translation: not tempted by the hummus heaven guy), we can get in and out with about a week’s worth of organic veggies for about $20. I supplement with a quick trip to Costco and/or Sprouts, and we’ve got a week’s worth of groceries for well under $50. (But sadly, it’s not a perfect world. I don’t always make it to the Saturday farmer’s market and we have to make do with the produce from the store.)

Anyway, the point is that since we cut out meat and dairy, we eat SO MANY VEGETABLES. I’m still not tempted by veggies as a snack, but for one 4-person dinner recipe it’s astounding how many vegetables I can effortlessly squeeze in. Between the three of us (and remember one is a toddler) we easily finish 2 large heads of broccoli just as a side dish to the main course. And on Sunday our little family single-handedly ate an entire bunch of asparagus.

I still rely heavily on grains and beans (aka too much pasta!) but I don’t have to “sneak” the veggies into my meals anymore. Jack just eats them and it’s awesome.

If you’re looking for more veggie-based meals, here are a few of my favorites that are online (all made in 30-minutes or less!) I’ll keep posting new ones on the blog that aren’t found elsewhere, but this should get you started:

• Taco Night (quick & easy black beans + quick lime cilantro rice with pineapple + grilled veggies – bell pepper, asparagus, onions)
• penne with sweet red pepper sauce + roasted broccoli*
• pappardelle with spring vegetables
• chipotle bean, rice & veggie bowls
• fettuccine with spinach & grilled eggplant (The recipe calls for ricotta but I leave it out)
• leek & potato soup
• soupe aux legumes de maman (my favorite soup!)
• quick & easy noodle stir-fry
• zucchini ribbon salad with sweet corn & avocado
• wild rice salad with miso dressing
• vegan israeli pizza (add red bell pepper and one more onion to this recipe)

*We usually eat broccoli 2-3x a week. I’ve found the quickest way to roast broccoli is to chop it up, toss it on a rimmed sheet pan, drizzle it with a tiny bit of olive oil, s&p, and broil it for 3-5 minutes. You don’t even need to toss to coat it before you throw it in the oven. You’ve gotta watch it closely (and the time depends on how close your oven rack is to the broiler) but it’s the quickest & easiest side dish, and you’re not overcooking it so many of the nutrients stay with the vegetable. We also broil asparagus and cauliflower.

When I leave this frail existence,
When I lay this mortal by,
Father, Mother, may I meet you
In your royal courts on high?
Then, at length, when I’ve completed
All you sent me forth to do,
With your mutual approbation
Let me come and dwell with you.

We sang “O My Father” at church again on Sunday. I couldn’t even sing it (refused to, actually), and Tyler barely croaked it out the words next to me through wet eyes. That song gets to me every dang time.

Tyler is a super-Dad. He is patient and kind and can make my honeyman Jack giggle more than anyone I know.

But on occasion, he is also unafraid to get emotional. I love him for that. Thank you for putting your heart out there, Tyler, so I don’t feel as dumb. Thank you for being unafraid to feel pain with me, even if we do so in different ways.

I tell you all the time, but Tyler I think you’re the best. You wear the pride and joy of this fatherhood thing well.

I’ve been pondering an awful lot tonight about babies & their tiny spirits & why life has to be so darn tragic sometimes.

I can’t quite seem to figure out if I’m living the story I’m supposed to be living. I’m so scared, because with more tiny spirits comes more tragedies. And frankly, God, I’d rather live a comedy instead of a tragedy.

I’ve been studying fairy tales and stories lately, and I’ve concluded that it’s only after a tough, rigorous voyage that the protagonist becomes a hero. He is challenged beyond what he thinks he is capable of, but because of it grows exponentially.

In most narratives, the protagonist sets out on his initial heroic quest to go home. He gets incredibly lost. He strays off the path because of unfortunate events.

But because of these unfortunate events he develops a capacity to love. He becomes smarter and wiser. He comes to understand that home isn’t exactly a place, but more of a feeling.

I think the whole point, really, is to be transformed through that journey and come out the other end with more knowledge and greater understanding than you had before. It’s your prize for fighting.

So what’s my prize, then? I certainly feel like I’ve conquered some heroic quest that’s been pushed upon me, and I’ve come out older and wiser. But maybe I’m not done yet, because I certainly don’t feel that sense of home that is supposed to encompass me. I still feel like I’m a stranger here.

via

Amelia Lynn, I don’t know why you died. I don’t know why you and God teamed up and insisted that we were the family you were supposed to come to. I don’t know why I still feel so much anger and sadness and sorrow. I don’t know why my heart feels like it will never fully heal.

But I’m grateful you were part of my story anyway. Maybe you’re the prize at the end that I get to look forward to, that I fight everyday for. And how sweet that joy will be when we are finally together again, finally home.

• If asked, he’ll tell you his best friend is Anson. (But I secretly know his stuffed lion, Leonard is a close runner-up.)
• He’ll wear sunglasses, but not hats.
• He still winds down for sleep by chewing on a blanket. Luckily he’s not too particular about which blanket he snuggles with, so I’m able to rotate and wash them when he’s not looking. ;)
• He’s slowly learning new words and becoming more legible. He loves to play with Molly at speech class and loves to say “hi!” to everyone we pass in the grocery store.
• This little boy loves to cuddle, and will gladly take any opportunity to climb into an empty lap.
• His favorite show is Super Why, but Timmy Time makes him giggle the most.
• Jack Jack started smiling at five weeks old and hasn’t stopped since. He has “the best laugh” - I get told this at least three times a week by strangers and friends, so it must be true, right?
• He is very obedient and has a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong.
• He gets anxious around big crowds, and is skeptical of new places. It’s quite obvious he inherited this from me.
• He’s an excellent eater. He especially loves noodles, oatmeal, roasted broccoli, cucumbers, hummus, peanut butter & honey sandwiches, cookies, apples, smoothies, edamame, blueberries and nuts. I cook new recipes all the time and no matter how foreign, I can’t even recall the last time he refused to try something I put in front of him.
• He loves to be outside playing in his water table, but doesn’t like the water at the beach.
• He is a great sleeper, and still enjoys his 2-3 hour naps everyday.
• He’s recently started climbing into my lap and saying, “dee-dee?”  (“baby?”), and cradling himself in my arms while I rock him and sing to him. It’s the sweetest thing ever and I think I’d be okay if he did that til he was twelve.
• If he sticks his armpit in your face, he wants to be tickled. He really enjoys tickle and run-around time when Daddy gets home every night.
• The week he turned 2½ was the first-ever week we dropped him off at Sunday nursery without tears. Now the kid drags us over there and doesn’t even look back at us to say goodbye.
• Jack loves to read books to Leonard the lion, and to be read to. He’s especially good at i-spy books.
• He loves to sing and to dance. The kid often busts out some pretty sweet dance moves in the backseat of the car that I can’t even begin to compete with.
• He knows his entire alphabet and loves to point out letters on shirts, billboards, etc. He just barely started grasping some of the colors, like red, yellow and blue.
• He usually doesn’t like to get dirty. It’s always an “uh oh!” or an “all-done” when there’s something slimy around.
• He’s a great “little brother” and doesn’t mind one bit when older kids boss him around. He plays GREAT with four-year olds.

…basically Tyler and I love this kid to pieces. It’s sometimes hard for me to fully grasp why he wasn’t supposed to have a sibling yet, because honestly he would have been the PERFECT big brother. He’s kind and gentle, and so sweet and tender-hearted.

But nonetheless we’ve enjoyed the extension of our just-us-&-jack time. We make the greatest little family of three. We’re so glad you picked our family, Jack. We couldn’t imagine how boring and un-fulfilling our lives would have been without you. :)

When I was about eleven years old, my Greek heritage started to show. My hair began turning curly, and much to my dismay my nose became more hooked and bumpy. I remember crying in front of the bathroom mirror every afternoon as my nose seemed to grow bigger before my eyes.

I always envied the girls with the cute noses. I still do. It was really especially hard in college when I felt every girl that didn’t have a big nose was prettier than me.

I try not to judge others based on their looks, but like most girls I know I am my own worst critic. It was a long time before I actually believed Tyler when he’d look me straight in the eye and with a grin on his face tell me I was beautiful.

I was nervous before Amelia was born. I never wanted to admit it but I was fearful that she would be ugly, and I wouldn’t recognize her as my daughter. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to overlook her physical deformities.

Please forgive me, Amelia, for I am ashamed that I ever had feelings like that.

The truth is, I didn’t recognize her at first. The little girl I held in my arms was far from the baby I had pictured in my mind.

As I gazed upon her perfect hands with their tiny fingernails, her smooth, baby-soft chest, and her strong shoulders, I was in awe of what we and the Lord had created together. My eyes were then drawn upward to her head with its deformities (which were anything but discreet) that reminded me her time was short.

A few hours later, with a smile on his face, my dad (the original bearer of the Greek nose) whispered in my ear, Alie, she has your nose. What my eyes had previously overlooked now settled on her bumpy, Greek nose. Poor girl, even as an infant she has my big nose, I thought to myself.

Where was my self-worth? Heavenly Father doesn’t make mistakes. It was no coincidence that she was created to look like me; the Lord made her perfect, even down to that big Greek nose. This was the reassurance I had asked for that showed me she was indeed my daughter!

I now saw my daughter as Christ saw her, and she was so beautiful and perfect. And I didn’t group her Greek nose with her imperfections, but rather saw that her nose was whole and in perfect working order. She was so lucky to have that nose so she could breathe! If the Lord gave my perfect daughter that nose, I am lucky to have received it too. After all, I now have the nose of an angel. :)

I feel like so often we are our harshest critics. We watched the new Dove Beauty Campaign video in church today that focuses on body image, and looking around I saw so many tears in the eyes of the women. Strong women, both old and young, that continue to struggle every day with internal and external disapproval for themselves.

If we could just see ourselves how God see us, we would look past our “Greek noses”. We’d see beautiful long eyelashes and a perfect, working body and a spirit that desires to do good. We would overlook the imperfections and instead show ourselves the compassion and forgiveness we show our dearest, closest friends.

We would know and feel the Lord’s love for us, and would finally see ourselves as the Lord see us – beautiful and perfect.

If there’s one thing I excel at as a wife and mother, it’s feeding my family. I seem to have honed a natural talent for finding good recipes. I can’t create recipes, but I sure know how to pick them. ;)

This one didn’t sound incredibly appetizing so I’ve been putting off making it for weeks. But after finally making it last night (with a few tweaks to the original recipe to suit our family’s flavor palate) I realized it tastes almost identical to the veggie rice bowls at Chiptole. We loved it, and I bet you will too.

Chipotle Veggie, Rice & Bean Bowls

• 1 T. olive oil
• ½ medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, finely chopped
• ½ cup frozen corn
• 1 cup pinto beans (drained and rinsed if using canned)
• 1 chipotle pepper in adobo sauce (remove seeds and mince finely)
• 2 tsp. of adobo sauce
• salt and pepper, to taste
• 2 cups brown rice
• Toppings: lime, cilantro, sour cream

While your rice is cooking, heat the olive oil in a nonstick pan. Saute onions until soft and starting to turn golden. Add the chopped bell pepper and cook for a few more minutes until soft. Turn off the heat and add the corn, beans, chipotle pepper and sauce*.

Serve with hot rice. Top with lime juice, chopped cilantro, and a dollop of sour cream if desired.

*The pepper and sauce are quite spicy, but the chipotle flavor is really what makes this dish work. The heat of the pepper is toned WAY down when you remove the seeds. Add a little bit at a time and keep tasting until it’s at a spice level you/your family can handle. The rice and beans really cut the heat as well.

This is part of an on-going series I’ll be writing to my children. See all of them here.

Describe your most embarrassing moment.

I’ve done a lot of embarrassing things, and it’s really difficult to narrow it down to just one, but they seem to center around nervousness and anxiety. And barfing.

I could talk about the time I left a puddle of pee all over the floor at my first grade ballet recital (I’m sure the parents with video cameras still get a kick out of watching that one), or the time in college that I broke part of a really expensive art exhibit at BYU.

But those aren’t the best stories. I don’t want to talk about barf, but I’m going to anyway. Your Grammy Tammy is a saint; I was nervous a lot as a child and she always had to clean it up over and over again. Once I threw up in a peanut dish at the Disneyland Hotel lobby in a fancy dress. My mom barely had time to dump the peanuts everywhere to catch my puke. And once I threw up overnight in a tent full of sisters and cousins and lied that a “strange man” came in the middle of the night and did it. I once barfed into the sweatshirt on my lap in the back seat of a van on a girl scout trip and tried to hide it from everyone. I have thrown up twice more at Disneyland – once while waiting in line at the Indiana Jones ride, and once while on Pirates of the Caribbean. There are dozens more I can think of but I’ll spare you the details. Just know I can’t be trusted with high-anxiety situations. ;)

Long story short, usually my most embarrassing moments happened when I was nervous. And it would seem that my bodily fluids didn’t quite cooperate. The problem was that I was too shy to tell anyone about it before it was too late! (Lesson learned, my darling children? Give me adequate notice before you barf, okay?)

Last weekend we attended the San Jose 2nd Annual Taco Festival. And while I didn’t quite understand why they charge $10/person for admission (on top of regular food prices), we still had a lot of fun.

(And we got to see Mexican wrestlers. Jack was a little confused about them.)

Jack and I had our first experience with Mexican chili powder on fruit, and I have to admit it wasn’t as horrible as I expected. Tyler and Jack ate meat tacos, and I found a couple vegan tofu and/or grilled veggie tacos to sample as well.

The event was held in a historic park, so we also took the opportunity to walk around several of the museums and old buildings. The silicon valley water history museum was our favorite. The weather was absolutely perfect. We have had incredibly mild weather lately (70-degrees and sunny), and I’ve been trying to savor every last bit of it before the heat rolls in.

As we were heading out we got a tiny salted caramel ice cream taco dipped in dark chocolate to split from Rocko’s Chocolate Tacos. They froze the ice cream and chocolate shell using liquid nitrogen, which Jack enjoyed watching. Rumor has Rocko’s is at the Palo Alto Farmer’s Market, so we may have to hit that up next Saturday for seconds. ;)

image by gail pomare

I knew the day would eventually come when Jack would ask me about Amelia. I just didn’t think it would come so soon.

We have Amelia’s bracelet hanging in a frame above the couch, and Jack loves to look at it and see that it matches mine. I tell him it’s his sister Amelia’s, but I really thought that went in one ear and out the other. But the other day he looked at the bracelet, threw his arms up and said clearly to me, Where is she?

My heart instantly just broke. My cheeks felt flushed and my eyes got wet. You get to a point when you think you’ve healed, and then you realize all over again that the little girl you loved is gone, gone, gone and there’s a hole in your family tree. It gets really bad when your kids start to notice.

I just looked at Jack, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. My lip quivered and I managed to choke out the words, She died, sweetheart. Your sister died.

He thought about that for a moment, and perhaps because of the tears running down my face, puckered his lips and gave me a kiss. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. He doesn’t know what death means, or that when we visit the cemetery, it’s his sister’s body that’s buried beneath that stone. But he knows enough to recognize that his mama is sad she can’t be with baby Amelia anymore.

Several children have asked me where Jack’s sister is and about her death. I don’t mind their curiosity, and it’s fine and natural for them to ask. I just didn’t realize how much harder it would be when my own son asked me about her.

I know he’ll ask again. And again and again and again. My other children will ask, perhaps again and again and again. But someday, will it get easier? Will there finally come a day when I can boldly declare to my children that yes, your sister died but we will see her again? Will they someday come to understand that the tears welled up in my eyes are (mostly) from joy instead of pain?

For the last eight months, I’ve been waiting for my heart to change. I’ve been waiting on the sidelines as my life plays out before me. I’ve been waiting for an answer to a prayer that might never be fully answered.

I have really just been waiting for a miracle.

I always wanted two babies, close in age. I wanted TWO little bums to wipe and TWO car seats in the back and TWO giggling kids at the breakfast table each morning. It’s been over a year since our little family’s plans were rocked upside down. Alie, I know you want it, but it’s me who decides. And you don’t get to raise two children just yet, is what that nice godly voice inside of my head told me. Wait, wait, wait, it said.

And so I’ve waited. But I didn’t ever expect that while I was patiently waiting, my desire for TWO would disappear.

It’s not that I only want one child. I really do want to fill the back seat of our car with rambunctious, giggling little people. But it so turns out that after you’ve buried one of your babies in the earth, it gets infinitely harder to make that happen.

It’s a giant leap of faith, you see. It’s stepping out again into the unknown, where babies aren’t always healthy and don’t always get to join your family here on earth. The unknown is full of what-ifs and tears in the shower that try to squeeze into the empty holes in your heart.

So I started praying for a miracle, praying for this heart of mine to change. Heavenly Father and I became good friends. We started by talking about my fear of holding a baby. We talked about baby names and genders and not being able to sleep on my stomach for five months. We talked about health and sickness and sacrifice. We talked about fear of the unknown, and what if this happened to me again.

I came a long way in a short period of time. I started actually acknowledging again that babies are cool little things to have around. I started reading up on swaddling and breastfeeding, and have planned a cute little nursery out in my head. The absence of the anger I once felt  towards the entire population of infants is quite refreshing.

But the other night I was on my knees in conversation with God again, and it was impressed upon my conscience that all you needed to do was ask for it. If the timing is right, it will be given to you. Don’t sit around waiting for things to change, make them happen!

And so I did. My fear isn’t entirely gone, and I’m still struggling with a slight fear of babies.

But my desire for two is slowly coming back, and to me, it’s nothing short of a miracle.

This is part of an on-going series I’ll be writing to my children. See all of them here.

List 10 people who have influenced you and describe how. (This list is nowhere near complete so I tried to choose some less obvious ones.)

1. Your dad, Tyler Jones. He is dedicated and works harder than anyone I know, and has such a passion for learning. He teaches me every day that great things can be accomplished if I get off my butt and work hard. :) He is really good at building me up and pushing me to (find and) chase my dreams.

2. Your aunt Courtney. She also has a passion for education and learning that becomes contagious. Every time I talk to her she is in a new way striving to become a better individual. She reads and prays and has such a strong relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and seems to be naturally more spiritually in-tune than the rest of us siblings.

3. My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Evans. Hidden deep down inside of me, she unearthed a little girl that loved to read but didn’t know it yet. Now as I’m all grown up, reading is one of my favorite hobbies and I owe it all to her.

4. My high school best friend, Jocelyn. She and I were inseparable. We laughed, we fought, we had one of the best friendships I’ve ever had. For four long years I always ditched her for boys, and yet she still loved me like a sister. That right there is true love and friendship.

5. Your sister, Amelia. Because she only lived two days after birth, we really got to know one another spirit-to-spirit instead of face-to-face. It was a life-changing experience. She’s a strong one, and has made me a better me.

6. I don’t know his name, but there was a young, pony-tailed surgeon (?) (from CTDN?) at the hospital when Amelia was born. The tears in his eyes and the way his face softened when he gazed upon my daughter as she lay in the warming panda machine will be a moment I never, ever forget. His smile as he stood over her with his arms gently folded is engraved in my mind. I often wonder what he was thinking about at that moment. That was the first time that I realized the greater magnitude of things, that one little baby’s life didn’t have to go to waste; that an imperfect, helpless baby could influence and change lives if you only gave them the chance.

7. Your uncle Kendall. He is so much fun to be around. He seems to have the best of both worlds, knowing how to be the life of the party AND be serious and dedicated when he needs to be. I’m in constant awe of how he does this because it seems to me the guy is flawless. One day he’ll teach me how to be as cool as he is. :)

8. For better or for worse, my old college roommate. We fought – a lot. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on anything and the entire year we lived together was a total bust. But it taught me patience, perseverance, and self-confidence. We all matured and moved on.

9. My college best friend Alicia. This girl is fiercely loyal and I love her for it.

10. My friend Janet. She is perhaps the most thoughtful, sincere person I have ever met. She seems to remember Amelia milestones and is aware of the 27th of every month, even though it’s not her date to remember. She seems to always be listening to the quiet voice of the spirit and knows exactly what I need to hear. She, too, is fiercely loyal.

If I am to be completely honest with myself, part of the reason I’m not ready to have another baby is fear.

It’s a fear of the unknown in the most selfish way. It’s a fear from a dark place inside of me that doesn’t want to change, because this little family that I’ve got right in front of me seems to be working just fine.

The world – and to be honest, my friends, family, and acquaintances - tell me that having two kids is hard. I know that. They go on to say things like, “George was the best baby, so easy and sweet. But then little Elliot came along, and don’t even get me started about her…” (There is usually eye-rolling and a long sigh involved.)

It’s not a wonder to me anymore why so many women fear having children when they’re surrounded by attitudes like these.

As much as I’d love three more Jack personalities (sensitive, mindful, obedient) in our family, I know that probably won’t happen. Because based off of what people tell me, the next one is bound to be a hell-raising kid who won’t listen to a word I say and will get into everything. Apparently I won’t be able to shower and I’m going to have to sleep with one eye open for fear he’ll burn the house down when my back is turned.

To me, this little family of mine right here & right now is perfect, so why change that?

I know this all seems awfully silly and selfish – it is. But they’re real thoughts that go through my head every single day. They’re real thoughts that make me cry in the shower and plead mightily with the Lord in prayer each night. I really do know that my heart will soften and change and soon be ready to accept another baby when the time is right. I will be delighted to be a mama again when that time comes. And it will be beautiful and good and right.

My mind has been focusing a lot on the word sacrifice lately. With Mother’s Day coming up this weekend, it’s been pushed to the forefront of my attention.

What does it mean to sacrifice for your children? Does that mean I need to have eleven kids, or is three or four okay? Does that mean I have to feel guilty sitting down and reading a juicy novel for myself sometimes because I should be reading to my kids (again) instead? Does that mean I have to always forgo wearing high heels so I, instead of my husband, can chase after my toddler down the church hallways?

Our primary responsibility is to rear and nurture children, but at what cost? Our individual limits are obviously vastly different and unique. While my sister loves having six children, three or four would make me happy. Does this mean I’m not sacrificing enough or am less of a mother?

I’ll save you the many days and nights, pleading in prayer for an answer: NO, it does not make you any less of a mother.  My poor little soul has been weakened and distraught about this. I’m only raising one child. Am I doing enough?

This mother’s day is about sacrifice, but ones I have accepted rather than chosen. I didn’t choose to sacrifice my daughter to death, to “get” to raise her in the eternities after this life is over. I didn’t choose to space our children out this far.  But these sacrifices – forced upon me by a loving Heavenly Father – have stretched and enlightened my spirit in ways I never knew possible.

While those mothers of three, four, six, eight – however many you’ve got – have primarily sacrificed their time, this year I feel like I’ve sacrificed my soul. It’s been beat up and tormented by the temptations of the devil. It’s been tossed to and fro, beckoned here and there. It’s been cold and hard and closed off. But I can also see how it’s been molded and shaped and reeducated about its divine nature. It’s been trained and uplifted and improved upon. This spirit of mine has matured and grown to be more like Heavenly Father, and isn’t that the end goal?

Let the fear dissipate, and our faith in Heavenly Father grow. Maybe it’s sometimes meeting Him in the middle with a willing heart, open to the circumstances that He places us in. (He knows exactly what He’s doing when He puts you there.) That even if we have a willing heart, maybe our Heavenly Father still has to force sacrifices on us sometimes so that we can grow.

And that’s okay, right?

You know those days when you’re just not feeling the marinara? This is an excellent substitution, and it only take about fifteen minutes. I love any sauce that I can cook from start to finish (from scratch) while my pasta is boiling. ;)

I think this recipe is from You: On a Diet by Dr. Oz. (I can’t be sure, because I don’t own the book.) My roommate Alicia and I used to make this in college all the time because it was delicious, healthy and CHEAP.

This dish is mild, but you can make it spicier by adding more red pepper flakes. It’s also vegan without even trying to be. It goes excellent with a side of asparagus or roasted broccoli.

Penne Pasta with Sweet Red Pepper Sauce

1 T. olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1/4 t. crushed red pepper flakes
1 red or yellow bell pepper, diced finely
15oz can diced tomatoes, drained
4 T. veggie or chicken broth (or water)
1 lb. penne pasta (Whole Foods has my favorite brand of whole wheat penne)
s&p

While pasta is boiling, cook onion in olive oil until sof1t. Add bell pepper, red pepper flakes, tomatoes, broth and salt and pepper. Cook until the pepper is soft and the mixture is simmering. Drain pasta. Puree in the blender* and pour over the cooked penne noodles. (This is optional according to the recipe, but I’ve done it without and the texture was too chunky; the flavors didn’t meld together. If you like a chunkier, thicker sauce, puree only 2/3 of it.)

(Sorry for the horrible pictures. Just know that when pureed it turns into the most vibrant, beautiful shade of orange.)

Some days I think I’m absolutely ready to have a baby again. I read articles on breastfeeding and sleep training without shedding any tears, and I actually keep up with the baby trends (leggings and head wraps, please stick around for a while). Tyler and I talk about baby names and birth dates and car seats.

To me it seems like it’s a pretend subject in the far, distant future. We talk about a pretend future baby and a pretend little sibling for Jack to dote on. Some day it will happen, but who really knows when? We’ve still got forever to “wait” for it, right?

I sometimes feel like I’m ready because the cravings are there. I crave those squishy cheeks and chubby thighs. I crave that newborn whimper in the night. I crave those darling dresses and soft, leather baby moccasins.

But when I actually see a newborn, my mind begins to race and my heart starts pounding uncontrollably in my chest. I shudder at the thought of holding, touching, and feeling that baby cradled in my arms. I don’t want to see its tiny toes and clenched fists. I don’t want to see those gas-induced sleepy smiles. I don’t want any of it because it’s yours, and not mine.

Will I feel differently when it’s my own? It sounds strange but I just don’t want to grow another baby where Amelia was. That’s her spot, her territory. I can’t accurately explain it, but to me, it’s hallowed ground in there.

Over the past month, I’ve been desperately trying to find a balance between all of this. I don’t want to raise just one child in this life, but yet I still can’t quite wrap my head around getting pregnant again. I’m so scared I’ll never commit and if I do it will all go wrong. It’s so hard to have faith and have that hope in a plan that’s not your own.

I just can’t quite figure out what I was supposed to be doing with this past year, when I wasn’t raising a second child. I feel like a failure; so many other moms with careers and PhDs and multiple children and have done more than me and my stay-at-home life with one. I’ve decorated bits and pieces of our house, kept too many crumbs from accumulating on the floor, and instituted a plant-based diet: nothing I couldn’t have done without another baby.

I want a baby but I just don’t get that overwhelming feeling of “it’s the right time” yet, and I fear I never will. Do I pray for readiness, to be prepared for another child? Am I ignoring the promptings or pushing them aside? Because Tyler is patient and kind but wants to get this show on the road. (And I get that – I do too.) But I feel guilty that my own internal issues and struggles are the ultimate thing holding us back from the happiness of another child joining our family.

I’m exhausted and so emotionally drained from thinking about all of this. We had a plan, and this wasn’t it. So what do I do now?