when you can't find what you want because it's what you already have

{{possible subtitles include:

~when you can't find your toothbrush because it's stuck in your mouth

~when you can't find your glasses because they're on your nose

~when you can't find your keys because they're in your pocket

~when you can't find what you're looking for because you already have it, 

only you haven't realized that yet}}

So, I'm on Instagram.

I'm on there a lot.

I'm kind of addicted to Instagram...

or IG, as we IG-ers call it.

It's far more fun to me than Facebook.

I don't like all the Facebook drama.

I'm on Instagram daily...many times daily...

I'm on Facebook...uhmmmm...never.

Instagram is the best of two worlds for me--

photos...and friends.  

And that's just about it.

Very little drama.  That's a good thing.

I'm going somewhere here...stick with me...

Anywhoo...all sorts of different apps have come out on the market

 to edit your photos that you post on Instagram.

I mean, I'm sure you could do other things with your edited photos, too, but really, why would you?  Instagram is pretty much the bee's knees.

I digress.

I have several of the Instagram-photo-prepping-editing apps.

One of the newest is PicTapGo, which I use primarily.

Another good one is Squaready...I used that a lot more before PicTapGo came along.

Both of these apps have the capability of taking your non-square, horizontal or vertical photo, 

putting a nice bright white frame around it, and making it "ready" for Instagram.

All photos posted to IG must be square.  MUST.

These apps turn your photo into a square.  Kind of.

 Since the IG background is bright white, all you'll see is your beautifully-edited rectangular photo...

because the bright white frame that these apps put around your photo blends in with the bright white of IG.

Understand?

I hope so.

If not, study all the photos in this post--

they have white frames either on the sides or on the top and bottom--

I used these types of photos on purpose in this post to show you what I mean...

All that to get to my point...

I have what I call the "Holy Grail of Instagram".

What that basically is, for me, is when I can get my background on my picture to white out brightly enough that the white in the photo becomes the same white as the frames...

thus making my photo appear frame-less.

Again, look closely at the photos in this post--

you'll see what I mean.

See how the white of the porch pillar {{in the first photo}}

and the white of the sky {{in the second photo}} 

both blend in with the white of the "frame"?

Yah...that's what I'm talking about.

Sounds complicated...

probably sounds weird...

and now you're totally convinced that I'm a geek...

and that everything you've heard about stay-at-home moms must be true...

after all, I have time to sit at home all day and fiddle with my phone photos.

Please don't tell me you think that.

If you do...I'm sorry.

But definitely, definitely don't tell me, k? 

I'm not responsible for my reaction if you do.

On Tuesday, I opened my phone to post a photo to Instagram.

I wanted to post a photo I'd taken on Monday--

a photo of a tiny bird's nest, right outside our front door.

The nest is actually perched right on top one of our front porch pillars.  

The nest has four perfect...achingly perfect aqua-colored eggs in it.

It's the photo you see at the top of this post.

Anyway, on Tuesday, I opened my phone to post that photo.

I took the photo from my camera app, transfered it to PicTapGo,

and proceeded to edit it.  

I noticed right away that the photo was naturally very white.

So, I decided to shoot for my "Holy Grail"...

to white it out enough to blend in with the white frames.

I edited the photo several times...

three...four...maybe even five times...

trying to get it the "just right" shade of white.

Each time, something was just a bit off.

One time it was too grey...another was too blue...

another too pink...and another too yellow.

I was close to just posting it, giving up on achieving perfection,

when I decided to try it in its original state--without any editing.

It took me all of twenty-seven seconds to find out that the photo,

as I had taken it,

was perfect.

It didn't need to be edited.

The white balance, saturation, coolness, warmth...

they were all perfect for what I was trying to achieve.

I had spent several minutes looking for something...

something that I already had...

I just didn't know that I had it.

And I think some times, 

many times,

life is that way too.

We have our heart and minds so set on what we want,

so set on what we are trying so desperately hard to create,

that we fail to see what we already have.

We fail to see that

what we want we already have.

I'm guilty of this.

Especially with my children, I am so incredibly guilty of this.

I'm in a store...my three-year-old asks for something...

I say 'no'...and she starts crying.

She's crying softly.  She's not screaming.  She's not on the floor, kicking and flailing.  

She's not throwing a tantrum.

She's crying.

I can hear her.  My other children can hear her.  

And it's possible that the few other people in the same aisle as I can hear her also.

But that's all.

And yet, I'm mortified.

I just want a well-behaved child.

I want a child who doesn't embarrass me in the store.

I want a child who makes me look like a good mom.

What I don't see is that that's what I already have.

My child is not embarrassing me.

My child is not making me look like a bad mom.

And although one could argue that she should have handled the 'no' better,

one could rightly argue that she certainly could have handled it a lot  worse.

But still, I'm blind to what I have...

thinking only of what I want.

{{this photo was taken at my sweet friend Megan's home}}

 And oft-times, it's easy for us to admit our short-comings as mothers...

but we don't like to fess-up to our short-comings as wives.

That subject is taboo.

We don't like to talk about that with anyone.

So...let's go there.

My husband texts me...tells me he'll be home from work between 6:00 and 6:30.

Around 6:00 he calls...he's chatting casually, making plans for our weekend.

I ask if he's on his way home.

No.  Not yet.

And my stomach sinks.

He says he'll be home by 7:20.

At 7:23 he walks in the door.

And I want to give him the cold shoulder.

I want to punish him.

I want him to know that I.Am.Upset.

He was supposed to be home.

He was supposed to be here with me.

He was supposed to help with the kids.

Except, now...he is.

He is home.

He is here with me.

And to his credit, he has jumped right in, helping with our four children.

I have exactly what I want.

I just don't see it.

I can't see it.

Or is it that I won't see it?

My children are not perfect...but they're mine...

and for the most part, they are what I want them to be.

My husband isn't perfect {{though he may contest that}}...

but he's mine...and for the most part, he is what I want him {{and need him}} to be.

And that's how it is with so many areas of our lives...

our children...

our husbands...

our finances...

our houses...

our yards...

our vehicles...

our churches...

Stop.

Think about it.

Were you able to buy food this week?

Do you have electricity in your house?

Then your finances aren't as bad as half of the rest of this whole, wide world.

Stop.

Think about it.

Do you have to walk or bicycle everywhere?

Do you carry your groceries home on your head?

Your vehicle may not be a 2013 Porsche Cayenne...

but it really isn't half bad.

Stop.

Think about it.

Do you have a roof over your head?

Do you have entire rooms, small though they may be, 

designated just for holding your clothing, just for washing your clothing?

Your home, ever-so-humble, is palatial in comparison to so many others on this big round ball.

So...

for today...

stop.

Quit looking for your toothbrush.  It's in your mouth.

Quit looking for your glasses.  They're on your nose.

Your keys?  They're in your pocket.

And the well-behaved kids...

and helpful husband...

and sheltering home...

and welcoming yard...

and prosperous finances...

and soul-stirring church?

Yep.  

They're already there, too.

You don't need to make them.

You don't need to create them.

You don't need to buy them.

You don't even need to find them.

You just need to see them.

And if you need your glasses for that...

well, you know where they are.

when you just stinkin' want a cookie!

While I was smack-dab in the middle of the Whole 30, my best friend posted a basic recipe for these cookies on Instagram.  I couldn't make them then, of course (oats are not Whole-30-okay), but determined that I'd make them once I was done with the program.

I've been craving carb-y, sugary sweets, and was sorely tempted to put together a pan of Magic Cookie Bars last night--even had the ingredients out.  I'm glad I didn't.  I'm also glad I threw these cookies together this morning.  They're yummy.

I'm not going to lie to you...
They aren't Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookies.  They aren't.
So if you're looking for that, you might as well stop right here.
However, if you're looking to stay on the healthy-eating path, deviating just a tiny bit to satisfy your sweet tooth, these are the ticket.


The recipe is super-duper complex.

      two old bananas

     one cup oats

Yah.
That's it.
I'm laughing.  Because I'm imagining your face right now.

Mush it all together with your hands.  Scoop by small spoonfuls onto a lined cookie sheet (I use non-stick foil), and bake for 15 minutes at 350°.

I mixed the cookies just as instructed, doubling the batch, of course. {{because it's impossible for me to ever make a single batch of cookies.  impossible.  i canNOT do it.}}

And then I decided that just-as-instructed is so not me.
Which, if you know me and my style of cooking and baking, you know that's true.  I have a hard time abiding by any recipe.  I'm a recipe-breaker.  Which is odd, because I am so not a rule-breaker.  A study in contrasts, I guess.  But all of that is for another day.

So, to the just-as-instructed cookie dough, I added a generous handful of chopped pecans.

I baked one batch of those...the just-as-instructed, plus pecans...oh! and I dusted them with just a teeny tiny pinch of fine-ground sea salt before baking.  Because sea salt makes sweet things even better.

To my next batch, I added a handful of dried mixed berries.  And again, a tiny pinch of sea salt atop each cookie.
To the last batch, I added a handful...and then another handful...of chocolate chips.  And the tiny pinch of salt right before baking.

I fully expected the chocolate chip ones to be my favorite.
They weren't.
Which is odd.
The ones with the dried berries were my favorite.
Which is also odd.
Because I love, love, love chocolate.
And I'm kind of meh about dried fruit.
But I really, really liked the addition of the dried berries.

I baked my cookies for 12 minutes, took them out and flattened them a bit with a spatula, and then returned them to the oven for one additional minute.  Flattening them is necessary, they don't spread on their own.  I'm sure you could flatten them before baking, too.  Whatever floats your boat.
 Next time, I'll bake them for the full 15 minutes.  I usually like chewy cookies, but with these, I actually liked the crunchy bits better.  
I definitely liked the addition of the sea salt...to all three varieties.
Oh, and I used old-fashioned oats because I like the nutty flavor and texture that they add.  I'm sure you could use quick oats, though I probably won't try it.

So there.
There you have it.
Mix yourself up a batch and snack guilt-free.
For breakfast, I had one of each with my morning coffee (coffee creamed with half n' half, sweetened with pure maple syrup and a tiny splash of vanilla).



And enjoy your weekend!
We've got a rather lay-low weekend planned.
Surprising the kiddos by taking them out for dinner tonight--we very rarely eat out as a family.  
A short stop at Goodwill will be in order, I'm sure (since there's one less than a mile from the restaurant).
A closet clean-out...a different closet to re-organize...getting caught up on laundry (the putting away part is what gets me ev.er.y.time)...some girl time with the bestie...
And that's about it.  And I'm so looking forward to it.

I'm in a huggy mood.
If I could I'd wrap all of you in a big hug.
So please, consider this your virtual hug...from me.

xo

when relief brings guilt

This past Sunday, my pastor made a profound statement

{{although, listening through my ears, it sounded more like an admission}}.

He was talking about losing a terminally-ill family member, and he said,

"...you feel relief.  Of course, you feel relief."

I've never heard anyone say that out loud before.

Maybe I've been absent.

Maybe I wasn't listening.

Or maybe...

Maybe no one ever says it out loud.

Because it feels wrong somehow.

It sounds wrong.

No one will understand.

I should feel sad.

I should be devastated.

I should feel heart-broken.

I should NOT feel relieved.

I remember, several years ago, after Mom had been re-diagnosed with cancer...cancer that had been in remission for twelve years...cancer that had returned...breast cancer metastasized into the bone.

I remember having a conversation with one of my close friends.

A conversation where I told her how tired I was.

Not lack-of-sleep tired.

Not I've-worked-too-hard-for-too-long tired.

I was tired of waiting.

Tired of knowing what,

tired of knowing how,

tired of not knowing when.

I remember telling her that living with a terminally-ill loved one

is akin to living in a small cell with an axe hanging above your head.

The axe is suspended on a thin, fraying cord.

You know the axe is going to fall.

It's inevitable.

It will happen.

And when it falls, as it certainly shall, it will hurt.

It will hurt immensely.

Quite possibly more than anything has ever hurt before.

But some days, you long for the axe to fall.

You know it's going to hurt so bad.

But you just want to get the hurt over with.

Because the only thing worse than the pain

is the anxious worry, fretting, dreading,

wondering

WHEN 

the axe will fall.

Yes, I said that to her.

I said all of that to her 

while my mom was carrying terminal cancer.

And I remember the guilt I felt in saying those words...

in even thinking those thoughts.

And I remember how much it really did hurt when Mom passed to Heaven.

The pain was incredible.

The pain is incredible.

But there was also relief.

And guilt that came with the relief.

Because, again, I was supposed to feel pain...

and heart-break...and loss.

Relief???

That was not in the supposed-to-feel category.

And then my pastor said that on Sunday.

And though he's "just" my pastor...

And though he doesn't absolve my sins...

And though he's flesh and blood, just like me...

Somehow,

somehow after all these years,

I feel like relief is ok.

He didn't say any magic words.

He didn't need to.

All he needed to do was acknowledge that it is. 

That this IS how it feels.

So, that's the gift I'm giving to you today.

I don't know who "you" are.

My blog readership is small enough...

it may be that this post doesn't apply to any of my readers.

And if that's the case, that's ok.

I just wanted to be for you

what my pastor was for me.

I wanted to be the voice that says,

"It's ok."

"It's normal."

"You can feel relieved."

My Favorite Way to Spend a Saturday

This past Saturday was spent my favorite way.

We didn't go out of town.

We didn't host a party.

And no, we didn't spend the day thrifting.

The entire day was spent with our little family,

working together

to complete projects and chores around our home

and our little wanna-be farm.

I am a very goal-oriented, accomplishment-driven,

completion-fulfilled person.

It's my strength.

It's my weakness.

But little else thrills me as much as a day spent with all of us working together, harmoniously, 

getting stuff done.

I spent the day inside, cleaning out our sunroom.

The sunroom was built several years ago as an addition on to the house.

It was a gift to my mom from my dad (he's a carpenter/builder).

It was my mom's favorite room in the house...

in fact, she went to Heaven from this room.

When my dad built the room, they intended it to be used as a three-season room; therefore, no duct-work was extended into this room.

We are usually able to use it from April through most of December, having to close it down for the coldest of the winter months--the months when the nighttime temperatures dip the lowest.

During the months that it's closed up, it becomes a sort of catch-all...

the family "dump" so to speak.

It was piled high with my shipping/packaging supplies, 

winter coats/boots/gloves/scarves/hats/etc, boxes of Goodwill donations, forgotten toys,

 stacks upon stacks of afghans (to sell),

and a forest of house plants, now dead (I had forgotten to move them inside when we closed the sunroom up for the winter).

I didn't take a "before" picture--

I actually forgot to, but you probably think I just didn't want you to see my mess.

Well, maybe.

Be that as it may, this is the "after"...

Right.

Pretty awesome, huh?

Now you see why it was Mom's favorite room.

And it's my favorite, too.

Paul spent the day outside, working on our chicken coop.

We have twenty-two grown chickens (one rooster, twenty-one hens) in the coop right now.

We're raising twelve chicks (inside, in my laundry room, in a large Rubbermaid tub, yes, they'll be moving outside VERY soon, thank you, Jesus!) that will be joining them shortly.

We plan to cull out some of the older hens this fall, keeping next winter's nesting number pretty consistent with this past winter.

The twenty-two chickens that spent much of the cold winter inside their coop created quite a large quantity of....um...shall we say, "compost".

Everything we've read tells you to not clean out your coop during the winter months, no matter how great the temptation may be.

And trust me, though the task appears daunting and distasteful, 

it is tempting to clean it out.  That's how awful it gets.

We set this past Saturday aside as Chicken Coop Clean-Out Day.

Paul pulled the coop (it's built on an old trailer frame) to the back of our property to unload it.  We now have a nice large pile of chicken compost back there, waiting to go in our raised garden boxes (a project for another upcoming Saturday).

We weren't content with our current nesting box configuration, 

so while he had the coop all cleaned out, Paul built a gorgeous new row of nesting boxes...with a little help, of course...

This lady (one of our Barred Rocks) must have been very ready to lay her daily egg.

She clucked and squawked and basically scolded him the entire time he was working in there.

Addison, our five-year-old, who is a total "Daddy's girl",

spent the day outside "helping Daddy".

{{I think my favorite thing about this picture is the way Paul is smiling at her.}}

And this, this just makes my heart smile so hard.

I don't know if there's anything that makes a momma happier than to see her children being loved-on by their daddy.

You know you've had a good day when you get into the tub with feet looking like this.

On Saturday evening, it started raining quite miserably.

The chickens had been in and out of the coop all day long, amidst the moving (we also relocated the coop to a different spot, albeit only fifty yards from the former location), cleaning out, and building.

Naturally, we assumed that they would nest just fine come dark.

Oh no.  Not so.

The phrase "bird brain" didn't come by accident, folks.

Those crazy fowl were all huddled together, in the rain, right where their coop used to be!!!

Paul and Colton had to go out and one-by-one carry them and put them into the coop.

We were a bit concerned on Sunday to see if the ladies would lay for us.

New nesting boxes, new coop location...

any amount of "stress" can spell out disaster for egg production for a day or two.

Thankfully, we thrilled to see that the girls (quite literally) laid their blessing on the new nesting boxes.

{{This is Betsy--we call her our Peregrine Chicken, because of her markings that are uncannily similar to the falcon.}}

Paul and I spent a great deal of time this past weekend chatting, plotting, 

dreaming about our little future-farm.

Right now we have a dog, a cat, and some chickens.

But we'd like to add more.

Bees, goats, turkey, ducks, pigs, sheep--

we've talked about them all.

It's going to have to be God's timing, not ours.

But it's all so exciting...the bits we're able to accomplish little-by-little.

And, for us, dreaming is half the fun anyway.

{{photo of a nearby sheep farm--taken last Friday}}

When You're Supposed to Be Teaching, But You're Actually Learning

My nine-year-old daughter is in Stepping Stones this year.

It's like "church Girl Scouts".  That's the easiest way to describe it.

The girls get a binder filled with pages full of badge requirements.

Fulfill the requirements, earn the badge.

Simple.

Every mother's dream of bonding, teaching, training the next generation, right?

Right.

Personally, I think the mothers should earn badges.

The Gentleness Badge

The I-Cleaned-Up-The-Kitchen-After-My-Daughter-Destroyed-It Badge.

The I-Took-Three-Hours-To-Help-My-Daughter-Cook-A-Meal-That-Takes-Me-Thirty-Minutes Badge.

I'm thankful for Stepping Stones.

Please don't get me wrong.

I love the ladies that take time out of their Sunday afternoons to teach and train my daughter...

while I'm at home napping.

That's dedication, and I appreciate them immensely for it.

Hey, I was even in Stepping Stones myself for a year.

I won the Miss Enthusiasm award.

I had earned 12 badges in one year--the record at that time.

A record which my daughter was more-than-thrilled to let me know has already been broken.

Some little twerp girl earned sixteen badges last year.

I digress...

While the spoken mission of Stepping Stones may be to train our girls in the domestic arts,

I maintain that somewhere, buried deep in the back of the handbook, there should be a page or two addressed to the mothers.

Pages that tell you how to bite your tongue.

Pages that tell you how the best way to bond with your daughter might just be with both of you elbow-deep in vegetable shortening.

Pages that tell you how much you'll learn about yourself,

even though you think it's your daughter who's doing the learning.

Austyn's only in her first year of Stepping Stones.

She still has two years left.

But she's already learned a lot.

And me?

Well, I just may have learned more...

◆I've learned that I can act more patient than I really am.

And for the most part, no one knows the difference.

◆Did you know that while nine-year-old girls can do a lot of things,

they cannot rinse out the sink after doing the dishes?

Just like they can't put the bottle of Windex away after cleaning the bathroom.

They can't.

It's like saying a sentence without the word "like".

It's, like, totally impossible.

Like, totally.

{{And for the record, it's killing me to leave those sentences there.

I'm forcing myself to do so.}}

◆The temperature of a bread-baking oven is hot.  

Very hot.

Slightly hotter than Hell, in fact. 

If you lean in too far, or get too very close to it,

you'll spontaneously combust.

Just ask Austyn.

◆While I may be older and wiser enough to realize that the oven isn't really that hot,

I can tell you that the milk glass loaf pan you see really is that hot.

I have the blister on my inner forearm to prove it.

◆I've learned that flour can spill on the kitchen floor...

and nothing happens.

Nothing!

Nothing explodes.

No one dies.

It's not the end of the world.

Huh.

Who knew?

◆...and messes are just that--messes.

Flour vacuums up.

Water mops up.

Honey and molasses can be wiped up.

It's not an emergency.

It's just a mess.

{{I'm saying this to myself.}}

◆I found out that my mother was a saint.

I went through a phase when I was a teenager when I baked every day.  

Every...Single...Day.

I can remember baking quadruple batches of chocolate chip cookies.

Yah, she was a saint.

I've learned that.

◆And if the quadruple batches of cookies weren't enough to convince you...

When I was a teen, my parents would let me bake multiple batches of whole wheat, 7-grain bread.

To take to church.

To sell.

To keep the money.

For myself.

Can you imagine?

You know how much healthy, whole-grain ingredients cost?!?

I remember having a conversation with Mom about this a few years ago, before she went to Heaven.

"How much did that cost you guys?  And you let me keep all the money!  Why'd you do that?"

It's one of the few times that I remember my mom's only response to me being a smile.

She didn't say a thing.

Just smiled.

And now that I'm getting close to that stage with my own daughter,

I think I know why she didn't say anything.

I think I know why she smiled.

Because in that moment...

in that moment it was suddenly worth every penny they had ever spent.

◆I've learned that when you bake bread with a nine-year-old,

you have to melt a pat of butter on top of each loaf.

Healthy is not the primary concern here.

The primary concern is that those loaves looked dry.

They needed butter.

End of story.

◆...and time isn't always of the essence.

The bread rises just fine

even if it does take Austyn a bit longer to put the yeast and honey into the warm water.

Hurrying is not a necessity.

◆I've learned that there's something strangely warm and comforting about putting on an apron at 9:30a.m. right before you bake bread...

And forgetting all about that apron...

And then sitting down at 11:00p.m. to type out a blog post, 

only to look down and realize you've still got your apron on.

I'm going to wear aprons more often.

I am.

◆I've found that a clean bathroom that I didn't have to clean myself

is actually worth more to me than a streak-free mirror.

{{Although a hair-free sink?

That is still a must.}}

◆I've learned that vacuuming is more fun when you're singing at the top of your lungs.

◆And if your mom forgets to take her apron off,

it's kind of fun to pretend that you forgot, too.  

Life After the Whole 30

Yesterday, my husband and I finished the Whole 30.  If you're unfamiliar with what that is, go here and read all about it.  

Basically, the short-short is, it's a full-body dietary re-boot--eliminating all sugars and sugar substitutes {no honey, maple syrup, agave, stevia...NOTHING}, alcohol, grains {including corn, corn products, and any grain by-products}, legumes, dairy, white potatoes, and most preservatives.  Throughout the 30 days, I often told people that it was easier to tell them what I could eat, rather than list what I couldn't eat.  What you can eat are fruits, veggies, minimally processed meats, and a few nuts and fats.  That's pretty much it.

The Whole 30 website stresses the fact that this is not a "diet."  In fact, they tell you not to weigh yourself during the 30-day-period.  Weigh yourself before, weigh yourself after, and note your results. But they don't want the focus of the Whole 30 to be weight loss--they want the focus to be on learning new HEALTHY eating habits, healing the body from the inside out, ridding it of the toxins that build up from all the junk that's in our "normal" diets.

So now, down to the nitty-gritty, keepin' it real sorta stuff.

Yes, I did the Whole 30.

No, I didn't cheat.  Not even once.  Not a bite, not a sip, barely even a whiff.  I DID deeply inhale the aromas of some homemade apple turnovers that I couldn't have.  And I also may have given my best friend the cold shoulder for a few moments when she made Vanilla Texas Sheet Cake {{I'm a sucker for ANYthing with a boiled icing}} for card night.

But no, I didn't cheat.

Yes, I totally did this hoping to lose weight.

I'd be flat-out, straight-up lying if I said differently.

I don't know very many people who would do this and NOT think about the weight-loss factor.

That said, I also did the Whole 30 for the other stuff.  The stuff they want you to learn.  The stuff they want you to experience.  And truly, it's changed my life forever.

I don't know that I'll ever be able to eat Velveeta cheese again.  Like, ever.

But it's changed me in many other ways, too.

My husband did the program with me, too.

Bless his heart, God love him...and all that good stuff.

I am so incredibly thankful that he did this with me.  It would have been infinitely more difficult doing it on my own.  And he did it, knowing full well that both St. Patrick's Day {{we always have a traditional meal of corned beef, cabbage, carrots, and potatoes--that was out, obviously}} and Easter fell within our 30-day period.  Yep.  He still agreed to do it with me.  I asked him about it at 6:00 on a Sunday evening.  We began on Monday.  He didn't even have time to get used to the idea.  He just jumped in with both feet and joined me.  I'm so glad he did.

{{And for the record, he didn't cheat either.  Not once.  Not one little bit.}}

So, now we're done.

Today is Day 31.

And this is what breakfast looked like...

Not really.

But I had you there for a second, right?

My husband and I spent a lot of time talking, plotting, and planning what we were going to do once our 30 days was up...what changes we were going to keep, what foods we were going to re-introduce back into our diet, and how we plan on implementing moderation into our "cheats".

My husband said it best...

"...it's not like I've been holding my breath for the last 30 days, and now I can finally breathe, so I'm gulping in as much air as I possibly can.  That's not what the Whole 30 is like."

You don't finish the Whole 30 looking forward to a cookie, to cheesecake, to five-cheese pepperoni pizza.  You finish it looking to carry as much as possible forward with you.  

Yes, there is life after the Whole 30...

And today, mine looks like this...

Three weeks ago today, I started juicing.  Let me be clear here.  Juicing is not promoted on the Whole 30.  Nor is it forbidden.  I juice in moderation and that's that.  I don't think I missed out on any of the "lessons" I was supposed to learn, just because I juice a bit.

So, I started out my day today with my daily beet juice blend {{beet, carrots, apples, pears, and today I threw in a cucumber because I felt like I was retaining a bit of water from last night's salty dinner}}.  

And yes, I had a cup of coffee.

I didn't have coffee for the entire Whole 30.

Coffee is allowed.  But sweeteners are not.  Neither is cream.

Therefore, coffee is out for me.  Black coffee? No.  Not happenin'.

So, yes, I had a cup of coffee this morning.  Creamed it with a splash of half and half.  Sweetened it with a glug of pure maple syrup.  

Perfect? No.  Whole 30 compliant? No.

A heckuvalot healthier than the chemical-laced-non-dairy-but-looks-like-dairy-artificial-flavoring-filled creamer I was using 30 days ago? YES!

And that, my friends, is truly what I believe the point of the Whole 30 is.  To change the way we look at food.  Geez, to just get us to look at our food!  To know, to really know what we're putting in our bodies.  I mean, what in the world is citric acid?  What about potassium sorbate?  What are sulfites?  What is carrageenan?   You should know.  We should know.  

So, did I lose weight?

Yes!  I lost 14 pounds.

My clothes fit {way} better, and I'm very pleased with the body changes I see.

My husband lost 23 pounds.  I'm so proud of him...and what's great is that he is proud of himself.

What both of us loved is that this was gimmick-free...no special drinks, no powders, no pills, no drops.  It wasn't no-carb, count calories, count fats, write it down.  It wasn't any of that.

It was healthy eating.  Plain and simple...eat this, don't eat that, be healthy.  And we both feel GREAT.  Honestly, it's amazing how fabulous your body feels on the inside when you've fed it with premium fuel for a month straight.

And it was free.  I mean, obviously the food itself cost us, but the program was free.  We didn't pay a penny to participate.

So yah, when I grab two sticks of butter out of my fridge, and realize that that's what I shaved off my body on a daily basis?...yah, I'm pretty thrilled.

A lot of people have asked what our plans are moving forward.

We plan to use the Whole 30 plan as a guideline, but not as a law.  We will be working in moderate amounts of dairy, grains, legumes, and even some sugars into our meals.  Our aim is for minimally processed foods.  So, while I may eat my morning eggs on a corn tortilla {{containing corn, water, and calcium hydroxide}}, I won't be eating them on Pillsubury canned biscuits with a side of Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage.  See what I mean?  It's the intent.  The overall outlook.  The corn tortilla? Not an after-Whole 30 "cheat".  The biscuit and breakfast sausage? Definitely a "cheat".

 We will be limiting our sweet/treat/bad food "cheats" to one day a week.  We've talked about this...and both of us, knowing ourselves, agree that if we allow ourselves small daily cheats, we will soon be back right where we started.  Whereas, if we allow ourselves one cheat day a week, we will eat more healthy on the whole.  I'm sure that, ideally, we just wouldn't cheat at all.  But that's not where we're at right now, and I'm okay with that.

So that's that.

Life goes on.

Back to normal.

Only not.

And that's a good thing.

{{P.S.  Feel free to shoot me any questions.  I am so far from an expert, it's laughable.  But I'll certainly do my best to answer you.  This is really worth looking in to, friends.  It is.}}