Here, Taste This: Lasagna Soup

I am seasonal eater.

Perhaps this surprises no one.

I am drawn to the drama that plays out every day on the other side of my window. Spring's freshness and hope, summer's sparkle and joy, fall's glory and longing. And winter. Winter's quiet and reflection. Each season speaks to me of different flavors, different sensations. I revel in the rhythm of it. I don't want stew in summer, and even though I could technically grill in January if I'm willing to stand in the snow, something about that turns me off.

No, winter demands soup.

And this soup, my friends, is all that is right about soup. It sticks to your ribs, thanks to the pasta, and it dances on your tongue, thanks to the Italian sausage, and it is bright with seasonal veggies. (Carrots, spinach, I'm looking at you.) Best of all, it's a one-pot meal that can go from start to finish in less than 30 minutes. Just enough time to hide some fresh mozzarella in the bottom of each dish, slice some baguette and rinse some grapes.

Then sit down to a steaming bowl of the best winter has to offer. Maybe, just maybe, you'll give thanks for January.

Lasagna Soup

1 lb. hot Italian sausage
1 cup onion, chopped
2 cups carrots, cut into coins
2 cups mushrooms, sliced
2 tbsp. garlic
4 cups chicken broth
1 14-oz. can Italian diced tomatoes
1 10-oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup mafalda pasta
4-6 cups fresh spinach, roughly chopped
fresh mozzarella
Parmesan cheese,
4 tsp. thinly sliced fresh basil

1. Brown sausage in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat.
2. Add onions and carrots; saute 3 minutes. Stir in mushrooms and garlic; saute another 3 minutes.
3. Add broth, tomatoes and tomato sauce; bring to a boil.
4. Drop in pasta and simmer until al dente, about 10 minutes.
5. Stir in spinach and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes.
6. Place fresh mozzarella in bottom of soup bowls and ladle hot soup on top.
7. Garnish with Parmesan and basil.

1. The easiest Italian sausage to use in recipes like this is bulk sausage, usually found near the breakfast sausage are in your local grocery store. If you're worried hot Italian sausage will be too spicy (aka you're Scandinavian), it's fine to use "sweet," or regular.
2. Mafalda pasta looks like mini lasagna noodles.(I will pause here for us all to embrace the cute.) But if you can't find it - and I can't, right now - feel free to use bowtie or even penne pasta in its place. I often use campanelle, or bellflowers, just because I think they are pretty.
3. If you can find the fresh mozzarella balls known as bocconcini, use those for this recipe. It's easy to throw three or four balls of cheese in the bottom of each soup bowl and call it good. If you can't find bocconcini, feel free to dice up any fresh mozzarella you can find. It will all melt the same, and what we're after here is easy meltability. (Totally a word.) Every bowl should have its own soft little nuggets of wonderfulness.
4. Does the price of basil in the winter bring you down? (Plus, it's not exactly seasonal, is it.) Then use a drizzle of pesto in its place. You get the same fresh herb flavor at half the cost.


Summer is finally slowing down and stretching out, like long shadows on a lazy afternoon. June and July were energetic. Three different VBS weeks, baseball, family camp, drama, church activities. We practically ran from one event to the other, powered by the drugs of early morning sunshine and fresh cut grass.

But eventually, the adrenaline wears off and tempers wear thin. Structure, even fun structure, becomes a prison. And so we limped into August and fell head-first into a calendar filled with nothing but white space.

So here we are, week three of August. We have three weeks of summer vacation left. And I'm starting to feel my shoulders relax and come down from their perch by my ears. These are the days when I make plans with friends because the openness of our days scares me a little, when I let the kids stay up until 11:00 to watch family videos, when I say, "Oh, all right" when asked if they can have a treat after eating a paltry serving of vegetables.

This is the summer Sabbath. A time to rest, for sure. To recharge and refresh. But also to celebrate and enjoy the work of our hands. August is when I remember how much I like being with my kids when we have no demands intruding on us. It's when I treasure the simplicity of life as it is right now, when I have enough silence in my soul to behold it. Little ones in fresh-smelling pajamas. Connor and Natalie laughing over a video. The sound of lullabies competing with the hush of the trees after dark.

These are the days I wish August could last forever.

Coffee, Smoothie and Lucky Charms: Life at 43

I turned 43 last week. On my birthday, I posted this picture on Instagram.

It made me laugh - because Lucky Charms at 43 feels vaguely rebellious. But as the day passed, I began to think of it as prophetic. That breakfast is a fairly accurate snapshot of my life at this age.

Coffee: I know what I need. I am comfortable in my own skin. I'm not wasting any more time "looking for myself." I'm right here. I know myself, and I like her. Certainly, I have flaws; I have accepted that I cannot do everything I want or be everything to everyone. But I am OK with that now. I am done striving. I feast daily on grace. Give me this day my daily coffee. It's what I need to get through.

Smoothie: At 43, I am not who I was when I was 23. This seems obvious, but it's not when you are the one inside your own skin. It takes wisdom and observance to realize that age is happening to you. Change is required. Maturity doesn't just happen. So a few years ago, I stopped eating empty calories. I cut out obligations not suited to me, fighting the guilt that says "but you should; there's a need." I created margin in my life. I went to bed at night. I started to work out again - gingerly, after four babies. I gained new respect for my body, this physical frame that carries me through. I fell deeper in love with my husband. I started listening only to Jesus, and stopped craving other people's approval. I discovered what it's like to be nourished. My new way of life became less about what I gave up and more about how good I felt on this side of the divide. That's when change has roots. So now I start most days with a spinach-berry-OJ smoothie - not because I have to or because I fear gaining weight if I eat toast or because I want to appear Pinterest-worthy. I drink that smoothie because I love it. I do it for me, and for the God who made me.

Lucky Charms: I want to grow in wisdom and love and grace and truth. But I do not want to grow into a person who is dour and practical and predictable. Life is a gift. So let's celebrate! Have a dance party! Teach the kids to love Bon Jovi! Go for ice cream at bedtime! Love someone anonymously! Carry granola bars and water in the car to give to the homeless! Sing loud! Mourn with those who mourn. Laugh with those who laugh. Savor the sunset. Every dawn, a new party is laid before us. At 43, I'm done missing it. I color my hair aquamarine and purple, and I dance my heart out at Zumba, and I make no apologies.

This is good news for my friends who are 23 or even 33. It's your choice, of course, but life can get better with each passing year. Pain cannot dull the colors, loss cannot diminish the gift. It just grows more precious and beautiful.

At 43, I know what I need, I know who I am, and I've learned to savor. I'd say that's learning to love well.

Boo Your Neighbors: A Halloween Chain Letter In Real Life

You know what's harder than choosing a costume for Halloween?

Waiting for Halloween.

By this point in mid-October, my kids are whipped into a fun-sized frenzy. Costumes are paraded nightly, and their merits debated. Halloween classics are read (the Great Pumpkin feels less offensive in print), Halloween-themed TV shows are watched (our family favorite is the The Backyardigans - It's Great To Be A Ghost). At least three times every day, someone asks me, with an exasperated sigh, "Is Halloween tomorrow now, Mommy?"

Anticipation can be excruciating.

But fear not, gentle parents. I have a solution. Channel that pent-up energy and Boo Your Neighbors.

Under the guise of darkness, choose two of your favorite neighbors (preferably those with kids, but I imagine kids of all ages would enjoy this). Quietly creep to their doorstep and leave a bag of treats*, a You've Been Boo'd sign and an explanation of the game. (Both are below.) Try not to giggle as you sneak away.

And then watch and wait, as Boo signs mysteriously show up all over your street between now and Halloween.

It's like a chain letter - only with candy instead of a curse.

You can download PDF's of the the Boo sign and game explainer below. Or make your own! Use some more of your kids fevered excitement and let them go with markers.

Halloween Boo poem and directions
You've Been Boo'd sign

Happy Haunting.

*We all know you have an open bag of Halloween candy in your house right now. It's OK. No shame.

Seasons Change

Cold is coming. That’s what the meteorologists say. Never mind that it's only the second week in September and that most everyone in the Upper Midwest is near panicked about summer's end. Nope. Weather don't care. A Canadian cold front is coming in with a left hook. Highs in the 50s with a cold rain, they predict. Gray. Maybe even frost in the outer suburbs.

Teach us to number our days of sun, Lord, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

The dire forecast certainly sent a tingle of terror down my spine. But more than that, it gave me permission to wallow in the last few days, which were perfect to the point of myth. Blue skies, crisp breeze, bright sun that caressed my skin with warmth. “There, there, baby. I’m not gone yet.” The purple and orange coneflowers hosted a honey bee frat party, and the pool was filled, one last time, with laughing, splashing children.

It was glorious. And I relished it more because I knew it was about to change.

This is the lesson of the seasons: change is constant. So you best keep your eyes wide open for the gift of today.

My kids started school last week. There was the normal adjustment: Teyla started first grade - she's gone all day now, riding the big yellow bus to and from school with her older brother - and Kieran is in preschool three mornings a week. But for the most part, this is a well-worn groove. We know this dance. We all get up between 7:00 and 7:30, we leave the house at the same time each morning. I know every possible route to Natalie's private school, I can guess what each child wants for lunch. Everyone gets home around 4:00. It's safe. Predictable.

But I see signs of change ahead.

Next fall, Natalie starts high school, and a public high school at that. Connor will transition to middle school. And Kieran, my baby, will start all-day, everyday kindergarten.

Whew. Left hook to a momma's heart. That's a lot of transition coming for me in 2015. Good stuff, even great stuff. But all of it involves heaping piles of change.

Which is why I'm savoring this year, The Year Before. I'm 42 now. I have experience with seasons. I have learned to step back and use all my senses to treasure today. Natalie, tall and tanned, embracing her new role as oldest on campus. Basking in her last year with her friends before the high school diaspora. Connor, relaxing in to his second year at his new school. Deepening friendships, growing comfortable with routines and expectations. Teyla, delighting in first grade and the new friends and the new teacher. For her, it's all discovery and giggles. Even Kieran, dipping his toes in the educational pool and then happily joining me back at home, where he can snuggle and play guys and do karate without a single distraction or care.

I've said before, these are the good days. I know it.

And this year, I'm savoring it. Open wide my eyes. Listen. Laugh. Drink it all in, every last bit.

Because I love every season. But the one I'm in is always my favorite.

A Lament for Summer

Subtitled: The First Person to Rejoice Over the Return Of All Things Pumpkin Gets Slugged

Take back thy fall leaves on the ground
Take back thy colors all around

Take back thy pumpkin spice latte
Take back thy apple scented days

Take back thy scarves, thy boots and coats
Take back thy caps (you know, eh, toques)

Take back thy cool nights bright with moon
You come too quick, you come too soon

Take back thy school bus rumbling through
Take back thy chill morns wet with dew

Take back thy pumpkins, gourds and wheat
Take back thy cheers and football cleats

Take back this season, though but fair,
’Tis not the time for autumn’s prayer

I need more heat and pool and sun
More golden days beg to be spun

Give me sloth and hair that's wet
I'm not done with summer yet

But in four weeks, come back, thou fall
Your glory, then, I welcome, all

Just kindly sibling winter ditch
That season really is a ...
That season really makes me twitch

My sincere apologies to dear friends who are real poets, but that picture at the top is one I took on Labor Day - the sumac are already turning crimson. Thus, passion was unleashed, and this ditty was born.

The Golden Days

The wind blew crazy Sunday morning. The treetops pirouetted against the sapphire sky and the leaves skittered along the pavement and the dragonflies stayed low to the grass and tried in vain to make headway.

I went outside in my pajamas just to feel its wildness on my skin. It lashed my eyes and twisted my hair and snuck down into my soul, where it tugged like a hurricane. Faster, faster, it whispered. I bring change on my wings. You cannot stop me. 

And I whispered right back, I know, alright? I know. But I have two days left.

Simmer down, wind. Simmer down.


Summer has been golden this year - piled high with laughter and sunshine and laziness like a triple-scoop ice cream. I've fairly rolled around in it like pig in slop. We didn't go on any big trips, choosing instead to stay close to home and do ... well, a whole lot of nothing. We swam every chance we got, we spontaneously met friends at the park which turned into pizza dinners at someone's house which turned into sleepovers "please mom please mom please." The big kids spent days watching YouTube videos of other people playing and narrating Minecraft, sort of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 for the next generation. The little kids went camping in their bedrooms, which essentially meant cramming backpacks with two of every toy in the house (tiny little Noahs) and then leaving them for me to discover under beds, in closets, in bathtubs. Teyla spent hours crouched low in the yard, one finger out, patiently willing dragonflies to land on her. Kieran taught himself to swim in our pool, going from life-jacket-only in June to jumping off the diving board by himself in August, part ninja, part fish, bobbing up from sparkling water with a smile and a yell.

It was the best stuff of life.

These are the sweet days, I know it. Natalie turned 13 in July. She's almost as tall as me and her thick mane of chestnut hair stretches long down her back. She takes selfies like its her natural language (which it is, I suppose) and she texts with friends from school and when I hug her good night, I close my eyes and hug tight because just a few days ago, she was my baby, and now she's emerging woman. Connor is as wirey and bronzed as some mythical snake. He does perfect dives into the pool and when he laughs, he wrinkles his nose and throws his hair back and his sun-streaked blond hair shimmers.

This summer shone brighter than the sun.

I've told many friends that I'm in a near panic about going back to school this year. I'm not ready to return to early to bed and early to rise, I'm not ready to pack lunches every day, I'm not ready to return to schedules and traffic and deadlines. I've grown quite accustomed to waking up whenever I want and doling out breakfast between 10:00 and noon and serving chips and homemade salsa for lunch and eating dinner only when everyone is hungry. Bedtime lately has been well after dark, almost always after 10:00, if I'm honest and feeling brave enough to admit that on the Internet. I'm not ready to give up days where getting dressed means putting on a dry swim suit and we can fall asleep on chair cushions watching the clouds meander across the sky.

Mostly, I'm not ready to give up my kids. I will miss each one of them when they go back to school on Tuesday. I will miss the time we've spent together this summer, just being. I will miss them as they are in this season, this moment - tanned, laughing, bored, relaxed. I will miss them so much my soul will ache.

So simmer down wind. I know I can't control you, and I know you are a harbinger of change. But I've got two more days. Still time for one more swim and one more snuggle.

I don't intend to waste a moment of this golden summer.