Chicken Corn Chowder

So I've had corn on the brain since my husband started working for Husk last year. They're a brand new company with an innovative idea: "Husk is a local food system in Indiana-farms, processing, distribution, and retail grocery- which provides year-round access to local Indiana foods." You can visit their website here to learn more. The first bags of corn he brought home last summer we simply cooked and devoured straight out of the pan. But I also love cooking with corn and have been itching to try some new things. When he brought home several bags of Husk corn and green beans the other day and I couldn't wait to begin experimenting with recipes. A healthier chicken corn chowder was top of the menu.

A note before we get to the recipe. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a c'est la vie personality. Finite details are for when I'm editing photos, or preparing a piano piece for public performance. Other than that, I usually prefer to go with the flow. And... I need to go on before I break into a chorus of Que Sera, Sera... So recipes are usually more like suggestions anyway as far as quantities, especially spices and herbs. Which means that this recipe doesn't have quantities for the herbs, just suggestions. We started with teaspoons of almost everything, then added a pinch more, then another pinch, as tasting determined. Word to the wise, though, let rosemary settle a bit before adding more. I tend to be not as fond of it as other people are and a little goes a long way.

Chicken Corn Chowder

Ingredients:

2 chicken breast, cubed

2 bags Husk corn

1 bag Husk green beans, cut

1 yellow onion

2 cups baby carrots, chopped

1 cup celery, chopped

5 potatoes, cubed

2 cloves garlic, minced

8 cups chicken brother OR 8 cups water with 8 chicken bouillon cubes

1 can cream of chicken soup

Herbs to taste:

1 tsp Rosemary

1 tsp Thyme

1+ tsp Basil

Kosher salt (add only if you used chicken broth. Bouillon is salty enough that you don't need any more)

Dash crushed red pepper flakes

Dash cayenne pepper

1+ tsp Black pepper

Serves: 15 or so. (Makes great leftovers and work lunches!)

Nutrition info from myfitnesspal.com. It's not perfect, but it's close. Also, the sodium is high, but that's from using bouillon cubes instead of chicken broth. 

Calories: 108 carbs: 16 fat: 1 protein: 5 sodium:  469 sugar: 3

Directions:

In large stock pot add cream of chicken soup, chicken broth, herbs, and carrots (they take the longest to cook). Cover and cook on medium. Once carrots are roughly halfway cooked, add potatoes and celery.

Meanwhile, cook chicken in a skillet. You could add it to the soup pot to cook that way if you're in a hurry, but the chicken stays more tender when it is cooked separately in the skillet. When the chicken is cooked through remove and put in a covered dish. If you time with the cooking of the soup you can then place directly into soup. Since this whole dish was an experiment anyway, we didn't quite get the timing right and had to set the chicken aside. Not the end of the world but it ended up cooling.

Add the corn and green beans. If still frozen it will merely lengthen the cooking time as it will cool the soup. Saute the onions and garlic in the skillet then add to soup.

Just prior to serving, add the chicken to warm. It will still be nice and tender.

*Note: Because we added all the veggies frozen, which added water, and we used water rather than chicken brother, the chowder was a bit watery. We solved this by combining a cup or two of broth and adding with a few tablespoons of flour to make a thickener.

You could serve with crackers, but we all loved it just fine by itself. It was nearly a full meal in itself.

Total time ended up being around 45 minutes of prep/cook time. I can't be sure because I was busy enjoying time with mom, who was visiting from out of state. Between that and the rest of a noisy household, time just kind of flew by... :) You could shorten the time by throwing it all in a crock pot and leaving it on low while you're at work, or throw it all in a large stock pot, forget about it for a while doing other chores and come back. I'm sure it would be great then too. The main reason I added things at different time was to accommodate the different cooking times of the various ingredients so that everything was cooked without being overcooked.

Now for the results. It was DELICIOUS! My husband raved about it, and he's not an over-the-top kind of person. Multiple people went back for seconds that night. My kids liked it top, and they're in that anything-new-is-suspicious stage. This is definitely going on my list of things to make again. Probably throw it in the crock pot next time and have deliciousness waiting when I get home from work!

Back in the tower

Tomorrow is my eight week checkup with my foot surgeon. Its been a year full of doctor's appointments, checkups, and being stuck on the couch. After five weeks of bed rest from preeclampsia, I was thrilled to get up and moving again after Yvonna was born.  And then came my surgery to repair my ruptured Achilles tendon.  Initially, he was saying I would be non-weight-bearing (NWB) for three weeks, in the boot for eight, and not driving for eight.  Then came the actual surgery.  It was ugly inside there. The surgeon described it to my husband as trying to sew together the ends from a horse's tail. Fortunately, I had one tiny segment of my achilles still attached that he was able to use as a template for the length that he needed to sew the others. The phrase he commonly uses in my visits is "due to the chronic nature of your injury." Yeah, walking on a ruptured Achilles for nearly nine months isn't the greatest way to heel. The three weeks of NWB changed into eight. Eight weeks. Two months. Sounds long either way.

I know that there are people in this world who have it much worse off than I do. Believe me, I have worked with many of them. And I'm extremely grateful that my condition is only temporary. I get to get off the crutches at some point. Hopefully tomorrow, but at least at some point. Some people live their lives using crutches, wheelchairs, prosthetics. I feel for them. That's one of the reasons I'm a therapist is because I want to help people regain maximum mobility and quality of life. But I've learned that just because there is someone out there who has a worse condition, that does not negate the pain or frustration of what I'm going through. Since March 6, over four months by now, I've been mainly on bedrest. That bedrest was only punctuated briefly by the break that came from having a baby. Which meant that I was up every 2-3 hours, continually nursing, and recovering from bring the baby into this world. But it felt great to be able to get out of the house! And now I've been stuck. Back in the tower again. With two small boys and an infant. I look forward to not needing the significant amounts of help that I've been needing, to be able to take care of my family myself.

After my knee surgery I was on crutches, but the doctor wanted me putting weight on my leg. (It's called WBAT-weight bearing as tolerated. Meaning the only limitation on how much weight I can put on that leg was only limited by my pain levels) That wasn't too bad. Non weight bearing is no picnic. My arms grow exhausted from carrying my body's weight, as humans were not designed to walk on our hands. My left leg grows tired quickly with standing as I'm balancing entirely on one leg. The steps to my dining room are too short and steep to safely navigate, I can't get things out of the oven, do laundry, or even carry my own daughter.  I've learned how to move things along from surface to surface using my gorilla-length arms and hop over on my crutches. And yes, it's safe.  I've been a model patient. Really, I have. This is my one chance to get it right as a second surgery would not have a good chance of positive outcome.  I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize my chance of healing successfully. This behaving is frustrating, leaving me feeling helpless, needy, and thanking God for the wonderful people who have stepped in to do what I cannot. I'm praying to get clearance to start walking tomorrow. I'm getting serious tower fever.

Bed Rest

     Think about who you are for a moment. About your own wonderful and unique blend of God-given personality and the character that you've chosen to develop. Although many of this earth will behave in similar ways at times and you may find those that you share traits with, you are as one-of-a-kind as your thumbprint. My own personality combines my natural sanguine, free-floating spirit with a deep and fiery determination. The first time I ever read in history about the southern term "steel magnolias" it resonated with me. I found I could identify with the concept of someone being gracious, feminine, and ladylike and still having the backbone and grit to get things done when it mattered. At 15 I tore the stitches in my knee because I pushed through rehab so hard and also impressed my coaches at how quickly I was back on the court. In the PTA program I constantly heard classmates saying, "I don't know how you get it all done with all you have going on." My boss commented after one of the best April Fool's jokes I've ever managed to plan (that's a whole other story!), "you just don't give up, do you?" I grinned while shaking my head and said, "Nope. Not in my vocabulary."
     I come from a family of determined people. That's probably where a lot of it comes from. It's a mixture of optimistic "can-do" attitudes and a knowledge that sometimes sacrifices just have to be made to accomplish a goal. For me there was a lot of competition with my older brothers and trying to be seen as anything but the baby of the family. But there can be a darker side to this as well. You can only burn a candle from both ends for so long before both ends of the flame meet in the middle. Even steel will crack when exposed to too much pressure. And that is what has happened to me. My poor pregnant body has declared "enough!" I was hospitalized for two days last week due to high blood pressure, a potentially deadly condition in pregnancy known as preeclampsia. Even today with all the marvels of modern medicine there isn't much that doctors can do for prevention and treatment. They don't even know why some women come down with it and other don't. Currently I'm obeying my doctor's orders and doing the best that medicine can to keep both myself and my unborn child safe: restricting salt in my diet, taking blood pressure meds, and full-time bed rest.
     To say that I didn't struggle when my OB/GYN issued this edict would be a bald-faced lie. It felt like my world as I know it is coming to an end. Maybe a tad dramatic, I'll fess up to that, but it completely turned my life upside down. I'm used to constantly moving, coming and going, doing, being busy. What in the world am I supposed to do lying on the couch, and preferably on my left side? I've grown accustomed to feeling constant pressure from deadlines, house, children, responsibilities, and feeling that's just a part of my normal life. No surprise that my BP is high, I can often feel my pulse thudding in my neck and the base of my skull.
     In a conversation that my dad has had to repeat to two out of his three children, he related his own struggles with stress and blood pressure at a young age. About his doctor's warnings and the choices he had to make to become healthier.  In his early 20's my dad had to learn to stop and smell the roses more and to relax. And apparently that too is something that has to be learned in this family. Apparently I need to stop running and learn to sit and be content. Apparently I need to be more in the moment and stop worrying about what comes next. To stop depending on self so much, and rely on God.  To accept love and help from other people. Apparently  I have lessons to learn, children to cuddle and read to, things to mentally and emotionally let go of. Apparently this bed rest is going to be good for me for more than producing a healthy baby.

Not in my plans

     This was not the pregnancy that I had planned. I was going to keep running 3-6 miles, 3 times a week. I was playing volleyball. I was going to be the picture of health this time. Then my achilles tendon ruptured with a sickening pop. As if the forcible removal of all fun things physical combined with the limping and subsequent backache weren't bad enough, then the blood pressure started climbing. Preeclampsia. Once was enough already and not what I wanted again.
     Now I'm sitting in the doctor's office afraid to move lest my nose start spurting blood again. Idly I wonder how much blood loss equals one of the daily iron supplements my OB recently added to my daily regimen. Shoot! I forgot it this morning. Need to remember to take when I get home... I can't tell if my headache is from the blood pressure that spiked this morning or from my severe sinus infection. this and getting sent home from work this morning. This was not in my plan either.
     I worry. A lot. Too much. I worry about how I will pay the bills if I'm put on bed rest. I worry about my body, whether it's killing my baby. I worry about being a mom to my two wonderful boys and whether all of this is taking time away from them. As I feel my pulse pound way too quickly in my neck, I worry that I won't be able to carry her to full term.
     Then from inside a small kick pulls me out of my musings. She's active for a few minutes, kicking bones and bladder indiscriminately. My precious little girl is, for the moment, doing all right. And her tiny taps, which are constantly growing stronger, remind me of God's grace. Of his goodness. Of the fact that He gives enough for today, for this moment. That He is taking care of me and of my family. To not cross the line from planning into worry. His grace, his unmerited favor and love, is enough. And that's been the theme of this pregnancy. To trust in God's grace every day and depend on His strength. And to thank God for the amazing family, church family, and coworkers and I'm surrounded with who are supporting me and praying for me.

 “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 2 Corinthians 12:9

My Achilles Heel

     According to Greek mythology, Achilles was not born invincible, but was instead prophesied that he would die in battle. To prevent this, his mother dipped him in the river Styx which was said to be the source of great power. She had to have a grip of some point, and held him by one heel, leaving one weak point on his otherwise invincible body.  The mythology further states that Achilles was shot and killed by a poisoned arrow in his heel.  Thus the phrase describing someone's "Achilles heel."
     I am (obviously) far from invincible, but I understand the pain of an Achilles tendon injury. Last week there I was merrily playing volleyball when suddenly I pushed off my right leg to feel and hear it pop and down I went.  Doctor says the tendon is ruptured and I require surgery to fix it. The good news/bad news is that I can't have surgery for another 7-8 months because I'm pregnant.  The plan is now that I'll have the surgery soon after the birth and really be laid up for a while. So where does that leave me? Wearing a walking boot, trying to stay healthy, counting down the days for more than one reason. This is not the pregnancy that I had planned, but lucky for me my God does have a plan. As my OB/GYN joked, "that'll teach you for trying to exercise and stay healthy."

      Thank you to all my friends who are praying for me.  I'm going to need continued prayers over the next months.
     

Big Brother Gets it Right

        Anybody that has children knows that the friendship level can swing widely from one extreme to the next in less than the blink of an eye. Children who were happily playing together are suddenly screaming bloody murder with cries of "Mom, he...!" mixed in for good measure. Such are my two boys. One moment they're best friends and the next Mom has to step in for a calming effect and send them to their respective rooms once the rounds of apologies have been completed. Then Mom gets to go and talk to each offender individually about his particular role in the spat.  My oldest loves his little brother but being the oldest also likes his alone time. He is also quite the more clean of the two and often resents the way Landon strews toys all around and frequently breaks them in his exuberance. My youngest being the youngest thinks that alone time is a penalty and strives to be with Nathan every second they're both awake. He also, as aforementioned, is happy with is room being knee-deep in toys and clothes and doesn't get the concept of privacy. You see trouble brewing between the vastly different personalities? Then join the club.
        Relationships had gotten to the point where any approach by Landon was greeted with "Go away, I don't want you around." Such as response was, as you can well imagine, not tolerated in this household. One afternoon it was bad enough that after I sent Landon to take his nap, Nathan and I sat down and had a good long talk. We discussed how Mommy and Daddy gave Nathan his name because it means "gift from God" and that Landon is still a precious gift even though his name means something different. Each and every child is a precious gift from the Father. I also pulled out Landon's baby album and pointed out how many pictures had Nathan excited to be around his baby brother. (and there were numerous pictures of Nathan hanging out with his brother.) Then we prayed for his attitude towards his brother to change.  I've also talked to Landon extensively about giving Nathan some alone time. That was a hard concept for the kid to swallow!
         I wish I could say it's been perfect since then, but that would be a complete lie. And it would mean that my kids aren't growing through challenges.  Nathan is much better about asking Landon to leave his alone rather than shoving him into the hallway and locking the door. Landon, with some coaching, now leaves Nathan's room when asked and the whining is diminishing. The other day I could not have been more proud of my oldest son. The second night of VBS we ended up moving Nathan up to an older class (the downside of holding him back from kindergarden a year is the constant struggle to identify which age group he needs to be in.) Landon was heartbroken that he was no longer going to have his brother in his class with him. While I was busy trying to take care of necessary communications with other adults I was unable to comfort my youngest son. Never fear, Nathan took care of that. I looked over to see Nathan with Landon's head cupped in his hands and his forehead touching his little brother's while reassuring words came out of his mouth. My thoughts ran between "Awwww" to "WHERE'SMYCAMERA?WHERE'SMYCAMERA?INEEDMYCAMERA!!!!" Alas, the moment was too fleeting to dig my phone out of my pocket and capture the photo, but it is ofrever captured in my memory. Reassurance that as they grow, so will their relationship. Hope that maybe I'm leading them in the right direction. Reminders that little hearts are big enough to share God's love.

Hunger Games, a Promotion, and Memories

          Saturday was a day full of fun things and unexpected memories. First I read Mockingjay, the conclusion to the Hunger Games trilogy. Reading it brought up memories of my time in the formerly Communist Russia. About watching the way people were affected psychologically, how they lived and survived, how these behaviors remained even after the downfall of that totalitarian government.   Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay's author, describes a fictional world that has lived for 74 years under a dictatorial government. She describes in vivid details both the excess and frivolity of those in the Capital, the wanton disregard for the rest of the country by the government, and the desperate struggle to survive of the lower class people.  It brought to mind many of the teachers I worked with talking about the food shortages during the Soviet Union, of standing in line for hours in the bitter cold only to walk into stores with bare shelves. It reminded me how creative writing was one of the hardest tasks for my bright students to engage in, since fitting in was necessary for survival during the old times. Being different was certain to engage the interest and questioning of the authorities. Collins describes the families grieving over the loss of their children in the gladiatorial Hunger Games which reminds me of a statue in Moscow's Museum of the Great Patriotic War.  Immediately I am mentally standing in the Hall of Remembrance and Sorrow before  the white marble statue depicting a mother mourning over the body of her son who died in military action. Presented are both the dignity and respect of one who gave his life for his country and the grief of a mother who's son will never come home.  The difference is of course that honor is being paid to those who defended their country from the encroaching Nazi Germany while in the book previous lives are thrown around for the amusement of a fickle population.
          When I finish a book, and especially a series, I am always a little bit sad that it is over.  I hate both saying goodbye to characters that, although fictional, have become my friends for several hours and leaving the world in which they live.  I find myself wanting to know what happens after the last period and how the story continues for these people.  After finishing the Hunger Games trilogy, I felt an array of emotions. Swirling together with the sadness over finishing and a slight disappointment over the ending were the memories of my time in my beloved Russia.  Again I am forced to realize that I left a part of my heart in Russia and it will never return to me.  I cannot tell you why Russia, why I love it so. I can only tell you that it is there and it will never stop. The people, so long downtrodden and denied hope, both stoic and loving, proud and generous, such a unique mixture of what should be opposites, are forever in my heart.
          Barely had I time to reflect on all of this before it was time to get ready. I managed to corral my boys through the bath and into dress clothes to head to the promotion ceremony of a friend in the army.  As always, I feel gratefulness and pride during the playing of the national anthem. Ever since my time in Russia, I have become misty-eyed when I see our beautiful flag and hear the song reminding us about the hard-earned fight to become "the land of the free." Today, emotionally a little raw over Mockingjay, in an aircraft hanger celebrating the promotion of one of those brave who help preserve our freedom, tears fell as I leaned over and switched my youngest son's left hand to right and showed him where his heart is.
          He made one star general. I love the ceremony and tradition of the military. Not just because I love flags flying, sharp dress uniforms, and highly polished shoes. Not that I don't enjoy the parades... I love the patriotism, commitment, and the personal sacrifice that our men and women in uniform display. To me, they are heroes. Christ stated, "There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends." Jn. 15:13 (NLT)  Our military is an unbroken line over 200 years old who have been willing to give their lives to defend the freedoms we often take for granted.  My friend is a strong Christian and was able I give his testimony.  He is one who stands with all the pomp and circumstance of an elite promotion and not only quotes, but lives "with great privilege comes great responsibility." He truly understands the obligations required of his new post. It was an honor to be there and celebrate this day with him, his supportive wife, and his family who have all had to make sacrifices.
          As I watched his wife and grown children fasten his general stars on, I remember my own brother's swearing in ceremony.  It started at midnight eleven years ago, but many details are permanently fixed in my brain, colorful as the pictures that I frantically took. The pride in seeing take his oath of office and mom and dad pin his butter bars on.  Of realizing that he went through four years of intense and often torturous training for the honor of standing on that stage and promising to make further sacrifices to defend this great country.  Of realizing that years of prayers had just been answered. The ear-to-ear grin on the face of my normally quiet and reserved brother, a smile not often seen the last few years. Of being the crazy sister who was so determined to record everything on film for posterity that she stood in three-inch heels on a metal folding chair in order to get the best shot. The faces on the people in the chairs around me, ladies in sequined dresses and officers with shiny metal and ribbons on their chest and shoulders, not one looked truly askance at my actions because they understood the pride.

         There I sat, on a metal folding chair, proud of the perseverance and sacrifice of both the general and his wife. The memories came flowing back. And a few tears. But this time I didn't stand on my chair.

A generous Lt. Col spent several minutes allowing the boys to tour the helicopter. It made their month!

The boys are tiny compared to the Blackhawk.

It wasn't hard to get them to smile for the camera. :)