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I was raised on beans and cornbread. It remains a comfort food to this day. Long-cooked, whole pintos topped with a square of buttered corn bread and maybe a bit of cheese. Mmmm!

Beans with cornbread is filling and cheap making it a great choice for a big family mom on a budget which is probably why we ate it so often. Raising a big family on a single income was a challenge even then, but I wasn’t aware of those details at the time. I was just glad it wasn’t liver. 🙂

Mom always served the left over cornbread the next morning with milk. (Which I think is — what’s the opposite of “Mmmm”?) I guess it’s a southern thing?

Twenty years later, as a mom of a growing family, beans once again became a staple, but never in the same way as my family growing up. Don is not a big fan of beans as a meal. And, while he doesn’t complain, I choose not to serve it often. For this reason, my kids did not come to love it as I do. So, it’s usually chili now or goulash that gets served with cornbread. But somehow the southern gene skipped a generation and my kids adore cornbread with milk. So we always make a double batch for the breakfast leftovers.

When James was diagnosed with many food allergies as a baby, I got a crash course in allergy friendly cooking and baking. I adapted this recipe to be gluten and dairy free. Even my people who don’t have to eat gluten free love it. In fact, they prefer it to the regular version. It is moist and delicious.

Enjoy!

PS If you don’t have to eat gluten free, you can eliminate the rice flour, potato starch, tapioca starch and xanthan gum and simply use two cups of all purpose flour instead. But, like I said, my family all prefers the gluten free version. 🙂

Get ready for it….

Just tell him exactly what you want and ask him to do it.

He doesn’t know if you don’t tell him. He is not a mind reader.

Okay, so I realize this is not always the solution. But, I spent way too many birthdays and other special days feeling sorry for myself because my husband hadn’t done anything “special” for me before I finally (dope slap) realized he was all too happy to please me every way he could — he was just clueless about what would actually make me feel appreciated. Then he would get stuck. Not wanting to make a wrong choice and therefore defaulting to nothing.

So, I started telling him. Not just in passing. I would email him. Or text him. Or send him an amazon.com link. Or post a list prominently on the refrigerator of gift ideas and outing ideas that appealed to me. I made sure to state specifics of my preferences. “I like daffodils” is better than “bring me flowers” (unless you just love ALL flowers). Include clothing sizes and color preferences if applicable. Point being, he WILL forget the exact details. But if I provide a written version he can refer back to, he will remember that there is a special day and make an effort by referring to my suggestions.

I, in turn, heap on the gratitude when he makes an effort. Oh how he loves me.

This same technique is effective when I’m experiencing emotional trauma or frustration. In his uncertainty over how to handle his emotionally fragile wife, he may revert to offering advice. Often that’s not what I need. So I tell him. I just need a hug. Or “will you please research this and let me know what you find”.

Specific. Specific. Specific. And he responds beautifully.

And I’m amazed that it can be so simple.

And shocked at how long it took me to figure it out.

During one school day a short while after our return from San Francisco, where Don and I had spent our anniversary, I sat down to read to the two little boys. Since there had been many questions about what we saw and experienced during our stay in San Francisco, I thought perhaps a book with a focus particularly related to the city might be of interest to them. I suggested Maybelle the Cable Car. They agreed. I had never read the book, but the author, Virginia Lee Burton, has written several other delightful children’s stories including Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, Katy and the Big Snow, and The Little House, with which I am more familiar. I did not think I would be disappointed. But was not sure about the boys.

As it turned out, it was a little bit over their heads in spots. And their attention waned. Not one to give up, and because I wanted to finish the story for myself, I continued; but at a rapid pace to get through and move on to the next story. Suddenly, out of their struggle to understand the language that was so far our of their understanding, they had all these questions… Why did the city burn? What is an earthquake? I gave quick answers and moved right back into the text in my quest to finish the book.

But they had more questions… How does an earthquake start a fire? What makes an earthquake happen? Do earthquakes happen here?

Again, my answers were brief, and back to the text. I was feeling slightly annoyed at the interruptions. At this point their squirming was becoming intolerable and I just wanted to be done and move on to the next thing.

But they had still more questions… Have you ever been in an earthquake? Did your house fall down? Do streets get wrecked? Do bridges break? As my impatience began to flare, I heard a small voice in my head that said “Go with it!”

So I did.

We got out some books on earthquakes. And on fires. Natural disasters of all sorts. And specifically about earthquakes in San Francisco. I told them about the much more recent Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989. I looked up photos so they could see the devastation. We discussed what our typical earthquake feels like, and why I don’t fear them and don’t think they need to worry either. We talked about disaster preparation. About having water and food stored for an emergency.

This took about 15 minutes, during which time they were rapt with attention and had many great questions.

Then the detour was over and we were back on track. We finished the book and moved on to the next one.

I’m thankful for that small voice. I’m thankful that I gave in to it. That I was willing to take the detour. So often, I am not. I’ve got my own agenda and plans.

Life is so much more than that. At the beginning, it looks like a straight path from start to finish. Then we get detoured on the side streets, the rambling country roads. And we find that that is where the real life happens. That is where the real learning begins. I need to remember to relax and let go. Don’t fear the detours. Don’t dread them. Embrace them. This is where joy is found.