the best homemade granola bars

High fructose corn syrup drives me nuts. It's everywhere, and I won't buy it. Partly now it's on principle and partly it's because I know too much, like how overproduction of corn ruins our farmland, how disturbingly oversweetened our kids are and how cheap foods - which all contain this culprit - are making the poorest in this nation fatter. However, my five year old dissolves into a heap of tears nearly every time we visit the grocery store and I read the ingredient list on a package he is just dying to bring home and declare, "Nope. We can't eat this." Thanks goodness for Trader Joe's.

Even still, the packaging and the pricing are usually a little much, and the product is just so-so. I am convinced there are better alternatives. And when it comes to the granola bar, I am right. After lots of experiments, we have come up with the ultimate recipe. No high fructose corn syrup. No packaging. And because of the sheer number of "bars" we can make, it's a bargain.

There are lots of ways to vary this recipe. Add peanut butter or nuts. Add sunflower seeds. Replace the flour with soy flour if you have an issue with gluten. Substitute quick oats for some of the old fashioned oats to make the bars more cake like. Or dream up additions and substitutions of your own. But maybe try this one to get started. It's really, really good.

Homemade Granola Bars
2/3 cup softened butter
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup honey
1 cup flour
1 t. baking soda
1 t. vanilla
4 1/2 cup old fashioned oats
1 cup sweetened coconut
2-3 T ground flax seed
1/2 cup dried cranberries, raisins or cherries
1 cup mini chocolate chips

Mix ingredients together. Press into a lightly greased 9 x 13 pan. Bake at 325 for 20 minutes. Cool completely before cutting.

first day of school

What a difference between the first day of preschool and the first day of kindergarten. This boy was ready to go. Not a tear (from Liam anyway). At least I still got a big hug and lots of stories at the end of the school day. Top of the list: Kids who didn't listen, the boy who thought he didn't bring a snack and then found it in his backpack later and the "nine hours" they had to sit at their tables. Drew an amazing R2D2 during free time. Already developing a crush on his teacher. Has two best buddies. The adventure begins.

more about a boy

Since my last post about Elliott, he has mastered walking, has added many new words to his vocabulary and has begun displaying an understanding of concepts and processes that he either had no interest in or no comprehension of previously. Best of all, he does not have the serious genetic condition our neurologist feared he might. Thank God for that.

The jury is still out on whether there is a medical reason for Elliott's delays or if he is just on his own developmental trajectory. The biggest struggle for us had been deciding how actively and urgently to pursue answers. Our impulse is to stay out of all the doctor's offices to avoid unnecessary testing, medications and expense and to focus on playing and therapies instead. But if there is a medical issue, we would want to know. It is such a fine line to walk.

In the meantime, we have learned some wonderful lessons and been blessed with gifts and insights that never would have come our way. Here are just a few:

:: Elliott attends a music therapy class with 4-6 other developmentally delayed two year olds. During the 50 minute class, either Andrew or I wait with the other moms and listen while these more vetted parents talk about their kids. One mom has a daughter with down syndrome and autism. She is nearly three and can't walk, can't feed herself, barely speaks and doesn't make eye contact. She is scheduled for multiple surgeries as she gets older. The amount of therapy, medical attention and care she needs is mind-boggling. It is not surprising that her mom always looks tired and sad. But last week this mom told the group about an important research study her daughter's primary care doctor had emailed her. Apparently people with Down Syndrome do not get cancer tumors. It has something to do with the way that their extra chromosome affects protein production. Knowing this, medical researchers are working on creating a vaccination from the cells of kids with Down Syndrome that could some day potentially prevent cancer tumors from forming in an otherwise healthy individual. As this mom told us these findings, her eyes welled up with tears. "Since I learned my daughter had down syndrome, I have prayed that I would know why she was given to me," she said. "Day to day is so hard, but this helps confirm that she's here for an important reason." We really do see through a glass darkly this side of heaven. It's these glimpses, I think, that remind us that there is one.

:: One of our neighbors has a daughter my age whose son has had some serious medical and developmental issues. Although she has serious medical troubles of her own and doesn't get around very well, this neighbor has always been incredibly kind to our family, bringing us loads of fruit from her apple trees, books from her library and gifts for our kids' first Christmases and birthdays. After a long phone conversation about some of Elliott's delays, this neighbor hand wrote me an eight page letter (on legal paper) of strategies and advice on being an advocate for your child as discovered through her daughter's experience. She cited numerous resources, warned of pitfalls, and suggested many ideas of way to gather information and share it with practitioners. She didn't have to do this. In fact, I can think of no reason why she should. It was such a generous and loving act of support and encouragement that after I finished the note, I just sat and cried. The world is full of beautiful people. I am grateful for the reminder.

:: Something I learned while walking with my cousin through her husband's battle with cancer: a serious illness or (in the case of our life with Elliott) a disorder or disability opens your eyes to injustices in the medical, research and insurance worlds as well as the private and public care and education sectors that you would never otherwise know or maybe even care about. Listening to the moms share their stories at music therapy every Wednesday morning and navigating this new territory on our own, I am discovering this: the vast majority of people making decisions about healthcare and early childhood intervention programs and public schooling are not the people whose kids need the care and the therapies and the extra help. Because of this, the people who love the patient - whether it be my incredible cousin fighting to get the best treatments and care for her husband or the parents of a child with autism fighting to get the best answers for their child - are critical advocates. Because of these passionate people, new policies are born, better research is begun and good programs are saved. My head swims when I sit and listen because the problems with our flawed systems seem insurmountable, and it's our precious family members who suffer. But little by little the spouses and parents who fight tooth and nail get things done. Little by little we make progress. It's hard. It hurts. It doesn't make sense. And for most, the glimpses of joy are few and far between. But these are the people making the difference for everyone simply because their love is so strong.

our way with squash

Because of the cool, rainy streaks interspersed with stifling, drought-like conditions, our garden has suffered. We enjoyed an early spurt of lettuce and a few handfuls of the most delicious green beans (even my little veggie snubber would pick and eat them straight from the vine), but the pepper plants produced nothing, the carrots are still the size of Elliott's pinkie and not a single tomato has turned red. The squash, however, has redeemed the bed. Several times a week we have discovered a squash or two hiding under the leaves that wasn't there the day before, a true vegetal miracle.

As a result, summer squash has been a mainstay of our August diet. (Mark, I know you are so jealous.) We saute it with herbs and cook it into frittata-like quiche, but our favorite recipe has been squash-crusted pizza. The inspiration for this recipe comes from the Zucchini-Crusted Pizza recipe in Moosewood Cookbook by Mollie Katzen (one of the best cookbooks ever!). I adapted the recipe to use the yellow summer squash, which I think must have a lower water content and thus results in a less mushy, more crispy crust. I also altered the measurements of some of the ingredients to fit our tastes. It is a truly delicious entree.

Squash-Crusted Pizza
inspired by Mollie Katzen

2 small or 1 large summer squash, grated
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup flour
1/2 cup grated mozzarella
1/4 cup grated parmesan
1/2 t. Italian seasoning or the like
1 T olive oil

Mix the ingredients together and spread into a well greased and lightly floured pie pan. Bake 35-40 minutes at 400 until golden brown. Cool 10 minutes, then slide a spatula under the crust (around the entire pan) to loosen it from the pan. Top with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese and any toppings. (We often top with sliced tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and fresh basil.) Return to oven about 5-10 more minutes, until heated through.

making new things from old

I'm beginning to discover that I am not a pattern follower. Detailed instructions both frighten and frustrate me. I prefer to wing it. Hence, the reconstructed, vintage pillowcase apron I made as part of my sister's shower gift. I basically cut off the sewn end of a salvaged pillowcase, made a waistband with ties from a fabric remnant I had stashed and embellished. Amazing what a little rickrack can do.


This cute fabric was a maternity beach cover up from which I cut a rectangle, sewed up the side and added an elastic waist to make a skirt for my niece. Then I used a scrap of the material to make a flower for a thrifted polo shirt.


I have wanted to try making this fabric ranunculus since I saw the instructions posted. It was really easy to do and made the outfit extra sweet.

If I had the time, I swear I would re-make something every day. Maybe it's the pleasure of making it up or maybe it's the satisfaction of recycling something that would end up in the trash or the rummage sale. Or maybe it's the joy of constructing something unique for someone special. I can't imagine much I'd rather do.

{Speaking of reconstructing things, be sure to check out this Etsy shop that my friend Alysa turned me onto. A couple of women at a homeless shelter in Chicago are working on donated sewing machines, creating one-of-a-kind bags from old jeans. How cool is that? Alysa has an awesome heart and has been helping these women out by passing on a bunch of beautiful fabric that was given to her and by spreading the word about their craft. You can read the inspiring story here.}

birthday bag and art

Yesterday my aunt Libby and I spent the better part of the day at the Art Institute. An artist and art teacher, Libby is the person you want to take to an art museum. We stood teary eyed in front of works of Renoir and Rodin and were seriously mystified by the contemporary American "works" in the new wing. I have taken my share of art history classes, including a spectacular course in Impressionism when I studied in Paris, but I don't think anything I could learn would help me appreciate what passes for "art" in the late 20th century. A pile of gravel, a room of white panels, a video of a clown on a toilet reading a magazine, a big black canvas with the date October 31, 1978 painted on it, for no other reason than because the artist existed on this date. Where is the beauty? The inspiration? The skill? Doesn't take more than painting a canvas white to be an artist? Have we replaced observation and imagination for complete self absorption? The contrast is so great, it's disturbing. I even dare wonder, "My admission fee - not to mention tax dollars - is paying for this? Really?"

Since Libby lives in Canada, I don't get to see her very often, so the day together was a treat. And since today is her birthday, I wanted to make her something special to commemorate the visit and the day. So I attempted sewing my first bag. I pretty much followed the Simple Bag pattern in Last-Minute Patchwork + Quilted Gifts by Joelle Hoverson, except that I made the handles shorts and wider, added a button and clasp, and cinched in the top to cover up for the fact the the lining was slightly too small. I love how the colors all look together, and how well it suits my aunt Libby.

simple stitch journals

Here's a reason to love a sewing machine: a sweet little journal that takes less than a minute to make. I sewed these up to give as favors at my sister's bridal shower last weekend. They were so easy and looked really pretty - eye candy for paper lovers.


If you have a sewing machine, I highly recommend trying this out. Sewing a journal is so easy and satisfying. For the covers, I bought pre-cut 4 x 6 cardstock that comes in a deck for scrapbooking. The designs were varied and eye catching, some raised, some with a touch of glitter, none that needed anything more than to simply be folded in half. Then, I used a paper cutter to chop some recycled paper for the insides that was slightly smaller than the cover size. I used 10 sheets in each, which when folded, made 20 pages. For each journal, I folded both the cover and the stack of pages in half. Then, I aligned them and stitched along the fold. I thought it looked best to stitch on the cover rather than on the inside fold. I backstitched at the top and the bottom so I could trim the thread flush with the journal. And that's it. I think bundled in sets with a good pen, they'd make a nice little birthday or graduation gift. I plan to make many more.

what I found on my camera tonight

Liam's dog Sam showed up on my camera in a mini photo shoot of sorts. Nine shots, all in focus, all hilarious. Oh, how I love age five.

what we fail to notice

I was born into a family of doers. Never is it as evident as when we have an event. Today was a perfect example: when my sisters-in-law and I threw a bridal shower for my sister Liz. Thirty minutes before the shower was to start, the food still needed to be assembled and everyone - including my cousin who was hosting, another cousin who arrived early, and an aunt who had traveled from far away to be a guest - stepped up to quickly and efficiently get the fruit skewered and the cucumber sandwiches made. No one wondered how to help or stood to the side to chit chat. With grace and ease, we got it done, on time. I love that about my family.

Yet, as I have observed and experienced, being a doer can come with a price. We can get so caught up in our doing that we can miss the seeing. I have been to functions where wives stand in the kitchen and give their husbands one directive after another, never even uttering a please or a thank you. I have been to gatherings where the doers work their fingers to the bone, all the while flustered and irritated. I have rarely seen a doer carry on a conversation without one eye scanning for a spill to clean up or bolting mid-sentence to pull a roast from the oven. I have done all of these things myself.

I have also seen the other side. After college I spent a month in Kenya and what I remember most about that trip is how I never met a doer. I think I can unequivocally say that every African I met was far more concerned with a person than a task. As a result, not much got done in the city I visited, and nothing ever happened on time, but people knew they would be genuinely listened to whenever they were together. Because in most families in Africa, nothing comes before relationship. Especially not the dishes.

However, thinking about being three hours late for an appointment or letting my home go to pot because my time was all tied up in visiting makes me crazy. I can't even stand to lay in bed more than a minute after I awaken. There are millions of things to do. But I'm sure there's a middle ground and I'm working to find it.

Here's why: After the shower, my immediate family and the groom and his mother and sister stayed at my cousin's to have pizza together. My cousin's husband had been gone with his son all afternoon while we women did our thing. When he returned, we were in the thick of transition - from bridal shower to "impromptu" dinner party. The kitchen was hectic and my cousin was beginning to show some weariness. I watched her husband quickly assess the situation and, rather than join the other guys standing nearby nursing their beers, he went straight to my cousin, put his hand on her back and tenderly said, "What can I do to help?"

From what I observed it was a moment of true kindness, a loving and generous act. This husband is also a doer, so it could be chalked up to that. And, based on my cousin's reaction, which was to simply direct him to something that needed to be done, she probably took it that way, too. But from my vantage point, it was a glimpse of what we fail to notice when we live at breakneck speed and struggle to get it all done. It was a small gesture but a huge gift, and the recipient breezed right by. It made me sad because I know I do it, too. All the time. Because who has time to open the presents? There are mouths to feed and tables to clear and people to make happy.

So, to my little sister about to wed and all the doers who are too heavy burdened to pause, I beg you, please don't miss the moment. Because the person you love (especially the person you are married to) is made most happy simply by being acknowledged and appreciated and adored. Not with things we bake or make or work all day to provide, but with a smile and a hug and a few uninterrupted moments when we are really and truly not thinking about the next thing we have to do. Look up, exhale, soak it in. And, by all means, don't let a pile of dirty dishes obscure your view. As important as they seem at the time, they absolutely are not worth it.