My Chicken Noodle Soup

This is probably my favorite thing I make.

Well, I really like the pizza Jeremy and I make...

And I really like cheesecake....

I don't make good biscuits, though...I need to work on that...

Ahem.

I adapted this recipe from a Rachael Ray Chicken and Couscous recipe from several years ago.  Someone asked me for the recipe, and I directed them to Rachael Ray's website.  Then, the person told me, "Ummm...that recipe really isn't anything like what you make."

And it wasn't.  That's when I realized that I probably adapted Rachael's concoction into something else.  I still like to make couscous with it (it's a very fine, small pasta - similar in texture to...well, I don't know.  Kind of like grits, but not really.  You either love or hate couscous.), but I've found that it works really well as a chicken noodle soup, too.  It's warm, rich, and comforting - something that will make your heart happy on a cold night.   Freeze it without the noodles and it'll make you a happy little lunch or impromptu dinner.  Chill it and eat it the next night, and you'll find that it only gets better the next day.

I use a lot of fresh thyme in this recipe.   If you do not like thyme, do not make/eat/convince yourself you will like this soup.  If you can make your own chicken stock, do it.  I know that sounds crazy.  I know it sounds like I am insane.  But once you make your own stock and realize how insanely deep and rich it is, it becomes very difficult to want anything made by people who put their stock into a box.  Ina Garten has a straight-up, legit recipe for stock here.

There is something about the combination of shallot, thyme and bay leaf in this that makes the best soup ever.  Well, at least in my opinion. :)

If you're going to serve the soup right away, egg noodles are fine.  If you're going to put it in a crock pot and serve it to guests for several hours, use a stronger pasta.  I prefer penne for this soup.

I'll still call this recipe an adaptation in case Rachael stumbles upon my blog one day and wants to sue me.

Without any further interruption...


Chicken Noodle Soup  (Adapted from Rachael Ray's Chicken and Couscous with Vegetables)

Serves 4

2 quarts and one can, chicken stock (homemade if you have it, low-sodium if you don't)
1 shallot, diced fine
2 whole carrots, diced
1 or 2 bay leaves
Several sprigs fresh time (seven to ten - more if you want)
Four boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 cups dry noodles (preferably something that will hold up to soup, like penne or farfalle)
Salt and pepper, to taste
Olive oil


In a large dutch oven, saute the shallot, thyme, carrots in olive oil.  Once the shallot has become translucent, add in your chicken stock slowly, scraping any bits of shallot from the bottom of your pan.  Add in the bay leaf, salt and pepper and bring the mixture to a boil.  Make sure to taste your broth at this time to see if it is seasoned properly (homemade stock tends to need a little more salt).

Once the mixture comes to a boil, add in your chicken breasts.  Lower the heat and allow the chicken breasts to slowly poach in the liquid for about fifteen minutes.  When the chicken breasts have cooked through, dice or shred them and return cooked chicken to the pot.  Add in the pasta and allow the mixture to simmer until the pasta has cooked through.  The longer you allow the soup to simmer the better the taste will be, but once the pasta has cooked you can serve immediately.

A Candy Bar, a Coke, and a Legacy

So many teachers are burdened at this time of year.  For most of us, the burden stems from uncertainty.  Teachers like control.  The fear of the unknown scares us.  Nightmares plague most teachers concerning the ability to maintain a controlled classroom, perform to expectations, and to set a good example for students.

My fellow teachers and I work in a profession that becomes more undervalued and unappreciated with each daunting year.  As the stakes raise higher, our salaries sink lower.  The word of a teacher was once appreciated and taken as gospel truth - today's teachers battle against embittered parents, face the burden of "the system," and wade through the murky waters of bureaucracy.  And, unfortunately, members of our profession have taken advantage of their authority and made a bad name for the rest of us.

Sometimes it is important for those in "the trenches" with me to remember why we got into this profession in the first place.

Sometimes it is important to remember a Wayne.

Wayne Bradshaw was a football coach - not just an assistant coach or some rinky-dink coach who gets into the game for a few years - but a football legend.  His name permeates stat books and win columns. 

I didn't know Wayne during his coaching years.  I would have loved to see him in action, calling plays and making boys run, but I didn't know that side of him.  I knew him from East Hall Middle School as the in-school suspension (or ISS) teacher.  ISS deals with the children who are being disciplined, and it isn't an easy position to fill.

In some schools, ISS is where some teachers are sent to meet their professional death.

Wayne, however, took his position seriously.  He was at work before I was.  He left after I did. His ISS room was full of rules - structure, organization, writing.  A trip to his room was not supposed to entail a pleasant experience, but rather an experience that would make the student ponder getting into repeated trouble.

Wayne always had a joke on his lips, a sarcastic remark under his breath, and a helping hand to offer.  His stories were long, varied, and heartfelt.  He came to my room during so many pre-planning days with bottles of cleaner and rags, ready to help me out, to offer any assistance needed. He was genuinely and thoroughly  loved by many at my school.

Sadly, a cold February morning brought with it a harsh reality.

Almost a year ago to this very day, Wayne Bradshaw lost his life to a heart attack while hiking - while doing something he loved.

I lost a beloved co-worker and friend.  

I also became aware of an unforgettable legacy.


At Wayne's funeral, people spoke about his accolades.  About his wonderful spirit.  About his ability to coach football and motivate people.

A young sixth grade girl, however, was the speaker who was able to sum up Wayne's post-coaching accomplishments in her eulogy.

After the floor was open for people to share their memories about Wayne, the young girl boldly approached the stage.  She was still dressed in her school uniform.  She looked out at the expectant crowd and told her story.

As long as I live, her story - her words - will forever resonate with me.

This girl was in ISS with Wayne for a few days and was distraught - downright dismayed - about being in trouble.  I don't know what she did to get in trouble - she did not reveal (nor did she want to reveal) what she did.  She did reveal, however, that she was a sixth-grade girl, she was in ISS, and she was upset about being in ISS.

Wayne was burdened for this young girl.  He often dealt with the hard-edged students, and he knew full well how to administer tough love, but this girl cried her whole first day of ISS.  Wayne watched her that day, troubled.  He had students do all sorts of depraved things in ISS (and I can attest to those stories), but the girl who cried spoke to him.

The next morning, the Friday morning of the girl's second day of ISS, Wayne met with his pals at Longstreet Cafe.  It was an early Friday-morning breakfast and "man talk."  Guess what Wayne mentioned to his pastor?

The girl in ISS.

Anyone who knew Wayne knew that he always had a plan, and this day was no different.  Strategy was at the core of Wayne's DNA.  Coach had a plan for the second day to make the girl think, and even though his plan didn't consist of Xs and Os, he knew what he had to do.

Wayne didn't tell me this story - I only know it through the eulogized thoughts of the little girl - the girl Wayne moved enough to stand in front of countless strangers to speak at his funeral.

The girl was his only ISS student that day.

After his break, Wayne came in with a treat for the girl - a candy bar and a coke.

Wayne sat down beside her and offered up his little peace offering.  The girl's words betrayed her emotion as she spoke - one could tell she was happy to see those treats.

Wayne told her that if she agreed to sit with him and talk and agree to never be in ISS again, that he would share this special treat with her.  The girl - the girl in trouble - was getting an olive branch the size of Texas.

She readily agreed.

"You're too good for ISS," he told her.

Wayne's words broke her.  I don't know if anyone told this child before that moment that she was good, worthy, or deserving.  I don't know if a male ever bought her a present in her life.

What I do know is that she needed to hear those words on that Friday.  She needed that candy bar and that coke.

As time would have it, the young girl saw Wayne on Friday.  On Saturday, Wayne climbed a mountain and lost his life.  On Monday, the girl who thought she had found someone to believe in her came to school to find that the teacher who made an impact on her life - that special man - was gone.

The heartbroken girl fled the funeral podium in tears that day, but what she did not realize was the profound impact she had on every educator in that room.

What she didn't realize was that the legacy of Wayne touched her life. 

Wayne had a life so full of love.  Sports, accolades, achievement and family weaved through the tapestry of his amazing life.

In Wayne's last twenty-four hours, he could have relaxed in the ease of retirement and luxury - he could have basked in the glow of his football glory.  Yet, he spent it giving love to a little girl who desperately needed it.

Wayne's trophy room is full of trophies.  Yet, his little symbols of love, those testaments of grace, will forever resonate with the students and athletes he touched.  The glow of love in the eyes of his family when they tell his stories and speak of him will always be his crowning achievement.  The depth and impact of his legacy may never be fully realized, but it is there, it is real, and it has and continues to make a difference.

A candy bar and a coke.  Two symbols of compassion.

What is better way to spend the last twenty-four hours of your life than to give it in love and sacrifice to others?  What is better than to live a life full of compassion?  Live a life like Wayne - so that when the parallel meets the perpendicular you hear, "well done, my good and faithful servant.  Well done."

Well done, Coach.

"I want to leave a legacy/
how will they remember me/
did I choose to love?"
- Nichole Nordeman

Tale as Old as Time...

By now, you probably know my child's deep and yearning love for "Beauty and the Beast," especially Belle.

We used to watch "Belle" about once a week.  That number has grown exponentially. Sometimes, Amelia will point to the tv and say, "Belle?" in the middle of a Lakers game. Sometimes, Amelia will ask to watch "Belle" on our smartphones.  Sometimes, she'll ask where Belle is.  Sometimes, I think I hear her call for Belle in the middle of the night.  She tucks a big, soft Belle doll under her arm at bedtime, and Belle is almost right up there with Silky in terms of utmost importance.

This is a serious infatuation, you see.

Amelia is starting to learn the ins and outs of the movie quite well.  When a good part is about to come on, she'll yell, "here it comes!"  She still tries to talk to the characters on the screen.  She still whines in apprehension when the Beast makes his first appearance.

The other night, she started a new new habit, which is to begin dancing when Belle and the Beast dance to Mrs. Potts singing "Beauty and the Beast."  I say "dancing," but she's really spinning in a circle, slowly, with her arms extended.  However, to a two year-old, the waltz probably looks very similar to this action.

The first time she did this, Jeremy and I could do little but giggle.  Amelia looked so cute spinning around like a top about to fall over.  She must have also looked irresistible, because during her first little dance, Jeremy picked her up and began to dance with her.

In that moment, I watched the two loves of my life take a little spin around our small, blue-carpeted "ballroom."  I couldn't help but feel a familiar twinge of happiness and love.

Jeremy's beard, workout clothes and old shoes made him look rather beastly at that moment.  Amelia smiled at her Daddy and laughed at him as he swung her around, held out her little arm, and gave her a big hug at the end of the song.  I couldn't get over how fitting the song was for the two of them.  It undeniably was "Beauty and the Beast." 

I fully acknowledge the fact that I can rag my husband, that he can drive me crazy, and that sometimes we get irritated with one another.  I don't get on facebook and extoll his praises...mostly because he wouldn't like me to do that.  He would find it trite and silly.  But moments like these remind me of the person he is...and the person he is becoming.  Despite that rough exterior my husband often portrays, he really does have the heart of a prince...of a Daddy.

And I'm thankful for that.

Christmas

Christmas was a little chaotic this year, due to the fact that we had to juggle family obligations with church, but I think we pulled it off beautifully.  Despite the chaos of the actual day, Amelia was very excited about "Tanta," Christmas presents, and all of the lights.  She did great all day and we had a fantastic service at church.

I think Amelia loved the Christmas tree more than anything.  When I took it down (pretty much the day after Christmas), she said, "Where Kiss-mas Tree go?"  She is still asking me.  It makes me happy to know she enjoyed the tree so much...and it totally made up for all of the drama that went into the Farr Family Christmas Tree (seven strings of lights blown, screaming, wailing, trips to the Christmas Tree therapist..ahem).

She got all kinds of presents.  Most of them centered on her new obsession, Belle.  She got other Disney princesses, too, and she's starting to learn their names, but none of them hold a French-accented candle to Belle.  She's growing into a very fun phase and I so enjoyed watching her open presents and actually play with them.

I think this picture represents her Christmas more than anything.  You can just see her happiness.  You can also see how incredibly big she is getting...which is another post altogether...

Her big gift this year was a dollhouse.  Her motor skills are somewhat lacking, so her hands haven't really figured out how to maneuver the big people inside the dollhouse, but she's learning little by little.

I wish someone would have told me how fun it is to be a parent at Christmas.  When you're a kid, you feel sorry for your parents, because they don't get a whole bunch of presents.  I never realized that a parent's gift comes in the form of watching your child enjoy Christmas so much.

I didn't get a ton of "stuff" accomplished this Christmas, but I did get to enjoy my baby girl, and really - that's about all I could ask for or want out of a Christmas break.

Gifts in Small Packages

My whole life, I was told that toddlers were/are difficult.  I've heard stories about the "terrible twos" as long as I've lived.

To be honest, I knew this was true.  I was twelve years old when my sister was two years old.  She got into unimaginable little dilemmas quite often.  Most of these dilemmas involved the destruction of something beloved. 

When Amelia was a baby, she was cute and cuddly.  Part of me dreaded her growing up, because I knew (and because I had been told) that toddlers are/were difficult.  I didn't want her to become a smelly, messy, crazy toddler.  I wanted  her to stay little, compact - sweet.

Today, my toddler girl is wide open.  She's into everything.  She's crazy, she's hyperactive, and she's gloriously messy.  Nothing is safe from her reach.  And yet, despite the whirlwind that is toddler hood, I feel like some people (including myself at times) often miss the point.

Because despite all I was told, I wasn't told was how a toddler loves.  Amelia has a heart as big as the sun breaking open on a winter morning sky.  She loves unconditionally.  There are few things more extraordinary than her constant kisses, her sweet little "I luh loos" and her hugs filled with "mmm-MMM!"   Yesterday, my friend Kathi told the sweetest story about her little 2 year-old telling her that she was his "BEST FRIEND!" My heart melted.  Toddlers totally get it.  They love their parents with a passion that I rarely see in...well, anyone.

Despite what I was told, I also wasn't told what a joy it is to watch a toddler experience.  Everything is wonderful and new to a toddler.  Watching Amelia this Christmas, I feel like I'm re-living Christmas again for the first time.  Everything is enchanting, fun, delightful.  I can't help but to buy her extra treats or take her on special little trips because she loves everything!  She oohs and ahhs over lights, she yells "Tanta!" when she sees the man in the big red suit, and she dances around Christmas Trees filled with presents.  A few nights ago, Kathi, Kim, and I took our crazy babies to Dahlonega to look at the lights.  It was insane and exhausting!  Yet, when we got in the car, Asher told his mama that it was "mac-ig-cal!"  All of my regrets about bringing the kids subsided.  That night, they had an experience.


There are so many little wonderful things about Amelia that no one ever told me about children before I became a mother.  I hear so often about the bad, the tough, the mundane.  I rarely hear about the precious, the "mac-ig-cal," or the memorable.  I want to change this mentality within myself - I don't want to sugarcoat my life by any stretch of the imagination, but I want to make sure I enjoy my sweet girl in every stage of her life.

Children are such a blessing from God.  This Christmas, I wish for all of my friends with "tough toddlers" the ability to sit back and take in the love our children give us - and to experience Christmas with them.

They won't be little forever.

St. Nik(ki).

St. Nick came to visit my school this year.

However, this St. Nick wears eyeliner and has a perfectly cropped and highlighted head of hair.  She's petite and gorgeous, and doesn't have a bowl full of jelly (even when it has a baby in it).

Our St. Nick at school is otherwise known as Nikki, who works in the Language Arts department in 8th grade.  Nikki is so fun-spirited and cute that it is very hard to ignore her pleas for fun and excitement.

Our dear little Nikki Claus decided she was going to spread some holiday cheer to the 8th grade wing this year, and she planned theme days and a Secret Santa gift exchange.  The gift exchange called for very small, inexpensive gifts (one dollar each day and five-dollar gift on Friday) and asked everyone who was interested to meet up to exchange names.

When I showed up for the name exchange, I was taken aback - almost every single member of my grade level was there!  They were all laughing, smiling and talking about the fun to be had in the next week.  I knew, deep down in my heart, that Nikki Claus performed a Christmas Miracle.

Each day was so much fun.  Amy, our grade level chair, decorated a cute little Christmas tree in our workroom.  I played Mission:Impossible with my gifts by hiding them in my lunchbox and I and tried to be as nonchalant as possible.  I attached little poems to my gifts (which, I'm sure, revealed my identity right away...).  My poor secret pal obtained amazing necessities like chapstick, a dollar planner, and a lint roller (yes, a lint roller -you wouldn't believe how linty it gets around EHall!).

Our very small and cute Christmas Tree!

Each day, Nikki called everyone in the workroom around the little tree and distributed presents.  We all opened them and oohed and ahhed in excitement.  Some presents were very exciting (Snickers bars do that to some people) and some left people rolling in laughter (like the sleeve of faux tattoos that Wes got from his Secret Santa).

Reindeer Day

The "theme days" were loads of fun, too.  We had Reindeer Day, Christmas Sock Day, Snuggie Day, Crazy Christmas Scarf Day (I couldn't find a crazy scarf to save my life - what's up with that!?) and "Vintage" Sweater Day.  Vintage Sweater Day was mostly sponsored by Susan, our instructional coach, loaded us up on her lovely assortment of Christmas sweaters.  The only thing that would have made these days a little better would have been a slight chill in the air.  It's difficult to wear a Snuggie/scarf/sweater when it is seventy degrees outside.  I was surprised, yet again, at how many people decided to contribute to the fun.  Nikki Claus really worked her magic.

Snuggie Day, Part II: Revenge of the Blanket with Sleeves

Vintage Sweater Day - that's Nikki Claus holding the Starbucks swag!

I'm thankful for a friend like Nikki.  Her infectious spirit helps me through the rough days and helps me make memories out of the best days.  She reminds me that sometimes 8th grade teachers are truly just 8th graders at heart.

Christmas melts even the most Grinchy hearts...teehee.

The Weary World Rejoices

Earlier this year, my church discussed giving money to a program.  It offers former female prisoners rehabilitation, counseling, and stability.  I have heard about this program for months, but yesterday, I was able to view a tangible expression of what this program entailed.

The women - perhaps fifty or more - took up the first several rows of our worship center.  Before the offering, a couple of them told their stories and shared their experiences with the ministry. Their lives were compressed into brief segments of time - a mere glimmer of the addiction, abuse and depravity each faced.

The pain resonated in their words and their faces betrayed their emotions as they spoke of the life they once lived.  These women told of the hope they found through our church, through the program created - and through the life of Jesus Christ.  How He changed their lives forever.

After the clapping and the little awards given to these women, our worship leader and one of our musicians came back on stage for a haunting rendition of "Silent Night."

In my seat, I just melted into a puddle of emotion and tears.  It hit me like a ton of bricks -

This is a part of the beauty of Christmas.

The fact that God Himself stepped into flesh to offer hope and redemption.  It is a splendor I cannot describe with enough words, a love I can never fully explain.  The fact that despite our dirtiness and depravity, He loved enough to restore.

We speak of gifts, we search for gifts, we make lists of gifts.  But no gift will ever be greater than the Gift of Jesus Christ.  Nothing will ever undo like the depth of his love. 

And, though those women never mentioned Christmas, I found such comfort in their simple, easy stories - I remembered the beauty of Christmas.  This is the Christ who I serve.  This is the Jesus I love.  He loves enough to redeem, to give himself in the form of humanity - so that in this world full of darkness we could turn to face it with His light. When we fall, when we fail, when we are distressed, when we feel defeated, "He gives more grace."

Amen.


"Hail the heaven born Prince of Peace, Hail the Son of Righteousness!/Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings/Mild He lays His glory by, born that man no more may die/Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth/Hark! The herald angels sing, 'glory to the newborn King!'"