rhythm and routine: meal planning

I remember once reading on a blog about a mom who makes homemade pizza for her family every Saturday night. She had perfected her pizza dough recipe and was boasting of how easy this meal was, how she always had shredded mozzarella, pepperoni and pesto in the freezer. How once she learned how to make the dough, there couldn't have been an easier meal. How she suddenly felt off the hook to meal plan on the weekends, because this homemade pizza somehow scored huge points with everyone in the family.

I remember reading that and thinking Eeyore thoughts about how lovely it all sounded. How I wish I could have homemade pizza every Saturday night. 

I read that blog post years ago, so it only took me a couple years to snap out of it. And to realize that homemade pizza night could happen at my house too. Poor Eeyore. Makes everything seem so hard.

I started Pizza Saturday at the beginning of January and it only took me three failed pizzas to find the dough recipe my family likes the best. The rejects were edible, but the dough didn't rise, and we weren't excited about it. But last week we hit the jackpot with this recipe. (It's a breadstick recipe...) And this recipe for the sauce. 

I write all of that because I am afraid when you read this next part, your Inner Eeyore may flair up. But if you are a mom trying to figure out meal planning and prep, I think I might have just landed on something very handy.

And it begins at McDonalds.

Since the new year began, we have spent each Sunday night at McDonalds. While there, Ivar munches on his chicken nuggets and apple slices. I eat a Southwest Salad and Rory enjoys his value meal. And as I sneak fries from Rory, I write out the grocery list.

I choose three meals for the week ahead, based off of this meal plan:
Saturday night: Pizza Night
Sunday night: McDonalds and Grocery Shopping
Monday: Supper #1
Tuesday: Leftovers
Wednesday: Supper #2
Thursday: Supper #3
Friday: Leftovers

I combine the list that I made on the fridge all week (the things we ran out of) with the list of food I need for these three meals and add all the usual's as well. (dairy, produce, cereal, lunch stuff and snacks...)

For example, this week we are having Supper #1: Roast Chicken, Supper #2: Chicken Noodle Soup, Supper #3: Pork Chops.

I organize the shopping list in order of the store and then we head to Cub Foods.

When we get there, I rip the list in half and Rory takes Elsie to find the aisle stuff and I get the produce, meat and dairy with Ivar.

We are done and out of there in less than thirty minutes. No joke. And because everyone is well rested from nap time and has a full belly from Micky D's, we tend to be in very happy moods too.

The truth is, we come home, put the groceries away and I listen to my husband say how much he loves his Sunday night with his family. How he loves how much less money we are spending on meals never eaten and produce gone bad.

Stop! I can hear your Inner Eeyore from here! I can! Tell him to pipe down. Because this is a great plan.

As I listen to Rory, happy over the food we have in the house, I'll sit there and think, Three Meals! I am getting off the hook by making three meals a week! (The pizza meal doesn't really count because it really is as easy as that happy blogger years ago said it would be.)

I feel safe to report all of this now, because we have pulled this off for seven weeks. Going strong. Last night I was terribly ill with aches and shakes, so Rory took Ivar while Elsie and I stayed home and started season one of Gilmore Girls. And even still, Rory came through the door happy as ever telling me how much he loves Sunday night grocery shopping.

It may be that we are in the middle of a Minnesota winter and that a trip to Cub feels as exotic as anything. It may be that once the grass is visible again we'll again draw straws for who has to go. But for now, we're loving Grocery Sundays, Laundry Mondays, and Pizza Saturdays. (Not to mention Leftover Tuesdays and Fridays!)

a valentines tradition

I remember reading Real Love for Real Life by Andi Ashworth. (An absolute favorite, by the way). In there she talks about a tradition she started with her family when her kids were younger. She had each member of the family write a letter to every other member of the nuclear family. It was to be a love note, telling you mom why you love her, telling your dad why you love him, telling your brother why you love him.

Of course it took some doing, getting everyone to write those letters. But after the first year it became an annual tradition and one of the most anticipated nights of the year. She would serve supper by candle light and  after the meal each person read their letters.  She said as the kids got older there were often tears shared by all.

She saved the family letters in the three ring binder. Can you think of any greater family treasure?

So I broke the news to Rory last night. He's on board. I gave him six days notice. That's probably about right. Obviously our kids are a bit little to write their own letters, but I think I could write a note on Ivar's behalf, or have him tell me what he wants Elsie to know and write what he says word-for-word. Those are always funny letters later.

But as the kids grow, they'll enter in. What a joy!

the ipotty

Rory's friend pointed our soon-to-be potty training attention towards this advancement in human ingenuity. And I guess it made me a bit concerned for that ipad. Do the parents understand how very dirty it is likely to become?

 

You can get your ipotty on Amazon.

 

 

an update on the hymn cards

They are such a simple idea. I made my first set of Hymn Cards for Ivar's room so that I could sing these long lasting songs to my little baby growing inside of me. I remember sitting in my glider rocker, big and round, holding my hands on my belly and singing these promises to him. Each song serving as the perfect lullaby.

I had lots of family and a few friends ask for a set. And after there seemed to be enough interest, Rory encouraged me to see if they would sell on my blog. We worked hard together. He showed me around paypal and helped me set up an account. I tested a few different print shops and looked for the best quality and best deal. I tried to figure out a good price for the effort put into these cards, printing, shipping and my own time.

And it has been a blast. I was overwhelmed and so grateful for the response. So excited that these lyrics might be sung in so many homes all week long, and not just saved for Sunday mornings.

I got a lot of excited feedback and that felt so good. My favorite response was from my childhood friend Charlie and his wife Katie. Charlie and I literally grew up together. We did a group presentation in second grade that I remember vividly. And then we became percussionists in fifth grade and were good. This set us on a path to challenge each other for first chair for the next seven years of our lives. And then our senior year, I dropped out of band. (totally unrelated, but this is probably my #1 life regret).

Okey dokey. Back to the point. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Ice (here she is at Ivar's baby shower) gifted Katie and Charlie with a set of Hymn Cards and Katie hung every single one in their baby's nursery. She showed me the picture above on Christmas Eve when I saw them at church. Katie is a really gifted singer and I felt so glad to think of her singing these songs to their sweet little girl. She hung them so creatively (with ribbon and pop tabs!) and framed the rest.

It was such a cool moment for me. The whole experience has been so amazing. To see a very simple idea, something that I feel has worth, put out there into the world and then appreciated and celebrated. What a joy! It has me thinking of all sorts of other creative projects.

Each week I still get a purchase or two. It's so fun. Makes me excited to think of all the quality promises being sung in so many homes.

***
I added a handy little button over on the side there, if you'd like to order a set of your own. 

how to build a cabin in the woods

...and that is how you build a cabin in the woods.