an update. sort of.

It’s obviously been a little while since I last wrote. And while one might think that would leave me with an excess of things to talk about, all I really want to talk about is this:

and this:

and just one more time for good measure, this:

Pizza is kind of a favorite around here. I would say that on average, I make homemade pizza about twice a month. Several weeks ago, our pizza-eating experience was taken to new levels when I attempted deep-dish pizza for the first time. We have never looked back. I’ve now made this dish three times, and each time it is every bit as scrumptious.

I’m obviously no food-blogger, much less a food photographer, so the pictures hardly do it justice. But I just wanted you to know. I made that. And it was awesome.


Pizza Crust:

1 pkg yeast

1 and  3/4 cup warm water

1 and 3/4 tsp salt

1/4 cup olive oil (SCANT 1/4 cup!)

4 and  1/2 cups flour (I use half all purpose, half whole wheat)

Mix yeast and warm water, let sit til dissolved. Add half the flour and beat till smooth-ish, stir in as much of the rest of the flour as you can, then knead til smooth and elastic. Don’t over-knead it…the dough should be slightly sticky, but not tacky. Huge clumps should not still be attaching themselves to your hand.

Cover, let sit in a warm place til double, about one hour. (The time largely depends on if you have the ideal environment for the dough to rise…I like to turn on the oven JUST til I can feel the first warmth, then I turn it off and put the dough in there. Perfect.)

Note: This recipe makes enough dough for two deep dish pizzas, if you are using a pie pan. If you want to make just one, let the dough rise and then freeze half of it.

Once the dough has doubled, take it out of the oven (this is important) and THEN preheat the oven to 450. While it’s preheating, assemble the pizzas.

To assemble your pizzas, divide the dough in half, and work each half into the pie pan. Make sure the dough comes all the way up the sides. Have a good amount of shredded mozzarella or pizza cheese blend (I’ve been shredding mozzarella and monteray jack and blending the two). You’ll add the cheese first, and you want to make sure you’ve got enough for maybe a cup and a half per pizza. Just pile it on. If you feel adventurous, sprinkle some black pepper over the cheese. Just sayin.

In terms of the rest of the toppings, it’s entirely up to you. I normally think that plain pepperoni pizza is b-o-r-i-n-g, but when it comes in deep dish form, magic happens. I’ll just tell you what toppings I used for these two, and you can let your creativity take it from there.

First pizza was just a pepperoni pizza. On top of the cheese, pile on pepperoni. I just used a single layer, but I overlapped the pepperonis slightly, so that the cheese was entirely covered. Sprinkle some oregano on top of that, then pour the sauce over the pepperoni. Approximately half a jar, but again–it’s entirely up to you how saucy you want this pie.

Second pizza was a little more exciting. Spinach, feta, onion and tomato. Chop up a tomato, sprinkle it over the cheese. I like a lot of tomato, so I piled it on. Same with the onion (I maybe used half of a small onion), then crumble up some feta and sprinkle it over the tomato and onion. Again, I love feta so I really, you know, piled it on. (Are you seeing a theme here?) Roughly chop up a big ol’ handful of spinach, and heap that on top of the rest of the toppings. You will want to put about twice as much spinach as you would think you will need, because as it cooks, it will shrink. Like a lot. So…heap it up. Add the sauce, approximately half a jar and attempt to spread it around evenly. Give up in frustration.

Put the pizza pies in the preheated oven, bake 20-25 minutes. Crust should be golden brown. To serve, see pictures above. Enjoy!

i want.

Today, I want to sit down with a friend and drink coffee. I want to dangle our feet off a front porch, swinging our legs in the sun. I want to read a really good book, or pretend to read it, while somebody strums a guitar and a few people sing lazily along. I want warm weather, and skirts, and good friends, and a porch. I really, really want a porch today. I want conversation, but not about anything important. I want to pretend that nothing is stressful, that I haven’t cried almost every day for weeks (thank you, hormones and stress), that I’m not so terribly, terribly tired. I want other people. I want to sit quietly while other people talk, and laugh, and I don’t want anyone to ask me how I am. Or if I’m ready for a baby. Or what our plans are. Or if everything is ready.

some things.

1. New, real, full length post coming soon. Promise.

2. My husband impetuously changes his facial hair like I used to cut my hair in college.

3. My two favorite quotes from yesterday: (each of these took place at the church service for the developmentally disabled that I attend with my DD ward on Tuesday nights, said by two of my favorite attendees)

-“Oh, this is the hug I’ve been waiting for!” said one gentleman while hugging his girlfriend. “This is the hug I’ve been waiting for all this time!”

-After asking me when my baby was due and hearing that, while I’m not due for a few weeks, she could come anytime, this young man nodded wisely and said, “So your water’s been breaking then?”


sketch 1

I walk into the gas station on the corner of 25th and College, its walls and tiles a dingy white, perhaps stained by the the cigarettes whose stale smoke I can still smell clinging to every orifice. I look at the girl in front of me in line, and am slightly sickened but somehow not surprised to see that she is sucking on a baby’s pacifier. She’s at least 25 years old. Her hair is cropped close to her head, her features flaccid and unemotional, although I can feel her staring at me, perhaps to see my reaction to her oral fixation. She and the man she’s with, a slight fellow maybe half her size with layers of masking tape wrapped around the arms of his plastic glasses frames, purchase six boxes of black and milds, then saunter away behind me somewhere to my left. They don’t leave. I step up to the counter, my twenty dollar bill already out. “Boy or girl?” the boy behind the counter asks me, his accent ambiguous. I notice the smell of weed at the same time I look into his red rimmed eyes and see his lazy slur of a smile. Surprised by his question, in a way that only a first time mother should be at 35 weeks, I involuntarily put my hands to my stomach before answering. “Girl,” I say. “Pretty soon too.” He smiles, nods barely discernably. I feel awkward, and would like to make conversation if only to return the friendly gesture. Instead, “I’m on pump 7,” I say, extending my money toward him. “How much?” he asks. “Twenty,” I answer, then “Have a nice day,” after he nods once again and takes my money. After I leave the building and fuel my car, still feeling vaguely disconcerted, the cigarillo purchasers finally exit the gas station and begin walking across the parking lot. I have a brief, hysterical vision of them taking me hostage or threatening to steal my baby, and wonder what I would do. First I figure I can take them, then try to pretend that I didn’t just think that, but still. In the greenish twilight of this woebegone gas station, it seems somehow that anything is possible.

worry whirlwind

It’s funny, isn’t it, how worry works. You can’t worry about just one thing. It’s impossible. Think about it. Without fail, you start out worrying about something immediate, say, the money situation through the end of the month. It’s doable, but things are going to be a little tight. But within minutes of letting yourself worry about tomorrow, or this week, you add on next month, this summer, the job situation post baby, the school schedule in the fall, and all of a sudden, without quite knowing how you got there, you start to panic that your husband will die and how will you ever get everything together after that?!

Oh, worrying and its irrational descent into hysteria. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so restricting, time-wasting, and joy-killing. It makes Jesus’ words on anxiety ring ever truer in my worry-ridden ears (see Matthew 6:25-34). Even if you don’t believe the whole bit about a God who feeds the birds and will provide for your needs, you can’t help but relate to these words “Which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” or these: “Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”  “Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?” Common sense, right? I am missing out on the very life about which I worry, when I succumb to anxiety and fretting.

“Sufficient for the day is its own trouble”–you know that’s true. So, what can I do today? Well, I just owned our tax returns and got those filed, and I can clean up around the apartment and reduce some visual chaos. I can read a little, maybe play some music. As for worrying? Come on. Cleaning is too much for me, let alone the next eight months of my life. Ridiculous Rebekah. Do what you can today, and leave the rest up to the Lord. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness (since I do believe the whole bit about a God who feeds birds and me too) and everything else? It’ll work out. Maybe not always how I want, but certainly better than if I waste all the time between now and then worrying.

Don’t be worried about tomorrow. Tomorrow can worry about itself.