“People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.” — Emily Dickinson

It’s been 12 days since the burglary. Life is moving on.

Stuff is being replaced. Insurance forms are done. Alarm system is installed. The sting is not quite as painful. Sure, I will miss my engagement ring. But I still have the notes Clyde left the day he proposed, creating a scavenger hunt for me to find it. And, most importantly, I still have Clyde. He will miss the antique ring passed down from his favorite aunt’s husband to his dad and then to him. But he will remember these most special people in his life, with or without a piece of jewelry.

It’s all relative. Yes, difficulty is difficulty, whether it’s a flat tire or $10,000 worth of stolen personal belongings. But perspective is a glorious thing. I have friends with sick kids in hospitals, difficulties getting pregnant, continued unemployment (or fear of it), life-altering illnesses, and bad marriages. And all of their lives look pretty damn good compared to the little boy I sponsor in the Congo, whose entire family — five brothers and sisters, his mom, and dad — were killed in a war/genocide that has already taken almost six million people, virtually unnoticed by the rest of the world.

Stuff is stuff. I’ve been saying that for 12 days but, now, really feel it.

So, onto week 23:

Sunday: An additional caveat was added to our daily meal routine. In addition to the one that says if one of us is out of town, the others will carry on with the family meal without him/her, I add this — if one of is bedridden after spending the night puking, unable to stand the look of anything other than a glass of Sprite and a Saltine cracker, the others will carry on with the family meal without him/her. Such was my Easter Sunday. Clyde and the kids, though, had a lovely time with our families in Waxahachie, hunting Easter eggs and celebrating Sawyer and my grandmother’s birthdays. I slept endlessly (which was almost worth the puking … almost).

Monday: Still weak but with two kids home and deadlines to make, Clyde and I collaborated on an easy dinner — he stopped to get fried chicken from the Chicken House down the street while I mashed potatoes and broiled crispy kale.

Tuesday: Kids STILL home from school (“Pay more, go less” is our private school motto) with continued deadlines, a well-check appointment for Sawyer, and much homework to nag Noah about, an even easier dinner needed to materialize. Empty The Refrigerator & Freezer night ensued. Clyde had leftover fried chicken from Monday, leftover pasta salad from Saturday, and leftover Indian soup from Sunday. He made potato patties with the leftover mashed potatoes from Monday (you add some milk to the mashed potatoes then fry the little patties up in olive oil), which I had with some yummy spring — but not yet divine summer — local tomatoes Sawyer and I picked up at the farmers’ market on Saturday. The boys had leftover crepes and pancakes from the freezer, with a potato patty, some blueberries from the market, and an orange juice, banana, protein powder smoothie. Cheap, fast, healthy enough, and clears out the refrigerator — what’s not to love?

Wednesday: Heading to our Congolese friends’ Gorethy and Bona’s house tonight for the first time with other friends who are helping with Congo Restoration. An African feast, no doubt, with strawberry/blueberry shortcake and ciabatta bread being our contribution.

Thursday: Busy night with the school art fair, which I hate to miss, competing with Sawyer’s baseball season opener and Noah’s rock climbing practice. I suspect the sports will win with my boys, meaning we’ll likely grab a late dinner at home. I’ll probably make some sort of hearty soup we can just heat up when we get home. I’m lacking inspiration at the moment but we have lots of potatoes sitting around that may find their way in a pot.

Friday: Family breakfast (likely sausage with milk, banana, and protein powder smoothies) as I’m celebrating a birthday with friends this evening.

Saturday: Another family breakfast as tonight is Sawyer’s birthday party — a football party theme with an OU/A&M pinata because he wouldn’t dare beat the crap out of a UT pinata. Busy day and certainly a somewhat sleepless night. But hey, turning 10 is a big deal.

I’m ready to handle whatever this week dishes out. In light of recent events, though, I do hope it is kind.

“Dust in our eyes our own boots kicked up. Heartsick we nursed along the way we picked up. You may not see it when it’s sticking to your skin, but we’re better off for all that we let in.” — Emily Sailers of the Indigo Girls

A powdered-sugar-donut breakfast appetizer while we wait for the fire to go down; eggs, sausage, and rosemary potatoes coming up!

I’ve had a lot of dust (and smoke) in my eyes lately. I generally believe that one should take just about any road that comes open if it seems interesting and reasonably safe. I’m almost always the one who asks, “Why not?” And such roads and questions haven’t let me down yet.

Last week, I took I-30 to Arkansas on a journey with four boys for a teepee camp-out over spring break (two of those being teens or close enough to it). Wow. Just one year ago I took the same trip with the same boys; totally different dynamic. I’m sure I’ll survive the road through my children’s teen years, but today I’m a bit beaten down by it. I’m trying to remember the old saying, “That which doesn’t kill us….”

But that’s all background noise today, as I sit in my quiet house, kids back to school, campfire-scented laundry in progress, deadlines to meet, taxes to at least consider starting, bills to pay, journeys to plan. I have two months left until summer begins. I love my summers with the kids, but find it difficult to somewhat put my life on hold for three months out of every year. To ease the jolt, I start trying to plan early, getting as much done as I can before the end of May and setting some big-picture goals for the summer (family centered) and fall (me centered). What’s rambling around my brain today, wanting to be sorted out in my version of spring fever, is this: How do I parent a teenager? Should I just set fire to my piles of paperwork? Should I go to Congo in August? That should keep me busy ’til May.

But onto more pressing issues: dinner. This week begins with our fourth African feast — tonight! — with guests from Zambia, Congo, and Zimbabwe. Two hours until I have to pick up the kids from school and I still have shopping to do, new curtains to iron, a house to clean, dinner to cook. This is how I often push myself down the road. Email out an invite, set a date, a course of action is sure to follow.

Sunday: Freakish weather (rain, sleet, snow) forced us to come home a day early from the teepee, so we had an unexpected day of leisure yesterday. By leisure, of course, I mean running errands, lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant (First Chinese BBQ), finally finding the perfect window treatments, and staying glued to CNN to watch the health-care debate and vote unfold. Noah stayed home doing homework during the errands and lunch, so we had a 7:30 pm snack dinner around the kitchen table.

A little spring break canoe trip.

Monday: We have eight guests coming to dinner tonight, including my friend Gorethy from Congo (founder of Congo Restoration), my friend Prosper and his family from Zimbabwe, and the Rev. Kabala Chali, associate pastor at Lovers Lane UMC, who heads up the church’s Heart of Africa fellowship. Gorethy is bringing chicken, plantains, and beans. I’ll add sweet potatoes with goat cheese (something we’re going to recreate from a meal Clyde had in Rhode Island recently), ciabatta bread, African bush tea, and apple crisp for dessert. Not your usual Monday night; but life is so much more interesting that way sometimes.

Tuesday: Busy day for everyone. Sawyer has chess until 4:45 pm, Noah has rock climbing 5-7 pm, and Clyde has a meeting at church at 7. Breakfast it is! Since we’ll be up late entertaining the night before, we need something easy — milk, banana, and protein powder smoothies with a side of sausage (fake and real). Fend For Yourself Dinner will likely include leftovers from Monday night.

Wednesday: Breakfast again, as I’m going out to dinner with girlfriends. We’ll just repeat Tuesday’s breakfast. Why mess with simple? Busy day for me, so I’ll ask Clyde to handle dinner. The kids love that because it often means tater tots with cheese and a fruit thrown in for good measure.

Every spring break camping trip in the south ends with snowfall, right?

Thursday: Meeting tonight at school for the middle school adventure trip. Not sure if we can fit rock climbing practice in before or not. Ah, how I sometimes miss the days of hours and hours to fill with the kids. Anyway, breakfast together — think I’ll mix it up with bagels or English muffins with eggs and cheese — if we do rock climbing practice; a nice dinner of grilled chicken, cauliflower, and grilled zucchini if we don’t. I vote for the latter.

Friday: Heading for Houston to see dear friends and attend a rock climbing competition. Dinner no doubt on the road (Taco Cabana is often the preferred stop).

Saturday: The great thing about being out of town is that all our meals are together, no special planning required. Today, we’ll have the added bonus of eating with some of our favorite people in the world. Thai, Freebirds, a hot dog in the park. Doesn’t matter when you’re sharing it with those you love.

“We [Congolese] try hard to break the silence about all the rape, the sexual slavery, but the entire world remains in silence. Congolese blood is in the street, and no one says anything. It is so painful. You have no idea.” — my friend Gorethy Nabushosi, a Congolese attorney who fought for women’s rights in her home country and now lives in McKinney.

• This blog entry is blatantly stolen from an op-ed piece I have in today’s Dallas Morning News. Well, I guess it isn’t really stealing since I wrote it, but just so you know.

Gathering to honor women on Mockingbird Bridge at White Rock Lake

I grew up a middle-class family in small-town Texas. My dad called me Princess and Blue Eyes. I wanted to be the first female quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys so my dad tossed the football with me for hours in the yard to practice.

I was never stoned or had acid thrown in my face because my dad heard rumors that I kissed a boy. I was never sold into sexual slavery because my parents needed money and were too uneducated to ask questions. I have never had my genitals cut out because my parents felt I couldn’t be married otherwise.

I graduated from college and traveled around Europe in my mid-20s, never afraid to try anything because my mother taught me to speak up for myself. I married the man I love, gave birth to two healthy boys with excellent medical care, and make a living working out of my home that has running water and electricity.

I have never been raped while gathering water for my family. If I were raped, my husband would not abandon me. I’ve never suffered a fistula — from rape or a dangerous childbirth — leaving my body uncontrollably leaking urine and feces. I’ve never been put on the outskirts of my town by my family for the wild animals to kill because of a fistula.

As Clyde told our boys, you don't have to be a woman to support women.

I am lucky. Because all those things that have never happened to me — or to you or to any woman or girl you love — happen every day in other parts of the world, most often in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, as reported by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn in their book Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide.

Kristof and WuDunn’s book and organizations like Women for Women International are bringing attention to International Women’s Day on its 100^th anniversary today. Women for Women, which connects women in the Western world with women in war-torn countries, is bringing together women from Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo on a bridge that connects their two countries. This peaceful joining of hands is a symbol of bridging the countries’ differences and ending the war that has plagued the region since the Rwandan genocide in 1994 that killed almost one million people spilled over into Congo, killing another 5.5 million.

Women (and men) will gather on bridges elsewhere in the world, too. You’ll find me on Mockingbird Bridge over White Rock Lake in my very first celebration of International Women’s Day.

International Women’s Day was first celebrated in Europe in 1910 and is now an official holiday in 15 countries. Yet in the United States, where we buy greeting cards for pet birthdays and kindergarten graduations, it goes by without notice.

My friend Gorethy shared her experiences in Congo, then held hands with us as we honored women worldwide.

Gorethy Nabushosi, a Congolese attorney who fought for women’s rights in her home country and now lives in McKinney, has a theory about why American women haven’t historically celebrated this day — because they have a voice and freedom.

Gorethy is the founder of Congo Restoration, which pairs orphans with brutalized women, giving the children a stable home, the women an income and — most importantly — a respectable place within a society that considers them among its lowest members.

“We [Congolese] try hard to break the silence about all the rape, the sexual slavery, but the entire world remains in silence. Congolese blood is in the street, and no one says anything. It is so painful. You have no idea.”

Gorethy will be on the bridge with me.

I am humbled by women like Gorethy, by the women in Congo, by the women who came before me to make my life what it is. And on International Women’s Day, I will stand in unity with the millions of others around the world who are waiting for me do the same for them. I am lucky. I do have a voice. And I intend to use it.

Women in Nigeria celebrate Int'l Women's Day

And in Canada

And in Scotland

And in NYC

“The human body has an enormous capacity for adjusting to trying circumstances. I have found that one can bear the unbearable if one can keep one’s spirits strong even when one’s body is being tested. Strong convictions are the secret of surviving deprivation; your spirit can be full even when your stomach is empty.” — Nelson Mandela

This quote so had me. Yes, that’s my life. No sugar for a month! No wine! And, not that I’ve really missed it, but no fried food, either. Trying circumstances, body being tested, strong convictions, surviving deprivation. I can so relate.

And then I get to the name of the person to whom the quote belongs. Well crap. I guess if Mandela can survive 27 years in a South African prison, I can clearly suck it up for another sugar- and wine-free week. Perspective is such a pisser sometimes.

And so, armed said perspective, new conviction, and a long list of produce from this weekend’s co-op pickup (sweet potatoes, broccoli, sweet peppers, avocados, apples, pears, cauliflower, potatoes, and two leeks), here’s this week’s meal plan:

Sunday: Had a grocery list and was headed to Whole Foods when free and delicious food started falling into my lap. On the way to take Noah to youth group, my friend Andrea called. She teaches an essay prep course for kids taking the SAT/ACT. She does the half-day class at Maggiano’s at NorthPark Mall, getting the room for free if she buys a certain amount of food. Would I like some chicken pesto linguini? Why sure! When I get to church, a friend has brought an extra beer-can chicken he’d just smoked it. Anyone want it? Why sure! We invited a few friends over, sauteed some broccoli, and voila — a delicious and practically free meal in 15 minutes or less. Not sure where all this food karma came from, but I’m just appreciating it.

Our favorite easy Indian. We get it at the Indo-Pak grocery in Richardson.

Monday: Clyde is picking up from rock climbing practice tonight, so a late dinner. The bonus, though, is lots of time to cook on my part. Noah has been craving an Indian feast so we’ll have a few items from our Shan selection from our last trip to the Indo Pak Market in Richardson (cheap, yummy, fairly easy spice mixes — only hitch is the high sodium): chana masala (curry chickpeas), tandoori chicken, and aaloo bhaji (curry potatoes). We’ll also have the cauliflower I got in Saturday’s co-op.

Tuesday: Unexpected meeting with some church folks on immigration reform means I’m out for dinner. So family breakfast it is. That meal whips me — and I’m not even in charge of it. Poor Clyde tries his best, but the kids get tired of breakfast food so quickly. Luckily, they’re on a sausage kick — fake sausage for Noah and Whole Foods’ blueberry, maple sausage for Sawyer. Toss a little fruit on the plate, and they’re good to go. Indian leftovers for my crew for dinner while I eat at Olive Garden (I remember when I used to think those breadsticks were the best ever. Ah, the taste buds of a 20-something).

Wednesday: This weekend, Noah’s rock climbing team has its first local competition of the season, this one at Summit, the coach’s gym in Grapevine. We’re volunteering at the comp, which I don’t mind at all. What I hate is tonight’s 7 pm volunteer meeting at the gym, 30 minutes and a lot of traffic away. The kids have standardized testing this week at school, so I’m thinking one of us will go unless we can get out of it entirely. Should we do another family breakfast or a quick and early dinner before one of us heads off at 6:30? I prefer dinner — fajitas are fast, easy, and will use up lots of that produce I got in Saturday’s co-op.

Thursday: I’ll be up at the gym with Noah for practice. Making a potato leek soup in the afternoon that Clyde can just heat up, add a salad to and be done. If I’m feeling ambitious, I’ll bake some bread in the bread machine.

Cheesy sweet potato crisps

Friday: Our February African feast! We’ll be dining with a lovely woman I recently met, who serves on the board of Congo Restoration with me, and her husband, who is from Ghana. Still working on the menu. I have so many sweet potatoes from the past two co-ops. And I’m determined to use them. Problem is Sawyer hates them (spat them out the first time he tried them at 6 months old), and Noah is lukewarm on them. Instead of our usual mashed sweet potatoes (with a little orange juice and maple syrup), I’m going to try these cheesy sweet potato crisps. If Sawyer doesn’t like this, I’m giving up. I will start here and assume inspiration will come.

Saturday: After a very nice break in sports — although you wouldn’t know it from our rock climbing practice schedule — we’re back at it this weekend. Noah’s first local comp is Saturday (pretty much a day-long affair), and Sawyer is going to give competitive tennis a try. (That boy’s gotta move between football and baseball!) Not sure how this is all going to work timing-wise, but at the end of the day, we have a lovely evening with friends and paella awaiting us. Paella without red wine or sangria, you ask? So do I. We’ll see how my Kelly Challenge resolve holds out. At this point, I’m not making any promises. Paella sans alcohol just seems wrong. And I’m sure it’s illegal in respectable parts of Europe. Mandela would understand, wouldn’t he?

“There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” — Mahatma Gandhi

I first met Gorethy Nabushosi, founder of Congo Restoration, over hot tea at a La Madeleine up in McKinney, a drive from near downtown Dallas I wouldn’t usually be too thrilled about making. I hate suburbs. I hate driving outside “the loop.” But a friend from UMCOR (the United Methodist Committee on Relief) had emailed — including photos of orphans in the Democratic Republic of Congo — and wanted me to connect with her.

Gorethy Nabushoshi, founder of Congo Restoration

So there I was. When she walked into the room, I was hooked. When she started talking — her beautiful Congolese accent a mix of Africa and Europe, of worry and hope and passion — I was mesmerized.

And still am.

We have worked together for a few months now but never shared a meal (except for the hot tea at La Madeleine). I’d heard about and met many of her children and looked forward to an opportunity to get to know them better. So right before Christmas, we shared a meal and heard more about their story.

Gorethy was an attorney back in the DRC. She became interested in women’s rights in a country where women have very few. When she fled Congo more than a decade ago, she could’ve never known the role women’s rights — or the lack thereof — would play in the war that has plagued her country. Rape is the weapon of choice in this war. The United Nations Human Rights calls the DRC the “the epicentre of sexual violence against women today.”

When she, her husband and six children fled Congo, they went to Cameroon. She came to the United States, got her asylee status (taking 1 1/2 years), then her family followed. Her husband — who spoke three languages but not English — landed in New York City, bought bus tickets for the lot of them, then his wallet was lost or stolen. He and the children, ages 5 to 12, traveled for two days with no money and no food. He a trained pharmacist, she an attorney, they have very little here as their years of education mean nothing.

She got a call from a friend back in the DRC about a year ago. Please come and help, her friend said. So she did. She went to a hospital that treats rape victims. Helping women was her background, so she assumed this would be how she would help her country. But the women wanted to know about their children, children who had been left behind when their fathers were killed and their mothers were raped. When Gorethy arrived at the village, locals brought out hundreds of orphans. She took in 30, rented a house, found people to help there, and returned home to her family. For the past year, she spends most of her energy trying to help these 30 children and — when she can allow herself a moment to look at the bigger picture — helping put her country back together.

Bachishoga Maheshe, 6

Bachishoga Maheshe is one of the children at the orphanage. He’s 6. His parents were rounded up and shot by rebels. Three days later, he was found under his bed still hiding.

Marlene Nsimire, who is 3, also lives at the orphanage. Marlene was raised without a father and her mother turned to prostitution before being captured by rebels.

Marlene Nsimire, 3

She was held as a sex slave until she was killed.

One day last month, I posted Marlene’s photo on my Facebook page, trying to help Gorethy get sponsors for these children. A Facebook and real-life friend Robyn immediately posted that she’d like to help. A typical poor college student, she said what she’d really like to do is adopt Marlene. Since she couldn’t do that, would $10 a month help?

Although Gorethy and Robyn are incredibly different — Gorethy a middle-aged Pentecostal woman from Africa with seemingly unshakable faith; Robyn a liberal atheistic college student whose world includes very little gray — I wanted the two to meet. I thought Gorethy might enjoy meeting someone who was so moved by what she was doing. I thought Robyn, a young woman who will no doubt do amazing things in this world, might want to meet someone who was already doing so.

And so, our second African feast was planned.

Gorethy brought her husband, Bona, five of her six children, and a traditional dish of tilapia, rice and vegetables. Robyn brought her parents and the most beautiful and divine chocolate cake I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying. We prepared two African soups, had some wine and African red bush tea on hand, and ciabatta bread.

Robyn's chocolate Guinness cake

I put the boys in charge of decorating the table. They decided candles, African statues, and angels were appropriate. We barely fit around two tables pushed together. Every chair and every leg touched the next. We heard the story of their journey to America. We enjoyed the food everyone brought together (they  enjoyed the ciabatta so much we sent the rest home with them). Later we sat by the fire (her children gathered around, fascinated by the process of starting a fire indoors) while Robyn made plans with Gorethy to make blankets for each of the orphans.

My faith lies somewhere in between that of Gorethy and that of Robyn. But — full of soup, bread and tilapia; high on chocolate and Africa — I felt something very God-like in my living room that night. I know those orphans see God in Gorethy, the woman who brings them bread and so much more. And they will again see God when she brings them the blankets that Robyn makes. Oftentimes, I think our souls are just as hungry as these children in the Congo. But on this night, mine was bursting.

“The teeth are smiling but is the heart?” — Congo proverb

Since coming home from my first trip to Africa in September 2008, I have plotted to go back. My first trip was to Rwanda, site of the 1994 genocide where a million or so people were killed in a three-month period. My second trip, I believe, will be to the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda’s next-door neighbor.

3-year-old Marlene Nsimere, an orphan at Congo Restoration

I have recently met a wonderful woman from the DRC, who has sparked my interest in her homeland. Her name is Gorethy Nabushosi. She was an attorney back in Congo, as she calls her country. Because she fought for women’s rights, she had to flee 10 years ago, leaving behind her husband and six children, who joined her almost two years later. About a year ago, she returned home for the first time, finding a hospital full of rape victims and a village full of orphans. She took in 30 of them and started Congo Restoration, an organization she hopes will help those 30 sweet children and so many more.

We shared a meal with Gorethy and her family last week, which I’ll write about in my next post. She makes my heart smile, even when my teeth don’t want to.

In the meantime, here are some interesting facts about the DRC:

The Congo River

1. After Rwanda’s genocide, many of the genocidaires (those who killed) fled across the border into DRC. These Rwandans, combined with long-time political unrest, started a war, which, in 1997, overturned the government.

2. Since the war began, more than five million people have died from violence, famine, or disease, making it the deadliest war since World War II. The weapon of choice is often rape.

3. The DRC gained its independence from Belgium in 1960.

4. The country used to be called Zaire and should not be confused with the Republic Congo, another African country. Laurent Kabila, who became president in the coup of 1997, renamed the country the Democratic Republic of Congo.

5. Kabila was assassinated in 2001. His son, Joseph Kabila, is now president.

Rape victims reintegrating into their community

6. DRC is the 12th largest country in the world and the third largest in Africa. DRC is about a quarter the size of the United States with more than 2.3 million square kilometers and 68.6 million people. At least 1.4 million are internally displaced because of war while another 212,713 living as refugees in other African countries.

7. 47 percent of the DRC’s population is age 14 or under. Only 2.5 percent are over the age of 65.

8. Half of the country is Roman Catholic, 20 percent Protestant, 10 percent Kimbanguist (a Christian offshoot that started here), 10 percent Muslim, and 10 percent other.

9. Members of Uganda’s Lord’s Resistance Army continue to live in the DRC’s Garamba National Park, which borders Rwanda and is home to one-third of the remaining Mountain Gorillas left in the world.

10. A pasty white food called fufu, which is pounded into the texture of oatmeal, is a staple here and often eaten out of a communal bowl. Sweet potatoes, perch, bananas, and plantains are also common. Meat is not.

11. Traditionally, women serve meals to men, who sit in chairs. After they eat, the women and children eat what’s left while seated on the floor.

Civil war in DRC

12. French is the official language of the country, but most Congolese speak many languages.

13. War broke out again in 2008 along the eastern border with Rwanda.

How you can help:

• For $60 a month, sponsor an orphan of the war through Gorethy’s organization, Congo Restoration. Or share such a sponsorship with a friend: $30 pays for the child’s food, $30 pays for rent, medical care, housing, and school.

• For $27 a month, support a woman through Women to Women International, which works in war-torn countries around the world. Your letter of support to these women is as important as the money that helps them start their lives over with education and a trade.

• For $3 a week, help Invisible Children as it works tirelessly to set free the 3,000 child soldiers who have been kidnapped by the Lord’s Resistance Army in many African nations, including, as of December 2008, the DRC.

“I do like Christmas on the whole. In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill.  But it is clumsier every year. ” ~ E.M. Forster

The week before Christmas week is always insane. Farrah Fawcett insane; not really hurting anybody but enough to keep you on your toes. So much to do before the kids’ school break. Teacher gifts. Deadlines. Shopping. And maybe a little yoga or coffee with a friend to start the break with a smidge of sanity.

I promise to enjoy the holidays, starting Thursday. Until then, the calendar is full:

Sunday: Clyde has been craving biscuits and gravy so we’re having breakfast for dinner. Always a hit around here. We got a bag of juice oranges from co-op last week so think we’ll have some freshly squeezed wtih it. One of my absolute favorites. Every time I drink it, I remember how Clyde squeezed god knows how many when I went into labor with Noah because that’s what I wanted to drink throughout the entire labor. It was perfection.

Monday: Everyone’s home all evening. Think I’ll toss together some angel-hair pasta, tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, parmesan with some crispy kale. I’m trying a gluten-free pasta so all hell could break lose. To counter that, I’ll bake some bread in the bread maker. Warm bread and butter make any meal a happy one.

Tuesday: Noah and I will be at rock climbing from 5-7, so a soup made in the afternoon sounds about right. This zucchini and rosemary soup is divine (the croutons are key and should at least be doubled).

Wednesday: Rock climbing, guitar, church Christmas program practice. Everyone rolls in about 7:45, but I’ll have an hour or more before that to get dinner on the table. Have some tofu in the refrigerator so we’ll go with lemon baked rosemary tofu served with leftover soup and some frozen squash in red sauce I made last month. Not perfect but goes together well enough to not be offensive. Maybe I’ll try the homemade bread trick again.

Gorethy joins us for dinner

Thursday: Our second African feast! Very much looking forward to sharing a meal with our friends from the Democratic Republic of Congo and from church. I’m making my favorite African soup, and Noah’s favorite veggie version from his Jumbo Vegetarian Cookbook. Will get some ciabatta bread. I believe Gorethy Nabushosi (founder of Congo Restoration) is bringing tipalia and rice, a DRC mainstay.

Friday: Breakfast together on our way to the school holiday program or lunch afterward. We’ll play it by ear as the kids are done at 11 am, and Clyde took half the day off. Book club Christmas party for dinner.

Saturday: Tricky one. Boys are spending the night with friends Friday night so they wouldn’t normally be home for breakfast. But Noah has rock climbing at 10 am, then is going home with a friend from there for another sleepover and we won’t see him ’til Sunday. Sounds like delivering blueberry muffins or donuts to the Saturday morning pickup is our best option.

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” — Mohandas Gandhi

The weekend was completely filled with the Global Village Market, a two-day event I help organize annually at our church. It’s an inspiring alternative holiday market where people can buy fair-trade goods or “gifts” — like a pig for Heifer International that changes a family’s life in a third-world country or a necklace that helps a woman in refugee camp in Uganda put her family’s life back together. You get a gift card designed by an artist in our church, an insert that explains what the gift gives back, and voila, Christmas gifts done.

Congo Restoration's table at Global Village Market

This year we raised about $22,000 for 26 organizations, including $1,310 for Congo Restoration, my latest passion. It’s exhausting. My feet hurt. My back hurts. My house is a disaster. My kids have been ignored, shipped off to various sports events by friends who make you realize it really does take a village, especially on weekends like this. We’ve eaten hot dogs, sodas, donuts, lots of pie, candy — the kind of crap you put into your body when time is short and options are limited.

And yet, amid it all, we had an impromptu family breakfast this morning. We never have breakfast together. The boys don’t even sit in their usual dinner table seats at breakfast (they sit in ours) because they know there is no chance Clyde and I will actually sit down. And now we’ve had two together in the past week.

This morning, the boys just wanted orange banana smoothies and mint tea. I wasn’t sure when I’d have time to eat lunch so I joined in with a wheat bagel and Snofrisk (a goat cream cheese my friend Andrea turned me onto). Although the kids practically spit it out when I introduced them to it last month, today it was manna from heaven. So everyone wanted some, with a bagel or cracker as carrier. Even Clyde, who never eats breakfast, added a bagel and Snofrisk to his Bubba Keg of coffee he’d poured for the morning.

An voila, we had a family breakfast. Maybe it was just that everyone was slowly drawn in, like party guests around the hostess in the kitchen. Maybe it was the Snofrisk (which, at $5 a pop, I told them not to get used to as we can only afford it when it’s half price at Whole Foods). Or maybe we’ve gotten used to this daily meal ritual. I knew Clyde and the boys needed to get to Sunday School and I needed to get moving, setting up the Market. But we all lingered as long as we could.

Weekends like this are uncommon. We don’t usually spend them raising money for orphans and lingering over mint tea on a Sunday morning. Tomorrow morning the kids will be back in our dinner table seats for a frantic breakfast of scrambled eggs and an insane number of immune-boosting pills. We’ll go to work and school and meetings, thinking more about what’s right in front of us than what’s going on in the rest of the world.

But being the change was nice … if only for a couple of days.