By now, we all know the tragic story of Robin Williams ending his own life. It's...man, it's hard to think about.
"He was so funny! His life was great! He was rich! He always looked so happy!"
Did you have any of those thoughts when you heard the news?
I admit, shamefully, that my first instinct was to think that way.
Because we don't know the personal struggles he was going through. Sure, we knew he battled depression and addictions, but we couldn't possibly know how it was consuming his life.
Or were your thoughts more along these lines:
"I would NEVER do that. How selfish of him. Depression isn't that bad...he didn't have to end his life because of it."
If I may say this: how dare you? HOW DARE YOU??
What right do you have to judge and point fingers when you don't know the whole situation? (By the way, this applies to all of life.)
Oh, it's easier that way though, isn't it? To stand back and whisper and shake our heads sadly, while saying to ourselves and our friends that we're glad it isn't us or anyone we personally know.
I can guarantee you...and I'm completely confident in this...that every person reading this knows someone who deals with depression.
Who's considered suicide or maybe even attempted suicide.
And I can just as confidently promise you that you are the last person they'll tell, if your first reaction was to judge.
Why?
Because they've seen your heart and know you're full of judgment.
And that's the last thing they need.
Maybe you're telling yourself that I'm wrong and no one in your life is depressed.
Don't kid yourself, okay? Please don't be that ignorant.
Everyone you know has things in their past that you know nothing about and that they likely have buried under years of hiding it and pretending it doesn't exist.
But it's there and it eats at them.
So they put up walls, hide under protective shells, wear masks, all in the attempt to keep it together for ONE more day.
It's heartbreaking.
I know several people who've lost someone to suicide.
So, of course, I walked up to them and said, "How selfish of them. I just can't believe it. So how are you doing with all this?"
Yeah, no. Didn't do that, will never do that. Because why should we heap guilt on anyone who's dealing with that? A better way to ask that is: What RIGHT do we have to do that? They've just gone through a terrible loss that they're probably already feeling guilt over. They're most likely already going over all scenarios and trying to think of what they should've done differently.
Don't add to that. Don't be that person.
What they need now, most of all, is love and grace.
They need to know that you're there for them, regardless.
That you care.
That you won't speak poorly of any decisions made.
Above all, that you won't pass judgment.
And people who are going through depression?
They also need love and grace.
They need to know that you aren't going to abandon them.
That you'll sit with them, even if neither one of you talks at all.
That if they do talk, you'll listen.
They need to be loved by you the way Jesus would love them.
And He would.
He would sit and listen.
Listen and love.
Love and cry with them.
Hold them while they cried.
Let them know it's safe to trust Him.
Are you safe to trust?
If you're depressed or have suicidal thoughts, please know there's no shame in it. There are real, genuine people who care and want to help.
I'm one of them.
Because this is so important to me, here are some resources if you need someone to talk to:
http://brokenbelievers.com/247-crisis-lines/
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Remember: You're valuable, you're loved, and you matter.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Accepting Love
Charlie: Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?
Bill: Are we talking about anyone specific?
Charlie: Yes.
Bill: Well, we accept the love we think we deserve.
Charlie: Can we make them know that they deserve more?
Bill: We can try.
(The Perks of Being a Wallflower)
I love this conversation.
As much as it breaks my heart, I love it.
Because, how true is it?
(And I believe this applies/can apply to all areas of life, not just dating.)
Think about this:
There are people who don't accept love. They don't know how to.
They want to, but...can't.
Sounds crazy, doesn't it?
They've spent so much time having to earn love and always falling short that they assume any genuine act of love...isn't genuine.
They see it either as an obligation or a duty.
Have you ever met someone who didn't think they were worth anything?
Who degraded themselves?
Who let people walk all over them and manipulate them?
Who constantly put themselves down, because that's what's been done to them?
Who kept searching for love and never seemed to find it?
Maybe you know someone like that right now.
Maybe YOU are that someone.
If you do know someone like that, I hope they'll realize how valuable they are and that they learn to accept love.
If you are the one who has a hard time accepting love, I hope you'll learn to surround yourself with real, genuine, loving people who will help you.
Do I have the answer of how to accept love?
No. I'm attempting to figure it out for myself, in my own life.
But I've been learning and will keep trying, as painful and frustrating as it can be.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Bowling and the Flu
When I was a kid, from the ages of 10-13, I believe, my family and I would go to family camp at Pillsbury Baptist Bible College.
During the day, and especially since I was younger, we got to do the fun stuff: field trips, fun activities, going off campus to different locations (all code phrases for field trips). Our leaders were twin sisters who were a TON of fun and awesome at finding great ways to kill time in between activities.
One day, the activity was bowling. I've never really cared for bowling, but there was no way I'd get out of going...not that I was going to try to. I hadn't reached my rebellious phase yet, plus I had a healthy fear of authority and of making people mad (okay, so anyone who knew/knows me knows that only came/comes sporadically).
That day, however, I woke up with a terrible pain in my stomach (I would later learn it was something called the stomach flu, which I didn't remember ever having before), so I had even less of a desire to eat, ride in a crowded, loud van, talk to people, bowl, or do anything that didn't involve laying perfectly still. I didn't get sick often, so I didn't know how to handle the pain I was feeling. And that's either because I got sick big time when I was a kid (scarlet fever and chicken pox were the main ones), so my immune system was hardcore, or because I was kept in a bubble and away from all germs and bacteria. I don't remember ever being confined like that, so I guess I'm gonna have to go with the first option.
On the way to the bowling alley, I remember sitting in the van as close to the window as I could. I just sat with my cheek pressed against the glass, trying desperately not to move at all.
You know the feeling right before you need to throw up?
All the saliva that suddenly just FLOODS your mouth?
Yeah, I wasn't used to that and didn't realize what it meant, so I just kept swallowing frantically because I thought that's what you're supposed to do. Also because I thought it meant I was dying and I didn't want to die that day (to be clear: I still don't know how to handle that).
So we got there and I don't remember doing any bowling at all. I sat very still, without moving, on one of those impossibly uncomfortable twirly chairs. The field trip took about 17 years, it felt. (I don't remember enough about anything else we did there, except bowl. So that's all I have to say about it.)
17 years later, we left...only to go to a restaurant. McDonald's, probably. It was such a torturous trip! I just wanted to go to bed!
Finally.
Finally.
Finally.
We got back to campus.
I don't remember saying anything to anyone, I just booked it back to my dorm room so I could lay down.
I climbed up onto the top bunk (which, in hindsight, I shouldn't have done), laid down, then promptly leaned over and threw up onto the floor.
Then I fell asleep.
My mom came in the room after their session or activity or date or musical dance number (I have no idea what the adults did during the day), took one look at the floor and said, "Oh, EMILY! This is so gross!" (I don't remember her exact words...)
Then she got a mop and cleaned it up.
And I was back to the field trips/fun activities/going off campus to different locations by the next day.
It was just like a fairy tale!
Just kidding, it sucked, and having the stomach flu is the worst.
But I'm a survivor.
During the day, and especially since I was younger, we got to do the fun stuff: field trips, fun activities, going off campus to different locations (all code phrases for field trips). Our leaders were twin sisters who were a TON of fun and awesome at finding great ways to kill time in between activities.
One day, the activity was bowling. I've never really cared for bowling, but there was no way I'd get out of going...not that I was going to try to. I hadn't reached my rebellious phase yet, plus I had a healthy fear of authority and of making people mad (okay, so anyone who knew/knows me knows that only came/comes sporadically).
That day, however, I woke up with a terrible pain in my stomach (I would later learn it was something called the stomach flu, which I didn't remember ever having before), so I had even less of a desire to eat, ride in a crowded, loud van, talk to people, bowl, or do anything that didn't involve laying perfectly still. I didn't get sick often, so I didn't know how to handle the pain I was feeling. And that's either because I got sick big time when I was a kid (scarlet fever and chicken pox were the main ones), so my immune system was hardcore, or because I was kept in a bubble and away from all germs and bacteria. I don't remember ever being confined like that, so I guess I'm gonna have to go with the first option.
On the way to the bowling alley, I remember sitting in the van as close to the window as I could. I just sat with my cheek pressed against the glass, trying desperately not to move at all.
You know the feeling right before you need to throw up?
All the saliva that suddenly just FLOODS your mouth?
Yeah, I wasn't used to that and didn't realize what it meant, so I just kept swallowing frantically because I thought that's what you're supposed to do. Also because I thought it meant I was dying and I didn't want to die that day (to be clear: I still don't know how to handle that).
So we got there and I don't remember doing any bowling at all. I sat very still, without moving, on one of those impossibly uncomfortable twirly chairs. The field trip took about 17 years, it felt. (I don't remember enough about anything else we did there, except bowl. So that's all I have to say about it.)
17 years later, we left...only to go to a restaurant. McDonald's, probably. It was such a torturous trip! I just wanted to go to bed!
Finally.
Finally.
Finally.
We got back to campus.
I don't remember saying anything to anyone, I just booked it back to my dorm room so I could lay down.
I climbed up onto the top bunk (which, in hindsight, I shouldn't have done), laid down, then promptly leaned over and threw up onto the floor.
Then I fell asleep.
My mom came in the room after their session or activity or date or musical dance number (I have no idea what the adults did during the day), took one look at the floor and said, "Oh, EMILY! This is so gross!" (I don't remember her exact words...)
Then she got a mop and cleaned it up.
And I was back to the field trips/fun activities/going off campus to different locations by the next day.
It was just like a fairy tale!
Just kidding, it sucked, and having the stomach flu is the worst.
But I'm a survivor.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Masks and Walls
It's so easy to hide who we really are.
My question is, why do we do it? When we realize the freedom that comes with being honest with ourselves and others, why keep hiding?
Because being vulnerable is, in a word, TERRIFYING.
It's so, so scary to tell someone we trust that all isn't as it seems. That our life isn't as neat and tidy as the image we work so hard to project. That, to be honest, we wear many masks and build up many walls so we can protect ourselves and hide and keep ourselves "safe."
And what a very lonely life that is. I know, because I've been realizing how alone I feel, trying so hard to distance myself from the people I care about and who care about me.
But I can't keep living that way.
No one can keep living that way!
We NEED community and to know we aren't alone with our fears and doubts!
With that realization, I've been working hard (with the help of many phenomenal friends) to take off those masks and break down my walls; to get rid of the barriers and to embrace the freedom that comes with accepting love and grace, both from Jesus and from the people He's put in my life.
It isn't easy.
It's a daily fight to stop believing lies.
And it's excruciatingly difficult to change my mindset and learn how to accept what they're saying as truth.
But I won't give up.
Because masks and walls and being alone just aren't worth it.
(Ps, listen to this absolutely beautiful song: Able)
My question is, why do we do it? When we realize the freedom that comes with being honest with ourselves and others, why keep hiding?
Because being vulnerable is, in a word, TERRIFYING.
It's so, so scary to tell someone we trust that all isn't as it seems. That our life isn't as neat and tidy as the image we work so hard to project. That, to be honest, we wear many masks and build up many walls so we can protect ourselves and hide and keep ourselves "safe."
And what a very lonely life that is. I know, because I've been realizing how alone I feel, trying so hard to distance myself from the people I care about and who care about me.
But I can't keep living that way.
No one can keep living that way!
We NEED community and to know we aren't alone with our fears and doubts!
With that realization, I've been working hard (with the help of many phenomenal friends) to take off those masks and break down my walls; to get rid of the barriers and to embrace the freedom that comes with accepting love and grace, both from Jesus and from the people He's put in my life.
It isn't easy.
It's a daily fight to stop believing lies.
And it's excruciatingly difficult to change my mindset and learn how to accept what they're saying as truth.
But I won't give up.
Because masks and walls and being alone just aren't worth it.
(Ps, listen to this absolutely beautiful song: Able)
Saturday, June 28, 2014
The Rottweiler
When my family and I first moved to Kansas City, we used to explore our neighborhood a TON through taking our dogs on walks. We would often be gone for hours because that was when my mom was big on looking for dropped, forgotten coins, (and sometimes dollar bills) so it worked out that we were homeschooled. (That was just about the nerdiest sentence I've ever written.)
One particularly fine day, we were wandering around, looking for money/walking the dogs. Heidi and I were on one side of the street with Riley and Mom and Rachel were on the other side with Kacee. Let me note: we have small dogs. Riley is a shihtzu, Kacee is a terrier-poodle mix. Neither of them realize how small they are.
We were passing a house that had a fairly large dog on a leash, barking loudly and ferociously, which made us both SO glad it couldn't get at us.
Right after we passed that house, right after we finished saying we were glad leashes were invented, right after the last waves of relief washed over us, we saw it. Trotting towards us from across the street.
A Rottweiler.
Alone.
WE PANICKED.
Heidi picked up Riley, who didn't immediately know what was going on, and turned her back to the dog from The Sandlot. I was frozen, not at all knowing what to do to protect us from the huge, silent dog coming at us.
It picked up its pace, heading straight for Heidi and Riley, which made Heidi start panicking even more (obviously) and she then held our tiny dog over the fence of the yard that was closest to us. (Not the one with the huge, barking, leashed dog) That was when Riley realized what was going on, so he was barking and squirming, trying to get at the monster dog.
The Rottweiler walked right up to Heidi, still not barking or making ANY noise, (and that was somehow more terrifying than if it was barking or growling, because we didn't have a clue what to expect) so Heidi started screaming and I started frantically trying to figure out what I was going to do to protect my sister and my dog. (It all happened so fast, I couldn't even grasp what was happening!)
Then it put its dinner plate-sized front paws on Heidi's back, so Heidi was bent over double, still screaming, still trying to hold Riley over her head.
The Rottweiler leaned forward, smelled Riley, then got back on all fours and walked back home.
That was it.
It didn't make a single sound, didn't hurt us, didn't do anything except try to make a new friend.
Heidi and I were both so relieved and shaken, we sat down on the curb and started laughing. The picture in my head of her having a Rottweiler on her back is one of my favorite things ever...it's right up there with her floating in the air when I pulled the rug out from underneath her.
The point of this story is, we survived; and not all Rottweilers are vicious attack dogs, waiting to kill! (But I guess that was proven in The Sandlot.)
One particularly fine day, we were wandering around, looking for money/walking the dogs. Heidi and I were on one side of the street with Riley and Mom and Rachel were on the other side with Kacee. Let me note: we have small dogs. Riley is a shihtzu, Kacee is a terrier-poodle mix. Neither of them realize how small they are.
We were passing a house that had a fairly large dog on a leash, barking loudly and ferociously, which made us both SO glad it couldn't get at us.
Right after we passed that house, right after we finished saying we were glad leashes were invented, right after the last waves of relief washed over us, we saw it. Trotting towards us from across the street.
A Rottweiler.
Alone.
WE PANICKED.
Heidi picked up Riley, who didn't immediately know what was going on, and turned her back to the dog from The Sandlot. I was frozen, not at all knowing what to do to protect us from the huge, silent dog coming at us.
It picked up its pace, heading straight for Heidi and Riley, which made Heidi start panicking even more (obviously) and she then held our tiny dog over the fence of the yard that was closest to us. (Not the one with the huge, barking, leashed dog) That was when Riley realized what was going on, so he was barking and squirming, trying to get at the monster dog.
The Rottweiler walked right up to Heidi, still not barking or making ANY noise, (and that was somehow more terrifying than if it was barking or growling, because we didn't have a clue what to expect) so Heidi started screaming and I started frantically trying to figure out what I was going to do to protect my sister and my dog. (It all happened so fast, I couldn't even grasp what was happening!)
Then it put its dinner plate-sized front paws on Heidi's back, so Heidi was bent over double, still screaming, still trying to hold Riley over her head.
The Rottweiler leaned forward, smelled Riley, then got back on all fours and walked back home.
That was it.
It didn't make a single sound, didn't hurt us, didn't do anything except try to make a new friend.
Heidi and I were both so relieved and shaken, we sat down on the curb and started laughing. The picture in my head of her having a Rottweiler on her back is one of my favorite things ever...it's right up there with her floating in the air when I pulled the rug out from underneath her.
The point of this story is, we survived; and not all Rottweilers are vicious attack dogs, waiting to kill! (But I guess that was proven in The Sandlot.)
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monster Spider
As most of you know, I'm a nanny to 2 of the craziest, slightly psychotic little boys on the planet. Finn and Declan. 6 and 2. (I am also crazy and slightly psychotic, so it's a good match. The fights are usually pretty fair.)
I am NOT a fan of bugs of any kind. At all. I don't even like having to touch them through 7 layers of kleenex. It's just gross, okay? What I'm trying to say is, I always made Finn do the bug killing back in Kansas City. He didn't like it...but I was the boss, so he didn't have a choice. (It builds character. Stop complaining.)
The bug killing was different every time.
One time, I handed him a shoe and lifted him up so he could reach the bug above the door.
Sometimes it was both of us throwing things at it from across the room. It was kind of a game, except one we both didn't want to play and also our lives were in jeopardy. (Walk a mile in my shoes and THEN tell me I'm wrong about that)
There were even a couple times where we would show them to Declan (The harmless ones! Calm down!) and he would end up playing with them to death.
Just a lot of good, clean fun!
This one day in particular, though, I was picking up towels in the bathroom and there, nestled snugly inside, RIGHT NEXT TO MY HAND, was a monster spider. If I had to guess...I'd say it was roughly the size of a small child. Roughly. My guess might be off, though, because I threw it and ran away screaming. It all happened so fast!
Naturally, I called Finn to come save my life.
Now, as I said before, he usually hated having to kill the bugs for me. But for some reason, he was SUPER excited to take care of it this time. I don't know what changed, but what happened next was one of the funniest things I'd seen him do up to that point:
He came running in, super pumped up with crazy eyes, shoe in hand, and started smashing the spider over and over. At least 20 times. All while screaming like a warrior.
Then he grabbed some toilet paper, picked the mangled spider corpse up, threw his fist in the air...
And did a victory lap around the house with the spider over his head, yelling triumphantly.
I actually had to chase him down and make him throw it away!
I'm not even kidding when I say: That day, that kid was my hero.
I am NOT a fan of bugs of any kind. At all. I don't even like having to touch them through 7 layers of kleenex. It's just gross, okay? What I'm trying to say is, I always made Finn do the bug killing back in Kansas City. He didn't like it...but I was the boss, so he didn't have a choice. (It builds character. Stop complaining.)
The bug killing was different every time.
One time, I handed him a shoe and lifted him up so he could reach the bug above the door.
Sometimes it was both of us throwing things at it from across the room. It was kind of a game, except one we both didn't want to play and also our lives were in jeopardy. (Walk a mile in my shoes and THEN tell me I'm wrong about that)
There were even a couple times where we would show them to Declan (The harmless ones! Calm down!) and he would end up playing with them to death.
Just a lot of good, clean fun!
This one day in particular, though, I was picking up towels in the bathroom and there, nestled snugly inside, RIGHT NEXT TO MY HAND, was a monster spider. If I had to guess...I'd say it was roughly the size of a small child. Roughly. My guess might be off, though, because I threw it and ran away screaming. It all happened so fast!
Naturally, I called Finn to come save my life.
Now, as I said before, he usually hated having to kill the bugs for me. But for some reason, he was SUPER excited to take care of it this time. I don't know what changed, but what happened next was one of the funniest things I'd seen him do up to that point:
He came running in, super pumped up with crazy eyes, shoe in hand, and started smashing the spider over and over. At least 20 times. All while screaming like a warrior.
Then he grabbed some toilet paper, picked the mangled spider corpse up, threw his fist in the air...
And did a victory lap around the house with the spider over his head, yelling triumphantly.
I actually had to chase him down and make him throw it away!
I'm not even kidding when I say: That day, that kid was my hero.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Cookies
Last August before my sister headed back to college, we decided to have a girl's night. I was going to help her finish packing, then we were going to make cookies and watch a movie.
We got her car all loaded up and set to work making some super delicious chocolate chip cookies. Yum!
Now, the most successful cooks...and anyone with a brain...check their ingredient supply before they get started. We may have been a little overly confident (that's a key word in this story) with our cookie making skills though, because we completely blew that off.
Heidi got all the supplies and ingredients and we started measuring and mixing. Everything was going smoothly until we realized we didn't have any brown sugar. (I'd say it went downhill from there, but it pretty much immediately started going downhill, right off the bat.)
We Googled how to substitute for brown sugar, and thankfully we had what we needed to do it! I started measuring the molasses (which is an insanely slow and pain-staking process) and had only done one tablespoon when Heidi knocked my hand away and confidently picked up the molasses bottle.
Heidi: I've got this.
Me: Are you sure? It might be better if we just measure it...
Heidi: No, no. I've done this plenty of times before. Just start measuring the sugar or something.
And before I could stop her, she turned the bottle over and without hesitating, started squeezing molasses into the bowl.
Confidently. Oh, so confidently.
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't you think that's enough?? Heidi, you should maybe stop now!
Heidi: Don't worry. I'm really good at guessing amounts. (She's always so confident!)
Me: Okay, if you're sure...
Heidi: *Looks at me dead in the eye with this weird, confident look in her eye, which freaked me out and shut me up*
Me: Yep, you've got this.
She finally decided there was enough molasses in the bowl. We added everything else and stirred it all up. She tasted some of it and the look on her face didn't give me much hope.
Me: How is it?
Heidi: Hmmm...I think there's something wrong with the recipe...
Me: What? Let me taste it...
Heidi: Well?
Me: Definitely too much molasses. That's disgusting.
Heidi: Oh crap. What should we do??
(At this point, she didn't really care what I thought. She just started throwing more flour, sugar, etc. into the bowl, willy nilly. What started as a single batch turned into a triple batch.)
We stirred it some more...and...
Heidi: Nope. Still gross.
That's when I decided to help out. I knew we needed to have something to help lessen the taste of molasses...but what?
Oatmeal! So I threw some of that in there...and it was STILL gross.
Peanut butter, maybe? Why not? (At this point we were super desperate and ready to be done with these cookies.)
Finally, with the combination of peanut butter and oatmeal, the molasses wasn't as noticeable. To be clear, they were still not good. AT ALL. But they were tolerable.
We baked them, watched our movie in bits and pieces, and tried to force down the occasional cookie.
What started off as a single batch of chocolate chip cookies was now a triple batch of molasses/oatmeal/peanut butter/chocolate chip cookies.
That were gross. (I mean, awful. No one even pretended to like them. They weren't even fake nice about it.)
That my dad didn't even like. (Which says a WHOLE lot about how they tasted.)
That stayed in the freezer for a long, long time. (I think Rachel's the only one who liked them.)
That didn't end up going to college with Heidi. (I can't really blame her!)
What did I learn from this? Basically...to NOT let Heidi deviate from the recipe or have control of substituting ingredients.
And to not make cookies.
Just ever.
We got her car all loaded up and set to work making some super delicious chocolate chip cookies. Yum!
Now, the most successful cooks...and anyone with a brain...check their ingredient supply before they get started. We may have been a little overly confident (that's a key word in this story) with our cookie making skills though, because we completely blew that off.
Heidi got all the supplies and ingredients and we started measuring and mixing. Everything was going smoothly until we realized we didn't have any brown sugar. (I'd say it went downhill from there, but it pretty much immediately started going downhill, right off the bat.)
We Googled how to substitute for brown sugar, and thankfully we had what we needed to do it! I started measuring the molasses (which is an insanely slow and pain-staking process) and had only done one tablespoon when Heidi knocked my hand away and confidently picked up the molasses bottle.
Heidi: I've got this.
Me: Are you sure? It might be better if we just measure it...
Heidi: No, no. I've done this plenty of times before. Just start measuring the sugar or something.
And before I could stop her, she turned the bottle over and without hesitating, started squeezing molasses into the bowl.
Confidently. Oh, so confidently.
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't you think that's enough?? Heidi, you should maybe stop now!
Heidi: Don't worry. I'm really good at guessing amounts. (She's always so confident!)
Me: Okay, if you're sure...
Heidi: *Looks at me dead in the eye with this weird, confident look in her eye, which freaked me out and shut me up*
Me: Yep, you've got this.
She finally decided there was enough molasses in the bowl. We added everything else and stirred it all up. She tasted some of it and the look on her face didn't give me much hope.
Me: How is it?
Heidi: Hmmm...I think there's something wrong with the recipe...
Me: What? Let me taste it...
Heidi: Well?
Me: Definitely too much molasses. That's disgusting.
Heidi: Oh crap. What should we do??
(At this point, she didn't really care what I thought. She just started throwing more flour, sugar, etc. into the bowl, willy nilly. What started as a single batch turned into a triple batch.)
We stirred it some more...and...
Heidi: Nope. Still gross.
That's when I decided to help out. I knew we needed to have something to help lessen the taste of molasses...but what?
Oatmeal! So I threw some of that in there...and it was STILL gross.
Peanut butter, maybe? Why not? (At this point we were super desperate and ready to be done with these cookies.)
Finally, with the combination of peanut butter and oatmeal, the molasses wasn't as noticeable. To be clear, they were still not good. AT ALL. But they were tolerable.
We baked them, watched our movie in bits and pieces, and tried to force down the occasional cookie.
What started off as a single batch of chocolate chip cookies was now a triple batch of molasses/oatmeal/peanut butter/chocolate chip cookies.
That were gross. (I mean, awful. No one even pretended to like them. They weren't even fake nice about it.)
That my dad didn't even like. (Which says a WHOLE lot about how they tasted.)
That stayed in the freezer for a long, long time. (I think Rachel's the only one who liked them.)
That didn't end up going to college with Heidi. (I can't really blame her!)
What did I learn from this? Basically...to NOT let Heidi deviate from the recipe or have control of substituting ingredients.
And to not make cookies.
Just ever.
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