Snacking Perfected

I just finished eating graham crackers and peanut butter...with milk.

I eat this every single day.

Now...I've told this to several people and they say something quite alarming...their response goes a little something like this:

"I've tried that before...it was ok."

At that moment, great pain is taken as I desperately try to prevent my face from disclosing what my brain is thinking. Sometimes I'm successful. Sometimes I am not. When this unpleasant situation faces me, I now try to have compassion upon these bizarre people...for it's obvious they know not what they do.

After giving this matter lots of thought, I've decided one of two things is going on here.

Either these people are wrong...OR...in their defense (yes, I am now arguing with myself about these odd people) maybe they are not partaking in this magnificent snack in the proper manner.

So...as an EXPERT on this tasty snack, I will now describe to you how a graham cracker, peanut butter and milk snack should go down...in detail.

First, you must have nice and fresh cinnamon graham crackers. No limp ones.

Second, you must have creamy peanut butter...a full jar.

Third, you must have milk...real-life milk from a cow. Preferably whole milk. Yep. I said it. Right now, I know just reading the words, "whole milk from a real-life cow" caused audible gasping among my healthy eating readers. I'm sorry...but that's just the way this snack must go down people. I'm not here today to debate soy versus milk or whole verses watery milk. I'm just here to tell you what's good...real good...really, really good.

Now...you get yourself a big, cold cup of that before-mentioned, real-life, real-thick, cow milk...but don't drink it. Not yet. Nope.

Take all your ingredients to a kitchen counter near you.

Warning: No substitutions allowed in this recipe. All instructions must be followed to the T, whatever that means. What does that mean? Really, does anyone know?

Ok...I've tried this snack many different places, but my favorite way to eat this tasty nibble of all things wonderful is to stand at the kitchen counter...open up the peanut butter jar...then, open up the fresh, flavor-sealed packet of cinnamon graham crackers...break them into pieces (when you get really good at this, you can do this one-handed...take your time...it will come.) Don't worry if you don't break them right on the lines. Who cares. The point is to have pieces that will fit nicely into the jar. THEN...you DIP the graham cracker right into the peanut butter jar. That's why the jar has to be full...and that's why the crackers have to broken. No wimpy dipping. I mean dip, people...your cracker should feel heavy with the bounty of peanut butter.

NOW...this part is CRITICAL.

Remember the milk? DO NOT DRINK IT! Not yet. The pinnacle of this snacking experience happens once you've eaten so many peanut butter dunked graham cracker bits that you are about to explode. At this point, you should not be able to talk because your mouth is so clogged with peanut butter. Once you're full...and you're positive you may begin choking (whichever happens first) THEN you start drinking your milk. Believe me...you will need a full cup. It will take longer than one might expect to get all that peanut butter and graham crackers completely down your throat.

Wasn't that divine?

Being an expert on this said snack, I will also be so bold to declare that if you follow these carefully documented instructions and still have the gall to say, "I've tried that before...it was ok." You may need to spend some time doing some pretty hard and thorough soul searching.

Once addicted, see the post below about Pilates. You may need to start coming to class with me.

We Need a New Name

We are awful people...we, as in the wife Hendrick.

We plagiarized the super, Supercinski's blog name.

We might as well name our next kid Josiah.

Even though this act of stupidity was really and truly an accident...

We, as in the wife Hendrick, feel really bad about it.

So...we need a new, creative name. Any ideas?

What about Hendrick Hoodoo?

Aaron doesn’t think alliteration is mandatory…so we’ll take any ideas you’ve got.

Heather Hendrick, Certified Pilates Instructor

I've been sitting here all week writing a kid's play for church. My rear-end began protesting...it formed an evil conspiracy with my legs and shoulder blades...they all went on strike. So, I decided to go to Body Flow at the gym.

I had two simple goals: a. to walk again. b. for my rear-end to wake up from it's long, deep slumber

While standing barefoot on my mat, I decided that the class should NOT be called Body Flow.

It should be called Body Origami. Although the class is freakishly quiet, my body is screaming, "Are we trying to get me in shape, or tie-dye me?"

Everyone in class is bending beautifully, gracefully and silently.

Everyone but me.

I feel like Chris Farley at a Christian Women's Club luncheon.

I decide I love my teacher.

I want to teach Pilates.

Mainly for the sweater.

While standing on one leg and stretching the other leg all the way to the photo lab at HEB across the street, I imagined how it must feel to say, "I teach Pilates."

That's got to be right up there with, "I'm a medical doctor."

I want to be my teacher.

Her soft voice.

Her serenity...tranquility.

The mercy in her eyes when she looks at me.

I wonder if she’s on something.

She must be. Either she's on something, or she's a super hero.

Her breathy, calm intonation is powerful.

She says, “Reach your tail bone up and touch the ceiling” as though it’s a realistic possibility.

That’s a gift.

I’m actually disappointed when my tail bone won’t comply.

I’ve never been so disenchanted with my tail bone.

She defies gravity...with her legs.

She takes them, pulls them up by her ears, wraps them around and around until...her legs become Princess Leah buns on the side of her head...

And with a smile on her face, she coolly encourages me to do the same.

Legs that double as a popular hair-do.

I'm going to have that one day.

Yes....

one.......




day.......




maybe....

I'll........




teach......





Pilates....


All Pilates instructors talk very slow. I’m practicing.

I’m off to take down my braided buns, set them back on the floor and start writing scene 3.

I Cried All the Way Home

May May, go away, come again some other day.

I've often thought it would take super human strength to watch so many precious people come into our lives...and then walk out of it.

Who can do this?

These wonderfully brilliant people walk in, plop themselves down on the sofa of my soul...where we've shared some of the most magnificent conversations, ideas, thoughts, gut-wrenching laughter...then they get up...we have a BBQ...and they are gone.

Will Tuesdays ever be the same?

I said good-bye to my sweet girls over BBQ today. On the way there, I reminded my boys to give our girls lots and lots of love and hugs, because it would be a long time until we got to see them again.

Anson began to cry.

I joined him.

I want you girls to know (along with D.O. and "Att" Graham...) you have touched our lives. You've touched our children's lives. I realized today, that none of them even remember life with out you in it! You have played large roles in their little worlds. The highlight of their week is the night when you all come over. "Are we there yet" has never made it into their vocabulary...but..."Is it Tuesday yet" sure has.

We will miss you. All of you.

I'll miss Lauren's smell and your hand motions while you talk.

I'll miss D.O.'s pessimism and servant heart. I'll miss how much you help my sweet husband.

I'll miss Matt's whackiness and creativity. I've never met someone more creative. Never. Use your powers for good, Matt...always for good. Words and ideas don't make things happen. People do. I believe you are destined to be one of those people.

I'll miss laughing at Claire. You're so funny. We all know it. But, you're beautiful too. One day you're going to see what we see. You won't believe what we all see when we see you!

I'll miss Jessica. The whole world should stop and take notes when you talk. You amaze me. You've made us laugh. You've made us cry. I've never seen someone so strong and yet equally humble. You make us proud.

I'll miss my Brook-e. Oh Brooke! I've learned so much from you. Thank you for being honest with me and letting me learn. Your honest introspection has saved our family from many, many mistakes. I am forever indebted. I will miss you terribly. Terribly.
You've all made me cry today...that cry that causes a headache. On the way home I thought..."Hmmm...this pain...this deep sadness I feel right now is probably why it would be a lot easier to just let these wonderful people float by instead of inviting them to sit a spell on my sofa." Love hurts. Knowing others can be painful.

However, I would not trade this headache for anything. I've loved loving you. I've loved learning from you. I've loved seeing you love the Lord. If I could make enough sweet tea to make you stay...I'd start making it right now and never stop.

I will miss looking up on that stage and my breath being taken away. For a moment, I can't sing. I can only look at each of you...Matt being brilliant, Brooke being Brooke, Jessica and D.O. standing with my husband worshipping the Lord with everything...it makes me cry...every single time. The same awe-inspiring God that made you, makes me stand in awe as I watch your giftedness displayed in all His glory. I have never been more proud of a group of people. I've never been more blessed than when I see you blessing the Lord.

When Aaron got home, we stood in the kitchen, holding each other...crying.

We've been reminded today how very human we are.

We love you.

They should make some sort of medicine for May.

A Side Pony Walked into MY HOUSE!

Yes, Ashley...it really happened.

I've seen hints of the side ponytail's come back. I thought I saw one at LH walking down the hall between the 9 and 11. I definitely saw one on Poppy Montgomery's character on Without a Trace. Then, one had the audacity to walk into my house just last night.

It's official. The side pony has made a come back. This will be my very first time to see something I did in elementary school come back with gusto...the stinkin' side pony tail mocks us...it says, "You're getting old. There is a gap between you and the young ones." It even had the guts to walk into my very own living room...sticking its tongue out at me on my own turf. That poor girl, sporting the off-centered pony had NO IDEA her hair and I were having it out.

I think I need counseling. The return of the side pony has sent me into a downward spiral.

Aahhh Sushi

My friend Jenn has been talking about her Sunday night Sushi since I met her. I've never eaten it. I've always wanted to. I think cool people eat Sushi. Actually, if you're really cool, you write a book and use Sushi in the title. Writers who title things with the word sushi are superstars in my book.

I've even ventured over to the sushi bar at HEB. Actually, it's not a bar. Now it may be, but at one point it was just a pile of ice with some sushi on it. Iced Sushi. That's disturbing.

I've given sushi a once-over many times at HEB not fully understanding what all the riot is about these strange looking rice rolls. I felt lost. Alone. Left to ponder the magic of the sushi. Would I ever be in the in crowd of sushi connoisseurs? I thought it was highly unlikely. It troubled me.

Then I find a friend who basically introduces herself by saying, "Hi, my name is Jenn and I eat Sushi on Sundays...be my friend and I'll be your ticket to coolness." She didn't really say that. It's just what I heard.

So, last Sunday night after our very last Excellent Wife class, we toasted a beautiful semester with some California Rolls. I loved them. My favorite part of the whole sushi coolness is that intoxicating sauce...WASABE. Holy cow. I love it. I love how it tastes. I love how it burns my nose hairs. I love how it sets my sinuses on fire. I love how it sounds coming out of my mouth..."it" as in the word, not the sauce. I did manage to keep the actual sauce inside my mouth. Wasabe. I could sing songs about it. I could write a poem about it. Wasabe. When I say it, I automatically feel like I'm bilingual. It's like I'm saying something in Japanese...or whatever language the people speak who have created wonderful wasabe. But, my favorite thing to do
is find ways to use the word wasabe. Here's what I've come up with so far:

Instead of saying, "Want some of me?" you can say, "Wasabe?" That's terrific fun.

Instead of saying, "I'm sorry" you can say, "Waaaaa-sabe." It's beautiful.

Here's to Jenn. Thanks for introducing me to the wonderful world of wasabe. Here's to eating it. Here's to saying it.

Woo-who for Wasabe.

We're Bloggers!

I never thought I would succumb to this whole whacky phenomenon called the blog...partially because the word blog makes my mouth sick...partially because the word blog sounds like something you should call someone you don't particularly care for...."stupid blog." However, my utter adoration of the wonderful people in my home greatly outweighs my abhorrence for the word blog. So, I will now proceed to blog away about all things Hendrick. These amazing people I have the pleasure of living life with every day will now be given their proper praise through the vehicle of the blasted blog.

Oh...and the word blog, sounds a lot like clog...which never ever conjures up images that are noble, right, pure, lovely or admirable...which means we shouldn't think about the word blog and how it rhymes with clog. So stop it.