The Mothership

So, I haven’t made this in years. Because the last time I made it...it was so detestable, that my husband who will eat almost anything, couldn’t even finish it. It was so bitter. Bleh! So, we were talking with our friends April & Marques and they mentioned that their favorite dish to eat as a family is Eggplant Parmesan. So I asked for the recipe and I added a little to it. I also figured out how to get rid of the bitter taste. This recipe made enough for a 9x13 and an 8x8 freezer meal too. I do all I can to make less work for myself during the busy school year and a lot of times I’ll just make double of the dinner and make a freezer meal out of the extra. Also, I had two HUGE eggplants to use. INGREDIENTS: 2 LARGE eggplants Salt 4 eggs, beaten 3 cups of Panko bread crumbs 1 Italian Dressing seasoning packet 2 jars of red pasta sauce - your favorite 4-5 medium tomatoes, chopped 4 cups of mozzarella fresh, torn basil, about a cup copped red onion (optional)

 My stories and posts from last year at this time keep popping up on my news feeds and the only thing I can think of is "Remember how you felt? You felt so trapped." I was happy. I was joyful. But I was internally exhausted. Trying to be all the things and all the places for all the people. Not that they MADE me do any of it...I said yes to that all on my own and I take responsibility for that. I have a hard time with setting boundaries for myself. If there is anything that has helped me along in my healing it is my husband's ability to cross-reference and say, "maybe that's too much." It doesn't mean I always listen to him, because I have different desires, gifts, and a different threshold than him. But all the same, he is a great sounding board. The memories I have of those times from last year were filled with laughs and goodness. But I can feel the anxiety, stress, and pain welling up in my chest even now of how it felt. Always saying, "I just n

I see you. I know you. You seem familiar and resemble someone I know.  You are the woman holding her babe that seems happy in her arms with the invisible sleeping and attachment struggles from beneath the baby wearing garment. The woman who comes to the party, grimacing and half smiling because her little guy is pumeling everything in sight because he needs to. The woman who comes with the little one afraid to enter the crowd because it is too noisy or too much and all you want to do is socialize.  The woman who comes with a child that is over opinionated and remarks loudly to everything they process. The woman who so desperately wants to understand her child and would do anything to just “have an easy day.” I see your struggle, and your torment. And yet, somehow, I see your delight.  You see the joy in your child. And you feel as if you’re the only one able to see. You ask yourself that question that seems to be on repeat, “Does anyone else see the struggle and yet the life inside thi