Misadventures in Macarons

Some days are more frustrating than others.

I had big plans for this week. These plans were based on the fact that my oldest daughter is at summer camp for a week and my husband is at a work retreat for three days. Somehow, in my mind, that translated to an ability to get more done. I’m not sure why, since I’ve actually lost the two lowest-maintenance and most helpful members of the family.

Last week I bit the bullet and ventured into the world of biscotti.

Last week was the first week of the local farmers market. I’ve always wanted to make biscotti but have always been intimidated, so I decided to tackle that fear and made not one, but five different flavors to sell at the farmers market. The super-crunchy cookies were so much easier than I ever imagined, especially with this Classic Biscotti Recipe – Four Ways from Kristine’s Kitchen. I promised myself several more flavors for the market this week, and have already knocked out lemon and anise.

The biscotti was such a success, both in ease and in farmers market sales,
that I'm back at it this week. So far I've made anise (above) and lemon.
I plan to add almond and hazelnut to the mix

That’s the good news. Meanwhile, I’m dealing with a nine- and ten-year-old, who both have an endless supply of observations and “what if” and “why” questions. I have a barking dog. I have a cranky old cat, and a mother cat with five kittens underfoot—under my feet, that is. I have dishes to do, flower beds to weed, a garden to finish planting, and … in a paraphrase of the Disney song, “We don’t talk about laundry, no, no.…”

The obvious way to deal with all of that is to tackle another intimidating (but actually difficult) recipe I have on my bucket list.

Macarons. That’s macarons with one “o,” not to be confused with macaroons, which are tasty but not nearly so particular. Macarons are French and, like many French foods, have an attitude all their own. I found a French macaron recipe by John Kanell on his Preppy Kitchen blog, which seemed to have enough directions and tips for a nervous novice like me.

Did I mention I have two children talking at me nonstop? They’re like a noisy little conversational tag team, though they don’t always take turns. I blame that, not the recipe author, for how this recipe has gone.

There's the meringue, lingering at the soft peak stage.

First, for the first time in several months, if not years, I failed to correctly separate an egg on the first try. That’s a no-no for these meringue-based confections.

Second, the recipe called for two kinds of sugar. I perused the directions for when to add the granulated sugar. (“Mommy, what if you met a seven-foot-tall Chinese man?”) Not seeing it, I assumed the author neglected to say they should both be added to the almond flour at once. Not until later did I see that I was to add the granulated sugar to the egg whites before beating. Oops. That’s probably going to change something.

It doesn't really look like lava to me.

Third, egg whites linger at the soft-peak stage forever. That’s not really news since it’s always true for me, but it is irritating.

Fourth, the directions said to fold the dry ingredients into the meringue until the batter reached the consistency of “lava.” That’s interesting. It never did, which of course has nothing to do with adding the sugar at the wrong time.

Wrong piping tip, but they're kind of pretty. I didn't bother
trying to fill them this week. Heaven only knows what would 
have happened.

And, as I filled the pastry bag to pipe the macarons onto the baking sheet, I realized I didn’t have a plain round tip large enough to pipe the cookies without making a mess of them. I improvised. I eventually ended up with something pretty, if not macaron-looking.

Two things I did right—they taste good, and I think they’re the right size.

Never mind. I just realized my count is off by half a dozen.

I’ll try again next week.

The macarons won't be going to farmers market this week, but
they're still good with a mid-morning cup of coffee

In Patience, or Out of It

There’s an old saying: “Be careful what you pray for. You just may get it.”

I learned long ago not to pray for patience.

I’ve also heard Christian authors and speakers say that when they write a book on a certain topic, that is the worst season in their life for that topic. Write a book on marriage—have difficulties in marriage. Write a book on community—struggle with loneliness.

Shortly after my last blog post, I was reflecting on all the waiting we do in life, from waiting on God to waiting for food to ferment. I thought, I’ve made pretty good progress with patience. I should write a blog post about it.

A month ago, I researched how to grow sweet potatoes and decided
to begin my own process with a store-bought sweet potato.

What a terrible idea.

Everything went wrong. The weather turned bad again. I lost precious patience resources as I had to wait yet again to accomplish long-neglected outside chores. Even worse, my own mood has always been linked to the sun—or lack of it—and I quickly became moody and tired, losing patience with my own weakness.

My sweet potato experiment began May 19.

Inside chores went undone, causing me to lose patience with the housework.

My children forgot every bit of character training they’ve ever had, arguing constantly and pushing every last button I have. My patience wore paper thin.

I caught a doozy of a cold that knocked me sideways for several days, which again made me impatient with my own body as my children fended for themselves and piles of dishes and laundry grew higher.

By May 30, I had a tiny sprout and a tendril of root on one sweet potato.

Our internet went down and remained down for a week. It wore on me as I waited for it to be restored so I could complete online tasks that had already been left too long. Worse, anyone who has been in a house with modern children during bad weather with no internet access will know that the whining and fighting increased exponentially.

June 13, healthy sprouts and more roots.

I was still struggling with remnants of my cold when I babysat a couple of my friend’s children, including a two-year-old. I’d planned to putter around with chores and let the toddler hang out with me. That was the morning the water was shut off for two hours without warning.

That was when I finally admitted, Okay, God, I get it. I’m not that great at patience!

Now, on June 20, I think this sprouted sweet potato may be ready for the next step.

(Just now, as I was trying to find words for my next sentence, my teen daughter walked in and promptly began spewing out every thought in her head without regard for what I’m doing at this computer. Breathe in… Breathe out… One… Two… Three… )

If I can regain the point I nearly lost just now, I know I’m not trying to say God likes to mess with us. However, like any good parent, He never misses a good teaching moment. It’s as if, the moment we think we’re ready to graduate, He hands us the midterm. If you’re like me, you find yourself barely passing the test, if not failing outright.

I have grown in patience. I can look back and see the unsteady progress I’ve made over long years. I have not reached the pinnacle of mastery, however. I never will this side of heaven.

Not everyone reading this is a homeschooler. Let me tell you, as a homeschooler, one of my least favorite statements from non-homeschooling parents is, “Oh, I would never have the patience to homeschool.”

No kidding. No one does. If life is a testing ground for the things God wants us to learn, like patience, homeschooling is a pressurized environment that amplifies everything tenfold. At times I compare it to living in a pressure-cooker. I don’t homeschool because I have exceptional patience. Any patience I have has grown through homeschooling.

Last year, before my husband left his job, I bought a fig sapling.
I had a spot picked for it off the back corner of the house.
With our future suddenly in the air, though, I decided not to put it in the ground,
but to keep it in a pot. It overwintered by a window in our office.
Several times I thought I was going to lose it.
Now, more than a year later, it has several green figs clustering on its branches.

As I fail those tests, though, I find myself most of all losing patience with myself. How can I have been through so much and still get it so wrong? Knowing weakness, how do I so quickly condemn others for theirs? Experiencing grace, why am I so slow to extend it?

Knowing God’s patience, how is it so difficult to be patient with myself and others?

“The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).

It’s a good thing God is so patient with such a slow learner.