A dozen reasons my husband loves Pioneer Woman...

Those, my friends, are 12 Hot Roast Beef sandwiches thankyouverymuch.  

I struggle with staying on top of Taylor's lunch.  Bless him, he doesn't complain about it, and has spent many a night quietly slapping together PB&Js for himself because he knows I'll forget in the morning.  We all have different things that make us feel loved and his is not having to put together his own lunch for school.  That should be easy...right?  But for some reason I just could not get it together.  So I spent a little time reflecting on why.  The main reason is I am not a fan of sandwiches unless they've been made for me at Jimmy Johns or Quizos or even Subway.  I abhor touching sandwich meat.  Not to mention it's almost impossible to find quality meat here that isn't processed to death and not worth eating in the first place.  And even though it's processed within an inch of it's life, it still goes bad so fast which is why each package comes with about 2 slices in it, so I'm constantly feeling like I have to buy it. And we all know how great my memory is...

So when I saw this post by Pioneer Woman, I got inspired.  Went to Costco, bought a huge thing of roast beef, sliced cheese, and wholemeal baps (sandwich rolls similar to hamburger buns but softer), made the dressing and voila! In 20 minutes I had prepared Taylor's lunch for 2 weeks.  All he has to do is grab one or two out of the freezer on his way out the door (but you know since I was so proud of myself, I actually remembered to pack them up for him along with some fruit and veggie straws...hopefully this will last!).

Now, I liked the idea of these for my lunch too.  I LOVE roast beef and the sauce sounded amazing except for the mayo which I pretty much will not eat.  It's sad because if you made it for me and didn't tell me it had mayo in it, I'd happily eat it...ignorance is bliss and all.  But since I made it and I know there is mayo in it, I just can't do it.  I know, I'm neurotic.  So I made 4 extra and substituted French wholegrain mustard (not sure if you can get this in the States - it's similar to dijon in kick but not in texture) and I am eating one as I type.  Actually that is a lie.  I stopped typing so I could scarf it down.

Anyone else have any good lunch ideas?

The Fantastic Mr. Fox

One thing I love about living in Britain is that we have a fox that lives in our garden in the winter.  The first time I saw him was early December our first year here (2010).  It snowed the day after Thanksgiving and didn't stop until the new year.  I remember one night sitting at the window sill after Seth's dream feed around 11:30 pm;  Taylor was already asleep and I knew I should head to bed, but the snow had started falling again and this Texas girl was riveted.

The garden was pure white from the steady snow fall we had gotten before and the new snow falling with the black night sky in the background was breathtaking.  It was one of those perfect moments where I didn't feel like I needed to grab my camera, or wake Taylor up to enjoy it with me, but I just reveled in it with the Lord.  And to top it off, He had Mr. Fox run through the white snow.  I felt like God was painting a children's story book right there in real life just for me.   It was so beautiful and ever after that encounter I was endeared to that little fox.  Every night up until we left Edinburgh to head back to Texas for Christmas, I looked for Mr. Fox and spotted him from time to time.

The next winter it was much milder.  We only experienced snowfall two different times, and it never stuck, but Mr. Fox was still around. I didn't see him as often now that Seth was down for bed for good by 7, but when I happened to see him, it made me love Edinburgh and our sweet flat and garden so much more.

Winter passed and Avery was born the next spring.  We experienced a gloriously hot summer in Houston, and when we returned, enjoyed meeting the new families that had moved into our flat complex before the school year started.  The new girls, like all of us when we were new,  had lots of questions about the city and about living in our housing unit.  Mr. Fox of course was mentioned as a highlight of living where we do, but the mice?  Not so much.  Their eyes lit up at the idea of the neighborhood fox, and I got excited about seeing him again this winter.  Someone who has lived here longer than us even knew the story of how Mr. Fox came to reside in our community garden.  It was a sad tale of losing his mate and coming to look for her here each winter.  (That may not actually be the story but that is how I remember it - don't burst my bubble, mkay?)

September went by and October came and I had forgotten about Mr. Fox until last Saturday night. (I'm pretty sure I wrote this in early November and am just now posting it (in case you were wondering).)

Taylor was working after we got the kids down, and I was feeling magnanimous and offered to take the trash out.  You may not realize this, but y'all.  That is a big deal.  I was brought up to think the trash was a man's chore.  Taylor was not brought up this way.  It's not usually a point of contention in our marriage because he just takes care of it, but this particular night he had a lot to do, and I didn't...so I offered.  I needed to go outside to our laundry room to pick up our laundry anyway, so of course I could do it.

Never again.

I had forgotten about the one other time I had taken out the trash since we lived here.  I would soon remember why I had only done it one other time in two years.  And this time gave me a second reason to never offer again.

So I throw on my wellies even though it wasn't raining because they were by the front door.  I grab my keys and start heading downstairs.  Head back up the stairs because I had forgot to bring the trash - story of my forgetful life. Taylor teasingly reminds me to take the laundry room keys, and I halfway tease him to send out a search party if I don't come back in ten minutes.  I know, I'm neurotic.

I head back down making a game plan in my head.  "Take trash first so you don't have to take the trash into the laundry room or the laundry to the trash bins."  But even though I processed this steps before I reach the ground floor of our stairwell, autopilot takes over, and I head out the back door towards the laundry room instead of the front door towards the trash bins.

I realize this as I awkwardly try to open the laundry room door whilst juggling the two full, heavy trash bags (which are made of ridiculously thin plastic and tear easily.  This is not a minor detail.).  I recall my previous logic and look around to see if anybody had left their stairwell door open so I can take a shortcut to the trash bins instead of having to walk out through our building's main entrance which also happens to be outside and not really on the way to the trash bins.

The stairwell doors were all (not surprisingly) closed at 9pm at night.

So I heave my trash bags up the stairs and out the main entrance of our complex (remember this is all outside).  This leads me to a narrow pathway between the main road and steep stairs back down to the sidewalk that lead to where the trash bins are. At this point I am kind of on edge because it's getting late, it's really dark, and let's be serious I am a total wuss.  All of a sudden something flashes by on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs (you know, where I am about to walk), scaring me half to death because I startle easily.  I'm now feeling sympathy for Mrs. Bennet because "oh my nerves!" and then it registers that the thing that just zoomed by me was not a neighbourhood kid on a scooter, but you guessed it.

Mr. Fox.

I quickly realize that I am only endeared to him when he is outside my window, not when I am outside by myself wrestling oversized trash bags that are threatening to split open at any time.

I must have yelped when he ran by because he stops in his tracks and looks curiously back at me.  And he is way too close for comfort.  The theme song to Peter and the Wolf starts playing in my head.  I have half a mind to heave the trash bags back up the stairs to our flat and call it a night, but realize I'd basically have to walk right by the trash bins anyway to get back to my flat, and I'm not that lazy.

I throw caution to the wind and bang the trash bags on the ground hoping to scare him away without causing my bags to tear and leave rubbish all over the path. Thankfully this works on both accounts, and he promptly runs out of sight in the opposite direction from me.  I take this opportunity to book it to the trash bins looking behind me and banging the trash bags on the ground intermittently (think The Parent Trap).  I'm sure some of my neighbors got a kick out of this ridiculous sight.

I finally make it to the trash bins, and Mr. Fox hasn't followed me as far as I can tell - he's clearly scared out of his mind by the crazy girl awkwardly trying to run in wellies while banging trash bags on the pavement.  It's a total miracle they didn't tear in the process.  I stand in front of the looming trash bins and quickly remember why I never take out the trash.  The trash bin area has no lights and backs up to a wild and overgrown part of our complex and well...

Physics.

I am short.

The trash cans are tall.

I am weak.

The trash bins have ridiculously heavy lids.

The trash bags are really heavy.

Did I mention I am short and weak?

And to add insult to injury I am most likely being stalked by a fox.  And let's not forget I'm a germophobe to boot.

So picture me blindly trying to swing these heavy trash bags high enough to get them up and into the bins while also trying to watch my back for impending fox pounce.  This is a very inefficient way of getting big heavy trash bags into tall unlit trash bins.  I finally get the first bag high enough and realize I forgot to open the lid as it comes crashing to a halt on the top of the bin.  Brilliant.

I contemplate leaving it there, but realize the fox and other wild animals would probably have a heyday ripping it open and eating the contents making a huge mess in our car park.  Not to mention revealing whatever recyclable items we accidentally threw away.  Oh the shame!

Grimacing as I think about all of the germs I am getting on my hands, I try to swing open the lid while still holding onto the other trash bag with my other hand.  Did I mention I wasn't good at physics?

The lid finally bangs open undoubtedly waking all neighborhood children within a half mile radius.  Then it takes me about four failed attempts to swing the trash bag up high enough to get it in the bin all the while frantically looking over my shoulder for the fox to reappear.  He doesn't.  I get the other bag into the bin about as quickly as the first, slam the lid shut and high tail it back to my front door.  It dawns on me that I've not picked up my laundry, but that thought is dismissed immediately and I run up my stairs.  I walk in the door and Taylor jokes, "What happened to you?  I was about to send out a search party!"

"Oh nothing.  I just remembered why I never take out the trash."

Facing Fears (even when they're silly)

As I've mentioned in the past, I can tend to be a bit of a hypochondriac.

Sometimes I feel like germs are out to get me (especially when raw poultry is involved), so if I can avoid possible adverse medical mishaps (food poisoning, possible allergic reactions to certain foods, catching a cold from the sneezy not covering her mouth child at baby and toddler group etc), my knee jerk reaction is to do so at all costs.

However, the cost proves to be extremely expensive:

Become home bound vegetarians.

And let's be serious, I'm from Texas, so that surely isn't going to happen.

Taylor is very grace-giving with me in these situations.  He doesn't push me.  He bought the Costco-sized hand sanitizer after Seth was born and made everyone use it if they were within 100 feet of the baby. He gently reminds me that sharing slobbered on toys in the church nursery builds immunity, and that if we don't have food allergies, Seth probably won't either.  And we all know with the raw meat neuroses, he is a genius.  He handles all raw meat passed his way without complaint.  This is a man who over the past five years has learned quickly to pick his battles.

So today we are celebrating a milestone that most of your children reached at one year old:

Eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich

It may not seem like a big deal to you, but I have been carefully calculating how to go about this for the past 6 months - since Seth was cleared to try my long time nemesis. Don't get me wrong; our mutual dislike isn't because I'm allergic; I'm not.  But as a former teacher, you are taught to fear peanuts in all forms.  School is a nut-free zone People!  (At first I accidentally typed "nit-free" - don't we wish that were true?!) Plus, I was the kid that talked my mom into making me one peanut butter only half and one jelly only half because I couldn't stand having the flavors combined.  And truth be told, I threw away the whole un-eatened peanut butter half nine times out of ten.  

Taylor on the other hand is in LOVE with peanut butter.  And to his credit, he never pushed me to make Seth try it sooner.

So I've been trying for the past 6 months to get the courage up (and to get my darned baby brain to actually remember to implement the plan) to do this.  The plan came to me in early September.  At 15 months, Seth finally was ready to join our baby and toddler group at church now that he could stand missing his morning nap once a week.  It was perfect.  The group ended right around lunch time, and our church is steps away from the children's hospital in town.  My plan was to bring the PBJ sandwich with us to the group, drive home an alternate route so we'd pass the children's hospital, park in front of it, and feed it to him there. Just. In. Case.

3 months went by and I would forget every week to make the sandwich ahead of time.  This week, I realized would be my last chance, and I was bound and determined to find out once and for all if my fear of peanuts was founded.  Especially since we are going on an airplane soon - and we all know there are peanuts everywhere in airplanes!

Here are the results of my very scientific study:

It was love at first bite!

And I have to say, I walked on the wild side and didn't bother driving in front of the hospital while he ate it.  Progress!

Under Construction

After noticing some of my friends' new and improved blogs, I wanted to know how to make mine cuter and more, well, me.


Here is a snippet of my initial email to Carolyn, my wonderfully talented and patient blog designer:

Nov 2010


OK so I just found out what I am asking my husband for for my b-day - a new blog design!!  I am so excited it's kind of pathetic.

Hi Carolyn, let me introduce myself.  I am Robin Ince - friends with Christi B and Elizabeth D and am in love with their new blog designs which incited me to envy, so I thought I would remedy that by talking to you.  Will you make my blog "snazzier"? It is sad and in need of a major face lift!

My husband (Taylor), 5 month old (Seth), and I recently moved to Edinburgh, Scotland - doing the culture shock thing like you except they apparently speak English here, and I still can't quite understand them!  I started my blog when Taylor and I lived in Charlotte, NC while he was in seminary to keep our family updated on what we were up to.  We've since moved to Scotland while Taylor pursues his PhD, so now the blog has become my weekly update for not only our moms, but also our friends.  It's mostly about the particulars of life (unless Taylor contributes - then it's way more intelligent sounding).  Can you help me?

Looking forward to hearing from you,

robin 

In all of the emails to follow, and there have been many, Carolyn has begun to create a new blog design that is unique and easier on the eyes than this Blogger template I am currently using.

Not surprisingly, I have been over-thinking the design ever since my turn has been up.  If you remember my first blog post (I cringe to even think about it), I talked about my neurosis tied to beginnings.  I love the do-over aspect of beginnings, but I also feel the pressure for new beginnings to be perfect.  This new beginning has been no different. Here is my chance!  I can re-vamp my blog exactly how I want it to be.


I started Inces in Edinburgh at Taylor's behest, knowing that we were moving to Edinburgh in the near future (how near was still up to Lord and for us to wait it out in faith!), and the fact that we're now here, far away from most of you, is still the main point of my writing, but I wanted it to make it mine.  I never liked the name Inces in Edinburgh, but it seemed to fit our purpose for this family blog.  And let's be serious, Taylor has written 3 posts out of 50, and we're not going to live in Edinburgh forever (most likely).  So I wanted to unveil this new look, with a new name, and a new feel.


Here are a few hints at what is to come once this renovated blog is finished:


1.  This is the main inspiration - thanks Jax!

   {Photo from Potterybarn.com}

                                
2.

{My Dad emailed me this - quick where did you get it?!}

3. 


"Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.  Blessed are those who dwell in your house, ever singing your praise!"  Psalm 84:3-4




4. My boys

So stay tuned...the reveal will happen soon!


XOXO,
robs

Pumpkin Run

As Thanksgiving approached, Americans around Edinburgh kept their ears to the proverbial track to find out what stores would stock "tinned" pumpkin.  Apparently last year there was a pumpkin shortage causing mass chaos around town come the last week in November.  OK, not really, but you don't realize how important pumpkin is to your diet until you live in a country where the general consensus is, "you eat what?!"


Of course, right as I hear about this possible shortage, blogs everywhere highlight their newest pumpkin recipe for fall. Desperation started to set in. Can you imagine no pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving?!  That was culture shock I couldn't handle, so I kept my ears opened for any rumors of tinned pumpkin.


Thanks to my Monday night tea group (made up of American and Canadian women from our university family housing complex), I got on the inside track.   The rule being that the first person to find said pumpkin alerts the rest of us immediately.  Thanks to Kathleen, I ordered 10 cans from Waitrose.

I then impulsively picked up 3 more cans at Peckhams when I saw the Libby's Tinned Pumpkin in Stock!  Get yours before they're gone! sign out front.  Actually it probably said it in a much more British way than that, but the urgency for pumpkin was evident.

That's right.  13 cans in all.  And as of today, December 9th, we only have 2 left.  So yeah, you could say I went a little pumpkin crazy this fall.

Here is what I made:

**A New Year's resolution of mine is to learn how to take pictures of food.  I got some tips from Bakerella, but they didn't so much work out...

Pumpkin Soup
Recipe courtesy of my friend Bobbie

Pumpkin Pie
Recipe from the Libby's can of course!

Pumpkin Muffins

Pumpkin Bread
Recipe from my mom

Pumpkin Squares
Recipe courtesy of my friend Meredith

More Pumpkin Bread

Pumpkin Dip
Recipe courtesy of my friend Jenn

The most noteworthy of my plethora of pumpkin dishes would have to be Paula Deen's Pumpkin Bars.  After having them at my friend Rachael's flat during Monday night tea, and then in the same week at Taylor's Post Grad Fellowship group, I had to make them.  The cream cheese icing was calling my name.

I immediately found the recipe on foodnetwork.com, bought all of the necessary ingredients, and decided that I would make them to take on our FI training in the Lake District.  We had to bring Seth with us, so I thought that bringing a yummy pumpkin dessert would A) show the uninitiated Brits that pumpkin was not only edible, but enjoyable and B) make up for all of the disruptions Seth would inevitably make during the training.

Well I don't know if you remember my post about my ornery oven, but unfortunately it got the best of me again. The first night of training, I went to cut the bars, only to discover a disappointingly mushy bottom layer.  I am a germ freak and figured something that had raw eggs in it that had been unrefrigerated for hours belonged in the trash, but it was getting late so naturally, we left it at the foot of the bed.

Oops.

Pumpkin Bars

In the middle of the night, Taylor went to check on Seth and forgot about the pumpkin bars.  After this it was dubbed Pumpkin Foot Cake.

Our last morning of training, he finally went to dump it in the kitchen trash.  Problem.  He was accosted by the lady that had been in charge of the food.  Even after Taylor tried to explain why it was no good, she was not persuaded and proceeded to put it in the oven (icing and all).  She had been a missionary in Uganda and couldn't bear to see it go to waste.

Taylor did not tell me of Pumpkin Foot Cake's fate.

Around lunch time, I start to enjoy the smell of our meal being prepared while sitting in on my last training session.  Slowly I recognize a distinctly pumpkin smell.  To my horror, the reality of Brits and pumpkin hit me, and I shoot a look at Taylor across the room.  He is already looking in my direction and just smiles.

Our group draws to a close and someone comments on the yummy smells coming from the kitchen.  I mumble something unintelligible and frantically make my way to Taylor who is standing by the lunch lady.  She now has the cake on the counter to cool, the icing reminiscent of, well, not cream cheese.  Think crispy.  I plead with her to throw it away to no avail.

Lunch is served, but not after the announcement,

"Robin Ince made the dessert, so be sure to get some!"

I silently beg the floor to open up and swallow me.  People everywhere are walking back to their seats with the a piece of the unidentifiable pumpkin disaster.  As they see me, they smile and hold out their bowls to show me they are trying it.  British people are so polite in general, so of course almost everyone had some.  I try to spread the word that it was undercooked, and Taylor had stepped in it.  This was a little too late as most of them had already started digging in.  They start eating a little slower and some take on a shade of green until Taylor explains that it was covered in cling wrap, so his foot didn't actually touch it, just squished it.

Amazingly, I got tons of compliments and some people even went back for seconds.  By the end, it had all been consumed.

Formerly Pumpkin Foot Cake

They also complimented us on Seth's stellar behavior.

I would ask for some more pumpkin recipes for my last two cans, but I am hoarding them in case there is a pumpkin shortage next year!

Footloose and Fancy Free

Do you ever get that nagging feeling that you have forgotten to do something really important? With my fabulous memory and all, my system is to make a mental note whenever I am reminded of something important I need to do so that I don't forget to do it later. Maybe I should figure out another way as I get that nagging feeling multiple times a day.

So this happened to me after reading Big Mama's post just a second ago. By the end, I had this terrible sinking feeling that I hadn't done something really important.  Once I figured out what it was, I had to let you join in on my insanity. Picture this:

Frantically I  scan back through her post searching for clues.

Nope, I didn't forget to do The Shred yesterday - that was on purpose. 

Nope, I didn't forget to put tater tots on my grocery list as I do not have a five year old. 

Nope, I definitely didn't forget to watch Nascar ( I am totally against this sport and all it stands for...actually I just think it's boring to watch cars drive around in circles - though whoever came up with this sport is genius as most of the sophisticated state of North Carolina tends to disagree with my opinion on its ability to provide endless hours of entertainment). 

Nope, I didn't forget to clean/organize my closet.

And then it dawns on me, and I laugh out loud. 

I am ashamed to write this, but at the genesis of this blog, I pledged my undying honesty (or something a little less dramatic) to my fellow blog readers, so here it is - my elusive mental note and cause for slight panic brought to light: 

Must research why Zac Efron isn't doing the remake of "Footloose" anymore! 

Wow - I really shouldn't be wasting such important brain space.

But I totally did look it up :) 

So obviously I am in need of your help.  Please leave a comment giving me much needed advice on how to remember things besides making mental notes because that is just making me crazy!

Love,

robs

Genesis

I'm feeling the weight of this very first blog post. I mean, THIS is my first impression as a blogger, and believe me, I don't take that lightly. (Man, it kind of seems like this blog should have a truly significant purpose, like helping people...but it doesn't.)



It's a weird feeling to have to make a first impression with people who already know and love me (because let's be serious, who else is going to spend time reading this?) With my parents, my first impression consisted of being a naked screaming baby, so I'm pretty sure I've got them in the bag, but with the Inces, the stakes were higher. My parents were going to love me no matter what. The Inces didn't have to. I knew at least after Susan's first compliment to me -- (which by the way was given during my first date with Taylor - yes, his whole family was there), "Robin, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but..." -- that I was at least being myself. And I'm going to try and do that through this blog.



So now I am going to try to captivate you with a witty first blog post because I am a (reformed) psycho about beginnings. Did you guys know that about me?



I don't know when it started, but at some point in my life, beginnings became the gauge at which I measured the future success of most situations (friendships, dating relationships, jobs). Scary I know, and not a very accurate way of living life though it did help me avoid an embarassing first kiss under the glaring lights of the entrance to my freshman dorm at A&M, but we won't go there. My first impression of Taylor was, "what does this (really good looking!) preppy guy hanging out in loafers and a polo shirt at a high school youth group BBQ think he's doing?" Mind you, I was wearing boys' cargo shorts that I got at abercrombie kids and a graphic tee that read I love green eggs and ham. Apparently I thought you were supposed to blend in with the kids, not actually look like the adult in charge that you actually were paid to be. And guess whose clothes are still in style?



But my first "dating" impression of Taylor was of his coming to my house a few hours before our first date with a bunch of roses he cut himself and our jumping on the trampoline. Let's just say I was in Heaven after that. And it's been (mostly :)) Heaven ever since.









But back to 'first things', during those college years, I always felt plagued that if something didn't start out well at the beginning, it would ultimately be doomed (ooh, Taylor take note - there is some serious sermon material in that misguided theology). Thankfully I don't live like this anymore because by God's grace, as I've matured in my relationship with Him, He's shown me all through Scripture how he loves to redeem bad beginnings. (Case in point: Adam and Eve).




I was talking with my students about this very idea in my English class a few days ago. We're studying a novel where the main character doesn't have a relationship with his father. He is finally recognized and claimed by his father when he does something impressive, something worthy of his father's name. We talked about how we're thankful that God doesn't do that with us. He takes a bad beginning and redeems us:




"But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8

But sometimes, old patterns creep up...hence the weight I've felt in writing this post.

I feel like if I don't captivate you with my impressive writing skills that this whole blog will be a waste of time -- something that you eagerly look at to get a glimpse into our new tea-sipping, hill-hiking, warm-clothes wearing Scottish life (O my Glory! The Lord obviously has a lot of grace stored up for me for such a time is this) but instead find yourself bored to tears or driven to them out of the frustration and resentment you feel in your obligation to read it. Y'all are shocked and slack jawed right now aren't you because


a) I'm not usually this forthright with my feelings and


b) since when is Robin Ince dramatic?!?



Fooled you. Oh wait, that was supposed to be yesterday.


A girl that writes a blog that I follow regularly beautifully put into words why I have put off this post for so long. Taylor has been asking me to start this blog ever since we talked of the possibility of going to Edinburgh, but I haven't been able to face the blank screen. I wanted to leave this aforementioned captivating and witty first post in "potential-land" because there it will actually be captivating and witty. It can stay where all of my other grand plans for writing have stayed, safe from the criticism of others. But I seem to remember some Scripture mentioning something about submitting to one another. So here it is -- our blog in all of it's glory. Be kind with your comments, but not false. I didn't create this blog to build up my ego, but to bore you to tears or drive you to them in frustration and resentment.



Love,


robs