Classic Zucchini Bread

I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a helicopter mom. I’m not even a electronic remote control helicopter mom. It’s just not in my DNA.

I’m Type B by nature and tend to be efficient yet laid back at the same time, rarely stressing about a job once it’s done. I walk away from most things thinking “yup, killed it” but am also able to take my lumps when I did not actually kill it. I’m a realist at heart.

And I try to pass this on to my children in that I don’t expect perfection from them either. I don’t stress about how they present themselves to the world, I’m not worrying about their outfits matching or their grades being perfect. I work hard to recognize the work in progress aspect of parenting and know my kids are doing the best they can with all of the tools they have in their toolshed.

This is not to say it’s easy. This is not to say that I don’t hold them accountable when they are not, in fact, doing their best. I just don’t hover. I don’t want them to be perfect. I don’t want them to ever think that who I am as a person and what I think of myself is solely a reflection of their performance. I want them to live, really live, bumps and bruises and all, and grow up to be exactly who they are supposed to be.

But all of this, every little shred of my personality, is being tested by my sons first few days at middle school. I have gone, somehow, from anti-helicopter mom to a full-on Apache Helicopter mom. And I don’t know what to do about it.

Middle school seems so BIG. The teachers seem so unknown and impersonal. And I feel so overwhelmed by everything that I just DON’T KNOW about this new adventure.

So when he finally pedaled his bike up to our house on the first day of school and his backpack was completely empty of, well, everything, I panicked. We had dumped all of his unlabeled and unorganized folders and binders in his locker on schedule pick up day and now had visions of them staying there for the remainder of the year, untouched, with a pile of papers growing on top like a fungus, crumpled and wrinkled. I specifically had asked him to take notes, remember what folders go with what class, and bring them all home so we could label them together.  And he responded by doing the exact opposite, bringing home one lone pencil rolling around in an otherwise empty backpack.

Now logically I know that we are on DAY TWO of school. That this can and will work itself out. That he still has a few days to get himself set up. But my brain, with a fresh batch of anxiety taking hold, started to flail about and panic. I actually began to fear for his ENTIRE future. The most irrational and ridiculous thoughts raced through my mind. 

“He’s already behind everyone else. He’s failing. Everyone else is prepared but he’s not. This isn’t good. What if he fails? What does that mean for high school? College? Getting a job? Will he ever move out of our house? We don’t have a basement for him to move into when he’s 30. Great. Now we’ll have to move to a house with a basement.”

Guys, need I remind you that he is in SIXTH grade? SIXTH. There was exactly ZERO reasons for me to freak out. Yet freak out I did.

Turns out I’m maybe less laid back and type b than I want to be. 

Parenting is weird, though. It’s like a giant vacuum of behavior that pushes you forward and back at the same time. Yes, you evolve in so many ways and become more selfless and loving, but it also can whip you up into a frenzy because of some hidden insecurity from your past. Our hope for our children is that they do better than we did. The places we failed, we want them to succeed. We want to wrap them in the bubble wrap of our wisdom, hard fought from years of experience, and want to protect the soft places of our weaknesses from replaying over in their lives.

Turns out for me, my weak point, well, it’s middle school (and with good reason: I was a mess). As much as I feel like I’ve evolved past those disaster years, I guess I haven’t. I guess they’ve just parked their damage in a different lane–this time taking up space in the parenting parking lot. Because when I worry about him being behind everyone else, that’s because I have always felt like I have arrived at life a day late and a dollar short. I still sometimes feel like I’m missing out on some big secret to life that everyone else is whispering to each other behind my back.

When I worry that he’s feeling left out at lunch, well, that’s because I still feel left out of life sometimes. Sometimes mom life is exactly like the middle school cafeteria all over again. No one tells you this and there’s nothing in the parenting books that can prepare you for it neither. It just hits you–you see a group of moms you want to belong with all walking together and, well, you just turn around and walk the other way so they won’t realize that you’re alone and desperately want to be invited in. 

This happened to me just this morning actually. Life is oddly full circle no matter how much we want to evolve. 

My panic over his middle school days, well, first of all, it’s doing him absolutely no favors. It’s already new to him. He’s already anxious. He doesn’t need his mom over in the corner panicking over some folder labels and ultimately damning him to fail the same way she did. I had to eat humble pie and apologize to my son. Reminding him that I do believe in him, that I am in his corner and that we will figure this out.

More than that, though, my panic is rooted in forgetfulness. Forgetting exactly WHO has this whole thing under control. Forgetting WHO exactly has my son in His hands. Forgetting exactly what He has promised. 

He’s saying to me, even as I write these words, “Meg, I’ve got this. TRUST in me.”

I forget that God isn’t just in the business of miracles. He’s not just in the business for the important or the popular. He’s not just in the business of big glorifying stuff. He’s in the business of life. He’s in the business of love.

He’s got this. 

So I trust.

And calm the heck down. It’s just sixth grade. My eleven year old self is telling me to take a chill pill. Like, totally.

Classic Zucchini Bread

So today I’m sharing the exact recipe I made yesterday as I was frantically stalking my sons schedule and stressing over the newness of middle school. I retreated to the kitchen to quell my fears, as I always do. To me, nothing is more soothing than creating something. Soul healing takes place in my kitchen. And this recipe is no exception.

One I remember from my childhood, one that was passed to my mom from one of her good friends moms–you know those hand me downs are the best kind. This zucchini bread is delicious. It is warming and slightly spicy yet sweet. It’s wonderfully comforting and soothing. It was our perfect after school snack. And as an added bonus it makes two loaves (halve if you want just one) and is deceptively easy–the hardest part is grating the zucchini.

So give yourself a break this week. Make this bread with the bounty of zucchini available at the farmers market at the end of summer. Make some sweet bread. Stress less. Trust more. He’s got this.

Peace, love and trust,

Meg 

Classic Zucchini Bread

April 14, 2020

Servings: 2 loaves

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By: Meaghan Dawson

Ingredients

• 3 cups flour
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1 cup coconut sugar
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
• 1 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon allspice
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 4 cups coarsely shredded zucchini
• 1 cup applesauce
• 1/4 cup coconut oil, melted
• 1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 4 beaten eggs

Directions

• Step 1 Preheat oven to 325. Spray the bottoms ONLY of two 9x5x3 loaf pans.
• Step 2 Combine the flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, powder and spices in the bowl of a stand mixer and stir to combine.
• Step 3 Add remainder of ingredients (zucchini, applesauce, oil, vanilla and eggs).
• Step 4 Mix all ingredients on low for 1 minute, scraping down the sides continuously.
• Step 5 Beat at medium for one more minute until completely combined.
• Step 6 Bake for one hour in preheated oven until wooden toothpick comes out clean.
• Step 7 Cool ten minutes before inverting on baking rack to cool completely before slicing.
• Step 8 Store in the fridge to prevent turning.

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