My mother used to despise red raspberries but now she loves them. I don’t know what changed her. Maybe she just got smart? Anyway, now she and Dad are going to plant a raspberry patch at their new house, so they need starts from our plants. Every couple weeks they check in to see if they can come dig starts and every time they call I have to break the bad news that it’s still March (or April or whatever) and the starts aren’t up yet so they’ll have to wait a little longer. When my mother changes her tune, she really belts it out.

During one of these we-need-raspberry-starts conversations, my mother mentioned that my sister-in-law made them the most incredible red raspberry pie. My mother is a pie-pick, so a recipe that makes her voice turn sticky-sweet in the recalling is worth pursuing. Plus, I still have a ton of red raspberries cluttering up my freezer— THIS IS NOT A PROBLEM—and then I agreed to take dessert to our small group meeting. The scene was set.

Monday morning I emailed my sister-in-law for the recipe and then banged out two pies. What with their golden crust, butter-crunchy crumbs, and the vibrant, burbling, sweet-tart filling, I could hardly contain myself. Would it be so bad if I took a partially-eaten pie to small group? I wondered. But somehow, in spite of myself, I remained firm.

But then the meeting got postponed! Suddenly the pies were mine for the having! I quick made a batch of vanilla ice cream to go with. Dessert that night was spectacular. (And then, when small group was rescheduled for two nights later, I made a blueberry cobbler and another red raspberry pie.)

Certain family members have made numerous requests for a repeat performance, and soon.


Red Raspberry Pie
Adapted from my sister-in-law’s recipe.

This pie is intense. It’s not terribly sweet, and the tart berries pack a punch. A small sliver goes a long way.

for the crust:
½ recipe rich butter pastry

for the filling:
6 cups red raspberries (I used frozen), divided
½ cup water
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup thermflo (or clear gel or cornstarch)
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Put 4 cups of berries into a saucepan. Add the water. Cook over medium-high heat until bubbling.

In a small bowl, stir together the thermflo and sugar. Add to the cooking berries and stir steadily until nice and thick. Remove from the heat. Stir in the lemon juice and the reserved berries. (Because the cooked berries disintegrate completely, I add some berries at the end, just for aesthetics.) Pour the berry sauce into the pie shell.

for the crumb topping:
¾ cup flour
½ cup brown sugar, packed
¼ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup butter

Using your fingers, cut together the ingredients until you have a sandy, crumbly mixture. Sprinkle the crumbs over the pie.

Bake the pie at 425 degrees for 10 minutes and then reduce the heat to 375 and bake for another 30 minutes, or until the filling is bubbling and the crust is golden brown.

Cool completely and serve with vanilla ice cream.

This same time, years previous: sun days, working lunches, the quotidian (4.2.12), now, chickpeas with spinach, and spinach cheese crepes.

Sometimes I get the impression that, because I homeschool my kids, people assume I love staying at home.

This is both true and untrue. It’s true because I am doing exactly what I want to do, and it’s untrue because staying at home often bores me to tears.

I’m an extrovert. I like pressure and action and new. I get run down by routine. This means that many nights I go to bed dreading the next day—the studies, the battles, the chores, the messes. Even though homeschooling is, over all, profoundly satisfying, hanging out with my kids day in and day out doesn’t, in the moment, feel fulfilling.

The other day I was talking with another homeschooling mom who passionately adores homemaking and raising her kids. “I’m so introverted, I’m practically autistic,” she laughed.

“Oh, not me!” I said. “I have to prepare for my week at home by overloading my Sunday with people.” 

She cocked an eyebrow at me, so I explained what, for me, constitutes a perfect Sunday: 

*a people-filled church service
*Sunday school
*conversations in the fellowship hall, the deeper the better
*a new person to meet
*a brilliant thought to ponder
*a bit of gossip to savor
*guests for lunch
*visiting with my husband
*a walk with my sister-in-law
*perhaps a quick pop-in visit at my parents’ place
*a long phone call with a good friend

By evening, I’m filled up to my eyeballs with relationships and I go to bed happy, eager for my quiet Monday of ordinary and routine.

However! Come Tuesday or Wednesday, the people buzz has worn off, and I’m mopey and bored all over again and have to actively find ways to recharge.

My friend gaped. “I’m about dead after just church!”

When we lived in Nicaragua fifteen years ago, I discovered that the community folk believed postpartum women must rest indoors for forty days and subsist on a diet of corn drink and tortillas (and maybe cheese, too?). If the rules were not obeyed, the baby would get sick. Or the mother. Whatever.

I thought the birth rules were crazy unhealthy and couldn’t wait to demonstrate how healthy a well-fed and exercised new mother could be. So when I had my first child, I proudly washed diapers by hand, scrubbed my floors, walked about the community, and ate anything and everything. After some time, I triumphantly pointed out to our neighbors that, even though I was doing everything “wrong” according to their customs, my baby and I were thriving. And then I held my breath, eager to watch enlightenment dawn.

But my neighbors just cheerfully shrugged and said, “You can do that because your blood is different.”

My blood is different? My blood?!

I kept my incredulous disbelief and exasperation to myself. When a person gets written off as a different breed of person, the issue at hand is a moot point. There is nothing to say.

Sometimes I feel that people think homeschooling parents have different blood—or a different genetic code—that allows them to live with their children during the day. Like maybe they’re picturing all homeschooling parents as gentle, patient, generous, encouraging, soft-spoken introspective introverts who like to hang out with their kids.

Which is too bad for me because I am a demanding, impatient, and aggressively-selfish extrovert. Being with my children all day long drains me. I have to work to find meaningful, people-oriented activities to energize myself. If I don’t, my spirit shrivels.

So anyway. I just thought you should know the truth. Hanging out with my kids all day long doesn’t feed my soul.

P.S. But now I’m wondering: are most homeschooling parents introverted? Am I, as an extroverted homeschooling mom, an anomaly?

This same time, years previous: an ecclesiastical funk, a swollen eye, three stories, oven fries, and my excuse.

This same time, years previous: wuv, tru wuv, on being together, Good Friday fun, warts and all, the boy and the dishes, cream puffs, oatmeal crackers, and coconut brownies.