The Room of Rumination

Conversations With the Little People

2012-02-16T17:16:00.000-08:00

I'm sure some day I'll find something to write about that doesn't involve children, but now is not that time. So, here are some of the discussions I've been having with my children:

Abby

-Mom, I'm putting these peas in jail!
-Really? How are you doing that?
-The jail is my belly and my fingers are the policemen!

Dylan

-cough, cough
-Is Dylan sick? Are you sick, Dylan? (hey, he's two. I'm trying to get the pronouns ingrained into him.)
-I'm sick, Mommy.
-Yes, you're sick, Dylan.

5 minutes pass

-I'm sick, Mommy.
-Yes, you're sick, Dylan.
-I'm sick, Mommy.
-Yes, you're sick, Dylan.

2 minutes pass

-I'm seven, Mommy.

There Are Some Things You Just Don't Get Second Chances On

2012-01-24T15:16:00.000-08:00

The current thinking on parenting goes something like this: don't praise the action; praise the attempt. This is not second nature for me, but I've been trying to implement it. It seems like sound advice, right? Until your preschooler says:

"Mom, do you know what happens if you get into a fight and die?"

"You die."

"No. You can try again when you get alive again! Isn't that great?"

"Um. Yeah."

Caramelized Apple and Quinoa Breakfast Cereal

2012-01-01T22:35:00.000-08:00

Prepare and cook 1 cup of quinoa (do not forget to soak and rinse quinoa several times prior to cooking to remove bitter coating). In the meantime, peel and dice two apples and sautee them over medium heat with a half tablespoon of butter for 5-10 minutes. I added craisins, too. When finished, combine cooked quinoa with apples and stir in cinnamon and sugar to taste. Add milk if desired. I think I'm going to make enough of this to last me through a week of breakfasts!

Things to Remember Next Christmas

2011-12-25T21:07:00.000-08:00

(This is for me, not you. It's quite dull.)

1. All nieces and nephews get gift cards.
2. Prep pie crusts a month in advance and freeze.
3. Max 2-3 pieces of candy in the Christmas stockings.
4. Eat a healthy, protein-rich breakfast before getting into stockings and presents.
5. No more than 3 presents/person.
6. Cut up lots of vegetables for snacking on throughout the day, and have an easy, healthy lunch on hand.
7. Clean up the house the night before, if possible!
8. Make the butternut squash/caramelized onion gallette.
9. Exercise hard.

How Little Girls Play War

2011-11-23T15:08:00.000-08:00

Abby and her friend Gabby unearthed two soldier helmets in our play stash. Abby sticks one on her head, growling, "I'm a Viking!" Gabby snarls back, "I'm a Roman soldier!" They glare at each other until Abby roars, "Let's go be friends forever!"

Dylan's Interests

2011-11-13T00:00:00.000-08:00

Dylan enjoys staying up for hours in his crib after we put him to sleep. Sometimes I turn up the baby monitor to hear what he talks about. This is an excerpt of an actual monologue:

"Hot. Fire."

(two minutes of silence)

"Hot. Fire."

(2min)

"Hot. Fire."

(2min)

"Truck."

(2min)

"Bicycle."

(2min)

"Hot. Fire"

(2min)

"Abby."

(2min)

"Hot. Fire."

And another monologue:

"Abby, where are you?'
"Abby, where are you?'
"Apple, where are you?'
"Applesauce.'
"Abbysauce.'
"Abbysauce.'
"Dylansauce.'
"Dylan handsome."

Which Is It?

2011-09-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

Is Dylan drinking his juice with a toothbrush, or brushing his teeth with juice? You decide.

Another 9/11 Post

2011-09-11T23:35:00.000-07:00

What embarrasses me most about my 9/11 experience is the undercurrent of thought in a brain that refused to process the enormity of the act: "This doesn't happen to Americans. This doesn't happen to us. This happens to other people." But what I've come to terms with in the interim is that we are lucky that this doesn't happen to us all the time. I grew up in a situation where I was deeply aware of the sadness and violence in the world -- the messy, visceral genocides, the 'cultural' revolutions that threw entire populations back five hundred years, the people maimed in minefields while escaping hostile countries ... and who, because they saw their friends losing lives in those same minefields escaping those same predators, were grateful they only lost their legs.

So it's embarrassing to me that I expected my life to be otherwise. What had I done to deserve that safety? Nothing. But I expected it because I didn't think not to, and because I felt more secure in what I already knew to be a terrifying world, feeling that the evils of millennia couldn't infest a country which was only two hundred years old. They can. They did. They do. The evils of millennia are only the evils of mankind. Those evils mask themselves as different characters in different plays, but the stories themselves remain the same even when they travel to different theaters. The tour stopped here for once.

There was nothing we could do but watch.

Cowboys and Aliens: A Synopsis/Review

2011-08-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

A wounded Daniel Craig rises naked from the desert as though born of the dust. (I give Isaiah full permission to use that line in his next book of prophecies.) He has a weird wristband and amnesia. Thugs come in and try to rob him or take him to jail or something like that, but he whips around and kills all 4 within seconds. The screenwriters are trying to convey here that he has a sinister and soon-to-be-revealed past.

He gets to a town. A preacher/doctor(?) binds his bloody torso and remarks on his cauterized wound. In what is by far the finest performance in the movie, the maniacal son of the town's sole employer starts threatening to shoot people because they aren't supplying him free liquor. (If these scenes seem awkwardly fit together, they are.). Jake takes him down. He goes into the bar, where he is recognized as the guy on the 'wanted' poster. The sheriff comes to take him off to jail. Stuff happens and then random aliens attack the town and lasso its residents up to the hollowed-out lobster shells they use as spacecraft. Oh my gosh. Maybe that's the connection to cowboys! They both lasso things.

Jake finds he can shoot the aliens down with his weird wristband.

Let us not forget random girl character. Random girl character lurks in the corners of every scene, taking everything in with her large and eerie eyes. Several times she asks Jake things like, "do you know who you are yet?" and he always says no. Then she looks at him some more with her large and eerie eyes. Lady, if you know who he is and are anxious for him to know his identity, TELL HIM.

When a group of townspeople tag along with Jake to find their loved ones, they find a steamboat marooned in the desert for no discernable reason other than the aliens must have deposited it there. More people die. Later in the journey, Jake runs across his old gang of train robbers, who are angry with him for deserting them. Just in the nick of time, before the gang can kill everyone in the search company, the aliens attack and the train robbers are thwarted. Yay, aliens! There are a few times when the aliens 'save the day', as it were. The screenwriters did not listen to Horace when he told them not to use deus ex machina. Random girl character is killed in the process, though, which I thought was a delightful relief.

They come across an Apache tribe, which is going to kill them all, but the Native American with them happens to speak fluent Athabaskan, despite the fact that we had no prior indication that he is Apache himself and not from another tribe that probably speaks an entirely different language. They are taken to tribe headquarters, where they throw random girl character's body into the fire.

But wait! Suddenly a flash of light flares from the fire and random girl character emerges naked. We find out that she is an alien! Yes! An alien! A good alien who is trying to save the earthlings. She reveals that the bad aliens are searching for gold. Apparently, their treasury still holds itself to the gold standard. Not very evolved, are they? Jake starts drinking some peyote and a hummingbird appears to escort him to his memory. He remembers that he was held captive by the aliens and managed to escape. They were trying to cut him up with a hot knife, which explains the cauterized wound. Although, I'm amazed that creatures who can fly lobster shells don't realize that a glowing-hot (glowing a super hot blue, no less!) knife will tend to seal flesh rather than open it.

I would love to share the rest of the movie with you, but we just couldn't take it anymore. There were only fifteen minutes left, but we had better things to do with our lives.

What I Love

2011-03-20T19:26:00.000-07:00

Sorry, Kacey, I just stole your post idea. I do enough complaining that people should know I have some gratitude in me, too.

Things I love about my life right now:

Dylan's exuberance as he races around the house looking for mischief.

Abby's highly, highly developed imagination.

Cocoa-roasted almonds.

Naptime.

Having someone clean my floors and bathrooms once a week.

Light after 5 pm!

Getting through the Sacrament portion of Sacrament meeting. That's all I ask at this point.

Nursery!

Being the choir director. It's the best calling in the world. For me, not for the choir. :)

Groupon/Living Social.

Frozen chicken nuggets.

My bread machine.

Tapenade.

Modern medicine.

Full-fat Greek yogurt sprinkled lightly with Demerara sugar.

A husband who works hard in his great job.

The pansies blooming unsolicited in my front yard.

Bones (the show).

Other things.

And That's Why I Don't Lie To My Kids

2011-02-17T21:04:00.000-08:00

Abby's logic has gotten pretty far-reaching; she strings a lot of things together that surprise me. A few months ago, she let go of her balloon and watched it float up to the sky, clearly stricken. I quickly thought of something comforting that she wouldn't hold me accountable for at a later date. "Abby!" I exclaimed. "Look, the balloon went to visit Heavenly Father!"

She looks at me for a minute, before, perfectly chipper, saying, "Oh, good. Jesus Christ can just give it back to me at church on Sunday, then." I told a lie that involved God, of all the horrible things one can do. Now I'm accountable to both her and Heavenly Father.

A Few Notes On Dylan

2011-02-16T19:33:00.000-08:00

He has a quite a temper. If he doesn't get what he wants, he stamps his feet violently and shrieks. His mad face is pretty cute. This behavior can be cued by anything, including: not being allowed to take a bath when he decides he wants to; not getting his food instantly; diaper-changing at 2 am (if you hate it that much, why don't you just sleep through the night?); a shoe falling off or not being put on him -- difficult to deal with when you're trying various shoes on at a store to see if something fits his boat feet, which they don't, ever.

He loves shoes. I guess both my kids got that gene.

He loves vegetables and fruit. Most give him bad gas, yet he will eat nothing consistently but produce. He tried to gobble up everyone's bok choy the other night and wouldn't touch rice, bread, or mac and cheese. He will eat meat, though, most of the time. Hamburgers are a favorite. Oh, yeah -- fries are the starch he'll always eat, but those aren't really an everyday option.

He can say even fewer words than he could now that he's on a dog kick. Even "Daddy" has turned into "doggy". However, he still says, "thank you" (his first words), "shoe", "water", "more", "no", "that", and "look at that". He chatters a whole lot and I suspect he really thinks he's talking.

He loves people. Just smile at him and he'll run into your arms grinning. Even if you're a total stranger. Comforting.

He seems to feel that I should hold him all the time. He is 33 pounds. I have to go to physical therapy now.

He still wakes up in the night to eat at almost eighteen months old. It truly is hunger, too. Probably because he doesn't eat anything but fruit and vegetables.

He loves one of Abby's blocks, which is a round cut-out with a peg insert. That's almost the only toy that keeps him occupied for any length of time. The other thing he loves to do is open and shut doors.

An Unwitting Condemnation Of My Housekeeping Skills

2011-02-10T14:10:00.000-08:00

Travis and I have been sick and exhausted for the past week. Every night, we'd go to bed and complain that there weren't enough covers, or that someone was hogging them all, or that someone stole someone else's pillow. (No, I didn't, Travis. I hate your pillow.) I found a solution to all our problems. Right before bed, Travis called out to me: "Lizzie! You fixed the covers! Awesome!"

"Yeah, I did! I made the bed!"

Making A Goal

2011-01-02T20:05:00.000-08:00

We had a great RS lesson on resolutions today. The most interesting thing I took from it was a goal-setting process. It goes something like this:

1. Make one (1) doable goal.
2. Pray about how specific ways to accomplish it.
3. Set a target for the upcoming week.
4. Re-assess your performance for the week and set a target for the next week.
5. When goal is accomplished, or well under way, set another goal and repeat the process.

That being said, here are my goals for 2011:

1. Attend the temple regularly. This means at the minimum once a month.
2. Write two high-quality short stories for my portfolio. And maybe a poem.
3. Lose twenty-two pounds more. A lot more needs to go, but I don't want to be overwhelmed.
4. Pay an extra $1000 on the house. Again, I don't want to be overwhelmed.
5. Don't buy everything I want to buy when I want to buy it. This probably isn't hard for most people, but I can be compulsive.

I think that goal #1 is going to help those other things fall better into place. #5 will help me with my compulsiveness, which may help with #3. It wil also help with #4. #2 is something I'm doing just for me, to develop a talent I've been working on.

Happy New Year! What are your resolutions, and how are you going to keep them?

And After That the Dark

2010-12-20T01:22:00.000-08:00

I got a birthday card two weeks early and cried when I opened it. The only thing on the card is the manufactured ditty and a feebly inked "Grandpa Bobby". I have no idea what the message says, but I knew exactly what it meant: Grandpa will be dead by the time your birthday comes around.

The next day my aunt sent an email informing us that he wasn't eating and that he barely recognized anyone. The day after that -- today -- my dad and I raced out of church after sacrament meeting to see him.

He was different than I'd ever seen him. Thick, muscular O'Callahan forearms were some shriveled skin hanging off a bone. The skin moved like wet shirtcloth when he raised his arms up and down, puddling onto the bed when he napped. He spoke sometimes and slept sometimes. He recognized my dad, calling him by name, asking whether Elizabeth was close by. I realized he was looking for Elizabeth at age three and I wished I had brought my daughter so he could think that she was me and be happy about his first little granddaughter, before she grew old enough to resent him.

I tried to talk to him whenever he resurfaced from the opiate dream. I looked away every few sentences so he couldn't see tears. I don't know if he realizes he's dying, but I didn't want to be the one to let him in on the secret.

He told us someone had come to sing to him the night before. Carolers, we discovered. Dad asked whether they had good voices. He replied that anyone who sings has a good voice. Dad told him that I would sing to him. Under any other circumstances, I would never, ever do it. I conquered myself after a minute and sang "Angels We Have Heard On High", all three verses. He smiled through the first verse and fell asleep somewhere in the second. I sang my own grandfather to sleep.

We left after that, but I had forgotten my bag in his room. I slipped off my shoes so I wouldn't wake him as I walked in, even though I secretly wanted him to wake up so I could say goodbye. He didn't, nothing more than the small eyeslit a cat makes during naps if it hears a noise.

I thought of all the things that could have been different as I stood at his bedside listening to the oxygen pump expand his lungs. I had to touch him before I left, somehow indicate that he was important to me, without waking him (I decided I'd rather let him forget that I was ever there than have him see me walk away from him to lie alone in his bed). He would feel any pressure on his face or arms, so I chose his second toe -- the one without gangrene -- and pressed my finger to it.

Goodbye for now, Grandpa.

If The Organ Fits

2010-11-19T15:21:00.000-08:00

It is my personal opinion that a life-size mummy plastered onto your office door is not in good taste if you're a dialysis center, even if it is for Halloween. Other inappropriate decorations I'd like to see: a skeleton for Jenny Craig, Frankenstein for a plastic surgery center, Dracula for a blood clinic, and a ghoul for a funeral home.

Rated For Un-Mature Audiences Only

2010-11-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

We were ushered into the living room of the nursing home -- one of those small, pleasant places that's basically a large house with 4 or 5 rooms with live-in caretakers -- and asked to wait a few minutes while Grandpa finished up in the bathroom. It was movie time. Three ancient, withered beings sat in front of the tv, watching something terrible on the "Encore Westerns" channel. I ignored it and stared at the china cabinet lined with made-in-China grandmother doilies and Romanian spoon rests.

A dramatic argument broke out between a guy and his girlfriend onscreen. I had to look. The woman stormed out to her beater car, fried 80s hair quivering with rage, and the boyfriend ran out of the house after her, wearing nothing but knockoff Levis. They were screaming at each other. (I apologize for all the exclamation points in advance; it's like reading a bad translation of the Bible.)

"Graham, I can't live like this anymore! You need to do something!"

"Lucy, what am I supposed to do!? I can't send him away!"

"He's dangerous! He's going to kill you all!"

"He's my father! I can't just throw away my father!"

That's when I realized that these poor souls drifting on the wrong end of life were watching a movie about a son putting his father in a nursing home. What's even worse was that the father was about sixty and burly, nothing frail about him. The first time I saw him onscreen, he was fixing a tractor.

They just sat there, drinking their pediasure through straws, like it was the good old days and a technicolor John Wayne was shooting up the guys in black. One of them looked back at me. The wrinkles were in the way of his face, so I couldn't tell if he was sad or not.

What Did You Learn In Nursery Today?

2010-11-01T17:05:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning up the house after church, trying to impose some order on my life. Abby was just around the corner entertaining herself, which is an occurrence so rare that I never interrupt it. I tuned out her increasingly emphatic exclamations for a while, until one of the words was becoming too clear to ignore. I poke my head around the corner to see Abby standing over one of those tiny pumpkins, her arms raised over her head, holding a pumpkin carving knife with both hands and jamming it into the pumpkin, shouting,

"I'm Making A Sacrifice!"

I really hope the lesson was on Abraham and Isaac.

If I Ran The World's Research Labs

2010-10-27T00:07:00.000-07:00

There would be no more groundbreaking studies in the news titled things like:

"Chocolate Elevates Mood"

"Weight Gain In New Mothers Tied To Lack of Sleep"

"Women More Charitable Than Men"

Thank you for enlightening us, oh ye scientists. And for spending our money doing it.

Why I Hate My Body

2010-10-12T10:26:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I ran a 5k. I could not get past the 15 lb weight loss mark, even though I was running and exercising diligently, as well as watching my food intake. I ran the 5k and my weight went up a pound the next day, and, no, I did not eat a celebratory feast for getting through the race. The nest week, I did nothing. NOTHING. My weight dropped 5 pounds. I did almost nothing the next week. I didn't gain (or lose) anything. I did almost nothing last week. My weight went down 1.5 pounds, even after eating 3 cupcake size lava cakes and ice cream the night before I weighed myself. Yesterday, I ran 3.5 miles (I'm training for a 10k on December 18th) and pushed myself really hard. I had a light breakfast, light lunch, vegetables for snacks, and a roasted bell pepper filled with quinoa, a whole serving of spinach, carrots, beans, onions, and a wee bit of cheese for dinner and a POACHED PEAR (which, by the way, was unbelievably good and made in the crockpot and if you want the recipe I'll send it to you) for dessert. Magically, my weight has increased 1.5 pounds overnight!

Anyway, I thought that was worthy of a rant.

No Princesses, Please

2010-09-28T15:04:00.000-07:00

This morning Abby was looking at the Family Fun magazine. Poring over pages of Halloween costumes, she exclaims, "I want to be Spiderman" (no, she's never seen Spiderman, but when a guy walks around in tights with spider emblems all over them, it's hard to miss). OK, I say, remembering I saw the costume in her size at Costco. A few minutes later, she roars at the top of her lungs, "I WANT TO BE THIS AWESOME SCARY GUY!!!!!!!!!!"

Darth Vader.

I love my daughter.

You Know You're At The End Of Your Rope When

2010-09-15T21:19:00.000-07:00

Driving through rainy Seattle-area highways during the height of rush hour seems like a vacation because your kids aren't crawling all over you, even though they're still yelling.

How To Tame Your Three Year Old

2010-09-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

I took Abby to How To Tame Your Dragon, thinking she'd love it. I told her if she got scared, we could leave right away. This is how that went:

1. She thinks the dark theater is scary. I can't get her to go any further into the theater than a third of the way down the walkway, where she plops down and proceeds to watch the movie from there. She can only see an eighth of the screen.

2. I coax her into the seats after about five minutes. She says loud things when everything is silent, like, "Don't talk to me anymore!" when I tell her to pull down her dress because I can see her underwear and, "THAT IS NOT A KITTY CAT" when he firsts befriends the dragon. Thanks for the info, Abby. And, repeatedly, "I'm not scared!"

3. Scary thing happens. Abby runs down the steps to exit and I run after her, thankful we can leave early so I can cut the nightmares short.

4. As she races out, she hears people laughing at the movie. She runs back up to the seat (of course she wanted to sit in the very back of the theater so we're disrupting absolutely everyone with these antics) and sits down to watch the fun part.

5. Scary thing happens. Abby runs down the steps to exit and I run after her.

6. As she races out, she hears people laughing at the movie. She runs back up to the seat and sits down to watch the fun part.

7. She does it about three more times until I bribe her with an ice cream cone right in the middle of a dragon attack, at which point I grab her by the hand and run out as quickly as I can so she won't change her mind.

So, don't bother to tame your three year old. It's not going to happen.

Dear Microsoft Word,

2010-09-09T13:31:00.000-07:00

No, it's not spelled wrong. Yes, it is grammatical.

I miss Works.

Sincerely,

English-Speaker

Personal Notes

2010-09-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

Since this blog is essentially my journal, here are some memories I'm recording for myself. No one else has to care.

The other day I was laying down on Abby's bed, eyes closed, wishing to high heaven she hadn't woken up early on a day Dylan had decided to stay up all night, when I heard: "Abby's clipping toenails!" Absolutely alarmed and instantly awake, I looked down to see her using her (very innocuous) scissors on one of her plastic dinosaur's feet. Phew. But now I have to watch her to make sure she doesn't get other ideas.

Dylan has gone from crawling like Quasimodo (seriously -- if you've seen him crawl, you know exactly what I mean. It's too much to explain in writing) to walking like Frankenstein.

How do parents deal with the clumsiness of young children? Abby never hurt herself because she was (is) just brilliantly physically coordinated and also innately knew what she couldn't do successfully. Dylan is awkward and clumsy (see above) and has NO sense of what he can't do. I suppose no one would ever be able to do anything if they knew what they couldn't do.

Travis has been released from EQ. I'm delighted, but he's not. I'm trying to tone down my rejoicing. Just please don't call him to the bishopric, anyone who might be listening, including the man upstairs.

I discovered today that bootcut jeans do indeed look better with boots. Who knew?

I ran two miles without dying Saturday. Now I just have to be ready for three on the 18th. I think I can. I think I can.

Is there any reason my daughter can't be like other children and participate in soccer practice rather than sit in my lap??? Just acknowleding the coach when he talked to her would be a step up.

Why can't I leave a comment easily on blogger anymore? It's driving me nuts and I don't comment because it takes me 5 minutes to log in to comment.

A Minute In The Life

2010-08-04T00:20:00.000-07:00

Here's a sample of what I think may be going on in Dylan's mind. Allot approximately 2-5 seconds for each action/thought.

Mom, hold me.
Mom, let go of me.
I wonder what happens if I put my hand between the couch cushions?
Nothing.
Maybe I should bang on the armrest.
Let's try walking again.
Crawling works too, I guess.
What's that green thing?
What happens if I eat the green thing?
Ew.
What happens if I bang the green thing against the red thing?
What happens if I eat the red thing?
Ew.
Mom, hold me.
Mom, let go of me.
I know how to clap now. Watch.
Maybe no one will notice if I make a break for the tv.
Dang.
I wonder if Abby wants me to pull her hair?
Ouch.
Oooh, a raisin.
Lost the raisin.
There it is in my neck.
If I scream, my mom will stop digging around in my mouth.
Never mind.
Mom, hold me.

No! Don't Spoil It!

2010-07-29T23:11:00.000-07:00

A review I found on netflix for a movie called "Follow The River". Read as far as you are able. Highlights have been bolded:

"Inspired by writer James Alexander Thoms fact-based novel. That makes it a little more interesting to understand it proceeds forth from that which is fact-based. This gal, Mary, who is pretty undaunted in the face of harrowing and tramautic circumstances where she is being whisked away (torn away) from the frontier life she knows..having a baby no less, and then their place is raided by Indians while her hubby is off doing his daily routine... This riveting drama recounts the brave exploits of a young mother, Mary Draper Ingles (Sheryl Lee). She seemed to be the same gal, the daugther, on the Michael Landon tv series re: Lil House. She was deprived of quite a bit so a Frenchy French men doing biz with the Shawnee Indians works this stolen mama into his trade batering scheme with Shawnee by have her sew this n that say 6 shirts for an indian blanket something like that..and this attracted mama stolen off her claim dries up so the frenchy Frenchman happens to have an indian wife who lost a child and is still lactating so she becomes Marys wet nurse to her lil (What does this even mean????)... She who was abducted, along with her children and sister, by members of a Shawnee tribe in the 1750s. We never find out of the sister or the other in law (male) ever return or are bartered away by the Shawnee to some other task master/slave owner. Determined to come out of the harrowing experience alive, Mary hatches a daring escape plan with the help of a fellow captive (Ellen Burstyn). The fellow captive is a real pain in the keester trying to go back up the river from when they came down it. It ends as best as can be expected i wont spoil it!"

Already spoilt.

Syrian Green Beans

2010-07-22T11:08:00.000-07:00

This has to be one of the best, easiest ways of preparing green beans I've ever seen. It is really superb -- try it even if you don't like cilantro. I doubled it and it all got eaten. Feel free to halve the oil. It worked well. Recipe thanks to Tasmeen at http://www.allrecipes.com/.

Fasoliyyah Bi z-Zayt

1 (16 ounce) package frozen cut green beans
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt to taste
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

Directions

Place the green beans into a large pot, and drizzle with olive oil. Season with salt to taste, and put the lid on the pot. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until beans are cooked to your desired doneness. Syrians like it cooked until the green beans are turning brownish in color. The idea is not to saute them, but to let them steam in the moisture released by the ice crystals.

Add cilantro and garlic to the beans, and continue to cook just until the cilantro has started to wilt. Eat as a main course by scooping up with warm pita bread or serve as a side dish.

All About Abby: Miscellanea Bound With A Common Theme

2010-06-26T00:40:00.000-07:00

Abby has been to the doctor three times this week: 1.) rash, 2.) ear infection, 3.) she was sleeping too much. Allergies, apparently. Yeah, I guess I'm that paranoid mom. Today, we wandered around the professional buildings at the hospital for entertainment. We found some really pretty gardens and fountains and waved to all the old people in the swimming pool. She told everyone that she was "really, really sick and had a really gross ear" and that "it's so tragic", very perkily. She also pointed out to everyone the large round stickers we were each wearing on our shirts (she made me wear it in the middle of my stomach -- not exactly a place I try to draw attention to) for being such good girls at "the super-nice doctor-girl's office".

Toes are important in her world: having no shoes on = "naked toes", walking around barefoot outside = "summer toes". Sandals are "naked-toe shoes".

She has found a method of building tall towers of blocks so they don't fall down: lining them up horizontally across the floor rather than stacking them on top of each other. So,

BBBBBBBBBBB rather than B
                                                B
                                               B
                                             B
                                               B
                                                B

It works pretty well.

What Are Little Girls Made Of?

2010-06-19T22:39:00.000-07:00

Abby got this cute little book full of nursery rhymes, which she loves, especially the gruesome ones. I was reading through some of them in the car that she hadn't heard, one of them being "what are little girls made of?" Here's how that went for us:

What are little girls made of, made of?
What are little girls made of?

Right before I got to sugar and spice and everything nice, Abby answered it for me.

POOP! POOP!

Forecast Cloudy

2010-06-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

Looking at the weather forecast for the next several days, I saw a lot of this: mostly cloudy, partly cloudy, mostly sunny. What I want to know is, what on earth is the difference between partly cloudy and mostly sunny? Especially if the temperature is exactly the same?

A State Of Confucion

2010-06-03T18:55:00.000-07:00

I've started a new blog dedicated to the weirdness of my husband (he's delighted about this, by the way). If you're interested, check it out at http://www.astateofconfucion.blogspot.com/.

All Creatures Of Our God And King, II

2010-06-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

These pretty little plants were found in Antarctic waters. But they're not plants; they're animals.

Almond-Crusted Chicken Breast

2010-06-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

In a search for a chicken version of trout amandine, I found chicken amandine -- a mortifying casserole made with cream of something soup, frozen broccoli, cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and almonds. That wasn't quite what I wanted. But this is:

Almond-Crusted Chicken Breasts

1 1/2 cups sliced almonds -- lightly toasted
4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
salt and pepper
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg -- beaten with 2 tsp. water
1/4 cup butter -- melted
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh basil -- or 1/2 tsp. dried (I used fresh Italian parsley)

With hands, lightly crush almonds into small pieces; reserve. Lightly flatten chicken breasts. Season with salt and pepper. Dredge chicken in flour. Pat off excess flour. Dip chicken in beaten egg. Press each chicken breast in almonds, covering chicken well. Place on buttered baking sheet. Bake at 425° for 10 to 15 minutes or until chicken is just firm and almonds are golden. Meanwhile, combine butter, lemon juice, and basil. Drizzle over cooked chicken breasts.

TRY IT. I've never had better chicken.

I Actually Completed A Project. Kind of. Well, My Husband And FIL Did.

2010-05-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

Blueberry hedge is in and wicked, non-fruiting fruit trees are out (isn't there a scripture about that?). Now we will have our consultant neighbor come help us out with planning the rest of the yard.

Good Job, Cousin Molly

2010-05-28T00:18:00.000-07:00

I watched you run at the state track meet. Two miles is a long track event, but you stuck it out and even got a PR. I would have told you in person but, as it was, my children were sleeping in the car while I watched you from behind the fence (did you know the entry fee is $14? ridiculous!) in cold drizzle (at least I wasn't wearing a tank top and track shorts, though). That's a good way to finish up your high school career.

All Creatures of Our God and King

2010-05-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

The sweet,

the terrifying,

and the sheep pig.

In Your Dreams

2010-05-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

You know how little anxieties creep up into your dreams, and your dreams make them bigger, and then sometimes the dreams really come true, which makes your next round of dreams even worse or, as the case may be, more real? I have severe performance anxiety -- severe enough that it curtailed a career in music. I loved to play the viola, but hated performing, which made being a music major an absurd joke. After I started playing the viola pretty seriously, I began dreaming horrible dreams, which generally included me being pushed onto a stage, spotlights glaring in my eyes, and thousands of dim, pale faces, their dark eyes like blackholes sucking me slowly into a previously-unrealized terror, waited expectantly for me to sing. I'm dressed in a Marilyin Monroe-style dress, the kind that flips up when you stand over the subway vent, the kind with a nadir dipping to my navel, the kind I'd die of embarrassment wearing. The worst part of it all is that I have never heard, or even heard of, the song I'm supposed to sing, and an entire wall of stage managers push me back onstage whenever I try to leave.

So, fast-forward to a month ago, when I get called into the bishop's office. I keep thinking I'm in trouble because there aren't any obvious callings to fill and I feel like my calling is going pretty well. As for reprimands in order, there were a few I could think of, so that was the natural conclusion. I was apprehensive, but not terrified.

The bishop greets me in the hall, cheery as can be, so I rethink. Not for long, though, because in a few seconds he asks me to be ward choir director, which was close enough to my 15 year nightmare that it took him 30 minutes to convince me. Really, I was grievously ill for two days, at which point I became only moderately ill.

I had the worst dream yet last night. Instead of being ward choir director, I was directing "My Fair Lady", a musical I may have watched once on tape and never thought much of again. I have to audition singers, stars, pull together the costumes and sets, all the stuff I imagine a director has to do. I could only use the people in my ward, but it was going to be televised. In a week.

The first thing I did upon waking was ask Travis, "I'm not directing a ward musical, right?" He mumbled, "no", falling back to sleep. And I went back to sleep to, and back to dreaming.

The Booty Bump

2010-05-18T22:14:00.000-07:00

When Dylan was only a few months old, he started rocking himself when he sat in the car seat (when we brought it inside). He did it consciously -- as soon as you put him in the seat, he thrust his legs in and out to get himself moving. An hour or so could pass this way, which was nice for him and for us. Since we have hardwood floors, he could travel quite a ways. Sometimes he ended up in a closet; other times we'd find him under the table (we don't sound neglectful or anything).

So, when we stopped putting him in the car seat at 5 months, he had to find another way to get around, which he did quickly. Now, whenever you lay him on his back, he arches his belly as high as he can and bounces up and down on his bottom, while pushing off with his feet. He loves it. Crowing gleefully, a broad grin of mischief spreading across his face, he bumps his booty the whole time he's supposed to be napping.

Bad Idea of the Day

2010-05-17T16:28:00.000-07:00

Do not semi-ignore your toddler when she is playing with a large glass container on hardwood flooring. You will end up with a gash in your foot. (Thank heaven she's fine, though.)

The Horror! The Horror!

2010-05-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

As I navigated the commerce streets of Kent Station the other day (I cannot think of why I was down there in the first place), my life hit me at full impact: I was driving a Prius loaded up with two small children and a double stroller around a suburban attempt at an upscale mall filled with stores like Coldwater Creek and Chico's (not that I will ever willingly enter those stores), wearing fleece and clogs. I felt like a bona-fide fogey.

I'm NEVER wearing clogs again.

Roadside Attractions

2010-05-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I drive past something really strange. I'm sure we all do. Here are some of mine:

In rural Wisconsin, a veritable treasure trove of roadkill, a huge, gape-mouthed fish lay by the side of the road, looking for all the world like it belonged on the pavement with the flattened possums. We were at least 2 miles from any water.

On the way to Bellingham, where I-5s North and South separate (I-5N being much higher than I-5S), I watched from the backseat as a semi rolled past down below, transporting 3 crocodiles in an open air trailer. They were large, I tell you. And restless.

Last December at 7 am, during a nasty cold snap (20s or so), I drove past someone smoking outside on the sidewalk, wearing nothing but some cheap lingerie that barely cleared the behind, and one of those crepey, too-thin sweaters you can find for $10 at Old Navy. A little weird, right? It was a very tall, very thin man, stubble on his face, fur on his legs.

Today, driving to the Point Defiance Zoo on I-5, we drove past a tow truck driver hitching a vehicle up to his truck. Specifically, we drove past a tow truck driver hitching a helicopter up to his truck. I guess someone has to do it ...

I Can See Why People Get Flustered By The English Language

2010-04-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

in·tone (n-tn):

1. To recite in a singing tone.

2. To utter in a monotone

2010-04-27T11:51:00.001-07:00

Just in case your life seems faintly ridiculous sometimes, at least your toddler didn't just throw a fit because she wanted to watch "Seven Dwarves" but not "Snow White". Needless to say, she's now watching "The Princess and the Frog".

Dylan's Personal Ad

2010-04-23T23:51:00.000-07:00

Me: New in town, I'm the shy, broad-shouldered stranger across the room ready to sweep you off your feet with a ready smile and come-hither glance. I like long stroller rides on the beach, baby food, lazy Sunday mornings, and a good, strong drink of milk. I dislike putting my arms through shirtsleeves, hunger, and being stuck alone with my mother for too long. Hobbies include gnawing on my toes, eating, gnawing on toys, drinking, and trying to eat other people when they pick me up.

You: If you smile at me, I'll like you. If you blow raspberries on my tummy, I'll like you more. If you feed me, I'll love you.

Guy's Night Out

2010-04-17T21:39:00.000-07:00

Guy's Night Out is happening at my house right now. Guess what married Mormon guys talk to each other about when they break free of their families? Their kids. Yep. Now I don't feel so lame.

Things That Are Making Life Slightly More Difficult Than They Could Be

2010-04-13T21:36:00.000-07:00

I emphasize the word slightly here. My life is really pretty great. However, these are the minor annoyances that look big until something truly bad happens to me:

1. Dylan, is there any reason you can't act more like a normal 7 month old baby and not eat every three hours? As in, 9 am, 12 pm, 3 pm, 6 pm, 9 pm, 12 am, 3 am, 6 am, 9 am? I'm kind of tired; if this were a marathon, I'd be at mile 29.

2. Abby, could you choose some other bug to be scared of than all flying insects? They are hard to catch and next to impossible to see. Spiders would be a good choice. Beetles would be even better. Also, dust particles are not flies. Just so you know.

3. Extra baby weight, would you please respond to any of the tactics I try, like, um, diet and exercise? I'm losing hope.

A Moment To Myself

2010-04-07T22:02:00.000-07:00

I went to the library this evening to pick up a book I had on hold. I walked in, stopped by the bathrooms, browsed through the display books, chose one, grabbed my held book, did a self-checkout, and left. It took me twelve minutes. As I got back in the car and started driving away, I realized I felt remarkably refreshed: I didn't have to interact with even one other person while I was there. I needed that, because 10 minutes later I headed straight back into the whirlwind after a highly surprising conversation.

Jumping For Joy

2010-04-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

Abby loves to jump. A lot. In fact, she took her first steps at 9 months, but didn't try it again for another month because, after she took four steps, she tried jumping. It didn't work; she was mad. It's still her preferred mode of travel. So, to give our couch and chairs and coffee table and stairs and laps and backs some relief, we now have a monolithic, 5' diameter trampoline in our living room. It has a safety net that almost reaches the ceiling.

I love it.

Message For Dylan

2010-04-02T21:23:00.001-07:00

Sleep.

Sleep!

SLEEP!

Crockpot Yogurt

2010-03-27T13:47:00.000-07:00

I've made yogurt several times, but having to boil it to a precise temperature, stir in the culture, sugar, and gelatin, and pour it into another dish to culture in as quickly as possible really puts me off making it more often. Then I discovered an ingenious method of making yogurt floating around on the internet: in the crockpot. Here's the recipe. I hope you try it, because it's easy, it works, and it tastes delicious.

Crockpot Yogurt

.5 gallon milk, not ultra-pastuerized if you can possibly find some. (1%-whole depending on thickness and richness you desire. Making it with whole milk is dessert-worthy treat.)
.5 c store bought yogurt -- can be vanilla or plain, or whatever you have. I only had a container of strawberry banana, and it turned out nicely. Plain will have the strongest culture. Make sure it says 'live/active culture' somewhere on the container.
.25 - 1 c sugar. I used .5 c.
1 packet unflavored gelatin, if desired. This is a thickening agent.

equipment: crockpot, 1-2 thick bath towels, butter muslin or fine-weave cheesecloth if you want to thicken the yogurt.

Heat milk in crockpot on low for 2 hrs 45 minutes. Do not open lid. Let cool for 3 hours. Still, do not open lid. Remove 1-2 c of warm milk from crockpot and stir the yogurt, sugar and gelatin into it (gelatin is tricky -- add slowly and stir QUICKLY. Even if you have some gelatin lumps, though, it's fine.). Slowly stir mix back into crockpot. replace lid, unplug crockpot, wrap crockpot with towels and let stand for 8-12 hours. If you want to thicken your yogurt, Greek-style, line a large-ish colander with butter muslin or cheesecloth doubled on itself and let yogurt drain for at least half an hour over a large pot or mixing bowl. Drained liquid should be clear -- this is whey. I chose this method because I used 1% milk, which tends to produce somewhat thinner yogurt. Pour yogurt into desired container and refrigerate 8 hours before eating it.

Mine was mild and lightly sweet. I loved it. And, hey, it cost me about $1.65 to make two quarts.

2010-03-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, I am caught unawares outside on a warm day. I try to avoid this. Sometimes, though, it's unavoidable, especially when you have a preschooler who tears your house into a ruin if given the chance. And so it was that we went to the Point Defiance Zoo with Quinae and her two boys.

What's even worse than having the sun beat down on me is my reaction to it. Every spring, I have to relearn that I am allergic to the sun. Literally. OK, I'm not really allergic to the sun -- apparently what I have is Polymorphous Light Eruption, which sounds so much better. I go outside in 60 degree weather and return with scaly lizard skin on every exposed surface of my body. This happened to me in Rome last year. I had to wear a zipped-up fleece the entire time (hello, HOT!) for fear that some Italian CDC official would boot me out of the country on suspicion of biological warfare.

Anyway, it's gross and I'm annoyed.

Picky Eaters

2010-03-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

Does anyone think it odd that I have to bribe my daughter to eat her pasta by promising her she'll get peas afterward? Or that, upon serving her a single stick of asparagus with a quiche, she won't touch the quiche, but eats half the pan of asparagus? I do.

Boil Thou First I' The Charmed Pot

2010-03-23T21:26:00.000-07:00

I feel restless tonight, like something big is going to happen very soon, and I need to be ready for it. I hope it's just a side effect of something and will have vanished by tomorrow morning, or even that I can go to sleep tonight. I don't even know why I'm posting this. I guess I just want to tell someone without calling anyone in particular and having them think I'm going crazy. :)

Here's A Crazy Idea

2010-03-21T17:59:00.000-07:00

I am sick of throwing away produce. I always feel guilty that I didn't eat as well as I intended, and that I poured money down the drain. So, for the month of April, my goal is to use every single piece of produce I buy. And I will not stop buying produce to meet my goal. :)

If You Need To Laugh

2010-03-18T23:24:00.001-07:00

You MUST go to this site. Seriously. Really. You must.

Typhoid Mary

2010-03-17T22:18:00.000-07:00

In response to Quinae's question from my previous post, I have pinpointed the culprit in virtually all the illness in my house this winter: my mother-in-law. She visits four houses and eight grandchildren in the course of one week. I didn't realize forcefully until just yesterday that, every time my kids get sick, other kids in the family are sick, too. Well, I know they get sick, but I'm not informed of it until after the fact, or they have 'different' symptoms (which I don't believe). I'm not sure whether she is not reporting the whole truth on purpose or if she honestly doesn't see the connection.

This time, though, it was clear. She came over Sunday evening and, after playing with my children for several hours, told me she'd had a slightly upset stomach on the way over and was still having some problems. By this point, all damage has been done. She left Monday evening. Today I called her to tell her that Abby had been sick all night, to which she responds, "oh, yeah, Dave (her husband) has had that problem for three days".

Now Travis and I are suffering through this hellish disease and I'm seriously thinking of banning her from the house. I love having the help (read, I NEED the help to stay sane!), but I don't know that it's worth it.

What do you think? My children's cousins are always sick, all year round because they eat crap and never get outside. This won't stop with summer. Shall I ban her?

#$&, &^%, !*&#

2010-03-17T01:21:00.000-07:00

At the RS activity that ended about four hours ago, I was complaining extensively (sorry! I tend to do that when I don't have enough sleep!) to Kacey and Quinae that Dylan was sick, again, for about the millionth time since early January. Well, here I am at 1 am watching The Princess and The Frog with Abby and Dylan because Dylan's roiling tummy and gas has turned into a two-child barf-fest. Abby, who had thrown up all of one time before tonight, has ejected the contents of her stomach approximately 6 times within the last two hours. Dylan, seemingly more impervious to the bug (how?), has only had one incident. I'm running out of towels and sheets. Abby is stripped to the diaper, surrounded by old towels and the latest jammy casualties. The highlight of the experience has been Abby saying, "thank you so much for cleaning my barf up, Mommy".

Gardening

2010-03-15T23:00:00.000-07:00

Today I:

*Shot a few hundred rounds at the shooting range (the fun part of my day)
*Weeded my garden beds (imperfectly)
*Dug up half the lawn and incorporated peat moss, compost, and chicken manure into my dense, clay soil
*Planted lettuce, spinach, corn salad, kale, chard, snap peas, pansies, poppies, forget-me-nots, and a single English daisy, with no particular rhyme or reason. It's going to look weird.
*Started tomatoes, winter squash, cantaloupe, cucumbers, and kohlrabi in peat pots
*Am ready to collapse into bed

Bedtime Routine

2010-03-12T06:20:00.000-08:00

Ten minutes before Travis got home last night (an hour late, may I add), I was overcome with an extreme sense of vertigo. I promptly laid down on the floor before I fell down, halfway between two rooms. Luckily, both kids had eaten and Dylan was in bed, so nothing dire had to be accomplished before I laid on the floor for the rest of the night. Abby, upon finding me awkwardly sprawled on the floor, does not jump on me as expected:

"Mama, you wanna go sleepin'?"

"I do, Abby."

"I read one book to you. Not two books, not three books, only one book." She protrudes her fingers accordingly, carefully watching her hands to make sure each digit extends the way it should. I am then 'read' "Frogs & Friends" -- not my customary bedtime reading material, but there are worse children's books to be subjected to.

"You need a blanket?"

"I sure do, Abby! Thank you." She covers up my feet and bottom with two doll blankets.

"You need a friend?"

"That sounds wonderful." She brings me back Yellow Duck. We sure are imaginative with our names around here.

"You need binky?"

"No, but thank you." She brings binky anyway and pops it in my mouth.

"Oh, that's very nice to share."

"I sing you a song?" At this point, I am treated to a darlingly monotone version of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star".

"We say prayer?"

Travis walks in around now. Abby runs to the stairs and shouts, "Daddy! Mama's going 'leepin'! I put her to bed!"

He follows her to my post. "What's wrong?"

"I feel dizzy. I can't move right now."

"That's not good." He wanders around the house for a while and then asks, "So is there something I can do for you?"

Nope. Abby's got me covered.

What Is This Feeling?

2010-03-11T15:32:00.000-08:00

I've cleaned everything up from our wild little St. Patrick's Day Party. Both my kids are napping. The laptop I do my writing on needs to be de-virused (?). I have so little to do that I am blogging on how little to do I have.

I guess it's boredom.

The Deep Clean

2010-03-10T22:04:00.000-08:00

That last post? He figured it out for himself. He came home today and said, did you clean this? That's how sad I am.

It was SO worth it.

Good Thing My Husband Doesn't Read My Blog

2010-03-09T21:17:00.001-08:00

Or he'd know that I've hired someone to clean my house tomorrow. :)

Mormonism:

2010-03-07T15:05:00.000-08:00

All the Catholic guilt, none of the easy absolution.

Cutting Off Your Nose And All That

2010-02-26T10:44:00.000-08:00

Abby just told me she has to take her finger off because it has an owie on it.

Guilty Confession of the Day

2010-02-24T22:27:00.000-08:00

This morning, I was absolutely dreading the day. My kids are sick (mildly, this time) AGAIN, the house was a mess, and I could see that I was once again trapped in the house. It's not my best-kept secret that I'm not terribly fond of being a stay-at-home mom -- if I thought Travis had the patience to take care of children full-time, I would be happy to go to work (yes, I know that good moms don't think these things, but I am not a good mom.). It's not that I don't put effort into my children -- I do. I never have the tv on when they are awake (ok, we don't have tv, but still), I never get on the computer when they are awake, and I rarely clean when they are awake (this is why my house is horrifying right now). Abby never watches more than 2 hours of tv a day, and I sometimes manage to keep it under an hour or not turn it on at all -- it's been well documented that language exposure and acquisition is reduced when the tv is on even as background noise, and there have been some researchers looking into the possibility that excessive tv viewing may be a trigger for autism. I try to talk with Abby -- and Dylan, but I have a hard time holding conversations with someone who can't talk back -- as much as possible, read a lot, play boring things I have no interest in, and find ways to build math and reading skills without Abby feeling pressured into it. Abby is just starting to be able to play by herself for a few minutes, but she almost always wants me to be engaged somehow (this is a personality trait, not that she's habituated to attention. She's always been like this.). Basically, each day feels like an epic marathon, but with no restorative period afterwards, because Dylan still wakes up at least once a night to eat.

Enough of the self-sacrifice crap. What I'm trying to say is that, when my husband told me he had gone to lunch with a female coworker the previous day (and after much teasing on my part and blushing on his), I found myself thinking, "hmmm. If he had an affair, I could divorce him. Then I wouldn't have to be a stay-at-home mom anymore".

Isn't that awful?

March 14th: Daylight Savings Time

2010-02-24T15:48:00.000-08:00

Need I say more?

Olympians

2010-02-18T23:44:00.000-08:00

Lindsey Vonn.

Curlers.

Cioccolata!

2010-02-17T19:53:00.000-08:00

This is an old post, but I decided to recycle it after last night's Relief Society activity, in which chocolate was a central theme. And because I can't think of anything for a new post.

I love chocolate. Everyone says that, but I don't think they mean it like I do. My love resides more in the category of stalker-like obsession. I'm not talking about the stuff that has merely a hint of chocolate flavor, either: milk chocolate adulterates the taste buds with sugar (though my worthy, chocolate-fiendish uncle once gave me a taste of a German Christmas milk chocolate, which had delicious undertones of cardamom). Fie! fie! on anyone who eats the ignoble substance called white 'chocolate' -- what can such an unhappy predilection say about your character? I shudder to think of it. I'd rather eat vanilla! Actually, vanilla is quite nice if it's true vanilla. Not as good as chocolate, though. (Side note: why is it that anyone who doesn't like chocolate loves lemon desserts? It weirds me out: now I don't like lemon desserts on principle.)

My most recent chocolate love is an 82% cacao content Scharffen Berger. It's like a shot of pure heroin. Okay, I've never taken any illegal drugs, so I don't really know, but I like to think the experiences are similar. Other than mine being healthier and less likely to result in death and misery -- with the exceptions of those poor ancient Mexicans who were sacrificed to the goddesses of cocoa.

Have you ever eaten Mexican chocolate, by the way, laced with cinnamon and spice? Researches found an ancient Mayan teapot with chocolate in it that dates back 2600 years (see http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/07/0717_020717_TVchocolate.html). Theobromine, an alkaloid found in the cacao bean, means 'food of the gods'. Yes, I agree with that. It had better be part of the celestial package. Or maybe it was the Forbidden Fruit? It's worth thinking about -- a much better thing to lose your immortality to than a stupid apple. Could you imagine severing your direct connection with Heaven over one of those mushy Red Delicious I keep bringing home from the market?

Chocolate even inspires reckless spending.Um, actually, reckless spending to me is spending $35 on the best baking chocolate in the known world when it's 50% off -- that's 60 oz of bittersweet Scharffen Berger for less than you get that run of the mill stuff for. Some alien inhabited my body, though, and I found that I had never actually bought it when I got home. I'm going back to get it tomorrow: I might even clean the store out. It was shocking to see people walking past the aisle nonchalantly, as though this sale weren't the stuff of legend. It was more shocking to note that Safeway didn't banner this on the front page of their ad, nor mention it anywhere therein. One can only assume that they didn't feel it was enough to draw the masses in.

More for me.

Things I Love

2010-02-11T00:26:00.000-08:00

1.) I love that Dylan is so happy and smiley that he stops eating so he can smile at me if I so much as look at him, and smiles and coos in the process of going to sleep. I love that he is so delighted by life that, when he goes to the emergency room for pneumonia, the admitting nurse and doctor tell me that he can't possibly have pneumonia because no baby with pneumonia smiles and plays and talks. I love that they were wrong, just because it proves that he is truly an exceptionally joyful little person.

2.) I love that Abby has snuggled and hugged her way through her cold, clinging to me as she declares, "I love Mama", a statement that is often tempered by some following statement, such as, "I love celery", which I can't get her to eat, but which is spoken of with exactly the same enthusiasm as her professions of love for her mother.

3.) I love Excedrin.

Biohazard

2010-02-09T14:02:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday, Dylan was admitted to the hospital for bronchial pneumonia. I felt far more relief than worry; my concerns had been validated and I knew the medical staff would be able to give him exactly what he needed. Six or 7 hours into our stay, I noticed a huge commotion going on outside our door. After it went away, I saw that code red signs had been put up around the room door informing all medical personnel who entered that they had to scrub up, wearing masks, gloves, and full body protection. Ideally, guests would be doing this, too. Turns out, the poor guy had a bad case of RSV (nice of them to tell me before they quarantined us, huh?), a highly contagious bronchial condition that had infected his lungs. It led me to ponder the nature of what the medical world deems a biohazard. Here is what I concluded from my observations in the hospital:

1.) If you are alive, you are a biohazard. If you are alive and visibly sick, you are an extreme biohazard.

2.) If you are dead, you are way more biohazardous than any living biohazard.

3.) If you happen to be inanimate, like a lucky rock or a wallet or car keys, you're also a biohazard.

A Tip For Angry Commenters Everywhere

2010-02-06T22:59:00.000-08:00

If you can't spell the word 'moron', don't call other people morons. This holds especially true when the topic discussed is the importance of higher education and you decide to write something like, "higher educated, people, like the president and the governor are a morron".

Ribollita

2010-01-22T00:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight, this was on the menu. To be honest, you probably won't ever make it because you think it looks gross. It's not. It's delicious and filling. I used spinach instead of kale, added chicken broth instead of water, and tossed in a 2 inch parmesan rind into the broth for flavor. Highly, highly recommended.

Jeanelle's Favorite Soup

2010-01-22T00:24:00.000-08:00

I made this two days ago. It was amazingly good for being a pantry soup, meaning that every single item in the soup can be found in the pantry (so stock up for those days when you can't get your stuff together!). My mother-in-law particularly loved it. The addition of tortilla chips was perfect for a little crunch and salt. The sour cream and cheddar didn't hurt, either. :) (Could they?)

Thanks, Jeanelle!

Ask Elizabeth: Dating Advice For Girls

2010-01-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this post for the legions of young girls who follow my blog. Although I haven't actually dated for about 7 years, the (delightfully awful, but I won't say that in a post directed toward teenage girls)Twilight series has brought it all back to me.

The Rules

1.) Don't date until you get to college. This is the easiest way to do things: you don't have to get emotionally involved in a relationship that's, let's face it, going to fizzle out the second you meet the guys in your Psych 101 lecture (or your boyfriend meets the girls in his Spanish class).

2.) Don't date guys you meet in Psych 101. Or in an English class more advanced than the 100 level.

3.) Sensitive guys who tell you about their tragic childhoods and feelings and deepest, innermost thoughts at all times with little prompting from you are not sensitive. Well, they are. Just not sensitive to you. They are self-absorbed children who magnify every insignificant hurt until it becomes the focus of their world. Don't date those guys.

4.) Don't date guys who dress like emo rockers or wear skinny jeans. They're girlier than you are.

5.) Don't date class clowns. I have never seen a comedian I would be willing to date. They are cynical, critical, with tongues sharp enough to cut diamonds. You will walk away from that relationship wounded.

6.) Don't date misunderstood, moody guys who never open their mouths but stare into your soul with deep, burning eyes. This is a riff on the sensitive guy. Maybe they seem more interesting because they don't talk, but what's interesting about no conversation? What's enjoyable about a relationship filled with awkward silences and stilted words? They want you to work so hard to open them up that you'll feel like they gave you a gift when they put more than two words together.

7.) Don't date the guys who think (and act like) they're smarter than everyone else. Been there, done that. They think they're smarter than you, too. (Side note: some guys actually are smarter than everyone else. Many of them are nice, because they don't feel they have to prove it to the world. Those are good people to date.)

8.) Don't date guys who are better-looking than you. Oddly enough, other girls actually do try to steal them away. Sometimes it works.

9.) Don't date the most popular guy in school. They have far too much leverage in the relationship, physically and socially.

It's a minefield out there, which brings us to our last rule:

10.) Don't date.

Photo Post For The Year

2010-01-18T16:16:00.000-08:00

To prove I have a soul, I'm going to post pictures of cute, random children.

(OK, that's not a great picture.)

(This one's better.)

They're mine, actually.

Here are the O'Callahan men, aged 90, 57, and 3 months.

And two cute girls who showed up at Grandpa's 90th.

You might notice a family resemblance in the generally wide faces, generally light eyes, and generally broad smiles of my cousins. Oh, and Grandpa.

But here's my favorite, for all sorts of reasons. She's going for the chocolate cake. Dylan lunged for it, too, with disappointing results.

I Will Never Like to Cycle Or Swim Or Ski Or Raft Or Kayak Or Do Anything Other Than Depend On My Own Two Feet.

2010-01-15T23:13:00.000-08:00

And I'm ok with that.

Suffer The Fools

2010-01-14T23:56:00.000-08:00

At a local produce market today, I overheard two guys (who apparently don't have jobs) talking about the Haitian earthquake. I assume that's what it was, at least. Here's the snippet I caught (spoken in an annoying bluster, of course):

"Yeah, well, when all of us here are sitting cozy in our houses and saying, oh we want to help, but just throw money at the problem, this guy decided to actually do something. It might take him a few weeks -- he has to get time off work, grease the palm of whichever government official, and find a plane to take him down there ..."

Well, if you know me at all, you know I don't suffer fools gladly. It took all my self-control, but here's what I didn't tell him:

1. Most of us would love to get down there to help.
2. Most of us don't have the money to hire a private plane. Most of us don't have the money to 'grease' anyone's palm. Most of us have serious obligations (children, older family members, jobs) that prevent us from leaving the country on a whim.
3. Unless you live in D.C., Chicago, or Louisiana, there aren't actually that many government officials with greasy palms. And, if you are able to grease his/her palm, please indict the man rather than play into this embarrassing and destructive cycle of corruption.
4. There are agencies and charities and governments around the world who train people to walk right into these places and bring relief. They have food, water, medical supplies, translators, education, and technology on their side. They know how to live in dire circumstances, how to protect themselves from the diseases that run rampant when infrastructure breaks down, how to defend themselves from the inevitable violence that cataclysmic crises trigger. Your friend? Not so much.
5. Your friend, who has a serious deity-complex, by the way, is going to go down there and get himself lost or dead somehow. Then those same people trained to help these poor earthquake victims are going to have to divert time and energy to save his lame behind because he's an 'American Citizen' and, heaven knows, those 'American Citizens' have a right to be protected from themselves, no matter how dumb they are. (I love the U.S. I really, really do. I just hate people who decide we should be treated differently than the rest of the world because of our birthplace. I don't even have to meet this guy to know he's one of 'em.)

So, guy-who-doesn't-have-anything-better-to-do-in-the-middle-of-the-day-than-walk-around-feeling-morally-superior (sorry for the gross abuse of the full-sentence-made-into-a-single-noun dashes), the reality is that the $5-10k + your friend will be spending on this ego trip would have been much better spent if he had done what all the rest of us will be doing: donating it to the effective charity of our choice.

Pork And Pink Beans With Cornbread Croutons

2010-01-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

I realized why food blogging is not my thing: writing out recipes sucks. So, wherever I can, I will be taking the lazy route and posting links to the recipes. Tonight we had this.

I hate pork and beans.

It was good.

Pasta e Fagioli

2010-01-13T15:00:00.000-08:00

This recipe comes from my (1/4) Italian brother-in-law. He operates a small meat market/butcher shop in south Seattle and makes the most wonderful chicken and sundried tomato sausage. Actually, it's not the most wonderful chicken and sundried tomato sausage; it's the most wonderful sausage, period. (Do you ever feel weird when people write out their punctuation in word form and then punctuate it? That felt really strange to me.) Anyway, here's an easy, tasty soupish recipe I got from him a few months ago. We eat it all the time around here.

1 T olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 lb uncooked sausage, divested of casings
28 oz white beans or cannellini (2 cans or 3 cups of cooked, dried beans)
28 oz crushed tomatoes
1-2 c pasta -- shells, penne, wheels, whatever you can get your kids to eat
2 q water or stock
bay leaf

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a large, wide-bottomed soup pot. Once hot, add onions. Cook 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. When soft, add the sausage and break it apart into bite-size pieces while browning in the pot. After sausage has browned, stir in the beans, tomatoes, pasta, stock, and bay leaf. Turn heat to high; bring mixture to a rolling boil. Dial heat down to a simmer; cook 20 minutes or until pasta is cooked. Let stand 5-10 minutes to thicken. Remove bay leaf. Serve.

This Week's Menu

2010-01-13T14:36:00.000-08:00

There are two soup recipes I have yet to post, but I want to share what's coming down the pipe (so I don't forget why I bought the mint or the cake flour. Shoot, I forgot the cake flour.):

Summer Corn Chowder With Bacon

Beef Goulash With Dumplings

Pork And Pink Bean Soup With Corn Bread Croutons

Ribollita

Jeanelle's Favorite Soup

I'm looking forward to it! Try one this week and we can compare results.

Who Can Find a Virtuous Woman?

2010-01-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

Who, indeed? This is Proverbs' description of her:

"She will do her husband good and not evil all the days of her life". Not to mention that "she openeth her mouth in wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness". How are you all doing with that?

"She seeketh out wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands" (does this mean she shears the sheep and picks the flax? I suspect it does.)."She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff". Doesn't spinning yarn from raw fibers sound delightful? Let's not overlook the fact that "her household is clothed in scarlet and that she maketh herself coverings of tapestry". Have you ever seen ancient tapestry? "She maketh fine linen and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant". Not only does she make all the clothing from scratch for her own household, she gets to make it for everyone else, too.

"She considereth a field, and buyeth it; with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard". She's both speculator and gardener. I bet she makes the wine when the grapes are ready to be pressed.

"She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms". She finds time to exercise on top of everything else, though I don't quite know what girding up one's loins with strength means, exactly. Crunches? Lunges?

"She looketh well to the ways of her household". I assume that means she's looking after her children and, presumably, the servants, though I can't imagine what work they have to do with her around.

"She riseth up while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens" -- she wakes up before dawn to feed her family, including her servants! And then, "her candle goeth not out by night". Maybe it's easier to do her husband good and not evil all the days of her life when she dies after a month of sleep deprivation.

What, exactly, is her husband doing? "He is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land". Yep, he's gabbing all day. The only advice Proverbs seems to give to men is, 1.) be wise, not foolish, 2.) it is better to be poor than foolish, or a liar, or wicked, and 3.) to find a virtuous woman to wife. I'll say.

Who can find me a virtuous woman? When I'm dripping rubies, she's hired.

Spilling the Beans

2010-01-08T23:43:00.000-08:00

I'm a confident baker. Not much goes into my oven that doesn't come out tasting pretty good (I'll say confident. You can say vain if you must. I understand.). I ascribe this to: 1.) the ridiculous amounts of time I spend researching ingredients, techniques, and recipes; 2.) the belief that something I make will taste good (given all the research) and, magically, usually does; 3.) a mad obsession with good food.

So, today, I set out to make a bittersweet chocolate torte. Nothing draws me in like the words "bittersweet chocolate", especially in puddingish form. I waited until I had an event to take this to, which, tonight, was a pre-family reunion reunion of sorts. Being me, and being "confident", it didn't matter to me that I had neither tried this recipe before, nor had I tried ANY torte recipe before. I rarely even make pie (I despise almost all cooked fruit).

Anyway, I went to the store last night and somehow managed to drop a large chunk of change on pricey ingredients like heavy cream, extremely high-quality baking chocolate (gotta have it for something like this), and flaked "organic" sea salt (hello! salt is neither plant nor animal. Stop marketing something categorically inorganic as "organic". It was the only flaked sea salt the store had, I swear.). The bill was somewhere around ... well, I'm too embarrassed to admit it, after all.

This morning, I started the torte dough. It's easy enough, but takes a quite a while as you have to bring your butter and egg to room temperature, go through a slightly finicky mixing process, and let it refrigerate for at least an hour before you begin to roll it out. Finally, finally, I was ready to par-bake it. I poked all the little holes into the crust so no huge bubbles could form and poured beans into the shell to weigh the crust down as it bakes. That's what the recipe told me to do. I did it. I baked it at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, and started preparing the ridiculously pricey filling.

Then I pulled it out of the oven to cool it. The dried beans had baked into the torte crust. It was a pretty little mosaic, as the accidental filling was a colorful mix of beans. Nevertheless, it was entirely inedible and I didn't have time to start over.

Slightly depressed about the affair, I began to eat the unfouled edges of the crust. That's when I realized the true extent of the tragedy: I'd never tasted a crust so perfectly balanced in texture and flavor. It was delicious.

The moral of the story is ... um ... I don't know. I'll leave it for you to determine.

Tomato Soup

2010-01-08T00:29:00.000-08:00

Yep! That's right. We ate tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches tonight. I did nothing other than pour pre-made soup into a pot and heat it. Then I sliced cheese, assembled 3 sandwiches, and threw them on the panini press. It was like ordering pizza, but cheap.

Sloth

2010-01-06T21:22:00.000-08:00

My daughter has a perverse streak a mile wide. Case in point:

The bedtime book she chose tonight was about the rainforest. We read this book a lot; she knows all the animals. She has recently decided to vex me when I ask her what the sloth is by saying, "a peacock!" Then I say, "no, it's a sloth. What is that?" "A peacock!" "No, not a peacock, a sloth. What is that?" "A peacock!". This exchange is immensely pleasing to both of us, even though I pretend to be indignant. Tonight she expanded her reportoire to include eagles, toucans, and parrots. I responded with, "A peacock is a bird. A toucan is a bird. A parrot is a bird. A hummingbird is a bird. A chicken is a bird. A duck is a bird. This is not a bird. It's a sloth. What is that?"

Standing crouched on the bed, fists clenched high above her head, she roars, body trembling gleefully, "A MONSTER!"

Chicken, Noodle, and Sweet Potato Soup

2010-01-06T19:50:00.001-08:00

I wanted something a bit thicker, so I used a higher noodle to stock ratio than usual. I let the sweet potato cook for a while so it would dissolve into the broth and thicken it almost to the consistency of pasta sauce. It's yummy, a little sweet, and healthy. As always, top with parmigiana-reggiano. :)

2 T butter
1 c each onion, celery, and carrot, diced finely
2 cloves garlic, minced
salt
pepper
1 quart chicken stock
1 bay leaf
1 medium potato, diced
1 large sweet potato, chopped coarsely
1 large chicken skinless, boneless chicken thigh or breast, chopped
1.5 c pasta

Heat soup pot to medium. Melt butter. When crackling, add the onions, carrots and celery (this combination, when used for making a soup base, is called mirepoix). Cook until semi-tender. Add garlic, salt and pepper to taste; cook another 30 seconds. Add broth; bring to a boil. Add bay leaf, potato and sweet potato. Bring down to a simmer; cover and cook. After 15 minutes, add chicken and pasta. Simmer, covered, for another 20 minutes. Serve!

Yeats

2010-01-06T13:44:00.001-08:00

A few random quotes I like from William Butler Yeats:

Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.

Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild with a fairy, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away. (So, so true.)

Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

How can we know the dancer from the dance?

I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right. (Take the hint, please, Hollywood types.)

The creations of a great writer are little more than the moods and passions of his own heart, given surnames and Christian names, and sent to walk the earth.

Potato-Kale Soup With Gruyere

2010-01-05T20:53:00.001-08:00

First off, I'll tell you that I did not have kale or Gruyere. I used frozen chopped spinach from the bag, not the box, and parmigiano-reggiano. I added a chicken breast to the soup and poured it over brown rice cooked in chicken broth for a filling meal. Courtesy of "Cooking Light":

2 T butter
1.5 cups finely chopped onion
1 garlic clove, minced
7 c chicken broth, lower sodium
4 c (~1.5 lbs) Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and coarsely chopped
.25 t salt
1 bay leaf
6 c fresh kale, chopped
1 t dried basil
2 oz shredded Gruyere

Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion; cook 8 minutes or until tender, stirring frequently. Add garlic; cook 30 seconds, stirring constantly.Stir in broth, potato, salt, and bay leaf; bring to a boil (this is where I added a frozen chicken breast to the pot). Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 15 minutes or until potato is tender (after 15 minutes, I took the chicken breast out, chopped it up into bite-size pieces and returned it to the pot).
Stir in kale and basil. Cover and simmer 10 minutes or until kale is tender. Discard bay leaf.
Partially mash potatoes with potato masher until thick and chunky. Ladle soup into bowls and top with cheese.

I enjoyed this. My daughter tolerated the chicken and potato pieces flecked with spinach I put on her plate. My husband said it was "filling". At any rate, it's nutritious and cheap.

Soup One

2010-01-02T21:44:00.000-08:00

I had about two minutes to start cooking dinner, which wasn't quite enough time to look up a recipe. I made up my own. It was ok, but I think it'd be really good with a shock of fennel or mint, and maybe green apple instead of the Cameo I had on hand (most of the reason I'm writing these is so I can go back and find recipes I like or remember the changes I would make, not because I think you should be taking lessons from me :)). This would be a good summer-fall transition soup, especially if you got your hands on some mildly sweet winter squash to throw in there.

Zucchini Apple Soup

olive oil
1 clove elephant garlic, minced
3 links chicken apple sausage, sliced
3 thinly sliced small zucchini
half an apple, finely chopped
1 medium red potato, finely chopped
quart of chicken broth

Heat large-bottomed pot to medium heat. When hot, drizzle olive oil over the bottom to cover; add elephant garlic to pan when oil ripples. Stir constantly approximately one minute, add chicken sausage. Continue to stir frequently. When sausage is browned, add zucchini. Cook until tender. Add apple and potato. Cook until the apple smells savory. Add chicken broth, heat to boiling, bring it back down to a simmer, cover, cook ten to twenty minutes. When everything is tender, pour half the mixture into your blender and give it a whirl. Restore to pot. Serve with hearty bread or you'll be hungry soon. :)

Most Delightful Response to a Letter I Have Ever Had the Pleasure to Read

2009-12-31T14:52:00.001-08:00

Obviously I'm blogging too much. Chalk it up to writer's block on the book I'm working on. Before you move on, please do read this. It made my day; in fact, I am not suffering from writer's block any longer. Compliments of the Washington Post:

RANdom CAPITALizATION and other secrets of angry letter writing!!!!!!!

By Gene WeingartenSunday, December 27, 2009; W36

Some time ago, I wrote a column about Dick Cheney in the form of a list of snide questions about the former veep's forthcoming autobiography. This column got a lot of mail, including one letter I saved until now, so I could answer it during a season when people are filled with thoughts of peace, charity and goodwill.

This was the letter in its entirety:

DEAR DOUCHEBAG [expletive] [expletive] [insensitive reference to an alternative lifestyle] [expletive] [expletive] [ethnic epithet] BASTARD:
I WOULD LIKE TO ADD TWO QUESTIONS TO YOUR LIST. FIRST I'D LIKE YOU TO ASK V.P. CHENEY HOW HE WAS ABLE TO SAVE YOUR SMELLY, FAT, JEW [expletive] FROM TERRORIST ATTACK THOSE LAST 7 YEARS? SECOND, HOW CAN HE PREVENT YOUR [expletive] [expletive] MOTHER FROM INFECTING [uncharitable racial reference] WITH AIDS, FROM [expletiving] and [expletiving] THEIR HUGE [expletives]? YOU ARE A LIBERAL, DUMBOCRAP, GUTLESS, WEASEL, UNAMERICAN [expletive] PIECE OF DOG [expletive] !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(signed)
AN AMERICAN PATRIOT

Dear American Patriot:

Thank you for your letter, which reminds me of some of the earlier essays of Thomas Jefferson.

I could not agree with you more about your concerns for public health in these medically uncertain and morally ambiguous times. Happily, I believe I can ease your fears: As a Jewish woman of a certain genteel era, my mother is unlikely to transmit any venereal diseases, particularly now that she is dead.
Mostly, however, for the benefit of the writers of the many letters I receive such as your own, I would like to create a new list here, not unlike the one I created for Mr. Cheney: Advice for Angry Letter Writers.

1) As you intuitively understand, letters that are written entirely in capitals impress us with their emotional intensity. I would advise that you adopt this form of communication for all your correspondence, particularly job applications.

2) An e-mail can never have enough exclamation points. They strengthen any argument. Here at The Washington Post, letters to the editor are prioritized for publication entirely by the number of exclamation points. You use 89, which would ordinarily just get you on a waiting list for publication. Henry Kissinger always uses at least 250.

3) You should try to be more inclusive in your use of racial, ethnic and sexual slurs. Your letter contains only one reference to sexual orientation, only one racial insult and only one ethnic disparagement. You can do better. Here are some hints: New Zealanders call Pacific Islanders "coconuts"; Australians call East Indians "currymunchers"; the British call Afro-Caribbeans "golliwogs"; French Canadians call the English "squareheads"; aborigines call white people "gwubs"; and when they do something stupid, Jews call each other "goisher kopf," which means "gentile brain." "Non-dairy creamer" is a North American term for a woman with obvious breast implants. Sprinkle these terms through your letters, particularly in correspondence with clergymen.

And finally:
4) You correctly perceive that any message will be bolstered by assurance that you are a loyal American, but you do not go far enough. Do you seriously think that merely declaring yourself an "American patriot" is enough to persuade readers that you are not secretly a terrorist, a traitor or possibly even a liberal? In the future, include the number of Confederate flags that displayed on your rotting porch, a list of your misspelled tattoos, and at least two examples of your ability to Photoshop Sarah Palin's head onto the bodies of naked teenagers.

Thank you, and may the spirit of Christmas be with you.

E-mail Gene at weingarten@washpost.com

Gingerbread Works of Art

2009-12-31T12:20:00.000-08:00

Fallingwater House

Gingerbread Igloo

Japanese gingerbread house with Mt Fuji in the background

All gingerbread houses made from scratch are amazing to me, no matter what they look like. These, quite literally, take the cake.

PS -- I did not make these. I have the decorating talents of a flea.

Sausage, Bell Pepper, and Potato Roast

2009-12-31T00:15:00.000-08:00

Since I can't purchase groceries until tomorrow, I had to come up with one more dish with the ingredients on hand. My brother-in-law gave me several packages of his chicken-apple sausage (delicious!) a few months ago, which went into the freezer. I pulled one out today. Other than that, I had bell peppers, carrots, potatoes, and garlic in my arsenal. This Italian-style recipe is based on one I found on some random webpage:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

4T olive oil, divided
2-4T Italian seasoning, divided
2-4 cloves minced garlic, divided
1 c carrots chopped into bite-size pieces
1.5 lbs yellow potatoes sliced thinly
1.5 lbs mild, sweet Italian (or chicken) sausage, sliced into 3/4 in. pieces
1 green and 1 red bell pepper, chopped into 3/4 in. pieces
8 oz cherry tomatoes
1 onion, sliced into eighths( ?sp)
2 large-ish ziploc bags
fresh-ground pepper and kosher salt

Pour 2 T of olive oil, half the Italian seasoning, and half the garlic into the bottom of one ziploc. Toss in the carrots and potatoes, close the top of the bag, and shake vigorously until everything is coated evenly. Spray a jelly roll pan lightly with cooking spray and spread the mixture evenly over the surface. Roast about 20 minutes.

Pour all the other ingredients into the other ziploc, seal bag, and shake vigorously. When potatoes and carrots have cooked for 20 minutes, take them out and stir them around on the pan. Add the contents of the other bag, stirring once more. Distribute mixture evenly across pan. Roast another 20 minutes or so (the original recipe says 10-12 minutes, but I like things a little more caramelized than he does). Mix in salt and pepper as desired.

Top with a little parmesan or eat as is! It's pretty tasty and quite healthy.

Not Alone In the Blog Universe?

2009-12-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

I just looked at Google Analytics and I know that there are at least some people who visit my site long enough to read a post or two. Drop me a line -- I'd like to check out your blog, or even just know who you are!

Soup Month Preview

2009-12-29T17:48:00.000-08:00

I had a ton of leftovers, and no money left for groceries until Dec. 31st (thank you, Christmas, for draining my wallet and filling my house with yet more toys!). And what's the best way for reinventing leftovers? Soup, of course. Here's what I had: green onions and mushrooms leftover from a delicious quesadilla pie; prime rib and mashed potatoes from Christmas; a thick, flavorful au jus from prime rib french dip sandwiches.

Prime Rib and Mashed Potato Soup

1 T cooking oil (needs a higher smoke point than olive oil -- canola works well)
diced mushrooms
sliced green onions
1 chopped clove of elephant garlic
chopped beef roast
beef broth or au just
mashed potatoes
water
salt

Heat pot to medium-high heat. When hot (a drop of cold water sizzles when it hits the pan), add the oil. When oil ripples, add mushrooms. Space evenly so they don't crowd. Let cook in oil at least 3 minutes until they brown on one side. Stir, and let sit another 3 minutes or so, untouched. DO NOT ADD SALT -- they won't brown as quickly or as well, as salt draws the water out. When sufficiently browned, add green onions and elephant garlic until they sweat. Add chopped beef and au jus/ beef broth (when a recipe calls for broth, I stir in the appropriate amount of "better than bouillion" and add the water when I want. This saves making the broth first and then adding it, which annoys me.) Add a cup of water, stir in mashed potatoes. Add more water to achieve desired thickness. Bring to a boil; reduce heat to simmer for about 20 minutes. Stir occasionally so potato solids don't burn onto the bottom of the pan. Taste and add salt as desired.

Voila! A tasty potato soup with no cream or milk. I imagine adding potato flakes would work just as well as mashed potatoes.

To round it out with something fresh and healthy, salad greens, chopped red peppers, and shredded carrots from Christmas dinner fit the bill.

Soup Kitchen

2009-12-26T14:04:00.000-08:00

I'm going to make this January "soup month". Every day (or every day I make dinner, which is every day), I will make a soup. I will probably make bread to accompany the soup, as one needs something substantial to look forward to when eating soup, but soup it will be. Needless to say, there will be much experimentation in the kitchen next month. If you have a good recipe to send my way, I'd love to have it. The calorie count isn't too important -- some of them will have to be rich to make the month bearable -- but no bacon cheddar potato soups, please! I'll keep all three of you updated and post recipes.

Organic

2009-12-18T17:11:00.000-08:00

If you eat organic spinach and get e. coli, you can at least take comfort in knowing that it's organic e. coli. It's got to be better for you, right?

Another Odd Exchange

2009-12-15T21:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we went to my in-laws for dinner. A school bus threatened to halt all traffic, so we sped up a little (you know you do it!), just missing the flashing red lights of horror.

Travis: "Look at all those high-schoolers waiting to catch the bus. They look like they're thirty."

Me: "That's because they are thirty and they're meeting their small children at the bus stop. School's over."

Travis: "Oh." And then, "please don't put this in your blog."

It was too good to pass up, Travis.

I'm Dreaming Of A Green Spring

2009-12-12T23:42:00.000-08:00

The dark days of December are upon us, and it's right about now that I start thinking fondly of gardening. This is strange: I don't actually like gardening. It's difficult for me to consistently care for growing things (my poor kids!). A plant coming out of the ground in the same spot I put a seed in the ground startles me -- I think it's a weed and have to stop myself from pulling it out. But I'm planning a huge overhaul of my front yard. Here's my plan:

*Plant a hedge of blueberries bordering the street.
*Expand my alpine strawberry patch one more row.
*Remove the Japanese maple and replace it with a fig tree. YUM.
*Add one more vegetable plot.
*Raze the useless, ornamental fruit trees at the side of the house (yeah, out of four trees, I found one crabapple this summer. And who really wants crabapples?) and plant 3 dwarf apple trees (one late August producer, one late September producer, and one late October producer. The October apple keeps all winter and even improves in flavor, apparently.) and a butternut tree.
*Build a patch exclusively used for winter gardening.

So there's my list of all the things I'm not actually going to do, but will dream about doing all winter long.

Sea Creatures

2009-12-07T09:34:00.001-08:00

Verdicts from the two-year old:

Mama is a fish
Daddy is a sea anemone
She is an octupus
Baby brother is a shark

Goals for the Week

2009-12-06T23:53:00.000-08:00

1. Clean my room.
2. Work all day, every day cleaning up so my house can look like a burglar swept through it rather than a hurricane.
3. Don't yell back at my tantrum-prone two year old.
4. Um, that covers it.

The Room of Rumination

Conversations With the Little People

There Are Some Things You Just Don't Get Second Chances On

Caramelized Apple and Quinoa Breakfast Cereal

Things to Remember Next Christmas

How Little Girls Play War

Dylan's Interests

Which Is It?

Another 9/11 Post

Cowboys and Aliens: A Synopsis/Review

What I Love

And That's Why I Don't Lie To My Kids

A Few Notes On Dylan

An Unwitting Condemnation Of My Housekeeping Skills

Making A Goal

And After That the Dark

If The Organ Fits

Rated For Un-Mature Audiences Only

What Did You Learn In Nursery Today?

If I Ran The World's Research Labs

Why I Hate My Body

No Princesses, Please

You Know You're At The End Of Your Rope When

How To Tame Your Three Year Old

Dear Microsoft Word,

Personal Notes

A Minute In The Life

No! Don't Spoil It!

Syrian Green Beans

All About Abby: Miscellanea Bound With A Common Theme

What Are Little Girls Made Of?

Forecast Cloudy

A State Of Confucion

All Creatures Of Our God And King, II

Almond-Crusted Chicken Breast

I Actually Completed A Project. Kind of. Well, My Husband And FIL Did.

Good Job, Cousin Molly

All Creatures of Our God and King

In Your Dreams

The Booty Bump

Bad Idea of the Day

The Horror! The Horror!

Roadside Attractions

I Can See Why People Get Flustered By The English Language

Dylan's Personal Ad

Guy's Night Out

Things That Are Making Life Slightly More Difficult Than They Could Be

A Moment To Myself

Jumping For Joy

Message For Dylan

Crockpot Yogurt

Picky Eaters

Boil Thou First I' The Charmed Pot

Here's A Crazy Idea

If You Need To Laugh

Typhoid Mary

#$*&, *&^%, !*&#

Gardening

Bedtime Routine

What Is This Feeling?

The Deep Clean

Good Thing My Husband Doesn't Read My Blog

Mormonism:

Cutting Off Your Nose And All That

Guilty Confession of the Day

March 14th: Daylight Savings Time

Olympians

Cioccolata!

Things I Love

Biohazard

A Tip For Angry Commenters Everywhere

Ribollita

Jeanelle's Favorite Soup

Ask Elizabeth: Dating Advice For Girls

Photo Post For The Year

I Will Never Like to Cycle Or Swim Or Ski Or Raft Or Kayak Or Do Anything Other Than Depend On My Own Two Feet.

Suffer The Fools

Pork And Pink Beans With Cornbread Croutons

Pasta e Fagioli

This Week's Menu

#$&, &^%, !*&#