In Memoriam

Tonight our friend, M in Chicago, died from breast cancer.

As you may recall, we visited her in Chicago this fall to say goodbye, knowing that the good days were numbered. She was surrounded at home by friends, family, and her 99 year old mom, in the last days, and was sung to as she died by friends from the chorus to which we had belonged.

We remember her tonight and always as a supportive, humorous, generous, loyal, pragmatic, jolly, strong woman and will miss her dearly. Please keep her and her partner K in your thoughts.

With the recent losses among the families of our friends, but also the incredible number of new babes here or on their way, we are reminded of the circle of life, its beautiful and harsh realities.

And don't forget your (or those of the women in your life) monthly self exams and annual mammograms, please.

Good night, sweet Queen, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

For Our Friend in Chicago

We received word this evening that our friend M in Chicago has entered the last day or two of her illness.

We love and remember her, lighting a candle on our altar to accompany her on this journey. Our love goes out to her and her partner, family, and friends.

Sun and Moon

There seems to be an astronomical theme to our conversations today.

This morning, while watching--can you guess?--"Ni Hao, Kai-Lan," DD (oh, goodness was it DS? Sometimes I forget) remarked that "Mr. Sun" on the tv was Kai-Lan's sun, which was not the same as the sun in Barney's song, "Mr Golden Sun." Nor was it the same as our plain sun. This seemed perplexing.

The moon only added to the problem. DS spotted the moon as we left our playgroup today (mmmm, such yummy food--recipes follow). Immediately, there were requests for our moon songs--"I See the Moon," which is my family's staple; "Moon, Moon, Moon" by Laurie Berkner; and the very appropriate one we learned at the library:

Sister Moon, Sister Moon
You're out too soon
The sun is high in the sky
Go back to bed
Cover up your head
And wait for the day to go bye-bye-bye
Wait for the day to go by.

Then DD ran off looking for the sun in the opposite direction (not realizing that it was hazy and the sun was hiding to her left).

Eventually we got in the car, napped, and came home. I suggested we look for the moon at our house. But oh, no, this was not right--the moon, I was told (mercy, I forgot by whom again), was at Miss B's house, not ours. Apparently, our moon only comes out at night.

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Aunt Mary's Chicken

chicken breasts
cream of mushroom soup
milk
Swiss cheese
Pepperidge Farm stuffing
butter

I think its like a bunch of boiled chicken breasts cubed ­ enough to fill the bottom of the rectangle dish. Then a can of cream of mushroom soup with a half a can of milk mixed together, poured over top. Then a package of Swiss cheese layed over top. Then a package of Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix (the herb kind) with some melted butter sprinkled on top. Bake @ 350 for like 35- 45 min until its lightly browned on top and bubbly on the sides.

Miss B


Mushroom Asparagus Quiche

1-8 oz tube refrigerated crescent rolls
2 teaspoons prepared mustard
1 1/2 lbs fresh asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1/2" pieces
1 medium onion, chopped
1/2 cup sliced fresh mushrooms
1/4 cup butter, cubed
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 cups (8 oz) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup minced fresh parsley
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon each dried basil, oregano, and rubbed sage

Separate crescent dough into eight triangles; place in an ungreased 9" pie plate with points toward the center. Press onto the bottom and up the sides to form a crust; seal perforation. Spread with mustard; set aside.

In a large skillet, saute the asparagus, onion, and mushrooms in butter until asparagus is crisp-tender. In a large bowl, combine the remaining ingredients; stir in asparagus mixture. Pour into crust.

Bake at 375 F for 2-30 minutes or until a knife inserted near the edge comes out clean. Let stand for 5 minutes before cutting.

Miss E via Taste of Home


Oatmeal Scotchies

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine, softened (used 3/4 cup vegan "butter" sticks)
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract or grated peel of 1 orange (used the vanilla)
3 cups quick or old-fashioned oats
1 2/3 cups (11-ounce package) butterscotch chips

PREHEAT oven to 375° F.

COMBINE flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon in small bowl. Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, eggs and vanilla extract in large mixer bowl. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in oats and morsels. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased baking sheets.

BAKE for 7 to 8 minutes for chewy cookies or 9 to 10 minutes for crisp cookies. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.

PAN COOKIE VARIATION: GREASE 15 x 10-inch jelly-roll pan. Prepare dough as above. Spread into prepared pan. Bake for 18 to 22 minutes or until very lightly browned. Cool completely in pan on wire rack. Makes 4 dozen bars.

Nestle Butterscotch Chips bag (I brought these in pan cookie form)

Happy Hearts Day

A love-filled and joyful Valentine's Day to everyone, plus a belated "Happy Birthday" to my friend V in Virginia and a good luck to my friends L and K who might have a baby today.

As for us, we exchanged cards this morning and the kids received two new puzzles (not because I think you should get gifts today but because I'd found them two days ago at Target--DS and DD have recently graduated from peg puzzles with single pieces in a hole to jigsaw puzzles. And we didn't have any.)

Perhaps apropos for a holiday about love and pink and hearts, we woke up in full princess mode. DD went to bed normal and this morning she is a Princess. I think it must be because there was a Little Bear episode recently entitled "Princess Duck." Getting dressed this morning, she chose a dress Ar-Ma got in Thailand, a Western party dress with white taffeta skirt and tuile overlay with a red velvet top and little ribbon flowers. Right colors for today, though more summer than February. And so, when we got downstairs, she twirled around and hopped up and down, checking out the physics of her skirt. She hasn't been in a skirt since Christmas and not regularly since summer. She was even talking about herself in the third person--"The Princess likes to eat." Then she wanted a crown, so I made a paper one and we affixed sticky flowers and butterflies. When I took it off to size it, she said, "Now I am just plain ----."

Never plain, DD, never plain.

For those of you who have assumed I am anti-Princess or anti-girly because I'm kind of a granola lesbian, I'm not. I had several princess phases myself, including Princess Leia and Queen Guenevere, as well as Snow White and Belle. I loved dressing up in long skirts (still do, you should see me in Ren Faire season!) and always wanted a fru-fru dress of the kind she has on now. What I am against is girls growing up to believe all they can be is pretty and decorative, that their only goal in life should be to find Prince Charming. I don't like the early maturation and sexualization, especially objectification of girls these days, very much abetted by the adult women in their lives (my friend Lambeth sends me articles and stories about the trials of boyhood, mainly because I know nothing about boyhood. But in all truth, it is girlhood in our society that scares me more). I also don't like the marketing barage--Disney has something like 200,000 different Princess Collection items alone--being special shouldn't be about what kinds of things you can buy. So, we're going to stress positive princess values--being strong and smart and doing good. It is no coincidence that DD's Chinese name has the same base as Mulan.

Or that we called her "The Empress" at birth.

Mind you, empresses beat out princesses anyday.

A New Person in My Life

And her name is Kai-Lan.

She's animated, a character on a new show on NickJr.

And she's Chinese-American. In fact, she's Chinese Dora.

We've been watching the same two episodes for two days now. The Dragonboat Races and the Ants' Playground. And the kids love it. Better than Dora, better than Little Bear.

Which is fine by me. Except I can't seem to catch the Chinese. As I wrote in a blog recently regarding Thai, I just don't hear the various tones and inflections that are so key to these languages. At one point, Kai-Lan is contrasting "up" and "down" and for the life of me I can't hear a difference, even when DP tried to help (she knows enough Mandarin from school to do that). I would strongly encourage Nickelodeon to put glossaries online for us poor lost parents (something I hoped they'd do with Dora, too, as my Spanish is only slightly better than my Chinese, though I hear it more clearly and am better able to repeat it). That way we can reinforce it between episodes (though, for now, on this rainy/snowy February day, we're watching them back to back).

I should add here that, in a waxing mood of Chinese-ophilia, which usually swamps DP around the New Year, we have looked into Chinese language school and will be signing them up for classes beginning in March. I get to go too. I'm actually pretty excited. I've wanted them to be bilingual and think Chinese will be great. I know DP has always felt removed from the Chinese community because she speaks better Thai than Mandarin (or Chou Jo, her family's dialect). Perhaps we can spare DD and DS that, as much as possible.

But back to "Ni Hao, Kai Lan." It looks Japanese to me, in that anime/Hello Kitty kind of way but that's okay. I like the approach in the show. The creators call it "biculturalism," in addition to "bilingualism," and are trying to stress aspects of Chinese and Chinese-American culture in the narratives. So far, this has involved a focus on teamwork and on staying calm. I haven't seen many episodes--they started last week to coincide with Chinese New Year, but we only started recording it this week, so we're behind.

I imagine we'll catch up. For those of us raising Chinese or bi-racial children without our own background in Chinese or Chinese culture (though I know more about Chinese art than DP from my schooling and years in museums), this show is a perfect way to help integrate that knowledge into our daily activities.

I should say that I'm on record for coming up with the idea first (or at least before they publicized it). About a year ago, when we first watched Dora, I told DP we should create Chinese Dora, especially with the ready audience of Chinese adoptees with non-Chinese parents in the country. So I'm glad to see that somewhere the universe was listening.

If only I could get royalties from all the merchandise I'm sure we'll be buying soon!

Two Shorts

I can't identify cars, except by color and number of doors. The status attributed to BMW, Lexus, Audi, whatever, means nothing to me. And so, I was surprised the other day when, from DS in the backseat, I heard, "Mommy, that's a Jeep. Jeeps have tires on the back. Let's find more Jeeps." Huh, did you know that Jeeps often have tires on the back? Sure enough. And now we spot them wherever we go.

-=-=-=-=

During Sunday school this week, the woman who volunteered in the nursery--one of our favorite octagenarians Miss Louise--drew a picture of DD. With curly hair. DD apparently quickly (and hopefully nicely), "I don't have curly hair. You have curly hair."

And indeed, Miss Louise's hair is curly.

I guess DD likes her art realistic.

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Religious Art*

*but were afraid to ask.

When I originally spoke to our minister regarding a sermon on Religious Images of Love, my first thoughts were in keeping with my academic training and life experience: Madonna and Child, a common religious image of maternal love and devotion from the Western canon. This won’t surprise those of you who know that I am a stay-at-home mom with 2 year old twins, or those of you who know that my academic background is in European painting. Actually, I had at first tried to conjure up romantic images, with the sermon being near Valentine’s Day. Religious romantic images. Sit and think on that for a moment. Can you see any? The only ones I thought of—the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden or of Holofernes, who literally loses his head for Judith—were more love gone bad. And I certainly couldn’t imagine any images reflecting my romantic reality—pictures of lesbians. From the Bible. Or any religious text. So, in the western canon, anyway, the religious images of love I could think of were Madonnas.

But as I continued my personal inventory of religious images of love, I began to step outside the Western canon and discovered several that would qualify—Ibeji twin figures commemorating a deceased child’s spirit, Navajo wedding baskets used to serve corn to the newly married couple and guests, or the Taj Mahal, an architectural monument to a man’s love for his wife. And of course, the Kama Sutra, the Hindu how-to manual of physical pleasure and romantic relationships. Could I talk about, much less show an image from the Kama Sutra, on a Sunday morning, in church?

Luckily for us UUs, and I say this as I stand next to the rainbow flag in the church where I was married to my partner, both the terms “love” and “religious” can be defined broadly and encompass many works of art. This is not, of course, the case in all religious traditions. While there are human representations throughout the history of Islamic art, it is generally frowned upon by the clerics and prohibited in religious works. Similarly, the rules regarding the painting of icons of the Madonna, for instance, remain in some Eastern Orthodox traditions very specific.

I began to wonder what makes an image religious. Does it need to be commissioned by or hung in a religious institution? What about works of art no longer in their original locations--is a Madonna and Child still religious on the walls of the Met? You (almost) never see anyone praying to those. Is a work of art religious if it embodies a spiritual theme, such as Felix Gonzalez Torres's portrait of his boyfriend in candy? Titian ponders the meaning of love in Sacred and Profane Love, but the allegory is not a biblical one. Does the subject need to be overtly religious, from a specific text? I’ve already mentioned the fate of romantic love in the Bible, such as Judith and Holofernes, but since I have two great slides, I’ll mention it again. This leads us back to Madonnas— Fra Fillippo Lippi, a Carmelite monk, painted two beautiful Madonnas, using as his model his pregnant girlfriend, who was also a nun (depending on the story you read, he kidnapped her from her convent and was also later kidnapped himself by Barbary pirates). If true, would these be religious? As you saw in the opening montage, many of the works of art do not depict biblical or religious subjects, but love—of friends, families, parents, siblings. And so, for today, for me, these are religious or perhaps more appropriately, spiritual images. They address something inherent to the human condition and speak to us about what it means to be human.

Finally, I realized that the pulpit is much different than the academic podium. The art historian's approach to religious images is generally factual, not personal or spiritual, but objective, essentially stripping the work of art of its passion, i.e. not receiving it in the way it was meant to be received. So my homily will restore some of that passion to my project as an art historian, because these "images of love" are images I love--they refresh my spirit, engage my mind, rekindle a passion that has been a focus of my life for 15 years. So let us abandon the pulpit, and the podium, as I take you on a tour of images to see what art and religion can offer up about love for Valentine's Day.

Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s Untitled (Portrait of Ross) from 1991 was one of my favorite tour stops when I guided students and seniors and hundreds of other visitors through the galleries of the Art Institute of Chicago. Because, it is simply a pile of candy on the floor. The best part? You’re supposed to take a piece. Touch the art. Eat the art. Kids got it right away and would lunge for the candy only warily looking at the guards afterwards. Adults almost never took a piece until I did. And as days passed, the pile of candy would shrink from its original 175 lbs down to nothingness, when the candy company would then refill the pile. It was delightful, delectable, delicious. The sensuous nature of the experience—the sound of unwrapping plastic in a near-silent museum, the taste of the sweet hard candy—always seemed to me to call forth ideas of love and sex. Even holy communion, for this is a minimalist meditation on love and loss. This untitled work is a portrait of the artist’s lover, Ross Bleckner, who, like the artist, was HIV positive and died of AIDS. His ideal weight before he was ill was 175 lbs. And as we eat the candy from the pile—supposedly Ross had quite a sweet tooth—we watch the pile wither away, as Ross did. Even when the pile of candy was disturbingly small, I always grabbed a piece, wanting to participate in this touching memorial to love.

Another stop on my tours of the Art Institute was the small Ancient Greek Galleries, one of my favorite places in the museum. Amid the vitrines of Greek vases, was the Varrese Painter’s Loutrophoros of 365 BCE. On this vase, women prepared a young bride for a wedding—mirrors, jewels, garlands, anointing oils—everything she would need for the ceremony. A small loutrophoros is actually depicted on the vase, as it was used for the ritual bathing of the intended. Of course, this being ancient Greece, romantic love was not the basis for marriages, which like in many other historical periods, was intended to strengthen family position and wealth. But the delicacy and intricacy of the representation of the preparations belie that and recalls many young girl fantasies about weddings. Unfortunately, in this case, there were no weddings. Large loutrophoroi such as this one were not used in weddings but as grave markers for young unmarried girls. Families would place such vases on gravesites and pour libations of wine and oil through the jars, which have holes in the bottom so that the offerings can soak into the ground. It is another beautiful, but sad, monument to love and loss.

As the Greeks declared of love, “tis de bios, ti de terpnon, ater cruses Aphrodites”—what is life? What is love? Without Golden Aphrodite?—Renaissance artists often contemplated the lives and loves of the ancient world. Sandro Botticelli. The Birth of Venus. One of the most famous works of art in the Western canon. Scholars debate the meaning and the inspiration for the painting of the Goddess of Love rising from the sea at her birth and being greeted by the zephyrs and a goddess of spring. Was Botticelli inspired by written descriptions of a famous ancient painting? The woman who modeled for Venus was probably the lover of the Medici prince who commissioned the work at the time of her marriage to someone else. He managed to save the picture when many of Botticelli’s other pagan-themed paintings were being burned by the zealous cleric Savonarola, in a case of religion being very controlling of art. But what I see when I look at this painting is not the nude pagan Goddess that upset Savonarola, nor the woman who posed as the goddess for her lover. I see the work of art in front of which I stood at the Uffizi in Florence and decided I should switch my major from Classical Studies to Art History during my senior year in college. I have seen reproductions of this painting most of my life—it is the favorite work of art of my favorite aunt, after whom DD is named. It was because of her that I took a bus from Rome, not exactly knowing where I was going and speaking no Italian, and finally made it to the museum 15 minutes before closing, running up the stairs to see only this painting. I cannot separate the actuality of Botticelli’s painting from memories of my aunt or the affects this painting had on me. It is the emotion the work creates in me that I remember.

The nude body of Venus is demurely hidden by her hands and hair. Not so the case of women in the Kama Sutra. Yes, I can’t not talk about the Kama Sutra. But I have no personal connection to it—I’ve never been to India, the AIC had no prints, at least not on display. In fact, finding an image to show you has been a challenge. But I wanted to include it because I know next to nothing about its historical origins and wanted to learn. The 36-chapter work compiled by Vatsyayana in the 2^nd century CE is not a sex manual nor a sacred text, but a discussion of the aims of ancient Hindu life with the kama, or enjoyment of the senses, placed in context with the dharma or virtuous living and artha, material prosperity. There are sections on making money, finding a wife, making yourself attractive, and, of course, sex. It is this last part, through translations by Sir Richard Burton, known traveler and explorer, in 1883 as well as numerous illustrations that pervade popular culture and the internet. But the most fascinating of the representations of the Kama Sutra, for me, are the temples at Khajuraho, about 400 miles southeast of New Delhi. There, on some of the 22 temples of this World Heritage Site built during the Chandela empire of the 10^th and 11^th centuries, are erotic representations inspired by the Kama Sutra. These are not depictions of deities making love, but of human beings expressing their physical natures. There are also pictures of other aspects of daily life—women getting dressed, farmers and potters at work. In the most famous of these, the Kandariya Mahadeo, a Jain temple (the temples in the complex are from a variety of sects) dedicated to Lord Shiva, there are erotic images of lovers around the bottom of the exterior of the temple, representing human’s base emotions. Towards the top are deities. There are no erotic images inside, as physical needs have been abandoned for spiritual ones, though the inner sanctum contains a giant lingam, a phallic symbol of the god. Like the Kama Sutra itself, the temple sculptures embrace various aspects of life. It is only our modern culture that privileges the sexual over the daily and so I can show you few images of the temple itself.

Speaking of few images, I will end with lesbians, since that is where I tried to begin. The representation of women by women is rare in the history of western art—as famed art historian Linda Nochlin queries, “Why Are there No Great Women Artists?” But the advent of photography evened the playing field which had been tilted by access to education and the ability to practice a profession in the favor of female photographers. Eva Watson Schutze. Clementina Lady Hawarden. Julia Margaret Cameron. Alice Austen. The last lived on Staten Island, in a 17^th century house you can still visit. And throughout the end of the 19^th through the early 20^th century, she recorded her life there at Clear Comfort. Images of herself in a ballgown, of her trips to the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, of her pugs, but mostly of her friends—riding bicycles, dressing up as men, embracing. These pictures of women’s friendship, of a world not often visualized from the inside, of the love these friends had for one another, these pictures were almost lost when Alice Austen lost her house and belongings after the stock market crash of 1929, but the glass plates were saved and someone recognized their value. Amid these plates are pictures of Gertrude Tate, and while the official National Historic Site doesn’t like to mention Gertrude, she met Alice in 1892, moved in with her in 1917, and was her companion until Alice entered a nursing home in 1945. And so I will end with this image of love, of the love of women, of the love of friends. We’ve come a long way from religion and the bible, but these, for me, are no less spiritual.

And I ask you, what works of art do you love? What works of art represent the love in your life?

Blogs I Have Yet to Write

Here are some titles or descriptions of blogs that are swirling in my head but that I have yet had time to write up:

**Sing Gia Eu Ei--or Happy Chinese New Year--our family's festivities
**Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Religious Images in Art--or my sermon at church
**Community cookbooks--thoughts on these and the one my church is making
**Art in general--some observations about art with children and why the library crafts drive me nuts

Those are the ones I can think of now.

Conversation Overheard at the Starbucks

Man on phone: It looks like hell up here in Connecticut.

(unknown response)

Man on phone: Yeah, everyone is wearing the Dark Mark.

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Don't you know that Pope Benedict (especially Pope Benedict) would not like the connection of Harry Potter to Ash Wednesday?

Sawasdee

I'm learning a new language. No, not brushing up on my ancient Greek, Latin, French, or German, all of which I've taken in various forms over the years. Not ASL, at which I consider myself a beginning conversant--I can sign with people who are deaf if they are patient and I don't get too nervous and "stutter." The kids think I'm a pro at sign language when I sign along with Rachel on those wonderful "Signing Times" videos.

Not even the Italian that I've always wanted to learn beyond the ordering of gelato and the asking after directions to the bathroom or Forum.

And not the predictable Chinese of the kiddos' racial origins.

Nope, I'm learning Thai, the language of DP's family.

(For those of you keeping track, the family is racially Chinese. All four grandparents left China before the Cultural Revolution. Both Ma and Gong were raised in the immigrant Chinese community in Thailand, which at the time was fairly anti-Chinese. Hence the Thai names--DP's last name is an anglicazation of their Thai last name. DS's middle name is the family's Chinese name. Gong speaks and writes Mandarin, as well as the local dialect that Ma also knows).

And I'm terrible. You might have thought from that list of languages I've studied that I'm great at languages, but truth is I'm awful--I can't communicate verbally in anything but English. And let us not now bemoan the state of Americans' linguistic abilities--we're, in general, atrocious, which is just one reason we're going to teach the kids Thai. And then Chinese. And more ASL. And then Italian! In Thai, I can't really hear the five tonal inflections of the language and thus really can't duplicate them. But the will is there and the tools. DP bought Rosetta Stone so I can practice by myself--practicing with her makes me nervous and might lead to trouble. Sometimes it's best not to take lessons from a loved one.

Why? Well, I've been harrassing DP for two years to speak to the kiddos in Thai but she finds it difficult to generate conversation by herself. She's as self-conscious speaking Thai to them as I am to her. She doesn't think she speaks very well, even though it sounds fine to me. But we want them to learn another language and their grandparents are native speakers and it is the culture of the family. They need consistent exposure to the language so I need to be the one to speak it to them, which means I need to learn it. Ma and Gong can fix the accent later.

So far, I know words for man, woman, girl, boy, cat, dog, car, plane, and a few colors. It doesn't make for great conversation but I can at least point and repeat. For now, I'm ignoring all the lessons on reading and writing--even DP can't do that--there are something like 44 letters and all these accent marks and I only really need to speak it.

Wish me luck!

Babies, Babies Everywhere

No, it's not me.

But my friends Miss L and Mr K are currently very much in a protracted labor--she's been contracting since Sunday, but 7 minutes apart not the requisite 5 so she's still at home. I hope those contractions speed up and she has this baby! It's been a really long 9 months for her and we're all anxious to meet the little one.

And my friend L in NYC should have had her little girl in the last few days. Hope all is well!

And within the month, it'll be Miss A and Mr K's turn.

Also, to my friend who is pregnant, many congratulations! We are very excited for you. Let us know if we can help out in any way. And let me know your favorite colors for the baby so I can start a blanket!

Laurie Berkner Redux

My friends thought I was crazy . . . again.

And none of them wanted to come with us.

But we bought tickets anyway.

And today we saw The Laurie Berkner Band in concert. Again.

"Again" if you count the twenty minutes we saw of them at Carnegie Hall.

Today was everything that day wasn't. Except the friends who sat with us and the food, because lunch at Carnegie Deli beats Friendly's anytime (in our defense, we had wanted to go to the more local Chowder Pot but the wait was too long).

But otherwise, there was no long train ride, no time change, no great long walk, no marathon to work around, no late start (even later because the person who introduced them went too long), no 4th balcony front row seats with a steep drop, and no missed nap early afternoon breakdown.

It was perfect. We had an easy drive to Hartford listening to baroque music on NPR. "Violin sounds?" DS asked. "That's your favorite instrument," DD reminded him. We parked across the street from the theater and walked right in. A quick trip to the bathroom, followed by a long raisin and cereal snack to ward off hunger, and we went to our orchestra-level aisle seats, with our shaky eggs brought from the last concert.

And I heard every song. And so did DS. And DD, though she left a few times to shop with DP, who brought back little beanie tigers and t-shirts for the 3 of us (sans her) and the songbook and storybooks, heard most songs, got to shake her egg to the "I Know a Chicken" song and put her tiger on her head when Laurie put a pig on hers. She danced in the aisles, marched like a dinosaur, and crawled around meowing like the cat who came back. Meanwhile, DS sat on my lap mesmerized. I think he only laughed or spoke during "I'm Gonna Catch You" when I mercilessly tickled him. But you could tell he was having a marvelous time, taking it all in. I think DP had a great time too, once she got comfortable with DD running up and down the aisles with all the bigger kids. No doubt DD will tell us tomorrow what Susie was wearing. And DS will talk about Laurie's blue and purple guitars.

I'm so glad we went. And it made me so glad we'd gone to Carnegie Hall too. That experience wasn't a waste. I think it made the experience today possible--we're older, wiser, better prepared.

Can't wait for the next one! In Hartford, at Carnegie Hall, for Laurie Berkner, or for violins . . .

Making My Cake and Eating it Too

I have a friend who makes gorgeous cakes and cookies. She has a real talent for the design and execution of clever and cute cakes. Last year, she did the twins' birthday cake--completely allergen-free and totally edible, I might add--with it's perfect rice krispie barn, lake and field, and little animals. It made the party. And so, inspired by her skill, I've wanted to learn how to decorate cakes and cookies too.

And on Friday I had my first lesson. She came over and let me help with the decoration of a cake for our first annual Groundhog Day Open House. She found the design online--a groundhog coming out of a hole with forest around him--very cute. To prep, I made the cake. It was an easy box mix--with some changes to bulk it up (add an extra egg and double the oil, plus a box of complementary pudding mix)--but, knowing her talents, I was actually nervous about making (and messing up the cake). Luckily, it turned out okay, flat even.

She brought over all the colors, decorating tips, and icing and fondant ingredients. First fondant--1 cup marshmallows and 1 tablespoon water heated in the microwave for 20 seconds--add colors and then stir in 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar until manageable by hand. She made the green tree cones and I made the little fat groundhog. Thank heavens for my polymer clay modeling days--the consistency is the same so I had some experience. And this tasted better! She then became icing the cake. First a crumb coat and then a border of green stars. We opted for "grass" and so she started making little clumps of grass. I was surprised and pleased that I got a chance to try--I wasn't very good, but that only seemed to matter to me. She (and DP who was in the kitchen making chili for the gathering) was very encouraging and only filled in the most glaring gasp. She added facial details to the groundhog and then began putting leaves on the trees. This was harder and I wasn't sure I would manage but I did a whole tree by myself. And then she added a touch of snow, since it isn't quite spring here yet anyway. It was marvelous, both the cake and the lesson. Thanks, T! The cake made the party and I can't wait for my next lesson. Cookies, maybe??

-=-=-=-=

The eating of the cake was one of the highlights of the party. DD and DS had spotted the cake--protected by an upturned clear plastic tub--as soon as they entered the kitchen yesterday morning. And DD could barely contain her enthusiasm for several hours. That and decorating the groundhog cookies we made which were the activity of the party made her little cup runneth over.

The party started late in the afternoon, with tons of food--turkey and vegetarian chili, plus snacks, and rainbow punch--and lots of friends. Just in time for the start of the party, some dear (and big strong) friends moved our sleeper couch downstairs into the playroom, permanently, providing extra seating. There was groundhog decor galore--DP had seen to that with two external flags, a hat with stuffed groundhog and some earrings for me, and a stuffed groundhog that DD co-opted. For awhile, DD was totally absorbed in decorating groundhog cookies with chocolate frosting, chips, sprinkles, and colored sugars. Between gulps of punch, DS decorated some too. But soon she wanted cake.

So we took the cake out to the middle of the room and . . . sang "Happy Birthday" to the groundhog. Because that's what you do when you have cake, right? I'll remember candles next year. Because we want this to be a yearly party. We used to have a Christmas/December open house and have also had a few summer BBQ parties but a). didn't want to compete with all the Christmas festivities anymore and b). much prefer cool weather to hot (and besides we'll always be having their birthdays in the summer). We want to have an annual party, something people will hopefully look forward to, and, since I'm a big fan of groundhogs (I always seem to spot them on the Merritt Parkway), I chose this date. Besides, who else has a groundhog party? Several guests told me they'd never even heard of such a thing. Which explains the lack of themed paper goods and evite invitations.

Mark your calendars for next year . . . the cake will be great!

(DS thought this one was excellent. He spent the rest of the party eating the grass. And that's after trying to devour a tree and my groundhog. It's a wonder we got him to bed).

Can You Have Enough Lincoln Logs?

We, or, uh, the kids got Lincoln Logs for Christmas this year and it's one of my favorite toys. I somehow distinctly remember building cabins with the little wooden logs when I was a kid. Were these my sister's? How old was I? I think I can picture me on the floor of her old room next to the closet building little houses. I especially remember lining up flat green slats on red triangular braces to make roofs.

The sets have changed--they come with plastic pieces like people and already-constructed roofs. But just not that many pieces. One woodlander set was barely enough for DS much less both DD and DS. And they both wanted to play--if I split the logs, they could each make a wobbly house about 2" tall. We began to make "flat" houses, or floorplans, because it was the best we could do and the only way their little animals would fit. So we started looking for a bigger set. The stores were wiped out so DP ordered a big kit off the internet.

It arrived last night and they were thrilled. It was hard to get them up to bed. There were longer logs, more logs, some new roof pieces. Fantastic. But because DS especially likes to build towers, it was still not enough. He kept pillaging DD's pile. He wanted a house and a "Great Wall of China" (yes, I'm serious). So this morning at 7:00 a.m., DP fetched a set from her car that she'd purchased before locating the big set on the internet. And now there are more long logs and more roof pieces. But only 1 ladder and 1 window and 1 door. ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

I know, I know, we should be teaching them to take turns (sharing isn't a concept for them right now--besides, how can you share one door between 2 log cabins?) and we try but we also want them to have what they need to create and their imaginations are as big as . . . the Great Wall.

For now, the entire set, is in timeout because two frustrated toddlers (are they really still toddlers at 2 1/2? We're not in preschool yet, though), threw them all on the floor and wouldn't pick them up. I think they were actually relieved that I took them away.

At least that buys me some time to figure out where I can inexpensively purchase yet more Lincoln Logs.

(P.S. Another thing I had not forgotten: those darned logs hurt when you accidentally step on them, especially the little ones. Good thing my PT has me wearing shoes inside now!)

Mutually Exclusive Ideas

I have been bombarded recently with articles, books, and thoughts about food, its origins, and the future of our society, both its health and the planet's. I read in an article just today (in the Best Food Writing of 2005, I'll get the citation) that regular, non-organic apple trees are treated with up to 400 different chemical compounds in order to make them grow. The article went on to say that it is no wonder the taste of apples has deteriorated while our cancer rates have risen. And then the Minimalist, Mark Bittman, has jumped on the eat-less-meat because it's better for you and for the planet bandwagon (a la Michael Pollan). Just reading about the cows was enough to make my stomach turn. And, if that wasn't enough, DP came home with Pollan's In Defense of Food from Costco last night. This is the book with its summary on the front illustration--"Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." Of course, I'm sympathetic with many of these ideas. And eat organic and mostly real food most of the time.

But as I was reading that apple article, I was eating a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Uh-huh. From you-know-where. What a contrast! And, while WW promotes healthy living, many of its recipes and those posted by its members on the message board contain items that Pollan (and my grandmothers) wouldn't recognize as food--dry cake mix baked with only diet soda, anyone? And I've eaten that too. Sometimes my boundaries between avoiding chemicals and losing weight with foods that aren't are blurry.

Just for full disclosure, the kids had McNuggets, but they don't get ww cake mix. We made what I would consider to be much healthier, real food oatmeal bars earlier this morning.

In honor of my embrace of this dichotomy, I include both recipes.

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Diet Soda Cake Cobbler
1 pkg regular white cake mix dry
24 oz frozen berries
20 oz diet soda

Put frozen fruit on bottom of baking pan 13x9. Sprinkle cake mix over the fruit. Pour soda over cake. Do not stir cake mix in. Cover pan with foil and bake 20 minutes, uncover and bake 30 minutes or longer at 350.


Oatmeal Bars

The recipe for homemade fillings are in the BH&G cookbook, but the jams work well too. A note: a layer of toasted almonds adds to the crunch; you can also sprinkle untoasted almonds on the top (but not for the kids).

Makes 25

1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup quick-cooking oats
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ cup butter
1-10 oz. jar of preserve

In a mixing bowl, combine flour, oats, brown sugar, and baking soda. Cut in butter til mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Reserve ½ cup of the flour mixture. Press remaining flour mixture into the bottom of an ungreased 9 x 9 x 2 inch baking pan. Spread with desired filling. Sprinkle with reserved flour mixture.

Bake in 350°F oven for 30 to 35 minutes or til the top is golden. Cool in the pan on a wire rack. Cut into bars.

Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook

Something for Everyone

Here's a dish we made this week: "unstuffed" cabbage.

It hasn't been an unqualified success, except to me and DP. In other words, despite onions for DS and meat for DD, they aren't entirely happy, though they did eat some of it. But I have a head cold (not a bad one, and I'd rather have that than the stomach flu, but I'm still a little slow off the block) and it is warm and comforting food.

And easy because it's another crockpot "dump" recipe.

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My Leader's "Unstuffed" Cabbage

1 head cabbage, shredded
1 onion, sliced
1 bell pepper, chopped
1 lb ground meat (we used turkey)
1-28 oz can crushed tomatoes
salt, pepper, garlic, other seasonings
(the original recipe--from my WW meetings--calls for a bag of Success brown rice. We just used steamed on the side)

Brown meat and place in slow cooker. Layer vegetables. Pour over tomatoes. Add seasonings to taste.

Serve over rice (or, if you have that bag of rice, cook it in the pot, with extra water as needed).

Proud Mommy

When I told our babysitter that DS had written his first letter, she believed I was a delusional proud mommy, as she recounted later. How is it that a 2 1/2 year old wrote the letter "T"? But I swear, he had. It had happened the night before. We were playing on our new wall-sized magnetic chalkboard (DP's weekend project was painting and painting and painting the 12 x 8' wall). DS said he needed the letters of his name and then he wrote a "t" and identified it as such (just so you know, his name doesn't actually start with a "t" though it has one). There it was, one vertical line with a tiny little lid. Definitely a "t," a capital one. Wow. So, I proudly told the babysitter the next day, when explaining the rules of the chalkboard (only chalk, only this wall), that DS had written a letter. And she didn't believe me.

Until he did it again for her, saying he was going to write a "t" and then doing it.

Now, to teach him the other letters in his name.

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We practice counting when we come across it. And usually we count one more than whatever item we're counting. DS even likes to jump from six to eleven, mainly, we think, because eleven rhymes with seven. And we haven't really stressed their ages to them. They don't understand time--not today, tomorrow, one week, a year. We'll get to these concepts when it's time (hee, hee). So, they don't really know how to wave their fingers in the sign of number "two" at anyone. Which is why I was floored at the library yesterday when DD managed to count not just "2" but one through five with her fingers!

I guess we should work on what it means.

A Trio of Recipes and Stories

We were at a playdate last week and DD loved the dessert the mom served at lunch--butterscotch brownies. I'm not much for butterscotch but these were good (DD ate hers and DS's and wanted another). So, the kind mom gave us a bag of butterscotch chips--she had several because these are her father-in-law's favorite treats. The next day, realizing we needed both a morning activity and something to take to playgroup in the afternoon, we made butterscotch brownies too. They loved watching my "cement" mixer make short work of the ingredients, which they'd helped me count as I measured. DD was even able to predict that we'd need flour and sugar. As usual, they loved the dough. But the brownies were good too. And since I'm much more partial to chocolate than butterscotch, I wasn't tempted to eat all the extras.

But DD was.

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine, softened (we used our substitute butter sticks)
1 3/4 cups packed brown sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1 2/3 cups (11-oz. pkg.) NESTLÉ® TOLL HOUSE® Butterscotch Morsels, divided
1 cup chopped nuts (not for us)

PREHEAT oven to 350° F.
COMBINE flour, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. Beat butter, sugar and vanilla extract in a large mixing bowl until creamy. Beat in eggs. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in 1 cup morsels and nuts. Spread into ungreased 13x9-inch baking pan. Sprinkle with remaining morsels.
BAKE for 30 to 40 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan on wire rack.

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We went to a Winter Babies party yesterday and the kids had a marvelous time hanging out with new, older kids. They got to play in the dark with flashlights and try out a lot of games that we don't have (one had bees and a hive, one had "cooties", another had dominos and little trains--I didn't think it was game time yet but perhaps it is). Oh, and DD got to play with a Diego toy and DS got to do a Thomas the Tank Engine puzzle. They both liked all the musical instruments. Heaven. DD's favorite part of the party (after playing with the flashing hand soap dispenser in the bathroom) was the host, the husband Mr. K, whom she likes a lot (we know them from church)--he is fun, and connects with kids on this special, intuitive level (he has 2 girls of his own and one baby on the way)--she made sure he got some of the cookies we made. But I think DS's favorite thing was the punch. And I had a favorite punch too, recipes below.

DS's Favorite Punch, a.k.a. How He Ate 2 Pints of Blueberries
1 bottle sparkling cider
1 container lemon sorbet
1 can of pineapple rings
1 pint of blueberries

Combine. Yum.

My Favorite Coffee Punch
1 pot of coffee (hot or cold)
cream to taste
1 container of coffee ice cream

Combine. Yum.

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At some point in the last few weeks, DP saw a show on tv about Louisiana cooking. She was half asleep while watching (I think this is when we were sick) but recalled this "seven steak" (and she's not sure of the title, the chef had a true Louisisana accent) recipe, with the holy trinity of ingredients--bell pepper, onion, and celery. My mom starts almost every dish she makes by sauteeing those three items. Anyway, she made us sandwiches with the meat today and it was incredible, almost reminiscent of the "debris" sandwiches we'd get at Mother's in New Orleans.

1 round roast, trimmed and cut into 1/2 inch "steaks" (this is because we bought the wrong roast to make Swiss Steak and needed to use it somehow)
1 box of celery
1 bell pepper
1 onion
salt, pepper
bay leaf
garlic

Finely chop vegetables--the trinity--in food processor. Saute.

Sear steaks on high a few at a time. Deglaze with water between batches and put steaks and drippings in slow cooker.

Add sauteed vegetables to slow cooker. Also add bay leaf, salt, pepper, and minced garlic to taste. Cook on low for 8-10 hours.

Towards the end, season to taste with all-purpose seasoning, a tad of sugar, more water.

Shred cooked beef with fork. Spoon onto hard rolls. Devour.

(P.S. I just found the real recipe online and DP, in her ill haze, still managed to get the name, and most of the recipe, fairly right.)

Control Issues

I have had an epiphany: it's all about control. And giving it to the children.

Now, sure, as we say, "mommy is in charge of health and safety." But outside of that, the power is up for grabs.

And understanding this has revitalized my menus, among other things. It happened over lunch. The kids had veggies and chicken with leftover rice. I was getting over the stomach flu and had chicken broth. And they wanted some. So, I spooned out some soup and they happily began to drop various foods from their plates into the soup bowls. And their choices were different. DS focused on rice and veggies. DD chose chicken and veggies.

I realized that most of our meals need to be "make your own." Not just tacos and pizza, but more complicated--pasta sauces, omelet inserts, meatloaf muffins, even cookies. Let the kids help make the food (not touching raw meat, of course), choosing what they want--control over and an investment in what they are eating. And they really enjoy cooking! I know I realized this idea when I served mixed veggies family style and let them pick their favorites off, but I can expand it to include the whole meal. And, if I do it right--say, start with baked chicken and they choose the sides, then the next day tortilla soup with chicken (do they want veggies? noodles or tortillas?), or chicken tacos--it can go on for days. Now I just have to start thinking up everything that they can "build their own." It's fun. And they'll eat it.

The Naming of Foods

Fat rascals. Spotted Dick. Chudleighs. Catterns. Banbury Cake. Eccles Cake. Chorley Cake. Richmond Maids of Honor. Pitcaithly bannock. Parkin. These are from our British friends, who have the best names.

But we have some of our own: Lady Baltimore Cake. Hummingbird Cake. Charlotte Russe (okay, probably not specifically ours).

Such glorious names. Makes me want to track them down and try them.

What has happened to food names? Now, all my cookbooks and magazines use such pedantic names--chicken with capers and tomatoes, chocolate almond bundt cake--where's the romance? where's the fantasy? I like the old names.

We're not very creative at our house, yet, with names. The kids want to know what's in a food. Are there onions? How about corn? And who made it? If it's Gong's chicken, that's the best (even though I think Ma actually makes it). Plain chicken just doesn't excite. Gommie's gravy was also exciting. In fact, any gravy is better than sauce--call it sauce and DD won't eat it. But gravy is food of the gods.

But when they're a little older, we're going to start making of good names, fun names, imaginative names.

Names that make you curious.

Names that make you want to eat.

Many Happy Returns, Lambeth!

Today is my dear friend Lambeth's birthday! Happy, happy birthday from across the pond!

I've known him for, what is it now, 16 years this summer? We met in Rome, when we were attending a summer program. As a former professor with the school, he and his wife were able to attend the program. I was a rising senior, about to finish college and go off to grad school.

And that summer changed my life. I had been abroad briefly before--trips to Greece, a summer on an archaeological dig in Tunisia, some time in England (Lambeth's home)--but living in Rome for three months was miraculous. I still often dream that I'm walking through the streets. I visited hundreds of churches, ate my weight twice over in gelato, learned some Italian, visited the Domus Aurea and other amazing sites, decided to change my classical studies major to art history (well, not change--added a major. I"m actually 4 credit hours short of two whole separate B.A.s), and made friends that have lasted all these years.

Lambeth, you should know that you are very important to me. I'm not always the best correspondent and some years have been much leaner than others, but you are often in my thoughts. I love your stories (both from your own life and those you've picked up along the way), your wide breadth of knowledge, the articles you clip and send in the mail (though I rarely remember to tell you that I've read them--by the way, I liked the one on hormones you just sent), your gentle advice. I have fond memories of that summer in Rome and our visits both in England and in the States since then.

It's our turn to come there, which we'll do as soon as the kiddos would be good international travelers. Until then, thank heavens for the internet.

And for you.

Happy Birthday!

I Made a Chicken

I channeled my mom tonight and put a perfect baked chicken on the table--complete with rice and gravy and peas--and the kids loved it. Baked chicken--always with rice and gravy and peas--was one of my favorite meals as a kid. Now, the one I made tonight was different than mom's by degrees--it was a "natural" chicken (as organic as I could find) and the rice was steamed in our rice cooker not boiled with butter and there were corn niblets in with the peas because DD is partial to corn. But the spirit of the meal was there. My gravy even thickened appropriately! It was so deeply satisfying to serve that chicken, which I managed to make easily and relatively quickly. And watching them gobble it down, well, just made me happy.

I think baked chicken might be my favorite meal again.

-=-=-=-=-=-=

Mom’s Baked Chicken

3-4 lb. fryer chicken
salt and pepper
1 cup water

Preheat oven to 500°F. Salt and pepper chicken. Sear uncovered in oven for 10-15 minutes. Add 1 cup water, cover, and reduce heat to 350°F. Bake for 1 ½ hours.
Make gravy and serve with rice and peas.

Mom

Gravy
I must be patient, I must be patient, I must be patient to let the gravy turn the right copper color—it always takes longer and it will thicken.

Heat 4 tablespoons grease. Add 4 tablespoons of flour. Brown til copper-colored. DO NOT BURN. Stir in 4 cups drippings (or a combo of water and broth to make 4 cups liquid). Add chicken bouillon and salt and pepper to taste.

Mom

Rice

¾ cups rice (like Texmati)
1 ½ cup water
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon butter

Put all ingredients in the pot. Boil and reduce heat. Cover. Simmer 15 minutes with no stirring.
If gummy, take lid off and cook a minute or so more. If hard, add 2 tablespoons of water and cook longer.

Mom

An Unexplained, Unexpected Sadness

I am, strangely, sad about the death of actor Heath Ledger tonight. It goes without saying that I did not know him--I haven't even seen Brokeback Mountain, though I have seen some of his other films (mainly the costumed ones--Patriot, Casanova, Brothers Grimm, A Knight's Tale). But thinking about his 2 year old daughter and the other family and friends he leaves behind, I am saddened. There have been other unexpected deaths of actors and athletes recently, coupled with the strangeness of the lives of those who are not dead . . yet (I am thinking of Britney Spears and the like) . . . and I feel old wondering what has happened to all of these young people?

I Saw An Owl Looking at Me

The children got to see an owl today. A real, live, flapping owl blinking his great big eyes. The presentation on Connecticut wildlife began less dramatically, though, with discussions of the kinds of owls in the area and the threats to owl habitat. Through all of the talk, the children sat relatively quietly, though DD kept wondering when the lady was going to play with the puppets she had brought. She did, eventually, showing the skunks owls eat (they, like all birds but vultures, have no sense of smell), the way their heads work (or don't--they can't go all the way around), and where their amazing ears are (on the sides of their face plates, not those tuffs on their heads). She even showed real owl claws, real feathers (which are quiet in flight), and--yippee!--owl vomit (the bones, fur, etc., that they don't digest and thus regurgitate). She also had a handy gadget with several owl call recordings, which the kids enjoyed mimicking.

And then, the Barred Owl made his appearance. He was nervous and flapped wildly, which pitched him sideways. Because he only has one wing. DD and DS were amazed and also sympathetic. DD kept asking if he were going to fly away and I told her that he couldn't because of his injuries. She kept saying that he would like to fly away but he couldn't because he was a one-winged owl. "He's looking at me," she said. And sure enough, those big eyes were looking our way. She considered getting closer to see him but decided against it. But couldn't stop staring at him. Neither could DS. They liked how the owl stared and turned his head, and particularly how he puffed out his feathers to look bigger.

Then it was time for the owl to go back in his cage--"just like our kitties," DD noted--and so we said goodbye to the beautiful Barred Owl.

Maybe we'll see him again, though. The Nature Center would be a great place for a birthday party.

Give Sharing a Chance

DS wanted to crawl on top of the upside-down laundry basket where DD was perched, pretending to be riding a moose (or Moose, the character in Maurice Sendak's Little Bear, who always gives the other critters a ride--this is their favorite show right now). But there wasn't enough room mainly because DD wasn't making way.

DS tried the turn-taking techniques we've been stressing to no avail.

"Well, then I'm going to get my guitar."

And he came back and sang to her, "Get down off the basket so I can have a turn! Get down off the basket so I can have a turn! Have a tu-rn! Have a tu-rn!"

His first protest song.

That'll show her.

(Needless to say, it didn't work.)

From My Sickbed

It's been a trying week here, as I came down with a virulent case of the stomach flu. DP had to stay home one day, her mother came up another day, the kiddos are watching way too much tv now that I'm back in charge. Only upside, I've lost 9 lbs. And counting.

But there have been funny things. Here are just three:

This morning, as DP was leaving for work and giving out hugs and beep-beeps (think ET finger touches with sound--or Michelangelo's Creation of Adam--depending on the kind of person you are), and DS declared, "I don't need a hug." Oh, my little boy is growing up. He said he'd take a beep-beep, though.

Also this morning, one cat scared the other cat and her tail got really poofy. DS asked me, "My bum will be poofy too?"

Finally, DD just had me change her into footie pajamas, with a zipper, even though it's noon. The reason? She wants to be able to fill them with toys to carry around in secret. Clever. But maybe not so comfortable.

Loaves in the Oven

The bananas were mushy and dark. Not good for eating, not for me anyway. But perfect for banana bread. And I have a great recipe from my mom. And the kids can have wheat. So on Friday, we made banana bread.

I pulled out my giant Kitchen Aid mixer and the kids were immediately interested. This was cool--Mommy has a "cement mixer," DS declared. And they knew the bananas were going in the bowl. So, peels still on, DD and DS kept tossing whole bananas into my mixer. And then other things from the counter--like the K-cups for my cofee machine--were tossed in. I soon got the bowl cleared and the real ingredients in. DD, in telling DP about it all the next day, noted that we "scrambled the eggs." We counted and measured cups and teaspoons of the other ingredients, with the kiddos taking turns dumping them into the bowl. And I greased and floured the pans. But this bothered DD who kept trying to wipe off the coating with a sponge; it was dirty.

The bread went in the oven and the kiddos went to play. But they know what the timer sounds like and ran back in to help get the bread out. Yay, just what you need--toddlers helping pull things out of a hot oven. They're experienced with the oven now and know to sit in their chairs at the table when I'm going to open it. And so the bread came out, it cooled (that was hard to wait for!), and I cut the first pieces.

And it was a hit! DD loved the crust, oddly enough, and DS enjoyed the inside. Perfect for switching plates. We even called Gommie and told her we were making banana bread--the kiddos actually thanked her for giving me the recipe! Just two days later, there is only half a loaf left (I always make it into two, even though they're short).

Maybe pumpkin bread should be next. Or strawberry. There is no end to the bread we can make in my cement mixer.

-=-=-=-=-=

Banana Bread
Mmmmm, Mom’s banana bread! So good toasted with butter and it freezes beautifully.
Makes 1 loaf (or 2 short ones)

Beat:
1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup butter
½ cup shortening
Add:
2 eggs
4 tablespoons milk
Sift and add:
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
Add:
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 cups mashed bananas (appx. 6 bananas)
1 cup nuts (optional--we skipped them; otherwise, we would use chopped pecans)

Grease and flour pan. Bake at 350°F for about 40 minutes. For miniature muffins, bake at 350°F for 15 minutes.

Mom

It's Still Fall Here

DP and I have not done much with yard maintenance this fall. We're pretty hands off in general--no chemicals, little lawn mowing except when necessary, no intensive gardening. Our yard is acceptable but not the neatest one on the block. That would be hard--a neighbor up the street almost sits outside as temperatures drop waiting to catch the first leaf before it falls. I'm sure our lawn drives him nuts.

Not that I didn't rake this year. I did. Several times. So the kids could jump in the piles. I never put the piles in bags. The leaves are still in the yard, mostly around our rock wall. We have the only fall leaves left in Connecticut. And sometimes I feel guilty about this--it looks messy compared to the still green lawns around us. But then I remember, we have the natural yard. It is unnatural to have green grass and no leaves at this time of year. We've gotten so accustomed to immaculate yards that we forget that it's bizarre, really.

And today I was never so happy to have leaves in the yard. Because for an hour the kids played in them. Baking. They used two empty plastic pots we had for herbs and filled them again and again with leaves, twigs, bark, pine cones, and the like. One was a chocolate-cherry pie with sauce. Another was "duck soup," from a recent episode of their now-favorite tv show Little Bear. DS went back and forth probably 100 times piling it with "salt." They kept filling and refilling, working together and sharing. And we all sat down on the no longer frozen, leaf-covered ground and ate together with twig forks and spoons.

A perfect fall day . . . in January.

Morsels

Every night as I tuck him in bed, DS wraps one arm around my neck and tells me it was a wonderful day.

The other day, he actually said we were having a wonderful day right smack dab in the middle of a terrific morning.

He also especially likes to rub cheeks together throughout the day when we hug.

-=-=-=-=-=

During bath time, DS kept asking me to put my hands together. He'd then pour water in my hands. "Thank you." And after swirling around the water with his own hands, he'd instruct me to "pour it in the water." And we'd start all over again. Soon I was singing, "I've got the whole bathtub in my hands . . . "

-=-=-=-=-=

DD has located the panda bears DP bought months ago at the San Diego Zoo. She carries them around all the time and plays with them. They are mommy and mama panda. By the way, she still doesn't have two mommies, but a mommy and a mama.

-=-=-=-=-=

DS has a new habit: he walks around with his palms pressed together, much like the yogic Namaste stance. It's very meditative of him.

-=-=-=-=-=

On Sunday at church, DD actually kissed her nursery caretaker--of whom she was once afraid--goodbye and chanted, "I like Miss T" all the way down the hallway.

-=-=-=-=-=

DS likes to help me with my exercises. He lies down on the floor with me and either raises his legs straight over his head or does a back bend. Of course, those aren't exercises I can do.

-=-=-=-=-=

Both DD and DS love making forts in the couch. Or, well, playing in them. They can't quite manipulate the heavy couch pillows and so need my help. Their favorite design has both a little house with a window and a yard.

-=-=-=-=-=

Play in our house has become incredibly independent and imaginative. They can go for almost half an hour without interrpution (or for the most part intervention). Yesterday, they built a train track to fly (I know, mixing modes of transportation) to Gommie and Pop's. A few days before, they had constructed a boat to sail in with the same bricks. In the bathtub by herself when DS fell asleep at 5:15 the other night, DD played "ocean family" with a turtle, a whale, and a dolphin, with various creatures hiding and seeking. They both still like to "bake" in the tub.

-=-=-=-=-=

Harking back to a time when they could barely reach the sink when they were standing on chairs, their favorite art activity right now is actually cleaning the brushes after painting. Water gets everywhere. Soap too. My kitchen--sink, counters, floor, chairs--has never been so clean.

-=-=-=-=-=

DS's favorite book right now is Animal Orchestra, a Golden Book about animals who play music. He likes to point to the creatures and name them and their instrument. Yesterday, his babysitter and I helped him mime playing the instruments. Violin and trombone were his favorites.

-=-=-=-=-=

DD has a strict, if incomprehensible, hierarchy of stuffed critters. Certain ones (Ernie, Elmo, Wolf, Dragon) must sleep with her. Some of these (Wolf and Dragon, for sure) must stay in bed after she goes down for the day. Some (Ernie, Elmo, Red-eyd tree frog, Polar Bear) can come down. Others (Amy and her three bunny sisters, which were mine and are named after the four Little Women) downstairs must never go upstairs to the bedroom. Shirt transcends all.

We get it wrong daily.
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Favorite song: it's a toss up between Hokey Pokey and (I can't get a consensus on how this is spelled) Luby Loo/Loopy Lou/Loop de Lou/Looby Loo. Both involve much shaking of body parts and turning around. Ring-around-the-Rosie and If You're Happy and You Know it are close seconds. BINGO comes up third.

Back to Food

It's been awhile since I've posted a recipe or talked about food specifically. I've been making familiar dishes and new things recently (everything in the crockpot because morning is just so much easier for prep than late afternoon).

And the kiddos like very little of any of it. If they had their way, DS would eat jelly sandwiches, grape tomatoes, and fruit cocktail all day, while DD would eat banana "coins," rice krispie treats, and cereal. Both adore marshmallows. At least there is fruit in there, right?

Borrowing from a member forum on the Weight Watchers website, I'm posting what's in the crockpot today.

But starting with yesterday, when I made the Lentil and Rice meal from Jyl Steinback's book The Busy Mom's Slow Cooker Cookbook. I don't have it in front of me but will paraphrase until I do--2 cups lentils, 2 cups uncooked brown rice, 9 cups liquid (a combo of water and broth), diced onion/carrot/bell pepper/celery, seasoning. I like the idea but the lentils were undercooked and the rice turned mushy. I think I might have put in 3 cups of lentils instead of 2, not measuring but just eyeballing the bag. Oh, well. Edible. To me. Not to the kids.

I made our old stand-by, pork with onions, the other day. I added some sweet potatoes we had on hand. And as usual, they loved it. DD ate most of the sweet potatoes. DS inhaled the onions.

So today, I'm trying a variation on this dish. It's like New England boiled dinner but with pork instead of corned beef or pot roast: pork chops, cabbage, carrots, onions, potatoes, and a can of diced tomatoes (my addition, they love tomatoes). So, there are potatoes and onions to please the kiddos, and cabbage to try, which I don't think they've had. They love lettuce, though, so they might be receptive.

Let's hope it goes over well because we ate all the marshmallows for breakfast.

Warm Wishes

A "howdy" to my sister and her fiancee to let them know we're thinking of them. Between her crazy nurse/grad school schedule and my chaotic days with the kiddos, we haven't gotten to talk on the phone much. But things are stressful for her now and I know she reads this blog occasionally.

H and S, we're thinking of you and love you both!

Gnothi Seauton*

As you know, I've been thinking quite a bit about the meaning of motherhood, both in the abstract definition and to myself in particular. I read a lot about it in my magazines--Kiwi, Parent & Child, Mothering, Wonder Time, Family Fun (okay, the second title from Disney, but they create great magazines), Parenting, and my new favorite Brain, Child--and think about it regularly. But they don't much help me define motherhood and my relationship to/experience with it, though they give me great techniques and exercises to utilize as I actually perform "motherhood." Nor do the thought-provoking essays of modern mother-writers like Judith Warner or Ayelet Waldman. Not enough of a philosophical paradigm to guide my thoughts or actions. I also talk (and email) to my friends and my mom about their ideas of motherhood and it is mostly through those discussions that I have had some amazing insights.

Anyway, I think I've been having an identity crisis. It was something a friend said, that she had always known that she wanted to be a mother, that it is who she was always meant to be. Not me. I never really thought of myself as a mom. I didn't play with dolls too much (except my Star Wars action figures). I didn't like babysitting. I did love being a counselor at camp for children with special needs, though. Why not children? Was it the need of a man (because of course I didn't know you could have kids without one, figuratively speaking, when I was a teenager)? I didn't often picture myself married either. All of my self-definitions and predictions revolved around academic achievement. I wanted college then a career. When I got to college, I went on to graduate school and then a career. My entire sense of self was defined in a very professional, fairly academic, mostly intellectual way. Achievement could be quantified with grades or degrees or titles.

Which is the direct opposite of my mom. My mom was (is? are you a SAHM if there are no kids at home anymore?) a stay-at-home-mom. She had been a teacher but left her career to have children and never went back. She did an immense amount of volunteering--with a domestic violence shelter, as a museum docent--and sometimes worked in my dad's business. And as a career girl, I just didn't understand. And I remember thinking, and probably even saying to her and to my career-oriented sister, that she probably didn't quite understand our workaday world either. Neither of us had really done what the other had. She always said that being a mom was the best thing in the world. And I didn't get it.

Until now. Because, after growing up surrounded by SAHMs, with my own SAHM, I am one. And I think it is because of that experience and background that I am good at it. It's in the training. Not that my mom reared me to be a mom, just that it's what I saw and know, even if I spent the first 15+ years of my adult life doing the exact opposite. And I think it's why I'm good at "it", at motherhood, even though I don't always know what it is or what I'm doing. My mom was fun. Is fun. Okay, let's just use the past tense, even though she is still very much alive and will be reading this soon (and crying, a trait I laughed at as a child but have fully inherited as a grown up), but I'm talking about the mom of my childhood here and my childhood is very much not in the present tense (unless that you follow the belief that in mothering we fill the holes of our own childhood; this doesn't work for me--I don't see any holes. So maybe I'm just revisiting it? We didn't have this many cool toys.) She was fun. She would play with us, be silly, as she likes to note, she was the mom on the floor doing stuff. I try to do that. She also loved to give us different and new experiences. Ditto. She was pretty relaxed and laid back. I struggle at this but am getting there. We felt comfortable talking to her about anything--did your mom tell you masturbation was okay when you were 11? Mine did. And that homosexuality was okay? Didn't think so. Well, my kids aren't there yet, but they do know the proper names of their bodies parts and use them without any self-consciousness. And there was/is still unconditional love all of the time.

Thank goodness for the wonderful examples she gave me because I now find myself where I didn't ever expect to be. Not that I didn't want to be a mom. Duh. I didn't accidentally become a mom. Lesbians don't. It was months of infertility treatments (and we were lucky that it was only months) and then, let's just call it, a challenging pregnancy. It wasn't enough time for the change in my thinking though. A friend of mine, from graduate school actually, said you need all that time to really get used to the idea. Well, she was always a more efficient worker than I was because I'm still working on it. I'm having to rearrange what I had learned to be my whole sense of self. Nothing is the same--not my daily routine, not my body, not my goals, not my priorities, not my values, not my obsessions, not my worries, not my self-examination. And I don't know how to understand this new me. It's not the me I knew. Gone are the good grades as a benchmark; motherhood is only ever judged negatively as far as I can gather--what you're not doing right, what you didn't do--if it is judged at all. It's certainly not rewarded in any way I'm used to--there's no money, no degree, no honor society, no raise, no nice word from the boss. (Let's not get me started tonight on the professionalization of motherhood, with all of us career women becoming moms and bringing with us heightened organization, competition, focus on status and achievement, etc. I don't really like it one bit). The only proof of what I'm accomplishing is sleeping in two cribs in the room next to ours. And, well, we won't truly know how they'll turn out for years. And that's not even in my complete control, as they came to us as already unique people--all I can do, as my friend Lambeth rightly reminds me, is try to guide their path and warn them of the pitfalls.

Motherhood is very much an ongoing process with no end. Even my dissertation had an end. Eventually. I used to joke that writing a dissertation was very much like having a baby. Of course, that was before I had two babies, because what I didn't count on was what happened afterwards. My dissertation is on a shelf, the Ph.D. I could post behind my name is rarely seen. Not so the kiddos. The work has only just begun. Which is something my graduate school advisor alluded to once. She said that once you receive your Ph.D. you enter a whole new playing field where everyone has advanced degrees so the degrees just don't count anymore; it's what you do with your career that matters. Just like it is what I do as a mom that matters.

I even get caught up in what "mothering" is. It's not "fathering," which is traditionally the physical act of creating a child. But what is it? Oddly, I'm not an academic-achievement oriented mom (yet)--I don't stress about counting or identifying letters like some of my friends do. I figure the kids will get it when it's time. I'm much more interested in personal, emotional development--taking turns, expressing emotions, caring and loving, exploring both independently and together. Sometimes I confuse motherhood with homemaking. And I'm not a great homemaker in a few senses of the word--I don't keep an especially neat or clean house and I don't always have a well-rounded meal on the table. But my own mom laughed at me and said those things really weren't what being a homemaker was about, that it was about creating a warm and loving and welcoming home for family and friends. I often get caught up in the mess and the lack of a great meal, though, forgetting that my children like the stuff all around and prefer rice krispie treats for dinner once in awhile (it's only happened once). Maybe even in being a mediocre homemaker (or whatever word my mom would use for house-cleaner and food-provider--my dad would say "mopswinger"), I'm being a better mommy (though of course, all this philosophizing--perhaps a vanity of my own motherhood--belies a certain insecurity about the whole experience and my abilities).

Which is why I think it's funny that when I express some SAHM stress (for instance when I list the three little things I miss as a mom: listening to the radio as loudly as I want in the car, going to the bathroom by myself, and, the one I realized this week, being the one to choose when I'm done reading something), working moms (including my doctor) tell me to go back to work--get this, that I'm too smart to stay home with kids. What does that mean?!? I stress about this as well. Would I be a better mom if I went back to work now? What is "better"? I do plan to go back, eventually, because I like my work and am good at it. I just consider myself extremely fortunate that DP's career doesn't make this a necessity now (and talking about DP and her own relationship to motherhood, as a working mom, is a whole other post). And I know that staying home is the right choice for me, for us, especially when I practically hyperventilate thinking about them going off to school in 9 months. But I've written about that before, I think.

And so, even in loving motherhood and my children, I search to understand who this new me is who is "mommy." I think the search makes me a better mommy, which in turn, I hope/I guess, makes them "better" children. Socrates told the Athenian jury that "the unexamined life is not worth living." I think that's how I feel about motherhood--if I don't think about it, really deeply think about it--I'm not really living it to my fullest.

Besides, it allows me to do what I used to do best, which is research and study and think.

(Though, ironically, I think I am a much better mom than I ever was a scholar).

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* "Know thyself." From the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Gotta use those 8 semesters of ancient Greek and that degree in classical studies sometime.

When Marshmallows Are Good For You . . .

. . . when your son and daughter run back and forth across the front yard hand-feeding you their marshmallow snacks on a beautiful, warm January day.

The Usual

You would think from my absence that something exciting or interesting has been absorbing all my time. Nope, not at all. Just the usual stuff. Which is nice after about 6 weeks of holidays. We had a very "normal" weekend--with a birthday party, church, lunch at a restaurant, spread out over two days. I finished a baby blanket for baby #? and started the next one. DP cleaned out an upstairs closet. The kiddos especially enjoyed playing in their igloo tents. The cats liked that too.

This week has been "normal" too. We started our library and school programs again this week, have playgroup too. It's been warm enough that the kiddos played outside without coats yesterday, spotting birds' nests in empty trees. We'll do it again today. But then I think the warm spell ends. Which is fine. It is January, after all. We've been playing a lot of hide and seek and tickle-tackle (which always ends with the ticklee shouting "calf rope," my family's secret word for stop it now). Oh, and I'm going out with the moms on Friday. I'm the designated driver for all the post-partum moms; I get chocolate cake in return. I think that's fair.

And, for now, nothing is on tap for next weekend, besides church.

Really, it's all good. A great way to ease into the new year.

Our Favorite Grace

It is another feature in one of my favorite magazines, Taste of Home, that they solicit favorite graces from readers. Most are heavily into "In Jesus Name We Pray" and don't much appeal to me. But rituals do. And so long before we were even pregnant, I started to think of different rituals and traditions that I wanted to include (I used to give a lecture at the museum in Chicago about rituals and traditions in art and could go into how they are different but will spare you all that here. Not that I can remember . . .). Many of these rituals and traditions came from my childhood, and DP's, such as reading the Christmas story while opening stockings, eating a turkey dinner for Thanksgiving, black eyed peas on New Year's, and ham on Easter, or giving out red envelopes for Chinese New Year. Others are our very own. Like the grace we say at dinner.

We all hold hands and wiggle/dance/sway while singing a verse from Raffi--"All I really need is a song in my heart/food in my belly/and love in my family/All I really need is a song in my heart/Love in my family." Then we high-five. It never happens at the beginning; one of them always suggests it in the middle of the meal. Fine, especially because it's usually by the middle of the meal that we're all sitting and settled anyway. The kids won't do it at other meals because there aren't 4 of us to complete the chain; they want DP there. It's funny because I knew I wanted a way to acknowledge the beginning of the family meal and had researched such things online as well as talking to our minister, but I hadn't picked anything. DP and I laughed about using "we made it through another day," from one of our favorite films, The Incredibly True Adventures of Two Girls in Love, but it was a little too grown up for our family right now. The other ideas all sounded hokey and contrived, not us.

And then this ritual happened spontaneously one dinner. I'm not even sure I remember how. We were sitting there having dinner, maybe talking about church and the song we'd quoted for our family's lighting of the chalice and we began to sing. Simple, effortless, good.

All I really need is love in my family . . .

Crafty Kiddos

One of my favorite outings is going to the local craft store. And when the kiddos were babes, it was easy--they stayed in their stroller and were entertained by the yarn and what-nots I would pass to them as we wandered around. DD at least once as an infant shoplifted some yellow boucle yarn by tucking it in her carrier. Of course, I forgot all about it by checkout, excited about my own goodies. But we returned it the next time.

Now, however, is a different story. The craft store is one big field day--there are crayons and markers and paints and paper and yarn and doo-dads with Dora and Diego and rubber stamps and even little plastic animals and all manner of palm-sized things to pick off shelves. What could be more fun? They have long since abandoned the double stroller so we go in on foot. Even with a shopping cart, they're in and out of it a dozen times before I hit the first aisle. And that's if they aren't riding on the side of it! (No wonder the cashiers at Target are always handing me "buckle up for safety" stickers. Look, Target, if you made a viable cart with 2 seats, I could buckle them. But having 1 cart in the whole store that seats 2 kids just doesn't cut it! And that cart is a behemoth. And has a wonderful bar to swing off of, even if I do nab it.)

Back to the craft store. Anyway, I love to shop there and could browse all day. Hmmm, Wilton Cake decorating course materials, always wanted to try cake decorating. Pretty pastel yarn on sale, might be another baby in the playgroup after the 2 dozen or so I've already made blankets for! Oooooooh, new seasonal rubber stamps! And oh that fleece to make another knotted blanket (finished one yesterday, twin bed size, mauve and teal, very warm). But the kiddos aren't usually a). that into my craft supplies or b). that patient when I'm selecting items or c). able to keep their hands off a million different things. Who can blame them? At the craft store, I can't either.

But this one has a saving grace: the jungle and the fairy garden. That's right, right smack-dab in my craft store is a children's entertainment paradise: the floral department. And the kiddos start asking to visit it as soon as we get our cart; but we save it until last, my only leverage to enforce the two store golden rules--don't touch unless I say okay and stay with mommy. One aisle is full of fake fica trees, so full of them that they lean in forming a tunnel. This is the jungle. Yesterday, DS and DD were spotting all manner of creatures in the jungle as they giggled running back and forth with their "spotting scopes"--there were scarlet macaws above and gorillas below, and a pygmy marmoset. I kid you not; it's the educational effect of Diego. And right next to this jungle is the "fairy garden," full of silk flowers in all the colors of the rainbow. DD and DS, as DD explained to DP last night, are actually the fairies in the garden wandering from plant to plant. I am sure there were bunnies and butterflies in there with them.

So they run back and forth from jungle to garden, garden to jungle, screeching with happiness. Oftentimes, however, they are completely waylaid by the huge vases and pots on the back wall, which make great drums and echo chambers. This is the scary part because many of those are breakable. So I stand back by them and pace between aisle, using the laughter to figure out where they are. I know, they're out of my sight for seconds, but they are within earshot and, truthfully, with every clerk and customer in the store watching the merriment, nothing is going to happen. Besides, by now, all the employees recognize us.

Polish those spotting scopes, kiddos, the craft store is having a sale this week!

Celebrating

There are two meals, if you can call them that, that DP and I make for special occasions. One could be considered Italian, the other relatively British, reflecting two of my favorite places, though I don't think I had either of these there.

The first is what we can call our Millennial Meal, because I believe it got started right around 2000. Prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil, crusty bread, and balsamic vinegar mixed with olive oil (little oil, lots of vinegar). Being relative non-drinkers, we usually have sparkling cider. This year we also had mulled Glogg, from Ikea, but something we first had in Chicago from the Swedith American Museum's Christmas festival (it's like spicy grape juice, sometimes with kick, in this case not). In a pinch, we make a mean wassail, with slices of orange floating in spiced cider. I distinctly remember eating this all Y2K New Year's Eve while watching the new (yes, I know, false) millennium arrive all over the globe on CNN. We ate this again on this New Year's Eve and New Year's night, watching the Met Opera telecast of I Puritani on tv. Not quite puritannical, though, I know.

The second meal is more of a tasting--DP buys several cheeses (when she was in Manhattan, she got them from Murray's and the Ideal Cheese Shop. Now she goes to Balducci's), plus crackers, marinated olives, and spreads, sometimes various meats like soppressata. I'm very partial to Saint Andre, which might as well be butter. Oh, so creamy. I also love Wensleydale with cranberries. And Pecorino Toscana. And any good sharp cheddar. This year it was Australian. These last two cheeses go well with pickle (we like Branston's--for you non-Anglophiles, pickle is a chunky, vinegary chutney-like spread. You have to try it to understand; I'm not sure the US has anything comparable). Or quince paste (membrillo, in Spanish). Or, this time we had a Stonewall Farms Farmhouse Chutney which was really good. All on Carr's water crackers. DP loves Stilton and so had that. I like it if there is a lot of membrillo on it too. And we had a brie en croute, which wasn't as creamy as I expected. Maybe we over/underheated it. I'm not sure when the cheese thing got started. We had seen a Wallace and Gromit movie (seriously) and were inspired to try some various cheeses. I think there had also been an article in one of my magazines about NYC cheese shops. And some Italian-American colleagues of hers took her along to a small Italian deli down on the Lower East Side to buy cheese and sauages for the holidays (if I remember correctly, they differentiated between a table cheese and a basket cheese). It's definitely a post-Chicago thing. And we've also started sharing it with my folks when they visit. They love the olives and trying all the different cheeses. We lose track of what we've had and liked, or not. And none of us speak cheese-lover's lingo, but we do love it. I think DP likes it best, especially because she often gets several free tastes when she's at the special shops choosing. So this year, we had all our cheeses with my parents on Christmas Eve as we set up for Christmas and then DP and I finished off the rest after they were gone.

Either of these meals goes well with panettone or some other kind of fruit dessert, like our fruitcakes from Shropshire or my mom's from the Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana. Or my shortbread, amaretti (we got this new "soft" one this year that is very tasty), or these great spiced cookies from Speculaas that I bought in Tarrytown. This year, we continued another tradition, that of a steamed plum pudding with brandy butter. I like William-Sonoma's brandy butter with its bits of citron and ginger best, but this year's Elizabethan brand of butter and pudding were very good. And that brandy butter will be good on plain ol' out-of-the-box gingerbread when all the fruitcake is gone. Of course, we drink tea--usually Earl Grey--with the dessert.

Now with the holidays over, we are done with all the edible indulgences until the next celebration. It's going to be a long time to Valentine's Day. Hmmm, cheese isn't exactly right for Chinese New Year. But, hey, Groundhog's Day is one of my favorite holidays! Perfect for something tasty . . .

You're Kidding, Right?

Everyone was spoiled at Christmas in this house. Including our two cats. Albus and Hermione have taken to stalking us in the bathroom, practically begging us to turn on the sink so they can play in the stream of water. We do, sometimes, always cognizant of the waste of water. So for Christmas, they got a kitty drinking fountain. And they love it. But they still run up the stairs when they think one of us is headed to the bathroom.

They also got a mouse doo-dad that spins around a wand toy. Basically, cat entertainment for the lazy mommy. Or in our case, the busy mommy. We turn it on when we're fixing dinner, before we can sit down to play with the cats. And they love it. In one week, they've broken the wand and ran down the battery. So last night, with the yellow mouse doo-dad on the fritz, I picked up a good, "old-fashioned" cat charmer and started to whisk it around for entertainment.

Can cats roll their eyes?

It was if you took away the Wii from some kid and handed him some jacks.

Poor 21st-century cats.