Laissez Bon Temps Roulez

Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans
lyricsEddie DeLange / Loise Alter

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And miss it each night and day
I know I’m not wrong this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss covered vines the tall sugar pines
Where mockin' birds used to sing
And I'd like to see that lazy Mississippi hurryin' into spring
The moonlight on the bayou a creole tune that fills the air
I dream about magnolias in bloom and I'm wishin' I was there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans


On Saturday evening, we gave a cooking lesson to a friend from church, who had bought the lesson through our church service auction. We had a grand time talking food, New Orleans, kids, and eating everything we made. The recipes are below.

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Muffalettas
Very similar to those at Central Grocery, which I remember eating on our trips there.

Combine:

1 jar salad olives, drained

1 jar cocktail onions, drained

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 stalks celery, chopped fine

Bread—Italian loaf, split in two

meats (cheap lunchmeats—bologna, ham, salami,)

mozzarella, provolone, Swiss cheeses

Mix olives, onions, garlic, and celery, and let sit in fridge a few hours or overnight.  Halve bread lengthwise. Layer sandwich with meats and cheeses and then spread on salad mix; top with other piece of bread. Bake at 350°F until brown and cheese melts.

Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
I didn’t really love gumbo when I was younger but it has certainly grown on me now. So, for the first time, the night before the crash of Flight 587, I made gumbo, based on my mom’s recipes and my New Orleans cooking school class notes. And you don’t really need Andouille sausage—just any smoked sausage. Note: My mom adds a can of diced tomatoes; I don't.

4-5 chicken breasts
½ cup flour
½ cup oil
2 large onions chopped
2 ribs celery, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
2 lbs. sausage
6-8 cups chicken stock
5 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leaves
2 tablespoons Tony’s (approximately)

Saute sausage medallions. Saute onions, celery, pepper in sausage grease.

Make roux (Mom says you can microwave til brown, stirring after every minute; I tried this to start but then but it in a pot to finish).  Otherwise, cook flour in oil until brown—the color of peanut butter; do NOT burn.  If it burns, toss it out and start over because it will be bitter.   

Add chicken broth. Add onion, celery, pepper, and sausage.  Saute chicken until dry and stringy. Add to pot. Add bay leaf, garlic, Tony’s. Simmer for 2 hours.

Serve over rice. Freezes really well.

Mom

Vegetarian Red Beans and Rice

1 onion, chopped

3-4 stalks celery, chopped

1 green bell pepper, chopped

2-3 cloves garlic, minced

olive oil

1 lb red kidney beans (Camellia band recommended), rinsed and sorted

8-10 cups water

1-2 bay leaves

1-3 tablespoons Creole Seasoning (I use Tony's)

1/2-1/2 teaspoon liquid smoke

Saute onion, celery, bell pepper, and garlic in olive oil until softened. Add beans, water, and bay leaves. Note: I do not pre-soak or quick soak the beans, just simmer all day--you can pre-soak or quick soak, drain, and then start this recipe if you choose. Boil for 5 minutes and reduce to a simmer for 3-4 hours, or until beans are tender.

When beans are almost at desired consistency, add creole seasoning. Before serving, add liquid smoke. Serve with steamed rice (brown or white, your preference).

Mommy Hungry

Miss B's Red Beans and Rice

This recipe comes from Miss B, complete with tips on ingredients—Camellia beans and Tony’s Creole Seasoning. I think this was my first Cajun food, sitting at her kitchen table with a bowl ladled from a simmering pot. Mama and I made it at the end of the 9/11 week and the beginning of fall—with Goya beans and Chicken Apple Sausage. And it was perfect! Just what we needed.

1 lb. kidney beans

1 large onion, chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped

2 tablespoons parsley, chopped

2 tablespoons ground bay leaf [or 2-3 whole leaves]

1/3 cup bacon drippings [or 3 pieces of bacon]

2 lb. smoked sausage

garlic salt, salt, pepper [or 1 tablespoon Tony’s]

Wash beans. Fill pot with water (2-3 quarts). Add onion, celery, green pepper, parsley, bay leaf, and bacon drippings. Bring to boil uncovered. Simmer and keep adding water until beans are softened, and gravy and beans are desired consistency (we added 1 quart more), approximately 2 hours. Add sausage, then Tony’s. Simmer uncovered about ½ hour longer. Turn off heat, let rest for 30 minutes. Make rice. Serve.

Miss B

Shrimp Remoulade

4 tablespoons lemon juice

4 tablespoons vinegar

4 tablespoons prepared mustard (French’s)

2 teaspoons horseradish

2 teaspoons salt

½ teaspoons pepper (dark, cayenne)

2 tablespoons ketchup

1 cup salad oil

½ cup finely chopped celery

½ cup finely chopped green onions

2 –3 quarts cooked and peeled shrimp

Combine first 8 ingredients. Gradually add oil, beating with beater. Add shrimp, celery, and onion. Chill. Serve on shredded lettuce with crackers.

Mom

Shrimp or Ham Creole

1/3 cup olive oil (do not use with ham)

½ cup chopped onions

½ cup chopped green pepper

½ cup chopped celery

1 clove garlic, crushed

2 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

dash of cayenne

1 bay leaf

1 lb 4 oz. can tomatoes

1 ½ pounds shrimp, shellled and deveined  or leftover ham, cubed

1 teaspoon sugar (optional)

¼ cup chopped parsley (optional)

cooked rice

Saute vegetables in oil until soft.  Toss with flour, salt, and pepper.  Add tomatoes and bay leaf, with sugar if too acidic.  When cooked through, add shrimp until cooked or ham.  Serve over rice with parsley.

Mom

Bread Pudding and Rum Sauce
I got this from Southern Living. Mom makes it now for all of her events and gets raves of compliments from real Southern chefs. I usually decrease the number of raisins, which will burn on the bottom if not floured. I know some people insist on adding fruit cocktail; I don't.

3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 ½ cup sugar
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
½ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ cup butter, melted
2 ¾ cup whipping cream
4 cups cubed French bread
¾ cups raisins (or less)

Combine first 4 ingredients. Stir in butter and cream. Gently stir in bread and raisins. Pour in lightly greased 2-quart deep dish. Bake 375°F for 50-55 minutes, shielding with foil after 30 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.

Southern Living magazine

Bourbon Sauce

3 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon flour
½ cup sugar
1 cup cream (whipping, heavy, half-and-half)
2 (or 1) tablespoons bourbon (or your favorite--rum works well)
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon nutmeg

Melt butter in a small saucepan; whisk in flour and cook 5 minutes. Stir in sugar and cream; cook 3 minutes. Stir in bourbon, vanilla, and nutmeg, and simmer 5 minutes.

Family Circle


Pralines
From my class at the New Orleans School of Cooking. They are a little grainy for me. I like the ones you can buy at Southern Candymakers, which are only sugar, butter, and cream, I think.

1 ½ cup sugar
¾ cup light brown sugar
½ cup milk
6 tablespoons butter
1 ½ cup pecans (roasting optional—275°F for 20-25 minutes)
1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine all ingredients and bring to a “softball stage” (238-240°F), stirring constantly. Remove from heat.
Stir until mixture thickens, becoming creamy and cloudy, and pecans stay suspended in mixture. Spoon out on buttered waxed paper, aluminum foil, or parchment paper. When using waxed paper, be sure to buffer with newspaper underneath or hot was will transfer.

Alternates

Praline Sauce: Add ½ cup corn syrup to mixture.
Chocolate covered praline candy
Flavored pralines (add 1 tablespoon peanut butter, chocolate, coffee, brandy, etc at softball stage)

What Are You Reading?

I have several new and intriguing books on my nightstand (and in my car, for Starbucks, after wellness workout) that have been left mostly unread, due to time not interest.

• How to Bury a Goldfish and Other Ceremonies and Celebrations for Everyday Life by Virginia Lang and Louise Nayer: This book describes ways to honor and observe both everday occurrences and more "red-letter" occasions. Our family has its fair share of homemade rituals--from our goodbye "beep-beep" to our dinner "family song" and our evening tuck-in tradition. Our mornings are a little rough and irregular and we're always looking for new ideas to incorporate. I just like glancing at the text of this very UU book, which has gentle, intuitive ways for marking special and more mundane events.
• Siblings Without Rivalry: How to Help Your Children Live Together So You Can Live Too and How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish: The titles are pretty self-explanatory, I think, though we're probably a little young for most of the ideas and techniques. Advance prep never hurts, though. Interseting, the whole first section of How to Talk is exactly what we learned in my caregiver workshop and what is described in . . . .
• Radical Hospitality: Benedict's Way of Love by Dan Homan and Lonni Collins Pratt: Not my usual reading, this examination of the Rule of St. Benedict and monastic hospitality as a guide for modern, civilian/secular (i.e. not monastic) living is an inspiring reminder that hospitality is not matching napkins, the right wine, and enough appetizers, but the opening of our homes and hearts to those who are strangers, both literally and figuratively, no matter how different, in need, or even frightening. This book was one of the resources for my caregiver workshop.
• George Eliot: The Last Victorian by Kathryn Hughes: I really liked my Beeton bio, so I'm reading another by the author. I've read Eliot's Middlemarch and was greatly inspired by its main character. I know something about her life--male pseudoynym and living with a married man--and the ideas behind her amazing books firmly planted in her time and filled with social justice, so I'm loving the bio, even if I'm not keeping up with all of the references. Might have to add some Eliot to my list before I finish this one.
• World Vegetarian by Madhur Jaffrey and Moosewood Cookbook by Mollie Katzen: I love to see all the vegetarian possibilities. But my spice rack isn't this deep. We'll see. I want to branch out . . .

What are you reading?

A Romp

What a marvelous morning we had after what looked like an unpromising beginning when our plans fell through. We went to the special park at the last-minute invitation of another friend.

Though drops threatened as we got out of the car, we headed to the playground (where a little friend had broken her arm last week). After finishing off our snack, the kiddos ran around on all the equipment, especially enjoying the slides and uneven bridge as they pretended to be on a ship looking for dolphins.

It was then that I spotted the bunny. Amazingly, we made it all the way across the field to the little rabbit, without its being frightened away. For about 5 minutes, we followed as it skirted the edges of the bushes. Sis was especially quiet and interested; Bud just kept talking about it (is that the cat-dog thing again?). Then we noticed the chipmunk dashing all about--we didn't have much luck following it, though. On the way back, we found lots of mushrooms. And had to have a mini-mycology lesson, i.e. never eat any mushroom that you find, only the ones Mommy gives you from the store (how's that for 21st-century eating habits??). We also had a little folklore lesson about fairies and mushrooms. It was a very successful walk.

But the adventure didn't end there. We headed to some of the nearby buildings and farm, which have (I thought) sheep, chickens, and pigs. They were excited about the pigs. About which I was completely wrong. And so, Sis suggested that we just had to go back to the beginning and start all over without mentioning the pigs. In other words, rewind. And she started to walk backwards to affect this transformation. Oddly, it worked, we saw all the animals again, didn't mention pigs, and no one seemed to care.

Especially because they were entranced by the clocktower, complete with flower stained glass. We kept going inside and out to see how it looked different from different places. We even picked up a map so we could later color it in--and we might make our own tissue paper windows later today.

More fun: we played mill on the old mill site. There were stones and the area where the horse must have walked, so one of us played the horse, one was the millstone, and one was the miller gathering the flour in sacks. Strange, I know, but fun. We went back later on our way to the car and played all over again.

My favorite part was the homestead, which had never been opened before on our visits. It was the kiddos' first house museum tour (with a high school guide who followed us around and offered tidbits to me when the kids were distracted. One of these days I will tell you about Mama's standard house museum tour, which you could give at probably any 19th-century house museum in this country without being wrong at all. She honed it in New Orleans after two townhouse tours and 6 plantations.). We saw the nursery with the old-fashioned potty, and the mommy's room (with her potty--potties are big), and the kitchen, and the parlor with the tea set and old Victrola and piano. The kids were great, liking the model of the park best because they could point out the farm and the mill and the clocktower, but they paid attention in the other rooms too, without even trying to touch a thing. SUCCESS! That's a good thing because I love house museums, having been taking to several from a young age myself (thank heavens, though, there are no mandatory-stop historical markers here in CT. Is TX the only state that has those? Everywhere.) And they got shells--a family custom among the people who used to live there--and a few postcards and I got a little cookbook about pies, to help support the free admission.

The visit ended with us retracing our steps and activities, with a detour through the flower garden and then hopping in the car to head for chicken nuggets.

I think we'll go back tomorrow so they can show Mama all they found. And to see the model railroad exhibit, which is only open on weekends.

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Paper Stained Glass Windows

black construction paper
various colored tissue papers
scissors
glue

Fold black paper in half and cut out holes, much like a snowflake, but leaving a thicker border. Unfold and flatten paper.

Glue pieces of torn or cut tissue paper over the holes. Let dry.

Hang in window.

We Love Beavers*

We have just received our inaugural issue of My Big Backyard, having graduated from our subscription to Baby Animal, both great publications of the National Wildlife Federation (a gift from our dear Aunt J).

There is a huge section on beavers which captured the imagination this morning. We read the story about how beavers cut down trees to make dams and lodges, we drew the little beaver picture making sure to add extra hair, and we played the "get to the lodge" beaver game.

So we called and talked to Pop, who has beavers at his pond in the forest. Though, I'm pretty sure Pop isn't as crazy about those beavers as we are.

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Am I tempting all the pervs on the net with the titles of these last two posts?

Happy Hooker

Yesterday, as I rushed to finish the replacement baby blanket for the new babe in our playgroup, I crocheted while the kiddos had naptime. I don't usually pull out my handiwork during the daytime, mainly because yarn is sooooooo attractive to them. They like to cut it up and glue it to paper or take skeins of it and wrap it around the central wall in our house. Fun, but not conducive to speed or completion of said late blanket.

So, there I am, crochet hook in hand, and Buddy decides he wants to make a blanket too. I cut off a piece from some leftovers and made him a chain. I then handed him a little hook I had and showed him how to stick the hook through the yarn and pull other yarn through, not because he can crochet but because I though he could at least create some great knots. He sat on the floor at my feet "crocheting" for about 20 minutes, happy as a clam.

But, pretty soon, the blanket was abandoned and they started wrapping yarn around the walls again, playing choo-choo train. At least I got a few more rows done.

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My Standard Baby Blanket
(about the size of a small receiving blanket)

Size M hook
2+ skeins of chunky yarn (I'm using Baby Cloud)

Ch enough to make about 2' or desired width
Sc until desired length
Either sc edging (making 3-4 laps) or shell (Attach yarn with sc at beginning of row. *Skip 2 sts, work 5 dc in next st, sk 2 sts, work 1 sc in next st. Repeat from *).

Usually, I do an all-white blanket before the birth and add an appropriately-colored edge afterwards (because most people like pink or blue but don't find out the sex in advance). For this blanket, since the babe has been born, I am doing a blue strip in the center and then edging it in blue as well.

Waterfalls

No, no, this is not an examination of the new Olafur Eliasson work in NYC (though I hope to get to see it, since I was pregnant and unable to travel for last major public art installation, The Gates).

It is a celebration of water play.

In 20 minutes of uninterrupted creativity (during which I finished the last post), they cleaned my sink, rinsed some dishes, and washed the counters, chairs, and surrounding floor.

Oh, and they had lots of fun too.

Tyranny of Stuff*

I loved the article on the "Tyranny of the Heirloom." And I don't even really have heirlooms from family yet! My parents and Mama's parents are thankfully alive and healthy with their stuff in their own houses. And when the time comes, there actually isn't all that much "stuff" in my mom's house: a burglary and a fire cleared out both treasured heirlooms and junk, and she just isn't a keeper.

That used to drive me nuts--we had a joke in the family that if something sat still for 5 minutes, Mom would throw it away. Like the time she was cleaning her computer desktop and "recycled" all of her Microsoft programs because she didn't like the icons cluttering up the screen. So, there won't be much heirloom tyranny there (and I wouldn't call Grandma Johnson's Dresden tyranny at all!).

My in-laws are a different story; they have stuff. Lots of stuff.

But I was thinking about our own tyranny of stuff. The stuff that we have personally accumulated. Stuff that would eventually be heirlooms for the kiddos, even if it is mostly junk. We have an entire basement and closets and house filled with the accumulation of two keepers. Who rushed to prepare the house for twins, clearing two full rooms (in a 3 bedroom house) to make a nursery and playroom. Who have detritus from twins, waiting to be given away, waiting to be used by the twins, and saved to give back to the twins later.

Articles like these always inspire me to throw things out. I looked at all my magazine clippings and "keeper" magazines last night and almost sent Mama to the trash cans at 10 pm, but then changed my mind. We always talk about clearing the basement, especially because we'd love to finish it someday (to make another room . . . for stuff!), but there is rarely time.

But I do want to do it. I don't want this stuff, much of it in the basement more because of laziness and lack of time than because of any real sentimental value, to become a burden on the kiddos. The tyranny stops here.

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*With a grateful nod to the humor of George Carlin.

Tomorrow's Her Birthday!

Thursday is Mama's birthday.

Come on, all you readers, please leave her some good birthday wishes here! Or you can email them to my account.

It's 6:30, Do You Know Where Your Kids Are?

Yep, mine are in bed. Asleep.

And Mama is at work late. Not working, but taking a free CPR class. She'll be home around 10.

Which means I'm on the couch, tv on, about to work on my church cookbook and the baby blanket I need to finish (the first blanket has gone missing somewhere in our personal Bermuda Triangle; the baby was born yesterday!). I've got manicotti in the oven and am trying to choose a movie for the evening. Probably Pride and Prejudice.

Have a good night!

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Manicotti

1 package manicotti

2-27 oz. jars spaghetti sauce

2 eggs

1-15 oz. container ricotta cheese

4 cups (16 oz) shredded mozzarella cheese, divided

1 cup (4 oz) grate parmesan cheese, divided

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley (1 tablespoon dried)

Cook manicotti according to package directions; drain. Preheat oven to 35O°F. Spray bottom of 15 x 10 x 2 inch glass baking dish with no stick cooking spray. In large bowl, beat eggs; stir in ricotta, 3 cups of the mozzarella, ¾ cup of parmesan, and parsley.

Spread 1 jar of sauce on bottom of baking dish. Fill each cooked manicotti with ricotta mixture. Arrange filled manicotti in baking dish. Top with second jar of sauce and remaining cheese.

Bake, covered with foil, until bubbly, about 45 minutes. Uncover and continue until cheese is melted, about 5 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

Note: one-10 oz. package frozen chopped spinach, thawed, water squeezed out, may be added to the ricotta mixture.

Passing Albanians

Apparently, it is a 500 year-old custom in Albania, codified in the Kanun of Leke Dukagjini, that women in a family that has lost its male head can become that man. It's not a modern transgendered thing--no sex changes, no hormones, not even a change in name sometimes. But the woman dons male clothes, takes a male job, and never does "woman's work" again. The role play is required because women couldn't work until very recently in isolated Albania and someone needed to step in to help support unprotected families. Mind you, gender roles are rigid in this code. The women become virgins and the article is careful to point out that they are not lesbians.

But, I wonder, would the more dykey women, those not that interested in men already, been the ones more likely to volunteer? Among 9 sisters, say, how is one chosen? I bet there are some lesbian tendencies in there, even if homosexuality is forbidden by the code.

Solstice

Solstice has come and gone and we noted the day but weren't able to celebrate much.

Indeed, the main thing we've realized about the solstice is that the kiddos are definitely back to their old schedule--up around 6:45 and to bed at 6:30. This is their default, and has been for almost 3 whole years. Sometimes things get messed up around the time changes but inevitably, they return to this schedule.

For those of you keeping track, that means they'll want to go to bed almost two whole hours before my sister's wedding starts.

Otherwise, we have had several moments of appreciation nature and the cycles of the seasons. We've had several major thunderstorms, almost as if it were spring. I love the smell before a storm and the look of the dark clouds. Luckily, none of the lightening nor thunder has frightened the kids. It hasn't even woken them up. My roses have exploded in pink blossoms everywhere and our garden continues to grow. I think we'll have some lettuce for lunch.

And yesterday, in the evening, as a large cloud threatened (but never performed) a rainbow arched above our house.

Happy Solstice.

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

Mama has a theory: Sis is a cat and Buddy is a dog.

Let me expound. As per the stereotypes of their animal counterparts, Sis is picky about the food she eats and how it is served to her--she doesn't like sauce, any food touching, and really prefers separate plates. She has a favorite type of fork (small). Buddy, however, doesn't even need a fork but will wolf down pretty much whatever you put in front of him. He doesn't even need a plate and needs to be watched because he'll pick stray morsels up off the floor of the kitchen, floor of the car, or from his carseat.

Sis also doesn't like unsolicited attention. If she wants cuddles, she'll come to you and curl up in your lap and sit quietly for awhile. But try to ask for a hug or a kiss, and she'll just look at you incredulously. Buddy, however, constantly seeks attention and companionship and will take a hug, cuddle, or kiss almost all the time. He is very social. She doesn't mind time alone, especially alone from Buddy, who follows her around like a, you guessed it, puppy.

Their hygiene habits are also feline and canine. Sis doesn't like to be messy--she keeps her hands clean so she can hold shirt. She also gets upset if her clothes get too dirty, her hands get muddy or sandy, or she gets stuff in her shoes. Buddy gets food and dirt everywhere and only objects if he gets too wet. And he doesn't particularly like having his hair washed either, kinda like Harry, The Dirty Dog.

Likewise, disciplining Sis results oftentimes in a look of superiority and indifference. Buddy, however, is distraught when he gets into trouble.

As for let's call them litter habits, Sis wants to be clean and finds the whole potty-training learning process distasteful, even if she likes the undies. Accidents are very upsetting. Buddy likes to pee in the potty, will go everytime, is fascinating by peeing, even if it's on the carpet.

Come to think of it, I believe Sis's first word was "cat." Maybe she was trying to tell us something.

Of Art and Sports

Sis loves arts and crafts. Almost nothing makes her happier that markers, crayons, paints, paper, glue, string, and scissors. She makes narrative drawings, telling us or the air the stories as she goes. There are characters--Mr. Shuke and Mr. Rock (we think that last one is from Wonder Pets, the first one eludes us)--and these are circular figures complete with eyes, arms, legs, hands, toes (specifically not just feet), sometimes clothes, hair, teeth, and belly buttons. She's also done drawings of the family, usually leaving Buddy out of the picture, with me as a big blob, her as a flying nun-type blob, and Mama as a little blob on the side. There is even carpet in the that picture. Other pictures have grass or clouds or birds.

And we rave about these artworks--they really are marvelous (I'll see if I can upload one)--"what wonderful lines!" "I like the colors you chose," and "You must have been excited when you drew that shape." Not "what is that?" but instead "tell me what's going on in this picture?" Never "that looks like a . . . " but "what a wonderful squiggly line." There aren't examples to follow--I loathe step-by-step conformist art projects (like at the library's storytime)--only her incredible imagination and creativity.

Until, recently, she has been asking us, more and more, to draw for her--usually images from her favorite t.v. shows. I suggest she try, and she laments that she "only draws squiggly lines." I try to tell her that her lines, her art, are great, but it's not what she wants sometimes. She wants the "real thing." Oddly, she'll settle for my loosely translated renditions of Dora and Diego and is perfectly content (I won't say "I'm not an artist"--I can't stand that refrain in adults, especially around kids--it's so defeatist, self-denigrating, just like "I can't sing" or "I can't cook" or "I can't play ball." Take it out of your vocabulary, please. For the children.) Then she "writes their names" and labels the different body parts, like in all those books for toddlers.

Yesterday, we did a little of everything--I drew Dora and Diego and she labeled them, but, then, trying to break away from that activity, I pulled out scissors, glue, and tissue paper and we collaged. Only, we collaged together making one work of art, each gluing on different colors and shapes. It was just what art should be at this age--creative and fun.

While we worked, Buddy played baseball. Mama was pitcher, he was batter. Though, sometimes, he wanted just to catch so he would don his glove and be . . . "glover." Makes sense, right? Luckily, there's velcro on that glove because neither the pitches nor the catches are spot on. His own throws, though, are long and strong. He's definitely quite an arm (he kicks a mean ball, too, but that's another sport).

For Buddy, baseball is social, which is why he still won't play with his tee-ball set. This is just as well because he took it apart and the ring that holds the whole thing together is not surprisingly missing. He prefers that someone sit and pitch to him, saying "batter up" and such. He still needs to put on his shirt with the "New York Yankees symbol" (when did he learn "symbol"? I'm so proud.) and his matching hat; very sweet. He's also learning the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" (and do you know the origins of that 1908 song? It's all about a girl obsessed with the game who gets her beau to take her. Who knew?). The only challenge with the whole baseball obsession--he'll even watch old games on YES network (that's Yankees tv) because he doesn't know better--besides trying to throw it so he can hit or catch it, is that Sis doesn't want to play. She wants to draw. With me or Mama. At the exact same time that Bud wants to play baseball. With me or Mama. Fine for weekends, really hard on weekdays. So, we've taken to setting timers, practically, five minutes here, five pitches there, etc. Not ideal.

But it has an up-side, which I'm ashamed to admit: when there are things he doesn't want to do--like brush teeth or put on clothes--we invoke baseball players, as in "baseball players brush their teeth" or "baseball players always wear clothes." He'll immediately comply.

Homerun!

(Luckily, Sis doesn't need what-artists-do as an enticement. Then what would we shout as encouragement, "Turner Prize? Biennial?" I can't imagine.)

Isn't It Ironic?

Do you know what one of Bud and Sis's favorite games is? They're playing it right now.

Pretending to go to sleep.

They get covers, pillows, critters, and curl up on the couches. Then one tucks the other in--handshake, nose rub, kiss, hug, happy thoughts, and lullaby. Their eyes close for a minute and then they switch off.

Sometimes, I get to play. I'm tucked in, kissed, and left to sleep.

For about a minute.

Candles of Concern

We lit candles today for several friends:

• the mommy we know who had two surgical procedures and needs at least 2 more
• the little girl who was pushed on the playground and broke her arm
• the little boy who gets tubes in his ears on Tuesday
• the mommy who is a week overdue and is totally ready to have this baby
• the mommy whose 14 year old cat died this week
  

Our thoughts are with you all.

A Black-Bordered Post

Renowned children's book author and illustrator, Tasha Tudor, has died.

I have two of her books from my childhood still, one on fairytales and my favorite, A Time to Keep. Her delicate and gentle evocations of another, timeless time have always enthralled me.

The kids have 1 is One and will get to look at my special books when they're older. Until then, we'll make some recipes from her cookbook. And enjoy the beautiful world she created.

My Night Off

Mama is working really late tonight, attending a company meeting. I put the kids to bed at 6:30 and the night is mine.

I hardly know what to do with myself.

I have put Gone with the Wind in the DVD (I know, I know, so un-PC and ahistorical, but it really is one of my all-time favorite movies from early childhood, up there with Star Wars; I even read the whole book as a tween. Ask Mama, I quote it weekly, and if she doesn't recognize an allusion I make, she knows it's some arcane GWTW), am drinking some decaf coffee, eating one of my last chocolate pralines from the Southern Candymakers in New Orleans, and . . . playing on the computer. Actually, I'm about to start editing the church cookbook, but I've been checking email and reading the NYTimes.

Which is when I stumbled across the obituary, per se, of White Lily flour. Now, Texas is not so Southern that I have any memory of White Lily flour (Mom, do you?). But apparently, it is the flour par excellence. I was intrigued with the article in the paper, which describes how the flour has changed since production was moved to the Midwest from Knoxville, despite strict adherence to established procedures. Apparently, White Lily is a soft wheat with low protein and gluten that has been chlorinated. States the article:

"Soft wheat is, in fact, the key to understanding why the South is better known for cakes, biscuits and pie crusts than for yeast breads, which require the strength of high-protein flour. Soft red winter wheat was once grown primarily in the Carolinas, Georgia and Tennessee and, in the days before national food distribution networks, it was the only wheat widely available in the South. Nowadays, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois are among the largest producers.

"It may also explain why many Northerners’ attempts to replicate Southern delicacies fall flat. Low-protein flour absorbs less liquid, so a recipe designed for White Lily won’t work with other flours. Cake flour or another low-protein flour like Martha White are the closest substitutes." [many pardons, I can't figure out how to block indent for a quote longer than 3 lines, as required]

So, even though the recipe below straight from the article sounds delicious, I'm doomed to failure because all I have in the cupboard is King Arthur unbleached white, cake, and whole wheat flour. Makes me want to check eBay for bags of White Lily. I've made good biscuits myself, though, with aforementioned flour. I include that recipe here too, in case you don't have any White Lily in the house. If you do, invite me over. I'll bring the honey.

-=-=-=-=-


Touch of Grace Biscuits
Adapted from “CookWise” by Shirley O. Corriher (Morrow)

Time: 40 minutes

Nonstick cooking spray

2 cups self-rising flour, preferably a low-protein Southern flour like White Lily

1/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

4 tablespoons vegetable shortening

2/3 cup heavy cream

1 cup buttermilk, or as needed

1 cup bleached all-purpose flour, preferably low-protein flour like White Lily, or as needed

2 tablespoons butter, melted.

1. Heat oven to 425 degrees, and arrange a shelf slightly below center of oven. Spray a 9-inch cake pan with nonstick cooking spray. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the self-rising flour, sugar and salt. Work shortening in with your fingers until there are no large lumps. Gently stir in the cream, then enough buttermilk so that dough resembles wet cottage cheese. (If you are not using low-protein Southern flour, this may take considerably more than 1 cup buttermilk.)

2. Spread one cup all-purpose flour (not self-rising) across a plate or pie pan. Using a medium (about 2 inches, No. 30) ice cream scoop or spoon, place three scoops of dough well apart in flour. Sprinkle flour over each. Flour your hands. Turn the dough in flour to coat, shaping a ball and shaking off excess flour as you work. Place each ball in prepared pan; biscuits should be touching one another. Continue shaping until all dough is used.

3. Bake until lightly browned, 20 to 25 minutes. Brushed with melted butter. Invert onto a plate, then back onto another. With a knife or spatula, cut quickly between biscuits to make them easy to remove. Serve immediately.

Yield: 12 to 14 biscuits.

Buttermilk Biscuits

Needing to prove my “Southerness,” I decided I had to know how to make biscuits. But, having bad experience with chewy dumplings and hard scones, I was nervous about trying my hand at biscuits. But for the February 2002 full moon—a true snow moon, I gave it another shot. Straight out of the back of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café (with a little help form Laurie Colwin’s book). And, though they were a little short, they were flaky and good, the perfect biscuit. The secret is not to over knead.

2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

2 teaspoons salt

¼ teaspoon baking soda

½ cup Crisco

1 cup buttermilk (or soured milk)

Preheat oven to 450°F. If using soured milk, combine vinegar and milk now and let stand, while continuing. Sift dry ingredients together. Add Crisco and blend well until like fine meal. Add buttermilk and mix delicately until it comes together. Dump out on floured surface and knead gently 5 times. Roll out about ½” thick and cut into desired size. Bake in greased pan, with sides touching, until golden brown, 15-18 minutes.

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café

Equal Parenting

A recent article in the NYTimes examined in-depth the phenomenon of equal parenting. I forwarded the article to my SAHMommy friends, even before I finished it. So I was surprised to find out that the last several paragraphs deal with lesbian parents. Apparently, lesbians are relatively committed to equal parenting because our family structures don't fit into the typical mommy-daddy dyad. We have to work it all our for ourselves.

In comparing us to the examples the author Lisa Belkin includes, I realized we were both typical and atypical of both lesbian and also straight parents. For instance, Mama works full time and I stay home, pretty atypical for lesbians and more normal for straight parents. But like other lesbian couples, we pretty much split whatever housework we do. I was fascinated by, but in no way surprised, that lesbians just do less housework than their straight sisters, almost by half, but more than straight men (gay parents weren't surveyed apparently, not enough of them yet, I guess). You only have to look at my house to know that's true. All of my friends' houses are cleaner, neater, and more, what would be the word, decorated? We call it the "house beautiful" approach. Must not be in the lesbian genes.

Interestingly, the article did seem more concerned about housework than actual parenting, which it seemed to boil down to tucking kids in and planning birthday parties. The focus was also limited to quantifiable hours, but I think that is reductive though probably sociologically necessary. Mama and I are equal parents but in quality not quantity. On average, I spend 84 hours with the kids in a week; she spends 34. We try hard to be all together on evenings and weekends; that's our family time. There is very little (possibly not enough) single parenting when both parents are home. At those times, or even when we're apart (for those things that are tangential to actual, physical childcare), either one of us is likely to call the pediatrician, buy toys, put a child in timeout, serve a meal, tuck in, soothe tears, plan a birthday party. Indeed, she has night coverage, which means any problems arising after they go to bed are handled (most adeptly) by her, because they respond better to her at night (and are much more likely to go back to sleep. Lucky me).

Call it parenting by committee, if not equal. Everything, EVERYTHING is discussed. Take potty training: we've discussed potty-training theories, where to put the potty charts, what box to put the potty chart stickers in, what kind of stool to buy so they can get on the potty, what undies to buy, where to keep them, whether they've earned enough stickers to get their weekly treat, what kind of weekly treats they can earn, when to go undies-only. And that's just the tip of it. Do my straight friends do this? Do their husbands have these kinds of conversations? And it's not just about big issues like potty training. It's EVERYTHING. Housework too: we revisit the division of chores, discuss the best way to organize clothes/toys/supplies, make the grocery list and menu together, ad nauseum. There are only a few things we don't mess with--she does laundry and garbage and I handle the kitchen, including dishes and food.

It is said that committees don't get anything done. And, well, when it comes to housework, it's probably true--perhaps why lesbians do less of it and my house isn't so neat (and mind you, we "farm out," as one of the men in the article mentioned, the heavy stuff every two weeks! In many ways, equal parenting is as much an economic decision as anything else. We don't want to give up the safety, security, and, let's face it, comfort of one solid income with insurance as opposed to two part-time or reduced salary ones). And sometimes it can be frustrating and time-consuming--I can't just rearrange something because it suits me (or throw out something)--we share, we both live here, it's all ours, which means decisions, all decisions, are too. Nothing, nothing happens quickly. But, I find, with parenting decisions anyway (though perhaps not the upstairs closet or the basement!), it's wonderful to have someone in my proverbial boat. There is always talk about the isolation of suburban mommyhood--and it does exist for those 50 hours I'm with the kids by myself, even with all my SAHM friends and activities--but such co-parenting helps, because I'm only alone physically, not spiritually. Even if our conceptions of parenthood--she's the working mom (though with the great benefit of being "married" to her childcare, and this can't be undervalued, she says) trying to balance work and home while I'm the stay-at-home-mom struggling with isolation and three-year olds. She might not be here during the weekdays but we communicate constantly, completely--I have been told that this (some call it co-dependency) is a lesbian thing. Whatever the word, it makes us better parents, better partners, better people. I don't know if that makes us typical or not. But it's what works for us.

Besides, the parenting is more important than the housework any day. There just aren't enough hours in the week to do it all.

-=-=-=-

P.S. We kept our own names but hyphenated the kiddos. Another shared decision.

Out of Doors

The recent torrential downpours have dropped the temperature here significantly. And, so, we have been outside--and enjoyed it! This, of course, is a revelation because we don't usually like the outdoors--and that's not the royal "we," I'm not a big outdoors-girl myself.

Yesterday, we spent more than four hours--4 HOURS--at a local park with our playgroup. My kiddos weren't at all attracted to the sprinkler garden--they just don't seem to like getting wet, though they certainly enjoyed watching me try it. I figured I needed to set an enthusiastic example and so shucked my shoes and sprinted in. No takers. Oh, well. Points for trying. They much preferred the sand box (actually a volleyball court) and the playground, complete with "pirate ship" and "whale-dolphin" bouncy things.

And then, as we were leaving, they spied some of our group in the swimming pool. We went in to say hello and we stayed for a bit. Then, lo and behold, we swam! I had to borrow suits, though we had the swimmer diapers, and we didn't even have a towel. No matter. Sis particularly enjoyed wading in and playing with someone's crocodile. She was in there for an hour! She only got out because clouds loomed and rain threatened (I was surprised they hadn't actually closed the pool yet). Bud waded in a few times but preferred sitting on the sidelines with a bucket and shovel. Still, he was wet. Definitely promising. So, we'll join the local pool park and go some this summer with our friends.

And we were outside again today. First, we walked to the local deli and got some snacks for a picnic. Nothing healthy--Funions and Skittles for Buddy, Swedish Fish and Baked Lays for Sis, plus juice boxes--but it was a great adventure to WALK to the store across the busy main street (with warnings never, ever to even think about doing it by themselves). Bud was especially incredulous that we could walk to a store. I'm sure I've opened a can of worms--they noticed lots of treats we didn't buy--but that's okay. I remember the people who owned this house reminiscing about walking their kids there; the tradition continues.

Then I hauled the table from the garage (no worries, it's plastic and light), put up the sand table umbrella, and we ate out back. I even have a new technique for preserving the chairs by tipping them against the table (well, it won't help much now--we inherited the chairs and table from the previous owners of the house and it shows). We then filled the bird feeders, played in the water table, played in the sand turtle, played in our own "pirate ship" (the historian in me would like to correct their innocent view of pirates but there is time enough for that. And then I can tell them about the pirate here on Connecticut's coast and also about lady pirates), and finally looked at our garden (see following post).

I hope the weather holds--we're heading to the city this Saturday to go to Ar-Ma and Ar-Gong's beach. Third time's a charm.

Vegetables of Our Labor

We tasted the first crops in our container garden today. We had been playing outside all morning, and, as per usual, perused our garden as we headed inside. The flowers are spreading, the grass seed is filling in, and there are vegetable plants in our pots. Nothing near ready to eat yet. Except the mesclun. I thought Mama was nuts for buying lettuce but turns out it was a great idea. So, there we were, water bottle in hand, washing lettuce leaves and eating them. Yum.

Now, just to convince the kiddos not to eat just any plant in the yard!

Thou Shalt Not Scare, Pt. 2: Timeouts

After my first post on discipline, fear, and religion, I received from my dear Lambeth an email about obedience. Specifically, he is concerned that a). my children won't obey me in times of danger and b). that my children will be annoying to society at large if they are not disciplined. Both of these are good and valid points.

And of the two, the first is easier to answer. Because I don't shout, yell, pull/grab, or use "no" frequently, my kiddos pay particular attention when I do. I have a good, stern, loud "mommy voice" when need be, honed as a camp counselor, preschool teacher, and educator. I can be scary. And since I'm not often, it stops them in their tracks.

Now for the second point. Just because my children don't fear me doesn't mean they don't listen and obey. We have several systems in place with which they are familiar. The first is a set of house rules: toys are for playing (not throwing), eat only in the kitchen, only sit (not stand or jump) on the couch, be gentle (i.e. no hitting cats, kids, or others), use inside voices, stay away from the oven, open the door only with an adult. Notice that most of these are stated positively, not just to avoid the overuse of "no" but also to give them clear directions on what they are expected to do. There are other, minor ones--tummies off the table, no toys at meals, hold hands in the parking lot, no touching things at the store, stay where you can see Mommy, and even more--and we try to follow them. Indeed, Sis, who really likes to repeat the rules when it's convenient, loudly instructed a friend recently during lunch, "There are no toys at the table."

But let's say they are ignoring said rules, Lambeth, which does often happen (they are not quite 3 after all and testing limits is their job, as it is mine to set them). Or they find a loophole about which I have as yet not established a rule (I'm wearing skirts more now and Buddy is convinced they are tents--great--and so I've just put into place a strict skirt-privacy rule. No jokes, please). Say Buddy is throwing toys. He knows better. I remind him of the rule And I issue a warning, "Toys are for playing. This is your warning. I will put the toy in timeout if you keep throwing." He stops. Or he doesn't. And the toy goes into timeout at the count of three (no doubt why they could count to three at a young age!). I then try to ignore the ensuing tantrum (this is harder than it sounds and I'm not always good at ignoring tantrums, but we try to save timeouts for physical aggression and serious disrespect, to maintain its potency. Everything else--mean talk, whining, making messes, tantrums--is addressed through warnings and talk--"let's talk about this"--or ignoring, so as to take away its power).

If it becomes aggressive and violent, it is an automatic timeout for Bud. No warnings, no counting. Straight to his spot. Though, unlike your countrywoman Super Nanny, Lambeth, I don't employ a "naughty mat." The kiddos know they have to remove themselves from the area of play and sit for a minute for each year they are old. We are using 3 minutes on the timer now. I don't insist on a mat because frankly I don't want the episode to devolve into a fight about where they are sitting, mainly because I can't physically drag either one of them to a spot. They can have their loveys and shirts in timeout for comfort to help them calm down. This is all about taking a break to stop a behavior, not punishment. I don't reset the timer if they don't stay put mainly because they can't really tell time or understand that concept yet; however, if they won't stay put (or get too many timeouts in a row), they go to their room. Usually, if I'm lucky, they even walk there themselves, needing the break as much as the rest of us.

When the timer rings, we talk. "What is your lesson in timeout?" Never "why?" Kids this age don't understand cause and effect like that--can you really answer why you do things? Sometimes I ask "what were you feeling?" or "what happened before this happened?" We talk about feelings--"were you angry? frustrated? scared? tired?" Then we try to talk about "what will you do next time?"--use your words, walk away, kick/hit the ground/a pillow, yell out frustration. They have to participate in this conversation or they sit a little longer. Then we ask them to let the person they hurt know they are sorry (this is me if it was undirected aggression or not listening) by saying sorry or doing something like patting or hugging. Mama and I go back and forth about whether this is required; putting them back in timeout for not saying sorry doesn't feel right and can go on forever (trust me, we've tried) but neither does not having to apologize. Our process continually evolves.

And mostly it works. Sometimes just the mention of timeout (or a reminder about their having already been in timeout) stops the behavior. Sometimes it does take a timeout or two or a trip to their room ("because you are having trouble being with others right now"). And, sometimes, when nothing works and hysteria sets in, I know we have bigger problems--sleep deprivation, hunger, boredom. And while I try not to reward the behavior, I try to fix as many triggers as I can. The secret is consistency on my part so that they know where the boundaries are and self-correct their behavior before I have to. And sometimes, that is no fun and I'm tempted to let something slide.

Which made that international phone call so tricky. It's usually our policy to ignore whining and crying, but it was making the call very difficult, even when I, gulp of shame, hid in the bathroom. But, I didn't want to take time from the call to go through the whole process of warnings and talking, which would then give Bud exactly what he wanted which was my attention. In retrospect, I should have gotten off the call, put the boy in timeout for not following directions (if they ignore warnings on directions and listening repeatedly, it is timeout, even if there is no aggression), and called my friend back when things settled down (which is easier with a call to a friend down the street in my time zone). Or, more gulps of shame, turned on the tv when the call came in so I could talk uninterrupted.

So, while there are definitely misses with the system, it's the one we've chosen, the one the kids are now used to (timeouts started early because twins, unlike singletons, have early chances at fighting with other kids; it's hard to share everything all the time), the one we think--we hope--will keep them from being undisciplined blights on society.

Which is why, if you ever see my kiddos doing something they shouldn't, please feel free to put them in timeout. They know.

Happy Thoughts

So, Gommie tells me that the only current stories she has to pass on is that the kids have established a personal best for timeouts in a day and that Mommy has had some too.

My challenge: tell some cute or at least repeatable stories.

Here it goes . . .

We have a new nighttime ritual to add to our four stories (one chosen by each of us), singing the "Mama Loves Me" song, tucking in with kisses (2 for Buddy and 3 for Sis) and nose rubs (Sis's addition) and hugs (Bud's addition), and now "happy thoughts," inspired by the reassuring book Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go to Sleep. They each relay 5 happy thoughts. Tonight's list: gummy bears, horses, Max and Ruby, Franklin, Wonder Pets for her; baseball, gummies, Wonder Pets, "Myskit" Seaport music, and baseball again.

They have been building towers out of plastic blocks on the porch. Tall, tall towers. Then, they walk their fingers up the tower--"going to Chinese class" which was on the third floor of an imposing old building, in a rotunda with great windows. It was probably the most impressive thing about class, perhaps even before the Chinese.

Buddy is OBSESSED with a bag of diapers--generic, drugstore diapers--from a friend of ours. But they have dinosaurs on them. And so now, a boy who had happily worn undies the other day with no accident, now doesn't even want to change his diapers. And he insists on wearing those daytime diapers over his nighttime diapers. We've offered dinosaur undies, but they won't do. Because, and I quote, "Dinosaur diapers keep me cozy. They keep me company." Heaven help us, there are only two bags total! One step forward, two steps back.

We played in the rain yesterday at church. While it was still actively downpouring, the kiddos stood in the doorway and watched the water in wonder and awe. Sis bravely poked her head out and squealed with delight. When the rain stopped, they danced in the puddle that had gathered at the entry, getting their shoes sopping wet. After almost everyone left, we were still in play mode and headed into the center of the parking lot, which had a huge puddle--a small pond--about 10' in diameter. I took off my expensive sneakers and we danced in the water, singing Laurie Berkner tunes such as "Walk Along the River" and "I'm Gonna Catch You." Sis ran in circles so very fast. Buddy liked to splash. We all made big waves. Mama photographed it all.

I'm a Wonder Mom. Or more specifically, I do the bidding of Wonder Twins. Who are currently obsessed (yep, obsession is the theme here) with saving insects. Did I mention I rescued, at their bidding, a fly at my coffee shop the other day? A fly. I caught the dizzy, dying thing trapped by the window near our table in a napkin, as they cheered me on, and we went out the front door and released the poor thing. Which did promptly fly away. And yesterday, in the rain, we saw a "bee" (it was a wasp) trapped in the water and I heroically scooped it up in a leaf and placed it somewhere dry. They then emulated this rescue for the next 20 minutes, actually singing the Wonder Pets theme song.

Today at lunch, which we had at a friend's house, the kiddos out ate everyone, as usual. At the end, when the other two girls were off playing, my two were still eating fried rice, dumplings, and "trees" (broccoli--Bud's had a robin in it!). And then they started to feed one another. "Here try this. Now you help me." They went back and forth for awhile. It was so sweet, especially because mealtimes usually aren't so peaceful.

I know there are more stories--how Sis loves to play with the babies at playgroup by reading them stories or tickling their toes; how Buddy took the church nursery school teacher 1 grape and 1 chocolate animal cracker as a snack; how Buddy likes to hold my hand during meals; how Sis will only sing the "Family Song"--and she can sing all the words--if Mama is home, otherwise she says, "somebody's missing; how they have both been great with the cats, trying to pet them gently and toss them toys. I admit my memory has been clouded with the stress of keeping us from tumbling into chaos and so I can't relate more stories.

Perhaps I need to practice my happy thoughts. So here goes.

1. picnics together, both real and pretend
2. cats at home
3. singing the "Family Song"--they sang it to us all by themselves tonight
4. Robin Hood on BBCA for date night
5. thunderstorms (we're having a big one right now) and the puddles they make

Fish Gotta Swim

We spent Saturday at "Myskit" Seaport's annual Sea Music Festival, enjoying the nice weather and the lively singing. Sis especially liked riding the horse, or specifically, the carriage the horse pulls. She gets so serious, though, and doesn't seem to be having fun, until she gets off and practically dances around the sidewalk. We had all been watching a chantey performer and she got bored during an instrumental. They left but then she came back--for money. For the horse ride. So, for the very first time, but not the last, I forked over cash to my daughter. You should have seen her look of pride--and the knowing smirks of those around me--as she walked that $20 bill back to Mama (no, it didn't cost that much; it was all I had).

Buddy and I stayed to listen to the music, including his now favorite song "Strike the Bell." He's been asking for Mystic Seaport music--we bought two CDs--ever since. He loved seeing all the instruments--the accordion, harmonica, guitar, flute, fife, concertina, and the one he likes but never remembers by name, the hurdy-gurdy (the love child of the bagpipe and the accordion). He even insisted we follow the spoons and "bones" player (who had vegetarian bones, among others!) to his next performance. I'd better lock up the silverware.

We also played in the children's museum, on the wooden boat playsets, made wooden boats for arts and crafts, and ate. And here, in the museum that records American history and the sea, where whaling lore takes precedence, most spectacularly in the existing whaler the Charles W. Morgan, I didn't even eat fish. I'd been thinking about the fish. I like fish and chips, but really could do without almost all other seafood. Just don't like it, it being mussels, clams, scallops, lobster, crab, anything "fishy"-er than cod, even seaweed. So, I've been okay not eating fish. Especially because, as I see it, if I'm an animal-rights vegetarian, it makes no difference which animal has to die. If I only refuse to eat the "cute" animals (i.e. lamb, deer, cows, rabbit), but will eat ugly ones (fish are funny looking, so are chicken), I'm embracing a kind of looks-ism I can't abide when applied to people, especially women. It offends the feminist in me.

(I know, I know, plants have feelings too. Even relatives, as described in a recent NYTimes article. But a girl has to eat.)

I'm sure the 19th-century sailors would not have understood me at all, nor would they have rejected meat for meals. Though, if my understanding of the life they led is accurate--and after many trips to Mystic Seaport, I think it is--they could have probably used some more fruits and vegetables themselves!

Thou Shalt Not Scare

I've had a few days of real parenting lows recently, one of the lowest being Buddy screaming through an international phone call I received and my not doing anything (being able to do anything?) to stop it. Ugh. Annoying bugger, indeed.

Interestingly, said caller, Lambeth, had asked how I direct my moral compass with no God to guide by. And the answer came to me later that day as I was thinking about parenting techniques (in guilt and shame). I don't believe fear is the best motivator for behavior. Just as I don't yell at, hit, or otherwise intimidate Bud and Sis because I don't want them to either fear me or only act out of fear, I do not believe that morals in society are best upheld by fear of a wrathful God (which, by the way, I do capitalize, out of respect to those who believe, since someone once asked . . . ). Fear and fright of punishment beget more fear and fright and punishment. It's an ongoing cycle of oppression and violence. I'm thinking of the strictures of Sharia law or of the rightwing Christian pro-gun, pro-execution, fear and punishment of gays, women, nonwhites, non-Christians. Of course, it is awfully effective in the short term but I believe the long-term consequences are dire, for the individual and for society.

I want my children to act out of a sense of community, of civic engagement and obligation, of empathy and compassion, the seven principles of Unitarian Universalism. When they go to make choices, I want it to be love not fear that guide them. So, I didn't scare Buddy into being quiet the other day. I wish ignoring him and redirecting him had been more effective during that phone call. Because, trust me, I was doubting my techniques as I had to lock myself in the bathroom to finish the call. If I had yelled or hit, he would have been quiet.

But at what cost?

So, I set my moral compass, which includes my parenting, to love, with some failure, but no fear. I think it will work; it just takes a little time.

Happy Father's Day

I lit a candle at church today. My spoken joy was the acceptance we find for our family at church, as well as all the men there who are friends and role models for the kids.

My silent sorrow was for all the families who lost dads, or grandads, this year--four by count. We are thinking of them all today.

Finally, my other joy: the men--uncles, in laws, Brits-- in my life, particularly and especially my own dad. I love you.

PMS

Yeah, things are getting ugly over here.

I'm an angry, crying machine. And my back hurts for the first time in weeks.

At least Mama and I aren't on the same schedule right now. (That's right: forget everything you've heard about women being on the same schedule. Those studies were done with huge female prison populations, not two lesbians in one house.)

AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I won't go through my list of perceived ills. It seems petty, what the Thai would call "small thoughts," in light of real suffering and crises. Though as my minister says (and she has had her fair share of troubles), it just doesn't help to compare suffering; it's all internally relevant to our own lives. But even I know it's not that bad: the kids aren't sick, the cats are home and recovering, and Mama loves the challenge of her no-longer-new job.

However, I will wallow in feeling mediocre on this beautiful, thank-goodness-it's-in-the-70s-again day.

The job thing isn't going to happen. It was a lead through my old museum, which needs a "keeper." But they want that person two full days a week, in the city. Not going to happen. But before I knew the details, I relished the idea perhaps of doing some work from home come preschool in the fall. Returning to my old museum would be one of the easiest ways to "sequence" back into the workforce. And I think I would like the mental exercise and camaraderie. But not at the expense of my children, whom I do not want to put in care two full days. It became crystal clear, over an up-and-down 24 hour period, that even though I kvetch about being a SAHM, it is absolutely want I want, full-time.

At the director's request, however, I did submit a resume and cover letter for some project-based research work. I spent the whole day, off and on, updating my resume and tweaking the cover letter--ironically ignoring those children I'm so desperate to be with. And I was miserable by the end of it--I hadn't finished said resume or letter and I hadn't been a great parent (I had moments, though: we painted, "baked" in the water, had a playdate, had a snack together at my favorite coffee place, played mermaids outside, read stories, played hide and seek). Already I am completely unable to balance work and parenting, which led to a maelstrom of tears from me at bedtime as Sis recounted for Mama how I lost it in the kitchen, declaring, "I'm not going to cook dinner" as Buddy had wrapped himself hysterically around my skirt and then tried to sit inside the fridge so I couldn't get chicken. I ended up in time out. It was not pretty.

But everyone did eventually get dinner (and yes, I cook two: one for them and one for us, trying to overlap veggies and starches).

Anyway, today dawns a new day. And I'm PMSing big-time. Again, trying to be a good parent--we baked oatmeal and played Diego. I tried to get them outside but they refused, deciding to make our playset inside with pillows instead. We also built on the porch with blocks. And then T-ball. At which point, Sis whacked Buddy with the bat.

Now, we're watching tv, while I'm blogging and baking yet more chicken.

AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Would You Measure Up?

The Japanese government has a new regulation in place: anyone between the ages of 40-74 must have their waistlines measured annually. To avoid "re-education" (that sounds very Communist Chinese for the Japanese, no?), a person's waist must be 35.4" for women or 33.5" for men.

Just imagine trying that here.

Which, by the way, the people in the article definitely think we should do.

At Last

Well, at least we can celebrate the first female Top Chef, Stephanie Izard.

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I know the judges didn't think much of her dessert, but I want to try it.

Ricotta Pound Cake with Lime Glaze, Pineapple and Salted Banana Cream

Prep Time: one hour and 45 minutes

Serves: 5-6

Ricotta Pound Cake:
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup ricotta

Pineapple:
1 cup pineapple, diced
A pinch of sugar
Chiffonade basil to taste

Lime Glaze:
1/2 cup lime juice
Lime zest to taste
1/2 cup white balsamic
1/3 cup sugar

Ricotta Pound Cake:
Blend first three ingredients together (do not overblend). Add ricotta and gently mix in. Bake in oven until done (about 45 minutes).

Pineapple:
Saute diced pineapple with just a pinch of sugar then combine with chiffonade basil. Set aside.

Lime Glaze:
Meanwhile, reduce lime juice, lime zest and white balsamic with sugar in nonreactive pot. When done, drizzle over pound cake and top with pineapple.

Serve with a salted banana cream.

Albus Is Home

Just wanted to let you know that Albus is home tonight.

The kitties rode home in the carrier together (Hermione had gone in for a blood test) and gave each other a bath, until she decided that she didn't want one and they started their martial Kabuki dance. They're just like the kiddos. Best friends, worst enemies.

Now they're home, chasing a fly.

So, all's well.

Etc.

Lots of little things, because I probably won't have time to post everything I'm thinking about. Those post titles I mentioned? That's probably all you'll hear about that. But, no worries, I've got a few minutes to post some tidbits here.

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First, our hearty CONGRATULATIONS to Goo who has been accepted into an MS program in Biomedical Sciences. YAY!!!!!

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Secondly, Hermione is home and happy. Albus should be here tonight.

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Yay!!!! It's not 100F outside today.

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OMG, I might have a job prospect. And I'm not even sure I want one. But I'm looking into the details to see what it entails. Talk about mixed emotions.

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Because, mind you, I cried, yes cried, thinking that today was our last day of "school" before real preschool in the fall. Just one step closer.

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Mama's birthday is coming up. And we're getting ready. Enough said. Because she reads this blog.

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Mama is a vegetarian now too. Watching that groundhog be run over (not by us) just as he almost cleared three lanes of traffic the other day was very upsetting.

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Just a note: the "k" key on my computer is broken. If I "drop" the letter, please forgive me.

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Articles that have me thinking:

• the one on gardening as a financial choice--we're trying our first vegetable garden. So far, so good.
  
• the Minimalist on reducing meat in your diet, plus all the good comments
• a revised reading on Little Women--can you still like Jo in a post-feminist world?? That's my favorite book, but would it still be?
• the sex-marathon books. What kind of marathon would we like? I'm thinking period-piece movies. Or read-aloud the classics. Or world food night. Or high tea once a week.
• how lesbi-gay couples could teach straight couples a thing or two.
  
• the one on multi-level marketing in Brain, Child (not digital), like HerbaLife and Mary Kay and how destructive it is for women, their finances, and their marriages. Does this hold true for Pampered Chef and Melaluca and Stampin' Up and Southern Living, companies for which my friends and friends of friends work as consultants? Heaven knows, I've spent money for them, as a "warm" party-goer, mainly out of respect for my friends, the hosts and consultants.
  

Home, Sweet Home

Hermione is home. Shaved like a poodle on three legs, but home nonetheless. She has one more blood test tomorrow, I think, and then will be considered out of harm's way.

Albus is still at the pet hospital but we hope to bring him home tomorrow night.

Thanks for all the love you sent.

Kitty Update

With the exception of having discovered Lower Urinary Tract Disease in Albus (something common in neutered boy cats, often brought on by stress, that we'll have to just be aware of), the cats are doing as well as could be hoped. Hermione might be home tomorrow, but Albus will have to stay an extra night.

This afternoon, as we were driving home with Buddy sound asleep in his seat, we passed the vet where the cats are, and Sis recognized it (she was there once or twice before). She has such a good sense of place and direction, like her Mama, unlike her Mommy. Then she said, "Hermione will say, 'Mama, come take me home!' But she will say it in 'meow.'" We decided to head to Petco to get some presents for both cats for when (hopefully) they come home. Sis talked the whole way about how she wants to pet Hermione and throw her toys.

And then she, like her brother, fell sound asleep in the car.

And Albus Makes Two

Albus has gone to the pet hospital this morning--same thing, even though the flowers are now long gone.

The kids are thrilled, though, because now Hermione is not alone anymore.

Upcoming Posts

My current list of topics, which I'm not getting to anytime soon:

• The Sex Marathon books mentioned in the NYTimes, or How There's Nothing I'd Want to Do Everyday for a Year!
  
• Ode to a Groundhog
• That's Incredible: Dinosaurs, Kites, and Other Amazing Statements
• I'm Good. And you?
• Household Tips (from Kool-Aid to Rice)
• Rules of the Game, or How to Bribe a 3 year-old
  
• There are No Calories in Picnic Food
  

Send Love

Hermione, our cat, is at the pet hospital for toxic poisoning--she found a bouquet with roses and lilies that we had in the laundry room. And lilies are deadly to cats apparently. We're hoping we got to her early enough. She'll be there until Tuesday getting fluids to flush her kidneys, at least, if all goes well.

Everyone is stressed. Sis particularly was worried about where Mama took Hermione and why she didn't come home. And she felt bad for Albus. Everytime he would meow--and that was a lot today as he was both looking for his sis and also asking to be let out onto the porch--Sis would say, "I think he is sad because he lost his sister." Lost in this case being more like "misses" than like dead. Then she and Buddy had a whole conversation about why Albus was sad and why they would be sad if they lost each other.

So please send good vibes to Hermione, Albus, and us.

Double Header

Buddy is obsessed with baseball.

He wakes up--too darned early, I might add--asking to play. He recently won a black inflatable bat at a festival and loves for mommies to play pitcher to his batter. For awhile, he'd run the bases--in place!--but now he retrieves the ball himself, and throws it back to the pitcher. He actually hits the ball once in awhile, and we all cheer, "homerun!" We've now gotten him a little kiddo T-ball set but that's not baseball to him because there is no pitching. We've tried to explain that it's good practice for baseball but he won't hear of it. And asks us to pitch some more.

Sis is staying well out of it. But has a bat herself to keep things even. And safe.

Buddy insists on wearing his Yankees shirt (#2 for Jeter--I got to pick the player) and cap, but only when he is batting. He changes to eat or leave the house. It's very cute.

He also now has two books about baseball, one about Curious George's trip to a game and the other his first Yankee primer. I've even drawn a picture of a stadium with all the players on the field and fans in the seats (on the scoreboard, the Yankees have beaten the Red Sox!).

We've tried explaining how a game works but you end up sounding so stupid. Even at the stadium, I was talking about running around in circles and "scoring points," thinking that would make sense to him, and Mama, who understands baseball better laughed at, and corrected, me.

He even watched a game on tv yesterday for a bit, hugging his bat the whole time.

Until it was time for him to bat again.

It's My Birthday!

Well, almost my half-birthday.

At Mom's Night Out on Friday, a friend--D--at my end of the table thought she heard cupcake lady T tell the waiter that there was a birthday. I replied that I thought she was probably just covering for the fact that she'd brought some Cranberry Vodka cupcakes into the restaurant for us to try.

I was wrong. At the end of the meal, a whole troop of young waiters headed over clapping, with brownie in hand. "Whose birthday is it?" I asked loudly of my neighbor.

Whoops! Apparently it was mine! Very funny.

And very much appreciated. The brownie was great.

But not as great as the cupcake.

It's Raining, It's Pouring

At 4:15 on the dot, after two whole days of 90F temperatures, the sky that had been increasingly cloudy broke open with huge raindrops, giant claps of thunder, and bright, sharp lightening.

Just like home. I miss those Texas thunderstorms.

It also made me hungry for a shrimp po-boy--it rained everyday at 4 when we were in New Orleans.

I can also hear "It's a Small, Small World" because it rains like this in Orlando too.

Ar-Ma tells me it rains like this in Thailand but that the pollution is so high that the first few minutes of rain create a toxic mist sending everyone inside. Luckily, it's not that bad here. Yet.

I love rain. And the kids (asleep in the car) slept right through it all . . .

Harvard Grads Not as Smart as They Think

J.K. Rowling (does she even need introduction?) gave the commencement address at Harvard this year.

And some seniors thought she wasn't important enough, not enough of a leader, for their alma mater's attention.

Hmmmm, seems to me she has done more good in the world--and less harm--than the so-called leader of this country.

But then, another alumnus notes, "the freshman bring so much, and the seniors take away so little."

Thankfully, not all Harvard grads are Muggles.

Two Peas in a Pod

We had a fun dinner tonight, recalling our day's events at the ballgame. And eating peas (among other things, see below).

Actually, both kiddos started the meal with an aversion to the peas, picking out the corn niblets instead. But by the end of dinner, Sis was having loads of fun: she named her peas in pairs and would eat them.

"Here are Mommy and Mama." Yum.
"Here are Gommie and Pop."
"Here are Aunt Banana and Uncle Soccer."*
"Goo and Gong."
"And Ar-Ma."

On and on. Mommies and her playgroup friends. Our cats. Our neighbors.

Always in twos.

Peas have never tasted so good.

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*We don't use these nicknames but they are apropos for the blogosphere.

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What I actually ate, which was amazingly delicious. And better than peas, even those with names.

Grilled Portabella Mushrooms with Balsamic Reduction

3 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teasoon garlic, minced

¼ teaspoon salt

3/4 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper, divided

½ teaspon dried oregano leaves

4 medium portabella mushrooms

Preheat grill or broiler. In a small bowl, whisk together lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, salt, and ¼ teasoon black pepper. Brush both sides of each mushroom with mixture, using all of the dressing. Place mushrooms on a grill or broiler rack pan, rounded side up. Cook for 3 minutes. Turn mushrooms stem-side up; sprinkle with oregano and remaining ½ teaspoon pepper. Continue cooking until mushrooms are tender, about 3 minutes. Can also top with 1 cup shredded Fontina cheese and 1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped.

from the mushroom package

For balsamic reduction: simmer 1 cup of balsamic vinegar on low until reduced, thick, and syrupy.

Quinoa with Vegetables

16 oz quinoa

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 small onion

2 medium zucchini

6 fresh basil leaves

64 oz fat free reduced sodium chicken broth

1 cup carrots

5 medium garlic cloves

1 green pepper

1 red pepper

In food processor, chop veggies. Saute in oil. Set aside. Bring broth and 1 cup water to boil. Stir in quinoa. Simmer for 30+ minutes. Add veggies and basil. Season.

(1 cup = 2 pts)

Take Me Out

The Yankees won today!

It was tough-going there for awhile, but they pulled it out in the 9th.

We actually hadn't been there since the top of the 2nd, but we were there in spirit.

Yep, today we went to the Yankees game at Yankee Stadium, the last year of the old stadium. Mama used to go there with her dad and wanted to take our kiddos before the stadium is torn down. Don't get me wrong, we're not dedicated Yankees fans, or even big baseball fans (certainly not the Red Sox, though). Honestly, we lived in Chicago and went past Wrigley every work day and never went to a game. Though, we did once go to a White Sox game--guests of one of the owners. That was fun.

Anyway, we are big on finales, championships, traditions, "end-of-an-era"-type occasions, so we knew we had to go say hello and goodbye to the historic stadium. I had also been there once before, about 12 years ago, with an out of town guest. I don't remember much more than the incredibly long subway ride from Midtown.

It was a great day for baseball--not too hot, overcast, a little breeze--and we got there early enough to enjoy it. Perhaps too early, but with a stadium under construction, there is a lot less parking than there used to be, apparently. And we knew they'd make it to around 2 o'clock regardless of when we arrived. So, we got there when the gates opened, meeting Ma, Gong, and Goo.

Bud and Sis were overwhelmed from the beginning. Sis just sat in her umbrella stroller and didn't say a word. Bud stood close to me, again quiet. Speechless is the precise word. But we were standing there in front of the stadium, at River and 161st, with hundreds of people around us, vendors, trucks, and the subway roaring overhead.

The first stop? Not Monument Park, the line of which was already closed when we got inside. The concession stand? Nope, that was the second stop. That's right, souvenirs. Hats for the kiddos. A t-shirt celebrating the old stadium for me. Pins and a patch for Mama.

Then the food: hot dogs, fries, a Cinnabon Pretzel with frosting, cheese pizza (that was mine). Later it was ice cream in Yankee Hats--Buddy inhaled vanilla Dippin Dots without sharing; Sis had soft serve chocolate and shared once it was melted.

They loved seeing birds fly at eye level, the subway go behind the wall, the three helicopters that went overhead. While everyone ran back and forth up the steep stairs, I sat back eating and watching the Mickey Mantle special on the big screen.

And Sis loved the ramps! She would run up and down the ramps. On one run down, she stopped cold as a huge group of teenagers rounded the corner. And then she hauled tail right back up the ramp. They thought she was very cute.

Oh, and baseball. The kiddos were at the top of our section for the anthem and first pitch (having been running the ramps) but were with us to help cheer for the Yankees' first two runs. Not that I think they saw them. Or the batter. Or the ball.

I was nicely surprised, though, when we got home by how much they were positively affected by the game. They remembered more than the food and the "tunnels" on the Cross Bronx. In fact, we played fantasy baseball after bathtime, with Buddy holding his hands together to bat as I wound up to pitch. He'd then run around the bedroom, out into the hall, and back again. Then Sis helped us play. We tried to calm down by looking at our two pictures of baseball fields in books. And Bud hopped into bed saying he wanted a hat, a bat, a ball, and a t-shirt. Guess he couldn't see that baseball players also wear gloves.

It might have been our only game at the old stadium, but without a doubt it was not our last baseball game.

Some Uses for Faux Chicken Patties

Having been a vegetarian for nearly 5 weeks now, I am finding all sorts of new uses for vegetarian "chicken" patties by Boca or Morningstar Farm (which I like better because of the crunchier crust; the kids prefer Boca). I had always liked them well enough but had only ever eaten them with cheese, like an actual burger.

But, inspired by a picture on another box that uses veggie burgers in pasta, I decided to throw some chicken patties on a salad. Good. Tonight, I layered one with ratatouille and whole wheat pasta. Even better.

How to prepare a chicken patty best/easiest/fastest: Microwave it on a plate for 1-2 minutes until defrosted. Meanwhile, heat Pam in nonstick skillet on medium-high. Remove patty from microwave and heat it through until crisp. Serve however you like it.

And if you know other creative ways, tell me.

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Ratatouille

1 large eggplant, peeled and cut into 1” cubes

1-2 teaspoons salt

2 cups frozen chopped onions, thawed, drained and patted dry (or, geez, real onions)

1-28 oz can diced tomatoes (do not drain)

1 large green bell pepper, cut into ½” pieces

1 large red bell pepper, cut into ½” pieces

2 medium zucchini, sliced

1 yellow squash, sliced

3 tablespoons dried basil

1 teaspoon minced garlic

3 tablespoons nonfat vegetable broth (we used chicken)

1-6 oz can Italian tomato paste with roasted garlic

3 tablespoons chopped fresh basil

Spray inside of slow cooker with cooking spray (wipe with canola oil for kiddos). Sprinkle eggplant with salt and let stand in colander 30-60 minutes to drain (we did about 45 min). Press out any excess moisture; rinse eggplant with water and pat dry with paper towels. Arrange eggplant in bottom of cooker. Top with onions, tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, and squash. Ad dried basil and minced garlic to broth; pour over vegetables and mix well. Cover and cook on low for 6 hours or high for 3 hours. Stir in tomato paste and fresh basil before serving.

Jyl Steinbeck, The Busy Mom’s Slow Cooker Cookbook (serves 6; 2 pts a serving)

What's Wrong with This Statement?

I've started a biography of George Eliot by Kathryn Hughes, who wrote the book on Mrs Beeton that I've liked so well.

So, having started the thus far fascinating bio, I went looking for more of her novels. I've only read Middlemarch and felt like I needed to read Silar Marner, Adam Bede, Mill on the Floss, Romola, Felix Holt, and/or Daniel Deronda to appreciate fully the allusions and references.

I went to the local bookstore today and searched the literature shelves. Stymied, I asked the owner where the George Eliot novels were.

"I don't think I have any books by him. They don't read him in school."

Oh, dear.

No Raw Food Here

I just read an article about Salmonella poisoning in the Southwest--40 reported illnesses linked to raw tomatoes.

Tomatoes.

Buddy eats those all the time.

But even though we're not in the at-risk area, I'm throwing out the ones we have.

I can't forget the toddler who died after his mom gave him raw spinach in that outbreak a few years ago. It's just horrible that kids aren't necessarily safe when they eat raw fruits and vegetables.

I think we're doing cooked everything from now on, until they are at least past the stage of possibly succumbing to Salmonella.

Do you think I can trust the ones in my backyard?

Three is the New Two

I know it's still about 2 months off, but the kiddos have hit three already.

I've heard the preschool progression described as "terrible twos, tantrum threes, and f**ing fours."

I'm convinced that either "three" starts with an "F" or is a four-letter word.

Can you say "awful"?

Coupled with constant sleep deprivation and the newly-arrived heat, this growing independence and need for control, plus an amazing ability to verbalize feelings and thoughts--oftentimes in a bossy or whiny way--has made the last 10 days nearly unbearable.

There has been pushing, hitting, biting, grabbing, "kabooming other people's things," water thrown in faces. They've both been in timeout several times a day. Hell, I've been in timeout, closing myself in the bathroom for peace, quiet, and a need for self-control so I don't throttle one of them. And, oh, the noise: screeching, screaming, crying, shouting, and I swear they can both cackle. Classic gems like "I don't have to" and whiny "why?" and, of course, "no" usually rendered as "no thanks" abound. Can almost-threes have mastered dripping sarcasm?

It's starting to look like the "before" clip on "Supernanny" over here.

And I'm trying to potty train too?

Maybe, just maybe I can get excited about preschool in three months.

That said, I think I completely understand their need for control and independence. And their fear of it. For three years, I've been in charge and done most things for them and now I am slowly weaning them of my help and trying to get them to do most things (at the same time telling them there are a lot of things they can't do, like touch the crockpot or chase a ball into the street). It's a confusing time--they want to do it themselves but can't always or decide maybe, just maybe, that they don't want to grow up and be free of me just yet. Which is why, I think, they didn't even try the potty yesterday. And so, we're all in a jumble.

But there's not much you can do to stop progress and development, even if you want to sometimes.

Potty Update

Yesterday was very discouraging, potty training-wise. Neither would even try.

But today, already we've tried and been very successful--both kiddos went! I won't describe the event itself, nor will I include pictures.

Though, I know another blogger who said that and did.

Never say never.

Nomination

I'll vote for Obama, but I would have rather voted for Clinton.

But in the end, any Democrat is better than McCain.

Once Upon Our Potties

Knowing that I couldn't be lazy about it anymore, we have started potty training in earnest, heaven help us all.

We have charts on the downstairs bathroom door, stickers for attempts and successes, and a reward scheduled for the end of the week if there are enough stickers (and probably even if there aren't). There are books on potties and how everyone poops, and the DVDs Once Upon a Potty. Anyone else notice that the kids in that video are a lot younger than kids being trained now? No punishments, no embarrassment, lots of cheering and praise and dancing.

Buddy and Sis have each tried--and succeeded--on the potty when asked; it's never self-initiated. We go three times a day right now, to get used to it: wake-up, lunch, and bathtime. Next week, every hour or so. When we spend some outdoor time, we'll be diaper-free (either in panties or not). I'm told that is really the clincher. I'm hoping to be pretty much trained--during the day, anyway--by the end of the summer. And regardless of where we are, we're wearing pull-ups for the wedding.

Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.
Sit, wait, wipe, flush, diaper, wash hands, sticker.

Times two.

Is it really easier than diapers??

I Love McDonald's Fries

Yes, I'm confessing. I had McDonald's fries for lunch. An ungodly full 13 points worth (or more, because I polished off the rest of Buddy's).

And they're not even vegetarian. Nope, still fried in animal fat.

But I don't like their salads much and the hostess wasn't going to BK, which thankfully has Veggie Burgers by Morningstar.

And, well, I like french fries. Even (or especially?) beefy ones.

Mea culpa.

A Sense of Belonging

Still reading the NYTimes. I have a need to post but nothing coherent to post about, so I'm digitally digesting my daily reading.

Just read, from the magazine this weekend, about a Supper Club that meets on the First Wednesday of the month to share meals.

I love stories like this (there have been several in Mothering recently), about supper clubs, book clubs, art groups, playgroups. Because I love to belong to groups like that--we did a dinner group in my moms' club; I have an art group (and have tried a story group) for the kiddos; my playgroup is my central social outlet and source of much friendship and support; I don't have time to read but always love the idea of a book club, even though, oddly, I've never belonged (though, really, isn't graduate school one big stressful and competitive book club?). And I'm always inspired to start something like this. I sat there, while reading the article, wondering who in my group of friends and neighbors would like to play along, knowing as I mused on it that, in the end, we probably wouldn't easily be able to play. But I like the idea. Maybe when we don't eat dinner at 5 pm!

I am a joiner. Never saw a problem with it, still don't. All that rejection of groups with "I don't need a club to have friends" doesn't offend me, but doesn't make sense either. In this time when there is little geographical community, what is wrong with community based on mutual interest? Now, I'm not into exclusive clubs--Girl Scouts let in atheists and gays, UUs are open to everyone, my Chicago chorus didn't require auditions (thankfully), my college fraternity was service-based and let all interested join, and my playgroup is pretty much "If you feed us, we will come." But I like the formal structure, regular schedule, familiar activities, predictability flavored with variety, ritual and tradition. I'd make a great Catholic if it weren't for the catechism. Oooh, and give me a uniform or matching t-shirts and I'm all atwitter. My mom used to joke that I'd probably love being a nun (hmmm, perhaps she knew more than I did! :) )

Well, I've heard how well my cousin the Trappist monk eats at his rural monastery in France. That's the ultimate supper club, no?

I'm not sure I need to take it that far, but, maybe a few organized family potluck picnics this summer wouldn't be a bad idea . . . any takers?

Nothing But Nets

Yes, I'm reading my way through today's NYTimes online.

And I saw an article about raising money for mosquito nets to protect people from malaria, where 1 million people die every year of it:

$10 = 1 net = 1 child's life saved.

Easy.

Donate at Nothing But Nets.

The Rich Aren't Getting Richer . . .

. . . they're getting fatter!

Yes, check out NYTimes today, "It's Not So Easy Being Less Rich."

Turns out, the extremely rich are just like us: they are having money worries, cutting back on expenses, and getting fat from stress eating!