The Boy Who Came Before Dinner

The doorbell rang. 6:00 p.m. on a Saturday. Too late for Fed Ex; no UPS on Saturdays. And that cable guy had already talked to us. Who could it be?

I saw a blonde head bobbing up and down on our front step. Ahh, the neighbor boy. Let's call him Video Gamer. "Can Sis and Bud play?"

Sure. And I invited him in. Sis and Bud were excited by their visitor and immediately started trying to entice him with toys, games, and kung fu demonstrations. He only asked, "Don't you have any video games?"

Video Gamer is 5 1/2 but has an 18-year old brother, so has grown up playing bigger-kid games. He likes video games, computer games, handheld games, whatever digital games, Nintendo, X Box, Wii, Playstation, (goodness, have I even gotten those correct?). He spotted that Sis and Bud had been playing on PBSkids.com and went over immediately--to change the website for different games! I interrupted to say we only played PBS games (figuring he wasn't looking for Starfall.com or Nickjr.com either!). Could Sis and Bud go to his house to play games? Soon, though, they settled into a game of chase and then some shadow play in the bedroom with some of the flashlight sets Sis and Bud got for their birthday.

Mama was beside herself. What was he doing here? Who comes over and knocks on the door to play without advanced email negotiations between moms weeks in advance? What should we do with him? Did his folks know he was here?

I laughed, "Hon, this is how kids end up staying for dinner! Better not tell him we're having steak!" Seriously, though, this kind of neighborhood play is completely outside of Mama's realm of experience, growing up in a condo near an apartment complex in the heart of Queens, without neighborly kids running around. Kids just didn't venture out, alone, to play with others.

She finished dinner; I was on playdate duty. I tried to reassure her that this was normal in neighborhoods. Mercy, most of my childhood was spent rounding up various neighbors to play (there were 6-8 families with kids approximately my age), inside or outside, depending on the weather and whom I found, though there were two girls in particular whom I would look for first. I tried to remember some of our neighborhood guidelines, if only to assure Mama that it can work really well: no visits before 9 am or after 9 pm (or was that phone calls?); come in when it's dark (which the assures me that the first was our phone-call rule); not during dinner; let your mom know where you're going and if you change locales; not off the immediate street; you can eat there but check with Mom first about dinner; follow the house rules; the other adult is in charge; keep track of your own toys; clean up before you leave. I'm not sure that helped. So to ease Mama's mind, I snuck upstairs and turned on the monitor, so she could see just how harmless it was. And it was. Even though Video Gamer is a lot more worldly, definitely more rough and tough, significantly more pop culture and digital-world oriented, he is a sweet kid. And our neighbor.

So when he asked again if the kids could come over to play, I said yes, until dinner and sent them across the street, without me, while I watched and waved to his dad who was mowing the lawn. Mama was flabbergasted. I set the timer to remember to go get them, early, knowing that his mom and I would end up gabbing.

Which is exactly what we did. Video Gamer is a year ahead in school and so we talked about kindergarten transitions, her experiences and my concerns. She said that Video Gamer was always asking to come over to play; I said just send him along. Though, I told her that he thought our house, with its lack of video games, was lame. Then I finally rounded up Sis and Bud, who were enjoying playing with Video Gamer's pirate toys and admiring his large collection of Silly Bandz, and begged to be able to play again.

Of course. It was a very momentous occasion, our first drop-in by a neighbor kid, hopefully the beginning of many. Because that's the kind of suburban childhood we envision for our kids . . . . even if it feels a little strange at first.

License to Kill

My aim is deadly.

It can be The Economist, Parenting: The School Years, or Smithsonian (but oh, never my food magazines). On the back door, on the windowsill, on the back of the chair, and once even in midair.

Yes, we have flies. I'm the Lady of the Flies.

It started with a dirty diaper, in a bag, in our trash can, which unbeknownst to us, stuck to the can and attracted maggots. Fast forward a bit (I know, gross, but we don't check the bottoms of the cans each week after pick up) and add in our old, ill-fitting, doesn't-quite-close basement window. Next thing we noticed, we had flies in the kitchen each evening. And I would kill them pretty fast, usually with only one swat. But it kept happening.

Where were they coming from? Turns out, they had amassed in our basement, probably because it was cooler than the wretched outside, then flew through the lattice in the basement door, up through the basement, to the bright lights and tempting smells of the kitchen. No wonder they were such easy targets, all that flying after being locked in the basement for days.

We've sealed up the window and are waiting for a replacement, but the flies do still come in ones and twos, hopefully the last of the horde, managing to fly past the sticky scrolls and bowls of vinegar, straight to the sticky-table buffet in our kitchen. We'll be calling pest control if the new window doesn't work. We're not above bombing the basement.

But, to be Pollyanna-ish about it, my aim is even better than when we started, we've become puritannical about keeping the kitchen sticky-mess free, and we've purged our magazine collection!

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream . . .

for Hale's Blue Boy Syrup!

Yep, on Saturday, Mama made us a dessert from her childhood, using her pink panda bear ice shaver. Let's call it a Thai snow cone or a Thai "ice cream" sundae (see Mama's favorite Thai food blog for a picture). You start with shaved ice, over which you pour a bit of Hale's Blue Boy syrup mali flavor (which we think is jasmine). Then drizzle some sweetened condensed milk. And you top it off with . . . . cooked corn. Or sweetened red beans (adzuki, which we have, but not yet cooked or sweetened).

That's where Mama lost the kids. Sis loves sweetened condensed milk but was even leery of the syrup, which Bud liked. But they couldn't wrap their heads around corn in a dessert. Only Mama and I went the whole way. Though, I like the red beans better, which I know from past experience (went for Vietnamese ice cream with my high school buddy once; they eat the ice with the equivalent of almond dofu and lots of sweetened beans). So maybe I'll have to cook and sweeten those beans.

Which will just evoke the screams in this post's title.

Happy Anniversary!

to Aunt Banana and Uncle Soccer, celebrating two years wed!

. . . And Crumpets

I'm still using my sourdough starter regularly, about every two weeks, and am looking for other things to make besides a loaf of sourdough bread. On Saturday, it was a toss up between sourdough pizza crust and crumpets. The crumpets won! And they would've have been so good with your prizewinning marmalade, Lambeth!

Maybe pizza next week . . . .

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Sourdough Crumpets

1 cup unfed starter (When I feed my refrigerated starter and save out a cup, I wait 2 hours so that the unfed cup can come back to life, so to speak)

1 teaspoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

Mix starter with sugar, salt, and soda. Whisk thoroughly and then wait for bubbles. Whisk again right before you cook them.

Heat skillet on stove. Make crumpets like pancakes (or, use 4" crumpet ring filled with 1/4" batter). Cook over low until tops are full of holes and then flip and continue cooking.

When crumpets are cooked, pop them in the toaster to brown and crisp. This is key. Serve with butter and jam.

King Arthur Flour website

Never On a Sunday

For once, we went out on Sunday instead of Saturday, our preferred family outing day, especially for big trips like going to the "dinosaur museum." Yep, we went into the city yesterday to see the Silk Road exhibition one more time and also to see the new "Race to the End of the World" exhibit on the South Pole expeditions. Plus, of course, dinosaurs and dioramas.

Why Sunday? Well, with kung fu class on Saturday, we wouldn't have gotten into the city until 11:30-12ish, which puts our visit square in the middle of the rush. At least going early on Sunday, we had it to ourselves for the first hour or so. Literally. There was only one other family anywhere near us in the Silk Road exhibition. And they had young twins too!

Then after a long and fun day in the city, we tacked on some things at the end: we went to our favorite local ice cream place and got kids' cups of strawberry, chocolate, sweet cream, and chocolate mint. And, still being "city kids," Bud and Sis had a good laugh watching two asleep barn cats, who looked just like our two cats. Yep, it was fun to watch cats sleep.

Heading home, I spotted a sign that I didn't expect to see, for one of our favorite barbecue joints. It has closed and relocated and expanded so many times we'd lost track, but here it was. And so we picked up dinner: ribs (alas, pork!), brisket, beans, greens, sweet potato fries, black-eyed peas and rice, and sweet tea that was so sweet that even I couldn't drink it.

We got home two plus hours after we'd intended which extended bedtime 'til almost 8:30. But it was a great day.

Except I kept thinking it was Saturday and was sorry to remember that today is Monday.

Homerou*

(*Please pardon my attempts to decline "Homer," not remembering which declension it is. I'm hoping here for the genitive singular, "Of Homer.")

Actually, you might not know that the kids and I have named my minivan "Homer." Because, you know, it's an Odyssey.

They like that story, with Odysseus, the Trojan Horse, Scylla and Charybdis, the Sirens, Penelope, Poseidon. So it seemed fitting. Luckily, they weren't watching "Jungle Junction" at the time, or it might be an "Ellyvan."

Yesterday, they spent the afternoon washing Homer. Top to bottom, grill to bumper, over and over again. And we all got as wet as the van did. Though maybe not quite as clean, because Sis took to making mud pies at some point and Bud began playing with his flying disc and rolling around in the grass.

But Poseidon must nonetheless have been pleased because, contrary to popular belief, it did not rain right after we finished!

It Starts

School supplies at the store.

Clothes purchases for the first weeks of school.

Babysitter setting her last week for the second week of August.

It's mid-July and summer rapidly seems to be ending. Early. With school.

And I really was doing fine. Handling graduation and orientation, both theirs and Babysitter's, as well as could be expected. But it all hit me rather hard today, which was just a day of innocent and innocuous errands. Sure, I've had a mental tab of things running for weeks now: rearrange dental appointment for kids so as not to coincide with class, check on bus orientation RSVP, look into Girl Scout troop opportunities, order school spirit gear, put together photo album of kids with Babysitter as a going away present. But those have been pushed aside as we went to Texas and then celebrated birthdays.

Now there is nothing big between us and school, with Babysitter's departure after 5 years here, a sad foretaste of anxiety for us all. I mean, Bud already dreads being separated in class and mentions it almost daily. And now he's taken to not letting go of Babysitter as she tries to leave each day. Mind you, I've been as normal and perky as possible; I'd like to think I'm not leaking stress. But I'm guessing I'm deluding myself.

Well, no delusions today, I'm kinda down about it all.

Thing 1 and Thing 2

Actually, that's Stinky Thing 1 and Stinky Thing 2.

The kids have been playing skunks.

Yep, about the most powerful and fearsome thing they can imagine right now are skunks who can spray. But as they tell it, it's pretty powerful spray--it can paralyze snakes and other scary creatures. And so they have been crawling around the house after "Black Beastie of Thunder" and "the Queen of Lightning," our two cats, who don't like skunks or children much this afternoon.

I'm Mommy Skunk, anointed by the Stinky Things when I returned home from errands this afternoon. But apparently neither I nor the baby skunks can smell the stinkiness.

That's a relief, because it'd be ripe in here.

Congrats!

Goo has successfully passed his Master's thesis defense. Yay!!!!!

We Have a Winner!

Actually, Mama didn't place in the pie contest, but that was about all that wasn't winning about today's summer picnic.

Which we just got home from about an hour ago!

Yep, it was a late, late bedtime for the Hungry house.

But, oh, what a night!

There were clowns and stiltwalkers and balloon artists and caricaturists and face painters. And we interacted with them all. The kids even got to spin a ball on a stick with a friendly clown. Sis got a "bayoon" white bunny, while Bud got a dragon. Sis even had her hand painted with a white bunny . . . and a carrot on a finger on the other hand!!! They both sat still to have their caricatures done up as them in kung fu class.

We played games--skeeball, water pistol, bean bags, darts, spin the wheel, all sorts of games whose names I don't know. For prizes, such as glow bracelets and necklaces, rainbow lanyards, squishy balls, deelyboppers (you know, headbands with glittery antennae), sacks to carry it all in. We also got tickets. Skeeball was the best, both for fun and for tickets,, even if the kids mostly scored 10s and sometimes sent the ball flying outside of the game . . . . but we got 130+ tickets, enough to get Bud a stuffed rock guitar and Sis several small animals. And even a small quilted bag for me! There were even field games, like sack races and three-legged races and water balloon races. Sis and Bud participated in the egg hunt (more like an egg grab since they were scattered not hidden) and Bud won the whole thing, collecting 15 eggs (about 6 more than the next competitor)! He even got a little medal, which was great because he'd been so sad not to have won anything last year (mind you, he didn't compete but try explaining that to a then just 4 year old). Then they did tunnel races and each came in second in their heat and they were so happy to get ribbons, regardless of not winning first (Gommie, who does that sound like?).

And we ate and ate and ate. Chicken fingers. Pizza. Fried dough. Nachos. Popcorn. Pink and blue cotton candy. Even samples of the other contest pies! Plus plates of barbecue, including a delicious sweet corn pudding and baked beans with a hint of cumin. And we weren't even drinking!!

We headed back to the car almost three hours after their bedtime, playing air guitar and waving glow sticks, wishing on the stars and thanking the lucky ones.

Healing Happily

We're glad to report that Pop is recovering well from his skin cancer tumor removal on Monday. Take it easy, Pop!

Good Luck, Goo!

Goo defends his Master's thesis tomorrow and we wish him the best of luck!

What's in a Signature?

The kids have been practicing writing their names. For a year now, Bud has been "BUD" and Sis has been "SIS," with each having also designed a clever symbol interlacing their letters. Of course, you can't sign homework with a symbol and the kindergarten teachers want upper and lower case. So Bud is now "Bud" (often with backwards letters) and Sis is "Sis." Though, she prefers "sis" which she likes to make all curly, like magnets we have spelling out her name. It's odd to see them morph from ALL CAPS to a combo of Upper and Lower Case because I've been seeing them the way they were for so long.

Of course, my signature has morphed from carefully curly to completely illegible in 35 some-odd years. Though, always with either my middle initial or full middle name. Never just first and last. In fact, I saw my first and last in print recently and didn't think of it as me right away. Funny how caught up we get in our names. And our handwriting. Though, probably, each generation less so, I'm guessing. I mean, how much handwriting will Sis and Bud do after elementary school? I barely do any these days.

Which I became increasingly conscious of as I wrote out thank-you notes this morning. Writing up 4-5 little lines of text 14 times put a strain on my writing, which went from relatively neat to erratic. Funny, we used to write pages and pages at a time. A lost skill.

But I'm passing it along, watching the kids carefully sign their names to each note. Some BUD some SIS, some sis, some Dub. That last one not because he can't spell his name, but because he had trouble squeezing in next to "Sis," so it went up the edge of the card. Other signatures were above the note! We can work on epistolary form later.

Besides, they've already mastered email! And could type their names long before they could write them . . . .

A New Outlook

Literally, a new view: we cleaned some of our downstairs windows last night! The grime, mixed with rain splatters and humidity, was creating a fortress of our usually light and airy downstairs. My, what a difference see-through windows make! I can't help stopping to look out and admire the outside, with no sticky fingerprints or cat prints in between. And it only took a few minutes each. Which should remind me that sometimes the little things, which make a huge difference, really are little.

Let Them Eat Pie

Mama has spent the evening baking pie. Yep, Mama. Not me. Mama. She's entering a pie contest at her office summer picnic. And she has to make it herself. Though, she's never really made pie before. Well, there was one time. A long time ago, when she was in Chicago and I was in NYC and we were in love. She was making a pie to take to a party: Toll House Pie. And she was quite a novice. Didn't put the pie on a cookie sheet. Didn't put foil on the crust edges until the last 15 minutes. Didn't recognize the sound of her smoke alarm when it went off because the pie had bubbled over and burned in her oven. I was on the phone the whole time (Ah, young love. When long distance minutes were expensive!) giving advice.

Well, this time I'm at the kitchen table, reading aloud my recipe for Buttermilk Pie to her. She chose this Southern staple because she figured almost everyone else would be doing a double-crust blueberry or cherry and we aren't such crust connoisseurs over here, which is why we went with a single-crust pie (the rules don't stipulate 2 crusts, thank heavens). And there are no dewberry bushes around to make that Texas treat.

After knowing each other for 16 years and being together for 13, she's picked up a thing or two about pie. And she did everything with aplomb and precision, from making her own crust last night and chilling it to rolling out dough between two layers of plastic wrap to crimping the edges to sprinkling only the pretty almonds to foiling the pie's edge before placing it on a foil-covered cookie sheet. It's prettier than any buttermilk pie I've ever made.

And we'll get to taste it too. She made two little pie-lets with leftover filling and dough so we'll get to try her contest entry in about 5 minutes. If it tastes as good as it looks, she's doing great. But then, she's been a winner in my book for a long time. Even with that first pie attempt.

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Buttermilk Pie

Frozen pie dough (or see my recipe for two crusts here)

6 tablespoons butter

4 eggs

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup buttermilk

1/3 cup sliced almonds or 1/2 cup currants

Preheat the oven to 350F. Fit the pie dough into a 9 inch pie pan. Crimp the edges to seal the pasty onto the pan. Melt the butter and set it aside to cool.

Combine the eggs, sugar, flour, the melted and cooled butter, vanilla extract, and salt in a large bowl and beat the ingredients with a whisk or electric mixer set at a moderate speed 2-3 minutes or until the mixture is smooth and uniform. Add the buttermilk and stir the ingredients thoroughly to blend it in well. Pour the filling into the pie crust. Sprinkle the nuts or currants on top. Bake 45 minutes or until the surface is golden brown and the center is set.

AMNY

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Toll House Pie

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup white sugar

½ cup flour

1 cup chocolate chips

1 cup chopped pecans

2 beaten eggs

2 sticks hot melted butter

1 tablespoon vanilla

Mix all ingredients together. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake 45 minutes at 350°F. Top with Cool Whip when serving.

Flot-some and Jet-some

It was "Under the Sea" day today at the Hungry house. We started by reading David Wiesner's beautiful Flotsam. Well, reading isn't quite accurate because this is a book without words, pictorially exploring a boy's discovery of an old camera at the beach of a camera that has taken photos of other children around the world and this amazing and surprising underwater world. Usually we tear through books, focusing on the written narrative, but this book invites close looking and discussion (which is always easier during daytime reads than nighttime when the mommy-reader is ready for bedtime). And so we lingered over each picture, going back and forth to our favorite pages.

And then we went and painted our own watercolors of the ocean, both silly and surprising (just like Wiesner's book). First, Bud and Sis created octopi at play. Then I painted various crustaceans on an underwater playground. Then they did too. Then I painted a lighthouse at night, with stars glowing . . . in the sea! (Yep, sea stars!) Then they did too. Finally, I painted a coral reef fast-food restaurant.

Then they were off to something else. Sis wanted to be a sea turtle. So we strapped her cardboard box (yes, they each have much loved and very tattered boxes, which have been boats, cars, trains, tables, houses, rockets, you name it) to her back with a scarf and she was able to retreat into it just like a turtle. First, I was supposed to be an attacking shark, scaring her into her shell, but eventually I was the turtle mommy. Bud couldn't resist and soon strapped his box to his back as well. There we were running back and forth across the beach into the water to find something to eat.

If only there was a coral reef restaurant!

Perfection

I think we've entered "the Age of Games." Yep, that time in the life of children during which they love to play games. And parents try hard to cheat to end them quickly . . . without winning! But how do you cheat at Zingo? Or Perfection? Sure, I can fudge counting in Chutes and Ladders and Sis skips colors in Candyland, but in the end, children's games seem designed to be cheat-proof. There is no gaming the game.

I'm only partially joking . . . or serious. Because, as I've said numerous times before, I'm not much of a game player. But I'm starting to see the value. For one, the kids are happily and peacefully occupied for long periods of time. Secondly, it's quality mom-face time with neither child feeling ignored or jealous even though we're playing together. Sure, thirdly, there are all those educational things: taking turns, being a good sport (in our family this means not gloating, or cheering loudly and longly when you win), following the rules, and whatever skill or strategy involved--matching, counting, strategizing (as Bud does with "dots and dashes" with Mama). Our focus tends to be on having fun instead of winning/competing, so we're sometimes flexible with the rules (like, you don't always have to go back in Candyland if you draw a card, like Candy Cane Lane, behind you). We also usually play until everyone has finished, too, to undermine the win-lose dichotomy.

And it's good that I understand all that because we got several games for their birthday (Is it birthday or birthdays with twins?? They each have one. But it's the same. Singular or plural????). Zingo. Rush Hour. A Curious George at the Beach game. I Spy. Texas Bingo. And now they're pulling out the ones we already had, like Chutes and Ladders, CandyLand, Perfection, Memory, Hi-Ho Cheerio, Tic Tac Toe (which we have in a 3-D wooden format). We spent a pretty good morning playing game after game after game after game. One at a time. Playing together. Congratulating the winner, letting the others play out. Putting them away when we were done.

Perfection.

Clubbin'

The kids have joined a club: the library's summer reading club! And they are thrilled beyond belief. We were there last week, playing computer games and picking up books on knights and on Arthur, when we passed the circulation desk and heard them talking about the club. I thought the kiddos were too young, but there is a pre-reading club. If you do 10 reading activities--being read to, retelling a story, learning a nursery rhyme, acting out a story, illustrating a story--you win a prize and get invited to the end-of-summer party. Sis was so proud to receive her club "card" where we'll check off activities. Then, knowing of clubs from tv shows, she asked me where the club building was! The library, of course. They glowed with happiness all the way home, where we proudly posted the checklist on the chalkboard and promptly read 4 books. Then they went off and read to themselves, reciting and retelling their favorite stories. It's been about a week since we were at the library and, not counting carefully, we have done about 40 reading activities: that's 4 books a night, plus some stories during the day; they acted out Cinderella; recited nursery rhymes; and retold me their favorite books. It's fun to see them so excited about books and clubs . . . . I loved both as a kid. Well, and truly, even now . . . . happy reading!

Not Really Posting

Loving the rain we're getting, which our garden so desperately needs.

Have a head cold, which seems odd for this time of year, but Mama Teacher seems to have had it too, with headache and earache and sinus pressure and sore throat. I'll be fine in a day or two. I'm not even really not fine right now.

That doesn't make any sense.

Lots to tell--about sour cream bread, buttermilk pie, book clubs, swimming, twins, in the papers ("ghetto parenting," American vs. European parenting, one woman's dinner diary, heirlooms, extreme jousting, toxic kids, Hungry Girl)--but it'll wait a few days.

Just didn't want you to think I'd completely fallen off the face of the internet.

I know, it has only been 24 hours. But that's a long time for me.

Pornday

Every Monday morning I have a comment on whatever post I've published most recently. It's in Chinese, sometimes with a few English words (sometimes nonsensical, oftentimes irrelevant) followed by a long ellipses. And it's all about porn. (And always on Monday!) I'm guessing here because I've never clicked the link, but I have submitted the Chinese characters to an online translator and it always comes up with various and sundry body parts and lewd offers and suggestions. I don't know why the Chinese porn industry likes my blog--surely none of you are rewarding their efforts by following the link?! Besides, the comments are only up for a few hours before I wake up and delete them forever. I've tried to block the comments with the word authentication program and that hasn't helped. I'm not interested in moderating comments, for now, because there are so few and they are easily dealt with. I mean, one comment weekly just doesn't upset my boat too much. But it is curiouser and curiouser.

The Church Lady Cake

Sis loved this cake at church this spring, made by one of my co-teachers. It is full of chocolatey goodness. And so we are making it today to take to a friend whose husband had an Achilles' tendon repair and is laid up for several weeks, re-learning how to walk. No worries, we're making two small loaves so Sis can have one, too!

(The only worry is that cake mix, purist that I am. But even I am not going to make a from-scratch mix to use in this recipe!)

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Miss J.W.'s Church Chocolate Cake

Devils Food Cake mix

8oz sour cream

4 eggs

1/2 cup oil

1/2 cup water

1/4 cup coffee or liquor

2 tablespoons grated orange peel

1 teaspoon cinnamon

12 oz chocolate chips

Mix all that together and pour in a greased and floured pan. I usually flour it with unsweetened cocoa powder, that way the flour doesn't leave a white mess on the fininshed cake. Bake at 350 for around an hour.

If you are so inclined, when the cake comes out of the oven, pour on the following.

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup butter

1/4 cup orange juice or orange liquor

1/4 cup water.

Heat this together until the sugar melts and pour in over the cake while it is still in the baking pan.

Happy baking! J.W.

Birthday Bashes

The kids are officially 5 and, mercy, did we celebrate! No sentimental treatise on growing up here, nor that letter I said I'd write them (I'm thinking of doing that for the first day of kindergarten), just a recounting of the glorious fun (and minor setbacks) we had in honor of the occasion.

The Birthday Party, or Seals, Sharks, and Birthday Cake!

Yep, we had their birthday party at the aquarium, because they love the animals there, we like destination parties, and it was perfect for a hot July Saturday threatening rain (plus, we like supporting non-profit educational institutions in the process--one of these years, we're gonna haul kids down to AMNH!). However, I don't know how many more big parties like this we'll have; I figure they'll eventually want to have their own, which would necessitate a smaller party. Though, when the question was put to them about separate parties, they stared at me blankly and asked, "Why?" Why, indeed, when one big party can be such fun.

It was the aquarium party leader who made the day. His easy, relaxed, interesting style really engaged the kiddos and put us, the hosts, at ease. Before anyone arrived, he pulled out a big box of decorations and we let the kids go nuts hanging whatever they wanted on the walls--brightly-colored fish, luau lantern strings, the requisite Happy Birthday banner, all sorts of other little things. As the party guests arrived, we let them help decorate, too. I mean, what's better than taping things to the walls? They also colored nametags as everyone arrived.

Then we paired or tripled up as "dive buddies," the idea of which comes from scuba diving (complete with the hand signal he used to gather the children at each stop--he's been doing this for 20-some odd years, so he's a birthday party pro). They loved this. And Sis and Bud had a special dive buddy: Goo. Yep, Goo had come in late the night before so that he could come to the birthday party (and, as an extra bonus, he got to go to kung fu with us before the party!). With Goo in tow, I'm not sure the kiddos even noticed Mama and I lolling behind, which was fine, made it special. We pretty much saw everything--seals, penguins, rays, frogs, sharks, jellyfish--with a group photo in front of the giant blow-up penguin and a break for pizza in between forays in the exhibitions. We even got to go behind the scenes to the touch tank, learning about how old horsehoe crabs, decorator crabs, and the like are--like 100 million years older than dinosaurs! All of the kids asked and answered questions, leading the party leader to tell us afterwards that they were the smartest, best behaved group of 5 year olds he had ever had. We do have a pretty neat bunch of friends. We wrapped everything up with cake (see later post, "A Cake to Remember," with the tale of the two cakes) and favor boxes. Whew. Two-and-almost-a-half-hours of birthday fun.

But we weren't done with the aquarium yet. Most of our friends headed home, but we headed to the meerkat exhibition with some of them. The kiddos loved watching the funny little animals, which kinda struck me as African prairie dogs in the way they ran around digging and kept looking up for danger. The best part, just like at the zoo's prairie dog exhibition, is the pop-up dome that allows kids to ascend into the exhibition and be closer to the meerkats. Sis and Bud could do that for a long time. And we did, finally heading home around 2 pm, after a stop in the shop to buy twin turtles as a gift to Goo for coming to the party (though, he got his own favor box too! 'Cos every 26 year old needs sillybandz! And a plastic narwhal!). And Sis told me on the way over that she was going to buy me something, for being her mommy, and she did: a stuffed mommy meerkat holding a baby. Very sweet.

Despite pizza and cake, we headed to Babysitter's restaurant for a late lunch/early dinner because for the first time she had not been able to make it to the party. The kids merrily ate chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese, surrounded by some of their favorite people (because Babysitter got to sit with us when her shift was over).

And that wasn't it, either, because we had two huge garbage bags of presents in the car! I don't know if it's geography or chronology but no one seems to open presents at parties up here--are the kids too young? is it a Yankee thing? As far back as my memory of my birthday parties goes, we opened presents. And I can see the advantages--first, the birthday kids connect the present to the giver and can thank them on the spot (instead of sending a note later) and the gift-giver, likewise, sees that their gift was appreciated. But, sure, this goes beyond most 5 year olds--they are brutally honest about what they get and how they feel about it and it is really hard for the other kids to sit quietly and watch all the fun without participating. Though, maybe practicing both of those things in part of the ritual? Surely, kids need to learn how to graciously receive and give? Maybe its an outgrowth of the destination party, with very little time for unwrapping presents (we would have had no time on Saturday). I'm not quite ready to buck the local custom (okay, my readers with small kids in TX--what do you do?) and will wait to see how it all evolves.

Which is a long way around saying that the kids tore through all the presents so fast that we almost didn't get a complete list for the thank-you notes we'll make later this week. But I know that's half the fun, right? The other half is, of course, playing with all those new presents: arts and crafts sets, Legos, building sets, books, games, lots of fun new things. In fact, they spent the afternoon doing all the pages in the How to Train Your Dragon art set together and then Bud built his first Lego set (knights, of course) with Goo while Sis traced Toy Story figures on her light-up desk.

There was some fruit and leftover cake for dinner followed by a very late bedtime (after which Goo tried to head home and was caught up in the great Metro North power failure, arriving home later than it should've been). But, hey, you only turn 5 once, right?

The Family Party

Except these kids managed to turn 5 all weekend! Sunday morning they were up extremely early, but instead of holding them to a 7 am wake-up time, we let them open all their presents at 6 am! And it looked like Christmas--we'd piled the presents from us, grandparents, aunts and uncles downstairs so they would have space to unwrap and set up and they tore threw them faster than they had the day before (since we didn't keep to a slower paced one-gift-at-a-time). At least we didn't have to quite keep track for thank you notes (being only 3 main gift givers, it was easy)! There were Buzz Lightyears and Schleich castles, Playmobil fortresses and Pet Shop Clubhouses, jousting knights and dollhouse furniture, games and books. Wow. Thanks, everyone! (I'm still giggling that Bud was surprised that Aunt Banana and Uncle Soccer sent gifts--he thought the new cousin was their present!) Lots of stuff. Excited, merry, spoiled rotten 5 year olds. Who spent the rest of the day playing (and bickering over sharing or not). Mama and I just sat and watched (and refereed and bought new storage to put things in and purged some of the stuff we already had), marveling that it had been 5 years. We talked to everyone--in Texas, in Bangkok (Ma and Gong were up at 3 am watching World Cup and called), in NYC--and again went to bed late.

The Last Hoorah

And today was the last celebration, with Babysitter bringing presents and treats. Sis guessed cake, Bud guessed ice cream. And they were confused to both be right--I don't think they've had an ice-cream cake before. So, it's a great way to end the three-day party.

Only now they're asking when Christmas is!

Birthday Questionnaire

Here we go, a recent list of likes and dislikes, to mark the passing of time and fashions:

Bud

Book: any books about knights or dragons, mostly nonfiction, like DK; Make a World and other how-to-draw books (esp the ones with dragons); Bearnstein Bears series

TV show: "Word World," "Jungle Junction," the "Trouble in Paradise" episode on "Imagination Movers"

Movie: nope

Song: "Hardware Store Song" aka Madonna's "Ray of Light" (which they recognized at the hardware store one day);

CD: nope

Musician: nope

Color: blue

Number: 5 (because that's his age)

Food: shrimp (fried, boiled, sauteed), sushi, noodles, chicken potstickers, all dim sum dishes like shumai, as well as lychees, strawberries, blueberries, mandarin oranges, apples, mango, Dorritos, Cheetos, Skittles (unfavorite: beans and anything made of potatoes, including mashed, french-fried, baked, boiled, whatever)

Flavor: strawberry

Animal: penguins

Day of the Week: days with Kung Fu, swim lessons, or Babysitter

Ice Cream: strawberry (or Cherry Italian ices)

Candy: skittles, marshmallows,

Restaurant: Dim Sum in Flushing; Tex-Mex with Spanish rice, Japanese for sushi

Toy/Thing: his knights (especially the jousters on horseback); his sword and shield with his name on it; Tango, his penguin from the Central Park Zoo; Mr. Big Penguin

Thing to do: draw; play knights; kung fu; swim; cuddle

Place to go: zoos, aquariums, and the American Museum of Natural History; visiting grandparents and their beaches;

Saying/Words: "Actually . . . ;" to Sis, "Wait for me!"; "Mommy, come play with me"; "I want 'me-myself' time."

Happy thoughts every night: baseball, Mommy, Mama, Sis, Gommie, Pop, NY/Norwalk/Mystic Aquarium, penguins, Kenai/Denahi/Sitka (This never changes.)

What he wants to be when he grows up: ??

Sis

Book: Bearnstein Bears books; Magic School Bus books; Arthur books; Clifford books; Dr. Seuss books

Movie: Toy Story

TV show: "Arthur"

Song: also "Ray of Light" (the "hardware store song");

Musician: Imagination Movers

CD: Imagination Movers in the car or books on tape like "Brother Bear," Tchin's Native-American folktales, and Dr. Seuss

Color: pink (and red, in a pinch, "because it's like pink")

Number: 5, her age

Food: CHOCOLATE! (esp molten lava cake, cocoa crinkles, and brownies), chicken fingers, dim sum dishes like shumai, fish balls, khao thom (rice porridge with soy sauce), cha siao bao (bbq pork buns), khanom toy (custard cups), chicken potstickers, mango, "anything crunchy," (unfavorite: anything with sauce or cheese or beans)

Flavor: CHOCOLATE

Animal: bunnies!

Day of the Week: weekends with Mama, Babysitter or swim lesson days

Ice Cream: chocolate

Candy: M&Ms, Tootsie Rolls, Hershey bars

Restaurant: Chinese, especially at the restaurant for the lunch special with soup; Dim Sum in Flushing; Japanese for shumai and yakitori; Bertucci's (esp the rolls) and "chip" restaurant which both have "crunchy" chicken

Toy/Thing: Shirt, Amy the bunny, little pieces (like Playmobil, Pet Shop, or dollhouse bits),

Thing to do: cook and bake (esp cookies); arts and crafts; computer games; talking to Gommie on the computer; having a "deli picnic"; play camp out;

Place to go: "dinosaur museum" (AMNH); library; visiting grandparents and their beaches;

Saying/Words: To Bud, "Wait for me!"; "Mom, Bud's doing . . . "

Happy thoughts every night: Mommy, Mama, Sis, and Bud

What she wants to be when she grows up (the list from tonight was her idea): artist

Mommy

Book: just finished Lonesome Dove and really enjoyed it; Karen Maezen Miller's Hand Wash Cold; Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Movie: waiting for the next Harry Potter

TV show: just not watching any tv right now

Song: "Hollaback Girl" loudly when I'm alone

Musician: as always, Indigo Girls

CD: listening to Rent right now

Color: purple, rainbow

Number: 12

Food: Heirloom beans; CSA veggies esp kale; homemade bread

Flavor: Chocolate, cardamom, rose;

Animal: sea otters, groundhogs, hedgehogs, cats, koalas, pandas, owls

Day of the Week: Saturday

Flower: rose

Ice Cream: Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla; sweet cream

Magazine: Shambhala Sun; Saveur; Archaeology; Brain, Child; Mothering

Restaurant: Bloodroot and Bertucci's (talk about polar opposites) and Tex Mex

Toy/Thing: my laptop!, bread machine, iPod, olla de barro clay pot;

Poet: not currently

Author: no one currently

Blogs: KAF baking blog; Cakewrecks.com; Karen Maezen Miller's Cheerio Road

Thing to do: blog, breadbaking, read the paper, talk to friends

Place to go: craft store, bookstore, Starbucks, Silk Road exhibition at AMNH, Whole Foods, Bloodroot

Saying/Words: "health and safety"

In the Middle of the Whirlwind Weekend

It's birthday weekend here at the Hungry house and we're in the middle of the celebration cyclone, so to speak. Today was the big party day, with more fetes planned for Sunday and Monday. And I'll tell you about it all when it's over . . . .

But how is it, really, that Sis and Bud are five?

Cousin Hungry Will Be . . . .

a GIRL!

In late November.

YAY!

(Though, Bud was rooting for a boy.)

Baking Up Some Fun

Happy National Sugar Cookie Day!

I know, I know, why isn't this day celebrated in a more appropriate month, say, December, when sugar cookies are de rigeur and no one is scared to turn on the oven?

But regardless, we celebrated the day by baking cookies at a friend's house. Let's call her our Friday Friend. She's been the kids' church school teacher for the last two years and Mama and I have known her for the last seven. She's an early childhood educator by profession and a wonderful folk musician. And we're lucky that she's spending time with us! Every Friday this summer we all have plans to get together to do things--last week it was thumbprint art; next week we're thinking of painting t-shirts or baking sourdough biscuits.

And today it was cookies. She'd made the dough ahead of time and the kids joyfully went to rolling and cutting--bunnies, coyotes, stars, hearts, gingerbread people. Then we made frosting--pink and blue--and decorated them all. We ate several before heading into her living room for a jam session on her collection of drums. "All God's Critters," "You are My Sunshine," and "The Silliest Song in the World" ("Ain't Gonna Rain . . .") . . . lots of fun. And all I had to do was sit back and enjoy both the kids having fun and someone else enjoying them. It doesn't get much better than that (well, I also got to enjoy her house, which is filled with books and homemade things, in a comfy-craftsy-chic horror vaccui that I could adopt as my own). We left about two hours later, going through her garden with its grape arbor, three planters of vegetables (including some kale that she let the kids cut for us to take home), compost pile, and lots of interesting paths and garden doodads (reflecting balls, windchimes, mermaid stakes). It was like leaving fantasyland.

I'm glad we'll get to play every Friday.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Frosted Cookie Cut-Outs

2 1/4 cup flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup butter, room temperature

2/3 cup superfine sugar

1 egg, lightly beaten, room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla

1/4 cup buttermilk, room temperature

Sift together flour, soda, and salt. Cream butter and sugar. Add egg and vanilla. Add buttermilk alternating with flour mixture.

Chill for 2 hours. Roll out to 1/8" thick.

Bake at 375F for 14 minutes (which seems tooo hot and too long to me)

Icing

3 cups powdered sugar

1/3 cup butter, room temperature

pinch salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/2 teaspoon lemon extract

2 tablespoons milk or cream

2-3 drops food coloring

Mix together.

adapted from Hannukah cookies recipes in Holiday Baking by Sara Perry

Good for a . . . .

(in the papers, etc:)

• Laugh: About the ingenuity of squirrels. (Pop has said that rats are just one fluffy tail away from being hand fed in the park!)
• Bigger Laugh: Check out 4th of July cakes at Cakewrecks
• Moment of inspiration: Cooking from the beach, the Nordic way

First Harvest

After we watered our little garden this morning, we conducted our first harvest, hoping to save some of the produce from wilting in this unseasonal heat. Sis and Bud gently (and not so) pulled snow peas off their vines. I ate one on the spot, much to their horror. And then Sis--SIS!--gamely tried one too, even if she opened it only to eat the peas out of the inside. But she liked it and ate 2 more. I'm stunned. We'll plant a whole bed of snow peas next year! (Actually, we'll need a second raised bed because this year we planted too much in our little space--the squash plants are double the size we had last year. I wonder if it's better light? soil? Just not sure.) We also harvested a head of romaine lettuce but neither kid could be induced to consider sampling it, dressing or not. I'll save it for dinner. Otherwise, we have one tiny little Italian striped zucchini on a gargantuan plant, and lots of blossoms on it and our yellow crookneck squash plant. There is one long Dragon Tongue bean pod (don't you love the names?). On our topsy-turvy tomato plant there are several little tomato balls, a long way from being ready. But our strawberries aren't doing that well. Still, it's fun to check on our progress and eat the fruits, er, vegetables of our labors.

An Early Bon Voyage

Just a quick note to wish Ma and Gong a wonderful trip to Thailand for the month of July, knowing they need some cheerful words as they are busy getting ready to leave on Friday.

Please say "sawasdee" (hello) and "luk ther" (we love you!) to Lao Gong (Great-Grandfather) for Bud and Sis!

Luk ther to Ma and Gong, too!

Good Updates

Okay, so the temperature outside is record-breaking and ridiculously hot, but otherwise things are going well here. First, our cat Albus's blood test came back perfect and normal. So the vomiting really is just stress. That's a good thing. Secondly, my toe improves every hour. Taking all three things together, we're just hanging out in our house together enjoying the day and the friends who came over.

*%$+#@@**&!!

The hardest part was not to curse in front of the kids like the sailor I become after dark when I slammed my pinky toe against the wall and wrenched it accidentally.

A deep "aaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh" issued forth, though, and the kids who were following me to get their evening toothbrushes stepped back as I could hear Mama running up the stairs.

"I'm okay," I yelled, only because I knew she'd think it was my back. She helped me to the bed and for the first 45 minutes I would've sworn I'd broken it (I've broken toes before). Mama got ice while Sis covered me with a blanket and climbed into bed next to me sweetly, handing me a framed picture of her to me as an extra measure to make me happy. Then she wanted to look at the toe. "Your toes are great," she said. I realized I must always have on socks or shoes around her so that she's probably never seen my toes. They're short and pudgy with funny little nails. She was fascinated and so played "this little piggy" on my uninjured foot.

Bud was just bothered and climbed up on me to kiss my face and hug me close. Then he asked if the toe had come off. When I said no, it was just hurt, he offered to kiss it for me. I said no, but he still insisted on getting a close look to make sure it was still there.

We did the bedtime routine in our room and got them to bed a little late. Later still is bedtime for us because I sat on the couch, foot elevated under an ice pack, while Mama cleaned up an exceptionally messy kitchen and living room. I don't think the toe is broken now, just, well, crunched a bit. I imagine a great big purple bruise will come up in a few days. But at least by then I'll be walking on it . . . .

Thanks Mama, Sis, and Bud for all your TLC!

"It's Hot Enough . . . "

. . . to boil scrambled eggs!" Sis commented today during a rare afternoon foray onto the porch.

Indeed, it is very hot for CT--and maybe even TX!--with air quality alerts and temps rising to above 100F a few days in a row. In context, we never even got to 90F last summer. I liked last summer.

So, we're inside this holiday weekend, celebrating the 4th of July with air conditioning and cold fruit (thanks for the watermelon, lychee, fresh jackfruit, and grapes, Ma!), and fireworks on tv. Just couldn't be tempted to grill outside. Or even swim (except for lessons) . . . .

From the Heart (of Texas): My Journey Home

I promised to tell of Mama's and my solo journey back from the bay, the last post in my Texas series.

We first stopped for kolaches for Sis and grabbed ourselves lunch from the BBQ place. While eating, I spotted the owner, whose bayhouse is next to ours. And so I went to say hi, having not seen him for several years, since we were visiting from Chicago. He later said that he thought Mama and I looked familiar (we get that a lot--how many bi-racial lesbian couples, with twins, do you know? People seem to remember), but he wasn't sure why. He sat and talked with us for awhile about the expansion, business, family, and then offered us a behind-the-scenes tour, through the offices, new conference rooms, storage, part of the kitchen prep area. It was fascinating. And generous of him to give us a tour.

Then we took a side tour through Gommie's hometown. I hadn't been in town, only passed it on the highway, in years. And while it has grown and changed, it has remained familiar enough that I wandered through memories as we rambled around town. There was the original barbecue place, a meatmarket whose glass cases I remembered perusing, the road to my aunt's old house that went past the building where my Bammie had a doctor so long ago, my Bammie's house with the brick planter I used to walk on and the big trees in back and her neighbor who would entertain me sometimes and the alley behind--in my mind's eye, I could walk through every room in that house (except perhaps her own) and see the Coca-Cola sign, bathroom heater, twin beds, terrarium with the bench around it, the countertops in the kitchen, the fireflies in a jar on a nightstand that Gommie and I had caught one evening--and, more than anything else, the family hardware store in its three-story white building looming above that older part of town, which is the only way I found it without asking for directions. I don't know how much time we spent in this town when I was a child; I wouldn't have said it was a lot, even though I lived there as a baby, but my memories of it are from a point in childhood, I guess, where everything I saw was imprinted. The hardware store smells the same, is arranged even the same way with the housewares over on the right to be purchased for the wedding registries that are taped to cardboard with the wedding announcements and kept next to those huge rolls of wrapping paper--I can see the sweet little lady who would always be at the counter and remember Gommie buying things from her there. In the back were the endless boxes of screws and nuts and nails and such. And the scary elevator with no walls that I swear I've ridden. We didn't go up to the second or third floors, but young staff members told me that the stuffed critters are still in the office next to my cousin's, what used to be my uncle's before he (sorta) retired, and that apparently the train track is rumored to be somewhere in storage with its tracks and figures and houses and little trees on a huge table made of plywood. I saw it work at least once, with my other uncle. Out front, next to lampposts in the sidewalk, were plaques honoring my grandmother and her husband (funny, I don't think of him as a grandfather--he died when my mom was but 17), my grandmother's brother and sister-in-law, and then their parents. And it was funny to stand there and feel so rooted to a place, to feel so comfortable and familiar, to almost feel as if I belonged, even though I think of myself as more of a big city or even suburban girl not of a small town, even though it's not my home or even my childhood home. I guess that's what roots are. And they grow in the strangest places, keeping you tied somewhere even if you are much further afield.

Coming to the end of memory lane, we headed over to the George Ranch, a sprawling living history museum intent on recreating 19th-century cattle culture. None of my family were cattle people, that I know of, tending more towards farming ("Oh, the cowman and the farmer can be friends"), but the Wild West and cowboys and cattle drives is what everyone outside of the state associates with it and I wanted to learn something about the life and times. Why is it we always end up at that place when it's more than 100F outside? But today there were no kids in tow and so we could handle the heat and the walk. Heat, humidity, bugs, storm clouds in the distance, warnings about rattlers and alligators. Some things don't change. But we could ride on a tractor around the site and then duck into air-conditioned and restored houses, actually doing the family's history backwards by visiting the elaborate 1890s mansion, then the stately 1860s house, and finally the extremely modest 1830s cabin with dog trot. We also wandered the family cemetery, complete with footstones. And so many dead children. It was a harsh life, something you could feel viscerally as you walked in the heat over dried grass and gazed out into the flat landscape with sharecropper's cabins, cattle cars, chuck wagons. Heading out, I bought a cookbook from the gift shop, it being my favorite way to connect to and learn about a culture. Beans, biscuits, cornbread, brisket, all the traditional Texas recipes, with some great photos of the ranch. Later, back in town, I would pick up Lonesome Dove, hoping it would provide a narrative to the place, characters to walk those dirt paths, even though the book is more about a cattle drive than a ranch--the people, the times, the motivations, are still very similar. And even though my ancestors weren't cattle people, they were there with them, living, I'm sure, a similarly harsh life trying to eke a living out of that hot dirt.

Traffic on the way home brought us abruptly back into the 21st-century and city living. And when I'm reluctant to be here, I just open my book . . . .

Rise Up: The Bread Miracle

It's been about a month since my bread pledge ended, but I'm still baking. Sure, not every other day, as I was in the throes of enthusiasm and experimentation, but still at least 1-2 a week. And there are still so many breads I want to try, more even than when I first conceived the idea. We haven't bought a loaf of anything since early April, only some refrigerated biscuit dough and saltine crackers. And I'm still loving it. With a lot less stress about it than when I started. I have learned so much about the feel of dough, the texture of bread, what I like, what I don't, what works best for sandwiches and what works best for dinner. It's opened up a whole world to me--the history of bread, the anthropology of food cultures around the world, the science of yeast and leavening and gluten, the sociology and psychology of communities of and also individual breadbakers, even the spirituality of the homemade. Along with kids and my experiences in physical therapy (and all I've found out about my musculoskeletal issues), meditation/mindfulness and vegetarianism, even blogging, my bread pledge is one of the most positive transformative events of the last five years.

Lessons Learned

Philosophical:

• Grown ups become childlike in the face of a loaf of warm bread.
• Rarely does a loaf of homemade bread go uneaten.
• Giving the gift of bread is a great way to express your love and appreciation of someone.
• The breadbaking community is diverse--it's not just stereotypical grandmotherly types.
• Bakers can say it's easy to bake bread but then they say something like "you just have to know," which, for a beginner, absolutely contradicts the "easy" part.
• It seems like breadbaking might be like riding a bicycle: once you get the hang of kneading, recognizing "smooth and elastic," etc etc, you can do it even with a long time since your last loaf.
• It doesn't matter how it looks--it's what's "inside" (how it tastes) that really matters.

Practical:

• Don't bother with taking the temperature of the water: if it's too hot for your finger, it's too hot; if it's not warm to your finger, it's too cold. Basically, yeast likes the temperatures we do. Also, tap water is generally at 120F at its hottest. Way too hot for yeast. And my finger.
• I messed up the order of the ingredients a few times when forming the dough--forgot to proof the yeast and thus added everything together from the start (as long as it wasn't a sponge-making recipe), added the salt before the flour (some say that yeast doesn't like the salt right away and the flour helps as a buffer)--and, at least for me, I couldn't tell at all.
• I'm not religious about measuring flour. Yes, officially 1 cup of flour is 4 oz. Lots of books recommend weighing it. Barring that, you're supposed to spoon flour into your measuring cup gently and then level it with a knife (thank you, Fannie Farmer). Big bother. Look, I bet my great-grandmother didn't have a measuring cup. I stir up the flour, scoop a cup, perhaps a little less than full to account for the packing from the scooping. Voila. No worries.
• I've found that times are just a suggestion. And also really forgiving. To navigate proofing and such, just know this: bread is well-kneaded when you poke a hole in it and it bounces back quickly; bread is well-proofed when you poke a hole in it and it doesn't bounce back quickly or completely. Remember that and you need not watch the clock so closely.
• If you are trying to convert a bread machine recipe to conventional baking, mix it altogether, knead about 6-8 minutes (see tip above), rise about an hour, then preheat oven to about 350F, finish the top as you like (i.e. washes and slashes), and bake between 25-45 minutes, depending. You're looking for golden brown on top and a hollow sound when thumped (which, I must add, is about the dumbest instruction because you can't thump the bottom of a loaf of bread until you've "de-tinned" it, which means it's out of your oven. Are you supposed to put it back? I thump the top and it sounds pretty hollow there too). I usually make dough in my machine and then bake it off in the oven--I like the shape and crust better but it saves me the kneading.

Favorites (As I Remember It Today):

• All-time favorite loaf: Oatmeal Molasses
• Hardest recipe: Bammie's Bread
• Easiest recipe: 2-hour No-Knead Bread
• Family favorite: "the twin bread," or Butter Bread
• Worst loaf: Guinness and Molasses (but I'm thinking my molasses had gone old or something)
• Best crust: 18-hour No-Knead Bread
• Most tender crumb: Greek Bread or Butter Bread
• Best wheat: Buttermilk Whole Wheat
• Best for dinner accompaniment: sourdough bread
• Best dessert loaf: Chocolate Challah or Mexican Chocolate Bread
• Best Toast: Bammie's Bread
• Best Non-Bread Recipe: Grilled Pizza
• Best Breakfast (besides toast): Orange Cinnamon Bread

Resources:

• To learn the art of breadbaking, my first recommendation would be anything from King Arthur Flour: from their website to their cookbooks (my favorite being the 200th Anniversary Baker's Companion) or even to the back of their flour bags, I learned the most from their step-by-step instructions and dependable recipes. They also, of course, make great flours and sell other wonderful baking accoutrements (I got my sourdough crock from them). Of course, the best resources are friends who bake, but KAF is a close second!
• All my wonderful bread machine recipes come from the indispensable The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook by Beth Hensperger. I love the ease, simplicity, and variety of her recipes--and without fail they come out deliciously!

Happy Baking!

Rise Up: Daycation Outing

I've just gotten back from my one big outing of my daycation: lunch at Bloodroot. Mmmmm, what a treat. First, of course, the food is marvelous--escarole and garlic soup with white beans and parmesan chesee, grilled Swiss cheese sandwich, an order of Oatmeal and Sunflower Bread, and a delicious blueberry whipped cream roll. Oh, what a delightful meal, unrushed, no dirty dishes, delicious.

With great conversation. Yeah, I went alone but I'm friends with the owners who always have time for a chat. We talked about Western medicine, and its failures, and I got some recommendations for an accupuncturist, which my new doctor has suggested. We talked about asafoetida and how I shouldn't be put off by the awful smell because it adds such a je ne sais quoi to Indian dishes (though, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I threw the stinky bottle away because it was infecting my spice cabinet, even from inside a sealed plastic bag). We talked coconut oil and I got a pie crust lesson, using two pieces of plastic wrap to make it thin, perfectly circular, and easily moveable. We talked about novels and recent favorites, my reading Lonesome Dove, her reading Carl Hiassen and the Dragon Tattoo series (funny you should comment about that Cousin S, because she recommended them too!). So "alone" for lunch but not lonely. I love going there.

It was then and there I decided to make Bloodroot's signature oatmeal bread today, which I've never tried to recreate. I checked their cookbook before I left and knew I'd have to go pick up some sesame seeds. And so I stopped in a Bridgeport grocery store, sightseeing there as much as I have in NYC and TX. Because of the city's ethnic diversity, there were rows and rows of Jamaican, Mexican, Brazilian, and other ethnic foods, included a whole international soda area. Of course, I bought seem beans, pigeon peas, which I've only had in a can and want to try on my own as arroz con gandaules. I thought of getting a tamarind nectar drink, some coconut cream cookies, and a few other things but decided Mama and I should go back and explore together.

So now I'm home, with the oatmeal bread started downstairs, a cat on my lap (and not the one you think, Mama: Albus has become quite the lap kitty since our long TX hiatus, hasn't he?), and World Cup soccer on tv. I might nap a bit or sort files a bit or even bathe midday. Just not sure. And I've got hours and hours in which to do it. Or nothing . . . .

Or maybe, I should just go to dinner at Bloodroot, too! There's going to be be blueberry pie, in the crust I watched made.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Oatmeal and Sunflower Bread

Pour 4 cups boiling water over 3 cups rolled oats and let cool for 1/2 hour in a large bowl. Oatmeal must be no more than warm when yeast is added.

In a stand mixer or by hand, add 2 tablespoons yeast to the oatmeal and stir in 2 tablespoons salt, 1/4 cup grapeseed oil (can substitute other vegetable oils), 1/2 cup molasses, and gradually add 5-8 cups unbleached white flour. Knead a good 20 minutes if working by hand and at least 10 minutes in a machine. Add enough flour to make dough silky, not tough and dry. When dough seems the right texture, add 1/2 cup sunflower seeds and 1/2 cup sesame seeds. Mix inito bread dough thoroughly and set aside to rise for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, covered with a dishtowel. Be sure your kitchen is not too hot. A long slow rising produces best flavor.

Grease 3 small loaf tins (9 x 5") or 2 larger ones. Punch down bread on a floured board and shape into loaves. Place in pans and let rise 1/2 hour.

Preheat oven to 350F and bake bread until done, about 45 minutes. Turn onto racks to cool

The Best of Bloodroot Vol 2: Vegan Recipes

Rise Up: Granola Type

Even though my bread pledge is over, I'm still experimenting with new bread recipes as I continue to bake almost all of our family's bread (yep, we made monkey bread again with refrigerated biscuit dough!). I made this Granola Bread before our vacation and really enjoyed it, even though I wish that I had chosen a granola with less oats and more fillings like nuts, seeds, and dried fruits, because I didn't get a great sense of the granola (the oats just melt into the bread). Maybe I'll make my own granola next time (if I can find Goo's favorite granola recipe somewhere). But, even so, I liked it.

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Granola Bread

1 1/8 cups buttermilk (or buttermilk powder and water)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons honey

2 1/8 cups bread flour

3/4 cup whole wheat flour

1 1/4 cup granola

1 tablespoon gluten

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 1/2 teaspoons bread machine yeast

Place all ingredients in the pan according to the manufacturer's instructions. Set crust on medium and program for Basic; press Start. (do not use delay timer)

When baking ends, remove immediately from pan and cool on a rack before slicing.

Beth Hensperger, The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook

A Daycation

Actually, it's more like a 36-hour vacation: Mama has taken the kids to NYC to see the family until Sunday afternoon, while I stay home with the cats, who had been sick this week and bear watching.

Wow, 36 hours by myself. That is almost unprecedented in the last 5 years. Sure, I'm quite lucky that, in addition to school, we have a babysitter come bi-weekly, but I usually fill those times with appointments and errands (albeit some coffee now and then). But this is a whole day and a half to myself. And even though I'm not going anywhere--the purpose, of course, being to stay home with the cats who have been upset by our long absence and vomiting up their displeasure--it's a welcome, indulgent, luxurious opportunity.

So what is a mommy without kids to do? Well, I started it off by going to my WW meeting--lost .8 lbs--on vacation!--which is nothing to sneeze at, considering pina coladas and such. Then I picked up and dropped off prescriptions (my new doctor, a physiatrist, or rehabilitation/pain physician who I consulted Thursday to much success--she concurs with my PT and suggests more core work and these great pain patches that work very well), as well as some ingredients. Yep, I'm going to relax with a little cooking. I'm planning a Mexican polenta pie, with black beans and cheese, as well as a yogurt poundcake. Yum. I'm also going out for one meal, just myself and Lonesome Dove. I'll blog and email and read and watch tv--I have World Cup on right now, maybe a movie later. If I get motivated, I'll purge some files; if not, I'll read and blog some more. I'll also meditate and do all my stretches and exercises. And stay up late and sleep in.

Nothing strenuous, nothing stressful. Just 36 hours of no stickiness, no toys to trip over, no bums to wipe, no meals to cook on demand. Though, granted, no hugs, no stories, no conversation, no funny moments, no artworks to hang on the walls. I'll either love it or be ready for everyone to come home.

Or, most likely, both.

A Thank-You Note

To the grandmother and granddaughter at the end of the cul-de-sac;

To the mom and her tween son in the minivan;

To the grandmother who lives on the good sledding hill;

(and to Mama, our last customer):

Thank you.

Thank you for seeing the kids' "for sale" stand in our front yard today. Thank you for turning around and coming back. Thank you for stopping. Even though you don't really know us, except in the vaguest sense (except Mama), and stopped just because, because "of their sweet, happy faces." You made them happier.

Thank you for purchasing not lemonade nor homemade cookies but homemade maracas, made of little dinosaur paper cups filled with rice and taped together, then decorated with stickers.

Thank you for saying kind and encouraging words to my two enthusiastic entrepreneurs, who dreamed up both the homemade musical instruments and then the "for sale" stand without realizing there might not be a demand for maracas.

Thank you for understanding that they can't tell a dime from a quarter and giving them a dollar coin anyway. Especially because they were asking for a penny.

Thank you for proving me a pessimist instead of a realist: I didn't think a soul would stop and buy maracas and that I would have to come up with a way to salve the disappointment on their faces and in their hearts. I have stopped at similar stands myself in the past so I should've believed other people would, too. And you can bet I'm going to stop even more often in the future.

love,

Mommy Hungry

P.S. We'll be out on Monday with "Zinger Punch" and cookies!

Rise and Shine

I didn't go back to sleep. Instead I migrated downstairs, wrapped in my long fleece because the cool morning air was barely 60F, and made myself a cup of tea. Drinking that and eating a piece of sunflower butter toast, I read Lonesome Dove. The Hat Creek band is just about to set out for "Montany" and Gus is sorry to be leaving his sourdough, just as it has hit its prime.

Mmmmm, sourdough. At 5:15, there is plenty of time to put out a cup of starter to warm up in time for breakfast biscuits. Which is exactly what I did. Then for two hours, I read my book until the house started to stir. In fact, it was a relatively calm and relaxing way to start the day, with a little bit of peace and solitude. I don't particularly recommend insomnia--I'm going to be suffering later on only 4 1/2 hours of sleep--but it does at times have its upside (which I believe some of the recent essays on sleeplessness in the NYTimes pointed out; I'm remembering the woman who would reminisce while baking brownies in the middle of the night. I wouldn't want to make a habit of it, either the lack of sleep or the daily biscuits, though. Not too healthy.).

The biscuits are now in the oven, getting plump and eventually golden. In a little while, we'll all gather around the table to tear apart their warm goodness and lather them with butter and honey, perhaps a new family ritual. A pretty good way to begin the day.

I guess the sourdough can start more than biscuits.

Midnight Oil

At what point does it not make any sense to pretend or even try to be asleep anymore?

I haven't been sleeping well. And in some ways, that's been a good thing: I think my waking up to flip over (and move my myriad of supportive pillows) or go to the bathroom keep my back from becoming incredibly stiff overnight. I don't know if it is mental anxiety about my back waking me up or physical strain from not moving/sleeping for stretches at a time (I do always wake up more tight than I go to bed), or something else, but I've seen almost every hour this week and my back isn't as loose as that would imply! Tonight alone, after going to bed at 10:45 ish, I saw midnight and 1 and have now, at 5 with light breaking and birds singing, been up for more than 2 hours. I have ruminated on everything under the sun, not even essentially stressful things--like, um, Kagan's nomination and the make-up of the Supreme Court, plus that recent article on the demise of White Protestantism and how that can be viewed as a meritocratic success. So not miserable, just awake. And I think I'm up for the day. The cats have stirred and the kids will be up in less than 2 hours. I'm not even sure I could make myself go to sleep by then if I wanted to. Well, though, I would want to.

Hope you're not reading this "real-time," except maybe you, Lambeth, as it's, what 11:15 am where you are. Maybe my body is telling me I need to move to England or something . . .

Happy Fourth!

Wishing you all the best for your 4th of July celebrations this weekend! If you are looking for recipes, these are the three places I'm perusing:

• The Minimalist's wonderful compendium of 101 grilling recipes;
• An article on the coconut daiquiri;
• And finally, King Arthur Flour's very tempting "doughnut muffins." (It's their 220th anniversary this year!)

It looks like I would be making most of those alone, as I'm probably going to stay in town to babysit our sick kitty Albus while Mama takes the kids to see the grandparents before they head to Thailand. Not what we'd planned, but it'll work out.

Have a great three-day weekend!

Kung Fu Mommy

"I yove it!" Bud repeatedly exclaims about kung fu. He and Sis love the class they're taking. So excited are they that they beg to leave early so they don't miss any of it.

We chose kung fu for several reasons. First, Bud is obsessed with the lion dances at Chinese New Year and this would be his path to learning that. Secondly, kung fu, as they repeat in class, teaches discipline, unity, respect, and humility. And it's great exercise, both strengthening bodies and their sense of self. Sure, other martial arts would do that, but, lastly, this one is Chinese (karate is Japanese; tae kwon do is Korean). And that's very important to me as I try to foster their identity as half-Chinese here in very white Connecticut. The teacher is a Chinese master, counts to them in Chinese, has them bow and thank both him and us, their parents, in Chinese at the end. He even calls them by their Chinese names. So, the class serves many purposes.

In addition to the pure fun of it. They love it. The teacher is so wonderful with the little ones, his aim being to foster their love of kung fu at this age instead of focusing on actual skills. Which is working perfectly with Bud and Sis, who practice their forms everyday and love to show people what they've learned. I love the class, too, but the practice of it makes me a little anxious. Not the actual, physical practice, but the practice of taking them to class and standing by while they attend. It brings out all the worst stress and even competition in me as a parent, even though sports or physical competition has never really been personally important to me. And so I've been mulling it over.

See, we parents all gather at the wall and watch. What is with that? Why must I watch? I'm not the teacher; I'm not the student. And I see my role as parent as enthusiastic but relatively objective supporter. I don't want to be the mom calling from the wall to encourage or exhort her daughter or the mom who watches because she gives out rewards if the girl does well, by which she means performs well not behaves well. What is with that? I want the kids' relationship to be with the teacher directly, not through me. If they don't do something right, I'm not the one who should or even can tell them differently. If they misbehave, let the teacher correct them--I know it will go further and mean more. I want to be there with the water bottle and a hug afterwards, saying "What did you like about class today?" Not "I saw that you can't kick" or "You shouldn't stare out the window." No treats for you. Which I just don't think is my job in this instance.

Actually, I don't think it's my job in school either, though I realize that hands-off parenting is not the thing now. But I grew up with no one checking my homework, or even checking if I did my homework (or commenting, for that matter, on my abilities in softball or swim team, thank heavens). Call it low- or no-pressure parenting. Basically, as I recall it, my parents got my report card, rarely said more than good job, and we just moved on. My schooling was my job. Not theirs. Of course, as Mama reminds me, they could do that because I did my job. Well. But I'm willing to try this approach (or a variation, knowing that when my kindergarteners bring home homework in 2 months--something I didn't have until around 5th grade! The world has changed; parents helicopter now more than ever. And it seems that the system almost requires us to. Vicious, codependent circle--I'll need to help some. Especially as we all get used to the way school works. I'm talking fostering independence not demonstrating indifference. Helping hands, not hands on or hands off.) at least until it starts to fail. Am I crazy, all you teachers out there? Does it makes sense? Remember, I'm a newbie at this, mostly untested, flying by the seat of my skirt. And I'd be willing to change if I were doomed to failure. But, really, if I am in charge all the time, check up on them always, fix it for them all the time, how do they learn to do it themselves? Doesn't some amount of mistakes and failure have to occur? (Of course, that is barring real, repeated, consistent or persistent problems. I'm talking run of the mill type stuff here). If not, they'll be in college with my having to call the professors and check if they've written their papers! Not acceptable.

But it's a trap I must be wary of because the temptation (even the expectation) to play that role is so strong, both in our society (think all those angry sideline-coaching parents) and in me. I actually do feel it very keenly, say, when they do an inside instead of an outside kick, or punch left instead of right, or do get distracted and watch the red belts from their lower white belts line. Not that I'm embarrassed or feel somehow that it reflects poorly on me or even because I'm vested in their being good at kung fu, but because I want to help, to fix it, smooth things for them; you know, the helicopter part. And if I feel that in sports, you can bet I'm going to feel it in academics (and maybe even for those other reasons). I don't want to be that mom who does that to her kids. I want to be the neutral state, the safe harbor, that they can come to no matter what. Who will provide guidance, support, encouragement, but not create fear, anxiety, disappointment, or laziness, dependence, entitlement.

So it's good that we're all practicing with kung fu this summer.

And the actual lessons are good too.