Happy 4th of July!

I hope everyone had a safe and fun Independence Day, and that most of you were able to keep cool.  Of course, for almost everyone in the USA, that would be hard if you went out at all.  We decided to brave the heat, and spent a little over four hours at our local lake, eagerly awaiting the fireworks display.  I sat on a lawn chair for most of the evening, continuously applying bug spray (the harsh, antiseptic odor was worth it, not a bite on me!), while my husband and sons splashed in the very, very warm water.  We sweated and swam, ate overpriced vendor food, and boogied to 70's dance and funk music.  Max got our permission to dance on the sand, where he regaled those sitting on the beach's edge with his creative and enthusiastic moves.  Finally, the sky grew dark enough.  We sang the Star Spangled Banner, and waited for them to start the pyrotechnics.  As much fun as we had been having, heat and all, the night just got better.  This was Sam's first experience with fireworks.  Every time a rocket flew into the air, his entire body would stiffen with excitement.  Each explosion of color brought an exclamation from him, "Red!  Green!  Loud!  Bright!" followed by simple, contagious laughs.  Max loves the fireworks as well, but he's a cautious kid and a thinker.  He couldn't help but be concerned for the kids swimming in the dark water, invisible but for the multi-colored glow-sticks around their necks and wrists, and the brief illuminations from the fireworks overhead.  I was concerned as well, and envious.  I remember how magical night swimming is, and it's been such a long time since I've participated.  My concern came from the large flashes of lighting just a few minutes before.  Luckily, the storm held off until later that night, when everyone was safely out of the water and back in their homes.

Days like yesterday, and many more these past few weeks, have brought a wonderful, sad feeling of nostalgia.  I'm not sure what it is.  We went to our first waterpark with the boys last weekend (and my first trip to a waterpark in 10 years).  Even watching cartoons on these hot, summer mornings brings a flood of memories and feelings that I can't quite place.  I find myself trying to keep this feeling up; watching and doing things from my childhood, even buying the same snacks (nothing says summer like those horrible Fruit Juice Barrels, made with no fruit juice).  I think I know that everything is going to change again at the end of the summer.  They're all good changes, the new baby arriving, Max going to preschool, Sam becoming a big brother; but right now, this summer, I like time travelling backwards.  It's strange that since I've had children, each year I've grown older and further away from my youth, I've also been getting closer.

Irons in the Fire

I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend, and a Happy Mother's Day to all moms out there.  I had a wonderful day on Sunday.  My husband went to a bachelor party for my soon to be brother-in-law on Saturday, so I knew that I wasn't going to wake up to smiling, well-dressed children bringing me breakfast in bed.  In fact, Sunday was a lot like most other days of the week.  I comforted my oldest child when he woke up in hysterics at 5:00 am, I got them dressed, went grocery shopping with the two of them.  At first I thought I was going to want a break from my normal Mom routine, but when is a better time to embrace it? After all, that's what we're celebrating on Mother's Day.

In some ways, Sunday was even busier since I had to make potato salad and a strawberry-rhubarb tart to take to a farewell party for a neighbor.  I'm a little jealous that I was not able to drink any of the 12 gallons of sangria one of our friends made, but I had a wonderful time at the party and ended the evening on a high note watching Sherlock on PBS: Masterpiece Theater.  Not going to lie, I looked forward to that most of the day.

My husband also started working on one of our many projects on that day.  We're building a farmhouse vanity for the powder room on the main floor.  I found the plans on  http://ana-white.com/ .  Right now it looks like this:

but hopefully it will just take a few more hours of work to make it spectacular.  I went ahead and made a spreadsheet of everything I want to do/make/buy for each room.  It's a little overwhelming right now, so my next step is a schedule.  I know the nesting drive is kicking into high gear when I'm willing to commit to a timetable.

Everything is on hold until Saturday, though.  Tomorrow, it's time to get organized.  My sister's wedding is on Friday, and I need to start preparing to bake the cupcakes for the reception.  I've never baked this much at one time.  I'm fine with the baking part, but I'm not looking forward to all the washing of dishes that will be happening on Thursday.

Quotidian Questions for Parents of Young Children

What's that in your mouth?
Why is it so loud?
Why is it so quiet?
Do you want to do it your way, or Mommy's way?
Do you think that is a good idea?
Is that chocolate on your hand? (Oh please, let it be chocolate)
Do you need to go to the bathroom?
Why didn't you go to the bathroom when I asked?
Where are you going with that?
Why did you throw your toy/hit your brother/color on the wall...?
Where did you learn about that?
Do you want to help?
Are you okay?
Can I have a kiss?
Do you need a hug?
Do you know how much I love you?

Dinnertime

My house moves to the rhythm of mealtime.  I think that this is only natural when you still have very little ones.  The first year of a child's life seems to be broken down into 3-6 hour increments between feedings.  Of course, there is also the fact that all of us here really enjoy eating.  There are times that Max, my oldest, tells me what he wants for breakfast as soon as he wakes up.  Sam occasionally hyperventilates when I open the fridge around lunchtime; he's so excited.  The real reason that mealtime is so important to us, however, is that it's the time when everyone stops what they are doing and sits down together.  It can't always work out for breakfast and lunch, but for dinnertime, we make it happen.

I realize that a lot times, it's just really hard to get everyone gathered around the table.  It's tricky during the baby years, when the parents either scarf down their food at the speed of sound in order to feed their child, or end up eating cold food after everyone else is finished.  I can only imagine the obstacles that arise as kids get older and start having their own schedules and events that have to be worked around.  Still, I think (hope) that if you  start the tradition early, it will carry through as long as you are all together.

Here are four tips that I think help dinnertime come together and go smoothly:

1. Keep the dinner table clear.  My friends and family are probably laughing at me for making this number one.  At this very moment, I have books, mail, tax papers, laundry to be folded, and more on my table.  My current bad habits aside, it seems obvious that a clear and clean dinner table invites you to sit down.
2. When at all possible, serve everyone the same thing.  Unless there is a medically necessary reason to do it, I've never been a big fan of making individual dinners for every member of the family. Exposing kids (and adults) to new foods help expand their palate and hopefully deter picky eating.  Obviously, kids have some hang-ups, and this is where clever labeling comes into play.  Onions and peppers are sweet onions and sweet peppers, certain vegetables are described as "the stegosaurus's favorite food," and the word spicy is avoided at all costs.  If, while you are placing the meal you just made on the table, your child whines, "What's that?" and all creativity fails, you can always use the old standby, "That's dinner."
3. Create some R.O.D. (Rules of Dinner).  Jenny at Dinner: A Love Story posted about this sometime last year.  Rules of dinner just help things go smoothly, and creating them is a great thing to do as a family when your kids are old enough.  We haven't sat down and spelled them out, but we have some unofficial ones:  You have to eat at least one bite of everything, you have to ask to be excused, no singing at the dinner table (sometimes we allow this one to be broken).
4. What's for dinner isn't as important as sharing dinnertime.  Yes, what you eat is important, but there are days when people are too tired to cook, or sometimes just want to make a meal out of French Fries and mayo (I've been that person too many times).  Don't worry too much about it.  Even when we bring home McDonald's, we all sit together and have the same conversation we would be having if I had made beef bourguignon.  In fact, sometimes those are the best times.

B is for...

When I first signed up for the A to Z challenge, I tried to think through the first four letters of the alphabet, just to make sure I did some planning.  I was having trouble deciding what B would become.  Maybe bread, I do love baking bread.  Maybe brownies, one of my biggest weaknesses.  Or perhaps beer (okay, maybe this ties brownies in the weakness category).  Really though, it became obvious to me at the beginning of February what I would write for this post.

The things is, I haven't been drinking any beer lately (although I have increased my brownie consumption), because B is for Baby! Today I am 13 weeks pregnant with my third child.  They say that every pregnancy is different, but until now, I had no reason to believe it.  My first two were pretty easy going, at least in the beginning, while this one has been fairly rough.  I had two small scares (if any scare can really be considered small), but I had a sono today and everything looks good.  So I'm really happy to be celebrating B today, and sharing this news with all of you.

My first two babies - Photo by Linda Hughes Photography

Saving Time

It's been a little while.  I would love to say that it's because I've been incredibly busy with lots of projects in the works, but the truth is, I just haven't been feeling like writing.  It makes me a little anxious about April, when I've challenged myself to blog every day except Sundays.  Strangely, I've been reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, a book on writing.  Three things have been happening while I read her book:

1. I'm getting very excited about looking, and listening, and writing.  Forget whether I have anything meaningful to say, I just want to put it down. (I admit that I've not put much more than a few notes to myself down, but I'm really pumped to do more.)
2. I'm laughing a lot.  I was a little apprehensive about starting a book on writing, worried that it would be dry and slow.  This book is anything but.  I have actually laughed out loud at some of her anecdotes and her sarcastic, paranoid way of looking at things.
3. I'm thinking about spiritual things.  Not exactly sure where this is coming from.  She mentions her faith several times in the book, though not in any great detail.  I suppose it's all this looking and listening.

As well as reading, I've also been really getting along with my boys.  I know that sounds horrible, but the truth is that there are weeks where every day is "one of those days."  Last month I felt that Max and I were going head-to-head every time I asked him to do something, and then suddenly, something just switched.  I gave up trying to make him do things, and he started choosing to be more helpful.  Then there are the things he says.  His drink is "nice and cold;" his strawberries, "nice and sweet;" his cereal is "part of this complete breakfast."  (Ok, maybe we've been watching too much TV.)

Today we went to Snow and Story Time at the ice rink.  I bundled them up in hats and mittens to give them a taste of the winter we didn't have.  With red cheeks and noses we left the building, took off our coats, and have been enjoying this 70 degree afternoon.  

Happy Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day!  I realize that it is an incredibly commercial holiday, but it's so much fun.  I went into Wegman's yesterday and it seemed Cupid became store manager over the weekend.  Roses were everywhere, of all shades of pink, orange, red, and yellow.  Bunches of balloons tied with ribbons hovered at the ends of every aisle.  Oh, and of course, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate!

Right now, Valentine's Day doesn't have too much meaning at our house.  Max was born this day four years ago, so we're in birthday mode.  We'll probably be feasting on a gourmet meal of McDonald's, Max's favorite, and having an ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins.  Maybe, after the kids are asleep, Ed and I will try and watch at least part of a movie together before I drift off.

However you are spending the day, with a singular special someone, with friends, or just hanging out on your own, I hope you stay warm.  Winter seems to be making sure that we don't write it off quite yet.  Here, it threw a small tantrum over the weekend, but I see it's been more stubborn elsewhere.  Make up your own hot cocoa mix to have on hand when the cold is getting to you, or when you just need a rush of endorphins.

Drinking Chocolate adapted from Making Artisan Chocolates by Andrew Garrison Shotts

Apparently, his staff calls this a "liquid brownie."  The moniker is apt.

To make the powder:

8 1/4 oz of bittersweet chocolate, chopped.  (He specifies 64% cocoa.  I typically use  a combination of Ghirardelli 60% and 70%)

1/3 cup nonfat dry milk

1 cup sweet ground chocolate

Combine the chopped chocolate with the dry milk in a food processor.  Pulse until the chocolate is ground into small granules.  Be careful that the chocolate doesn't start to melt from the heat of the processor blade.  If it looks like it is starting to melt, take a break and come back to it in a few minutes.  Once the chocolate and milk are mixed in a fine powder, add the sweet ground chocolate powder.  Pulse until completely combined, and then store in an airtight container.  The chocolate powder should keep in a cool place for six months.

To make the hot drinking chocolate:

Add 3 heaping tablespoons of the chocolate powder to 8 oz of whole milk in a small, heavy saucepan. (I suppose you could use 2%, but it just won't be the same.)  Whisking constantly, heat over medium heat until all powder has dissolved and mixture reaches a rapid boil.  Immediately remove from heat and serve.

Shotts also suggests an adapting this for a chocolate martini.  You simply allow the hot chocolate to cool down in the refrigerator, add some Kahlua and vodka and shake it over ice.  Yes, please!  

Taking Sides

Max already has a loose grasp on good and evil.  When Tom gets hurt, he laughs.  When Jerry gets hurt, he doesn't.

Did You Put Your Shoe Out?

Today is December 6^th, known in some European countries as St. Nicholas day.  Growing up in Germany and Belgium, we always put our shoes outside the door in anticipation of what St. Nicholas (or Sint Niklaas) would leave us.  I remember in Germany; chocolate coins and eggs tied to a small branch, standing in my siblings’ and my sneakers at 6:30 on those cold, winter mornings.  In Belgium, since we were getting older and our feet were bigger, St. Niklaas would shove a Toblerone or a Cote d’ Or chocolate bar down our shoes.

All these years later, across an ocean, St. Nicholas has found our house in Northern Virginia.  We have modified the legend of St. Nicholas (some would say bastardized it, but I refuse to use such language when referring to Christmas legends).  For us, St. Nicholas is a revered old man, with the same magic as Santa.  He works alongside, but independently of Santa, leaving treats for those who are good and switches and rocks (Max doesn’t really understand coal yet) for those who are naughty.  What he leaves you can be seen as something of a bellwether for how you will fare on December 24^th, and gives you a little time to be extra special good if things don’t look too promising.  For a hilarious, twisted, yet still fairly accurate telling of St. Nicholas traditions, check out this story, Six to Eight Black Men, by David Sedaris. 

Max woke up this morning, and said, “Let’s see if St. Nick came!”  As a parent, that’s the payoff.  We went downstairs and checked their sneakers.  St. Nicholas left Max and Sam both sweets and sticks.  At first Max only saw the sticks.  I didn’t think it was possible for his face to get that long.  Sam found his little gold-wrapped chocolate bear, took it out, and threw it on the floor.  I think that the message the sticks were supposed to send may have gotten lost once the chocolate was discovered. 

Going with it

I imagine myself as one who enjoys spontaneity, but that’s not true.  I want to be someone who enjoys spontaneity, but the reality is that I hate surprises.  Or at least, I like surprises that that give me time to plan.  Unfortunately for my husband, the imagined me frequently mentions that she is tired of being the one who has to make all the arrangements for family and couple outings, and that she would love it if he would just whisk her and the boys away for some fun.  However, on those occasions, it is the real me that is whisked away, and I bombard him with questions like “Are you sure that this place is open,” “do you have directions,” and “are you positive that we are appropriately dressed?”  (Those who know my husband understand that he has giving me cause to question him regarding that last matter.)

Last weekend he boosted my confidence in his ability to plan a surprise for us.  He drove us out into the countryside to pick lavender at the Seven Oaks Lavender Farm.  It was mentioned the Tuesday before at his Barbershop group (yes, my husband has recently started singing Barbershop) that this was the last weekend it would be open, and he knew he had to take me.  It was a beautiful day.  We got there in the morning, before the air became too sticky.  Edward had borrowed a flower basket from my mother, and we walked the short path from our car, stopping to look at the baby goats, up to the patch of lavender.  The woman who owns the field told us about the different types of lavender; the English Lavender, that is the sweetest smelling but was pretty much all picked; the Provence lavender, the most common variety and the best for cooking; and the Pierre Grosso, which has more of a camphor smell, but dries a beautiful, deep blue.  I crouched down, picking my stems while my son Max ran through the bushes squealing with delight and chasing butterflies.  Bumble bees buzzed all around, but they had more important things to do than to worry about us.

Lavender Syrup

I wasn’t completely prepared this time, but next year I will come ready with a list of everything I want to make with lavender, and be sure I collect enough.  I did have enough stems for lavender syrup, though.  It’s fragrant, sweet, and just subtly floral.  I use it in my tea and yesterday I drizzled it over a delicious vanilla pound cake. There is something poetic about eating flowers.

2 cups sugar

2 T dried lavender blossoms*

1 cup water

Put all ingredients in a small saucepan.  Bring to a simmer and stirring constantly, cook until sugar dissolves and syrup is just slightly thickened.  Remove from heat and allow it to cool.  After refrigerating for two days, I poured the syrup through a fine sieve to remove the lavender blossoms.  Store syrup in the refrigerator.

* mountain rose herbs is a great online source for herbs and spices 

Sing a New Song

It always creeps up on you, when you realize you’ve become your mother.  Rarely do I think before a statement is made, “I am going to say something that will sound like my mother’s voice is coming out of my mouth.”  The epiphany hits you after the statement or act is done.  Sometimes it makes you cringe; sometimes it makes you smile.

I was raised in a family that really, really loves to sing; and sing loud.  My parents played the music they liked, and while lots of kids grow up listening to Oldies, I was the only third grader in my class who knew all the words to Gene Pitney’s “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” or Jim Croce’s “Operator.”  Likewise, while my mother sang traditional lullabies to get us to sleep, “Rock-a-bye Baby”, “Hush Little Baby” and the like; the nighttime songs that come to mind most are “Greensleeves," “Yellowbird,” and “I’ve Got Plenty of Nothing.”  (While I knew the words, I didn’t really learn the melodies of these songs until much later.  My mother is horribly tone deaf, but she makes up for it in feeling.)

So, as we were driving along the other night and the sky started to pour, my son asked me to sing the rain song.  Did I think of “Rain, Rain, Go Away” or even “The Itsy Bitsy Spider?”  Nope, I started belting out B.J. Thomas’s “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head.”  At that moment I was my mother.  And I smiled.