Where are you? What's your house like? What's been going on? When are you going to call? We need an update. Yes, well, to all these questions, I offer the following.
The trip to Austin was mostly uneventful; we left on Saturday morning and arrived in Austin on Sunday evening. Except for the time the pop-up camper began swaying so horribly that the semi-truck and me in Jon's pick-up truck slowed down considerably as we offered up desperate prayers that Jon would get control of the pop-up and thankful prayers that the suburban is a heavy vehicle, or the time I had to sleep on the bathroom floor at the hotel with Daisy so she wouldn't bark, growl or whine every time a hotel guest walked noisily down the hall, or the time we nearly left Charles somewhere....come to think of it, is Charles around here? Other than that, it went about as smoothly as a trip involving 6 kids, an 80lb red boned hound, 2 parents, grandpa, two vehicles, and a camper can go.
We arrived at our new address under the worst of circumstances. Namely because I'd been averaging 3 hours of sleep a night for quite a few nights running, the kids were very hyper having been cooped up in cars for a couple days, and Daisy was exuberantly sniffing and barking at everything. Furthermore, Jon was tense about my opinion of the house I'd never seen, and the home owners still had two cars parked in the driveway and 3 tiny yippee ankle biter dogs hollering their wee heads off in the sunroom. And so we burst upon the house and yard, party of 10.
Amongst wriggling excited humans dashing about, opening and closing doors, I surveyed the new landing pad. The house is odd and dark, with additions, hallways and extra doors here and there disrupting any sort of modern open flow that characterizes today's architecture. The kitchen is so dark that even I have to turn on lights in the middle of the day, and in a comparison of my past kitchen in terms of brightness and size....it's better not to compare. The master bedroom is a very odd sort, where the windows to the outside no longer look outside as an addition was put on--so the windows look into the small addition (now housing my sewing room) and two windows look out of the sewing room into the backyard. The master bath--hilarity will have to suffice as description since my camera battery died and I cannot download pictures until I unpack the box with the battery. I've no doubt the light fixtures and bathroom counters were the most hip in the mid-70's.
I was rather deflated and distressed. And poor Jon was worried sick muttering, " I should have never chosen the house."
Once I had a moment to catch my breath and rally my spirits, I began in earnest to mentally arrange our stuff in the current landscape since the movers and the semi-truck would arrive first thing in the morning and unpack in a whirl wind of activity that might take me weeks to sort out. Jon went to book a hotel for the night which took some doing since I was adamant that Daisy stay with us and not be left at the strange house alone--but he found a great spot after 45 minutes of phone calls--very clean, perfectly arranged, and dog friendly. Best part, it was the least expensive of all the hotels he contacted.
Daisy was a gem that night at the hotel which was good because I needed to sleep in a bed for a good many hours which I did, and we showed up back at the house to find the moving staff ready and waiting on Monday morning.
We were really blessed with the best moving staff ever. Five guys along with Patty and Dennis, unloaded the truck, and I directed everyone to the right rooms. 28,000 lbs of furnishings, books, and stuff were absorbed by the house in a mere 6 hours. It was remarkable. Then Patty and Dennis bid adieu to the local moving staff, and set to work unpacking; Grandpa, Jon and I assisting that effort.
By Tuesday morning, I had to admire Jon's ability to pick a house that was really very well suited to our "odd" life. The backyard is huge, fenced, with trees, a big shed, and a perfect spot for the trampoline which is up and running. The place is teeming with wild life, and the boys have been catching dozens of snakes, lizards, toads, huge caterpillars, and other assortments which they have to release from captivity nightly. I think all the lizards are tail-less in our yard now.
The three car garage was converted into a one car garage with a big finished off room perfectly suited to homeschooling with built in book shelves and counters, and plenty of room for instruments, books, computer, printer, school supplies, 6 desks, and all else. A little hallway goes from finished garage school room to the small hallway in the house, containing a broom closet, the washer and dryer, and an extra bathroom that everyone forgets we have until the other two are occupied. From there you enter the dinette area which of course has my huge desk, and then the "cozy" kitchen to the right. The kitchen is down right tiny with a set of double ovens from the 70's (which I like very much) that have never been used. They were shocked to be put into play on day 2 of our arrival, and have been turned on at least once a day since.
My kitchen is a tiny contained unit so it is more like a work room which no one can see anyway. Sprouts are in various stages of advance, tupperware rectangles full of sugar, cornmeal and beans are stacked up in one corner with the Berkey water filter, all my electrical appliances line the counters since there's no room in a cabinet, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, the 4 corners of the small room are essentially unusable because of the way the cabinets were installed. But the very good news is that it has forced me to do what I needed to do a long time ago--purge the kitchen of all things not frequently used and not essential to the daily culinary life of the Hodges family.
The sunroom is housing unpacked boxes, the sewing room doubles as my radio studio and Jon's office when he's working from home, the children's rooms are big enough, and the family room is very large with a high open beamed ceiling and a big brick fireplace. Lots of loaded bookshelves complete the picture. The dining room is the loveliest room in the house with a wide shelf the length of the room under the front windows that holds oil lamps, cake stand, fruit bowl, etc. Bookshelves line two other walls, and the piano is nicely ensconced along the 4th wall. Doors close it off from the kitchen and from the entry way.
Overall I am very pleased with the final product and have congratulated Jon on a job well done. Though we are still unpacking boxes, we are getting ever closer to a routine of music practice, school and play time though we aren't quite there yet.
I've not yet seen a single child in the vast neighborhood except my own. Charles while walking Daisy the other day overheard a neighbor remark to another, "It sure is weird seeing kids around here." We seem to be the odd man out wherever we go, but everyone is fine with that.
One night I went for a jog around midnight and was startled to come upon 4 deer posed in a yard. It really isn't the sort of neighborhood you would find fake deer in the yard but I couldn't believe they were real. They were real all right and having the best time running and playing all over the place. I "ran" into them 3 more times over the next 30 minutes. Very pleasant.
The days are HOT, in the 100's. The nights are very pleasant, mid-70's, and the stars are absolutely divine. We live in south Austin, the farthest you can go and still be within the city limits, which is nice because it puts us farther from the light pollution at night. Most days the suburban sets in the driveway unused, and I'm kept very occupied feeding these people, unpacking, maintaining clean laundry and doing my daily radio show.
Jon is on the road most days, sometimes making an appearance at lunch and home most nights. He loves his job and is ecstatic that he can come "home" rather than stay in hotels as he did for June and July. I like the more leisurely pace of mornings since Jon doesn't have to be out the door as quickly and everyone can have breakfast together after the sun is up.
And that in a nutshell--I guess a rather big nutshell--sums up the Reader's Digest version of the Hodges new life.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Now That I've Seen The Job, I Know I'm Not Qualified
"Mom, when are we going to get there? Mama, may I have a vitamin? Mom, I thought you said I could shave my legs? Mommy, I don't think you fed us lunch. Did you feed us lunch?"
All questions must be submitted in writing. That's my number one rule, followed by, if you decide to acquiesce to this request, make sure it's in German. I can't really read German, but I wouldn't read it if it were in English, so that isn't really the point.
Who are these people and why do they sit at the dining room table three times a day waiting for yet another meal. More importantly, am I ruining their lives? I try to limit asking myself this question to once an hour.
I distinctly remember the first time Jonathan told me his stomach hurt as if I knew what to do about it. I momentarily panicked. Gee, I'm the mom. My mom seemed so knowledgeable when I told her my stomach hurt. But come to think of it, none of her remedies ever worked. So maybe she was pretending... All of this flashed through my mind as I gazed steadily into Jonathan little upturned concerned face. He clearly thought I knew the answer. I remembered....
I remembered being 4 years old and climbing out of mom's blue mustang at the mall. I needed tennis shoes, and I got some that day at Macy's. The shoes had an appliqued Miss Piggy on each shoe. I really thought this was terrific because I could do the most amazing rendition of Miss Piggy karate chopping Kermit the Frog. I was good. At least my entire Kinder Care class thought I was good.
As I pushed the front seat forward in the Mustang and stepped past the seatbelt out the door, my elbow banged on the latch and it hurt. I yelped a bit. Mom said," I'll fix it for you," and then she kissed my elbow.
I thoroughly expected that the pain would be completely gone upon impact between elbow and lips, but to my complete astonishment, nothing happened. I was shocked and speechless. And then I felt very protective of my mother. She could never know that her kisses were broken. So I pretended that it was perfect and instantaneous healing powers she had, stuck my chin in the air, announced "all better" and took her offered hand though my elbow still throbbed. My mom was so convinced of my act that just two days ago when my daughter Vivian hurt her leg, Nana announced that her kisses had the power to heal instantly. It had always worked for Vivian's mama (me). I decided not to tell mom the real version. It was 30 years ago. Why break the magic now?
So back to Jonathan and his stomach. I realized that I needed Bentanite and I was totally unprepared for this moment. In his 3 year old world, he needed to know that his mother knew exactly what remedy a hurting tummy needed, and I gave it my best shot, and wondered if he pretended it worked so that he could protect me from my failures.
Worn down by years of being a self-admitted failure at this journey called motherhood, a 9 year old Charles announced his stomach hurt, and he bent over in half by the sheer pain of it, and looked at me with the look. The look that says, "you know what to do, now share your knowledge."
I shrugged in defeat. "Charles, I have no idea what your problem is. But I can offer suggestions. Sit on the toilet. Have some Bentonite, lay on the sofa doubled over in half until the pain goes away. I have bad news. When you become a mother, no one hands you blue prints. You just sort of muddle through the thing as best you can, and pray to God that He gives your children the strength to endure you."
Charles accepted this answer with amazing maturity. In fact, I think he appreciated my bluntness. And then it occurred to me. He's probably been protecting me from my ineptitude for years as well, and now it's a relief to know he doesn't have to.
All questions must be submitted in writing. That's my number one rule, followed by, if you decide to acquiesce to this request, make sure it's in German. I can't really read German, but I wouldn't read it if it were in English, so that isn't really the point.
Who are these people and why do they sit at the dining room table three times a day waiting for yet another meal. More importantly, am I ruining their lives? I try to limit asking myself this question to once an hour.
I distinctly remember the first time Jonathan told me his stomach hurt as if I knew what to do about it. I momentarily panicked. Gee, I'm the mom. My mom seemed so knowledgeable when I told her my stomach hurt. But come to think of it, none of her remedies ever worked. So maybe she was pretending... All of this flashed through my mind as I gazed steadily into Jonathan little upturned concerned face. He clearly thought I knew the answer. I remembered....
I remembered being 4 years old and climbing out of mom's blue mustang at the mall. I needed tennis shoes, and I got some that day at Macy's. The shoes had an appliqued Miss Piggy on each shoe. I really thought this was terrific because I could do the most amazing rendition of Miss Piggy karate chopping Kermit the Frog. I was good. At least my entire Kinder Care class thought I was good.
As I pushed the front seat forward in the Mustang and stepped past the seatbelt out the door, my elbow banged on the latch and it hurt. I yelped a bit. Mom said," I'll fix it for you," and then she kissed my elbow.
I thoroughly expected that the pain would be completely gone upon impact between elbow and lips, but to my complete astonishment, nothing happened. I was shocked and speechless. And then I felt very protective of my mother. She could never know that her kisses were broken. So I pretended that it was perfect and instantaneous healing powers she had, stuck my chin in the air, announced "all better" and took her offered hand though my elbow still throbbed. My mom was so convinced of my act that just two days ago when my daughter Vivian hurt her leg, Nana announced that her kisses had the power to heal instantly. It had always worked for Vivian's mama (me). I decided not to tell mom the real version. It was 30 years ago. Why break the magic now?
So back to Jonathan and his stomach. I realized that I needed Bentanite and I was totally unprepared for this moment. In his 3 year old world, he needed to know that his mother knew exactly what remedy a hurting tummy needed, and I gave it my best shot, and wondered if he pretended it worked so that he could protect me from my failures.
Worn down by years of being a self-admitted failure at this journey called motherhood, a 9 year old Charles announced his stomach hurt, and he bent over in half by the sheer pain of it, and looked at me with the look. The look that says, "you know what to do, now share your knowledge."
I shrugged in defeat. "Charles, I have no idea what your problem is. But I can offer suggestions. Sit on the toilet. Have some Bentonite, lay on the sofa doubled over in half until the pain goes away. I have bad news. When you become a mother, no one hands you blue prints. You just sort of muddle through the thing as best you can, and pray to God that He gives your children the strength to endure you."
Charles accepted this answer with amazing maturity. In fact, I think he appreciated my bluntness. And then it occurred to me. He's probably been protecting me from my ineptitude for years as well, and now it's a relief to know he doesn't have to.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
You guess the kid....
"Breakfast is ready," his mother called and the troop came into the dining room with the usual accompaniment of knocked chairs, half hearted arguments, clattered noises thrown together softly enough that mom stayed out of it.
It wasn't much, buttered cinnamon toast on a square of waxed paper and a glass of orange juice. He strolled into the kitchen in underwear. "Good grief, where are your clothes? Go put on your clothes," mom rolled her eyes. He ignored her and sat at the table munching his toast and looking around actively for any opportunity to stir up trouble. She didn't really notice being busy with her coffee and book.
Then she remembered, when breakfast was done and the dining room empty, littered with meal debris. "Go get dressed and then get the math flash cards out of my car door and bring them to me." He trotted upstairs enthusiastically, tripping on the third step, swinging round the half landing on the banister, and hopping up the remaining steps two at a time. A few squeals accompanied his progressive trot across the hall from siblings passed along the way and antagonized in the expected hasty, habitual manner. They practically squealed in anticipation of what would come with his approach.
A short time later he was out the door to retrieve the flash cards. He burst back into the house, tripped and fell scattering flash cards all over. His mother rolled her eyes and went back to her book. He collected himself and his cards. She accepted the cards silently and looked him over. His collar was tucked under the shirt, the buttons crookedly joined, his eyes were bright and his grin was broad.
"How do you manage to put your shirt on like this everyday?" She asked while fixing it, and then started on the flash cards. He enthusiastically fired out the answers only occasionally pausing to search for the right answer. At the end he spontaneously threw his arms around his mother nearly upsetting the coffee cup. " I love you!" he said exuberantly and planted a damp kiss on her cheek.
And you wonder why he's her favorite.
It wasn't much, buttered cinnamon toast on a square of waxed paper and a glass of orange juice. He strolled into the kitchen in underwear. "Good grief, where are your clothes? Go put on your clothes," mom rolled her eyes. He ignored her and sat at the table munching his toast and looking around actively for any opportunity to stir up trouble. She didn't really notice being busy with her coffee and book.
Then she remembered, when breakfast was done and the dining room empty, littered with meal debris. "Go get dressed and then get the math flash cards out of my car door and bring them to me." He trotted upstairs enthusiastically, tripping on the third step, swinging round the half landing on the banister, and hopping up the remaining steps two at a time. A few squeals accompanied his progressive trot across the hall from siblings passed along the way and antagonized in the expected hasty, habitual manner. They practically squealed in anticipation of what would come with his approach.
A short time later he was out the door to retrieve the flash cards. He burst back into the house, tripped and fell scattering flash cards all over. His mother rolled her eyes and went back to her book. He collected himself and his cards. She accepted the cards silently and looked him over. His collar was tucked under the shirt, the buttons crookedly joined, his eyes were bright and his grin was broad.
"How do you manage to put your shirt on like this everyday?" She asked while fixing it, and then started on the flash cards. He enthusiastically fired out the answers only occasionally pausing to search for the right answer. At the end he spontaneously threw his arms around his mother nearly upsetting the coffee cup. " I love you!" he said exuberantly and planted a damp kiss on her cheek.
And you wonder why he's her favorite.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Mom, have you lost your mind?
This afternoon right after my radio show I was devouring a luscious huge piece of cake loaded with chunks of fresh fruit, iced with whipped cream with lots of sliced almonds happily patted into the side. Caroline stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched me in total disbelief.
"Mom, have you lost your mind? Your going to get fat!" She said, continuing with the dropped jaw look of amazement.
"I know. But ya' know, every now and then, it is totally worth it," and I continued shoveling the cake into my mouth with total caloric abandon, happily and loudly ogling over the yumminess.
"Huh," Caroline shrugged," I guess this means you're totally stressed out...or....I dunno what else it could be."
At this, I had to laugh, hard. Us girls really get it, don't we? ;-)
"Mom, have you lost your mind? Your going to get fat!" She said, continuing with the dropped jaw look of amazement.
"I know. But ya' know, every now and then, it is totally worth it," and I continued shoveling the cake into my mouth with total caloric abandon, happily and loudly ogling over the yumminess.
"Huh," Caroline shrugged," I guess this means you're totally stressed out...or....I dunno what else it could be."
At this, I had to laugh, hard. Us girls really get it, don't we? ;-)
Friday, May 14, 2010
Oliver, need I say more?
Oliver is a pain, to put it frankly. When I'm really old, senile, wearing depends and have well outlived my welcome amongst the land of the living much less amongst my half dozen offspring, I'm going to move in with Oliver and then hang on for dear life like a Duracell battery. I'll drool on my clothes, spill chocolate milk, leave my teeth soaking in his water glass in the bathroom, and just be about as annoying as can possibly be stood to make up for every waking minute of every day of his existence since he learned to walk. Yup. There's no curse along the lines of," When you grow up, I hope you have 6 children just like you," oh, no, not me. My curse goes like this," I hope that when I'm old and annoying, I get to live with you for at least a decade to make up for the eternity with you that right now seems to be."
As you can well imagine, Oliver is the odd man out. In a family of nerds, he is the athletic, bursting with energy, no, I do not want to go to Fernbank for my birthday, yes, I do think Chuck E. Cheese is the greatest place ever, sort of kid. And his calling, or at least what he feels his calling to be, is to annoy the heck out of everyone around him in every possible way all day every day.
Occasionally, when I have had enough of this 7 year old blessing, I send him to his room and inform him that he is not to come out until specifically called. This is how the scene plays out.
Gabriel and Vivian will be playing nicely. Oliver joins in and irritates them to the extent that a fight breaks out immediately. After the umphteenth time I say,"Oliver, go to your room." Oliver trots happily to his room and stands at the door patiently waiting. (The patience he has waiting to antagonize someone or catch a lizard is impressive). Eventually, Gabriel and Vivian will walk down the hall in route to the girls' room which is toy laden. As they walk by, Oliver will say," I get to stay in my room all by myself and play with all my toys all by myself, and you guys don't even get to come in."
Immediately, Vivian demands to be allowed the joy of being in Oliver's room (which he shares with Charles). Oliver continues," Gabriel is a baby so he can't come in. Babies stay in Jonathan's room." Gabriel immediately demands entry and insists with a very whiney, baby voice that he is not a baby, he is a big boy. Within minutes Vivian and Gabriel are crying and angry with jealousy that Oliver gets to be in his room alone. The massive grin across Oliver's face says it all.
It is at this point that the brain dead mother mentioned at the beginning of this sad epistle remembers to add the final part of the command," Oliver, go to your room, SHUT THE DOOR, and stay there until I call you." Of course, he then stands patiently at the window in the hopes that a sibling will walk past outside, at which time he immediately opens the window and brags that he gets to be in his room, all alone, hogging all the toys.
Oliver is my one child whom I know will make it in life. The question is, will the rest of the world make it.
As you can well imagine, Oliver is the odd man out. In a family of nerds, he is the athletic, bursting with energy, no, I do not want to go to Fernbank for my birthday, yes, I do think Chuck E. Cheese is the greatest place ever, sort of kid. And his calling, or at least what he feels his calling to be, is to annoy the heck out of everyone around him in every possible way all day every day.
Occasionally, when I have had enough of this 7 year old blessing, I send him to his room and inform him that he is not to come out until specifically called. This is how the scene plays out.
Gabriel and Vivian will be playing nicely. Oliver joins in and irritates them to the extent that a fight breaks out immediately. After the umphteenth time I say,"Oliver, go to your room." Oliver trots happily to his room and stands at the door patiently waiting. (The patience he has waiting to antagonize someone or catch a lizard is impressive). Eventually, Gabriel and Vivian will walk down the hall in route to the girls' room which is toy laden. As they walk by, Oliver will say," I get to stay in my room all by myself and play with all my toys all by myself, and you guys don't even get to come in."
Immediately, Vivian demands to be allowed the joy of being in Oliver's room (which he shares with Charles). Oliver continues," Gabriel is a baby so he can't come in. Babies stay in Jonathan's room." Gabriel immediately demands entry and insists with a very whiney, baby voice that he is not a baby, he is a big boy. Within minutes Vivian and Gabriel are crying and angry with jealousy that Oliver gets to be in his room alone. The massive grin across Oliver's face says it all.
It is at this point that the brain dead mother mentioned at the beginning of this sad epistle remembers to add the final part of the command," Oliver, go to your room, SHUT THE DOOR, and stay there until I call you." Of course, he then stands patiently at the window in the hopes that a sibling will walk past outside, at which time he immediately opens the window and brags that he gets to be in his room, all alone, hogging all the toys.
Oliver is my one child whom I know will make it in life. The question is, will the rest of the world make it.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Bitterness of Disappointment
Last night after the offspring were in the mode that I appreciate them best and all their really great aspects come out in the fullest glory- namely, when they are sleeping- I was making the rounds inspecting rooms, were towels properly hung, chores properly executed, etc. As I progressed through the house, my frustration mounted. In fact, my frustration mounted to the extent that I was almost ready to rip the sleeping perpetuators from their beds and have them re-do the assignments. But upon further reflection, after a highly frustrating day, I decided that this was not in the best interests of any of us. So I left them to their sweet slumber.
This morning I was moving around the kitchen rapidly bringing breakfast together, grinding coffee beans, filling the water filter, pouring orange juice, and reflecting. Pancakes was on the menu. The children were in joyful anticipation of pancakes. I had a small saucepan full of simmering water on a burner awaiting the right moment for a few eggs to be lowered in for exactly 4 minutes 35 seconds (they are at their perfect peak of soft boiled-ness)--these for Jon when I thought of something. I could save myself a heap of trouble and offer a valuable lesson if I just filled the saucepan and made everyone soft boiled eggs for breakfast.
I filled the pot, set the timer, hastily gathered egg cups and set them around the dining room table, and loaded the toaster oven with english muffins. Gabriel and Oliver emerged first and I turned to find them right behind me breathing in the air a bit worried and wondering why the cast iron griddles were not perched atop the stove.
"Mom, I thought we were having pancakes?" Oliver said his concern mounting.
"Yes, we were going to have pancakes. But I changed the menu and now you are having soft boiled eggs and toast."
Crestfallen does not do justice to the sorrowful feelings that welled up in Oliver. He reflected on this somberly and Gabriel immediately went into the thumb sucking fetal position, which I routed him out of and forcefully pushed him in the emotional direction of something a bit more manly for a nearly 6 year old boy.
Oliver looked at me feeling betrayed. "Mom, why no pancakes?" Ah, yes, this was the little instructional moment I was waiting for.
"That feels pretty bad doesn't it, when someone tells you they are going to do something and they don't, or they claim to have done something and they haven't? Makes you kinda mad, doesn't it?" I asked.
Oliver nodded waiting for the explanation. "Yesterday all of you children told me and lead me to believe that you had done your chores, properly gathered your music books for lessons, properly checked off your practice charts, hung towels, cleaned rooms, and all else, and what did I continue to discover all day long and into the night?" There was a long pregnant pause, but Oliver finally mumbled out the words with the look on his face that said - BUSTED- "We didn't do any of it."
I looked at him gravely and said," Then feel the disappointment of this moment and today when mom asks if you've completed your chores and properly practiced remember that when you claim something that isn't true, I'm very disappointed and frustrated just as you are in this moment."
Oliver sorrowfully left the kitchen considering that.
Within 15 minutes everyone was gathered around the table. The news had spread, and the crestfallen half dozen surveyed brown soft boiled eggs perched on white porcelain egg cups and a small plate stacked high with toast. I rather enjoyed the moment but not for long, because within a short period of time everyone was happily finishing off their eggs, asking for seconds and saying," This is really great, mom."
Jon got up from the table to head to work and paused to whisper, "Might I suggest, my love, that you make cornmeal mush for breakfast next time you wish to disappoint the children."
Yeah, so much for my little lesson. :-)
This morning I was moving around the kitchen rapidly bringing breakfast together, grinding coffee beans, filling the water filter, pouring orange juice, and reflecting. Pancakes was on the menu. The children were in joyful anticipation of pancakes. I had a small saucepan full of simmering water on a burner awaiting the right moment for a few eggs to be lowered in for exactly 4 minutes 35 seconds (they are at their perfect peak of soft boiled-ness)--these for Jon when I thought of something. I could save myself a heap of trouble and offer a valuable lesson if I just filled the saucepan and made everyone soft boiled eggs for breakfast.
I filled the pot, set the timer, hastily gathered egg cups and set them around the dining room table, and loaded the toaster oven with english muffins. Gabriel and Oliver emerged first and I turned to find them right behind me breathing in the air a bit worried and wondering why the cast iron griddles were not perched atop the stove.
"Mom, I thought we were having pancakes?" Oliver said his concern mounting.
"Yes, we were going to have pancakes. But I changed the menu and now you are having soft boiled eggs and toast."
Crestfallen does not do justice to the sorrowful feelings that welled up in Oliver. He reflected on this somberly and Gabriel immediately went into the thumb sucking fetal position, which I routed him out of and forcefully pushed him in the emotional direction of something a bit more manly for a nearly 6 year old boy.
Oliver looked at me feeling betrayed. "Mom, why no pancakes?" Ah, yes, this was the little instructional moment I was waiting for.
"That feels pretty bad doesn't it, when someone tells you they are going to do something and they don't, or they claim to have done something and they haven't? Makes you kinda mad, doesn't it?" I asked.
Oliver nodded waiting for the explanation. "Yesterday all of you children told me and lead me to believe that you had done your chores, properly gathered your music books for lessons, properly checked off your practice charts, hung towels, cleaned rooms, and all else, and what did I continue to discover all day long and into the night?" There was a long pregnant pause, but Oliver finally mumbled out the words with the look on his face that said - BUSTED- "We didn't do any of it."
I looked at him gravely and said," Then feel the disappointment of this moment and today when mom asks if you've completed your chores and properly practiced remember that when you claim something that isn't true, I'm very disappointed and frustrated just as you are in this moment."
Oliver sorrowfully left the kitchen considering that.
Within 15 minutes everyone was gathered around the table. The news had spread, and the crestfallen half dozen surveyed brown soft boiled eggs perched on white porcelain egg cups and a small plate stacked high with toast. I rather enjoyed the moment but not for long, because within a short period of time everyone was happily finishing off their eggs, asking for seconds and saying," This is really great, mom."
Jon got up from the table to head to work and paused to whisper, "Might I suggest, my love, that you make cornmeal mush for breakfast next time you wish to disappoint the children."
Yeah, so much for my little lesson. :-)
Sunday, May 2, 2010
5 more corks....
We finally had a dinner party Saturday night, as in May 1st. I say finally because back before we became freedom crazed activists, we had dinner parties with great regularity. Jon helped set the table and I put the camera on a side table in the dining room to get some photos (where unfortunately it stayed; not a single picture garnered...rats), and then a menu was contrived with some home made items and some Trader Joes' ready to go items. It is unusual for me not to bite off a good deal more than I can chew, but every now and then I decide to get crazy and be realistic.
The menu: Appetizer: scallops on the half shell with a pesto garlic sauce (absolutely divine- you get them in the freezer section at TJ's for $2.99 a dozen), 3 layer hummus, smoked salmon (with all the proper accoutrements: dill, cream cheese, lemon wedges, minced red onion, capers....mmm, I love capers) and an array of flatbreads. 1st course, lobster bisque. I do make a scallop bisque that is very labor intensive since the stock is made from simmering fish heads and other things for hours prior to bringing together the final product, but I just accepted that this wasn't going to happen. This lobster bisque comes ready made from Costco's deli section. TJ's was out. I did get it and it may be worth using again. But I would recommend a splash of sherry, adding chunks of freshly steamed lobster, and garnishing with minced chives. Also, serving up Tobasco alongside the soup does have its merits. 2nd course, beef bourguignon with a demi-glace style reduction sauce, asparagus, pan roasted cherry tomatoes with parsley, and these adorable fingerling potatoes I roasted with olive oil, kosher salt and fresh minced rosemary, and then sourdough french bread with extra virgin olive oil and fresh cracked pepper. A word about the beef bourguigon- the recipe is from Julia Child's first cookbook and has a complicated browning method. It is TOTALLY worth it. The final sauce is really...words quite fail me here, but thinking about it, smelling the amazing aroma and the deep dark fragrant look of the sauce...trust me on this. Follow the directions.
There's still 2 more courses to go though perhaps you are beginning to wonder where anyone could possibly pack more food. I didn't consider the portions to be Golden Corral sized, and I had no problem eating everything and then snacking until 2 am on the leftovers there after. :-) Three people decided to forgo the salad course which came next.
I made a salad with smoked trout, bibb lettuce, finely grated pecorino cheese, red onion that had marinated in a balsamic vinaigrette, and just toasted broken pecans...yummy, yummy, yummy. I'm so glad there are leftovers for today--though you never bring the salad together until right before serving, and chilled salad plates are a nice touch.
Final course, I was thinking I would make the chocolate mousse recipe in the Silver Palate Cookbook. It is an excellent mousse, and an old standby in my kitchen repertoire. However, desiring to read the aforementioned Plato (in the preceding blog post) on Friday night instead of producing chocolate mousse, I resigned myself to purchasing a ready made chocolate ganache cake from TJ's- meaning Trader Joe's, but I'd imagine that to be obvious. You can get the cake in the freezer section. It is FABULOUS! I'm a big TJ's fan, by the way, because they are committed to no-GMO's in their products, and it's the only store from which I buy processed or prepared foods without worry, besides the fact that as long as you stay away from the cheese, meat and wine section, everything is very reasonably priced. Unfortunately, I never stay away from the cheese, meat or wine section (2 buck chuck is quite good, and we just discovered Green Fin, a $3.99 white table wine which was excellent with the bisque so there are inexpensive wines).
So what's with the 5 corks title? I'm saving all my wine corks so I can put together a cork wreath--a slightly cheesy do it yourself kitchen decor item which I have some bizarre need to produce. So I added 5 more corks to my collection last night.
Yes, I have a headache. Why do you ask?
The menu: Appetizer: scallops on the half shell with a pesto garlic sauce (absolutely divine- you get them in the freezer section at TJ's for $2.99 a dozen), 3 layer hummus, smoked salmon (with all the proper accoutrements: dill, cream cheese, lemon wedges, minced red onion, capers....mmm, I love capers) and an array of flatbreads. 1st course, lobster bisque. I do make a scallop bisque that is very labor intensive since the stock is made from simmering fish heads and other things for hours prior to bringing together the final product, but I just accepted that this wasn't going to happen. This lobster bisque comes ready made from Costco's deli section. TJ's was out. I did get it and it may be worth using again. But I would recommend a splash of sherry, adding chunks of freshly steamed lobster, and garnishing with minced chives. Also, serving up Tobasco alongside the soup does have its merits. 2nd course, beef bourguignon with a demi-glace style reduction sauce, asparagus, pan roasted cherry tomatoes with parsley, and these adorable fingerling potatoes I roasted with olive oil, kosher salt and fresh minced rosemary, and then sourdough french bread with extra virgin olive oil and fresh cracked pepper. A word about the beef bourguigon- the recipe is from Julia Child's first cookbook and has a complicated browning method. It is TOTALLY worth it. The final sauce is really...words quite fail me here, but thinking about it, smelling the amazing aroma and the deep dark fragrant look of the sauce...trust me on this. Follow the directions.
There's still 2 more courses to go though perhaps you are beginning to wonder where anyone could possibly pack more food. I didn't consider the portions to be Golden Corral sized, and I had no problem eating everything and then snacking until 2 am on the leftovers there after. :-) Three people decided to forgo the salad course which came next.
I made a salad with smoked trout, bibb lettuce, finely grated pecorino cheese, red onion that had marinated in a balsamic vinaigrette, and just toasted broken pecans...yummy, yummy, yummy. I'm so glad there are leftovers for today--though you never bring the salad together until right before serving, and chilled salad plates are a nice touch.
Final course, I was thinking I would make the chocolate mousse recipe in the Silver Palate Cookbook. It is an excellent mousse, and an old standby in my kitchen repertoire. However, desiring to read the aforementioned Plato (in the preceding blog post) on Friday night instead of producing chocolate mousse, I resigned myself to purchasing a ready made chocolate ganache cake from TJ's- meaning Trader Joe's, but I'd imagine that to be obvious. You can get the cake in the freezer section. It is FABULOUS! I'm a big TJ's fan, by the way, because they are committed to no-GMO's in their products, and it's the only store from which I buy processed or prepared foods without worry, besides the fact that as long as you stay away from the cheese, meat and wine section, everything is very reasonably priced. Unfortunately, I never stay away from the cheese, meat or wine section (2 buck chuck is quite good, and we just discovered Green Fin, a $3.99 white table wine which was excellent with the bisque so there are inexpensive wines).
So what's with the 5 corks title? I'm saving all my wine corks so I can put together a cork wreath--a slightly cheesy do it yourself kitchen decor item which I have some bizarre need to produce. So I added 5 more corks to my collection last night.
Yes, I have a headache. Why do you ask?
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