From My Kitchen Table

On purpose

2012-02-08T18:26:00.001-08:00

We signed up for this.

We did this (imagine if you will me, pointing around at self, home, husband, children, then spreading arms wider to include family, extended family, friends) ... on purpose.

I had hard days, long nights single. Hell, I even had them married. I have said before, there isn't a lonely quite like the lonely you feel in a marriage that is failing. I made mistakes. We both did. The kindest thing we have ever done was part ways.

In short order, I left everything familiar for a life in Paris. For some, it was an extended vacation. For me, that time there, was too short, and somehow I knew I was fitting a lifetime of living there.

Fast forward to today. It is the day after my 43rd Birthday. A fever and illness in both girls kept us from a simple dinner out. We have had the flu. My Mother had a big scare last week, but is on the road to recovery. And now, after a brief indulgence in a pity party, I have the great pleasure of giving myself a flogging, right here.

I have the benefit of having taken two extremes of the road not taken. Here I sit, loved, fed, clothed, being exactly who I choose to be. Well, save the sick bit.

I don't buy into the saying of be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. That speaks to someone coming from scarcity, where even when they get their heart's desire, somehow, it won't be fulfilling. I remember sitting next to a guy friend when his ex-wife came in. Hair shorn, pregnancy weight making her body curvy, and all he could do is hiss like a cat. I know voices like his may be chattering like my friend. The advice you tell a child is a lie; they're just jealous. No, sometimes, people are just mean.

I tried being a mean girl. I had to give it up. It clashed with my conscience and made me unstable on my stilettos.

I am 43, married, two great kids, an awesome extended family, amazing friends, great clients at my little law practice. Yeah. I asked for this.

A Month of Letters

2012-02-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

Clara Lou, 14 months, in a rare moment cleaving
to a lovey, in this case the moo-cow the Easter Bunny
had brought her. A lovey, often times, requires a sense of
touch and contact. In this electronic world, that is
often lacking.

Years ago, when my sister Leslie was pursuing her PhD, I remarked what I knew to not be an original observation, that no one writes letters any longer. What would future doctoral students to study? Would they try to get an email service provider to release the personal correspondence of their subject of study? Would there be an archive of saved emails? What would be lost would be the lilt in the author's pen.

Just yesterday, when Clara Lou woke up from her afternoon nap, she held onto a lovey. Mind you, this isn't shocking, she is after all, just 14 months and that is what toddlers do. However it is a rarity for her. It occurred to me, that the comfort of a lovey is in the contact.

I am a self-proclaimed Facebook addict. It has lulled me into a false sense of involvement in the lives of friends and family. For some people, it seems the only way I get news on the goings on of their lives. For that glimpse, I am grateful for the unobtrusiveness of a click to someone's page, as a means to get a quick update and glimpse into their life. Did they have a fun night out? Is there a health concern where I can help or pray? Are they sharing a birth announcement? Some are mundane and others real life events where I take greater action. It's not real though. It isn't the lovey of picking up the phone and being that shoulder to cry on, or taking the time to send flowers to one who is hospitalized. It's that extra effort of putting someone on the prayer list, including them in on a baptism, or being sure to visit when those visits are few and far between. There is a lot of living on social networks, like Facebook, but it's not the real world. It's not the comfort of touch. All this said, I'm not about to cut out online social networking, as it has its function. Nor will I agree that Facebook, or any of its future form, be the end of how we humans change in how we interact. Studies show how it diminishes the brains of the young, and yet improves the health of the aging, who tend to isolate to their detriment.

An email lacks the warmth of other communication. Even though the words may be the same as those said in person, there is something about the manner of communication that leaves me feeling cold. Perhaps it is the flickering screen?

A letter, you can hold. A letter, you see the depth of the pen in the paper, the sway of someone's line on the pae, the manner of their penmanship. A letter, as I just put to someone yesterday, depending on the content of the words within, can hold you.

I took a picture of Clara Lou that appears above while she clung to her lovey after her nap yesterday. It was a moo-cow that the Easter Bunny gave her. That moment, sparked this whole line of thinking about who is in my life, and where is the warmth? My caption for the photo said as much, and my friend Amanda gave me a link to a challenge to write letters, one every day for the month of February. So, I posted on that handy social network, and emailed a few people I thought would be game, and asked for those interested in joining me in a month of letters to send me a private message with their mailing addresses. I may be starting on day four, but the response was truly lovely. I have written two letters today, and have eight more envelopes already addressed. I know myself well enough that were I to write all ten straight away, I would start to write the same thing. So, true to my nonconformist nature, I will write when the moment inspires.

Letter writing is so rare that no only is the USPS struggling,
it's not a commonly in demand, so it isn't widely available
at retailers, from your grocer's or druggest to superstore.

Of note, I dont' like the stationery I am using today. I have a stash of greeting cards, and note cards, but didn't like the slick texture. I just had twenty minutes, so a quick trip to Walgreens told me that I am not alone in letter writing no longer being the norm. There was a section for stationery and note cards, but they were all bundles of ten for thank you cards. I went to the school and office supply aisle, and there were security envelopes for paying bills, reams of printer paper, a wide selection of school notebooks and spiral bound paper, but no stationery. Letter writing, like photography with film, is for weirdos and artisans.

Well, this weirdo happens to like the written word.; not just on my iBooks app, but in the bound page to the handwritten letter.

Communication

2012-02-03T11:55:00.001-08:00

This is artwork of a snowman that Greta Jo
did for Grandmama's wall.

In my family, it is rude to not let someone interrupt. We laugh about this, because it is true. As you may recall, I am the youngest of four daughters, where my poor father was so outnumbered that even the cat was neutered. This family norm means that we don't listen to one another, and by not listening, our take away is often that we don't matter or aren't respected. We hurt each other's feelings, but at the same time, in the moment, know it's funny and not a big deal.

Until it is.

My Mom is still in the hospital is getting the medical care she needs. In this process however, the limits on my family's way of getting along and communicating has been like putting popcorn into hot oil, rather explosive. What's fine for a Sunday or Christmas dinner, doesn't work well when trying to tell a triage nurse the events that led to one's trip to the ER.

It is maddening.

Here's artwork that Clara Lou and her "classmates"
did for Grandmama's wall.

However, what would be true madness is expecting my family to change. All anyone can do, especially with family, is meet them where they are at. In the heat of a moment is not the time to try to change the method or manner of getting along. This goes with family you generally get along with, as it is in my family, and goes double for family with whom you have your troubles.

Do your groundwork before the crisis. I've found that during a crisis, I am far more apt to be angry and aggressive, shut people down, and accomplish the opposite of what is getting my dander up in the first place. Do whatever it takes to not live your life like a drunk. A drunk reacts like every feeling is permanent and needs to be expressed in the moment. That somehow tabling something is being inauthentic.

This is the start of what is sure to be a growing collection of
art and cards. The top is the piece announcing the art show
Cousin Mary Linda (Mom's namesake) has going out in
California.

Bull shit.

That's selfish devolved thinking and all it accomplishes is a short-term gain of a burst of energy and a very expensive ego trip. Feelings pass. Feeling them, doesn't mean you have to express every iota of resulting priggish opinion.

Just ask my two-year old, Greta Jo. The "terrible twos" are real, but they have such a tremendous brain development going on, with the wiring of synapses for the first time, coupled with sparking awareness that there are others in this world, and their world has limits on when to wake, sleep, eat, run, play, how they play with others, etc. etc. etc. It seems that some people don't learn this very basic lesson of playing well with others. We are particularly likely to forget this rule with those we love and are closest too. Why? Because they will love us anyway.

Why reserve being polite for the stranger who does your dry cleaning, or brings you that pound of bacon?

Then there is the pragmatism of putting being polite into practice with those closest to us. It works. We are social creatures. As much as I positively TREASURE my alone time (albeit it with just under 1,000 sq ft in my home, it is a rarity), I am a reluctant social creature. Like my Dad, you would never know it to see me in a social gathering. Aside from the extraordinary amount of oxygen that I require, it's really me over compensating for just how awkward I feel inside. Fortunately, my friends find that part of my charm, and keep me around.

This isn't to say that choosing to mind your tongue until you can discuss a hot topic later and actually accomplish sometime happens every time. As I mentioned, I lost my cool on a couple of occasions while dealing with some of the events of this week. I revert again to a toddler.

My Mom is a FANTASTIC Mom. I mother much in the same way she did. I remember when I was very small, when I would fall she would say in a sing song voice, "Uh Oh!" and sing "pick yourself up. dust yourself off. start all over again!"

When you fall, it's all in how you recover, not in berating yourself or those around you that you fell.

I have to say, I feel closer to my family having been willing to do the work. Having waiting until a situation is defused, choosing words that don't cause a sting may be giving up that in the moment need for satisfaction, has greater satisfaction when the way we are together over all is smooth. We can stay in touch with love, with compassion, with a generous spirit.

As Mom moves early next week from her hospital room to a room where she will be receiving physical therapy, so too will go the artwork collecting on her wall. Like art, love is expressed in what we do and don't do. The use of negative space, whether setting type for a Franklin or Gutenberg press, putting paint on canvas, parsing words for prose, or thinking before you speak with those you love.

Tenderness

2012-01-31T02:13:00.000-08:00

I had a realization tonight. I have always had the trait of tenderness, the the quality and timber of that is as varied as there are kinds of love of the colour in snow.

As you may or may not know about me, but I didn't exactly grow up dreaming of going to Disney Land, planning my wedding, naming my future babies. Unlike my Mother, who so admired her Sammy, her maternal Grandmother, that I grew up with part of the marital myth not being about Prince Charming, or babies, but Grandbabies. Mama would tell us stories on herself, and when it came to her childhood dreams, she said, "I couldn't wait to grow up, get married, have children, get grey hair, and have Grandbabies." it was said in a way that didn't shadow our own dreams yet to be formed, but served as a foundation solid enough that we could leap into our own.

Today, as I did what is now common place, I stroked the back of Greta Jo and of Clara Lou's necks. A show of tenderness that was as pleasant for me, as I must imagine it was for them as they nuzzled back into my hand the way pets had. There was that study at Karolinska Sjukhus near my flat in Stockholm where the doctor researched and found that the same oxytocin levels occur in a pet owner and in the dogs as a nursing mother and her babe. (it also gets released in women when making or just "practicing making" babies... Which could explain all those foolishly hurled post-coital declarations of love. No research that I am aware of would indicate why a shared touch across species would be any different within a species. Nor am I aware of any proof of when that release of oxytocin stops. Is it when a Mother weans her baby? Could it be that the boost I get from cooking is actually releasing i me the same joy juice that makes it possible (note word choice: not guaranteed) for a mother to love the strange new creature that just ripped her wide open? .
No matter the physiological machine tons of love, tenderness has a lower threshold for its expression. Love isn't necessarily a prerequisite for tenderness. Nor is all touch tender. I have to also add that not all tenderness is expressed in touch.

You may have noticed that I have called my Mother "Mama." It is the name I first called her, and called her until I was ten. I use it tonight as a distinct term of endearment for one of the strongest, sweetest women I have ever met. As I recall, my Dad called me and my three older sisters in when I was ten, the twins, Ellyn and Elaine would have been 17, and Leslie 19. Only in writing this do I realize for the first time that it would have been the same year Dad had his first magic heart attack. :pause: Hemmmm... Well, when he had corralled us together, and I get the feeling here that I am repeating myself from at least one prior blog post, Dad let us know that we could call him Dad instead of Daddy. Further, he suggested that we could we could call Mama, Mom. It was awesome. Not only was a a whole decade old, but it was marked by this watershed announcement.

Tonight I have reverted to Mama as a conscious choice. I type this on the iPad, at 4:20am, having sat with Mama in her room after she had a fourth fall in about three weeks. The third having been the night before, resulting in an ER trip. I won't go into details for privacy reasons, but suffice to say, after surviving ten plus strokes, one knee surgery, and a body that is in constant pharmaceutical cocktail, my soon to be 77 year old Mama is pretty amazing. She regained, by positive disposition her large and smalle motor skills. She also worked hard on relearning her cognitive abilities. Now, this isn't to say there isn't wear and tear, but all and all, she does really well. However, strong and flexible wouldn't be on the top list of descriptors for her! Well, let's tak out graceful while we are at it. On a normal day, prior to these tumbles, she ambled along, either with a walker, cane, or if at home, grabbing the closest piece of furniture the way a baby progresses from crawling to the same survival instinct for finding balance. For this with balance, go back to the first time you threw on a pair of ice skates. Only for Mama, throw in there tht her body is sending signals wrong. Tipped forward, feels upright. Telling the right foot to move and getting it to move is a sheer testament to her determination. Now, throw these falls into the mix. Sorry Mama if you are reading this, but she is right poorly at getting around with at least one strong adult.

Insistent she wasn't going to the ER, we checked her vitals, and determined they were elevated for her, and she needed watching. I stayed over. It was too late, by the time that was decided Mom didnt want to call the twins, who had been on point for the ER just the night before.

I tucked Mama in a couple of times tonight. I soothed her aching, hurting body with blankets when's he was cold, and cold compresses for the newest additions to her bruising. I monitored her vitals. But first and foremost, I touched her.
It was when I touched her that I discovered a new colour to my tenderness. .
We can all take life's hardships. What we do with them is up to us. at some point, we have to put down the pen, stfu, and realize it isn't your parent's fault. I find it particularly hard to access compassion for those who don't grow past their Daddy/Mommy issues;especially when they have been out of their parents roof longer than they were under it. Compound that with how some internalize their early hardships. One thing I have found for me, either I deal or it will come out sideways. For some, they simply explode, confusing aggression with strength. That kind of chronic aggression crests both in the wane with internal damage, and the wax, with external damage to all about them, stranger and loved ones alike. This will be blurred with justifications and reason. But choosing to do anything in the heat of anger is the life equivalent to driving drunk. It's all fun and games until you wrap your car around a tree, or thrust your hand in a trunk, or giving your worst against some tard (who you claim to yourself that don't even care about today). Someone lving like this is living life to its lowest common denominator. .
I have been there. I have been the raging, mean as a snake, take no prisoners, beat, maime, get them before they get me, terrifying bitch in charge. Honestly, having explored that part of me, it make me a better advocate. It is also the least efficient way of being. That kind of cheap shot, jockeying to win by the whip on a nag tactics may feel great in the expression and at the time, but every time I have gone there, it revealed far more about me than it ever accomplished bringing down my target. .
Call it rationalization, but I had to work at being grateful for having been such a cockup with peers. I was loyal to friends, but seriously, the best nemesis have been former friends. Lord knows I never ever would have been able to callous,like Babe Ruth calling out his next home run, which friend would be lasting, and which would be my next best sparring partner. I have better luck picking winners at the track, and I suck at that and pick ones who would be good in the field and over a fence. .
The beauty of having that in my rear view is the contrast I got today. I am exhausted. The girls were sick with the flu, the I was, twice, then J2. There has been other distractions, and now this, night watch for Mom so she can rest at home tonight. .
Now pointing out the plausibility of rationalization is important, because no one ought confuse it with justification to go agro on someone. But without life's contrasts, we wouldn't recognize varying shades. .
Today's contrast was much much much more subtle. It occurred to me while I was taking my Mama's temperature. 5)3 thermometer was under her tongue, and I held it with my right hand. I took my left hand and stroked her hair. In so doing, a few memories came to mind. The first a conglomeration of childhood memories on Mama doing the same or similar touch to me as a kiddo; establishing that such physical tenderness felt good and came from one who loved me. The second memory was one that came as instinctive way of soothing our girls from the moment they were born. (Nature/nurture arguments set aside for a later undisclosed date) The third was far more recent, today, when I would touch Greta Jo and Clara Lou. .
No matter the source or why, there was slight contrast amongst the same act, and I found that heart wrenchingly beautiful. .
****
Forgive the typos, I was tired, impatient, didn't correct the autocorrect, take your pick.
*******
Update, Mom is better, but the story on that isn't over yet.

Sliding doors

2012-01-25T11:23:00.001-08:00

On the Blue Line of the L, 15 January 2012

I recently re-watched the movie, Sliding Doors, and was once again struck by the endless possibilities of what if? I was one of those kids with loads of potential, and by some conventional standards, that potential was wasted. Now decidedly in my midlife (42 years old), I am still plagued with inner thoughts that what at times remind me of the neurotic rants of Dorothy Parker. (and by that reference, I make no claims and have no illusions that what I write is nearly as well, fabulous.)

I was in Chicago a week or so ago getting loved on by dear sister friend, Marea. It's the place of my landing back in the states after living in Europe. It was more home than here has ever felt, even today with DH J2 and our two girls. Don't get me wrong, as I have oft written, I love Louisville, and never moved "from" Louisville, but towards a life elsewhere. Louisville rocks what its got in so many ways. AND, I love city living. I love public transit, and street fairs, and warehouses, and easy travel. As it happens, my life, work, love, family, is here. I live here. My sense of home, is what I create for those closest to me, in my life here. Louisville has many of the things that I enjoyed in the larger cities I enjoyed living in, and what it lacks, it makes up for in my own doing. I despise people who bitch about where they are and don't put down the pipe, get off your friend's sofa and actually do something about it. It's easy to see what's missing, but to actually go make that difference takes courage. Louisville, is a place that lets you get out there and make that dream happen. My dream, the one I didn't let myself dare have for so long, has happened here. I am wife. I am mother. I am daughter, sister, friend, writer, lawyer, painter, pantry chef, and traveler? Well, that's on a bit of sabbatical.

I was visited by the ghost of who I was there, and constructed a fictional alternate reality of :what if: I had stayed in Chicago. Every mind masturbation on the idea is useless because I will never really get to answer that what if.

Had I stayed in Chicago, would I still be with Louis Vuitton, the shop girl job I had turned down a I was packing up my place? Would I be married, or still having cavalier affairs? Would I have continued to make my way back to Europe as I did during my year there? Would I have ever gone to the top of the Sears Tower? Would I have volunteered at the Contemporary museum? would I have taken the Illinois Bar exam? What if? ...

I came to the same conclusion: we find happiness in what life brings as a result of our choices by redefining what we want to suit what we get. Whether that happiness is sustained or peppered with bitterness or self-righteousness is up to our own damn perspective.

That was more complex than I wish to make it, but alas, these few short notes, are to remind myself when the life I get to live gets tough, when I get bird shit on my shoulder, stub my toe, or face surgery, or anything big or small, when my panties get in a bunch over real or trite drama, to get over myself. Who I am today is unapologetically me: incongruous, overly complex, self-loathing and confident that I can love and give better than most. What I want is what I got. Right here. Right now. No matter which door I take.

Parenting - A True Act of Courage and Faith

2012-01-10T11:51:00.000-08:00

The girls eating breakfast at their big girl table, an IKEA set

that retails for $25 that we picked up when 2 year old

Greta Jo was still a baby for $5 at a yard sale.

Consuming less, conspicuously.

A friend recently posted about some parenting doubts. She has a sharp wit, and asked in a funny way. I envy her ability to be funny, but that's another topic. I'm no stranger, and we all face self doubt, but doubts about our parenting choices are particularly weighty given what decisions we make and can wield a tremendous influence on our children and the lives they touch. What if we don't teach kindness, and our kiddo is insensitive and the one to bully another child who never quite figures out how to cope, or worse, a child who doesn't speak up when another kid is being bullied? One thing I have observed given my legal profession and exposure to people's business and families, is that not a one of us, not even a hermit, operates in isolation. We are all part of this universe. At some point, for those who spawn like JJ and I, and all of our parents before us, we take that leap and bring another human in our midst.

There is a reason they come so tiny, cute and defenceless. I am not author of this observation, but as my girls are both mobile, one a pre-schooler, the other just 13 months behind her, even now, when they have differing opinions and wants contrary to what I, JJ or their caregiver provide, I call upon those treasured first moments. That milky-lavender smell. Their sweet tiny little fingers. That unfettering gaze. Those moments are fewer and fewer as time speeds along.

JJ and I want what we do as a parent to matter. Now, what we do and don't do, whether we like it or not, will impact who our children become. I've posted about this, in particular after reading The Atlantic article titled "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy." We hope to not be perfect, but like the article puts it, pretty okay, so so parents. We won't buckle under the pressure we put on ourselves, because inherent in that desire to do right by our daughters, is to not crush them with our own desires and definitions of success. That's not to say we are a ship without a course, either.

We've talked it over, about structure, school, what sort of shows, toys, games the girls will be exposed to - not just by what we bring into our home, but by what permeates our culture. We are consumers. Especially here in the United States. A friend of mine posted a link to this video and challenged many of her friends to reduce consumption over then next year. Jen, if you are reading this, you are brilliant!

We consume. We establish ourselves. We buy without consequence of the real external costs. But what of the costs of how we live. We lead by example. Our girls will eventually choose for themselves, but will initially be influenced by JJ and my own consumption. How do we fill our time? Is it in activity, or in consumption? In the video, and I have to trust that you not only saw the video, but took the time to read my links, there was mention of the coincidence that the relative reported happiness went on the decline with the post-WWII promotion of consumption. I recently saw how someone was paring out her unused stuff and giving it to charity when she could. I pared my life from a large five bedroom home to three suitcases and one small shipping container for my piano and Grandmother's rocker and such. It was liberating. I loved that when I did buy my next home, it was small and manageable. What of the average US home? I live in a home that housed families, without so much of closets, let alone bathrooms for each, and a master bath with dual basins. The size of homes, reportedly, has doubled. Further, looking at the quality of construction, they too have a product failure and perceived obsolescence. JJ and I have discussed this. I have owned and lived in a variety of homes over the course of my adult life. This isn't to say I am above falling prey to day dreaming of having stuff, like a home with acreage, a pool and barn. I recently saw one and obsessed about it. The price tag is for by-gone previous tax bracket life I used to lead with the consumer driven ex-husband. JJ and I have a better chance at winning the lottery than positioning ourselves to provide that lifestyle for the girls. Even if we could, though, I doubt we would.

Then what we consume is information. JJ and I have addictive personalities, and where we don't consume tangible things, it is often expressed in information. We are often in a state of cognitive overload. We want to give our girls the support so that we foster their creativity and thirst for knowledge. If JJ and I are successful at one thing: teaching the girls to problem solve, that will help them cope and keep up with the ever changing, expanding voluminous world we live, and they will live in.

I recently responded to some family about this when the topic of information and education was raised. Here's what I shared: The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) contains full entries for 171,476 words in current use, and 47,156 obsolete words. But, if you count derivatives, words from other languages in use, teen slang, the estimate could be as high as 750,000 according to OED. By some counts, there are about 540,000 English words, about five times the number of words available to Shakespeare. It is estimated that a weeks worth of information in the New York Times is more information than a person from the 19th Century would come across in a lifetime. We live in a world where we measure the size of information not in gigabytes, not in exabytes, but zettabytes. It isn't just a matter of learning times tables to the periodic table, and classical literature. In 2008, there was about 4 exabytes of unique information created, and that was more than the 5,000 years before it.

How we learn language is through direct interaction - I forget which scientist lecture on TED TV JJ and I watched for that. Sitting in front of a screen, like social networking, literally changes the developing brain matter in teens, yet improves the health of "senior surfers."

So, we could plop the girls in front of Sesame Street, Signing Times, and Le Petit Pim for English and Spanish, ASL and French, but if we didn't use it, it simply doesn't stick. Same goes for video instruction. For supplementing, uor outreach in third world countries, Kahn Academy efforts are invaluable. It's good food for the brain. But as with any one approach, left on its own, it is kind of like stocking a pantry and not preparing a meal to be shared.

:pause again to find an article:
The educational value of creative disobedience

:pause again so you can read it:

We can start feeding our little girls stuff and information in the hopes to give them every advantage, and representation of status, but where does that leave them? No further and stressed. They are two and one years old, and are great kids. They like to play, dance, laugh. They are social, generally non-violent (okay, Greta Jo shoves her kid sister Clara Lou) kind little girls. So far, so good.

It's our choice to expose them to all that we are able, but not in a competitive or fear-based survival approach. I refuse to believe that we can possibly prevent them from all of life's ills or prepare them for every screwy turn. Life is messy and unfair, that is the one guaranty I can give them, aside from this: they have JJ and I who will always love them. The world is imperfect. People are mean. We live in a lopsided consumerist society where there is injustice. It is my hope that the kindness I see in my girls today will be an even better spoke in the wheels of change than either their Papa or Maman have yet been. Having them was a big leap of faith that we would be able to pull that off. Every day, with every day challenges is an act of courage: being scared s#&!3$$, and doing our best anyway.

2011 Christmas and New Year's Eve

2012-01-09T09:21:00.000-08:00

Creating magic over the holidays is a tremendous joy as parents. There have been countless friends of mine whose children are grown who recount some of their favourite memories being from when their children were as young as JJ and my two little girls. So much will happen to them on their journey from infancy, toddler, childhood, teens to adulthood. The longing to protect them from life's ill effects is strong. Giving them a sense of magic and sharing in the awe and joy, a true gift; whether during playtime on any average day, or the highlights of the holidays.

Making lists, checking them twice, isn't just for Santa Clause. Maman Haws relies on them too! Whether it be for taking care of the details of daily life or planning how to make sure the girls see everyone, friends and family alike, over the course of a few intense and joyful holidays.

I had hoped to get a post up sooner about this past Christmas and NYE, but links to the photos on dreaded Facebook will have to suffice. These truly are some of my and JJ's happiest days.

Christmas 2011

NYE 2011 - ringing in 2012 at "Chateau de Clarkies"

My life as a cross-dresser

2011-12-19T18:53:00.001-08:00

I am all woman.

That said, I typically take very little time to get ready in the morning. I am not one who coifs her hair, ponders what to wear, changes her mind several times, buys outfits that never get worn. I don't get my nails done. I don't get regular massages, hair styling appointments or even get to the dentist like I should.

DEMF 2011 - a woman later called me out online as fat
after she saw JJ and I not get on stage for a friend's set.
Our wristbands had gotten us on earlier in the day,
so we simply didn't know it was different that night.
I was a size ten that day and the best she could come up
with was that?
Put simply, I don't subscribe to her brand of feminism.

I am the type of woman who does take time to put on a little Burt's Bee's lip ointment before a picture. I am the sort that prefers to see her best girl Lori for all hair decisions since left to my own devices, I make terrible choices and have even less skill; that is unless it is pulling my hair up in a pony tail. I make a mean pony tail. I have worn the same beige and brown shade of eye shadow, pink blush, Maybelline black mascara, and the aforementioned Burt's Bees lip ointment in "Fig" for over a decade. I really mixed things up recently by adding the various shades of soft to jeweled lavender. I have avoided these colours since they were, to my mind, juvenile,since they were what the make up stylist at Clinique had suggest to me at my first make-over when I was sixteen. Surely that was for a girl, and thus lavender isnt' really for me. Besides, I later read/heard/was told that brown shadow makes my blue eyes pop, and stuck to it religiously. More religiously, than my own religion. (but alas, that is another post.)

Now, despite my tacit claims that I am not, by my definition, high maintenance, nor am I a masculine girl, the latter is a physical impossibility. Between the post-partum weight I have managed to keep on, and the 30 pounds I gained which working at White Castle for six months in 2006, I am a slammin' 44"x34"x43". My bra band measurement is still 36", so that basically means that even if I were to duct tape the girls down, I would still never ever pass for a dude. I don't wear men's clothing, unless you count my husband's discarded dress shirt.

I say I'm a cross-dresser, in that I enjoy the simplicity of what I wear and the consistency that how I put myself out in the world is how I see myself. Put together, not too much, but enough. Clean. Tidy. Feeling good.

In contrast, I also like to complicate it for date night and festive events. Cross-dress -- hheeemmm? -- not exactly, but leave it to me to switch up and turn a phrase.

I rather enjoy "getting my girl on." By this, I mean I like to make sure I have new coat of polish on trimmed toe and finger nails. (New since if over 6 hours old, my polish will be chipped). I like taking a shower, shaving my legs and such, putting on lotion and a little beauty products so my skin has a soft sheen of health. I will take that extra moment to put on the foundation garments that are the ribbon to the package that later gets unwrapped by my dear husband. Then, I put on the stockings and that dress, the string of pearls and earrings, and of course the shoes. Preferably stillettos as I have this unwavering opinion as to what they do for my short stature and anything that lengthen my gams, I'm for! Looking back in the mirror, I see a fresh face and put on a touch of concealer, the same rose coloured blush, and a slightly darker pallet of violet and lavender eye shadows. I add a dramatic charcoal eye liner that to me is Kaboom (until I later stand next to someone that Kapows). Lips are again that soft Burt's Bee's "fig." A touch of my favourite Chanel Coco parfum, and I'm ready to rock every inch of bein' a dame.

All this said, the first thing me, and any woman for that matter, puts on is her attitude. Her attitude about herself and the women she calls friends, to the strangers she meets. If my attitude is wrought with self-doubt, no sassy dress, no amount of make up or Chanel will make me feel beautiful. That part of me dishing out its best to convince me otherwise, as I told my sweet neice over the weekend, is a big fat FIBBER. Then there's the attitude we have for other women. Friend or foe, society's works against our confidence enough that we need to drop our sharp words used against one another, words that cut deeper than any sword.

I want every woman to feel beautiful. It doesn't mean we always do. For example, I succumbed to insecurities reinforced by the man in my life at the time back in 2000. Dr. Salzman changed my body, my bust line to be specific and the immediate results made me catch up to the bosom of my mother. It was more than I'd asked for, but was a bell, so to speak, that couldn't easily be unrung. With the extra weight I've since gained, I am va-va-boom, even in a basic tee. Perky. High. And, yes, I'll say it, freakin' huge. I ache that I can't just go around like I did before without causing even me to stop in the mirror and gape. I am not willing (or financially able) to undo what I did to my body surgically, so loosing the weight I packed on since is the only option. For that, I must change my life style. Carbs. Wine. Dairy. In greater moderation. Exercise. From non-existent to prevalent. I want a healthy body. The one I have today, although I feel beautiful, is not fit and not what's best for me in the long run.

I am a product of today's culture. Despite any strained ideas of independence as to how I choose to define feminine, that definition, and how I express it with my body, clothes, make up and such, is influenced by the culture and people around me. It's everywhere we look. In archetypes to advertising. The pressure of raising not one, but two girls in an even greater physically conscious world gives me pause. I don't wish to deny the existence of physical beauty and how we define it. (who is that we?) However, I do hope that our girls grow relatively unscathed.

Little girls don't need to be wearing clothing or makeup that sexualizes them. The first impression of a girl is so often - do you look pretty. I would prefer our girls grow up strong and confident, thank you.

I can't seem to put my fingers on it, but I have a photo of Greta Jo in the shopping cart while we were at Target, where they had training bras that were push-up demi style. They have high heals in sizes to fit toddlers on up in every little girl size. SERIOUSLY?! Just because it's made, just because child asks, doesn't mean you have to whip out the credit card and provide it. It's only natural for little girls want to be bigger older already. This is especially the case when they get along well with adults. The line between child and adult gets blurred. A child is no longer sassing when they talk back if the adult is afraid to say no, and steps into the negotiation ring. A child surely doesn't need us to enable and encourage them to grow up any faster than they already do. They need our support to know that who they are and how they treat people - with care and compassion - is more important. If you think your child is having a weight issue at an early age, look to what you put in your own shopping cart. It's not the milk, it's the hormones in the milk. It's not their refusal to eat vegetables, but the ice cream you dole out. A desire for them to be thin when it is you, the adult putting the food on their plate, set them up for a future of horrid self-esteem. Add to it the pretty pretty princess where the prince architype rescues them? Where and when is this child empowered to have responsibility? A dear friend told JJ and I in the last year, that in his years as a parent, he had observed that children can be relied upon to make poor decisions for themselves. Often, Greta Jo's dodgy stomach is a great reminder of this fact. Left to her own devices, Greta Jo would eat until she pukes, drink milk on a nauseated stomach made so by motion sickness, and bathe until her skin prunes up and dries scaled from having all the natural oils soaked off. Being the parent, guiding the choices by the options presented in half the battle.

For example, on Sunday, we had had our worst terrible two experience to date, at home or in public. Greta Jo was tired. She was hungry. She lacked all cognitive ability to identify this. All she knew was that she was miserable, and getting that point across, my dear child was an expert, though I'd never seen it to that degree before. So much of JJ and my parenting is based on research, our own philosophy, influence of our parents, observations of what works for our parenting peers, and just plain guess-work. Whether today's fussiness to outright tantrum, or tomorrow's teen rebellion, that trial and error approach will be no different.

And I find this reality absolutely terrifying on the topic of a guiding them toward a sense of self-worth.

Being grounded with other strong women is important. It's part of why JJ and I chose our home church of Advent. The level of not just tolerance, but acceptance of all sorts people is just the sort of beauty we surround the girls.

My parents, although from a generation of many of my peers grandparents, did a fine job with my sisters and I. My previously mentioned low self-esteem stems not from their action or inaction, but that of my handing power over how I saw myself to the man in my life. Beauty to my parents is best described by a Thanksgiving sometime in the last ten to fifteen years. My father asked my sisters and I to put down our forks. "Look at your Mother," he said. "Isn't she beautiful?" He paused. "This is what you have to look forward to." He didn't recount her flaws, that by some standards, she had, but he embraced them and saw beauty. Our mother is a beautiful woman. She is kind. Compassionate. Generous. Her flaws are those that make the facets of her all the more striking. This isn't to say he'd not also discussed her character at other times. Who our mother is, is demonstrated by her and our father's actions. But I will forever treasure his perspective of our aging mother. He didn't bemoan the passing of her youth, but the beauty she'd earned over the time they'd shared.

Yes, Dad, I do look forward to it.

It is that perspective, that JJ and I hope to impart to Greta Jo and Clara Lou.

Parent Trap

2011-12-09T15:40:00.001-08:00

I recently posted about having lost my sense of humour. It's a trap often found in, well, being human. We, erm, I take myself so seriously. I swear I have a comedic timing that keeps JJ smiling. I just reread some of my posts, and roll my eyes at how preachy or desperate for getting my voice heard (even if just imagined).

It's particularly important that parents avoid this trap. Life is hard enough without having to face it without a little levity.

For example, Aunt Leslie came for a visit today. The girls didn't nap at the same time, so we had some quality time together. I even got in a 20 minute nape! While Clara Lou was having lunch with her Aunt Leslie :signs the letter "L" at cheek to iindicate her name:, Greta Jo and I went to the park catty corner to our house. It's called Emerson Park, named for the Elementary school that used to be there. Apparently was an architectural masterpiece, according to architect friends of mine. :sigh: As much as I would have liked for the building to have been saved, it happened long before I moved into the neighbourhood. Now, it's been raised. There is a park with a playground, a stage area, and a bench swing. The play ground is cursed with the same flawed one side of a fence, not all four sides of the playground. Add to it, it is riddled with unfriendly hazards to a toddler with no sense of self-preservation, who has yet to figure out how to jump from a step. I show her each time we are near something she can jumpfrom, but alas, she has some mental block.

Trick riding, however, seems to be her thing.

Today, at the park, I realized that the jokes my children make usually have me and their Papa as the punchline. Parents so often get stuck in a teaching moment, or get cross or unreasonably angry. This is, by all means, not all, in fact some of my closest friends are masters at not being this way. One dear Momma friend posted that love is when your toddler licks your face. THEN, another Momma friend responded - that she licks her son's eyelid. Pure brilliance and a real inspiration to me.

Ooopsie - dropped the sippy cup on the floor. A-gain.
Squee! You can't catch me!
Uh-Oh! I just peed before you got my next diaper on!
WATER! :dumps full cup of water outside the tub: OR figures out how the stopper works on the bathroom sink and plugs it up to overflow while I chase sister.

They're ganging up on us sweetheart. Either we get reinforcements, gather to rethink our strategy or ...

:goes, gets white towel, and throws into the play area of the living room:

Come on kiddos! Papa's in Detroit by now. Let's stay up past your bedtime and PARTY!!!

Kitchen Notes

2011-12-01T12:23:00.001-08:00

Okay, I really need to get down my notes. This will be edited periodically with photos added, as my time and attention permits!

Also, I took the time to affirm my recollection that yes, Clara Lou will have her birthday fall on Thanksgiviing. I have yet to inform JJ's Dad and Stepmother, but have let my parents and Margi know that we plan on having an open house in 2003 and 2009, when 11/28 happens on that fourth Thursday. I've learned the hard way that there is a race to stake ones claim on these things!

What do I mean by that? Well, there's a balancing act between generations. Who fixes dinner, where, and for whom? Who gets bumped off the actual day, or shorted the appetites of guests that have already forced down one or two other meals that day, like geese being fattened for fois gras. Or, who gets a marathon of days for holiday meals. Already, I plan on cooking two meals next year. When, will be the question. As my pregnancy required we stay home last year, and this year, the much awaited arrival was cause for celebratorious gratitude of a big meal at home, next year, I will pick my dates last. No one every takes the weekend before, so I plan on taking on preparing a vegetarian Thanksgiving then. This is a self-imposed challenge to make something edible when so often, it makes my lip curl just to think of giving up my beloved meats, fish and poultry. I will of course, prepare my ever evolving traditional Thanksgiving meal, just when depends on when everyone else pulls and tugs at our heart strings as to who claims that family favourite Thursday. If only JJ and my extended family truly got along and the girls didn't have to be split amongst three houses of Grandparents. It's a reality of divorce. Made for the couple who can no longer be married, that hard choice has ripple effects not just on their children in what they see as just part of their normal, but in the grandchildren. Only it's the Grandchildren that get it exponentially. When there's a remarriage, there is obviously more people, and more love received. However, so often, how they see they are loved depends on who's invitation is extended first and accepted. I had encountered this during my marriage to my ex-husband and had wilfully forgotten this lesson.

I must say, the holidays are as difficult as your own perspective makes them. As for JJ and my part this year, things were as close to ideal, given the circumstances, as possible. I thoroughly enjoyed having the chance to cross a threshold so many women cross decades before I do, getting to care for my girls and pamper my husband with our own Thanksgiving meal. Here's what was planned this year, followed by what actually happened.

Photos of Thanksgiving are here.
Photos of Clara Lou's 1st Birthday are here.

2011 Thanksgiving

Nothing rarely goes according to plan.
My plan had been to start much of this
days ahead, not one day! See T-1 Day post.

Breakfast:
Roasted Pumpkin muffins
Egg & Sausage breakfast ring
OJ
coffee with ....*

Lunch: The Thanksgiving Meal
Brined & Roasted in Bacon Turkey with Cider Glaze
Cranberry Marmalade chutney
Roasted roots: carrots, turnips, sweet potatoes
Green Bean Casserole
Apple Sausage Cornbread Dressing
Mashed Potatoes
Pear Gravy
Parker House rolls
wine*
Dessert:
Bourbon Pecan Tart and Comfy Cow vanilla bean ice cream
coffee, tea or

Dinner:
Butternut Squash & Apple Soup
Pugliese rolls

* based on what we can afford

Here's what happened:

2011 Thanksgiving

I do not think the girls minded whether I or
the bakers at Whole Foods had made their muffins.

Breakfast:
Roasted Pumpkin & Cream cheese muffins from Whole Foods
OJ
Irish coffee

Lunch: The Thanksgiving Meal
Brined & Roasted in Bacon Turkey with Apple Cider Glaze
Cranberry Marmalade chutney
Roasted roots: carrots, turnips, sweet potatoes
Green Bean Casserole with black truffle oil
Sausage Cornbread Dressing
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Sage Gravy
Parker House rolls
Three Wishes Chardonnay
Dessert:
Gammy Margi's Pecan Tart
Apple and Cranberry pie - from Whole Foods
Comfy Cow vanilla bean ice cream (for those not in the Louisville area, be envious.)

Dinner:
We skipped dinner because we had second dessert at my parents, Grandmama and Grandpa's farm. The Butternut Squash & Apple Soup and Pugliese rolls were eaten the next day with a plate of some left overs.

Clara Lou's First Birthday

Cakes:

Acorn Madeleines

Oak Tree Cake

The Recipes:

LUNCH
Brined & Roasted in Bacon Turkey with Apple Cider Glaze

Turkey

Hot from the oven! I love my new Bialetti roasting pan.

ingredients
Brine
2 quarts (8 cups) apple cider, divided
1 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup whole allspice
8 bay leaves
4 quarts cold water
1 18-pound turkey (neck and gizzard reserved)
Sage Broth
4 cups home-made chicken broth (or low sodium if purchased)
1/2 onion, quartered
1 celery stalk, cut into 4 pieces
8 fresh sage leaves
Glaze
2 cups apple cider
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
8 cups Apple, Sausage Cornbread Dressing with Fresh Sage
Gravy
3 tablespoons all purpose flour
2 tablespoons fresh sage leaves
1/4 cup Calvados (couldn't afford - so used Bourbon)
1/4 cup heavy cream
Roasting herbs - thyme, rosemary, sage
3 apples, cored
2 onions, julienned
6 celery stalks, chopped in 2-3 in segments
1 lb carrots, washed not peeled, cleaned on ends
Larding:
2 lbs bacon

preparation
For brine:
Simmer 1 quart apple cider, salt, allspice, and bay leaves in 20-quart pot 5 minutes, stirring often. Cool completely. Add remaining 3 quarts cider and 4 quarts water. Place turkey in brining bag, placed in roasting pan without roasting rack. Cover and refrigerate overnight, rotating every few hours. (I did this at noon, the day before)
Drain turkey and rinse (I did this at 3am day of). Arrange on several layers of paper towels in roasting pan. Refrigerate uncovered (skipped), and set out to start roasting 2 hours before. (did so at 3am, prep of roasting herbs, aples, onions, celery and carrots at 5am, with roasting starting at 6am day of)
For broth:
Simmer all ingredients in large saucepan 30 minutes. Strain sage broth into bowl. Bring to boil, and reduce to 2 cups.
For glaze: (done the day before
Boil cider in saucepan until reduced to 1/4 cup, about 15 minutes. Whisk in butter. Cool completely.
Set rack at lowest position in oven; preheat to 350°F. Remove paper towels from roasting pan. Pat main and neck cavities of turkey dry. Loosely fill with Roasting herbs, and set remainder about pan.

Place turkey in pan, tuck wings under, and tie legs together loosely. Weave bacon into basket weave and cover turkey.

Roast turkey 2 hours. Remove bacon, and cover wing tips with foil. Reduce temperature to 325°F. Brush with some of glaze. Baste every 30 min. Roast until beginning to brown, about 1 hour. Cover with foil. Roast until thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh registers 175°F, brushing with glaze every 30 minutes and adding up to 1 cup water to pan if drippings begin to burn, for five hours. Transfer turkey to platter; tent with foil. Let stand 30 minutes.

NOTE: The turkey was done. It registered 175°F, the juices were clear. BUT! When I went to remove the meat for use in leftovers, the base of the wings and legs were not done. All who partook in our bird were fine. However, ew! Margi and I discussed, and she'd heard a chef discussing this issue. He perforates the base of the wing and leg, and makes doubly sure to baste it. This way, air circulates to the tight and thick joints, but they don't have a chance to dry out.

For gravy:
Remove celery and discard, remove remaining roasting herbs, and set aside for garnish and those guests who love them. Pour pan juices into large measuring cup. (For those concerned about fat, this is when you spoon off fat.) Reserve 3 tablespoons fat and degreased juices (I neglected to do this this year, and wish I hadn't.). Combine flour, sage leaves, and reserved 3 tablespoons fat in roasting pan; stir over medium heat 1 minute. Whisk in broth from roasting pan and reserved pan juices. Add 1 cup spiced apple cider and 1/4 cup bourbon and boil until gravy thickens slightly, whisking often, about 4 minutes. Add some of the reserved roasting herbs and use submersion mixer to puree into the gravy. Add heavy cream (I skipped adding heavy cream, and could go either way), return to boil, season with salt and pepper. Strain into sauceboat. Serve turkey with gravy.

Cranberry Marmalade chutney
See the link for recipe!

Roasted roots: carrots, turnips, sweet potatoes

Green Bean Casserole with black truffle oil

Sausage Cornbread Dressing

Garlic Mashed Potatoes

Sage Gravy
see above recipe under the Turkey

Parker House rolls
Purchased from Whole Foods

Three Wishes Chardonnay
This is Whole Foods answer to $2 buck Chuck from Trader Joe's, and at $2.99 a bottle, is quite passable at our current budget.

Dessert:
Gammy Margi's Pecan Tart

Apple and Cranberry pie
Again, I purchased from Whole Foods. I didn't have childcare for work, let alone Thanksgiving prep for two days prior, so this shortcut was necessary. I must say, the pie was delicious!

Comfy Cow vanilla bean ice cream (for those not in the Louisville area, be envious.)
Take key, drive to Comfy Cow, wait in line, buy an extra pint for yourself, and an extra pint for everyone to have seconds. Drive home, put in freezer. Take out 30 minutes prior to serving.

DINNER:
We skipped dinner because we had second dessert at my parents, Grandmama and Grandpa's farm. The Butternut Squash & Apple Soup and Pugliese rolls were eaten the next day with a plate of some left overs.

Clara Lou's First Birthday

Cakes:

Acorn Madeleines

Oak Tree Cake

I completely caved. I have yet to find a yellow sponge cake recipe that I trust myself with. I had committed to making Madeleines, which if you mess up, there is no Plan B (Duncan Hines) alternative. So, I used my plan B for Clara Lou's cake. She's one. She does not mind. Clara Lou told me as much with her mouth full, nose stuffed with icing.

Her party was held at our friends Heather and James' neighbourhood restaurant, Eiderdown. We had appetisers before giving her her cake and opening presents. Her birthday dinner was her current faves: everything, but especially when the menu includes meat!

Clara Lou’s 1st Birthday Menu of Favourites!
Beef Roast & Gravy
Green Beans
Sweet Potato
Cake - Oak tree for Clara Lou, & Madelines shaped like acorns!

Recipes to follow!

On being polite

2011-11-29T11:32:00.001-08:00

Please, lend me your ear, dear reader.*

Greta Jo took to chopsticks and managed to eat with them
with far greater success than many adults!

I still need to get my kitchen notes down from Thanksgiving and from Clara Lou's birthday, but I find myself with random thirty second intervals with which I can accomplish tasks.

The last several months of colds, staph infections, stomach bugs, now childcare presents its challenges and contributes to making my work week hinky. :Sigh of relief that I work for myself: All for understandable reasons too. I had my three day holiday work week reduced to zero last week, when Haylee was sick on Monday, Frede's return from Florida was delayed a day, and then all my preparations for Thursdays meal were pushed until Wednesday. This week isn't faring apmuch better. This time, it's Haylee whose holiday travel kept her from watching the girls on Monday and Frede being sick today. Half of tomorrow may be gone because of household chores that go much more swiftly when I don't have Clara Lou on my hip and Greta Jo on my heels. We have a third childcare giver, my sister Leslie. However, Leslie has her book being launched this week, so again, tending for the girls came first. This is so hard! I understand the irregularities, but they seem to be the norm and not the exception. And now, my work week that already has to fit 40-60 hours into twenty-four hours, has once again been reduced. No pressure.

Before this week, as I have written, the girls had been intermittently sick, in the hospital, had childcare fall through...and what gave? My law practice. Had I a traditional job in a firm, I would have the regular pay, but I would never ever have this flexibility for the stop start, stop start that has been the story since last April. Not part of my business plan, nor does it coincide with my income projections.

Where it is consistent is with the big picture that my dear husband, JJ, and I have chosen. The girls come first. It is the work day missed, where a few emails are answered, quick calls or laundry and chores done during naps. Don't get me wrong, I adore being with the girls, and like many working mothers, have pangs when I am not with them.

One thing that I just posted on Facebook is how proud I am of Greta Jo. I am so proud of our her. She knows by JJ and my example and insistence, to say, please, thank you. She is also learning to say may I be excused, no thank you and you're welcome; not just in English, but in French too. Why should kindness and courtesy be reserved for the very young, many of whom are mistaught that please is merely a means to getting what you want? Afterall, pleeeeease does lend itself to a whine. Why has being polite gone the way of the fedora? If lucky, worn as a showy accessory, reserved for friends and strangers when others are looking. Many of us fail to be regularly mindful of the feelings of those most dear, our closest friends and family. Little girl, you may be just two, but you are already a great example.

Being home has made a difference in Greta Jo. It has with Clara Lou too. She already knows to keep her plate on the table, to drink from a regular cup, and is working on the skill of using a fork or spoon. Greta Jo, along with her please, thank you, I'm finished, may I be excused (still working on that no thank you), has alreadymp, at two, started helping me set the table. She knows to out her dirty clothes in the hamper. She knows to put her dirty diapers in the bin. I will have a regular work week, and the girls will have these developments without me, but I am relieved that her care fivers share our commitment. I will get caught up and be able to start to market myself again. I carry a heavy weight that all is not happening as I would like, and as JJ and my family desperately needs. But it is by design that JJ and I have the flexibility to be with our girls.

Thank you!

*[I am not biased in the least]

Moment of Calm and Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T19:27:00.001-08:00

There will be a complete post with recipes and specifics soon, as I truly want to jot them down since most of them were fabulous, if I do say so myself. The deliciousness of the past two days can be memorialised with the following story. As the enthusiasm and boisterous excitement of seeing Grandparents, most of their Aunts, uncles and cousins waned, clad in their jammies, Clara Lou crawled from my lap to where I had been rubbing on the back of her big sister, Greta Jo. Greta Jo had already collapsed, Clara Lou still sitting upright, patted on her sister where my hand had once been. They smiled. I luckily was able to capture the moment, here and in a snapshot. Family and friends no longer with me, my Grandmothers, grandfathers, and other dear ones, are all a part of the fabric of memories of Thanksgivings past. This one the last two days has been among the best. Tonight, seeing the rare and treasured moment of calm shared between these two toddlers, my own sweet girls, I see the promise of family, defined in their own manner and choosing. I love you dear ones, all of you my family, whether by blood or by choice. I am grateful for the support we provide one another.

T-Day minus one

2011-11-23T14:33:00.001-08:00

2011 Thanksgiving Dinner Preparations, the day before

[photos and updates to follow]

Thanksgiving meals always make me laugh, just a little. I am not uncommon in my experience of the disproportionate ratio of preparation effort to actual dining time. So much goes into planning, plotting the menu, changing up the recipes, trying new techniques, omitting what hadn't worked in prior attempts. Then, there is the setting of the table, the centerpiece, the cleaning and clearing and having the house so that stacks on the counters, every nook and crevice don't drive me crazy from distraction. Messy house is a messy mind? Well, I'm ill-kept much of the time then, but at least at the holidays, that little extra effort to have the house in order lets the focus be entirely on the people within it!

My To Do list on the write-on wipe-off board has been getting items ticked off as the day has progressed. The new wardrobe in the living room was assembled by JJ this morning, and the piles of coats by the front door now have a tidy home. The Dining Room no longer looks like I've hired an organizational consultant who has used the room as a staging area for the rest of the house. There are a few items here and there that, by morning, will find a place to be. Once those shelves are installed over my desk, an entire corner of stacks of things will finally be put away. I've made an art project on the girls table, where everyone coming tomorrow will trace their hand to make a turkey for the girls to colour while the rest of us eat. Later, I'll cut out construction paper to make turkeys, and do another to make a banner to hang from the shelf/mantel in the living room. I have begun the preparations for dinner too, brined the turkey, made the glaze and the cranberry marmalade chutney. I;ve roasted the pumpkin and the butternut squash and am getting ready to make the butternut squash/apple soup for tomorrow night.
Here are a few of the recipes used today.

Cranberry Marmelade Chutney

ingredients
1-1/2 cups orange marmalade
2/3 cup orange juice
1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1 12 oz bag of cranberries
preparation
Combine first four ingredients in medium saucepan. Stir over medium-high heat until mixture comes to boil. Continue to simmer until slightly reduced and starting to thicken. Mix in cranberries; return to boil. Reduce heat to medium; simmer until berries burst and sauce thickens slightly, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Transfer sauce to medium bowl and cool completely. Season with pepper. (Can be made 3 days ahead. Cover and chill).

Apple Cider Sage Glaze
four cups spiced cider
2 sprigs fresh sage, broken to release oils)
2 tsp cloves
1 stick unsalted butter
put cider into saucepan, and add a spice ball with the sage and cloves. Bring to boil and reduce to one cup. Whisk in butter and cool completely.

Turkey
ingredients
Brine
2 quarts (8 cups) apple cider, divided
1 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup whole allspice
8 bay leaves
4 quarts cold water
1 20-pound turkey (neck and gizzard reserved)
Sage Broth
4 cups home-made chicken broth (or low sodium if purchased)
1/2 onion, quartered
1 celery stalk, cut into 4 pieces
8 fresh sage leaves
Glaze
2 cups apple cider
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
8 cups Apple, Sausage Cornbread Dressing with Fresh Sage
Gravy
3 tablespoons all purpose flour
2 tablespoons fresh sage leaves
1/4 cup Calvados (couldn't afford - so using Bourbon)
1/4 cup whipping cream
print a shopping list for this recipeview wine pairings
Roasting herbs
3 apples, cored
2 onions, julienned
6 celery stalks, chopped in 2-3 in segments
1 lb carrots, washed not peeled, cleaned on ends
Larding:
2 lbs bacon

preparation
For brine:
Simmer 1 quart apple cider, salt, allspice, and bay leaves in 20-quart pot 5 minutes, stirring often. Cool completely. Add remaining 3 quarts cider and 4 quarts water. Place turkey in brine. Cover and refrigerate overnight, rotating every few hours.
Drain turkey and rinse. Arrange on several layers of paper towels in roasting pan. Refrigerate uncovered, and set out to start roasting 2 hours before.
For broth:
Simmer all ingredients in large saucepan 30 minutes. Strain sage broth into bowl. Bring to boil, and reduce to 2 cups.
For glaze:
Boil cider in saucepan until reduced to 1/4 cup, about 15 minutes. Whisk in butter. Cool completely.
Set rack at lowest position in oven; preheat to 350°F. Remove paper towels from roasting pan. Pat main and neck cavities of turkey dry. Loosely fill with Roasting herbs, and set remainder about pan. Place turkey in pan, tuck wings under, and tie legs together loosely. Weave bacon into basket weave and cover turkey.
Roast turkey 1 hour. Remove bacon, and cover wing tips with foil. Reduce temperature to 325°F. Brush with some of glaze. Baste every 30 min. Roast until beginning to brown, about 1 hour. Cover with foil. Roast until thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh registers 175°F, brushing with glaze every 30 minutes and adding up to 1 cup water to pan if drippings begin to burn, about 3 hours longer. Transfer turkey to platter; tent with foil. Let stand 30 minutes.
For gravy:
Remove celery and discard, remove remaining roasting herbs, and set aside. Pour pan juices into large measuring cup. (For those concerned about fat, this is when you spoon off fat.) Reserve 3 tablespoons fat and degreased juices. Combine flour, sage leaves, and reserved 3 tablespoons fat in roasting pan; stir over medium heat 1 minute. Whisk in broth from roasting pan and reserved pan juices. Add 1 cup spiced apple cider and 1/4 cup bourbon and boil until gravy thickens slightly, whisking often, about 4 minutes. Add some of the reserved roasting herbs and use submersion mixer to puree into the gravy. Add heavy cream, return to boil, season with salt and pepper. Strain into sauceboat. Serve turkey with gravy.

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup
ingredients
Soup
1/4 cup ( 1/2 stick) butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
4 large garlic cloves, chopped
3 cups home-made chicken broth (or purchased low-salt chicken broth)
4 cups 1-inch pieces peeled roasted butternut squash (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 cups 1-in pieces peeled uncooked apple
1 1/4 teaspoons minced fresh thyme
1 1/4 teaspoons minced fresh sage
1/4 cup whipping cream
2 teaspoons sugar
Croutons
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter
24 1/4-inch-thick baguette bread slices
1 cup grated Gruyère cheese
1 teaspoon minced fresh thyme
1 teaspoon minced fresh sage
print a shopping list for this recipeview wine pairings

preparation
For soup:
Melt butter in large pot over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and sauté until tender, about 10 minutes. Add broth, all apples and herbs; bring to boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer until squash is very tender, about 20 minutes. Add butternut squash. Puree with submersion mixer until blended. OR Working in batches, puree soup in blender. Return soup to same pot. Stir in cream and sugar; bring to simmer. Season with salt and pepper. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Chill. Rewarm over medium heat before serving.)
For croutons:
Preheat broiler. Butter 1 side of each bread slice. Arrange bread, buttered side up, on baking sheet. Broil until golden, about 1 minute. Turn over. Sprinkle cheese, then thyme and sage over. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Broil until cheese melts, about 1 minute. Ladle soup into bowls. Top each with croutons and serve.
[more soon!]

Talking Turkey

2011-11-17T13:30:00.001-08:00

It's been a busy day. Pony lesson for Greta Jo, drafting and editing docs at work, planning for the next very dense week, and preparing craft projects for Greta Jo to share.

Greta Jo had her last pony lesson for the season this and she clearly loves it. Angela Ariatti has such a way. She is methodical, patient, works to the student and circumstances. Angela has a way with Greta Jo too. Again, two is younger than I would have started, but I so wanted her to get off to a positive experience. If she gets turned off of horses, that may thwart any hopes of there being a sixth generation horse woman in the midst.

Our big little two year old was on her game today too. We had such fun. She anticipated picking the groom kit, naming the tools. She was naming horse body parts on Cookie, the lesson pony, and the various kinds of tack. She asked, before her teacher, Angela, had a change, for the games plays with her, "Jump?!" (she had walked over polls); "Bucket?" (she had zig zagged around buckets) "Colours?" (she had played with bean bags, one find where hidden in the ring, the other drop in the bucket below her.) All of which got her not thinking about she was doing, strengthening her core muscles, and exercising the little gray cells. She minds Angela in a way I so wish she would me and JJ! Our little girl was awesome. I ordinarily, when I taught kiddos how to ride, don't start as early as two, but since some fam have tried and still might throw her up on a horse and scare her for life, as they did JJ, I wanted to make sure she had positive experiences from the get go.

When I held Clara Lou, while Angela had Greta Jo help put away tack, Clara Lou was mesmerized by Cookie the pony, I saw the glee in her eyes and knew that JJ and I are sunk. Time will tell, just because the girls like it today, they are girls with our genetic predisposition to be fickle that way.

I dropped off things at consignment before heading to the office to fight the fight with the paper tiger. I owe phone calls (sorry, writing this because your voice mail box was full), but progress is being made after the dreadful (work wise) September and October. With this progress, I hope to be caught up by months end. In time to catch up a year's worth of accounting? o_O

Then I spent the last bit planning the next week so that Thanksgiving day is a touch easier. HERE'S LINK TO A PDF of my kitchen notes that will be on my fridge to keep chaotic living, distracted by shiny things-me on task. I'm so looking forward to Thanksgiving AND to Clara Lou's birthday cake of an oak tree and little acorns that will be the lovely French cake called Madelines. I have some homework reading on glazes [LINK HERE]. I adore Cooks Illustrated and would love love love to have a subscription. I won't splurge on that until JJ and I are in better financial health. It went to the wayside along with my monthly purchase of a bottle of wine worth aging in my modest cellar, gym membership, and and and, so many other things when ... when...

:STOP THAT!:

See what happened there?! I got snagged by the scarcity trickster. Trips me every time when I'm not looking. I'm tired. That's it. I'm not at my best. Sleep, and I'll get to be more productive at work. Sleep, and my metabolism will improve. Sleep, and I won't waste as much time being unfocused. Sleep, and I'll have time to exercise. Sleep, and I'll be a better example of health for our girls. Sleep, and I'll be a softer, kinder, gentler, happier soul for our girls.

I actually have prescription from Dr. R for that from our appointment Monday last. I kid not! Now, if only he would make it possible too. Docs can do that sort of thing yes? I mean, docs have cracked open not just my Dad but also my Mom's chest cavities and performed miracles on their diseased or damaged hearts. Surely there is something they can do to make sleep possible and create time for me to exercise?

What Dr. R? You're not the tooth fairy? Wait. You mean the tooth fairy doesn't make those sorts of accommodations either?

:leaves window in search of brass lamp:

[PAUSE]

:returns disheveled and frustrated:

Well, see, yet another time waster.

My sense of humour is still MIA

2011-11-15T12:36:00.001-08:00

Here is the wonderful gas can I purchased after my trek in the rain.

Yesterday, I had a small snafu where I went out in the morning, only to discover I didn't have my wallet. It was a touch alarming. I knew the culprit. Little Greta Jo loves my wallet. My facebook post, said it all, with the sense of humour I needed to get through what could have been rather frustrated course of errands that wouldn't have gotten done for want of contents of said wallet. I posted "Greta Jo, please tell Maman what you did with her wallet."

Sure enough, it was put away in one of her bags.

Well, I do believe my sense of humour ran away from me this morning. I imagine some scruffy looking round ball screaming maniacally as it disappeared into the rainy dawn, and it has been having all the fun without me since. I want an app, like the one for "find my phone" that when I've put it down (often in some part of our tiny house), I can have the iPad call my iPhone. It would be a nice trick, yes? Life twists and you lose your balance/temper/ability to laugh, no worries, use this app. That would be nice. Some want Xanax, some just think that life or the holidays are humourless and hard. Not me, I just want to keep a grip on that slippery sense of humour. That ability to laugh and not wait five years for a comedy of errors to be funny.

Note: I needed to learn the lesson that no trip to my parents is fast; again.
I tend to overlook the obvious when running late, I didn't notice dangerously low tires nor low fuel gauge, nor my work calendar dinging madly at me on my cell phone.
I had to leave Fréde with both fussy girls, ready for lunch and nap while I walked to closest gas station, in the rain, to get gas. One fell asleep and got a dreaded car nap.
I ask a lady for a ride back to the car. Thank you guardian angel for the lift. When I get back to car with gas to find city park workers trying to push the car out of the way of traffic. No one notices the tires are so low, one nearly to the rim. Feh. See how my gratitude for the nice folks for the lift and the push dissipates? It's all the ne'er-do-well sense of humour of mine.
Having given the gas tank a sip of 1 gallon of its much desired fuel, I get back into the car, Greta Jo sipping on mlk, Fréde saying she gave up after having tried to sing. (You know it's bad when Fréde tries to sing). What Fréde didn't know was that Greta Jo had just had some milk. Her tummy doesn't take to having too much food and tends to reject it before it even hits her tummy. This is what Dr. R told me just yesterday. :dum da dee dum: There was a moment when my sense of humour hit, that look of shared dread as Frede and I prayed to make it home puke free.
And, you guessed it, puke.
Nagging question: did I miss an appointment at work?
Once home, I finally notice tires are so low that one is near the rim. I carefully drive to the convenience at Shelby and Burnett, waste $1 having turned on the vacuum and not the air hose. After I fill the tires, I give the homeless guy who had nicely pointed out my mistake my last $5. Thank you Guardian Angel.
I manage to keep some of my to do's going from the to do column to the done column. I stop to buy rat poison because I had to take all the dishes home from the Shop yesterday because once again I seem to be the only frakin' one who seems to know that eating off plates and forks and such, all of which have had rats and mice scamper across, leaving trails of rat feces and puddles of dried urine, is bad for you. Ew. Ew. Gross boys (including you DH). Ew.
So sorry Fréde, but your way of helping clean the car seat has rendered it unusable. I have no idea how I'm going to get Greta Jo to school in the morning.
Greta Jo won't nap and wakes sister.
I am frustrated. I was going to be at work 11-3 today, and leaving to get there AFTER 3:00.
Before leaving, Greta Jo won't nap. I get Clara Lou down, and "reboot" Greta Jo who is ready for bed. As we enter the bedroom, Clara Lou is triumphantly standing ready to play. Thus commences a feed-loop between the pair and they are quickly a giggling smiling mess. I have a moment of reprieve where I can't help myself and smile.
I get to the office and write this rant after checking discovering that yes, I missed an appointment. On way to work, finally, I notice that our chimley is completely uncovered, and still has no flashing after it had been tuckpointed. This after the rain and wind storm last night. Lovely.
My sense of humour is still MIA.

All and all, today was quite an adventure and it's not over yet. I keep things in perspective, just sometimes not in real time. Part of the reason the girls wouldn't nap, was Clara Lou had had a car nap, and felt artificially rested. Greta Jo has always been sensitive to my moods and I am still amped up, even now, and hour sense, having caught up on emails, a few phone calls, and yes, writing this to PURGE my sour thoughts and hunt down that damn useless sense of humour. Seriously, do they have an app to find it? Seems it's always darting out of the room, right when it would come in handy.

Plotting Thanksgiving Dinner

2011-11-11T03:27:00.001-08:00

As the name of my blog indicates, I adore my kitchen. It's not the most sophisticated. It doesn't have top of the line appliances and custom cabinets with spacious eat-in lounge area and fireplace. No, it has mismatched appliances and stock cabinetry with a kitchen table that in a pinch seats four plus the two high chairs, but don't expect to be able to pull your chair out or move! Heck, my kitchen matches the house - it's, well, cozy.

This post won't disappoint, as it's about FOOD... but much of the joy of food is in the sharing. Thanksgiving, is about gratitude for what is given and received. Slowing down to realise these gifts, the presence of the divine. It's about harvest. Where we honour the riches of the year's labours. And, labour is what happens when you make a Thanksgiving meal. Planning. Plotting. Preparing. It all takes a disproportionate amount of energy to the actual eating of the meal!

[For what I consider to be the BEST recipe for turkey, see my post, Thanksgiving. Note, it's not in traditional recipe format. I'm sorry that I'm not more consistent about that.]

As you may know, I haven't always enjoyed cooking. It wasn't until my 30s that I took to reading recipes, the way many might read a quick-read novel. You know the ones with lots of words so as to give the reader the feeling that they are good readers, when actually, the vocabulary is limited and plot lines formulaic. Well, I read recipes. I only have a few dozen cookbooks, and long to have more. Alas, it makes no sense to buy more, as I have run out of shelf in the, you guessed it, cozy kitchen. So, I rely on website research and reading fellow bloggers for ideas and inspiration. My favourite right now is epicurious.com. When I first started to read recipes and get it, it was like when I started to read the conductor's sheet music and hear the orchestra. To break it down, think about the scene in "Ratatouille" where Remy watches Chef Gusteau and savours tasty morsels. The animators have him visualize the swirl of flavours, and how they explode with colour with the combination.

Here, you might as well just watch it!

'

Well, that's kind of what happens in my imagination when I read recipes.

One of my favourite meals to plan, plot, and share is Thanksgiving. I'm almost sure I've written about this before, but the first time I prepared a Thanksgiving dinner was shortly after my divorce, in my Paris flat for three expats and Julien (a native of Nancy, but I would say far more comfortable in Paris, but that is another story). It was liberating, for lots of reasons, foremost among them, it was the first time I did more than open a box, or follow a recipe that would be found in Betty Crocker.

Family meals were important growing up. There was actual cooking. We sat at the breakfast table for breakfast, and dining room table for our meals. I'm sure there's some study somewhere identifying just what happens sociologically, biologically, etc. when we humans share meals. All I know is that it's good. Thanksgiving, as far as the meal itself, is no different. There is no wonder that so many ceremonies center around food, breaking of bread.

My mother prepared all sorts of food items, some we would only get to enjoy once a year. By the time I was four, both my Grandmother's had passed, so the mantel had fallen to my Mother. Today, my sisters Elaine and Ellyn have children, so they too have taken what they liked of the traditions my Mother gave us, and started their own. Leslie, although she chose not to have children, has also established strong traditions of sharing this Thanksgiving meal with cherished friends. This isn't to say that we Moise women don't return to the nest, it's just the acknowledgement that we, at the ripe age of ..ehem... have officially left the nest.

As my Mother and Father gave me, a sense of gratitude, family and home, Thanksgiving is a gift JJ and I get to give the girls. They are so fortunate to have so many in their lives who love and want to be with them, but especially on holidays. It makes for great memories, and lets admit it, those holidays are the photos that make it into a frame or a photo album, and well, I have to admit, the most traffic on a blog or social network (Google+ or Facebook). Those posts are to today, what a grandmother's brag book of snapshots was 10-20 years ago.

This may be a holiday, but it is also literally a meal we've been fantasizing about since we decided to not sink yet another $100 in repairs on my ghetto busted ass gas oven. It broke when, last spring? We opted to put $70 into a toaster oven and make do until we could afford to buy a decent one. We'd promised each other to get it by ... ta dum duh dum! Thanksgiving. Well, with just two weeks out, we're getting one this weekend. I have made do with a lot of busted up things, like having a dorm fridge as my only fridge the first two years I was in the house. I was working as an exercise rider and groom at a small Thoroughbred farm, and that was all I could afford.

I have cobbled together family meals for so many months, and have given up family dinners at our dining room table for so many weeks as Clara Lou sleeps in there while she gains confidence in sleeping through the night, that Thanksgiving Dinner this year marks a triumph in our survival. I am mindful that survival on the scale of the first Thanksgiving dinner had real stakes, so this is with certain humor that may be lost in a blog post! It is a light at a long and what could have been, and I pride myself that it has not, a defeating experience.

Thinking on what the menu will be, my imagination, like Remy in that movie, is stuck in flavor fest.

Thinking about my now favourite recipe for turkey. Contemplating what's in season for the sides, and their preparations. Considering making my own pies (what ever have I done in years past?) It has pulled my spirits through some difficult frustrating moments when having an oven would have been nice.

Where - home

When - Thursday, noon (so we can finish before naptime, and if it were at 6, our dinner time, it would mean that we couldn't clear the dishes in time for Clara Lou to go to sleep in the dining room.

Who - we four, plus? There's room for four to six more if we set up tables in our living room, a squeeze, but hmm...

What: -- a day of food!

Here's last year's menu. Remember, I was PREGNANT and gave birth just the Sunday after. I am planning making adjustments, but damn, It's mighty fine just the way it is!

2010 Thanksgiving
Breakfast:
Roasted Pumpkin Waffles with Maple Syrup
Hominy Grits Soufflé
sausage
OJ
coffee with Disaronno

Lunch:
Roasted Squash & Pumpkin Bisque
rustic bread

Dinner:
Brined & Roasted in Bacon Schacht Farm Turkey, with Cranberry Marmalade chutney
Roasted roots: carrots, turnips, sweet potatoes
Green Bean Casserole
Pear Gravy
Pugliese rolls
St. Emilion wine

Dessert:
Apple & Pear Pie with Comfy Cow salted caramel and vanilla bean ice cream
Christian Busin Champagne (from our honeymoon)

This year's contending menu:

2011 Thanksgiving

Breakfast:
Roasted Pumpkin muffins
Egg & Sausage breakfast ring
OJ
coffee with ....*

Lunch: The Thanksgiving Meal
Brined & Roasted in Bacon Turkey with Cider Glaze
Cranberry Marmalade chutney
Roasted roots: carrots, turnips, sweet potatoes
Green Bean Casserole
Apple Sausage Cornbread Dressing
Mashed Potatoes
Pear Gravy
Parker House rolls
wine*

Dessert:
Bourbon Pecan Tart and Comfy Cow vanilla bean ice cream
coffee, tea or

Dinner:
Butternut Squash & Apple Soup
Pugliese rolls

* I have no idea what we will be drinking, wine and alcohol wise. Our cupboards are literally bare. I used to cellar and save 6-12 bottles a year. A modest effort, but it made for the random Tuesday made special, and a nice addition to a special holiday meal. Unfortunately, along with the oven, and other long list of things, this has gone to the wayside. I have one bottle left aging, and don't plan on opening it for another year or two, or perhaps more.

This initial menu is of course subject to budget, time, pantry modifications, additions, and omissions. That's all part of the fun! I hope to make as much as I can in advance, having learned a valuable lesson from last year's necessity. Especially since the girls are at their best in the mornings and at lunch, making for the best time for a family meal to be mid-afternoon. Preparing all that food makes for an even earlier start to my day to having dinner on the table by noon.

All and all, I LOVE this sort of rumination on food.

LET THE SCHOOL FUND RAISERS BEGIN!

2011-11-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

Our Haws Girls hanging out watching Signing Times.
Greta Jo is holding her Baby Betty from Grandmama
and Grandpa. She's named for my Dad's Mother.

Greta Jo is in a parents day out program at Highland Presbyterian Preschool. Its annual Fall Festival Fundraiser is next Thursday. We've been asked to donate to her class' basket in the silent auction. I've also volunteered to provide something for the bake sale. I thought I would contribute something sweet and something savoury.

Whatever shall I do?!

This brings such a smile to my face -- it's the first bake sale for the girls. As you know, one of my creative joys is thinking up this sort of thing. I like culling through recipes, getting the shopping done. With life these days, I typically forget to get something, which leads to the mother of all creativity: necessity. Then the fun really begins. I'll get Greta Jo to "help" bake of course. Here are some initial ideas for bake sale fund raisers. This is the first of many bake sales! Yum!!

Bake Sale Ideas

sweet

cookies, brownies & bar cookies: cranberry oatmeal, brownies in a cone, cookie pops, , rice crispy treats
muffins: blueberry muffins, banana bread, carrot bran muffins, apple muffins
cakes & pies: cupcake cones, banana cupcakes
snakes, mixes and candies: caramel pretzel sticks, snack mix, granola trail mix

savoury

pies: mini quiche, meat pies, puff pastry stuffed with cheese
muffins & quick breads: ham & cheese corn bread, focaccia rounds
finger food: fingerling potato with sliced pork and roasted pear, peach prosciutto & ricotta crostini

We have another fundraiser on Saturday night. JJ's been making signs like mad for church, and the Fall Feast is no exception. My fried Erica has generously donated her professional services as a photographer to the silent auction. Now, if only we could get nap time to cooperate, and illnesses to stay away... we've not been to church regularly in a while! I'm so looking forward to seeing everyone on Saturday.

Greta Jo and Clara Lou will wear a little sweater dresses, and I something... well, clean. JJ, well, black dress pants, dress shirt and his one sport coat. Oh! How I long to do something about that man's wardrobe! This too will have to wait.

Happy? Happy.

2011-10-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

There are many things that I think on that I want to write. Many that I have written here, just saved to draft and not published. I go back and do gut checks on those periods of my life and what emotive things needed the catharsis of putting the technological pen to paper. Why write if there will never be an audience? Do I have a fantasy that my girls will one day read this mess of words and make sense of their mother? Of course I do.

What's the reality? Well, from the page hits that blogger tells me, I know there are several people reading the page. Thousands have visited. I know that several are here for just moments, given the bounce rate. These are statistics not offered were I to write a memoir and have pages printed and bound, where an idle distracted index finger caresses the edge of the page it turns.

I write as if unrequited... the most romantic of love. Most painful too. Where one feels misunderstood and must espouse. Do I really feel that I must express my inner thoughts to the blogesphere to gain catharsis? Or is it to reinforce my take on things and feel justified for my ills and wants and isolation?

Yes. Then there are the noble ideas. I don't write comedy. I'm generally not the funny girl in the room despite my vain attempts. I'm not the prettiest or the easiest to get along with. Why then should my words be any different?

This isn't to say that I don't have my charms, or the words, experiences shared, reduced to a tale here and there, don't have their appeal. No, I do believe that the recipe for apple dish I posted recently that's been read at an alarming rate, or the post from last year about my top ten acceptable sources of new germs, any of these posts do offer some value. Even if only perused for a minute or two.

Life is hard today. It's the same life I've been living and raving about, it's just that my own perspective has changed. Previously fueled by enthusiasm, a determination to prove that yes, a young family of four could indeed live happily in our tiny 100+ year old suburban space, my energy today is spent. I do not have what it takes to make this normal life work. That's not to say I don't love my life. It's just I can't seem to help myself from making a list of wants, have not yets, and need to's. Start collecting those to rattle about your brain, and it's a dangerous place to take a stroll, let me tell you!

The specifics of that I can't share freely, my dear blogesphere. I can't write the laundry list of things. I know for one, it's private business, and as candid as I've been on many matters, this is private. The result of this list is worth sharing, as I am confident that as a working married mother, I am not alone. I feel completely inadequate. I don't feel I have a handle on things in my life. Something always gives, and when it does, it's like a brush fire that's gone unchecked.

The saddest bit is when I've been unable to disguise my tears from the girls. Clara Lou beams up at me, with bright eyes wide. Greta Jo stops what she's doing and walks up with a command and request rolled up into one simple word: "happy? happy." Walking back to play with her toys because to her, in her world, her upsets are overcome as simply.

Happiness is an elusive quality as an adult. It's certainly not a constant state of being. It's not even a target for me. Contentment. Confidence. Kindness. Love. These are all qualities that without which being "happy" is not a hollow smile. It is far more simple than my over analytical mind would demand.

So today, I write. And Greta Jo my dear, you are right.

Happy?

Yes, happy.

apple & sharp cheddar pie

2011-10-21T18:31:00.000-07:00

Here's a recipe I plan on making in the next week or so:

This easy but impressive pie is perfect for a simple supper or fast lunch. Any crisp apple with a little sweetness will work well here. The nice thing too is that this should freeze and reheat well.

apple & sharp cheddar pie
ingredients

• 500g ready-made butter puff pastry
• 1 vegetable stock cube
• 300g waxy potatoes, cut into 5mm discs
• 4 apples, such as Royal Gala, Golden Russet or Cox, cut into thin discs (no need to core them)
• 2 shallots, finely sliced
• 200–250g lancashire or sharp cheddar cheese, grated
• 2 thyme sprigs, leaves picked
• 1 egg, beaten
• Chutney and salad leaves, to serve

preparation
1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Cut the pastry into 2 pieces, then roll each into a rectangle.
2. Fill a saucepan with boiling water and add the stock cube. Add the potatoes, boil for 3–4 minutes, then drain and allow to steam dry.
3. Line a baking tray with baking parchment and lay one pastry rectangle on top. Arrange half the potatoes in an even layer over the pastry, leaving a 2cm gap around the edges, and season. Layer over half the apples then scatter over half the shallot, cheese and thyme. Repeat with another layer of potatoes, seasoning, apples, shallot, cheese and thyme.
4. Brush the edges with a little egg, then lay the second pastry rectangle on top, carefully stretching and moulding it over the filling. Press the edges together with your fingers or a fork.
5. Score the top of the pie. Brush the pastry with egg and bake for about 30–40 minutes until golden and puffed. Cut into wedges and serve with chutney and salad leaves.

Risk and joy

2011-10-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

Greta Jo riding "Cookie" the pony, with Maman at her side, Angela
Ariatti, her teacher, and Clara Lou, Papa and Aunt Leslie
in the wings.

Where there is risk, there is often found opportunities for joy. I saw that today. I believe in taking risks. I also believe that taking those risks requires having the skills to face them. Only then, can you truly let go and enjoy.

For instance, if you see a program on base jumping and think you might enjoy doing it yourself, I dare say, you may want to go to the bother of learning not only what equipment you may need, but how to use it. Typically, as the risk increases, the effort to learn ones craft takes more effort than merely opening one of the many texts starting with the title blah blah blah for Dummies.

I have been riding horses since I was eight. We didn't grow up on a horse farm, nor was my family horse-people. My sister Leslie, nine proud years my senior, changed all that. My parents can pinpoint when all that started... a book they'd given her when she was just four. They made Leslie (and because Leslie had asked, so then did the twins Elaine and Ellyn), wait until she was nine. Me, they'd told I'd have to wait until I was nine, but I was lucky and started when I was eight. I remember the sense of pride as Leslie handed me a hoof pick and pitch fork. She had gotten her instructor's certificate from the British Horse Society. That, coupled with experience and common sense that she would have someone else to bear the burden of tending to the horses, I'm sure led to her choice in our first lesson! I would have to learn the responsibility of caring for the animal before she would acquaint me with the basic skills one must have to ride. We borrowed a pony from a friend of Leslie's, Missy Demuth. His name was Clyde. He was a palamino. I remember his blonde mane and thick neck, and wide barrel. We rode at Hill Top Stables on Covered Bridge Road in between Prospect and Brownsboro. The ride out was just as much fun, as the country lane wasn't altered to suit the vehicles and had many "tummy takers."

Why so young for Greta Jo? Why when she is just barely two years old? Well, she's already been exposed to horses and ponies at two of her Grandparent's farms. Charles was named by cousin Mateya last year when she was four, a pony that gets ridden by Mateya and kept on Granddad/Poppop Jerry and Grandma Billie's Winter Wind Farm. Mateya is taking lessons too. There is no pony at Grandpa and Grandmama's Stonemill Farm here in Louisville. The two horses there belong to Aunt Leslie. Unfortunately, there are no schooled ponies, suitable for lead line and stable manners coming from being handled skillfully and regularly.

Greta Jo gets excited about ponies and horses. It can be at the sight of a plank board fence, or the sight of a horse in a program such as All Creatures Great and Small; makes no difference. She does the ASL sign at her head with two fingers raised and declares "horse." Just like we introduced food to the girls as their interest indicated, her excitement, with respectful timid nature when closely around them, indicated to me that now might be a good time to expose her more to them.

Just like baby led feeding, where a baby is introduced to foods given their own mental ability and small motor skill development being met out by their own demonstrated curiosity, so too comes other activities, whether it be playing an instrument or riding a pony. This said, if a baby doesn't sit at the table seeing an older sibling or parent eat, they can't very well reach for a shared bite. Same goes with playing an instrument or riding horses, or dance lessons, or sport or any activity: until exposed, a child can't express an interest. Add to it, the girls won't have a choice about being exposed to music, dance, and yes, horses. The Sale insures that horses will be I their future. add to this inevitability, I have the "horse bug." there is no cure. It is expensive and can be all-consuming. Unlike playing the flute or violin, there is risk to the rider and to the mount. Greta Jo is the personality that would run right behind e hind quarters of a horse and not consider the risk she would out herself in. Mind you, at two, this is not only normal, but expected. How many two year-olds are around horses enough that this would even need to be a concern?! Well, our girls, and our world, it is!

Angela Ariatti is a friend from years ago when she and I rode together at a different stable. She has a strong stable of ponies that she uses for lessons and summer camps, starting with twos, like Greta Jo, at Alta Vista Farm. The farm belongs to a rider that Aunt Leslie and Maman used to ride with and compete against, Mary Lowery. Mary's done it right! It was at Alta Vista that I'd arranged for our friend Malou to have a riding lesson during their visit here from Germany. Such a lovely farm. Panel fencing, indoor and out door arenas, cross-country jumps. The stable where the lesson horses and ponies are brought has nice wide aisles and what will be a welcome in winter, warm tack room. There is an observation area in the indoor and at the main outdoor arena.

For Greta Jo's 2nd birthday earlier this month, Papa and I arranged for Greta Jo to have a riding lesson from Angela at Alta Vista Farm. Her pony's name is Cookie, and he has the same weakness as Cookie Monster: he likes to eat!! Angela put Cookie on the lunge before her lesson, to make sure he minded his manners!

Greta Jo groomed Cookie, and then got to ride. At first with Maman in the indoor arena. We did this because she was timid and not ready to go out on her own. All that changed when we started to ask her to dismount at the barn. She decided she was indeed ready to on her own (with Angela still leading and Maman holding her seat and leg). Afterwards, Greta Jo helped untack, groom Cookie. after putting him in his stall, she and Angela put the tack away, she put the curry, stiff brush and hoof pick in the groom kit. Greta Jo even helped sweep up in the tack room with fellow rider, Paula. We didn't give treats to Cookie since he was nippy. we did say a BIG thank you to Angela and Cookie.

With the risk of riding, everyone, child and adult alike, must have the skills to keep their balance, and not mistreat the horse or pony that carries them. It's a big responsibility, having a horse or pony, even if just for a lesson. Kind of true for a lot of things in life, huh? I had no idea I was learning all these life skills as a kid. All I cared about was that I was having fun!

On the way home, Greta Jo asked to go back!! Saying "back! go back!"

We plan on going next Thursday morning.

[more photos and video to follow]

The apples and the trees

2011-10-20T11:05:00.000-07:00

Here's the apple hats!
Made with my new and only mildly intimidating machine.

They always say, and apple a day keeps the doctor away. Let's hope it's true. Greta Jo loves her apples and Clara Lou seems to be following suit, loving to grab hold of the apple and gnaw at it until it is pulp.

Clara Lou got the clean bill of health from Dr. R this morning and JJ and I couldn't be more relieved. We'll watch her over the next weeks and months with a critical eye towards every little bump. :collective sigh of relief:

Well, I have no time so let me make this short. In fact, I ought not be blogging, but doing other productive work. But I have been Maman Maman Maman and must release these thoughts. Where do I go? My over-active brain must write about something fun on my to do list: Costumes!

We have two parties to go to that need costumes. One for the 29th, for JJ and I, :drumroll: DATE NIGHT at Actors! We will be in regular theatre clothes. He armed with a wooden stake, and me with a nearly acquired gawdy crusifix. We will be slayers.

The next day, we are hosting a get the wiggles out Ghoulishly Great Halloween party. Papa and I will be trees and the girls apples. Here's my easy, self-made idea:

Trees: for Maman and Papa
brown shoes
brown cargo pants
dark/light olive green shirts
green army caps

On the shirts and cap, fabric glue the forest green felted wool leaves, with sharpie marker details. Add some candy apple red felted wool apples on the shirts and voila! Maman and Papa are trees.

Apples: for Greta Jo and Clara Lou
red baby knee highs, leg warmers or leggings
red romper
red jersy knit caps

Make a tube of the brown felted wool and feed the tail of the cap through. Cover the remaining red with a forest green felted wool leaf, and glue tip of leaf back down onto cap.

I'll update with photos after the party and the next day's Halloween Trick or Treating!

Little-Lou-bug

2011-10-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

It's amazing, but the whole concept of making emotional deposits is so critical, not only to get through the daily business of living, but also when the unexpected crops up. In life, as with death and taxes, the unexpected is guaranteed.

Here's a very sick Clara Lou, making sleep deposits.

Emotional deposits come in a variety of forms. It depends on the person. Sometimes it is feeling expressed, heard, understood. At other times it is receiving love in a way we can recognize. How one perceives respect, honour and love isn't always how it's given. Another way we make deposits in one another is through shared experiences, not just outright verbalizations of love, but the simple joys of a walk, a family meal, or getting to ones own share of the business of leaving... clearing the dinner plates, having clean bed linens, putting up the toys.

Having made those emotional resources becomes even more critical in times of crises, so that we don't get pitted against one another in face of scarcity and uncertainty.

Clara Lou has now fought off two MRAA staph infections in less than two weeks. Caring for her has been all-consuming. Doing so, making sure that Greta Jo feels our presence and love has been challenging.

All the family and friends in my life, I am blown away at their support. It's as if someone coordinated for me someone to give Clara Lou a shoulder, and me a rest, someone to comfort JJ while he had to take a call from work, he and I to swing from the pendulum of relief to concern to relief again, when Clara Lou got her second infection and faced yet a second sedation for the surgeon to excise and clean the infection. Everything has not occurred with the perfection of the mechanical precision, but all in all, we have all gotten what we needed. Where those chinks have occurred, I know that it stems from that visit not made, or pause in listening not given.

Here's a photo of how I first noticed
and was concerned about what became
an inch-and-a-half in diameter abscess incised
and cleared during surgery.

The most unsettling thing of this experience has been that the staph bacteria is so pervasive. To feel my home as a battle ground, that it is unsafe for my family is both rational and irrational. The key factor since staph bacteria and resulting infection is common sense hygiene. I had to overcome feeling scared of my own home, scared to let the girls be little girls. Me, Fréde, her husband Tim and JJ have all been cleaning and scrubbing. JJ even sees dust now! (that's a joke, as bachelor JJ never saw dust until it accumulated sufficiently to become actual dirt). We will never really know, unless we culture every surface and compare to the two cultures taken from Clara Lou, where and how she got infected. We would have had to taken those swabs prior to cleaning, and it takes a minimum of 48 hours for the cultures to grow. Staph can be so dangerous if left untreated and allowed to enter the blood stream, that doctors can't wait for the culture to grow and the lab results, so they treat it like it is resistant to anti-bacterials (that dangerous MRSA type, that Clara Lou did not have). We have done the same at the house.

A recovering Clara Lou... a moment caught between
feeling poopy. =)

Given we won't know the actual cause, I want to prevent going through another staph infection again and putting all of us, me, JJ, the girls, my parents, anyone that we come into contact with, simply everyone who we may put at an increased risk. Even though that staph bacteria is everywhere, doesn't mean I have to create a healthy petri dish for it to grow, and ask everyone to jump in.

Comfort food - the red-alfredo sauce linguine meal
from Greta Jo's birthday makes a come back.

The cause that I suspect and have discussed with Clara Lou's doctors, is that in washing my hands I didn't do so as much as I could have, simply failing to do so thoroughly just once, not taking the 30 seconds one is supposed to, or that something was still under my nails (now clipped), and I then scratched under my left arm (where I got my staph infection a few days before Clara Lou's first), with an ingrown hair that ruptured the surface, getting infected. Clara Lou has really sensitive skin and has battled diaper rash. It was likely during a diaper change that I transferred it to her, or that she scratched herself. The point is, we never will know. We must find comfort in this uncertainty or be paralysed by it. The spot on the back of her calf started off as a speck. I took photos of it hours later as the infection grew. The first one, Monday afternoon, was after I'd noticed the bump in the morning while at the doctor, with the appearance of a "bug bite." We had gone on Monday to see the nurse practitioner, Meaghan, at Dr. Roszell's office because, after running her course of strong antibiotics after the first staph infection, she'd developed a yeast infection. It's a common problem with antibiotics. It also causes a vicious cycle between staph and yeast infections.

Greta Jo needed a deposit from Maman, so she got her
first vanilla steamer - steamed milk with a little
sugar and vanilla.

I love my girls, my family, my friends and am once again filled with gratitude. Thank you to all who fill our heart, our home with baked goods, with a meal, shared joy with our girls, comfort when we're faced with uncertainty.

Little-Lou-bug... we love you!!

*****

Here's one of those moments of joy in the face of uncertainty. Aunt Elaine playing with Clara Lou in the ER exam room while we waiting for an OR. The quacking heard in the background is Grandmama. I shared this video via email or SMS with family who I'm sure wanted to pile into that ER exam room with us. Even though this whole ordeal has been horrible, this moment will be among my favourites. A smile in face of concern does a body good.

Morning Hike

2011-10-07T07:48:00.001-07:00

Life is filled with unfufilled intentions. That elusive career path, trip not taken, choice made by not acting...

Writing on that road not taken could be taken as trite, or even pessimistic. As a mother, wife, writer, attorney, daughter, sister, friend, pantry-chef, and yes (arguably neurotic narcissistic) blogger, there are many projects, goals, ambitions, dreams that live quite fully in spoken and unspoken works of my imagination. That is a powerful place that. We all need to try on ideas and work them out. The beautiful thing is not to let all that talk, even if just internal chatter, get in the way of living.

Some days, I just get out of my own way and pick one. I literally have to put one foot in front of another.

In the case of last night, it involved tongs, a tiny oven and skillet. I made a plate-licking-good meal for JJ and I. It was filet mignon, baked sweet potato and steamed broccoli. (recipe to be edited when not on a tiny iPhone keyboard.)

This morning, putting one foot in front of another was quite literal. We are having some of my favourite cool weather here in Kentucky. JJ has been working some insane hours, heading back to the shop until the wee hours.

He and I love the outdoors, and so I packed up breakfast and we drove to Bernheim Forest for a hike and picnic with the girls. It was delicious, if I do say so myself. there was fruit and coffee, and breakfast burritos of scrambled egg, neufchâtel cheese, turkey and brocolli. Nom! Nom!

The autumn colour is just a hint amongst the trees, still lush with green, tipped in gold and red. It was better than imagined, pulled from my imagination and bigger in my five senses, shared with the ones I love most. Now for the trek home... and my Friday with our girls. Life is hard, but when I get overwhelmed, or feel the pressure of scarcity, it is from these shared experiences that serve as deposits in each other that help me get through those times of self-doubt and emotional fatigue.

And here, ladies and gents: the best smile ever. I get to see it regularly, but somehow, it tends to disappear when a camera is at hand. I love you dear husband. Madly. Deeply. Always.

Recipes:

Ginger Soy Filet Mignon
Ingredients
two filets from Wilmore steer
ginger
soy

preparation
In ziplock bag, marinade filets in minced ginger and soy. Sautee in pan, seared and rare for JJ, until browned, but medium for me.

Baked Sweet Potato
Clean skin of sweet potato. Roast in 375°F oven until tender (about 45 min.), slice open and mash in butter and cinnamon.

Steamed Broccoli
Clean broccoli and cut into spears. Place in covered dish with water and microwave until tender, but al dente. Top with lemon zest and pepper, and touch of butter.

Breakfast Burrito
ingredients
six eggs
1/2 cup diced onion
1/2 cup whole milk
2 tbsp neufchâtel cheese
cooked leftover broccoli
flour tortillas

preparation
Whisk together eggs, milk, salt and pepper, while diced onion sautées in butter with touch of olive oil to prevent butter from burning. Add neufchâtel cheese, broken into bits and broccoli. Scramble mixture until done in sautée pan. Portion amongst warm tortillas and roll into burritos. Wrap in foil and either serve warmed in 250°F oven for 20 min (or in the case of our picnic, cold).

Birthday Cake - plan and update

2011-10-02T08:41:00.000-07:00

Here's Greta Jo wielding a baton to slay the piñata dragon at
Calvin's 3rd Birthday party.

TWO?! How'd that happen?! Greta Jo? She was... she was just... :sniff sniff:

With Greta Jo's birthday tomorrow, one thing I've been looking forward to is making mini-cupcakes. I even borrowed a tin from my sister, Aunt Elaine. Planning what recipe has been fun too. Greta Jo is a huge fan of apples sauce. She calls it "apple soos" -- so an apple spice cake seems a natural. The recipe I'll be using is below. Note: there are no nuts in this spice cake because this cake will be shared with Greta Jo's class mates. I had planned on making mini-cupcakes, but only upon writing this did I realize that the pan is too big for the convection toaster oven we've been using while saving for a new oven. Understandably, too many other things have been ahead on the list to get around to actually replacing it. Some have been for family and fun, like the trip to Maine for JJ's Grandmother's memorial and time with his Mum's side of the family, and other choices have been necessity, like repairs at the Shop or to the leaking chimney of the house.

My solution will be to make mini cakes. I've got 4" cake pans that will fit two at a time in the oven. The other will be to see if I can't persuade one of three neighbours that come to mind to let me bake in their oven. Either way, there's going to be cake tomorrow!

I will likely update this post over the next two days for all things cake.

Apple Spice Cake with cream cheese frosting

ingredients
Cake

I used the 4" cake rounds to make "THE BIRTHDAY CAKE" --
you know the one that gets the candle. I'll use my three-tiered
dessert holder to hold the variety of sizes. Tiny for those looking
to have a polite nibble and watch their waist lines, and currently
in the oven, large muffin size for those who live joyfully
and calorie-concern-free.

1 tablespoon plus 3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 medium Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
2 medium Jonagold apples, peeled, cored, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1 3/4 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 large egg

Icing
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup (packed) powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

preparation
For cake:
Melt 1 tablespoon butter in heavy large saucepan over medium-low heat. Add all apples; cover and simmer until apples are juicy and almost tender, stirring occasionally, about 18 minutes. Uncover and simmer until almost all juices evaporate, about 6 minutes. Using wooden spoon, mash apples in pan, leaving apple bits. Let cool.
Position rack in center of oven and preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 8-inch-diameter cake pans with 1 1/2-inch-high sides. Whisk flour and next 5 ingredients in medium bowl. Using electric mixer, if you have one, *wooden spoon and whisk if you don't, beat remaining 3/4 cup butter and sugar in large bowl until light and fluffy. Beat in egg. Beat in half of flour mixture on low speed*, then all of applesauce, then remaining flour mixture.
Divide batter between pans; smooth tops. Bake cakes until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 40 minutes. Cool cakes in pans on racks 5 minutes. Turn cakes out onto racks and cool.

For icing:
Using electric mixer*, beat cream cheese and butter in large bowl until fluffy. Add powdered sugar and vanilla and beat to blend.

Place 1 cake layer on plate; spread 1/2 cup icing over top. Top with second cake layer. Spread or pipe remaining icing over top and sides of cake. Chill cake until icing sets, about 30 minutes. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover with cake dome and keep chilled. Bring to room temperature before serving.)

***

Clara Lou trumpeting her lips in
one of those energetic moments
that pepper her recovery from
last week's surgery.

At the end of the day today, I hadn't been able, nor had I wanted to break away from the girls. I couldn't very well go to Peggy's (the neighbour who had said, sure! use my oven.) at this late hour, so instead, I spent a few bucks and got mini muffin and super large muffin pans that are small enough to fit in the convection oven. My reward was that I got this play time between naps with Clara Lou while JJ took Greta Jo to Calvin's birthday party. We got all those moments that could have been spent in a whir like I did last year, preparing for Greta Jo's first birthday.

So, tonight, I am doing lots of rounds with our toaster oven . I'm up past midnight. It was this time two years ago that I was at the hospital having Greta Jo. Today's your day little girl. You may not quite grasp this whole concept of celebrating this day of your birth, but your little sister will sound her trumpet and everyone who loves you will be making that extra effort to make sure you know just how loved you are!

***

Greta Jo knew just what to do when she saw those candles.
BLOW!!

Well, yesterday was a blast! The morning started off with blueberry bread pudding for breakfast and two little presents from Maman and Papa: big girl sippy cup for her milk and set of new bath duckies! They were a big hit! Grandpa/Poppop/? Jerry was able to make the trip up and had a nice long visit with JJ and both girls. He got some long overdue snuggle time with a sleepy Clara Lou. Tim and Frédé came by. Uncles Asa and Chaz, and Godfathers Dan and Chris were in the mix too. Aunt Leslie was sick and unable to come... yet! There's another birthday celebration with my parents and another for Gammy Margi, so she'll not be missing out.

The much awaited Schoenhut toy piano had its
own gravitational pull on both the girls!

Greta Jo had great zeal to her present opening. It was such fun! Our main present (which was going to be our only) got delayed in shipping. Greta Jo will be opening that tonight. yay!

***

Well, if there was ANY doubt that Greta Jo might not remember this birthday, I think having it three times over might have done the trick. At the very least, there will be difficulty when Clara Lou's first birthday rolls around next month convincing her that it's not all for her, heh. Yesterday, Gammy Margi and Aunt Leslie were able to come and celebrate. I took out the last of the triple batch of apple spice cake with cream cheese icing, had JJ roll out the grill and served up chicken sausage (with apples, continuing the theme) with honey mustard rolled up in heated flour tortillas, and a side of molasses/honey/maple syrup baked beans and potato salad. The entire time, Greta Jo, having seen the cake, was ready man! She wasn't much interested in the sides, but was all about the apple sausage. ;) Clara Lou on the other hand, ate up her broccoli, beans and potatoes.

Gammy Margi was bright and energetic. I think our trip Maine did her good! Aunt Leslie had been battling a cold (hmm... could it have been a gift from the girls?). We had such a good visit. I don't know if we'll spread out three parties like this again, but the ability to actually visit was definitely enjoyed!

Greta Jo really did enjoy her cake too. She was all about the cream cheese icing. Like last year, I used organic ingredients. Sugar is such a rarity in the girls diets, well, as much as possible, so the impact is readily apparent. Clara Lou had had a small little nibble of sponge cake at Grandpa/Poppop Jerry and Grandma Billie's house earlier in the summer, but last night was the first time she'd had cake. She practically growled with glee. Can't really explain the sound she uttered better than that.

Opening presents before dinner was a happy accident since , Greta Jo was really ready for her post-dinner walk. Upon her return, predictably, was wound up like a top. Her bedtime got pushed back to 9 o'clock! That's unheard of in our house. She has had such a good time this week. I wonder how she'll do without cake tonight? hee.