When Kids Get the Camera a.k.a. Skydiving Hamster

Found this on my Flip Video after a night out with Robert. The girl sitting on the bed is the Babysitter.

A House that Looks Good Enough to Eat

Not my house. C'mon, you know that's not true. Decorating skillz, I lack.

I'll be making my gingerbread house next week.

It's one of those traditions that I sort of dread, but the reality is always better than I expect it to be. I just hope I don't have to sit here and make it all by myself. That would be depressing.

Here is the recipe for gingerbread, in case anyone who doesn't already have it is interested:

Gingerbread Recipe:

2 3/4 cup flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp ginger powder

1/2 tsp nutmeg

1 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp cloves

3 tsp baking powder

2/3 cup molasses

3 egg yolks (save the whites for the icing)

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup vegetable oil

line two large size cookie sheets with foil and spray with cooking spray. set aside

mix all ingredients together to form a dough. divide dough in half. press each half into a cookie sheet. (it helps to coat your hands with crisco so the dough sticks less to them.) bake at 300º for 20 minutes. place pattern pieces on the cookie sheets and use a knife to cut around the pieces as soon as the gingerbread comes out of the oven. pull the negative pieces of the gingerbread (the pieces you are not using for your house) off the cookie sheet and allow the house pieces to cool. Separate the foil from your house pieces before they are completely cool, though, because the foil sticks to the gingerbread like an obsessed ex-boyfriend who can't seem to move on.

Royal Icing

3 egg whites

1 lb of powdered sugar

1/2 tsp cream of tarter

Mix all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Cover portion not being used with a wet towel to keep it from drying out.

I don't have a scanner to scan the pattern for the pieces, but here is a photograph of them, if that helps anyone who is actually going to make one of these beauties.

Side: cut two

roof: cut two

front and back: cut one with all the windows for the front, then use a cookie cutter or freehand a big window on the back piece.

You can't get one of these, he's one of a kind and he's all mine.

That's my mom's handwriting on those pattern pieces. If your little heart is desperate to make a House of Gingerbread, send me your address and I'll mail you a pattern. You could also use pieces of cardboard to make a mock-up of a house and use those for a pattern.

We use hot glue to stick it all together and then we use icing to cover the hot glue. We stick it to a piece of cardboard with a hole big enough to put a nightlight through and covered in tin foil.

Then we do our best to make it look like the candy aisle at Wal-Mart vomited all over it.

Maybe I'll photograph the step by step next week and post more complete instructions.

Would it be alright . . .

. . . to mail last year's Christmas cards as though they were this year's?

Look what I discovered when I opened my box of holiday clutter, ahem, decorations.

All of my Christmas cards from last year, addressed, sealed, and not delivered.

Awesome.

It's not a Misnomer . . .

. . . Mr. Fox truly is fantastic. We saw Fantastic Mr. Fox over Thanksgiving weekend, and our family is united in our adoration of the flick. I thought it was the perfect blend of old and new. The audio track for the movie was filmed on location. The filmmakers dragged the actors out of the studio and had them deliver their lines in places like open fields and barns. Each character was a handmade puppet, not animated digitally. We are all inspired and we want to make puppets of our own. We all keep quoting it in our conversations. I will purchase this one when it is available on DVD.

I am looking forward to watching Everybody's Fine. Ten years ago Robert and I watched the Italian version of this movie and it has been on our list of favorites ever since. As we watched the preview for the Hollywood version, Robert leaned over to me and (without realizing what the title of the movie was) whispered "looks like somebody's ripping off Everybody's Fine." Imagine our surprise at the end of the trailer when, in fact, that was exactly what the movie was called. I hope they didn't mess it up too bad.

Also, this movie looks awesome. I cannot wait. Some people may have no desire to watch a movie about babies, but I am not one of those people. I may or may not have been all choked up during the preview. Please watch the trailer for it and then tell me you will go see it with me. (I may even be willing to drive to your town and make a weekend out of it.)

Let's see, what else. Modern Family makes me laugh out loud. (The stepmother character . . . the amazingly gorgeous one . . . yeah, that's what my sisters in law look like. I'm not kidding. We're talking random people stop them on the street and ask them to be in commercials. Bee Eee AaaaYoutiful.)

And Finally, a few weeks ago, I discovered something else. After the kids went to school, I sat down to fold some laundry and turned on the television. (Recently, we rearranged our furniture and our television loves its new home. We get, like, FOUR stations now. Livin' the lap o' luxury, I tells ya.) So, I discovered Bernie Mac. America, how long have you been keeping this gem of a comedian to yourself? He's funny. Oh, wait, when I googled him so that I could link to him, I found out that he's no longer with us. As in he's dead. He died of a massive heart attack. That's sad. I wonder why so many great comedians die early deaths? John Belushi, John Candy, Chris Farley, Gilda Radner, Mitch Hedberg, Richard Pryor, and that's only what I could come up with off the top of my head.

(When I asked Robert for the name of the actress on Modern Family, he said Julie Bowen and named a bunch of other stuff she's done. I corrected him and asked for the name of the gorgeous actress. And he said "She is the gorgeous actress on that show." He's so cool.)

I Miss You

(I wrote this up a few days ago and even published for about an hour. Then I changed my mind because I thought it sounded a bit whiny. Then Jeff made an appearance in the comments section of yesterday's post and I got all misty again. Also, one of my best friends from Utah called and as we talked my heart was tugged toward the Western Present, as opposed to my watered down past. So If you are in the mood for some whining and want to indulge in my nostalgia, read on. And if this post makes you roll your eyes at me and say "grow up, be grateful," that's okay, too.)

******

It's that time of year again. The time when I start to feel more lonely and weepy than I do at any other time. The time when I feel more like Eeyore and less like Tigger and Roo.

I feel like Max did when he had settled down after his Wild Rumpus with the Wild Things.

I long to be where someone loves me best.

Even though I am selfish, and lazy, and can get a little ornery.

I want to be with those of you who know me inside out and like me anyway.

It's been a long time since I stood in my aunt's kitchen and single-handedly consumed an entire bowl of homemade salsa and washed it down with the pleasant taste of my foot.

It's been even longer since I played games into the wee morning hours with Jeff and Andrew and Robert with the kids sleeping in their beds.

I miss spontaneous Sunday Sing-A-Longs that chase Uncle Scott and Quinn into the basement.

I miss Chelsea making fun of the time I sat on a pair of scissors when we were playing "The Arsenio Hall Show."

I miss April's unlimited supply of hospitality and Suzie's basement window displays. I miss their food, and their laughter.

I even miss their hugs. (I know, right? I never thought I would miss hugs from my in-laws, but I do. I do.)

I miss laughing with my husband's family till we cry.

I miss talking Robert's dad into playing late night games of charades and Celebrity Challenge. To this day I point to my outer thigh anytime I need to pantomime "ham."

I miss Thanksgivings from my childhood where dad would show up with random guests. Sara, do you remember when that Leonard guy showed us how to crunch up a coke can and make it look like art? I kept that Coke can for years. I even moved it to our new house.

Do you remember the year that we caught the napkins on fire as we passed the rolls over the lit candles?

I still remember the year that our mother and her sisters introduced New Wave JELL-O. That was revolutionary. I wonder if they thought we would still be making it twenty years later.

Those are my favorite traditions. Accidental and non-contrived.

Remember the year we singed grandpa's eyebrows right off his face with our attempt at a deep-fried turkey?

I want to be someplace where I am not the grown-up.

It's true what they say, though. You can't go home.

I can't, anyway.

Starting from scratch can be fun. I know that years from now I will look back and miss this year's Celebrations, and last year's and next year's.

I feel the need to surround myself with people who can stand in for my family. Who are willing to be the people we will talk about years from now. Maybe some of them will still be our Turkey Eaters then and together we will remember old friends who have moved on. One can only hope.

I realize I am forging new memories that will get misty with time.

Someday I'll be longing for the sound of my kids running around the house, begging to help make the food. I'll wonder who moved the clocks forward.

Today, though, if I could, I would be up at Sara's,

or hanging out at Linette's bugging Kate and talking Shannon into bringing the boys down,

or down at Kim's house rummaging through her cupboards and getting a Diet Coke from the basement Fridge,

or on my way to Diana's and a magical time at Disneyland,

or watching my dad think of new and crazy ways to cook a turkey.

I miss you all more than you can imagine and probably more than I should.

Thanksgiving Menu

This is last year's Thanksgiving table.

What kind of a person would invite their friends over to share a Thanksgiving meal and then forget that they had invited said friends? Only a low down, dirty rotten, paramecium brain. That's who.

I would certainly never forget.

Look, when I asked her what she was doing for Thanksgiving (knowing perfectly well that I had invited her to my house several weeks ago) it was because I assumed her acceptance of my invitation had slipped her mind. Also, the local Medical Students like to go to the cafeteria at their school for Thanksgiving (don't ask), and I will not compete with the school cafeteria. I was giving her an opportunity to gracefully opt out of coming over. Just in case she had decided to eat her turkey served up by a lady in a hairnet and prescription shoes.

It's not like I forgot that I had already invited her. I mean, who would do that?

I started inviting local friends when Sissy broke the news that she and her family weren't going to make it. (sniffle) I understand the relentless master of School Schedules and Tight Budgets. (I am, once again, assuming that's why they aren't coming.)

I am excited that there are people around here who want to share the holiday with us. Corny as it sounds, I feel honored that these women want to bring their families to my home and break bread together.

Do you want to be my bosom friend for life? Then prepare food with me. There is magic in the preparation of food as flour, butter, and sugar bake away in the oven or chicken breasts simmer with mushrooms, rosemary, butter, and white wine.

Somewhere in that last sentence there is a metaphor comparing the melding together of different foods into a finished product more magnificent than any of the ingredients can be if they stand on their own to all different kinds of people with different experiences coming together and lifting one another up. Whatever.

Here's what we are eating at our house on Thursday:

Herb Brined Turkey with Gravy

New Wave JELL-O

Mashed Potatoes

Sweet Potatoes with crunchy Streusel Topping

Stuffing

Dinner Rolls

Fruit Salad

Oven Roasted Brussels Sprouts (or as we call them, B. Russ Sprouts in honor of Bryon Russell)

Assorted Pies

I'll probably have a wheel of brie and some crackers with olives and veggies for snacking. Because I love snacks. The only thing I am trying this year that I haven't in years past is the preparation of the herbs for the turkey. I'm going to blend them up and mix them with olive oil to make a paste that I will slather all over the bird.

I'd love to go down to my dad's and celebrate with him and my new Not Wicked Stepmother and my new Beautiful Stepsisters and Talented Stepbrother, but Robert's schedule won't allow it.

This is my turkey from last year soaking up the brine.

Jacob vs. Edward

This blog is about to sacrifice some portion of its dignity. Forgive me.

**Deep Breath**

On TWILIGHT:

I assume Bella chooses Edward because *spoiler alert* apparently they get married in the last book. I still need to finish the third book and move on to that last one.

I also got around to watching Twilight, the movie, a few weeks ago and this weekend I went to see New Moon.

Robert Pattison plays Edward just how I imagined him: creepy, brooding, controlling, and mildly wussy. Don't get me wrong. Brooding can be fun. I like Mr. Darcy's style of brooding but combine brooding with every painfully cheesy thing that Edward says and it's just too much. Besides, at least Mr. Darcy was head over heels for a spunky girl with some life to her.

Kristen Stewart, although beautiful, plays Bella just how I imagined her: dull, unimaginative, uninteresting, a total bore. She reminds me of all the girls/women I know who cannot function without their other halves. Give me a break.

Jacob, on the other hand, I adore. Happy, enthusiastic, energetic, passionate, and WARM! Oh, how I loved the scene when they were on their way back to her house in the truck and she snuggled right up to him so she could heat up. I don't even know the name of the guy that plays him. Hang on, I'll figure it out. Taylor Lautner. (Thanks, Diana!) I thought he was lovely.

So there you have it, my confession.

Not only am I a fan of Jacob, I saw New Moon opening night.

I went with a few girlfriends and I had a great time with them.

It was so much better than the first movie. I think I liked it better because I find the Bella/Edward drama to be tiresome. Their storyline was minimal in New Moon. They are so BORING together.

The squeals and gasps of the little girls in front of us during the movie were worth the price of admission.

That and the preview for Percy Jackson.

Maybe, just maybe, I see a family resemblance between Bella's werewolf and a certain somebody. Don't deny it, you see it, too. They could be the Filipino cousins to the kids who live just outside of Forks.

Bob and two of his Brothers in the Philippines circa 1999.

(I hope I haven't let my friend down who refuses to read the Twilight books because she is disgusted with the way middle aged women swoon and squeal over them. I may have swooned a tiny bit during the movie. But it was dark, so nobody saw, and I didn't squeal once.)

A List of Some Things I Love . . .

. . . and for which I feel Grateful:

1. Robert

2. Anytime Robert makes me laugh

3. My Children

4. Anytime I hear my Children laugh

5. Anytime I can make my children laugh

6. Eddie

7. Every time Eddie does the dishes (almost every night!)

8. Unlimited Long Distance from Qwest

9. Christmas music, especially: The Carpenters (for when I'm feeling all nostalgic about Christmas), Harry Connick, Jr., Jewel, Sarah McLachlin (for when I'm feeling all melancholy about the Holidays), Nat King Cole

10. Bedtime, and generally putting my kids to bed (the young ones) and visiting the kids after they go to bed (the older ones.) I love bedtime, not for the fact that they are going to bed, but for the few moments we share before they go to sleep. I like to hear the day's recap, this is often when they make requests (most recently: Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Dog Days), all four of them still love a bedtime snuggle. I just love bedtime.

No Actual Bunnies Were Harmed in the Making of this Costume

Okay, listen. I'm not feeling particularly clever in the word department. I emptied my cleverness account last week at my sewing machine and I especially didn't make any deposits today as I spent most of the day lamenting the fact that my sister may as well live on the moon for all the time we get to spend together. (What was it, Sara, like thirty six hours or something? Thirty six hours every six months is not enough time.)

I just read that last paragraph. Maybe I'm feeling more clever than I thought.

Following is a possibly non-clever account of how Halloween went down this year. I was mildly disappointed in how Stella's costume came out, but she didn't seem to notice how lame it was, so that's good.

I attended Creed's Fall Party. It was not a Halloween Party, it was a Fall Party. No costumes allowed. However, I was making slime with the children, so of course I needed a lab coat and protective eyewear. Can I help it if I looked like a Mad Scientist?

Friday was costume day at the gym, so I went as a witch. Everything I wore, I already owned. I pulled the dress out of our Halloween bin and just did a quick hem job because it needed to be short enough for me to bust out my roundhouse kicks.

George is the only one out of the five children in whose costume I am allowed any input. I figured since I am endlessly chasing him around, it would be fitting for him to be the White Rabbit to my Alice and Bob's Mad Hatter. I whipped up a vest and a bowtie and turned a kitty cat headband into a bunny rabbit headband with the help of some fake white fur and floral wire. I found a dress pattern with puffy sleeves and modified the bodice, then used an apron pattern I already had. I also made a petticoat because I wanted the dress to poof. I had settled on these costumes last year, way before I knew about Tim Burton's new movie. I hate being trendy, but I can't help it when it happens accidentally. So of course we styled our Mad Hatter after Colleen Atwood's. Besides, I am way ahead of Tim Burton because I've been quoting Lewis Carroll on my blog for years. (See the quote under my blog header? It's from the cautionary tale of The Walrus and the Carpenter. I probably should have credited Mr. Carroll with those words long ago.)

And here we have the whole gang. It may seem like the kids got the shaft in the costume department, but they got what they wanted. I really should be allowed more input. The boys announced on Tuesday that they needed cloaks for their costumes. Until then, Creed was insisting that he was going to play the part of Himself this year and Jack wanted to be a zombie in Jack clothing. Creed ended up going as a ghoul and Jack was a Little Person from the book series Cirque du Freak (which is also being turned to film by Hollywood this year.) I styled the cloaks without a pattern, and they turned out great if I do say so myself. Stella was Coraline. I adore her for breaking the Disney Princess mold and going as a quirky character whose favorite color is blue. I puffy painted white stars all over a black shirt. It looks really cool in a black light. We could not get her hair to turn blue. I sprayed and sprayed it with this crap from a can and while the entire bathroom, her face, and her hands and my boogers all turned blue, her hair never did. I stuck some blue clip-ins to her head and called it good. Not pictured is Eddie, who wore a camouflage jacket and a bandana and called himself a disgruntled veteran. He stayed home and passed out candy with his friends. The person in the photo to whom we are not related (but, if all goes as planned, we will be someday bwahahaha) is our friend who came Trick or Treating with us. I have an uncanny knack for convincing childless people to spend random holidays with me. (Hi Andrew! Hi Mark! I know you aren't reading, but Hello to a few of our best friends, anyway.) She was dressed as a Cave Woman and her Dog was The Beast. We turned the night into a scavenger hunt and the only thing we never found was a house serving Cider and Donuts.

The next night we had a Church Halloween Party. We Christians love our Pagan Holiday Traditions. Bob was ON CALL (Boo), and Sara was STUCK IN COLORADO (double boo), and Eddie REFUSED to wear the costume (boo boo boo), so the always amazing Robyn stepped in and played the part of my Mad Hatter. She is a true friend. That is Creed on the floor behind us being a ghoul.

I won second place in the chili cookoff with my pot of Chili Blanco. I even got a trophy. All in all, it was a pretty good night.

If you ask, I can totally bust out the Jabberwocky from memory.

Whet Your Appetite

Have I ever told you about the time I took second place in a chili cook-off while I was dressed as Alice in Wonderland?

I haven't?

Well, stay tuned. Pictures and words coming soon.

(I left my camera in the car and Eddie took my car to work today.)

I didn't spot Bull Shannon anywhere

I'm glad I've never had to go to court as a defendant or as a witness.

When I first arrived for Jury Duty, I was hoping that I would not be selected.

As the day wore on, however, I started to feel a swell of pride for my country and our judicial system, and the part that I, an average jane, get to play.

(I'm easily brainwashed. Someday I'll tell you about the time a giant salesman convinced me I needed to spend $5,000.00 on a water softener. It cures kidney stones! It solves acne problems! It makes your hair silky and smooth! With the money you save on soap, it practically pays for itself! Or I could tell you about the time a tiny salesman convinced me I needed a $1,000.00 knife set. They cut through steel! Then they slice paper thin discs of tomato! They never need sharpening! You can use the kitchen shears on anything from paper, to aluminum, to garden stems, to chicken bones! They are actually cheaper than a Henkels knife set! Have you got some swamp property in Florida you'd like to sell me? Show me where to sign.)

Let's just say I am intimately familiar with the three day grace period on all credit card purchases.

Where was I? Oh, yes, Jury Duty.

As I looked around at my fellow jurors, I realized that we were quite the cross section of the population of my county.

Retirees, young mothers, not-so-young mothers (ahem), students, young professionals, grandparents, laborers.

Want to know what middle America looks like? Walk into a courthouse and take a look at the juries that are sitting on cases.

That's us.

I can't talk about the case.

It's ongoing.

Don't even ask.

The verdict on the roasted pigs we served on our wedding day: GUILTY of being delicious

The verdict on dressing the pigs as a bride and groom: GUILTY of being totally awesome

The verdict on the lattice I chose to disguise our church gym as something else: NOT GUILTY of being even remotely tasteful

The verdict on the bride and groom themselves: GUILTY of being skinnier back then, and madly in love today

Now I have to go to bed. I have court in the morning.

And that's no bull.

How to Save Money and the Environment

a.k.a. An Alternate Workout

a.k.a. A Superfun Game for the Kids

Our bathtub faucet is broken. Not just a dripdripdrip kind of broken but a constant ttttrrriiiiccckkkklllleeee kind of broken. It's something to do with O-Rings and needing to replace the entire faucet, not just a matter of tightening a few bolts and moving on with our lives.

I found the faucet I want and it needs to be special ordered. boo. For now, the soundtrack of my days is tttttrrrrriiiiiccccckkkkkklllllleeeeee. It's very annoying. One day, Bob turned off the water leading to the bathroom and I spent my day in blessed silence as I consumed bon-bons and watched my stories.

I didn't get to take a shower that day.

I had a really sweaty disgusting workout that morning.

I woke up the next morning with three new pimples.

Today I went down and tried to turn off the water myself. It was confusing and tiresome and a failed attempt. I am beyond irritated. With every ttttrrriiiicccckkkkllllleeee that goes down the drain, I hear dollardollardollar going down the drain, along with my sanitysanitysanity.

As I gathered laundry from various people's bedrooms, a solution dawned on me.

Do you see where this is going?

Conserve water! I didn't drain the tub after I bathed George. I filled my giant stockpot with water from the tub and lugged it downstairs. When I opened the washer, I was greeted with the pleasant aroma of towels that had been sitting in the washing machine since, I think, Saturday.

Thank you, mysterious laundry fairy. Thank you.

I dumped the big pot of water into the washbasin (that's what I call it now, because I am a frontier woman. Fetching water.) I did this three times before I realized that the washbasin was not getting any fuller of water. More full? I don't know. It wasn't filling. Dangit. Giant pots of water are heavy. And awkward.

I'm a frontier woman, I don't know how to work these newfangled contraptions. I fiddled with the settings on the machine.

Several trips up and down the stairs later, the washing machine is running and the faucet is dripping into a still stoppered tub. I still have a lot of laundry to get through today.

When His Majesty returns to Our Castle, I will implore him to teach me about the mysteries of water valves and the shutting of them off.

What's not to like?

Following is the text of a conversation I had with my daughter after reading that a girl's self esteem mirrors her perception of her mother's self esteem, not what her mother actually thinks of her little girl, or herself for that matter.

Hey, Stella, do you think I like myself?

Stella: Yes. Why wouldn't you?

Me: I don't know. I'm asking you. What do you think I think about the way I look?

Stella: That you have a lot of zits (ouch, true, but . . . ouch).

Me: What about my body? What do you think I think about my body?

Stella: That it's strong!

Can I tell you how happy I am that she didn't refer to size or looks in any way? She's right, though. I can almost do a pull-up.

We need more . . .

. . . Backyard Karaoke!

As much as I love living in Iowa, there is one thing that is missing (besides you, of course!) I have yet to be invited to or even hear about any backyard karaoke parties. Yeah, yeah, we play plenty of SingStar and Rock Band, but there really is nothing like a good backyard Karaoke party to kick off the holiday season.

A backyard Karaoke party complete with cookies, hot chocolate, eclairs, cotton candy, costumes, and festive wooden cutouts.

What?

You think this party sounds like something out of my imagination? You think I am telling fairy tales and a party this spectacular is pure fantasy? Well, think again, my friends.

Check out my mom and my sister singing John Denver. And just in case you didn't notice, they are pretty much singing to me. Hard to tell we're related, eh?

(And somebody, for the love of Pete, host a backyard karaoke party around here.)

Recipe for a Rainy Day

It's raining.

Jack rode his bike to school anyway. The kid is unstoppable.

Grey skies and damp air always remind me of my mom. For some reason, I associate rainy days with the smell of good things on the stove. This morning I turned on my favorite playlist and decided it was a soup day.

I am in the midst of turning this:

Into this:

Glorious homemade chicken stock. It won't actually be ready to eat until tomorrow, but Creed will be happy, because the day I make stock, we have Chicken Pot Pie for supper. His favorite. It's nice because it's one of the few meals that I can take a whole day to make, and everyone loves it. I don't get any grumbling at the table. I use Alton Brown's method for the stock. Alton Brown is my go-to expert. He was America's Test Kitchen before I was aware there even was an America's Test Kitchen. I love knowing the science and the WHY? behind what I'm making.

Chicken Stock is easy to make. Basically, one tosses a few ingredients into a pot and simmers them over medium-low heat for a few hours. That's about it.

For those of you who would like more complete instructions, I'll save you the trouble of linking over to the swirling vortex that is the Food Network (tell me I'm not the only one who loves to read recipes), and post the recipe here, with a few notes of my own in one of my favorite colors.

Ingredients

• 4 pounds chicken carcasses, including necks and backs (I have used leftover carcasses from roasted chickens that I froze, and then defrosted when I was ready to make stock. Today, I am just using a whole chicken. Don't try using boneless, skinless breasts. They don't have any flavor to lend to the stock. Drumsticks, thighs, and wings work well.)
• 1 large onion, quartered
• 4 carrots, peeled and cut in 1/2
• 4 ribs celery, cut in 1/2
• 1 leek, white part only, cut in 1/2 lengthwise (I have omitted the leek before, and I regretted it. The leek adds an extra punch of flavor to the stock.)
• 10 sprigs fresh thyme
• 10 sprigs fresh parsley with stems
• 2 bay leaves
• 8 to 10 peppercorns
• 2 whole cloves garlic, peeled
• 2 gallons cold water

Directions

Place chicken, vegetables, and herbs and spices in 12-quart stockpot. Set opened steamer basket directly on ingredients in pot and pour over water. Cook on high heat until you begin to see bubbles break through the surface of the liquid. Turn heat down to medium low so that stock maintains low, gentle simmer. Skim the scum from the stock with a spoon or fine mesh strainer every 10 to 15 minutes for the first hour of cooking and twice each hour for the next 2 hours. (If you skip the skimming of the scum, you will not have glorious, clear-amber stock at the end. The scum is fat, so if you don't skim it off, you are going to eat it, and chicken fat? Yuck.) Add hot water as needed to keep bones and vegetables submerged. Simmer uncovered for 6 to 8 hours.

Strain stock through a fine mesh strainer into another large stockpot or heatproof container discarding the solids. Cool immediately in large cooler of ice or a sink full of ice water to below 40 degrees. (At this point, I put mine right into my storage jars leaving enough space at the top for expansion when it freezes, then skim the rest of the scum off the top the next day.) Place in refrigerator overnight.


Remove solidified fat from surface of liquid and store in container with lid in refrigerator for 2 to 3 days or in freezer for up to 3 months. Prior to use, bring to boil for 2 minutes. Use as a base for soups and sauces.

Are you going to make this? Have you made it before? Do you have any ways to tweak this recipe and make it more your own? What do you do with your stock once you've made it?

The Violent Femmes just started playing on my playlist. I'm off to dance with George. Have a wonderful day!

Prêt-à-Porter

Are you having your family portrait taken in the near future? If I and my family were planning this, we would wear one of these outfit combinations, but alas, no such plans are on the horizon for us. Well, maybe I'll try to gather the natives, place them in front of my lens, set my camera to self timer, and run to be in the photo. Wish me luck, though, because this is What Happens when I attempt to take a photograph with all four of my offspring in the frame.

I love being a mom!

All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here

Q: What's a pirate's favorite restaurant?

Ahoy, me hearties, did ye Talk Like a Pirate yonder Saturday? Don't despair if ye missed out, lads and lasses, thar be plenty of pirate talk in these parts fer ye and yer scurvy mates.

First, take a gander at this video, so ye'll be knowin' in what kind of voice ye ought to be readin', and so that ye'll be prepared to celebrate next year. Arrgh.

Whether we're talkin' like pirates or not, this here wench runs a tight ship. First thing in the mornin', w'the risin' of th'sun, all hands were on deck.

We swabbed the deck . . .

. . . and we scrubbed the head.

Once the ship was spic and span, the lads practiced their Bonneti defense and their Capo Fero against each other (even though Thibault cancels out Capo Fero) because no day would be complete without a skirmish amongst the shipmates, am I right? All squabblin' on deck was put on hold, however, when it was announced that we were puttin' out to sea! That's right, even though our Cap'n was out saving land lubbers from scurvy for the day and our teen-aged second mate was plunderin' and pillagin', this here wenchy first mate thought it be fitting to put out to sea alone with four of the foulest mouthed, lice riddenest, mangiest, rottenest livered buccaneers ever to sail the seas. Little George, the Cabin Boy, refused to keep his hands inside the ship and kept trying to go overboard. Stella, our lookout, settled in after she realized we weren't really out for a pleasure cruise through shark infested waters. Our rowers, Jack and Creed, used a lot of teamwork in figuring out how to paddle a canoe away from the dock, away from the shore, and towards a destination. Me? I wrestled with the baby in the cargo hold for an hour and a half, because he thought he should get to walk the plank and go for a swim.

All along the way, we sang and talked like pirates.

After we docked the ship, I gathered the buccaneers for a photo, but everyone was disinclined to acquiesce to my request, thus, you get this:

and this.

Sometimes, I wish I had a Boo Box for 'em.

A: ARRRRbys!

(I referenced three of my favorite pirate movies here. Did you recognize them?)

Babies Don't Keep

"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,

For Children grow up I've learned, to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep,

I'm rocking my baby, and Babies Don't Keep."*

* * * *

I sent my baby with his dad on a month long trip.

Before he left, George was taking his first uncertain baby steps. Mostly he stumbled around like a sailor who was three sheets to the wind. He rarely left my arms. His favorite place to be anytime of day was on my hip or my back in the baby sling. Letting him leave for a month was a hard decision, but his father has as much right to be with him as I do.

Robert reported that the first few days they were gone, George wandered around calling my name. If someone was in the shower, he waited outside the bathroom door asking for me. Kitchen noises of pots and pans clanging against one another elicited a "Mama?" from his lips.

Pretty soon, though, I was demoted to a voice over the phone and he started calling the telephone "mama." His days settled into a routine of mornings in the garden with Lola, afternoons raising raucous with his cousins, and evenings being fed and bathed by papa.

This was my view of George when he first returned: peeking at me from behind the leg of his daddy.

A month after he left, my baby came home having transformed himself into a Toddler. No more drunken-like stumbling for him, this kid struts around the earth's crust like he owns the place. He runs, he jumps, he tackles. He has no Fear. He dances like nobody's watching, but of course, everyone's watching him. We can't help ourselves. He's just so great. With arms outstretched, palms up, eyebrows raised, and a nod of the head he asks me to dance right along with him. He answers questions and asks for specific items.

His babyhood literally slipped through my fingers. Just like that, it's gone. It started before he left, of course, but the change was undeniable when he returned. Swaddling has been replaced by snuggling. Cooing and gurgling is replaced by singing and shouting. Four times this has happened in my home, and four times I feel like it happened too soon.

With all the night time feedings and laundry and bodily fluids and smelling like rotten milk, I experienced the first few months of their lives in slow motion, frame by painful frame. With a little perspective (a.k.a. a few good nights' sleep) I look back and I think about the random arm and leg movements, the morning feedings with the eastern sunlight pouring over us, the breastmilk diapers that aren't all that gross after all and a hundred thousand other little moments and I wish I could call it up and live it in slow motion again, frame by precious frame.

*from Song for A Fifth Child by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Schoolbag in hand . . .

I have a friend who, upon arriving home from his first day of kindergarten twenty some-odd years ago, uttered these now famous words: "Give me food, and give me t.v." Although neither of my boys said those exact words when they came home from their first days of kindergarten, Dallas's sentiment sums up exactly how they felt. If Dallas was anything like my boys, he couldn't have cared less what he wore that first day, or really what his backpack was like. I'm fairly certain that none of the boys noticed what their new classmates were wearing, much less remember what their friends were wearing days after the fact.

On this point, as with so many others, my girl is much different from my boys.

Stella has this gaggle of giggling, glittery girlfriends who get along gregariously. They all happened to start Kindergarten this year so naturally we had to have a tea party to mark the occasion. We visited a local tea room and the girls partook of complimentary pink smoothies, balloons, and crowns. It was all tres chic. The girls had a fabulous time, but my boys, even at the age of five, would have found this activity to be insufferable. While Stella sipped her drink with her pinky up and discussed first day of school wardrobe options, my boys would have been begging for french fries and ticked that there weren't any garish plastic slides around.

The night before school started, I travelled throughout the house like some kind of First Day of School Faery. Jack was excited to start fifth grade, and Creed was looking forward to the bus ride, but mostly angry that he had to go to school at all. "Mom, it's going to be so bo-ring!" They could not have cared less as I tried to help them pick out their first day outfits. Although I bought them each a new outfit, they both opted for their ratty old tee shirts and shorts. Their sister, on the other hand, was concerned that she couldn't find the latest skirt I had made. (Bless her heart, she still thinks my home-made skirts are awesome.) I couldn't find it either. She had insisted on wearing it to the tea party, and when she disrobed afterward, she must have left it willy-nilly somewhere. Luckily, she didn't really care what she wore as long as it was a skirt so we settled on an old size 3T skirt from the Gap, Tee shirt from Old Navy, and her Red Saltwater Sandals.
Well blow me down, if that's not the cutest little kindergartener you have ever seen, then you can call me a monkey's uncle.
Stella was pleased as punch to pose for me as she waited for the bus and the boys couldn't resist tormenting her. Creed's face slays me in that photo.
Eventually, Jack left for school before the bus came for Stella and Creed, but Stella wouldn't let him leave without a good-bye hug.

Finally, she boarded the bus with barely a backward glance, all smiles and "Hi! Are you going to be my new friend?" and off they went.

After school, Creed appeared rather prophetic as he announced that "school was so bo-ring."

When Stella arrived home (two hours before her big brothers for the first two weeks), she listed all the girls, by name, who had worn pink on their first day.

"Mom, Setlally, she had pink everything. Pink shirt, pink skirt, pink shoes. I think she is definitely gonna be my friend."

I guess hunger and the search for entertainment crosses gender lines, though, because right after that, she asked for food and a movie.

No Laughing Matter

Bob is out of town and he has the baby with him. I can't talk about how much I miss George. He won't know me when he comes home, I'm sure. He doesn't miss me very much, and that's as it should be. They have been gone two days shy of a month and when the kids started school, I found myself with a week of days to fill. A whole week of no daytime children. No noses to wipe or wounds to minister. No naps around which to schedule my days and no older kids looking for a referee. I painted Stella's room, reorganized the closets, changed the sheets on all the beds, and completed menus and shopping trips (Hello! a glimpse into my future of grocery shopping with no children. Truthfully, I kind of missed them she sheepishly admitted.)

Finally, I was able to sit down and get to work on the solution to world hunger.

But first my pesky brain wandered over to dear old Robert. My brain does that in the middle of the day even when he's not light years away. What can I say? I like my husband and I like to think about him. He makes me laugh and world hunger does not.

The following video is for him, but I'm not even sure he looks at the blog very often. Maybe more often this past month, though.

World hunger will just have to wait for another day, I guess.

In Which I Cram an Entire Summer into One Post

How to Have the

Best Summer Ever

I recommend that you begin your summer with a ballet recital. Be sure that the ballerinas are devastatingly cute. Stella was a fairy in the ballet "Don Quixote," although if you ask her, she was in "Donkey Otee."

Find a local body of water and splash around with your brother.

Swing on a tire swing with your Bruncle.

Have a big July Fourth Bar-b-que and invite a lot of people. It's best if someone provides plenty of illegal fireworks (I do not, however, recommend that you launch said fireworks toward your neighbors' homes.) For added fun, bring a water balloon launcher (or two) and launch various things at each other. Don't forget the Roman Candle fights!

I think you should take your children swimming. Every day. My baby took his first steps at the pool.

Celebrate a decade of parenthood when your oldest turns ten.

Have a birthday party for the oldest. (Did I mention he turned ten this summer? TEN!) He had the easiest birthday party ever, and I heard several kids exclaim "This is the best birthday party I've ever been to!" We ordered pizza and watched "PeeWee's Big Adventure." Try it for your next birthday celebration and thank me later.

Invite your husband's friends over for his birthday party and giggle at the gifts they give him. I also giggled at the home-made party hats they wore.

Find a river and throw some rocks into it.

Discover the joy of green markers.

Our summer also included lots of popsicle eating and lots of book reading.

We saw one or two movies and we had butter on our popcorn.

Every now and then, we stayed in and had a movie night in the front room.

We ate home-made ice cream, homegrown tomatoes, and home-made jam.

We rode our bikes and we walked a few trails.

We laughed at ourselves and we laughed at each other.

We unplugged and we unwound.

All of these summer activities come highly recommended by Yours Truly. I do NOT, however, recommend that you end the perfect summer by sending your husband away for the entire month of August. If you are anything like me, you will get ridiculously lonely. Especially if you have a moment of insanity and allow him to take your baby with him.