Wordless Wednesday (Burrito Boy)

(yes, he does have a bruise on his forehead. And yes, the bruise is shaped like the star trek logo. And no, I can't explain that.)

Busy Busy Busy

Work continues to take a lot out of me, but in a good "this is exciting even if it is a lot of work" way. Apparently it isn't just me feeling this way. The Washington Post had an article last week saying that state employees are feeling the stress of implementing the federal health care reform law.

Taking advantage of the good weather on Saturday, we took the kids (including Ada's pal Lila) to the pumpkin patch. I'd show you photos but Flickr is acting up. Maybe tomorrow.

I managed to make a crumble out of the quinces that grew on my mystery fruit tree. I am not sure it is good enough to make me want to keep the tree, but it tasted reasonably good.

We celebrated my pal Susie's birthday with a fancy dinner on Saturday night. The food was good but the company was excellent. I had so much fun and laughed more than I have in a while. It was so great that it made the next morning worthwhile (I was on duty with Ian and Mira from 6am on). 

What is keeping you busy these days?

Summer Dinner

New favorite impromptu summer dinner (brought to you by the people who scooped up Ada and took her away for a play-date turned sleep-over): Fava bean and sausage pasta with cilantro pesto.

So worth the annoyance of shelling, par boiling, shelling again and sauteing fava beans. Everything else was easy easy easy.

Pro tip: check your teeth for little green bits before smiling lovingly at your husband as he hands you a lemonade and rye cocktail.

Cake, From Planning Through Execution

You may remember that Ada had a plan for her cake. No? This is the plan:

On Saturday Ada and my mom baked the cake (white). While Ada was at a friend's birthday party, my mom made the frosting (white). On Sunday morning Ada and I mad the icing (green, red and yellow) and decorated the horn cones.

The so-so execution is mine, but the direction was all Ada's. She decided what colors, what icing tips, what designs to make on the cones.

Ada asked her pal Lila to blow out the candles, which she did (with a little help from Monkey Boy). The kids appeared to like the cake, and Ada was happy with the way it turned out. So, yay! (happy birthday to Ada!)

Mysterious Disappearing Chocolate

Disclosure: No one paid me to say this or gave me anything free. I just like this stuff and wanted to write about it. 

Late last year ago I read a post on Angry Chicken about a line of flavored chocolates, one of which features tortillas, lime and salt. I ran out and bought 6 bars, 3 for my sister and her husband, and 3 for my (other) brother-in-law and his gal. I wrapped up and mailed three bars in time for them to get to Karen and Anthony while they were on the east coast at the holidays.

Photo originally from the Meadow's website

you can buy this chocolate through them

In the mean time, one of the bars of chocolate I'd saved for Dylan and Melissa's stockings went AWOL. No one copped to knowing where it went. Chris hadn't taken it, nor had the nanny. Ada probably wouldn't have liked it, and if she'd taken it I would have found some evidence. (she isn't the best at hiding candy wrappers and the ones she squirrels away from Easter baskets or Christmas stockings tend to pop up around the house.) So I took the two remaining bars and gave them away at Christmas, but I was annoyed that I'd lost one of these bars.

Then I asked Karen about the chocolate I'd sent to her and Anthony. They never got them, much to my disappointment. I was a little worried that these chocolates were cursed, delectable yet uneatable!

When Karen and Anthony visited in February, we stopped by the Meadow and I bought several more bars. We enjoyed tasting them, and eating the tortilla/lime/salt one inspired Anthony to suggest that I make a fondue on this theme. (At the time I'd been planning a fondue for a neighbor-dinner.) I followed through, making a chocolate fondue into which we dipped chips, followed by a spritz of lime juice and a sprinkle of salt - it was delicious. Even better, it fit the evening's Mexican theme.

In March Karen sent me an email saying that the chocolate had arrived at her mother-in-law's house.  MARCH. Her mother-in-law ate them, which worked out well as she was working on Karen and Anthony's taxes at the time. Nothing like a little sugar-based motivation to get you hunting for tax credits.

After eating the chocolate with Karen and Anthony in February, and more recently buying and consuming a bar for myself, I think the curse may be broken. I hope so at least, because I just bought a couple of bars to send to some friends in Chicago. I hope the postal service is more on top of things this time.

(cross-posted here)

Mmmm, Floor Snack

Lest anyone think that I spend my non-work days enriching my children's lives and expanding their tiny minds, I thought I would share the evidence of last week's snack. While Mira and Ian pulled all the plastic containers out of the one kitchen cabinet not barred by a safety lock, Ada and I made popcorn. Babies are not supposed to eat popcorn, so I gave them corn puffs ("poufs") in plastic cups. Within moments, the cups were upturned and the snack was rolling across the floor. Which is pretty much the best of all possible worlds as far as Ian and Mira are concerned.

not the best photo I have ever taken, but it gives you an idea of the scene

milk on the floor too, of course

Some weeks I am all words and no pictures. This week I am thinking in pictures.

Hearby Resolved: Eat More Take-Out?

Lately I have been obsessed with how people manage the evening routine. Without peeking into other people's windows (which I am not entirely above, but it is time-consuming if you want to do it right) I am not clear how people get their young kids fed, bathed and in bed at a decent hour without completely tearing their hair out. Or rather, how people do this and WORK.

Chris and I (usually Chris, but whatever) cook most nights. We grocery shop on the weekend, guided by a plan for at least 4 nights of meals. (How people just go into the store and get what looks appealing and then manage to turn that into dinner every night is another thing that confuses me. I mean, I can do a single meal that way, but how do you shop for a week that way?) Our prep is good, but we have never really amended our cooking style to meet the needs of life with small kids. Our dinners are mostly not 20 minute affairs. We brine chickens, knead pizza dough, (AND) chop endless vegetables. Delicious, but not entirely conducive to quick completion.

The babies need to eat by 5:30. There is just no way we can have our dinner on the table by then. We have taken steps to make dinner easier, mostly by making meals that last more than one night or that can be transformed (roasted chicken becomes burritos or arroz con pollo). But it still does not seem like enough to get us fed before we need to put the babies in bed and Ada in the bath.

I have been obsessing about this for a couple of weeks and I think the universe is listening in. While I was solo parenting last week I decided that making dinner was too much effort. While at the burrito hut with the kids I ran into two neighbors. They both said their families regularly get dinner there. Then I was talking to a neighbor who spontaneously asked me how we deal with dinner.

I know some people take Sundays to make meals for the whole week. I doubt that is going to work for us, at least in our current state. So what else? And as long as I am asking, how do people who work outside the home get home early enough to do dinner and bedtime routines? Some days I work at home, but on others I work an hour away from home.  The only thing that seems to really help is having Ada eat at a friend's house. However, this doesn't seem like a viable solution for more than one or two nights a week. 

So how do we make this easier? How do we get us all fed by 6:30?


(and don't forget to click over and tell me about your favorite animal for a chance to win a wooden growth chart!)

Lunchtime Questions

Why is there no right answer to a child's "I am still hungry, what else can I have?" that does not involve toast or sugar?

Why does mac and cheese get darker after sitting in the fridge?

Is looking into a full refrigerator and thinking there is nothing to eat genetic?

Is it better to laugh out loud and have to explain your reaction, or to stifle the laughter when your daughter says: "It's a hooker quesadilla. I'm chewing hooker!"?

Lemonade (but no Burritos)

Working at home yesterday, I started thinking about the sweet potato burrito from Magnificent's, a trailer near my house.

Portland is currently in the throes of a food cart obsession.

I walked over at lunch, to find this:

We REALLY need to get some high chairs

I have been very resistant to getting high chairs for the babies. The one we had for Ada was a hand-me-down, and it was sort of on its last legs when we got it. Once she was able, we put Ada in a booster-style seat so she could sit at the table with us. By the time Ada was done using the high chair, I was thrilled to get rid of it.

We started feeding Mira and Ian before either of them were able to hold themselves in a seated position. It made sense to use the Bumbo chairs to prop them up while we fed them. They work pretty well, except that Mira has developed an annoying habit of leaning over to grab whatever she can reach. Before we can feed her we have to move everything out of the way (her reach is pretty impressive, given how little she is) and strategically place the food so that she can not get to it on her own. Plus, there is the whole problem that once I am faced with a baby sitting in a Bumbo (which is on the table) I can't just walk away to get more food. As Chris and I often feed the babies together, usually someone else is around if one of us needs to get up, but when I am by myself, the kids like to eat more than I have planned for.

This weekend Mira kept going for the spoon, so when I needed to smush up some more avocado, I let the kids distract themselves with the plasticware.

When Tortillas Go Bad

or, Taco Night takes a wrong turn

I'm not usually crazy about the kids playing with their food, but the other night Lila joined us for dinner (shredded pork soft tacos). After the girls ate they started to get creative with the tortillas.

Lila

Ada

If You Can't to Spend Your Whole Paycheck on Organics

A number of years ago Chris and I decided to try to buy and eat organic meats. We'd already been members of organic community supported agriculture farms, both in Chicago and Rhode Island, when we heard an NPR story about what made farmers in one northern European country lobby for organics legislation. (Sorry, I have forgotten what country it was, since I heard the story almost 10 years ago now.)

In any case, the thing that struck me at the time was the difference in how the animals were treated in organic farms versus "conventional" ones. The choice to go organic means that the farmer must take steps to avoid disease and other issues for her animals by treating them better. Where conventional farmers can cram animals together in horrid conditions and limit the spread of disease by pumping up the animals with antibiotics, organic farmers can not do this. They need to give the animals more space and take greater care to ensure their health and safety by seemingly obvious methods (keeping their livestock clean, feeding them well, etc.) Related to this, organic farmers do not rely on hormones to make their animals bigger. They feed them well and let them move around.

All this seemed like a good idea. So I was motivated both by a desire to avoid putting unnecessary crap into my body and an interest in treating animals better. It might seem a little odd that someone willing to kill animals for food cares about the animals' well-being, but just because I find them delicious doesn't mean that I don't care that the animals that feed me live decently before they end up on my plate.

So all those years ago, Chris and I decided to eat organic or antibiotic/hormone free meat (and by extension, eggs and dairy, which we buy a ton more of than we do meat), deciding that we were willing to vote with our dollars. It costs more to eat this way, but we think it is worth the money. But - and here is where I make the transition to talk about the thing that got me writing this post - it does cost more money. Luckily, you can do things to reduce the cost. You can grow things yourself, cook from scratch and use up leftovers. And you can buy some organics and some conventional. I know that I started by writing about organics in meat, and now I am going to show you a table about organic veggies, but there is a connection. Though I am not terribly worried about the treatment of veggies at the hands of conventional farmers, but I am concerned about pesticides. As I want to limit the pesticides my family and I ingest through food.

Toward that end, I like to consult the following, a guide recently updated by the Environmental Working Group. There are some obvious items on the list: apples, bell peppers and pears. It makes sense that many fruits and veggies containing a lot of water would be better to buy organic, since the pesticides get sucked up by the water into the food. There are some surprises too. I was happy to see that I can buy conventional avocados and not be too worried about pesticides. (I remember reading that things with thicker skins tend to get contain fewer pesticides.) Getting a free ride on mangoes and kiwi is great, and who would have guessed that water-hogs like watermelon and tomato would be low in pesticides?

You can download the guide at the EWG website.

Beet That

One small piece of evidence of my parenting prowess - my daughter loves beets.

Monkey Boy thinks they are okay too.

Eggplant for Haters

Magpie Musing and I recently talked about eggplants. She does not like them, and until this summer, neither did I.  Actually, I am still not crazy about eggplants, but I do have one recipe that I enjoy enough to pass it on to her (and to you).  My anti-eggplant/pro-this recipe declaration feels a little like a racist who declares he doesn't like people of such-and-so race, except for that one friend of his who happens to be of that race. Except where racism is just dumb, anti-eggplant bias is totally understandable. So without further ado I present:  

The Eggplant Recipe For People Who Don't Like Eggplant

• 2 Chinese Eggplant  I can only vouch for this recipe if you use skinny asian eggplants. If you use globe (american) eggplant, I think it will be like any other recipe made with globe eggplant, which is to say: sucky.
• Canola oil
• about 1/2 cup Chinese rice wine
• 1/2 to 3/4 cup broth 
• Sesame seeds
• Soy sauce
• Honey or brown sugar
• Dark sesame oil
• Scallions, chopped (I use the whites and some of the greens)
  
• Salt

Slice the eggplants in half lengthwise. Fry the eggplant halves in canola oil (open side down) until they are a bit browned. (don't expect the eggplants to be cooked at this point)

Add the 1/2 cup rice wine and 1/2-2/3 cup broth.  The eggplants should be mostly covered. Cover and simmer until the eggplants are pretty soft when poked with a fork.

Toast the sesame seeds in a dry skillet.  Scootch them around with a spoon to keep from burning.

Heat up a little water (maybe a 1/4 cup) and melt the honey or brown sugar. Make a sauce of soy, honey or brown sugar, sesame oil, chopped scallions, and toasted sesame seeds.

When eggplant is soft, cut halves into pieces, then add to sauce.  Add salt if needed (though I think the soy sauce is salty enough).


Note: Don't come to me all up in arms, yelling "how can you discount eggplant parmesan?" Eggplant parm is something I can eat, but choose not to because really, wouldn't it be better without the eggplant?

When I left the hotel

A Thing I Have Learned

I already knew that if you offer Ada a food that she swears she does not like, she will not be willing to try even a bite of it.

Today I learned that if you offer it to her at the end of a pair of chopsticks, she'll eat hers and half of yours.

File Under: NO SELF CONTROL

At lunch today I walked to the Japanese grocery store conveniently located just blocks from my organization's Portland office. I assumed I'd get some prepackaged sushi, but was distracted by the hot cha siu bao near the meat counter. (Let's not ask why a Japanese market has chinese pork buns, let's just be thankful it does.) I grabbed three, plus two wasabi-laced shu mai.

Wandering back to the check out, I found a box of those terrible almond crush Pocky that I first started eating after Dooce's sugar-laced eloquence on the subject convinced me to give them a try. And some moto moto yama (spicy nori strips). And some rice crackers.


On the walk back I contained myself to the nori strips, which taste like wasabi-flavored paper. Why I like them is not entirely clear, but I do even as I marvel at the strange texture. Back at the office I gobbled up the bao and shu mai. I held out on the pocky for a good minute or two, but then succumbed, eating a packet of six delicious sticks. (Three more packets sit in the box, and poting this means I need to save at least one for Chris.)


My stomach is bulging. Three bao was more than I needed, and then I jammed those pocky in there too. Now the crackers are calling to me, asking me to ignore that I am not just not hungry, but actually sort of uncomfortably full. My solution? Leave the room. I've put the snacks in the side room with my jacket and scarf. I'm holed up in a windowless cubicle, thinking that I can block the deafening roar of the crackers. Until at least 2:15.

Violet, You're Turning Violet, Violet!

I recently remembered that our refrigerator contained a ziploc bag full of blueberries picked and frozen last summer.* As those of you who were readers in the summer may recall, Ada is a berry fiend, eating her weight in berries at any chance. One of the saddest things about winter is going to pick up vegetables at our CSA farm and Ada asking hopefully, "are there any strawberries today"?

In the summer the farm has a sizable strawberry patch, with berries free for the picking for children dragged along with their veggie-happy parents. Add that to the extreme joy Ada has found in hunting for Wilma, the black bantam hen, and trips to the farm can be as exciting as the zoo or an unexpected cupcake.

But back to the berries. I remembered this bag of frozen blues, and pulled some out the other day to top off the yogurt-granola-banana breakfast. Ada was smitten, and I saw an opportunity. Now Ada is so thrilled to get blueberries that we can get her to eat practically anything with the promise that blueberries will be forthcoming at the end of the meal. This is an especially useful little tool now, as meal-times have been especially subject to two of Ada's toddler quirks: (1) extreme pickyness about food (including foods she ate as recently as a few days prior) and (2) "I'm going to control things" episodes featuring those four little words every parent loves to hear: "I DON'T WANT TO". With the introduction of blueberries, most food tantrums can be quashed with the promise that blueberries are only moments away from defrosting, and eating that egg/vegetable/meat/thing-she-loved-yesterday-
but-now-can't-stand-to-have-on-her-plate will facilitate the defrosting process.


Several days into Project Blueberry Bribes, I have remembered one downside of giving Ada high doses of this magic food. The poop. For those of you without blueberry obsessed children, suffice it to say that, even more than before, I am wishing she was potty trained.


*Actually, our fridge contains numerous bags of frozen berries from this summer, but I have not gotten off my ass to make anything with them. Blueberries retain their shape pretty well when unfrozen, while other berries do not. This means that unfrozen rasp- or strawberries need to be cooked into something. Soon, I promise. The nadir of winter calls for berry desserts.

Extraordinary

I know every parent who employs an in-home child care provider fears that they'll lose him or (more often) her, to another job, to burn out, to the proverbial "bigger and better things". We hear the stories. The caregiver who leaves to have her own child. The nanny who calls an hour before she is supposed to arrive for duty, to belatedly say she is not coming today, or any day. (This recently happened to a friend in Chicago.) We fear these things, and know they happen to the best of us.

But no one fears losing their child care provider more than I do. Why? Is it JP's loving care of my daughter? Her adoration and loving attention, her willingness to hear and tell "cute Ada" stories? To sing Ada to sleep when she balks at nap time? To cook her delicious lunches and second breakfasts? Yes, but... Is it that she's introduced my daughter to her family, making them Ada's extended family by proxy? Is it that JP's mom gives Ada gifts, including some awesome thrifted kid plates featuring Pooh and cavorting bunnies? Is it that her sister joins JP and Ada at least weekly for a picnic in the park, lunch at the local cafe, or other neighborhood excursion? That's a nice bonus, as is the psychic link that caused all three of them to wear the same outfit a couple of weeks ago.


But one day last week, on a (for Portland) blisteringly hot 91 degree afternoon, I took a break from working at home to bike down to the post office. Returning home, I collapsed (slightly sweaty) onto the couch. Just then I hear Ada and JP talking outside. The front door opened, and JP popped in. She'd taken a detour from her store-to-park route with Ada to drop by and offer me an ice cream. A delicious, minty, chocolate covered Haagen Dazs.


What would I ever do without her?

The other things on my mind

Lately I have been fairly stressed out (work mostly, plus a few other things thrown in). I have started several posts about my blue mood, but I'm hampered by the fact that (a) posts about how low I am feeling are not very interesting; and (b) it is hard to explain to others what is bothering me when I am not entirely sure myself what is at the root of my recent funk. Ironically, once I figure that out I know I'll feel better, but that's something for another day.

In the mean time, here are some of the other things floating around the margins of the blog, each one not quite enough for a post, but still hoping to see the light of blog:

You Ate What?

You know how little kids can be very sensitive about food - its texture, physical heat, spiciness? Well, Ada can be pretty picky, and often refuses to eat things on sight. When I can get her to agree to one little bite, she often notices that she actually does like the food in question. (Take Wednesday night's arroz con pollo, for example.) Despite reading and rereading Green Eggs and Ham to Ada (and making repeated comments to her like, "wow, he thought he wouldn't like that, but then when he took a bite he LOVED it!") Ada still resists.

Despite Ada's opposition to certain foods, she tends to be pretty open to trying new things (as long as they don't fall into a forbidden texture or look category). Now that she's tall enough to reach up to the kitchen counters and grab things off, she'll help herself to snacks when I am not quick enough on the draw. She'll nibble on whatever she finds, whether or not it is a known item. Today I noticed her holding something green, and when I asked her what she was eating she held out a small green vegetable:


I took it from her, worried that she'd start screaming when the heat hit her. But apparently this is a mellow jalapeno and she munched happily on the bit that she'd already gotten in her mouth. Next time she complains that some food is too 'picy, I know what to give her instead.

Evil, But With A Sense Of Humor

I have been working more, which is part of what has me stressed out. I moved up to 60% time at work, but the past two weeks I have had meetings scheduled on my off day. An 11-1 meeting (that doesn't actually end until 2) eats up the whole day and leaves me feeling like I have lost time with Ada and yet didn't have time to be productive at work. Once in a while the meetings do offer some side benefit. One meeting this week included a delicious lunch, and walking out of a downtown building afterwards, I saw this on a Honda Odyssey:


Now I know what bumper sticker to buy if I ever have to buy a minivan.

There are a bunch of other things floating around in my head, including:

• considering IVF again
  
• wanting to write a post for all the people who find me by googling about crying
  
• wondering why I feel so overwhelmed by what seems like a pretty normal and easy life, and
  
• wanting to share pictures of some of the shirts I have made recently.

(Speaking of which, if you are a small/medium and think you might like a shirt, I have one that is just never going to fit me no matter what. Let me know.) Those posts and others may or may not get done any time soon, but that's the way of the blog, right?