Cluck and Tweet

Michigan... It's Not as Bad as You Think.

 

We live in Michigan.  Yes, it has the highest unemployment rate in the United States.  Yes, the Detroit Lions had a record of 0-16 for the 2008 football season.  Yes, the Tigers finished 2008 in last place in the AL Central division (and lest you think that I actually have this information readily at my disposal, let me just say Thank You to Wikipedia).  And it's true that according to Forbes Detroit is the most dangerous city in the U.S.  

Big deal.  

Can you show where you live by holding up your hands?  Yeah, I didn't think so.  (For the record, we live up near the top of the middle finger, appropriately enough.)

This is what it looks like up near the top of the middle finger:

Vast expanses of water that give the oceans a run for their money.  We get to ski in the extremely long winter, cursing the very season come March, April and May.  And we play soccer in June when it's still snowing but we choose to call it sleet and are a little bit thankful that our down coats are still hanging in the front closet.  We have drawers full of the top designers: the North Face, Marmot, LLBean, Patagonia, and Isis.  

My husband is from Flint.  His mother is from Flint.  His sister lives in Flint.    We live so much farther north that Flint is like an eccentric old uncle you are a little afraid of and kind of feel sorry for. Then, when he's just about to say goodbye, he leans over and slips you a silver dollar and forever you have slightly fond feelings for the guy.  

That's Flint.

And this is Flint:

But so is this:

This is one of the homes in the stately, old neighborhood that is part of Flint's illustrious past, a past my mother-in-law remembers as a great place to grow up and also raise a family.  This house is going for $615,000 and is 6500 square feet with a maid's quarters, hardwoods throughout, and 6 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, and 2 half-baths.  It's one of the reasons Gordon Young wrote this article for Slate.

Detroit is another story entirely.  

I'm from the Upper Peninsula, the younger, wilder, cheaper sister of the Lower Peninsula.  We have an utterly awesomely beautiful bridge that joins the two peninsulas:

The Mackinac Bridge.  Never, ever is it pronounced "Mack-i-nack," despite what you've heard.  It's always "Mack-i-naw." And it always takes my breath away.  

People who live in the UP are called Yoopers, a name we're quite proud of but which is always said with just a hint of a superior sneer by those who aren't and never will be Yoopers.  We call the people who live in the Lower Peninsula Trolls since they live below the bridge.  

It's all about the bridge.

Detroit is way, way, way below the bridge.  But whereas Flint is like your strange but harmless uncle, Detroit is your brother's dangerous friend, the one your parents don't want around the house, the one who is definitely doing things he shouldn't, but the one who would have your back if you were ever caught up in a fight.  

Not that that would ever happen.

Sweet Juniper is a beautifully written love song to the city of Detroit and the people who live there.  It's a lot more than that, but its bones are Detroit.  This is Sweet Juniper's Detroit:

Once thriving, once beautiful, Detroit still has a disheveled elegance, kind of like Little Edie from Grey Gardens:

See the resemblance?  This photo, by the way, is from a fantastic Time photo essay that you can find here.

But Detroit and Flint are just two very small, very loud representations of this exquisitely beautiful state.  And frankly, if you haven't visited, you're missing out.

I hate to brag, but I've ridden horseback in the mountains.  It was stunning.  I've seen the Parthenon.  I've gazed at the Mediterranean.  I've swum in the Caribbean Sea.  I've shared a beach with Elle Macpherson (I don't recommend sharing a beach with a supermodel, just a little tip).  I've dived with sea turtles on Kauaii.  Okay, maybe I like to brag a little bit.  

My point is that every place I've been has not been any more beautiful than the place I call home.  

 

Because this, too, is Michigan.

...alison...

Rainy Days: time to dig into the craft closet.

We've been living outside lately, soaking up a rare streak of sunshine in northern Michigan.  Today, however, we woke to mid-50s and rain-- and it looks like that's what we'll be seeing all week long.

And that's okay, because there in plenty of crafting and art to be done (along with, um, laundry and dishes and mopping and toilet scrubbing).

Since Noah wants to be a National Geographic photographer (after he wins an Americas Cup, freestyle skis in the Olympics, and perhaps runs for public office), he's been taking a lot of pictures this summer.  Max and I will take advantage of this fact when we do one of our favorite painting projects-- using a photo and re-creating it with watercolor pencils.  

It is a great lesson in details and perspective, as well as a nice opportunity to reflect on the fun that was had while the original photo was taken!

(you can see by the lack of foliage in the background that we haven't been doing many inside crafts lately!)

Noah, on the other hand, is more interested in this:

creating little paper worlds, drawn and then added to with detailed paper people.

 Sometimes it is worth the rain to see what little imaginations can come up with.

I was going to post 10 shots, one spot

But then I came across this photo, taken looking out over Lake Michigan this week from a friend's beachside cabin.  

And I realized it is worth 10 pictures in and of itself.

We live here folks. How ridiculous is that???

I Have Watched This At Least 5 Times. Either It's Really Funny or I Need a New Sense of Humor.

How Can I Top This? Dying, Affairs, Divorce, Father's Day. All Wrapped Up in One.

Did you hear?

1.  Michael Jackson died.

No, really.  I think the TV stations may be keeping it all hush-hush for some reason.  You'll be hard-pressed to find anyone talking about it.

2.  Farrah Fawcett died.

Did you covet her hair?  Even though I always played Kate from Charlie's Angels, I got up extra early to feather my hair just right.  Now, 30 years later, when it's no longer in style, my hair feathers just beautifully.  Go figure.

3.  Jon and Kate are divorcing.

I don't watch this show.  She appears to be a shrew and he is lackadaisical as a parent.  I just can't figure out why that marriage didn't work.

4.  The governor of South Carolina flew to Argentina for 5 days to break up with his married                      Argentinian girlfriend, and covered it all up by saying he was on the Appalachian Trail.  That's some      quick thinking, I tell you.

You can't make this stuff up.

5.  My dog is chewing a bone.

This is the excitement that is my life.

But on Sunday, let me tell you, on Sunday it was a whole different story entirely.  Perhaps you remember it was Father's Day, and while Kate was being all crafty (and sly, because she's just that way) I was my husband's slave.  

That's not entirely true.  On our birthdays and Father's Day and Mother's Day, we don't necessarily buy anything for one another, but the person who is being feted doesn't have to lift a finger all stinkin' day and gets to decide what activities we'll be doing.  It works really well on November 23 and Mother's Day.  That's all I'm saying about that.   

So I got up with the dogs (Sam does this 363 days out of the year.  Every relationship should contain one person who sleeps well and another who doesn't.) before 6, let them out and hung with them in the yard, fed them and then took them into the TV room and promptly fell back asleep until 8 am.  

At 8 in the morning Sam was raring to go on a 5 mile walk with the dogs.  He wanted company.

Check.

We came back and Jimmie and I made eggs benedict.  It was very good and I should have posted a recipe, but Ah!  The sauce separated!  Basically it was a lot of butter and in my opinion anything containing a lot of butter has no choice but to taste good.

At two o'clock we kayaked into town.  It took 3 hours.

Let's just say that even if the weather had been wonderful, we wouldn't have done this on Mother's Day.

 

It was awesome.  Just simply a great day.  Filled with sunshine, two kids who aren't whiny and just may have restored my faith in humanity, and a happy husband:

  

Who gets me out doing things I normally wouldn't do.  Which is one of the greatest benefits of being married to this man.  That and his arms.  Muscles aren't bad, either.

Oh, and he's a pretty fantastic dad, too.

But don't you dare tell him I said any of this.

Rhubarb-alicious!

Oh, Rhubarb.  How I love you.

I know it is late in the season for most places, and in fact, I'm heading across the bay today for the first bout of fresh strawberries this season (which I will promptly come home and mix with rhubarb for something...a pie? a crumb cake?)! Still, there is rhubarb out there yet to be turned from its biting sour self into something so. darn. fantastic.

And fantastic is exactly what this Rhubarb Coffee Cake is. I've made it twice (and it makes two 9-inch cakes each time!) and it has never lasted longer than 24 hours.  I might be bragging here, but I swear this is the best coffee cake I've ever tasted, and if you live in my town, you know the Island Bean's coffee cake is basically unbeatable. Until now.

Without further ado....

you'll need:

2 cups whole wheat flour

1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1/2 stick butter

1 1/2 cup sugar

1 large egg

1 cup buttermilk

1 1/2 tsps vanilla extract

1 3/4 cup minced rhubarb (I chop it and then stick it in the food processor and hit "pulse" a couple times).

Topping:

3 tablespoons of very, very soft butter 

3/4 cup sugar

2 tbl all-purpose flour

2 tbl cinnamon

By the way, the reason I only have a few pictures-- most of which are blurry-- is because I had a little person strapped to my back the entire time I was cooking. And she does not like to stay still;)

Preheat the oven the 350, grease and flour two 9-inch rounds 

-Whisk the flours, baking soda and salt together in a mixing bowl.  

-Cream together the butter and sugar in a bigger bowl (I just use my Kitchen Aid mixer)

-Beat in the egg 

- Add the dry ingredients slowly, mixing as you go, and alternating with the buttermilk (so, pour some flour stuff in and mix, add buttermilk and mix, pour some more flour in and mix, and so on).

-Add the vanilla

-Mix in the rhubarb and spread the mixture into the pans (evenly)

For the topping:

Combine the soft butter with 1/2 cup of the sugar and one tablespoon each of the flour and cinnamon. Use your hand to very carefully smooth the mixture on top of the cake; don't worry about covering the whole thing-- you won't be able to.

which is why...

you sift together the last 1/4 of sugar with the remaining tablespoons of flour and cinnamon and then sprinkle it over the cakes.

Bake for about 25-30 minutes, until golden brown and a toothpick stuck in the middle comes out basically clean. Cool and devour.

Holy Guacamole

I love guacamole.  I kind of like just saying the word.  Guacamole.   Guac, when I want to be cool. 

Which is pretty much always.

I love avocados, tomatoes, and chocolate. I don't add chocolate to my guacamole, however. I'm sure you're relieved. And I always make my guacamole while wearing a sombrero and fake mustache. It's more authentic that way:  

My guacamole recipe for this post is much less involved than the one in the video. That's saying a lot since the recipe in the video isn't involved at all, unless you count chopping tomatoes and deciding between jalapeño versus serrano peppers complicated.  

The recipe includes the following:

  avocados:

Watch the above video to learn how to properly cut open an avocado.  That little morsel of information alone is worth the price of admission.  Okay, that and the baby gringo.

lemon juice:

sour cream (it adds a smoothness to the dip that I like and it also means more guac for less money.  Of course it also dilutes the avocado flavor a bit, so you have to decide how much you're willing to sacrifice):

garlic powder and cumin:

 

and salt.

Mash the avocados with a fork until they're creamy.  Add lemon juice, sour cream (about 1/4 cup) and lots and lots of garlic powder about 1 teaspoon of cumin and salt to taste.  

Stir until smooth. 

 

Smoother than you see here.  And less messy.  

That's it.  

But not quite.  Because the real clincher is how awesomely awesome this tastes on top of a turkey burger:

And the secret to our burgers is in the bun.  Bay's English Muffins.  

You'll never go back to a regular burger.

You're welcome.

Father's Day: recap

When it comes to holidays and gifts from children, I get warm fuzzies (Oh! The warm fuzzies! Do you remember that story? It was my favorite in Kindergarten).  Yesterday was Father's Day, and we were busy this weekend crafting and cooking for the papa's in our lives.  

Justin woke up early and headed out to meet his Sunday morning ride group-- he said there were 20 cyclists (including a friend whose wife was due Sunday-- he had is cell phone on very, very loud in the back of his jersery).  I thought, hmm, you sure can tell when its Fathers Day...Once he finished riding himself into the dirt (the second half of the 40 miles were spent going an average of 24.5 miles per hour. I mean, what)??? He came home to breakfast, cooked by three lovely little people.  Well, two lovely little people, and one who has recently decided her new pastime is to yell. Loud. All. The. Time.

In any case, the boys whipped up some scrambled eggs, waffles and bacon and served it with this,

an insanely good rhubarb coffee cake (as in, so good I ate the whole 'test' cake by myself. in one day).  I'll be posting the recipe this week, so stay tuned.

All that food was put onto this place-setting, part of Justin's gift.  

The kids decorated a plate and mug just for him, with special markers that are permanent on glass. You have to handwash these, but they will last forever.

In addition, the kids made him a Dad Coupon Book (always a hit and good for birthdays and other holidays too).  Max and Noah thought up some chores they could do for their dad-- and some fun things to do with him, although I'm not too sure putt-putt is a gift-- and wrote and drew illustrations on a coupon we created. 

 Once we had enough coupons, the boys colored a cover and back cover and we used our handy-dandy laminator (don't forget-- you can get one of your very own in our shop) to make the front and back of the book.  We used a hole punch and jute rope to bind it up).

All in all, I think our daddy was pretty happy.

We also whipped up a batch of the best chocolate chip cookies in the universe (or not, but they were really good).  I'll post that recipe soon too.  The boys and Lizzie made their Papa (my dad) a plate too-- and decided the other part of their gift to him would be a "cookie of the month" club.  Max and I whipped up the cookies,

 and Noah created an official certificate. 

It was a day full of sunshine and sugar and proud little faces looking lovingly at two really great dads.  Of course,when I ran into Alison downtown as she and her family dropping off a car so they could kayak all the way back to town (which I swear is a long, long way), I was feeling a little like Pillsbury Dough Girl. 

Ah, well.  Time to go work off all those cookies that never, um, made it to the oven....

--K

Chores

Our kids have been getting allowances of $2 a week for awhile now.  I'm not even sure what they do to deserve such charity, but we've now determined that at 10 and 12 years old, they need to earn the money we give them.  

That's one of the good things about the downturn of our economy:  our children might, just might, value the dollar a little bit more.  And perhaps not feel so entitled.  And maybe realize all that we actually do for them.  And learn the value of working for a dollar, not simply declaring your room a National Park and charging 50 cents admission.  Jimmie, I'm talking to you.

We're of the mindset, my husband and I, not the children, of course, that some chores need to be done simply because you're part of this family, and because we feed and clothe you and show you a good time, the least you can do is the following:

1.  Make your bed.

2.  Set the table.

3.  Fill the water glasses at dinner.

4.  Feed the pets.

5.  Clear the table.

6.  Wash dishes.

7.  Empty the dishwasher.

8.  Put away clean clothes.

And we have additional requirements for family movie night and/or earning your 30 minute - 1 hour of computer or Wii time which might include any or all of the above plus:

1.  Cleaning your room.

2.  Cleaning the playroom.

Until today, June 20, 2009, this all has been enough to earn $8 a month, plus time off for good behavior.  But times, they are a changin', and today I made up a Chore Chart and Payment Sheet.

The Chore Chart includes chores (duh!) and their corresponding payment.  Chores like cleaning bathrooms (1/2 bath = $1, full bath = $2), and washing Mama's car (inside = $4 maximum... depending on the quality of the job done, outside = $4 maximum... for the same reason).  Sam's cars are not included because he's a bit of a perfectionist.  A bit.

If you'd like your own, personal chore chart, here's a link to mine.  Change it however you feel necessary or keep it the same or just take a peek at it and laugh at our attempt at slave labor:

Download Chore chart

Our Pay Sheet is for the kids to keep track of the chores they've completed for the week and it gives them the opportunity to add up the amount of money they've earned.  (It's actually my lame attempt at having them do some math during the summer.  Shhh!)

Download Pay sheet.4

I would really love to hear any and all ways you have to entice your kids to help around the house or what your personal philosophy is regarding allowances.  Leave a comment with your suggestions or advice.  This parenting gig needs constant tweaking.  

Had I known...

...alison...

I'm Only Doing This Because I Have To

I love what having children does to you. 

Oh, I'm not talking about the stretch marks, the sagging parts, the interrupted sleep, the constant headache, the repeated phrases.  

I'm thinking about how having children expands your world, makes you stand in sleet in order to watch a soccer game, forces you to read the whole Twilight series to make sure it's appropriate (for the record, the first two were okayed, the second two were not, unless our 12-year-old was willing to have "the talk," and discuss appropriate behaviors.  She hasn't had the least bit interest in the second two.  I can't figure out why.), it gives you an excuse to watch the movie to make sure it's appropriate (which we decided, it is, with discussion related to the fact that you, my daughter, will never meet an Edward Cullen because he doesn't exist),  requires you to play games like Michiganopoly which hails the University of Michigan, the arch rival of the university I attended, Michigan State, or Risk which always makes me feel attacked since, well, the whole game is about attacking or being attacked.

I'm constantly being forced to do things I wouldn't normally do.  

I like structure, although I'm not structured, and I'm not great with change, although I'm trying to change that.  And I prefer to know all about something before I do it, like knowing how to swim before taking swimming lessons.

All of this in an effort not to look stupid.  

How am I doing?

Two years ago I was initiated into the world of football when our son (who I would refer to as my baby if that wouldn't be totally embarrassing... you may admire my restraint and aspire to be as... as... well, as restraining, I guess).  When I saw the pads go on those 8-year-old shoulders (really?  I let him play football at 8?!) I may have audibly gasped.  The dads around me chuckled and patted me on my own shoulder and told me how safe football is, safer than soccer, but my mind is thinking, then why do they need all those pads?  And then the helmet got stuck on his head because this boy has an abnormally large head, I'm not kidding,  and that was probably the most traumatic incident so far of his football career.

I've since relaxed, and help him on with his pads, and cheer like I'm at an NFL game when Jimmie gets a tackle, and don't say anything when his father tells him to hit the other guy before the other guy hits him.  I don't admonish him to play nice or smile at the opposing player when they're down in the three point position.  I used to.  But I don't now.  Is that a good thing?

They're so cute in their uniforms, almost like a Halloween costume.  I'm sure that's the look they're going for.

Anna's new obsession love is horse shows.  She likes to ride Western.  

English riding is elegant, poised, fashionable:

kind of like the English.  

Western is all flash and a blatant overuse of the Bedazzler:

Subtile, isn't it?

Anna competed in a borrowed outfit:

She asked after the show if she could get a Western outfit of her own for the next competition.  There was a girl at the competition, a really good rider, by the way, whom I made fun of.  I know that's awful and very immature of me, but the girl was decked out, head to toe, in yellow:  yellow hat, yellow shirt, yellow pants, yellow boots, yellow blankets.  Imagine something like this, only in yellow:

  

And remember, I am new to this.  And I once broke up with a guy because he wore Wranglers.  

Wranglers are cool in Wyoming.  Not so much in Michigan.

So, being the mature mother that I am, not at all catty, when Anna asked about obtaining a Western outfit all her own I couldn't help myself and leaned over and whispered,

"How about one that's all yellow?"  *wink*wink*

She looked at me like her eyes had been bedazzled and said, "Really?!  That would be so cool!"

I'll be ordering my own Bedazzler* soon and should you see me at either a football game or equestrian show I'll be the one yelling the loudest, sequins sparkling in the sun.

*In case you're wondering, despite the many times I mention the Bedazzler, I have not been paid to endorse it or any other product.  In fact, I can safely say I rarely mention said product in general conversation.  Just ask my friends.  

...alison...

Beach party, baby!

We live at the beach in the summer.  I'd like to say I have our packing and planning down so well that hitting the sand is as easy as stepping out the front door.  While we are getting better (as in, we don't have to take three hours to pack for two hours at the beach before realizing we have no clean diapers and left the water bottles on the kitchen counter), I still need a checklist-- at least for the early season.

Here's some of our favorite "stuff" for the beach.

Eco-friendly sand toys.  Okay, I'll be honest, my children normally get three choices for "beach toys" which include: sand, water, driftwood.  But if I were to invest in beach toys, these are so cute, and so not the typical yucky plastic pails.

It's made of recycled milk cartons, which means you can teach your kids about the "after" part of what they recycle AND you can keep them digging happily away at the beach.  

We are a fair-skinned clan, and while the boys of the house do tan (if allowed), Lizzie and I fry like hot tomatoes the minute we're in the sun sans sunscreen.  Lizzie's skin is super sensitive to boot, so a lot of sunscreens don't work well for her.  I also am a big fan of organic sunscreens, but not of the kind that look like white paste no matter how long you rub it...so I'm always on the hunt for something better. This summer, I'm LOVING this sunscreen.

It's not hugely expensive, it gets great ratings both for coverage and being environmentally friendly, and it smooths on with relative ease.  I have found it both at our co-op and the regular grocery store, so I'm guessing it is pretty easy to pick up. Also, I use the "sport" version for the boys and despite Noah being on the water all day, he's yet to have an ounce of burn.

Speaking of sun protection, I am a bit of a freak about the sunglass factor in my house too.  Noah rocks some sweet junior smiths, Max uses the drugstore variety (because they break, almost daily) and Lizzie uses these

quite possibly the best sunglasses ever made for babies. If you have a little one, or need to pick up a shower gift, this would be high on my list for recommended gifts.  While they do sort of look upside down all the time (there is no "right side up"), they stay on (they come with a strap) and they have great protection. They are also durable, so if, for example, your daughter runs them over with her stroller, multiple times, they won't have so much as a scratch.

Staying hydrated at the beach is also extremely important (duh).  I fill up Sigg bottles for everyone (the kids all have tops to drink from) with ice cold water right before we head out, and the water stays fantastically cold the entire time we're at the beach.  Plus, they come in great designs. And right now, Jane Goodall has some specific designs out that help bring clean water to communities across the globe.  Refreshing, no?

Of course, I keep everything in a giant canvas bag, but I keep telling myself someday soon I will buy one of these eco-friendly beach coolers.

Because the straps look great and because I would love to not fret about what time Max finally ate his turkey sandwich, for fear the four hour mark passed and the mayo turned poisonous. 

My friend Molly has this. 

And I love it. I think it is the best beach towel/toy/treat carrier ever. Plus, it looks lovely too.

Okay, I'll return later today to give specifics about where to find this stuff. But right now, I'm heading to the beach;)

I Can't Really Complain. Well, Yeah I Can, But I'm Not Going To. Plus, This Post Is a Little Violent.

I'm no Pollyanna.  Really.  I know that comes as a complete and utter surprise to those of you who know me, but I've been known to complain.  Only about truly important things like sailboats (as in getting me out on one, although I'm quite delightful once we're under sail and all of the spiders have been knocked into the water and I have a drink in my hand... you would all love me then), or having to make dinner (AGAIN?! I just fed you all last night!), or putting laundry away (yes, that basket on the living room couch is clean.  Still.  And, yes, it has been sitting there since last week), or come March, April, or even May, about not having a vacation home somewhere like the U.S. Virgin Islands.  Because is that so much to ask?

This, however, is what I wake up to every morning:

Lake Michigan.  Vast and awe-inspiring and when the sun hits it just right, around 4 in the afternoon, it shimmers like sequins in the sun.  There's nothing subtile about it.  I've seen water spouts form in front of our house like a long, bony finger appearing from the sky.  And rain come across the lake in transparent curtains of beads.  Ice forms a deceptive tundra complete with ice caves.  Fall leaves jump out from the different blues of lake and sky.  One a reflection of the other.  Both can be intimidating, stunningly alive, forceful, scary.  Or, like today, quiet, like a secret.  

I can't really complain.

And I don't have any reason to ask for a vacation home.  None at all.

Kate and I live in a killer resort area.  Not a resort area for killers, but such a beautiful area of the world that one would kill to live there.  Figuratively, of course.  Also, I'm trying to sound hip.

Earlier today Kate's husband, Justin, took us out in a boat to watch our kids in sailing school and I just thanked the good Lord above that I was lucky enough to live in such a great area. 

On the way home we stopped at our nearby farm market, Pond Hill, to check on the garden we planted on Sunday.

Nothing had changed.  And it's been 3 days!  I'm an impatient gardener.

We drove around the farm, and because I have no flowers at my house (inevitably I kill them... there are a lot of references to killing in this post.  I apologize for the violence.) I took pictures of theirs.

And because we don't have any chickens or cows, I took pictures of them, too.  

We will never have chickens.  We had some when I was growing up.  They smell.  Should I ever mention that I'd like a chicken, please give me a bottle of ammonia to sniff.  The urge will quickly pass.

See that black spot in the above picture?  It's a herd of cows.  Huddled.  

Jimmie claimed the cows were at a funeral.  He reinacted it..."Poor Uncle Joe!  He was too young to die!"  

Anna said they were attending a cow meeting. Cow A: Did you know Mrs. Chicken was going out with Mr. Goose?  Cow B: So odd!  I thought she was racist!

Oh, the fun we could have with cow plays.  But even though my sister is a world-renowned expert in bovine mastitis, we will never have a cow.  I wouldn't even know what to do with one.

Farms are great places to take pictures, like of this thingamajig.

 

or the landscape itself:

If you hear me complain, just hit me.  

The difference a year makes

I'm just wondering if anyone has seen my baby girl?

You know, the itsy, bitsy red-head with the big blue eyes?

Because I can only find this lovely little person running climbing all over the place.

I mean, really?

Good thing she's still so. darn. cute.  Because she's growing up waaaaaayyyyy too fast.

Cats. In Sinks. Because Apparently There Is a Large Sub-Culture Devoted to Just This Topic.

I kid you not.  

We have a cat, Artemis, named after the goddess of the hunt.  I did find a dead chippy out front last week, so she's living up to her name...at least she did last week.  All winter, however, we played host to a family of mice in the studio (not even a thank you!) which I found out this spring as I was sitting at my bead table (it has beads on it, it's not made of beads) making things (out of beads) and a cute little field mouse STARTED CLIMBING UP MY LEG!  At that point it was no longer cute and little, but hairy and rabid.

The cat had not been doing her job.  Probably because she was too busy in the sink:

So, now I am part of the whole cats-in-sinks subculture.  Because, you have to admit, 

cats + sinks = cute.  

If you haven't had enough cats in sinks, you're apparently not alone.  Try googling "cats in sinks" and see the amount of information that comes up.  And pictures.  Like this one:

 from catsinsinks.com .  

I sure am hoping the domain name www.catsineasterbaskets.com isn't taken because I might be starting my own trend soon...

People are weird.

...alison...

 

Ten Shots, One Spot (even though my camera isn't nearly as good as Kate's...not that I'm making any excuses, because I wouldn't do that)

The other day I tried to claim that my pictures aren't as good as Kate's because I just have a rinky-dink camera, not a big, fancy one like Kate's.  One that is new.  And has lenses.  And is an SLR with XYZ, PDQ. Hers is not just a camera, it's an entity unto itself.  It ZOOMS and macros and causes flowers to grow in unnatural hues that pop for the camera.  Plus, it can negotiate Middle East peace talks and find a cure for AIDS, all while making a 9 course meal for 8 people.

Yeah, that's Kate's camera.  Mine barely takes pictures.  That was my excuse, anyway, until our friend Diane, who also has a nice camera with all of the above accoutrements claimed that from what she has read, the camera doesn't matter.  Any camera can take a great picture.

Which can only mean one thing.  The problem is ME.  

So, without further ado, here are my 10 Shots in One Spot.  Don't laugh.

The rule is to pick one spot (I know I just said, "without further ado," but here's a little " further ado" anyway, just to remind anyone who might show up today what the rules are) with the idea that anywhere you are there are at least 10 great pictures surrounding you.  Check out Kate's post after this one to see that for some people, that is probably very true.

I am so sorry.

...alison...

Ten shots, one spot

From the front porch step:

Get. Dirty.

Summer's here!

So please, stop what you are doing and go dig in the dirt...

or splash in the lake (and then dig in the sand)

Whatever you choose to do, let this pile up on sunny days

because in one or two cycles, it becomes this instead, which feels like meditation, not housework.

So go on. Go PLAY.  And if you'd like come back here later and tell us what ways you soak up the great outdoors in the summertime...

Las fajitas. Muy delicioso.

I hate to brag, but I have a minor in el espanol.  You could tell that, couldn't you. 

I can also get a taxi to take my mother-in-law, husband, and me from Mexico, D.F. (that would be Mexico City, to you, unless you're Mexican and thinking to yourself, "That girl has no idea what she's talking about."  Feel free to correct me.) to San Miguel de Allende.  Granted, it took a good hour longer than it should have, but it was a scenic ride filled with danger and intrigue and large trucks barreling toward us going 75 miles per hour.

During the ride the driver and I talked about tuna (because isn't that what you always talk about with your taxi driver?).  Well, I thought we were talking about tuna.  I called it "tuna" instead of "atun."  He nodded politely, but he had to wonder why I was talking about a "group of student minstrels" or a "prickly pear."  

Of course, when I was "studying" in Spain one summer, I did ask if it was possible to rent a nearby mountain.  

That Spanish minor has definitely come in handy.

You'll be relieved to know that today's recipe requires neither atun, tuna, a prickly pear or a group of student minstrels.  Although I hear they are tasty.

Today's recipe requires good old flank steak for FAJITAS!  Que bueno! 

You will need peppers, lots of peppers.  Aren't they pretty?  Slice them into strips.

 

and an onion, sliced.

Slice the flank steak diagonally, across the grain.  There's a lot of slicing, I'm noticing.  Watch your fingers.

Add together the following spices in a Ziploc bag.  I have no affiliation with Ziploc, so it's not imperative that you use a brand name or off-brand or even a bag, for that matter, especially if you are trying to go plastic-free or some such thing.  Somehow mix together the following, enough to coat however much flank steak you have.

Garlic powder, cumin, red pepper, salt, chili powder, and black pepper all showed up for picture day.  They each got a comb and I called them funny names to make them laugh.

 

Or you could always use this:

Coat the flank steak with the spices.

Heat 1 teaspoon of oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add the steak, onion, and bell peppers and cook until the steak is done. 

 

Stir in lime juice.  I didn't have any lime juice so I used lemon and frankly no one noticed any difference.  Or were too polite to say anything.  

On second thought, no one noticed any difference.

Heat the tortillas according to package directions.  Divide the mixture evenly among the warm tortillas and roll up.  Or, if you're like me, over-stuff them until all of the inside goop drips out the bottom and you're left with an empty tortilla in your hand and a "now what?" look on your face.  If this should happen, just grab a fork.  That's what they're for.

Serve with sour cream, salsa, and cilantro sprigs.

The original recipe is as follows and is from an old edition of Cooking Light.   

3/4 pound lean flank steak

2      teaspoons ground cumin

2     teaspoons chili powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon garlic powder

1/8 teaspoon ground red pepper

4     (8-inch) flour tortillas

1     teaspoon vegetable oil

2 cups sliced onion

1/3 cup green pepper strips

1/3  cup red bell pepper strips

1/3 cup yellow bell pepper strips

1 tablespoon lime juice

1/4 cup nonfat sour cream

Commercial green salsa (optional)

Cilantro sprigs (optional)

Trim fat from steak.  Slice steak diagonally across grain into thin strips.  Combine steak and next 6 ingredients (steak through ground red pepper) in a zip-top heavy-duty plastic bag; seal bag, and shake well to coat.

Heat the tortillas according to package directions.

Heat 1 teaspoon oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.  Add steak, onion, and bell peppers; saute 6 minutes or until steak is done.  Remove from heat; stir in lime juice.  Divide mixture evenly among warm tortillas, and roll up.  Serve with sour cream.  Garnish with green salsa and cilantro sprigs, if desired.  

Yield:  4 services (serving size: 1 fajita and 1 tablespoon sour cream).

Calories:  330

Fat:  12.6 g

Fiber: 3.3g

Bon appetit!

Buen provecho!

Once upon a time...

"Tell me a story."

I can't tell you how many times those words get recited over the course of a day.  My children ask me for stories galore and I too, beg for their imaginations to float me away to lands where superheroes like this one, 

known to mere mortals as Super Bomber Kale Man (seriously) are able to protect the weak and weary.

Truly, we are a family that loves to read, to recite (okay, well, I still love to recite. The kids? Not so much), and create tales of all kinds.  It's no wonder that a game geared toward doing just that caught my eye at our local bookstore recently. And while this game does look fantastic, I opted to put our dollars into actual books that day, and instead came home with an idea for a craft...one that I am SO happy we did, and so glad I skipped the purchase and went handmade.  

Introducing, Max's Story Card Game

We started with a piece of paper, folded in four even parts.  In each square, Max gave me an action to write (my favorite was "hugging mama") and he added the illustrations. We completed several other papers with people, places, and things drawn on them. It took us a couple days to do this, more because I wanted to avoid Max burning out than anything else.

Next, we used our handy-dandy laminator (oh, how I love this gadget. You can pick up the same inexpensive but effective laminator I use in our Amazon store), and we laminated the sheets. 

Max was mortified by the smell (which is almost non-existent) but he soldered through.

Once the sheets were laminated, we cut them out and began to play!

To play, we separated the cards into piles (actions, people, places, things) but I think it would be just as fun to draw five random cards...and also a good way to learn what needs to be available to make a story...

So Max's first story was about a boy named Sam who was playing soccer on a UFO in order to win a giant dumbbell. Very interesting, indeed.  

We have played (and played and played) this game since its creation, and have been steadily adding cards to our deck.  We also, of course, had to sew up a little bag to keep the cards.

Tell us, what ways do you tell stories with your kids?

Who Are You? Who Who Who Who?

Sometimes my children do something and I think to myself, "Who are you?"

You in your western wear (that isn't yours) and on that big thing that looks like a horse, acting like you know what you're doing, tightening a girth, running around a barrel:

When did it happen that you know more about something (in this case, horses) than I do?  That in this area I would have to ask you for advice instead of the other way around?  I'm not sure I like this.

And you, Mister Goalie Mon, you know that a ball will be heading for you any moment, right?  Followed by a foot?  A foot wearing cleats?

You might want to move.

And, by the way, where did you learn to do this?  Because it's not something I taught you.  Remember me?  I'm the mom.  

I'm at that place with my kids where I have to learn to let go a little bit.  Separate from them a little bit.  Let them lead the way.  A little bit.

A woman I know used to talk about "honoring" who her kids are.  And although it's the only sane thing she has ever said to me, it makes sense.  I'm not at the "friend" stage with either child, but some day I hope to be.  And now is the time to lay the ground work for that future relationship.  By honoring and admiring and liking who they are.  And they aren't me.  

But there might be a strong family resemblance.

Sugar and Spice and everything nice.

When I had a daughter, after two wonderful boys, I had it in my head that I would so NOT play up the gender roles.  I was not going to go overboard with pigtails.

I was not going to have her wearing pink.

I was not going to make her room frilly in anyway.

Yup. I have been sooo good at those convictions.

Lizzie's room, epecially, happens to be the epitome of girl.  From the "sun butter" color of her walls to the many various shades of pink that can be found there, I went, um, a little overboard at the notion of having a little lady in the house.  

But I can't blame myself.  I can, and will, instead blame this print:

It reads "You are a rare bird." I fell in love with it instantly-- somehow it fit the exact image I hoped to instill in Lizzie about herself-- rare, beautiful, timeless (can I eek highly intelligent and self-sufficient in here too?).

I framed it, and the rest of the room fell into place.  I had my mom paint these:

Lovely, aren't they?

And I mixed some Pottery Barn Kids things

with some old family things like this chair, which once belonged to my aunt and uncle.  I had it recovered, obviously, but I like that we have ties to our family-- family that won't be able to watch Lizzie grow up-- in her room.  It's comforting.

I also found a greeting cards, by the same artist as the bird print, and soon had some inexpensive wall art.  I used some pink scrapbooking paper as a backdrop.  The whole thing, frames included, was less than $20.

I am now a big fan of the shadowbox, too, thanks to a friend who created this one for my little girl.  

But perhaps my favorite part of her room is this, 

a book of wisdom written for my girl to read with me, and eventually on her own, created by the women who will help her navigate her childhood-- her safety net.  

(except for this note,

 by Alison's daughter Anna...which asks Lizzie to ignore this advice,

 given by Alison herself). Ahem.

 

10 shots, one spot

In an effort to train our less-than-professional photographic eyes, each weekend Alison and I will post 10 snapshots all taken while standing/sitting in one spot...The idea being there is a picture waiting to be taken everywhere we turn.

Back porch sitting...

Woof! (There It Is)

 I can tell you how this sweet, cherub-cheeked child o' mine

 

whose first word was dog and who called forget-me-nots "forgot-the-polka-dots" became this

 

my 12-year-old tween whose vocabulary consists of the words "horse," "dog," and "kitty," and who is WEARING MY HAT!  I know.  It could be worse.

 

And I get how this hunka hunka burnin' love (whose mother may or may not have thrown out her back carrying this child) can turn into this:

 

a ten-year-old boy who can tell you who won the Kentucky Derby three years ago, who loves the University of Michigan despite (or because of) the fact that his mother graduated from Michigan State, and who is not allowed in the bathroom with any type of reading material.

What I can't quite figure out is how this demure little puppy with the ginormous paws who could pass for a black lab in a heartbeat

 

became this Great Dane puppy with ginormous paws in 7 months:

 

A puppy who has chewed up her owner's glasses, and shoes, and has an affinity for toilet paper (what is it with the toilet paper?), and who loves the corpse bear she brought with her from the kennel:

 

This puppy who has a really tough time getting comfortable:

 

And who has stolen our couch.

 

We kind of love her.

Where's the beef? Oh! It's right here.

Note: This is not a play. It is a scene from my house, pre-dinner time a few weeks ago.

Husband (coming in the door with soccer-playing son): Hey love! What's for dinner? Something smells good...

Wife: I'm making beef pot roast.

Husband: YES! I knew it was a good idea to invite (a friend's husband) over for dinner (because said friend was out of town).

Wife: What does that have to do with anything?

Husband: Because! We're having meat!

-- 

Sad, but true.  Meat, especially of the red variety, is simply not a menu priority for a girl who was a vegetarian, and palled around with a gaggle of vegans-- vegans who wore shirts with graphics like this:

or this:

 

okay, not really, but they easily could have worn them.  

My husband, who has no doubts about his carnivorous desires, is quite the sport, often going long stretches without seeing anything but plants of some variety on his plate.  For him, having a similarly meat-protein loving male dinner guest over was quite possibly a glimpse of heaven. Okay, I may be having a flare for the dramatics here, but still.  There was a whole lot of happy in my house the night I served this, coming straight out of the wonderful The Art of Simple Food cookbook.  

A simple, and fantastic if I don't say so myself, beef pot roast.

Begin with a 3 pound beef chuck roast.  I'll be honest: I have never purchased a beef chuck roast before making this meal.  I was totally grossed out as it moved along the grocery store conveyer belt in the check out aisle, and even more grossed out when I had to (shiver) handle it before getting it into the dutch oven.

The specks on top of the meat?  Celtic sea salt.  Sprinkle the whole roast with the salt at least a few hours prior to cooking.

I did find chopping the veggies first helped the rhythm of this meal, so go ahead do this before you start cooking:

chop one medium leek (by cutting lengthwise and then chopping)

and one medium red onion

Also clean and chop four or so carrots

and SEPARATE them into two bowls-- one with one chopped carrot, and the other with the remaining three

five stalks of celery, chopped and separated into two bowls (do I have to do capitals again?)  One with 2 stalks, the other with three.

And three cloves of garlic, halved.

Also, peel and halve about six petite yukon gold potatoes. Or just peel half of them and leave the other half skin on, both because it adds some contrast color wise, and because peeling petit potatoes is a pain in the tush.

* I keep peeled potatoes in cold water until I am ready to use them. 

Heat a few tablespoons of olive oil in a heavy pot or dutch oven, and then add that big ol' slab of meat.

Brown on each side for three or four minutes.

Add a tablespoon of butter, and then turn the roast, sprinkling flour on every side

Brown for another three minutes and then add the following:

The chopped onion

The chopped leek

The one chopped carrot

The two chopped celery stalks

and all the garlic.

Also add:

A mess of thyme sprigs

A bit of fresh parsley

and one bay leaf.

Almost looks like a poem, no?

Now pour in 1/2 cup of red wine

And enough water to come almost to the top of the meat.  Bring to a simmer, stirring now and then, and skim the nasty fat stuff off the top. Sorry. I really am not a fan of cooking stuff that you have to skim fat off of. Grosses me out. That said, I swear this is a really, really tasty meal.  

Cover and simmer for 2.5 hours.  If you want to have the most time consuming part behind you, you can do all of the above and then just stick the pot in the fridge overnight if you want. (Just  take out the cooked meat and jump to the straining of the cooking liquid below, and store in separate containers. When you go to warm the cooking liquid the next day, skim out all the fat...the nice thing about doing it this way is that the fat solidifies and you can get it all out with ease), and reheat as you do the next steps.  If you are doing this all in one day, start a salted pot of boiling water in the last half hour of the meat's cook time.

Add the three chopped carrots,

the three chopped celery stalks

and the six potatoes

and cook until very tender.

When the pot roast is cooked, take it out of the liquid and keep it warm while you dump the cooking liquid into a strainer (with another pot underneath to catch it) and press down with the back of a spoon or ladle to get all the juices out of the vegetables-- then discard (compost) them. Return the liquid to the dutch over and bring back to a simmer.

Slice the roast and put it back in the pot.

Add the other cooked veggies.  I also dumped in a can of tomatoes (they aren't in season here, and so I might as well do the canned kind).

 

Bring everything to a simmer and serve hot.

Sending apologies into blank space in honor of your old vegan friends at some later time is optional.  What isn't? Enjoying this super tender, super hearty pot roast, right down to that last bread-sopped bite.

--k

Simple Project: Nature Journal

I'm a big fan of spending time outdoors with the little ones.  We spend a good chunk of our days outside, playing, exploring, and learning (often by accident). We also try, on a daily basis, to take a little nature hike. With 90 acres backing up to our house, we're lucky enough to have this be a pretty easy feat..

Of course, I'm always on the look out for some fun craft project to tie into, well, um, anything and everything.  The nature journal is a big hit around here, and makes for a perfect way to teach both mindfulness and facts about the world around us.  Sometimes we take along field guides and try to draw birds we've identified.

Sometimes we use it to capture the images of natural treasures we've picked up along the way.

Sometimes we just write what comes to mind after playing and walking in the woods.

Either way, we're capturing memories, training ourselves to pay attention to our surroundings, and honing our skills as we draw pictures with colored pencils, crayons, and words.

To make a nature journal of your own:

Take a stack of plain white paper and fold in half. That's too boring to take a picture of, even if in the digital world you don't have the "waste of film" excuse.

Use a hole punch to create your binding. Find a stick that can be snapped to the right height, and tie it to the "journal" with some thread through each hole.

Customize the cover as you wish-- we like to do a postcard-sized watercolor painting, and glue it onto the cover (it adds just a little extra somethin' I think).

All you need now are adventures-- and they can range from nature preserves or beaches to your backyard.

And while most of these walks are a great reconnection to the earth and each other, don't be discouraged if some days are better than others.  Case and point? My daughter has, on one such walk, ingested rabbit poop, which she likely mistook for some forbidden chocolate treat. 

This is a staged shot. Obviously it isn't outside and the rabbit poop is absent. I just wanted to show you the look on her face, because yes, it is the same smile I got after crying out "yuck! poop eater!"

*If you're looking for some fun ideas for getting kids outdoors this month, you can always pop this extra window up on your screen. 

Do You Know the Muffin Man? Well, Apparently He Lives at My House. And He Makes Muffins That Strangely Resemble the Sorting Hat. Yum!

If you have been looking for that perfect muffin recipe that ends up looking like the sorting hat from Harry Potter, look no further (farther?  Whatever.  Just don't look any more.).

Can't you just taste it now?

This recipe originated from the lid of a Stonyfield yogurt container, and I'd like to say you can find that recipe here, but I can't because I couldn't find the recipe here, although you can find a lot of other great looking recipes. 

You will need to mix together the following:

2 cups of flour.  You should use 1 cup all-purpose flour and 1 cup of whole-wheat flour, but I didn't have any whole-wheat flour, not that I have anything against it or anything, it's just that when I buy whole-wheat flour with all the best intentions in the world of using it in anything from bread to muffins to lemonade, it ends up not being used at all, and sits, lonely, in the back of the pantry, having long talks with the ground flaxseed that is jammed in beside it.  I am all for, however, sneaking these better-for-you ingredients into something so yummy you'd never know the difference, and I think you should do as I say, not as I do.  Amen.

1/2 cup of sugar, Sugar:

Measure carefully:

These muffins were only eaten by immediate family members.  Thankfully no one else was exposed to the obvious germs that went into making our strawberry muffins.  We did wash our hands before beginning to cook.  Like that helped.

1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda:

In another bowl mix 2 eggs,

1 cup of yogurt 1/4 cup of butter, melted

and 1 teaspoon vanilla

 

Remember when your mom would tell you not to make that face or it would freeze that way?  She was right.

 

Toss 1 cup of chopped strawberries (fresh or frozen, doesn't matter) into the FLOUR mixture.  Then pour yogurt mixture into flour mixture and stir.  Spoon batter into muffins tins, but first make sure you've sprayed (or greased) said tins.

 Make sure to shake the can before spraying.  Like so:

 

Please do a neater job than I did:

Neatness has never been my strong point, and yes, that is the same muffin pan used for the salmon patties I made, but I promise I washed it thoroughtly and the muffins didn't taste at all like fish.

Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until tops are golden brown and they look like this:

 

It's smiling because it can't wait to be eaten.

Melt-in-your-mouth Strawberry Muffins

ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole-wheat flour

1/2 cup sugar

1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda

2 eggs

1 cup Stonyfield Farm yogurt

1/4 cup butter, melted

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup chopped strawberries, fresh or frozen

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.  In a bowl, mix together flour, sugar and baking soda.  In another bowl, mix eggs, yogurt, butter, and vanilla.  Toss strawberries into the flour mixture.  Then pour yogurt mixture into flour mixture and stir.  Spoon batter into greased muffin tin.  Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until tops are golden brown.  Yields: 12 muffins

Nutrition Facts:  (using Stonyfield Farm lowfat plain yogurt) Calories 150; Calories from fat 45; Total Fat 5g; Carbohydrates 24g; Protein 4g; Fiber 2g

--A