Cluck and Tweet

She Eats Noodle Shells by the Lake Shore

What a mess.  This doesn't even look remotely appetizing.  I'm sorry.  I want to apologize to Linda in Wagoner, especially.  You can check out the comments on this post to find out why.  And then we will all hug and we'll all feel better.

Any hoo, this is a recipe for stuffed shells.  It's tasty.  A lot like lasagna stuffed in a shell, but somehow that makes it seem a bit fancier.

I'm nothing if not fancy.

Step one:  buy some shells

It seems obvious, but you can't believe how many people forget this step and then instead of stuffed shells for dinner, they end up with just the stuff part.  It's not pretty.

And don't just buy any old shells, they must be the JUMBO shells.  Because we don't mess around.

Mix together all of these cheeses.  I like to use the whole package of mozzarella, a whole carton of cottage cheese (or ricotta works well), and quite a bit of parmesan.  We like our cheese.  We live close to Wisconsin, so maybe that's why.

Add an egg.  Or two egg whites, if you're health-conscious.  However, if you are terribly health-conscious, maybe you shouldn't be eating all that cheese.

I'm just sayin'.

Add some salt and parsley and basil.  Mix all together, now.  Then do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around.

Then stuff those cooked shells.  Oh?  I forgot to tell you to cook those shells?  

Ooops.  

Well, it's not too late.  Unless you've already stuffed them, which, in case you haven't noticed, is quite hard to do when they're not already cooked.

Not that anything like that has ever happened to me.

Top with spaghetti sauce, more parmesan cheese, and pop into the oven at, say, 350 degrees for maybe 30 minutes or until the cheese is all melty and bubbly.

Toss a salad, throw it on a plate, which is what I apparently did.  LIterally.  And you're set.  Another dinner for the record books.

  

And then tomorrow comes and you have to do it all over again.

Money, Schmoney

I really, really started to hate the word ECONOMY sometime around mid-March.  It made me feel all first-trimester kind-of sick every time someone even mentioned it.  But recently,I've begun to look at that word-- and what it means to our family-- in a different light. A values re-clarification sort of light.  And you know what? It seems to be helping.  Part of my re-framing this summer has been to make an effort to get back to the basics-- to use the beauty of our surroundings and the plenty of activities to be found nearby as a way to fill our days with richness....all for free (except Noah and sailing. that one's about bank-breaking, but that's okay). 

Anyway, I'm thinking that I'm going to kick off a week of what to do for free with your family kind of stuff, and will choose things that hopefully you can find within a half-hour or hour radius of your own home too.   

1) Visit a local farm.  Check http://www.pickyourown.org for a listing of farms with a U-Pick feature around the country.  We spend at least an hour each week at our local farm of choice, Pond Hill, where we have a CSA share and a community garden plot (which, um, we didn't actually plant this year. But still).

Visiting a farm not only connects you to local growers, it gives you a sense of peace; a deeper understanding of time and nature and how things happen just when they are supposed too, like the birth of these sweet piglets:

 (be warned, however: if you are still nursing, this image 

will register very quickly in your toddler's mind, and will leave her scrambling up your shirt saying "Num! Num!"

You can visit the vegetables, if there is a market-- even better, because this time of year berries and colors are exploding all over the place and might just entice little hands to pop some new good-for-you-foods into little mouths!  

At Pond Hill, there are tons of other things to see, from the livestock

to the tire swing (talk about joy from a day gone-by...)

 

And if you are really lucky, you might catch kids as cute as these two smooching up a storm near the piglets. Or not, but these pictures just kill me, so they are going in anyway.

This Is Where I Tell You I'm Tired. And I Have a New Shop on Etsy.

Today, and only today, will I make you pretend you care about my etsy shop.  I promise.  All the other days I will only make you pretend you care about my children. Let me just say, however, that the darn etsy shop was a lot more work than you might think.  Thus me being tired.  And forgetting to call my brother and tell him happy birthday (Happy Birthday, Phil!).  

Also, all of my beady goings-on can be followed on my other blog:  Glass Ali

In the meantime, here's a glimpse into my shop:

Free earrings with every purchase until I say otherwise (because I'm the boss of this shop). I'd love to hear what you think. About my shop. About etsy. About my wonderful children. Or dog. Or Kate. Yeah, that's it. Tell me what you think about Kate. She'll never know.

Gone to the Birds

We've had so much rain lately that you'd think on the one sunny day we had last week, we would have hit the beach with lightening speed.  You'd think.

But we didn't.  We continued our homebound activities as if the sky was still wringing out wet towels on top of our heads.  We continued our streak of made-up crafting-- most of which did not produce anything worth photographing (shhh-- don't tell them I said that)-- with this one project that I'm actually pretty fond of:

We made a bird bath, using a pot that had been hiding under a net of cobwebs next to our compost bin, and a clay pot tray that was chipped three summers ago and cast aside because I just *knew* we could use it someday.

To make our makeshift birdbath, we spent some time decorating the clay pot and tray with acrylic paints (at least we did this outside in the sunshine).

Once the kids felt satisfied with their designs,

We just let it dry, filled the tray with water, and set it in our garden for the birds to enjoy. Except so far, I've only been able to capture Lizzie enjoying it.  Ah, well.  

This is still an easy project and could make a cute gift. For a taller bath, just add more upside down pots.

Just One Of Those Days...

You know the one.  The day that you get stuck in the laundry basket and can't get out and your mom won't help you until she finds the camera and takes a bad picture.

Yeah, it's one of those days.

My children will so need some good therapy.

...alison...

I Heart The Library... Which Is Just A Really Geeky Thing To Admit.

This is a picture of our library.  

Go through the left-hand door, up some stairs, turn right, up some more stairs, and turn left through the old wooden doors and you've found the Harbor Springs Public Library.  Or is it private?  I'm not sure, but it's small and quaint and crammed full of books and the librarian scares me.  Which is what librarians are supposed to do, right?

In fact I would have some pictures of the inside of the library, but the last time we were there, Jimmie got yelled at for sliding his feet across the carpeting in an effort to build up static electricity to shock his sister.  He handled the admonishment quite well; I was embarrassed beyond belief.  

Also, we have a couple of books overdue.

It has a cozy seating area that kind of looks like this:

but imagine more eclectic seating, windows that look out onto Main Street and books, lots and lots of books. And the smell of fudge, because there's a fudge shop right below the library.

I don't know about you, but fudge and books really might be heaven.

When I go back to my home town, from time-to-time we'll stop at the library.  It's a beautiful facility, not at all the library I remember downtown, next to the fire station.  The one where I knew exactly where to find all the Edgar Eager books.  The one where you wrote your name on the inside cover right next to where the librarian stamped the due date.  When I go to the new library I can still find my name in the old books.  It's a kind of magic all to itself.

I love exploring libraries and realizing all of the information and stories and thoughts that are out there to be explored.  Last visit to the local library we scored this book:

Anna and I are working on one the projects from this book and will be posting it soon, I promise.  It involves sponges.

Checking out books involves giving the librarian your name.  She hand-stamps the books and you're good to go.  I love that.

There's been talk about a new library.  One with computers and lots of books and access to much more than this library has to offer.  I'd like to say that I would prefer the old over the new, but that probably wouldn't be true.  I'll like a new library.  I love technology.  Any place filled with books is my kind of place.  But I won't give up the old, either.  

I think there's always room for both.

...alison...

I'll Be Right Back...

So, in order to write this next post, I have to run downtown to take a picture and then pick up/drop off a girl at the barn (any barn.  We're not particular.  I am particular about the girl, however.  I must pick up and drop off the same girl, preferably this one:

If you see her, she's mine.)

In the meantime, instead of twiddling your thumbs, waiting for my death-defying, fingernail-chewing, tear-jerking post on our local library (that's right...our library, because I'm so not afraid of tackling controversial topics), check out

 Kate's blog, The Blankie Chronicles, because if you haven't been reading it, you're missing out

and my new blog, Glass Ali, which is just like the bowling alley but with better shoes.

I'll be right back.

Rain, by way of Etsy

It is raining today. Again.  

And what do we do when it is raining (AGAIN)? We read. We find reasons not to do laundry. We snack and we play board games. And when the kids are entertaining themselves, I sneak on Etsy, because it is so fun to type in random words and see what fun goodies pop up.  Today, I typed in "rain."

Just look at what came up.  Seeing the rain-- in some ways obvious, in others, not so much-- through artists eyes makes me somehow appreciate the thunder outside my window just a little bit more.

There were 365 pages of "rain" inspired handmade goods on Etsy.  365 ways to see water, to see storms and sounds and the soft, quiet rainbows that follow.

What ways does rain inspire you?

Knick Knack Paddy Whack Give a Dog a Bone

These are a few of my favorite things in their (mostly) natural habitats.  Unless the light was really, really bad and I had to move them to take a better picture.

The plate above was a trade at an art show.  Some of you might not know the gritty underbelly of art shows, the mystery, the intrigue, the trading that goes on behind the scenes.  I've really only done a couple of shows, but at one I traded some jewelry for this plate of fused glass and a scarf.

Where is that scarf, anyway?

Go ahead.  Ask me where I got this guy.  Oaxaca.  Yep, that's right.  Wa-Ha-Ka.  I just like saying that.  And actually, it was made in Oaxaca, but we picked it up in San Miguel de Allende, an old colonial town full of American expats.  I'm pretty sure it's a boy, but I didn't really check because look at those teeth!

This was Sam's father's cocktail shaker and jigger.  His parents had a great sense of modern style.  The guy from Monsters vs. Aliens was not theirs, but this kind of juxtaposition just makes me smile, so I'm leaving the evil villain there.  

These are blown glass, fully functional wine glasses made by a local artist, Lynn Dinning, who also happens to be one amazing ski instructor.  Jimmie dusted the shelves the other day as his daily chore (which is working quite well, by the way), and I'm noticing that his spacing is a little off.  I find it quite charming.

Of course some of my most favorite knick knacks are the ones made by my children.  Jimmie came back from camp last week with this in his bag.  He was supposed to have some sort of invincible guy on him, the story goes, but then Jimmie accidentally smushed him into this guy's back.  So much for invincibility.

Anna made this in the 4th grade.  It's a totem and is such a reflection of who she is.

This bowl was a wedding present from a neighbor who later became an expat in San Miguel de Allende and whom we were visiting when we bought the coyote made in Oaxaca.  She was generous to a fault and was one of those people who had such a tough life but always believed the best in everyone.  We miss Paige, but love having this little reminder of her.

I know these are all "things," and the older I get the more I ascribe by the sign hanging over Kate's sink that says, "The Most Important Things In Life Aren't Things."  I also find that clutter makes me uneasy and unsettled.  But some of my things are memories, pieces of people, places, the past, and I would miss them.  

Plus, they're much easier to maintain than this giant knick knack

(I had to wake her for this photo)

...alison...

To become a more mindful mama, I wash. I dry. I repeat.

I know, I know, some feminists will shudder when I say that right now, this

is one of the holiest places on earth to me. A place where my actions are defined, a place where my breathing is slow and purposeful. A place that embodies what I love about my life, my work, my purpose.

I am reading an amazing book right now, An Altar in the World, by Barbara Brown Taylor.  In it, I'm remembering, or awakening to, the very real possibilities to see divine in the everyday world.  This is not a post on finding God, or on faith, or even on my need to have a spiritual life guiding my world. 

Instead, it is going to simply be this: a post on washing my family's dishes.

When I take time to focus all of my attention on washing the dishes, I notice things.  I am aware of the warmth of the water on my skin.  I can smell the sweet basil fragrance of the dish soap. I can taste the last bites of waffle and strong morning coffee. I can give thanks with my breath for the fact that I am able to experience these senses.

When I take time to put the dishes away-- without making the next to-do list in my head or dancing around to the radio or shouting at the kids to "hurry up and get ready" (for something, always something), I can pause and smile at the red ring of crayon that never comes out of my white mixing bowl, unsure if it was Max or Lizzie who put it there. I can trace that circle and feel my love for my children exploding inside me.  

When I take time to dry the silverware, or wipe the last bits of water off the counter, I can soak in the music of small voices, the laughter and arguments and growing abilities to make-up all by themselves.  I can give myself a few minutes to recharge.

I'm not a person who comes by a zen-like nature naturally.  I'm the first to jump on the self-deprecating bandwagon on this front.  Yet, there is something about washes dishes, something beautiful and simple, that makes me understand that I have that peace inside me.  I only have to make room for it to surface. 

Save Money! Impress Your Friends! Cure Cancer! Be a Better Dancer!

 

Okay, none of what I said in the title of this post is true.  Except for the save money part.  And the dancing.  You will definitely be rich and a good dancer if you read this post.  

I heart this Izze stuff.  It's juicy and fizzy and I love both those things a lot, juice and fizz, so this is a drink I sometimes crave.  And my 12-year-old, Anna, might just have a very unhealthy addiction to the stuff as well, but man, you should see her dance.

I just found out that, even though the closest Target is an hour-and-a-half away, I can order it from Amazon.com for $23, AND if I add $2 more to my order (because there are many, many items on amazon.com that are $2, I just haven't found them yet) I am eligible for super-saver shipping.

It's all good, people.

But even better is this little tidbit that you all probably have known about for years.

You can make your own fizzy juice drink that I like to call

JIZZY!

Except that I just realized that in no way, shape, or form will that fly.  I'm too down with my bad self not to know what some people would associate with a name like that (I won't name names, Justin, but you know who you are).  "Fuice" won't work because, although it's spelled differently, it's pretty much the trademark of this guy:

Chip Foose, who I am sure is nice and all, but he doesn't scream, "Yummy, fizzy fruit drink!" to me.  But what do I know?

I'll have to get back to you with a name.

As I've revealed, I love the Izze.  But I don't love the price.  So, Anna and I concocted our own version using two easy-to-find ingredients:

 + 

at least I think they're easy to find since we don't live anywhere near any booming metropolis and I can find them.  (Also, just in case you were wondering, yes, that's athletic tape on my kitchen counter and I have no idea why it's there, and no, that's not beer, but honey in the background.  Honest.)

I chose a nectar, rather than a juice, since I thought a juice might be too watered down.  I think some sort of juice concentrate (cherry, for example) would work really well.  And then any type of sparkling water.  Faygo is cheap and really fizzy.

We mixed half and half and then realized that we like more fizz.  Less nectar, more fizzy water. 

Ta Da!

It's really good, too!

It does have to be mixed a glass at a time, but Anna brought some with her to the barn and it held up just fine in a water bottle.

The clincher is the price.  Our juice was almost $5 and the water was 85 cents and it makes 68.6 fluid ounces of yummy, fizzy drink, the equivalent of 8 cans of Izze and about 75 cents a serving.  In comparison, each can of Izze, at the best price I could find, was 96 cents.

We're of the every-penny-counts variety.

Do you have your own recipe for sparkling juice?  Do you have any name suggestions, puhleese?  I'd love to hear it all.

Clean out your fridge day!

This is the point in the season when actually making it to the grocery store becomes a household joke.  Apart from our weekly CSA share, we do a lot of foraging of the fridge when it comes to dinner.  Because hanging out here is way more fun that meal planning.

In any case, popcorn apparently is not considered a food group and my family actually seems a bit miffed if at least, um, once a week, they aren't eating real food.  Totally messing with my summer mojo, I tell ya.

I tell myself there must be plenty of mama's out there that are feeling the same way. Boycotting the grocery store and hitting up local farmers markets or digging out the millionth leafy green from their CSA share and then digging into the fridge to use up whatever looks like it is about to explode or get all drippy and black and mushy.  Or maybe that's just me.

Ahem.

All the same, this Gobble Gobble is simple an attempt to encourage you to open your fridge and pantry and make a meal out of what you've got, so that you can spend the day doing much, much more important things (like hitting the beach, or reading on the front porch, or playing outside with the kids).

If you happen to have these ingredients handy, great. If not, make up something pasta-rific of your own.  Oh, and the photos? Yeah. I am in full summer mode, which means I was rushing to get dinner ready because it was getting late and I forgot to take ingredient shots that were pre-cooked. So you are getting the post-cooked (and sometimes already in the compost bin) shots. Sorry 'bout that.

Everything but the kitchen sink pasta.

I have kale coming out my ears these days, so I started there.  Oh, and this is the only shot I managed to get of raw food.

Cut whatever amount you have into rough chunks and saute in a big pan.  I add about 1/3 cup water to the pan, along with some olive oil and minced garlic.  Then I cover it for about 5 minutes so it steams too.  

Remove the cooked kale from the pan and set aside. Now add some other stuff.  I had a bunch of baby portabellas that had reached definite iffy status, so I added a little butter the pan and tossed them into the pan.  

I had grape tomatoes, so I threw them in after about three minutes. 

I cut a bit of fresh basil from my garden and dropped that in, along with a little cumin. Just because I felt like it.

Meanwhile, I was cooking some thin whole wheat spaghetti we had in the cupboard. I forgot to mention that part. Oh, I also forgot to mention that this is a great time to clean out browning guacamole. Snack away while you whip up your meal.

Once the mushrooms were done, I tossed a little less than a half of a cup of white wine that was opened, ah, two weeks prior, into the pan.

and then I added a wee bit more butter.

And squeezed the juice of one lemon into the pan.

Threw in a pinch of celtic sea salt.

and tossed in the pasta.

Meanwhile, I discovered some leftover grilled lemon chicken in the fridge, counted back the days from its cooking to make sure it was still edible, and cut that up to put on top.  With the last of a parmesan cheese chunk grated over the pasta, I presented it to my famished crowd. 

They were happy, and my fridge was a bit cleaner, and I got to do the dance/shuffle/hop cooking party with Lizzie hanging on my back, which truly is a whole lot of fun (and please ignore the clock in the background. I swear I wasn't feeding my family at ten minutes till midnight. We just haven't gotten new batteries, because, you know, we're so busy).

  

Life is good.

Taylor Swift Is A Good Thing

When Kate and I began Clucking and Tweeting we made a list of things that we wanted to include on our blog: 

Parenting issues or anything to do with raising kids (or parents) will eventually find their way to breeding grounds

Travel tips along with reviews of places we have been and places we'd like to go can be found on fly the coop 

Crafts for the whole family are found on the page we have inexplicably named bob (because we couldn't come up with any other bird-related name)

 

Recipes are coming out our tail feathers on gobble-gobble 

Design ideas (because who doesn't love that?) are waiting for you in the nest

And family-friendly videos and/or pictures or places around the internet that are okay for you and your kids to watch are on what a hoot.

So, when it's time to post, usually we think of what hasn't been updated in awhile.  Today, it's very apparent what a hoot has been sorely neglected, so let me just remedy that.  

Let me preface this by saying I'm not really a fan of country music.  Oh, I know the chorus of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys," and I might just have the LP of Willy Nelson's Blue Christmas and know all the words to that song.   It's possible that I've have hummed the tune to "Oh, Lord, It's Hard To Be Humble," and that I have Sugarland on my iPod, but by-and-large I'm a hip-hoppin', alt-lovin', MTV watchin', letter "g" droppin' homegirl who has anything from Vampire Weekend to Spoon to G Love to Jack Johnson to the Rolling Stones to Rhianna on my iPod.  Along with Sugarland.  

But when Brandie posted this video on the Motherhood, I laughed.  And laughed.  And then showed my kids and laughed some more.  When you have a 12-year-old daughter, Taylor Swift is a good thing.

More CMT Shows   More CMT Videos

Have a seat, thanks to Sus

I am so very pleased to present the fine words and design wisdom of Sus.  And when you are done oogling her blissful seat selections, stop by her blog, Wiggle Rooms.  It is good, good stuff.

I spend a lot of time thinking about chairs.  You probably spend a lot of time thinking about important things, like your carbon footprint or Darfur, or books you can read to your daughter to counterbalance the princess movement, or what in the world to make for dinner with the bag of zucchini, tomatos, raspberries and turnips you bought this week at the farmers' market.  (After all, one has to convince one's husband that living up to the bar Barbara Kingsolver set in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle is not just green but tasty and economical, too.)

Sometimes I think about those things, too.  Honest.  

But I also, often, think about chairs.  

Sometimes I am paid to think about chairs, and those times, I am very Happy.

Here is a secret.  If you love chairs, try Ebay.  You can get things like this 

that are knock-offs of knock-offs.  Shhhh.  

You can't even tell the difference, can you?  These are, Scout's honor, two of the most comfortable and beautiful chairs you will ever sit in or on.  Even the knock-offs.  And incidentally, the womb chair, aptly enough, is the ultimate nursing chair.    

Realistically, where I live, in a small if hip town in southern Indiana, chair-searching is a far cry from the high end residential design I did in Chicago back in the day.  (You know the day: the one where I wore business casual and rode the L to a loft office in River North.  Sigh.)  

Now, I mostly find chairs for clients from my local favorite, Elements, or Crate and Barrel, which is always a good bet and has great fabric, or Room and Board.  But I keep ripping pages out of magazines.  

And taping pictures up by my desk.

(Oh, Kate, that chair would be gorgeous in Lizzie's room.)

[insert picture: eames-rar-rocker]

And I'm pretty sure my carbon footprint would decrease drastically if I could just sit around all day in one of these beauties.  

My real life, grown up pen pal. That still loves to color, I might add.

I was supposed to post yesterday.

But I have a really, really good excuse for why I didn't post. Ready?

Because I was meeting-- as in, really meeting-- this wonderful, intelligent, articulate and lovely person:

Oh wait. Sorry. Max was the photographer, so there are several grass shots before one with actual people.

Ah, much better.

This is Sus.  Sus and I "met" in the blogosphere what seems like forever, but was maybe a year, ago. We have so much in common that meeting in person felt more like catching up with an old friend-- right down to the unfinished thoughts that kept coming out as we switched subjects to pack in the most conversations possible.

With Lizzie and Max in tow, we met in a little lakeside town on the coast of Lake Michigan.  Throughout lunch my children wiggled and squirmed, or just played with the playdough and crayons my friend was kind enough to bring along for them.  And like any other long time friend with small children, Sus just rolled with it, helped where she could, and graciously ignored the fact that still-- 17 months after giving birth to my daughter-- can barely eek out a sentence without the brain spasms that induce words like "like" and "um."

So there you have it.  I couldn't post yesterday because I was driving and lunching and laughing and talking with my friend.  Who is not crazy or really a 50 year-old man or any of those other possibilities that people draw up in their minds when they here the words "we met on the Internet."

A friend, by the way, who is a fabulous writer and designer and mama who just so happens to be delivering a guest post right here on Cluck and Tweet on Monday.... 

Stools

Back before I taught middle school and high school I was very mature.  Now, not so much.  Now I'm at the point where I think naming a post, "Stools," is just downright, laugh-out-loud funny.  Because, of course, I'm not talking about THAT kind of stools, but KITCHEN stools.  

Here are mine (the kitchen kind, not the other):

They are from our rustic phase.  Maybe we were still in full-on ranch mode, but our lives were not going to be complete without these stools in them.  They were not cheap, we thought we had to have them, and now we've had them for a good eight to ten years.  They have fallen over and gouged divots in the pine wood floor.  One chirps like a bird when sat on in a certain way and its impression is so good that I have actually looked around expecting to see some sort of feathered creature in the house. 

   

I honestly don't care if you even look at the stools in the above pictures, but will you PLEASE check out how clean my counters look?  And do it quickly!  

They won't stay that way.

Although I am stuck happy with the stools we have, you, my friend, have options.  And what cool and interesting options there are out there:

Meet George Jetson!

I would probably get tired of this stool, (if you haven't noticed, it's a little green)  but not until I had dropped my tush into that cushy seat a few thousand times.  Doesn't this look comfy?  And green?

This stool, for some reason, reminds me of this painting by Picasso:

No?  Anyone see a resemblance?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

I love this modern stool.  I think it's the exact opposite of what we have now.  

I like you.  I really do.  So please believe me when I tell you in no uncertain terms, "NO."  There is nowhere in the known universe where it is okay to have this stool in your home.  I'm telling you this for your own good.  Even though this stool also reminds me of this:

 

Anyone with me here?  Anyone?  Anyone?

Kind of Asian, simple, like the pi sign.  I like it.  The stool, not the pi sign.  Not that I have anything against pi.  Except that it goes on for infinity, which I find slightly annoying.

Hell, no!  Ha.  I kill myself.

No comment.  Really.

Very cool.  Especially if you've fallen off the stool and are looking at it from the ground.  Which could happen, people.  And this stool can apparently function as a table as well.  Good to know.

I love how this stool looks, especially up against the counter in this picture.  This is made of genuine hair hide.  They are $1050.  Each.  What is hair hide?  It sounds like maybe I don't want to know.

We will sit on this stool (well, we'll each have our own stool, we won't both sit on one) when you come visit me at my Spanish hacienda.  Because this stool is, in my opinion, very hacienda-y. 

Can you find anything offensive to say about these stools?  It would be like saying something bad about your grandma.  Or Barbara Bush.

Same with this stool.  If you needed to buy a stool for someone, this might be it.  Because how many times have you been in that predicament, you know, where you need to buy someone a stool but don't want to foist your own design opinion on someone else?  This would be the stool that would not offend.  

So there you have it.  Stools for every taste and occasion.  A little art lesson.  A little movie reference.  Political intrigue.  Potty talk.  Math.  Oblique comments about old cartoons that leave you humming the theme song in your head for the rest of the day.

Your day is complete.  Glad I could help.

...alison...

Book Worms

So it hasn't exactly been summer around here lately.  I'm not complaining, really, because the not-summer action that has left us donning wool socks and fleece during the day and dragging out the winter duvet at night, has also given me plenty to giggle about with the little ones.

Max, for example, has made his fall boots a wardrobe staple, even when he braves the elements in shorts.

We've also made quite a game out of flying Bla, Lizzie's favorite doll.

And of course, I've been taking a lot of pictures of myself. Because that soooo passes the time.

Ahem.

While we would maybe, possibly, sort-of SO prefer to be out soaking up sunshine and temperatures above 50, we have been taking advantage of the time inside by curling up with a lot of books.  Summer reading, to me, is meant to be fun (for the most part) and just in case you are having weather like ours, I thought I'd give you a peek into what is filling our lazy couch (and porch, bundled in rain coats and blankets) days.  

Me:

Okay, notice how I did the whole disclaimer about summer reading being FUN? Notice how I did not say "good" before books?  This is the whole reason why:

I'll just come out and say it: if you need to pass the time with mindless reading that involves the kind of romance that you'd never really want your daughter reading but you are happy to get lost in yourself-- look no further.  I swear folks, it takes a lot for me-- the person with a creative writing degree, the person who has studied literature and written countless papers about the craft-- to admit that I actually devoured the entire series in four or five days.  But I did. The writing is not good. The story, well, I guess the fact that I read it in less than a week says something.

Okay, we need to move on, before I start waxing poetic about Bella and Edward. I mean, seriously??

The Outcast

I just finished this the other night. It's a heartbreaker in a lot of ways, but it was a good story with pretty good, solid, and simple writing.   I like summer books that I can read quickly and still get lost inside, and this was one of those reads.

Buddhism for Mothers of Young Children

While I am not a Buddhist, I have studied Buddhist psychology rather extensively, and find so many principles of this religion appealing.  This book is more about applying the Buddhist principals of presence to mothering, and it is so full of little gems that this is actually the third time I've read it. 

Oliver Kitteridge

I'm reading this now and like it so far. It has this interesting mess of characters-- including people you love to hate, which normally turns me off-- but the New England town and its cast of true Eastern folks has me.  It won the pulitzer this year, and I can tell you right now, it is a lot easier to digest than last year's winner, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.  

I'm also going to attempt to read some Tolstoy this summer. 

Because I always feel like trying to revisit a classic after indulging in, um, vampire smut.

Oh, and with the kids?

Max and Lizzie and I are lost in the world of Beatrix Potter, for the thousandth time.

And Noah? He's re-read the Percy Jackson series at least twice, and is now re-reading all of Harry Potter. Please, someone suggest something else for us! 

I Have Been Hit by a Truck, Plus... $50 Radishes!

Most of you will be glad to learn that I have not, technically or literally, been hit by a truck. No, I was hit by the 4th of July.  

The recovery period might be the same.

I'm not a big holiday person.  I don't like having a day where everything is scheduled and I have to be somewhere at some time and people have expectations and they sometimes are disappointed.  I don't like those days.  

To me the best days are usually surprises.  Something happens that you didn't expect and you remember it forever.

I love surprises.  But not surprise parties.  

Remember that, now.

So the picture above is not of the 4th of July because the only picture I have of that day is this:

Can't you just feel the excitement?

The picture that's at the top of this post represents a good day.  We were at our local farm market, a place that usually is the antithesis of 4th of July in downtown Harbor Springs.  In addition to the little garden we've planted, Pond Hill also has a trout pond, and for 25 cents one can buy little nuggets of fish food:

to throw to the fish:

Which, in their teeming masses, kind of do represent Harbor Springs on the 4th of July:

It's still rather calming:

Even though I know that some kind of vicious circle-of-life thing is going on underneath it all, it's always thrilling to track down what you think is a gaggle of geese and find this, instead, making all the racket:

He has a way with the ladies.  And I prefer him to firecrackers at 1 in the morning.

Yesterday, as we passed the farm, which we inevitably do twelve times a day on the way back from school/barn/town/doctor/coffee, we pulled in to actually find a mass of humanity parked all the way down to the road.  Apparently 15 baby pigs (okay, piglets) had been born.  

We never saw them.  Remember my aversion to crowds.  Plus, how much larger can they get in a few days?

Instead, we checked our garden plot and came away with these:

Amazing, little dollops of red radishes that Anna grew from seed.  SEED, I tell you!  Okay, we all know that's how it works, but really, to plant a seed in the ground and see it turn into something you can eat, it's pretty miraculous.  And I don't really even like radishes that much.  

So far it's all we've harvested from our $50 garden plot.  Therefore, 5 radishes at $50 = $10 a radish.  

They were delicious.

...alison...

Earning Freedom...to blast the heck out of each other

Let me begin by admitting that I am a peace-loving, tree-hugging, homespun granola mom.  I'm the kind of mom who swore she would never, ever, ever let a "violent" toy of any kind anywhere near her house. In fact, I probably preached it to every other mother who let their child run around with cap guns or G.I. Joes. And those mom's will probably call me laughing and saying "na na na" if they read this post. Or, more accurately, if they see this photo:

or this one:

um,or this one:

Sometimes, the ideals we dream up don't always match reality. Like when a certain first born turned four and everything in the house-- from cooked pasta noodles to his toothbrush-- became a gun or a bazooka or a laser blaster, even though he'd never had any exposure to such things.  Slowly, slowly, Noah (and Justin) wore me down. We got squirt guns. And then, after a trip to Florida in which we found a closet full of Justin's old green army guys in his grandmother's condo, I caved on those too.

And now? Now, we have had to institute a "kill only on Tuesdays" rule with Max, because his favorite game in the universe is to seek and destroy the lives of little plastic green (and red and blue) men.

I will admit to having a pretty serious complex about all this.  I will admit that I have spent many a day fretting about the mini wars that are taking place in my sandbox, or the galactic light saber battles occurring in the field behind our house.  I also am aware that in many ways, this has been one of the biggest lessons in mothering for me.  I am learning to be a little more fluid in my parenting. I am learning to be a lot less judging and a lot more accepting. Because I have a couple of those boys who still-- despite the squirt guns and green army guys-- turns every stick he finds into a gun (Noah, of course, needs to add historically appropriate marching to whatever weapon he's using).

Yes, it often puts me into a tailspin of "does nothing I say sink in?" or "how can we talk about peace and have this be the reaction?" But then, I remember these things:  The way both boys are so gentle and kind and patient with their sister.

The way Noah is a dedicated friend, who would never hurt anyone's feelings on purpose. 

In fact, he's the kid that would rather carry an ant outside than actually squash it.  And Justin and I basically committed vole genocide this spring, thanks to seven dead lilac trees which resulted in a call to a pest management firm. Hmmm.

The way Max prays for peace and joy for all kids in this world (by his own volition) each night.

The way they use their imagination to make up these universes they get lost in, even if it isn't exactly the way I would envision their play. 

Because after all, it is their play...I am just here to keep reading the books of love and compassion, keep talking about the importance of using words and not fists, and keep giving them hugs. Because in the end, I think those things might just be sinking in after all.

In the Pink (and Green)

We live in a resort community.  

No, I don't think you quite understand.  

Think LIlly Pulitzer.  Pants with golf bags on them.  Nannies.  Private planes.  Gates.

That finger of land you see above jutting into Little Traverse Bay is Harbor Point, an historic and exclusive resort area that is gated and private and can't be entered by any mere mortal.  I'm kidding of course.  It is gated and private and after a certain time in the summer you can't access the cottages unless by foot or horse-drawn carriage, but it is also magical and provides employment for many locals. Most Pointers are old-money humble and unassuming, the kind of people you don't mind having millions of dollars because they do good things with it. 

On the other side of town, the bookend to Harbor Point, is Wequetonsing, another old resort filled to the brim with houses like this:

Oops!  I mean cottages like this.  

A friend of mind describes Harbor Springs as a movie set of a small town:

She might have a point.

Kate and I are local riffraff.  But that doesn't mean we don't get sucked into the resort air, swirled around in eddies of Pucci and Jack Rogers sandals:

 

These won't take the place of my Keens, but really, who doesn't love this sandal?

So it should come as no surprise that my recent muse has been pink.  And green.  Because it just doesn't get more resorty or preppy than these two colors.

    

Any and all of these items can be found at Three Pines Studio in Cross Village.  Just a little, blatant self-promotion.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Etsy has this fun, fantastic search feature where you can look for items based on color.  It's fun.  It's fantastic.  And in this preppy mood of mine it turned up these wonderful finds:

Which, strangely, is making me crave watermelon.  

I love these two colors both apart and together.  

But don't hold that against me.

...alison...

 

Spare me, asparagus

Alison wrote a really good post yesterday. And its a good thing too, because me? I've got a whole lot of nothin' today.  Well, nothing, combined with asparagus and mushrooms.

We still have fresh local asparagus available here, so I am always on the hunt for new ways to prepare it (we grill it a lot, and there is always the steamed-with-hollandaise version).  I love this recipe from Moosewood. We ate it for our main dish, but if you need some meat in your stomach, it would work as a side dish too.

Pasta with Asparagus/Mushroom Sauce.

You'll need:

Slice a pound of fresh asparagus in two-inch spears.

2 tbs. butter 

1 1/2 cups minced onion

1 tsp salt

1 lb mushrooms, sliced

1/2 tsp tarragon

black pepper, to taste

1 1/2 cups dry white wine

1 cup of water

1-2 tablespoons of flour (more for thicker sauce)

6-8 cloves garlic, minced

1/2- 3/4 pound pasta of your choosing

Oh, and this is why I have no pictures to illustrate the above ingredients:

yes, this unattractive picture depicts a Lizzie strapped to my back, feeding me asparagus spears. Because it was the only way I was cooking without the music of a screaming toddler.

ahem.

Steam the asparagus until just tender.  Transfer to a colander over a sink and refresh under cold running water. Drain well and set aside. 

Melt the butter in a large skillet.

add the onion and salt and saute for about three minutes.  Add the mushrooms, the tarragon and the pepper.  Cover and cook over medium heat for around 15 minutes, stirring on occasion.

Add the wine and water, and sprinkle in the flour. Lower the heat, cook at a simmer for 8-10 minutes, stirring a bunch.  Add the garlic and cook about five minutes more. Set aside.

Cook pasta

Stir the steamed asparagus into the sauce and toss the drained pasta with a little olive oil.  Serve with fresh parmesan.

The thrifted vintage plates are optional, but still, they make me swoon.

oh, and ps-- that crunchy green stuff in the back of the plate is a bunch of kale chips.  We've had a lot of green in our CSA bags this summer. Can you tell?