jeans

Oh, my beautiful girls.
Oy.
This week, I bought Sadie a pair of new jeans.
I rarely buy new clothes for the girls. My 13-year-old sister (who never spills anything on anything) passes all of her clothes down to Sadie (who spills everything on everything), and then Rosie gets the dregs. Rosie is okay with it, as long as she has socks she likes. I buy her new socks.
My sister is narrow and willow-y like her father, and so as time goes by, I filter out the jeans and send them to goodwill for children of that tall and willow-y body type. And so, last week, when Sadie pointed out another pair of stretchy cotton pants that were all of the sudden 4 inches too short, I agreed to go in search of some new pants.

I picked up the girls at school and we headed to the outlets. Small planned city with manicured bushes. Really big strollers. Christmas music piping over the sidewalks. Cinnabon.

We were cheery. And with one girl's hand in each of my own, we crossed the street to start our adventure at the Gap. The girls laughed at the early Christmas music, and I thought to myself, this will be easy. In and out. Comfortable and inexpensive pants in hand.

Store 1: Into the dressing room with a pile of every fit and several sizes. And also lots and lots of these things called jeggings. Jean leggings. Jeggings. Rosie explained it to me. And then, one at a time, Sadie tries on each pair. She falls over trying to get the things off. She pulls them up. She struggles with the buttons. She runs around the dressing room and does the mandatory "squat in your jeans" test.

She shakes her head and hands them all back to me, one at a time.
"Mom," she says. "I can't do the skinny jeans. I don't get them, and I can't get them on."
It's either skinny or slim fit. And neither fits. I size up, and then they're huge. She starts to look discouraged.

Jeans are hard! I say. Maybe you're just not a Gap jeans kind of girl. Most people have to try on a million pairs before dining the right one.

Store 2: Again with the skinny jeans! Only these have silly zippers on them, too. They're out of almost every size, and so we try on more jeggings. Sadie shakes her head again. The staples-on paper label on the back pops off, and she bursts into hysterics.
"My butt is too big for these pants! I popped the label off!" Rosie falls on the static-y carpeted floor laughing. Coldplay is playing Christmas music in the dressing room.

Store 3: There are lots of styles and sizes and I am hopeful. There is, however, no dressing room. I ask the woman at the counter where we can try things on, and she says, "try on? why?" We try to go into the back store room, but there are a bunch of guys in baggy pants in there. I grab the nearest skirt, a tulle tutu, and hand it to Sadie. She puts on the tutu, takes off her pants, tries on the jeans. Rosie is again on the floor laughing. Sadie shakes her head. 

Store 4: It is dark, and we are hungry. Sadie is asking why there is Christmas music, and why all the jeans are skinny. I am telling her that some people don't even like wearing jeans at all! That we will find the right ones some day. That all these stores are lame and we don't want their jeans anyway.

I don't want her to hate shopping. I don't want her to hate jeans shopping, or swimsuit shopping, or situations when she has to be under bad lighting in front of a full-length mirror. I just need a pair of decent pants for my beautiful beautiful girl.

In the darkness, the inside of the another store calls to us. "GIRLS DENIM!" I repeat the words, and pull the girls into the store. There is a wall of jeans.  None of them are skinny. They are "bootcut" and "straight" and there are jeans in every size. My arms are filled with little jeans, and we head to the large and empty dressing room.

The first pair fits. Perfectly. She slips on her sneakers and runs the full parameter of the store.
"These are my jeans."

I exhale.

rhubarb clafoutis

Eesh. I have just come off of a kid in the ER morning, and so let's talk rhubarb for a few minutes before I fall into bed for a nap.

All are well (ish, as there is still a fever to contend with), but Sadie was a tiny superstar in there, and I will say here, as I've said before--I feel very fortunate and grateful to have health insurance. I cannot imagine being in a situation where I had to pick and choose medical care for my child because of the prohibitive cost, but I know that there are so many in exactly that predicament. We use our health insurance so little, but when we do, this always strikes me again. Sadie was tested and pricked and poked and imaged today, and not once did I have to say, "Stop! We can't afford that."  Yes, I am lucky, but I know that this system is broken, and for this reason among so many, I feel that health care is a right. No one should have to say no to medical treatment for their children because they can't afford it. I hope that someday we'll be able to figure this out as a nation.

I have also been fortunate not to have to make too many medical decisions for my girls, as they've been pretty healthy.  But when they do happen, there's something about those moments that bring the responsibility of parenthood right to the front, when we realize that there is no one else to make these decisions, and it is our instinct and action in the moment is all we have. Watching Sadie navigate through this morning made me feel so proud of her courage and her strength, but also thankful for the trust that she puts in me and Joey to take care of her. I'm thankful for that trust, but it also scares the shit out me.

These babies come into the world and they trust us--I think they even choose us. It's big and scary but that trust is probably the thing that keeps me trying to be a good person. 

In honor of two new amazing little girls who have come into the world in these past weeks, let's sing the praises of rhubarb. (we had to get to rhubarb sometime, right?)

One, Lola, who has arrived to join her two older brothers who I predict will protect and love her with such fierceness. Any combination of her parents attributes will serve her well, and may she grow stronger and more wonderful every year, like the perennial rhubarb. 

 And Eden, born just a few days ago, a fourth to some of my favorite three out there.  For Eden, let's roast some rhubarb.

 

 It was Ashley who made the suggestion that rhubarb was a feminine vegetable, and it has stuck with me ever since.  Pink and complex, a this vegetable masquerading as a fruit is prolific, endlessly generous, versatile, sexy, perplexing, and filled with vitamin C.

This rhubarb clafoutis was for my sister, Maia's womanly 13th birthday. I remember the stormy morning she came into the world too, eyes open before she was even fully out of my mother's body. She is coming into the time where she is learning to trust herself to make her own decisions, a moment equally big and scary as the one that came 13 years before. And so, for Maia, it was rhubarb, strong and sour sweet in the cape of a French tea snack. If you've never made a clafoutis, it's time, it's time. It's more custard than cake, and the fruit stands with the custard in one bite, holding together a crumb provided by the tiny bit of flour. 

Welcome, sweet girls. You have chosen your parents well, and we'll do our best to support them. The world is a better place with you here. 

 

Rhubarb Clafoutis

from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, River Cottage Every Day (yes! the newest River Cottage book- fantastic)

serves 6 (but I doubled it, and served it in a large springform, which worked great)

1 pound rhubarb

a pinch of cinnamon

grated zest of 1/2 orange and the juice of the whole fruit

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

a pinch of sea salt

3 eggs lightly beaten

1 cup whole milk

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut the rhubarb into 2-inch lengths and put it into a baking pan with the cinnamon, orange juice, and 2 tablespoons sugar. Toss well, and roast for 20 minutes until just starting to caramelize. Let it cool, and drain it in a sieve.

Turn the oven down to 350 degrees. Butter a 10-inch round baking dish or springform. Arrange the rhubarb on the bottom of the dish.

Sift the flour and salt into a bowl and stir in the sugar. Make a well in the center and add the beaten eggs.  Stir the flour into the eggs, and then whisk in the milk a little at a time. 

Pour the batter over the rhubarb and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until the clafoutis is golden and puffed. Serve warm or cold, with whipped cream.

 

Tweet

vanilla pudding, or why mason jars are sometimes cuter than children

A few days ago, a little gift of a picture arrived in my email. The photo was taken at night, with dinner cooking on the stove in the background. On the counter stood 4 perfect little mason jars, filled with tapioca pudding. The sender of the photo had prepared the pudding with her son, and thought I would appreciate the image.
Of course she was right. I have a thing for putting delicious treats in unexpected packaging, and pudding in mason jars? Outstanding combination. Pudding is one of my favorite things, and mason jars are the building blocks of my world. Absolutely perfect.
I set about to recreate the pair immediately. One adjustment was necessary.Tapioca is not tolerated in my house. Although I adore it, it may be the only sweet that is met by groans and "Yuk! Eyes!" at my table. So for us, it would be vanilla. And in the spirit of the original photographer, I'd even make it with the girls.

Now for those of you who have been around here for a little while, you know that cooking with children is not exactly my strength. Yes, I write about cooking, and parenting, but parenting while cooking? Yikes. I know that there are moms out there whose children quietly peel the carrots for the salad every night, but somehow, things are just not that pretty over here.

I have all the right elements. I love to cook, that's first right? I'm at home, so we have time to work together in the kitchen. And most of all, my girls are Montessori kids. Their whole school is based on doing real work (to grossly oversimplify) and they even cook together at school.
So, I guess I must be the problem. I don't know. It just always seems to fall apart.

Take the whole vanilla pudding thing. I'll tell you how it went.

Come back there with me. It's Thursday afternoon. I picked the girls up from school, and when Sadie asked her traditional, "Are we doing anything special today?", I answered, "Vanilla Pudding!"
"Yay!" The girls hollered as they waddled through the parking lot in their snow pants.
So far so good, right?
We got home without incident, hands washed without complaint, and got to the business at hand.
Each girl got the stool she desired, and we were still happy.


Then there was some very attentive scraping of vanilla beans. She didn't get all those precious seeds out, but did I grab it from her to remedy the situation?

Well, maybe. But only at the end, and she was okay with it.

Then there was a great mess of cornstarch.


But that stuff just brushes off! No harm done, and all was well in the kitchen.

But then it came time to stir.

You see that face? That's the mean face. That's the, "why can't you just do it right" face.
Oh, you missed it?
Well, here it is again.

And this face? This is the "I give up- If my big sister says anything else to me I'm going to start rolling around on the floor and fake crying like a baby" face.

Downhill, friends, downhill from here.
And what happens in the mean time? The pudding burns, because the stirring is just not happening. And it gets that burn-y flavor that I secretly like, but my favorite pot might just be dead.
But I am done, done, done. And I have not made dinner yet.

At least I have pudding. In mason jars. Lovely, aren't they?

Vanilla Pudding
adapted from Mark Bittman's blog, Bitten
find the original post here

serves four (but feel free to double it- don't you always want more pudding?)

2 1/2 cups whole milk
1/3 cup sugar
1 vanilla bean
pinch of salt
3 Tablespoons cornstarch

In a medium saucepan, combine 2 cups of the milk with the sugar and salt. Set it over medium low heat. Scrape the seeds out of the vanilla bean- put them in the milk, and add the pod as well. Heat until just barely steaming, stirring occasionally.
In a small bowl or measuring cup, combine the cornstarch with the remaining 1/2 cup of milk. Blend until there are no lumps. Take the vanilla pod out of the pot and discard or save for future use. Increase heat to medium high. Add cornstarch mixture and cook, stirring frequently until the mixture comes barely to a boil. Reduce heat back to low and stir fairly continuously for five to ten minutes, until the mixture thickens to something that looks like pudding. If it is a bit watery it is okay- it will thicken further as it chills. Pour into individual dishes (or jars!) and chill.

creamy wheat berries with honey

This is a loving cup.
My friend Naomi made it. It is a traditional wedding cup, but it seems to me to hold more possibilities.
Today I am testing its power.


Seven or so years ago, I went and had a baby, and that was all fine and good.


Not long after, another joined us, and then I had something altogether different.

I had sisters in my house.
Real loving, hating, wrestling, tongue sticking outing sisters.
I think that as far as sisters go, they are doing okay. But for me, who was toted along through the world by my mother, who was treated as an adult from the beginning, who had my whole mother to myself, who longed with all my only child's heart for a sister, this is all very new.

When my own sister finally came into the world, I was already grown up, and my children would become more like sisters to my sister. Sisterhood remains a mystery to me.


I don't even know how to begin to describe the manner in which Sadie and Rose love each other. They seem to love each other as much as they hate each other, and the two emotions happen at the same time.

What is that?

After two weeks at home together, I give up.
I just don't understand them.

Three months ago, in the effort to diminish the frequency of Sadie's stomachaches, she stopped eating wheat.
Over the course of these months, Rosie has asked over and over,
"Does this have wheat? Can Sadie eat it?"
Although Sadie taunts and yells, and threatens to take her love away, Rosie continues to look out for her.
It is a little bit magical.
But I understand that Sadie's love is worth it. For Rosie, Sadie is the sun. Sometimes I find this heartbreaking, but I know that of all the people in the world, Sadie might be the one who loves Rosie most.

On New Year's Eve, Sadie had her first taste of wheat. The doctor said we could try, and see what happened. So far, she is okay.
So today, in celebration of Sadie's renewed wheat affair, I made creamy wheat berries with honey for breakfast. And in celebration of Sadie's capacity for love, sometimes not quite demonstrated, I gave it to her in the loving cup.

Wheat berries are kernels of the wheat plant, wheat in its most whole form. They are earthy and chewy and nutty, and seemed to be just the thing for a ceremonious reunion with wheat.


Stirred in a pot with milk and cinnamon, dates and honey, this might just be the thing for any morning, ceremonious or not. And if you have sisters in your house too, it will keep them chewing long enough so that you can have just a moment of peace.


Creamy Wheat Berries With Honey
from Lorna Sass, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way
serves 4-6

Note: Lorna Sass has this recipe in her dessert section, and it would certainly work as such. Garnished with whipped cream, you have dessert, but with a bit of cold cream poured on top, I call it breakfast.

1 1/4 cups dried wheat berries
3 cups water
3 cups whole milk
3 tablespoons honey
generous pinch of ground cinnamon
pinch of salt
1/3 cup pitted, chopped dates

Cook the wheat berries:
Soak the wheat berries for 12 hours if you're thinking ahead. If not, all is not lost, but they will take longer to cook. Combine the wheat berries and water. Bring them to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer until tender. This will take about 40 minutes if you soaked them, and more like an hour if you didn't. Drain the wheat berries. If you plan on making this for breakfast, you can also cook the wheat berries the night before and refrigerate until the morning.

In a heavy saucepan, combine the milk and honey and bring to a boil. Stir in the cooked wheat berries, cinnamon, and salt. Return to a boil, then reduce the heat and cook at a gentle boil for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Skim off any skin that forms on top.
Stir in the dates and continue to cook at a gentle boil, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, about 10 minutes.
Serve hot, garnished with cream.

screaming santa

Tonight, like so many parents out there, Joey and I got to some wrapping.
For me, this entails sloppy bunched tissue paper tied with yarn. For Joey, the process looks more like hand painted cards and french graphic novel characters with speech bubbles that contain the names of our children. We're a good team, he and I.

We've had some struggles in our family around the whole Santa thing. When Sadie was smaller, she would ask about Santa, and we would tell the truth, that he was made up (sorry to by busting it up for any of you out there). But when she hit four or five, she informed us that we were wrong and that he was very real. As those of you who have met Sadie know, she is not a girl you want to argue with on matters like this.

Over the last few years, we have tried to find our own rituals in Christmas. We talk about Christmas as a time of giving, and about the light returning with the solstice, and all of those other nice things. And when it comes to Santa, we've come to some sort of explanation, that Santa is the spirit of giving. And different people do Santa's work, and that we can all be part of Santa.

"Whatever Mom," is basically the reaction to that one.

But the girls seem to get it. They talk about Santa as a real person and wonder what he'll bring. Even with these conversations, they know that it is Joey and I who play the role of Santa, and they tell us so.

We've come to some sort of peace on the matter.

At least, the girls have.

Back to the wrapping. Tonight. About 10:30. We're playing music too loud. It's okay- the kids never come out of their room.
But all of a sudden, there are footsteps.
And there is Sadie.
And Joey and I are working at a table that looks like a wrapping paper bomb went off.

And without looking at each other, Joey and I have the same reaction.
We run towards her, screaming at the top of our lungs.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Yeah, I know. Sometimes we're not so bright. But you have to understand- at first we were screaming because we didn't know what else to do. We just needed to get her out of the room. But as we realized the truth, that our daughter had caught us wrapping on Christmas eve, we just kept yelling at the horribleness of it all.

I tried to recover myself. I took her to pee. I tucked her back in to the top bunk.
"Why did I scare you? Why did you scream?" she asks me, already falling back asleep.
"We're doing Santa work," I tell her. "It's secret."
"Okay, Mom."
And she's okay, although Joey is still visibly shaking from the experience. But I know that in twenty years, Sadie's going to be telling her therapist about the Christmas Eve that her parents scared the hell out of her.
Oh, well.

I wish you all a very lovely and childhood trauma free holiday.

of winter, and sadie, and potatoes

Let's hear it for those potatoes. They have grown all sorts of amazing little appendages, yet they retain their exquisite texture, their fresh earth taste. Tonight we cooked the last of the potatoes, and oh the dish that they made. I can't wait to tell you about this one.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today was the first day of winter. And there were wonderful potatoes. But yesterday, the last day of Autumn, that was a really hard day. It was the kind of day that I think if I had more of, the worst part of me might run away. I don't mean that metaphorically- I mean me, gone. At the end of yesterday, when the girls finally went to sleep, all I could do was watch movie trailers on the internet for an hour. I went through the entire Apple Trailers line up. When Joey caught me finishing up with the Hot Tub Time Machine preview, he cut me off. And I went to sleep with the hope that today would be better.

Yesterday, Sadie screamed for the better (or let's call it worse) part of the day. She screamed at me, she screamed at Joey, she screamed at Rosie, and she screamed at herself. She cried and whined and complained. She clung and demanded and needed. And we couldn't figure out what to give her. And we felt exhausted and deflated and not always much like helping her anyway. There have been many days like this lately.

I don't always live up to who I think I should be on these days. My patience fails, I sigh, I shrug her off, I send her to her room. I feel bad.

When Sadie was born she stared at me over a huge regal nose, and I knew I was in for it. She was the most peaceful baby, a master of communication, and her whole self seemed so formed from the very beginning. I think that she has always felt in control. That seems to get her in trouble. As she nears seven, maybe the world is getting bigger for her, and she's holding on the best she can. But she's leaving claw marks in the rest of us as she clings to her control.

Last night, I felt like I couldn't face another day like that. Lucky for us all I didn't have to. Sadie and I decided to make dinner together tonight, a special meal for the solstice. She cried through dinner last night, hating the food and the company, and this seemed like a good alternative. She picked up a new book that friends had sent to me for my birthday, and chose a recipe. I offered pork chops, she agreed and added kale. And today, while the sun set earlier than any other day of the year, she trekked into the icy world to forage for greens.


I felt that we were always on the verge of a meltdown, but as long as we moved slowly and kept taking good breaths, we held it together, she and I.

I don't share the kitchen with the girls as much as I would like to. No matter how hard I try, I am not the mom who kneads bread with her children. Maybe someday. It seems that my girl might have possibly learned a bit of that controlling stuff from her momma. But today, it felt good to share.

We talked about eyes of potatoes, and how they are trying to make new potatoes.

I tried to show Sadie how to peel a potato. She said that she had her own way.

She chose a recipe called "Greek Island Potatoes".


We had our meal by candlelight, and the potatoes were truly phenomenal. I had the thought that this are the kind of potatoes that make you want to open a diner, so that you can be the place that serves those potatoes, and people travel for from all over just so they can order a side of those potatoes. These are amazing potatoes.
And then we read this book.


I've talked about these books before. They are very hard to find, but so worth the search. There are four perfect books in this series, one for each season. And in the hopeful creation of our own family traditions, we read one on the first day of each season, and the girls get it, and they listen to the reverent ways of the fourteen forest mice with utter solemnity. I think that the winter book is my favorite of the four.

The wind howled outside, and we talked about Persephone, and we ate pomegranates to create winter just like she did.

Sometimes being a mother feels too hard. It just does. But it seems like there is a system to it all, that just when it's getting to be too much, there is a day like today, and I can sit, and reset, and take my girls into my lap with a whole heart.


Greek Island Potatoes

adapted from Barbara Kafka, Vegetable Love
(serves 5-6 as a side dish)

3 pounds pounds potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/3-inch slices
3/4 cups olive oil
3 tablespoons paprika
2 tablespoons dried oregano
2 tablespoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Put one oven rack in the bottom position, and one at the top. Preheat the oven to 350. In a large bowl combine the potatoes, olive oil, paprika, oregano, and salt. Stir until the potatoes are thoroughly coated. Place in a single layer on a baking sheet. Cook for thirty minutes on the bottom rack.
Move the pans to the top rack and turn the heat to broil. Cook for 10 minutes, or until the potatoes are crispy but not burned. Shuffle them once or twice during this time.
Remove the potatoes to a platter. Sprinkle with pepper and lemon juice. Let stand for 5 minutes and serve hot.

how to get your kids to eat vegetables

Oh, I've got your attention now, right?

Maybe there are a few of you whose kids will eat everything. Good for you. In fact, I used to be one of you. When Sadie was little, we would tell her that we were having kale for dessert, and she was thrilled.

Maybe it was the birth of my second, pickier child. Was she born with crazy taste buds? Was the breast milk just too delicious? She instantly emerged as a white food only kind of girl. Somehow, it rubbed off on Sadie too. Now my children do not eat vegetables.
Or at least not as many as would ease my parental anxieties.

I get this question a lot. Perhaps I'm giving you the idea over here that I have this one figured out, but I don't. If I did, I imagine I'd be supporting my family and filling the non-existing college funds on my wise food writing. Wouldn't you pay money for that?
However, because I think about food nonstop, I do have a bit that I can share. I'm not a big parenting advice giver on principle, but I have a few things that have helped us over here, and if they can help ease the anxieties of some poor parent out there or get a child to eat a broccoli floret, then we are all better off.

So here we go...

1. Eat good food yourself. I know this might be a no brainer, but I think that it bears repeating. I worked for several years as a homeschooling tutor, and many parents came to me to help their children with Math. Nine times out of ten, they would say to me, in front of their children, "I hate Math. I always have. And I'm no good at it." Once the kids heard their parents say those words, it was very difficult to recover. The same goes for food. If you eat greens with gusto every night for five years, I'd bet you an apple pie that it will make an impression. And it will be good for you, too.


2. Grow vegetables. My kids will eat things that they grew that they will not touch from the store. Rosie has an intense hatred for carrots, but she will pull up and eat an entire bed of them in twenty minutes if allowed. She doesn't even get the dirt off first. Even if you don't have a yard, you can start a little container garden and let your kids graze from it.

3. Let your kids prepare their own food. This one is hard for me (I'm a little, um, controlling in the kitchen), but it really works in my house. The kids will eat anything they make, and they usually want to use as many ingredients as I put in front of them. This is the sure fire way to get the girls to eat salad in my house, even if there might be some odd things in it.


4. Take your kids to the Farmers Market. Let them pick out the vegetables. Maybe you'll get to try something new yourself, and give them credit when you cook it.

5. Sneak in the vegetables. There are many cookbooks devoted to this topic, and I know many parents who swear by this. I once had a pretty good sweet potato cinnamon bun, so there you go.

6. Bribe with Dessert. Controversial, yes. But effective. I save this one for moments when my "my children are going to get rickets" anxiety is at its peak.

7. Don't make something else for dinner for your kids. They will eventually get hungry enough to eat what you've made. If you feel like you are starving your children with this method, send them to the fruit bowl to help themselves.

8. You know those twenty minutes before dinner is ready? When your kids are SO HUNGRY MOM, and you keep saying, "5 minutes. Did you put the napkins on the table?" and they say "I can't, I'm SO HUNGRY MOM." Well, put the veggies on the table then, and let them go to town. I often find that I'm unnecessarily holding to the thought that this will spoil their appetite. I think "spoiling the appetite" is ridiculous if you're talking about good food. If they want to eat three pounds of green beans before dinner because they are SO HUNGRY, that's okay with me. You can put the veggies that you made for dinner out early, or you can just throw them a bowl of carrot sticks. You will be amazed.


9. This is the most important. Should I say that again? THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT.
Relax. RELAX. I'm going to venture into my general thoughts on parenting here... forgive me- like I said, I try to make a habit of not giving advice. But this is what we work on over here.
Your children will be okay. No child died from lack of vegetables, at least not recently. In my experience, the most effective tactic is to put no pressure on the situation, and to keep your wits about you. I'm pretty sure that Rosie went nearly a year without a green vegetable, and a few months ago, we were over at my Mother's house, and she helped herself to an entire plate of kale. There was hardly any left for anyone else, but we let her go for it, quietly. We said nothing. We went about our dinner as she cleaned her plate. Joey couldn't stop kicking me under the table, but hopefully she didn't notice.
The more I relax, the less anxiety I send their way, the better those girls seem to do. They have pretty strong internal compasses, and I have to trust that they will take what they need, even if it is a year's worth of noodles. They will be okay.

I think that's all I've got for now. But if you have more thoughts on this, I'd love it if you'd join in. I could always use more ideas myself, and I'm guessing I'm not alone.

a dinner party for them (updated with difficult words)

So it was an experiment.

This is how it worked. Rosie, Sadie and my sister Maia all got to invite a few friends. I cook dinner. Fancy like the grownups do it. Simple, right?


Thirteen kiddos. Paper instead of tablecloths. Crayons instead of candles, but most of the rest was the same as we do it after they go to sleep.

Except maybe the dinner guests under the table. Lucky one of the sixth graders brought face paint.


The girls choose the menu. Fancy individual baked mac and cheeses. Green Beans. Puff pastry canapes with home-whipped cream cheese and little tiny vegetables. And sparkling pink juice.




I know this all sounds really- well, I don't know, how does it sound? Crazy? Wonderful? You tell me. It sounds great as I'm writing it. And it was, at many moments. Every guest left happy, and that is the sign of a great dinner party, I think.

But who would I be if I couldn't be entirely honest here? It's been a hard week, and although I was so looking forward to putting this one on, I have to admit that in some ways I was very much not up to the task. If it weren't for Marya sticking around after she dropped off her daughter, I don't even think I would have any photos to show you.

And there was something else. Maybe it was all the excitement. Maybe it was the chocolate sauce. But the somehow the day brought out a very difficult challenge for the family. The day was work, and that was good- it's the kind of work that I like. But throughout the work, the girls chose more often than not, oh, how do I say this...

they chose not to be helpful.

In fact, they chose to be specifically unhelpful.

This is not the first time this issue has come up. If I have to be truly honest with myself, I'd say that Joey and I have let the girls down here.

So many times, we've had the conversation that begins with these words: "We all need to work in this family. It's the good thing that we do to make everything run."

And yes, my children are Montessori children. They clean, they cook, they help the younger kids.

At school.

But at home, there seems to be less time. And although they know what is expected of them, more often than not, we do it for them because it is easier and faster that way. But that is unfair.


They are wonderful, competent and creative children. As we know so well, they are empowered by the skills they have in their own environment. We're just not living up to our part of the bargain.

It's so hard to say this, but in moments like these, I think we might be raising children who are (oh, can I get this word out?)
spoiled.

We're not spoiling them by throwing a fancy dinner party for them. We're spoiling them by excluding them from the work involved in creating the party. In cleaning up from the party. In feeling gratitude to their friends for coming, and to their parents for cooking and serving.

We had a big talk. We've had the talk before, but that's okay. The girls really heard us, and I'm working on some changes that will help me live up to my side of all of this too.

I'm realizing in retrospect that I never had my dinner party preparation glass of wine last night. I think that might have been a bad idea.


I'll note that one for next time. Next time? Yeah, they might actually be real grown ups by then.

endearing

The girls are bringing me to tears more than usual lately. Not good tears, either. I actually find myself holding my ears with my hands to block out the demands coming from both sides. It's funny though, in other moments, I'm thinking I've never loved them more.

I can't even hold on to anger for too long because the whole mood changes so quickly, and someone's saying, "Mom, sit there, I'd like to give you a snuggle."
I mean, what's the deal? Can't they be purely unloveable, once in a while? Sometimes they're so horrid, and they whine and beg for movies and sweets (I swear the existence of these two things is nearly impossible to bear sometimes). The get mad, and they hit me and yell and run away. And I think, "how did these monsters come out of my body?" But then they go out for ice cream on a summer night with their friend, and they say, "Mom, this is so good, want a lick?" Sometimes it's nice just to give them exactly what they want. Especially when there's ice cream for me in the deal.

dessert

Okay, get ready for an opinion here- I think I'm finally ready to weigh in on this one...

I think that it's totally fine to use dessert as a bribe.

You still with me here? See, the thing is- I try my hardest to be really low key about food with the girls. I feel in my heart of hearts that they will learn to trust their own bodies- to eat when they're hungry, stop when they're full, and eat food that is pleasing and good to them. I think that these skills will come to them through being left alone when it comes to food and through seeing that I trust that they can make their own decisions. I would never, ever force my kid to eat something that she didn't want to eat.
etc. etc. etc.
It also must be said, however, that I'm not entirely sure how good it is to go three months without eating a vegetable. I don't know if cheese sticks and goldfish are really all one should ever eat, and I really need to get some fiber into that little worried tummy aching girl of mine. So- whenever the inspiration strikes, I jump on it and I make dessert. When there is a dessert waiting in the wings of the kitchen, dinner takes a very different turn. Instead of a meowing child under the table claiming that she isn't hungry, there is a girl eating salad. Instead of a whining girl who spits out her food on her plate, there is a girl who is very enthusiastic about kale.
And it doesn't stop there. Then there are pajamas put on without complaint, there are pees to be had, hands washed. And then, there is dessert. And everyone is happy.
Not bad, I think. Although Alfie Kohn would have my hide.

Today we found a lot of black raspberries in the yard- a joyful huge amount. And we all picked them without eating a single one after I made the promise of a fruit tart.
Here's how it came together:
I used David Lebovitz's fabulous non roll-out tart dough, baked it and let it cool.
Then I threw an 8 oz. block of softened cream cheese into the blender, along with 1/4 cup sour cream, 1/3 cup sugar, and 1 T vanilla extract. That went into the cooled shell, then into the fridge for 30 minutes. Then I arranged the berries and peaches, and topped it with a glaze of about 2 T strawberry jam and 1 tsp kirsch that I had heated up to liquify.
Easy peasy. And an excellent tool for bribery.

adventure

With Joey away this week, I decided to take the girls up to Sarah and Jefferson's in Maine for a few days.

I find that as I get older, I get more comfortable with my fears, and this worries me a bit.

Although I used to fearlessly journey wherever and whenever I had the urge, it seems that more is at stake now, and to pack the girls up in the car and drive far away just seems so hard, at least in my mind.

Home is just easier, but this time I couldn't help myself. I wanted to go for an adventure.

And it was so nice to have a few days away from all the work and responsibility that houses us. Sometimes I have a hard time just slowing down at all so that I can look my kids in they eye and really be with them. Sometimes I need to go away so that I can have the opportunity.

Good thing I have such friends to help me out too. Amazing how many people the girls consider to be in their family.

And it's helpful for me to remember that although I share the work with Joey and I like it that way, I can still do those things that I've stopped doing in these years, like driving in the rain on an unfamiliar highway, or packing and unpacking a car stuffed with sleeping bags and rain boots and bananas all by myself.
What a good weekend. I have lots more to share, and some really good food to tell you about, but I just wanted to check in while I can still hear the sound of the pebbles talking as the waves go out.