Me Ring

As you know, I live with three males. They are wonderful and delightful and rather messy. The oldest one not so much, but the younger two more than make up for him with their, ahem, vitality. James’ floor is covered in books right now, his bed pushed haphazardly away from the wall so he can hide his little-boy-treasures in the crack. His shirts are half-sucked into his shorts from potty trips. More often than not there’s a sprig of hair poking out at an odd angle, and he baptizes the bathroom each time he’s in the tub with his “swimming practice”.

Owen is the messiest human eater I have ever known. I’m pretty sure his total disregard for where his food ends up is why we had a small mouse problem a month ago. Every time we’re traveling together you hear random “clunks” and if you’re lucky, will see one of his shoes flying by in the rearview mirror. The socks follow shortly thereafter. And nothing makes Owen happier than a piece of ice from the freezer, which he sucks on delightedly as he trots around the downstairs, leaving frigid drips to bless sock-footed grownups.

I, on the other hand, crave symmetry and beauty. I smile when my Rubbermaid containers are organized in their cabinet. (And thankful that those containers are squares and not circles, wasting less space.) I smile when I can slice a fresh loaf of bread into 16 equal slices. I smile when the dishwasher fills with the perfect number of plates, bowls, and glasses, with just enough room for a few extra serving spoons and perhaps a sippy cup or two. It’s just so stinkin’ satisfying!

So on the mornings, like this one, when I’m driving to a thing and the boys are in the backseat wearing what they wore yesterday and insisting on listening to “Life Is a Highway” on infinity repeat, things do not feel beautiful. I glance in the rearview mirror (“clunk”) and notice my hair is askew. When did I last wash my hair anyway? The house was left in the hastened clutter of departure and there’s company coming. Insert the enormous SIGH right here.

I look down at the steering wheel and catch a glint off my left hand. I see symmetry and beauty resting upon my ring finger. Without even meaning to a myriad of memories pushes Rascal Flatts to the background…

Wearing my beautiful ring, newly engaged, in Hale Auditorium for the first time, watching it glisten under the stage lights. Wow! I can’t believe I am wearing diamonds!

Seeing the ring for the first time, held out to me by a terrified young man on both knees, awaiting my response to a question. Oh! It’s a ring! It’s not exactly what I described to him, but it’s beautiful! Wait, I have to give him an answer—ahhh! This is real!

Despite my shyness, having to show the ring to everybody on campus, because that’s what you do at a small Christian college. When one person exclaimed, “That’s such a YOU ring! It’s exactly what I would think you would wear!” I thought, “Really? I’m not sure what a Me Ring is, and I’m Me!”

Thankful in the later months of pregnancy to have both my engagement ring and wedding band still fit. Maybe I won’t be too huge after this kid is born…

Knowing how hard my boyfriend worked to buy me diamonds. Remembering the extra late-night shifts in the graduate school library, the skipped meals and the meals-that-weren’t-meals to save his precious pennies. The pounds that disappeared from his frame, which he absolutely needed for his strenuous bike commute and trumpet playing.

Seeing the pride in his face and love in his eyes as he told me that special night, “I knew that I wanted princess-cut diamonds and I knew that I wanted more than one. Because you are royalty and you deserve diamonds.”

Getting all teary-eyed right now…

On days when beauty and balance are far away, all I need to do is glance at my left hand. The trifecta of diamonds (Trifecta means “perfect group of three”—love this!) on a golden circle make me instantly glamorous. The love and sacrifice that they represent is a continual promise of commitment and encouragement. It’s only become more Me as I’ve worn it these past almost-10 years. 

 

Facebook did exist when Roy and I got engaged (hah! I love that I even have to say that.) but I tend to avoid posting cliché pictures: bump photos, engagement pictures, selfies, etc. I’m not shy about sharing the cuteness of my children, but I justify that by reminding myself that I’m doing it for my non-local family. (Because I have 540 out-of-state family members…) ;)

But I’m proud of this ring and I’m proud of all it represents. So here it is blog, a little scratched, a little clouded from scrubbing dishes and little boys’ hair, and positively stunning.

Food and book update

Moms who stay at home with their babies all day probably don't have time to make food that looks this this. But it's exactly the kind of thing they want to do--creativity please!

Vegetable tian. Very French, very rustic, very time-intensive. It was really nice to put something pretty on the table last night.

Again, channeling the "lairs" of Mary Barry. And Donkey from Shrek. Zucchini, yellow squash, red onion, red potatoes, tomato. Dressed with olive oil, S&P, thyme, garlic.

I was looking through my Kindle and realized there was a book I finished a month ago that got skipped somehow in my blog. So, here's the updated list:

Book 55: Rosemary: The Hidden Kennedy. Did you know that JFK had a developmentally challenged sister? Neither did I. And apparently neither did most of the world. Did you know that her father subjected her to a lobotomy in her early 20s, rendering her incapable of most basic functions? Neither did I. Her story is tragic, and while the author tried to shine a positive light on all the Kennedy and Shriver families have done for accommodating and educating individuals with special needs since then, I was boiling over with rage at her father, who went behind his wife's back to carry out the procedure and then institutionalized Rosemary.

Book 56: Water for Elephants. This book came recommended from several friends. As one who finds circuses rather dark and creepy, this book did little to dispel those notions. It was bawdy and literally full of "rolls in the hay."

I've also read several cookbooks recently, but I've decided not to count those in my literary listing for 2016. If anyone happens to be curious to know what I think about them I'll be happy to review them at some point...

Date Night In: Eat with Your Hands

Last night we had a DNI first: the boys were in bed and the lights were OUT by 7:30. Additionally, the food was ready to eat at 7:40. We were done our dinner by 8:15. 8:15 is typically about the time we’re staring hungrily at a hot baking pan saying, “Well, if we let this chicken cool for only ten minutes instead of the recommended thirty we could be eating in…ten minutes. OK, let’s do that.”

Our rhythm in the kitchen has become much more polished in the last year. We almost don’t even need to say anymore who’s taking care of which part. Roy makes the salad, I finish the entrée and make sure the dessert will be cooled/warmed up by the time we are ready for it. We collaborate on drinks and setting the table. Whomever has a spare minute snaps a few photos for posterity. And then we eat.

We started with an ice (“Ahhhhssss! I wan’ ahhhssss!” says Owen on an hourly basis.) cold glass of homemade cream soda. Roy and I aren’t soda drinkers, but there was something much more elegant about making our own vanilla syrup and watching the cream drip through the soda water and ice cubes than popping the top on a can. It was very refreshing, and I appreciated the smaller serving of a sugary drink. Who came up with the brilliant notion that a soda needs to be 12 oz anyway? 6 was plenty for us.

Roy and I stood in front of the greens at Wegmans yesterday morning staring at a tiny oblong orb of white, both wanting to act like we knew what endive was, but both inwardly going, “is that right??” It was the only endive in the store, so we went for it. Have you ever had it? You cut off the bottom root part and it unfolds into perfect, stiff little cups of green. So much easier to hold than lettuce leaves or anybody else’s idea of “nature’s taco shells.” I’ve tried to wrap stuff up in lettuce leaves before…let’s be real guys—it’s just a big mess.

This was not messy once assembled! Each leaf held toasted walnuts, grapes, apples, blue cheese, olive oil, and salt. We splurged for some stinky, specialty blue cheese and it was creamy loveliness. I think we both anticipated not actually “eating with our hands” as the date title implies, but we really did with this, most successfully!

We were excited for the tart. The ricotta cheese came out like a Dairy Queen blizzard…you could hold the spoon upside down and the cheese wasn’t going anywhere. Bravo Roy! I mixed it with parmesan, s&p, garlic, nutmeg, thyme, and parmesan. This went into a perfectly-baked crust and was topped with Roy’s sautéed leeks and bacon. Guys, this was good. It looked…dare I say, better than the cookbook photo? And it was all salty and savory and crispy and creamy. Really really good. If you happen to live on Union Street I may be making another one and bringing it to you tomorrow night for supper.

We both had seconds of the tart. I was really proud of us on this dish, because I knew we nailed it. It was baked perfectly and the textures and tastes were complex. It’s hard to know with fancy cooking if you are actually capturing the essence of what the author intended. We both knew we “got it” last night, and that was a nice feeling indeed.

Maybe one of the reasons last night’s food seemed to go so well was that there was a larger component of baking than usual. I baked the crust for the tart, I baked the actual tart, and I baked the brownies. When I bake I don’t have to re-read the recipe ten times. (Maybe only two or three…) I know what’s coming next faster. I understand the science of mixing ingredients in certain orders and at certain temperatures. It’s more of a dance and less of a “watch and mimic frantically” type of situation.

So we ate the brownies. As you can see, I honored Owen and kept a corner peanut-frosting-free. Poor kid. He would have really enjoyed that frosting.

These were incredibly rich and fudge-like. Browned butter was an excellent idea. The frosting was smooth and--are you allowed to say this for peanut butter frosting—light. It didn’t overpower what was underneath, and it wasn’t gritty or cloying. Our flake salt makes the top a little extra-fancy.

We dumped our dishes into the sink and settled into the couch to watch some John Oliver. As he wrapped up a segment on lead poisoning, Elmo and Rosita from Sesame Street joined him to sing about increased federal funding for lead paint eradication. Roy looked at me and said, “Can you believe we are watching Elmo in the middle of our date night?” Irony at its finest. The comfort of good food lingered on our tongues and in our tummies. The knowledge that we cooked yet another complex meal with strong teamwork and an unspoken trust for each other made it all the better. Happy one year anniversary Date Night In. We’ve got another year to go and we’re happy to have many more chances to fail and succeed together in the kitchen.

September DNI Preparations

It’s our one year anniversary of Date Night In! It’s also my mommy’s birthday today. The boys said they wanted to drive to Pennsylvania this morning to celebrate with you Mom. We can’t really do that, so we will eat delicious food tonight in your honor instead.

Menu

·         Homemade Cream Soda

·         Salad of Apples, Grapes, and Blue Cheese on Endive

·         Bacon and Leek Tart with Ricotta Custard

·         Bittersweet Brownies with Salted Peanut Butter Frosting

Last night Roy and I prepped. I made vanilla syrup, a tart shell, and the brownies. Roy made…are you ready for this…CHEESE.

http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2012/12/cheesemaking-or-how-to-waste-gallon-of.html

Just read it. You need to understand this triumph. When we saw that there was an option of making homemade ricotta for the tart I immediately said, “You’re doing that.” Ashley’s recipes have proven pretty foolproof and I hoped it would assuage the disappointment of four years ago. Also, Roy successfully made crème fraiche last week and we’ve enjoyed it on oatmeal in the mornings. So…baby steps. Crème fraiche to ricotta to…how many more steps can we take before we legit need a cave?

Baking confession time: I’ve never made homemade brownies. I happen to think that Aldi makes the best fudge brownie mix in the world and brownies are my "I didn’t have any time to bake dessert for last-minute company." If you’ve eaten those brownies at my house now you know the honest truth, but you have to be honest too—they’re not bad right?

Unless you have Aunt Martha’s brownies. Then you know what you’re missing…

So here are some homemade brownies tonight. And we’re going to make salted peanut butter frosting for them, which means two things. 1: chocolate and peanut butter=YES. 2: Owen can’t have any unless I save him a frosting-free corner. Hmm. We will definitely have lots of leftovers so maybe I’ll save him a space. He’ll want to eat these brownies. “Moe Mommy! Moe moe! I wan’ moe!”

The salad seems pretty simple for an Ashley salad. If we had done this DNI first we probably would have considered it elegant and complicated, but we’ve learned a good deal in the last year about food. This one looks positively rustic in comparison. But I will always, always take blue cheese and walnuts in a salad.

It’s shaping up to be a relatively quiet day. We hope to run to Weggies to pick up a few last-minute items, lay low at home, and take James to gymnastics this afternoon if he’s feeling OK. (He threw up twice last night but so far seems recovered this morning.)

Cheese-making update and full summary tomorrow friends. Happy, happy Tuesday!

Book 53/50: The Reach of a Chef. I had read Michael Ruhlman’s first two books on cheffing last year and stalled on this one first go-around. This time I finished and enjoyed it thoroughly. Bucket list: to eat at the French Laundry and a Bouchon Bakery.

Book 54/50: Love Warrior. A new book by Glennon Doyle Melton. As you know, I read her first book earlier this year and it had a profound impact on me. Love Warrior is a memoir about her marriage. I give this woman credit for being brutally honest and for seeking tirelessly to figure out who she is. (She comes from a long history of eating disorders, alcoholism, and drug abuse, so getting under all of that is truly a lifelong struggle.) That being said, this book annoyed me. Maybe I’ll write an entire post on it at some point, but I found it self-centered and reckless. I hurt for her husband, who by no means is spotless in the story, but who has no say in the book and is exploited in his wife’s raw writing. And her innocent children have virtually no voice at all. Anyway…maybe more to come on this one. Right now I need space.

On a quiet Tuesday

I sat in the passenger seat of our van on a quiet, sunny Tuesday afternoon. Tuesdays were lesson days and I, as a homeschooler, was studying privately with professors at a local college. My brothers were in the backseat, ready for me to be dropped off so they could go to the library with Mom and use their Arbys coupons for roast beef sandwiches. (5 for $5!) It was already lunchtime, so I would be lucky if they saved one for me.

We drove up the familiar winding road, past the academic buildings on campus as Mom slowed at the music building. I opened my door and hadn’t even fully stepped out before my flute teacher came hurrying outside.

“What are you doing here??” she said.

Mom replied, “Well…it’s Tuesday. Is the college on a break I didn’t know about?”

I’ll never forget her deadly serious, quiet response: “No, I mean what are you doing here? Don’t you know? I can’t believe you haven’t heard. America is under attack.”

In retrospect, it had been an extraordinarily quiet Tuesday morning. My mom often had her little black and white, kitchen counter TV tuned into the Today Show or an early morning talk show. And we almost always had talk radio on in the car on the way to the college. I don’t know why those things didn’t occur on the morning of September 11, 2001, but Dr. Linda Kirkpatrick, in addition to being an influential teacher, will forever be burned onto my memory for being the one on that day.

“Haven’t you heard from your husband? The Pentagon was attacked and all of the local schools are closing. He should be on his way home now. You need to go home and be together as a family.”

Of course he was. With my father working in northern Maryland, he was teaching kids whose parents worked for the government and for Dulles and BWI. All of the sudden, whatever hazy ideas I had was formulating about my country being attacked sharpened—this was impacting my father. This was real.

After a hasty farewell and exit, my mom turned on the radio. I tell Roy library fines were practically a sin growing up, and I have no greater evidence than the fact that we then drove, on 9/11, to the library to drop books off before going home. The radio newscasters filled us in on the horrors of the morning.

I remember sitting in the car as Mom took the books inside. As the horrible details emerged--likely thousands of lives lost, enormous buildings destroyed, and not even knowing if the attacks were over--I crouched down on the floor in front of my passenger seat.

“What’s wrong?” one of my younger brothers asked.

“There’s going to be a war,” was all I could manage to say. I didn’t know everything, I didn’t know much of anything, but I knew this was significant in a way I hadn’t experienced.

And so it was. There was a prayer vigil that night at church, another first. There were thousands of additional flags that were hung in windows and on poles in my town. I don’t remember a whole lot of the aftermath, but my journal entries indicate a sense of wide-eyed, taking it all in-ness. I was 16 years old.

Today

Today was just me and Roy. Today was sleeping in and meandering lazily downstairs, making coffee and sipping it in silence, enjoying smoothies without fending off greedy little boys (albeit cute ones).

Today was a 4 mile run along the Erie Canal in perfect, 68 degree weather. It was about running all the way to the world’s biggest Wegmans, wandering aimlessly through the aisles, sampling fine, free cheese and examining kitchen gadgetry.

Today was a 4 mile run back along the Erie Canal in perfect, 69 degree weather, ending at the Village Bakery.

Today was a frangipane pastry, a Caroline breakfast sandwich, and a toast-tasting outdoors in the 70 degree shade.

Today was cold brew coffee from Starbucks and driving back in peaceful silence, content with all that had been accomplished.

Tonight was picking up the boys from their grandparents' house and promptly being thrown up on.

#backtoreality