indie rock reunion on the back deck

Amelia, thanks for the afternoon cooking story. I am also wondering: ever do vegetarian, Meagan-style meals in your slow cooker? You may remember when I bought a slow cooker, years ago in Lancaster, in a fit of desire for all things cozy and warm and nurturing. I don't regret the purchase one iota, but I have a hard time adapting it to our beans-and-grains based diet. Seems better suited to pulled pork.

And now onto today.

I was reminded - yet again - that anytime I have a goal in mind for a kid activity that has to do with a product (vs process) I run into trouble. I had a vision of papier mache maracas, much like one I made as a child at summer camp. So during Gabriel's nap Frances and I filled old plastic easter eggs with chick peas and lentils, taped them onto sticks, and slathered them with sticky strips of newspaper, now drying out on the kitchen table.


The thing is, what Frances really wanted to do was squeeze the paste through her fingers, pretend to eat it, smell it, fling it around, and use it as a prop in one of her imaginative kooky scenarios. I should have just made the gooey flour and water mixture and let her go wild. There would have been a lot less friction along the absurd lines of:

M: Are you going to dip in some newspaper? Do you want to do this or not?
F: YES, Mama, yes but let's pretend we're washing our hands in the paste some more!
M: Keep it IN THE BOWL, Frances. IN THE BOWL. Please don't fling it on my shirt.
F: Mmm, have a bite Mama!
M: DON'T EAT THAT.

etc.

Eventually I heard myself sounding so humorless - downright ridiculous actually - and backed off. So she had a good time, lost in sensory world. (Includes smell: I used some cinnamon in the paste, per an online suggestion, which she loved, and when we were all finished around 2 pm she asked for a bowl of oatmeal with 'alotalotalotalot of cinnamon please' and polished the whole thing off). And eventually we made the maracas, because she actually did want to make them. I was just being weird and pushy and I really really wanted a cool maraca. For me.

There was an added sensory element to our crafting, and I think it helped me back off and give the girl some creative space. Milena loaned us a bunch of fantastic kid music/storytelling CDs, including an album by Elizabeth Mitchell. I didn't recognize the name. Frances and I took it outside to listen to while we worked. Unusual, sweet covers and folk songs and little ditties, all sung with simplicity and even, dare I say, kindness. Her voice was strangely familiar. I liked it immediately and found myself singing along and even near tears until finally I had to check online and see who this person was.

And here we finally come to the title of this post. Elizabeth Mitchell is also a member of the band Ida. Edith, does this ring a bell? I listened to Ida in college. I liked them so much, I asked them to headline a Rock for Choice concert I organized at Swarthmore in 1996. And they agreed! I felt utterly triumphant printing out the little posters advertising the show...then 3 or 4 days beforehand, one of the band members' grandmothers died and they had to cancel. I spoke with Elizabeth and she was sincere and apologetic, and she quickly sent many many CDs for us to sell, to raise a little extra money for the cause.

I went home the day before the show to be with my family. My dad was dying of cancer and had deteriorated rapidly that week. In fact, he died Friday morning, and the Rock for Choice show was that night. Needless to say, I missed it, and forgot about it in the middle of my world falling apart. I may be making this up, but I am almost positive Elizabeth somehow found out about my dad and sent me a note a couple of weeks later. This was truly meaningful to me at the time.

I haven't thought about her or Ida since, until today. Thirteen years later, listening to her sing a sweet song about birds flying through her window, accompanied by a small child (her daughter?), sitting on my back deck in the yellow autumn light with this frustrating and extraordinary four year old girl who perhaps came from outer space to come live with us. Our hands covered in goo. Do you feel me?

Cook early (and often)

Late afternoon is a stressful time at our house.  I guess it's been that way for a while, but Agatha (age 1) is now in that awful transition period from two naps to one, and so she is pretty loud and cranky by 4 pm or so.  She needs a lot of attention, which makes it very difficult to be chopping onions or something.  Plus, she goes to sleep at 6, and Henry at 7, which means we eat EARLY, at 5 or so-- this is possible for our family since Michael and I share one job and live walking-distance from work (for those of you who don't know us).  Anyway, it sometimes seems like no matter how early dinner is ready, it's not early enough.  (Michael is as bad as the kids, getting hungry and grouchy.)

Every few months I rediscover the crock pot as a solution to this problem, and I fall in love with it for a while, but soon everything starts tasting the same.  But readers!  I had a new and successful attempt to solve this today.  I made a casserole during Aggie's nap and put it in a slow oven (about 300) around 1:30.  Then I did a few things while she napped, went to pick up Henry at school at 2:30, drove out to get our car out of the shop-- you get the picture-- we finally all returned home at 5 pm and voila! there was dinner, warm and fragrant!  I took a baguette out of the freezer and made a salad.  Very nice indeed.

Here's today's casserole, although I think I will try any old combination of things that I happen to have around in future attempts:  two eggplants, three red bell peppers, three cloves of garlic, two scallions, half a can of crushed tomatoes, and a small chunk of crumbled feta.  Slice, layer, salt the eggplant and sprinkle some oregano in there.  Cover and bake for 3 and half hours or so at 300.  It's dinner!

How did you learn to play pretend laundry, Mama?

The kid clothesline was totally fun. The clothespins are beyond Gabriel, but when we set down a big pot full of water to wash the little bits of rags and washcloths, he got very busy and did a lot of serious washing, pouring, and stirring with a t-ball bat. Dame Washalot (thank you Edith & Enid Blyton) went laundry wild and could only be coaxed out of the game with leftover dense - actually bricklike - oatmeal applesauce cake slathered in butter. Turns out buttered bricks are not so bad.

And since this *is* a blog for bread-baking types, I had to include this picture of Gabriel's first kneading effort this morning. He beat the bread dough mercilessly.

I think it was overly ambitious to let him do some stirring. Maybe 17 months is a bit young for that sort of thing...let's just say the mess was considerable. In the future, he can take a turn kneading, but Mama does the rest.
(I do have this theory that bread dough that has been pounded and whacked by a kid for 20 minutes or so - after some initial grown-up style kneading - has excellent texture. Someday I'll have to ask Cook's Illustrated or some other kitchen scientist to confirm.)

Pirate Birthday Party

http://rauser-clappers.blogspot.com/2009/09/pirate-birthday-party.html

At Meagan's request, here's the link to the photos of Henry's party.

Am I really posting on a blog right now? Moi?

One of the many things I value in Amelia is her can-do attitude. Thank you, crafty mama friend, for giving me a nudge!

So. We are here to talk about what happened today, what we hope will happen tomorrow, and what we wish hadn't happened yesterday. My hope is that this can be a source of inspiration and humor for all those mamas out there who happen to be dear friends of mine. Or who might be dear friends, if only we lived close by...those friends of friends we all hear about and would like to know. I think what we have in common is the desire to live lives that are authentic and good - virtuous and beautiful! We think about what that means. We would like to give it to our children. And we get that that desire is expressed in tiny mundane moments.

I find meeting other mothers at preschool or the playground and chatting about everyday kid things can be downright alienating. Parenting involves such intimacies. I don't know these women, and in many cases we probably wouldn't share much more than a lane on the highway if we didn't both have children. There is something strange about hearing these strangers' potty-training tales or how they got their picky three year old to eat asparagus. Sure, sometimes those chats are fun and even helpful, but often I leave feeling judged, or judging, or defensive, or weary, or worst still: lonely.

I do *not* feel those things when I talk about parenting with my dear friends. I take pleasure in your kid stories! I share the joy of a triumphant birthday party, I empathize when your baby is sick, and I laugh like a crazy lady at something that would just be depressing if not for the chance to share it with a friend and turn it into an absurd and funny story. Finally, I get inspiration and a sense of solidarity from my friends who are also mothers. This job is not easy! I could use some good colleagues right now, and I cannot imagine better people to work with.

So even if we are far flung and living in completely different sorts of places, let's pretend we live in the same neighborhood, and you can tell us about those moments of divine family happiness and harmony that you authored (however fleeting) and we promise not to feel irritated or jealous or depressed, but rather to applaud you! To congratulate you! And perhaps to take some inspiration for our own everyday lives.

And so I will begin:

Today I plan to construct a kid-sized clothesline next to the big umbrella clothesline in the backyard. Whenever I hang up laundry the kids seem drawn to the whole event - Frances hanging around watching me and chatting, Gabriel whacking at the central pole with a big stick and reaching into the basket for any stray underwear he can fling around. So rather than save this task for naptime, I resolved to find a way to do the laundry together. I'll let you know how it goes.

My latest dinner-making-time occupation for the children is also worth sharing...I bought an enormous roll of brown butcher paper online. When I am at the stove and feel Gabriel's little paws hanging onto my legs and hear "uh uh uh! up up up!" I know it is time to roll it out across the kitchen floor, making a soothing brown river, an inviting expanse of open road. I put colored pencils and crayons out and tape the edges down and both children are so immediately absorbed and happy. I HIGHLY recommend this!

Okay, now you.

Greetings, Hippie Moms of the New Millenium

This blog is Meagan's idea.  What are we here to talk about, Meagan?