Top Ten Ways To Know You're Really A Mom

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Bless her heart: she was really a Mom, and glad about it, too.

Mama Kat asked me to write a post telling how I knew I was really  a Mom.

I thought of several incidents - isolated stories that I could tell,  where I knew, for sure, that I was really and truly somebody's mom, but none taken by itself seemed to encapsulate the whole enchilada, if you know what I mean.

How do you know you're REALLY a mom?

 I decided to generate my own list of the

Top Ten Ways to Know You're Really A Mom.

(Some, you may relate to. Some, not so much. But these are some of the ways that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was somebody's mama.)

10. When my heart melted at my very first glimpse of them, there, in the delivery room, and they turned their very sober eyes to find the voice they'd been listening to for the last nine months.

9. When I looked at my haggard post-partum reflection in the mirror a day or two after I got home from the hospital, after having given birth to my first child, and realized that I would never, ever, truly again have a single night of sleep where I wasn't responsible/concerned in regard to the health and well-being of another human being. Oy. Happy moment? Not so much.

8. When the knowledge that one of the kids was even a teeny bit sick. made me sick at heart.

7. When tears sprang to my eyes, and my heart felt like it would blow up, from just watching their sweet, innocent faces, slumbering peacefully in their crib. Really, is there any other thing as poignant and pure as a freshly bathed, sweet smelling, sleeping babe?

.

6. When the things that brought them joy became my delight, even if previously, I never once thought about the excellence of plastic toy guns, or, a few years later, the praiseworthiness of indie rock.

5. When the waiting-on-tiptoes-anticipation of their first word, began to turn into "Why did I EVER teach him/her to talk?". (Same concept also applies to mobility: "Why did I EVER teach him/her to walk?")

4. When I realized that I would gladly take any problem of theirs and make it my own, instead.

3. When I figured out that taking their problems and making them my own was no longer in their best interests, and when I figured out that the best and hardest thing for me to do was to allow them to suffer the pain of the consequences of their own choices. (If you haven't hit this hurdle yet: don't worry. It's coming. You'll get there. :-) )

2. When kisses and hugs really became the Christmas gift that I valued and desired the most: and that ain't just whistlin' Dixie.

1. When I realized that the successful, desired outcome of being a good mom is to have completely worked myself OUT of a job. Job Security??? I think NOT! 

WHAT WAS I THINKING SIGNING UP FOR THIS GIG IN THE FIRST PLACE???

How did you know YOU were really a Mom?

This post was prompted by a writing prompt that I picked up over at Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. You can read lots more great posts that are far better than this one over at her blog.

Thanks, Mama Kat, for helping me remember what an idiot I am. ;-D

(And how I'd make the same, stupid choice all over again if given the chance.)

All is Calm, All is Bright....Or IS IT???

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A few years ago, my husband's dear aunt was downsizing, and she decided to give some of her treasures to us, since we had more room in our home than she would have in the apartment into which she was moving. So she gave us her lovely little porcelain Christmas village. Near that time, my girlfriend gave me an adorable set of snowmen that she picked up somewhere as a gift for me. 

It seemed only right that when we took the snowmen out of their box, that they would enjoy moving into our aunt's little Bavarian Christmas village.

An idyllic little moment in Christmas village.

See the neighborhood children (to the left), jumping rope in the snow? They LIKE the happy snowmen.

Yes, indeed. All is calm...all is bright....

OR IS IT???


Depends on whether or not my daughter has been having any of her little conversations with the snowmen again.

(cue Psycho music)

Buildings destroyed.

 Church windows menacingly peered into.

IS NOTHING SACRED???

Trees are toppled as sleigh-pulling horses flee in terror, and innocent passengers are whisked off to their doom.

Those little children who used to jump rope?
Now they lie upturned and trampled in the snow, eyes staring vacantly into the cold winter night.

All is calm...all is bright???


I think not. 


Sleep in heavenly peace....if you can.

P. S. If you liked this terrible tale of terror, share it on Facebook or Stumble it! There are some tools to help you do that, just below.

P.P.S. This post was selected by Hilary of The Smitten Image as Post of the Week. She pronounced it both "Good and Funny". Thanks for the love, Hilary!

 

Caramel Cake: Heaven on a Plate

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Caramel Cake: Heaven on a Plate

In the words of my dear friend Martha, who happens to be an Episcopal priest, "Could a mere mortal make such a thing?"


In the words of Barak Obama:

Image from here.

 "Yes! You Can!"

You CAN make a Caramel Cake, that is, indeed, YOU can make Heaven on a Plate.

Will it be easy? Well..., it's not rocket science, but it will take a bit of time.

Is it doable for the average cook? Without doubt.

My Mama used to make a yellow cake with caramel frosting almost every Saturday night, to be served after Sunday afternoon lunch, after the roast chicken, or roast beef (and mashed potatoes, and corn and peas or green beans). I had no idea that I was receiving riches. I thought it was what was NORMAL: what everybody's Mama did.

I guess we all grow up thinking that we grow up with is what's normal.

But one of the bigger mistakes I made was never asking my Mom to teach me how to make it.

And I've been through a bunch of recipes, searching for the RIGHT recipe to duplicate the greatness that my Mama made on a weekly basis.

None of my siblings are going to be happy with me if they read this, but, I'm a daredevil: I think I have come up with a couple of recipes that SURPASS my Mama's recipes.

~GASP~

SACRILEGE!!!

But it's true.

The cake recipe comes from Cooks Illustrated, and the icing recipe comes from The Southern Living Cookbook.

I can show you a picture from my last two efforts. They both suffer from the Goldilocks syndrome: with the former effort, I let the icing get TOO HARD.  I stirred it a little too long before I spread it. But it was still delicious.

This week, on my second more recent effort, I spread the icing when it was TOO SOFT. I didn't beat it long enough. But it was even more delicious.

I think if I had followed the stirring directions more precisely, it would have been JUST RIGHT, but I was a little gun shy from the first effort, so I engaged in  PREMATURE FROSTING.

If you've ever done that, you know how embarrassing that can be.:-D

Don't let it get to you. Practice makes perfect, and the joy is in the journey, if you know what I mean.

And honest to gosh, it was the best stinkin' caramel cake I have ever had. Ever! My Mama would have even agreed. I know she was beaming down on me from heaven, doing a little: "That's my girl" nudge-nudge to one of the angels.

Without further ado, here are the recipes:

First, from Cooks Illustrated, is their recipe for Fluffy Yellow Cake. My only complaint is that I personally find the taste of cake flour to have a teeny tiny aftertaste that my taste buds pick up on, that I'm not wild about. However, overall, the flavor of the cake was excellent, and the moistness and texture were sublime. I would make this yellow cake recipe over and over. It will now be my standard for yellow cake recipes. No need to search for a better one. (And I've tried many, searching for the perfect yellow cake NOT from a box.)

Fluffy Yellow Cake

All ingredients (the butter, the buttermilk, and the eggs) should be brought to room temperature.


I also start out by making my own buttermilk, because I never buy buttermilk. Add 1 T. of white vinegar to 1 c. milk, and in 5 minutes time, the milk will have soured, and you will have buttermilk.

When you grease, flour and line the two cake pans, the recipe advises you to use parchment paper . My Mom used circles that she had me cut from brown paper grocery bags to line her cake pans, and why not? It saves money on buying parchment paper.

Ingredients:

2 1/2 c. cake flour, (plus extra for dusting pans)
1 1/4 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
3/4 t. table salt
1 3/4 c. sugar
10 T. butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 c. buttermilk
3 T. vegetable oil
2 t. vanilla extract
6 large egg yolks, room temperature
3 large egg whites, room temperature

Instructions:

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350º. Grease 2 9" cake pans. Dust pans with flour, and knock out excess.  Line bottoms with parchment paper. 
2. Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and 1 1/2 c. sugar together in large bowl. In 4 c. liquid measuring cup or medium bowl, whisk together melted butter, buttermilk, oil, vanilla, and yolks. 
3. In clean bowl of stand mixer fitted with whisk attachment, beat egg whites at medium-high speed until foamy, about 30 seconds. With machine running, gradually add remaining 1/4 c. sugar; continue to beat until stiff peaks just form, 30 to 60 seconds. Whites should hold peak, but mixture should appear moist. Transfer to bowl and set aside.
4. Add flour mixture to now-empty mixing bowl fitted with whisk attachment. With mixer running at low speed, gradually pour in butter mixture and mix until almost incorporated (a few streaks of dry flour will remain), about 15 seconds. Stop mixer and scrape whisk and sides of bowl. Return mixer to medium-low speed and beat unti smooth and fully incorporated, 10 to 15 seconds.
5. Using rubber spatula, stir 1/3 of whites into batter to lighten, then add remaining whites and gently fold into batter until no white streaks remain. Divide batter evenly between prepared cake pans. Lightly tap pans against couter 2 or 3 times to dislodge ay large air bubbles. 
6. Bake until cake layers begin to pull away from sides of pans and toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, 20 to 22 minutes. Cool cakes in pans on wire rack for 10 minutes. Loosen cakes form sides of pans with small knife, then invert onto greased wire rack and peel off parchment. Invert cakes again and cool completely on rack, about 1 1/2 hours.

And now, for the caramel icing that makes this a caramel cake! This recipe comes from the Ultimate Southern Living Cookbook. There's an Amazon link to it in the sidebar on the upper right side of my margin.

You'll need a candy thermometer to make this. If you don't own one, now's the time to purchase one. They're cheap, and they're worth it.

I don't own a handheld mixer, so when it comes time to start mixing this icing, I VERY CAREFULLY pour the icing from the saucepan into my mixer's metal mixing bowl. 

If you've never worked with boiling sugar before, it's like working with molten lava. A splat of a bubble onto your skin can leave a serious burn, so exercise great caution in making this. It only took me one experience with a caramel burn to figure this out. When stirring, I use my whisk that has the longest handle. I encourage you to do the same, whether you use a spoon or a whisk: you need a lot of distance between your hand and the steamy bubbling sugar.

I didn't have any evaporated milk, like the ingredients of this recipe call for, so I substituted Half & Half.  I can hear you now: "Wait: that's got more fat!"

Well, in case you haven't figured this out yet, the recipe for the frosting calls for two cups of butter.

And 2 cups of butter is an ENTIRE POUND OF BUTTER!!!!

~swoon~

I do not live on a steady diet of this. If I did, I'd look like the Goodyear Blimp at this point in my life. But, hey, once a year isn't going to do you in. Don't ask me how I survived my childhood, and remained thin as a young adult. It flies in the face of conventional wisdom. But I have a feeling its genetics.

Caramel Frosting

Ingredients:

4 c. sugar

2 c. butter

2 c. evaporated milk

2 t. vanilla extract

Combine sugar, butter, and milk (or cream!) in a 4 quart saucepan or small Dutch oven; bring to a boil over medium heat. Cover and cook 2 to 3 minutes. (Careful here: at this point, my sugar boiled over. If it starts rattling the lid like it might boil over, take the lid off, fast. You're looking for a nice big boil, but you don't want it to spill all over your stovetop.) Uncover and cook, stirring constantly, gently at first, until mixture reaches 222º, and then stirring more vigorously to avoid scorching, until mixture reaches 234º, which is the soft ball stage. (This could take up to 40 minutes.) Remove from heat, and add vanilla (do not stir). Cool 10 minutes.

Beat mixture, in saucepan, at medium speed with an electric mixer 8 to 10 minutes, or until almost spreading consistency. (I didn't beat it quite this long the time my icing was a bit runny. But it was fabulous, anyway. Absolutely fabulous.)

If you like these recipes or images, please, feel free to share them on Facebook, Pinterest, StumbleUpon. or Twitter.

What recipe do you think of when you hear the words "Heaven on a Plate"?

 (And thanks for that great line, friend Martha!!! :-D My heart goes out to you and your whole family at this time. I have no doubt that my Mom is serving your Dad a slice of caramel cake in heaven, long about now! XXX OOO!)

Joy to the World

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Joy to the world.

Really?

That's the sentiment I hear and read a lot on line these days, as the holidays approach, and people wrestle with the difficult realities of their own lives.

Where is joy, in the midst of the busyness, the stress, the disappointment, the pain, the worry, the fear, and, well, let's just go ahead and call it what it is: the evil that we see in this world?

Where is joy?

Joy isn't circumstantial.

We confuse joy with happiness.

And God knows, we'd all like a little more of that. It's the American way, after all, right? The pursuit of happiness?

There's nothing inherently wrong with happiness.

In fact, I'd like to put in my order right now for a big steaming plate of happiness. Pile it on, high, if you please!

For instance: our son got accepted to the college he longs to attend. Well, yay! We rejoice with him. We're thankful! Or, our daughter performs a lovely dance that her audience greatly appreciates. Again, yay! We're proud of her! We celebrate her achievement as a family.

But that's happiness: not joy. It's based on circumstances - very wonderful ones, but, circumstances.

And circumstances come, and they go. They constantly change.

When my son doesn't have the financial aid in place that he needs to attend the school of his dreams, is all our joy gone? When my daughter doesn't win the dance competition in which she was competing, what happens to joy?

When that "thing" that I dreamed of, wanted, longed for, prayed for, hoped for more than anything doesn't work out: where is my joy then?

Happiness is circumstantial.

Joy is not.

And that's where a lot of us get tripped up in our Christian walk.

We still believe somewhere deep inside that if God were good, he'd want us to be happy. He'd want things to work out well for us, for us to get the circumstances that we want in our lives. And if we let that way of thinking direct us, God becomes, at that point, not much more than a genie in a bottle, or a lamp that we can rub, there to make US happy. And that, my friends, is a very pagan mindset.

When I read the chapter that contains the names of some of the greatest people in the Bible -  faith's Heroes Hall of Fame, Hebrews chapter 11, what I discover there is that the greatest people of faith never received in this life the things they most longed for: the things that would have made them most "happy".  (If ever anyone should have been "Teacher's Pet" or "God's favorite" in the Bible, it would have been these people, right?) Abraham was promised a multitude of  descendants and a land for them, yet Abraham, in his life here on earth, had one son, and lived that life in a tent. He never got the city with foundations which the chapter tells us he longed for.

(In fact, if you read further in the chapter you discover that some of the greatest people of faith were tortured, jeered at, flogged, and put in prison. Where was God's concern for their personal circumstantial happiness, I ask you?)

Hebrews 11:13 says: "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance."

I have friends who are walking through the fire right now. Through the fire. I have a friend who is dying of cancer. I have another friend who is in limbo, waiting for his diagnosis, and things look scary. I have other friends whose children are desperately ill. Is there any greater torture than a mother who must witness her own precious child suffering, but be helpless to alleviate that suffering?

Where. Is. Joy?

Here are some verses for your consideration:



Isaiah prophesies in Isaiah 12:3 that joy will be a hallmark of the believer's life: "With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation."

Where are these wells of salvation I'm supposed to be drawing from?

John 7: 37-38 "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.

John 4:14 "Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

Jesus is teaching, here, that the well of salvation that we are to draw from will spring up from inside of us. That living water is the presence of the Holy Spirit, who has come to live in the heart of the believer.

In Psalm 16:11, the psalmist says: "You will make known to me the path of life; in your presence is fullness of joy."

Joy, my dear, dear friends, is not circumstantial. It is not found in the "Yay!" moments of our lives, as wonderful as those can be.

Joy is internal. Not external.

Joy comes from within: from the presence of the One who gave His life as an atoning sacrifice for our sins, that He might come to dwell inside of us. That He might cause to spring up inside of us a well of living water from which we might draw, and never be thirsty again. His Holy Spirit, bringing life to the full, fullness of joy in His presence, within us. 


Joy comes from a sure and certain knowledge that we are accepted in the Beloved, and never alone, come what may.


Immanuel. God with us.

God in us.

Joy invaded Earth on that starry night, long ago. when the Son of God was laid as a baby into that manger.

And the angels could not keep quiet for the pure joy of it.

Joy to the world. Indeed.

And now, that joy is in us.

But, here's the thing: take the time to savor the water.
Take the time to acknowledge the Source.
Take the time to have joy in His presence, within you.

Take the time to give thanks for this unspeakable gift.
And while you're at it: give thanks for the many, many outpourings of grace that you receive, on a daily basis.

Thanks be to God.

Best Roast Chicken Recipe

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Nom, Nom, Nom.

 This recipe is a hybrid of the roast chicken recipes of three great chefs: Julia Child, Jacques Pepin, and Colman Andrews. Fairly early in my marriage, I figured out that one of the most basic things a cook needs to be able to do right is to roast a chicken. It's simple. It's basic. But, it's telling, also.  If you can roast a chicken right, then chances are good you can do other things well, too. So I set about researching the roast chicken, and went looking for the very best roast chicken recipes. I found a wonderful article in an old issue of Gourmet magazine where Julia Child and Jacque Pepin did a throwdown on roast chicken. I liked both their recipes, but neither one was perfect for me.

The favorite idea that I gathered from those efforts was that using my cast iron skillet gave me very nice results. So, I decided that idea was a keeper.

I also liked the idea of using vegetables as a rack for the chicken to roast on, allowing the vegetables to receive the drippings from the chicken as blessings from above, packed with flavor.

Then, I stumbled on a book by Colman Andrews, where he gives his wife's recipe for what she calls "Homecoming Chicken". She came up with a recipe that she could leave in the oven while she drove to the airport to pick him up on Friday nights. I liked a LOT about her recipe, especially the addition of a nice white wine, used for basting the chicken about halfway through the recipe.

Herbes de Provence, an ingredient I use in this recipe, I USED to have to purchase at Williams Sonoma. I now see it in regular grocery stores, in the spice aisle. (I still purchase mine at Williams Sonoma, anyway, because I like their blend.) If you want to make do with what you have in your pantry, it is an herb blend, and here's a recipe for making your own from Gofrance. (I have never tried making this myself, but I thought I'd do what I could for anyone who wanted to give it a go, but didn't want to buy a special ingredient. You could certainly omit the lavender, or whatever else you might not have on hand.

• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 1 tsp ground rosemary
• 1 tsp summer savory
• 1/2 tsp lavender (optional but traditional)
• 1 tsp marjoram
• 1 tsp dried basil
• 1/2 tsp dried sage
• 1/2 tsp dried oregano

When I make this recipe, my house is filled with an aroma that has been known to trigger salivary glands in the next county. And lest you think I exaggerate, my kids have left our house having eaten this for dinner to attend a Bible study with their Dad, where they have had kids follow them around sniffing them,  saying, "Wow. You smell delicious. What did you have for dinner????"

So, here is my hybrid recipe, courtesy of Julia and Jacques and Colman, for Roasted Chicken, à la Susan in the Boonies.

Boonie Sooze's Roast Chicken


1 3-4 lb. roasting chicken
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 T. Herbes de Provence
1 T. coarse salt
2 t. freshly ground black pepper
1/2 lemon
4 medium potatoes, cut into eighths
2 large carrots, cut into sticks 3" long and 1/2" thick
4 shallots, peeled and separated into cloves
1 c. dry, full bodied white wine

Preparation:

Pre-heat oven to 400º.
Place potatoes, carrots, and shallots in a large cast iron skillet. Toss with about a T. of olive oil, and some salt and pepper.

Place rosemary sprigs in cavity of chicken, and tie his/her little drumsticks together with some cotton kitchen twine.
Slide your fingers in between the the breast skin and the breasts, gently separating the two. Push minced garlic underneath skin. Rub surface of chicken with olive oil, then sprinkle with Herbes de Provence, salt and pepper. Squeeze lemon juice over top of chicken, and then insert lemon into cavity of chicken. Place chicken on top of vegetables and roast uncovered for 40 minutes. Remove chicken from oven and pour wine over top of chicken, roasting for about another half hour, or until meatiest part of chicken breast registers 160º.

The elegant roast chicken.

Did you notice my new Pinterest button? One of these days, I'll figure out how to use it. 
How do you roast your chicken?

Two Christmas Cookie Recipes: Raspberry Shortbread and Chocolate Caramel Treasures

Pin It Are you looking for a recipe or two for some wonderful Christmas cookies?

I won two different cookie contests in my small 'burg in the Boonies with these delicious recipes.
 Chocolate Caramel Treasures and Raspberry Shortbread are my two prize winning recipes.

And if you're not looking to cook, the story of how I became the  Cookie Contest Queen is hilarious enough to warrant a read. After all, it's always fun to see someone get his/her comeuppance, don't you think?

So, from Gourmet magazine, here's the recipe that I won my first contest with:

Chocolate Caramel Treasures

Chocolate Caramel Treasures

Chocolate Caramel Treasures

Ingredients

For the Cookie: 

1 stick butter, softened
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg yolk
2 tablespoons whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup Dutch-process unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 large egg white, lightly beaten
1/2 cup finely chopped hazelnuts

 Caramel Filling:
10 plain caramels, unwrapped
2 tablespoons heavy cream


 Chocolate Drizzle:
3 ounces fine-quality semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened) finely chopped


Directions:

1. Beat together butter, sugar, yolk, milk, and vanilla with an electric mixer until blended well. Sift in flour, cocoa, and salt and beat on low speed until mixture forms a dough. Chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 30 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to 350 F.

3. Roll scant tablespoons of dough into balls, then coat with egg white, letting excess drip off, and roll in nuts to coat. Arrange balls, as coated, 1 1/2 inches apart on greased baking sheets and press your thumb into center of balls to flatten, leaving a depression. Bake in batches in middle of oven until puffed slightly but centers are soft, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from oven and immediately press centers of cookies again (we used handle end of a wooden spoon). Transfer to racks to cool.

Make filling while cookies cool

Heat caramels and cream in a small saucepan over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until melted and mixture is smooth. Spoon into centers of cookies and cool completely.

Make chocolate drizzle one hour before serving

Melt chocolate in a double boiler or a metal bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water, stirring until smooth. Cool to warm and pour into a heavy-duty sealable plastic bag. Seal bag and snip 1 corner to form a small hole. Drizzle chocolate over the cookies and let stand until set, about 30 minutes. Makes about 2 and a half dozen.

And the second prize winning recipe, which is actually my favorite of the two because it's easier to make, and makes more cookies, is from Southern Living. This recipe has more bang for your buck, so to speak.

I did not take this yummy looking picture, but this is just what these cookies look like. Image from here. 

Raspberry Shortbread
Yield: 6 dozen
Ingredients

 1 cup butter, softened
 2/3 cup sugar
 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
 1 (10-ounce) jar seedless raspberry jam, divided
 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
 3 1/2 tablespoons water
 1/2 teaspoon almond extract

Preparation

Beat butter and sugar at medium speed with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Gradually add flour, beating at low speed until blended. Divide dough into 6 equal portions; roll each portion into a 12- x 1-inch strip. Place strips on lightly greased baking sheets.

Make a 1/2-inch-wide by 1/4-inch-deep indentation down center of each strip using the handle of a wooden spoon. Spoon half of jam evenly into indentations.

Bake at 350° for 15 minutes. Remove from oven; spoon remaining jam into indentations. Bake 5 more minutes or until lightly browned.

Whisk together powdered sugar, water, and extract; drizzle over warm shortbread. Cut each strip diagonally into 1-inch slices. Cool in pans on wire racks.

What's your favorite Christmas cookie?

Company's Coming and the Couch is Cruddy

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What you cannot see in this picture is my couch. Is it clean? Or is it cruddy?

I do not love to clean.

However, I also cannot tolerate true squalor. :-D

And I'm not financially in a position to do my bit to help our nation's economic recovery effort by hiring someone ELSE to do my cleaning.

 These opposing needs that I have (not liking to clean, but hating squalor) cause me a bit of internal conflict and aggravation.

But...you know...

...that's why God gave me teenagers.

:-D

(Now, anyone who has ever been around MY teenagers knows that they create a whole LOT more mess than they clean up, but, for a moment, it sounded like a viable solution to my problem, didn't it?)

So, anyway, as a Mom, I WOULD be doing my kids a disservice if I didn't teach them how to clean, right?
And to learn to clean WELL, you need a lot of practice, right? Like, on a weekly basis, right?
Of course, right!
So...that's my story, and I'm stickin' with it. :-D

Cleaning tip #1: The kids vacuum, and clean the bathroom,  each week.

It's a good tip, yes?

But how do I prepare my house for the holidays, other than doing the usual weekly chores?

Well, I try to pick up a few of the piles of schoolwork and recipes that I leave lying around most of the rest of the time. Which makes me feel good, momentarily.

And then I go and stare in horror at my couch.

Because that couch is over 20 years old, and covered with beige chenille, and over the course of those 20 years, it has endured the abuse of two children and 3 large dogs.

A couple of years ago, I decided to clean my couch myself. I was inspired by one of my friends, Chloe.
 Chloe's couch is covered in the same exact beige chenille fabric as mine, and she told me she had successfully laundered her couch's cushion covers, using a mild detergent and Oxi-clean. I was doubtful, but desperate, because company was coming for Christmas, and my formerly light beige chenille couch had become pretty nearly a dingy brown.

Well, sure enough with a gentle detergent, and the addition of Oxi-clean, with the washer set on gentle cycle, and using cold water, I was able to get my couch cushion covers remarkably clean. I don't necessarily recommend that YOU try this, because I have no idea what kind of fabric your sofa might have. (And certain types of fabrics might shrink, for example, or not be able to withstand a machine washing.) But I did want to say that I was impressed by how well Oxi-Clean worked on MY couch cushion covers.

So there you have it: what do you do when the relatives are coming? Well, sometimes, if you're desperate enough, you clean your cruddy couch.

What do you do to get your house ready for the holidays?

I am sharing my holiday home decor and cleaning tips for the chance to win prizes from The SITS Girls and Great Cleaners.

Do You See What I See?

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Do you see what I see?

Said the night wind to the little lamb: "Do you see what I see? Way up in the sky, little lamb."

Well, how about it?

Do you see what I see?

I'll bet you don't.

You probably see a lovely tree, covered in twinkling lights, surrounded by presents, with a warm fire glowing in the fireplace.

And you'd be right.

But, I see all that, and something more.

"A star, a star, shining in the night, it will bring us goodness and light."

Can you see it, twinkling away, there on top of the tree?

Because I see more than a star: I see a story.

A story of two young lovers, newlyweds, poor as church mice when it came to dollars, but rich, oh, so very rich in love.

With veritable stars in their eyes.

Starting a life together. Starting their own little family, with just the two of them, And not enough money to decorate their tree.

What to do, what to do?

Necessity being the mother of invention, the bride got the idea to buy bright crimson flocked ribbon, cut it into lengths, and tie each length into a bow, and insert a wire hook in the back. A string or two of white lights, a strand or two of white pearlescent beads, and a couple of dozen bright red plastic apples, and they had it goin' on. Red, and green and white was their tree. And thus, they had their first Christmas together in their own apartment, their Love Nest in the Tree Tops, and they were the two turtledoves, blissfully happy. All was calm. All was bright.

Except.

They had nothing to top their tree.

No angel. No Father Christmas. And no money with which to purchase one.

Again, what to DO?

The groom was no slouch when it came to feathering their nest, and as they cast their eyes about for a solution, he spied the Fostoria candy dish that had been a wedding gift, sitting on their table. A crystal star.

So he took the end of the string of lights, and stuck some inside the candy dish, and wrapped it in wire on the outside, and climbed a chair, and secured that very heavy crystal candy dish to the top of the tree.

Can you see it now?

And together they looked: and lo, it was good.
It was not just good: it was very good.

And then the groom turned out the living room lights, and he wrapped his arms around that bride of his, and they stood in the almost darkness, and gazed in wonder at the beauty that their love had created together. And then, shakily, he sang into the quiet: "Silent night,". And the bride joined him: "Holy night...". And together they gently swayed as they sang that old hymn. Together their eyes brimmed over with tears. And together they laid their hearts open before their Savior, who had broken into the darkness of the world, to bring light. Together, they thanked Him.

Oh, yes: it was VERY good.

So good, in fact, that neither an angel, nor a Father Christmas has ever been purchased by them since that time. And every year since, now with their children singing along, when the tree is decorated, they turn off the lights in the room, and bask in the light of that star, and sing to the One they adore.

So, now, maybe a little more clearly, you can see what I see.

How very, very grateful I am for the light from that star, and the love I have known.

When seen through the eyes of love, the most common ordinary things become precious.

God sees us with those eyes, and in His eyes, we, too, are are a beautiful, wonderful, even glorious treasure. Take a moment to believe, and savor that thought: You. Are. Treasured.


Do you have a favorite Christmas ornament? Tell me about yours.



If you liked this post, feel free to share it with others. There are some sharing tools just below.
The post was inspired by a writing prompt given to me by Mama Kat. You can read more great posts like it by lots of other great writers over at her website.

Of Cancer, Mammograms, and Birthdays

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Me and my pal.

In honor of my dear friend, who was diagnosed with, and treated for breast cancer this year, I'm off to get a mammogram tomorrow.


(We're pretty certain that my friend got lucky, in that they caught her cancer fairly early, and were able to treat it, and have pronounced her treatment at this time complete.)


In honor of another friend, who hasn't been quite so lucky, and who is fighting for her life right now, with Stage 4 breast cancer, I'm going to go get my mammogram.


I've avoided doing this. 


I've avoided doing it for months.


I don't like to think about cancer.


Both my parents died from cancer.


The word "cancer", alone, pushes all kinds of emotional buttons for me. 


But I bet I'm not alone in that. I bet it pushes buttons for you, too.


Nasty, hateful, despicable stuff.


But the fact is, what is, inside my body, is.


And no amount of avoidance will change what is.


If I go get my routine "look-see" taken care of, I'll either get the "all clear", which will feel GREAT, or they'll catch whatever it is before it has any more time to do any more damage. And early intervention is your best hope of beating cancer. Right?


So, I'm going to go have my mammogram. 


Because it's the right thing to do, for me.


And I'm going to go get my mammogram because my husband could have died in May from a heart attack he suffered: and I experienced the trauma of having to closely examine the possibility of life without him. I had to look at what that would be like for me, and what it might be like for my kids. And I don't want him, or them, to have to consider too closely what it would be like to go on without me. Not now. Not for a long time. 


Going to get my mammogram is the right thing for me to do for them, as well.


Because I believe in birthdays. I believe in celebrating birthdays with all my might and main. Because birthdays celebrate the gift of life that we have been given.


So, here's to more birthdays.

What about you? Have you been dragging your feet on getting your mammogram done? 


Wanna join me, in taking good care of your body? Make that call, and if you do, let me know.


Disclosure: I am working on behalf of The SITS Girls and Unruly Media to promote the American Cancer Society campaign. This post was sponsored by the American Cancer Society


And I feel really, really good about that.

The Curse of the Sugar Plum Fairy

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Maybe I need Glinda to help me break this curse? Image from here. 

What is it about me and the Nutcracker Ballet?

 I am cursed.

My friends, I live my life under the Curse of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

That curse is a little known phenomenon, but it has to do with a person who chooses to go to a kiddie version of the ballet. Here in Nashville we have a performance known as the Mini-Nutcracker. It's a perfectly lovely production, danced by young school-aged dancers who have been trained by our most excellent Metro Parks Ballet program, and honest to goodness, the reason that I go back year after year is because they do such a wonderful job. Well, that, and to support friends of ours who have daughters who dance in the production. It's kind of tradition for my daughter and two of her closest friends, and so almost without exception, year after year it's our holiday tradition.

But there is apparently an accompanying tradition/curse that goes with me to that performance.

No matter where our seats are, invariably, I get the kid behind me who has to assert his individuality and his right to have strong preferences to the rest of the world. Frankly, what's going on in the row behind me has become almost as much a part of the show for me as what's going on on the stage. "What will the show going on behind my back entail THIS year?" I wonder.

A couple of years ago, there was a row full of 5 and 6 year old kids who were there unattended by parents. They weren't dressed quite as nicely as some of the other little "dolled-up for the holiday" tots surrounding me. I'm pretty sure that some kind soul had driven them in from the inner-city. At least, their speech patterns reminded me of some of the kids I used to work with at the elementary school where I used to work in the inner city. They were excited to be at the show, and pretty much operating without boundaries, with no adult seated near them to provide any.

So when I broke out my package of gum and got myself a piece and offered a piece to my friend sitting next to me, the kid BEHIND me, (I'll call him Marcel), Marcel felt not the least bit of hesitation in regard to asking for my gum. All of it. He wanted to give it to all his buds.

 "Hey, lady: you gonna chew all dat?"
"Well...not at the moment...."
"Could me and my friends have it?"
"Well...alright...."

So, Marcel got gum for everyone, making him the man of the hour amongst his compadres, and they all  began enthusiastically chawing away.

And then, the seat kicking began. Unintentional, to be sure, but the rows of seats in that theater are close, and Marcel was antsy. And wiggly. And restless. And excited.

And then, of course, there was the conversation. Pretty loud conversation.

"I know dat paht's comin'. Dat paht where dah Shoogah Plum comes. She so fine. She really, really pretty. An' she dances so niiiice. I love dah Shoogah Plum. Mah teachah tole me all about dah Shoogah Plum."

"Is this it? Is this dah paht?"

"Where is she? Where is dah Shoogah Plum?"

"Here she come! Here she come!!! Deh go dah Shoogah Plum!"

Now, in case you don't remember the exact musical theme that Tchaikovsky wrote, you can click on this video, just to hear the proper tune that goes along with the next part of my story, where Marcel began to SING ALONG to the music, in the middle of the ballet performance, with his very own made-up lyrics:








"Dink-a-dink-dink dink dink,
Here she come, Shoogah Plum,
Shoogah Plum,
Shoogah Shoogah Plum!"

By this point, I had long since left being annoyed, and had moved on through and past incredulity, and was so deep into complete bemusement that tears were running down my face. I was silently laughing so hard my seat was shaking.

I'm convinced that Marcel has a future as a very successful rapper in front of him.

And then, there was this year.

My daughter and I fondly remembered Marcel on our drive into town, and wondered what the back row entertainment would be this year. Turned out that this year, It was a toddler. Also skilled in the art of seat kicking.

Mamas, I KNOW it's hard to get a babysitter, and expensive as well, and your toddler will miss out on the opportunity to see his big sister dance in the Nutcracker.

But let me give you a little hint: your toddler REALLY doesn't care. He/she REALLY doesn't want to be there. And if you insist on taking him/her to this wonderful cultural experience, in order to expand your toddler's horizons, and tighten the familial bond within your family, you will only inspire a clash of wills so fierce, so strong, that a similar struggle has not been fought since the battle that raged on The Sands of Iwo Jima. I kid you not. And YOUR enjoyment of the show will be the very first casualty of the battle.

I'm telling you there was a match going on behind me this year that ProWrestling would have been proud to have hosted: A Mommy/Toddler Smackdown of Epic proportions, punctuated by:

Mommy: "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Toddler, wailing: "Nooooooooooooooo!!!!"

Mommy, whispering loudly through gritted teeth: "Ssssssssit DOWN!!!!"

Toddler: "Oooooooooooooowwwwwwwwww!!!!"

Mommy: "SSSSShhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

Grunts, groans, body slams into seat.

Toddler: "AAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Mommy, hissing: "I said BE QUIET!!!!"

And all of this occurring as The Exquisite Sugar Plum gracefully twirls and struts her time on the stage.

She KNOWS she's torturing me. I know it! I see it in the smug set of her delicate features. And yet,  on she pirouettes, as my brain sloshes against the interior wall of my skull, from the whiplash I receive due to repeated jarring seat kicks.

WHEN WILL THIS TORTURE END??????????

:-D

Part of our tradition is to meet my daughter's friends and go with them to the performance, so here's a sweet picture that we snapped in the park of my own ballerina, and some of her buds. It doesn't really relate to the story, but I thought you might enjoy it.

Growing up too fast to suit me.

Is it just me? Am I the only one to be cursed by the Sugar Plum Fairy?

Tell me your Nutcracker tales of woe!

What's That Smell?

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It's funny how one thing leads to another…

Remember how the other day I did a post on 5 Things? (Like Five Things that You Don't Know About Me; and Five Things That I Know Nothing About; and Five Things I'm Knowledgeable About; and Five Things I Believe.) That topic came from Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writing Prompts, and the button below will take you right over there if you're interested in reading some more EXCELLENT samples of writing, on a variety of topics. Or if you're interested in being challenged by her weekly writing prompts. I've done two so far: 5 Things (which I already mentioned) and 7 Wonders of My World, which some kind soul "stumbled" (Thanks, Anne!) and which got me a LOT of traffic. 

I've discovered that I really enjoy the challenge of being given a topic that is intriguing to me, and then just taking off, and seeing what comes out! If you think you might like that as well, you ought to give Mama Kat's writing prompts a try.

Well, this morning I went over there myself to do some more reading by other bloggers, and I came across  Rachael Heiner's "5 Things" post on her blog, "Scientific Nature of the Whammy". Among the things she mentioned that we didn't know about her, was the time she had worked a temp job in a fish filet processing factory, and how that experience had caused her to gain a huge respect for people who do such jobs. Her post triggered a memory for me that I thought was worth re-telling here, so here goes.

When my husband and I were newlyweds, he didn't have a steady job.

That's kind of funny, because we've been married for almost 25 years, and he STILL doesn't have a steady job.

Huh.

Anywho, he did a lot of different jobs to support his music habit, and at one point, he was working for a friend of ours who does professional video shoots, and it was my hubby's job to run sound. This means he had to hold the boom mic, and wear headphones, and keep an eye on the sound levels, to make sure they were getting what they wanted on tape. One week, our friend informed him that they had a gig to shoot video at a pig breeding farm, in Iowa. They were going to fly there, and apparently the job would pay well: it was a BIG PIG place, you know what I'm saying? Whole lot of potential bacon was being brought into this world at this place.

When they arrived at the pig farm,  HE had to shower to be allowed to go in and see the pigs!

Think about THAT!

He had to pause for a moment, in order to not  take offense! (Imagine being told you're too nasty to be with the pigs!)

The idea, of course,  was that if a visitor carried in a contaminant that it could spread like WILDFIRE through the entire pig population. And let me tell you, it was an extremely populated porcine palace, if you catch my drift. (Which, since we're talking about pigs, you might not want to do.)

 When he left the pigs, he showered again, because, well, the aroma was UNBELIEVABLE, according to him. (And this is a man with a frequently stopped up nose.)

So, when he got home late that night, I was already in bed, but I hadn't fallen asleep yet. I was eagerly waiting for his return. We were newlyweds, and I couldn't wait to snuggle up to him: I'd missed him so much! He decided to shower AGAIN, just to be safe, to be sure he had gotten all the pig perfume off, since it was so pervasive. So when he finally came to bed, I spooned up behind him, and wrapped my arm around him, to hold him close.

A nose by any other name would smell a whole lot sweeter. Picture from here. 

As I lay my head next to his, ready to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, my nose, which happened to be right next to his ear, went to RED ALERT/DEFCON 1/COCKED PISTOL/NUCLEAR WAR IS IMMINENT status.  While the rest of his skin smelled sweetly of soapy cleanness, from his inner ear there came an odor so noxious, so permeating, so searing, that I squealed (piggy reference) aloud, "Oh, my GOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is that STENCH????". One whiff emanating from his INNER EAR (not the outer part, which he had washed. Twice.) caused my eyes to begin pouring water. How to describe it? The smell was somewhere in between death and pig poo and the sulfurous fires of hell, and it was wafting from out of his ear tube. If I were braver, I'd tell you the words that popped into my mind, and then, perhaps, out of my mouth that night. "Holy ____!!!!!!" But it was UNholy. I can assure you of that. Ungodly and unholy and MOST DEFINITELY UNfit to be in my bed that night.

He FLEW out of the bed, and RAN for the shower, and washed and washed again. And I wish that I could tell you that the smell was completely eradicated, and it was, mostly...but a little bit of THAT smell goes a long way, and it was nauseating to me.

And people work at their jobs at that huge pig breeding farm, every day, all day long. 

And their poor wives....

I've asked a similar question before, (in my post about the horrors of the mixture Axe and Turkey Poo) but people seem to enjoy answering it: What horrifying smell have you endured?

Perciatelli all'Amatriciana: Best Pasta EVER

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This is the stuff.

OK, I can hear you now, from clear over here in the Boonies.

A whole lot of you are saying: "What the ____ is perciatelli?"

(Unless you're Italian. Or a chef. Or you really know your pasta.)

Well, I TRIED to give you a little context clue in the title; and the picture should be your second big clue. It's a pasta.

And it's so good that if I weren't already married,  I'd consider asking me to marry me.
But that would be bigamy. Or big of me.
Potato, potahto.
Linguine, fettucine.

And, yes, absolutely, you can substitute spaghetti.

There. Breathing easier now? Good.

These little forays of mine into what for some of you might be the culinary unknown are why many of you come here. And yet, some of you make the trip kicking and screaming (and whining). But you nearly ALWAYS come back and thank me.

Because that's my job: to get you to expand your horizons a bit. To encourage you to try something you haven't. Take a risk. Live a little. You CAN do better, with fairly minimal effort on your part.

But you tell yourself (some of you) that you CAN'T; that you're not a good cook. And to that, I say, "Pshaw. Fiddle-dee-dee." We'll think about that tomorrow. In the words of Bob's therapist (You know. the movie "What About Bob"? With Bill Murray as Bob, and Richard Dreyfuss as the therapist?):

"Baby Steps".

We're baby steppin'.

And today, we're baby steppin' in pasta. Which sounds slippery.

The recipe is called Perciatelli all'Amatriciana,

Here's what the Cook's Thesaurus says in regard to this type of pasta noodle:

perciatelli = bucatini   Pronunciation:  pear-chuh-TELL-lee  Notes:  These are hollow pasta rods that are thicker than spaghetti.  They're usually served in casseroles or with hearty meat sauces, or they're broken up and served in minestrone soup.  Substitutes:  spaghetti (thinner rods) OR linguine OR fettucine. On the TV show, The Best Thing I Ever Made, chef Beau Macmillan made Bucatini with Bacon Sauce and Meatballs, and said it was the best dish that he'd ever had as a child. It was cooked by a friend's Mom, and it had inspired him to become a chef. Now, come on: I love pasta! But, a pasta good enough to inspire someone to become a chef? This I wanted to try!  I didn't really have time to make meatballs. What to do? Happily, I remembered that I had borrowed from the library a copy of Mario Batali's cookbook, Molto Gusto, Easy Italian Cooking. And he had a recipe for Spaghetti all'Amatriciana. With no meatballs. And, I had almost every other ingredient that I needed to make something similar to his recipe! So, the recipe I'm going to share with you today was inspired by Beau Macmillan, but really follows more closely Mario's recipe. Mario's recipe called for guanciale or pancetta, both of which are Italian pork products that I didn't have. (Guanciale is made from pork cheeks, washed in wine, seasoned and left in a stone niche for 40 days to marinate. It's such a specialty product that most Italians have never heard of it. Pancetta is Italian bacon, typically salt cured and seasoned with spices like nutmeg, fennel, peppers and garlic.) But I DID have good old American bacon! And you might, too. And it works great!  Mario also called for 3/4 c. of Pomi strained tomatoes, which are a specialty tomato product that come in a liter sized box-shaped container. I didn't have that. But what I DID have were some really good canned tomatoes, the kind I reserve just for recipes where the tomato sauce is front and center. What kind did I use? I used an Italian tomato from San Marzano (they come in a three pack at my Costco), and this particular brand is called "Nina". But what you should look for are whole plum tomatoes from San Marzano. They actually do make a difference in flavor. They're very rich.  I couldn't find the bucatini that Beau Macmillan's recipe called for, so I decided to substitute the closest thing I could to it. Here's what you're looking for: a long noodle, like spaghetti, but if you can find it, you want one with a hole in the center (Like perciatelli or bucatini). The idea here is to cook it till it's barely al dente, so that when you put it in with the hot sauce, it will continue to cook and absorb that pasta sauce into its hole in the center, and well, it's just exquisite. The first time I made this, I could find neither of those, so I used linguine, and it was still awesome. The next time I went to Kroger, on a pasta quest, they had a Private Selection (house brand) of perciatelli, which up to that point, I had never heard of before, but while inspecting the package, I thought it looked like a fat spaghetti, so I bought it. Brought it home, googled the name and found out I had hit the jackpot: it is the equivalent of bucatini. So there's  a crash course for you in pasta varieties, so you can learn what I did. Since I didn't have the Pomi strained tomatoes that Mario Batali wants simmered until reduced by half, here's what I did. I dumped the 28 oz. can of Nina whole tomatoes (in puree, with a basil leaf) into a big saucepan, and removed the basil leaf. Then I used my hands to squish all the tomatoes, taking note of how high the level of the liquid was on the side of the pan. Then I simmered them for about a half an hour, stirring periodically, and continuing to squish any remaining tomato chunks. The idea here is that you are going to CONCENTRATE those strong tomato flavors. DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP. You'll be tempted to, because you're in a hurry, but don't. The charm of this dish is the intensity of the flavors, and it has them all: sweet, spicy, salty and smoky. So don't lose out on the flavor that you'll gain by simmering your tomatoes till they are reduced by half. I used about 1/4 of the hot red pepper flakes that Mario Batali used, so if you like it spicy, you can use up to 2 teaspoons full. I used 1/2 of a teaspoon. Adjust the heat of this dish to your own preference level. When it comes to pasta water, you want it salty like the ocean. That's your chance to put flavor into the noodles. So about 3 T. of salt go into the water you're going to boil the pasta in. So here's my hybrid version of both chef's pasta recipes: The closer you get, the better it looks. I cannot tell you how good this stuff tastes. My family fights over any leftovers. Perciatelli all'Amatriciana Ingredients: Kosher salt 1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil 1/4 lb. bacon, cut into 1/2" wide strips 1 medium red onion, halved lengthwise, ends trimmed, and cut lengthwise into 1/4" wide slices 1/4 c. tomato paste 1/2 t. hot red pepper flakes 1 28 oz. can of Italian San Marziano tomatoes, simmered down and reduced by half 1 lb. Perciatelli (or bucatini, or linguine, or spaghetti) 1/2 c. freshly grated Pamigiano Reggiano, plus extra for serving 1/2 c. grated pecorino romano 1/3 c, coarsely chopped fresh Italian parsley Preparation: Get your saucepan of tomatoes simmering, and reduce them by half. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil. I salt it right before I put the pasta in. About 3 T. of salt. Meanwhile, combine the oil, bacon and onion in another large pot and cook over medium high heat, stirring frequently, until the bacon is lightly browned and the onion is softened, about 7 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in the tomato sauce and remove from the heat. Drop the pasta into the boiling water and cook until just al dente. Drain, reserving about 1/2 c. of the pasta water. Add the pasta and 1/4 c. of the reserved pasta water to the bacon and stir and toss over medium heat until the past is well coated (add a splash or two more of the reserved pasta water if necessary to loosen the sauce). Stir in the cheeses and parsley and serve immediately, with additional grated Parmigiano on the side. And now, for the question: what's your favorite Italian dish?