Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Yes, folks, I’m still reading Dracula.  I’m on the home stretch, though!  And in the meantime, I thought I’d give Robin McKinley an honorable mention.  I’ve adored this woman’s writing since I first read The Blue Sword and The Hero and the Crown; not being a vampire person, however, meant that I had to start Sunshine twice.  I put it down the first time because I’m just not that into vampires.  I picked it up again (eventually) because it’s Robin McKinley.  She starts off her books as if you’re picking up a rambling conversation near (but not at) the beginning, and she hooks me every time.  Even her weirdly vague denouements can’t keep me away.  And so I have to say this:  Sunshine may be a vampire book, and it may be classed as horror, but it’s still pretty solidly McKinley.  (Adult McKinley, mind.  There are, say, four sentences or so that are explicit enough that I wouldn’t actually give it to my soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old niece.  If she picked it up on her own, well, she’s probably old enough, but I wouldn’t give it to her myself.)  If you love her, you should read it.  If you have any interest in vampires, you MUST read it.  And guess what?

It’s shorter than Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Have I mentioned that we currently have 1:00 church?

For my not-of-my-faith friends, this means we are at church from 1-4 on Sunday afternoons for the year; not a big deal in a lot of ways, but when you spend the last hour of it wrestling a two-year-old, you don’t exactly come home bursting with energy with which to make dinner.  Which is why, this past Sunday, I put it to a vote–I could make cornbread (an old standby) or try a new recipe, but we were having some sort of breakfast bread for dinner.  My hubby doesn’t particularly care, not being nearly as into brinner as I am, so the girlies’ vote carried the day, and I went looking for something new to try.

My initial choice got rejected because I didn’t have enough dead bananas; these Caramel Apple Muffins, however, sounded interesting, and they used some of the OLD caramels I mentioned having in my pantry.  (They were expired, but I don’t think it made much of a difference.  I didn’t have to melt them, which was key.)  Other than using part whole wheat flour–I don’t imagine that surprises anyone anymore, does it?–I mostly followed the recipe.  (I subbed 1/2 t nutmeg for some of the cinnamon and used most of the apple, which was considerably more than the recipe called for.)  And they weren’t bad, although the streusel melted down into the muffins and the caramels melted out and they had cracks and fissures galore.  Everybody ate theirs willingly, and the girlies wanted some for breakfast the next morning; I ate at least four, which is possibly why I’m not losing the rest of the baby weight as fast as I might like.  My one beef with them was that I wanted more flavor.  The bites with the streusel in them were lovely, since they tasted of brown sugar, butter, and oatmeal, but the bites without wanted to be a little richer than they were.  I don’t love store caramels, which might be largely the problem–when you grow up eating my dad’s homemade caramels, there’s just no going back–but the spices were actually less prominent than I thought they might be.  I’m not sure why.

Ah, well.  I ended up moving it to my ‘On the Fence’ Pinterest board, so I may try them again.  If so, I’ll let you know!

It’s been a LONG evening, and my thoughts are feeling a little scattered, but since I have butter cookies on the brain…

Last summer, when I was in my first trimester and was looking for snacks to bring to a family reunion, I picked up a small tin of Danish butter cookies at Wal-Mart.  I honestly can’t remember what brand they were, but they came in that round blue tin; I figured I was getting the real deal.

Not on your life.  You know how the best part of those butter cookies is the big sugar sprinkles on top of three of the five varieties?  The cheap Wal-Mart ones had little sugar crystals (and weren’t as buttery, either).

It was tragic.

Which is why, of course, when I saw the gigantic tins at Costco over Christmas, I couldn’t help getting myself one.  They were the real thing, and after wanting and not getting them back in July, I couldn’t resist.  Of COURSE…

My passion for butter cookies is fairly well known.  Which is why, on Christmas morning, my hubby presented me with an identical Costco tin of them.  The real thing.  They’re tasty.  And worth it.

And, on this, the 12th of April, almost gone.

Once upon a time, my friend Andrea introduced me to these Baked Sweet Potato Fries with Honey-Lime Dip from Our Best Bites…and I fell in love.  Because oh my GOSH.  The spices on the sweet potato fries are perfectly lovely, but the dip–oh, the dip!–is what really gets me.  The flavors in it are perfect (IF you use fresh parsley), and what’s more, it’s mostly yogurt, which means you can basically eat it with a spoon and not feel guilty about it.  What’s not to love?

So here’s the thing.  If you follow the recipe exactly (being VERY generous with the FRESH parsley, if you’re me), these are absolutely wonderful. BUT.

They’re kind of a lot of work.  Which, if you have a sous chef, or are cooking with someone, is totally cool.  If you’re cooking by yourself, however, and you need to feed your family with what you’re making, then these are a labor-intensive side dish.  (An appetizer would be a different thing entirely, but I don’t make a lot of appetizers to be consumed at home, and these would not travel well; you’d have to bake them on site.)  Which is why I cheat.

Yes, the spices on the fries are amazing, and they taste best when you make them from scratch.  IF, however, you’re pressed for time, you can make them with frozen sweet potato fries.  If you’re lazy (or have four kids, one of them a 2-month-old) and love the dip best, just make the fries plain.  If you’ve got a little extra time and motivation (or in other words, you are sleeping through the night more often than not, in which case I’m jealous), toss the frozen fries in the spice mixture.  Either way will be tasty, even if it’s not quite the same.

About the dip, by the way.  I can’t stand the taste of plain yogurt, and I still love this stuff, so don’t let that stop you.  And it’s between you and your feelings for parsley, ultimately, but I use about 1/4 C of snipped fresh Italian parsley.  It makes me happy.

You expect cravings when you’re pregnant, right?  And while I’ve never craved anything bizarre, to the best of my knowledge–specific, yes, but not particularly bizarre–I’ve certainly sent my husband out for treats that sounded particularly amazing on more than one occasion.  The interesting thing about my recently completed pregnancy was that I randomly wanted things that were, in general, fairly good for me.  It was all about whole grains–cheap white hamburger buns made me shudder, and I’m usually not that picky–and sweets had almost no appeal for the first several months.  Granted, I couldn’t handle the thought of cooking raw chicken for most of it–we ate a lot of beef, supplemented with re-purposed rotisserie chickens from Costco–but overall, what I wanted was often not a bad choice.

NOW, on the other hand…

Here’s the thing.  I haven’t gotten back to exercising yet, because I still feel like I’m drowning in tasks that are screaming for my attention.  I have a high metabolism, yes, but I’m not nursing.  Why, then, am I starving by 8 or 9 at night?  I’m still cooking meals that aren’t desperately unhealthy.  I eat impressive quantities of said meals.  Is the getting up at night, even for bottle feeding, contributing?  Because I am STARVING in the evenings! And sadly, no longer for whole wheat bread or veggies or hard-boiled eggs.  I want salty, caloric goodness, and I want it NOW.

Anyway.  It seems unfair, to say the least.  Anybody have any suggestions for curbing this madness?  Because I’d like to keep losing, not start gaining.  I don’t have the money to buy a whole new wardrobe.

Just sayin’.

Since my hubby’s birthday was on Saturday this year, I brought his birthday brownies into his work today, and my, they were tasty (if I do say so myself).  He said that something with caramel sounded good but I could do whatever; after looking through a few recipes, I opted for these Caramel Brownies, since the layers were relatively simple.  (I owe my neighbor, though.  It’s spring break and all four of my kids are home, and since there have been some weird sleep patterns going on at my house, he stayed with my kids–both sleeping and awake–while I ran out for a few last minute ingredients.)  I even followed the recipe exactly, foil-lined pan and all!  (I sometimes get lazy about that kind of thing.)  Anyway.  Here are my thoughts…

First of all, these aren’t necessarily cheap, what with the 12 oz of bittersweet chocolate and the heavy cream and bag of caramels.  Secondly, my corner grocery store DID NOT HAVE a 14 oz bag of said caramels, which was wildly frustrating because I technically had one myself–except that the caramels in it expired in 2013 and felt about as hard as a bag of little cubic rocks.  Since the caramels needed melting, I opted to buy two new bags and make use of my kitchen scale; what will happen to the expired bag is anybody’s guess.  Thirdly, the idea of “pouring” the brownie batter out to form the top layer is LAUGHABLE.  The batter sits for at least 20 minutes while the bottom layer bakes, and it has melted chocolate in it.  I ended up forming it into flat pieces with my hands and arranging them on top of the caramel layer.  That did mean that some of the caramel bubbled up over the edges, but since I did line the pan with foil, I didn’t think it was a huge deal.  Which leads us to the question of the day…

Can brownies be too gooey?  That was my husband’s beef with them.  He liked the taste.  And on the one hand, the gooey factor was less than ideal for a treat brought to work to share; on the other hand, though, that doesn’t necessarily mean that too gooey is a BAD thing.  What is your vote?  Your options are ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘it depends’–tell me what you think!

And for the record, the best part about them for me had nothing to do with eating them.  I had my oldest unwrap all of the caramels while my middles played, and we both enjoyed some rare one-on-one time.  She is getting older and the littles have been taking a great deal of my time; baking with her was the highlight of my day.

…to my other half!  My hubby’s birthday often falls on Easter weekend, which means I am usually distracted from one by the other (which one varies from year to year).  This year was especially hard, given the week we’ve had, but I did actually manage to surprise him with a family party. (Planning and worrying over it took years off my life, by the way, and it wasn’t exactly a complicated party.  It’s that worry gene I get from my parents.)

Anyway.  It’s late and I’m bushed–it was not such a good night with the kiddos–and so I will simply say this.  Marriage is hard, and we’ve had our rough patches, but there’s no one else I’d rather plow through them with.

In the end, that’s what matters.

My stint in the hospital this year was scheduled, of course, but Baby Girl ended up in the hospital with RSV before she hit three weeks old, and this week we ended up at the ER once again, because my poor boy broke his thumb.  How, you ask?  Well, we went bowling with the kids.

It didn’t go well.

My middle–the five-year-old–tried to hand her brother a bowling ball.  As far as I can tell (my hubby was bowling and I was holding the baby and didn’t actually see it happen), he either tried to take it and fell or took it and fell with it.  Either way, it SMASHED his thumb.  The doctor at the Instacare said he’d never seen such a bad hand injury on a child and sent us up to Primary Children’s Hospital; everyone there made horrified sounds when they saw the x-rays.  I took  him to the Instacare myself–my hubby got the girlies down, since they had school the next morning–but when they sent me to Primary’s with the possibility of surgery hanging over us, I couldn’t face going alone.  And THIS is where I am so grateful for the visiting teaching program, which is an organized way for women to look out for each other in my church.  I have two women assigned to look out for me; one of them brought me dinner the day my parents left last month, and the other came to my house last night to stay with my sleeping children so my husband and I could take our poor boy into the ER.  (We left at 10, and got home around 2:30, and all of our texts back and forth involved me feeling guilty and her being supportive and reassuring and telling me not to worry about it.)  This is the gospel of Jesus Christ–people serving each other the way the Savior served those He knew when He walked the earth.

I can’t think of a more eloquent way to say it than that.

(My visiting teacher partner and I have four women we look out for, by the way.  I tended for one of them today while she went to the doctor’s.  It’s a circle of service, and it makes me cry.)

The good news for the boy is–no surgery.  The bad news is that the top bone of his thumb is in pieces, and the middle one is fractured (and I’m an English major and WAY too tired to look up the official names for things I didn’t have anything to do with in college), and he has a splint that is supposed to stay clean and dry.

Uh-huh.

Anyway.  Last night the boy threw up in his bed–presumably a combination of pain, medication, and coughing–and he was awake in the ER the night before from about 10 to 1.  (At least.)  Which is why I am praying fervently that he will sleep soundly tonight.  For a VERY LONG TIME. (At this point I can’t tell if it’s the pain or the tired that’s making him so grouchy, but OH.  MY.  GOSH.)  I am also praying that he will heal quickly and completely.  Either way, I know my Heavenly Father is listening.

I felt His love through someone else this week.

Remember how my oldest has been going through the ‘Sarah, Plain and Tall’ series–and I’ve been going through them myself before returning them to the library?  Well, SHE finished Grandfather’s Dance several days ago, and today I finally got around to going through it myself.

Oh, My.

Patricia MacLachlan writes beautiful books, and this one didn’t disappoint; in it, Anna (the narrator of the first book, if my memory serves) is getting married, and Sarah’s family comes from Maine for the occasion.  I, too, lived far away from my extended family growing up, and I could relate exactly to Cassie (the narrator) as she reveled in their visit.  That might have been enough to draw tears from me, really–I remember having to say goodbye when family left–but I am also the mother of a small boy who has a special relationship with his grandfather, and it was that part of the story that pushed me over the edge.  I shan’t spoil the story for you.  Let’s just say that I cried, but I’m glad I read it.  (For the record, I also laughed out loud.)  It was a worthy end to a lovely series of books, folks.  If you’ve read some but not all, I suggest you remedy that immediately.

As I’m sure my legions of faithful readers are waiting with baited breath for my next book review, I thought I’d let everyone know the sad truth.

You’ll be waiting a while.

Here’s the thing…my book club is very casual about when we actually read the books we pick.  We’re all moms, and it’s hard to get together, and so we pick books, and try to get around to each others’ picks eventually.  I opted to pick up a belated book club book this time around, and while the font is on the large side and the pages on the small side, Bram Stoker’s Dracula is still 612 pages long.

Have I mentioned that I have a 6 week old?

I have yet to average more than 20 pages a night.  And yes, I’ve done the math.  Which is why I just wanted to warn you all that I may be posting about food, or my family, or kids’ books, but Dracula is going to take me a while.

Just letting y’all know.