Faucets and Fish

Our kitchen faucet sprang a spray-leak in the neck quite some time ago. As there are quite a few things to be done around here and it was not a priority, we (of course) duct-taped it. When my sprayer quit working reliably, however, I drew the line. Not certain what we wanted in the way of a new kitchen faucet for our years-down-the-road remodeled cooking area, we decided just to get an inexpensive, decent faucet. We selected a nice Delta chrome thing--nothing fancy, but quite serviceable. Imagine my glee when, walking past the Clearance Endcap (where I've dutifully checked for a lovable faucet for months), I found The Faucet! For the same price as the Delta chrome thing! And also from a trustworthy brand!

Kevin and Jim kindly installed it yesterday, and I'm in dish-washing bliss. Or at least as near to that as exists.



In other exciting news, Carolyn received an aquarium from her grandparents for Christmas, and we bought fish for it. Little did we know our gold Balloon Molly (who declined to be photographed) was a soon-to-be mommy.

Currently, we have 8 living--painstakingly rescued in our make-shift nursery until we make it back to the pet store. The all-knowing Internet says mollies give birth in numbers ranging from 12 to 100. I've seen a half-dozen dead already, so hopefully we're done. We really can't keep all these fish, anyway. Anybody want a molly?

The pictures aren't stellar, but. . .well, it's difficult to capture tiny moving fish through glass and water.

The Great Lunch Stand-Off

Carolyn and I are having the occasional mini-skirmish now. Today's lasted longer than any yet. It all started--and ended--with lunch.

My daughter generally communicates quite clearly what she does and does not want. Today, as usual around noon, I asked, "Do you want lunch?" A "yes" and a nod later, we were off to the kitchen. I got out frozen chicken-carrots-and-rice, confirmed that she was indeed ready to eat, and heated it for her. I knew we were in trouble when she started whimpering as I spooned it into her bowl.

Three and a half hours later, she ate it. Cold. Hungrily. Happily. With many interruptions for affectionate hugs. This is how it all went down.


With her hot food in hand, I sat Carolyn in her chair, strapping and bibbing her amid protests and whines. She never took a bite, though I offered and encouraged in several ways. She continued whimpering, refusing her drink as well, and ultimately signing that she wanted to get up. I explained that she either needed to eat lunch or go ahead and take a nap. She still wanted up. So, she took a nap. I laid her in her crib, patted her back briefly, and left the room, expecting screams to erupt. But she went to sleep without a sound.

Too hastily assuming we'd leaped the hurdle, I ate my own lunch and waited for her to wake up. She did, an hour later, and asked to nurse. Since she normally nurses before her nap--and since she said "no" to lunch--I nursed her. A little while later, I asked, and she said "yes," she wanted lunch. We went to the kitchen, affirmed that she wanted lunch, that she wanted what was in her bowl, that she wanted it in the microwave.

So when she started whimpering again upon taking it out of the microwave, I wasn't feeling sympathetic. We repeated this once more later on, with a good deal of interim playing, fussing, and asking vainly to nurse. I lost count of how many times I gently explained that she could choose to eat lunch, to play happily, or to fuss by herself in her room.

When she finally said "yes" to lunch again, I quickly started feeding her, not waiting to warm it up and have her change her mind again. And she devoured all but 3 bites. . .which she came back to ask for later. And hugged me again and again and again, so sweetly. She seemed to really know that she'd been wrong and needed to seek forgiveness, as we practice when she is disciplined.

That would be a win in itself. But it's even better, because, by God's grace, I didn't get angry. I was frustrated, absolutely. I doubted whether I was making the right call. I even called Kevin at work. But I kept it all inside, calmly and cheerfully and sympathetically giving Carolyn her options again and again and again.

It may seem a small victory. It may even be a small victory. But I am not perfect, and small frustrations do get to me. I am constantly, painfully aware that how I respond now--and how I allow Carolyn to respond now--sets the stage for our interaction next year. . .and in two years, three years, five years, ten and fifteen years. If I can't respond lovingly and biblically when my toddler doesn't want to eat lunch, how will I ever respond well to the challenges of childhood and adolescence? And so, small step though it is, it bears hope--hope that I may guide my daughter well, hope that my teachable 16-month-old will one day be a still-teachable 16-year-old.

I hear the detractors even now: we haven't even hit the "terrible twos" yet. Teenage strife is inevitable. I'm young and naive.

And I close my ears. I don't believe in terrible twos or inevitable teenage angst. I know two-year-olds who obey their parents, and I know teenagers who act like the young men and women they should be, rather than the overgrown children our culture expects. And, best of all, I know the grace of an Almighty God that encourages my heart in these first little parenting trials.

For, though I may laugh at The Great Lunch Stand-Off of 2010 now that it's over, my little girl's pitiful "no-o-o, no-o-o" whimpers and pleading signs for milk, "p-eeease" were hard to refuse. And I was more than happy to fix her favorite meal for dinner tonight.

Christmas

After presents, stockings, and a fabulous fridge-to-oven breakfast of Cinnamon Twists (Thanks, Kristen!) and a breakfast casserole, we settled into an easy day. Since Kevin and I didn't make it to bed until about 3:30am Christmas Eve (Christmas Day?), we all took a 2-hour nap in the afternoon. Thus, we had to make do without homemade rolls and gingerbread at dinner. Nonetheless, we enjoyed dinner by candlelight: spiced-cider-glazed pork tenderloin, sweet potato casserole (southern style, loaded with butter and sugar!), cheddar-broccoli-rice casserole, bakery rolls (purchased just-in-case). Carolyn devoured 3 helpings of sweet potato casserole (sans nut topping, of course), which I mixed with a bit of shredded pork tenderloin after the first serving disappeared so quickly.

We opened our gifts after dinner. Kevin built me a beautiful storage bench/stool for the kitchen that I am so proud of. And he's sending me to a knife-skills class that promises to be fun and enlightening, so I can be a better ninja--ummm. . .chef. And our annual family self-portrait turned out a bit fuzzy, as I was too busy keeping a sleepy girl happy to stay still for the lens to focus correctly. Maybe we'll try again today.

After Carolyn went to bed, we enjoyed Spiced-Cider Sorbet and watched "White Christmas," even as the rain and the clock melted ours away.

It was a beautiful Christmas.

The Stockings are Hung

I finished the last 2 stockings today and hung them all carefully from the curtain rod. Here's the final product:



And, because I'm a little too pleased with myself, here's a close-up of each one:

Thanksgiving Report

With the return of a quiet and empty (except for the Christmas music playing and the Carolyn singing from her crib) house, I'm back to report on the Thanksgiving Day results.

We stuck to the schedule pretty closely and sat down to eat only 30 minutes later than I anticipated. I call that good. The old recipes were characteristically fabulous and the new recipes were (somewhat surprisingly) all hits with most of us.

This is my refrigerator Wednesday night: arranged, rearranged, and crammed to the brim to accomodate my large water-bath canner with brining turkey inside.



The Food List and Preparation Schedule:



Pie Preparations (gotta work on the cook time and temperature for a deep dish fresh pumpkin pie).



New roll recipe, Sweet Potato Twists. These were beautiful and delicious. Many thanks to my mother-in-law for making them, as my hands were too dry and cracked to knead dough in a sanitary fashion.



The Table (My aunt sets a beautiful table, does she not? I need her around to help me use my china to its full potential.)



The Turkey, pre-carving. A new recipe this year produced by far the best result yet, and there wasn't anything wrong with the previous years. But THIS. . .well it was the best turkey I've ever had, I think. We'll be saving this recipe for next year. . .if I wait that long.



The Buffet. From left to right: Green Bean Casserole, Vegetable Casserole, Dressing, Sweet Potato-Cranberry Galette, Cranberry-Strawberry Jello Salad, Turkey, Butternut Squash and Cheese Pannade, Mashed Potatoes. Not pictured: Deviled Eggs, Crudites, Gravy, Rolls, Pumpkin Pie, Tennessee Whiskey Cake, Whipped Cream



All in all, I was tremendously pleased with the outcome. I'm ever so thankful that I wasn't on my own--3 pairs of hands made lots of work much less work and much more pleasant. I actually feel like I didn't really do much more than spin in circles and delegate tasks. And, of course, I couldn't have done it without my lovely Thanksgiving Schedule Spreadsheet. ;-)

Thanksgiving with One Oven

Everyone is a little insane. I am well aware that my particular breed of insanity goes into overdrive in the holiday kitchen.

Growing up, we had holiday dinners at my grandparents' house--a half-mile from my house and a block from my cousins'. The nearness of our homes meant that we had 3 ovens (and any number of helping hands) at the feasting preparations' disposal. Thus, I am accustomed to a wide array of delectable dishes piled high, wide, and deep on the holiday table. And buffet. And extra table.

Now, when it's just the two of us for a holiday meal, I can control these habits and limit my preparations. But when additions come to table, my insanity kicks in and the food multiplies exponentially.

There are new recipes to try! There are old recipes that must not be forgotten! Everyone has to have his favorite thing! Or things! And we can't forget aesthetic appeal! Dishes of every color! And! And!

Hence, my Thanksgiving Schedule Spreadsheet, where oven time is meticulously mapped out, beginning at T-minus-6 hours with the turkey and proceeding through dressings and casseroles and rolls and pies (that mustn't be baked ahead, lest they cool), carefully arranged so that time-sensitive dishes will be fresh out of the oven, hardy faithfuls will be kept piping hot on the back burner (Thank goodness for an energy-inefficient vintage range that exudes heat from every orifice, and some places that aren't!), and desserts will tempt us with their still-baking aroma as we eat dinner.

I'm a little crazy. And it doesn't end there. Beneath the oven time columns, stove-top dishes are penciled in at their appropriate cooking times and, beneath that, preparation tasks are listed where they best fit. The way it's mapped out, one person could conceivably handle the whole grand banquet. Fortunately for me (and for Carolyn, whose needs aren't inked in), I won't be cooking alone.

Three chefs + one oven = A fabulous Thanksgiving spread. . .I hope!

The Big Blue Beast

As Thanksgiving is fast approaching, it was time to cook the Big Blue Beast. I did, while Carolyn looked on. This was my first time with a Blue Hubbard. It was interesting.



Can you tell? It bleeds yellow.



I did finally get it cut open, but it was rough--much rougher than the "normal" pumpkins I've done in years past or than the lighter-orange one (of a variety I can't remember) that I did earlier this year. The skin was tougher, and so was the flesh.



Scraping it out was still easy, though.

"Here, Mom. Let me bag that for you."



It was so big, I had to cut it further to fit it in the pan. I need to remember to pay attention to that when I pick my pumpkins--I switched to baking from steaming, because there's a lot less (hard) cutting to make the pumpkin fit in a baking pan than to make it fit in a pot on the stove. But if I still have to hack it smaller than halves. . .well, I prefer not. There's a fine line, when you're not paying per pound. I want the biggest pumpkin in a given price range, so I get the most for my money. But I should remember to get one sized and shaped such that half of it will fit in a pan I have.



After baking (400 degrees, 1 hour), it was decidedly green. Kevin says it looks like an alien slug.



After scraping the flesh out and pureeing it in the blender, I put it in strainers lined with cheesecloth. This is the first year I've done this; I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. Actually, though, this pumpkin had far less water in it than any I've used previously (note the blackened pan in the middle of the last picture). Usually, the pan is half-full of pumpkin juice after baking, but this one I added water to and it STILL dried up. Anyway, some liquid still drained out, which makes it more the consistency of canned pumpkin and easier to bake pies with.




I don't think I'll buy a Big Blue Beast again. It looks great on the porch, but I buy my pumpkins to cook, and it wasn't as convenient for that end. Hopefully I'll see the same varieties next year that I saw this year and can figure out which the pale orange one was--I loved how easy it was to cut and how vibrantly orange the baked flesh was.

Why do I care?

Because where England goes, we may follow.

An Object Lesson

Carolyn gives me a thousand little lessons a day. Today, I was watching her stack blocks. She's just learning how to stack them, and they immediately topple more often than not. They topple because she doesn't just set a block gently atop another. She places it dead-on center, but then she pushes down just as hard as she can. . .to make it stay, I presume. Usually, the release of all her little force is enough to make the tower wobble and fall down.

We do this. When we want something so bad, we often apply all our force to making it happen. . .only to push too hard and knock away all the underpinnings as well. If we could just trust God, who has built up the tower thus far, to gently lay the top block in place, our overbearing shove would not be necessary.

Quote of the Day

The world wants good mothers. It can do without clever money-makers. . .

and

Ruskin says: 'The best women are indeed the most difficult to know. They are recognized chiefly in the happiness of their husbands and the nobleness of their children; they are only to be divined, not discerned by the stranger, and sometimes seem almost helpless except in their homes.'

quoted by a friend, from "The Little Kingdom of Home," copyright 1904

Is that a compliment???

In shoving her controversy-plagued healthcare reform bill to victory by a paper-thin margin, she (Pelosi) conclusively demonstrated that a woman can be just as gritty, ruthless and arm-twisting in pursuing her agenda as anyone in the long line of fabled male speakers before her.

The more I read Camille Paglia, the more I like her.

Which statement should not, in any way, shape, or form, be so construed as to imply that I agree with all--or even most--that she writes.

On to the previous post, which is far more interesting and far less likely to elicit controversy.

Slightly Crazy

Yesterday, I did two mildly irrational things (Just two? I know, I know--an unusually calm day for us.). Only one of the two became decidedly more than I had anticipated.

Carolyn has recently decided that I should not do anything--and I do mean anything--in the kitchen unless she can see what's happening. So, if I wash my hands, chop vegetables, wash dishes, or do anything else that requires me to have 2 free hands, she stands screaming at my knees. This is not a way to live.

And let's not even mention that my neck and shoulders are suffering from measuring, mixing, and generally cooking one-handed while supporting a 20-pound-plus baby on one hip.

Enter the "Learning Tower."



I drove an hour in D.C. Beltway traffic Sunday evening to pick this up from a Craigslister, as we were unwilling to fork over the $200 the company charges for a new one. Monday morning, (Carolyn and) I cleaned it top to bottom. Then I decided to let her stand with me while I washed dishes. It took longer than normal, but Carolyn enjoyed herself. True to prediction, by the time I finished a drainer-full, the floor had to be mopped up and Carolyn's soaked clothes needed to be changed. (Today went much more smoothly--the only thing she got her hands on during dinner prep was the bread knife. . .)

My second adventure, more than I wanted:
I decided to run to the store to pick up just a few things. It was a beautiful, happy seventy degrees. And the nearest store is a mere mile and a half. So I decided to run to the store. Well, walk, really. But I did some jogging on the way back. . .with 10 pounds of flour on my back. Seriously. I did think about this in advance: I'd put the small cold stuff (some chicken, yogurt, cheese) in the backpack (a backpacking daypack--it's really comfortable) and the heavy stuff in the stroller. It has a 50 pound weight limit, and Carolyn is nowhere near that, so it should have been fine. . .except I forgot (until after I'd purchased my 10 pounds of flour) that the basket on the stroller has a 5 pound limit. You'd think it wouldn't matter that much, but it's an all-fabric basket, so I was afraid to risk it (I also think it would have dragged the ground with that much weight). I could, obviously, have simply gone to customer service and returned the offending weight. But, if you know me, you know I'm entirely too. . .determined for such a defeatist decision. So I slogged the whole way home, including jogging (most of) the stretch on the shoulder of the busy road, with a generous 5 extra pounds in the stroller basket and 10 pounds of flour in my daypack. *sigh* I don't think I'll be repeating that trip.

Quote of the Day

When you have to explain to yourself over and over why you were really right, chances are very good that you were really wrong.

Ouch.

A New Temptation

. . .or, rather, an old one, revisited.

I made a dangerous discovery this morning.

Lately, Kevin has been making a small pot of coffee in the mornings, just enough to fill a travel thermos-cup. Or so I thought.

I mean, of course I knew there's a little extra. I pour it out every day. But I thought it was just a little extra. Today, I thought a half-cup or less of coffee would be just perfect, so I poured it into a mug instead of down the drain. You know how the liquid at the bottom of a coffee pot always looks like a good deal less than it is?

There was a perfect scant-mug, just room enough for sugar and cream with no danger of spillage.

Now I have a dilemma. It didn't bother me in the least to pour out a splash of coffee daily. But it seems wasteful to daily dump a whole mug of perfectly good gourmet coffee. We're not talking Folger's here, people. Variety and brand name may vary somewhat, but it's always good coffee.

And, currently, I also have a fair quantity of flavored creamer in the refrigerator that really should be consumed before it has to be thrown out. I bought it when my mom was here last week, but now I'm the only one here who will drink it.

On the other hand, I have purposely avoided the daily coffee habit on principle. I don't want to become a daily coffee drinker. Well. . .I could easily want to. But I don't think I should, for a number of reasons. Some of you--probably those who already have a daily (hourly?) coffee habit--will be quick to point out that drinking coffee is not among the worst of personal vices. (Some of you will no doubt even say it is no vice at all.) That may very well be, but it is not a personal vice (or lack thereof) in which I wish to indulge more than once or twice a week.

Kevin can't make less coffee, because he already makes the minimum recommended amount for our 12-cup drip machine. We could make it in the vacuum-action contraption, but that's a lot of work and cleaning on a daily basis. We could get a smaller drip coffeemaker or a French press, but I really don't have room for more kitchen appliances--particularly coffee-related ones, of which we already have five, all different in purpose and result. Now that I think about it. . .perhaps Kevin should just get his individual-sized-for-work coffee gadget out of the "office" box, since he's not using it at work at the moment. Or maybe I should just get Kevin a larger travel mug. At least then I won't know if he pours half of it in the sink!

Relativity

There is also a strong resistance to the vaccine from the general public. A new Harvard University poll shows that only four in 10 adults intend to take the vaccine themselves, and only six in 10 plan to give it to their children.

I'm amused that (roughly) 50% constitutes "strong resistance" to a voluntary preventative medical treatment. And, while on the subject of subjective verbal interpretation of statistics, this article on the relative wisdom of the "safe sex" campaign is interesting--and completely secular.

More Complicated than a Fruit Fly

My self-esteem just shot into the clouds. Many thanks for this compliment!

". . .we may have a more complex way of assessing other individuals and classifying them and determining how we're going to relate to them than a fly does."

Observations on the Day

1) I forgot how much fun it is to have a house full of exuberant kids playing together!

2) It is amazing how quickly 3 extra running, squealing, little bodies' heat warms up a house!

3) When we remodel the kitchen, I need to remember chopping space that faces the doorway, lest I chop my fingers off while looking over my shoulder to check on the kids!

4) It's a great idea to start making a hot lunch 2 or 3 hours before you want it when there are 4 interrupters underfoot. (I did; it was actually ready more or less on-time; amazing!)

5) Dishwashers are wonderful things. I'll be glad when I have one again!

6) Whereas 4 disrespectful, disobedient children could ruin a morning, 4 well-taught and easy-to-correct children are delightful, even when said children are toddlers with the requisite caveats for "obedience."

7) Discipline is so much easier when the "Garden" only has one "tree" that is off-limits. (aka, Hooray for a mostly kid-friendly home!)

8) One fabulous feature of our house that I did not at first recognize: the 10-yard-long clear path from front door to kitchen back wall--a perfect sprint course!

9) Older children are fabulous teachers--Carolyn now knows she can climb into her play table and onto the bottom of the coffee table. Oops! :-)

Erupting Cinnamon Volcanorolls

Yesterday was a baking day at our house and included my first stab at cinnamon rolls.

SUGARRRRRRRRRRRR

What a totally fun, insane, bold and daring, great, and did I mention insane? idea!

Contented

It would be odd if the thought of a new baby had not crossed my mind lately. Carolyn has just passed her first birthday, and with its passing people began to ask when she might have siblings. Also, several friends are deep in the throes of parenting joy, either having given birth in the past month, expecting to do so in the coming weeks, or traveling to get their newly-adopted kiddos. It's beautiful to see.

Listening to two new-made mothers-of-two delight in their doubled progeny, I keep searching for something I'm not feeling. When I finally put my finger on it, I realize that I'm not wistful. There's no anxious anticipation to be in their shoes, no impatience to "catch up," no envy. Funny, I think. It's not what I would have predicted. Certainly, we'd like another baby and pray that God holds that in store for us; it's not that we want no more. Certainly, we would be unequivocally thrilled if another baby were on the way now; it's not a concern with timing. Why not wistful for that peculiar happiness that comes with the anticipation and arrival of a new child?

I've been musing about this unexpected calm here and there, turning it about in my mind. The only answer I find is a simple contentment. There is so much bliss is watching our one little girl, so many moments of enjoyment with her budding personality--how can I be discontent? Just as my friends would be wrong to waste time bemoaning their now-divided attention, I would be wrong to waste this season bemoaning the singularity of my child. It is good to be grateful for the gifts of God in whatever season we find ourselves. And, though we must often purpose ourselves to be content, I am enormously grateful for the very station of being content. It is no less a grace and a blessing of God for being a state we may choose.

Lest you wonder, this is no rebuttal or response to anyone, merely observations of my musings. Just as I am gladdened by my friends' elation with their circumstances, I know they rejoice in my cheerful satisfaction with my own. May it be an encouragement to you in your own season! Praise God for the beauty and uniqueness of our lives!