Butter, Sugar, Happiness

I'm seriously in need a baking intervention. It's been a butter/sugar/flour free-for-all at my house these past few weeks. But this one was worth it. It's a simple, light buttermilk raspberry cake and it's so easy to make. My daughter and I recklessly threw everything in one bowl and even mixed it by hand, so as not to disturb my napping son. The raspberries sank to the bottom of the cake but it was no less delicious because of it. I swear, this cake just made me happy. The recipe comes from Smitten Kitten - my favorite cooking blog. Check out the Smitten Kitten website and please, make this cake!

http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/05/raspberry-buttermilk-cake/

A Boy Who Picks You Flowers

Okay, I'll admit it - I'm utterly in love.

But weren't you just in my belly not too long ago? Seriously, how did this happen?

Produce and Ponies

We've waited for six months for the Farmer's Market in our new town to open. It's finally here! The crops aren't bountiful yet in these parts, but there are still some beautiful things to be had. (Fresh strawberries and a loaf of pumpkin chocolate chip bread were consumed in short order.)

Truthfully, the Farmer's Market in our previous city is pretty hard to compete with. It was a few short blocks from our place and open year-round. Every Sunday we'd walk down the street to be assaulted by what can only be described as Kiddie Shangri La. Beautiful produce aside, there was a petting zoo, pony rides, a moonbounce, and a carnival swing ride. Face painting, snow cones, kettle corn, and balloons rounded out the fun for the under five set. Every week my daughter would ride a pony - Ladybug and Snowball were her horses of choice - usually not far from Dave Grohl's (Nirvana and Foo Fighters) daughter. Other days she would pet goats or chase a pig near Holly Hunter's twin boys. There was bluegrass banjo and tropical steel drums being played and fresh corn and pork tamales with tomatillo salsa to be consumed. I miss that market and its' access to all that weekly festivity.

When we talked about the Farmer's Market in our new place, I wasn't quite sure how my girl would take the news that, in most cases, a Farmer's Market is really all about the food. There would be no animals, no rides, no festivities. And while she appreciates good food, somehow it's not quite the same magical experience.

Which is why, Little Bear, we've decided to get you a pony of your very own!!!


P.S. You're not really getting a pony. But could I interest you in some more pumpkin chocolate chip bread? How's about some nice broccoli rabe? Anyone? Anyone.....?

Handpies

Alabama: Would you like to go get some pie?
Clarence: I'd love some pie.
____________________________________________

I think I have pie on the brain.

We had cherries yesterday. Lots of them. We ate them out of hand and there were still a lot of cherries. Not enough to make a whole pie, but just enough for little hand pies. Some butter, flour, vanilla, sugar, a squeeze of lemon and, of course, cherries.

Voila. Little cherry pies.

Handpies a.k.a baby pies, as my daughter calls them.





The waiting is the hardest part...





Sweet spot.

Urban Surprise

We found this wading pool in a small park in the city. In the winter months it's just a stone square surrounded by a plot of grass but in the summer they turn on the jets and the water builds up a little shy of knee-high. On a sunny day it's a perfect gathering spot; a place for kids to let loose and splash like wild otters.




Even if you didn't come prepared with bathing suits and towels.

It's also adjacent to an ice cream store and a cafe - what more could you ask for? Whoever came up with this idea should get some kind of urban planning award and the key to the city. Or least a scoop of fresh marionberry buttermilk swirl ice cream...

Jam-Packed

Some long-awaited sunny days and a weekend to boot...

Who needs an amusement park when you have a bucket, a hose, and a car to wash? Everyone pitches in. The littlest one took the opportunity to wash himself. Three times.




Seriously, are you really going to bogart that thing?




You got lucky, son. Your sister gives you a taste of your very first popsicle with only a little prodding from her parents.




A picnic lunch in the backyard.




Picking lilacs.




I'm pretty sure the one on the left is trying to eat the flowers.




The end result - flowers for Dada.




Enough said.

Soundtrack

It was about 15 years ago that I kissed a boy in a darkened room while The Pixies' Surfer Rosa played in the background.

A year later, I packed up my belongings, got in the car and drove. I drove through the desert, I drove to Mexico. I drove around and listened to "Where is My Mind" on a boom box that sat on the passenger seat of my car because I had no radio. The windows were down and I sang along, feeling the wind, the melody, and a sense of freedom that comes from being on the road and not knowing what comes next in your life. But being okay anyways.

Later, I listened to it as I drove seven hours straight to Las Vegas on a scorching hot day to meet that same boy - only this time we decided instead of just sitting in a darkened room, we were going to try for a life together.

Fifteen (or is sixteen?) years later, I listened to "Where is My Mind" with our 16-month old son, in our living room, as my cereal got soggy. He smiled with his four front teeth and waved his hands as we danced and spun.

It's been a pretty great soundtrack to my life. (Special thanks to Black Francis, Mrs. John Murphy, et al.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGXdXcpNsv4

A One-Act

You're Making My Hair Turn Gray: A Conversation with a Three-year Old.

Scene: The following takes place in a living room (or car, or bedroom, or kitchen) in the morning (or midday or night).

Her: Can I do that now?
Me: No, later.
Her: Now?
Me. Later - after I'm done making lunch.
Her: Now?
Me: We're not going to do that now.
Her: How about now?
Me: No - not now. Later.
Her: Is it later?
Me: No.
Her: How about now?
Me: Still no.
Her: Mommy?
Me: No. When I'm done.
Her: Are you done now?
Me: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Momentary silence]

Her: Now?

And..................Scene!

Feeling Lucky...

I'll be honest - I don't have a big circle of friends. There are a few people that mean a whole lot to me but I've never been one to keep up with a lot of different friendships. There are plenty of reasons why: lack of time, maybe I'm a little judgemental or didn't feel there was much common ground, or sometimes life, distant moves, relationships, etc... just got in the way. But mostly I'm a little introverted and it doesn't come that easily to me. It's something I start to regret as I get older, but it also makes me value those that I have.

I have a friend who's really good at making friends. She's always herself and always genuine. She won't admit that she has a lot of friends but she does. She's easy to be with and truly wants her friends to be happy. She's the person I call when I'm spiraling downward and the person I call when I have good news to share. We're on different coasts now, but I love when we visit each other; staying up late talking and laughing at ourselves is something I love, need, and miss. We're different people who sometimes look at things in different ways but ultimately she just wants me to be happy, just as I want that for her. She's the definition of the word supportive. I've known her since we were 17 and that support and friendship has meant so much to me over the past gazillion years.

Which is why I am the biggest dork on the planet for forgetting her birthday recently. I don't know what happened - I always remember that kind of thing. I know she doesn't really care that I forgot, but the least I can do is publicly flog myself for it and let her know how much I value our friendship.

So C. - thank you for being an amazing friend. It makes me cry to think about how much you mean to me. And thank you for being seen in public with me, especially in the early '90s when I wore clothes like this:

Eat More Pie

I don't have any pie and that's sad. However, I do have a friend who I hadn't been in touch with since the eighth grade or so (I promise this leads to pie). We recently reconnected and it turns out, she's as funny, smart, and genuine as she was back when we danced to Michael Jackson's Beat It in her living room. That's right - we were huge dorks.

When I asked her what her older brother Rod had been up these past years, she told me he owned a pie shop. That is so brilliant! I can't think of a better job. I love pie. Pie makes the hurt feel good (if I may boldly misquote Sammy Davis Jr.'s "Candy Man'). Blueberry, peach, Key lime, lemon chess - I wish I had some pie.

Unfortunately I'm on the wrong coast to stop into Dangerously Delicious Pies and order a pie or seven. But if you are in Baltimore, try to check it out. You can find more info at http://www.dangerouspies.com/. If you can't stop in, Rod will be showing off his pie-making skills on Paula Deen's show, Best Dishes, on the Food Network this Saturday, May 16th, at 11:30 a.m. Eastern time.

The triathlon training can wait another day - now go eat pie!

Where the Wild Things Are

I'd like to say that this is a river in the middle of the wilderness and that we frolic in nature all of our days. Truth be told, it's a tiny man-made creek behind our suburban house, no more than 12 inches in width and complete with mysterious black plastic tubing running the length of it. But she doesn't know that. To her, these are rapids to be crossed, explored, stomped in. The little beast conquered the river that day, my friends. And she was muddy and wet from head to toe.

It's good to be wild.

House of Cats

The best explanation I can come up with is that it's some kind of revolt against their father's cat allergies...

Today's Post Has Been Brought to You by the Letters "F' and 'W'

Every so often your kids say something that moves you to the core. Not too long ago, my shy, friendless girl announced, quite out of the blue, to my husband that, 'Mama is my fwriend". My heart swelled to about 4 times its natural size. The fact that she still can't pronounce the letter 'f' without following it with the letter 'w' just made it all the sweeter.

A few weeks later, we had some dinner guests over. I dressed for the occasion, threw in my rarely used contacts, and put on makeup and jewelry. When my daughter saw me, she said, "Oh! But why do you look beautifwul today?". (Hearing her call me 'beautifwul' for the first time felt so nice that I've decided to let the second half of that back-handed compliment slide.)

Three is a funny age. Their curiosity and imagination are off the charts and their desire to express themselves is made all the more interesting by their sometimes limited (though rapidly accelerating) mastery of language and vocabulary. I love hearing the hilarious and absurdly innocent statements that only a three-year old can come up with. And I am moved to tears by the earnest expression of raw emotions, especially as I hear them for the very first time. It's amazing and astonishing and heart-wrenchingly sweet to watch my baby - and her relationship with the world - evolve at warped speed.

When I look at L., I can't believe how she's already becoming more little girl than toddler. Her face is changing every day. Her thought process is becoming more complex by the minute. And as much as I love laughing, and sometimes choking up, at the things she now says, I'll be sad when her articulation and vocabulary grow more sophisticated; when she no longer mispronounces her 'f's as 'fw's. I'm so happy to be on this journey of hers; to witness who and what she is becoming. But each night, after she falls asleep, I really just want to lean over and whisper in her little ear, "Hold on, slow down a little, please - it's all happening way too fwast!".

How to Bruise Your Ego in Three Minutes Flat

A conversation between an utterly honest three-year old ( who can't say her 'f's without following them by a 'w') and her poor father, who has been reduced to a high school freshman all over again.


Little One: What's that?
Dada: What's what?
Little One: That - on your fwace!
Dada: What?
Little One: That red thing on your face?
Dada: Oh, that's a zit. A pimple.
Little One: Why do you have it?
Dada: I don't know.
Little One: But where did you get it?
Dada: It just happened.
Little One: Why it just happened?
Dada: Sometimes if your pores aren't clean or....you know, it just happens.

-Silent pause-

Little One: Can you make it go away?
Dada: It will go away.
Little One: Now?
Dada: After a couple days, if I keep washing my face it will go away.
Little One: Oh. Can you wash your face now?
Dada: Soon, baby, soon.
Little One: How about now?
Dada: Wow. I can't believe I'm being mocked by a three-year old.

-Silent Pause-

Little One: Mamaaaaaa!!!! Dada has a pimple!!!! On his FWACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!