Flying On A Jet Plane

In about 4 days, we'll be sitting at the Atlanta airport waiting for our flight to board. I've spent the last week visualizing the carefree feeling of knowing that from that moment onward, the following 28 days will revolve around fun in the sun. In this carefree daydream, Parker is happily playing in the sand, I'm sprawled on a lounge chair sipping my Mythos beer and my only concern is making sure that our sunscreen is properly applied. Of course, before my lounge chair reality can commence, a couple of tiny details need to be settled. Like this.

Except those two sweating souls will be me and the Irishman. And once we've successfully moved the entire house and finished off the minor task of unpacking everything, there's still this.

14 hours of flying to be exact. You know, no biggie with an active 3-year-old. Are you impressed yet by the power of my delusion? I'm sure that about 4 hours into the flight, I'll be cursing myself for decided that dragging a 3-year-old halfway around the world was a good idea. But then. A day or two of jet lag later. There will be this.

And this.

And this.

And all will be well again...until that cursed return flight to the states.

Beauty And The Beast

Before we were the owners of two dogs of the same breed, I never realized how many differences could exist between two seemingly similar dogs. Sure, they both have the short dwarf legs and the huge radar dish ears characteristic of Cardigan Corgis, but the similarities between Nona and Chewie end there. In a nutshell, Nona is functional and Chewie is decorative. I'm sorry, but it's true.

Nona is vigilant. Alert. Shall we say...militant?

Even when the poor girl is yawning, she's still scanning her surroundings.

She herds all of the cats, children and Irishmen in the house and she's constantly in everyone's business. Yes, Nona, I'm talking about you.

She would be perfectly happy on a farm somewhere herding cattle. It's in her blood. This dog doesn't back down from anything or anyone. Of course, I understand her militant, controlling nature perfectly. She get's that from me.

Chewie on the other hand...

...isn't useful for anything other than companionship. Unless you consider eating all of the poop in your yard a useful habit. He's a trophy dog. Very nice to look at, but not too bright upstairs. I mean seriously, the lights are on, but no one is home. Don't get me wrong, he's very sweet and loving. And quite frankly, he's the perfect dog for a family with children because he's tolerant of everything.

When we're out walking the two dogs, everyone who drives by stops to comment on how gorgeous Chewie is. And it's true, his blue merle coat and his blue eyes are remarkable. I think he was blessed with dashing good looks to compensate for his other...shortcomings. I know you aren't supposed to pick favorites among your children (4-legged or otherwise), but at the end of the day, Nona is my girl. It's our shared enthusiasm for rule enforcement that bonds us.

Some Things Never Change

I went into Parker's room the other day to check in on him while he was napping. It's a parent thing. Even though he's too old for SIDS and can call me if he needs me, I still have to go in to watch him breathe. Just seeing the rising and falling of his chest fills me with my own sense of well-being and I can go about my business for the next hour...until I have to go check on him again.

When I walked in and saw the position he was sleeping in, I had one of those moments where even though I know in my head that he's closing in on his fourth birthday, what I saw was a sweet tiny baby boy.

It reminded me of the scene in Father of the Bride when Steve Martin's daughter is sitting at the dinner table and tells her family that she's getting married. As you watch the scene unfold through his eyes, you see a 7-year-old girl sitting there instead of the woman that she's become. Man, do I understand this now!

What's comforting though is that while it's certainly amazing how they grow and change with each passing month, it's equally amazing how some of their traits and habits remain the same. Parker has slept like this from the day that we brought him home; on his back with his hands in loose fists. I can tell you that if I watch him for long enough, his left hand will twitch at the wrist, almost like he's rolling the throttle of a motorcycle (which he won't be until after his 30th birthday!).

Watching him grow up makes me want to hold tight to each passing day so that I don't miss a thing. Now, please excuse me while I go and immerse myself in baby albums. Who knew that parenthood could make me so sentimental?

5 Guys Grilled Cheese

Up here in the balmy mountains of North Carolina, we have great weather, beautiful scenery, great outdoor sports...and limited restaurants. Thankfully, I love to cook so that's not a problem for us, but when we venture down into Florida, the Irishman is always interested in trying out new restaurants.

He had heard a lot about 5 Guys burgers, so on our last pilgrimage to South Florida, he insisted that we stop for lunch at the first one we saw on the trip down. Now, I'm normally a pretty easy vegetarian to please, but what the heck was I supposed to eat at a burger joint that served nothing but burgers??

I sighed dramatically and agreed to give it a try, so I ordered the only thing on the menu that I could eat. A grilled cheese. When I saw that they were making it with an inverted hamburger bun, I thought, "You've got to be kidding me. This is going to be completely disgusting." But, I kept my thoughts to myself so as not to diminish the eagerness in the Irishman's eyes.

Boy, am I thankful that I didn't gripe because I loathe saying that I was wrong. And I certainly was. It was, quite frankly, awesome. I mean, who knew that an inverted hamburger bun with some American cheese, mayo, pickles, lettuce and tomatoes would be so tasty? Don't get me wrong, it's not exactly the nutritious choice of the century, but now I know that I have an alternative at cookouts and at home when we have extra buns leftover from the boys burgers and I don't have a veggie burger for myself.

Oh yeah, if you want to make one for yourself, just butter the inside of the hamburger bun, invert it, throw some cheese in the middle and cook it slow and low (the only way to do grilled cheese). Then, add some pickles and mayo and anything else you have on hand. Those 5 Guys sure are clever.

A Moment 3.5 Years In The Making

You may have noticed that Lulu Belle, our little blonde kitty rarely makes an appearance on this little blog. That's because she rarely makes herself seen when we're awake and full chaos rules. While Payton the Bionic Cat pretends as if the dogs and Parker don't exist, Lulu Belle pretty much hangs out in sun room (which is inaccessible to Parker, Payton and the dogs) until everyone is sleeping.

Well yesterday, Parker walks slowly over to the kitchen and says to me, "Momma, Lulu is on the table. I think I can touch her." This was a big moment for Parker. Monumental. You see, Parker has never touched Luna. Seriously, never. She usually takes one look at him and takes off. But, she must have noticed that Parker was feeling calm and her usual fight or flight reflexes were taking a break for that moment.

I squatted down and told Parker to walk over very quietly and move very slowly. No sudden movements kiddo. So he did. And he finally touched her. In the picture above, I love the expression on his face. You can tell that he is oozing calm and quiet. This more than anything tells me that Parker is growing up.

Of course, it was a fleeting moment and things are back to normal now. Lulu hiding, Parker chasing, the dogs barking, Payton looking for a lap to occupy...it's the usual chaos.

Strawberry Festival

Last weekend, we joined up with some friends and took the kids to the Darnell Farms strawberry picking festival. Darnell Farms is a working farm with huge strawberry fields and is situated right up against the Tuckaseegee River.

There was a band playing bluegrass music, which is an integral part of the Appalachian culture in the area. In fact, the only two radio stations we get in the mountains are NPR and a bluegrass station.

There were locals selling some of their homemade wares, like these bird feeders. I think they're made out of hollowed out gourds, but of course, I could be completely wrong.

There were teams of horses (and mules) demonstrating how the farmers till the fields. Again, I have no idea whether I'm using the correct term, but I'm pretty sure it's called tilling the fields. I'm constantly reminded of how little I know about rural life.

And then there was this guy riding his horse bareback. Yup, your face says it all buddy. You, sir, are a bad ass. How does one mount a bare back horse??

Of course, the boys were not content to sit and listen to bluegrass music and browse bird feeder gourds, so we left and went to a nearby playground so the boys could work off their energy.

Parker and his buddy Beck we're having a great time with the Irishman watching them and snapping pictures.

In the meantime, I had been sitting in our friend Christy's car while the older boys played since her littlest guy had fallen asleep on the way to the playground. When the Irishman took this picture, he had just woken up.

I scooped up the munchkin and went to find Christy (who had taken Beck to the little wranglers room). Let's just say that the little guy was hungry and I did not have the working parts that he needed. Sorry buddy.

Of course, 15 minutes later, the skies opened up and the rain that had been threatening all day starting coming down in big, fat raindrops. So, we all went to eat at a Mexican restaurant and called it a day. It was a lovely day.

Buffalo Chicken Strips

In my husband's perfect world, he would eat what I consider "pub fare" on a daily basis. Fish and chips, bangers and mash (sausage and potatoes), shepherd's pie, Reuben sandwiches and buffalo chicken strips. Of course, if he were to get these foods at a pub, they would be fattening, greasy and sure to induce instantaneous heartburn.

So, being the kind, considerate (and controlling) wife that I am, I intersperse my version of these meals between the lentil soup and coconut curry shrimp that I tend to favor. It keeps him out of the greasy pubs around town when he needs a pub fare fix and I get to play around with new recipes. See? It's a win-win.

I came up with these boneless buffalo chicken strips on the fly a couple of days ago when the Irishman had a hankering for them and I made them with the pantry ingredients that I happened to have on hand. Alright, here's what you need. Oh, and I've given you two different buffalo sauce recipes in case you like things a teeny bit sweeter (version #1) or traditional (version #2).

For the chicken strips:

1-2 chicken breasts

1 egg, beaten with 1 Tbs. water

1 cup bread crumbs (I had the Japanese panko bread flakes on hand)

1/2 cup flour

Canola oil for pan frying (vegetable oil would work too)

For the sauce, version #1:

1/4 cup butter

1/3 cup hot sauce

1/4 cup ketchup

1-2 Tbs. honey

For the sauce, version #2:

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup hotsauce

1 tsp. white vinegar

For starters, combine the ingredients for the sauce (for whichever sauce you choose) in a small saucepan, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes or until your chicken strips are done.

Next, slice your chicken breasts into 1/2 inch thick strips. Then, put about 1 inch of oil in a large saute pan and get it nice and hot. You know the oil is ready when you drop in a bread crumb and it starts to sizzle.

Now, we're going to get an assembly line going. We're going to dredge the chicken in the (1) flour, (2) egg wash, and (3) bread crumbs in that order. So, I just line up my big soup bowls and fill one with the flour, one with the beaten egg/water and one with the bread crumbs. I generally will salt and pepper the flour since it's touching the chicken first.

And we're off! Coat the chicken with flour, give it a roll in the egg wash and then drop it in the bread crumbs until it's coated. Shake off the excess crumbs and put it in the hot oil. Once you've got a couple of chicken strips pan-frying, let them cook for 3 minutes or so on each side. They should be a nice golden brown. You may need to turn the temperature down to medium after the first batch is done to prevent them from getting too brown.

When they're done, line them up on a paper-towel covered plate so that the excess oil will drain. Once all of your chicken has cooked, go ahead and dip them in the sauce, put on a plate and serve. And that's it! Making pub fare at home is a healthier alternative to the real deal and it's also cheaper. Just don't forget to tip the cook.

French Press: My Forgotten Love

Because it's Tuesday, (which is really just a spill-over from Monday) and because it's 5am and because I am out of my ritual NesCafe and had to scamble to make a cup of joe, I thought I would write some more about coffee today. Specifically, about the best coffee I ever had. I was reminded of it yesterday when I found my French press shoved in the back of a bottom cabinet; forlorn and abandoned in my modern day consumption of instant coffee. I felt joy at seeing it, yet I was instantly abashed that I had forgotten about it.

Thanks to my days as a coffee shop barista, I know a lot about how coffee is brewed and I've tried probably every brewing method in the book. The hands down best cup of coffee I have ever tasted in my coffee-laden life was an American Sumatra brewed in a Fresh press (the nifty tall glass contraption in the picture above).

The thing is, using a French press is so much simpler than using a coffee maker. Come and I'll show you. I should add that the best results are achieved by going to your local coffee shop (or grocery store) and having them coarsely grind your favorite coffee. However, I just used a Starbucks blend that already came ground (thanks Brother Dean!) and it came out wonderfully. You just need to be careful of the last couple of sips because some of the finer grinds may have ended up in your cup.

Okay, this is how it works. First, boil some water in a kettle. Put your coffee grinds in the bottom of your French press and pour the hot water slowly over the grinds. It's important at this point not to depress the filter.

Now, set your timer for 5 minutes and let it be...

...After the 5 minutes are up, ever so slowly depress the plunger, effectively pushing the grinds to the bottom of the glass.

Then, pour yourself a cup of the richest coffee you'll ever have. You see, the filter in a traditional coffee maker captures the natural oils of the coffee as well as the grinds, stripping some of the natural creaminess of the coffee. Using a French press, the oils remain intact.

It's amazing how flavorful my lovely French press coffee is. Oh and in case you were wondering, a good French press (determined by the quality of the screen that keeps out the grinds) won't run you any more than $30-$50 and it requires no electricity. Just patience and love. From here on out, the French press is being promoted from bottom cabinet to counter top. It's been too long.

Coconut Milk Creamer: The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

Now that my brush with swimming royalty is over and I've almost forgiven my xenophobic self for not getting my picture taken with Ryan Lochte, it's time to get back to important blog business...like talking about coffee creamers. I must confess that the primary reason that I went vegetarian instead of totally vegan more than 2 years ago was...half and half.

You see, I had tried the available dairy-alternative creamers out on the market at the time (soy milk creamer - yuck!) and I absolutely could not and would not give up my half and half in my morning coffee. I had already given up pork, beef and chicken and I'd switched almost all of my dairy products to soy, almond or hemp alternatives. But I drew the line when it messed with the flavor of my coffee. My sincerest apologizes go out to the lactating cows, but in case you hadn't noticed, we take coffee very seriously around here.

Well, last week I was browsing in my favorite organic market in Asheville and I saw the So Delicious Coconut Milk Creamer. Even though I was skeptical that it could come anywhere near my love of pure half and half in my morning coffee, I thought that I would give it a try. You know, on behalf of the lactating cows of America. As a mother who nursed for 14 months, I really do feel your pain sisters.

I bought the French Vanilla flavor. I made coffee then next morning. And I danced a jig. Oh my tastiness! It was wonderful. It was creamy and flavorful without having a funny aftertaste. It was gone in 5 days...and now that I'm relying on my organic half and half to carry me through my morning coffee ritual, I'm impatiently waiting on our next trip to Asheville to stock up on more coconut milk creamer.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that I've embarked on a coconut milk obsession. I have a stack of recipes in my "to try" folder that I have big plans for. From chocolate-hazelnut scones to vegan chocolate ice cream. I cannot wait to share the deliciousness with you. Vegan can be tasty!

Now, if someone could please find a replacement for my beloved feta cheese, I will happily leave the Greek goats alone too. Thank you.

Anatomy of a Swim Meet

For all of the former swimmers out there, I'm sure you'll agree that there is nothing quite like the atmosphere of a swim meet. The smell of chlorine. The mass of screaming coaches on the deck of the pool. The parents filling the bleachers and keeping splits on their stopwatches. All of these elements combine to form a scene that is as familiar to me as my mother’s voice. Except when I go back now, my coach isn't there and I'm just a spectator. And old. Let's not forget that I'm literally twice as old as I was during my swimming peak.

Let's go back to the mass of screaming coaches for one minute. They line one side of the pool like guardians.

And when you're in the pool, they do things like this:

This coach in particular was yelling, "GO! GO!" Things this like make swimmers ruefully shake their heads because of course they're already trying to go as fast as they can. Silly coaches.

Now, I’ve had people say to me that watching swimming is boring and this just boggles my mind.

I mean, what could be boring about watching dozens of amazingly fit people walk around the deck in Speedos?

Plus, swimming is one of the most popular Olympic sports...

why not follow it year round? I mean, technique is as much a part of swimming as it is golf.

And swimming claims the most decorated Olympian in history. Michael Phelps. Let's take a minute to discuss Michael Phelps.

Yup, I think that pretty much sums up Michael Phelps. But let's not forget Ryan Lochte, who would have been the best swimmer in the world if he had been born at a time other than during the reign of Michael Phelps.

On second thought, I don't think there's any reason at all for swimming to have any more fans. Nope, I think that people should just stick to watching football. I'm pretty sure I can handle being the only superfan at the pool.

Changing Of The Guard - A Tale Of Two Cameras

I’m not attached to a lot of material possessions. For the most part, things in our house are just that...things. With our upcoming move, I’m ruthlessly listing things on eBay and downsizing our inventory, but there are definitely a handful of things that I consider needs and not wants.

(1) My road bike; (2) my jeans; (3) my running shoes; (4) my camera

Without these things, my weekly functioning would come to a screeching halt. Would it be the end of the world? Of course not, but my bike and my running shoes bring me peace of mind 6 days a week, jeans are part of my official wardrobe ( I probably wear them 340 days out of the year) and taking pictures is as natural to me as breathing. I really don’t think that a day goes by that I don’t document our life. Oh and that camera strap in the picture above? That's been my dad's camera strap since before I was born and he just gave it to me in March. It may be an untraditional family heirloom, but I cherish it. It reminds me of my dad every time I put it on, which is fitting since I also inherited his love of photography.

Anyways, while this is definitely an odd list of beloved possessions, both the Irishman and Parker know not to mess with the above listed items. No joke – “Don’t touch mommy’s bike” and “don’t touch mommy’s camera” are on the official house rules. It might seem a touch extreme, but we all know that I have issues.

So, with that said, you can imagine that I got a bit queasy when I took my camera out of my purse yesterday and noticed that the lens had popped off of the body. That queasiness turned to full blown nausea when I reattached the lens and noticed that it was loose on one side. And when it showed an error message when I tried to take a picture, my heart dropped…and I sprinted to the bathroom. Once I regained coherence and the Irishman came running downstairs to see who died (I’m pretty sure that there were sounds of hysterics abound), my first thought (and words) were:

Crap, crap, crappity crap.

It’s amazing how having a child changes what would have once been a stream of profanities. (I’m sorry mother, but it’s true.) So, I scrambled to look up the number of the camera repair store and while I was stressed out about the cost of yet another expense this month (beyond the costs of moving, buying a new laptop and our upcoming trip), I was equally concerned about having my camera back up and running asap.

But of course, it was going to take 3 weeks to fix. Forget the fact that I would miss taking pictures of the various events over the coming weeks – we’re leaving for Greece in less than 3 weeks and that was just not going to work for me. So, I made a calculated decision. My beloved camera would be sold when it was back from Nikon and I would upgrade (sooner than I had wanted) to a Nikon D90, aka, probably the last camera I will ever buy.

I drove out to Asheville yesterday to simultaneously drop off my camera at the repair shop and to pick up my new D90 from Best Buy (you have to love their no-interest financing for 36 months deals). It seems a little silly, but I’m still heartbroken over changing cameras before I was ready too.

In my mind, I know that this is a lot like my grief over retiring running shoes and I’m sure that once I give it a chance, my new D90 will be a rockin’ camera, but for now, I’ll mourn my beloved D40 and leave the D90 unused for that period of mourning…which fortunately ends today. Whew!

Once I’m done acting foolish over material things, I’ll be sure to write up my review/comparison of the two Nikons and of course, you’ll see the D90s handiwork on here from this point forward. In case you were wondering, that's the D90 in the picture at the top taken with my tiny point and shoot camera that I use during bike rides.

Now, please excuse me while I put on my running shoes and favorite jeans so that I can go sit on my bike and suck my thumb.