Baked Gigantes

At the top of my dad's "favorite things that your mother makes" list is baked gigantes. This bean dish is a staple in Greek cooking, much like lentil soup and stuffed peppers. Yet unlike lentil soup and stuffed peppers, I had never made it before myself. Shocking, I know. So as soon as I returned home from Greece, I sent my mother an email that said the follow:

Dear mom,

Please send me the baked gigantes recipe EXACTLY as you make it in the states. Don't leave ANYTHING out.

Love,

Cyn

You see, my mom has this little habit of giving me a recipe that's missing one or two small ingredients that end up playing a big role in the flavor factor of the recipe. For this reason, I usually make her cook the dish in front of me so that I can write down the recipe in real time. Annoying? Yes. Thorough? You bet!

So, the following is straight from my mother's response email:

Cyndy,

Relax. To make gigantes in the states, I fix them the following way.

Ingredients:

3 cans of butter beans (the largest kind)
1 bunch of green onions, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves of chopped garlic
1 cubanele green pepper, diced
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped
2 Tbs. tomato paste
1 1/2 cup water (dilute the tomato paste with the water)
1 tsp oregano
1 tsp sweet paprika
1 tsp salt (adjust to taste)
1 Tbs. flour

1) Saute both types of onions in the olive oil. After a couple of minutes, add in the chopped garlic.

2) After they are translucent (about 10 minutes) add the water with the diluted tomato paste.

3) Let it simmer for about 10 minutes and then add all the rest of the ingredients except the flour.

4) Let this simmer for 45 minutes in low heat. If you see that the water has evaporated, add more.

5) Drain and wash the butter beans. Put them in a shallow bakin dish.

6) When the sauce is done, pour it over the beans. Sprinkle the flour on top and bake in preheated oven (375 degrees) for about 45 minutes.

7) Check often and add hot water if needed. You want the gigantes to be moist but not too watery.

So there you have it folks. Baked gigantes straight from my little Greek mother and she really is a tiny thing, barely topping 5' 4". Yes, I realize that it's the average height for women, but I'm 5'11", my brother is 6'2" and my dad is 6'...so you see, in our family, mama is little.

Now, please make this immediately and if you have any complaints about the authenticity of the taste, I'd be happy to publish my mother's email address so that you can complain to management directly. It's the least I could do for all of the loving and nurturing that's she's given me over the years.

Scavengers

Last night, we were looking at pictures from our trip to Greece. One of the pictures was taken from the ferry boat and showed about 100 seagulls trailing behind it. Parker wanted to know why so many seagulls followed the ferry boats. I explained that the boat's motor churned up the water and lots of fish were inadvertently pushed to the surface of the water. The seagulls were just waiting for a fish to break the surface so they could grab it.

He looked at me and said, "Oh. Kind of how Nona follows me around, waiting for me to drop food?"

Precisely, Parker. Precisely.

You see, the dogs are nothing more than scavengers these days. They serve as both vacuum cleaner and mop. I had always thought that the reason they followed Parker and not us is because they instinctively knew that if anyone was going to drop crumbs, it would be him. But then, this morning, I saw something. That something was Parker dropping little bits of crumbs to the dogs on purpose.

When I asked him about the crumb dropping, he said, "Mommy, it would be sad if Nona followed me around without getting a little something for it. Besides, if she can sleep in my room, why can't she eat my food?"

I said, "Parker, why do you keep just talking about Nona? What about Chewie?" His response? "But mommy, Chewie is just a dog."

I'm certain that Nona would agree most emphatically with that statement.

My Favorite Camera Lens...And Some Berries

For the longest time, I had primarily used an 18-105mm lens on my Nikon DSLR because it provided me with a great range. I could take closeups, I could zoom in for distant shots and it seemed like the most practical lens de jour. In fact, there's only one shortcoming to this lens. It's big and heavy. Like, really heavy.

So, one day a couple of weeks ago, I switched it out for one of my fixed focus lenses (much smaller and lighter), which I generally only use for portraits. It's a 50mm 1:1.8D that takes a beautiful, crisp shot. I'm really loving it thus far. It seems so much more personal to take pictures of things exactly as you see them. Of course, the limitation of a fixed focal lens is that you can't zoom. At all. But that's okay if you're taking shots of people or of food.

Speaking of food, check out the berries from our garden. We're right at the end of raspberry season, blackberries are in their prime and our blueberries are just starting to ripen. Parker feels like quite the farmer whenever we head out to pick the berries. He holds the tupperware and I brave the thorny bushes to harvest the fruit. Then, we go inside, breathe in the sweet smells and dive into the fruit of our labor.

Evel Knievel

One of Parker's favorite things to do is ride bikes. That is, to ride bikes recklessly. Like most 3 year olds, this child has no fear. He peddles like crazy up narrow sidewalks and flies down ramps. He maneuvers his tricycle under bleachers and around concrete posts all the while laughing with pure glee.

Yup, my child is an adrenaline junky and all I can do is keep a watchful eye and cross all of my fingers and toes that he doesn't get hurt. For me, this is one of the hardest parts of parenting. Watching them navigate the world using less than perfect judgment as they figure out what's safe and what isn't. All you can do as parents is to supervise them carefully...and keep a First Aid Kit close by.

You'll notice that Parker (all 44 lbs. and 39 inches of him) is still riding the tricycle that my parents bought him when he was 2. That's because I'm a wimp and I'm not ready to buy him a bigger bike yet. You see, when you fall from a tricycle, the distance isn't that far, but from a big boy bike... Let's just say that I get night sweats thinking about Parker flying like a projectile when he hits a rock in the road or cuts the wheel too hard.

Even so, I know the day is coming soon when I need to suck it up and let him advance to the next level of danger. It's only a matter of time (months, really) before he outgrows the sturdy little tricycle. But for now, we're going to squeeze out all of it's usefulness before I need to make the jump from chamomile tea to Valium. This momma's nerves can only take so much.

Perfect Buns

In my mind, seasons are often defined by what you eat. Fall brings to mind apples, pumpkin pies, roasted acorn squash and cranberry relish. When I think of winter, I think of soups and chowders, hot chocolate and s'mores cooked in the fireplace. Spring is defined by fresh produce and fresh herbs. And summer? Well, summer is all about ice cold drinks, grilled foods and cold salads (potato, macaroni, garden, slaw).

As a vegetarian, what I crave the most about grilled foods isn't the meat, but the fixings. Let's take a burger, for example. My latest "burger" fling has been with the Morning Star Farm grillers. I generally either nuke it for 60 seconds of throw it on the grill with it's cow brethren. When it's almost done, I'll add a slice of cheese and cook it until it just begins to melt.

At this point, I proceed exactly as I would were I still a carnivore. First, I grab a great bun, like the onion beauty that you see above. Now, I never thought buns made that much of a difference until the Irishman brought home something other than the whole wheat varieties that I usually pick up. I looked at the curious onion bun and, lacking a better option, I gave it a try. All I can say is Wow. And Yum. It's now my preferred choice for egg and tuna salad sandwiches.

Okay, back to the burger. After you've selected your favorite bun, the rest is all gravy. I like ketchup, mustard and mayo as my condiments and then I add on cold, crisp lettuce, pickle slices and a thin slice of tomato. I love the contrast between the piping hot burger, the cold toppings and the burst of flavor from the bun. It's such a simple thing to make, but it makes me so nostalgic.

As I sit down with my veggie burger on an onion bun (usually while taking a break from splashing in the water with Parker), I feel satisfied that his memories of summer are bound to be filled with as much sun, grilling and laughter as mine were.

Rejected Fruit on a Silver Platter

In the middle of my breakfast table sits a giant platter of fruit. The standard inhabitants of this silver platter are bananas, apples and oranges. They're generally accompanied by grapes and plums (and whatever else is seasonally available) in the fridge. What's sad is that when the fruit is whole and available in plain view, no one eats it but me. No matter how I arrange it or how high I stack it, the fruit is abandoned. Forlorn. Left to whither away on it's elegant perch.

This makes no sense to me. It's washed and ready to be snatched up and enjoyed. Plus, it's right there on the table where the boys eat all of their meals, not tucked away in some corner. It's not that they don't love fruit, it's simply that for whatever reason, fruit in its natural form doesn't appeal to them unless I pack it in their bags to eat when they're out.

Last week, I did an experiment. I abandoned my job as a fruit peddler (I've got bananas up here...apples too...washed and ready to eat...anyone want an orange?...fresh from the Florida groves...) and instead, I cut the fruit up into bite sized pieces and put it in a tupperware with a splash of orange juice (to keep the apples and bananas from getting discolored).

In the tupperware you see above, I chopped up two apples, two oranges, 1 (big) banana and a bunch of grapes. That's 7 servings of fruit. At dinner last night, I casually placed it on the table between the boys and handed them each a fork.

While I can't begin to fathom why a fruit salad is so much more appealing than the platter of fruit, they ate the entire bowl and professed their deep love of fruit. I just shook my head ruefully and made a mental note that from now on, I'd take the extra 2 minutes to throw the fruit salad together so that the men in my life will get the fresh produce that they need...

...then I went back to my booze and salty chips since no one around here monitors my fruit intake.

Just kidding, naturally.

Forget About The Numbers

Have you ever noticed that when you're somewhere that you don't want to be (in a meeting, in class, in line) you have a habit of checking the time every two minutes? As a result, that hour seems to take forever and you feel like you're never going to get out of there! In contrast, when you're having fun, the minutes just tick on by at the speed of light.

Obsessively keeping track of numbers makes us crazy. It's particularly stressful when it involves stepping on a scale or counting calories or measuring our waist line. In fact, the more times you step on a scale, the slower those numbers seem to move.

I'm going to tell you a secret. I never weigh myself. In fact, the only accurate reading that I get is when I go to the doctor, which is usually only once or twice a year. After I had Parker (and was carrying around an extra 20 pounds post-delivery), I thought I would never shed the weight. But, the great thing about having a baby is that they are wonderful little distractions. I completely forgot about the scale and just went about my life making the best choices that I could (even if it meant that lunch consisted of a couple of slices of turkey breast rolled up and shoved in my mouth while I was standing at the fridge). And you know what? Six months later, I was within 5 lbs. of my pre-pregnancy weight. Would I have shed the weight any faster if I had been weighing myself weekly? Nope, but I sure would have stressed about it a bunch more.

With regard to calorie counting, I generally only track my calories for a one week period a couple of times a year. Once I'm comfortable that I'm getting the right caloric intake, I put the calculator away. Counting calories is simply a way to regain control. Once you're comfortable that you're well on your way to knowing what it feels like to consume the proper number of calories, the counting is no longer needed. Just go with how you feel.

I want you to do me a favor. For one month, forget about the numbers. Don't get on a scale. Don't count calories. Don't check your pedometer or the number of calories you burned on the treadmill.

Instead, do the following:

1. Make good food choices. Eat as many fresh, raw fruits and veggies as you'd like and supplement that with lean proteins and lots of water.

2. Turn off the TV and get out there! Take your dogs for a walk, meet your friends at the lake for a walk, take your bike for a spin. It doesn't matter what you do so long as you're moving. If you live near a national park, see about joining a hiking group or if you have kids, make a play date at a local green space and join your kids in kicking the ball around. The key here is to HAVE FUN!

3. Think happy and positive thoughts. This is key. You have to stop beating yourself up for every wrong choice you make and start celebrating the right choices. Life is too short to feel guilty and down. Spend some time thinking about all of the blessings in your life no matter how small they might be. Surround yourself with positive people who will help you celebrate life. Don't be afraid to feel happy or to share the blessings in life that you've discovered. Trust me, you will naturally repel the curmudgeons in your life if you live your life with glee.

And that's it! Forget the numbers and find your happy place. Search for the balance in your life and once you find it, I bet everything else will naturally fall into place.

Chewy Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies

I am really sorry to do this to you. I really am. Usually, this little blog is full of healthy tips and low-fat recipes, but I had to share this with you. It's really rather selfish of me, but I simply couldn't keep this one to myself. You see, I've been working on a chewy chocolate chip cookie recipe for 6 months and two days ago, I finally got it right. Over the dozens and dozens of attempts (filled with hair pulling and cursing), I couldn't quite get the chewy consistency that I was looking for. I tried butter, margarine, crisco and various combinations of the three, but the cookie kept coming out too crisp for my taste.

In a moment of reckless desperation, I added oatmeal and maple syrup to my recipe just for kicks. And it worked. I danced a jig around the kitchen and I shoved a chocolate chip cookie into my husband's unwilling face and I praised the baking gods for blessing my kitchen on this fine day.

Then, I scrambled to write down exactly what I threw into the mix lest I forget the combination. And now I give it to you. Here's what you need to make these little bites of chewy heaven.

1/2 cup butter (one stick), softened

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar, packed

1/4 cup pure maple syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 whole egg

1 to 1.5 cup flour

1/2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1.5 cups quick cooking oatmeal

1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Mix the sugars and butter until creamy. Add in the vanilla, maple syrup and egg. Once combined, mix together the flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder in a separate bowl and then add to the mixer. Finally, add in the oatmeal and chocolate chips and mix on low until well blended.

Then, scoop out onto a cookie sheet in tablespoon sized dollops and bake for 9-12 minutes (mine were perfect at 10 minutes). I almost always eat two cookies while they're still too hot to taste, but the four I ate the next morning were still so soft and chewy. Pure cookie bliss. While I can't in good conscience recommend that those of you trying to stick to wonderful eating habits make these immediately, I can say that if and when you decide to make them, it will be worth it. Naturally, I'm headed straight to caloric purgatory until I burn off the SEVEN cookies that I ate in 12 hours, but that's okay. My chewy cookie pilgrimage is over. My spatula can rest...for the moment.

My Favorite Wedding Picture

The majority of wedding pictures I’ve come across are lovely and perfectly staged. They show flawless brides, dapper grooms and a plethora of attendants all smiling dreamily at the camera. They suggest a flawless wedding filled with tasteful music, fragrant flowers and butter cream frosting. While I’m sure that those seamless weddings exist out there somewhere, most weddings I’ve been a behind-the-scenes part of (including my own) were bursting with a comedy of errors.

Let me give you a bit of back story. The Irishman and I were married both in the states and in Greece. It didn’t seem fair to pick a single destination and exclude half of our families and let’s face it, weddings are much less about the bride and groom and much more about those attending. So, we got married in Florida, closed on our first house, spent two weeks painting and unpacking and then jetting off to Greece with the Irishman’s immediate family and our friends in tow for the Greek wedding.

When we got to Greece, the Irishman and I checked into a single hotel room. We were, after all, married and while we had another wedding coming up, it seemed silly to spend the night before the wedding apart. Boy, were we wrong. The following is a timeline of the pre-wedding night fiasco (our wedding was in the afternoon of the following day).

10pm: Dinner is done and we head upstairs for bed. As I’m getting ready for bed, the Irishman says that he’s going to run downstairs and pick up a bottle of water from the pizza place next to the hotel. I go to sleep.

2am: I wake up. Alone. Panicked. Thinking that the Irishman was mugged or slaughtered in a foreign country. I call my in-laws near tears and tell them about my missing husband. My father-in-law informs me that he isn’t missing at all. He went out on the town with my brother and brother-in-law. I sit and stew.

3:30am: I hear a taxi pull up to the hotel and loud singing. In American voices. I go out onto the balcony and bellow for all of our guests to hear, “GET YOUR ASS UPSTAIRS RIGHT NOW!” (Not one of my finer moments.)The Irishman stumbles upstairs and insists that I’m being unreasonable and dramatic. Of course he wasn’t murdered. Why would I think anything was wrong just because he told me that he was running downstairs to get water and didn’t surface for 5 hours?

4am: The Irishman pukes.

5am: The Irishman pukes.

9am: Time to wake up and get ready for the wedding. My parting words to my not-so-dear husband were, “If we weren’t already married, I would not be marrying you right now.” And I headed off to hair and make-up. Okay, so I was a little dramatic, but I was pissed (and tired and jetlagged and generally not feeling magnanimous at that particular moment).

At 11am, it was time to head to the church. I had mellowed out a little bit, but I was still shooting lightning from my eyes in my husband’s general direction. That must have looked seriously at odds with the smile that I had plastered on my face. Now, the Greek ceremony is a bit different from a traditional ceremony in that (1) it takes over an hour (2) you’re standing up the entire time. Also, you have a single attendant (a best man or woman) who helps with the ceremony part of the wedding.

If you’re interested in reading about the entire wedding ceremony, you can find a description here. The one part of our wedding ceremony that my brother (our best man or koumbaro) was nervous about was the crowning. Here’s a description of the crowning ceremony.

The wedding crowns (stefana) are joined by a ribbon which symbolizes the unity of the couple and the presence of Christ who blesses and joins the couple and establishes them as the King and Queen of their home, which they will rule with wisdom, justice and integrity. The priest takes the two crowns and blesses The Bride and The Groom, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy Spirit and then places the crowns on them. The Koumbaro then steps behind The Bride and The Groom and interchanges the crowns three times as a witness to the sealing of the union.

That bit at the end about the koubaro exchanging the crowns three times was what was plaguing my brother. I had on a head piece and veil and had quite the long train on my dress, so brother Dean couldn’t figure out exactly how he was supposed to get close enough to complete the crowning ceremony without dropping one of them. I chided him and told him that he was making a big deal out of the whole thing. How hard was it to flip flop two crowns?

Apparently, Dean was right and at the apex of the crowning ceremony, my crown fell off of my head. And I lost it. I mean really, really lost it. I began laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop. I think I cracked. After the stress of the night before and the solemness of the ceremony, I simply couldn’t contain myself. So I laughed until I was spent and then everything was okay.

Back to my favorite picture - there are so many things that I love about this one. The falling crown, the ill look on the Irishman’s face, the bemused surprise on Dean’s and, of course, my coming unhinged. It was perfection. I keep this picture framed in the living room so that I can see it every day. Sure, we have albums upon albums of wonderfully posed pictures, but I think this one perfectly captured the events of that day.

Was it a perfect wedding? No. Would I have gladly beaten my husband over the head with my bouquet? Sure. Was I annoyed beyond belief at that moment? Yup. However, life isn’t just about the wedding. In fact, it isn’t about any single day in your life. It’s about all of the days that you’ll share together. That includes the tenderness, the annoyance, the dreams and the heartaches.

Oh and I should tell you in the Irishman’s defense (and the benefit of 6 years of hindsight), he was ambushed by our brothers, who insisted that he come out for one drink. And well, you know how that goes. Plus, he wasn’t just hungover. He had the flu. I know this because I got it 48 hours later on the first day of our honeymoon cruise.

Summer Treats

During our stay in Greece, Parker was ridiculously spoiled with ice cream and cookies and sweets of every kind. Ever since our return, he's been staring despondently into the freezer wondering why he traded a Willy Wonka-esque existence for this barren wasteland of lean proteins and low-fat dairy. Poor Parker, I'm sure the starving children in Africa feel for your plight.

As much as I loathe feeding Parker's insatiable sweet tooth, it did give me an idea of how to feed him more fruits and vegetables. Popsicles! You see, my dear child will eat virtually anything if it looks like dessert.

So, I fished out the Popsicle molds that my mother-in-law gave us years ago and I started blending fruit and veggie smoothies like this one. It's a perfect solution. So every night after dinner, Parker runs to the freezer and bounces with anticipation that his treat is coming.

Mommy, please can I take a bite now?

And in case you were wondering, yes, his Popsicle is stuck in the middle of a paper plate.

That was the Irishman's ingenuity to prevent our table from turning into a sticky mess. It's so nice when you're husband's neuroses complement your own, don't you think?

Bean and Cheese Burrito - The Easiest Thing I Make

There are days when I'm so beat at the end of the day that I'd rather pass out than make dinner and if I lived alone, I'd probably do just that. Unfortunately, there are usually two hungry boys in the house as well and while I could let the Irishman fend for himself, I shudder to think what he would end up making. So, I make these burritos instead.

These are, without a doubt, the easiest things in my arsenal. They literally take 4 minutes from the time I take out the ingredients to the time they're ready to serve. The process is super easy.

1. Grab a tortilla (white or whole wheat)

2. Open a can of refried beans (I prefer Amy's organic) and add it to the tortilla

3. Add a generous helping of shredded cheese

4. Zap it in the microwave for 60 seconds

5. Add your favorite cold toppings

We usually add: sliced black olives, sour cream, diced tomatoes, taco sauce, sliced green onions

6. Wrap it up and serve (or add more cheese and toppings on top and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds).

What's ridiculous about this meal is that the boys love it and would eat it multiple times a week if I let them. Plus, it isn't quite as bad for you as most frozen dinners and some nights, that's about as good as it gets.

Much Ado About...Nothing

Are you kidding me? I mean seriously, are you KIDDING me? All of these months of agonizing over the heartache, the separation, the anxiety that would materialize over the sleep issue turned into...absolutely nothing. Yes, you heard that correctly. After one night of momma laying the smack down (okay, of begging Parker to sleep alone), the last two nights were cake. See that picture above? That's Parker happily eating his yogurt and berries, not the sleep-deprived, mother-hater that I thought would materialize during this battle.

You see, the second night after the Sleep Wars were initiated, we went through the regular sleep routine, put Parker in bed, put Nona in bed with him...

...and didn't hear a peep until 7am. Of course, I didn't get any sleep since I was waiting for him to cry out at any minute, but he didn't. The Irishman and I chatted about it in the morning and we just presumed that he was so tired, he simply didn't have the energy to cause a ruckus.

Then last night, Parker stumbled to our doorway at 3am (possibly confused since he passed out on the couch and ended up in his bed), but the Irishman just tucked him in, assured him that Nona was still there and he slept until 7:30am.

Can it be? Can it really be that the Sleep Wars were resolved in a single skirmish? I didn't write anything yesterday because I didn't want to jinx myself, but maybe, just maybe, Parker was ready to sleep alone. Of course, I'm still petrified that this is a fluke because while logically I know that this time had to come at some point, I didn't think that it would come for us until Parker was 15 and being made fun of by his friends.

Sleep, precious sleep may once again be ours. I feel like laughing maniacally and running through the streets sharing my joy with the neighbors...but that may also land me in the loony bin, so perhaps I'd just limit my glee to this little blog. And the supermarket clerk. And the mailman. But I'll stop there.

Sleep Wars

It's no secret around these parts that Parker is not a good sleeper. That, my friends, is the gross understatement of the year. In fact, from his first day of life, the only way that he (and thus we) could get solid sleep was if he was firmly snuggled up against one of us. Fast forward 3.5 years and here we are...being solidly thumped in the back by a 40-something lb. child on a daily basis. This was not how it was supposed to be. But alas, it's how it is. I'm certain that we should probably have stepped in at some point and had a sleep intervention, but let's face it, is there ever a good time to go without sleep for an entire week?

For whatever reason, I hit my breaking point this week. While it's definitely not a good time to jump into the deep end of the sleep deprivation pool, I realized that it's now or never. So this week, I initiated The Sleep Wars. That sounds scary, doesn't it? Well, it is. It's very scary and completely intimidating, but once the battle sequence has been initiated. There is no backing down.

Parker. Will. Sleep. Alone...or I will be committed. One way or another, this has to end and whether I end up sleeping soundly in my own bed or in a mental ward, I'm sure I'll be in a happy place.

Frankly, part of the reason why it has taken us this long is that the kind-hearted, attachment-parenting mom in me doesn't ever want to hear my sweet, dear child unhappy or fretting. In a perfect world, he would leave the nest when he was ready, but in that world, I didn't have a full-time job. The fact of the matter is that the Irishman and I will be better parents if we didn't spend half of our days roaming around like zombies, putting our keys in the fridge and the milk by the front door. It's bad. Very bad.

Before you ask, yes, I've read all of the books and done all of the research and now, it's time to execute. We began Phase One of the Sleep Wars last night and it looked something like this.

8pm

(me): Parker, isn't it exciting that you're going to sleep by yourself like a big boy?

(Parker) I don't want to be a big boy, I want to be your sweet baby. Please don't leave me.

9pm

(Parker still not sleeping) (me): Okay buddy, I'm going to my bed now. I love you. Good night.

Parker falls asleep.

12:00am

(Parker crying) Momma, I need you. Please don't leave me.

(me) Everything is okay, Parker, we're right across the hall. You're just fine.

(Parker) I'm scared. Please don't leave me.

(me) It's okay, buddy. You have your light on. Everything is okay.

I go back to my room feeling like a horrible and selfish and very bad parent.

12:30am

(Parker crying again) Momma, I don't want to be alone. Why won't you stay with me.

(me, getting desperate) Parker, would you feel better if Nona stayed with you?

(Parker, sniffling) Yes.

Momma runs into her bedroom, grabs a sleeping Nona and hurls her onto the bed. Stay Nona.

4:00am

(Parker) Momma, is it morning yet?

(me) No, go back to your bed. Is Nona still there?

(Parker) Yes, but she's sleeping by my feet and not by my head.

(me) That's okay, go back to bed. You can come out when the sun is up.

Parker exits the scene and sleeps until 8am.

Is that success? Progress? Did I win the first skirmish? I haven't a clue. I do, however, feel exactly how I did when I had a one-month old. Delirious, crusty-eyed, pitiful.

Tonight is the Irishman's night and I've already threatened him with bodily harm should he cave and lay down in Parker's bed. In fact, I think he's a bit frightened because this morning, I grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him close so that he could look me in my bloodshot, twitching eyes and said, "Solider, you will not fail in this mission. Are we clear? I said ARE WE CLEAR?"

May the force be with us.

Irish Soda Bread

Whenever I get back from Greece, there are two things that I miss the most: bread and feta cheese. It's not that we don't have these things in the states, it's simply that they have a less central role at the dinner table here. In Greece, the acquisition of bread is so important to meal time that one of us generally makes a trip down to the bakery first thing in the morning and picks up a loaf before they sell out, which is usually around 9am. Of course, the bakery also sells sweets, so they are open for the remainder of the day….you just won’t be able to find any bread. While that sounds a bit odd, purchasing anything other than bread baked that same day is unheard of. In contrast, I think of the packaged loaves that we buy here in the states and maybe it's not so hard to understand why bread isn’t a staple in my house. It just isn’t worth the calories.

This year, I decided that instead of just daydreaming about fresh baked bread, I'm going to learn how to bake it myself...not in a bread machine, but the old fashioned way. I mean, if my ancestors have been baking bread for centuries without even the aid of a stand mixer, then certainly I can figure it out as well, right? So, I'm officially a bread-baker in training. At least the birds will profit from my "failures."

Since I'm new to this, I decided to start with the absolute simplest recipe I could find. It just so happens that last week, my friend Katie turned me onto this site called The Gracious Pantry and on that site, they had a recipe for Irish Soda Bread. I researched a lot of other Irish Soda Bread recipes and they included things like sugar, raisins, eggs, etc... This one was basic, rustic and pure. Here's what you'll need:

3 cups flour (white, whole wheat or a combination)
1.5 teaspoons of baking soda
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 cup buttermilk

Now, I never have buttermilk on hand, so I just add a tablespoon of white vinegar to regular milk and let it sit for 10 minutes. Once that's done, preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Pulling the bread together is very simple. Just mix the dry ingredients together, create a well in the center and add in the buttermilk.

I usually add all but 2 tablespoons of the milk because it's easy for the bread batter to get too wet. Just knead it with your hands and if it's too sticky, add a touch more flour. You don't even want to know the shenanigans that went on the first time I was trying to get the consistency right. It was a sticky mess! However, you'll know it's ready once it easily forms a ball (if it's too dry and falls apart, add more buttermilk) Then, just put it on an ungreased pan (I use my pizza stone) and score an X into the top of the bread to allow steam to escape and put it in the preheated oven. That's it. You don't need to wait for it to rise or punch it down twice or do the hokey pokey with it. Just bake it for 15 minutes at 450 degrees and at 325 for another 10-15 minutes.

Let it cool enough to handle and serve. Now, I will tell you that this is traditional soda bread, so it isn't sweet at all. It does have a wonderfully rustic flavor and the texture is lovely - crunchy on the outside and soft and dense on the inside. The Irishman said that it was exactly as he remembers it from his trip to Ireland. I can't wait to bake and serve this alongside some Shepherd's Pie. In the meantime, I've been eating it with a schmear of butter and a dollop of honey. Very tasty.

Next up on the bread baker-in-training schedule is a whole grain bread loaf. I can't wait until I no longer need to buy bread from the market.

The Plan

Alright folks, the new schedule for getting back on track starts in 5, 4, 3, 2...now. Since it's been about 7 weeks of general chaos, I need to put myself back on a pretty tight schedule to get back into the swing of things. For starters, that means I need to wake up at 5:45am every day of the week. Trust me on this one, regardless of your own wake up time, your body likes predictability and sleeping in on the weekends just makes trying to wake up early on Mondays that much more painful.

To make this transition to a regular wake up time easier, I lay out my workout clothes (or pack my gym back) the night before. That way, there isn't any thinking involved where I scarcely have two functioning brain cells to knock together. I won't need to do this in a month, but now, it helps keep me on track. Of course, the hardest part is just doing it without fail. In other words, NO EXCUSES. It doesn't matter if I slept like poo or if Parker had a fever or if I just wanted more sleep. This is key. Regardless of what transpired the night before, the second that the alarm goes off, get those feet on the floor and spring into action...or drag yourself on all fours to the bathroom. Whatever your morning state of affairs, just do it! (You so knew that was coming.)

Okay, so now I need a workout schedule. Hmmm, I think that this will do for getting me off on the right foot:

Monday - Jillian 30-Day Shred and Med Ball 400

Tuesday - Run 4-5 miles, tempo

Wednesday - Swim 1 mile

Thursday - Jillian 30-Day Shred and Med Ball 400

Friday - Run 3 miles, intervals; swim 1 mile

Saturday - Outdoor bike ride

Sunday - long run (7+ miles)

Straight-forward, familiar, manageable. That sounds about right. Now that we've got sleep patterns and the workout schedule under control, let's get a menu planned, shall we? For breakfast and lunch, I usually just give myself a list of options to pull from since I don't mind repeating those meals. (And of course, all of these recipes/items can be found under the recipe section of this blog on the right-hand side of the page.)

Breakfast:

1. Yogurt with honey, granola and fresh berries

2. Spinach or veggie omelet

3. Oatmeal with raisins and walnuts

Lunch:

1. Tuna sandwich

2. Three-bean salad

3. Black-eyed pea salad

4. Shrimp, Lettuce, Tomato sandwich

5. Egg salad sandwich

Dinner:

1. Salmon with mustard-dill sauce

2. Shrimp salad (using the rest of the mustard-dill sauce as dressing)

3. Black beans and rice

4. Pasta fagioli

5. Lentil soup

Sides:

1. Spanakorizo

2. Steamed broccoli

3. Roasted asparagus

4. roasted Brussels sprouts

5. Baked potato

Whew! Now I feel much better about the coming week. For me, it's all about having a plan of action in place and the knowledge that come this time next week, I'll have one solid week of eating well and feeling good under my belt. By week 4, I'll have completely forgotten that I ever had this sloth-like episode of doom and despair.

Don't ever forget that replacing bad habits with good ones simply requires making a better choice one day and one meal at a time.

Now Where Is That Life Reset Button...

I'm been back from Greece for 10 days and in that time, I haven't done a single workout (unless you count my lawn mower escapades). Yes, you read that correctly. Nada. Zilch. Zippo. Sure, I could come up with excuses - there was the rest of a house to unpack immediately upon landing and then a holiday weekend with company and then a 4-day Benadryl coma thanks to the attacking yellow jackets, and a new class to prep and teach...but since excuses are just that, I'm staging a self-intervention.

This weekend, I'm hitting the Life Reset Button. What's that? You've never heard of the Life Reset Button? Well, let me introduce you. It's the reset that most people do just once a year - January 1st. It's when you reevaluate your priorities and take a look at whether you're on track. Unfortunately, most people don't realize that the Life Reset Button is always available. I don't know about you, but I can scarcely make it though a long vacation or a change of semester or extended company without needing to reset my life when things settle back down.

In fact, in my opinion, regular use of the Life Reset Button is the only way to succeed. It's kind of like checking your own personal GPS year-round to make sure that you're still headed in the right direction and that you didn't take a detour at Tequila Lake or Doughnut City.

So this weekend, I'm going to plan a menu, set my alarm, avoid kamikaze insects and get back on track because right now, I feel sloth-like, lazy, and dare I say...soft? No. That will never do.

Ode To A Kitchen

If you would have asked me six months ago to describe my perfect kitchen, I would have spoken to you about an ultra-modern space with glass cabinets, jet black counter tops and sleek silver appliances. I would have described a space completely Spartan in appearance and I would have thought that my Spartan, glass kitchen was exactly what I wanted. In fact, that kitchen would have perfectly suited the life I thought that I wanted years ago.

But then I met this kitchen. Sure, at first glance, it isn't going to knock your socks off, but come and take a closer look. See this stretch of counter space to the right of the fridge?

If I had a coffee maker it would sit where my KitchenAid stand mixer is living. And hanging the mugs...

...why on earth didn't I think of that before? Talk about a space saver. Oh and hanging above the counter top is a place for wine glasses.

Again, saves room and makes the space look more lived in. The most function part of the kitchen resides inside the cabinets.

Pull out drawers, some tall and some short to help you reach whatever small appliance that you need. Isn't that exciting!?!

The functionality is everywhere.

And take a look at this kitchen island, complete with it's own trash can and garbage disposal.

You can pick up a bottle up from the wine rack, turn around and grab a glass. Brilliant! There's also space for a breakfast table (you can see the Keg-O-Rator and bar table in the back there)...

...and I can also see Parker playing in the family room when I'm chopping veggies at the island.

Nope, it certainly isn't a showpiece kitchen, but it's homey and comfortable and perfect for parties, kids and laughter. It isn't what I thought I wanted, but it's exactly what I needed. Life is funny that way, isn't it?

A Weekend Of Craziness

This past weekend, we had our first house guest, my dear friend Meg. She had never been to the area before, so I wanted to give her a sampling of what western North Carolina had to offer. We started out the weekend with a trip into Asheville and headed straight for a movie theater to catch Eclipse. One major perk of living in a sparsely populated area was that there were only 10 other people in the movie with us. No long lines, no smelly people elbowing you from the next seat over, just you and the movie. Oh and this particular theater serves beer and wine that you can take into the movie with you. Nice!

After the movie was over and we were rendered speechless by the complexities of the Bella/Jacob/Edward love triangle, we headed into downtown Asheville to have brunch. I was torn between taking us to Tupelo Honey Cafe and Early Girl Eatery, but the vegetarian biscuits and gravy won out, so we headed over to Early Girl. With it's bright, kitschy interior and kid-friendly atmosphere, you almost feel like you're eating at someone's happy and home-y kitchen table. The menu has a ton of breakfast/brunch selections (served all day) as well as lunch items and everything looks good.

As we were waiting for our meals to come, I was nearly beside myself with anticipation over the biscuits and gravy. You see, that was one of the only meals I missed when I gave up meat and I had given up hope of ever eating it again. But then my friend Nicole (also a vegetarian) took me to Early Girl. And then she made me order the vegetarian biscuits and gravy. And then I died and went to heaven. The end.

Just kidding. I plan on undertaking the giant task of figuring out how to make these at home, but I'm afraid of two things. (1) That I will fail and that they will be horrible and I will cry; (2) That I will succeed and they will be delicious and that I won't be able to resist making them every day of my life. I'm not sure which one would be worse.

So, we wrapped up our meals, took a stroll around Asheville and headed back to our little town making a stopping at the world's largest Wal-Mart along the way. After all, what trip to the country would be complete without a trip to Wal-Mart? When we got back to the house, the Irishman talked us into meeting him and Parker in downtown Dillsboro for the town's festivities.

Parker and Beck playing on the train tracks. Please don't call CPS.

They had been there all day and were planning on staying for the fireworks. Suffice it to say that Meg and I should have stayed home (the evening involved crashing a house party, watching Parker try to kill himself by hurling himself down a steep hill and lots of mosquitoes). We left halfway through the fireworks, which Parker wasn't interested in anyway.

The next day (vowing to stay home after the fiasco of the previous evening), we were cooking fools. We made olive focaccia bread, spanakopita, tzatziki, stuffed shells and macaroni and cheese. Hanging out in the kitchen is one of my absolute favorite things to do so we drank some mimosas and contemplated the meaning of life.

Then I made her watch 300 because she had never seen it before and because it was the right thing to do. So we ate, we drank some more, Nona and I got stung by attacking wasps and then we went to bed.

All in all, I think it went quite well. After all, what's a holiday weekend without a big helping of crazy?

Lawnmower Olympics

Do you remember when I waxed rhapsodic about how much I loved mowing the lawn and how my old-fashioned lawnmower was the best thing since sliced bread? Yes, well, at the time, our house was sitting on 1/3 of an acre...of flat land. Mowing the lawn required just about as much effort as painting my nails. It was a pleasant workout, like running a 5K. In other words, it was nothing like what I experienced yesterday.

Allow me to back up. When I got back from Greece, I noticed that only part of the back lawn had been mowed (the flat part). When I asked the Irishman about it, his response was, "Do you think I'm crazy enough to try and pull your mower up a 30 degree incline? I'm calling a lawn service."

Aghast that he was trying to put my dear lawnmower out of commission (but secretly pleased that he considers it MY mower), I assured him that I would have no difficulty mowing our lawn. Our 2 acres worth of lawn (of the 6 acres of property), most of which are extremely steep inclines.

(The yard immediately behind the house with the steepest inclines)

I'll pause here while you laugh at my sheer idiocy. It's okay, it's totally deserving.

So, the Irishman took Parker to the playground (at 2:30pm) and I changed into jeans and sneakers to get the job done. Within 5 minutes, I knew that I was in over my head. WAY over my head.

(The grassy path leading up to and through the orchard)

Perhaps if I had on cleats instead of old running shoes, it wouldn't have looked like I was playing slip and slide in the grass...being chased down the hill by the runaway lawn mower. Perhaps if I wasn't so incredibly stubborn, I would have admitted defeat after the third time I tumbled down the hill. But all I had to do was picture the smug smile on the Irishman's face as he came home and saw the barely completed lawn and I trudged onwards....upwards...downwards....flat on my face.

I had entered the lawnmower Olympics. It had a participant of one. One stupid, stubborn, sweaty, grass-stained contestant...which naturally meant that I won the gold medal. I love winning.

(The deceptively flat-looking side yard. The fenced part of the yard is the sunny patch in the distance)

As the story goes, the Irishman arrived home 3 hours later to find me using my body weight and sheer force of will to keep the lawnmower moving. My hair was sticking out from my ponytail in all directions, I had streaks of dirt and grass all over me and gnats in my eyes (gross, but true). He took one look at me and one look at the lawn and briefly remarked, "You. Are. Insane."

Insane can be a good thing, right? Now, please excuse me while I go and call the lawn service.

Garden of Eden

Let me first begin by saying that I don't know the first thing about gardening. In fact, I'm hesitant to even pull up "weeds" in the garden because I'm afraid that I might pull up legitimate plants or herbs. It's really a sad state of affairs, but I'm going to bring someone in very soon to help bring me up to speed. In the meantime, there are a (very) few things that I can identify on my own. Come for a walk through the grounds with me, won't you? I am beyond ecstatic at what's growing here.

We'll start with the herbs. Everything you see below (both inside and outside the fencing) is oregano. I'm going to dry the oregano on the outside and bring this garden back under control. I'm also going to plant some basil and rosemary since the soil is so fertile.

Next we have the mint. As above, everything you see in the frame below is mint. In fact, the Irishman and I spotted 3 different varieties.

On our back deck, there are planters with parsley. I use this a ton, so I'm going to plant some more and get it going for the summer.

Moving up through the orchard, there are raspberries (the picture at the top is what Parker and I picked yesterday morning)...

...blueberries...

...blackberries...

...a zillion (or 7) mature (huge) pear trees of various varieties...

...grapes...

...limes or lemons - I'm not sure if they're mature limes or immature lemons - does anyone know?

The two things that I didn't get photos of are the cherry tree and the kiwi plants. God bless the owners for being biologists and knowing what they were doing.

As I wander through our own Garden of Eden in total isolation (I still haven't left the house since getting here on Monday evening), I can't help but contemplate the endless possibilities of recipes that I'll be able to make simply by shopping outside. I hope that you all know that you'll be getting an assortment of tarts, pies, jams and dried herbs this holiday season.