The terrible thing about having a garden is that the kids ruin their appetite by snacking… 😉
Parenting
Dementors
J.K. Rowling got it right when she decided that the treatment for dementor attack should be chocolate. Dementors (for the one of you out there who hasn’t either read the Harry Potter books or seen the movies), are horrible creatures that suck all your happiness away, leaving you with only your worst memories.
I’m convinced dementors primarily attack teenagers. In fact, one ambushed my daughter the other day. It was terrible…anger and tears that no motherly words could console.
Fortunately, I knew what to do. We were in town at the time, so treatment was as near as the corner petrol station. I raced in, bought a chocolate bar, and administered it to my daughter.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Crisis solved! Dementor banished!
Looks like I may have to keep some chocolate on hand for the duration of the teen years…and it must be time to start teaching them the patronus charm.
Mother Hubbard
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard
To get her poor dog a bone.
When she got there cupboard was bare…
Mother Hubbard must have had teenage sons.
I never appreciated the appetite of a teenage boy until mine hit that age, but now I feel like Mrs. Hubbard.
My son can eat more than anyone else at the dinner table, then pick at the leftovers in the kitchen as he cleans up. An hour later, he’s hungry for a snack. He can devour a big bowl of peach crisp with whipped cream for dessert, and still need a snack before bed.
He will eat as many cookies, muffins, and scones as he can get away with. He sneaks food when he thinks no one is watching. Dried fruit, crackers, carrots, bread, cheese, nuts…nothing is safe from the human Hoover.
I used to be able to count on four weeks between grocery runs. Now I’m lucky if we make it two weeks before the cupboard looks like Mother Hubbard’s. I’m wondering if my garden will need to be enlarged this year, and I’m thankful I grow so much of our food, and don’t have to pay the supermarket price of feeding this child.
Most of all, I’m thankful I only have one…maybe I’ll bake a cake and take it over to Mrs. Hubbard and her boys…
Cranky Kids
Churning ice cream by hand was a rite of summer for my generation. Our ice cream maker was a big green bucket, in which we placed ice and salt. Then the metal canister full of cream, sugar, and flavourings would be sunk into the ice, the wooden paddles inserted, and the crank latched into place.
Then it was the kids’ job to crank and crank and crank and crank and crank and crank and crank, until the ice cream was frozen. We were always sweaty and tired—desperate for that ice cream by the time it was ready.
I don’t know how many children have the opportunity to hand crank their own ice cream these days. Very few, I expect.
A few years ago, I bought my husband an ice cream maker for Christmas. I had resisted the gift for years (in spite of his not-so-subtle hints), because the only ice cream makers I could find were electric ones. I hate the whine of an electric ice cream maker, and…well, ice cream just doesn’t seem home made if you don’t crank it yourself. But then I came across a fabulous hand-cranked machine that combines the best features of the electric machines and the old-fashioned hand-cranked ones.
It’s much easier to crank than the old-fashioned ones (probably because the old ones held a gallon of ice cream at a time, and this one only holds a quart), and there’s no need for ice and salt, as the inner canister is chilled in the freezer.
And best of all, the kids can crank their own ice cream, leaving the adults to sit down and relax while the kids make dessert!
What they see…what I see
What they see…
It takes a good imagination to keep plugging away at the garden at this time of year. You’ve got to be able to see what isn’t there. You’ve got to be able to envision the possibilities. If you can’t, you’ll be overwhelmed by the weeds and the slugs, and you’ll give up before your garden even has a chance.
What I see.
Not unlike parenting, actually. (I do think gardening is like parenting, in so many ways!) As a parent, you’ve got to be able to envision the future—envision the competent and confident adult your child can become. Otherwise you’ll be overwhelmed by the messy room, uncombed hair, terrible manners, and unfinished homework you live with day in and day out.
Gardeners and parents both have to be able to dream a little.
Lazy Woman’s Chocolate Yo-Yos
These are perhaps the easiest cookies ever. They’re great if you just can’t bring yourself to beat butter, or you’ve forgotten to soften butter beforehand. They’re not the best cookies in the world, but they’re perfectly passable. They’re great cookies for young kids to make, because they don’t require a mixer. These were inspired by a sugar drop cookie recipe in Joy of Cooking.
2 ½ cups all purpose flour
3 Tbsp cocoa
1 ½ tsp baking powder
¾ tsp salt
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
Sift together the flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt. In a separate bowl, combine the sugar and oil. Add the eggs and vanilla to the sugar and oil, and beat well. Add the flour mixture and mix thoroughly.
Roll the dough into 1.5 cm balls and flatten them slightly onto an ungreased baking sheet. Bake 8-10 minutes at 190°C.
When the cookies are cool, sandwich them together with frosting (I used cream cheese frosting left over from last week’s cupcakes).
I tried mixing in white chocolate chips this time, but the dough is so greasy, they just popped out. If you want to add chocolate chips, I suggest you do it by pressing them in as you roll the dough into balls, rather than trying to mix them in.
Fridge Magnets
“Amby the Ambulance says dial 111 in an emergency!”
“Lincoln Dental—Where great smiles are made!”
“Healthline—24 hour free health advice!”
“Ace High Plumbing—Home of the royal flush!”
The front of the refrigerator is plastered with magnets from various businesses and organisations. The magnets hold up the critical documents that form the command centre of the house:
- This week’s calendar, showing who is taking which bus to and from school, who has band practice when, and who is out of town or needs extra money for a school field trip.
- Library check-out receipts so we know when we have to return the latest clutch of books.
- A running grocery list which I add to as I finish off things in the kitchen.
- Emergency phone numbers.
Move to the side of the fridge, and you leave the rational, logical command centre and enter the twilight zone of fridge magnet poetry. With two whole sets of fridge magnet words, and a house full of…um…creative people…you never know what you might see there.
“Together they must beat the monkeys
Who eat their friends
These windy sunny days
Still my head aches from the blow”
“Want
Quick
Are
You
Juice
Girl
Man”
“Want
Drive
Need
Lust
Or
Reveal”
If I had to analyse the family on the basis of our fridge magnets, I would say we are a well-organised bunch of lunatics!
Stomach bugs!
It has been many years since a stomach bug has hit our family, but I’ll admit I expected this one, after we brought a very green friend home from school earlier in the week. He didn’t quite vomit in the car, but it was a close thing.
So when I got the text at 10 am that my son was vomiting in the sick bay at school, and could I come get him please, I was disappointed, but not surprised.
But of course, that begs the question, What do I serve for dinner? It’s no problem for the sick boy—he’ll get miso broth with plain crackers, if he eats at all. But I was planning on burgers slathered in ketchup and jalapeño peppers. The rest of us feel fine now, but we were just as exposed to this bug as my son, and at the same time. There’s a good chance we’re going to start vomiting in the next 12 hours, too. Do we really want burgers and hot peppers in our stomachs when we do?
I think not.
I’m thinking that something bland and easy to digest is probably the wiser choice for dinner. We’ll save those jalapeños for some other day.
5-minute Beets
It took years to get our son to eat beets.
No. That’s not true.
He ate beets for years before he liked them.
Red beet eggs, nope.
Roasted beets, uh uh.
Grilled beets, no.
5-minute beets, OH YES!
This recipe comes straight from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, by Deborah Madison (one of my favourite cookbooks), and I’ve never been tempted to alter it in any way. It is absolutely perfect!
4 beets (about 500g/1lb)
1 Tbsp butter
Salt and pepper
Lemon juice or vinegar to taste
2 Tbsp chopped parsley, tarragon, dill or other herb
Grate the beets coarsely. Melt the butter in a skillet, add the beets, and toss them with ½ tsp salt and pepper to taste. Add ¼ cup water, then cover and cook over medium heat until the beets are tender. Remove the lid and raise the heat to boil off any excess water. Adjust salt, season with a splash of lemon juice or vinegar (I use balsamic), and toss with the herb.
The Laboratory
To celebrate our 23rd wedding anniversary, my husband and I gave our kids their first experience staying home alone, while we went out for lunch to The Laboratory, a new pub in Lincoln. We’ve been waiting impatiently for this pub to open—it’s construction was delayed, and it’s been great fun to watch it go up. Built almost entirely with reclaimed materials, the building looks like it has been there for a hundred years already. The interior is quirky, and in keeping with the laboratory theme—water is served in Erlenmeyer flasks and beakers, table numbers are clipped to Bunsen burners, and tables are lit by a motley assortment of old articulated desk lamps.
The food is good, but limited—only 1 or 2 vegetarian options. The chips (fries), however, are excellent, and are served with aioli. We had hoped for a mozzarella sandwich today (which we’ve both had on previous visits), but as it wasn’t on the menu, we opted for a pizza. Lots of flavour on a cracker-thin crust—the perfect lunch pizza.
The Lab’s own brewery isn’t up and running yet, but they’ve got a nice assortment of craft beers. I enjoyed a lovely oatmeal stout (and was thankful I wasn’t driving home afterwards).
The best part of lunch was that the house didn’t burn down while we were away, and the only one who got into any trouble while we were out was the cat.
Robinne Weiss 