Baby Veg

 Okay, so from the above picture you might surmise that I enjoy delegating, managing, holding shovels in a sassy fashion or I'm lazy.  I'm learning to be better at delegating, I'm a good at managing my kids, definitely a cute shovel-holder and lazy only occasionally. I actually dug the entire garden alla myself (in a hurried/frenzied fashion during a nap-time lull) and had the Hubs do the tiller because the tiller makes me giggle and when I giggle, I get week arms and if you've ever used a tiller its extremely unsafe to be struck with giggling-induced weak arms because the tiller goes nutso-crazy on you like a jackrabbit on crack. Hence, the beefy man doing the tilling.

Phew.

So I've been raising seedlings indoors since March or April. We've got three varieties of organic tomatoes: Brandywine, cherry and some sort of flaming (?) Romas. They seriously look like they have yellow, stripey flames on them. We have parsley, pickling cucumbers and green beans. A variety of hot peppers for the Hubs. I've never grown green beans or grown tomatoes from seed. It was quite an enormous undertaking as far as the tomatoes go. They are so very delicate and require so much attention. I felt like my family grew to 45 children over night.

Cucumbers are probably my favorite thing to grow. They are so fool-proof. They grow like mad, so they really stroke your gardening-ego. They make you feel so accomplished. They have this naturally super-poky exterior on the leaves, stems and even the fruit itself so I never have worms or rabbits trying to eat it.

The green beans, other than herbs, have been my first harvest! I have been collecting tiny handfuls each evening until I came up with enough to justify cooking them. I feel strangely attached to these little guys. I've nurtured them, sang to them (yes, I sing to my garden. Trust me, it saved a wimpy tomato plant), weeded their bed and cooed over each little purple flower. Ready to throw-up? I REALLY love my little garden.

So it felt a slightly weird cooking up my green bean babies, but I was quickly over their death as I enjoyed every buttery bite. I simply steamed them in a pan with butter and salt and a dash of water. I topped them again with a wad of butter just before the Hubs and I recklessly dangled each one over our mouths and ate them more like popcorn than a proper bean. All the while smacking our lips, commenting on the fresh taste and sucking the butter from our fingertips.

They were sweet. They were perfectly tender. I have to say, I inhaled them.

And that was that. The first fruits of my garden. It was bittersweet. I raised them and then I ate them. I can't imagine doing that with an animal. Ugh. I'd surely be converted to a vegetarian.

Sorry to be so sappy over my baby beans, but I mean...just look at them? Coochie-coo!

 Crazy dill. It's ready for pickling but the cucumbers are dragging behind. Hurry up cucs!

 So here is what the garden is now. It's much too cramped, overgrown and a plant free-for-all. I have 9 tomato plants crammed in next to each other- very much against the seed packet's instructions. I crammed so many in because I could bear letting some get in the garden and others not. I asked my neighbors if they would adopt my surplus tomato babies, er, plants. I basically made them sign an adoption agreement to nourish and take care of them. Okay, so I didn't, I just gave them the 'ol stink eye as I handed the baby plants over.

Curious about those wonky, ladder-ish things? I got them out of someone's trash. I pick up stuff out of people's trash occasionally. Not nasty trash, nice trash from the nice neighborhoods. You know, where they throw out stuff that's still useful, but they just have no use for it, which makes it perfect for me! Anyway, those ugly things are for my beans and cucumbers to grow up since my garden is a postage stamp size. Having things grow up helps a lot.

As I write this, I am realizing with great clarity my weirdo-plant love I have. I'm really attached. Hmmm.

 

Nuzzling my manicured toes in with the parsley. I have garden clogs...but honestly, who cares? I love my feet in the dirt- that is, until the Hubs points out the clods of mud still clinging to the sides of my rustic, farmer feet.

Dig in the dirt and plant something. (Al Gore didn't tell me to tell you that.)

Love ya, Foodies.

Snot Faucets and Other Insightful Things

 

For the last two weeks we've been ever so sick. It was just a very bad cold. One child gets it, then generously passes it to the other via slobbering and coughing or sneezing or the ever popular and effective, sippy cup swap.

They have also been so generous to share their wretched cold shenanigans with their tired and adoring parents. It makes for really great parenting - to feel like crap and take care of other crappy-feeling children.

Often times when I see a cold is a-brewin' in one of the kids, I take extra measures to have them cover their face when they cough and sneeze and always wash their hands after blowing their noses. I will sometimes tell them not to hug or kiss their siblings (because they inevitably sneeze every time they go in for a big bear hug), which by the way sounds horrible doesn't it? But to be quite honest, all I can see when they are hugging or kissing is a good week and a half to two weeks of no sleep or very poor sleep in my future, hence the kibosh on affection.

All that being said, by the time I'm sure we are all well-infected, my rules and preventative measures go straight the window. I stop caring and finally realize, it's better if they all get sick at once instead of staggering it, because it shortens the window of sick.

How does one know that they truly are infected? I'll tell you, it's when you are buckling any one of your mucus-y cherubs into their car seats and get a big juicy sneeze right between the eyes. That is the moment when you realize, it is now my time to keep a box of Kleenex in my mommy (or daddy) tool belt, that imaginably resides around my waist, along with herbal tea and ibuprofen. Ah, joy.

 Yes, you guessed it. That's a hair clip holding a Kleenex box to my hip. The only problem is that I thought of this after every one started feeling better.

Each child has a different nose-blowing style. Care to see the rundown? Of course you do.

 She was weirdly reluctant about taking this picture (hence, the lack-luster approach to fake nose-blowing), but it's still fairly accurate.

Boo is a great nose blower. Forceful, thorough and completely unaware that she must cup the danging Kleenex up under her nose to catch the waterfall of newly expressed snot. Effective but very, very messy. Especially when she does this in the car and then hands you the soggy tissue while you are driving. To make matters more interesting, a quick look in the rear-view mirror reveals the dangling string of snot hanging from her top lip and her talking something like this, "Uh, Mommy? Uh...Uh...Ewww!!!" all while sitting very still as if she has a killer bee on the end of her nose. To which I respond with a fresh tissue wipage of the dangler, while driving in snow. Life on the edge.

This is not a very realistic re-enactment of the previous weeks activities. This was much more enthusiastic. Maybe I should try breaking out the camera the next time I ask him to blow his nose.

Bubba is the reluctant nose-blower. You know, with all your mommy intuition, that he has a ridiculous amount of snot in his head but no matter how many times you ask if he needs to blow his nose, the answer is "no". He will, only if told, give a dainty, useless blow, just enough to rattle things around a bit and convince me that there is still SO much more to be expelled. But he just plain refuses. So I let him go on, talking like his head is in a bucket and someone shoved two cottonballs up his nose. How can one walk around with so much snot in their head, by choice? Does he not know the satisfying feeling of a momentarily clear head? I love blowing my nose.

And then there is Tiny. Well, he's only 18 months old and is sort of understanding the concept. He only blows his nose when there is not a Kleenex within an 80 mile radius and it's usually into his hand AND it's usually when he's practicing blowing kisses, not sneezes. Pretty cute, really. But to get any real relief for him, I have to use the dreaded "snot sucker". Out of all my kids, he's the one that has done the best with it. He actually tolerates it. He doesn't enjoy it, but he will sit still for the duration. The best part is when he tells it "bye-bye" (which really sounds like "kye-kye") when it's all done. What amazes me is how small his head is and the enormity of his snot! Where does it come from?

 The cold accouterments.

I find that my once hyper-vigilant disease control has now been lowered to a simple snot inspection of the hands. If they don't have visible snot it's back to the sick pit (also known as the play room), if they do then a shoddy squirt of hand sanitizer and a cautionary warning "do NOT to eat it!" is issued, along with a quick wipe of a damp paper towel. Where have my principles gone?

Other sick-time activities include (like a bad Time Life compilation C.D.):

-Cleaning things I wouldn't normally think to clean, like under Tiny's booster seat. The horror of dried bits of food from weeks ago and pacifiers? I don't even know how they got under there, for the space is so minimal I find it nearly a great work of art, on his part. It took a chisel and the better part of my afternoon to pry all disgusting food particles from the chair.

-You do really bad-mommy things, like, take your kids to the mall to play in the children's play area while they are sick. You are so insane with being trapped inside your house, with nothing but noses to blow and butts to wipe, that you exit the house, in frigid weather, cart them to the mall and dump them into the play pit. The whole time, you are thinking (or at least I am) what a horrible thing I am doing. I'm infecting all these other kids. Then I see that nearly half the moms there are wiping their kids snot faucets just as much as I am. So suddenly I don't shudder as much or hop up as quick, when Lily sneezes on the little girl with a puffy pink hairbow and Isaiah slides his sleeve across his slippery nose-snot.

-Lose track of the last day everyone had a bath.

-You cancel your son's birthday party twice...ugh.

-You do a lot of art projects that require painting with NyQuil and cough syrup. (Just kidding...we use paint, most of the time.)

-You find yourself daydreaming about a Mexican beach and shrimp cocktail...and cocktails.



-Then you cry because you realize a vacation won't happen for years.

Do you see all the deep thoughts that occur when one is sick alongside their children? I'm sure you have some of your own. By all means, do share...

I hope this post finds you and your loved ones feeling healthy and ready for Spring. 

Love ya, Foodies!

PMS Risotto

Yes, ladies, you heard me right. Men, don't run away just yet...no one's going to make you run to the store to buy anything "embarrassing", but you may get sent to pick up these few ingredients for the following recipe- which, I may add, is not embarrassing at all and completely manly.

Most women I talk to seriously crave chocolate that time of the month and I am definitely one of them. I mow through chocolate bars, while drinking hot chocolate. Suddenly, I will have visions of a plate of brownies hovering right in front of me. Sometimes I will, even with cramps and a cranky disposition, break out the mixer at 8 p.m. and whip up some chocolate chip cookies. All of which, the Hubs is happy to help me consume. So for all my snippy comments, waves of emotion and frustrated murmurings, he does get some tasty desserts out of the whole deal.

I saw this recipe on the Cooking Channel the other day and was, of course, whisked away into a chocolate fantasy. I mean, why not turn your favorite comforting savory dish into a chocolate-laden, luscious dessert? Thanks to David Rocco, it was.

It truly is fantastic. So creamy, so rich and the perfect amount of sweetness. Its so comforting that it will, for a moment, whisk away those crabby feelings.

If you are a menu planner, you know where to put this on the calendar...

I'm feeling lazy today. Here's the link to the recipe:

Risotto Al Cioccolator

Love ya, Foodies!

You Got Some 'Splain-en To Do

So first off, I hope you won't be let down by my less than exciting explanation of where I've been, because you all had MUCH more creative ideas than what was actually happening. I mean, a chess game or cracker factory? Brilliant.

Drum roll please...There were a few of you who hit the nail on the head, as it were. MOVING. In no particular order, here are the fabulous peeps who guessed what I was doing...

Lorraine at A Multi-Dimensional Life
Mariko at The Little Foodie
Jamie at Mangiabella

If you haven't visited them, they are all really fabulous ladies with amazing blogs.

Add to the boxes, rolls and rolls of tape, overflowing boxes of bubble wrap, and loads of packing paper. Mixed with children in transition, cardboard cuts (the long, distant, evil cousin of paper cuts), and one stressed mommy equals family fun!

Where are we moving you ask? Down the street? Over the river? No. The Hubs accepted an offer for a new job in my home town and our new house is just a hop, skip and jump away from my overly excited parents. I haven't lived at home, Kansas City, for 10 years now. I am so happy to be home, regardless of the wonky-out-of-whack-feelings I have. We are currently bunking with my parents until our stuff gets here, tomorrow. I can't wait to move into our new place.

To share a bit of our insane journey from Houston to K.C., I have created a little montage for you. What we saw, what to avoid and what landed like a bomb in my stomach.

that pretty much sums up the trip...

poor kid

this was pretty much the extent of our diet - a total belly bomb.

sad.

what every foodie needs on a road trip...Food and Wine and some fiber bars, just to keep everything, you know, regular.

boredom at its peak.

what to avoid.

what we were listening to

what the kids were watching...if Barney made you sick before, just try 2 days straight in an enclosed vehicle. Barf.

Here's some nice cows, right? Look a little closer...

this is a zoom in of the picture above. A Fed-Ex anarchy van in a cow field? I have nothing to say about that.

Love Ya, Foodies!

Thanks for hanging around for me. Now, let me get situated in the house and I'll whip up something delish.

A Spicy Little Number

The Hubs LOVES hot peppers. He puts them on everything. When his last jar of hot peppers ran out, he quickly started gathering more peppers from the garden and dropping hints about how much his pizza, meatballs or bowl of cheerios (kidding) needed some spice.

I donned the latex gloves and started chopping and chopping and chopping. Oh, my god! Could he have picked more peppers? Is there nothing left but stems out in the garden now? Will my eyeballs still be in my head after I finish this pot of peppers? Or will they be dissolved by the fumes?

I survived. But I will say, this was the hottest, frickin' batch of peppers I have ever made! What kind of peppers did she use, you say? Well, jalapeno, Anaheim, Hungarian Wax and some mini hell-peppers (yes, long lost cousins of the tiny hell-cakes.) I don't know what the red ones are called, but they grow in my garden and are unbelievably hot.

Use whatever peppers you like:

Pickled Hot Peppers

Keeps for weeks in the fridge. Will keep spice-hungry husbands happy for the same amount of time.

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup sugar

1 tbsp. salt

1 tsp. cracked pepper

1 cup cool water

2 cloves garlic, smashed but whole

2-3 cups sliced peppers

In microwave, cook vinegar, sugar, salt and pepper in glass bowl for 2 minutes. Stir until salt and sugar are dissolved. Pour over garlic and peppers. Add water and stir.  Pour into glass jar (I used a washed applesauce jar) and store in fridge.

Have fun burning your face off. If you don't do that, you can always do some voting for Work It, Girl!...HERE.

Love ya, Foodies!

P.s. Can I tell you, once again, how much I love each and everyone of you? Can I tell you how much your support and votes mean? Your comments have been a joy to read and have touched my heart. Thank you, again and again and again!

Pumpkins, Shmumpkins and Voting!

Tiny with his baby pumpkin.

On Saturday we went to the pumpkin patch nearby our house. Though it is cooler than full-blast summer weather here in Houston, it's still hot when you are standing in the sun and your forehead feels like a hot plate. The Hubs claimed he could fry an egg on his "balding" spot. It's nowhere near the fall I remember growing up in Kansas City. But I remained optimistic about capturing precious moments of Tiny's first pumpkin picking and Bubba and Boo's enthusiastic chirping over which pumpkins to get.

Well...let's just say, it was nowhere near the romantic picture I had painted in my mind.

Weighed down like a pack-horse of all things baby/toddler and memory capturing devices, I waddled up to the front of the church with my brood and Hubs, where the pumpkin patch was set up. As we get closer, we see a young girl on her knees retching into the soft, well-maintained grass below her. Her mother, in her smart, designer clothes, looked concerned and confused as just what to do. The Hubs and I looked at one another, not as in "aww, poor kid" but more as in "great, now our kids are going to get a virus." Horrible isn't it? When you become a parent, this is what you think. So my visions of frolicking through rows of pumpkins was now slimed with the vomit of a sick child.

I was murmuring something about how we were going to wash there hands with rubbing alcohol before we leave and then we see the pumpkins. Even now, at thirty-three years of age, I still get excited by large quantities of pumpkins. Pallets and pallets of large, happy orange orbs. I immediately get out the camera and start clicking away.

Surrounding the patch, faux-patch really, were tents of different attractions- more like distractions. I wanted my kids to focus on the pumpkins so I could capture all I wanted to capture, because it was, afterall, all about me.

One of the many distractions, foiling my plans for portait quality pictures.

To the left, a sweet grey-haired woman was trying to lure my children into her tent with Bible stories. To the right was a sno-cone stand and a huge swingset diverting their attention. Then there was an even bigger tent with music and then...the bounce house. Oh God. I hate bounce houses. Why? Because my two oldest will beg and beg to go in. You take off their sock and shoes (any parent of a toddler knows how ANNOYING putting socks an shoes on is), they get in there for two seconds, get bumped into by a child who has no business being in there with their 5 foot-tall body and come back out bawling. We steered clear of the bounce house and distracted them with baby pumpkins and face painting.

Yup, that's about as good as it gets.

No one wanted their picture taken. The distractions were far to...distracting. Everyone refused to look directly at the camera, or if they did, their face was facing me but their eyes were on the sno-cone machine. I got a couple of Tiny with his pumpkin, but it was short-lived as the pumpkin pallets, made great bumper pads for 15 month-old children who were still wobbly in their walking abilities.

The best part, and I think the kids would agree, was the face-painting. Amazing how having a cool, wet paintbrush dance across your cheek can calm hyper 3 year-old children. They sat like zombies as the super sweet teenage girls completed their requests for a football for Bubba and a butterfly for Boo.

So my lovely friends, it's time to cast your vote! If you enjoyed my Reuben Saga-ish entry, please click on the link below. You have sent me half-way through this competition, why not send me through to the next round? I keep telling you how much I enjoy this, because it's true. I am learning so much, stepping outside my comfort zone and creating things I've never dreamed. My writing is getting better as are my photos, because of this contest. So THANK YOU!

CLICK HERE TO VOTE!!!

Love ya, Foodies!

First Challenge: What Defines Me?

  

That's me hangin' in my favorite apron.

    
Our first challenge for Project Food Blog (to see more about that click here) is to post about what defines us as a food blogger and why we should be the next food blog star.

I really haven’t taken a breath since I started this blog, so the time for an inward glance at why I do this, seems pretty appropriate. I think like most food bloggers, it comes from a deep passion for cooking and eating. For me, it’s that plus working in my love of art, expression and family into each story, recipe and photo. It also comes from knowing that in order to keep this Mama happy, I absolutely must do something creative that involves only me. Not that I don’t love doing “craps” (a.k.a “crafts”) with my kiddos and lunging enthusiastically at loads of laundry, it just that Mommy needs something that is completely her, for her and by her. When I express myself, either through my photographs, a recipe I’ve come up with in the fury of dinnertime countdown, or writing a story about why the waiting room smells at the local doctor’s office, when I press that “publish” button, I feel so good. I’ve sent something out there into the world that is a piece of me and hoping others will want to share in it.

"craps" in action

Around the age of 8 or 9, I became enthralled in the art of cooking. It was becoming clearer to me that it was something I deeply wanted to pursue. I had been envisioning myself as an artist for some time, since around the age 3, but when I became aware of the art of cooking, something new awoke. I think it’s for the fact that cooking is a craft. The process of crafting and construction is my favorite thing about art and also my favorite thing about cooking. It’s art you can eat.

My mom was my first window through which I viewed cooking and food. She always included me in her cooking adventures. Even though she started out married life labeled as one who “could burn water”, she has, over the years, turned into a fabulous cook. I feel honored that I was included in her journey.

This is my grandma Maria. That smile tells me there's meatballs in that pot.

Next to my mom, I would have to say my grandmother Maria was most influential. Though I never got to actually cook with her (only eat her food), her Italian heritage that came through in her cooking is still engraved in the corners of my culinary mind, but more importantly, in my sentimental heart. I am particularly enamored with Italian and Mediterranean food, for the flavor and for the comfort factor.

Lastly, I owe much of my awakened culinary love to the kings and queens of PBS cooking shows, that is, before Food Network. Graham Kerr to Julia Child, Jeff Smith to Martin Yan, they all filled me with wonder and joy as I watched them throw loaves of French bread over their shoulders (Julia) to furiously chopping green onions as they counted aloud (Martin). After a Saturday morning “breakfast” of their culinary wisdom, I would stand on my little green stool in front of the kitchen sink and profess that I was going to be a chef (as I talked to my T.V. audience).

Years later, I did take a community college food prep course, after I graduated high school. I did well in execution and following directions and memorizing recipes, but I did not enjoy the pressure of the clock breathing down my chef whites. I found that I wanted to cook out of pleasure. So I did not continue on to becoming a chef, but I did learn what I wanted…which was just to cook because I loved it.

The "Hubs".

My husband has been my greatest cheerleader over the years (in the most manliest of ways) by his constant encouragement and adventurous eating habits. Since day one, cooking has been my number one way to say that I love him. He happily receives this love language.

My kids (though they have no clue as to what blogging is) cheer me on by picking up their Fisher-Price toy cameras and clicking away as I photograph a plate of cupcakes. And even though they turn their adorable noses up at some of my kitchen shenanigans, I don’t mind, because I know, in time they will grow to love a myriad of flavors.

My handsome Bubba.

My spunky 'lil Boo.

And my precious Tiny.

And then there are my parents, who show me they believe in me (which they have since I was a wee one) by picking up interesting kitchen props as they make their way through flea markets on the weekends and send them to me parcel post in a giant computer box…that is love.

The box.

The loot. Nice, huh?

Those who know me best, see the sparkle in my eye, see the wheels turning, know to stay out of the way and let me continue my train of thought (well, those who are over 3 foot high anyway) as I plan for a post. They patiently tolerate the endless photography sessions with a loaf of bread, refrain from digging into their highly anticipated cup of lobster bisque so I can capture it in its undisturbed form, and know not to throw away any scrap of paper from the kitchen counter as it may contain the perfect ratio for the perfect iced mocha.

Basically, I do this because I love it. As far as why I should be the next food blog star, well, I think the above says it all. If I become the next food blog star, I will have won because of who I am as an individual...that and I can make a mean meat-a-ball.

Thanks for taking a mini tour of my culinary past and present.

Love ya, Foodies.