It only took me 27 years to figure out

This morning I made myself an omelet for breakfast. I sautéd a green onion from the garden , added half a seeded plum tomato and finished this masterpiece with goat cheese crumbles and freshly cracked pepper. It was yummy.

Please note: there is ham in our fridge and I did not put any in my eggs.

This is a major departure for me. I love ham; love it, love it, love it! But I decided I didn't want to eat meat this morning.

"What?!?" I hear you cry. "Who are you and what have you done with Jen?!?"

Time for some back story.

I grew up in the MidWest. Meat and potato country. Always soup and bread, never salad, territory. I moved to California in 1995, and discovered fresh veggies. Green beans were a revelation. It got to the point were my roomie asked me to please stop with the damn green beans, already! I learned what a good tomato tastes like and the joys of quality Cabernet. But I never did develop a fondness for salad. I mean, I'll eat one, especially if my kids are at the table, but I don't ever lust for the stuff.

In high school, during Philosophy class, we had a Seventh Day Adventist as a guest speaker. He was extolling the virtues of a vegetarian lifestyle. I distinctly remember asking him, " Have you ever had a good steak?" He replied, "Yes. And it tasted great. But it's not good for you."

I thought the guy was willfully insane. Really.

Having read "The Blue Zones", which totally validates the diet of the Adventists, Miles & I are eating less meat, more veggies and whole grains. At first, it felt like a real effort. You know, not eating whole grains because we liked 'em, but because it would help us live long enough to see our daughters graduate from high school. But with my omelet this morning, I realize lately, I've been making healthier choices because, well, they tasted good!

Mr. Adventist, I get it now.

One big, happy, chaotic family

Last night, Miles and I went to the PAC to see Rockappella. For those not familiar with this group, they are 5 guys singing modern pop/rock/doo wop/Motown a cappella. It's quite a show. They dance! They sing! They pick ladies from the audience to serenade! Their talent is amazing and their music and moves are tight and well-rehearsed.

In order to attend a function like this, a surprising amount of planning and organization needs to be in place. And since the Clarks are dwellers in chaos, it's always a whirlwind of last-minute changes and forgotten details.

The original plan: Kayla will stay the night at our house and watch the little girls for us. Miles and I would drive down to Poly to see the show.

What actually happened: I jumped into the shower at 3:30, dressed and got everyone packed up and in the van by 4pm, then drove all four kids to Susan and Ron's house. Next I drove to Cal Poly to pick up Miles, then we hurried to the CPA's office to sign our taxes before 5:30pm. Then, realizing we didn't have the tickets to the show with us, we placed a panicked call to my mother-in-law, who arranged to have our tickets reprinted and waiting for us at will call. The next part was nice. My husband and I got to spend some time together. We had a leisurely dinner, and a brief stop at the bookstore before the show. We saw the performance, then headed back North to pick up the little girls. Aeron sobbed when we put her in the van to take her home. Susan, whose heart strings had been well and truly pulled, rushed out the door with a fuzzy blanket for Aeron to cuddle.

Nothing is ever simple 'round here.

Overruled!

While at Super Gra-Maw's house.....

Me: "Come on, girls. Time to go home"

Aeron: "I OBJECT!"

In the middle of the night; episode 11 or "Meow"?!

OK, we've finally broken Aeron of the habit of waking up her parents in the middle of the night. It's been a marvelous improvement!

So you can imagine my annoyance at being woken by the cat last night. There I was, at 2am, sleeping peacefully, when I hear the cat plaintively meowing in the living room. We have a vaulted ceiling, so the meows were echoing throughout the house.

I snarl under my breath and throw back the covers, intending to stomp downstairs and figure out what Mitzi's damage is. Then I hear the soft trill from the kitten sleeping at the foot of the bed, in her usual spot. What the heck?! Our cat is asleep....so who is meowing downstairs?!?

I head downstairs, flipping on some lights as I go and, in the living room, I find a skittish, plump, tiger tabby yelling to get out the front door. I've seen this kitty before; he belongs to the new neighbors across the cul-de-sac.

"What are you doing in here?" I whisper to the cat. I'm not sure why. I open the front door and the cat makes a top-speed run for it.

"Huh." I climbed the stairs, shaking my head, and fell back into bed.

An amusing coda to my tale: Kayla gets up this morning and tells me about the weird dream she had last night. There was a cat in her room, meowing at her, and it wasn't Mitzi. She open her door to let the cat out and went back to bed. Next she dreamed she was Charles Manson, being sentenced to death.

"The first part wasn't a dream, kid. The neighbors cat got in our house somehow." I told her. "But the Manson part, that was weird."

Small triumphs

It's the little things, you know?

Last night for dinner, I made pasta e fagioli, a bean and pasta soup. Complete with buttery, garlic croûtons made from home-made bread. Where's the triumph in that, you ask?

First, one of Cameron's buddies was over, and he didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay and eat with us.

Next, I had to threaten Cameron with a frying pan to keep him out of the kitchen 'till dinner time. He kept snitching croûtons and was drooling in my soup. (he is in a growth spurt and eating a lot!)

The best part was Aeron. She begged me, with big blue eyes tearing up, for plain pasta. It had been a while since I'd made this and like any other kid, she views new kinds of food with deep suspicion. I didn't have any patience to deal with her issues, so I served her what everyone else was eating, soup with pasta garnished with croûtons. Aeron shlumped over to the table, whining all the way. But with Cameron giving enthusiastic encouragement, she tried her soup. Then, she ate it, every last bit. And then declared dinner "scrum-dum-delicious!"

Miles & I told her how very proud we were of her for trying something new, and then gave her ice cream for dessert.

You parents out there will understand; this is a big deal!

Claire wouldn't touch her soup. Luckily, she was sitting next to Cameron, who manfully volunteered to eat it for her. The rule in our house is: you eat what's offered or you don't eat; your choice. To her credit, Claire went to bed having eaten zero dinner without complaining. This is another win for the parents!

4 years old, and she's got it figured out

Claire has a thing for this boy at preschool. His name is Miles and he's actually a kindergartner, who then comes to preschool the other half of the day. Miles hasn't responded well to Claire's declarations of love. She asked him to marry her a couple of months back, and she was shot down in flames.

Last Friday after school, she told me it was Miles' birthday. "He brought cupcakes!" she said.

"Did you all sing happy birthday?" I asked.

"Yup. But I didn't kiss him."

"You didn't? Why not?" I inquired.

She looked at me, and said in a disgusted tone, "He doesn't want to marry me! He doesn't get kisses!"

Words to live by, kid.

Rose junkie

I think I have a problem. It seems I'm addicted to roses. I'm apparently completely unable to stop buying bare root roses for my garden. Just yesterday, I bought 6! Which brings me to a total of 12 new roses this spring.

Where am I planting all these flowers, I hear you ask? Well, I had to rip out a hedge to make space. I now have a total of 25 rose bushes in my front garden.

My husband goes through this every year. He smiles and tolerates my addiction, for a limited time. When I came home from a trip to Home Depot, ostensibly to purchase mulch, with 4 more roses, he put his foot down.

"OK, enough!"

That fine, I was running out of room anyway. Well, until I rip out some more of the lawn.