I may have done something slightly crazy

I've become online buddies with  Elizabeth the Amazing.  Her hysterical blog chronicles her cessation of recreational shopping for one year and working her way through a list of challenges she calls her Monday Dares. Last weeks dare was to learn to cook!  And she has a 10 year old daughter! Well, that's not gonna fly! God knows what that poor child has been living on, but having read Elizabeth's post, I realized  Something Must Be Done. I immediately commented to the effect she should get her butt to my house for some cooking lessons. Then I sent her an easy recipe and again told her to get her butt to my house for some cooking lessons. I took a while, but I finally convinced the dear thing I was serious.

Why, I hear you ask, would I invite a complete stranger to my home? Because she can't cook!!! I'm not certain if I can explain how this notion horrifies me, but I'm gonna take a shot.

In high school, I'd come home, have a swim, not do my homework, and lie around reading sci-fi novels. My mom would arrive home after work, tired and we'd try to throw something together for dinner. My mother, bless her, was an awful cook; I remember eating a box of Stove Top Stuffing for dinner one night. The result: I was constantly hungry and terribly skinny.

The second part is my time in San Francisco. My roomie was one of the only people I know who grew up eating, and continued to eat, a decent diet. Fruit, veggies, salad, fish, whole grains; the whole shebang. The only fish I ever had as a kid came in a can labeled "Starkist" and I had never eaten a fresh green bean in my life. Cooking with Clay was a revelation. The result: I became a darn good cook.

The final piece of the puzzle is having kids. When I joined the Clark Clan, Miles, Kayla and Cam were eating a lot of boxed mac-n-cheese and chicken nuggets. Well, that came to screeching halt. I became a stay-at-home-mom and a cookin' fool. I baked bread, made dinner every night,  planted a kitchen garden, and attempted to instill some table manners. The result: I became a Food Nazi. Nutrition became  my raison d'être! 


......to be continued.....

I cain't make this stuff up

11:34pm

I was spending some quality time with my sweetie, in the Boudoir, with the door closed. I decided I should check on the Wee Lassies. I open our door and hear Aeron crying.

"Aeron. What's wrong?" No answer. I sit the child up in her bed. She just snivels.

"Boo. What's wrong?!" I ask. A couple times.

Finally I get answer.

"I.....I....want an umbrella!"

In the middle of the night; episode 14.

She did it again.

My precious Boo has had a little cold. Not very ill, just off her feed and snorty, with a headache. Too tired last night to have a bath after dinner. So, I stuffed the kid into her jammies and tucked her in. She went instantly to sleep.

Well, that was easy, I thought. (when will I learn?!)

1:36am

The first thing I realized was that I was cold. Next, I hear the soft yet piercing sound of Aeron whining in her sleep.

For the love of pete, kid, just stop. Please, please.....


More whining. Clearly, Aeron was not on board with my secret agenda to get some sleep.

No! I'm NOT getting up, dammit! 


The kid ramped up her complaint to keening.

I put a pillow over my head. And I noticed my husband's breathing no longer was the slow, even sound of deep sleep.

Through the down, I could hear the sound of Aeron sobbing. Snarling under my breath, I flung back the covers and stomped off to the girls' room.

Aeron was lying on her side in the fetal position, covers on the floor, giraffe pillow over her head. As I came toward her bed, she squealed and thrashed her legs.

"Aeron!" through my teeth. "Pull up the covers!"

I think I startled her. She jerked awake.

"Aeron! Just pull up the covers!"

I must have put a bit too much intensity in the order. She immediately began to sob in earnest.

Ah, jesus...what have I done?!?


"I'm so sorry, Mama!"


Bloody hell. "It's ok, Boo. Please stop crying. Please. Please. Aeron. I'm begging you."

Well, after a trip to the potty and some snuggles, the child stopped the awful noise. I went back to bed.

Miles said, "So what was that all about?"

"She kicked off the covers." He didn't ask which one.

The Real words to Christmas carols

"Decks the hall in bells and colly, Fa la la la la, la lal a la.

"Now we know our daily bre-ead, la la la, la la la, la, la, la.

Oh, fer cryin' out loud!

Claire came in to snuggle this morning. As usual, she had her Purple Fuzzy Blanket and Clairezie Bear, and she climbed in on Daddy's side of the bed. (She's a superior snuggler; it's very sweet.)  For just a precious moment, all was peaceful.

Then came the wailing, faint at first. Then the wailing grew louder as the child making the noise staggered towards my room. As Aeron rounded the corner, she took her wailing up a notch (Which felt like a pin in the backside, I must say.) She climbed in on my other side and tried to tell me something through her tears. I shushed the child and snuggled her, and asked her to calm down and tell me what was wrong.

"Claire said it's a sunny day and I don't want her to!"

Thanks a lot, Mr. Pollan!

For the past couple of weeks, "The Omnivore's Dilemma" has been on my coffee table. When I have a minute, I'll sit down with cup of coffee and read a few pages. Usually, I read books in a couple of hours, but not this one. There's a lot to take in.

For one thing, if the film "Supersize Me" didn't get you, or "Food, Inc." didn't put you off your Quarterpounder habit, "The Omnivore's Dilemma" with finish off any urge to ever eat at the Golden Arches again.  Not even for the french fries, which is a powerful statement, right there.

Pollan's descriptions of the industrial beef process is gut-wrenching. Then factor in the cruelty, and the health hazards, and I really can't see EVER buying anything but grass-fed, free-range beef again.

And I'm only on the 6th chapter.

One of the reasons I married him

"Hmm. I dreamed about Mario Bateli and Henry Kissinger."

"New cooking show?"