smart cookie

My friend Ann gave me the recipe (which originally came from Cooking Light) for these delicious breakfast cookies. I used to make them often and then I lost the recipe and kind of forgot about it. I found the recipe in a cabinet a few days ago and made the "cookies" this morning. They are hearty and healthy and, oh, so good. Enjoy for breakfast, mid-morning tea, afternoon pick me up and late-night snack. If you can stick to four a day, you're doing well.

Breakfast Cookies

3/4 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
2 eggs
1/4 c. chopped dried figs
1/4 c. dried cranberries
1/4 c. dried blueberries (I add, but it's optional)
1 t. vanilla
1 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. whole wheat flour
1/2 c. unprocessed bran
1/2 t. baking soda
1/4 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. allspice
1/3 c. chopped walnuts (original recipe calls for 1/4 c. sliced almonds)
2 t. granulated sugar

Combine first 3 ingredients in a large bowl. Stir in dried fruit and vanilla. Combine dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Add flour mixture to egg mixture, stirring until just combined. Fold in nuts. Drop by 1/4 cup measures and sprinkle with sugar. Bake at 350 for 12 minutes. Cool 2 minutes on pans; then cool completely on wire racks. Makes about a dozen oversized cookies.

all booked up

I am having a major book dilemma. Today at the library I picked up a book I put on hold, The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. This book has blown into my consciousness so many times lately, including the recommendation of a good, rational friend who told me to stop everything I was doing and GO READ IT immediately. I can already tell by examining the cover and smelling the pages, that I should have done what she said.

However, I have three other library books by my bed in various states of "being read," including The Faith Club: A Muslim, A Christian, A Jew—Three Women Search for Understanding that I just started two days ago for a book club on Wednesday night and am, thus, trying to pound like a beer. I also have started Practically Perfect in Every Way: My Misadventured Through the World of Self-Help and Back, which is proving to be both hilarious and profound, but after a week I have only made it to page 30. And, on deck, a book from the Youth section—The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane—that a good friend told me she couldn't put down and secretly cried her way through. What to do? I guess a real crack addict would just stay up all night every night until she'd sucked them all down. And, no matter what the loyalties or responsibilities, she'd start with the best stuff first. But being an oldest child and a born-and-bred mother type, I have to have to keep my crack habit in check.

I have to finish (or at least try to finish) the book club book (especially since I recommended it). It's got a good personality but it's not the hot guy in the room. I probably won't be able to resist flirting with him a little, thumbing through his pages, skimming his first chapter, reading his jacket copy. The truth is, I should have never brought him home. Not yet. I should have left him on the shelf until I finished what I already started. Instead, here's what will happen: I will half-read The Faith Club, read 20 more pages of Practically Perfect and never even crack Edward Tulane before I have to return them all to the library (at least three days late). Then, after spending two weeks trying not to read or think about A Year of Living Biblically, I will inhale it all in one night. I know I should save myself the grief and read the damn thing right now. But this is just the way it has to happen. I can't avoid the dilemma, and I can't keep myself from trying to be responsible, but in the end I'm just a crazy crack addict. My jonesing will get the best of me and I'll forsake precious sleep time, lucrative work time and the peace of mind that comes from a tidy house while I spend hours totally absorbed in this book, the whole time wondering why the heck I ever waited.

what I did on my spring break vacation

When your kids aren't officially in school, spring break is kind of an odd week. Do you take a vacation? Everyone else is. It seems only fair. So, yesterday my cousin and I whisked our kids off to Wisconsin to "the lake house" for a couple days. So far, here's what we've done:

1. Play Candyland, Yahtzee Jr., Candyland, Yahtzee Jr., Candyland
2. Assess the "leaking water" situation in the basement utility room; show local handy guy what has become steady rainfall in basement utility room; watch handy guy panic and, with help of second handy guy, fix frozen septic system
3. Make dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner and clean up, clean up, clean up, clean up
4. Take walk with five ill-attired kids through melting snow/ice (This includes Liam who was barefoot - at his stubborn insistence - in rubber rain boots since dad put him in the car before we left without putting any shoes on him. After we had driven an hour toward our destination, I realized Liam did not have shoes on and called to ask Andrew what the heck. He said, "I thought you packed shoes for him. I just carried him to the car." Who goes out of the house in winter without shoes? Brits!)
5. Make homemade pretzels and chocolate chip cookies
6. Eat all the pretzels and most of the cookies
7. Go a little crazy at impromptu dance party (While shaking our booties to Mary J Blige, my cousin Josie busted a couple moves and said, "In heaven, I am definitely going to be black.")
8. Build a toasty fire and almost (almost) feel okay that it's still freezing out on "spring" break
9. Think about all the work I have to do and should have done and haven't done and yawn and go to bed

Our short-lived trip, planned til Saturday, will end tomorrow because, as much as they have enjoyed spotting "bear" tracks in the snow and watching movies on a 96-inch screen, all the kids are a little homesick. As 6-year-old Cami put it, "This is a real nice place, but I miss my dad." And, the truth is, keeping five kids fed and happy and a house that isn't mine picked up and clean is a lot more work than just hanging out at the pigsty we call home. Don't get me wrong, this lake house is capital G gorgeous and capital P peaceful and capital S stocked but unless you leave the kids at home, it isn't much of a break. Maybe in five years, Josie and I will leave the kids with their dads (who they miss so much) and take a real spring break at the lake house. The list then will be something like, Read book, Sleep, Watch movie, Sleep, Drink bottle of wine, Sleep, Dance, Sleep, Take walk, Sleep some more. I can't wait.

go ahead, make my day

"Mom, are you rich?"

"Um, what do you mean by that, honey?"

Liam gave me his best that's-a-crazy-question scowl and answered, "You know, cute."

"Well, what do you think?"

"Oh yeah, very rich."

Very rich, indeed.

it happened during a shower

This morning while Elliott was catching a cat nap before church, I suggested Liam try out the new markers he got in his Easter basket while I took a quick shower. I also put the TV on for him, so I didn't expect much. And in the rush to dress and get out the door, I didn't think about it again...until I was picking up this afternoon and came across this drawing.

"Liam," I said, "Did you draw this."

"Uh huh."

"This morning?"

"Uh huh."

"Is it a whale?"

"Uh huh."

"Did you do it by yourself?"

"Uh huh."

Now, I don't know why I asked this dumb question. Who would have helped him? Andrew was already at church. We established that Elliott was sleeping (not that he would have been much help) and I was showering (and hopefully I am still sane enough to have remembered if I had helped). Of course he did it by himself. But I didn't even know he ever thought about whales or that he even knew what one looked like. It is startling and breathtaking when your child does something you had no idea they could do. It's as if they are turning 20 while you watch. It is scary and beautiful, and standing in the kitchen holding this strangely amazing representation of a whale, I teared up. If he could understand all this emotion, he'd probably say something like, "Mom, it's just a dumb drawing. Don't be so weird. Chill out."

Thankfully, he's still young enough not to be cynical about my blubbering, and simply noted, "It's okay, mom. It's a happy whale."

like no one else

We have a book that I have read to Liam on and off since he was born called Just in Case You Ever Wonder. I think partly he loves it so much because the wording is so affirming and comforting. One of my favorite lines in the book is, "God made you like no one else." It goes on to say, "No one with your eyes. No one with your mouth. No one with your laugh." After a 35-minute private concert this evening, I would like to add, "No one with your air guitar abilities."

I had sat down on Liam's rocking chair at 4:50 p.m. to feed Elliott before putting him down for the night and Liam popped in a Nightwish CD and said, "I'm going to play all the songs, mom."

"Okay, honey," I said absentmindedly. (What I meant was, as long as you don't bother Elliott, give me some peace, don't hurt yourself, stay in this room and don't make a mess, you may do whatever you like.)

I was in for a little surprise.

As the first song started, he spread his legs, bent his one knee, got his hands into position on his "guitar," rolled his head a little, gritted his teeth and said, "Yeah, let's go."

When the guitars kicked in, he let loose, his fingers flying up and down the fretboard, his (very longish) hair flipping back and forth with every headbang and his surprisingly lythe little body moving with the rhythm. When the guitars were fast, he'd do some complicated finger movements and go deeper into his squat, squinching his face into his best heavy-metal rocker expression. When the guitars were slow, he'd let up, stand straighter and shoot me a smile. And in sections where the guitars were absent, he'd wait patiently for them to begin again, never stepping out of character. By 5:25 p.m. his hair was damp, his cheeks, red, his mood, elated.

At that point, in the middle of a song, he abruptly turned off the CD player.

"That was my last song," he said.

"Liam, honey," I said, marveling that this was my kid, knowing that I just as easily could have gotten a soccer player or a mad scientist or a bookworm as an air guitar champion. "You were incredible. I loved watching that."

"Mom," he said thoughtfully as we walked downstairs, "Do you think the band guys sweat?"

"Uh, yeah. And then they probably take baths to get cleaned up."

"No. I don't think so. I think they eat a cookie."

"So, who are we talking about here?"

"The band guys!" (Duh!)

Pause. "Mom," he said. "Can I have a cookie?"

Liam, God made you like no one else. And we couldn't be luckier.

sleeping patterns, part 2

Lately we have been struggling with Liam not sleeping through the night and since we are too fatigued to put our foot down, we usually go in to his room and lie down with him until he settles down and goes back to sleep. The "we," however, is figurative because in the middle of the night there is only one parent and I'm it. If Andrew tries to take my place in Liam's bed, the "conversation" goes something like this,

"I want mama." Liam crying.

"Mama's sleeping, boo boo." Andrew tries to rub his back.

"No, I want mama!" Liam moving out of reach, sobbing.

"Don't you want, daddy? Daddy loves you." Andrew tries to stroke Liam's head.

"No! Mama! Mama!" Liam hysterically sobbing.

At this point, I'll enter the room. Andrew and I will give each other "the look," and I will grudgingly take over. Liam will immediately go from sobbing to little chocking gasps and then will whisper plantively as he pops his thumb in his mouth, "Will you lie with me a little bit?"

As uncomfortable as it is, I sardine myself next to him on his very uncomfortable 20-year-old twin matress and try not to so much as breathe or twitch a leg, in hopes that sleep will overtake him before it does me. Because there is nothing worse than actually falling asleep in that painfully uncomfortable state.

Once his thumb lies lazily on his lower lip, I figure it's safe to attempt my escape. First, sit up straight. Hold breath. Wait. Press hands gently into matress. Slide bottom down to the end of the bed. If creaking occurs, stop. Wait. Hold breath. Pause at the end of the bed. In one swoop, stand. (Bed creaks a lot at this point.) Freeze. Wait. Hold breath. Turn door knob. Slowly, slowly. Push door open quickly to avoid squeak. Stealthily begin to slip out. Until...

Plantive whisper from bed, "Will you lie with me a little bit?"

Hold breath. Begin crying.

organic bounty

Every other week we get a box of beautiful organic produce delivered to our doorstep from Timber Creek Farms. (And if you live within 100 miles of Chicago, you can, too!) On the Tuesday morning it arrives, I can't wait to see what's inside. Every delivery is different and every item in the box is certified 100% organic. My favorite part is planning my recipes for the next week or two around the produce we receive. Tomorrow night it's corned beef, cabbage, carrots and potatoes. A little St. Patty's, a little late.

a weekend to forget

One miserable, fevered boy. One fussy, teething baby. One super busy dad. And one really sick, can't-take-a-day-off mom. Not a pretty picture. The saddest part for me was missing a dinner party with some of our favorite old friends in Oak Park Saturday night and missing an altered books class with a good friend this afternoon at Paper Source. I have been looking forward to that art fix for months! Ah, the best laid plans...

But in every day, there's always some poetry. Here's a little that I found.

1. These very cool mobiles from Oras designs that I randomly came across online. I love them and am wondering if I can make my own version. Maybe in fabric, Ann?

2. The glorious daffodils timidly peeking their heads out of the ground and blessedly smiling on my countertop.

3. The back of Elliott's head right below the hairline. Maybe this is weird but there is not much in the world sweeter than that.

4. Liam saying when he noticed he was hoarse yesterday, "Mom, my voice is crooked."

5. How Extreme Home Makeover almost never fails to make me see some greater good in the world. Maybe I am a sap or a sucker but it really gets to me. I try not to cry but tonight I just couldn't help myself.

at 4 a.m.

Sniffle... whimper... wail... "I don't know what thumb to suck."

A little voice and a little leg thrashing under the sheet pull me rudely out of my sleep stupor. (How did he get in our bed? And when?)

"What?" I say.

"I don't know what thumb to suck," he cries. "Turn the light on for me."

"It's the middle of the night. You don't need the light."

"I do. I need it. I don't know what thumb to suck."

I fumble for the light. Liam squints and holds his thumbs up close in front of his eyes and studies them for what seems like forever.

"Just pick one, honey," I say.

He glances at me as if he he's surprised I'm there, pops the left thumb in his mouth, grabs his blankie, rolls over and begin rhythmically breathing as if he was never even awake.

Um, okay, that was weird.

a quiche good night

After polishing off a couple boxes of Girl Scout cookies last night (already partially eaten, in my defense) and pacifying a feverish preschooler all day, I needed a nutritious and delicious dinner that didn't take a lot of effort. Crustless quiche is a dinner staple in our house because it's easy and I can make it with just about any veggies or leftovers in the fridge. Tonight I used fresh spinach, onion and cheese and it was great. I don't measure anything, so here's my best guess at the recipe:

Saute one sliced onion in a little olive oil. Add a dash of salt and a couple handfuls of chopped fresh spinach. Toss a couple times and turn off heat. Before spinach is totally wilted, spoon mixture into a pie pan. (I spray the pan with cooking spray first.) In a bowl, whisk 5 eggs, 1/4 cup milk, kosher salt, pepper and some kind of cheese. (I used Fontina tonight but would have tossed in goat cheese if Andrew liked it!) Pour the egg mixture into the pan over the spinach. Sprinkle on parmesan and (vegetarians ignore this part) crumbled bacon. Bake at 375 for 30-35 minutes. Tonight we ate it drizzled with marinara sauce.

To make the meal even healthier and more delicious, serve with roasted carrots. (I could eat these every night!) Peel and chop a bag of carrots into 1-inch chunks and toss with olive oil on a foil-lined cookie sheet. Sprinkle pretty generously with kosher salt (the kosher part makes all the difference, thank you, Barefoot Contessa) and bake at 375 degrees at the same time as the quiche. (I like the carrots well cooked and start them about 10 minutes before I put in the quiche.)

Of course, then, since you've eaten so well (especially if you add a nice green salad like we did), you'll deserve a few Girl Scout cookies. Maybe just half a box.

tell your story in six words

Ever since I heard about the six-word memoir from my friend Karen (who discovered it on Salon.com), I have been trying to come up with the perfect abridged description of my life. Here are some attempts:

"Wash, dry, fold, wear, sort, repeat."
"No good with money, need rest."
"Home filled with love, cat hair."
"Farm girl born in wrong century."

It's easier to describe Liam's life in six words:

"Can't go to sleep without blankie."
"Cut, paste, cut, paste, cut, paste."
"Did I just do a toot?"

What's your six-word memoir? Publish it here!

it's not easy being green

Before Liam was born, my mom and I went to one of those obscenely large baby stores to register for my showers. As we turned down the diaper aisle, I quickly pushed the cart past all the fancy diaper trash compactors. My mom, however, stopped.

"You should register for one of these," she said.

"Uh, that's okay. We don't need one."

"Why? Did someone give you one already?"

"No," I said, mustering my confidence, "We're going to use cloth diapers."

My mom was silent for a moment and then she rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "We'll see how long that lasts."

I was irritated. How hard could it be? I had just ordered some idiot-proof cloth diapers and rubber pants with adjusting snap closures. I was going to show my mom and the other disposable-addicted naysayers that sacrificing a little convenience for the sake of the environment was not a big deal. Plus, we could save a lot of money, upwards of $1000 a child I had read, maybe more.

Although we made a valiant effort for about a month with Liam, in the end my mom was right. As easy as those cloth diapers were to snap up, the super absorbency and leak-proof seal of the disposables were too seductive. We bought our first jumbo box of size 2 Huggies and never looked back.

When Elliott was born, however, I vowed to be greener. Around 6 weeks, I started cloth diapering exclusively during the day. Andrew, although not opposed to the idea of cloth diapering, wasn't too fond of the practice. He was fine about taking them off but seemed to be totally baffled about how to snap on a clean one. He would get the diaper wrapped around Elliott's neck or lose one of his legs in the thing; yell, "bugger!"; rip it off; throw it across the room; then, expertly velcro a disposable into place. Other than that, for me, the cloth diapering went pretty well for about 4 months. Then Elliott ate from a spoon and everything changed.

For weeks I stopped using the cloth diapers altogether. Then I felt guilty and tried to use at least one a day. I figured I'm saving about a dollar a week and putting one less diaper in a landfill every day. It's something. Well, hardly.

The other day as my cousin and I were feeding our youngest kids while her other two girls and Liam ran from room to room unwinding skeins of yarn, I told her that I was feeling guilty that I hadn't been using my cloth diapers. She burst out laughing.

"I feel guilty about a lot of things," she said. "And that is definitely NOT one of them."

Maybe she's right, why add to the guilt load? So, I am not the super earth mother I always imagined myself to be. It's a tough image to shed. But, hey, I compost (usually) and wash out my ziploc bags. And Elliott kindly endures one stinky, wet cloth diaper a day. It's a small attempt at stewardship. But at least it keeps my mom from saying, "I told you so."

lover boys

Liam and his "girl next door" Ava had their annual valentine photo shoot this week (a tradition we've carried out since their first v-day). This year, Ava's mom and I suggested they give each other a little kiss for the photo. We had to break it up because they were having a little too much fun smooching. Clearly. Andrew told me that when he came out of the bathroom this morning, Liam was in the living room, "snogging the mirror." When he asked Liam what he was doing, Liam gave him a guilty grin and said, "Oh, nothin'."
Following in his brother's footsteps, Elliott is nuzzling Ava's baby sister Mia. Could there be some double dating in their future?

liam's no good, very bad day: a retrospective

Standing by the back door sobbing for 15 minutes (!) straight after Andrew left for work because he (Liam) needed to give him (Andrew) one more hug and kiss.

Lying in the pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom closet calling, "I am staying in the laundry until daddy comes home." When asked if he'd like me to put him in the washing machine with the clothes, he looked me straight in the eye and said completely straight-faced, "You're not funny."

Melting down in the store because, "I - just - need - one - small - drink - of - water!"

Sniffling in the back of the car and when asked (sweetly) why he was sounding sad, he replied in a wobbly little whisper, "I'm having a rough day."

Bursting into tears when Elliott started crying at dinner and when asked why he (Liam) was crying, pointed at Elliott and said (gasping), "He's making me!"

Moaning up the stairs, "I'm so tired. I can't go. My head is falling off."

for worse or for better

It's late and CNN is droning on in the background because I married a Brit with an obsession for American politics. I had no idea. About a lot of things. That's the thing about marriage. You think you know what you're getting and really you are utterly in the dark. I had no idea my husband (in true European fashion) would only shower every third or fourth day, that he would find it almost impossible to fall asleep without a movie (thank God for laptops), that he would not care one iota for fashion and would think wearing a fleece is "dressing up," that he would not know how to get from point A to point B (even if we had driven it 100 times) if I was in the car, that he would not be able to empty the dishwasher without leaving most of the clean items on the counter because he still doesn't know where they belong, that he would find it painful to get out of bed with less than a half hour warning. But I also never knew that he would be awed by seeing a chipmunk (for the first time!) and broken by putting a cat to sleep, that he would be able to spot a natural wonder every time we go for a walk, that he would be able to play with abandon (games with Liam and guitar!), that he would choose to hang out with me over any other evening option, that he would always and everywhere be himself and that he'd help me start to live that way, too, that he would be the greatest dad on earth (even when his role models truly sucked), that, if I really needed him to, he would get out of bed in a second and not complain. It's like American politics. You fall in love or take the best thing that comes along but you don't really know what you're going to get. When it gets rough, you think, hmm, maybe if I had gone with that other guy instead. When it's good, you think, oh yeah, baby, I picked him. And when the better outweighs the worse, well, thank God for that.

The Fiction of Us
Once as lovers in a fairytale
now living a mystery,
a nail-biting suspense.
The next chapter starts too soon.
I need more time
to read you.
We dabble in fantasy, the great escape,
and save a romance for vacation,
searching the shelves every day for poetry.
An ever-after
worked out line by line.

(c) Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni

oh, crap

Yesterday I helped out in Liam's Sunday School class, which is aptly (or not so aptly) called Godly Play. While we were waiting for all the kids to arrive, Liam and a couple of the other preschool/kindergarteners were in the art room busily cutting, drawing, painting, etc. Liam was cutting little pieces of construction paper for his make-shift envelope on which he had boldly scrawled "LIAM LOVE SECRET DAD LOVE LIAM." At one point in his over-exhuberance with the scissors, he cut a piece too small, in half, not quite to his specifications (I never really understood the error) and intoned loudly, while stamping a foot for extra emphasis, "Oh, crap!" Then, rather dramatically, he dropped the scissors and sat down with a huff.

Alternating between concern and embarrassment (this was church afterall!) and desperately trying not to laugh, I patted him gently and said, "Liam, honey, we can find another piece of paper to cut. Let's not use language like that."

He looked at me and shrugged, "Whatever, mom."

In the last few weeks it has become clear to me that we are at the age of imitation and I am in serious trouble. In addition to "Oh, crap" and "whatever," Liam consistently (and appropriately) has been using the expression, "Oh my gone!" Such as when he rolls five Wolverines in Superhero Jr. Yahtzee or when he discover his missing blankie was somehow dropped between the car and the house and is covered in mud. I swear (no pun intended) that I do not (knowingly) take the Lord's name in vain but I have been known to utter "oh, crap" on a pretty regular basis. So now what? Do the preschool teachers think we're a potty mouth family over here? Is my son developing, God forbid, attitude? Do we nip it in the bud or just ignore and try to limit our curses to "fiddle sticks" and "goodness gracious?"

It's a good thing Elliott doesn't talk yet. I have a chance to redeem myself and raise a gentle soul from whose lips not a single curse is uttered. But I better start soon. He's already listening.

eat your veggies

We had a lovely dinner with friends last night. For dessert, I made a recipe from my favorite cookbook, From Asparagus to Zucchini: A Guide to Farm-Fresh, Seasonal Produce. What could one find for dessert in a vegetable cookbook, you ask? How about a fabulous chocolate cake that even the kids inhaled? Here's the recipe (with some small adaptations). Top with vanilla ice cream and smother with hot fudge for the ultimate veggie indulgence.

Double Chocolate Zucchini Cake

2 1/2 c. flour
3 T. cocoa powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. cloves
3/4 c. oil
1 1/4 c. sugar
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
1/2 c. buttermilk or sour milk
2-3 c. grated zucchini
1 1/2 c. chocolate chips

Whisk together dry ingredients. In separate bowl, mix together oil, sugar, eggs, vanilla and milk. Add dry ingredients until moistened. Stir in zucchini and chocolate chips. Pour into greased and floured 9 x13 pan. Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.

I love this cookbook because the recipes are organized by vegetable. Don't know what to do with a Jerusalem artichoke? Never cooked with celeriac? Have an over-abundance of rhubarb? You'll find delicious ways to eat all your veggies. And on the same site where you can buy the cookbook you can find a local farm where you can buy your produce. Support small, family-owned farms and buy organic veggies, milk, meat, etc., from producers right in your community!