call me crazy, but I'm going to...

:: Turn 20 pounds of these into this yummy soup and this slow-roasted heaven


:: Turn a shopping bag of these into the world's greatest applesauce


:: Turn a pile of old clothes into some very cute skirts


Voila! One down. And I haven't even taken a picture of all the yarn.

Disclaimer: If you are a client who happens to be reading my blog, I'll be doing your work first, of course. I am not distracted by the season. Nope, not one bit.

and he's off...

This is Liam on his way to the first day of first grade. The skipping was not staged. There was no place he'd rather be going. I tried to relish the moment so I can remember that he really was thrilled to go to school once. Like when we're off to the first day of seventh grade.


Getting to school at 8:30 a.m. is a bit of a rude awakening for a six-year-old teenager who is usually waking up at that time. Obviously we don't have a hairbrush in our house. Or an iron. Luckily grunge is in.


This is Liam at the end of his second day of first grade. He changed into this outfit to go to the school ice cream social in the evening. I tried to talk him out of it, seeing that the Hawaii 5-0 shirt kind of clashed with the preppy plaid shorts. But he just shrugged and said he liked it. This is why I love shopping at Good Will. My son has his own sense of style. I don't get it, but when it costs $2.50, what I think is irrelevant. The bonus is I can easily locate him in a crowd. And he still looks mighty happy.

how to be :: an open letter to my son

Dear Liam,

First grade is just a day away. Can you believe it? Some days I feel like I was just starting my first day of school and some days I feel one hundred years old. But for you this first year is huge and all encompassing. Soon, you'll be gone seven hours a day, eating your lunch at school, spending more waking time with others than you spend with your dad and me. But you're not thinking about the hugeness of this right now. You can hardly wait to go.

I once had thought of homeschooling you, and because you're such a cool kid who loves to learn, I still think of homeschooling you. But, for now at least, you couldn't be happier to be in a classroom with your best buddies and an awesome teacher - who is not your mother. I'll try not to take it personally.

However, since I am your mother, you still have to listen to me (at least a few more years) and since I can't be with you every minute of the day, I want to give you some words to remember, some rules to live by, some magic to conjure up in those moments when, as Dumbledore says to Harry Potter, you face the choice between what is right and what is easy.

Be kind. Your great-grandma Gaye taught you the Bible verse that can make the difference between a good year and a great one. Say it with me: Be kind to one another. You be kind and they'll be kind back. But more important than that, God asks you to, which means that no matter how you're feeling, being kind is always the right choice.

Be generous. When you were little, we called this sharing, and it usually involved your toys. Now being generous involves a lot more. It means this: If someone forgot their lunch, offer them the best part of yours. If someone is struggling to tie their shoes, help them, even if it makes you late to gym. If you wanted to be chosen to run the errand to the office, be happy for the student who was. Give freely, my little friend. Of your stuff. Of your time. Of your knowledge. Of your heart. God loves a cheerful giver. It'll make you happy, too.

Be present. Listen. Hear what a friend is saying before you take a turn to speak. Pay full attention to your teacher. Don't dwell on something you lost or didn't get to do or wish you were doing instead. Enjoy the moment. Have fun right where you are. Like Dumbledore told Harry as he stood paralyzed in front of the Mirror of Erised, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

Be enthusiastic. Ready for this one? You won't always be the winner. Let's say it again: You won't always be the winner. The important thing is to be a good player and to celebrate - yes, celebrate - the one who comes out on top. Smile, cheer, give a hug or a high five. If another student does something really well or earns an award or wins a game, tell them how awesomely they did. Be enthusiastic about other people's success. If you can learn to do this now, it'll save you years of unhappiness.

Be polite. When in doubt: Please. Thank you. Sorry. Excuse me. To everyone. All the time.

Be prepared. It's not your abilities that show who you really are. It is your choices. Be prepared to make choices that are healthy and loving and life giving. Know what you stand for and what you'll do in the face of ugliness or dishonesty or pressure. When someone is teased, be prepared to stand up for them. When someone wants you to do something wrong, be prepared to walk away. No matter what the circumstance, you can turn the tide. Remember what Dumbledore told Harry? "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends."

Be yourself. You are smart. You are funny. You are creative. You are helpful. You are kind. You are all these things I am asking you to be. Don't ever be someone different. And when you think you might, remember this, you are loved. Always. All the time. You are loved. What an amazing and powerful thing to be.

Have a magical year, my sweet boy. You're something special. I won't be one bit surprised if you end up with a lot to teach me.

Love,
Mama

eating with my neighbors

Tonight I ate dinner with Warren and his lady friend Eunice. These days Eunice isn't walking well but she dresses up for dinner. Tonight was no exception - silky orange blouse with a gold broach at the neck and a gold cross she purposefully pulled from behind her blouse to show me. I hoped she didn't feel she needed to impress me, being that we were in a church building. Afterall, Jesus was sitting at our table and I'm sure he didn't care.

Every month I see the couple at Third Tuesday Suppers. Although they appear rather feeble, they are both outspoken and Warren's cologne always makes a statement. In the past, I've just cleared their plates and chatted briefly, this was the first meal I sat with them.

Eunice talked a lot about her ailments, pausing often to comment on her meal, how delicious it was, how her plate looked a little different than Warren's, how she could never eat it all, how she's lost some weight and needs to eat more, how she'd like me to go get her a to-go box with another sub for later. Eunice was chagrined that the little girl with the cookie basket passed her by, but recovered when the girl came back and put four desserts on her plate.

I learned that Eunice spent her whole life in town, as did Warren. In a couple weeks, Warren told me, he'd be attending his 60th reunion at Geneva High School. He started his career as a teacher but got fed up with all the "punks" who weren't interested in learning so he went into shipping and travelled the world. He never moved from his hometown but, he said, "if I could get the hell out, I would." Geneva, he told me, has become an awful place.

"It's gentrification," he said. "Pure and simple, gentrification."

By Warren's standards Geneva has become a commercialized mess where no one knows you and no one cares. All the city dwellers settling out here, all the farmland eaten up. First it made him sad. Now he's just angry.

"I don't go into town anymore," he said gruffly. "Everyone's just bustling around ignoring you. What's the point?"

By most people's standards Geneva is a dream town. It's quaint, safe, clean, full of great little shops and restaurants, right along a beautiful river. Normally I would have blown off Warren's statement as a typical complaint coming from a grumpy old man. But like I said, Jesus was at our table, so I did something I rarely find time to do anymore. I listened.

I'm a bustler and, probably in Warren's eyes a gentrifier. But something happens the third Tuesday of every month. For two hours that evening, I hang out with neighbors. Some I know, some I don't. I visit. I catch up. I clear plates. I smile. I enter a different world. One where people have time to stop and see you. One where everyone is on the same level playing field no matter how they got to dinner or why they're there. One where there are no barriers. Not money. Not status. Not even religion. Absolutely none.

It was in this world tonight that I chatted with a woman from church whose name I know but whose life I don't and heard about some of the incredible health struggles her family has faced and the rough years she's had. I chatted with a deaf visitor using all the sign language I could muster and learned that the universal language of the body - a smile, a pat, a laugh and a hug - goes far when you can't figure out what to say. I helped a regular diner pack up a to-go bag and felt my eyes well with tears when I told her I hoped she'd come back next month and she said, like she wished she could be here every night, "This place is better than a five-star restaurant."

I'm not sure how we'd all be able to function in an outside world with no barriers, but for one night a month it's beginning to feel like an essential part of my life. I need to visit and smile and clear plates and sit with neighbors like Warren and Eunice. Otherwise I'd never really know that these people have interesting pasts and current struggles, that they are frustrated with busy people like me, that a free meal among friendly people can soften their angry hearts.

As I stood to get back to clearing plates, I told Warren and Eunice it was nice to talk and I looked forward to seeing them again next month. Warren grabbed my arm and pulled me in.

"I have to tell you," he said. "This is the nicest, the best thing that has happened in Geneva in a hell of a long time."

I thanked him and told him I'd share that with the people who made the meal. Then I smiled at Jesus and headed off with our empty plates.

chocolate, meet zucchini

Imagine you're on Chopped and you have a basket with chocolate chips, zucchini, olive oil and curry powder. It's the dessert course. What would you make? How about an amazing chocolate cake?

Over the last three weeks it's been far too hot for cooking but I've turned on the oven twice. Both times to make this cake. The original recipe comes from my favorite "What do I do with this vegetable?" cookbook, From Asparagus to Zucchini: A Guide to Seasonal, Farm-Fresh Produce. I've changed it up a lot over the years to inject healthier ingredients and more flavor, and it's evolved into one of the best chocolate cakes ever. When the zucchini is coming out of the garden faster than I can keep up, I love to make it. My son looks at me with awe when I cut him a piece warm from the oven and he says, I quote, "Thank you, gorgeous!" Whether he's thanking me or the cake, I don't know, but that's about enough to encourage me to make it a third time in one month. That, and the fact that I don't feel one bit bad eating seconds.

The Moistest-Ever Chocolate Zucchini Cake

3/4 cup olive oil
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 t. vanilla
1/2 cup almond milk
3 T cocoa powder
2 1/2 cups flour
1/2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. curry powder
1/4. t. cloves
2 cups shredded zucchini
1 cup chocolate chips

Mix together oil, sugar, eggs, vanilla and milk. Sift together dry ingredients and add to the wet. Stir in zucchini and chips. Pour into greased 9 x 13 pan. Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.

A couple tips:
-Sift your dry ingredients onto a piece of waxed paper, then pick up the paper and pour the sifted ingredients into the bowl. You save washing another bowl and the paper can be saved and used again. I always do this for cookies, too.
-Shred extra zucchini and keep it in sealed container in the fridge. As soon as the first cake's demolished, you'll want to make another one and the zucchini prep will be done. Or, try these Zucchini Chocolate Chip Cookies from Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Chocolate meets zucchini there, too. Also with yummy results.
-Save your butter wrappers in a bag in the freezer. When it's time to grease a pan, pull one out and rub it on your pan. There is usually enough butter left on one wrapper to cover a whole pan. Then throw the wrapper away - nothing wasted!
-Substitute buttermilk for the almond milk if you prefer. Coconut milk would probably work well, too.
-If you don't like curry, leave it out. The flavor is subtle; it's mostly just fun to say that there is curry in the cake. That's why I added it, next Food Network Star that I am.

holding a space

I was lost in Twelve by Twelve (a deeply satisfying book by William Powers) while we drove home from Wisconsin, when Andrew told me to check out what was written on the truck in front of us: my son's name, spelled correctly. We laughed and I went back to my book.

Powers was writing about "suchness" - that things are just as they are and that much of our discontent comes from missing the true essence of things - and about his painful experience as a stutterer in early childhood. I saw the surprising truck, then, this is what I read, "My parents love got me through the stutter. They wisely went against my teachers' advice and refused to stick me in speech therapy. Instead of seeing me as damaged goods, they accepted my suchness, stutter and all, until my speech defect healed. Most healing, of ourselves, of our society, is really just holding a space for things to come into alignment."

Usually the messages are subtler, but I must be getting harder to reach.

Summer has held the usual happinesses for my boys: backyard baby pool, long stretches of LEGO building, books and roughhousing. For Elliott it's also included hours of therapy. And for me, doctor appointment scheduling and stressing over my son's educational options. And the poor boy is just three.

Elliott has made gains through therapy this summer, and we love the one-on-one love and attention he's getting. But the idea of putting him in an intensive and restrictive special education preschool five days a week this fall feels wrong. On our school visit this spring, we found the classroom heavy and dull and lonely. So, we found a creative, happy private preschool for him two afternoons a week instead. All summer I have stewed over our decision. My cheery, funny, great imitating son needs fun and role models and (thank you Bill Powers) space. But even though my gut says it's right, the culture keeps pushing me to load him up with interventions. More education, more therapy, more worry.

When I sit in waiting rooms and listen to other moms - many with children whose needs far exceed my son's - I hear a lot about school district meetings and therapists and programs and doctors. I hear a lot of fear and a lot of worry. No one wants their child to be left behind. Everyone wants to give their kid the best opportunity to succeed. But sometimes I wonder if we're missing our special child's suchness, if we're so anxious to see if we can get the square peg in the round hole, trying so hard to fix the damaged goods, we miss out on the true essence of the one we're trying to get to fit in.

Although the experts recommend that we send our son to a special school to get a special education, we're going to spend time seeking out that specialness ourselves. Andrew and I are going to teach Elliott this school year. We're going to wrestle and hike and throw balls and make lunch together. We're going to hide treasures in buckets of dry beans and paint with our fingers and cut paper scraps and read stories. We're going to explore the woods and swing in the park. And if we learn some letters and words and how to bike and use the potty along the way, I won't be surprised. Because although we won't be teaching to any standards or striving to reach any goals, we'll be leaving a space. And a lot can happen in a space. The truck told me I can believe it.

super hero smoothies

That boy looks suspicious, doesn't he? Do you think he suspects that awesome smoothie he's drinking is nothing but good for him? Nope. He doesn't have any idea. All he knows is that it's a super hero smoothie and it's delicious.

We're sharing our four favorites. Both boys have one nearly every day. Sometimes I blend in some flax seed meal and sometimes I hide the vitamin D. They just suck them down.

Yoda
1 c. unsweetened almond milk
1/2 c. orange juice
1 banana
3/4 c. frozen mango chunks
2-3 stalks of swiss chard, stems removed

Batman
1 1/2 c. unsweetened almond milk
1 banana
3/4 c. frozen mango chunks
1/2 c. fresh or frozen blueberries
handful of spinach

Green Lantern
1 c. pineapple juice
1 c. unsweetened coconut milk
1 banana
3/4 c. frozen mango chunks
2-3 stalks of swiss chard, stems removed

Mace Windu
1 1/2 c. unsweetened coconut milk
1 banana
3/4 c. frozen blueberries
handful spinach
1 T agave nectar (optional)

Each recipe makes 2 to 3 servings. All measurements approximate. Color-coordinated straws (aka lightsabers) recommended.

a change of scenery

I feel so fortunate that my kids are logging a whole childhood of lake memories. Uncles throwing you in the water. Cannonballs off the dock. Grilled corn for dinner. Naps on the screen porch. Collecting dead dragonflies and feathers and shells. Scooping up minnows. Getting licked to death by aunt "Mimi's" dog. Twilight boat rides with Papa and GiGi. Ice cream before bed every night. Can't think of many things happier than that.