The week in suppers: the “hungry” month
pancakes for supper
**Monday’s menu** Red sauce with hamburger. Pasta. Steamed broccoli.
**Convenience** Went for ease over effort tonight. Thawed homemade sauce, boiled water.
**Tuesday’s menu** Choose-your-own-adventure-noodle soup. Japanese broth. Unadulterated broth. Egg noodles. Rice noodles. Chopped scallions. Fried cabbage with carrots, tofu and ginger.
**Inspiration** Made a huge fresh pot of turkey stock. Nope, not vegetarian, but I’m a big believer in broth. So I buy bones and make stock and freeze it for soups and such.
**Cabbage** There were complaints over the cabbage/carrot stir-fry again. Thing is, we’ve got a lot of cabbage and carrots … and not much else. ‘Tis March. The “hungry” month, I’ve seen it described. I promised to make a coleslaw next time with the next cabbage.
**mini-recipe** Japanese broth: Eight cups of stock, 1/2 cup tamari sauce, 4 tbsp sugar, salt to taste. Heat to boiling. Serve over noodles. At the table, sprinkle individual bowls with scallions, hot pepper flakes, and Chinese five-spice, to taste.
**Wednesday’s menu** Lentil curry (crockpot). Baked rice.
**Convenience, again** It took a bit of effort during the breakfast hour, but lentils + crockpots = easy. And then I went out for supper (with my sibs) and didn’t even taste the meal I’d made. Albus told me it was pretty good and he’d had two bowls. There seem, however, to be a lot of leftovers.
**Thursday’s menu** Leftover noodles fried with leftover cabbage and tofu.
**Thanks Kevin** Over the supper prep hour, I took AppleApple to her goalie training, and did some secondhand shopping. It was nice to return home to a tasty meal; I rarely object to reinvigorated leftovers.
**Friday’s menu** Leftover lentil curry. Leftover rice. Fresh baguette.
**Guess what?** That lentil curry did taste pretty good. It definitely hit the spot after a run/soccer practice. This menu was a little light on the veggies, however.
:::
**Weekend kitchen accomplishments** Nil. (See yesterday’s post.)
**Cooking with kids** Albus’s menu. Crepes with maple syrup, and strawberries and blueberries from the freezer. Bacon. Breakfast sausages. Baguette.
**Mmmmm** Some small debate over what to call breakfast-for-dinner. Brupper was roundly rejected. Albus thought it should simply be called brunch. Whatever it is, it was delicious and there were no leftovers. Not a scrap.
Without supervision
Here’s what the kids do when they’re not being closely supervised.
Giant mudpools in the sandbox?! I don’t recall authorizing the use of the hose. Um, Kevin? You? No?
:::
Here’s what the parents do when they’re not being closely supervised.
At least, it’s how we polished off the remains of a Saturday night without children (who were once again sleeping over at Grandma’s … we could get used to this). Except it occurs to me that we shouldn’t get too used to it. I am not my discplined self without the children around. In fact, it got me wondering whether the children have made me who I am. I think they stake some major claim.
Yes, it’s fun to play without supervision. But a little oversight may not be an altogether bad thing.
Best-of-day moment
my boys
Yesterday the phone never stopped ringing, and it wasn’t telemarketers calling either; it was just one of those days. Today the phone hasn’t rung once and the house is quiet. Yesterday I was abuzz with energy and excitement. Today I feel the need for an afternoon caffeine boost. Thank you, cup of sugary tea.
Yesterday lots of pretty awesome things happened, but my favourite moment was sitting outside in the super-hot sunshine with my eldest, sharing a street dog. He topped his half with pickles, mustard, and ketchup. I topped mine with pickles, hot peppers, and ketchup. He was briefly out of school due to a crazy bug bite that clearly required attention. After the dr’s appointment, we went to the pharmacy together, and then I spotted the hot dog stand. He was hesitant and concerned about missing more school. He kept checking his watch. Finally he said, “Whatever you think, Mom.” And I thought, YES! More time with my boy! How often does this happen?
I’ve been doing about one reading/week since the book came out. Today I read and spoke to a grade ten class at a nearby high school. The students were great, and came up with lots of excellent questions, both about the sections I’d chosen to read (largely around the theme of activism and responding to human-made atrocities) and about the writing process. I was nervous, but need not have been. Hard to believe my eldest will be that tall, that thoughtful, that nearly-grown-up-looking in just five years.
Will he still say, “Whatever you think, Mom?”
:::
Interested in bringing The Juliet Stories to your book club? My publisher has provided a thoughtful “Reader Guide,” food for further thought. It can be accessed by visiting The Juliet Stories at House of Anansi, and then clicking on “Reader Guide.” (It’s a PDF file.)
Fantasies and fears
buds on lilac, yesterday
This hot weather has revealed a serious gap in my wardrobe. Where did I put all my not-ratty, not-stained, not-holey, not-unflattering t-shirts? I’m good with the jeans (refreshed on my birthday). I’m good with the sandals (footwear should last for years on end). But the t-shirts have up and left town. Actually, no, they’re still hanging around the bottom of my over-stuffed shirt drawer, crumpled and neglected and forlorn.
So here’s a fantasy or two. Or three.
1. Side fantasy to precede other fantasies: An IKEA-like organizer magically appears in my closet into which I can stuff all of my smelly sports-related clothing. Because I have a lot of technical shirts, sweaters, and tanks that are not appropriate for anything but exercise. And the drawer is too full. So I can’t see what’s actually in there. This would save on time and irritation.
2. Sticking with the drawer-clearing theme: Someone goes through my drawer and forces me to give away anything that a) I haven’t worn in a year or b) I shouldn’t be wearing and someone should please inform me. Maybe I’m fantasizing about a What-Not-to-Wear scenario. Without cameras.
3. Now that the drawer has been organized and emptied: Someone, who is my exact size, drops off a bag of cast-off clothes and I dig through and find at least THREE excellent shirts, new to me. (This is how we got all of our clothes as kids — we had lots of older cousins — and it is my preferred shopping method even now.)
Okay, back to reality.
1. I could do this. I’ve been meaning to for months. Why haven’t I?
2. Ditto.
3. The realistic and therefore less fantastic version: a super-fast t-shirt shopping session at a secondhand store. I hate shopping. But this version looks likely to come true, possibly as soon as this evening when I’ll be taking Soccer Girl to goalie training. Apparently the arena is located near a top-notch secondhand store. Girding loins now.
Thus endeth the fantasy portion of this post. Is it just me, or was that pretty lame?
The fears portion shall begin now, but really it’s just one Fear, an underlying anxious hum. This morning, I woke early. The clock said 4:34. The windows were open, and a machine was beeping the back-up beep somewhere down the street. And I couldn’t for the life of me get back to sleep, though there were still forty minutes before the alarm was set to sound. Finally gave up, and got up to scour The Weather Network’s web site for clues — because there is something about this sudden onset of spring/summer that is distinctly unsettling. I want to be glad to see buds and tulips and green grass. Usually it’s downright thrilling. We’ve survived winter! And here is our reward!
But this year, we scarcely had winter. And it feels like the reward is coming far too early and too easily. And whenever things come easily, I get suspicious. This must be a trick. Fool’s gold. Fool’s spring.
dewdrop
AppleApple sat in my office yesterday and with a concerned face told me she had a theory: “You know how some people think the world is going to end in December, 2012? What if it just keeps getting hotter and hotter and hotter until then? And the world ends?”
Sounds like the plot of a movie in which I’d rather we not star.
I reassured her that such a trend was highly improbable. And said that we should enjoy today, because we can’t predict the future. Like a character says in The Juliet Stories: You don’t control the weather. (Of course, there’s so much we don’t control. Not just the weather. What to do but take my own advice, enjoy today, walk barefoot in the new green grass, bend down and see the flower unfurling?)
Another beautiful bizarre mid-March day
tree branch with buds, March 21, 2012
Avoided yesterday’s restlessness and instead started the morning with a trek to the back yard. Camera in hand, of course.
Good heavens, what is happening? Buds on the trees? Red lettuce and chives sprung forth in a raised bed? The wading pool full of water? A smog alert in Toronto this morning?
haze
If it were just one day of unseasonal warmth, the buds wouldn’t think it safe to come out; but it’s been enough consecutive days to heat the second floor of our house to mildly intolerable — we ran fans last night. (And really, the flannel sheets seem ridiculous).
It can’t last; can it? We’ll need those flannel sheets again. The windows won’t stay open. It seems impossible.
fresh salad for supper tonight?
neighbour-watching
Given all this warmth, we’ve discovered a new favourite retreat — the upper level of our porch, which we didn’t get a chance to use last fall when it was first built. Already, AppleApple has tucked away there to read in late-afternoon sunshine. And Kevin and I took tea and snacks and a candle out after dark the other night. It was that warm. Venus and Jupiter shone overhead, and the Big Dipper appeared to be upside-down.
It’s not a quiet retreat, let me add. Our street is much too well-travelled for that. Cars are noisy machines. But it’s lively viewing, and the porch feels private. Reminds me of when I was four years old, and would climb a small tree in the backyard, high enough to see over the fence. Behind that house was an apartment building, and I would watch the happenings. Even at that age, interested in observing the lives of others. You have been warned.