Thinking Thanksgiving Food
Today may rain. I’ve got two peacefully playing girls in the living-room (F and a good friend), one baby in gigantic bouncer, and one cup of coffee. My goal for today is to have dinner made before walk-to-school time, and to think ahead for the Thanksgiving meal, which is not going to be elaborate this year (actually, I’ve never roasted a turkey; maybe next year). We’re going to thaw two of Nina’s chickens instead, and roast those. Probably for Saturday evening, when Kevin’s family will be visiting. I’ve got loads of potatoes and squash (CSA), and have ordered yams through Nina. We do have pumpkins for pie, but I’m not a great pie-maker. I’m good with the cobblers and crisps, the cakes and cookies. Not so much the pies, which actually runs contrary to my heritage. I associate Mennonites with pies. In any case, it won’t take much to turn all of this bounty into a feast. I think the preparation of this Thanksgiving feast takes on more significance when one is trying to eat locally. It seems like a goodbye feast, as well as a feast of gratitude for the harvest. Goodbye to summer’s abundance and variety. Welcome in a new season of more solemn, heartier eating.
Okay, girls need puzzle help, and baby needs attention, so this shall be as it is, and no more.
Run, Carrie, Run
The run-on sentence keeps on running. Late start this morning, with everyone sleeping in (baby making up for late-night screaming; parents making up for sleeping with restless, snuffly baby), and I literally ran the children to school. We’d just about made it out the door, already on the fine line between okay and late, when it was discovered that baby CJ had blown out his diaper. Whoo-hoo. By the time that was resolved, we were really and truly late, and so, “Run, children, run!” I encouraged, all the way up the hill, and most of the rest of the way. We walked a block, then ran, then walked, then ran, then just decided to run, and made the playground as the bell was ringing. Then I ran home again, upon meeting up with some mom friends who were going for a real run. I was tempted to keep going–maybe next time!?–but was wearing jeans and a coat and hadn’t prepared the kids in the stroller for a long-term outing. Anyway, just had time at home to hang laundry (beautiful sunshiny windy laundry-hanging day) and drink a cup of coffee (“Are you done your cup of coffee yet, Mommy?”), do a puzzle with F, feed and change baby, before we were off again and running to storytime at the library. We arrived as they were singing the greeting song, and F was hysterical to be missing it, yet refused to go in on her own. Fortunately, once in, she was able to sit beside a friend, otherwise storytime was heading toward dead-loss territory. “But I not shy, Mommy.” Storytime ran a wee bit short this week. Maybe she was discouraged by the screaming children, though this seemed no worse than usual. Then we walked with friends to the little park and played in this gorgeous sunshine for ages, arriving home quite late for lunch (no watch, and apparently sense of time passing completely out of whack with actual time passing). Lunch with Kevin, hung more laundry, read some stories, got baby to sleep in sling, then started supper while F had quiet time. I’m pleased to note that she herself turned off the quiet time monitor (read TV), and started her own art project, though it’s impetus was a TV show, I think (a picture of a toothbrush), and that led to a request for an “ice-lolly.” Guess it’s a British show. “My name is Squiglette … I like to drawr.” We found on old half-finished Freezie in the freezer and she put on a pair of mittens and ate it at the counter. Yes she did. Meanwhile, I chopped and sauteed veggies for a bean-and-grain-based soup. I had about fifteen minutes between that and needing to leave for school, so F and I folded some laundry and brushed her teeth. I was feeling a cold coming on. Ate a few vitamin Cs too. Didn’t need to run to school pick-up, thankfully, and AB had a playdate, so it was a peaceful, cookie-filled walk home again. Supper was a breeze to make, since I needed only to turn the burner on, and make biscuits; but the school lunches remain a thorn in the side of my late afternoon. No matter how I try to simplify and plan ahead, it still takes me a good twenty minutes to throw the darn things together. Fruit sliced up, check. Sandwich, check. Egg peeled, check. Cut-up carrots that no one will eat, check. Something extra, check. A takes dried fruit and seeds, and AB gets cookies because she brushes her teeth at school. It sounds like it should be so easy. Maybe racing back and forth between kitchen and living-room to check that baby CJ hasn’t rolled/crawled himself into grabbing position for something small and potentially hazardous slows me down. He’s on the move, that baby. He’ll be speed-crawling within the month, and the good lord preserve us all then–especially him.
Tomorrow I’m considering introducing him to the joys of Kidsplash at the Rec Centre. If the head cold passes and if I can reconcile myself with getting into a bathing suit again. A couple of big ifs.
Tomato P.S.
Have to say that 1/4 bushel of romas, boiled into a sauce, filled four quart jars EXACTLY. I am not exaggerating. Don’t even know how that’s possible. Not a drop left over, and each jar filled with a 1/2 inch of headspace. (This is lazy woman tomato puree, by the way. I neither seeded nor skinned the tomatoes. Still, canning can’t get much more casual than this, and, frankly, it hasn’t felt like a hardship to do it, which is my general goal in life.)
With the four quarts of marinara from my neighbour (her husband was up till 3am babysitting the pot; and, it was actually five quarts, but one didn’t pop, so we ate it for supper tonight), that will make eight more quarts of tomato-substance on my shelf. Heck, we’d survive till at least Christmas, now, on what I’ve put up. Maybe.
A Couple of Chapters and one Run-on Sentence
Yesterday was a day in chapters; many of my days feel that way, and Friday particularly so.
Chapter One, All-Nighter: Baby CJ, under the weather, would not sleep unless held, so he stayed in the bed with us all night, and nursed off and on, too. Woke feeling drained. Literally.
Chapter Two, Pediatric Dentist: After race-walking AB to school (she is the only child with “good” teeth), Kevin and I hauled F and A, plus fussy baby CJ (no teeth yet, thank God) to the pediatric dentist. Then we waited, and waited. Kids losing minds, though perhaps Kevin moreso. Finally. Dental assistant was capital W wonderful, kids behaved in chair. Then we waited and waited to see actual dentist. F in full-on three-year-old mode saying repeatedly, and sternly, “We go home now!” We were literally there for two and a half fun-filled hours. Dentist seems nice. Of course, we’ll get to know each other really well in the coming months. This was just the consulation. Result of consultation: A, eight cavities, needs to come back for four consecutive visits, starting in late November, and F, who only got her teeth a little over a year ago, has five, which thankfully will be taken care of in a one-time special extravaganza. We’re going to be selling one of the children in order to pay for this; haven’t chosen yet. Stay tuned.
Chapter Three, Home: Race to drop A at school, we wander the halls searching for his class (not in classroom) after being told by the Very Happy and Always Pleasant school secretary that we are Late. Feeling like criminals caught on the lam, we discover A’s class in the computer lab, hand in pink late slip. Kevin drops the rest of us at home, dashes to work without eating lunch. F so hungry she consumes two and a half bananas. I eat copious amounts, too, feed baby, change soaking cloth diaper, hang laundry, et cetera. Quiet time. Blessed, blessed quiet time. Except baby CJ refuses to sleep during quiet time, now, so I no longer nap during the day. Which isn’t the end of the world. I seem to be surviving just fine. Baby CJ finally goes down for a nap. I start editing a story. Yah, great timing. Can hardly tear myself away in time to feed F a quick snack, pack up gear for swim lessons, wake baby to change and feed before hiking off to school. It’s hairy.
Chapter Four, Swim Lessons: Pick up kids from school and walk briskly to Rec Centre–so briskly, kids are jogging. It’s a finely timed operation, no room for error or unexpected bathroom stops, but everyone rises to the occasion. We’re cheerful, we’re conversational, we encourage each other. Push stroller right into Rec Centre, park, throw baby into sling, grab swim gear, head for changeroom, change, use bathroom, out on the deck with time to spare. Kids meet teachers, get wet, I go upstairs and watch with baby CJ, who is not going to be content hanging out in the sling much longer. He wants to get down and move. But yick. That floor. I’m not ready for that. He’s not really, quite, either. Children shower and change, everyone still cheerful, downright enthusiastic. Now this is a good Friday afternoon.
Chapter Five, Home again. Happy walk in brisk blue-sky fall afternoon, wet heads protected by woolly hats. Cross at our dangerous intersection, nearly get run over by an older woman in a nice car who sees us and just does not care. She’s in too much of a hurry. I shout expletives and wave my fist at her bumper. Expletives sound dumb. Need better expletives. Take suggestions from children–nice pat phrase to shout after cars that nearly run us down (this happens often enough to be worth developing). Come up with nothing quite pithy and scathing enough. Feeling rattled, cart bags and gear into house, along with children. Thankfully Kevin’s home not long after, and he takes baby. Quickly chop potatoes (CSA), throw into oven to roast; sausages thawing (Nina’s).
Chapter Six, Buying Club: Back out the door, despite disastrous house and unopened bags and swim gear leaking on floor. Three children insist on coming along (fourth offers no opinion). Bags in stroller, children running madly down sidewalk to Nina’s buying club. Gather food. Stick bags in stroller. Gather more. Children have come only for the treats. F clings to legs upon seeing a “Dad” she’s scared of. This goes on and on and on. F in hysterics. I’m trying to add up numbers, make out cheque, not forget anything (which I do just about every week). Head home, pushing stroller absolutely laden with fresh, local food. Children racing down sidewalk. Haul approximately forty pounds of food into house. “Why are you so stressed, Mommy?” asks AB. Stir potatoes in oven. Nurse baby. Set table. Put fresh local food away, empty school bags, start load of laundry. Supper eaten. Teeth flossed. Dishes washed. It’s so very late. But there’s still another chapter!
Chapter Seven, Book Club: Didn’t think I’d get here. Once arrived, don’t think I’ll be able to go, as find self dozing while nursing baby one last time. Don’t bother to brush hair. Grab cellphone, re-tie running shoes, bid husband goodbye. Run. Run down the block toward book club, but as running realize lungs are opening, muscles are relaxing, feel suddenly loose and energized and delirious with oxygen. Decide to run a little further. Finally, turn back and head into book club, otherwise known as “book club.” This month we didn’t even have the pretense of a book, though we did have a topic: politics. Lively conversation ensues. This is a good chapter, a fine one to end on.
Now today, Saturday, has been one long run-on sentence. Cleaning, organizing, errands, work. And I’m going to can a 1/4 bushel of tomatoes tonight–the remnants of the romas–which I’ve already turned into plain sauce. But first, Kevin’s taking the kids skating and I’m ignoring the dishes and going for a walk with baby CJ. Mental health moment, here I come.
Writing Morning v. Laundry
Writing morning. So obviously I’m hanging laundry on drying racks indoors instead, wondering whether I’ve crossed the line from earnest to obsessive. But for this indoor hanging system to work, I have to do a load of laundry every day (in addition to diapers) or else too much piles up and there isn’t room to hang it inside. It doesn’t look great, either, which is another downside to the system. Dampish underthings on racks about the house, with the overspill hanging off chair-backs, and over railings. Welcome, guests. Make yourselves at home. Dry your socks. Where was I going with this? Oh yes, I actually like the new system. Getting the clothes off the racks and into drawers is much easier than getting clothes out of baskets and into drawers.