What There's Time For

The Luxury of Time

I thought I would finish school and just keep going at a steady clip. Clean the whole house in two days, write some code, get the children off the tv, write two blog posts a day, organize all the papers, all that stuff.

I'll tell you what wasn't on my list: baking bread. And yet I have baked so much bread.

Welcome home, myself maybe wants to say to myself. Welcome back to time for homey luxuries. Have a bun -- they're warm and soft and delicious.

Just make sure you keep your shoes on; the floor is still filthy.

Cardamom Ring

My favorite treat from the bakery when I was in Stockholm one summer a few years ago. I can't believe it's taken me so long to attempt it myself! So beautiful and so delicious. Also, not so hard as it looks.

I used the no-knead challah dough from Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day and the filling is sugar, cinnamon, and cardamom.

Christmas Morning

Seven o'clock, all the house still abed! Im getting the sticky buns out of the fridge and heating up the oven. Merry Christmas!

Cue the Doorbell

Shmoogie was thrilled to help make the biscuits for company Sunday night. We were all done, I turned away to put the pan on the other counter... and turned back to find her feverishly brushing flour off the counter. Caught, she began quietly smooshing it around with her cute mischievous little toes.

Authority

Mr. Right and I passed the parenting baton in the driveway Sunday afternoon, which is not the way I like to think our lives go, but it kind of is right now, at least sometimes.

The kids were excited to take me inside and show off the gingerbread men and dinosaurs they'd made with Daddy while I was gone.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" I told them.

"And they taste really good!!!" said Mr. Pants.

"Ooo! Really? Can I try one?"

Two pairs of big serious eyes looked up at me (one from under a floppy wool hat - the day was our first coolish one and they were pretending it had snowed), "You have to ask Daddy."

"Really? You don't think I can just have one?"

"No," they remained solemnly sure and slightly horrified by my presumption, "you have to ask Daddy first."

Authority

Mr. Right and I passed the parenting baton in the driveway Sunday afternoon, which is not the way I like to think our lives go, but it kind of is right now, at least sometimes.

The kids were excited to take me inside and show off the gingerbread men and dinosaurs they'd made with Daddy while I was gone.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" I told them.

"And they taste really good!!!" said Mr. Pants.

"Ooo! Really? Can I try one?"

Two pairs of big serious eyes looked up at me (one from under a floppy wool hat - the day was our first coolish one and they were pretending it had snowed), "You have to ask Daddy."

"Really? You don't think I can just have one?"

"No," they remained solemnly sure and slightly horrified by my presumption, "you have to ask Daddy first."

Dumplings

"She'll be coming round the mountain" is a bedtime favorite lately, which inspired me to put dumplings in the soup last night, which turn out to be delicious butter-laden doughy globs.

Mr. Pants, who detests new foods, sat at the table and cried for at least ten minutes that he HATES dumplings and will NEVER eat a dumpling and can't STAND that I ALWAYS get to pick what's got dinner because he HATES trying new things and he HATES dumplings. Then, finally, he tasted one.

"Hm! I kind of like the dumpling!"

On His Mind

At the pool this afternoon, Mr. Pants announces, "When I grow up, I'm going to marry a boy."

"Oh," I say, "Why is that?"

"Because I like boys."

I mention that is true of most boys his age, but he might change his mind by the time he's actually getting married.  He frowns.

"What if Chick-Fil-A is mad at me?"* 

I laugh and hug him and ask, "Well, that wouldn't really matter, would it?"

He giggles, "No, 'cause they're not the government!"

***

"When you make me go to school it just makes me feel like you don't care about me at all!" his face is contorting and tears threaten to escape his eyes.

He has been lobbying for weeks for me to "just stop" going to work.  An explanation of why that can't happen only resulted in begging me to "sign another contract that says you don't have to work anymore" and perplexed questions about why the "school" (the lovely sun-filled, wood-floored daycare he and Shmoogie are at three days a week this summer) won't let him stop coming.

So, does he feel like I don't care about him at all on the other four days of the week when I'm home with him?

"Not really."

"What about Daddy?  Do you feel like Daddy cares about us?"

"Yes."

"But Daddy goes to work every day, for even longer than I do!"

He shrugs his shoulders, "But I still feel like he cares about me all the time."

At least he's honest.

Shmoogie, of course, was listening to most of this, in her own way, and she's been quite dependent on Mr. Pants for her opinions lately.  Curious, I asked her a bit later, "Shmoogie, how do you feel when I drop you off at school?"

"Happy."

"Oh!  And how do you feel when I pick you up?"

"Happy."

Well, then.

***

*  (Both the kids are upset that I won't take them to Chick-Fil-A anymore, but I'm not ready to cave yet.  I tried making our own nuggets the other day with this recipe (somewhat ironic source, considering; I <3 the Internet!), which worked really well — especially the soaking for an hour part — but I doubled the dry ingredients (except I used only 1 Tbs of powdered sugar...  powdered sugar!  on chicken!) and it turned out to be way too much salt, at least double too much.  Also, it seemed to work fine to just put the drained soaked chicken all at once into the flour and mix it up.  More even coating on all pieces.  And I used about 2/3 veg oil and 1/3 olive oil because I didn't have enough veg oil.)

Using up the Veggies

We were away this weekend and I realized on our return that I had forgotten a bag of fresh okra from the farm stand last week. I hadn't forgotten the six ears of corn I'd already cooked, but I didn't know what to do with both of them (both a little past their prime).

The Internet suggested okra corn gratin and I'm so glad it did!

Real Tomatoes

Recent wonderful discovery:  a five-day-a-week farmstand pretty close by (and on the way to a regular destination).  A nice couple stocks it from their garden a few miles away.

Mr. Pants ate a small bite of tomato on the promise of chocolate cake (reluctantly, but entirely without the gagging drama that normally accompanies such feats).  Mr. Right and I enjoyed BLTs.

And Shmoogie delighted in the large, thin slice of tomato laid out on her plate, showing off all its glorious structure.  "Ooooooh!" she said, "did you made it from snowflake?"