Owen and the Mixer

I inherited a KitchenAid mixer from my grandmother, Ruth, and use it weekly.  I think she got it in the eighties (or perhaps earlier?), so it’s been a workhorse in the kitchen that has lasted quite well.  In the last year or so, coinciding with Owen’s ability and penchant for helping me in the kitchen with his whisking skills (considerable), the mixer has become a target for Owen’s sibling-less sibling rivalry.  It’s both cutely imaginative, and let’s face it, odd.

For example, If I tell Owen that I am going to start making something in the kitchen, Owen’s first question will be whether or not it is a job for him and his whisk, or a job for the mixer?  And then depending on what my answer is, what follows is either much elation or much angst.  It’s not so much that he likes to help me with his whisking – which he does – but he likes his game of one-upmanship with the mixer.  He’ll then ask me, “What does the Mixer say when it is my turn to do the mixing?”  And then of course he doesn’t rest until I respond, as the mixer, with some sort of expression of unhappiness.

Last weekend while Owen was happily whisking my cherry poppyseed cake batter, I prepared him with the possibility that it would be the mixer doing the mixing for the cupcakes, and the icing, as well as kneading the bread.  He was grumpy about this for a while, but then decided to help me and the mixer by pulling a chair up and offering words of encouragement, including many heartfelt exclamations of, “IT’S THE MIXER’S TIME TO SHINE!”  Which cracked me up.

And Owen loves when it is kneading time and we can use the mixer’s hook.  If I’m not careful, Owen will disappear with the hook and I’ll have to go retrieve it from the living room where it has become a pirate’s digits.

Cooking Frenzy

I planned to take the day off to enjoy the eclipse on Monday, and this extra day seemed to set off a weekend cooking frenzy.  It started with a cherry poppy seed yogurt breakfast cake made on Friday night after work (yum, although the crumbs on top were a bit deflated), continued to the next day with my first time baking bacon in the oven and then making a bacon and onion pie (also good, if a bit white trash – it had a saltine crust [blushes]; Sean thought it needed a layer of potatoes); then on Sunday I made the cupcake part of salted caramel toffee cupcakes and then tried a new recipe for slow cooker cashew chicken (excellent! Would make again); and then the grand finale on Monday with whole wheat bread from scratch that worked well (I’ve finally learned patience when it comes to bread-baking), the icing for the cupcakes, and then I tried a new recipe for a cabbage and walnut salad with lingonberry dressing (tasty if a bit overly crunchy, and it made enough for a small cabbage-eating army, i.e. way too much).

Whew.

I’ve been going a little cooking-crazy ever since Trump won the election; I suspect it is a comfort food thing, but don’t want to delve too deeply into it, as it is exhausting enough keeping up with the news from Washington daily: one doesn’t want to read all one’s actions in light of what is happening there.

Luckily for our waistlines and food budgets, however, I really only cook on the weekends and not weeknights.  Now that Owen is five, he doesn’t necessarily want my full attention in the evenings, except when he does, which is usually right when I started some recipe that he can’t help with.  So we still rely on a lot of very simple meals on the weeknights, or more likely, meals from Trader Joe’s, which is still a godsend.

A year or so ago I satisfied my OCD by majorly organizing all my cookbooks and loose recipes, and making lists of things to try, and then extensive notes as to what we all thought.  It’s a system that has worked well, except I realized I need to make a list of things that I made that we liked and want to have again, because I tend to make something once and then forget about it.  A cheatsheet is thus planned.

As Sean will tell you, my weak point is side dishes.  I tend to focus only on the main dish and dessert and if I had my way would serve the one thing on a plate at dinnertime.  I’m not good at doing two things at once, in the kitchen, apparently.  I’m working on it!

So in a nutshell:  if you are planning on stopping by for dinner, do so on the weekend, come hungry, and please bring some sides.

Happy 5th Birthday, Owen!

Today is Owen’s birthday, but he doesn’t know it.  We’re celebrating on Saturday, so we decided to just pretend that Saturday was the day, since the anticipation is beginning to wear him down anyway.  We are also trying to get away with one more year of not having a friend party, per se, but just a small family one.  I can’t decide if we are being schmucks about this or not?  As a kid I always had friend parties, although nothing over the top.  In the early seventies one had friends over and played a few games and had cake and ice cream.  All of the parties that Owen goes to now are at a facility of some sort and not in a home.  And he is still at the age when parents stay for the parties; I admit to rather looking forward to being able to drop him off and pick him up. 

I was thinking this morning about how I didn’t really meet Owen on his birthday anyway.  They wrapped him in a towel and thrust the burrito-like package in our direction for a quick look, and then he went up to the NICU while I was sewn back together.  I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed to visit him there until 2:30 a.m. that next morning, although Sean did visit him and sent me a video.

I thought of seeing him for the first time – a large 9 pound 3 oz baby, attached to wires and monitors, and for some reason dressed in a random pair of denim overalls, which we later found out was the only thing they had in the NICU large enough to fit him.  No wonder he was angry.  This morning Owen was in the bed with me and I heard him wake up, thrash around like the bed was on fire before flinging himself against my back and kissing my shoulder.  He then said in a loud voice, “Hey Mom!  I sneaked up on you and woke you up with a kiss!”

A few days ago Owen said to me, “I can’t wait until I turn five, because it is not easy being four.”  I of course had to snicker at that, because probably four is basically as easy as it gets: you are able to communicate your wants and needs, but still have next to no responsibilities.  I remember turning five myself, and I remember, vaguely, my fifth birthday.  I received a blue dress with balloons on it from my grandparents, and I thought it was the prettiest dress I had ever seen.

Owen is very excited about his cake, and balloons, and of course the presents.  He keeps telling me, “You can have THREE pieces of my cake, Mom!”  And I usually say, “but can I have a slice for breakfast?”  And he’ll tell me no, that if I do that, he’ll have to tell Granny and Pa on me.  Fair enough.  J

Happy 5^th Birthday, Owen!

Book Reviews July 2017

Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J.D. Vance.  I am glad that I read this book, but it made me very angry.  I thought the personal aspect of the book was interesting – he’s not a bad writer, and I liked hearing how he made it to Yale Law School and beyond despite a troubled childhood.  What is so frustrating about the book, however, is how Vance distorts his current beliefs to fit into his conservative politics.  So we watch him doing extreme mental gymnastics to try to reach the conclusion that the conservatives in office right now will help his “hillbilly” community, when of course the opposite is true.  He writes of being a seventeen year-old working hard in a grocery store and doing without, and then serving the mythical food stamp-ers who come in and buy steak and fancy chocolates and cigarettes while he is hungry.  But of course he doesn’t acknowledge that earlier in that same chapter his beloved grandmother who raises him has just had multiple back and hip surgeries that were paid for by…wait for it…Medicare.  So it is okay when he uses government help, but not of course the guy buying steaks!  Arrrgh.  And then I admit it bothered me that once he finished Yale Law, he eventually started working at a hedge fund in L.A.  So much for helping his community!  Why not start a nonprofit for hillbilly help?  I mean, seriously?  If not him, and if not democrats and their policies, then who?  Jerk.

Persons Unknown by Susie Steiner.  This is the new second book in the Manon Bradshaw series and it was just as good as the first, if not a little better!  Manon has returned to her old job, but since she is very pregnant, she’s assigned to a desk.  Her adopted son, Fly (from the first book) is having trouble adjusting to life in the suburbs and gets accused of a crime.  Manon is not allowed to help out with the investigation, but of course does so.  There are also chapters in the voice of another woman, Birdie, who owns a liquor store, and it is interesting how Manon’s and Birdy’s story intersect.  It was very well written and excellently mapped out.  I definitely think Steiner is as good as Tana French and Denise Mina.

We Are Never Meeting In Real Life by Samantha Irby.  I really enjoyed reading this book of essays.  Irby is very bawdy and blunt and funny, and is hilariously unapologetic about her enjoyment of junkfood and television.  She has a vicious cat named Helen Keller, a job at a veterinarian hospital, and a spot-on way of viewing the world.  The whole book is funny –even when she is writing about topics that are not – but the second half of the book in particular I enjoyed.  I frequently laughed out loud while reading it, and will definitely seek out more of her writing.

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman.  This is an excellent, hilarious, and poignant novel and I was sad to reach its end.  Eleanor is a woman in her early thirties living in Scotland and whose interior monologue reveals how she interprets the world literally.  She has trouble understanding human niceties, yet also has a sly sense of humor, and it is hilarious to listen to her half-inward reactions to people reacting to her own bluntness.  When the book begins, Eleanor has decided that she is going to marry a local musician whom she does not know.  She sets about planning their meeting, while also working as a finance assistant at a design firm.  She “befriends” the IT guy at her workplace, Raymond, and a series of events ensue in which Raymond tries to teach Eleanor more normal human responses.  Eleanor also has trauma in her past, and slowly comes to terms with accepting what has happened to her.  It’s just so delightfully written, and I loved reading Eleanor’s responses to life’s daily idiocies.  I highly recommend this book.

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Raising Boys by Laurie A. Helgoe & Barron M. Helgoe.  This is a book about parenting boys from infancy until they leave home, assuming they do, and as such remained a bit general.  That would be my main critique.  The Helgoes have interesting and sensible advice to offer, but in this format they are forced to reign themselves in.  I’d prefer a more in-depth approach on the whole.  I was also uncomfortable on occasion with their declaration of how girls are one way and boys are another.  I think in some instances that is true, but there’s of course a danger in making that divide too pat.  In summary, however, they impart useful advice and I’m sure I will reference it in the future.