Hot Dish at the Table

Ever had a Hot Dish?

You might know it better by its other name, a casserole. In honour of my week in Wisconsin, via Minnesota, I made Hot Dish for dinner. Specifically, Beef with Wild Rice, Almonds, and Roasted Tomatoes.

Hot Dish is basically any one dish meal that can be prepared in advance, even frozen. Rice or pasta with a bit of veg and often a lot of meat and some sort of sauce bringing it all together. Common at the potluck table, the neighbours kitchen counter after a rough week, or for Sunday dinner.

Not exactly a fancy Sunday dinner, I realize. My flight got in at midnight last night and I needed to spend the day in precious snow play and cuddles instead of cooking. Oh, and actually reading a book during to naptime to take advantage of the quiet of broken cable. Dinner needed to come without a trip to the grocery store and contain real food for the. girls. Too many cookies and treats over the weekend.

I bought this cookbook in the airport. Totally cheesy, I know. Once you siphon out the recipes that include a can of condensed mushroom soup and past Tuna Broccoli Brie Hot Dish, there are some nice dinner ideas. Perfect for days when you want to read The Cat in the Hat again and again instead of making a roast with popovers. Also perfect for make ahead recipes for the days you want to pass on a meal for comfort. I'll be making a few more from the book this week for friends.

Dessert also came from the book. Conveniently called Busy Day Cherry Cobbler. Conveniently made with my own cherry pie filling in the pantry.

My time away from the family was very busy. My friend, my host, has a great family and they were incredibly welcoming. We did not have Hot Dish, but I learn how to make tortillas and had my fill of Wisconsin Smoked Cheddar.

In truth, I desperately missed my family. All the chaotic energy and even the spazzing, but it's all my spazzing. Dinner tonight was perfect. The Monster chatted far too much about her first trip to an amusement park to be interested in food. Smilosaurus was copying her sister but spooning in the food with sincere pleasure. Hubby and I rubbed our eyes for the tiredness, tried to talk, and could only smile. It was all mine. It was our perfect Sunday dinner.

Hot Dish with Beef, Wild Rice, Roasted Tomatoes, and Almonds

Serves 4-6

1 pound ground beef

1 medium onion

4 celery stocks

1 tbsp olive oil

4 cloves garlic

1 orange

1/2 cup brown rice

1/2 cup wild rice

2 tbsp fresh thyme

3 cups chicken stock

1 dozen roasted tomatoes*

1 cup almonds or pine nuts

1. In an oven proof casserole or large pan brown the ground beef. While the beef is browning chop the onions, celery, and garlic. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

2. As soon as the beef is browned, drain off any fat and push the meat to the side of the pan. Add the olive oil, onion, and celery. Cook over medium heat until light browned and soft. Add the garlic and saute for 1 minute.

3. Juice the orange and add the juice to the pan to deglaze.

4. Stir in the rices, thyme, and stock into the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Pour into a casserole dish, if necessary. Top with tomatoes and sprinkle the almonds over.

5. Bake for 1 hour.

*If you don't have slow roasted tomatoes on hand you could use a 14 ounce can of diced tomatoes. Cut the stock used to 2 cups and add the tomatoes, juice and all.

Playing with Scissors

It was Sunday morning and I didn't quite clue in to what she said. I was settling in to the comfy chair with my morning tea. The girls were all set with their new favourite show (Wild Kratts). Then the little one sometimes known here as Smilosaurus but more commonly known in this house Evil Genius says to me, with load of pride in her voice, "Mama, I cut that thing you use."

Sure, Babe, I thought, as I sipped my tea. Whatever you say. Mama needs her caffeine this morning.

Once the caffeine kicked in I picked up the quilt next to me. Thread, thimble, scissors, and needle threader all present and ready for some handstitching. Then I went to actually thread a needle. Hmm, those fragile, thin diamonds of wire were suddenly missing from both ends of my Clover threader. For 30 seconds I actually thought I wrecked them when I put it away the night before. Then... wait a minute, I remembered that random comment from earlier from that child of mine.

I called my kidlet over and asked her to show me exactly what she cut. Proudly she pulled out my needle threader. Somehow, I couldn't even get upset. (As I normally would, let's be honest.) When I asked her why, this is what she answered:

"Mama, I'm just like Curious George."

Sigh.

In honour of all of us quilters, artists, crafters, and creative folks I thought I would do a series of posts on trying to quilt with kids around. Tips and tricks for actually getting things done with kids around. I'll do a new post every Monday for a month. Please send in any tips or stories you've got, I'd love to share them too.

Stay tuned next week for my first post on setting up your space to work for you and your kids.

Picky Eaters are a Parent's Responsibility

There is no such thing as a picky eater anymore. Just selective or particular eaters. It's like the word picky got sucked up by the political correctness vacuum. Which means, of course, it must be replaced by something kinder that doesn't make a kid feel bad because they don't like green vegetables or meat that isn't chicken.

This is all simply ridiculous, I say, because ALL kids are picky eaters. The degree to which they pick and choose their food varies, but all kids are selective about what they will eat.

Take my kids, for example. More than once I've been told that my kids will eat anything, or that they are such good eaters. Um, not really folks. Sure, they love sashimi and will eat game meat even when we tell them what it is. The Monster, however, will not eat rice, mashed potatoes, the tops of broccoli, the bottoms of muffins, any filled pasta but one particular shape, and an egg any way but scrambled. It is a random day when Smilosaurus happily eats all her vegetables without any comment from me and she is rather particular about how things get cut and served.

That being said, I don't consider my kids picky. I consider them kids.

Kids are inherently fickle, most love a good routine and struggle with new challenges, and they respond to our lead like sponges wiping the kitchen counter.

I've said it before, I think picky eaters are made, not born. How we, as parents, approach food and feeding our children has more to do with your kids than anything. It starts right at the beginning when we give them their first soft purees. From the flavour to the texture we are indeed molding them. It's about more than introducing them to every taste in the book before they eat a chunk of food. It's about setting up the ritual of dinner - from the making to the eating.

When we give them their first chunks of fruit and grain we cut off the crust or the peels. We get into that habit and suddenly we have a 6 year old who doesn't eat the crusts. (Or you don't and they still don't eat the crusts, suddenly, one day after eating them for years!) We give them the choice of a rainbow selection of plates then have to deal with meltdowns when the pink one isn't clean. Before long and without intending to, many of us become short order cooks.

It sounds like I'm criticizing parents here, I understand that. I also make no apologies for it. We parents care about our kids and we should always take a critical eye to what we are doing. I include myself there too. I do think that a big part of picky eating is indeed what we parents do to create the situation.

The other thing we parents do is react to the situation. We worry that they aren't eating enough, they are eating too much of one thing, that they will never like the tops of broccoli, that somehow this makes me a bad parent... We often create a problem or think we have a picky eater because we struggle to get our kids to eat cottage cheese, not flavoured yoghurt. But this is OUR issue, not the kids.

There are great articles, resources, and tips out there to help you "break" a picky eater, banish picky eating, or even help a kid recover from picky eating habits. You can search on-line for days to get through all the tips. Seldom will you see the words Relax and Step Back. That is precisely what I suggest parents do.

Easier said than done.

Here are some tips to help you with that. These aren't about getting your kids to eat more foods or different foods, these are about accepting your kids as kids, regardless of how they eat. They are about accepting our role as parents without putting labels on them.

1. Kids don't need as much food as you think they do. One good meal every day or two can be good enough, augmented by some snacking.

2. Kids eat in cycles. One week they seemingly devour any and all food you can put in front of them, the next almost nothing.

3. Kids are fickle. One week they'll eat the crusts, another week they won't. And there is no explanation why.

4. Kids can indeed survive, in the short term, on odd diets like bread and butter with fruit.

5. You are in control of what food goes on the table. They are in control of whether they eat it or not.

6. It is perfectly okay to say no to your kids' requests for cookies for breakfast, a snack 20 minutes before dinner is on the table, and juice 24 hours a day. It is perfectly okay to ignore the tantrum that ensues when you say no.

7. Kids will not starve if they don't eat dinner. If they don't like what you are offering then don't offer them alternatives.

8. Shop, cook, and eat with your kids as much as possible.

9. Keep some guaranteed favourite meals in your back pocket and in the pantry. Pull them out on days when everyone is tired or when it's been a bit since they had a good meal.

10. Offer the best food you can. Focus on the quality of the ingredients even when they are limiting their diet.

It isn't political correctness that makes me want to lose the term picky, it's this notion picky eating is something to be tackled and eradicated like a disease. Kids are kids, and we need to respond to them like adults, not short order cooks or narrow minded politicians.

Snowy Walk in the Forest

We have a rule in this house, totally self-inflicted, that our kids are only allowed one class/activity at a time. It stems, primarily, from our own inherent laziness. It does, however, also make sense that little kids don't need a million activities to grow and learn. We got the play thing down, school is a great for social interaction, and all their good and bad lessons are rooted in time with family and friends.

Now that I've said that, I'm going to contradict myself. The Monster is in skiing lessons right now (which she adores - her word) and an art class. She had the choice of dance, gymnastics, singing, karate, or anything else. She asked for art. That's my girl!

Because I am notoriously late at registering her for things and am often left with little choice I wasn't optimistic when faced with our art class choices. Luck/karma was on my side though. She got into everyone's first choice - Anatomy. Have a mentioned her obsession with human anatomy before? She spends a lot of time with the med school anatomy text book my brother loaned her.

Needless to say, I was quite keen to see what came out of her when she started her class. Last week was all about skeletons and they got to play with actual molding clay. This picture is from her first class. I'm not sure what the goal was, but she tells us it is a picture of her walking through a snowy forest. Uh, okay, if you say so.

I'm not sharing this here to brag about my gifted child (you should see her sad excuse for a t-rex skeleton), rather, to share this awesome design. It reminds me of the one I did here, but just enough different. There is definitely a quilt in this...

Feliz Navidad

Merry Christmas from all of the Arkisons. (Luchadores included)

I'm taking a break until the New Year. Happy Holidays.

Merry Christmas

It seems rather obvious that most of us are gathering with family over the next few days. Whether family means the neighbours next door or the entire familia at your parent's house, there are likely to be a few familiar treat on the table.

For me that means a big Ukrainian feast, followed by Christmas Tree bun, a fantastic gourmet feast, and more hot cocoa than anyone possibly needs. Don't forget about the rogalki, the shortbread, the rum balls, and definitely the booze. (Have you ever noticed how Christmas is much more enjoyable now that you can drink in front of your parents?)

As a parent myself now I was fighting crowds and crossing fingers. There I was in Canadian Tire, not quite begging Santa to come through for me. The Monster asked for a water gun in her letter to Santa. A water gun, in December. While I waited for a very, very kind elf to check the basement of Canadian Tire for a random water gun I browsed the candy aisle. That's when I came across the Misty Mints.

These were a favourite holiday treat in my family. Only for Christmas. We hoarded our favourite colours, even though they all taste the same. They aren't even real chocolate, but are so tasty. And full of memories.

When the elf returned, miraculously, with a couple of soakers, I grabbed a few boxes of Misty Mints to share with my family. Santa will still be the popular guy with my four year old. And maybe my family peace can be negotiated with some pseudo chocolate. Merry Christmas.

What will you be sharing this week?

I'm taking some time off for the holidays. See you in the New Year!

Caught in the Act

Have you ever considered boycotting the entire notion of Christmas baking? Frankly, I'm sure most of us have at one time or another. We're so busy during December and stopping to bake a couple of dozen cookies for a swap, a party, or simply to steal from the freezer for the rest of the month is the last thing we want to do.

Then we see the covers of the magazines and every single one is a Christmas tree arrangement of glittery cookies tempting us back into the grocery store for butter and sugar. Our kids/partners beg for a batch of shortbread or some esoteric treat their mom used to make. Or the guilt hits.

Every year I swear I'm not going to do it. Maybe a batch of Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread or Peppermint Bark. But THAT'S IT.

And every year I bake 3 or 4 more kinds of cookies. Then I pretty much eat them all myself. What a Ninny.

So this year I vowed I wouldn't do it. I swore to my husband and my jiggly tummy that I wouldn't even buy the butter.

Then The Monster started prepping for the concert at school. It was all about The Gingerbread Man. In fact, a reenactment of the story. She's been walking around reciting the damn thing non stop. Then she asked to bake. I suggested gingerbread men. This brought on tears, full can't catch your breath sobs out of fear that our gingerbread men would run away after we baked them. We settled on gingerbread penguins and moose. Thank goodness there are no stories about runaway moose. At least none with catchy songs attached.

I pulled out the icing sugar, sprinkles, and ridiculously fake food colourings. It was craft time/kitchen time/treat time as far as the girls were concerned. It was a messy way to kill an hour. That's how I approached it at first. Still a Ninny.

The messier it got, however, the happier we all were. Grandma was visiting and happily iced the requested purple and pink penguins. We eventually laughed at the number of sprinkles underfoot, joking that one of us was going to wipe out like it was a pile of ball bearings and we were in a cartoon. My counters are stained and my kids ate more icing than cookies. There wasn't a single tantrum, by them or me.

No longer is Christmas baking about a pile of cookies in the freezer for the guests that might pop by. It isn't even about treats to share with the neighbours over tea. It is about process, the act of making. Baking and decorating cookies with the girls is like Jackson Pollack at a canvas.

Who cares that the cookies will likely not be eaten for lack of enough icing or the wrong sprinkles? They'll make me a little more Santa like, in spirit and with my jiggle.

For the record. We used this recipe from Julie for the cookies. The only change I made is that we cooked them for 10-11 minutes so they would be a bit softer.

Class

I promise you that I cooked. Aside from our regular Sunday jaunt to the market, I actually cooked nearly all day. Unfortunately, I can't share it with you.

Everything I made today was for one article or another. None of which are due to come out until the New Year at the earliest. That means I can only tell you that I made apple kugel, butterscotch pudding, blackeyed peas, cardamom cookies, potstickers, and something called sabzi polo. I can't share a recipe or a photo. I'm sorry. If it helps, we ate this very eclectic meal for dinner and we are very, very full.

This is one of the advantages and disadvantages of the food writing gig. Sure, dinner gets made out of your work. That means your groceries are, in part, paid for. But after a day of cooking you are left with this really odd meal that you are too full to eat anyway.

Full confession: I totally sat and read a book with a beer in my hand when the light went and my mother-in-law arrived for a visit. Thanks, Susan, for playing hide and seek with the dinosaurs while I did nothing.

Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining about this new life I've chosen. I am getting more writing gigs. Being on my own with Hubby away as much as he's been is much more manageable now... sort of. And, no offense to my old colleagues, I don't miss the desk job at all. If anything, the hard part is giving everything the attention it needs. That includes the girls.

Truly, though, is there a mother in the world who thinks she spends enough time with her kids? Okay, quality time actually paying attention to them and doing nurturing activities?

If you are one of those mothers then I'm probably not the writer for you. Smilosaurus is losing her voice with a never ending cold and the realization that she might not be able to talk tomorrow made me very happy. Ridiculously happy.

So the kids watch a bit too much PBS Kids when I have a deadline. I'm not losing sleep over it. I feed them, and I feed them well. Tonight was a perfect example of that. Of course, with all that food I made all they wanted to eat was the spinach salad I served on the side.

Then Hubby still needed a snack. "There is nothing that goes better with kubasa than beer." We are a classy bunch.

Gravy

It was the perfect Sunday dinner, minus the tantrums before hand. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts and carrots. There was even chocolate cake for dessert. There was no gravy.

Half hour before we were to sit down Hubby informs me that he isn't feeling well. That perhaps it is now his turn with the tummy bug making its way through our house. Sigh. It was at that point that I nixed the gravy. Actually, I might have told the gravy to go do something else.

As I realized last week, Hubby really is my audience. The girls could have cared less about a big roast beef dinner. In fact, they only wanted the chocolate cake. But I made them sit with me while Hubby moaned in front of the hockey game. Only one of them ate anything, both spent the entire meal screaming or singing, and I fought tears of frustration over my now cold roast beef. There may have been a tantrum or two as well.

The frustration got to me. One was sent to her room, the other to a quiet spot by the front door. I spent 20 minutes cleaning up after dinner saying, "No, you may not come out yet." Bring on the therapist's bill if it turns out they are gay and I control their honesty by my need to do the dishes in peace.

Honestly folks? I'm just cracking. Too much stress, too much work, too much single parenting, too much whining (on everyone's part). I think it's time to regroup. Anyone have a Mexican vacation they want to give me? A cabin in the woods with a personal chef/masseuse? No? I guess I'll settle for a hot bath, a good scotch, and a trashy book.

It was a good meal. It really was. Maybe, just sometimes, I should give in an let them eat the damn cake and we'd all be happier.

Chaos

Wrapped in a quilt I sit here, wanting to share, to talk, to open some discussions about books. I just can't do it. On my own again this week and I'm dealing with a cold and the stomach flu (me), getting over both (the girls), teething, bad news from family members, a leaking roof plus dishwasher, and winter storms. Frankly, I'm done. I have nothing witty to say, nothing interesting or quilty to share. Please forgive my bit of whining.

Seriously, how do single parents do this all the time?

My whining done, I actually do have something to share. This was the tablecloth I made for Thanksgiving back in October. The rooster fabric is from Alexander Henry. Purchased at Quilt Canada this year its been sitting around and waiting for Thanksgiving. In honour of American Thanksgiving next week I thought I would share it with you. It makes me smile to look at it. Smiles are good things when ginger ale is the only thing on the menu.

Other things making me smile:

... playing my own little game of I Spy with this quilt around my arms

... the chaos of pompoms, pencil crayons, and blocks all over the floor

... my four year old's constant desire to wear her clothes backwards

... the two year old saying to me after playing in the snow, "Mama, let's go inside and have hot cocoa to make our feelings better."

... the cast of sunshine on the foot of fresh snow

Okay, so I guess there isn't that much to whine about.

Iron Will

He would have loved it.

Steak sandwiches with carmelized onions and radishes. Served on fig and fennel bread from The Bakery at the Market. The last of our CSA beets, roasted and tossed with white balsamic vinegar. Spinach salad with pomegranates.

Hubby is away again. Was he ever home? We all miss him terribly He misses us. Everyone is exhausted and cranky. We have to think big picture for this short term sacrifice of our normal family life. Dammit, it's hard. I was very tempted to serve popcorn for dinner again but steaks that I took out a few days ago needed to be cooked. And I thought we girls needed to sit down to a proper meal. Away from the TV, the computer, and a million library books.

So we sat together over some red meat and songs. And we talked about Daddy.

Stand Back

These are the pumpkins we carved on the weekend. And the costumes. The inherent laziness of my efforts at costumes for the kids aside, I'm here today to talk about something important. So begins my rant against helicopter parenting and nearly as bad, helicopter crafting.

I want to start my clarifying I am not a helicopter parent. My kids run wild at the park, too wild for many, many parents who either feel free to admonish me with looks or not so gentle reminders that my tiny 2 year old is hanging from the monkey bars or standing 20 feet up at the playground. My kids are allowed to scream, run, and explore without me following behind. My kids are encouraged and even pushed to try new things, ask questions, and challenge (even when that creates a challenge for us). My kids are learning that if they want something they have to work for it, or if they ask that they answer is quite possibly no and that is okay. My kids do get punished when they break rules, and yes, there are a number of basic rules to follow. Most importantly, my kids are allowed to be kids.

We all have our parenting styles/philosophies. I have friends who are close to being helicopter parents and they are still very good parents. I have friends even more lax than us, or more strict. I'm not judging anyone.

But this weekend I had to stand back and judge myself. We were carving pumpkins and making the girls' costumes. The Monster decided that she was going as a traffic light and her sister would be the car she would make stop. (Oh, that is definite fodder for therapy later in life.) Up first was the pumpkins.

First, there was the insistence on 5 pumpkins and no less. They were cheap and really they are the only decorations I do for Halloween, so I let her get that one. Next we had to decide what kid of face each one would have. The first one was for a surprised face. No problem. I carved an O for a mouth, eyebrows, and rather bad eyes. After that I surveyed the girls for their direction on the second one.

(See what I'm doing there? Giving them choices on things I don't give a damn about but will matter to them. All part of my parenting philosophy so I can hold that against them when it comes to a choice I actually care about.)

So there I am carving a mean face on pumpkin number 2 when The Monster discovers the Sharpie. She quickly proceeds to draw all over the pumpkin. Hair, another set of eyebrows, freckles, words, and random shapes. My instinct was to snap and give her hell for wrecking the pumpkin. In only a few seconds though, I realized that I was about to lose it over a pumpkin. A pumpkin with a life span of a few days on my front steps.

Why shouldn't she colour it with a Sharpie? Why shouldn't it take on its own life in her hands? She isn't allowed to use the knife, so what else is there for her in pumpkin carving other than facial directions?

Another Sharpie later, a very serious discussion about what can and cannot be coloured with said Sharpie, and I let them go to town on the pumpkins. And we were all happier when I stood back.

By the time we came to costumes I was feeling strong. No problem, I can stand back and let them decorate things. Yeah, not so easy. I fought every instinct to step in and help them paint Smilosaurus' car. Doesn't it need windows? Or complete coverage in one colour? So many times my hands reached out to take a brush. In the end I resorted to sitting on them when not adding paint to the palette. Was I happy with the car? It certainly wasn't what I wanted or expected, but they were happy in the process of creating and the little one was ecstatic to wear it. That makes me happy.

One final challenge came with the traffic light costume. Just felt glued, then sewn, to a yellow t-shirt. Nothing fancy, until the addition of LED lights. And, according to the Monster, not quite finished until she added some completely random marks with a black pen. I'll admit, there was a very sharp name-calling and a lot of internal frustration. Then she said she loved it and thought it was perfect now. Who am I to argue with that?

As parents we need to stand back some time to let our kids be kids, let the mess or the tantrum happen, or let them dress themselves even when they look like a hot mess. As crafters and artists we need to stand back some times to let the piece be or speak. As teachers we need to stand back and let the students' voices ring through. And some times we need to stand back and shut the hell up.

Conquering my Fear

Handquilting is something I've tried a sum total of three times. The first time was on my third quilt ever. And only because I was terrified of free-motion quilting. The second and third times were earlier this year. That makes a 10 year break between efforts.

I'm trying it again. I would be talking out of my ass if I didn't confront my own fears after that last post on Fear. In my case, I was afraid that I would mess up this project with bad stitching. And the wealth of excellent examples on-line seriously intimidated me. But I can't sit around in fear, I just can't. It isn't my nature, although it is certainly easier. But I would be a hypocrite to you, my faithful readers, if I didn't challenge myself.

I would also be a hypocrite to my kids. You see, The Monster is a very intense child. If she can't do things perfectly the very first time she does something then the world essentially ends for her. Last summer, at 3, she tried her tricycle for the first time. When she couldn't figure out the notion of pedalling in the first 30 seconds she quite promptly got off the bike, picked it up, and threw it.

She gets that from me.

So, if I am working every day with her and her sister to get them to understand the notion of practice, work, and simply trying something even if you aren't perfect at it, then I need to do that myself. Enter handquilting.

Each of the 27 circles on my low-volume circles quilt will be handquilted. This is in contrast with the straight lines I'm doing on the background. It seemed an appropriate approach since the circles were done entirely by hand shortly after I injured my knees in January.

Now, I'm only three circles in. And it certainly isn't pretty. But each one looks progressively better. Seeing improvements certainly helps the confidence level. Regardless, I'm committed to the process and the product.

Full confession though, I'm stabbing these stitches, not using the traditional rocking motion. I know that isn't the correct way, but it is working for me. I believe that counts for a lot. Besides, on my recent trip to Nova Scotia I had the opportunity to snuggle by the fire under an incredible handstitched quilt that was entirely stab stitched. That was enough to motivate me to tackle my quilt. I don't know if I'll ever be as good as the artist, but I won't know if I don't try.

Her Name, Big

Please ignore the odd shape of the M. Coming up on 4 weeks of more or less solid single parenting. I get the odd break with a babysitter or Hubby unpredictably arriving home, only to leave again a day or two later. But he's working the whole time he's here too. Needless to say, exhaustion and crankiness are evident.

That being said, it is all the more managed now that I am home with the girls instead of in an office. I had a particularly bad day last week and in between crying and fighting with Hubby on the phone he commented that quitting my job was supposed to make this better. So the wrong thing to say. But I was somehow lucid enough to calmly (or so I think) point out that at least this was only one day. Prior to quitting my job that would have been everyday.

And having the opportunity to quilt nearly everyday during naptime (whether I take it or not) goes a long way towards keeping my mental health in check. A long, long way.

This afternoon saw me finish the main part of one of the girls' quilt tops. Our oldest asked for a quilt with her name on it, all over. Like a good artist who takes every commission with a grain of salt I modified her request. I went for her name once, and made it big! This will cover nearly an entire twin mattress. All that is left is to sew the rest of the top to this.

Oh, and actually get the twin mattress and the bed it is supposed to go on. Pretty sure I'm winning the race.

Browned Butter Sunday

After finishing 5 articles in a week (recipe testing included) and single parenting for most of that time, frankly, I didn't care much for Sunday dinner. The fridge was full of food, the girls spent the afternoon munching on late season strawberries, cheese, and a cantaloupe, and we were all getting downright cranky.

That left only one option for dinner - popcorn.

When I told the Monster that we were having popcorn and I would find us a movie to watch she got so excited that she literally burst into song. Then, on her own volition, she start cleaning up the living room to make it ready for dinner at the coffee table. Hell, if that's what it takes I'm thinking dinner like this everyday!

Not all was lost when it comes to a good Sunday dinner though. When we returned from the market and I went to refresh the fruit bowl I had some mealy peaches and sad looking apples and pears to contend with. Then there were the ripe peaches that didn't make it home intact from the market and a few half eaten apples courtesy of the girls. The only option was to make a fruit crisp.

The girls got grains and fruit for dinner. I am not a bad mom.

While cutting up the fruit (just a pile of what we had, peels and all) I had this notion to try browning the butter to the crisp first. I guess some part of me was still able to be creative. The butter melted and crackled away on the stove. Then it occurred to me that I never really know how brown is technically browned butter. Turns out I've not been browning enough all along. So I kept it on the stove and got to the lovely browned bits.

In the end, I could have left it a bit longer, I think, but it had that rich, nutty smell and some good colour. Even though I was making crisp, I must confess that the smell only made me think of lobster. I must still have Nova Scotia on the brain.

Once the butter cooled a bit I made up my regular crisp topping. Frankly, I could have eaten it straight, and did so for a few nibbles. It was rich with a butterscotch goodness and with a slightly lighter texture from using melted butter. I am never making crisp any other way, ever again.

And I refuse to feel bad about taking the time to treat the girls and sit quietly in front of the TV. Roasts and veggies are nice and all, but Sunday is also about family. After such a hectic and trying week sitting down together, this time with snuggles, was a much better option.

Browned Butter Fruit Crisp

Filling

4 cups fruit

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp flour

1 Tonka Bean/1 tsp cinnamon

Topping

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup flour

1 cup rolled oats

1. Chop the fruit into 1/2 inch chunks. Peeling is optional. Gently toss with flour, brown sugar, and spice. Pour into an 8 by 8 baking dish.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

3. In a small, stainless steel pot on medium low heat melt the butter. Then let it cook , swirling the pot every now and then, until it turns brown. As the colour starts to come to it, watch it closely. It can burn quickly.

4. Once the butter is browned nicely, pour it into your mixing bowl and let cool a few minutes. Admire the colour and dream of lobster. Then add in the brown sugar and stir. Once combined add the flour and oats.

5. Crumble on top of your prepared fruit, trying not to snitch too much along the way.

6. Bake for 30-40 minutes until the topping is crisp and more than golden and filling is bubbling.

Soul

We've just returned from an almost garish weekend trip to the East Coast. Yes, I jauntily flew 5 hours (one way) for a weekend. What an indulgence. And oh so necessary. Now, if only the lottery folks would understand that I need to do this more than once every 3 years.

My soul is well, better now. I was reminded of my love for my husband, my love for friends (old and new), my love for Halifax and all its rotten charms and tourist traps, my love for the ocean and falling leaves and leaves falling in the ocean, my love for foghorns and even cruise ship bellows, my love for beer, my love for simply strolling, my love for me and my soul.

Just a sailboat, as seen from our sailboat.

Coming home with Kate and her family after we sailed and ate. A day spent with friends old and new. Capped with beers cuddled under Kate's mom's quilt and quiet conversations about love, grief, picky eaters, firefighting, vegetarianism, health care reform, friends, creativity, writing, boats, and love again.

PS Barb, I'm sorry we missed each other. Next time!

Celebrating the marriage of one of my oldest friends to the woman who clearly makes his heart dance and leap.
Boys being boys at the Seaport.

Colourful inspiration at the farmers' market.

Waterfront details that warm the cockles.

Halifax details that blow your mind with stories.

Late night shenanigans with the best man on Earth. We got ourselves sorted out in Halifax over 14 years ago and did so again this weekend.

It's a good thing I have my soul, because I'm pretty sure my heart was wrenched from me, tied to a heavy rock, and thrown in the Atlantic. At least I'll have a good excuse to go back.

Pink

I'm not really sure how to explain it, but I'm kind of digging pink lately.  I find myself drawn to pink images, and especially pink fabric. Maybe because it feels indulgently girly? Or simply because it makes me smile.

Strawberry Sour Cream Ice Cream, courtesy of David Lebovitz. It tastes exactly like my summer berries and cream.

Binding one of the last doll quilts. Thrilled with that Amy Butler as a binding.

Hanging on to late summer evenings and celebrating Smilosaurus' new obsession with a pony tail (this is as good as that gets).

Baking pies with my girls, still in their PJs on a lazy weekend morning.

Experimenting with some new low volume ideas.

In love with my new, custom necklace from SuLu Designs. In love more that the girls notice it when I wear it and tell me how much they love it too.

And where do you see pink today?

Realizations

The Monster is a temperamental child. She will be fantastically fine, happy and cheerful 95% of the time. But then you tell her no to just the wrong thing and not only is she upset, like any 4 year old, but the world ends for her. It is infinitely frustrating and one of the biggest challenges of parenting for me.

Up until a certain point today we were all enjoying a lovely, late summer ease. A quiet morning with bread and jam for breakfast. Our normal Sunday morning jaunt to the farmers' market for coffee and a few groceries. The girls napped while Hubby and I sat on the porch swing chatting and petting the dogs. It was all good.

Then I had to go to the grocery store. And another, and another. And I spazzed, yelling at people in traffic and getting right cranky. Then I had a scary moment of clarity. The Monster is me. Yikes, I made her that way. (I'm sorry Mom and Dad.) 

I was still spazzing when I got home, but then I started cooking. I had tomatoes in the oven, slow roasting. I added some peaches, then popped a pork roast in. Smilosaurus helped me tear kale for kale chips. And my bad mood dissipated as quickly as it came.  Just like we send The Monster for a quiet time when she is being unreasonable, I found my quiet time in the kitchen, making Sunday dinner.

A little while later we welcomed an old friend to our home. We cracked some beers. We caught up on travels, the farm, and the challenges and smiles of parenthood. We devoured the meal in front of us. And when The Monster lost it when Hubby took away the cheetah babies after she hit her little sister with them all I could do was hang my head in laughter at the realization that I indeed made my kid.

Pork Loin Roast with Roasted Tomatoes and Peaches

2 pints cherry tomatoes

4 tbsp olive oil

salt and pepper

1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds

3 peaches

2 pound pork roast, boneless rib end

1/2 onion

1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped

1. Preheat oven to 275 degrees F.

2. Wash and dry the tomatoes. Cut in half. Place cut side up on a large cookie sheet. Drizzle with 2 tbsp olive oil and season well. Grind 1/2 tsp of the coriander seeds and sprinkle over the tomatoes as well. Place in the oven.

3. After an hour cut the peaches into quarters. Tuck them in among the tomatoes.

4. Pat dry your roast with paper towels, keep it tied up as you bought it. Season well with salt and pepper. Get the remaining 2 tbsp oil hot in a roasting pan or dutch oven. Brown the pork on all sides, leaving it for a couple of minutes each time to get good colour. Move the roast to the side, add the onions and remaining coriander seeds (left whole) to the pan. Cook for a couple of minutes, then move the roast back to the middle of the pan. Cover and put in the oven. Increase the heat to 325 degrees F. Roast for 1 hour.

5. Check the internal temperature of the roast. It should register at least 140 degrees F when you take it out of the oven. Keep it covered in the roasting pan, it will continue to cook a bit more as it rests.

6. Place the tomatoes and peaches on a serving dish, top with chopped mint. After the pork has rested 10-15 minutes remove strings and slice. Serve with tomatoes and peaches.

Big News For Me

It may not be all that exciting to the rest of you, but it is damn exciting for me. In a little over 2 weeks, I'm retiring. No, I'm not suddenly getting a pension and nor did I call in rich. 

Hubby and I have done a lot of thinking and talking and planning and more talking over the summer. We've decided that life as we've living it isn't sustainable for us, as individuals and as a family. So I am leaving the desk job to be a full-time mom, part time writer. I've been writing professionally on the side for just under a year now (see me here!) and it's time to take it one or two or three steps further. And Hubby's business is booming, but that means he is spending less time at home. We realized that the girls saw the nanny more than us!

This is a huge step for me, personally and professionally. I'm terrified that we will devolve into a very traditional wife/husband thing. The only thing I want from the Mad Men era is the furniture, thank-you very much. There is great comfort in knowing Hubby wants it about as much as I do.

I've also never seen myself as a stay at home mom full-time. I admire the folks who can do it, but I know it isn't in me to do. That's why I will still write part-time. I'll be truly taking advantage of all sleepytimes, but I'm sure I can make it work for me.

Professionally, this is pretty big. I'm putting myself out there. I'm stepping out as an entrepreneur essentially. That is also something I never saw myself doing with life. But to be successful you can't just write well. You need to sell yourself, you need to run a business. I won't be doing this half-assed, that's for sure. I've already made great strides and I can see a lot of work and success in my future.

I want, I need to do it. I'm making the change for me, I'm making my life what I want it to be. No one is doing it for me. And I'm damn proud of myself.

Freedom 35, baby!

Just Playing

This has been a rough few weeks for our house. As a result, not much quilting is getting done. I just can't motivate myself. I'm picking away at commissions, but I hope the recipients understand. Did I mention its been a rough couple of weeks?

Two weeks ago we had to leave town for a funeral and that necessitated a 2 day road trip, in each direction. Just prior to leaving, feeling the need for some retail therapy, I went shopping at an art store. I'd decided it was time to get some dedicated sketching materials that were all mine. Up until now, if the notion of a quilt came into brain it was usually sketched in black pen on whatever paper I could find, or with my daughters' markers on their craft paper. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, and it will still always happen. But it was time to treat myself a little.

And boy, could I have treated myself. I had no clue that fancy markers cost so much! I had it in my head that I would be able to get a set of about 50 colours for a pretty reasonable price. Uh, no. At least not at the store I went to. I had to settle for a set of 20, decent quality markers for a good price. I really wanted more colours, but I couldn't justify the expense, no matter how bad of a week I was having.

In the end, this was a good purchase. A smaller set means that it it all transportable. And all I really want to be able to do is to capture a notion of the idea in my head, not a precise pattern. Besides, nothing can replace actually playing with the fabric.

Then, this week, I was at the grocery store and saw a pack of 50 markers for less than $10. At first I sighed in frustration. But I've realized that the best part about my markers is that they are mine and all mine. The girls know they can't play with them.  That means I will never run out of the red.