anti-recipe #59 super lemony lemon bars

Well, I am gonna say this is an anti-recipe but really its me demonstrating my anti-cooking skills.

Dont you hate it when you are following a recipe, like trying to do it in half or something, and you forget to half ONE ingredient??

This is a prime example of why cooking-by-recipes and I dont get along.

I am making our Seder dinner for our Passover meal right now, just me, myself, and I, in the kitchen, chopping up the charoset (apples, walnuts, cinnamon, sugar, and a dash of white wine), making a lemon dessert, with the brisket roasting deliciously in the oven (this is my college friends recipe and it is SCRUMMY. It also involves brandy, which I was like, huh, that smells good, maybe I will have a sip, or two....AH HA! Or as little man said the other day, LIGHT BULB! That might explain my problems with recipes right now, HA HA HA)

Dada is on a spring break, outside in the garage, doing dada things. You know, with tools and such.

The kids are downstairs watching the Wizard of Oz.

Baby dear is taking the longest nap ever.

And so, I cook. Or attempt to.

I found several great websites, again from my friend, and have been reading about traditional Seder meals. I went to the store, attempting to secure everything, but alas, no matzah! (Or as the sales clerk in our very non-Jewish little town said, "matzah? huh, I think all that WEIRD stuff is in aisle 12." Well then. Next year, we make our own.) So, some flatbread will have to suffice.

And then I figured well, this is not at all Kosher, so I will make super lemony lemon bars, because they are yummy, and springy, and well I am going to attempt no sugar for a bit in the next month or two so...one last hurrah, right??

But oh, these bars are so good. I am following the basic recipe I found online, touted as Ina Garten's recipe. Its been years since I have made these but I used to all the time, like to go to church potlucks or as a teenager, having friends over for tea (yes, we used to do that, as long blonde-haired beach-going California teenagers, HA.)

Anyway. Here is how I did it.

Take a stick of soft butter, mix with 1/2 cup sugar. Add one cup flour, dash of salt. Press into a buttered 9x9 pan, refrigerate for awhile. Then bake the crust for 10-15 minutes at 350. Take out, let the crust cool.

Now mix 3 eggs with a cup and a half of sugar. Shred in some lemon zest, add 1/2 cup of lemon juice and half cup of flour. Mix. Here is where I messed up. I added a CUP of flour. Crap. So I made the full amount of filling. Oh well. Thicker bars.

So I'm reading this through and I am like, this doesnt look like that bad of cooking skills. Except, oh, instead of measuring things properly I dump and scoop and I am like, oh, the cup measurer is dirty, this plastic cup looks about the right size, eh, that works. Do you cook like this too? And then, the recipe said a full 2 TABLESPOONS of lemon zest. That is a lot of zesting. I dont do that much zesting. Plus, I am not crazy about the little bits of zesty in my bars. So, less zest. This is but an example. You see my point though. This is lazy cooking, right? Oh well. We ALL know I am lazy. HA.

Oh, I nearly forgot, when the bars are cooling sprinkle with powdered sugar. Most important.

In any case.

MMMMMMM. It smells SO GOOD.

And they just came out of the oven, and I tasted one, you know, just to be sure it is edible (VERY important). OHMYHEAVENS. Delicious.

 

 

this is my attempt at an artsy food picture.

Eat, drink and BE MERRY. Chag Sameach!

celebrating spring

Easter is a'coming! It snuck up on me this year, what with the whining about the cold and the foot of snow on the ground. But, it is coming still. And we can believe it more these days. The eaves are dripping and the kids are running around outside in sweatshirts and snowboots (so what, foot of snow!? it is 35 degrees out!!)

This year we are trying to integrate some Passover elements into our week. We've read the story of baby Moses in the reeds and then grown up Moses leading his people to freedom. We plan on a Seder dinner this weekend as well.

And then we of course, dyed eggs to hang on a branch from outside. And, as we did last year, planted a little Easter garden with a stone tomb at one end. We used marigold and forget me not seeds lying around from last year...I hope they actually grow! HA.

We read the below story yesterday and made tiny wool rabbits for our garden. They were super simple and quick to do. If you have wool, or even cotten stuffing, you could do this in a snap.

Anyway, happy Easter week to you all!

divide one end, to be the ears. i rolled them a bit in my hands to make them
firmer

fold the body end in, rolling it a bit

now pull a bit through the ears to form the head

secure with a bit of thread

 

i wrapped a bit of thread around the ears too, then some for the tail.
cute right??

goodbye snow, hello mud.

The below story is from my favorite website.

A LONG time ago, in a far-off country, there was a famine; and this is how it came about: In the early spring, when the first grass peeped out, the sun shone so hot that the grass was dried up. No rains fell through the long summer months, so that the seed and grain that were planted could not grow, and everywhere the fields and meadows—usually so green and rich—were a dull gray-brown. Here and there a green tree waved its dusty branches in the hot wind. When fall came, instead of the well-filled granaries and barns, there was great emptiness; and instead of happy fathers and mothers, there were grave, troubled ones.

But the children were just as happy as ever. They were glad, even, that it had not rained, for they could play out of doors all day long; and the dust-piles had never been so large and fine.

The people had to be very saving of the things that had been left from the year before. All the following winter, by being very careful, they managed to provide simple food for their families. When Christmas came there were not many presents, but the children did not miss them as we would, because in that land they did not give many presents at Christmas-time.

Their holiday was Easter Sunday. On that day they had a great celebration, and there were always goodies and presents for the little boys and girls. As the time came nearer, the parents wondered what they should do for the children's holiday. Every new day it was harder than the day before to get just plain, coarse bread to eat; and where would they find all the sweetmeats and pretty things that the children had always had at Easter-time?

One evening some of the mothers met, after the children were in bed, to talk about what they should do. One mother said: "We can have eggs. All the chickens are laying; but the children are so tired of eggs, for they have them every day."

So they decided that eggs would never do for an Easter treat; and they went home sorrowfully, thinking that Easter must come and go like any other day. And one mother was more sorry than any of the others. Her dear little boy and girl had been planning and talking about the beautiful time they were to have on the great holiday.

After the mother had gone to bed, she wondered and thought if there were any way by which she could give her little ones their happy time. All at once she cried right out in the dark: "I know! I have thought of something to make the children happy!"

She could hardly wait until morning, and the first thing she did was to run into the next house and tell her neighbor of the bright plan she had thought of. And the neighbor told some one else, and so the secret flew until, before night, all the mothers had heard it, but not a single child.

There was still a week before Easter, so there was a good deal of whispering; and the fathers and mothers smiled every time they thought of the secret. When Easter Sunday came, every one went, first of all, to the great stone church—mothers and fathers and children. When church was over, instead of going home, the older people suggested walking to the great woods just back of the church.
"Perhaps we may find some flowers," they said.

So on they went, and soon the merry children were scattered though the woods, among the trees.
Then a shout went up—now here, now there—from all sides.
"Father, mother, look here!"
"See what I have found—some beautiful eggs!"
"Here's a red one!"
"I've found a yellow one!"
"Here's a whole nestful—all different colors!"

And the children came running, bringing beautiful colored eggs which they had found in the soft moss under the trees. What kind of eggs could they be? They were too large for bird's eggs; they were large, like hens' eggs; but who ever saw a hen's egg so wonderfully colored?
Just then, from behind a large tree where the children had found a nest full of eggs, there jumped a rabbit, and with long leaps he disappeared in the deep woods, where he was hidden from view by the trees and the bushes.

"It must be that the rabbit laid the pretty eggs," said one little girl.
"I am sure it was the rabbit," said her mother.
"Hurrah for the rabbit! Hurrah for the Easter rabbit! Hurrah for Herr Oster Hase!" the children cried; and the fathers and mothers were glad with the children.

So this is the story of the first Easter eggs, for, ever since then, in that far-away land and in other countries, too, has Herr Oster Hase brought the little children at Easter-time some beautiful colored eggs.


For more ideas on getting outside, check out this great website!

perspective

It goes by so quick.

This is my aim lately, to keep this in mind.

Baby shrieking to be held. Boy fighting with girl. Dada late from work. House a mess. Feeling tired and worn and well, a mess.

It goes by so quick.

I wrote recently about a day like this and my mother, who is facing an empty nest, says oh, how I miss those days.

Perspective.

Or stories of families who now have teens, off to activities, or hunkered down in their bedrooms with books and texting and such.

It goes by so quick.

I am trying to remember.

This winter really wore me out. I need sun and green. But also something different. This new perspective, taking a few steps back to think about my life as a woman, a mommy, a wife, and also sister, friend, writer, creator, a go-getter, and in the big picture of all of this, these few years at home...Just a breath. A blink.

And so. I drink them in. I remind myself over and over in this bloggy space. DRINK IT IN. Suck the marrow and all that good stuff. Remember who you are and the big picture. Your career, your life path, could have a thousand turns yet. My new chiropractor is a wonderful 70+ year old lady, who went to chiropractic school at 50. Who knows what the decades ahead hold!

But this is now. These little guys, who need us so much now.

A say this kind of thing a lot here. But I think its something that is so hard in the mommying phase, not being able to see the forest through the trees. You know? We are so IN it. So very IN IT. That we can't imagine the other side, nor can we see our day to day. The little moments we let slide by, in our anxiety to GET THEM IN BED. You know?

And it goes by so quick.

And they are so precious.

And these little years are so precious.

DRINK IT IN.

a felted flower project and a sweet spring story

The baby is sleeping. The kids are playing with the neighbor girl who comes over once a week for a mama-sanity-break. I am sitting at the counter, with a pot of strong English tea. I just talked to a dear friend from college for more than 15 minutes, without interruption. Did I mention it is sunny out? And now, a quick blog post so I can bask in my freedom while writing. Writing. I am writing more lately. And I am gonna try for that "novel in a month" thing again. And I have a good idea for it.

And then, I had another brilliant idea the other day. A June book!! Would you read it? I am super excited about it and am working on a first draft. As soon as I post this, a spring story, and a dear little felted flower craft. One your kids will actually do, no seriously they will. Even my boy loved this. There is a foot of snow on the ground and it is in the teens outside, but dammit, tomorrow is spring. And she shall be celebrated, in whatever form she arrives.

Yay. Spring, snow and all.

Gather wool rovings, lots of colors. Wool is also super easy to dye.
A few minutes in boiling water with a drop of food coloring and a glug of
vinegar to make it stick.

prepare a pan of warm water and a bar of soap

get wool good and soapy and wet and rub in between your palms to make a ball. it takes time but it will work

wrap your ball in plastic wrap and add another layer of wool rovings.
a hint to make the layers stick or cover holes, use a super thin layer and rub
gently at first, use plenty of soap too.

 

 

a pot of tea to get me through this craft.

we did a center ball, two more layers of colors, then a layer of green
(for the leaves) here are the finished flowers

now cut a little x in the top of the first layer, then gently snip to make leaves, and remove the next layer.
at this point the kids were all...OOOOOOH. (after making me finish theirs because they were tired of the felting process)

its BEEE-YOU-TEE-FUL! (yes, this is how she says beautiful lately, HA HA.)

little man's sunflower, colors chosen by him specifically to make it look like a sunflower.

 

And there you have it. Isnt that super fun?? I love it. Here is a sweet spring story to go along with it.
HAPPY SPRING!! (take THAT you blankety-blank-blank-blank foot of snow!!)

WHY VIOLETS HAVE GOLDEN HEARTS

Once, in the long ago, there was a most beautiful garden where flowers of every kind grew. There were stately hollyhocks and fresh white daisies and roses and violets and pansies and hyacinths and poppies and every other kind of flower that you ever dreamed or thought about.

Early one morning, when the bees and butterflies went to pay their morning calls, they found all the flowers in a perfect flutter of excitement.

A strange knight had passed through the garden the evening before and left word for every flower that the king of the garden was coming soon on a visit, and to the most beautiful flower he would bring a golden heart.

"To the most beautiful one was the message," nodded the crimson rose, pressing her baby buds close to her side.

 "To the most beautiful one," rang out the lily bells, sweet and clear. "We heard, we heard!"

"To the most beautiful one," whispered the violets, bending their heads in prayer.

"Yes, yes," chimed in the snowdrops, one by one; "to the most beautiful one. We heard the message clearly.

"But who can be more beautiful than we, with our dresses of spotless white?

"Surely the king will choose us, and for his coming we shall save all our sweetest nectar juice, all our pollen, all that we have we shall save for him who is our king."

Thus talked the flowers together in the garden. Of course, everyone wanted the golden heart, and everyone began to work, trusting and hoping that its blossom might be the most beautiful one.

Now in those days, snowdrops held their heads up, and not down, as now,—neither did they have green spots on their dresses then. They were snowy white, and now that the king was coming, they thought so much more about their beautiful white [88] dresses that they seemed to forget that it was better to be beautiful on the inside than on the outside.

They even forgot—these snowdrops—to be kind to their best friends, the bees and butterflies, and refused to give them either pollen or nectar juice.

And again they forgot to say good-morning to their other friends, the lovely violets, growing so close to them and making the breath of the whole garden fragrant with their perfume.

Indeed, the violets thought so much about making perfume for others that they forgot all about themselves, and even the colour of their dresses.

But the days passed quickly in the old garden, and it soon became a bower of glory indeed, as flower vied with flower to become the most beautiful, when the king should come.

The morning-glories hung out joy-bells of white and pink and blue, climbing to the top of the garden wall that they might be first to tell the news that the king had come.

The trumpet vine climbed yet higher, even to the top of the tallest tree, that he might be first to see and welcome the king.

But the snowdrops only stood still and fretted. "See," they cried, "our dresses are losing their freshness and the nectar juice will be spoiled. Listen, do you not hear footsteps?"

Yes, someone was coming down the path, but it was only a wrinkled old woman, feeble and worn with the heat of the summer day.

As she passed slowly along, her eyes fell on the pure white snowdrops, and stretching her hands towards them, she said:

"Oh, you beautiful blossoms, can you not spare me one?"

"No, no! we have none to spare to-day," replied the snowdrops; "go away and come some other day. We are saving these for our king. Ask the violets close by. They can spare you some."

"Yes, yes," nodded the violets; "we would love to give you some. Take all [90] you please. See, our bed is full,—enough for you and enough for our king."

And as the old woman stooped to gather the purple violets, her face seemed very fair to look upon.

"To-morrow, surely to-morrow the king will come," fretted the snowdrops; "we have waited so long!"

But when the next day came, there was only a little bird with a broken wing that passed that way. Faint from hunger, he fell in the sand near the snowdrops and begged for just one tiny seed.

"No, no!" again said the snowdrops, "we have none to spare. Come some other day; we are saving these for our king."

"Take ours," cried the voice of the violets close by; "take ours, pretty bird, we have plenty to spare."

And the wounded bird ate and hopped away, and again his face seemed beautiful to look upon.

It was night, and the breezes were just lulling the flowers to sleep when another visitor stopped by the side of the snowdrops. But they sighed and turned their heads [91] away, for this time there was only a crippled frog with an ugly bruise on his head.

"Water, only one drop of water, pretty snowdrops!" the frog said. "Your cups are full with sweetest nectar juice. Give to me, for I am dying with thirst."

But again the snowdrops shook their heads and turned away. "No, no!" they cried; "go away, ugly frog. We need our water to keep our dresses white, for the king is coming this way".

"Here is ours," called the violets sweet. "It is fresh and pure. Drink, tired frog, and rest among our cooling leaves."

And then something wonderful indeed happened. The frog vanished from sight, and in his place stood the king of the garden himself, clothed in gold and royal purple, and in his hands he held a shower of golden hearts which fell among the violets and lodged lovingly beneath their fragrant petals.

Then turning to the snowdrops, who had hung their heads in shame, the king said:

"Spotted like thy heart oh, snowdrops, thy dresses shall become, and when on them thou dost look, think and remember:

"Beautiful flowers are those that do, Deeds that are loving, kind, and true, The long day through."

"Footsore and weary, I asked of you; hungry, I came to you; thirsty, I begged of you; but you turned me away."

"We did not know, we did not know," sobbed the snowdrops. "Come, we have saved all for thee."

But alas! it was too late, for the king of the garden had come and gone,— leaving the snowdrops with spotted clothes and heads bowed low in the moonlight.

my baby, growed up

Mama! I dump my pot!

I turn around and look and there my baby stands, holding her tiny Ikea potty, with a little sprinkle of pee pee in the bottom.

Um. You peed? By yourself? And didnt wet the floor? And now you are carrying it in to dump it by yourself??

She then wore training underwear to church, and peed on the potty there.

WAAAH! tears of joy!! WAAAAH!! tears of sad!! My baby is growing up!!!

As far as a potty training post goes. Well, she is kinda doing it on her own. It could of course just be a phase but, one can hope. My best recommendations would be this: Be consistent. Go for lots of naked time around the house (shirt or dress only, to make runs to the pot pot easier) We try to do a diaper free time every afternoon after her nap. Then build on those successes to do more diaper free time. And stay clear of pullups. They give the kid the illusion of being "big" but they are so super absorbant the kid has no incentive to not wet them. My two cents on that anyway... But otherwise, the best thing I have heard about potty training, besides the naked time, is to be loving and gracious about it. Yes, even when cleaning up those icky accidents. You wouldnt yell at a kid for falling down when they were learning to walk, how can you when they are learning to potty? I heard this when little miss was in the phase and felt horribly guilty because I was NOTpatient with it with little man. A good perspective to keep though, you know? In any case.

Shis is growing up too fast. And I cant wait to see who she is, as she gets bigger and bigger, and yet....my BAAAAAAABY. Sniff.

take good care of yourself, you belong to me

I clearly remember standing around the piano with my grandmother, maybe on a hot summer day, as we kids came inside from the heat for popsicles. Her fingers would flash across the keys as she flipped through the pages of an old song book. I still remember the words to many of them, "Cows eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy. A kid'll eat ivy too. Doo Doo Doo." Except you sing it like this "Cowzy doats and dozy doats and little ams ee divy. A kiddle dee divy too. Doo Doo doo.." One about a farm wife and her child, but I don't remember it all.

She would play and we would sing.

One that sticks with me, lately this days incessently (and I'll try to find a youtube video) has a chorus that goes "Take good care of yourself, you belong to me." (I just looked up the rest of the lyrics, hilarious. I will post below with video link)

Take good care yourself, you belong to me.

I think about this as I sit down every afternoon, my new habit of late, as the kids nap or tear about the house or play quietly or color with me, sometimes with my notebook or laptop, always with a cup of tea. Sometimes I draw. I have decided to be artsy this year. I might take up painting. Like full on canvases with oils. I have been writing poetry too. As much as I can with kids crawling on my lap.

Sometimes I need to remember who I am. I am artistic.

Take good care of yourself, you belong to me.

I think about this as I buy nice body lotion the other day. Like the absurdly expensive all natural stuff that smells like gardenias. And I buy epsom salts for a nice soaking bath. And I actually take the soaking bath.

And I have been eating better again, no longer subsisting on grilled cheese crusts and bites of rejected fried eggs. (Please, for the love of all that is holy, EAT MORE EGGS CHILDREN. Those hens are LAYING. Sheesh.) I am currently eating a bowl of homemade yogurt with homemade strawberry jam and raw honey from my parents neighbors. And I have quinoa sprouting on my counter. This is not to brag, I also just ate an Oreo. This is to say this body of mine feels like its falling apart some days. And I want to be strong for these kiddos, for our family. I may even try going for a run, if the snow could just melt.

Take good care of yourself, you belong to me.

I stop at the flower section in the grocery stores. Daffodils. I buy some. Only because they make me smile.

Take good care of yourself. You belong to me. I belong to them. I need to remember who I am, for me, for them too. I belong to them. I need to be strong, for me, but for them too. I need to do things that make me smile, for me, for them too.

You know?

I know you know. But its hard to do some days. We go from task to task. Ignoring beauty. Ignoring our need to create, to breathe, to relax, to soak in life.

So, this is my call. Take care of yourself (SARA), we belong to them. They need us, to be the best us, to be the strongest, happiest us. Put down the laundry basket. Get outside for a walk. Sit with some tea and a blank piece of paper. Buy some flowers. Write a note to a friend. Get to a yoga class (SARA!) If you have a hard time doing it for you, do it for them.

 

Listen, big boy, Now that you got me made,

Goodness, but I'm afraid,

Somethin's gonna happen to you!

Listen, big boy,

You gotta be hooked, and how,

I would die if I should lose you now!

 

Button up your overcoat,

When the wind is free,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

 

Eat an apple every day,

Get to bed by three,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

 

Be careful crossing streets, ooh-ooh,

Cut out sweets, ooh-ooh,

Lay off meat, ooh-ooh,

You'll get a pain and ruin your tum-tum!

 

Wear your flannel underwear,

When you climb a tree,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

 

Button up your overcoat,

When the wind is free,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

 

When you sass a traffic cop,

Use diplomacy;

Just take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Beware of frozen funds, ooh-ooh,

Stocks and bonds, ooh-ooh,

Dockside thugs, ooh-ooh,

You'll get a pain and ruin your bankroll!

 

Keep the spoon out of your cup,

When you're drinking tea,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

 

Don't sit on hornet's tails, ooh-ooh!

Or on nails, ooh-ooh! Or third rails, ooh-ooh!

You'll get a pain and ruin your tum-tum!

 

Keep away from bootleg hooch

When you're on a spree,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

picture this

Picture me. Setting the table for tea. Book of "The Greatest Composers" on the table, ready to read the short biography of Johann Bach whilst listening to the great master on Pandora.

Picture the children. Hitting each other with balloons whilst sliding down the stairs, playing chase, little miss dressed only in leggings and a tank top, saying she is hot, braids askew. Now, little man offering to dance with her, wildly twirling and whirling. Now screaming again, and there they go down the hall, baby shrieking "MY BAWOON!!"

Picture my life.

Smile.

But then I start reading anyhow. And we all dance and the tea is ready and here we are. And we just saw the most amazing bird out the window, a mama cardinal grey and orange and red. We hope she comes back.