Enough With The 80s Nostalgia

Shortly after my rant on skinny jeans and the 40 year old mother, I found these while perusing the Internet (I was looking for new boot cuts, by the way):

Stirrups? Really?

Please, 1985, go back from whence you came.

I really don't want to have to bust out the old cans of aquanet again for you. Once was enough.

Chick Peas Just For Me

The boys here in Boy Town are serious carnivores.  Particularly the Third Grader, who can consume a pound of bacon while pouring over the Sunday morning comics.  Because I want my boys to EAT (what mother doesn't find joy in that?), I usually cater to their carnivorous ways.  Dinners around here almost always center around a meat. Usually something from a pig.

There's only one problem.  Me.

I haven't eaten any part of a cow, pig, chicken or bird for over two years (I do feel okay sacrificing the occasional fish, however). This difference in our eating styles usually leaves me munching on two-thirds of a meal. When the boys' plates include a meat, vegetable and starch, mine usually just has the vegetable and starch.  Put simply, I don't have the time or desire to spend any more time in my 1970s kitchen then I have to in order to make two meals.  Plus, eating a fraction of dinner is a good diet plan.

But last week, on a drizzly, cold kind of day, I found myself with not only a free afternoon, but also the energy to do something for myself.  Instead of wasting the time away on the laundry or the Internet, I decided to cook a meal just for me. Did you get that last part? Just For Me.

Introducing one of my go-to comfort foods from one of my favorite college town restaurants.

Chick Pea And Artichoke Stew
from Moosewood Restaurant Cooks At Home

4 Cups water or vegetable stock
2 medium onions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
2 T olive oil
1 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. sweet paprika
4 medium red or white potatoes, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 sprig fresh rosemary
5 leaves fresh sage, minced (1/2 tsp dried)
1/2 cup pureed winter squash or sweet potatoes (baby food works, too!)
3 Cups drained cooked chick peas (two 15-ounce cans)
1 1/2 cups drained quartered artichoke hearts (14-ounce can)
salt and pepper to taste

**I modified the original recipe slightly in order to use a slow cooker**

Pour water or vegetable stock into slow cooker.

Saute onions and garlic in oil for about 8 minutes until soft.

Stir the turmeric and paprika into the onions and saute for a minute.

Chop up potatoes into 1/2 inch cubes

and add them and onion mixture to the slow cooker.

Then add the rosemary, sage, and pureed squash.

Keep going! Don't stop now!

The beauty of the slow cooker is that you can dump everything in at once.

Artichokes

and lovely protein-rich chick peas

can all go in the slow cooker (set to high for about 3-4 hours)

until dinner time.

When it turns into a comforty,cozy (vegetarian!) stew.

What have you done Just For You lately?

If Only I Could Teach Her To Clean Up After Herself

I'm not sure who has more toys, the kids or the dog.

The Divinely Gourd-geous Garden

Sometime last July we noticed that the vines creeping around our small garden were not the pumpkins we had planted. These thick, green vines were growing from the middle of the garden, nowhere near where we had buried the giant pumpkin seeds a few months earlier.

All summer they grew. And grew. And grew.

And we watched. And waited. And watched some more.

By the middle of August there were 50 or so gourds sprouting from the vines. Yellowish-orange beauties waiting for their autumn debut.

The thing is, we didn't plant them. They seemed to mysteriously appear out of the ground, right between the lettuce and cucumbers.

Was it divine gourd intervention? Workings of the Great Pumpkin? Or, perhaps, the magic of compost?

Way back in the spring, when we were preparing the garden for planting, we had spread a thick layer of compost over the bed. So it's probable (although you never know, friends. you never know) that they seeded themselves in after being tossed into the compost bin the previous season.

Whatever their origin, the gourds were there in plenty in our little garden. We happily plucked them off their vines last week and arranged them around the house, on the mantle, on tables, on the window boxes.

I guess there should be some metaphor here about embracing life's surprises. About finding beauty in the unexpected and creating an artful centerpiece out of it. Or maybe one about growing and blooming where we are planted, purposefully or not. Or even a fall harvesty-giving-thanks-to-the-bountiful-land kind of thing.

But I'm not feeling particularly metaphoric today.

So instead I will give thanks for not having to shell out big bucks this year to a farm stand for overpriced gourds so I could decorate my dining room table.

And for composting.

Amen.

Baby It's Cold Inside

It was 57 degrees this morning. In the house.

We are a frugal couple, my husband and I.

We recycle our cans and bottles for the .05 return (okay, actually I'm the only one who does this).

We re-use aluminum foil and plastic baggies (actually, he's the only one who does this).

We make our own cheese (no. no, we don't. I threw it in because it sounds über frugal. and fun.).

And we wait as long as possible before turning on the heat (yes! yes, we do!). 

When we lived south of the Mason Dixon line and spent our extra money on beer scrimping on energy consumption was a simpler cost saving measure.  We could easily wait until December before cranking up the thermostat in our drafty condo. But in New England, where frosts can occur as early as July September, holding off on kicking the furnace into high gear is a more difficult endeavor. Especially, when the children complain of being able to see their breath in the morning. I'm kidding. Sort of.

Would you rather be warm or have a college fund? I ask them.   

WARM! they say.

Eh, they'll thank us later when they have enough money in their accounts to choose any community college they want.

Plus, they've been happily skipping off to school this week since it's warmer there than it is here. An unexpected benefit to saving on the heating bill.

My goal is to wait until November before clicking the heat to 'on'. Why?  I don't know. To save a few bucks?  Yeah. To be a hearty New Englander? Nah, I got nothing to prove.  Because delaying the gratification of heat makes us appreciate it more? No. It just makes us cold. In fact, heat is right up there with air and water for basic hierarchical needs.

We've come this far.  I think with a few more layers on the beds we can make it.

cha-ching!

How about you?  Have you turned your heat on yet?

Skinny Jeans: They're Not Meant for You and Me

I am not a slave to fashion. But I do follow one rule. Which is this: once you have experienced a fashion trend, you should not experience it a second time, no matter how cleverly repackaged it may be.   

When The Gap started selling tapered jeans again, slyly marketed as 'skinny jeans', I had a scary time-warpy dream where I was trapped in an acid-wash jeans sweat shop while the kids from Fame performed Frank Zappa's Valley Girl over and over and over. It was a nightmare.

The 80s was one bitchin' decade. I, like, totally get that.  When I was 14 I shopped at the mall (hell, later I worked at the mall), and wore layered socks over my pinstriped jeans just like Seventeen magazine told me to. I spent hours sprawled out on the floor of my bedroom, my black stirrup pants tucked magically into my pleather ankle boots, and gossiped with my friends on my new cordless phone (careful not to get the antenna tangled in my hair) as Rick Springfield skipped on my turntable.

I experienced all the teenage hormonal twists and turns while wearing some piece of the 80s.  Break ups required the comfort of leg warmers. Hang outs at the local pizza joint meant big shirts and leggings. A trip to the arcade needed only pegged jeans and a shoulder-padded blazer. Life lessons were learned in ripped sweatshirts; best friends were made and unmade in the time it took to pull on a sweater dress.

I've lived it once. To live it again would be, well, irresponsible.

Once anyone past the age of 40 starts dressing like the Gap mannequins, the teenagers no longer want to. And every generation needs their own fashion statement in which to make their own mistakes and triumphs. Some magic is lost for the 16 year old who, having just made the varsity basketball team, notices her mother wearing the same jeans she is that evening at the dinner table. Part of the teenage rite of passage is muddling through the push and pull struggle of trying to differentiate oneself from ones parents.

And no matter what we, as parents, wear or how trendy we attempt to look, our kids will never think we are cool.  And that's okay.  That's how it's supposed to be.

Which is why I say to all the 40-something suburban mothers wearing skinny jeans, leggings and long dress sweaters at the soccer fields, bus stops and book fairs, please, hold on to your boot-cuts a little longer. You've already been to 1985. There's no need to go back.

Trust me, the kids will be alright as long as they have their own jeans to wear.

Daydream Believer

The Third Grader is having a difficult time staying on task at school this year.  His mind wanders, he says.

So much so that phone conversations with the teacher have been had (and it's only October!).

She confirmed that, yes, he tends to prefer daydreaming to essay writing.

She is a good teacher.  She talks to him, she asks him what's going on.   Last week, she told me, their conversation went like this...

Third Grader, why aren't you completing your worksheet?

I'm thinking about something else.

What are you thinking about?

I'm thinking about what I'm going to do after school today.

Oh, what are you going to do after school today?

I don't know.  That's why I'm thinking about it. 


Seems reasonable to me. 

The Little Things

Sometimes, on a wet, windy day, at the end of a long, trying week, all you need is an unexpected purple scarf to show up in your mailbox to make everything alright again.

Thank you scarf knitter.