Recipes Right Here! This is the One! Look No Further! Creamy Tomato Sauce! Blueberry Buttermilk Cake!

Could the recipe feature of this blog possibly be any more disorganized? I find myself searching this blog on a regular basis for recipes that I know I've posted or linked to and then I get distracted by ridiculous pictures of fatface baby Sawyer or Jack's curls (OMG!! They are totally coming back. No more haircuts!!). And then there's that whole business of having the old blog and the new blog and it's all just a just a recipe for disaster. For recipes, that is.

If I had been smart, I would have labeled the posts with the recipe name thus enabling Google searches to aid in this organizational nightmare. But I am not smart. Or at least, I'm sometimes not smart enough until it is too late.

(Note to self: Ciabatta Bread! Everybody's birthday cake! And finally Iced Pumpkin Cookies!)

I think I need to add some sort of side bar (?) perhaps something clickable near the masthead (?). Do I sound like I know what I'm talking about here, because I totally don't. All I know is that convincing my tech support (hi Brent!) to make this happen for me is going to require a boatload of pumpkin cookies and possibly a birthday cake. Sigh.

But really, this recipe thing kind of gets me down. I love to cook and I love for things to be tidy and organized (It's the Captain Jaggery in me. If you were one of my seventh grade students, you would understand). People think that I am tidy and organized, but really it's all a ruse. I masquerade as someone who has their act together, but it's pretty easy to see through that facade when you picture me in my bedhead and bathrobe on a Sunday morning cursing at my phone because I can't find the post with the link to Waffles of Insane Greatness, or wigs as we like to call them around here. Don't eff around with these, just go right ahead and double that bad boy. They'll get eaten.

And then there's that whole issue of plagiarism and public domain and what can you copy and what's under copyright and blah blah blah leagalese mumbo jumbo and whatnot, so I'm often hesitant to actually write out the recipes that I find and use and so I decide to just link it because I don't want to be sued by some disgruntled pastry chef. (Lawyers in the family? Advice?)

I'm pretty sure this is all a moot point, though, because from now on whatever I cook comes from this book:

Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone is my new cookbook of insane greatness. You really should run right out there and pick up a copy, immediately if not sooner. I've already made the whole wheat bread (twice!), the black beans (it's all about the secret ingredient!), blueberry cobbler, and I've bookmarked about a hundred other recipes to try out. The thing I like about this book is that you don't have to have a lot of really random and obscure ingredients in order to make the recipes, like you'll find in a lot of vegetarian cookbooks. It's all a bunch of relatively simple, hearty food.

Speaking of simple and hearty, I present (not from the book, no copywrite infringements here, this one's from my kitchen)....

Creamy Tomato Sauce for Pasta

olive oil

3 ish cloves garlic, minced

1 onion, diced

basil, oregano, salt and pepper to taste

16 oz (give or take) fresh tomatoes, chopped (I used tomatoes we froze last summer, but I suppose plain tomatoes from a can would work if fresh tomatoes aren't available. Though I've heard you're not supposed to eat canned tomatoes EVER, or you will DIE a SLOW and PAINFUL DEATH. But that could just be hype. Still, why take chances? And tomatoes are so easy to freeze- just chop them and throw them into a jar and voila! Ready for the freezer. So on second thought, screw canned tomatoes. Buy fresh, freeze them, or cook something else instead.)

half and half

cream cheese

Saute onion in olive oil for 5 minutes or so over medium heat. Add in the garlic and continue to cook for a minute or two. Toss in the tomatoes and seasonings and let the whole thing cook down (uncovered) for 10-15 minutes until it all looks nice and saucy and your kitchen smells like Italy. Lower the heat and stir in an ounce or so of the cream cheese, then add enough half and half (a few tablespoons ought to do) until your sauce looks slightly pinkish but not sickly. No Pepto Bismol pasta here, no siree. Serve with penne and plenty of freshly grated parmesan.

This makes enough for our family of four, but could easily be doubled if you like your pasta really saucy or you have a crew to feed. So I guess almost everything I cook comes from the book.

Sawyer in the kitchen with Mama. Not very helpful, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Jack's interest in sewing has yet to wane. I let him use the chalk marker roller thingy (Liz?) and he was smitten. This bought me some time to do something that I have always wanted to do and yet was too stupid to figure out that it was all right there all along under my nose the whole time.

Huh?

Let me explain. For the last few years we have not used napkins. Partly because I think paper napkins are wasteful and an unnecessary expense, and partly because I did not have any cloth napkins. We eat a lot of messy foods in the house and we just suffer through the drips and crumbs like the napkinless martyrs we have become. Totally gross, I know. So anyway, we were at one of our neighbor's houses for dinner (I brought the blueberry buttermilk cake- recipe in a sec) and in the middle of dinner someone discovered that they didn't have a napkin (the horror!) and so our host just waltzed right over and pulled a cloth napkin from a giant stack of cloth napkins that had THEIR OWN CUPBOARD! OMG! So jealous! I decided right then and there that I needed to get some cloth napkins and possibly a Special Cloth Napkin Cupboard, because seriously, those are some mad organizational skillz right there and I do so love a well organized cupboard. And then I realized, I had all of the fabric scraps I needed to make my own cloth napkins! So I did! No photos, because really, how lame would I be if I actually showed you pictures of my homemade cloth napkins? Okay fine, I just forgot to take some. The truth will set you free?

Now all I need is the special cupboard. Brent?

The boys made pizza for their friends. I opened the wine bottle for ours.

And because I am a one trick pony, I served the blueberry cake to them, too.

Blueberry Buttermilk Cake

1 cup flour

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 stick unsalted butter, soft

1/2 cup white sugar

1 tbsp raw sugar

1/2 tsp vanilla

1 egg

1/2 cup buttermilk

1 cup blueberries

Mix butter, white sugar, egg and vanilla in your mixer until fluffy. Combine flour, baking powder and soda, and salt in a separate bowl. Set your mixer on low and add in dry ingredients in three batches, alternating with the buttermilk. Mix just until combined. Spoon batter into a buttered cake pan (I used an 8 inch round one) and sprinkle blueberries on top then add your raw sugar for a sweet and crunchy topping. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes. Add a few minutes if using frozen berries.

Incidentally, if you do come to my house for dinner, there are only a few items on the menu. Chances are you will be served pizza and blueberry cake. But at least now I have cloth napkins! And maybe soon I'll even have a special cupboard to put them in. Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

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If I can't even come up with a conclusion, you certainly can't expect a title: Alternatively Titled: New Year's 2011

Many, many, maaaaany, many years ago (about 5 to be exact), we used to stay out all night a fabulous and swanky Dinner Party Event Soiree Extravaganza Ultimate Drink Smack Down for New Years. In fact, I think I'm still hung over from one of those parties (Laura, you know what I'm talking about!).

Is it New Years or New Year's? Or could it possibly be New Years'? They all look wrong to me, but what do I know, I'm just a middle school English teacher. I think it wants the apostrophe. I could be wrong.

Anyway, this year it was the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer party at Lily's house with drinks, dinner, dessert, and a Rudolph pinata. Yes, you read that right, a Rudolph pinata. I am friends with some talented people.

I think the look on Lily's face says it all. Rudolph must die.

Speaking of death and animals and such, I ate meat. Did you hear me? I said I ATE SOME MEAT! Oh, you didn't know that I was vegetarian? Well, let me tell you a bit about my eating habits: they are weird. I'm not a true vegetarian. I'll eat meat if there are no other options and I'm trying not to be the pain in the ass high maintenance dinner guest that I truly am. However, if you serve meatloaf with a side of bacon, it just might conjure up that hangover from New Years 2005 (or would that be New Year's 2005?) and that would be unpleasant for all of us. So yeah, meat's not my thing. If we could afford to eat organic and humanely treated animals we would. But we can't, so we don't.

Or, we didn't until our friend Jeremy went hunting and I grilled him (bad pun- so very bad. I blame my father for instilling in me an appreciation for bad puns) about the chase, the weaponry, the blood, the last breath, and the butcher of his elk. I decided that this particular elk had lived a pretty good life and that if elk steak was what was for dinner, I'd be eating. Besides, when you show up for New Years dinner and this guy is cooking, you really can't say no...

Actual animals were harmed in the making of this meal. An entire house was almost burned down as a result of this meal. The pressure was on, I had to try it...

And it was delicious! Well, the first few bites were, anyway. I nibbled a bit and savored the meaty goodness as it melted in my mouth and satisfied some primordial craving that I never knew I had. But after awhile my stomach started to feel heavy and the meat didn't chew as easily and pretty soon I was spitting chunks into the garbage.

So I think it's probably back to the pseudo vegetarian lifestyle for me. I think that unless I grow the balls to kill the animal myself, I probably have no right to eat it. And it doesn't look like I'll be growing balls anytime soon.

Speaking of gender reassignment: Jack is sewing! We gave Lily a toy sewing machine (that had my ovaries quaking) for Christmas and Jack really had a hard time letting the gift out the door, so I bestowed upon him my Singer that's been collecting cobwebs in the closet for the past few years (I sew on a New Home- my mom's old machine- in case you are a sewing geek like me and enjoy knowing these things). Most people will tell you to take the needle out or sew on paper or at least supervise your kid the first time he/she takes the helm of the machine. I just let him go and off he went. Jack is very cautious and has seen me stab my finger with a sewing needle enough times to be afraid of the poky parts of the machine.

Note a very sleepy Sawyer in the background.

I'm trying really hard to be excited for January and February, but it's hard. The post holidays let down is kind of a bitch and those two months can be long. So I've been attempting to focus my attention on the fun winter things we can do while we wait for spring to make its welcomed appearance.

Like Jack drawing a still life of his pirate ship. (Do I seem like I am bragging about Jack's artistic talents? Because I totally am. Seriously, the kid can draw. Sure, he may plateau in kindergarten, but for now- Look! My kid is an artist!)

Or warming up with hot chocolate after a chilly bike ride around the block.

Testing the birdbath to see if the water really is frozen. It was.

Getting clean clothes wet and dirty. Ruining shoes.

Learning the important concept of pedals.

Attempting to use the potty. We've had some success...

Keeping our feet warm in the most logical way possible.

Playing Cooties with whoever is willing.

Trying to recreate the Irish coffees we had in San Francisco. I don't think we have it quite right yet. We need a few more trial runs...

And Brent's well earned escape to Willamette Pass for a day of sunshine and snowboarding.

You would think that I would be thrilled by Jack's interest in sewing. Let me tell you, I am thrilled, but am also starting to wonder if I've created a monster here. He now wants to sew ALL THE TIME. No really. ALL THE TIME. It is a good thing that I have unlimited supplies of thread, a box of hand me down fleece (thanks Nona!), and endless patience for this new hobby of his. Here he is tracing fabric for a pillow.

And the finished product! (A gift for Lily. Awwww. Sweet? Weird? Hard to tell...)

And I'll close this by telling you about our trip to the Cascades Raptor Center where we saw owls and magpies and falcons and...

Bald eagles! Man, they are so majestic and regal and just plain bad ass.

The turkey vultures were pretty rad, too, but nothing holds a candle to the bald freaking eagle. So I suggest you go to the CRC so that you too can bask in the bald eagle's glory.

You see that glory there? That's what I'm talking about.

And I have no real conclusion to this, so I guess I'll just sign out with one more shout out to my dead homies... Oh wait, I mean my old drinking buddies, people who give me fabric (and thread racks!), and the bad ass bald eagle. (Should I be capitalizing bald eagle? Bald Eagle. Does that look better? God, I'm starting to bore myself here.)

(Bad puns, misplaced or omitted apostrophes and questionable capitalization? This post really sucks, Miss English Teacher Know It All. (At least I don't correct people's text messages)).

(Can I do the double parentheses like that? Where does the punctuation go?)

MY GOD! STOP! YOU ARE SUCKING THE LIFE FROM THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE! AND YOU DARE TO CALL YOURSELF AN ENGLISH TEACHER! YOU INSULT THE PROFESSION!

(Yikes. Now I am having some sort of schizophrenic argument about grammar right here in front the internet and everyone. Interesting. Nowhere to go from here except down.)

And so I'm out. No really, I think this post is done. Let's put this one to bed.

(Happy New Year!)

Just looked it up: it's New Year's, in case you were going to lose sleep over that one. Or correct me via text message. 'Cause that's just not cool.

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So This is Christmas

It came, it went. Why does it always happen so quickly? We worked and worked making peppermint bark, homemade wrapping paper, a batch of winter brew, cinnamon rolls and spinach balls, and spent hours sewing up a storm of soft goodies to get everything ready for The Big Day, and then it came and went in a giant holiday rush of sweet goodness.

After the big San Francisco trip, I kind of freaked out when I realized how soon Christmas really was, re-prioritized a few things, then downsized our Christmas gift giving list. We worked with the "less is more" concept and I think it turned out pretty well. Most people got a small, homemade token of some sort that Jack and/or Sawyer had participated in the making of. (In case you are wondering, it is now perfectly acceptable to end your sentence with a preposition. Trust me, I am an English teacher.)

I also decided that instead of being the family events photographer, I would put down my camera and live in the moment, rather than stuck behind the lens attempting to capture the moment.

So less was more. At least I hope it was. I'm not sure if it was a combination of laziness and frugality or simply common sense that led us to the decision not to give the kids many toys this year. They each got a pair of pajamas, a homemade doll, and a few little trinkets that were sure to please. Sawyer got his own water bottle and Jack got a Lego headlamp (and in case you didn't know, it was the year of the headlamp, apparently.).

Sawyer got an apron, and I'm not quite sure what I was thinking, because I quickly realized that I'm not quite ready to have his very special brand of "help" in the kitchen just yet.

Even thought we had deliberately simplified our gift giving to the kids, I did catch myself in a fleeting moment of panic on Christmas Eve when the stockings were filled and the few gifts sat beneath the tree. Had we done enough? Would they be happy? Would it be magical and special and everything that Christmas is supposed to be?

Then again, isn't the better gift the one that's gained when you learn to appreciate what you have instead of wanting what you don't? But how do you teach that? And I guess that's really all I want for my kids. I know we'll never be rich, and I know that because that's not one of our life goals. I also know that we'll never buy the kids indulgent toys or things we can't really afford, because those things don't reflect our family values. So how do we teach our boys to recognize gifts as sentiments rather than items? Can it be done? I welcome any suggestions in this department...

I think that we all experienced the feeling as a child of opening a present that you didn't really want. And trying to fake like you liked it, when in reality you wanted to toss it into the pile of wrapping paper and cross your fingers for the next one. I vividly remember this happening one Christmas when I was probably nine or ten. My mom had put together this tackle box filled with sewing tools and it seemed to me, the ungrateful daughter that I was, that she had given me this gift with herself in mind, rather than me. As is ME! ME! CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE! To put it simply, I thought it was a stupid present and I remember posing for the camera while wistfully eyeing the remaining packages under the tree. What was I hoping for? Headbands? The newest Wham! tape? A pair of Guess jeans? I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure I didn't fake my enthusiasm well about that sewing box.

But now that I am an adult and a mother and a daughter who no longer has her mother, I see that sewing box through a completely different lens. I can imagine my mom strolling through the aisles of FabricLand, picking and choosing through seam rippers and pincushions and buttons for just the right things. I imagine that she loved every moment she spent creating that unique gift for me and thinking of the sewing we would do together and reflecting on the gift of the craft that she was passing on to me. I bet she knew in her heart that deep down inside I was a seamstress, just like she was, and I'm sure she knew that someday I'd experience the supreme satisfaction of making the things that cannot be bought.

And now, today and every day that I live this life, I wish I could go back and appreciate that gift. I would lay my head against her fuzzy blue robe and inhale her sweet mom-smell and feel her soft hands stroking my hair and say thank you. Thank you for this gift. And for all of the gifts. Thank you.

I hope she knew.

I find myself writing about my mom a lot on this blog. In case you don't already know, my mom died at the age of 45 of colon cancer. I was 19 and my brother was 13. I won't insult her spirit by saying that she "fought hard" or "lost the battle" because that somehow implies that some people fight harder than others and that somehow effort, willpower, or some unseen attribute can "beat" cancer. I never went to grief counseling and I can say with absolute certainty that I have not "gotten over" her death. So it just comes out at certain times and I guess I just need to let it flow.

And I thought about my mom a lot as I sewed those pajamas and dolls. I thought about the skill that she taught me and what a gift it truly is. I thought these things as I stitched on her old machine, using her old pincushions and scissors. I thought about how much I miss her. I thought about how much I love her for the things she taught me.

It turns out that the boys loved their pajamas and dolls and new things. And all of the grandparents made up for any of our shortcomings in the giving of toys, and maybe that's how it should be. The boys were happy, satisfied, fulfilled, and loved. It was a beautiful Christmas, with just a tiny bit of sorrow.

Jack and Sawyer spent Christmas day with their adorable cousin Xavier, who turned two on Christmas Eve. Jack could not believe his luck when he realized we'd be having birthday cake on Christmas.

And there were Christmas games! Sound corny? I assure you they were not!

Sawyer and Xavier had some serious male bonding time. If you are wondering why my son is topless, it is because he stuffed his face at dinner and then ran laps around the house until he threw up on himself. I guess it's not really a party unless somebody pukes.

Just when we thought the festivities were winding down, we received a dinner invite from some of my oldest family friends. We were treated to the company of dear friends, gourmet pizza, fine wine, and the now infamous phrase "I'll watch the kids while you guys get naked!", which was Liz's effervescent way of inviting us to take a sauna.

If I never cut my boys' hair again, it will be Soleo's fault.

I wanted to show you the dolls up close, but when I tried to set up a photo shoot, Sawyer came along looking for a snuggle. His blanket has an opium-like effect on him.

I'd been harassing Brent about building a play kitchen for the boys and it just so turned out that Liz had an extra play stove, circa 1980. I bet you had this one, too.

I did let Sawyer help a bit in the kitchen. He's pretty good at turning the cookbook pages.

So that's it. The whole big Christmas shebang. And maybe more about me and my childhood and damaged psyche than you ever wanted to know. But hey, if you can't stand the carbonation of Talking Rain, maybe you should switch to Perrier.

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