Home Cookin'

Tonight was a first for me. Well, I mean, it was and it wasn't.

The "wasn't" part was a class A Aspie tantrum sparked by my good home cooking. Not a first. There was a time when I'd spend hours slaving over a hot stove creating a dinner crafted from honest-to-goodness fresh ingredients that had never spent any time in a box, only to have my Peabo run screaming from the table. He'd spend a good 15 minutes letting us all know exactly how awful the meal he hadn't tried yet would taste.

Home cooking was a break in the routine, right? He was used to the box. He wanted the box. He expected the box. When he didn't get the box, he'd tell me. In his own special way.

Then, about a year and a half ago, I embarked on The Great Home-Cooking Campaign. I've spent the better part of the last eighteen months foisting such disgustingness as homemade meatloaf and brussels sprouts onto my kids. After a while, they learned to like it. Yes, even the brussels sprouts. They eat meatloaf and baked ziti and a dozen different vegetables, including lima beans. We've introduced couscous and polenta and herb-rubbed pork tenderloin. In fact, yesterday I served chicken with fennel and olives. They didn't like it much. But they tried it. And they didn't run screaming.

Until tonight. Another class A Aspie tantrum sparked by my good home cooking. Only this time, it wasn't because I was cooking. It's because I wasn't.

My stove broke. Or rather, half of it did. I'm down to two usable burners. Which means that braised pork chops with broccoli and from-scratch macaroni and cheese went from planned to impossible. I make my veggies in an electric steamer, but I still needed one burner for the pork chops, one burner for the macaroni, and one for the cheese.

A change in plans. And my Peabo had his first home-cooking tantrum in months. Because he'd rather have my food than food that comes in a box.

I am quietly proud.

Oh, and also? He calmed himself down. He calmed. Himself. Down. Then he sat and he talked to me, and he figured out how to be okay with an unexpected change in the menu.

Progress on two fronts. So I get to be quietly proud of him, too.

And by the way, that chicken with fennel and olives stuff whipped up by the Proud Italian Cook? That is some darned awesome yumminess. Go make it. Like, right now.

Veggie Girl Conquers the World

It's official. My little diva is no longer a vegetarian.

"I'm just not cut out for it," she sighed. And then she burst into tears.

She got lots of verbal hugs (we were at the table - a real hug was a bit of a challenge). She felt defeated. But she shouldn't have.

In trying to be a vegetarian, even for a little while, my diva became much more aware of what she eats. She learned how to make healthy choices. She added countless new foods to her diet, including such rarities as tofu and brussels sprouts.

And she ate her veggies. Every single night.

But her vegetarian experiment didn't just affect her. It affected every single one of us.

Because now she's not the only one eating her veggies. Her brothers eat them too. Not huge servings. Not every bite. But they eat them. They eat broccoli and green beans, cauliflower and corn on the cob, carrots and cucumbers. And, of course, the aforementioned brussels sprouts.

Yes, that means I have three children who eat brussels sprouts. I am a blessed woman.

And they try things. I put something new on the table now, and not a one of 'em runs away screaming. (And yes, that did happen. We do have an Aspie in the house, after all.) In the last week, I've made shrimp with garlic, roasted pork tenderloin, and orange mashed potatoes (I added a sweet potato to to my Idahoes). They tried everything. Without complaining. Although sometimes with ketchup.

By the time I finished telling her all that, Veggie Girl was beaming. Because she did this. She ate her veggies and showed her brothers how it's done.

I love a girl who knows her own mind.

Mr. Green Beans

At my dinner table this week ...

I roasted a chicken. I made macaroni and cheese, the homemade kind, from a friend's recipe. I steamed green beans. I washed some grapes and sliced up a bunch of Italian bread. I put it all on the table.

My kids passed the chicken. They passed the macaroni and cheese. They passed the grapes and the bread. They passed the green beans.

Veggie Girl filled her plate up with green beans, because they are green and they are yummy and she truly loves her vegetables. Except for zucchini.

My Aspie took six beans. Yes, six. He counted them. He ate them. And then he asked for more protein, please.

My redhead took three. Reluctantly.

I told him he couldn't have more mac and cheese until he ate a green bean. So he ate one. All of it. Without ketchup. And then he ate another. And then the third.

And then he reached for the serving bowl and finished every single green bean left on the table.

He told my amazing, veggie-eating au pair that he is now big and strong and smart because he eats green beans. And last night he asked - yes, he asked - if we couldn't please have green beans for dinner.

Hang onto your hats, folks. There's a newly minted veggie lover in the house!

The Education of Veggie Girl

You know what the diva ate tonight? Baby portabellas sauteed in butter. Steamed green beans. Oven fries dredged in olive oil and sea salt and roasted till brown. Blueberries. A slice of Italian bread.

And fish. Ocean-friendly, U.S.-farmed tilapia, bathed in orange juice and fresh-squeezed lemons and baked until flaky.

The vegetarian experiment has officially ended. My diva saw the fish, she saw the calendar, and she said, "I think today I'm not a vegetarian."

She achieved her goal, though. My environmentally-conscious 8-year-old had committed to going veggie from Valentine's Day through March 8. And outside of one small serving of roast chicken, she did it. Along the way, she learned to enjoy soy nuts and veggie burgers, sunflower seeds and mushrooms. She tried tapenade and tabouleh and hummus. She wasn't too fond of tofu dogs, but honestly, I don't get those either. Limp, floppy little things. Not exactly appetizing.

I have a feeling my girl will wander in and out of the vegetarian lifestyle for a while. She liked it, and she liked that she was helping the world in her own little way. And she does love her veggies.

I am one proud mom.

P.S. Still no working showers. Fingers crossed that they'll show up tomorrow.

The Return of Veggie Girl

Last Friday, my youngest sister's boyfriend popped in for a surprise visit.

I was making spaghetti. Usually, I dump a whole mess of meat into the sauce so as to satisfy my protein-starved Aspie. My sister, however, is vegetarian and keeps a vegetarian home. So I asked her boyfriend if he was okay with the meat. (That wasn't just the hospitality talking, either. He was shoveling out the back end of my driveway, so I was super motivated to be nice.)

Now, my diva is my Veggie Girl. She gets googly-eyed over brussels sprouts, does the happy dance when it's cauliflower for dinner, and has begged me to buy spinach. She even likes lima beans. Canned lima beans. Seriously.

She wanted to know why her aunt is a vegetarian.

My family is chock full of vegetarians, and each one of them has his or her own reason for eschewing meat. In my immediate family, they don't believe killing animals is a necessary or desirable thing. They don't wear leather, they use animal-friendly products. They live what they believe.

My daughter doesn't like hurting animals either.

My daughter is now a vegetarian.

I'm incredibly proud of her.  Because she figured out for herself what she believes in. Because she's trying to live it. And because she's 8. This is pretty big for 8.

And she's embraced it. This formerly picky eater has already tried mushroom burgers, raw almonds, soy nuts, sunflower seeds, dried cranberries and organic yogurt (after she learned her favorite brand is made with gelatin). She's reached out to family and friends for tips on how to make this work. She's learning about nutrition and diet and why conviction and commitment matter.

She's going veggie until March 8, and then she'll see if she wants to keep it up. I think she will. But either way? My Veggie Girl has more than earned her cape.

I Left My Chocolate In San Francisco

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a horribly social creature. I like to talk. I like to listen. And I really really like to talk. I crave people the way a chocoholic craves, well, chocolate.

But I spend nearly every waking moment in my little house. I work here. I sleep here. I watch TV here and I eat here and I blog here. I get to talk to my three children, and to my wonderful au pair who makes my life so much easier. And they are patient souls who listen and talk and sometimes even listen a bit more.

I am, however, slowly going crazy.

So last week I got out. I got way, far out. I went to San Francisco. And then I went to Ottawa.

In both places, I met people whose names I recognize from emails, whose voices I know intimately from countless phone conversations, whose humor has been the highlight of frequent late-night chats. I was surrounded by people. I talked to them. I listened to them. I went for walks with them. I ate with them, too. And oh, was that fun! I had fresh-caught scallops (though my daughter, the wannabe marine biologist, would be disappointed because I did not first ask if they were ocean-friendly - they were too yummy to worry about). And, of course, Ghirardelli chocolate. I had brilliant, bright green olives - not the browny green you normally see, but a vibrant pine green with a surprisingly brineless, purely olive flavor. I had whole, crisp baby artichokes while my companions had pig cheek and octopus. I know, my choice sounds a little lame by comparison. I am not normally a food wimp, but I was really drawn to those artichokes.

And I had people. No, no, not for dinner. I'm not that fond of fava beans. But I got to know long-time acquaintances in a whole new way, over coffee, over cocktails, over wine. My friend Ange - that is her real fake bar name, which I promised I'd put in my blog - has even said she'd send me a list of half-decent wines so I won't continue looking like a complete ignoramus when I go out (this is what 13 years of marriage to a teetotaller will do to a girl).

I'm home now. Back at my desk. Back to my quiet little life. But that very loud chocoholic-style people craving that's been plaguing me, it's not quite so loud now. Crazy will just have wait a few more months.

Veggie Girl vs. The Fish

I know, I know, I just posted yesterday. But can I just tell you how much my diva rocks?

My beautiful diva has recently decided that there is no food that is not worth trying at least once. She's tried cauliflower, cooked carrots, brussels sprouts. She loved them all. Yes, even the brussels sprouts. That's how awesome she is.

Well, this girl today tried salmon for the first time. Rubbed gently with butter, baked at 450, with a lemon squeezed over the top when it came out of the oven.

She was eager to try it. Seriously. Eager.

Before she took a single bite, though, do you know what she did? She very politely asked to be excused. Then she walked over to the little bulletin board next to the fridge, pulled down my list of ocean-friendly fish, and read, word for complicated word, about the ocean-friendliness of our Alaskan salmon.

"That all means it's good, right, Mom?"

I hugged her on the spot.

Days in limbo: 468. Days of loving my daughter: 2,889. She wins :-)

Veggie Girl

My diva's always had a very sensitive gag reflex. And trust me, this is not a good thing. Ear infections made her throw up. Coughing, too - and this was a child who one winter suffered through eight rounds of bronchiolitis. The least hint of a tummy bug would send the poor thing to the hospital.

This also applied to any new foods. A couple of Thanksgivings ago my diva tried green beans for the first time. She promptly threw them up. And then demanded dessert.

My kids don't exactly have adventurous palates, mostly because when they were little I had this fabulous but very demanding job. I couldn't get home for dinner. So dad "cooked" - or rather, nuked. And they got used to a pretty standard menu of chicken nuggets, raisin bread, cheese and fruit. In fact, on dad nights that's often still what they get.

So, a couple of years ago, in a desperate bid to wean them off of over-processed, over-salted, pre-packaged ick, I began a campaign to get them eating real food. It started with homemade pizza and braised chicken tenders and moved on from there. I can now make a whole week of meals without one thing coming out of a box. Well, unless you count macaroni and cheese. Which, of course, you should.

I also introduced some very basic vegetables: peas, corn, raw carrots and cucumbers. It took forever. I'd have to put a new thing on their plates at least a dozen times before they'd start eating it. Slow and steady. We've actually managed to get broccoli in the line-up this way. I put it on their plates every time I got the urge to make it, and now, at last, all three of them will eat it.

With my recent Family Dinner initiative, though, I'm cooking more, and I'm cooking for all of us. This means that I'm making food I like, too. And that means more veggies. I do offer at least one or two things I know the kids like, just so they don't go hungry. So far, there's been bread and fruit on the table every night. But I've got this long-time rule that the kids can't be excused until they've had one bite of everything. As a result, they are suddenly trying a whole lot more food,

And I'll be damned if it isn't working!

Last week, I steamed and buttered some brussels sprouts. Every child at the table tried them. My boys, not surprisingly, went "ew" after their required one bite. My diva? "Hey, this is pretty good!" And while she still ate just the one, she ate the whole thing. Next time, she'll eat two. And eventually - just watch - brussels sprouts will be a staple of her diet.

On Sunday it was baked carnival squash, scooped & smashed with a bit of butter and syrup. Again from the diva, "Hey, this is pretty good!"

And then she demanded broccoli for Monday.

My girl loves her veggies. Isn't she awesome?

Mind Your Manners

My kids and I were lucky enough to be invited out to dinner on Friday. It was a gracious and spur of the moment invitation from a family with as many folks in it as we have - more, actually - who thought nothing of adding places for four more to their table. They are lovely and wonderful and had just had all three of my kids over for a playdate. All three of 'em. Which makes this family not only gracious but brave.

So we joined them for dinner. Turkey, potatoes, corn, a little fruit and bread.

And I learned some things about my kids.

They don't know how to butter their own bread. They can't cut their own food. They can't peel a banana. Seriously. The peel had them totally stumped.

Blushing yet? 'Cause I was.

They did a great job with some things. They tried stuff - seriously, my very picky kids tried most everything, and were also well-mannered enough to say a simple, "No, thank you," if they didn't like something. And my diva was just lovely with the compliments and the please-and-thank-yous.

So I've done a few things well.

Other things? Not so much.

To make my life easy, I've settled into a routine with the kids. I make a few meals - mac & cheese, chicken tenders, quesadillas - on a rotation. We do a family dinner maybe once a week - pretty much always spaghetti. More often than not, though, I'm just feeding them something kid-friendly, and I grab a bite later. I figured the quality talking time, that was happening because I was there. And it was. That's a good thing.

What wasn't happening? My kids weren't learning to do stuff on their own. They weren't learning to use a knife or pour their own drinks. And they were learning only half their manners.

That changed tonight.

Today I bought a great big sole fillet. I breaded it and baked it. I made up a pot of brown jasmine rice (yum!) and mixed half of it with cheese. I steamed some broccoli and washed a few grapes, which I thoughtfully left on the stem. I cut up some Italian bread. And I put it all in serving dishes in the middle of the table. And then we sat down together to eat.

My kids put their napkins in their laps. They asked me to pass the butter. They learned to cut their fish. Even better - they ate their fish. And their rice. And their broccoli. And the temper-infused grouchfest that preceded dinner? It vanished in giggles and table games and gentle reminders to keep elbows off the table and mouths closed while chewing.

My Aspie, who'd heard me say I'd been embarrassed by their manners on Friday, said, "Why don't you give us manners lessons, Mom?"

I just did.

And I bought a whole chicken for roasting, and a large slab of ham, too. My kids and I, we're going to school. I can't wait!

Spaghetti Hands

An old and dear friend of mine has recently published a book. A real book. Actual literature. His name is John Pipkin, and his book, Woodsburner, is really quite good. Well thought-out with intriguing characters, a compelling story and some beautiful turns of phrase. Not quite finished with it - life in limbo leaves not enough time for reading, so I'm only about a third of the way through. But it's been fun so far.

Earlier this week, John was in town. I took two nights out - mid-week, mind you - to go see him and his family, hear him read his book, and catch up on the last 14 years or so.

My kids were flabbergasted. Mom going out on a weekday? Mom actually leaving the house??? That's like SpongeBob doing a cameo on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Inconceivable.

So intrigued were they that they took time out of a tasty dinner of spaghetti and peas to grill me mercilessly on where I'd been and what I was doing on my two nights out. I felt like a teenager who'd just missed curfew facing her disbelieving parents. When I told the kids about John and his book, they demanded to see it. It's like I'd just said I was late because the car got a flat. They had to check that blown tire for themselves to be sure it was real.

I brought the book downstairs, but of course I wouldn't let them touch it. Pretty, pristine dust jacket meets spaghetti hands. Not good. The kids were duly impressed by the book all the same. Lots of oohs, lots of ahs. They liked seeing my friend's picture and his signature on the inside. My Aspie seemed particularly struck by John's name. He said it over and over: "John Pipkin John Pipkin John Pipkin." Cool name. I get it. I used to call him Pipkin most of the time myself, just 'cause I liked saying it.

The kids wanted to play after dinner, so I put the book on the stairs and forgot about it until bedtime. Promptly at 8:30, I marshalled the troops and sent them up ahead of me. They charged upstairs, my Aspie leading the way.

He took one look at the book and started hollering. "Don't touch The Pipkin! Don't touch The Pipkin!"

This struck me as inordinately funny. Really wish I could tell you why. (Though I suspect it has something to do with Remington Steele.)

Anyway, all three of them gave that book an extremely wide berth, which is hard to do on our stairs. I may have made that point about keeping their hands off just a little too clearly.

John's a parent, too. He started the book the week before his son was born. He wrote between 4 a.m. feedings and a boring job that paid the bills. Now he's a published author and a good dad to boot. Even his wife agrees. So buy the book, read it, love it - and feel good about supporting one of the hardest working fellas I know.

Where's the Beef?

Yesterday, I threw out an entire pound of organically fed ground beef.

I was saving it for a lovely picadillo (and someday I'll share the recipe) - full of pineapple and raisins and tomatoes and rich, yummy Cuban spices that make my tummy and my tastebuds sing. It's one of my favorite dishes. Ever.

Not gonna get cooked this week.

I love planning meals. It's a luxury these days - life is still crazy, and the little bits of down time I have don't leave much room for it. But I love it. I love sitting down with my cookbooks and my recipe cards and my little food brain and figuring out how and when I'm going to play in my kitchen.

Planning doesn't make as much sense these days. I use a rotating menu for the kids - chicken tenders with rotini and broccoli, mac & dogs & peas, spaghetti with meat sauce, fish and rice and corn, ham with home fries and apples, chicken quesadillas with veggie sticks.

But for me - well, I don't have time to cook for grown-ups anymore, not when it's just me eating.

I still get inspired, though. I still buy fresh herbs and pretty produce, and the occasional cut of meat. And half the time I wind up tossing it all. Because, as inspired as I may be, at the end of a day of working and playing and mowing the lawn, chauffering kids and kissing owies, picking up dog doo, folding the laundry, tickling tummies and wearing stickers on my forehead, and cuddling up at bedtime - well, cooking isn't high on my list.

I miss it.

Tomorrow, I will have to toss the tilapia.

Of course, this could all be resolved if I would just clean out my freezer.

Booger Soup and Other Goodies

The other night, I made turkey burgers for the kids. Very simple - wee bits of garlic and onion powder, a breath of worcestershire to make it taste more like beef, a little egg to hold it all together, and classic American cheese melted on top.

My older two love this. They ooh, they aah, they call me the best cook ever. Fun for me. As a result, they now get these lovely burgers every single week. So, fun for them too.

My little guy, though ... this is like torture for him. One look at a burger on a bun and he runs screaming from the table. Thing is, he's got a bit of a speech impediment. Can't say his r's too well. So what's he screaming, over and over again?

"I don't like boogers!!!!!"

It is very hard to make your cranky kid sit down and eat when you can't stop laughing at him. (Sorry, peanut!)

But it did bring to mind a few of my favorite dishes.

When I was a kid, I was constantly asking what's for dinner. And, like most kids, I was pretty much always hoping it would be Kraft Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese. And ice cream. Lots of ice cream. That was rarely the case. But as a kid, you're hopeful, and you cannot stop yourself from asking that question. Incessantly.

The daily conversation with my mom would go something like this.

Me: "Mom, what's for dinner?"
Me: "Mom, what's for dinner?"
Me: "Mom, what's for dinner?"
Mom: "Urgh! Stop asking!"

Until she got creative ...

Me: "Mom, what's for dinner?"
Mom: "Frogs legs and rubber mushrooms!"

Conversation over. Or, at least, on a totally different track. Kid laughs, doesn't ask again.

If you can be funny, your kids usually forget to be annoying. This is a huge mom lesson. And believe me, with my low annoyance threshold, there are many days when I wish I had a better sense of humor.

This line, though, is one of my favorite hand-me-downs from my mom. Now when my kids ask the big question, that's always the big answer. And they leave smiling every time. It's become the family joke. They beat me to the punchline. They don't ask what's for dinner. They say, "Frogs legs tonight, Mom?" We look for frogs legs at the grocery store. Then we spend time staring at mushrooms trying to figure out which are the most rubbery. They smile. It's fun.

And then there's booger soup.

Booger soup got its start one lovely cold and flu season when I couldn't get my kids to keep their fingers out of their noses, and then out of their mouths. Now, when I catch them with a finger in flagrante delicto, I say, "Guess what! No frogs legs tonight, guys. We're having booger soup!" A round of ew's ... and the finger-wielder usually stops what he (or more often she ... wait, did I say that?) is doing.

I tell you, laughter really is the best cure for annoying behavior.

So that's what's for dinner at my house. Frogs legs, rubber mushrooms, and a tasty bowl of booger soup. As my pal Rachael would say, "Yum-O!"

When McDonald's Really Is The Answer

You know it's going to be a rough week when on Tuesday your 10-year-old runs away from school, then tells you he doesn't want to live anymore because life is just too hard.

When that happens, for a mom, there is part of you that just wants to crawl under the covers and sleep for days on end. You want to shut down and shut it all out. But you can't. There's a little person you brought into the world who needs you to be whole so that you can keep him in it. You find a way to find the joy and bring it back to him.

We got him help, and are continuing to get him help. It's had an effect on the whole family, though. The other kids are antsy, whiny, angry and clingy by turns, and he is still a yo-yoing bundle of challenging emotions. I've been working very hard to focus on family - more time spent together at dinner, more time for playing, more time for talking. Curling up in a top bunk having a good heart-to-heart and a hug. You find the joy and focus on it, make everyone else see it too. He's okay, for now. But the scary thought is back there, for both of us I think, and the next time he cycles down - because he will - that thought will jump out like the smog creature in Lost and start wreaking a little havoc.

Friday is our movie night, something I instituted since my husband and I separated as a way to make the kids feel special and give me a break at the end of the week. We spread a blanket on the living room floor, enjoy an indoor picnic, and watch one of the 137 kids movies we have in our collection. Tonight, my oldest was with his dad, meeting a few professional athletes, having KFC (his favorite fast food), and spending the night enjoying some one-on-one male bonding. But the little ones needed a treat, too. So tonight it was Aladdin and McDonald's. Because sometimes a Happy Meal with a cheap plastic toy and a mountain of french fries really is the right answer. Or, in mom's case, a Big Mac and a strawberry shake. Same thing. I'd planned a lovely shrimp dinner with green rice and fresh steamed artichokes. But I gotta say, those two all-beef patties really hit the spot.

I did get to indulge my own passions earlier in the day. On the way home from a meeting, I stopped on impulse at the brand new Safeway the next town over. I'd enjoyed watching them build it - they razed the old building and started from scratch. It opened several months ago, but I've never gone in. I visit two stores in my own town and remain fairly loyal to them. And I do visit both, regularly, because neither has everything I need. I can get cinnamon coffee creamer only at the one; blueberry applesauce only at the other. And a Sara Lee Butter Streusel Coffee Cake only once a year when some distributor accidentally drops it on the shelves.

But this new store - it's stunning! Clean and bright, with a layout that's fun and leads you deeper and deeper in. It's designed for those who browse! And it's a mecca for a wannabe chef. Every variety of everything I could possible want. My area doesn't have a Wegman's or Whole Foods - we are light on gourmet or organic grocery stores. But this one, it's definitely got its own charm. Shelves full of every ingredient I've ever searched for in vain. Fire-roasted everything. Basmati rice and flax meal and three different kinds of barley. Every flavor of applesauce imaginable. And the produce! Jerusalem artichokes, tamarindo, long skinny Asian green beans. And one or two things I didn't recognize. You're inspired to try new things, to get creative and play with your food.

No Sara Lee coffee cake, though. I'm starting to think that it's a regional thing. Maybe Marylanders just don't eat it? Another good reason to move.

The week is over. I know my boy is safe with his dad, but I wish he were here 'cause I miss him.