Civility and a cinnamon bun

Today, my littlest boy and I had coffee (well, he had apple juice) and a cinnamon bun with a dear friend of mine from high school. She is one of those friends you can lose contact with for years and then pick up a conversation with as if you'd never paused. In fact, we did lose contact with each other for several years. After high school we both went our separate ways to college. Our lives took different paths. Very different. During those years of self discovery, she became a strong conservative Republican. In fact, she went into politics after school. While I was away at college, I discovered that, though I was brought up in an extremely conservative home, I was a liberal Democrat.

After nearly a decade of not being in touch with each other, she and I reconnected about eight years ago. At the time, she was working on the campaign of a prominent Republican, and I was still driving around with a Gore/Lieberman bumper sticker on my car. Despite our difference in political opinions, we picked up our friendship right where it left off. Now it just wouldn't be an ordinary day without touching base with her on Facebook. We have a truly bipartisan friendship.

Today while sipping coffee and eating our cinnamon buns, we caught up on gossip. And we even talked politics. When we were leaving I told her that we should run for office since we are the picture of how government should operate. Two sides listening to each other, respecting each other and valuing the good in each other.

Civility and a cinnamon bun. Two very wonderful things. :–)

A whole new world

My 8-year-old, who just learned how to read two and a half years ago, just finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. A 734-page novel. Did I mention he's 8?

When he was a baby he really took to books. I'd keep a basket full of children's picture books in the family room, and he'd go through it daily, thumbing through the pages. Too little to talk or understand the words, he would study each picture. Story time was an expected part of bedtime. Most nights my husband would read to him during "buddy time."

When he entered kindergarten and started learning how to read, I kept telling him how exciting it was to learn to read a book by yourself. He'd see me reading novels and ask, "Mommy, HOW can you read a book without pictures??" I told him that when you become a good reader, you draw your own pictures in your mind. The words help you to paint the world that you are reading. When he entered the first grade, he began reading Magic Treehouse books and finally understood. He couldn't get enough. We now have nearly all of the 40-something-book set. Though always on a budget, I never have felt guilty for buying my kids books. I look at books as an investment, not an indulgence.

This year, he asked me if he could begin the Harry Potter series. I was hesitant because I was afraid he wouldn't understand them. Not only are they longer than any other books he had read, they also are written by a British author, in British dialect, and are much more complex than what he was used to... but he wore me down. His brother gave him Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in December, and since then, he has taken off. After he completes each book, we watch the movie as a special treat. It amazes me how he can tell me in which chapter each scene occurs... and in most cases, he can tell me the specific page!

I don't write this to say that my child is a genius or prodigy... (though to me he's a superhero)... I write this because I am bursting with pride that my child has discovered this whole new world of reading. And he loves it. I didn't discover my love of books until I was an adult. I can only imagine if I would have fell in love with books sooner. I am so happy for him.

His love of reading has rubbed off on his little brother now, who's 5. He now keeps his very own basket of books that he totes around with him. And oftentimes at night I can hear my oldest reading to him when it's well past bedtime... but I don't gripe.

Catching Leprechauns

Eight more days, well actually seven. That's how many more days my boys and I have until we perfect our leprechaun trap. When my oldest child was in kindergarten a couple of years ago, his class, led by an amazing teacher, made a leprechaun trap. You see, the week leading up to St. Patrick's Day, someone kept coming into their classroom at the oddest times, when the kids were at recess or lunch, and would trash the place... papers on the floor, disheveled books, chairs fallen over... The teacher told the class that in the past, she had problems with tiny leprechauns sneaking into her classroom around St. Patrick's Day looking for a place to hide his gold. So the children built the a trap, hoping to catch the leprechaun AND his gold. Sadly, the children didn't catch any leprechauns that year.

Last year, my boys and I constructed our own leprechaun trap. We took an old box and covered the top with paper, in hopes that the leprechaun would fall through and be trapped. My oldest child even drew a picture on the outside of the box telling the leprechaun that there was gold inside. Alas, the little bugger escaped our trap, left a trail of green behind and some gold-wrapped chocolates and a cute poem for the boys.

This St. Patrick's Day, my boys are a little older, a little wiser and a lot craftier. I'm hoping we can construct the perfect leprechaun trap. We've got mere days to start. I wonder what our little friend will leave us this year? *wink*

A comforting creation

I love to cook. I love the way that making a meal at the end of a stressful day can be so relaxing. I love the way creating something delicious gives such a sense of pride and accomplishment. I rarely cook big meals these days. But on days like this, when the air is crisp and cold, I crave comfort. And tonight, I found comfort in the kitchen.

I decided to make a big pot of homemade minestrone. The entire house smells of it, as I type. When I finish posting this, I plan on fixing myself a big bowl of it along with a big chunk of crusty, multi-grain bread and a nice glass of cabernet. Pure comfort. I thought I'd share the recipe with you folks. Bon appetit!

Ingredients:

Extra virgin olive oil

1 cup of dry ditalini pasta

6 cups of organic/free-range chicken broth

7 garlic cloves, sliced

1 large yellow onion (or two small onions), roughly chopped

1 cup carrots, diced (I use the baby carrots -- they're easier to prep)

1 tsp chopped fresh rosemary

1 tsp dried oregano

1 14-oz can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

1 14-oz can petite diced tomatoes

3 large zucchini, chopped

1 large russet potato, chopped

1 sweet potato, chopped

1 TBSP tomato paste

1 dried or fresh bay leaf

Cook the ditalini pasta until al dente, as directed on package. Drain, rinse then drizzle with olive oil and set aside.

In a large dutch oven, heat enough olive oil to coat the bottom (a couple of tablespoons should do), add the garlic and cook just for a minute on medium-high. DON'T burn it!! Reduce heat to medium and add the carrots and onions. Cook until the veggies are soft and the onion is transparent, but not browned. Add the rosemary and oregano and a pinch of salt. Turn the heat to high and add the cannellini beans, diced tomatoes, sweet potato, russet potato and zucchini. Add the chicken stock, tomato paste and bay leaf and bring to a gentle boil. Simmer until all the veggies are tender. Salt and pepper to taste. Right before serving, add the pasta and remove the bay leaf. Sprinkle each serving with Parmesan cheese if you like. And serve with crusty bread.

And there you have it... a comforting creation.

Lewis and Lent

I just love C.S. Lewis. His words are like little lightbulbs that illuminate the mind. This morning I was looking for some reassuring words of wisdom from Mr. Lewis about Lent, and he didn't fail me.

He writes in Mere Christianity:

No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is ... A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later.

"A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later." I LOVE this! There go those lightbulbs.

Each year I try to give something up for Lent. It's always easier to give something up during this holiest time of year. It seems like the least I can do as an act of gratitude and submission to God. This year I'm giving up curse words, an ugly little habit I picked up while working long, frustrating hours in a newsroom after college. For some reason, only four-letter words can make you feel SO good when you've slammed your finger in a drawer or been cut off in traffic. However, they aren't very appropriate when little ears are around. It's a hard habit to shake and one I haven't really wanted to until now. But the other day when I was out and about, I heard a woman use some of my favorite four-letter words at the grocery store when she was talking to her friend, and I thought, "Do I sound like that??" I was mortified. I don't want my children to remember me like that, "She was a good mom, but she could cuss like a sailor at times.." So here goes...

I'm also giving up workout rest days. My workouts keep me grounded and happy and at peace with the world. And I'll need that if I can't cuss any longer. :-)

It will be a sacrifice. I have a feeling I'll be reminding myself often of Mr. Lewis' sage words. But mostly, I'll be thinking of the amazing sacrifice that was made for me many years ago on a cross in Jerusalem.

Happy Lent, everyone!!

My funny Valentine

My funny valentine
Sweet comic valentine
You make me smile with my heart

Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Yet you're my favorite work of art

A few years ago, I gave my husband a Valentine "mix" CD filled with love songs instead of a cheesy card. He loved it. The first song was Elvis Costello's version of My Funny Valentine. It perfectly sums up how we feel about each other. We may not be perfect, but to each other, we are our "favorite work of art."

I met my husband 15 years ago when I was working at my college newspaper. I was a reporter, and he, in an effort to score football tickets, was a photographer. We first were great friends. Then we began dating. We dated for exactly three years before we tied the knot. Eleven years and three children later, I love him more today than I did then. Maybe it's the history we've created together, maybe it's the bond that parenthood brings or maybe it's that our friendship always has been at the core of our relationship. We make each other laugh. We accept each other's flaws. We love each other, not despite our quirks but because of them.

Saturday night, my husband took me to see the a special Valentine show by the symphony. There were people of all kinds in the audience. Directly in front of us sat a couple who looked plain as could be. Totally unassuming. The man in his T-shirt and parka and the woman with no makeup or jewelry, looked to have been married for at least 20 years, a level of comfort had set in to their relationship. After each song, she would look at her husband and just smile. Next to them sat another couple who looked to be newly weds. He in his suit, and she in her frilly black dress and salon-done hair sat hand-in-hand. At the end of each song, they would look into each other's eyes and kiss. It was nice to see all of the people with the ones they loved, each in different stages of relationships. Some old, some young. Some simple, some extravagant. But no matter what each person looked like, next to them sat someone who found them absolutely perfect -- like a work of art.

And next to me, sat my funny Valentine. How in the world did I get to be so blessed?

Fire!

Last night I spontaneously combusted. Well, perhaps it wasn't too spontaneous. While attempting to boil water (insert obvious joke here) I bent down to retrieve a storage container that had fallen on the floor and my hair hit the flame on the gas burner. I heard a loud "Woosh!" and up in flames I went. At first I thought, "Hmm... what was that noise?" then I saw the sparks falling from my head and I knew right away. I quickly remembered what I had learned in elementary school: "STOP, DROP and ROLL!!" So, I dropped to my kitchen floor and began rolling around. After extinguishing myself, I looked up at my 16-month-old who was peering down at me, grinning, as if I had staged the whole incident for his entertainment.

The next thing I knew, the fire alarm began going off, and my two oldest came running downstairs to see what was on fire. Once I explained it had been me, I quickly used the experience as a learning opportunity — mostly just to restore some credibility. In my now-brown sweater, burnt hairs falling from my head, I said in my stern mommy voice, "This is why I don't let you guys get near the stove while I'm cooking." My 5 year old simply looked into my eyelash-singed eyes and said, "Gee mom, you really smell bad!"

I was OK though. My ego and my hair remain a bit singed, and my favorite comfy sweater has smoke damage. But nevertheless, I'm OK.

But tonight — we're ordering pizza.