March 30, 2008

Exposed (and recipes)

Finn says he’s scarred for life, but I think he should be thrilled his parents crave each other. Of course, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

I ordered a fancy new lens for my camera, and Thursday I was met with the disappointing sight of a slip stating that FedEx had come by and didn’t leave my package because a signature was required. The note was tragically unclear whether simply signing the slip and going about my business would be permissible. Consequently, I lurked by the door all day Friday, as much as I was able, and left pleading notes on the front door when I had to venture out (”Dashed to get kids from school– Dying for package– back in eight minutes– PLEASE accept signed form!! Luv ya!!”).

After school I trashed Finn’s plans. He was supposed to be chilling with the guys at a friend’s house, but I forced him to stay at home for an hour to sign the FedEx form while I drove his brothers to their respective social engagements. I also had to stop by Publix, which is taking a larger percentage of our pay each week, due to the boys’ increased appetites and the very noticeable increase in the cost of food. (Four bucks for an eight ounce bag of dried cheese tortellini? Dear Lord!)

Meanwhile, Bill and I were in constant communication by phone. It was Friday afternoon, the weather was glorious, and I needed him to pick up Drew and Porter from their outings and hurry home so we could celebrate spring with gin and tonics on the deck.

Hurry home he did. In fact, he came home before he picked up the duo, so he could go for a quick run. As he walked in the door I was cutting lime garnishes.

“Yippee! You’re here!” I squealed when I heard him open the door.

“You seem happy to see me,” he said. “You sound like a lady who wants to make sweet love to her husband.”

While that was true, we were both distracted by the groan that immediately came from the den. Finn was putting on his shoes to go out, and heard every word of our saucy exchange. Bill’s face grew red and we peered in the den, where Finn was looking at us with an even redder face.

“I am emotionally scarred for life,” he said. “I can’t believe you would talk like that with me in here.”

Bill just stood there shaking his head. “I thought he was going to be gone all afternoon,” he mumbled.

“You should be thrilled that you have parents who love to love each other,” I said.

“Enough! Stop with the love talk!” Finn held up his arms as if we were throwing darts at him and ran for the door.

Eeww. Spare me the gooey talk.

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The reason I was purchasing the pasta was to make this glorious dish, which is a family favorite. I double it, which feeds everyone and leaves enough leftover for a couple of lunches. Unless I have beautiful tomatoes, I use a can of diced tomatoes, drained, per recipe. I always use fresh corn, however.

Try the Summer Garden Tortelloni– you’ll be glad you did. Thanks to Aunt Lulu, who sent us this recipe a while back.

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Earlier I promised to publish a recipe for Olive Tarts, an appetizer my mom made in the 1970’s for all her parties. I remembered it as being the yummiest thing ever, but when I tested the recipe yesterday, it wasn’t as good as my memory of it.

This recipe definitely needs some improvement before it’s fit to serve. Apparently my parents had drunk so many Mai-Tais by the time they ate these that they didn’t notice how greasy they were. I’d definitely consider decreasing the butter before making these again.

After a few drinks, these will be delicious

The second problem was that instead of buying regular pimiento-stuffed green olives, I saw some that were called “Queen Size” and reasoned that they’d be perfect inside the puffy cheese coating. Boy, was I wrong. The larger olives were slightly hard and so huge that they completely overpowered the cheese taste.

Beware the big ass olives

So here’s the recipe, and you can have a go at it if you like. Use small olives and less butter to start. If you create a masterpiece let me know. (The reference to “sharp cheese” means Cheddar, and a dash of Tabasco won’t hurt these either.)

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Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Baseball Diaries: Snack Patrol 

Stay tuned - the snack madness continues, and still fires me up!

March 26, 2008

Depraved Boys

It all started out innocently enough.

I hardboiled a bowl of eggs.

I made lots of dye. The boys got to work.

Porter, of course, dipped his allotted eggs in every color, and made gray eggs.

Drew concentrated.

Finn worked hard, too.

Their eggs were masterpieces, comparatively speaking.

The next morning the chocolate bunnies arrived.

Finn cut a hole in the back of his with a pocketknife while I marveled at his dexterity. I started to picture myself as the mother of an MD.

The hole seemed really big to me, and I felt uneasy.

Then things took a nasty turn. The boys stuffed jelly beans, which they called “‘roids,” into the bunny’s back.

They wanted to make him HUMUNGOUS.

Looks like Finn wants to be a steroid pusher, not a doctor.

What is baseball teaching our children??

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Potty-Training Nomad Style 

March 19, 2008

Bavarian Apple Torte with Prejudicial Ingredient

Looking around for a festive Easter dessert? Look no further. This marvelous apple tart is an old recipe of ours. It’s easy to make, looks fancy and needs nothing but a plate and perhaps some good quality vanilla ice cream to set it off.

To be honest, I had forgotten about this recipe until March rolled around. Each year Aunt Su and I bake each other a cake in lieu of a birthday present. She made me the most wonderful chocolate cake with mocha icing from the Barefoot Contessa. If you’re pissed off, like I am, that Baskin-Robbins and its Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream are no longer available in this town, the cake will make you forget your huffiness for a moment while you swipe fingerfuls of icing from around the edge of the cake and blame it on your children.

Anyway, Aunt Su requested the Apple Tart recipe, and I delivered. I made two: one in the 9″ spring form pan the recipe calls for, and another in a slightly larger tart pan (pictured) to see if it would work, which it did.

I’m prejudiced against margarine, even Parkay, so I was horrified to see that this recipe calls for a good hunk of it. I resisted the urge to substitute butter, however, as I remembered the crust being so awesome. It still was. I guess I’ll have to make two more tarts to use up my other sticks of margarine.

I can never make the recipe use four whole cups of apples and still make a beautiful pattern. Two or three apples ought to be plenty for one recipe.

And sure, I suppose you could substitute some fake cream cheese for the full-fat kind, but really, wouldn’t it be a better idea to make it the right way and have a smaller piece, then take a walk after Easter dinner? Of course it would.

Bavarian Apple Torte

Crust:

1/2 cup Parkay margarine

1/3 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup flour

Filling:

1 8 oz package cream cheese

1/4 cup sugar

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla

Topping:

4 cups peeled, thinly sliced Granny Smith apples

1/3 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 cup sliced pecans

Cream margarine and sugar together until light and fluffy. Blend in flour and vanilla. Spread dough on bottom and 1 inch up sides (lower if bigger pan) of 9″ springform pan. Use fingers to mush the dough up the sides of the pan.

No need to rinse beaters or bowl. Combine cream cheese and sugar until well blended. Mix in egg and vanilla and pour into pan. Spread evenly.

Mix cinnamon and sugar and toss with apples. Spoon (or arrange festively) over filling and sprinkle with nuts.

Bake for 10 minutes at 450, reduce heat to 400 and bake 25 minutes. Cool a little and loosen from pan, chill.

Serve chilled or room temperature.

The picture above is of the Bavarian apple torte just before I put it in the oven. I forgot to take a picture after it came out and then it was gone.

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Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: A Different Kind Of Birthday 

March 16, 2008

In Which We Take The Wrong Approach

Last week the boys got their report cards. Drew’s was fine in all respects, but his teacher had written, “Needs to work on talking in class” at the bottom of the form.

Bill and I could relate to that. Neither of us was keen on shouting out in class. Drew is by far the quietest of our boys, and it makes sense that he’s not raising his hand even if he knows the answer.

We had a chat with him and reminded him that he studies hard and does well in school.

“Don’t be afraid to raise your hand in class,” I told him. “It’s important to participate.”

“It’s no big deal if you get it wrong,” Bill added. “The important thing is that you try.”

Drew was looking at us as if we each had six eyes and horns sprouting from our heads.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

I showed him the part of his report card that had us concerned.

“I think my teacher means that I talk with my friends in class too much,” he said, as his face reddened. “We’ve been working on our comic book when we finish our math early and she said we’re disturbing other students even though we were trying to whisper.”

Oh.

So then Bill and I gave him an equally heartfelt talk about being quiet in class when it is not appropriate to talk. At that point all three of us were thinking, “Whatever.”

Meanwhile, Porter loves reading but could not care less about his multiplication facts, especially since he believes a calculator will always be available to him. We’ve preached to him that educated people must know their multiplication facts through the twelves, as that’s what’s required of him in third grade, although I personally have done well in life knowing the facts only through the tens.

He’s been doing extra practice on his math facts each night, and his teacher was kind enough to provide sheets of problems for him to work on.  The other night he got all of them correct except for 9×3 and 3×9, which he had pegged as 28.

Bill had him count out three sets of nine, and Porter counted up to 27, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“This is so frustrating,” he said.  “My head tells me that 9×3 is 27, but my teacher tells me that it’s 28.”  He flopped onto our bed dramatically.

“Who am I to believe?  Who?” he asked, waving his legs in the air and staring at the ceiling.  “It’s not fair that I have to choose between my head and my teacher.”

Despite our assurances that his teacher would agree that 9×3 is 27, Porter maintained the opposite, and requested that we email his teacher and set her straight.

Again, WHATEVER.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Letter From Lisbon

March 13, 2008

Dear Elyssa, Sarabeth and Jenna

I was shocked when I heard the news about Eliot Spitzer. As the details emerged, I had a flashback to the mid 80’s that made me sick to my stomach. I’ve experienced many of the same feelings that I’m sure the Spitzer girls are now, although I didn’t have to do it under a media spotlight.

Plenty of experts have already weighed in on how a man’s adultery can affect his daughters for the long term.  What he’s done doesn’t just influence the marriage—- his actions alter the entire family dynamic.

If Mr. Spitzer is going to regain his daughters’ trust, he’s going to have to ask for their forgiveness. It will take plenty of work and therapy on his part to earn it. He’ll have to be committed to working on his relationship with each daughter, and it won’t be easy.

If I had fifteen minutes to spend with the Spitzer women, I’d make sure they knew that they are all entitled to feel angry, hurt and betrayed.  It’s not their job to make him feel welcome; it’s his burden to make them want to welcome him back.

I wish he’d never screwed up so royally. Now that it’s done, I am praying that he takes the high road, which is harder, as high roads tend to be, and thinks of his family first in going forward.

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A great book about putting your family first is Finishing Strong: Going the Distance for Your Family by Steve Farrar. It’s aimed at men and is written from a Christian viewpoint, but I read it every year or so as well. If any of you have recommendations for books about putting your priorities in order, let us know in the comments.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Thong Gone Wrong