Amy the Mom

Elevation

Like millions of people, I have watched Susan Boyle's appearance on Britain's Got Talent through the miracle of You Tube.  I dabbed tears from my eyes as the cynical crowd leaped to its feet when she nailed the song from the opening note.  I got a lump in my throat as Simon stared at her, looking positively beatific with his chin in his hands.  He was gushing, and we all know Mr. Cowell is not the gushing type.  I've emailed the link to the video, I've Facebooked it and shown it to every member of my family.  I adore this woman who is only six years older than I am.

We are being led to believe that the takeaway lesson here is that "you can't judge a book by its cover", or that a middle-aged frumpy female isn't a cipher in today's society.  Certainly, both these cliches are ridiculous, and should be outright rejected.  But ultimately, I think that we love Susan Boyle because for the first time since Captain Sully landed that plane in the Hudson River three months ago, we were given a glimpse of good news...of hope.

To be clear, that does not diminish the immense talent this woman has.  In fact, we are now being treated to a decade old recording of Susan belting out "Cry Me a River" which confirms her immense talent, and proves she's not a one-hit wonder.

I don't know about anyone else, but I am starved for good news...any good news.  I need to be uplifted.  How sad is it that we seem to only hear of a truly redeeming act of courage and bravery and gumption once every quarter this year?  Susan may not have landed a plane on a river and saved more than a hundred and fifty lives, but it took chutzpah to cross that stage, stare down a snarky crowd and three judges paid for their honed criticisms and to sing with emotion and strength and joy.  So why is the good news being piecemealed to us in such small quantities?  We leap on these stories after being inundated with the tales of Bernard Madoff and his ilk.

Stories like this one from NPR are buried beneath the dreck:

 "A mystery is unfolding in the world of college fundraising: During the past few weeks, at least nine universities have received gifts totaling nearly $45 million, and the schools had to promise not to try to find out the giver's identity. One school went so far as to check with the IRS and the Department of Homeland Security just to make sure a $1.5 million gift didn't come from illegal sources."

Where is more of this information?  I don't suggest that we stick our collective heads in the sand and ignore reality but I don't believe there isn't more room for the truly uplifting in the media today. 

Everything is amazing and no one is happy

It's called perspective and I think we could all use a healthy dose.  LOVE this.

In Praise of a Recession

Last year, my income was off significantly from the previous year.  The impact was keenly felt, and while I know I'm luckier than some because I can still pay my bills, it isn't something I care to go through again this year.  As a country, I know we're supposed to spend, spend, spend our way out of this recession, but I opted instead to pay off debt once and for all and to build my reserves up.  Steve and I are working hard toward that end, and it has resulted in some significant lifestyle changes around the house.  Surprisingly, I find the changes are not unpleasant.

For instance, I've long been guilty of letting food go to waste.  My years as a single mom caused a bit of a hoarding disorder where groceries are concerned.  Back when I was selling houses and commissions were unpredictable at best, I had a constant fear of being unable to provide for the kids, so I'd stock up on food whenever I got a check.  If the pantry started to look sparse, I'd have panic attacks and would lay awake at night worrying I wouldn't be able to take care of my family.  Those terrifying thoughts never completely left me, and even now in my secure life, my brain won't stop to remember that a grocery store sits only a mile and a half from my home and there's no reason to stockpile food as if I'm anticipating a large-scale natural disaster.

Another benefit to tighter times is my rediscovery of the local library.  For the past few years, it has become a habit of our family to settle in at the local Barnes and Noble for a few hours in the evening and peruse books while we nosh on expensive pastries and coffee beverages.  I reasoned that even though this was a costly activity, it wasn't any more pricey than taking the family to the movies for an evening, and we left with tangible evidence of our visit in the form of books.  My newer and more frugal budget demanded that I forgo the spendy visits to the "for profit" library.

The library nearest my house was recently renovated and based on the crowds there, ours is not the only family to opt for a more budget conscious form of entertainment.  I'm delighted at the technology associated with my library card these days.  I spent one evening at my laptop transferring my Amazon Wish List, New York Times Book reviews, Oprah's magazine and Wall Street Journal recommendations into my library wish list.  As the titles become available, I am notified with a phone call to pick them up.  I've discovered some amazing books using this system, and have quickly returned tomes that I was surprised to learn had no appeal for me.  

The downside to the borrowing system is that my hoarding instincts tend to kick in.  I currently have two dozen books checked out.  My eyes are bigger than my stomach, in a literary sense.

   

Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone

This book was so good, I plan to order it from Amazon.  I've already renewed it once, and I don't think I can bear to return it until I have a copy of my own.  This is one of those delightful books that satisfies my love of essays and recipes.  Sublime.  Isn't the cover gorgeous?  It was the rich color that caught my eye when Amazon's algorithm recommended it for me.  In a rare fit of boldness, I had our front door painted that lovely shade of purple this summer.  I don't know how to thank Amazon for the dual benefit of their wisdom.

 

Floating off the Page: The Best Stories from the Wall Street Journal's "Middle Column"

Essays and short stories satisfy my need for a quick fix in waiting rooms, while filling up at the gas station or the need to kill a few minutes waiting for an appointment at a restaurant.  I've been a Wall Street Journal subscriber for years; I appreciate the professional edge I get by scanning it each morning and the superior writing displayed on every page.  I noted this referral in my Palm several years ago, and was pleasantly surprised to find it on the shelves during my first return visit to the library back in January.

An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

This book came to my attention courtesy of Oprah's Reading Room.  I'm not giving up any spoilers by revealing the memoir is the author's retelling of her first pregnancy resulting in a stillborn son.   I stayed up until 2 AM reading this, and awoke four and a half hours later to finish it.  It's gripping and devestating yet left me with the feeling that I had been granted a...privileged glimpse into the most intimate sorrow a family can experience.

On the flip side, I'm grateful I had no financial investment in M.F.K. Fisher's How to Cook a Wolf, which I found annoyingly pretentious.  Likewise, I'm not enjoying Anthony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits nearly as much as I hoped.  I blame his exceptional Travel Channel series which backs up his sardonic narration with exquisite cinematography in high definition.  Still, I kick myself for not hoofing it up to the Mall of America a few months ago to get Tony's autograph on a copy of this book or one of his others.   

This economy is a nightmare for many, I don't mean to diminish it.  I'm trying to find the silver lining in the bleakness and to once again enjoy simple pleasures.  I am so grateful for my family and all that we have, and I hope to take away lasting lessons from this period in our lives.   I suspect that an entire nation will.

The one where I get off my high horse.

Alright, now that I've gotten the editorial off my chest regarding Nadya Suleman...I offer you some much needed satire on the topic.

Where is the outrage?

I'm a mother of multiples, and any time I mention that I have twins the question (rather rudely) is posed, "Are they natural?" or "Were you on fertility drugs?"

I would never be so bold as to ask someone such a personal and invasive question about their private life, but manners aren't what they used to be.  I notice that the inquisitor is often surprised when I respond that I've never taken a fertility pill and am one of those lucky people that was able to get pregnant without difficulty.  I know plenty of women who had to rely on fertility drugs and/or IVF to complete their families and I think it's a miracle and I'm grateful for the children who are here as a result.

I'm pretty torqued about this idiot in California though.  A SINGLE mother of SIX kids, Nadya Suleman, decides to pursue further infertility treatments and conceives EIGHT more children.  I would be the last person to stand up for government deciding how many children we should be allowed to have, but someone should have said NO to this selfish, attention seeking loon.  Her own mother has thrown her daughter under the bus and is quoted as saying when her daughter is released from the hospital, "I will be gone."

This story begs some answers:

• Who paid for all of her IVF procedures and subsequent gynecological care?
• How could she put her parents in financial peril to the point where they have lost their own home and been forced to declare bankruptcy?
• Who is going to adequately care for these fourteen children, physically, financially and emotionally?

Yesterday, it was reported that Nadya had hired an agent and her parents are suddenly doing an about face on their previous positions.  Ms. Suleman's mother claimed her daughter funded her invitro with a financial settlement from an accident...ooookay, but I'm quite sure that there wasn't enough to cover her prenatal care, nor the time in neonatal ICU for 8 infants.  It seems clear that the family intends to utilize media attention to support their 17 member clan. Note to Oprah...please don't indulge this fool.  This isn't cute or a novelty, it's a tragedy.  This woman should not be celebrated, her choices should be scrutinized and criticized and her situation held up as a cautionary tale for both higher order pregnancies and the limitations of a single parent.

I was a single parent for several years before meeting my second husband.  Life as a single mother of three was no picnic, and based on my own experiences and knowledge, I can actually will myself into a meltdown at the thought of eight infants on top of six other children.  Let's assume both grandparents are going to be with her around the clock to assist, even though her mother is on record as saying she's had enough and her father is planning to return to Iraq for work as a translator.  The man would rather return to a war zone than stick around for the late night feedings and thousands of diaper changes that await him in the 1,500 square foot bungalow in suburban LA.  Even with three adults, that still leaves the kids outnumbering the parental units almost five to one.     

To be clear, I am not criticizing anyone's choice to have a large family.  This is about the wisdom behind a single, unemployed woman's selfish indulgence and the irresponsibility of the fertility doctors who facilitated a high risk pregnancy and birth.   The two million dollar asking price for interview time with this woman doesn't seem adequate when divided by 15 (or 17) and taking into consideration a California cost of living and certain health complications.  The question I really have to ask as I learn more about this woman is, "what ever happened to common sense?"

   

    

I can't explain why we live here either.

 

Thirteen

Dear Mario and Annelise,

On December 17th, you officially became teenagers.  As usual, this post is tardy.  Having a birthday that falls smack dab in the middle of the holiday season virtually insures that your celebration will be either overlooked or muted.  My apologies for delivering you a full month early.  Let the record show-your original due date was in fact, January 11th-so in a sense, I'm actually right on time with this post!

I'm always amazed when  a parent of several children tells me that they have a favorite child.  I can't comprehend such blatant and cruel favoritism.  I love all three of you in such different ways, how could I claim to love one of you more than the other?  Alex is my oldest, I identify with him because I am a firstborn.  He and I had two and a half years together before you twins came into our world.  Annelise, you are my only daughter, my salvation in a household of men and biologically the child I identify with the most.  Mario, you are my baby.  To be sure, only by two minutes, but you are my baby.  You and I are most alike in temperament and in our culinary tastes.  So, never fear children, I could never choose one of you to be my favorite.  I love each of you so completely and so uniquely that I could never make that choice.

You started junior high this year.  I would love to report that it was a smooth transition, but we all know it's been a little rough.  Hopefully, you'll hit your stride after Christmas break and all will be well.  You both look the part of teenagers now, that's for sure.  Each of you has sprouted up several inches in the last few months.  Annelise, your body is showing girlish curves now and you've taken a greater interest in fashion and makeup.  Mario, your growth spurt resulted in a slimming effect and I'm startled whenever I look at the lean young man with peach fuzz on his face.  I don't know what happened to those two little critters who let me dress them in coordinating outfits and spoke to each other in a language foreign to everyone but each other.

You know one of the things I love the most about you two?  Your fabulous sense of humor.  I love how you guys can't wait to tell me about a funny new episode of Spongebob and how you're rediscovering one of my favorite sitcoms from the 90's, Wings.  Sitting on the couch and laughing withyou guys is one of the greatest feelings in the world.   Conversely, getting the two of you to pose for a photo without mugging for the camera continues to be a challenge. 

In defense of my tardy post, this was the first Christmas in years where I was able to spend a lot of quality time with you guys.  The holidays fell conveniently on days that allowed me to spread out my remaining vacation time and be with you almost entirely during the season.  I loved it and it was a real benefit to recharge my mental battery.  I went back to work last week and came out swinging. 

I keep waiting for the teenage years to turn ugly, or at least for you to decide that you would much rather be with your friends than your boring old mom and step-dad.  Luckily for us, that hasn't happened yet.  My fondest wish is that you will never tire of me, and will value our time together as much as I do.  You're still generous with hugs and kisses, in spite of your advancing adolescence and I'll never refuse that physical affection. 

I know I'm lucky when other people remark on how well behaved you are, and how clever your sense of humor is.  We lunched with a woman from work recently, and I laughed when she volunteered to babysit for you if I ever needed the favor.  Fortunately, we're well past that stage and you've both expressed an interest in providing that service yourselves.  Perhaps you can start with the new little boy/girl twins across the street!   Always when I see our neighbors, little Alex and Sophie, I wish that I remembered much more of your infancy and toddlerhood.   This is the burden of mothers of multiples, we suffer vast memory lapses as a result of chronic sleep deprivation, constant over-stimulation and utter exhaustion.  Some moments, of course, are best forgotten though.

 

 

Good times. {{{shudder}}}

But there are other days that I hold close in my heart, and when I allow myself to think past the cases of Huggies and Similac, I long for one more chance to kiss those fat little cheeks and thighs of yesteryear.  I love you, Twins. 

 

 

 

 

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I have a tendency to over promise, putting myself in unnecessarily high pressure situations.  As well meaning as my ambitions may be, I fail to remember that I only have so many hours in the day and that I don't have the ability to function on less than seven hours of sleep each night.  Around Halloween, I asked Steve if he would like me to make gift baskets filled with homemade baked goods for his clients.  He thought it was a wonderful idea, but cautioned me not to volunteer for the job unless I could really follow through.  I assured him that it would be no problem, I could pull it off in my "free time".

Factors I neglected to consider when making this promise:

• I had never undertaken a project of this scope before
• My job is busiest during the months of November and December
• The recipes I selected were labor intensive and elaborate in their design 

Steve's office manager originally asked for 27 gift baskets.  After the first delivery, Steve requested six more.  I decided to make one loaf of pumpkin bread for each basket, along with eight different cookies, a pouch of mulling spices and some homemade chocolates.  I wanted a range of flavors, and a variety of cookies.  I began making dough and freezing it the weekend after Thanksgiving.  This worked well, but I grossly underestimated how much dough I really needed.  Storage of finished cookies also proved to be a challenge. 

   

I borrowed my mother-in-law's KitchenAid stand mixer so teamed with mine, I had double the mixing power.  My KitchenAid celebrated it's 20th year of service recently without even a moment of trouble.  After two weeks of putting it through an endurance marathon of double batches of cookie dough, it waved a white flag when one of the tines on the wire whisk sheared off.   I gave ol' Faithful a loving pat and ordered a replacement whisk on eBay.  

The last month was a real education for me.  I learned some tough lessons, honed unfamiliar techniques and leaned on my improvisational skills.  Ingredient conservation was critical, so I tried new recipes to prevent waste.  I became addicted to Martha Stewart's website, and incorporated a couple of her "Cookie of the Day" recipes into the basket. If I dare to undertake this Herculean effort next year, I've got pages of notes and a better plan to make the gesture less stressful and more efficient.  Too many nights were spent taking catnaps on the couch after midnight between batches of peppermint meringues drying in the oven.  

  

Here's what made the final cut for inclusion in the baskets:

• Homemade mulling spices in hand ribboned pouches
• Gingersnaps
• Spritz
• Key lime thumbprints
• Peanut blossom cups
• Mexican wedding cookies
• Pecan icebox cookies
• Oreo truffles
• Peppermint meringue kisses

I had intended to only use baskets to hold the treats because of the delicate nature of butter cookies, so around Thanksgiving I began visiting thrift shops and buying baskets that were $3.00 or less.  This ended up being an exercise in frustration.  The random pricing of Goodwill employees and the inconsistent selection prevented me from accumulating enough baskets, so I used gift bags to make up the difference.  Next year, I'll collect baskets year round and store them for later use.  Further complicating my supply issues was the closure of my baker's supply store, Sweet Sensations.   They had a fantastic selection of pastry boxes and bags, cookie cutters in every shape and sanding sugars in every imaginable hue. Michael's and  JoAnn's  were only marginal alternatives.  The plan for 2009 is to locate  a new supplier. 

The grateful feedback I received made the project worthwhile, but the game plan will be tighter next year, and I suspect the project itself will be grander in scope.  I plan on testing recipes earlier in autumn and storing cookie dough starting at Halloween, rather than waiting until Thanksgiving.  The weekend prior to delivery, I will take two vacation days and have four days dedicated to efficient, nonstop baking. 

My apologies to my family for the lack of attention since Thanksgiving, although I think you have all enjoyed the fringe benefits.  To my friends in both real life and the blogging world, I've missed you and will be back in touch now that the holidays are behind us.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a nap.  For the next week. 

Jack Daniels Sweet Potatoes

This is the week where I flex my culinary muscles and am in my prime.  I love Thanksgiving, maybe a little bit more than Christmas, because it comes without the pressure of gift giving.  Even though this is a quasi cooking blog, I'm letting everyone down with the lack of recipes.  So today's recipe is brought to you by the lovely Cindi Cotes, a hot grandma who, sadly, works for my competitor.  Of course, I'm trying to remedy that problem by recruiting her mercilessly, and eventually I will prevail.   

 

Can you believe she's a grandma?  Neither can I.  She wears skinny jeans, too!  Damn her.

So Cindi is sharing with us her recipe for Jack Daniels Sweet Potatoes.  Take it away, hot grandma!

Okay, so, you don't necessarily need to be a lover of Kentucky Bourbon, however you must not have a huge dislike of the taste or these will all wind up in the garbage.  My kids eat them, and my parents eat them, and up until about four years ago, all they were used to were the brown sugar and marshmallow version of sweet potatoes that I grew up with.  I don't necessarily like to mess with a good thing, but when I found this recipe and knew how much Rick likes his Jack, I figured I couldn't miss.  And I was right...these are on the table every Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Jack's Sweet Potatoes

 

1 C light brown Sugar

2 TBSP Corn starch

1/2 tsp nutmeg

2 tsp salt

1/2 C water

1 TBSP lemon juice

1/3 C Jack Daniels

6 large sweet potatoes, cooked and cubed

 

Combine sugar, nutmeg, salt and cornstarch in a sauce pan.  Stir in water.  Cook until clear and sugar is dissolved.  Stir in lemon juice and Jack. Mixture will be syrupy.

Place potatoes in a buttered casserole.  Pour the Jack Daniels syrup over the top and cover.  Bake for 30 minutes at 375.

 

Remove from oven, uncover, top with marshmallows and place under broiler until marshmallows are browned.

Six years ago today

I'm trying to organize my electronic data, and I found a CD backup from an old hard drive.  Talk about your trips down memory lane.  I was getting a little sniffly looking at old photos and wondered where all the time has gone.

 

My sweet little angels.  I love you three more every day.  I'm relieved when I see your smiles in this picture...it was such a difficult time for me, and I always wonder if I was a good mom back then.  Certainly, I must have done a few things right.