The Benevolent Jailers

This evening as I was doing dishes, I heard an odd whooshing sound and turned around to find Cubby pulling Poppy through the kitchen in a big box.

"That's a good big box for her," I remarked.

"It's her jail," he replied, continuing to haul her into the living room. He parked her there in her jail-box and he and Charlie spent some time taping up any escape routes.

This didn't seem to concern her unduly.

I had to ask what she did to get in jail.

Charlie: She didn't pay her taxes. For her job.

Me: Her taxes? For what job?

Cubby: She flies planes.

Me: Ah. She's a pilot who didn't pay her taxes. Better let Uncle Jim* know what happens to pilots who don't pay their taxes. 

Cubby and Charlie took turns patrolling past the jail, adding some home comforts for the pleasure of the tax-evading baby pilot.

Happy prisoners are easier to control, you know.

They also constructed a perimeter wall to foil any escape attempts. And gave her a flashlight.

Obviously a pleasing addition to the cell.

I must say that the baby being held prisoner in the box that formerly contained her diapers seems very appropriate. 

Just a Tuesday night with kids.

* My brother is an airline pilot. He's very scrupulous about paying his taxes, though, I'm sure.

And So It Begins

With each of my pregnancies, before we knew if we were having a boy or a girl, A. and I would inevitably have the discussion about hair. A. had some reservations about my ability and interest in fixing hair if we had a girl, you see.

He was justified in those reservations. I have very little interest in doing hair, and certainly don't have any skill at it. I can barely manage a regular braid, much less French braids or fishtail braids or any of that other craziness*.

Obviously, this was not an issue for many years. I had three boys, and those three boys all get their heads shaved every month.

But now, of course, I have a girl. And that girl's hair is starting to get a bit long.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a package of hair ties, barrettes, and bobby pins at the grocery store--for a dollar, because I am allll about the quality--and this morning before church . . .

Can you see it? Do you need a close-up?

I done FIXED that hair. With a purple barrette.

Okay, so it's a pretty lame attempt at hair styling. But hey! Points for combing her hair and putting something in it to keep it off her forehead, right?

Right. I see many YouTube tutorials in my future.

* These conversations would usually end with me semi-jokingly telling A. that maybe he should be the hair person. I suspect he'd probably be better at it than I would.

Friday Food: A Bunch of Semi-Failures

I seem to have sort of half-failed on many things coming out well this week, and yet, everyone still ate. Proof you don't have to be a perfectionist in the kitchen to feed people.

Friday

Short version: Spaghetti and meatballs, sauteed peppers and onions, frozen peas

Long version: This is the meal that makes all my children's dreams come true. I usually dash their hopes by serving rotini, because it's much less messy. But this time, I indulged them with spaghetti.

I often plan on making meatballs but rarely follow through. All that mixing and rolling is just so daunting, even with my streamlined method. But I did it this time! I even went the extra mile and grated Parmesan, which I put in a little bowl on the table with a little spoon so the boys could all scoop it on their spaghetti by themselves.

Spaghetti, meatballs, AND serve-yourself Parmesan? I win dinner*.

Well, except for the part when I did this with the extra sauce I was putting back in the refrigerator until dinnertime:

Almost as annoying to clean up as milk.

Saturday

Short version: Pork, rabbit, roasted potatoes, roasted peppers and onions, leftover pureed squash, raw carrots

Long version: A. got Cubby some rabbit snares in an attempt to reduce the excessive numbers of rabbits that infest our property. This has the double benefit of ridding us of rabbits that will no doubt plague my soon-to-be-planted garden, and providing us with meat.

I browned the rabbit--just salt, pepper, and garlic powder--in a skillet, then put it in the oven with the potatoes to finish cooking. Then I used the skillet to cook the pork, which was just chunks of lean pork fried in bacon fat with salt, pepper, garlic powder, and the MiL's paprika.

I indulged my children this time and let them eat carrot sticks rather than bell peppers or squash, neither one of which are on their list of Acceptable Vegetables.

Yes, still working my way through All That Squash. I will emerge victorious on the other side. With a large dose of Vitamin A.

Sunday

Short version: Grillades, rice, squash, fried okra, sick-boy soup

Long version: I didn't even follow my own recipe for grillades, because I didn't want to use flour. So I didn't make a roux or coat the cube steak before browning it. It didn't taste quite as good as it should have, but it was still fine.

I did follow Sara's directions for frying okra, though, with some of the rest of the frozen okra I bought on accident. Well, except I didn't have cornmeal, only corn flour. Maybe that's why the coating all came off as soon as I put it in the oil. Or maybe I didn't let it defrost enough before coating it.

In any case, the okra didn't really have any coating on it in the end, but it was still pretty good. Certainly better than the roasted okra. Thanks, Sara!

This iteration of extemporaneous soup was a couple of spoonfuls of sauce from the grillades, some of the diced cube steak, diced carrots, cabbage, rice, and chicken stock. It was really good, actually. Cubby certainly appreciated it, despite not having much appetite.

Monday

Short version: Pork, half-assed macaroni and cheese, squash, grape tomatoes

Long version: This was the rest of the pork I had defrosted a couple of days before. I cooked it exactly the same as on Saturday.

Yeah, that macaroni and cheese . . . I cooked the pasta, then drained it and in the pot melted butter, heated milk, melted cheese, then added the pasta and the cheese just straight-up clumped. There was just a big glob of cheese in the middle of the pasta.

This is the first time this has ever happened to me. Maybe it was because I only had mild cheddar? That's the only kind of cheddar at the tiny grocery store.

Anyway, I did what I always do when I have trouble with cheesy things: Add more cheese. I also turned up the heat and stirred it quite a bit and it eventually coalesced.

It wasn't all that good, though. Mild cheddar never is. Everyone else liked it, though, and Jack ate three helpings, so it couldn't have been that bad.

Or you could just eat Iron Man. I hear he's pretty tasty.

Tuesday

Short version: Tacos, pinto beans, Mexican slaw

Long version: Hey, look at me having tacos on a Tuesday like a real Internet Mom! It was completely inadvertent, of course, but whatever. I'm cool like the other kids.

Anyway.

I made the pinto beans this time with nothing but chicken stock and salt. Unfortunately, I oversalted them, which is pretty hard to do with beans.

See, I have this pink Himalayan sea salt that I got from the lady we buy milk from. She gave me a pint jar of the salt--which she buys in fifty-pound quantities--as a thank-you for sharing my sourdough starter with her. The only problem is, it's not ground, so the pieces are big. Like, about the size of Pop Rocks (remember those?). I don't have a salt mill, and don't want to buy one for just this salt that I am not planning on replenishing, so I've just been using it in hot liquid-y things in which it will dissolve. But it's very hard to measure, as I'm not used to the size of it. Thus, sometimes I over-salt, and sometimes I under-salt.

It is good salt, though, when I get the amount right. And the beans were certainly edible, just a bit salty.

Wednesday

Short version: Sirloin steaks, boiled potatoes, sauteed mushrooms and onions, steamed carrots

Long version: I continue to give Charlie a single piece of carrot every time I cook them, despite his vocal dislike of cooked carrots. I tell him, "One day, you're going to love them. One day, you'll take your bite of carrot and realize how good they are and ask me for more."

That day has not yet come. He ate his single piece with a big smile and apparent relish, and then gleefully exclaimed, "I tricked you! I still don't like cooked carrots."

One day. I just know it.

Thursday

Short version: Meatloaf, baked potatoes, sauteed cabbage and onions, fried okra

Long version: Half the onion in the meatloaves, half in the cabbage, and none to stink up my refrigerator.

I tried again frying the last of the accidental frozen okra, this time making sure to really let the okra thaw enough that it was definitely slimy and, presumably, suitably adhesive for the corn flour. Nope. Still all fell off. Still tasty, though, and everyone but Charlie ate it. He ate some raw cabbage I had saved for him, because Charlie will always be his own man.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

* Just don't tell them this was the sauce that had Sneaky Squash in it.

The First Signs

On Sunday when A. was on his way to cut wood down the road, he noticed the first tiny wild flowers starting to bloom. He suggested I take a picture to document the fact that here in our new home, flowers start appearing in January.

So I did.

They're teeeeny tiny, and also, probably some kind of weed, but who cares? Flowers! Outside! In January!

A.'s garlic is also starting to poke above ground, as is the random garlic Cubby planted in his "garden" near the propane tank. 

But perhaps most exciting? Lettuce. There is lettuce in my house.

Okay, so it's a ways from actually being eaten, but still. Lettuce! In January!

I had ordered those seeds last August for fall planting from High Desert Seeds, but they didn't come in time, thanks to some kind of mistake on the part of the company. It was irritating at the time, but it worked out, as we ended up moving anyway.

So my Drunken Woman* and Bronze Arrow lettuce seeds waited patiently in their envelopes. I realized recently that while the temperatures at night are still far too cold for lettuce plants, the daytime temperatures and, more importantly, the strong sun meant that probably I could put lettuce in the big plastic tubs that A. got for me.

The tubs are all over the place here, just blowing around--they hold some kind of protein feed that the ranchers give the cattle in the winter--and A. found a couple when he was on public land. He brought them home for me for container gardening. Their first use is going to be for lettuce, as I can move them in and out of the enclosed porch with A.'s dolly as needed.

They won't hold all of those seedlings by a long shot, but A. has some kind of plan involving smaller pots and a large pallet tray or something. He's motivated to help me ensure my lettuce supply, as always.

It's 27 degrees today with a 25-mile-an-hour wind, so it doesn't feel much like spring. But it's coming. The flowers, garlic, and lettuce know. And so do we.

* I freely admit I bought this purely because of the name, and I bet I'm not the only one. Never underestimate the power of good marketing.

When I Know I'm In For It

The baby woke up for the day at 4:45 a.m.. At the same time, the world's most dramatic child staged his Academy-award-winning "I'm dying of a cold" performance. 

A start like this does not bode well for the rest of the day.

Perhaps double spoons for not-eating applesauce will help? Perhaps not.

I made an extra cup of coffee this morning. It seemed like an extra-coffee kind of day.

I am currently drinking that coffee while Poppy takes an early nap, the sick child watches a documentary about guns of Great Britain, and A. is at church with the rest of the crew. So at least I have this moment. 

Always look on the bright side of life.

Friday Food: Multiple Steak Dinners

Friday

Short version: Chicken, leftover rice, frozen peas

Long version: I did three loads of laundry this day, much of it because of the illness that caused Poppy to cough so hard in the night that she threw up all over me and my bed. Three times.

That was awesome.

I was tired. I did not want to cook. I did anyway, because that's how this parenthood gig works.

I had some chicken hanging out in the fridge that had to be cooked, plus half a can of tomatoes. So in the morning while 2/4 kids were sleeping the sleep of the snotty and sick, I made a sauce with the canned tomatoes, some fresh grape tomatoes that were getting wrinkly, a shallot, garlic, oregano, basil, a bay leaf, and some red wine. Plus some fancy pink Himalayan sea salt given to me by the lady we get milk from as a thank you for sharing my sourdough starter with her.

I also separated the chicken leg quarters into drumsticks and thighs and yanked off the skin (GROSS). I salted the chicken and stashed it back in the fridge until later.

During the baby's second nap in the afternoon, I browned the chicken pieces and put them in the pan with the tomato sauce and baked the whole thing covered for an hour. This produced a lot of liquid, so I uncovered it for the last half hour. Still a lot of liquid in there, which I just drained off and saved for making soup.

Leftover rice with butter, frozen peas in the microwave, and everyone was fed.

I got all the laundry done and put away, too, which was significantly more impressive.

Saturday

Short version: Bunless cheeseburgers, fried cabbage and onions, bread and butter, frozen green beans

Long version: Welcome home, A.! Sorry I didn't make anything more exciting for your welcome home meal, but I was still tired. Fried meat it is. (Hamburgers are actually one of A.'s favorites, so it wasn't quite as pathetic as it sounds.)

Sunday

Short version: Sirloin steaks, roasted butternut squash and onions, boiled potatoes, frozen peas

Long version: The exhaust fan in this kitchen really sucks. I set off the smoke alarm in the hallway at least once a week while I'm cooking. Frying steaks is almost guaranteed to do it:

Especially if they're so big they hang over the edge of the pan a little bit and drip fat into the flames. Yeah.

Good thing the junior firefighters were on the job:

First they open the back door (being careful that the most junior firefighter doesn't try to make a break for it).

Then they use some empty cereal boxes to fan the smoke away from the smoke alarm. In the absence of trucks and hoses, this works pretty well.

Does it seem that we've been having a lot of frozen vegetables lately? Yes. And why is that? Because I didn't have any fresh vegetables left. None. Not even carrots or cabbage. I was also almost out of milk. Such is life a long way from a grocery store in winter.

Monday

Short version: Pot roast, garlic bread, zucchini with tomato sauce, pureed squash

Long version: But wait, wasn't I out of fresh vegetables? Well, yes. Except for Rafael's calabaza and the last of the "ornamental" squashes A. bought at Walmart before Halloween. None of them were labeled with the varieties, but this was the blue-gray one that looked like a Jarrahdale pumpkin. Thankfully, unlike the previous squash I cooked, this one was delicious. Deep orange, not at all watery, and very flavorful. Also, it resulted in about 12 cups of pureed squash, which makes my squash-loathing children fearful.

That's a lot of squash.

When the squash was out of the oven, I put in the roast--an arm roast--with the juice from a can of tomatoes, garlic, oregano, basil, and a bay leaf. 

The tomatoes from the can I roughly chopped and spread in a Pyrex pan with olive oil, whole unpeeled cloves of garlic, and more basil and oregano. That all cooked for an hour or so, then I pureed it in the food processor after I pureed the squash. I didn't really scrape out all the squash, either, so it was a squash/tomato sauce. Sneaky.

The zucchini was a bag of frozen diced zucchini that I thawed in a colander to drain out a bunch of water, then sauteed in olive oil and a spoonful of the tomato sauce. I saved the rest of the tomato sauce for another night.

And, because I was baking bread again (AGAIN), I made a loaf of garlic bread again. This is always a popular menu item. Certainly more popular than the small spoonful of squash and two pieces of zucchini I put on the boys' plates. Probably their two least-favorite vegetables, so I figured rather than make them choose between the two evils, I would just give them a little of each.

I'm fun.

Tuesday

Short version: Bacon and scrambled eggs, leftover potatoes, leftover pureed squash, raw grape tomatoes

Long version: Poppy came down with a fever this day, which meant I had a miserable baby plastered to my front all afternoon. So I handed over the bacon-frying and egg-scrambling duties to A. I managed to get in the kitchen and pass off the clinging monkey-baby to A. so I could heat up the side dishes and plate everyone's food. I also managed to bolt down my own food before taking monkey-baby back and putting us both to bed in my bed.

I felt sorry for Poppy of course, but I must admit that I kind of enjoyed going to bed at 5:45 p.m.* Not that it meant I actually got any sleep, as she was awake many times during the night and when she did sleep, it was either flat on my front or on my shoulder, but at least I got to bed early.

You will note, I am sure, that we had a fresh vegetable. I went to the grocery store with Jack and Poppy in the morning (before Poppy went down) because Jack had an appointment for his four-year vaccinations at the clinic fifty miles away. But then they had no record of his appointment and I had to re-schedule it, which means I have to drive the 100 miles again in two weeks. But at least we had the tomatoes, right?

Wednesday

Short version: Oven-fried chicken thighs, rice, sauteed cauliflower with garlic, green peas, squash

Long version: I don't bother putting the chicken in a pan with butter in it anymore. The pieces I use seem to have enough fat to make that unnecessary. Instead I put the coated chicken on a cooling rack that fits into a half-sheet pan. It gets crispier this way, but it does result in some terrible dishes. Cleaning that cooling rack is a real bitch.

I shouldn't even bother listing the squash. You can just assume that I'm eating it at every meal. That's what happens when you have 12 cups of squash on hand.

Thursday

Short version: T-bone steaks, mashed potatoes, fried mushrooms and onions, raw grape tomatoes and carrots

Long version: Don't forget the squash. Forever and ever, amen.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

* I did extract myself from monkey-baby's clutches right before 8 p.m. to remind the boys that they had to go to bed; finish loading and start the dishwasher; and sweep up the clumps of mud that were all over the kitchen thanks to the fact that Jack was inexplicably clomping around the house in his filthy boots. That's the sort of thing that happens when I abandon ship for two hours. 

It's a Dirty Job, and We Have To Do It

The very day A. was due home from New York, I had a terrible time keeping the fire going. After all my boasting about my careful fire care during his absence, I figured I had jinxed myself. But then I realized that the handle attached to the damper inside the stove pipe seemed to have come loose and was no longer turning the damper to open it. Which meant that the fire wasn't getting enough draft to burn well.

A. confirmed this when he got home and said there was nothing to be done but let the fire go out and take the pipe apart in the morning to get at the damper.

When we got home from church, he said, "Okay, I'll fix the stove now. It shouldn't take too long."

Those, my friends, are the very definition of famous last words.

He took apart the stove pipe. This is when he saw that there was a rather dangerous build-up of creosote inside the stove pipe. So we had to get that cleaned out lest it cause a chimney fire and burn the house down.

Not exaggeration.

However, we don't have the proper tools to clean the pipe. A bunch of old rags attached to a long, stiff wire did the trick, along with A. basically sticking his entire arm up the stove pipe. Luckily, our house is only one story, so the stove pipe isn't that long and this cleaned out the majority of it.

Now here is where I tell you my main objection to wood heat: It is filthy. Hauling in wood means dirt and bits of bark all over. Loading the stove means smoke and ash sometimes come out. Cleaning out the stove means ash gets everywhere. But the filthiest of all is cleaning out the stove pipe.

This is not what you want to see in your kitchen.

In addition to all the creosote that came out of the pipe and (more or less) into that pan there, the actual pieces of stove pipe that A. took apart fell to the floor and scattered creosote across a large part of the kitchen floor under the table.

I knew we had to do this, but to say I was displeased about the mess was a vast understatement.

A. bore the brunt of the filth in the cleaning of the stove pipe:

Look at that chipper chimney sweep.

But I was tasked with the clean-up of the actual house when the stove had been re-assembled. 

Thanks to Bugs Bunny (for the boys) and a nap (for Poppy), the children at least were out of the way during the part where the stove was in pieces and piles of creosote were all over the kitchen. But just as A. finished up and I was starting to sweep and mop the horrid mess off the floor, the cartoon ended and Poppy woke up.

The boys were whining in the doorway that they wanted lunch, Poppy was crying in her crib, and I was faced with the reality that a mop does very little to actually clean a large quantity of creosote off the floor.

I sort of got the floor cleaned--leaving Poppy to cry in her crib for a few minutes and ignoring the whining for food--but for the rest of the day everyone was going around with gray socks. 

After the kids were all in bed, I got down on my hands and knees with many wet rags and got the floor really clean. Hands and knees was the only way to do it. The mop was just pushing dirty water around, because it got dirty immediately, as did the water in the bucket the first time I dunked the mop in there.

This morning I spent some time with another rag cleaning window sills, cabinets, the top of the microwave . . . basically every flat surface in the kitchen that had collected a layer of fine creosote.

But now the kitchen is finally clean again, and the woodstove won't burn the house down. Hooray.