WINE!
Just kidding. (Not really.)
Wanna make your housewife happy?
Make her dinner. Plan the whole thing. Make sure everything you need to do so is in the house. Corral the kids while you're doing it. Give her the afternoon (or evening) off at the same time.
I would kill for this. I would kill for a meal made for me. Or to eat a meal while it's hot. I would kill for quiet time in my own house to work on my hobbies. I would kill for a shower where I can shave my legs at the same time. Or a bubble bath. Definitely a massage. And a nap that didn't include kids.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
500 Steps to Homemade Baked Goods
I really love to bake. It started as a kid. My Grandma used to bake just about every Saturday. I loved the way the house smelled. I loved licking the spoon. I loved sneaking tastes of the batter. When she baked bread, it was an all-day affair. And she would always pull some dough off at lunch and fry it in lard and then spread melted butter and sugar over the fried dough. They were called "Bread Cakes". I loved those. I loved the day that my Grandma told me "All good cooks eat their mistakes". I made a lot of mistakes. On purpose. I was a chubby kid.
But I thought we were poor because she always made her own baked goods. We never had store-bought cookies, bread or cake. It wasn't until I was an adult that I understood that instilling a love of baking in me was truly a gift.
And homemade. From scratch, not a mix.
I do this for Chunk because of his food allergies. Commercial mixes are extremely overpriced. I've found it's much cheaper for us when I buy the flour and make it myself. I already bake for the rest of my family, so I keep a pretty well stocked baking pantry.
But it's an ordeal.
Not because there are a million steps (even though there are actually a million steps for this recipe), but because anything I do in my house takes forever.
Once I decide to bake something, I make a mental run-down on the ingredients list. For these cookies, I've made them often enough to know what I need. If I'm sure I have it all, then the process begins.
I pull out my favorite kitchen appliance of all time - my Candy Apple Red KitchenAid Stand Mixer. (Best Mom's Day gift EVER!)
I catch Monkey hitting Kitty with a remote. I take the remote away, pick him up and move him into the living room - hoping his toys will distract him.
I plug in my stand mixer and pull the measuring cups and spoons out.
Kitty's meowing for food. It's nowhere near time, so I ignore her.
Next, I pull out the spices and condiments out of the baking cabinet. I walk toward the pantry to get out the flour and catch a glimpse of blond hair whizzing by me. I hear giggles and see the laundry room door fly open.
I turn the corner in time to see Monkey turn on the washing machine. I turn off the machine and redirect him to Thomas & Friends.
Kitty is meowing louder now and she's following me back and forth in the kitchen. She gets moved to Chunk's room behind a closed door.
I go back to the pantry closet to get the flour.
I'm about to measure out the butter for melting when I see fluffy blond hair bouncing up and down across the couch. He's accident prone and seems to enjoy falling on his head - because he does it often enough - so I rush into the living room in time to catch him mid-air as he's falling off the couch. Since this is now a game to him, I put up the gate between the kitchen and living room to corral him in the same room as me.
The stove gets preheated and the butter goes into the microwave for melting as I measure out and mix together the dry ingredients.
The kitchen floor is now a mine field. Monkey has a play cabinet in the kitchen. It's empty except for a few pieces of tupperware that the dishwasher mangled. And whatever else he's hidden in there for safe keeping. While I was mixing and measuring, he happily threw the contents of the cabinet all over the room.
I take a minute to corral his crap back into the cabinet. This elicits perturbed squeals. He then sets out to putting every single piece back where I got it from.
The wet ingredients go into the KitchenAid and I turn it on. Monkey stops dead in his tracks and watches, entranced, as the paddle goes round and round in the bowl (it's glass). I get the dry ones in there and finish the recipe steps.
Monkey howls when I turn off the mixer. No amount of pleading or cajoling quiets him down. However, the chocolate batter-covered paddle is just the bribe to do the trick. He gets deposited in his seat so I can get the cookies onto trays and into the oven for baking.
The paddle keeps him busy through the first set of cookies (these cookies have so much sugar in them, I make them smaller than called for in the recipe, so I get almost 50 cookies from this one recipe). I change out the trays for the next set and it's time to clean him off.
I alternate cooling and retraying cookies with chasing, wiping and entertaining Monkey. Luckily, these cookies have about 20 minutes from the time they go into the oven until they come out and hit the cooling rack.
This recipe of cookies usually takes me about 2 1/2 to 3 hours from start to finish.
For an ordinary day, that's a huge investment of time. So cookies like these are usually special affairs - holidays, his birthday, or special trips. Like the cross-country trip we have coming up at the end of the month.
And these cookies are so good, our whole family eats them. The sugar coating around the outside gives each cookie a crispy crunch, while the inside stays SUPER soft! And since I make them on the small side I can eat two and not feel guilty. And if one breaks (like they sometimes do) I always remember my Grandma's advice and gobble up my mistake! :)
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The Toddler Olympics
Every day my toddler and I play a series of games. At least to him, they're games. To me, they're the dishes, the laundry, and other various cleaning/straightening/cooking duties that I handle as the CEO of the house.
He is utterly delighted every time I open the door to the dishwasher or the either of the laundry machines. He wants to "help". Part of this is my fault. In a moment of utter weakness (and because I thought it would be good for him to start learning good habits) I handed him the cooking utensils one by one with the instructions to "Put it away". He thought it was great fun to walk back and forth across the kitchen, carefully handling a spatula or bamboo spoon, slowly open the drawer and slam the utensil in before carefully closing the drawer and coming back for the next one. On his final trip, he came back and there was nothing else for him to put away. That's when the anarchy started and the Toddler Olympics was born.
His little hands reached into the racks of the dishwasher for whatever he could free. A plastic plate was fine. As was the plastic cup that followed. When he reached in and pulled out a knife, I knew I was screwed. Since then it's been a game of "Divert and Distract" while I hastily put away the dangerous and the breakable. However, our dishwasher has seen it's better days and the drying cycle doesn't work. So each dish that comes out has to be hand-dried before putting it away. It's a lesson in speed that I never imagined I'd ever need.
He does the same thing with the laundry. He's absolutely gleeful as he pulls all the clothes out and flings them over his head - clean, dirty, wet. It doesn't matter. They all go all over the floor. Then he crawls into the piles, giggling. This is the one "game" where I hate racing. I'm meticulous when it comes to the laundry. I have to be. As much as I try, we're not a wash-and-wear household. Both hubby and I have garments that require specific cleaning and my Teenager has school uniforms (why, oh WHY do schools think WHITE is an appropriate color for kids?!?!?). Laundry is usually a team sport in our house - hubby is the diversionary tactic and everyone gets clean clothes. Yay!
Baby is also studying to be a Michelin-star chef. Ever since he learned how to stand on a chair to reach the counter, he has INSISTED on helping with dinner. Every day. When we're rinsing or draining or mixing, I'm happy for his help. He's not a terribly picky eater - he eats just as many fruits and veggies as he does Goldfish and graham crackers. But when I'm chopping or using the stove, it's hands-off! This usually elicits squalls and repeated demands of 'UP" with arms outstretched. He likes to stir the pot (don't they all) and smell the aromas of cooking food. (He's like his mom that way. I love lifting the lid on a cooking pot and smell the heavenly aroma of dinner wafting out.)
There are some times when participating in the Olympics is fun and I etch the memories on my brain. Like when he races me around the house with his Little Tykes vacuum as I'm doing the same to see who can get done first. Or when he claps his hands after throwing all his toys in the trash and says, "All done!"
But now the Toddler Olympics is a mainstay in our house - as evidenced by last night's cacophony of screaming, caterwauling and kicking. I made the mistake of capitalizing on his being restrained in the high chair to empty the dishwasher. (We have one of those booster seat/high chairs that you set on a regular kitchen chair. He nearly upended himself in the chair onto the floor!) And as with everything else, this too will fade. Just like his fascination with the light switch. And the VCR. I'm just going to try and enjoy it while it's here and remember it fondly when he's a teenager and asks me "why" when I tell him to empty the dishwasher or do his laundry.
He is utterly delighted every time I open the door to the dishwasher or the either of the laundry machines. He wants to "help". Part of this is my fault. In a moment of utter weakness (and because I thought it would be good for him to start learning good habits) I handed him the cooking utensils one by one with the instructions to "Put it away". He thought it was great fun to walk back and forth across the kitchen, carefully handling a spatula or bamboo spoon, slowly open the drawer and slam the utensil in before carefully closing the drawer and coming back for the next one. On his final trip, he came back and there was nothing else for him to put away. That's when the anarchy started and the Toddler Olympics was born.
His little hands reached into the racks of the dishwasher for whatever he could free. A plastic plate was fine. As was the plastic cup that followed. When he reached in and pulled out a knife, I knew I was screwed. Since then it's been a game of "Divert and Distract" while I hastily put away the dangerous and the breakable. However, our dishwasher has seen it's better days and the drying cycle doesn't work. So each dish that comes out has to be hand-dried before putting it away. It's a lesson in speed that I never imagined I'd ever need.
He does the same thing with the laundry. He's absolutely gleeful as he pulls all the clothes out and flings them over his head - clean, dirty, wet. It doesn't matter. They all go all over the floor. Then he crawls into the piles, giggling. This is the one "game" where I hate racing. I'm meticulous when it comes to the laundry. I have to be. As much as I try, we're not a wash-and-wear household. Both hubby and I have garments that require specific cleaning and my Teenager has school uniforms (why, oh WHY do schools think WHITE is an appropriate color for kids?!?!?). Laundry is usually a team sport in our house - hubby is the diversionary tactic and everyone gets clean clothes. Yay!
Baby is also studying to be a Michelin-star chef. Ever since he learned how to stand on a chair to reach the counter, he has INSISTED on helping with dinner. Every day. When we're rinsing or draining or mixing, I'm happy for his help. He's not a terribly picky eater - he eats just as many fruits and veggies as he does Goldfish and graham crackers. But when I'm chopping or using the stove, it's hands-off! This usually elicits squalls and repeated demands of 'UP" with arms outstretched. He likes to stir the pot (don't they all) and smell the aromas of cooking food. (He's like his mom that way. I love lifting the lid on a cooking pot and smell the heavenly aroma of dinner wafting out.)
There are some times when participating in the Olympics is fun and I etch the memories on my brain. Like when he races me around the house with his Little Tykes vacuum as I'm doing the same to see who can get done first. Or when he claps his hands after throwing all his toys in the trash and says, "All done!"
But now the Toddler Olympics is a mainstay in our house - as evidenced by last night's cacophony of screaming, caterwauling and kicking. I made the mistake of capitalizing on his being restrained in the high chair to empty the dishwasher. (We have one of those booster seat/high chairs that you set on a regular kitchen chair. He nearly upended himself in the chair onto the floor!) And as with everything else, this too will fade. Just like his fascination with the light switch. And the VCR. I'm just going to try and enjoy it while it's here and remember it fondly when he's a teenager and asks me "why" when I tell him to empty the dishwasher or do his laundry.
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