Pumpkin Update

I realize you all must be having many sleepless nights, anxiously anticipating an update on our cute little surprise pumpkins we have wildly growing. Silly me for waiting so long to give you the update you've been waiting for! I had no idea I could become so attached to a pumpkin patch because as excited as I am to harvest these cuties and proudly display them by our front door, there's a small part of me that doesn't want it to end. I think I just took a silent vow to always plant a pumpkin patch no matter where we live. From this Fall forward.

Anyway, I can't believe how orange and bumpy and imperfectly fantastic they are. Isn't orange the most cheerful color? I can't be depressed when I look at them. That magnificent orange sucks every ounce of bad mood out of my system. There are less now then when they first started growing (gophers, maybe?), and some are still relatively small (but who doesn't love the runt of the litter?), but they've got oodles of character. They aren't the perfectly round, blemish-free pumpkins you find at the store, or even from an actual pumpkin patch farm, but there's something about them that make me want to stop and stare and smile with pride (not that I've had ANYthing to do with their growth and ability to flourish). And even though entering the pumpkin patch and checking on them means inviting hundreds of goat-head thorns to attack my shoes, they leave me no choice but to shower them with love and gratitude for being so gosh-darn adorable. Can you blame me?

 

 

A T-Shirt & A Toast

I have a security blanket. Except it's not a blanket, it's a green Buddha t-shirt from Old Navy (the official Buddha headquarters, of course) that I've had for 6 years. If you know me, then you definitely know this t-shirt- I've worn it just about a million times. My husband was the original rightful owner but he came to me one day and said, "Do you want this shirt? It shrunk and now it's too small for me". That's when I decided to make it official and adopt it, and we've been very close friends ever since. And honestly, ever since this shirt came into my life, I have a deeper understanding of why children bond and cling to comfort items such as blankets or pacifiers, because my Buddha shirt sure makes me feel safe and secure and loved and wonderful. And because it's green, it also reminds me of Christmas. Need I say more?

It's not that there's anything special about it at first (or second or third) glance- it's an unusually soft green cotton shirt. The unusually soft part is what drew me to it in the first place. It has an outline picture of a Buddha-like figure with the words "Happy Buddha" at the top, which- for this Catholic girl, doesn't have much significance for me other then the fact that it's kind of a cute little Buddha. And I have a difficult time saying no to anything that's green. Over the years it has faded and gotten thinner and thinner as I've washed it thousands of times and also insisted upon squeezing my bulging pregnant belly into it with BOTH pregnancies. Because when you're pregnant and miserable, you JUST NEED YOUR SECURITY BLANKET (shirt). I even owe staying somewhat caught up on my laundry to this shirt because heaven forbid I go two or three nights without it. There are a couple of unidentified stains. There is one very odd-shaped blood stain from the time I tried to squirt saline water up my stuffy nose but something went terribly wrong in the process and the next thing I knew blood was squirting out of my nose all over the place --and DANG IT! Blood on my Buddha shirt. For some, this would be reason enough to get rid of the tattered shirt altogether, but I'd like to think the imperfections give it character, so I keep hanging on.

A few weeks ago, we were celebrating my birthday with family and I was the lucky recipient of some very heartfelt toasts and kind words being tossed around. Although I loved every word that was said, I was holding my breath waiting for my husband's toast. (Side note: I don't think we toast our loved ones as often as we should. There should be a national Toast Those You Love Day). He waited for the right moment, raised his wine glass and said:

You know when you impulse buy something because it's the prettiest or the flashiest or has the most bells and whistles? Ever notice how it can quickly become a one-time thing and even more quickly lose its luster? If it's an item of clothing, you only wear it once maybe twice every couple of years for certain occasions.
That's not you.
You are comfortable, Nicole. You are always there for me, ready. Waiting. And at the end of day, when I am tired and looking forward to coming home, I am always excited and ready to put you on to get cozy and be comforted and loved by you. You are my Buddha t-shirt.

Apparently he thinks my imperfections give me character. And he keeps hanging on.

White Noise

I'm sure it's not completely uncommon, but for whatever reason I'm having a major case of Blogger's Block. I've just got nothing creative or exciting or hilarious or urgent to write about. It's not that life hasn't been full. Because I've got the fatigue, crazy hair and bags under my eyes to prove SOMEthing must be happening in this house. I'm just incredibly tired and have given all that I can give in a 24 hour period and when I look at my laptop, waiting for divine inspiration which usually comes one way or another, I'm left with silence and fatigue and an overwhelming desire to take a nap. Maybe it's because Ella is in teething hell, and therefore I am right there with her, begging for her to have mercy on me and my sleep requirements. (It's funny how tooth pain inevitably becomes unbearable during the wee hours of the morning). Or perhaps I'm just experiencing the bitter pain of withdrawal. It's not pretty. In any case, I began looking through many of the pictures I've taken the last couple of weeks and realized that perhaps this time I'll step aside and let the photos do the talking. Mama's tired. Mama needs a spa day.

Anyway, here we are. You can create your own narration to guide you through the photos, but in case you get confused, YES, that is me attempting to be a pirate with my siblings down below. What can I say? We go to a lot of theme parties.

Affirmations

Image via Wikipedia

This morning while Ben and I were watching Sesame Street together, two wonderful things happened. The first is this ridiculously hilarious skit that you must all treat yourselves to viewing (here's an enticement: it's entitled Desperate Houseplants). We've seen this many times before and always appreciate it, for different reasons of course. Ben gets a complete kick out of the fact that I am getting a complete kick out it. Until Ben came along, I hadn't seen much Sesame Street since I was a kid, so it's been a blast to see what they are doing on the show these days. I don't think this is dependent upon whether or not you have kids AND I do not think it's a matter of opinion. IT'S FUNNY! Also, if you're a fan of 30 Rock, then it's essential you check this one out, too. I think I've just added "Writer for Sesame Street" to my bucket list. What a bunch of geniuses.

The second great thing of this morning was when Ben turned to me at some point and said,

"Someday, I will grow up to be a Mom. Not a bad Mama, I will grow up to be a good Mama. Just like you."

Obviously, the moment was too precious to squelch it with explanations of how & why he can only ever be a daddy and never be a mommy. So I just nodded and smiled and kissed his chubby little cheek. Man oh man, I love that kid.

It's a Good Thing He's Cute Because There Sure Won't Be A Whole Lot Else To Stare At...

Image by dhammza via Flickr

"Babe, I think we should downgrade our satellite TV package," he says to me. "You know, go down to the cheaper package. Cut our bill in half".

Sounds like an okay idea in theory, right? We're all making sacrifices these days, and this one seems painless enough. So we'll downgrade! No biggie! We'll lose what?- 10 channels, right? Who cares, we don't need 14 sports channels , 20 home shopping channels and 8 history channels anyway! What's the big deal? Let's save money! Great idea, right?

Wrong. So completely wrong.

It all sounds like an okay idea until one does their research and discovers that satellite TV companies are not idiots, and they've spent millions of years (or at least several decades) learning how to manipulate the innocent consumer, and trick them into paying ridiculous amounts of money for 1,000 channels- 990 of which are absolute crap. And while downgrading would, in fact, cut our bill in half (apparently Dan did his research, too), we would also lose every fluff channel I've ever committed to and had strong feelings for over the years. Those fluff channels are the ones that ever so sweetly come to me in the evening, throw a lei around my neck, place a fruity drink with a paper umbrella toothpick in my hand, paint my toenails pink, gently fan my face and whisper, "come with us. We'll take you away from all your cares, your problems, your stress. Come with us, and reeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaax." I mean, what's a girl to do?And while we're on the subject, where is my satellite TV a la carte menu option? Anyone? You know... a little Bravo here, maybe a little Comedy Central there. Why does this not exist yet, and could someone please get on this?

When Dan laid this whole package-downgrade-business all out on the table the first time around, I'm pretty sure I laughed right there in his face. Me? Get rid of my treasured Top Chef? And Project Runway? And the secret dabbling I do in the world of Jon & Kate Plus 8? (Complete train wreck, and I can't not watch. What the heck happened to those people, anyway??! Those poor kids? And will someone please tell Kate that surely her hair scares animals and small children?) And don't even make me discuss losing my Stephen Colbert. Losing him means losing my main source for news. That's right, people. I prefer to get most of my news updates from The Colbert Report. SO WHAT?! I just can't be bothered with all that anger and violence and tragedy that the news otherwise bombards us with. Getting news from Stephen allows me to sleep at night AND avoid nightmares and biting my nails out of pure nervous anticipation for earthquakes or terrorists or the world to end. So when something works, you just go with it.

So naturally I kicked and screamed over this one. A grown woman throwing a temper tantrum is not something to be especially proud of- in fact, it was definitely not my finest moment. But there was much at stake here, and very little time for peaceful discussions, what with all this crazy talk that husband of mine was throwing around. And he was consistent- this was not something that would be swept under any rug, bringing it up oh....EVERY DAY. There was even talk about....get this....getting rid of the TV altogether! The nerve! The horror! But I held my ground. I was stubborn. I WAS NOT GOING TO LOSE THIS BATTLE! I was desperately trying to buy time. I'd respond with answers like, Oh, I'm just shopping around, babe. Trying to gather my facts.
OR,
Sweetie, I just really want to look into all of this in full detail. Give me a few more days to ponder.

But inside, I was panicking.

And then I woke up yesterday, and had an unusually rare (and completely unintentional) moment of clarity. Because, here's the thing: Dan doesn't ask much of me. Honestly, other then the occasional "can you please take my shirts to the dry cleaners", I don't know the last time he really really kept nagging me about anything with such conviction. And what it really boiled down to was....am I this much of a weakling? Have I become this dependent? A slave to the boob tube? Do a couple of cable television shows have such a hold on me that I can't even imagine dwelling- dare I say LIVING- in a world where they no longer exist? I'm a creative gal! What ELSE can I do with myself in the time slots that Top Chef and Project Runway have dominated for the last several years?

Wow, turns out there's lots of things I can be doing. Scrabble. More blogging. Working out. Baking. Organizing. Cleaning. Sewing. Corresponding. Make lists. Shop. Write in the kids baby books. Decorate. Read. Pray. Take a bath. Listen to music. Entertain. RELAX. Pillow talk with my husband. And by golly, he's cute! I might just need to stare at him for a little bit longer here to soak it all in...wow, it's really been a while since I've really looked at him. It's nice.

Or....I can just access & watch all of my lost shows online! PHEW! That was getting terrifying for a moment there! All is not lost after all.

As per usual, there is a bright side and shiny silver lining to all of this, fortunately: NO MORE STAR TREK! No more science fiction-y types of shows of any kind! Just thinking about not hearing Captain Kirk in the background is already rebuilding thousands of brain cells I've lost over the years. And no amount of beaming him up can bring him back to this house anytime soon.

You Had Me At Gorgonzola

I made a very tasty little spinach side dish last night, if I do say so myself. And of course I would never withhold this kind of information from you, my little ducklings, so let me give you the gist of what I did. But first, I should tell you that I am not usually a big fan of cooked spinach. (This is how you know it was a pretty amazing dish, without me coming right out and yelling it in your face.) I mean I don't dislike spinach or anything, and I know it's ridiculously good for you, but I usually prefer to eat my spinach in the form of a salad, maybe once every couple months. I just don't really think about spinach very often. Out of sight, out of mind. But good gracious, that Farmer's Market of ours has inspired me to do all sorts of things, and this turned out to be a very pleasant experiment.

Do it, you'll love it. I'll put my personal guarantee on that.


What I used:
1 bunch of spinach, rinsed and torn into large bite size pieces (and it's a good thing if it's still a little bit wet when you go to use it)
Unseasoned breadcrumbs (eyeball your measurement- it's really up to you. I probably used at least 1/2 cup, maybe more? Hard to tell...)
Olive oil
Toasted pine nuts
3 cloves of garlic, smashed
Crumbled gorgonzola
Salt & pepper

What I did:
Generously coat large saute pan with olive oil over medium heat. Add smashed garlic; stir it around and cook a few minutes until it's VERY aromatic and slightly golden brown and beginning to soften. Add breadcrumbs (which will absorb all the olive oil, so you may have to add a bit more), and stir. I just wanted to lightly toast the breadcrumbs and infuse them with all that garlic oil, so it only took a few minutes. Then I added large handfuls of spinach (maybe 2 at a time) and kept stirring it around until each addition cooked down (wilted). Kept doing this until all spinach had been added and incorporated. At this point, all your lightly toasted breadcrumbs and garlic should be mixed in nicely with your cooked spinach. Remove from heat.

Here's where the real fun began: season to taste with salt & pepper. While spinach is still warm, sprinkle gorgonzola crumbles on top. Toss to incorporate. Sprinkle with toasted pine nuts, and serve. The gorgonzola will be all melty- soft and delicious.

That's all there is to it. Don't you just love how gorgonzola makes EVERYTHING taste better? That and bacon. Wait! Speaking of bacon, maybe that should get thrown in here, too! Experiment, have fun, keep me posted.

Ants Behaving Badly

I'd like to think I've got a bit of St. Francis in me. I mean, for the most part I like all of God's creatures, and I have a pretty notable respect for life, generally speaking. Exception to this rule: I despise snakes because they're evil and scary and sneaky and they remind me of, oh you know, HELL. In fact, that is my definition of hell. Just a whole "hell" of a lot of snakes slithering around. But I don't bother them and they stay away from me, so we're cool. And while we're going there, I should mention that I really don't understand the POINT for flies to even be in existence, but thankfully we have screens on all our windows and sliding glass door. In the unfortunate event that one sneaks in, I tolerate the occasional perpetrator and roll with it. Or I make Dan kill it with a rolled up magazine, depending on my irritation level.

But the million-member ant army that ruthlessly invaded my beautiful clean kitchen last night/this morning? They can all die. In fact, they did. They're dead. ALL 2.6 MILLION OF THEM.

Here are words you do not typically want to hear from your 3 year old son at 6:45 am (who likes to get up at the crack of dawn and help himself to breakfast hors d’oeuvres hour):
"Mommy! Come check it out! There's LOTS AND LOTS of bees! All over the floor!" *

This shot me up and out of bed quicker than the smell of bacon.

There, waiting to greet us was the ant infantry. (*Because when you're 3, you are still learning insect-ology basics, including how to decipher between bees, flies, ants, spiders, and roley-poley bugs. Cut him some slack, it's a lot to learn in 3 years.) We were completely ambushed. They were not joking around, these ant imbeciles. If we hadn't caught them when we did, I'm fairly certain they would have commenced laying out booby traps. Needless to say, they were in full swing, attacking everything from the counter tops to the highchair (which I TOTALLY cleaned after dinner) to the bar stools to the random little innocent crumb that dropped on the floor after dinner. But the worst part....the very WORST PART....the part that kills me just a little bit inside, every time I think about it....they came for my fresh, organic, newborn, beautiful, made from scratch strawberry-rhubarb crisp. I KNOW! Do you need a minute to recover, like I did? It hurts, I know it. Go ahead, take a moment.

Before some of you begin thinking I'm too emotionally attached and involved with my food, let me just say a few words about this crisp. It's inception was quite sweet, really- Dan & I had both been ready for something fantastic to end our day with. I had some beautiful organic Driscoll's strawberries (thanks, sis) sitting around waiting to be combined with sugar and rhubarb and butter. And Dan always talks so fondly about the massive amounts of rhubarb that grew wild in his yard as a child. So....being the thoughtful wife I sometimes am, I bought enough rhubarb for a crisp and the TWO OF US TOGETHER in the kitchen made & baked it (a rarity would be an understatement here). We were so excited to pop it in the oven for many obvious reasons, but one being it was FINALLY cool enough in this county to turn on an oven or a stove and start having some kitchen fun again! (By the way, what was all that 101 degree madness we had there for a few days, neighbors? I was not a fan. Oh, and speaking of fans, they totally help. I recommend buying a few so we're all prepared for the next heatwave). We did have a little piece when it came out of the oven, both he & I. But when I say "little" I mean it. You know, because we wanted to pace ourselves and save plenty for the upcoming week. You know, we didn't want to over-indulge or anything. You know, because sometimes the only light at the end of your tunnel-of-a-day is A LITTLE PIECE OF STRAWBERRY RHUBARB CRISP!

And what do the ant idiots decide to do? Storm the kitchen walls, swarm my precious and (might I remind you) barely-eaten crisp and then drown in its sweet berry juices. Oh, for peet's sakes! Couldn't they have attacked and drowned in something a little less sacred?! Who do they think they are? Doesn't it say in the Bible somewhere that Adam & Eve were given complete reign over these creepy-crawlies in the Garden of Eden? Because now those disobedient boogers will have to answer to GOD for their crime! That's right.

So yeah, I'm a little bitter. And you should have seen the revenge that was alllllll mine. There's nothing quite like an angry mom (me) fending for her family in her mis-matched pj's (and disheveled hair and morning breath) attacking the enemy with the Raid bottle like it was my job. In fact, I may have just earned myself the employee of the month award. In fact, I DARE those ants to step foot in this house again. Make that a double-dog dare. You don't even want to see the bottle of Raid I'll be sleeping with under my pillow tonight, just in case.

And so flash-forward to tonight. Now the hubster & I are just walking around pacing the kitchen like a couple of addicts without a stash. Seriously out of luck. I would say it's painful, this deep craving we're experiencing. Just an innocent craving for the days of yore, yearning for a delicious buttery sweet-yet-tart homemade crisp. It's all I've ever wanted.

That...and a dutch oven. (To which I've just reminded myself....thank goodness Christmas is just around the corner) (DAN! See how easy I make it for you?)

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Here's To 31

So, it turns out my imminent 31st birthday is dangerously approaching with some impressive flurry, and this morning I was reflecting on all that's transpired over this last year. Not that I think going from 30 to 31 is really a big deal. Heck, I'm still not even sure of what really changed going from 29 to 30. Well, except for that one little change that included being pregnant with an entire house. Actually, it was a small mansion I was carrying in my belly:

Incidentally, that picture above also pretty much epitomizes how I spent my big 3-0 birthday last year. Pregnant, ginormous, miserable, and exhausted. But still trying to keep a smile on my face. I think even my brain was retaining too much water to really have any deep thoughts on entering a new decade. Unless of course you consider where's the ice cream? and how many more hours until it's November? deep.

But there is quite a bit that happened this past year- my life has had heaps of various experiences, some more exciting than others (two septic back-up problems independent of each other in one year being on the less exciting end of things, of course). And I started making a mental list of all the things I learned and I was struck by what one year can do for a person. The big stuff learned is obviously greatly important, but I'm beginning to understand that it's all the little things we learn along the journey that really are life's gems.

So here are my gems, big & small:

• Living on an apple farm in the middle of nowhere while pregnant is incredibly isolating, and not nearly as romantic as it sounds. It's dirty and dusty and full of wild animals that I didn't even know existed. BUT... I don't know of a better way to shape one's character.
• Getting into your first car accident sure shakes you up and makes you question wearing flip flops while driving. Getting into your second and much, much more severe car accident a month later makes you love your family even more than you thought was possible. And it makes the thought of walking a whole lot more appealing.
  
• High-speed internet access is a gift from heaven.
• After all this time, Sting still moves me. More than ever.
• If you are Italian, your quota of tears to be shed increases with every year you are alive. Seems to be a direct correlation. This is one major difference I've noticed going from age 29 to 30. I'm getting nervous for my children who will one day have to witness their blubbering weepy mother at age 82. It doesn't take much to move me, people.
• Getting stressed and angry does not, in fact, make traffic go away.
• If I have the choice to fine dine in an expensive restaurant or have some margaritas and authentic Mexican food, I'll go with the Mexicana comida authentica. It's just who I am.
• Speaking of Mexican food, I like it very spicy. Surprisingly spicy. I took it to new heights this last year, and I'm proud of how much heat I can handle now that I'm all grown up and in my 30s.
  
• I don't think I will ever become a fan of wearing high heels. I've tried, and my feet are just too picky and prefer to be enveloped in a variety of flip-flops instead.
• Sometimes people are so generous and it's impossible to repay their kindness. Oh, the humility I've been forced to have this last year! So instead I pray for them and hope that once we're in heaven I can repay them, maybe with diamonds and scoops of clouds and a pretty new gold harp.
  
• This will not come as a shock to anyone, but making homemade ice cream is incredibly exciting and interesting to me, and I can't believe I just now started fully utilizing that handy little ice cream maker of ours.
• Having two children, although wonderful and priceless, is definitely more difficult than having one. I cannot believe I ever thought I had it hard with just one. Silly me.
• I like white wine! And I waited 30 years to experiment with this, but I'm glad I did.
• Ceiling fans make a huge difference. Every home should have them.
• Not everyone is going to like me. Heck, some people may even despise me. And that's okay!
• Farmer's Market & I just recently got back together. Not sure really why we broke up in the first place, to be honest. But we've moved forward and we're quite happy together. In fact, I think we bring out the best in one another. Anyway, it's my new happy place. My Disneyland. (Because who can afford to go to Disneyland these days, anyway?! Honestly! I think it's time for Mickey to receive a pay cut so they can cut back their admission fee just a tad. Either that or a free funnel cake with every paid entrance into the park. But that's just me.)
  
• Long distance relationships are possible! One of my very closest friends does not live anywhere near me, and never has. And yet we talk like we're everyday-hang-out friends. And I am completely fulfilled.
  
• Apparently, someone at some point greatly lowered the bar for television standards. And then-- LOST came along! I no longer approach everything that has a science-fiction-y feel to it with complete and total disinterest and rolling of the eyes.
  
• I've been going to my hairdresser for half of my life now. I couldn't say that two years ago. It's funny how I seem to be getting older, but he has stayed the same age. Who knew hair could be so bonding?
  
• Technically, we moved twice this past year. Which is difficult. BUT! With both of these moves (and of course the four that proceeded it) we learned what it means to get rid of our crap and live off of less! What a gift!
  
• We're teaching Ben how to say his prayers in bed at night, and every time he thanks God for his Oma & Opa, I get a little lump in my throat. The physical distance between us & Dan's family and parents affects me more and more each day. This life is so precious and short. And I wish I could relish in their presence a bit more than our pocketbooks allow.
• And finally, I am incredibly blessed. Over this past year I have witnessed and received more generosity, love, support, encouragement, and compassion than I knew was possible in a lifetime. I wish that I could bestow the same love & affection upon all of you, too. Life is really difficult at times, isn't it? But then I look around and see who I am surrounded by and what I've been given and I realize...it is really good to be me, here and now. It's really good to be (almost) 31.
  

A New Perspective

This morning at breakfast:

Ben: (after taking a bite of yogurt and making a horrible face) Ewwwww. I don't really like this yogurt.

Me: Well, I'm sorry to hear that. That's the only kind we have so you can either eat that yogurt or have nothing. You choose.

Ben: (taking another bite, then thinking hard for a good 10 seconds) Oh, Mama! I really like this yogurt! It's pretty great!

Since You've All Been Asking.....

...and by that, I mean since all two of you have asked...

I'm unlocking the old recipe vault and sharing my World Famous Eggplant Parmesan recipe that has been in my family for...um, a long time. I must give many props to my mom for this. She still to this day makes THE BEST eggplant parmesan you've ever sunk your teeth into. She & I do ours pretty much the same way, but for some reason hers always turns out 100 times better. I think it's because she sprinkles it with all of her Mom love. And maybe there's a secret ingredient that she's refusing to disclose. In any case, her eggplant is what most of my siblings & I request for our special birthday dinner. That's right. We still request certain things on our birthdays that only Mom can make. Anyway, our version is somewhat healthy because we BAKE our breaded eggplant instead of frying. And trust me, you'll never know the difference.....

*Note: It's about to become blatantly obvious that I do not frequently write recipes. This looks a heck of a lot longer & more difficult than it really is. I just tend to overuse words and error on the side of being too thorough. Probably because I spent so many years teaching & directing preschool aged children, and they need more guidance and directions than you would ever believe. Okay, on to the recipe.
Eggplant Parmesan

Ingredients:
2 medium eggplants
2 jars of good tomato sauce (I feel very strongly about using vodka sauce- Trader Joe's has a great organic one that is to die for. Super creamy and delicious)
About 4 Ovolini balls (each ball is 4 oz. of fresh mozzarella) OR 4 cups shredded mozzarella
Breadcrumbs, (enough for dredging) plus 1 cup for topping
2 or 3 eggs
1/2 c. parmesan cheese
about 1/2 c. olive oil, plus enough for drizzling on top
3 cloves of garlic, smashed

Directions:

Peel eggplants and slice into about 1/4-1/2" slices. Lay out onto paper towels in a single layer and sprinkle each slice liberally with salt. Let sit for about 30 minutes so that the salt will draw out the moisture in the eggplant. Then rinse your eggplant slices under cold water to rinse off salt, pat dry and set aside.

Put your olive oil (1/2 cup more or less....can always add more) in microwave safe dish (I use a Pyrex measuring cup for this part) and put in 3 cloves smashed garlic. Microwave on very very low power setting, for about a minute at a time. The point is to slowly infuse the olive oil with the smashed garlic. Give it a stir, then microwave again and repeat this process until garlic is VERY soft. (You can skip the microwave method and infuse on the stove, but I think this is just so much easier).

Preheat oven to 350.
Use a brush to liberally coat a cookie sheet pan with your garlic infused olive oil.
Break eggs into dish, add a little water and stir well to break up.
In another dish, pour enough breadcrumbs for dredging your eggplant (at least 1-2 cups, you can add more as needed. Also, I use pie dishes for both the egg mixture and the breadcrumb mixture- works v. well). Stir about 1/4 cup of parmesan cheese into breadcrumb mixture.

Begin the assembly line: 1) dip slices into egg 2) dip into breadcrumbs to coat both sides, 3) place on olive oil cookie sheet. Once all your slices are breaded, take your brush again to liberally top each slice with olive oil. Bake for 10 minutes; turn each slice over and return to oven for 10 more minutes.

Once all eggplant slices have baked and are now golden and crispy and beautiful, begin the assembly into your baking dish. I usually use a (greased with cooking spray) 9x13 dish. Start with a thin layer of tomato sauce, then one layer or eggplant slices, layer of tomato sauce, and then layer of mozzarella. Continue this pattern until all slices have been used. After the final layer of mozzarella is completed, top with 1/4 cup of parmesan cheese. Scatter the 1 cup of bread crumbs over the cheese and drizzle liberally with oil. Bake until the top is golden and forms a crust, about 35-40 min.

Make sure to sop up all the goodness leftover on your plate with some tasty crusty bread! Enjoy. And then tell me all about it.

Watsonville, May I Have a Word With You?

Image by Mulsanne via Flickr

**FYI, if this already seems a bit outdated it's because I wrote this a few days ago, when the Santa Cruz fire was barely contained and reeking havoc on everyone...mostly me.


I'm really trying not to come off looking like a whiny bellyacher here, but may I just share something? It doesn't take much to make me happy. For example, I would be happy to live the duration of my life on a strict diet of tacos and margaritas. And I usually don't hold grudges, even with people who drive with sheer stupidity, because ordinarily I just like to give them the benefit of the doubt. You know, like.....Wow. That crazy mean lady driving like a bat out of hell must just be in labor and needs to get to a hospital ASAP, or something. I'd like to think I try to see the good and the upside to almost everything.

Buuuuuut...

Today, I am not happy. This whole Santa Cruz fire fiasco which is responsible for ridiculous volumes of smoke, ash, haze, and bizarre day-time-darkness is beginning to take its toll on my body. I'm serious. I've never had such a strong and violent urge to scratch my eyes out and my poor little throat is so raw, it feels like I accidentally doused my coffee with a little bleach this morning instead of my daily dose of half-and-half. And every time my kids sneeze or their respiratory systems show even the slightest sign of irritation or fatigue, I feel compelled to profusely apologize for not providing clean air for their tee tiny lungs. Mama's sorry, kiddos. I can't fix this little pickle that we're in. BUT I CAN BLOG AND COMPLAIN ABOUT IT!

Speaking of complaints, not that I want to keep them coming or anything, but since we're already here......

So there's this little farm behind our backyard. As in, on the other side of our backyard fence, there are acres of crops growing. Which is awesome, because our view is gorgeous and we are surrounded by beautiful trees and greenery and peacefulness instead of houses and neighbors. However....with farming comes...manure. Naturally. And I'm not really sure how this all came to be, but on the one day, THE ONE DAY when the smoke and humidity and poor air quality came to a dreadful climactic peak, our neighbor, (we'll just call him Farmer Bob) decided that THIS would be the perfect day to spread yards of manure. All over his farm. Piles and piles of steamy, foul, repugnant potent manure, mixed in and pounded into the soil with his big noisy tractor. The same farm that BACKS RIGHT UP TO OUR YARD. I think you know where this is going. Muggy day + lots of fire smoke + fire ash + heat + a ton of manure = torture. And frankly, I'm a bit irritable. And I can't even utilize my clothesline because I'm afraid all that smoke ash and manure stench will permeate our clothes. And then people will point and stare at us when we walk by, and we'll become The Stinky Family.

Anyway, I know Farmer Bob is not alone here. I know my little town well enough to know that we are surrounded by farms, and I know they've all got deadlines to follow and crops to fertilize and produce to sell and a profit to make. But, here's a humble little piece of advice. ARE YOU LISTENING, FARMER BOB? Maybe next time there's a fire in our county, you could all consider throwing down the massive piles of cow dung AFTER the flames have settled down? Call me crazy, but I think your crops would be more receptive to ulterior methods of fertilization, too. Sooooo, maybe? Please? My family, my nose & my sanity would SO appreciate it. Thanks.

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R.I.P.

I have a feeling this is the day that Ben will look back on and say, "That day. That's the one that made me realize I needed to seek professional help. To heal the wound that my mother willingly inflicted upon me. And so, here I am. My first day of therapy."

Today is the day we (I) implemented a new rule called NO MORE PLAYDOUGH INSIDE THE HOUSE. At least not until my kids are over the age of 9 (because over the age of 9 you're old enough to know how to not make giant messes. Right?). Before any of you judge me for being the meanest mother on earth, and for those of you who've not been to my house, let me paint the picture. We live in an older house. You know, the kind where it seemed perfectly reasonable to have CARPETING in the dining area. So every time Ben begs and pleads to do playdough, I have the same internal dialogue, arguing with myself, trying to weigh the consequences of allowing neon sticky substances to be in such close proximity with our very lightly colored tan carpeting.

But today, I was all, "Um. Sure. Since Ella's asleep, this is a good time to do it. Just be really really REALLY careful to keep all the playdough on the table and off of the carpet, okay?" And oh my goodness, you would have thought I just handed Ben the world. The smile! The glee! The surprise! The anticipation! So I let him have at it. And I was really enjoying the almost 60 minutes of peace and quiet that it provided, so I really thought it was a win-win decision I had made. I was patting myself on the back and telling myself how impressed I was with...myself. And I even helped Ben clean up the clumps of playdough on the table. And I even cheerfully took out the vacuum to get all the little crumbs that innocently fell to the floor. And I was like, Wow. That wasn't so bad. What was I all paranoid about? I'm such a goo-

And then I walked down the hallway to put something away.

Ummmm, what's with the neon green playdough in the hallway?

And then I walked into Ella's room. Ummmm, what's with the neon green playdough plastered to the carpet fibers in her bedroom?

And then I went to the living room. WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON WITH THIS AWFUL NEON GREEN STUFF ALL OVER THE PLACE????

Apparently Ben is a magnet for sticky neon substances and inadvertently (albeit innocently) tracked it in every room of our house. And that's when the Wrath of Mom struck. I had no choice but to put a semi-permanent ban on all inside use of colored & sticky dough-like substances. I just don't have the tolerance (or desire or energy) to have my free time dominated by becoming far too familiar with carpet cleaners and spot removers and using my elbow grease to remove these awful little splots.

I mean, can you blame me? If this house had wall-to-wall tile or wood flooring, it really would be another story. But this whole playdough/light carpet combination is just an invitation for disaster! And I'm not very good with disasters.

And so, we'll miss you, indoor playdough. Thanks for all the memories. We hope to see you again- maybe when the kids are older and more aware of their surrounding and their messes. In the meantime, I'm taking matters in my own hands. Just wait, I'll come up with a carpet resistant version of playdough and patent that baby ASAP. And all y'all will all thank me profusely and buy stock in my company.