What's Cooking

2009-01-20T17:44:00.002-05:00

Roasted Pork with Tomatillo Sauce
Rice
Salad

Dessert:
pear streudal

2009-01-19T17:11:00.000-05:00

Tonight's dinner for sick kids:

mashed potatoes
warm chicken broth
applesauce

Sunday, January 18

2009-01-18T15:06:00.001-05:00

Tonights Dinner:

Black Bean Soup
Homemeade Bread

Dinner for 6.

2009-01-18T14:56:00.003-05:00

Perhaps my dinner menus will inspire you to put back the frozen chicken nuggets and rediscover cooking. If I can do it, you can too. With four boys and a part time job, I still find time to put a fresh dinner on the table most nights. This blog will help me remember what I have made and I can share what I make and how I make it.

Thanks Chuck!

2008-04-28T17:53:00.001-04:00

I got to go horseback riding! Chuck gave me 2 lessons as a gift for Christmas. It was so much fun. They are such beautiful animals. A part of me wishes I could have ridden next to Nayo and Dad in Cuba. I think that is why I have always loved it! It must be in my sangre.

2007-01-10T11:16:00.000-05:00

Ode to Laundry

I appreciate having clothes,
having kids who wear clothes,
not using a wash board,
the smell of softener...

Well, I tried.

IPods

2006-03-29T07:53:00.000-05:00

About 10,000,000 iPods have been sold.
They range in price from 69.00-400.00.
So let's say on average about 200.00 each x 10,000,000.
That is 2 Billion dollars!

Imagine if everyone postponed buying their iPod for a couple of weeks or months and donated the money to the charity of their choice?

Just imagine...

Motherhood

2005-12-14T11:31:00.000-05:00

If I don’t,
Who will
Be there
No one
Understand
I am
Here
Still
Until I can’t
Or you are not
By choice
You are
By choice
If I don’t
Who will

Tulip

2005-12-14T11:25:00.000-05:00

Right before
The weather turns
I plant a bulb
For spring to see
Despite the darkness
Falling quick
I plant a seed
I shake a fist
A promise
Of a flower lays
Just beneath
The frosty shell
Still it lies
And patient be
The promise
Of a clear warm day

My new motto

2005-10-18T07:24:00.000-04:00

What do I do with this information?

2005-10-16T17:17:00.000-04:00

Bird Flu on the horizon.
I need to protect my kids.
My children are growing up.
I need to guide them.
My friends little boy died from Cancer.
I need to cherish my family.
My uncle's dying words were, "Take Care of Your health."
I need to take care of myself.
People are being treated unfairly.
I need to fight for equality.
My churchis out of touch with the world.
I need to find my voice.
My family needs to be nurtured and loved.
I need to be the shoulder they cry on.
There are 24 hours in a day.
I need to sleep some of it.
My life will end some day.
I need to make it count.

Goodbye to a friend

2005-08-24T23:11:00.000-04:00

I must say goodbye to a friend's son, these words made sense to me somehow.

By: Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Providing for Summer

2005-07-17T14:00:00.000-04:00

Ah, June. School is done for yet another year. The kids are ready to play and be kids again. I am ready too. Ready to bond, play, reconnect with my four boys and relax in the warm glow of summer's freedom. I check the calendar and realize the kids have appointments to get their physicals. Well, we will relax tomorrow. After the appointments, I swing by the teachers store to pick up some summer enrichment for the boys. We will really be ready for the next school year. We arrive home and the children scatter like cute little cubs to their den. “A” plays on the computer, “E” on the x-box, “G” watches a movie and “S” takes out the cereal and dumps it on the floor. Clever boy! He was just hungry.

After about two weeks we have recovered from the stomach virus we picked up at the doctors office. It is now July. Today we will head to the pool. I will read, the kids will frolic in the cool water. We will visit with neighbors. Before we can leave we have to dig out the bathing suits, finish drying the towels that we used during the epidemic and clean the mess that “S” left when he peed on the carpet. “Just one of those potty training accidents. Nothing to get upset about.” About an hour later we realize we have no swimming diapers and “A's” bathing suit is looking so bad that I am sure Good Will would reject it. So we decide we'd better take care of these errands. Of course, the car has the immediate effect of stimulating the appetites of all children. About half way out of our neighborhood the chorus begins. “I am hungry.” “I am thirsty.” Well, I say taking a deep breath, that would be a fun activity. So, we pull up to Taco Bell. The toddler spits his soda on “G” who begins screaming hysterically. “E” cannot open his salsa and his yelling at “A” to help him. “A” is oblivious because he is listening to his MP3 player so “E” whacks him on the head a book. “G” hits “S” with his light saber. All four boys are either screaming or crying. By the time we get home I have a headache and the boys are sick of each other and I order them to go to their den.

August in the East is not pleasant. I take out the activity books that still sit on the shelf and call the kids up from their den. They take one look at the books and groan in unison. “S” finds a marker and writes all over the couch. While I am cleaning it up, the boys answer the phone. The neighbor boys are home from vacation and want to play. I surrender, hoping they will play outside, find bugs, pretend to be Knights and do all that boy stuff. After ten minutes they come in complaining about the heat. They ask permission to go to the neighbor's house to see a new game. “Ok,” I say, “but only for a little while.” Suddenly I realize “S” is gone. I frantically look around the house. The boys take off. The activity books sit on the table, looking rather pathetic. I find “S” playing with my make-up. It takes me an hour to clean up the mess. “S” takes a nap. The house is quiet. I consider calling the boys home, but instead fall into a heap on the couch.
A few days before school starts we buy all the supplies, Fall clothes that they won't be wearing for another 2 months and four new pairs of sneakers. We spend a few days at the beach on an extended weekend. My husband and I return more exhausted than the day we left. The car ride was one crisis after another. It rained most of the weekend and “S” threw up on the ride home. I ask the kids individually as I tucked them into bed it they had a good summer. Yes Mom they each say. It was great! They give me big hugs and kisses and say, of all things, thank you Mom. I set my alarm for 6am. Here we go again.

Yes, it was a good summer. The messy car, the laundry, the pizza box sitting on the table and the memories of the kids faces as they enjoyed their tacos, wrestled on the floor, and made farting noises at the dinner table are all proof of a good summer. But, I thank God it is now September.

Child's Play

2005-05-03T22:10:00.000-04:00

I am attending a play. The stage has been set and the characters are mind blowing. The first act is a series of strange scenes that go something like this: Death is lurking around the living, in a seemingly normal household. Around the room are signs that something is not quite right. Meticulously organized plastic containers full of medical supplies clue you into a dreadful situation.

The child in this play is too weak to bend over or get up off the floor. He plays with hundreds of toys and more are always on the way. He is adorable and pulls off his lines like a pro. The parents have pivotal roles. They have very few lines yet their performance is brilliant. They move on and off the stage seamlessly. For example, at one point in the play the mother administers medication into tubes that have been surgically placed into the child's torso as if she has done it hundreds of times before.

While none of the characters speak of the child's prognosis while the child is on the stage, the characters at times hug him a bit more, play a bit longer and just seem to want to be in his presence. Adults stream in and out with gifts and goodies throughout Act I. They look tired and heartbroken, yet the are laughing and playing on the floor. Reading between the lines of this play can leave you gasping for air.

This cast puts on this production in various locations. It is not unusual to see them perform in a hospital. They are not well known, except of course to those of us who follow them around. We are their groupies. Standing behind stage when the seats are full, waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of these magnificent performers.

Wait, someone has filled me in on Act II. I don't think I want to see this play anymore. I really wish someone would just tell the actors to stop performing. They have done a great job. Can't it just end? Can't we just skip the next part and let the child get up off the floor and go to school with the regular kids? What happened to Hollywood endings? Where is the miracle with the amazing comeback? Who wrote this godforsaken play anyway? Enough is enough. I want a refund.

Are we mad?

2005-03-28T11:21:00.000-05:00

I read Mommy Madness and I am curious. By choosing to stay home am I giving up too much?

I wanted to be home with my kids, but there are days when I feel like a nut case. The noise, the mess, the constant giving with little return. I have very little time to consider my own needs. Should this be acceptable? Should I not expect to have a sense of self while my kids are young?

While reading Mommy Madness, I must admit that I felt belittled. Replacing batteries in kids toys, planning birthday parties, driving to OT appointments and other seemingly trivial tasks fill my day. They are not trivial to my kids. These small things are big, very big and very important. One day my 7 year old, after having confided in me, wrote me this note: "Mom, I can always count on you. Thank you." See what I mean?

Please let me know your thoughts to these questions.

Control Issues: Confessions of a Chronic Catholic

2005-03-20T13:41:00.000-05:00

If God exists is she in control? Does it not matter what I do with my life if I can plea “not in control?” If I choose not to believe in God then am I taking control back?

I don’t like to fly. I hate not being in control. I would rather see the truck that is about to hit me than fall out of the sky without a clue. So it is with me and religion. I can rationalize the limitations of my genetics and of my humanity. I cannot however rationalize that something out there is manipulating the world around me to create additional limitations and obstacles. Shit just happens. So where does this leave me?

Raised Catholic and guilty, even thinking about the existence of God makes me feel unclean. I know that I am angry. I know that Catholicism is like an old painting - nice to look out, but hard to relate to. I feel nothing when I go to church. Who are these people talking to? Is it that I don’t believe in God or is that I just can’t believe what I am hearing? My liberal church, now under new leadership, has taken about 50 steps backwards. I think the new pastor is trying to regain control of his flock.

I know that these are not new questions. I know that many of you have gone through this process and never got hit by lightening. On some level I envy your confidence. You know what you believe and barring some burning bush, you are not going back. But, I ask you, are you just afraid to fly? Is it about faith in God or is it that organized religion has taken God out of the picture? By the time my religion decides what their official stand is on a particular issue, a century has gone by and it isn’t even relevant anymore. Where is God in all of that? Where is the compassion, the kindness and the faith in one another?

When I look out of my one open eye at church, pretending all the while to be deeply in touch with the lord, I see many people with both eyes closed! Could they really be getting strength and comfort from being told that article 236.34 on page 861 of the Great Big Book of Everything states that “anyone that votes for someone who publicly admits to eating okra, is in a state of mortal sin?" I think I will keep my eyes open, thank you very much.

I am afraid to fly. Maybe I need my own airplane or at the very least, my own pilot. Maybe, just maybe, there is a God and I am her and she is me and we are pissed.

Eye Cream

2005-03-20T13:26:00.000-05:00

Eye Cream

This is usually how it goes. I get to the make-up aisle at
the grocery store. I make a vow. I will buy eye cream
today. After all, it is what I need according the
20-something saleswoman at Origins and the woman that gave
me the facial. I guess I have lines that need filling and
circles that need fading. How I failed to notice these
serious skin issues is beyond me, but then again that is
why they are in the cosmetics field and I am not.

Unable to justify the $50 dollars on eye cream at these
establishments, I decided to save money and buy it at the
grocery store. However, every time I get to the checkout
counter I lose my willpower. When I think no one is looking
I stick it in the magazine rack. I know someone has seen me do
this, took one look at my lines and circles and shook their
head in disapproval.

So here I am, again in the make-up aisle. I read the
labels, again. One guarantees I will see results in a
matter of weeks. (Is that a reasonable time frame?) Another
brand boasts it will "noticeably" fade dark circles. Do I
buy two then? One for circles and one for lines? How do I
know they will work as well as the ones in the department
stores? Maybe I will waste my money. Even in the grocery
store they are 20 bucks a pop.

A calm woman with clean clothes and cute shoes walks right
up next to me and without any hesitation puts an eye cream
into her basket. She is confident, she does not pussy foot
around. Eye cream is on her grocery list between eggplant
and fois gras. I want to be this woman. It is clear to me
now. I need eye cream. This is the empty feeling I have
been carrying around. When I use eye cream I will feel
beautiful and more confident. This confidence will spill
over into the rest of my life, creating a whole new me. I
will be more patient with my kids, more affectionate
towards my husband. I will make gourmet meals and entertain
more often. I will be sexy again. I will lose weight,
exercise more. The time has come. The revolution is here. I
will buy eye cream. I choose the same one as the mystery
woman did and place it in the cart. I am free.

I finish my shopping. I go down the frozen food aisles,
pick up the fish sticks and french fries. I avoid making
eye contact with the eye cream. I make it to the counter. I
empty my cart. I notice the total is getting higher and
higher. Just the diapers are almost 20.00. The wine, which
is not optional, is 12.00. I pick up the eye cream. I am
sure the whole store is watching me at this moment. I place
it on the belt. I pick it up again. I put it back down. I
glance over and see the headlines on the magazines. The
covers seem to be speaking to me. There is a child in the
Sudan on one cover and the faces of soldiers killed in Iraq
on another. I look back at the eye cream and hold it gently
in my hands. Ridiculous. No eye cream today. So close and yet so far. I
stick it in the magazine rack.

I am condemned to a life of lines and circles.