I Tried

You win some, you lose some.

Today I lost the dinner battle. The girls didn't want to eat due to our own parental mistake of a late snack. We sent The Monster to her room for having a snippy attitude. (She now says "Double" instead of "Oh Man" when she's extra frustrated because that is short for "Oh Man, doubled.") Frankly, dinner wasn't all that great either.

It was supposed to be good. It was a meal that was going to make my preggo sister-in-law jealous when she logged in from the office tomorrow. Sticky, slightly spicy ribs, roasted potatoes, and coleslaw with orange and pomegranates. For dessert, gingerbread cake, her mom's recipe.

The ribs were tough. I cook them about once every few years, so that is totally my fault in assuming I knew what the hell I was doing. The sauce was great, a combo of the tomatoes and onions roasted with the ribs, tomato marmalade, molasses, sambal olek, and mustard. We would have been better off licking the sauce from the ribs than trying to, literally, pretend we were lions to get the girls to eat. Thankfully the coleslaw was tasty and I've got roasted potatoes down pat. The gingerbread cake tasted pretty good too, although, it fell.

No good pictures of our meal, no great leftovers. When I eat some gingerbread cake with my tea and a Bosc pear tomorrow morning it should be right around the time my sister-in-law arrives at work and starts her day. Know that I was thinking of you.

It's the thought that counts.

Caught in the Act

Have you ever considered boycotting the entire notion of Christmas baking? Frankly, I'm sure most of us have at one time or another. We're so busy during December and stopping to bake a couple of dozen cookies for a swap, a party, or simply to steal from the freezer for the rest of the month is the last thing we want to do.

Then we see the covers of the magazines and every single one is a Christmas tree arrangement of glittery cookies tempting us back into the grocery store for butter and sugar. Our kids/partners beg for a batch of shortbread or some esoteric treat their mom used to make. Or the guilt hits.

Every year I swear I'm not going to do it. Maybe a batch of Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread or Peppermint Bark. But THAT'S IT.

And every year I bake 3 or 4 more kinds of cookies. Then I pretty much eat them all myself. What a Ninny.

So this year I vowed I wouldn't do it. I swore to my husband and my jiggly tummy that I wouldn't even buy the butter.

Then The Monster started prepping for the concert at school. It was all about The Gingerbread Man. In fact, a reenactment of the story. She's been walking around reciting the damn thing non stop. Then she asked to bake. I suggested gingerbread men. This brought on tears, full can't catch your breath sobs out of fear that our gingerbread men would run away after we baked them. We settled on gingerbread penguins and moose. Thank goodness there are no stories about runaway moose. At least none with catchy songs attached.

I pulled out the icing sugar, sprinkles, and ridiculously fake food colourings. It was craft time/kitchen time/treat time as far as the girls were concerned. It was a messy way to kill an hour. That's how I approached it at first. Still a Ninny.

The messier it got, however, the happier we all were. Grandma was visiting and happily iced the requested purple and pink penguins. We eventually laughed at the number of sprinkles underfoot, joking that one of us was going to wipe out like it was a pile of ball bearings and we were in a cartoon. My counters are stained and my kids ate more icing than cookies. There wasn't a single tantrum, by them or me.

No longer is Christmas baking about a pile of cookies in the freezer for the guests that might pop by. It isn't even about treats to share with the neighbours over tea. It is about process, the act of making. Baking and decorating cookies with the girls is like Jackson Pollack at a canvas.

Who cares that the cookies will likely not be eaten for lack of enough icing or the wrong sprinkles? They'll make me a little more Santa like, in spirit and with my jiggle.

For the record. We used this recipe from Julie for the cookies. The only change I made is that we cooked them for 10-11 minutes so they would be a bit softer.

Class

I promise you that I cooked. Aside from our regular Sunday jaunt to the market, I actually cooked nearly all day. Unfortunately, I can't share it with you.

Everything I made today was for one article or another. None of which are due to come out until the New Year at the earliest. That means I can only tell you that I made apple kugel, butterscotch pudding, blackeyed peas, cardamom cookies, potstickers, and something called sabzi polo. I can't share a recipe or a photo. I'm sorry. If it helps, we ate this very eclectic meal for dinner and we are very, very full.

This is one of the advantages and disadvantages of the food writing gig. Sure, dinner gets made out of your work. That means your groceries are, in part, paid for. But after a day of cooking you are left with this really odd meal that you are too full to eat anyway.

Full confession: I totally sat and read a book with a beer in my hand when the light went and my mother-in-law arrived for a visit. Thanks, Susan, for playing hide and seek with the dinosaurs while I did nothing.

Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining about this new life I've chosen. I am getting more writing gigs. Being on my own with Hubby away as much as he's been is much more manageable now... sort of. And, no offense to my old colleagues, I don't miss the desk job at all. If anything, the hard part is giving everything the attention it needs. That includes the girls.

Truly, though, is there a mother in the world who thinks she spends enough time with her kids? Okay, quality time actually paying attention to them and doing nurturing activities?

If you are one of those mothers then I'm probably not the writer for you. Smilosaurus is losing her voice with a never ending cold and the realization that she might not be able to talk tomorrow made me very happy. Ridiculously happy.

So the kids watch a bit too much PBS Kids when I have a deadline. I'm not losing sleep over it. I feed them, and I feed them well. Tonight was a perfect example of that. Of course, with all that food I made all they wanted to eat was the spinach salad I served on the side.

Then Hubby still needed a snack. "There is nothing that goes better with kubasa than beer." We are a classy bunch.

Peppermint Chocolava

Christmas baking has begun. In my world nothing Christmas can come before December 1st. Even that is pushing it. Then again, we are a house that leaves the tree up until at least the second week of January (for Ukrainian Christmas). A 6 week season is a bit much.

This month I have a cookie feature and a holiday potluck article in the Holiday 2010 issue of What's Up. Included are these Peppermint Chocolava Cookies. Along with some Hazelnut, Cherry, and Cocoa Nib Shortbread and Lemon Sugar Cookies. Pick up the issue for a fun treat, along with tips for holiday baking with your kids.

Feeling Green

Can you tell what team we were cheering for?

Dinner tonight was in front of the TV. I know, not exactly a proper Sunday dinner. It was the Grey Cup, though, and that means a more than slight bending of the rules. (For my US and International readers, the Grey Cup is the big finale game of the Canadian Football League.) Dinner tonight was also at my parents' house. Seeing as they are from Saskatchewan, there was some green in the dinner.

We gathered, with the girls and my nephew running circles around us, in front of the TV. There was a pile of food. Mostly frozen puff pastry treats from President's Choice (not bad, all things considered). There was my Dad's salsa. There always has to be Dad's salsa when we get together. Then the spice continued with a giant vat of chili. A few beers too. Just a few, I was driving.

Saskatchewan lost. Seeing as I'm indifferent to football it didn't bother me. I was too busy remembering our Grey Cups as kids. Back then all available surfaces would be covered with Grey Cup tickets, a sort of lottery ticket. There would be score predictions on each one. It was my job to keep an eye on the tickets and remove those no longer eligible when a touchdown was scored. I kind of missed those tickets tonight. Instead, I kept myself busy with chatting, keeping the girls from driving my father nuts, and eating.

It's been an odd sort of weekend. I don't feel as bad as the Saskatchewan QB, but I'm not ready to put on my party hat. Instead, I want to just eat more salsa and drink more beer. I'm settled for the night, no more driving. I think that's just what I'll do.

No Empty Plates

The American Thanksgiving holiday is bearing down. Showing all the regular signs of excess - over eating, over drinking, and even over socializing for many. Throughout the US, Canada, and the rest of the world, however, there are many staring down at empty plates. There are parents figuring out how to make one drumstick feed many or how to explain to their kids that there is no feast like they've seen on every single TV show and commercial.

If you've been reading the last few weeks of posts you've probably sensed my growing stress and frustration with parenting while Hubby works out of town. Aside from the loneliness, being home alone means you start staring at every corner of chipped paint, drop of condensation on the ceiling, and hair ball with growing disgust. If only he was home to deal with the house stuff. If only he was home to work on the basement so the family wasn't tripping over each other and our things. If only.

The truth is, I'm totally being selfish. We live in a house we own. Okay, the bank still owns a portion of it, but we can afford to make the payments. I am working part-time as a freelancer, without the worry of having to make enough to buy groceries. I have the luxury of purchasing most of the groceries at the farmers' market from local and mostly organic suppliers, including my meat.

I have a wonderfully middle class life and I should just shut up when I start whining about when I'll have a family room in the basement.

Jennifer Perillo (she, of the chocolate chip cookie fame) invited a number of other bloggers to share an empty plate this Thanksgiving. It serves as a reminder that while we chow down, many others will not. She is also invited readers to donate to Share Our Strength, to help combat child hunger.

Here, in Calgary, I also invite you to think of donating to the Calgary Food Bank (or the food bank in your own city. Me, I'm making a donation to Made by Momma. Based in Calgary as well, it is an organization of moms helping moms in need. Something that I can truly identify with.

Please think of helping out others and paying it forward with your Thanksgiving this year.

Other bloggers giving thanks:

Bowl Licker

Chef Druck Musings

Dirt & Noise

Dish Towel Diaries

Food Mayhem

Food Woolf

Gluten Free Girl

Healthy Green Kitchen

La Fuji Mama

My Kitchen Addiction

Motherhood and Me

Mrs. Wheelbarrow

One Tough Cookie

Savory Sweet Life

TasteStopping

The Merry Gourmet

The Adventures of a NYC Mama

Use Real Butter

Gravy

It was the perfect Sunday dinner, minus the tantrums before hand. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts and carrots. There was even chocolate cake for dessert. There was no gravy.

Half hour before we were to sit down Hubby informs me that he isn't feeling well. That perhaps it is now his turn with the tummy bug making its way through our house. Sigh. It was at that point that I nixed the gravy. Actually, I might have told the gravy to go do something else.

As I realized last week, Hubby really is my audience. The girls could have cared less about a big roast beef dinner. In fact, they only wanted the chocolate cake. But I made them sit with me while Hubby moaned in front of the hockey game. Only one of them ate anything, both spent the entire meal screaming or singing, and I fought tears of frustration over my now cold roast beef. There may have been a tantrum or two as well.

The frustration got to me. One was sent to her room, the other to a quiet spot by the front door. I spent 20 minutes cleaning up after dinner saying, "No, you may not come out yet." Bring on the therapist's bill if it turns out they are gay and I control their honesty by my need to do the dishes in peace.

Honestly folks? I'm just cracking. Too much stress, too much work, too much single parenting, too much whining (on everyone's part). I think it's time to regroup. Anyone have a Mexican vacation they want to give me? A cabin in the woods with a personal chef/masseuse? No? I guess I'll settle for a hot bath, a good scotch, and a trashy book.

It was a good meal. It really was. Maybe, just sometimes, I should give in an let them eat the damn cake and we'd all be happier.