I’ll take one latte…and 23 fifth graders please

daphne on March 26, 2009

According to my best friend forever, Michelle, it’s time to get moving on this year’s garden.  Right-o, let me see; I need 27 starter potatoes, a pack of cucumber seeds, a roto-tiller, and HOLD THE PHONE!  I’m going about this all wrong.  Forget the roto-tiller, I’ll take an iced latte and 23 fifth graders.

Michelle Obama (you know? my BFF,) had the most fabulous idea.  Actually, I think I’ll grab credit for the garden idea.  I have been telling her forever that ripping up that useless, chemically-dependent rolling green lawn in favor of an organic kitchen garden is the way to go.

She came up with fifth grader part, but adding in the latte was all me.  I’m civilized like that.

Honestly, the First Lady may not be totally aware of our budding friendship just yet.  It is an inevitability once she learns how much we have in common.  We both have two daughters who enjoy a nice game of bowling (although her’s play the video game while mine rock the real deal.)

Not for nothing, but my kids do rock the bowling alley with style.  And grace.  What’s better than a sport that can be played sitting down?

I digress.

I was demonstrating the leagues of things that Michelle O and I have in common.  For instance, we both are concerned with getting our kids to eat well.  We both have been know to say things like “You can begin in your own cupboard by eliminating processed food, trying to cook a meal a little more often, trying to incorporate more fruits and vegetables.”

Granted she said it to The NY Times, and I say it mostly to the swaths of prisoners I keep chained in my kitchen well-intentioned friends who drop by for a cup of coffee.

To top it all off, I just know our husbands would get along. They both play basketball and in their spare time serve as leaders of the free world.  True, Dave’s record on influencing foreign dignitaries is less than impressive, but his jump shot is all that and a bag of organic chips.   Not that the President should read that as a challenge.  Dave is much to busy organizing fifth graders in our back yard to fly to DC for a game of pick-up.

Ok then. Now that I have seamlessly covered organic gardening, politics, basketball, bowling, fifth graders, and lattes I can get back to that point I was trying to make…

Sorry, no time for points.  Let me sum up:

  1. Rip up your lawn.
  2. Plant a garden.
  3. Put a fifth grader (or twenty-three) to work.
  4. Sit back, relax, and participate in your local bring-a-family-bowling-night.

The 2009 Bring-A-Family-Bowling Winners

Nice looking group, right?  I can’t make any promises, Michelle; but the Obamas do have a decent chance at becoming next year’s lucky recipients.  (Don’t worry about skill; we’re all here to have fun.  Besides, I’m pretty sure that only the youngest in our group scored upward of 50 points.)

Changes in altitude, plenty of attitude

daphne on March 23, 2009

This weekend brought not only the first day of a spring break full of sassy pre-pre-teen attitude, but also the first day of spring.  Eternal optimist that I’m known to be, I chose to focus on welcoming the new season, and not on the emotional trip that is repetitive eye-rolling.  I’m a glass half full kind of gal that way.  Anyway, first day of spring…picnic time, right?  Well, that’s pretty much what we did. Only we did it slope-side.

Because one of the key benefits of waiting until mid-March to hit the slopes for the first time is the beautiful sunshiny weather.  And really, with skies so blue and trees so green the dark brown stink eye from my eight-year old pretty much just rolled right off my back.

Once we sat out the time-outs and got the group up the mountain, there really were no complaints from the happy campers.  At least during the second and a half that it took to snap this picture.

Even old grouchy eyes set her attitude aside for a little while.  Long enough to flash me this smile on the chairlift.

With smiles all around we thought it best to call it quits on the early side, get out before things got ugly.   Theoretically that is.  We actually called it quits when they sank down into the mashed potato-like late season snow and couldn’t muster the power to get back up.  The whiny sirens of tired children rang out across the mountain-tops, and we packed it in.

Which got us back home with plenty of time to hit the yard and get down to work.  We raked and snipped and watered and cut back the beautiful dried grasses so that now everything looks pretty awful.  Dried out and shriveled up and just waiting.  Brown ugly springtime.  Well, except for the rhubarb.  I know rhubarb and I have our history, but I really have come to love this stuff.  It’s predictable. It’s tasty.  And up it pops, no matter what—

The raspberries are putting out their buds too.  It is interesting that even as I renew my pledge to pay more attention to the healthy vegetables in my life, it is the sweet dessert ingredients that never fail me. They require nothing, and they deliver year after year insisting only that I promise to eat my dessert.

And that’s a promise I’m willing to make.

Spring, sprouting and flinging all over the place

daphne on March 15, 2009

Sometimes nature is cruel. Other times, while it’d be an exaggeration to call nature cruel, she’s not exactly helping things by subtly antagonizing the underlying issues of sibling rivalry.

Thanks, nature, for this.  One more reason to pit sister against sister in the eternal contest for who is best.

Allow me to settle the question equitably, in the interest of protecting their loving sisterly relationship.  IT’S ME! I’M THE BEST. LOOK WHAT I DID!

Yesiree–that’s a tulip. Or a daffodil.  Or something posing as a flower-to-be in exactly the same spot where I presciently dropped bulbs about a million years ago.

As I mentioned already, I was not all that excited about digging in the dirt as the first hints of winter swirled through the air.  It’s unreasonable to have to wait season upon season for something to rear it’s lovely head.  Like a pinata that you smack in the midst of a party and then wait and wait and wait and then finally as you are growing weary of all the waiting you are showered by a cascade of delicious snacks. Oh the joy.

Would you look at that?  Time, as they promised, has flown.

I was wrong to be smug about the waiting. It’s a delightful treat after all these months to get something as magical, as beautifully incredible and special as this:

Really. That’s two sprouts.  Try to contain your excitement.

I’m sorry, but did I hear a GET REAL?  Am I sensing a lack of bubbling enthusiasm over the little nubs that are popping from the earth in front of my house due solely, I remind you, to my brilliant foresight?  Fine.  I’m no dummy.  I know not everything can be chard crisps and amphibian sex.  You remember frog sex, don’t you?

I don’t mean to lead you on.  Springy though it may be, I am not going to delve back in to the birds and the bees.

But guess what boys and girls?  It is time again for the annual elementary school Spring Fling.  Seems like just yesterday that we boogie-oogie-oogied ’til we just couldn’t boogie no more.  This year it was time to spring back to the most totally boss, righteously bitchin’ decade of them all…the 80s!  Here are the two cutest valley girls of the year–

Give me a break before I gag you with a spoon. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I did not send Acadia to her school dance wearing a shirt that says Eat Flax.  I’m the real deal, baby.  All eighties, all the time. Her t-shirt, of course, reads Frankie says… RELAX as it flash-dancingly dips over one shoulder.

My family, much like spring itself, is so totally tubular.

Happy Bodacious Spring.

In support of delusions all the same

daphne on March 10, 2009

Thank you for asking, but no, I am not going to Australia. I am not going to work and live on the islands of the Great Barrier Reef.  And yes, I too am floored by the audacity of this rejection at the hands of the tourism council of Queensland. I simply cannot understand their blasé willingness to pass on the incredible opportunity of me.

This is not me, snorkeling in the crystalline waters of the Great Barrier Reef.

I know, it’s hard to comprehend.  I also believed myself to be the ideal candidate for the best job in the world.  With my zest for life, my Oscar worthy video application and my astonishing capacity for rhyme, I had all but packed my bags when I heard the shocking news:  I was not chosen to assume the responsibilities of island caretaker in the Great Barrier Reef.

As it turns out I will not be whisking my family away for six blissful months of life in the land down under.

And though my musings were sure to be well-informed, witty and succinct, I will not be paid unfathomable sums to write about the adventures I would have had on the island and frolicking about in the surrounding waters.

My children will not grow bronzed beneath the southern sun as they forge friendships with the brilliantly colored creatures beneath the sea.

I am disappointed. Of course I am.  I am still clicking around on the website, for pete’s sake, scanning it for the clue that will elucidate the massive error in judgment that has me sitting here in suburbia while someone else, most likely this singing and dancing Canadian, lives out my life’s dream.

What am I doing here?  I look so much cuter in my mask and snorkel.

Ah well, it was a blast while it lasted.  And even if it did only play out in the fantastical theater of my head, it was a damn good show.  And just so you know, I’m still a big fan of obsessions. They come in handy for someone who favors life with her head in the clouds over sunnier shores.

Sure, I’m disappointed, but it’s alright.  It’s to be expected from time to time when you’re delusional.

Besides, my perfect island is out there, somewhere.  I just need to find it.

Chard, the thing that makes you say Mmmm (really!)

daphne on March 4, 2009

I am shocked. I had been wracking my brain trying desperately to write something garden-y amid late winter doldrums that would somehow resonate, and Bam! I hit the health-food jackpot. The outpouring in support of chard, sleeper vegetable of the year, has been overwhelming.

Here I was bravely choking down the stuff in the name of health when there are hundreds upon thousands of chard fanatics with a deep understanding of this under-appreciated vegetable.  You already knew why to serve it.  You even know how to grow it.  But more to the point, you really know how it should be eaten.  Hint: it can be crunchy!

Ok, crunchy chard. I am intrigued…go on. Where will this wacky nutritious hero pop up next?

Funny I should ask myself, because I happen to have an answer.  With summer just around the corner (and down the street and around the bend) thoughts turn to carnivals (work with me here.)  Blue skies, balloons, and loads of good clean American deep-fried fun.  Wait, hear me out.  I’m not suggesting you call it quits and break out the fryer, I’m simple setting the scene for our new crunchy, healthy friend….

Speaking of friends, my friend Annie is incredible.  Awesome, amazing Annie. She’s a magician who miraculously took our bitter, vitamin-packed pal and presto! change-o! Turned it into a crispy, carnival-worthy, snickity old snack.

And here, for the first time in North America, Annie has willingly revealed her secret for changing a nutrient packed yuck into a nutrient-packed yum.

Now I’m not going to lie to you. This recipe works best if you’ve got a top hat and a long black cape lined in purple satin.  Of course you can try it wearing jeans and a t-shirt.  Results may vary.

(Worried about me?  Think I’m showing just a bit too much enthusiasm for chard? Perhaps, but it has been a long winter.  And all I’m asking is that you try it first. Then come on back and judge me.)

1.    Wash the chard.
2.    Slice and remove the stalks. Set aside for salads or other recipe.
3.    Slice the leaves in half or quarters. Set aside to dry.

You’ll need a light dressing.  Mine was a simple vinaigrette, but anything will do; whatever you’ve got got in the house or throw together some of your favorite flavors.  I made a tray plain for the girls, with just a little oil and salt.

Mix together the dressing:
•    ½ cup Olive oil
•    ¼ cup Balsamic vinegar
•    1-2 Tbsp Mustard
•    2-3 Tbsp crushed garlic
•    Salt and pepper to taste.

1.    Toss the chard leaves in the dressing. Make sure to coat the leaves but they should not be drenched.
2.    Lay the chard flat on a greased baking sheet.
3.    Sprinkle with a little salt.

Bake for 7-8 minutes in 375° oven.  Watch closely so leaves crisp but don’t char.

Your guests, even your children, will be amazed!

Sugar Cube Igloo with Frosting, *recipe not included

daphne on February 27, 2009

Kira threw a major hissy fit yesterday.  Maybe it was the culminating pressure of being home sick for a week.  Or it could have been the stress of listening to me harp about the post-concussion care list over and over again.  Whatever it was, she snapped.  Here’s what happened:

I got an email from her teacher, requesting that I send a box of sugar cubes and a tub of frosting to school. The kids, she wrote, would be creating igloos to further their study of Alaska.  Kira was delighted as she watched me shove the construction materials into her backpack.

She danced and sang, “We build them. Then we eat them.”

“No,” laughed I.  “You will not be eating them.”

Note that in the above sentence I was using the royal, plural YOU, as in “there is no way the teacher is going to watch YOU–27 eight year-olds–devour handfuls of sugar dipped in frosting and then sit YOU down to a lesson in subtraction.”

This is what Kira heard: “The lucky children of your class will gleefully participate in the ancient Alaskan igloo-eating ritual, but not you my little pretty.  No, not you. Ha-ha-ha. You will be sitting in the corner with a basket of chard and a sign that reads: I am the class goober.  Life is totally unfair.”

Now clearly I have made my case for wanting the children to eat healthy foods.  But contrary to what Kira may want you to believe, I am not an organically-obsessed ogre intent on wringing every last ounce of joy from their childhood.  I follow every healthy vegetable-laden dinner with an equally healthy ice cream sundae (or cookie or slice of pie or leftover piece of Halloween candy.)  Balance, you see, is key.

A recent article in the NY Times floats the idea that an intent focus on teaching kids about healthy foods could send them over the dietary edge.  A kid obsessed with fat, they insinuate, is no different from a kid obsessed with pesticides or vitamins or omega 3 fatty acids.  A kid obsessed, they feel, is a kid in an unhealthy relationship with food.

Forget for a moment that I am on the record in support of obsessions.  Am I “driving (my) kids absolutely crazy,” as Katie Wilson, president of the School Nutrition Association would apparently claim?   Kira probably would concur, but I’m not 100% ready to toss in the tomatoes.  Still, in the interest of appearing open-minded, I’ll concede that she has a point worth considering.

So here is what I am going to do while I let these new thoughts-on-food germinate against my open mind…

I’ll simply feed the kids one sugar frosting igloo for breakfast, and another sugar frosting igloo for lunch.  Then, I’ll follow them up with a healthy, well-balanced dinner.  Moderation, after all, is key.

PS–Hey, today is my birthday. And here is my birthday song:

Happy Birthday to me
I don’t want broccoli
Or anything that’s healthy
Just some chocolate cake for me!

Swiss Chard, For the Family

daphne on February 23, 2009

It’s a super-veggie, packed with loads of vitamins, antioxidants, and a huge list of good stuff that the whole family can enjoy.  Or at least tolerate.  Or at very least you can distract them by talking about the wondrous array of fairy-land colors.  Or something.

Here’s how I get my kids to eat chard:

I cut up the leaves and the stalks, both parts are edible and worthy, and mix it into the girls’ salads.

They may moan a little, but sell it like a game: who can find all the gorgeous jewels, and make them disappear first? Tell them it’s the favorite food of princesses and fairies, or dragons and trains.  Whatever it takes, you know.

And here’s how the grown-ups eat their chard:

Chop the leaves, dice the stalks and saute away in about a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil, diced onions and chopped garlic.  Then hide it, like I do in this lasagna.

No control, part 2

daphne on February 17, 2009

I know, I’ve already admitted that there are some flaws in my logic: feeding the kids healthy foods and making them schlep groceries home in reusable bags does not in fact create an impenetrable force field around them.  It does not insulate them in a bubble of eternal health.  It does not encircle their precious bodies with impervious walls of steel.

I know this.  At some level, I do know this.  But in the abyss of the powerless it is these little things that I cling to in a pathetic grasp for control.  It’s these little things that make me feel like I am the queen of all I survey.  Like I can control the destinies of those who rely on me.  It’s the little things, like, for example, a helmet.

On a recent quest for mother-of-the-year, I passed on my usual ‘let’s just hang out at home’ routine, picked the girls up from school and took them ice skating.  We had this interchange on the way to the car:

Kira: I thought you said 8 year-olds didn’t have to wear helmets?

This is true. I did let her go sans helmet at her birthday party, which was at the very same ice skating rink-o-trauma. It didn’t seem that scary last month at the party–

I thought for a mili-second, then came up with this in response:

OK, if you are not planning on skating backwards, or skating fast, then yes, you can skip the helmet.

I don’t know how I came up with these parameters, but somehow in my world, birthdays, slow-skating, and going forward offer all the protection a kid could need.

Kira, with haughty eyes and exasperation:  Fine. I’ll wear the helmet, Mom.

And so it was that Kira wore her helmet.

And when she fell backwards that helmet went down with her. That helmet hit the ice, hard enough to give her a concussion.  For those of you playing at home, that makes two sisters, three concussions, eight years. And just to keep things really exciting, Kira, like her sister, falls into that tiny percentage of people who get concussion-related seizures.

She is, thankfully, fine.  She will be totally fine.

Me? I’m fine too. Really I am.  It’s just that if you need me, I’ll be in the corner, replaying vividly horrible images and rocking uncontrollably.

And mourning my complete lack of control.

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s…Super-Flax!

daphne on February 11, 2009

You should add flax to everything.

Not convinced? Oh, alright.  If you don’t want to save time and just take my word for it, here are some of the reasons why I think flax is great:

  1. It adds moisture to things like cakes, muffins, and quick breads. You can decrease the oil in recipes by substitute ground flax;
  2. It adds a great nutty flavor to things;
  3. A subtly, great nutty flavor that picky children don’t detect;
  4. It’s easy to hide–sprinkle ground flax seeds on everything from yogurt to ice cream, in granola or on peanut butter sandwiches;

And there’s a load of health benefits too:

  1. It’s high in omega 3 fatty acids, which have been found to benefit everything from the heart to lowering cholesterol to increasing brain power.  All good things.
  2. High in lignans, antioxidants associated with a reduced risk of cancer, including prostrate and breast cancer.
  3. It’s been found to lower bad cholesterol and blood pressure;
  4. It’s high in fiber;
  5. It’s been shown to be helpful in reducing incidences related to Chron’s disease;

Obsessed? You say that like it’s a bad thing.

daphne on February 3, 2009

Allow me to formally apologize to those I may have neglected over the past couple of weeks.  Though in my defense, the children haven’t once gone to school naked and although I ate M&Ms for dinner last night I am a grown-up and that was my choice.  The girls, for the record, ate pasta.

It’s actually been nice to take a time out from being fixated on the intricate eating habits of sub-four-foot humans.  Despite the grumbles around me, I think that my new obsession has livened things up a bit around here.

I’m not saying that I’ve grown tired of beating down the green path.  I’m just saying that if one’s path becomes studded with low swinging branches dangling dreamy opportunities, well, I for one am up for a nice poke in the eye of something new.

And it just so happens that the good people down at Tourism Queensland have been hard at work creating the ideal job for me.  So when I got word that a caretaker/writer is needed to live on the Great Barrier Reef for six months and swim, surf and share her fabulous experiences and adventures, well, that’s the kind of call I like to heed.  And I’m talking stop dead in my tracks and heed.

Yes, I became a tad obsessed, but it’s not like that’s a bad thing.  People with passion are interesting, exciting, you know, passionate.

And sure, I spent every waking hour of the past few weeks working on my application, but it’s not like my kids ever boarded the school bus naked.  At least, I’m pretty sure they didn’t.  I probably would have gotten a call or something if they had and I didn’t hear the phone ring.  Of course, the calypso band in my head has been pumping to the rhythm of my island dreams, so I can be forgiven if I missed something as banal as the ringing of a phone.

Anyways, I’m back now. I finished the application, and it’s down to me; me, and about 30,000 other applicants from across the globe all vying for the position that was molded entirely with me in mind.

Take a look, here it is:  Daphne’s Application.

My children, for the record, have been extremely supportive.  They are all but packed with snorkel and swimsuit in hand.  I’d argue that even if they did go to school sans clothes (which they did not) it’s a small price to pay for the incredible life lesson they’ve gained.  The lesson of what it means really, truly to want something.  And of working your hardest to achieve that dream.

I believe that’s a lesson that will serve them well, wherever life may take them.

Like, for argument’s sake, Australia.