lying

Just in the last couple of weeks, Silas has begun to lie, not with brash left field tales, but with earnest eyes and plain-faced persuasion.

Tonight Ben found a rogue two dollar bill in Silas's jeans pocket.  Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and FINALLY the story seeped out, part of the story, and then a bit more, and then the whole thing.

After hashing it out, little Silas climbed into bed under a heap of regret.  Ben followed him over to his bed, and I sat in the semi-dark on the floor of his room, unsure about our parenting.  With my back against the wall, I watched them.  Ben sat on his knees, his bare feet dirty from the day, and leaned over Silas who lay huddled on the bottom bunk, and without betraying his wearied frustration, Ben kissed Silas's face and tucked him in.

As if in answer to my questions, there was the picture of how I want to love: with my dirty feet in plain view, full of forgiveness.

sometimes the easiest place to begin is with pictures: may

some thoughts on gathering at the table and tortilla soup recipe

Today I started a book called Bread & Wine that a friend gave me for my birthday.  In the introduction (all that I've read so far), the author said a few things that I love:

What's becoming clearer and clearer to me is that the most sacred moments... take place at the table.  The particular alchemy of celebration and food, of connecting people and serving what I've made with my own hands, comes together as more than the sum of their parts.  I love the sounds and smells and textures of life at the table, hands passing bowls and forks clinking against plates and bread being torn and the rhythm and energy of feeding and being fed...

It's not, actually, strictly, about food for me.  It's about what happens when we come together, slow down, open our homes, look into one another's faces, listen to one another's stories.  It happens when we leave the office and get a sitter and skip our workouts every so often..., when we break out of the normal clockwork of daily life and pop the champagne on a cold, gray Wednesday for no other reason than the fact that the faces we love are gathered around our table.... Food is the starting point, the common ground, the thing to hold and handle....

I do want you to love what you eat, and to share food with people you love, and to gather people together, for frozen pizza or filet mignon, because I think the gathering is of great significance.

I do, too.

*

As I mentioned (in an unfortunate biting-ish comment to Ben pre-biking), I've been sick all week.  Not so much fun, especially as the days shine clean and blooming, with near blinding light.  I've had cup after cup of tea and worked my way through a whole pot of tortilla soup.  This recipe couldn't be more simple -- think of it as the base you can add anything to:

Chicken Tortilla Soup
    adapted from Sunset magazine, December 2012

1 qt chicken broth
1 1/2 lbs chicken (rotisserie is easy, or boneless skinless thighs or breasts)
1/2 white onion, chopped
2+ large carrots thinly sliced
1 can diced tomatoes with green chiles (trader joe's has a great version of this)
(or plain diced tomatoes + 1/2-1 serrano chile, halved and sliced)
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
1/4 t chili powder (add more for flavor if you wish)
1/4 t cayenne pepper (gives a decent kick but use more for heat)
1/4 t pepper
tortilla chips
cotija cheese
cilantro
lime wedges
-> add anything else you have and wish: corn, peppers, peas, avocado, hominy

-heat broth until hot
-add chicken, tomatoes, beans, spices
can throw onions and carrots and other veggies in or saute til just soft and then add
-let simmer ~10 min to blend flavors
-stir in tortilla chips (I have yet to include these, but that's only by accident!)
-garnish with any or all of the following: crumbled cotija cheese (whole foods or Mexican market), fresh cilantro, diced avocado, lime wedges
  
mmmmmmmmm

fear

That took you 30 minutes instead of 10. 
It's already 5:00 -- dinner time and bedtime.  we can't go NOW.
I've been sick all week and you haven't once been nice.
We are going THAT way, down that huge hill in the street?
We are going THAT way on that bumpy path through the woods?
We may as well just take this helmet right off her because it's doing nothing.
You didn't lock the house??
Well, it's just too late to go now.
It's rush hour on the bike path -- the kids are going to get killed by speeding bikers.
Maeve hasn't even napped all day -- she's done.  I'm done.
We don't even know if the brakes work well on this old bike -- they are probably going to go out.
I can't even change gears on this -- the bike is broken!
How old is this bike?
These zip ties are NOT going to hold the bike seat on -- look, it's so teetery.  It's going to throw my balance off and we're going to crash.

Oh ugly,
on and on.
There in that last statement, of course, was the fear: that I was going to crash with Maeve on the back of my bike and hurt her.

Oh how we bury the heart of things.

Yesterday we took our first family bike ride.
Ben set to work to attach a bike seat (which, yes, took 30 minutes instead of 10 and did involve "tools" and zip ties...) while everyone gathered helmets and shoes.  It was my first run on my new bike that Ben had given me for my birthday (that yes, he bought of craigslist, but appears to be perfectly lovely and is butter color -- appropriate all around).

It isn't that I haven't biked before -- I have, even hundreds of miles to North Carolina, once -- but I have never biked with a baby.  I never crash but even when biking alone I almost crash a lot, weaving between telephone pole and brick wall or between cars at a red light.
What would happen with Maeve in back?  What if I did crash?

I know myself well enough to know that I don't always rise to the occasion: once, Max let me drive his motorcycle.  I rode behind him to a big parking lot where after a careful lesson, he let me try to ride it, myself.  I crashed.  Crashed!!!  I smashed the huge heavy piece of machinery onto the ground!!!!

This thought crossed my mind as I started to pedal, arms rigid, still spewing black smoky words into the air -- too fast, too slow, cut off.  And the front tire wobbled.  I coached myself -- breathe, gulp the air, you can bike, look at the leaves, watch Eden riding so proudly behind Ben, pedal, breathe.  But it stayed -- the fear -- and the negative words kept tumbling out.

Silas zipped ahead as he does.
Ben and Eden hit stride.
I relaxed my arms and the bike stopped shaking.

Maeve started to cry.  The helmet, one of Eden's (!) had tipped to cover her entire face (safety first).  So I stopped and propped it back up.  She smiled.  She, this baby I love, was the one on the back of the bike, and this right now, was her first bike ride.  Whew.  We smiled at each other and I climbed back on.  The start up was the hardest -- finding my balance.  A dog walker on the right, two bicycle flying toward me on the left, a dinging behind me for someone to pass -- breathe and keep pedaling.  

Maeve cried again and as we stopped, Ben and Eden disappeared around a curve ahead of us.  I took the helmet off all together and pushed off.

They were gone -- Ben, Eden, Silas -- somewhere way up ahead and hadn't even stopped.  I could feel the anger start to rise -- this is supposed to be a family bike ride, they didn't even look back.  I turned off onto a smaller path I thought they'd taken, and found myself alone with Maeve.

The day was so bright and clear it was almost abrasive, sunlight making the new-green glow.  I started to talk to Maeve.  Suddenly the thousands of leaves above our head rushed and blew -- cleansing.  I breathed and heard Maeve gasping in the wind. Slowly that nippy anger -- the fear -- started to slough off.

We didn't find anyone else, but the creek sparkled and Maeve yelled each time a dog barked as if she were answering.  We thumped over a wooden bridge and wound our way back to the big path, where there, twenty minutes later, somehow Ben, Eden and Silas were just pulling up.

I didn't say sorry, but I didn't say anything, which must have been loud (and welcome).  Together we bumped back through the woods and home.

maeve as a boy and slight paralysis

Last night I had a dream for at least the second time, that while I was changing Maeve's diaper, I realized she was a boy -- how had I missed that this whole time??  At least she was still a baby so announcing that she was a boy wouldn't be that bad, though it was strange I'd been putting her (him) in dresses all this time.  I'd have to give away all her clothes and change her name.  I was sad about losing the name.  In my dream, I kept looking at Eden thinking, this is my only daughter, and Silas has a brother now.  I think we were going to rename him Henry Gray and ask Eden if she wanted "Maeve" to become part of her name...

Some part of my subconscious must still be trying to absorb the fact that this third child is here and staying, and that, somehow, I do have daughterS.  Traveling alone with Maeve this weekend punctuated her mystery -- who is this tiny stranger?

Today is rainy.  The house is dark inside and the new-green on the trees through the windows looks almost yellow, glowing.

There is a mountain of unfolded laundry on the floor of Eden's room where Ben stashed it this weekend.  Usually I put it on our bed as a challenge/reminder to fold it before we sleep, though what we actually do is shove it on the floor, climb into bed, put it back on the bed in the morning, shove it off again at night etc. for a few days.  And though the house is quiet and it would be a good time to begin to create order, I can't bring myself to walk in there.  Or to turn on the light.  Or to unpack my suitcase.  So I'm sitting on the bed in half-light thinking about Maeve the baby who is, indeed, a girl, and wondering who in the world she'll become.

soft boiled egg and spinach on toast

Maeve and I just returned from a weekend in California.  Glory.  And exhaustion.  Sweet, happy exhaustion.

I have made this recipe at least four times in the last couple of weeks and have eaten it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, both with and without children, both alone and with company.  So easy.  So delicious.  Thank you Smitten Kitchen.  I definitely recommend.

A few quick notes: I apparently am not a careful reader and never added cream to my spinach.  I also cooked the shallots and spinach together rather than separately as she mentions, and it worked.  I sometimes have forgotten the mustard and have eaten it both with and without crumbled cheese -- good all ways.

from Smitten Kitchen:

Spinach and Smashed Egg Toast

1 large egg

1 slice of your favorite hearty bread
2 ounces baby spinach
1 pat butter
1 tablespoon minced shallot or white onion
1 tablespoon heavy cream
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon smooth Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon crumbled cheese, such as goat cheese or feta

Bring small pot of water to boil. Lower egg into it and boil for five (for a runnier egg, as seen in top photo) to six (for a less-runny but still loose egg, as seen in bottom two photos) minutes.* Rinse egg briefly under cool water and set aside.

Wash your spinach but no need to dry it. Put a small puddle of water in the bottom of a skillet and heat it over medium-high. Once the water is simmering, add the spinach and cook it until it is just wilted, and not a moment longer. Transfer it to a colander and press as much of the excess water out with the back of a fork as possible. No need to wring it out here; we’re hoping to those lovely wilted leaves intact. Keep that fork; you’ll use it again in a moment.

Put your bread in to toast.

Dry your skillet if it is still wet. Heat a pat of butter in it over medium-low heat. Add shallots and cook them for a few minutes, until translucent and a little sweet. Return spinach to skillet and add cream. Simmer them together for one minute, then season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Put your toast on your plate and spread it thinly with Dijon mustard. Heap the spinach-and-shallot mixture on top, then add the crumbled cheese. Peel your egg; doing so under running water can make this easier. Once peeled, place it on your spinach toast, smash it open with the back of that fork you used a minute ago, and sprinkle it with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Eat immediately.

snapshot

We are standing outside.  Silas, with his long skinny legs and knobbed knees, walks off the bus and throws his arms around my waist.  Maeve sits on my shoulders, my hands around her small warm body, balancing her there.  The afternoon's become overcast, a scrim of clouds suggesting rain and stirring a breeze.  Eden and I walk barefoot on the warm concrete.  She stops, kneels down to the grass and digs -- "Look, Mom!  A grub!" She holds up a dirt-smudged C on her palm.

The neighbor across the street waters his thick damp grass and smiles at us.  He raised his girls in that house and now they are grown.  How quickly, it seems, we may be standing in our yard outside an empty house, watching the young family who's moved in across the street walk down the sidewalk chattering, a pack of elbows and backpacks, dragging jackets as they go.