Summer in a jar

With the help of my lovely neighbor Carol, I produced eight pints of peach jam, six pints of peach-tomato salsa, and nine pints of fruit-tomato marmalade this morning.

It is all delicious. I am exhausted. And, as with so many of my domestic endeavors, I have sadly realized that canning, like sewing, afghan crocheting, and building your own furniture, is not a way to save money. After buying the jars, fruit, and hiring a babysitter, I estimate each of these small jars is worth at least $4, not counting my own labor or the cost of canning equipment (I just used my neighbor's). Oh well - it's awfully yummy. And if I did it on a Saturday (with husband, sans babysitter) and re-used these jars, it might be cost-effective too.

One of my domestic efforts that IS saving money (though not calories) is baking my own bread. I am getting pretty good at it, too - see latest effort below.


This is thanks to my new favorite cookbook, "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day". I'm a low-maintenance kind of girl, and their method (mix your ingredients together and stick the dough in the fridge for a week or so, baking as needed) is right up my alley. The crusty boule is great, I'm a wonder with the challah, and a couple varieties of multigrain peasant bread are pretty spiffy, too (and they parbake and freeze well).



That said, my soft pretzels tasted good, but looked NOTHING like soft pretzels. My whole wheat bread in a loaf pan has scorched every time (I think I need an oven thermometer). And my latest effort at oat bread looked like it had melted. It was crusty and tasty, but only about an inch thick. More like oddly crispy focaccia.

Cute things my kids say and my mom warns me to write down lest I forget

This post will need some follow-ups as I think of more things, but for starters:

Eleanor: "blana" = banana. And for some reason, she says AP-ricot (with a short-a sound) rather than APE-ricot, like I do. Where did she get that? For that matter, I dislike apricots; where did she get this obsession?

Miles and vocab: "Dreary" as in "Mommy, don't you think this room is kind of dreary?" He had no idea what it meant, though; thought it was like "hot". And of course, "Mommy, it's kind of dim in here. Can I turn the light on?"

Eleanor: "Where's my Miles?" "Mommy, we go get my Miles now?" (On the occasion of Miles' first slumber party - I thought she'd enjoy the personal attention/Mommy time, but she was too distressed that her best friend was not present at bedtime or breakfast.)

Eleanor, crying: "I soccer too! I soccer too! No soccer for Miles!" (When Miles left for soccer class. She doesn't know what soccer is; she DOES, however, know what a SUCKER is (aka lollipop) and apparently was miffed she didn't get one.)

Miles: "Mommy, I think I will have a dream about when I will be a REAL ballerina." (I checked out "Angelina Ballerina" from the library for Eleanor. But just like Fancy Nancy and Olivia, Miles sort of appropriated this one for himself, too.)

In search of the perfect Caprese...

I love Caprese sandwiches and salads. I mean, I love meat too, but given a choice, I'll take a Caprese sandwich anytime.

Earlier this summer, I actually ventured into backyard gardening in a tiny way: I planted three tomato plants and two basil plants. The tomatoes are taller than Miles now, and the basil isn't far off, which is a bit of a surprise, given my usual black thumb. I had my first tomato harvest this afternoon!


They're not quite all ripe, but since we're leaving on vacation tomorrow, I picked any that were close to yellow, and made myself a Caprese salad with my fresh basil and some leftover mozzarella.

It was pretty good. Not perfect; truly wonderful fresh mozzarella is prohibitively expensive considering the quantities we consume. The cheap stuff is basically melty plastic, so this stuff was a compromise: OK but not as authentic as might be. I also haven't forayed into the $30-an-ounce type of balsamic vinegar. I know people rave about it, but I don't actually dislike the cheap balsamic vinegar I already have on the shelf.

For the sandwiches, homemade bread is going to be key, I can tell; my local "bolillo" roll, while a good-sized vehicle for vegetable and cheese, doesn't add anything flavor-wise.

So I've got the tomatoes, basil, and bread down, and now I'm pondering making my own mozzarella. A couple websites insist that it's not only possible, but easy, if you can find the right kind of milk (and order some gross things like liquid rennet). We'll see how motivated I am; this may be my dabbler personality lurching out in yet another non-productive direction. (Remember the quilting? The half-finished cross-stitch? The scrapbook? Becoming a step aerobics instructor? Becoming a ski instructor? The weed-free but nothing-planted-in-it flowerbed? The various fitness/cleaning/becoming a better overall person regimens? Wait, is that the plural of regimen?)

I mean really - cheese making? Surely my time could be used more wisely, right? I could spend hours nurturing my little ones...working out...scouring my floors...blow-drying my hair...planting, uh, plants...accessorizing my outfits...not to mention working somewhere for a paycheck, which is pretty far down my priority list...

A small-town moment in the big city

It was just lovely today. And after naps (or attempted naps), the kids and I walked down to the little grocery store on the corner. I just needed some oranges and bread.

As I approach the cashier, though, I notice my purse is lighter than usual. With dread, I rummage around inside...no wallet. Eleanor is a big fan of going through my purse, and the contents often end up in the cracks of the sofa. I have no cash in my pockets. No credit card tucked away. Just a checkbook.

So I ask the cashier if they'd take a check (my total is $3.72). She looks doubtful, then hollers away in Spanish on her store walkie-talkie. (I note: this store is about the size of a 7-Eleven, and so I'm wondering "why the walkie-talkie?" Sure enough, when she gets no response on the device, she just turns and yells over her shoulder. Voila! The manager/owner walks right over.)

After a conversation in very fast Spanish that I couldn't follow, apparently they do not want to take my check. The cashier offers an alternative: she suggests I just take the groceries and I can come back and pay some other day.

I am baffled. Do stores really do that anymore? Jewel sure wouldn't. But the cashier goes on to say that she knows us (she does? I don't know her!) or at least my kids (aha!) or at least Miles, who apparently comes in the store all the time. I suppose that, when I need something last-minute for a meal, I usually send Scott and his faithful henchman down to this store. And in our neighborhood, our particular family demographic is pretty recognizable.

It just made me feel like I was in a small town in the 1940s or something; rather quaint.

The rest of the story: I took my groceries, feeling a bit guilty, and walked home (all of one and a half blocks), got my wallet out of the couch, walked back, and sent Miles in to give the cashier $4, which he promptly dropped all over the floor.

A few recent photos

I just thought I'd catch up on posting a few recent pics from this summer. Miles and Eleanor got to go bowling for the first time (yay Groupon!) with Joshua Studee. Thankfully, the bowling alley offered both bumpers AND a ramp, so the kids scored better than the adults.

Miles looooooved his pink bowling ball. No one else could use that ball. Oh no.


In case you're wondering what the ramp looked like.


Disgustingly enough, Eleanor kissed her ball. For luck? And how cute is it that bowling shoes come in this size?


It's a seven pound ball. She weighs about 24 lbs. You do the math. And she ALMOST hoisted that thing up on the ramp. Veins bursting and eyes popping, she insisted on trying it herself every time.

The Studees (well, minus Andy)...our frequent partners in crime and commiseration.


Our street's block party is really fun. We have loads of kids on the block, and usually have a parade, a bounce house, a potluck, craft time for kids, etc. A great older couple from across the street brought their old-fashioned hand-crank ice cream maker, and the kids lined up to take turns cranking. Some with a little more help than others.


I feel so lucky that my little boy still wants hugs and kisses! I'm going to enjoy every moment of this as long as it lasts...

A few weeks ago, we headed down to the Millennium Park fountain with my friend Kate and her two sons. Miles and Isaac had a BLAST! Both are kind of rough-and-tumble kids, and they're a good match for each other.


Eleanor's itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikini. The bottoms won't stay up without some serious clippage, which is why she has random barrettes stuck to her waistline (hey, it was all I had!)

Miles takes good care of his little sister. Here they are, holding hands and jumping together - a popular sport, whether in the fountain or in our kitchen.

Random photo...guess who this beautiful baby is? I made a baby outfit for my friend Amie's baby shower, and had to try it on someone, and Wesley Studee was just all over himself volunteering...

And Eleanor has learned to love trying on new clothes. And posing for photos. So far all her poses are the same, though.

And again...

My favorite photo of the season: what a dapper son I have!

A humorous moment with a stranger

Driving along Lawrence Ave., my attention was arrested by a rather short woman in her late fifties with...how shall I say it...ENORMOUS, perfectly spherical bosoms sticking straight out in front of her, and a low-cut tank top highlighting them as well as her midriff.

I admit, I stared for a few seconds. Long enough to see the woman in the car to the right of me do a double take and some staring also. And then she (the woman in the car next to me) looked over at me, and we both started giggling. And drove off.