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.

it's a different generation

This morning, Eleanor asked if she could Skype Kamma.

OK, she's barely two. And she knows the term "skype"?

I can already feel myself slipping behind the technology curve. Actually, I started slipping a long time ago. I don't tweet, I hardly blog, and my Facebook logins are semiannual events. I don't even like text messaging (probably because I have to pay something like twenty cents for each text message I receive...so texters, if you're reading this, let your thumbs take a rest and actually CALL me instead, OK? I'll like you better.)

an urban adventure

This past Saturday, we were driving home from the Breakthrough men's shelter where we cook breakfast once a month. And it's not in the best part of town, anyone would admit.

Driving north on Homan avenue, we heard a spatter of LOUD gunshots, obviously less than a block away.

Then an SUV who had just turned off Homan into a side street comes squealing out in reverse, looking panicked.

Then a youngish guy comes racing out of there on foot at top speed, also looking panicked.

I have no idea whether the SUV or the young guy were involved in this shooting; I am guessing they, like us, were just passers-by in the wrong place and in a hurry to get back out. But it was my first time actually being an almost-witness to a shooting. A little adrenaline rush. In case you're curious, we decided not to stop and check things out. Maybe not very good-Samaritan-like, but we had the kids in the back seat, after all.

Backyard camping!

With an unforeseen night off from rehearsal for me and glorious weather, we decided to have our first family backyard camping trip of the summer. What spontaneity! Scott and Miles have done it the last two summers, but this will be Eleanor's first time joining in. (Side note: Mommy helps with dinner and campfire activities, but opts to sleep in her own bed; that part is strictly Daddy territory.)

Miles and Eleanor helped Daddy set up our small dome tent. Then Eleanor explored the camping crate, discovering her new favorite cup:

while Miles helped Daddy clean out the firepit, dusty from a year's storage in the basement.

Daddy built a fine fire:


We roasted some bratwurst and lounged around on the grass while we ate. Well, Scott and I lounged; Miles bounced and Eleanor ran around with her grubby sausage in her hand.

Then, of course, it was time for s'mores. This year Miles and Eleanor both enjoyed the gooey toasted marshmallows, though Eleanor wouldn't eat her s'more (the rest of us helped her out).

Miles is currently woefully afraid of flies (ask me about the meltdown this afternoon when he couldn't go potty because there was a FLY on the floor, which turned out to be a clump of Eleanor's hair) and Eleanor passionately hates being dirty or sticky (marshmallows were sort of a disaster there), so real life camping may not be in the cards for us yet. But luckily, a bathroom and clean PJs were only ten yards away. We got the kids geared up for bed, and now they're snuggled up outside with Daddy, reading some stories.


I am virtually certain I will sleep soundly tonight. I can't answer for the rest of the family...