Overscheduled

Apparently Cleo has gotten over her horror at Fred the Kitten's residence. As long as he is sleeping, and remember, he's a CAT, so he sleeps about 23.5 hours per day, she finds his purry warmth pretty appealing. I like having them curl up next to me while I grade the bazillion and a quarter papers I have to get through.

This weekend, though, I'm just going to be looking at them in envy, because in a relatively busy life, this one is way beyond what I would have voluntarily scheduled.

Tomorrow, I have emergency shelter training in the morning. Then Thing 2 has her first belt test in Kung Fu (and I tell you, watching her practice her routine in flannel pajamas, going, "Ha! Ha! Ha!" is a sight for the ages), and we go straight from that to the town's Christmas Tree lighting and "ice" skating. After that? A neighborhood pot luck dinner! Sunday is Christmas play rehearsal and piano recital for the three older Things.

But it all starts tonight. Instead of having pizza at home as we usually do, we're walking to a homeschooling friend's house for Country Club, where we talk about, make presentations about, and eat a meal inspired by a country. Sounds nice, huh?

When I realized that we were almost out of sandwich bread this afternoon, after I had made the dough for pasteles, I just sighed and mixed up my standard batch of our household bread. After the first rise, right when my sister came over to knit while I graded, I punched the dough down and put it back in the oven, covered with a plastic bag to keep it moist.

Then the two youngest girls and I trotted off to another Kung Fu lesson, since Thing 3 is under orders not to participate until January and Thing 2 is taking "his" spot for the month. When I came home, I switched on the oven, thanked my sister for watching the boys, and started the kids peeling and melting caramels.

Within 10 minutes, everything went to pot. I realized the dough was in the oven, and pulled it out to find something like this on top:

Melted right over the dough, which had begun to cook on all edges, of course. I didn't take a picture of the dough-clad bowls because it's just too sad. I scooped out the dough, quickly formed them into loaves, and tossed them onto the baking stone. I figure we'll at least have hearth loaves.

Then, I realized I had taken my eyes off of the caramel pot. Oh dear.

Yep. Nicely burnt. I rescued enough to slap into the dough and we worked, assembly-style, to get them into the oven. After checking on them twice, I realized that I had reflexively turned the oven off when I yanked the dough bowls out. Had to turn it back on to actually, you know, bake the cookies.

Fortunately, other people are in charge of the rest of dinner.

And I added another row of squares. Fortunately for me, while I was doing that, I was only watching Kung Fu and reading to Thing 4 -- so a normal amount of multitasking.

I'm looking forward to Monday.

Searing and Spinning

One of my favorite recipes is a version of Szechuan green beans. Fresh, plump green beans straight from the farmer's market, tossed into a hot cast iron pan slicked with sesame oil. After about half the beans show some sear marks, add a good bunch of chopped garlic. Salt to taste and finish searing. I like the fact that "burnt" means "pretty darn good" in this version -- I can be my usual distracted self and still have a dish fit to yum down.

Good hot, cold, and in-between. Once I took a bag of these to a movie for my snack and the folks around me seemed to think I was teasing them with the good garlicky smell. Or else they were annoyed that it was competing with their popcorn. I didn't ask, but I haven't done that again.

Oh, I feel as though I need to explain. The chicken I slaughtered wasn't done for any random reason. One of the new "hens" we got for laying purposes developed quite a set of wattles and an impressive crow, which he exercised all day long, from 5:30 or so in the morning until the sun went down.

No matter what my back yard looks like, I live in a pretty regulated city, so a rooster is Not Okay. I did try to find him another home, in a nearby, less-uptight city. Also I had folks who called sanctuaries and other things to see if they could place him. Alas, no one could or did in the time allotted, and I was seriously concerned that if we had a complaint called in, I might have to do some fancy explaining about the beehives and the other fowl. So his fate was sealed. I didn't enjoy it, as I said, but I did think it was part of being responsible.

Whew.

In more-pleasant topics, this is what is on my wheel now, in "Lavender Frost" from Girlontherocks. I had thought "socks" when I saw this, but as I'm spinning it seems to want to be a laceweight two-ply. Can something lacey be in my future?



Heh. Probably not if I'm responsible for knitting it. I just got another class for next term. The bank account's going to be happy, but I bet I don't get quite as much time with the needles as I might otherwise. And you know, with all of the other things in my head, I'm probably not going to be all that composed and knitterly for a while. I'll stick to nice, stockinetty-type projects.

After I finish my sister's Cobblestone and the other snail mitten, of course.

Good day in the oven

Fortunately right now it's cool enough that running the oven off and on all day only damages our bill -- the house remains chilly almost all the time. (Don't worry, those of you who are sweltering, we'll get ours during what you refer to as "Fall.")

Granola first thing this morning, followed by bread and hamburger buns. I always forget to make them and have to buy them. I figured if I were making bread, I might as well make small breads at the same time:


The oven rested while I rode my bike to the grocery store. One of the things I like is that I never know who I'm going to see when I go there. Today it was an old neighbor, and we did the "Must get together" talk, and I hope we follow up. I ache for friends around here. I've been trying very hard not to drive in my town. It's relatively flat, the weather is lovely (I wonder how my commitment is going to feel during the rainy season), and I keep thinking of what a nice place to live this is, and how much nicer it would be if it felt like some college towns I've lived in, where bikes were the default mode.

It's easier to shop without a person in the trailer, though.


After dinner (lasagne from the oven, of course) we had the final bakeage -- my new best friend, Trader Joe, sells frozen puff pastry. Nectarines and blueberries fresh from the farm, no added sugar, my trusty oven, and a dessert fit for -- well anyone who works hard all day, at least:

Dance like no one is watching

Another quiet solo run this morning -- just two miles, but a nice pace and good head time. Then I came home and jury-rigged these from a standard scone recipie:



These are Meyer Lemon Blueberry Vanilla Yogurt Scones with Lemon Honey spread. Notice the tiny fingers on the side? I had to do a hockey-player block to get that picture. A wee tweak of the leavening to deal with the increased acidity, and voila! A new recipe and the last of the farmer's market blueberries are all eaten up.

Then my day began unfolding in the usual way -- sweeping, cleaning up, taking the recycling out, and there was one more wet load of laundry to hang up. I noticed yesterday that when I hang laundry, I find myself smiling for no reason. I just like doing it.

And this morning? I was wearing my mp3 player -- often something I do while sweeping or cleaning, and the combination of hanging laundry and "Jive Talking" just got me going. I danced with tank tops; I danced with pajama bottoms. I danced with cloth napkins, I just danced and danced and danced. I assume no neighbors were watching, but if they were, I hope it gave them a huge smile -- I miss dancing, and if doing it around my laundry line is the way to get some, then I'm all for it.

Nothing like the smell of fresh laundry, too.

Only a little stinky

The "corpse flower" actually smelled more like "musty old house flower," but it was fun to go. There's a bit of the eternal tourist in me, that wants to check off sightings and activities, and make sure that my children also have those experiences, so, "Stinking flower? Only blooms every so many years? Check!" Since I balance this by being boring and uninterested in other stuff, I figure it's an okay urge.

And then some of us ended up in the newspaper. Usually my sister and I don't let reporters use our kids' names . . . and we've had some very weird reactions from reporters. But this felt a lot more educational, I guess. Two of mine are in the background of this picture. We have some other pictures of the kids there I'll add to this post when she sends them to me.

Then, the leather-repair place had moved, and the tailor was gone, so it didn't matter that I remembered to bring my beloved but torn jacket into town with me, but we did get oodles of basil and I made pesto for dinner tonight -- three kinds of ravioli: butternut squash with brown butter sage sauce, pesto, and goat cheese and walnut. I'm hungry just thinking about it. Maybe I'll make a tart too. If I get all my whack of grading and teaching done!

Good run doing intervals this morning, and I feel not-injured, which is a very pleasant place to be.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow I win back my body in a really profound way. Thing 4 turns three tomorrow, and that's weaning day. For any of you who have nursed toddlers or who plan to, believe me, I'm not going to miss nursing. Eleven-plus years of nurturing children in just this way has fostered in me a deep, deep appreciation for fancy undergarments, tucked-in shirts, and dresses with no front openings. Really.