Dream Big Little Girl

When I got married I learned to cook. When I learned to cook I learned how to save money at the grocery store. When I learned to save money at the grocery store I started telling myself: when we're older and richer (forget wiser) I'm going to only buy the highest quality groceries. I'll shop only at Whole Foods and our food will always be delicious.
Well now that I've learned everything is delicious when you make it from scratch & love-no matter the brand-I've graduated up to a grander dream.
When I'm older and richer I'm going to stock my wardrobe w/ garments only from Anthropologie. It is impossible to imagine a store more perfectly catered to my fine lady/girly fancies of fashion. Every time I walk through the store-buying nothing-I drool and dream and sigh to myself. I liken it to walking through the Garderner Museum. Though, perhaps not as magnificent. But close.
So yes, I'm not much older, and none the wiser. Walmart is still my source for all things cheap and delicious, and my highest hope can apparently be fulfilled by a very expensive trip to the mall.

In other news:
~It snowed this morning; we are enjoying a very chilly October, and Li'l Bit is wondering where her Christmas presents are. Snow=Christmas.
~The kids are in Lock Down (alone time) right now. The smallest one has gone to sleep and the two bigger ones are starting to seep into the living room where I am presently typing and drinking hot coffee.
~My blessed husband will hear his praises sung all weekend from family and friends far and wide. Why? Well, I'm paranoid and superstitious, so I won't post about it until it's all said and done. Let's just say: you'll be jealous. All of you, three Readers, no matter your station in life, you will hate me with hot, green jealousy in your hearts. It's that good.

On Fire

I started my first oven fire last night! (It wasn't quite as dramatic as the picture above, but it could have been.) :) I was broiling Bacon Cheeseburgers for my dear husband and children. It was my first time to use the broiler, and I was following the recipe, thank you very much! It said "place burgers 3 to 4 inches from the broiler for 10-12 minutes." So I did. By minute 7 there was trouble. Smoke started billowing out and the alarms started going off. I opened the oven and saw that, Ah, they're on fire. Sweet Gizmo was standing in the corner with his hands over his ears crying, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" I took him into the living room and B.daddy started looking for the fire extinguisher. By the time we'd read the directions on the extinguisher and opened the oven back up the fire had gone out. So the burgers were saved and beautifully flame broiled. They were delicious!

This reminds me of some of my first kitchen mishaps:

Once I added cup after cup of flour to some very soupy mashed potatoes. I was just trying to thicken them up a bit, and though my husband of three months was telling me they would taste bad, I persisted. "They'll taste like flour," he cautioned. "Flour doesn't have a taste!" I retorted. (I'm a very proud, know-it-all sort of person.) Finally the potatoes were nice and thick, and they tasted horrible--disgusting. They tasted like flour.

The first time I ever tried to make fried chicken: I poured the oil in the pan and turned the heat up to medium...then medium high...then high. Why wouldn't the oil come to a boil?! In a moment of God's good mercy I called my mom before putting anything in the oil. I asked her how long it takes to bring oil to a boil, and in her most serious, nurse voice she said, "Do not put anything in the oil! Turn the burner off and leave the kitchen now!" She explained to me that oil doesn't boil--it catches on fire.

The next time I tried to make fried chicken: This was much later--we'd moved to Boston before I got up the nerve to try again. I brined the chicken in buttermilk and salt and followed the recipe to the "t." Which means, I fried the pieces exactly as long as the recipe said to...without cutting into them to check for doneness. What a beautiful meal set out on the table when my young husband came home from the office! We piled mashed potatoes (flourless), cream style corn, and fried chicken onto our plates. Then I took a huge bite out of my chicken leg. It tasted a little funny. The texture was a little off. B.daddy, being the King of Raw Chicken Phobia, cut his up and saw some very pink meat...and blood. By this time I had completely chewed and swallowed a mouthful of raw chicken. Defeated and disgusted I took the chicken back to the pan to finish frying them. When it was all said and done, we just couldn't bring ourselves to eat any of it. And I don't believe I have tried to make fried chicken ever since.

What's For Dinner

I already have half of B.daddy's homecoming feast prepared. One of his favorite dishes is complete and in the fridge. The cheesecake is in the oven and almost done. And I'm sure I'll be making bread all morning long. He gets home tomorrow at 3 pm, and I can't stop my mind from jumping from task to task. It's not that the house needs to be in ship shape w/ dinner on the table as soon as he walks in. It's just that I'm not sure I can focus on anything that doesn't have to do with him getting home!
Yes, I'm tired. I've rarely felt such physical fatigue as what I've been feeling the last few days. (I was good till day 8. Day 9-and-on kicks my tail.)
Single moms: I salute you. It's not so much that it's tiring--it's lonely. More than the tiredness, more than the inescapable responsibility of parenting...I've just wanted someone to talk to! And not just anyone. I've been talking-more than usual-to all my nearest and dearest throughout the last week. But I want to talk to my husband. That's what I miss, and that's what I can't imagine doing without. I can't imagine going through one of the most--if not the most--demanding and complicated phases of human life without that one person who loves you more than anyone else and will listen to anything and everything and try to respond with gentleness and understanding. I know people do it all the time. There are moms and dads in every culture who have to hold their own--whether they're married or not. I'm just saying I am Dang Thankful for my husband; and I take neither him for granted nor the stamina people like my sister have to keep up just to get through every day and every night.

Some fun photos of the Daddy In Action:

halloween three years ago

his 33rd birthday party. i think ladybug might have actually been conceived on this night. sorry. too much info.

li'l bit and i spent a day in harvard square putting together his birthday present. (lots of fun things to do all by himself.) she was very excited for him to open his guide.

always so fun when they get to make things with him. in this he is infinitely more patient that i. i can hardly stand to let them "help me" with a cake mix, let alone build shelves!