Ducks in a Row

My mother likes to collect things. All sorts of things, but mostly antiques. She has multiple sets of antique painted glass juice jars that fill most of the cabinet above her "mini-bar" that we are not allowed to use. Ever. Yes, I find this completely ridiculous and a total waste of space in an already very crowded house. But that's her prerogative.

She's even tried to get me, and now my son, to become collectors, too. When I was in college she decided my interest in marine biology justified having a collection of rubber ducks, but when I showed a lack of interest in collecting them myself, she collected them for me. And mailed them to me. I guess the upside of her weird obsession is that now Punkin has a large collection of rubber duckies for his bathtub. She also has started a collection of wind-up toys for Punkin, and I'm ashamed to say this one was rather contagious. Shortly after we arrived back in Seattle I saw some wind-ups at a toy store that my mother didn't have and I couldn't help myself - I slapped down $6 for those suckers.

I documented a few of her wackier purchases this summer and I'll share them with you over the next few weeks. Sorry - I didn't get a picture of the glasses. I didn't think they were that interesting.

That was the sound of my brain slowing down...

10 Things I can cross off my to-do list (aka mama ecstasy):

1) Recover from $h!tty-a$$ heck of a week with relaxing, no-agenda-weekend, sleep recuperation, and much good food. CHECK.

2) Buy Punkin new shoes - before his big toes turn black and blue. CHECK.

3) Do a little blog revival. ummm...CHECK.

4) Do a little relationship revival. yeaaaaah....CHECK.

5) Take tactical command of the mountain of laundry. HOO-RAH. CHECK.

6) Upload summer photos to web album for all of family to see and get their Punkin-smile-fixes on. CHECK.

7) Find the surface of my desk. And clean off months worth of grime. CHECK.

8) Take back my living room from the messy mitts of clutter, chaos, and dust. CHECK.

9) Finally bake my blackberry yumminess that was a galette. CHECK.

10) Make a list of things I accomplished, rather than things I still need to do. CHECK.

A Window

I had a $h!tty-a$$ heck of a week from hell. I feel better now. But the memories and feelings of the week will sit in a tiny bubble in my gut for awhile longer. It's probably from the guilt.

No one died. My house didn't burn down, or flood, or get robbed. Everyone still has their health (sort of). My future doesn't look too bad. And my little nuclear family is still with me, still happy, still growing.

I have days where my patience leaves town. It's not thin. It's gone. Days where every little task feels like putting a square plug into a round whole. Days where frustration grinds away and my nerves are exposed in all their raw tenderness.

At times wanting to scream and and shake and storm out of the room instead I grind my teeth, cover my face with my hands, my nails dig into my skin. And I cry. Lots of crying. It seems at once to be a release and downfall. The more I cry the more I release the negative energy. But the more I see myself crying, in front of my curious and impressionable son, the more I feel sad, despair, despicable. And so I cry some more. Sometimes I think someone must come and make it stop, rescue him, and comfort me. Most of the time I slip into a daze, exhausted and stunned, and eventually pick myself up, feed my tired body and the Punkin, too, as if he's just expended the same energy that I have, and try to move on with the day. I can't say it ever gets better, that day, but it moves forward and that's what matters. By the time Veggie does come home I'm ready to collapse again, and I do, on the couch, in his arms, while Punkin plays or looks on, a little bemused, a little curious, a little sad, too.

The worst feeling I ever feel, the one I harden my mind against, the one I can barely write about, is the feeling that who I am, what I do on my bad days and what I don't do because of my bad days, will somehow change who Punkin is, who he will become. That watching me on those days, or missing certain things in life because of those days, will make him sad, too. Will making him scared of crying women. Will make him feel despair more than optimism, frustration more than delight, and loneliness more than independence. And then of course there are the genetics - the unavoidable traits I passed down through my blood. Was it wrong?

I feel better today. Punkin is a little more clingy to his father, but maybe that's because it's Sunday. We'll be ok tomorrow. And right now, at this moment, the future doesn't look bleak. But someday dark clouds will storm through our sunny house again and I will wish I wasn't me. Just not today.

Bubbling Blackberries

Brief searching across Ye Internet revealed several recipes for a cornmeal-crusted galette as a popular method for consuming blackberries. As it turned out, many bloggers liked this recipe from Cooking Light. Um....YUMMMMMM....

The reviewer that said you'd have leftover filling was quite right. I even made less and still have a bowl of leftovers. I used more like 3-4 cups blackberries and 1 cup each of blueberries and strawberries from the farmer's market. It was one of the simplest but most delicious desserts I've ever made. I served it with locally made Snoqualmie Dutch Vanilla ice cream and Ginger ice cream. And I gotta admit I like the rustic look of the galette better than that of a pie - sadly I was too eager to eat THE WHOLE THING and forgot to take a picture for posterity. But it was a HUGE hit and I'm about ready to have some more for breakfast.

Ingredients

Pastry:
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour (about 7 3/4 ounces)
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup cornmeal
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cold butter, cut into small pieces
1/3 cup fat-free buttermilk

Filling:
4 cups blueberries
2 cups blackberries
1/2 cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons fat-free milk
1 large egg white
1 1/2 tablespoons turbinado sugar

Preparation

1. To prepare pastry, lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups, and level with a knife. Combine flour and next 3 ingredients (through salt) in a food processor; pulse two times. Add butter to flour mixture; pulse 4 to 5 times or until mixture resembles coarse meal. With processor on, slowly add buttermilk through food chute; process just until dough forms a ball. Gently press dough into a 4-inch circle on plastic wrap; cover. Chill 30 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to 350°.

3. Unwrap and place dough on a sheet of parchment paper. Roll dough into a 15-inch circle. Place dough and parchment on a baking sheet.

4. To prepare filling, combine berries and next 3 ingredients (through juice) in a medium bowl; toss gently to coat. Arrange berry mixture in center of dough, leaving a 2-inch border. Fold edges of dough toward center, pressing gently to seal (dough will only partially cover berry mixture).

5. Combine fat-free milk and egg white in a small bowl, stirring well with a whisk. Brush dough with milk mixture; sprinkle turbinado sugar evenly over dough. Bake at 350° for 1 hour or until pastry is golden brown. Let stand 30 minutes; cut into wedges.

(Courtesy of Cooking Light Magazine July 2008)

Backyard Bounty

Many people (including yours truly) would call blackberry vines a nasty and noxious invasive pest of a plant. And about 11 months out of the year that's all they are, creeping across the yard, over fences, under sidewalks. Reappearing seamlessly out of thin air after you've spent hours attempting to annihilate every branch and root, these weeds are relentless. But every August the blackberry bush seems to redeem itself with a bounty of berries and I can't help picking them by the bucket full.

This year I happened upon thousands of bushes overloaded with ripe berries at a local park. At high noon, when I should have been heading home with my tired puppy and very tired and hot toddler, I insisted on picking "just a few" berries. I filled Punkin's little green bucket (and his tummy) with big, fat ripe ones and when I finally headed home I figured my sunburn would be worth the prize. Instead, I managed to dump THE ENTIRE BUCKET ON THE GROUND and not just on any ground, but in a spot the local dogs like to use as their "potty place." I nearly cried as I pushed the stroller around the sad little pile of berries on the ground. And I vowed to redeem myself.

The next day I headed back to the park, this time with an extra 4 hands (and another toddler tummy) to help. We picked enough berries to fill a large colander and the kids (and grownups) ate like kings that weekend.


As luck would have it, and thanks to our very lax "gardening" practices, a blackberry bush has taken over a good chunk of the fence separating our yard from the neighbors. I relieved those heavy branches of their ripest fruit this morning and now I just need a fantastic blackberry recipe for them. I've been scouring the blogosphere for ideas but I'll give big kudos to anyone who can tell me: What's the best blackberry recipe out there?

Piss Poor

My day has gone from cranky, tired, headache day in crummy cloudy cold Seattle (it's AUGUST people!!!) to that day where I might finally sell the kid to some gypsies and take off to live alone in Taos, New Mexico (I've always thought single people with a rebellious streak and a love of the outdoors would run away to a dessert mountain town - I think I've been reading too much Barbara Kingsolver).

Since I've gotta blame someone for my $h!tty day, I've decided it's the U.S. women's gymnastic team for keeping me up till midnight, and my husband (of course - who doesn't blame their spouse when everything goes wrong at home and they're not here?), and my family (of course - easy target). (I guess that's more than just someone).

It started off with Punkin wetting the bed at 7:15 this morning. Yes he was wearing a diaper, yes we have a mattress cover, yes it still managed to soak the mattress, and yes, I'm talking about my mattress, not his.

After my husband told me not to worry about it and my mother told me to put the mattress out in the sun (um, it weighs close to 500lbs and I live in Seattle. where it's raining. IN AUGUST!!!), I then found some extensive advice online and spent 2 hours trying to follow that advice while simultaneously dealing with a toddler who has decided he's going to act as much like a 2 year old as he possibly can today. The result? I managed to taco the mattress in my attempt to stand it up on end for air drying and Punkin "enjoyed" his first time-out. And I know you'll likely tell me how useless and maybe even cruel it is to put an 18 month old in time-out, and perhaps you're right, but I have not and will never declare myself a perfect mother. And Punkin quickly amused himself in his high chair singing his Punkin songs and making zooming and crashing noises.

The mattress saga continues since I must wait for it to dry out before the next step in the cleaning process, but Punkin is finally napping and we managed to get some fresh air (and blackberries!) during a brief moment of sunshine. Thank goodness for walks in the sun.

Resurrection Part 2

resurrection