holiday

Thought from:  The One-Minute Writer

"Create a holiday to be observed every January 22nd."

Holiday.

Holyday.

For every soul never wrapped in skin and nestled in mother's arms.

Amen.

Experiment

I cooked sweet potatoes for dinner the other night, and no one ate them except me.  Monkey1 is currently only eating white or pale yellow foods (pasta, couscous, corn-off-the-cob & ice cream).  Monkey2 will not eat anything that looks like baby food.  Husband avoids vegetables.  

So instead of banana bread, I made the recipe with sweet potatoes.  Husband said it was good and ate several pieces.  Monkey2 made crumbs.  Monkey1 was distracted.  The children of our mommy-toddler yoga teacher got in a roaring fight over it, with the 11-month-old trying to climb his 3-year-old sister to get more.  

Still, I have half a loaf left, and I'm not crazy about it.

I think I'd better stick to bananas in the bread.

Fruitcake

Tonight my husband and I enjoyed some more of my Christmas fruitcake.  

Homemade Fruitcake.  Yes, for real.  Six cups of dried fruit and nuts, plus some flour, sugar, eggs, and wine.  Once cool, I wrap the loaves in paper towels, soak in wine, seal in plastic, and place in the fridge.  Then, once a week I unseal the plastic and re-water the fruitcake with wine every week until Christmas.  At its best, fruitcake is made the day after Thanksgiving, but I have made it the week of Christmas, and "watered" it every other day, and it still was good.  

Fruitcake was our wedding cake, made by my mom, at my request.  Somehow during childhood my sister and I learned that fruitcake was the "traditional" wedding cake.  We came up with a theory that cutting through a fruitcake, struggling through the snags and lumps of fruit and nuts, was a good start for facing the difficulties of married life.  Fluffy cake?  No substance!  No wonder the high divorce rate!  (We were children of divorce.  My mom has never mentioned her wedding cake.)  So when the time came, my sister had a fruitcake for her wedding cake, and so did I.  I also had cupcakes for the children attending.

Making the fruitcake each year makes me think of the other years I have made it... 

The year my husband said I'd bring the recipe to Christmas; "No!" I shouted, to his utter bewilderment.  "Your mother makes EVERYTHING; PLEASE let this be my thing."  

The year I came home to a cold heatless apartment, five months pregnant, called the landlord, and then started cooking in order to warm up part of the house.  

The year I called my mom from the grocery store aisle asking was lox sugar was.  10 x or confectioners sugar, it turns out.

The year I made it in a galley kitchen while six months pregnant.

The year I made it with a baby sleeping in the Bjorn.

This year I made it in our own house, with one of the monkeys dumping the pre-measured amounts into the mixing bowl.  A double batch, and the best yet.

Words for Food

My mother always gave me a choice:  help prepare dinner, or help clean up.  

I always chose "clean up."  I'd read before the meal, clear away, and do homework afterwards.  No wonder I am perplexed by cooking or menu planning.  

I can cook.  I never starved myself in those post-college years, nor my husband once we were married.  My food is not going to poison anyone, but it is not going to impress anyone, including my 3-1/2 and 1-1/2 year-old daughters.  

Consider, "Man does not live on bread alone."

I know that; I used to read books, eat, and then read more books.  

The harder concept for me is:  Children do not live on books alone.  

Too bad since we brought 14 books home from the library this week.

Beginning

Came down to breakfast and saw there were already several half-eaten bananas on the table.  Since I've never seen my husband touch a banana except when sent to the grocery store with a list, that left my two little monkeys responsible.  Funny how they never come back and finish one banana, just peel another.  

Obviously, a day to make banana bread.