Ramp carbonara, moments of stasis, loving my little boys

The tweaky carbonara from last night turned out swimmingly: rampy, creamy, savory and fulfilling. I made enough for three but we wiped out the whole batch. Probably unnecessary but it tasted good; I was hungry!

This has been a good week, one of those which I experience, mostly enjoy and look back on with a sense that I might just have figured things out. Though I'm quite certain that feeling will be dashed in the near future -really, what is parenting and/or life without stumbles and confusion? - it's nice to hold it in hand for a bit, the ephemeral made permanent even if only for a brief while. These times are those that help sustain me when the rug of stasis is pulled from beneath my feet. As such, I try to appreciate these crystalline moments deeply and thoroughly.

The boys have, despite occasional Hydean slips into batshitness by Oliver, been very sweet, clever, and all-around appealing lately. Quite frequently, I find myself looking at them with an extraordinary mix of pride, love and awe. They possess such expansive imaginations and feel not a moment of hesitation in expressing the myriad stories, characters, situations, fights, dilemmas and so forth that their minds concoct. I am reminded, while watching them play and act all these creations out, what a valuable gift it is for a child to grow up surrounded by acceptance and love. It has always been critically important to me that the boys' interests be honored and valued, regardless of gender "appropriateness" or the like, and I feel it's incumbent upon me to help them explore those interests in varied ways.

When Jack wanted me to make him a mermaid bikini top because he thought Ariel was pretty, I did. I can't really sew (nor do I want to learn), so the fact that I accomplished this was amazing. As I cut the top, he said, "Mom, those don't look like shells. You are cutting triangles, but that's not what Ariel's looks like." Touché. He was 3. Tom raised a definite eyebrow of concern, but I suggested that the bigger deal he made about it, the bigger deal it'd be. Jack used his quilt as his mermaid tail, proudly wore his bikini top, smiled beatifically and soon tucked the top away in a drawer. Though I do wonder if he's a hoarder, it has made me happy that he's never thrown that thing away. It's there, just out of sight. He knows where it is, I suspect it still means something to him, and I'm still grateful I didn't say or do a thing but just make the darn bra.

Same with the pink bike he wanted (and got), the mustaches and bow-ties and others costumes the boys wear to school, what they say they want to be and do. Within reason (no hurting things, no meanness, etc), I just want them to be loved and valued, to grow up knowing that they have been loved and valued unconditionally (except when their manners are awful and I simply must step in and correct them). I've always had a gut feeling that if one has grown up in the loving glow of his/her inner light being appreciated, that person is more likely to treat others in that manner, to be generous in thought and spirit, to pause before judging, to appreciate creativity and difference. There is enough judgment and unkindness in the world for pete's sakes.

When they sleep, they are so relaxed and innocent and young. Their minds never keep them up at night with worry or timelines or to-do lists nagging. Sleep takes them away to the most basic state of rejuvenative slumber. I love to go in and smooth their mussed hair, fix their blankets, check out the array of stuffed friends with whom they choose to sleep each night: Polar Bear, Bob the Builder, Wrenchie, Lamby, Ghostie, Darth Pig. Sometimes friends get relegated to the floor but the very next night might be the prized pal.

Their baby fat is nearly gone, seemingly sucked up into their elongating limbs. Jack's neck and shoulders now slope in such a boy'ish (versus baby/toddler) way. He has muscles (little ones) now, and tiny hairs appeared on his legs last year. He thought that was hilarious, by the way. His stomach is becoming taut, and I'm thankful that Oliver's is still toddler-poochy so I can sink my face into and kiss it. Their little butts slay me, both so small and perky and sweet. Neither boy ever smells yet, so I've got a bit of time left in the B.O. department, but even that will probably arrive sooner than I think.

They draw me cards almost every day. Sometimes it's overwhelming because "why didn't you hang this one up?" when already I'm out of wall-space, but try as I might, I can't throw many away. They are so dear and so earnest and so, so loving.

As I watch the boys grow, I see that some of what I've said over and over and over these past years really has sunk in (I am very grateful for this, because if it were the contrary, I might be plunged into the pit of despair). They are kind, polite, generous and rarely judgmental about anything. They know how to make conversation with adults, and I think they know how to comport themselves at a restaurant. They are well behaved on airplanes and at school, they share easily. As I watch them do all these things, I learn again myself. And I am grateful for that. It's a counterpoint to aging in some ways.

RI, ramps

Let's give a shout-out to Rhode Island for becoming the 10th state to legalize gay marriage. Yee-haw! Equality is coming 'round. Not quickly enough but it's happening. Three cheers to the RI legislature! The sun came out earlier today, and the afternoon was a beauty. A balm for my over-the-gray soul! I exercised, Oliver helped me deliver dinner to my older sweeties (he loves to come with me; it's very dear), and I'm now riffing on a ramp carbonara recipe, replacing the pancetta (because I don't have any) with sweet Italian sausage, and the spaghetti (SO sad and shocked to be out of this staple) with rotini. Ramps are so lovely and lithe, so delicate in color and form. But them, wham, in flavor it is delicate they are not! They've got a fire to them, a spark that gets you right at the base of your throat. Not like hot peppers and not like heartburn, but somewhere in between those two. I like it.

You'll thank me for this one!

After last night's hot water heater situation, I was ready for a nothing-breaks sort of day. However, in the middle of East-West Highway (super-original name, yes?) on our way to gymnastics, Oliver and I noticed a terribly abnormal, screechy metallic sound that was clearly coming from our car. Upon arrival at the gym, I got Oliver started on class and went out to assess the mystery. The view from the ground near the front, drivers-side wheel showed that a piece of arched metal on my car's undercarriage had fallen 50% of the way off and had been dragging along the asphalt, hence the unwanted soundtrack to our drive. I took a picture, texted Tom and then asked one of the male gymnastics teachers (yes, I asked him because he was male; I know, I know, the stereotype) if he knew what the hanging item was. Not a minute later he was under my car removing the rusty, riddled-with-holes exhaust cover from its remaining point of attachment. Thank you soooo much, Jawon. Our ride home was very peaceful. Once home, I was happy to discover T, newly returned from NY. However, he has since decided he knows exactly how to repair the hot water heater but, per Murphy's Law, is now at the hardware store desperately seeking a different part. I'm loving the lack of water as I grilled and then devoured shrimp for dinner; if you know shrimp, you can imagine that my hands don't smell fragrantly (good-fragrantly) right now. Grr.

BUT the upside is that I have a marvelous new recipe for you. It's easy, requires little in the way of clean-up and is just downright terrific: spiced and "barbecued" shrimp and garbanzos. By barbecued I simply mean grilled. Preferably, you'll also take the extra step (if possible) to add some hickory wood chips to your grill's wood chip box so that the hickory smoke imbues the shrimp and beans with, you guessed it, woody smokiness.

Why did I include the garbanzos? you might be asking. Well, because what good is barbecue without beans? Exactly. It's not.

But, how seriously would traditional baked beans overpower the sweet shrimp? It's a tragedy to consider. So I didn't. Garbanzos it was because white beans wouldn't hold up as well, red beans are more fitting for beef or pork, and black beans are taking things in a Mexican direction in which I wasn't going tonight.

See, I'd decided to include star anise and cloves in my shrimp marinade. These spices led my mental map to connect with orange and lime, then garlic and honey, then hot chili powder and black peppercorns. I just didn't feel that beans other than chickpeas would mesh as well. The chickpeas I tossed with kosher salt, butter and brown sugar, and then I grilled them in one basket, the shrimp and marinade in another and removed them at the same time. Delicious!!!