Ridiculousness and, a terrific dinner

"I'd eliminate the IRS, the Department of Commerce, the Department of Energy, the Department of Commerce and HUD."

And that's the Harvard guy.

Oh, Ted. You sanctimonious prick. It's Rick Perry all over again. 

But I digress.

Mom is here, and I like her to eat well when she is. Dishes must be wheat-, corn-, and alcohol-free, but that's no problem with a bit of planning. 

Roasted beets with horseradish vinaigrette? Terrific, and yes!

Yogurt, lemon and aleppo pepper chicken kebabs? Sublime!

Lemon-coconut creme brûlée for dessert? 

And scene. Tired and full. Good night.

Thoughts big and small

I am bone-tired this morning. Even my heel-pads ache. I gardened, ran and worked out yesterday in addition to taking Jack to a trial French class, going to the market, and actively negotiating Wii usage for hours, so there's all that, but still. 

Last night, Tom and I made a simple but superb spring dinner last night and then sank to the couch like weights dropped in a stream.

springtime caprese

We finished Episode 1 of the new documentary, Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies (based on the book by Siddhartha Mukherjee). Despite the heavy subject, it's really, really excellent. Toggling back and forth between past and present, it provides, through the sobering lens of pediatric leukemia, a thorough sense of the evolution of cancer understanding and treatment which is both fascinating and hopeful. You want to kiss the feet of the brave doctors who have persevered in the face of kids dying horrible deaths and then go hug your children and send gratitude for their health into the skies.

fava bean and mint puree; we slathered this atop griddled bread

I'm now sitting quietly on my couch, both utterly tranquil and stressed about how soon this peaceful solitude will end. T took the boys to swimming lessons about a half hour ago, so I gather I have just about 40 minutes left to read the paper and finish this post and my coffee. Naturally I know that's impossible, and while I will be happy to see the boys rush through our door and regale me with news of their progress and which Dum-Dum flavor each chose, it is mornings like these, when much of me wishes I had the whole day ahead of me and alone, that I feel so very stretched by motherhood.

yogurt chicken with aleppo and lemon, caprese salad, sauteed asparagus/english peas/Brussels sprouts and pecorino

Yesterday, after meeting Jack's French teacher and surveying the classroom, I hugged him goodbye and said I'd be back at the end.

"Je t'aime, Mom."

"Je t'aime aussi, Doodle."

What a soulful love that little boy is. I want to give him every opportunity and walk alongside him as he forges ahead in life. But that giving tends to tip the scales away from time to pursue my own interests and goals. In the most unequal of moments, I feel as if the early years of motherhood strongly suggest I put huge swaths of my life on hold. Daily. For a long while. 

I don't resent that, but it compounds the challenges of motherhood which are already great.

Friday night antipasto dinner with strawberry lemonade in wine glasses. Festive!

Children are not goals. I have hopes for my boys, sure. But other than feeling confident that I'm raising terrific humans, I don't derive from mothering them the sense of accomplishment I do in finishing an essay or laying that last bag of mulch. Nor do I feel I should, for children are people not pursuits.

the antipasto platter

At times it is utterly thrilling to feel yourself subsumed by something, but in other moments, it's discomfiting. As if a force beyond your control is reeling your soul away to an unknown land. Do you know what I mean?

a pile of zucchini-feta fritters

I love my boys with such fierce desperation. Yet within that cocoon of love I sometimes feel bits of myself slipping away, as if on a boat that's loosed its moors. I don't feel I can push back on them in the way I do T or friends; not yet at least.

Surely this is one reason so many people speak of parenthood in terms of sacrifice. I'm not totally comfortable with that word in this context, except in the most denotative of ways: there are, literally, sacrifices made (financial, for example).

But, I chose to have children, so it seems unjust to then burden them or our relationship with the guilty connotations of words like job and sacrifice. And so for now, I find my way, in moments stolen and planned, in the words swimming through my head and committed to the page. And I am grateful for it all.

All the good food in and out, an expression and a story

It is exceedingly chilly here. Stop it winter. You are pushing my buttons and making me tired. My grandmother -Nanny the great for those who don't yet know of her- had two older sisters, one of whom, Aunt Da, used to say of folks who irritated her, "(S)He makes me tired."

This was always my favorite of her expressions because it says so much in so few words. I mean, wouldn't you get me exactly if I said, "Suzanne Somers makes me tired." You would know clearly that I'm not thigh-mastering or wearing a shiny leotard that somehow doesn't go up my bum even though it is SO high-cut. No, you would understand that I am totally over Suzanne Somers and her charlatan claims about pretty much everything.

She makes me tired. So does Kim Kardashian, Kim Kardashian's ass, Ted Cruz and this infernal winter.

What to do in this case? Eat well and ignore Kim, Ted and Cold as best as possible.

Last night, before I awoke at 3am upon hearing Jack enter Oliver's room and wake him up to ask if he wanted to play Legos (to his credit, Oliver said, "NO Jack, go away. I am sleeping!" And then I took J downstairs for a lemonade date and ultimately we fell asleep together in his bed listening to a child's meditation CD which put me out like a light.), I cooked such a good meal.

Despite the utterly sub-par picture, this Aleppo pepper and yogurt chicken with lemons is to.die.for. These are kebabs at their very best.

To go alongside, I made a quinoa salad with apricots, lime, pistachios and mirin. 

Tonight, tired after my early morning escapade with sweet J, Mom and I went on a date to Macon Bistro over in Chevy Chase DC. You might remember my first trip there, last August with Tom. This place is such a great addition to the DC restaurant scene. I just love it. 

And it didn't disappoint this evening. Again, we perched at the bar and of course I started with the biscuits, honey butter and pepper jelly. Mom got the chicken liver mousse which is completely not my bag but does prompt another good story which I simply must, as an aside, share with you now. 

Mom has always loved liver. I, on the other hand, have always found organ meats positively repulsive. Liver is so thin and not a good color. Anyway, when I was about eight, Mom made liver and onions for dinner. She instructed Dad NOT to tell my sister and me what we were to eat.

As the story goes, I looked skeptically at the slab of liver and asked, "What kind of meat is this?" Mom said "Steak!!" with unnatural enthusiasm, and I cut a small bite. After chewing it maybe three times, I said, "Well let me tell you, there is something wrong with this steak!" At that point, Dad said, "IT'S LIVER, IT'S LIVER!" because he doesn't like it either. So we were all saved except for Mom who got to eat as much nasty liver as she wanted.

Tonight's chicken liver mousse was dressed with a liberal garnish of relish (a horrid concoction) and did ruin the mousse for Mom. Otherwise, dinner was great.

Look at my johnny cakes with deviled crab and fried capers!

Check out this spicy kale with fried grits and onions!

Mom's halibut with orange, chiles and greens was marvelous!

And now I am zonko tired and going to bed. Buona notte!