Archive: May 2008

Today is the last workday of May’s Mission: Put Together and I can hardly believe it. Stay tuned for a wrap-up post on Monday that will feature interesting trends, lessons learned, and the future of M:PT!

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Operation Pink Herring asked:

So, when are you going to start having babies? (JUST KIDDING!)

The long answer is the following, but the short version to this question, which I know was asked in jest, is that I don’t know.

One of my closest friends from high school is having a baby any second now, and the whole idea is sort of blowing my mind. It’s not that she got married after I did, and I feel pressure. It’s not that she and her husband shared the news via Christmas card, and my jaw just about fell off from its sharp descent to the floor. See, she and I were always the ones who consoled our lack of boyfriends by saying that we were “the friend type, not the LOVER type” (my yearbooks hold proof of this rally cry), and even though we were the first ones to walk down the aisle, I still think of her that way. I think my friend and her husband will be great parents, and I had lots of fun picking out books to send for the baby shower present. It’s just that getting e-mails with updates on the baby, deadlines for the weight/date pool, and pictures from the “belly photo session” makes me severely uncomfortable, as though I am privy to something entirely too intimate for my eyes. Just let me know when the baby’s here, I want to say. Then I can be 100% congratulatory and 0% uncomfortable! I will mail off the baby card I have waiting in the wings, click through however many pictures I receive, and send them something tiny and orange, in tribute to my high school’s horrendous colors.

All of this is to say that, for now, I am perfectly happy living vicariously through my friends’ kids. I can give borrowed kids candy and noisy toys that require batteries without suffering the ill consequences! In the worst-case scenario, I simply give back the kids at the end of the hour/day/week and chalk it up as an effective form of birth control. Excellent.

On a serious note, if I came to the point where I wanted to extend our family, my first choice would be adoption. My mind can not wrap itself around creating new children when there are so many who need homes right now. (I am also extremely squeamish at the idea of being pregnant or giving birth, but let’s not dwell on that.) Part of my motivation toward the adoption end is that I identify strongly with orphan Chinese girls. At the risk of being melodramatic, it’s forefront in my mind that I am a second daughter, and if my parents had had my sister in China, I may not have been a very desirable second child. I want these girls to have parents, and whenever we can afford it, sponsoring adoptions is high up on the to-do list.

It’s not that I am against children or people having them, but I really like just being married. I don’t believe that a marriage is simply a vehicle to have children — a means to an end — so until we feel like we really want to be parents, we’re fine with the status quo.

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Janet asked:

Do you have your future babies’ names picked out?

Background information:

• I have a semi-unusual name that I disliked for the majority of my childhood and adolescence, and even now, I am more resigned to it than anything else. It was rather liberating to have a nickname in high school, since everyone could pronounce “RA.”
• Our last name is really hard to spell over the phone and almost impossible to say correctly at first glance.
• JG tells me horror stories about struggling on the first day of school with name pronunciation. Afterward, at home, he reads off some of the more remarkable ones, and I try to guess the sex of the student. I am rarely correct.

That said, I stray to the traditional (AKA boring) side of the name spectrum so as to avoid similar situations for any future offspring, who will be unfortunately saddled with our seemingly-difficult last name. JG likes the option to shorten names for a nickname, and I prefer names that are relevant for a whole lifespan. So! Our picks for first and middle names would be Elizabeth Rose for a girl, and Daniel Clay for a boy.

Previously: Lent, hypothetical actions, superpower, television, favorites, hypothetical money, decisions

While JG and I were at his parents’ house over the weekend, Ted enjoyed the fenced-in area around the in-ground pool immensely. He chased after pool golf balls, lounged under our lounge chairs, and became my father-in-law’s shadow during chores like cleaning out the filter. When there was a lull in the action, and everyone was too busy reading or napping to give him active attention, Ted stared at the pool as though in deep thought. We joked that he was considering taking the plunge, but he never dove in on his own. Terriers are more suited to digging and burrowing (the breed name comes from terra, earth), but it’s not out of the ordinary for them to take to water. Call it pursuing a scientific experiment, catering to our own amusement, or taking advantage of the dog, but JG decided to see how Ted managed in the water.

JG sat on the steps of the pool and lowered Ted onto the first step, where the water came halfway up his legs. Ted was tentative at first, and he didn’t make much noise or move too quickly, except for a few curtailed sips at the chlorinated water. Eventually, the shock wore off and he flashed a big, goofy grin. My best guess is that, since Ted does not like hot weather, he realized that the water cooled him off, and was not all that frightening.

Then, in the second step of the experiment, JG nudged Ted out into the open sea. I witnessed a moment of panic, flailing, and splashing, and JG grabbed Ted and plopped him back on the concrete platform. Ted skittered away and shook out his coat, as though peeved to be subjected to the indignity of being tossed into the pool. He recovered nicely and spent the rest of the day playing, but JG firmly believes that if he had been able to go into the water with Ted, there might not have been so much panic. I’m sure there is another experiment in the works to confirm or refute this hypothesis.

In other news, I think we witnessed a bit of “the power of the pack,” as Cesar Millan would say. My in-laws’ dog, a rescued terrier mix named Watson, is a rather nervous, territorial dog with a penchant for loud barking, and he has never liked Ted. When we introduced them last Thanksgiving, Watson growled and lunged to bite Ted on the neck. Even though he didn’t draw any blood, it was very scary, and the two dogs have been kept apart ever since. Over the weekend, though, Watson and Ted came to an agreement: Ted wouldn’t go after Watson’s food or hog his people’s laps, and Watson would attempt to romp and play without biting. My mother-in-law kept exclaiming that “Watson made a friend!” and it was hilarious to watch Ted run circles around the older dog. Unfortunately, the action was too quick for me capture photographic evidence. For his part, Ted had no chewing issues while we were away, and we would like to think that that was due in part to Watson’s influence. I think that Ted liked having a playmate other than JG and me, for once. Judging from his enthusiasm in greeting guests and other dogs on walks, one would think that we never play with him at all.

Get your daily dog dose with Smalls, Kaya, Rufus, Ben, Bailey, Gus, and Zapp!

Before I get into the details, just know that this newest recipe adventure was a raging success. How can we go wrong with pasta, chicken, and broccoli? It was on the table in 45 minutes, which is not bad for my first try at a purportedly 30-minute process. JG and I enthusiastically ate obscenely large helpings of this dish, and we were still able to stock the fridge with leftovers for this week’s lunches. Hurrah!

That said, I am an idiot. I made over twenty attempts in an effort to produce a non-blurry photo for Mission: Put Together this morning, and I could not figure out why my hand had developed some sort of palsy. When I went about uploading the pictures, I realized that I had been using the wrong setting the whole time. Great. Apparently, that was the latest sign that I am on stupid mode right now, because I missed a crucial part of this recipe that would have made my life so much easier.

In the pasta section, my faithful America’s Test Kitchen cookbook has a healthy selection of what they call “skillet dishes” that are designed to be one-pot dinners. They are generally faster preparations and family-friendly flavors, but I have never tried one of them before, and I was intrigued. Even though I knew the intent of this group of recipes, I completely missed the point that I was supposed to use dry pasta and cook it in the sauce. I turned the one-pot idea into a pasta-pot-colander-skillet juggling act, and I didn’t realize my error until I bit into the tasty, but overcooked, penne and wondered aloud, “Was I supposed to cook the pasta beforehand?” With the recipe in front of me now, I see that there are, not one, but two references to cooking the pasta with the rest of the dish. In my defense, however, neither of them lies in the actual recipe, but I’m ashamed to report that a picture caption reads, “Cook the pasta in the sauce for a one-skillet supper.” Well, then.

My fundamental gaffe was only magnified when I used a whole pound of penne instead of the 8 ounces for which the recipe calls. It’s silly, but I don’t like having half of a box of pasta left unused, and I figured that we’d eat it anyway. I eyeballed the chicken broth and cream for the sauce so that it was more or less doubled and tossed in some extra salt for good measure, but I did not take into account the small issue of volume displacement. When I added my full pound of (cooked) pasta to the pan, lo! My skillet runneth over. Be ye not so stupid! JG transferred the gargantuan pile of food into our second-largest serving bowl, and I finished off the sauce there.

Thankfully, my “creative license” did not cause irreparable harm in the finished product, and it was very tasty, indeed. There’s nothing fancy or complicated about this dish, but it feeds a crowd and comes together quickly. In fact, once the chicken went into the pan, the process moved along so fast that I had no opportunity for process-oriented photos, so I could only capture the final plate. I’ll leave the comedic delight that was me trying to add food to and stir a heaping pan to the imagination.

It must be noted I did not bake one single new thing this month! I am somewhat proud of myself for not needing a consolation baked good and simultaneously appalled that I substituted a dessert for yet another pound of pasta. However, all of that is about to change. I have a feeling that a cookout next week will welcome some buttermilk lemon cookies, and the annual beach trip will be a great excuse to make margarita cupcakes. Don’t worry, oven, I’ll be back!

(Recipe after the jump)

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We had a lovely long weekend.

With Ted on my lap, JG and I drove up to New Jersey on Friday night to visit my in-laws. It has become a semi-official tradition now to spend a couple of days with them, dip our toes into their frigid pool water, and dare everyone else to go in, when we really intend to sit on lounge chairs and read magazines. We usually go out to eat for one night and grill back at the house for the other, and JG makes a shrimp appetizer by special request from his sister. This year, we enjoyed reasonably pleasant weather and spent most of our time outdoors. When clouds threatened and wind blew, JG and his siblings battled it out over Mario Kart, while I listened in on their banter. I upheld the natural order of the universe by losing at mini-golf and almost falling out of the hammock. Ted received lots of loving from JG’s entire family, and he was so tuckered out by the end of our stay that I held nothing but a limp pile of sleeping puppy during the ride home. When we were ten minutes away from our house, I saw a burst of light in the distance. Fireworks! Longwood Gardens was firing off their annual Memorial Day display, and we could see it for the remaining minutes of the drive. Cheesy to be sure, it was kind of magical, too.

Yesterday, we slept in until the luxurious hour of 8am, and then headed out to meet friends for the local parade. I love that Kennett Square is such a small town that the major traffic arteries close for three parades each year that are all exactly the same, and people flood the streets to look on. This custom fills me with so much small-town charm that I can’t even stand it. Plus, our friends snagged a coveted grassy corner for our viewing spot, and Ted enjoyed his first parade in shady style. Of course, our peaceful serenity of saluting veterans and clapping to military themes was shattered when groups of reenactment folks starting firing their muskets. I clapped my fingers over my ears so as to prevent myself from being startled, but Ted was shaking like a leaf from the blasts. Thankfully, vehicles from half a dozen fire companies in the surrounding 20-mile radius toned down the end of the parade, and he recovered nicely.

Afterward, we went grocery shopping, unpacked, and cleaned up the general debris of being away, but the rest of the day was ours. JG grilled burgers, hot dogs, and corn, so we had our own quiet cookout, and then sat outside with Ted. He was still fairly exhausted from the weekend, so he just rolled around on the grass and pounced at sticks while JG surfed the web and I worked on crosswords. There was a hint of charcoal and freshly-cut grass in the air, and a round feeling of contentment settled on my shoulders.

This morning is humid and rainy, as if to fully hammer home the point that the weekend is truly over. Sigh. It’s not that I minded coming in to work today, but the weekend was so nice. JG has hypothesized that, with three-day weekends, he could teach all year long. What about the rest of us, I ask? I propose that extended weekends are instated from here on out so we have a day each for fun, accomplishment, and recovery. There must be a congressman somewhere who would get on board …