note: reposted from last summer.

Ahhhh.... it's Farmer's Market season here again. Michigan has a shorter growing season, so our Market doesn't open until late June, but we try to take full advantage of it!

Here are ten reasons that your local Farmer's Market is the best food option anytime:

1) Meet The Source.

Instead of the pimple-faced kid randomly dropping your tomatoes on the floor before they get wedged into the stand, at the FM you usually buy your nightshade fruit from the guy who grew it. Grocery stores: who knows where that thing was grown, in what soil conditions, picked green, gassed to get some color, and shipped hundreds, if not thousands, of miles before it reaches you.

2) Get Your Hands Dirty.

Food prep, cooking, eating... all of this is a very tactile experience. I love bringing home gritty lettuce and squash, knowing that it was picked fresh from my native Northern Michigan soil within a few hours of me actually eating it! Washing dirt off the veggies, sand off the strawberries is a soothing and almost grounding (get it!?!) experience for me, and I feel like I know the texture and weight of the food better as I go to prep it. Naturally occurring dirt is also much better than...

3) No Stupid Stickers!

Don't you just love this: you're shredding an apple for your favorite oatmeal cookie recipe. The shredder balks and shudders, breaking your rhythm, and you discover tiny bits of shredded PLU sticker in your cookie batter. Awesome. No cash registers means no PLUs- means no irritating little oval stickers to peel off your food!

4) Support Your Local Economy.

This one is obvious. Who benefits more from the $30 you're spending on berries and stew ingredients: Wal-Mart, or the Amish guy in the neighboring community? Wal-Mart will just gouge another employee on their health insurance, while the farmer can buy more seed, feed his own family, or just exist another day.

5) It's Healthier.

Even if the farmers don't grow organic, your food is more ripe, more natural, less travelled, and more fresh than anything you could get at a grocery store. Honey will have local pollen which is (allegedly) better for any allergies you may have. Naturally sun-ripened fruits & vegetables have a higher vitamin count and nutritional benefit.

6) Lessen Your Carbon Footprint.

From Mexico to Indiana, or Indiana to Indiana? Again, this one's obvious. Also, most rural farmland has been around for years, rather than being a result of massive slash-and-burn desecration.

Another point is that many local farmers use Mason jars, paper bags, wooden bushels, etc. Re-used and reusable storage. No fancy packaging to pay extra for, them throw away. My local produce market has a $2 deposit on strawberry flats, and they wash and re-use the little wood slat quart boxes!

7) Alternative Economy Possibilities.

We haven't tried this one much yet, but have spoken to people who have: barter, trade, bulk discounts, etc. You're not dealing with a huge faceless corporation here, but one or two live people with needs and reasoning skills. Do you have a service or product to provide? I need to start tempting the honey lady with my jewelry designs...

8) People.

Tuesday, Mike and I bought a raw milk share (finally!). This morning, Mike went to pick up our first gallon and a half of rich ivory dairy- with cream all ready to skim off the top for butter! When he got to the farm, he got to meet 'our' cow and its calf, as well as some happy children who live on the farm. Kid #3 went with him and got to see piggies, cows, horses & chickens. She fed the calf, got manure on her sandals, and generally had a blast. How much better is this kind of life than the sterile, cloistered environments most Americans are used to obtaining their food in?

One day last year a young man occupied an empty market stall. Dressed in 1940s era clothing- white shirt, suspenders, & high-waisted trousers- he played ragtime on his guitar and sang lovely songs, old and new. We bought his CD and threw some money in his hat. Turns out he's an old friend of my brother-in-law, breaking into the major music markets. I went home with salad, fresh flowers, and a lift in my step from the great music. Isn't that better than the same Elton John song over and over on the Meijer radio system? I think so.

Every time we go to the Farmer's Market we form another little relationship. Some of the people there are work-hardened, weather-beaten folks with little of a friendly exterior. But others are just the salt of the earth- with canning advice, stories, and a bit of banter for everyone they meet.

9) Happy Animals.

All of the farmers that I've seen in my area are humane folk. Their chickens are free-range, their cattle eat lovely green grass, and their creatures run free instead of being penned in a miserable dark stall for most of their lives. I know many of you out there do not eat meat or dairy because of inhumane animal practices, but I believe that an animal treated better in its life will just be a better meal.

10) Eat the Seasons.
Strawberries and asparagus grace our markets right now. In a few weeks we'll have blueberries and patty pan squash. Not only are menus easier to plan (for me, at least) when you know what's ready to cook, but I've been hearing a lot of great things about the health benefits of eating seasonal fresh veggies and fruits.

Eating what the Earth produces- when it produces- is ecologically sound, financially beneficial, and tasty. I could not bear one more plastic clamshell container of strawberries last month! Now, for just a short and lovely season, I have ripe strawberries that are actually sweet, have juice in them, and were allowed to ripen in the sunshine!

I can't think of anything more beautiful, more natural, or more perfect than the bounty that the Farmer's Market offers. From maple syrup to hot peppers, you'll find me there sniffing and shopping and eating and living. I hope to see you there, too!

Labels: carbon footprint, cooking, eating, ecology, economy, farm, farmers market, food, fruit, gas, honey, money, natural, produce, vegetables

This is a meal that my nonna (grandmother) cooked when I was little. I have a vague remembrance of nonno (grandfather) shouting instructions in the kitchen, so I do not know if it was from his heritage (Hungarian/Italian) or hers (Croatian/Italian). Either way, it has been in my family for at least three generations, and is a constant favorite.

I will apologize in advance for my photos. I've never quite gotten the hang of cameras, lighting, or cleaning my house ;)

We don't have a proper name for this in my house. I grew up calling it 'paste' which offended the heck outta my dad, but oh well. It is pasty, certainly, but it is some sort of sublime potato salad/coleslaw the likes of which I have rarely encountered. It is a cheap meal- tasty, hearty, and more or less healthy. It is also incredibly forgiving with proportions and exact items, as you will see.
Recipe below.

Ingredients:

• water, to boil
• 2-3 medium sized potatoes, either starchy or waxy.
• appx 10-14 oz. lean beef (leftover grilled steak works awesomely for this, or you can buy raw and cook for the meal
• 1/4 cup (give or take) minced sweet onion
• 1 can beans: kidney, pinto, whatever. Kidney beans are our favorite, for color contrast and texture.
• 1/2 head cabbage, red or green
• olive oil, kosher or sea salt, fresh cracked black pepper: to taste
• vinegar: I use white wine, but we've also used red wine, apple cider, and balsamic. balsamic is not good for this, too strong and sweet.
• optional: tiny bit of orange zest.

Steps:

• Boil a quart or two of water, salt it heavily, dice the potatoes into appx 1" cubes, and toss them into the boiling water. While this is going, open the can of beans and drain appx 1/2 the liquid out, then dump them into a large bowl. Add the minced onion. Pour about 1-2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil over the beans & onions.

You'll know the potatoes are cooked when you can stir them and the corners break ever so softly. Or you can smash one against the side of the pan. Drain, saving the water if you make potato bread.

• Add the potatoes to the bowl, reveling in the steam...

• Whatever you use for meat, dice it up into appx 1/2" chunks, or appx the size of the beans you're using. This meat looks sickly, it's bad photography, sorry.

• Now add that to the mixture, salt to taste, and toss. Let this sit- for the flavors to blend- for a bit, or chill it now if your prefer. We love the hot salad on cold coleslaw contrast.
  

• Take your head of cabbage, and, using a large serrated knife, shave the cabbage just as thin as you can make it:

Some of the chunks in this pic are almost too wide. You don't want coleslaw, and you don't want mince. It needs to be shaved. My dad (and his before him) used to do this himself, and nearly every single piece of cabbage was almost transparent. I am not quite so picky with my cutting, but the thinner pieces do soak up the dressing better.

• Toss the cabbage with kosher salt, a bit of cracked pepper, a tbsp or two of olive oil, and about a tbsp of vinegar. Add orange zest (just a tiny bit!) if you'd like. Toss well, every piece should be coated. Add more oil/vinegar if you wish. My husband doubles everything I put on for his own plate.

• Now take your cabbage salad, while still cold, and make a nice bird's nest out of it on your plate. Dump a proportionate amount of the potato salad mixture on top, and enjoy!

Labels: cooking, dinner, food, hungarian cooking, italian cooking, recipe

Mike and I have a love of all things spicy. One of our favorites would have to be pickled jalapeños. These can be obtained at the store, but we love them homemade. Anyone want to can with us today?
We'll start with basic ingredients: an assortment of fresh vegetables, white & cider vinegar, and salt.
After a bad experience a year ago, I never touch a pepper with my bare hands. Cut the tops off, de-seed if you like, and prep the peppers for canning. While this is going, set to boil: 1 quart vinegar (I mix equal parts white and cider, but you can use all white.) 1 quart water (or more), and half a cup of salt. If you like the taste of pickling mix, throw a bit of that into the vinegar, or you can put some into the jars. Oh- you should be sanitizing jars right now. How many? depends on how much stuff you cut up, how tight you can pack the jars, and how big your jars are. I always sanitize more than I need, just in case...


Here's my army of jars. They're not super full because we love the carrots & onions as much as we do the peppers. Now I'll roughly chop onion, carrot, radish, cabbage, garlic... and anything else I can think off.
I put the salt directly into the jars, poured the boiling water/vinegar mixture over until there was 1/2" of head room, wiped the rims, and sealed them off. Aren't they just beautiful? Then I put them in a 10 minute water bath while I made flour tortillas-
Ah, homemade tortillas, warm pickled peppers, and hot refried beans (of which I failed to get a photo, of course!)
Life can't get any better than this!
They're not quite as pretty once they water bath, but that's partially because of the cider vinegar. Still, they're preserved, and they're yummy, and I did it all by myself, so I know what's in that jar!

Labels: canning, cooking, jalapenos, preserving

So, my sis and I decided that we just had to learn how to make petit fours- those elegant bite-sized cake thingies.

She's pretty good in the kitchen- fairly neat, follows recipes, all the required things. I, on the other hand, tend to resemble the Swedish Chef muppet a bit more- flinging flour and utensils about and keeping a large supply of various bandages on hand at all times.

We worked out a plan whereby we would each bake a cake at our respective residences, then meet up the following day for the extensive decorating part of the process. We had no idea how challenging this was going to be! I used a pound cake recipe, baked flat in sheet cake style. Em did more of a sponge cake, which she did not like but I rather took a fancy to. We each let our cakes 'tighten up' in the fridge overnight, then spilt them the next morning and filled them with melted jam. So far, so good.

Then came the dipping. Em had a Wilton pourable fondant recipe. It was about as pourable as mashed potatoes, and set up rock hard on the few cakes we managed to cover. We thinned it, over and over, trying different application methods such as squirting the fondant out of a plastic bag, dipping the cakes right into the pan, and dripping it down the sides with a spoon. I'm sure something went wrong somewhere, but who knows what it was?
Our next idea was chocolate ganache- simple to make, much more tasty than fondant, and we just happened to have all the ingredients on hand. This went much easier, but of course did not look as 'pretty' as the pastels we had hoped for.
The raspberries were a nice natural decor, and who doesn't like raspberries and dark chocolate? We also tried a white chocolate ganache, but bought the wrong meltables at the store and wound up with grease chips, more or less, that melted into a pool of grossness and would not solidify for hours. We eventually tinted that hot pink, for the heck of it, and dipped some of our cakes in that. The hot pink/dark brown/raspberry shades wound up coordinating nicely, giving our bruised egos some solace!
I learned one thing: there is a reason petit fours are usually cut into neat little squares: pointy angles don't hold up so well under heavy drippy frosting!!
Still, my trapezoids were fun.
A terrible shot of some of the finished ones, complete with royal icing, etc.
There were my favorites- princessy!

So, all in all it was not an unmitigated disaster. However, the experience humbled us a bit in the kitchen department. Of course I'll have to tackle it again!

Labels: baking, cooking, kitchen, petit fours

Just wanted to share a few of my favorite websites/blogs/silly things. These keep me giggling on random evenings when I should be doing situps or something.

So much as looking at the food on this website will make anyone- and I mean anyone- feel like they eat healthy. My arteries clog when I load this page... yet somehow, some of this food seems appealing. Anyone out there brave enough to try it with Michael and I this summer? We can get a three for one special on the heart surgery!

Because cats are cute, and cats saying stupid things are somehow cuter (more cute?) this ever-popular site is a daily smile for me. Check out the extra tabs across the top for more versions of funny...

I adore Ree Drummond's writing, of Pioneer Woman Cooks. Not only is she classy, funny, and spunky- she's a homeschooling mom of four! And she finds time to take and post wonderful photos, cook all sorts of nummy things, and write about it all. Her blog has won some wonderful awards over the past couple of years.

This cooking website is written from a lil apartment in NYC, and I have found some priceless recipes here. It is also written with humor and wit and is very real.

This blog is hilarious- bad real estate photos and postings from all over the world! The captions make it all worthwhile!

Notcot.com always has something nifty to look at, usually several pages worth. It is user submitted, so if you know of some awesome design/tech/whateva you can submit your own thing!

Ever need just one sheet of 5/1" graph paper? No? It's just me...? Oh. Well, this website has printable papers for just about any need you have.

Esprit Cabane is an online magazine with very neat re-use crafts and projects. Some are gardeny, others are more crafty. There's even a recipe for homemade house paint- using just chalk dust and some other random things!

For anyone who has ever worked in retail, this website has a way of validating your existence. I deal with the public every day, and I have certainly met some psychos, but the people who work in gas stations and restaurants seem to get the brunt of it. Updated several times weekly.

For a final laugh, check out Cake Wrecks.

And here is a picture of a piggie.

Labels: blog, blogs, cooking, humor, piggie, websites

Kid #1 is, like many other young girls, enamored of the American Girls books. In one book, some WWII kid doesn't want to eat her mashed turnips (who would?). Someone- obviously desperate or evil- dresses them up with cinnamon and sugar, and the kid is transported to happy eating once again.

This uncanny combination struck my oldest child as so completely novel that she had to try it. She would no relent until we had some cinnamoned-and-sugared mashed turnips ourselves. Having only eaten turnips in things such as stews and pasties, Kid #1 really had no idea how they tasted on their own.

Being the control freak that I am, I tried explaining to her that turnips are bitter, cabbagey, and not conducive to sweet. She was undeterred. So we traipsed out to Meijer tonight and purchased some turnips. Kid #1 was enthralled at the lovely purple gradient on the side, the interesting scales where the leaves had been trimmed, and the perfect firmness of the tuber.

"Do you have cinnamon and sugar at home, mom, or do we need to buy it?" Kid asked.

"Oh, I always have cinnamon and sugar in my house." I replied flippantly, "It makes everything better."

"Which is why it will be perfect on mashed turnips!!" Kid crowed, actually clasping her hands in glee. That's what I get for my flippancy.

We straggled home after leaving a pretty sum of money at the grocery store, and Kid #1 immediately began searching for a peeler. We boiled water, chopped the blarmy rigid things without incident, and tossed them in, excitement building among the little ones. Michael and I looked over their heads at one another, shrugged, and hoped for the best.

Twenty minutes later, we were far from the best. Mashed turnips look bad and taste awful, even with butter and milk. Add something that normally belongs on yummy toast, and you have a complete assualt on your senses. I made faces, but Kid #1 was crowing,

"Isn't it wonderful, mom? It's such a different taste!"

For all of my doubts, all of my silly groundless worries, it didn't even matter. She loved them, although I noticed a mostly-uneaten bowl sitting on the counter just now. Turnips are ridiculously cheap, I had maybe two dollars invested into the entire project- less than I would have spent on a movie. We got to learn about various root plants, and she got to actually try something that she had read about.

At the age of nine, she is going to be wanting to do a lot more of these things. I have always thought that I would have an easy time letting go of them, but I find it to not be so now. The maturity is fine- but worrying about burns and cuts and kitchen messes and wasted food gets to me. Most of all, I worry that they will be disappointed with the things they want to try.

These are needless worries! Of course all three kids will recieve burns and cuts and stitches! And I think that they will survive these things.
There will be messes and disasters and the occasional wasted food or destroyed pan- but they will leave my house knowing how to fend for themselves!

And disappointment- the only disappointment they will know is not having been allowed in the kitchen, if I keep up my current pace. But I will not. I know that it is time to start slowly letting go, gradually releasing my iron grip on these children and their minds and wills and imaginations.

There came a time when my own mom had to let me in the kitchen- and she grimly withstood burned hamburgers, clumpy rice, spicy potatoes, and watery eggs. I am ready to soldier up now and withstand my share of these, all the while teaching my children the science of cooking, the value of a dollar, and the importance of a happy kitchen. I hope I'm up for the task.

And I hope I don't run out of cinnamon.


We might try it on rutabegas next.

Labels: child rearing, children, cinnamon, cooking, experiment, food, kids, motherhood, recipe, turnips, weird

I call these brownies 'While-you're-at-it' because the steps can be done in between other things, such as laundry, other cooking, or basic around the kitchen stuff. They are very rich, and I can generally only eat a 1" square at a time. I know, I'm a wimp!

Adapted from Practical Cooking.

1 - 6 oz bar Scharffen Berger bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped*
6 oz butter, chopped
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups light brown sugar
1 tbsp vanilla
1 cup plus two tbsp all-purpose unbleached flour
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 - 8 oz package walnuts

*Why do I command that thou usest expensive chocolate? Why, because your brownies are what they start with. You want bitter, gritty, mealy, stick-in-your-throat-sweet brownies, go ahead and use generic semi-sweet chips. I pity your soul.

Start with a smallish heatproof dish that just fits into a sauce pan without falling in. For example, I have a Pyrex bowl that is about an inch larger around than my medium saucepan. Bring your water to a boil, then remove from heat. Set your bowl into this, not touching the water, not boiling the water, and being careful not to cross your arms. Kidding on that last one there, guys, relax.
Preheat your oven to 350˚
Now drop your chopped butter and chopped chocolate together into the glass dish.
Go about your business.
Or, as my Italian nonno used to say: "bidness"
In a few minutes, drop by the dish, give it a swizzle with a whisk, and resist the temptation to lick it. Yeah, right.
You can use this time to measure out your other ingredients, unless you're a Type A and already did. If you're like me, you will start about fifteen kitchen projects that are destined to never be finished. Oh, and you'll probably clean up 1.2 kid messes, answer the phone, and spill something on yourself in this time.
Give the butter/chocolate heaven another swizzle. Is it starting to get shiny? Good. Not? Maybe you could reheat the water, keeping the glass out of it again (you knew, that, right? ok, I won't bring it up again)
Now you can suddenly remember that you need an 8" x 8" glass baking dish and scramble to wash last week's frittata out of it. Once it's dry, you can brush melty butter on it and rip off a piece of parchment paper appx double the width of your baking dish. The overhang is to allow you to pull the greasy things out of the pan when they're cool.
Squish the paper down in the dish, trying desperately not to pay attention to the fact that it doesn't fit. This part always reminds me of the classic Phil Hartman SNL skit: The Anal Retentive Chef. I wonder how he would deal with oversize parchment paper.

Now that you've wasted even more time on JibJab, your stuff should be mostly melty. Blend your sugar & vanilla with the eggs. Is your chocolate/butter mix shiny? Fold it into the egg mixture, gently. Add your cocoa powder, flour and walnuts at once, mix just until the white no longer shows (is that like holding fire until you see the whites of their eyes?) and dump unceremoniously into the baking dish. Anticlimatic, isn't it?

Bake for appx 40 minutes, dreaming of better things. I suppose this could be another moment where you do other things, like finish one of the fifteen things started or yell at your kids again.

These brownies are messy when cut while warm. I do not know if they are any different when cut while cool, because they never make it to that point in my house. They are SO GOOD that they melt in your mouth, and the bigger you leave the walnut chunks, the better, for some odd reason. No wimpy 'bits' for me, thanks.

Enjoy.

...and RIP, Phil Hartman.

Labels: baking, brownies, chocolate, cooking, humor, kitchen, walnuts

There’s a cloth doll lying facedown on the laundry room floor, looking vaguely like a crime scene. I wonder briefly if I should draw a chalk line around the poor thing, but then think better of it. The kids wouldn’t get the joke, and Mike only notices things in his immediate range of vision.
The canning funnel isn’t in the laundry room, either. I’ve been searching for it for nearly two weeks now. You see, I haven’t been able to afford a decent canister or Tupperware set, so I save every spaghetti sauce jar, washing them out for reuse. They make excellent storage, but present a slight challenge to fill. The blue wide-mouth funnel would be perfect, but I haven’t seen it since canning season. I’ve been using a rolled up paper plate for dry goods, but that won’t work quite as well for wet, gloopy chili.

“Mommy!” my 3 year-old calls from the dining room, “I have a cut on my fingew fwom the bad, bad icicle thing outside and then I fell and it huwted weally, weally bad and can you kiss it please?” Her words come out in a tumble, her face full of the innocent consternation the young possess.

Tripping over the menagerie of toys, books and clothes, I locate a bandage and duly wrap and kiss the tiny affliction.

Now, what was I doing? Oh, yes, the chili. Its only ten minutes until I have to get to work, there’s no time to keep looking. The chili will have to find its way into the recycled jar and I’ll just rinse off the edge. Running towards the crockpot, I spy a dirty dish I somehow missed last night, holding scant remnants of yesterday’s curry. I run water in it and fling open the dishwasher, hoping there is room for just one more bowl.

Oh yes, the chili. I grab a Barilla jar from my top shelf, cursing once again the kitchen designers who must have been eight feet tall. One of these days, I remind myself, I’ll have a kitchen made for the five foot four that I really am.

The chili has been made with free-range beef, and resents the confines of the glass jar. What smelled so good cooking all night now churns my stomach as it spills over the edge of the jar and onto my hand.

“Mommy!” a tiny bandaged finger is waving at about the three-foot mark “It still huwts!”
“Oh, honey, I must not have kissed it enough. Come here.” Kid #3 advances for the proffered lips, then recoils from the chili on my fingers,
“But, you’we diwty, mommy!”

So I am. Conveniently enough, the kitchen faucet is still running, filling and overflowing yesterday’s overlooked bowl. The moving water has filled and rinsed the curry away, except in the one corner angled away from the water, where lentils still cling stubbornly to the earthenware. Sighing in frustration, I flip the bowl around, rinse my fingers, and remember to turn the water off. Kid #3 gets her finger kissed again, (“It’s all bettew now!”) and then requests something completely unintelligible.

Mike returns from dropping the kids off at school, but there’s a bit of a problem- he still has the kids. Our school called a snow day, again, and forgot to call us. This is why normal people use TVs and radios, I suppose. Now we have two choices: drag all three kids to work with us, or let Mike work at home, again, with the tinkle of children’s voices all around him. I can’t stay home today because I have customers coming in to see me, and my wonderful husband knows that without asking. He looks at the kids, who are gleefully stripping off all vestiges of the indignities of a school day.
“Guess I’m staying here.” He sighs, unwrapping his scarf.

I guess so. I finish stuffing chili through the mouth of the jar and dig through the drawer for a matching Barilla lid. There is not one. I have four empty Barilla jars and not one single lid, whereas I own three Classico lids and not one jar. I slam the drawer shut, setting off a chain of protest from Kid #3, and wrap the jar opening in Press’n’Seal.
The dishwasher is ready to run, the dishwasher gel makes fart noises as it escapes the plastic container. My kids are just old enough to be completely devastated by this and fall over themselves in laughter,
“It farted!”
I grimace, but keep my mouth shut, remembering the days when I would torment my own mother with similar crudity. The dishwasher must be propped open with the spare table leg; otherwise it fills up and stops.
“Stupid rental house,” I mutter to myself, “one of these days, I’m going to own my own house, and then-“

And then what? Would I have had the extra money to replace or repair the dishwasher? Probably not. I un-curse the wretched machine and house, and realize that I have one minute now to get to work, and I’m not even all the way dressed- work slacks but a dirty tee-shirt. I trip over someone’s backpack on my mad dash to the stairs, then keep vigilantly to the right on my way up, because we have that silly habit of putting ‘things to go upstairs’ on the left, and they never quite make it up.
Upstairs, there is a mountain of clean laundry. I have been meaning to get it ALL put away for about five months now, but there is always something better to do- work, cook, play with the kids, run errands, write stories. Every time I get almost to the bottom, another 3 loads seem to get washed simultaneously, and the pile never ends! Somewhere on the bottom is probably that one black knee sock I’ve been missing since autumn.

Frustration with the perpetual mess boils over inside of me, and I storm downstairs, haranguing the kids with promises of money if laundry is folded, threats of death if it isn’t. With choices like these, I’m sure their childhood will turn out just fine, no?

Dressed, packed, car started finally, I kiss everyone goodbye and dash out the door, almost ready to wait on a never ending succession of people who need their watch batteries changed, their rings sized, or their junk jewelry ‘appraised’. Maybe, if we have a lucky day, we’ll sell something!
I glance back at my children, waving at me through the living room window. They are standing in the scattered detritus of a life lived fully. I didn’t want to raise my children in a messy house or a mad-dash life like this. I didn’t want to have this daily struggle over money, the never-ending march of errands and chores and juggling.

But they’re happy kids, and we all chose this lifestyle. In the end, I can either say I’ve had a clean house for fifty years, or I can have a body of literary work, a gallery of jewelry designs, and three children and a husband who are happy and well-fed.

I think I’ll pick the latter. It’s a good life.

Labels: career, children, cooking, housework, kids, laundry, life, motherhood, work