Holy Summer Squash, Batman!

We joined a CSA recently--got lucky. They didn't have a space until about 3 weeks ago, but now we are getting weekly deliveries right to our door, and we didn't have to pony up ahead. We pay each week, and can cancel, postpone, etc. at our will. It's the perfect solution for non-committal types like us. This CSA, the Fallywalker Farm, is known for the unusual varieties they grow, like black zucchini, blue potatoes, rat-tailed radishes, snake beans, flying saucer squash (patty pan), pink carrots, lemon cucumbers, Transylvanian Brain Tomatoes, etc. Everything has been fresh, delicious, and wonderful, and we've even received fresh flowers in each delivery. Awesome. As a result, Rowan's new favorite food is tomatoes, and we're eating more veggies than ever. Plus, I'm cooking a lot--when it's there and would spoil, you gotta use it up!

So, we're stuffing a lot of squash, making a lot of ratatouille, and eating loads of cucumber salad. But a woman cannot live by stuffed zucchini alone.

So I've been trying to come up with new ideas, and the other day I came up with one that was a hit. Full of zucchini or patty pan squash, but even a purist (I'm hoping) would appreciate it. Rowan, Dr. B and I sure did. Oh, and Lucy was way ticked off that she couldn't have any (dogs can't have onions or garlic.)

Shrimp Creole with Summer Squash
(amounts are approximate)

*1 medium onion, chopped
*3 cloves garlic, minced (to taste)
*1 small green pepper, seeded and chopped (ours was black, but whatever.)
*2 cups chopped tomatoes (or 1 can diced)
*1-2 cups of sliced (bite sized pieces) zucchini or patty pan squash. Peel if the skin is bitter, leave on if it's not (FWF squash skin has not been bitter at all)
*1 small can tomato paste
*2 cups water
*1 TB flour (I use Wondra. It mixes great, and the can is handy dandy. But regular is fine.)
*2 TB butter (or more, depends)
*14-16 oz. shrimp (fresh, shelled and deveined or frozen--doesn't matter. I used a bag of frozen.)
*Creole Seasoning, to taste. (I use this one--it is non-negotiable in my house. I even brought it to France and got more sent when I ran out.)
*Hot cooked rice to serve (we used brown, but it doesn't matter. You could even serve it over barley, I have and it's great.)

Heat butter and add onions and peppers. Cook until fragrant, add garlic. Cook another minute or so, then push the veggies to the side and add the flour in the hole in the middle. If it doesn't completely mix in with the liquid, (partially dry and powdery) add a bit more butter. Cook a minute or two until it smells toasty. It will begin to coat the veggies, that's fine--it will blend in and thicken the sauce later. Add the tomatoes, zucchini, tomato paste, water, and season well with Tony's Creole seasoning. Simmer until veggies are cooked, about 20 minutes or so. Add shrimp, and let cook just until shrimp are thawed or turn pink, a couple of minutes. If they get overcooked, they'll curl tight and be tough, so less is best.

Serve over fluffy rice and say "Y'all" and "Chère" a lot while you eat it.

Monkey Birthday

monkey bread, originally uploaded by LDHNY.

It was my birthday yesterday. The night before, I planned to make Monkey Bread for breakfast, my favorite. But, Dr. B had other plans. "If you can get yourself up and dressed, I will take you all for breakfast before work." It's a his-family tradition. Though I'm not one for clothing before coffee, I love these special treats, so we went for it. French toast with fresh strawberries and no dirty dishes? Yeah, I'll take it.

But I still made the bread. We had it for dessert. I'd rather this than cake any day.

If you google "Monkey Bread", you'll find a million recipes, all pretty much the same. This isn't any different either, but I thought I'd share for those of you who haven't had it before (Hi Lisa!) I don't think it's necessarily a Midwestern thing--but I remember having it for the first time at my Aunt Carol's in Racine, WI, and the fact that my mom wouldn't make it. (I think she was afraid I'd eat the entire thing every time. Which I probably would have.) Basically, it's a cake made of caramel rolls. AWESOME caramel rolls, and it's super easy. Lots of people make it for Christmas morning. I make it whenever I've got a hankering for it. It's too good to save for special. It's called monkey bread because you sit around the plate and pick off bits to eat, and lick your fingers a lot. There are no bananas involved.


Monkey Bread
serves 18, 9, 3 or 1. Heh.

*18 frozen Rhodes bread rolls

(you can use a loaf of their bread dough, but waiting for it to thaw and cutting it in pieces is kind of a pain. This is way easier. Resist the urge to add more--there won't be enough caramel and the rolls will start creeping out of the pan like The Blob.)

*1 box NOT INSTANT butterscotch pudding mix

(the instant just turns the whole thing into a crusty, not caramelly mess. Don't do it.)

*3/4 cup brown sugar
*1 t. cinnamon

(if you're not allergic. I can't, but no one misses it. Dr. B doesn't really like cinnamon that much anyway, so it works out.)

*1/2 cup or so of chopped nuts, if desired
*1 stick butter, melted.

The night before, or at least 8 hours before (I have pushed this by warming my oven on low and letting it rise in there with the oven off), grease a Bundt or tube cake pan. Add the nuts, if using, and the frozen rolls. Mix the pudding mix, sugar and cinnamon together, and dump fairly evenly over the rolls. Drizzle the melted butter over the whole mess. Cover with a bit of greased foil or waxed paper or something like that. Set aside in a warm place to thaw and rise. (Overnight is ideal--do this just before you go to bed.)

Preheat the oven to 350.

Bake rolls about 25 minutes or until golden. Remove from oven, and turn out onto a large plate with high sides to contain any caramel overload. Try not to burn your fingers and mouth grabbing hot rolls (waiting a few minutes would be preferable, but good luck with that. I never manage to.)

Variations: some people use canned biscuits if they don't have the overnight time to wait, others dip each roll in butter and then dredge in the powder, some people like to mix the butter with the powders and then dredge. I'm lazy, and it still works just fine. The whole mess melts down and makes caramel in the bottom of the pan, and when you turn it over, coats the bits it missed.


Thanks to Lori D. Stone (LDSNY) for allowing use of this photo under Creative Commons licensure. I ate too much of mine before I thought about getting my camera out.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/loridstone/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

Dear John

I don't often do this, but this is one post I have to share. If you've ever seen a John Hughes movie and liked it (in other words, if you're over 30 and have a pulse), go. Click now.

Endorsed

Yes, this is part of an ad. But it's a true story, and I doubt you'll make it through it dry eyed. I sure didn't.

I have one for Rowan, and have never questioned the price I paid because I know this to be the safest option for my little girl. I, too, did the research, and I am glad I stuck to my gut on this one. She is worth it.

Please watch.

I'm working on it.

Pigtails in the sun, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Photos are coming from our OBX trip, and perhaps a nugget or two of happenings as well. Things are finally slowing down, thank goodness. Our heads never went below, though we are a bit worse for wear. But we'll make it. And in the meantime, I'm a wild blackberry picking/ jam making machine.

After the last few weeks, I'm scratched up, but I'm healing.

(And who could resist a little girl in pigtails?)

Swimmer

We're home! Our week at the Outer Banks was a little too eventful for our taste (thanks to a wild horse that took a swat at Lucy), but we've survived and have made it back to PA in one piece (well, most of us, anyway). More photos will come, but I've got a lot of work to do to make that happen, so here's a teaser. I brought my camera, but one of the other women had a better one and was snap-happy, so I just let her go and read my book on the beach. She's given me free reign to download, so I will be doing that over the next few days, but since she took about 700 photos, it might take a while.

Rowan was a hoot to watch at the shore. She was terrified of the water, but determined to overcome her fear. The first day, she would go in kicking and screaming, clinging to us for dear life. As she'd come out of the pool or ocean, she'd turn around and go right back, scared but not willing to let that keep her from it. By the end, she was swimming alone in the pool (with water wings) and begging to go back into the ocean. The undertow and waves were strong, so walking was all she could do, and only with two adults holding on tight. I am so proud of her. It took me until I was in my thirties to get to the place she's at at age 2.

AND!!!

She had 3 dry nights! Woot! (I guess it all went in the pool.)

See you in a week...

Rowan and Daddy, July 2009, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

We're off to vacation on the beach at the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week. Though now it's nearly 4 AM and I have insomnia, we leave tomorrow. I hope I can sleep on the beach.

Les Soldes Américaines

Today, the big "sales" start in Paris. I say big with my tongue firmly in cheek--French sales are rien compared to the clearance racks at Target and Kohl's, as Chloé quickly found out. Despite her foot issues (one example of French Health Care that does NOT come close to American!), this girl can shop. Even jet lagged, she could go, but now that the jet lag is gone--the girl's got stamina.

Every day, after the kid I'm babysitting goes home, she smiles and says, "Ronica, can we go shopping?" Even me, who loves shopping (though the hunt is even more fun than the kill for me), is getting a bit worn out. But it's her only chance, so I've said "yes", every time.

Today, she finally got her trophy. After finding small gifts for her best girl friend and her sister, and part of her gift for her boyfriend, she had a few more things on her list. A bracelet for him (he requested--and finding man jewelry in the US is not an easy task), and jeans and a black hobo bag for her. She'd already found a cute black top at Target, as well as some strappy black sandals, but the jeans and bag eluded her.

Mais bien sûr, she is Parisian, she is rather particular. The jeans had to be dark, no little white lines, and skinny. They couldn't gap at the waist, and must not be too wide at the ankle. Oh, and cheap. The bag? Black, hobo style, not too square, with straps not attached by rings, and inexpensive. And the bracelet--steel or silver, adjustable (he's skinny), and masculine. And, of course, pas trop cher.

So today after Rowan finally woke up from her nap, we headed out to TJ Maxx. She hit. Jeans for $20, and a bracelet for him, with gift box. But the only bag she liked was again $100.

"We are going to Walmart?" she asked. "I could look for a bag there..."

"Uh, no. No, honey. Walmart is fine for grapes and pork ribs, but you won't find what you want there."

So we drove. All the way across town, to Ross. It happens to be next to the other Walmart, so it worked out fine.

And she hit again. The coup de coeur, the bag. "I am in love with it!" she cried.

"My porte-feuille is ..." she held it aloft, shaking it up and down, and gave me a quizzical look.

"Your wallet is light," I said.

"Yes!" she grinned back. "But I am so happy! I love American shopping. I will take a plane to America when I need to go shopping!!!" she laughed. "I now have a whole American..." she looked to me. "Outfit," I answered. "Ensemble."

"Yes! An American outfit. Shirt, jeans, shoes, bag. Everything from America!"

We arrived home, and she checked her email.

"Mom wants rassure-moi that I haven't spent all my money!" She grinned at the screen. "I have ten dollars left..."

A girl after my own heart.

French Invasion

We have a guest chez nous, Chloé, one of the young girls I babysat in Paris when we lived there. She's now 14 1/2 and is here to practice her English. We have been having a great time introducing her to America and how we do things here. It is very interesting to see it from the other side and hear her observations. It reminds me so of the first days we spent in France, though she is without all the stress we had of setting up our own lives there. But still, the jet lag and immersion in a new language and culture are enough to tire her out. She has been enjoying it, however, and is adjusting quickly and well.

Here are a few of her observations so far:

"Everyone is very nice! Very friendly!"

"American pizza is HUGE! Everything here is so big!"

"It smells so good here! Paris smells bad. Here it is green everywhere!"

"Everything looks different. The streets, the houses, the cars, the mailboxes."

"I love Target! I could live in here! I want to buy everything!"

Upon finding a pair of black dress sandals for $19.99 in her size (11!) after hunting for 2 1/2 months in Paris and coming up empty--we found them in one trip to Target:

(shouted) "I *LOVE* America!!!"

and

"Can we go back to Target again? Please?"

On American food:

"I LOVE Pancakes!" "This hot chocolate is the size of 4 in Paris!" (She did drink it all.) "I love American breakfast!" "This sandwich is delicious!"

and when I said, "take as much as you like!"

"REALLY???" (Big Grin)

Yeah, I think we're winning her over.


Ronica's "Delicious" Santa Fe Chicken Sandwiches

(Really just dressed up nuggets, but they are tasty and super fast.)

Prepare chicken nuggets or breaded tenderloins according to package directions.
On a flour tortilla, spread some sour cream. Top with ChiChi's salsa and shredded Mexican cheese, then add chicken. You can also add in shredded lettuce, sliced black olives, etc. Roll up and serve with extra sour cream and salsa as well as your favorite additions. (We did tortilla chips, corn, and carrot sticks and cucumber slices with ranch.) Enjoy!

Happy Birthday, to my love.

On a journey with Daddy
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

He's 36 today, and I can't think of anyone who could even come close to everything he gives to me.

I love you, honey. Happy Birthday.

I'll never get tired of this face.

Swinging!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Dance Party: Yippee!!!

Our Hips Don't Lie from Ronica on Vimeo.

Please ignore the tall, bloated dork who appears occasionally in the frame, and focus on the cute kid with the smokin' moves. My favorite part is after I spin her around, when she nearly falls over but keeps on groovin'.

My daughter is so awesome.

PS: Lucy? Not much of a dancer.

The Recession Stick

They say it affects everyone. They're not kidding.

Yep, here we go. His summer funding? Lots of "Oh, we'd like to..." and "We'll keep you in mind" but no actual dollars. Which means? Our paychecks this year go down about 20%.

Twenty percent.

That's a big freakin' chunk.

It's a hit we can't afford. And of course, we found out just after our trip to France, in which we spent more than we planned, though we were able to go on the cheap due to the generosity of our dear friends and his paid tickets via his class at the University.

Now, we're caught, like many Americans, between a rock and a really, really hard place.

I hate this place.

When you're already buying generic, how do you cut down?

Right now, we're working on some solutions. Some freelance, doing the best we can, shh don't tell anyone, cash and thank you very much solutions. I could go back to teaching, but that would require a bunch of tests and license fees I can't swing right now, and finding daycare for Rowan and all sorts of other stuff, and I just, well, I'm just not ready yet. I'm a glutton for my little girl. She is my Kryptonite.

So anyway.

There will be stuff happening that I can't talk about on here, things I can't share, and it's not because I don't love you, my faithful readers. I do, I really do.

I'm just trying really, really hard to keep 4 heads above water.

Distraction

Rowan is a surprisingly strong little girl. She always has been. I felt my first kick at 14 weeks of pregnancy, and it was nothing like those flutters they tell you about--it hurt! Physically, she's got a lot more stamina than most of her friends, so I'm able to push her in ways you might not expect of a 2-year old.

The other night, her dad was not coming home for dinner, so we were on our own. She took an extra long nap and woke after 5 PM, and I wanted to help tire her out so I could get her to bed at the right time. We went to take Lucy on our usual walk, but this time I offered to let her walk the whole way instead of riding in the stroller for 3/4 of the walk.

Our walk is 1.4 miles. She's done a mile before without a problem, so I decided to give it a try.

I leashed Lucy, and then grabbed Rowan's Elmo walking harness handle thing.

Yeah, I leashed her. I LEASH MY CHILD. Cruel, whatever. We live on a 35 mph road, and at 5 PM I am not taking any chances.

So we took off walking, and she was doing great. Down the hill we went, the two of them criss-crossing in front and behind me. Lucy would stop to smell a tree or clump of grass, and Rowan would do the same. We walked past the park, up the hill, and around the corner. We met neighborhood dogs and talked to people we see on our daily walks. Rowan was doing fine--she was going strong! This was wonderful. No problem! I envisioned days without wrangling with the second-hand Peg stroller, without the "Rowan walk? Rowan walk?" arguments, free as a breeze as we walked together as a family.

As we were heading back up the hill, Rowan started to get a little fussy. I gave her a lift on my back for a few blocks, and she giggled and held on tight as Mom took on the steepest part of the hike. As we reached the corner where I normally allow her out of the stroller, she begged to walk again. Lucy took this chance to finally do her business, and I dutifully bagged and sealed it as we headed home. It was supper time, we were hungry, hot and sweaty and both in need of a cool drink.

Just then, Rowan tripped.

And then it started. The lip squared, the jaw jutted forward, the waterworks commenced. And then she wailed as her knee developed a dime-sized pink scrape.

My only thought? DISTRACT HER. Distract the kid. Give her something so she stops. STOPS. Anything! QUICK!!!

"Here, Honey! Can you carry this for Mommy?"

And I found myself handing her the only thing I had.

The bag of poop.

Yes, I leash my precious child and make her carry sacks of dog shit.

Someone call Child Protective Services.

Quick.

Rowrie?

*Note: more info and photos re: our France trip soon, but I had to post this before I forget it.


Rowan's language is developing rapidly. She knows when to say please, thank you, Bon Appétit, Cheers, and many other niceties (though "excuse me" is always followed and preceded by lots and lots of giggling and usually some attempt at reproducing whichever sound she just needed to ask to be excused for.) She asks questions, some two or three words, and tells us all about things she's done or things she's seen. Every night, there's a play-by-play of the day, and during prayers she thanks God for things that are important to her, like Lucy's haircut which currently appears to be the most wonderful thing she must give thanks for.

The one thing she can't say is, "I don't know." For that, she developed her own word, "Rowrie." (Rhymes with "Cow Pee.") No clue where that one came from.

We look through a book, identifying objects on the page, in English or in French. When one comes that she doesn't know or has forgotten: "Rowrie?"

I ask her the color of objects in a room. She gets to the undefinable puce, beige or olive, and... "Rowrie?"

Planning for her second birthday dinner tomorrow, I ask her what she'd like to have. "Rowrie?" (Eventually it came out that she wanted sandwiches. Fish ones, but we had fish tonight, so we settled on chicken.)

Before bed, we started cleaning up her play area, our living room. She had taken every single book out of the basket, so as we put them back in, I encouraged her to count. She made it up through ten with no problem. Then came eleven and twelve, which needed a little help to come out correctly. She took the book from my hand, plopped it in the basket, and said just after I did, "Thirteen!"

I handed her one more book. She put it in the basket. I said, "which one is that, Honey?"

She looked at me and smiled.

"Rowrie-teen???"

*Waving from Paris*

Bonjour à tous! I know it's been a while, and honestly I won't write much today, but I did want to say hello and let you know we're having a wonderful time. Rowan is over her jet-lag, saying her "Bonjour" and "Au Revoir" and "Merci", eating lots of fabulous bread and loving chasing pigeons in the parks. I am eating massive quantities of my favorite cheeses, enjoying un verre or two, and catching up with friends I normally only get to see through this little screen. Though I wish I had tons more time--there are so many wonderful people here that I would love to see. I guess we'll just have to come back!

We've had the chance to take a few side trips; one to Chartres, Chateaudun and Brou to visit a non-blogging friend, and one to Champagne to visit Vivi. I've had many lovely lunches and teas with mes amies, and spent lots of time with Aimee, Max and Julien. Yesterday we took the opportunity to picnic in the Jardin des Plantes, have tea at the Paris Mosque, and then tour the church St. Germain de l'Auxerrois, the home parish of the kings and queens of France while they were living in the Louvre (also where Eva Longoria married Tony Parker in the religious ceremony.) It was incredible. Pictures to come!

I don't even want to think about leaving yet, but it's coming so fast. I feel back at home, like we never left, my french returning quickly and easily and my "France face" back on. This time is a little different though--people are friendlier when you've got a cute little kid in tow.

So now we are trying to fit in the last few things we'll have time to do before we leave on Monday. Soon we head back, much much much poorer in money but richer in so much more.

Learning By Example

Every kid does it, at this age--all parents learn that quickly when they see miniature versions of themselves walking around, spouting the same phrases, with many of the same habits. Rowan is a little mimic, and repeats much of what we say and do, looking to us for approval.

I didn't expect, however, that she would mimic everyone.

The other day, as we took Lucy for a walk, Rowan followed behind. She stopped at each tree, fire hydrant, and random clump of grass and touched it with her nose. Puzzled, I watched her a little more closely.

Then I saw.

Lucy squatted to relieve herself; Rowan squatted behind her. She looked up at me, a big grin on her face.

Let's just hope she doesn't try to "wash" herself next.

Arrival

We were up, dressed, and nearly packed. Rowan was finishing her oatmeal, and I was toasting some bread and sucking down coffee. Then we got the call.

"We missed our plane!" Sob, sob, hysterical crying followed by anger at her husband's mistake. But they were coming, just later. She would understand if we didn't even want to make the 4 1/2 hour drive to New York.

"Rock, we're still coming. I planned, I packed, we're ready. Even if we just have dinner together, it will be worth it."

I crossed my fingers that my pep talk with Rowan the night before had stuck. "Roxy! Josh! New York! One two fee foh five six seben eight nine ten!" She was excited.

We took our time, checked the net, and got going around 9:45. Leisurely is much less stressful, and being trapped for many hours in a big city with a toddler who wasn't reacting well would be my idea of a nightmare, so I planned for a little time but not too much. We got approved to check into their room early at the hotel, and I set the GPS.

On the road, Rowan was *great*. She snoozed for about 30 minutes, but mostly just stared out the window, calmly watching Pennsylvania slide by. We stopped at a little local place in Hazleton, PA, for lunch, eschewing the "freedom fries" that were still on the menu, and surprising the waitress by ordering coffee, no cream (I guess she was expecting me to either ask for soda or a cappucino), and by Rowan's excellent behavior. I had a roast beef, fried onion and cheddar on toast, and Rowan wolfed her hot dog, applesauce, and most of my mixed veggies. We cranked the tunes and drove on.

As we headed into the city, the headache settled in, thanks to the smog. We got to the hotel, asked for advice from the front desk, and went to settle in. I had forgotten to fill my Excedrin, but other than that, all was well. We planned to take public transport into Manhattan, because quite frankly $45 is a lot to spend on a car ride, and after a year of Paris buses and metros, I wasn't worried. We were heading to Central Park first.

"Are you excited, honey?"

"Yes!!!" she said, and danced in a circle.

"Having fun?"

"Yeah!!! Yay!!!" she shouted, as she jumped up and down.

"Where are we?"

Her face split into a huge grin, and she squealed.

"A BATHROOM!!!"

Faith of Confusion

Rowan and I go to church each week. I am Lutheran, though I used to teach in a Catholic school. Her dad is a Buddhist. We have crosses and Buddha heads in our home, living together happily. Rowan says her prayers at night before bed, and has coffee with Buddha in the morning. She goes up for a blessing when I receive communion, and does yoga with us at home.

Today, as she was playing with her new Madeline puzzle, Rowan brought over the Miss Clavel piece.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Buddha."

I really hope we don't run into any habited nuns in the next few days. They might not take that as a compliment.

Surrounded

Getting pregnant with Rowan was a miracle. Glorious, fabulous. Amazing. So wanted. Of course, it happened right when we didn't expect it, when we'd given up, when we were too busy to think about it. We were so lucky that everything went as well as it did (well, I consider a torn ACL, surgery, 4 months of puking, awful pain, physical therapy, and 29 hours of labor to be not so bad).

I'm hoping we can get lucky again.

It took me a while to get to this point. No, we're not pregnant, and haven't started trying again, but I finally got to the point where I think I am ready.

Then some bad things happened.

I'm not talking about the kids of other bloggers who died randomly and unjustly and so tragically. That was and is awful, yes. I wasn't a reader, so I wasn't invested myself, but the echoes were heard around the blogosphere.

No, but that same week, just after I had the realization that I was "ready", my friends lost their baby, just days after his official due date. He died in utero, and she had to go through labor and bury her child. This child that she didn't think she wanted to try for, until after she held my new baby for the first time. The child he had always dreamed of, a perfect son.

Then, another friend, someone from my high school class, wrote to me. He and his wife found their baby had severe heart defects and Downs Syndrome during a sonogram. They chose to end the pregnancy.

Dear God.

I've been trying to wrap my head and heart around this for weeks. I've thought, I've prayed, I've thought some more. I've talked with Dr. B. I've rejoiced in the healthy births of friends' and family's children. And then I looked at my little girl.

And I so want for her to have a brother or sister. She deserves as much love as we can give her in this life.

I am fearful. I am scared. Worried, anxious, you name it, I am feeling it. My age, the history of PCOS, my doctor's questions. The first pregnancy, gone in miscarriage. The months of grieving for our baby. The months of trying, the disappointment.

The ultimate question: what if that was it?

There are many things going on in our lives in the near future. Big trips coming up, plans, exciting things. These things I could use as excuses to put it off. But then I remember my birthday coming up, and I know I can't.

Soon, I think we'll start down the path to trying again.

Please, God. Please.