These square potatoes were surprisingly easy to make (with the help of a mandolin, at least). And, thanks to copious amounts of butter, they browned quite nicely.
22 Sep
A day in the life
Here’s Ava, standing on her head, holding her breath, waiting for me to give in. I didn’t give in; she didn’t pass out. Pretty sure I won.
21 Sep
Why fall is my favorite season
This month’s issue of Bon Appetit is filled with recipes I can’t wait to try—and six I already have. I love cooking this time of year. In fact, all I really want to do is cook and eat, and then cook more. And, as long as I’m wishing, I’d like it to be Friday, too—more time for cooking.
Alas, it’s Wednesday, and I’m avoiding sugar and starch. So, in the meantime, let me share a recipe I made this weekend: Prosciutto-Wrapped Pork Loin with Roasted Apples.
I bought a huge pork loin and butchered and butterflied it myself. It resulted in two good-sized roasts and six thick pork chops. I’d highly recommend this recipe, though please note it took far, FAR less than the recommended two hours to come to temperature. Even though it was a bit overdone, it was still moist thanks to the stuffing and prosciutto.
As soon as the other recipes are online, I’ll share them as well!
20 Sep
Overheard
I took the girls on a hike in a nearby nature park last night. At one point, Olivia spotted a large nest, high in the trees…
Me: “What kind of bird do you think lives in that nest?”
Ava: “Eagles?”
Olivia: “PARROTS.”
18 Sep
Perfect for kids AND adults!
When you spill your wine on Mom’s deck twice in two days, your glassware is instantly “upgraded.”
15 Sep
Olivia Update
When Bryan and I start to get a little too comfortable in our roles as not-so-new parents, the girls like to change it up—just to keep us on our toes. Case in point: Last Wednesday night, Olivia shows us her find of the day—a rectangular rock, a bit larger than a Jolly Rancher. She had kept it in her pocket along with various other items like a Silly Band, a hair clip and a fair amount of rubber mulch.
I agreed it was indeed a good rock, and I sent her up to bed. I tucked her in, said our good nights, and closed the door.
Ten minutes later, she came running out of her bedroom, obviously struggling with something. I wasn’t sure if she was going to vomit, or if she was just trying not to cry. I didn’t realize what was happening until it was over. She swallowed hard once more, and cried out from pain.
My “WHAT DID YOU DO?” was met with “I SWALLOWED my ROCK.”
Shit.
In the next two and a half minutes, I:
- Found shoes for me (but not for Olivia, I’d notice later),
- Questioned how it was possible I didn’t realize my child was choking as she stood in front of me,
- Tried not to think about what I would have done if I HAD known she was choking,
- Prayed she didn’t cough or vomit in way that would cause the rock to become lodged in her esophagus, and
- Loaded her into the car for a trip to the ER.
During that same two and a half minutes, Bryan followed me around, yelling a series of questions:
- WHY DID SHE HAVE A ROCK?
- WHO GAVE HER A ROCK?
- WHERE DID SHE GET A ROCK?
- WHY DID SHE HAVE A ROCK?
Two hours later, I’m sitting in the ER of a college town at 10:30 pm, with a perfectly healthy almost-four-year-old who did not appear to be remotely interested in purging a rock. So, we waited. And waited. And waited. We had a good four hours to discuss things that are appropriate to put in our mouths, and things that are not.
The ER doctor assured me a rock wouldn’t show up on an X-Ray, so they just needed to be sure her airway was clear. By the time she’d had a good snack and quite a bit to drink (which led to roughly 35 trips to the bathroom—in bare feet), they determined she was probably fine and sent us home a little after midnight. They guessed she’s pass the rock in a day or two.
And here we are a week later . . . still no rock. Apparently it’s not easy to digest gravel.
I called to check in with our doctor, who assured us a rock would indeed show up on X-Ray. But, the X-Ray was clear, so that either means the rock escaped unnoticed, or rocks don’t show up on X-Ray. Either way, we’re off poop patrol.
I suppose I should be resting a bit easier now, too, because Olivia happily informed me, “When I get my next rock, I promise I won’t swallow it.”
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