sugar shock

On Fridays the eighth graders at our parish school stage a bake sale for the rest of the students, who come with their quarters after school Mass.  Today was the first time the younger lad's kindergarten class went to school Mass (they had been going to chapel separately since school began) and bake sale, so I was eager to hear how things went from the younger lad's perspective.

"Good," he said, in his usual way. 

"What did you get at the bake sale?" I asked him.

The elder lad responded for his brother, "he got a graham cracker with frosting and colored chocolate chips.  I was going to get one, but it looked really unhealthy, so I got a donut."

brown baggin'

School has started for our bambini.  The elder lad is in second grade now, the younger lad is a wide-eyed kindergartener, and the elder lass is going to preschool two days a week ('twas her idea).  So far things are going well, though I always brace for a harrowing adjustment time the first few weeks(!) of school as everyone gets used to the new reality.

Along with the earlier wake up call, school days signal a return to packing lunches.  The lads like to eat school lunch when breakfast is on the menu, but otherwise they take their lunch.  The elder lass has to take her lunch.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

Given my thorough treatment of picky eating preferences, I still try to keep things interesting as well as healthy and delicious in their lunchboxes. For ideas I pore over all the posts I can find on the subject, including this witty and informative post penned by my sweet friend Katie. I'm especially fascinated by the whole bento box movement, which places a premium on the presentation of food as a pathway to the food actually being eaten. I have yet to carve hot dogs into octopuses of cut out fruit in flower shapes, though. The closest I've gotten is my rainbow fruit skewer.

While some of the bambini are more open than others to variety in their lunchboxes (I won't name names), this passage from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban (we are, by the way, big time Frances fans) neatly sums up the attitude of at least one of our bambini when it comes to branching out a bit:

"How do you know what you'll like 

if you won't even try anything?" asked Father.

"Well," said Frances,

 "there are many different things to eat,

and they taste many different ways.

But when I have bread and jam

I always know what I am getting, and I am always pleased."

Frances may not be open to spicing things up a bit (at least not at the beginning; I won't spoil the ending), but at least she and her friend Albert take a real lunch break to enjoy their food.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

With the prospect of recess looming for kids who are hungry but eager to burn off some pent-up energy, lunch is less leisurely, more pit-stop-esque, there's hardly time for doilies and tiny vases of violets...

back in business

There is much rejoicing in these parts over a tiny piece of six-pronged plastic:

It's called a coupler, and it connects the base of the blender to its jar.  This is our second replacement coupler, just arrived a couple of days ago, after searching high and low and everywhere else for the one I had ordered a few months ago and stashed for when the then-current coupler finally lost all its prongs in the process of twice-daily drinakable yogurt and smoothie blending.

Considering the amount of blending that goes on around here every day with all the yogurt we consume, it's understandable a few parts of the blender would need replacing now and then.  In the interim we made use of this behemoth for the daily blending needs:

While it did an admirable job pinch hitting (blending?) for the laid-up blender, I'm ever so grateful my handy husband was able to get the blender back up and running like the washing machine (among other things).  I fully expect the missing part to turn up any day now that we've gone and ordered another one.  That's alright.  We may need it eventually, considering we whaz up (to borrow an expression from chef Jamie Oliver) 4,621 gallons of smoothies or thereabouts each year.

Occasionally, the elder lad has been known to swill a sip or two of drinkable yogurt.  He developed his own recipe...

 ... and (with supervision) he takes care of the blending.

Here's the recipe I've come to expect for breakfast, a mid-morning snack, a drink to take along on the afternoon school pick-up run, or a bedtime snack (I blend it up after dinner and stash it in the fridge):

Mama's Go-To Smoothie:
3-4 frozen strawberries
3-4 frozen peach slices
5-6 frozen blackberries
2/3 cup plain low-fat yogurt (sometimes I use Greek yogurt for half of this amount)
1/3 cup apple juice
1/3 cup Green Goodness juice
1 Tablespoon flax oil

Welcome back, Blender.  It's great to hear you whirring again.  Food Processor, we thank you for going above and beyond.  We'll let you go back to blending up salsa and what not...

survey says...

We go through a lot of yogurt in this house.  A lot.  One might reasonably expect our digestive tracts would be the healthiest on the block (such a pleasant mental picture. You're welcome.).  We go through so much yogurt that we ought to try making our own, but we haven't gotten there yet.  Seeing as how the elder lad is always in search of a science project, maybe that should be our next one.

(or maybe not)

The brand of yogurt we buy has a reward system going wherein we enter codes from the yogurt lids and accrue points that can be redeemed for coupons and "freebies" and what not.  Once when I went to enter in a stack of codes, as the lids tend to pile up on the counter before I get around to entering them in, a brief survey popped up before the code-entering screen loaded.  The multiple-choice questions were mainly about how much yogurt we buy and in what ways we use yogurt.  It seemed the most appropriate response to each question was the maximum one -- how much yogurt we go through in a week, if we bake/make smoothies/finger paint with yogurt (just kidding on the last one -- except the toddler), things like that.  My beloved and I got a good laugh out of the survey.  At its conclusion we appeared to be ideal candidates for a "man on the street" advertising campaign for the company.

lapping up "sweet milk" -- the melted frozen yogurt that no one can bear to waste

One way we love to use yogurt is for making our own frozen yogurt -- chocolate, no less.  Here's how we do it...

good news • bad news • good eats

This can't be good:

our washing machine presently

...especially when we're going on a week with a nasty virus afflicting most of us (the elder lad and I are the holdouts).  One might expect that a few days with an offline washer might mean I'd catch up a little, but alas this is not the case.

Downer as that may be, I am happy to report that the elder lad has been branching out a bit from his standard fare, eating more fresh fruit and even some vegetables.  He says broccoli is his favorite, but he and his sister (the three-year-old elder lass) made short work of some of our backyard garden-fresh peas.

Lass could use a manicure.

We had planned to use those peas in a stir-fry for dinner, but our little field hands took a hefty "fee" for their picking work.  That's alright. 

Speaking of stir-frying, that's what I'm writing about today at Foodie Proclivities.  Check it out here.  Have I ever mentioned that my beloved and I lived in the same high-rise residence hall for a semester but never once met?

He lived in the guys' tower and I lived in the girls' tower, but the two towers shared a cafeteria with a wok station (about which I reminisce further in the post at Foodie Proclivities; please do click over).

I can't help but wonder how many times we were in that cafeteria -- maybe even wok-ing -- at the same time.  The Lord sure does have a sense of humor.  He knew it wasn't yet time for us to meet.  I had to work on my stir-frying skills...

chocolate cake. enough said.

Yes, I know I do yammer on about the merits of cooking with kids healthy things with less sugar and all that good stuff.  But there *is* a time and a place for this:

That time was this past weekend, when we celebrated my sister's birthday a few days late (we celebrate birthday seasons, remember?).  I made this double layer chocolate cake with ganache frosting, which, though it is a rarity, enjoys status as a family favorite after being the centerpiece of a couple of special birthday celebrations (her sweet sixteen being one of them, my beloved's birthday being the other). 

Even though I made this cake all by myself, with no little helpers oddly enough (lassies were napping, lads were helping my beloved with yard work), I overlooked a few ingredients and came up short on another one.  The party people ate it anyway.  Here's the whole story at Foodie Proclivities.  I do hope you'll head on over...

not my thing -- or is it?

We made these cookies earlier this week for the elder lad's birthday snack at school -- even though his birthday isn't for another two months. His wonderful teacher works the summer birthdays into the classroom celebration calendar so that the summer babes can bask in birthday glory with their schoolmates before everyone scatters for the summer.

We used this oatmeal cookie recipe (with most of the oats ground into flour to smooth out the texture) and frosted them with this glaze. By all accounts, they were right tasty.

A mom of one of the elder lad's classmates -- one who has been unfailingly generous and friendly to me, a relative newcomer to the parish school community, for which I am so grateful -- asked me recently after I brought homemade baked doughnuts to a class party if baking is "my thing."

"It is now," I told her, relating how I'd taken up the craft as a way of both feeding my picky selective eaters well *and* having something fun to do with them. Before I had children there were a few recipes that I liked to bake (brownies being the primary one), but the activity usually wasn't my first choice when I had free time (whatever that is). Playing the piano was my thing. Making jewelry was my thing. Doing various paper- and fabric-related crafts was my thing. Baking and cooking?  Meh. 

When my beloved and I were courting, my attitude toward cooking began to change because it was a hobby of his.  He was (and is still) amazingly skilled and at ease in the kitchen, as his recent Sammy can chicken experiment shows, and cooking together soon became a favorite pastime of ours. 

Nowadays I spend a lot of time in the kitchen doing a lot of "from-scratch" cooking and baking -- and I like to do it (usually). Serving nutritionally-dense meals is important to my beloved and me, and this is one way we accomplish that.  It's not a matter of wanting to show off or be Super Mom or anything like that.  It's mainly about finding a way to satiate this formidable sweet tooth of mine (and that of my elder lad, gee willikers) in a way that precludes sugar high-related behavioral unpleasantries and negative impacts on physical wellbeing.

Rolled and cut out cookies with frosting decorations are definitely not my thing.  Those are generally more hassle and mess than I'm willing to take on with little helpers, but I am at times persuaded to make exceptions. Especially during Easter season, we revel in the sweet treats that often accompany celebrations like birthdays and sacraments. We can do so in good conscience by eating in moderation and choosing ingredients that are both wholesome and delicious. And if we get to make those treats together as part of the festivities, so much the better.

fruit bots

Oh no, we aren't finished talking about robots yet.  Check out the Fruit Bots I made (with lots of help) for the younger lad's birthday noshing -- details here at Foodie Proclivities.

snow day snacks

Venn diagram of snacks:

One lad requests plain, dry O-shaped cereal. The other lad likes raisins.  This we know.  The lass will take some of each.

faulty logic

lunchtime...

me: "You know, raisins are dried out grapes."

younger lad: "What are dried out raisins?"
me: "Raisins."

him: "What are dried out chips?"
me: "Chips."

baking up memories, one double batch at a time

From the time my five-year-old elder lad was a wee babe, I've been cooking and baking with him.  At first he loved watching the mixer churn up cookie batter (from a safe distance, of course, in my arms).  Now he mans the mixer most of the time (with close supervision, of course).  As his siblings have grown, they've pulled their own chairs up to the counter to bake with us.

There are all manner of great outcomes from baking with one's bambini, among them tasty vittles, an opportunity to teach about nutrition in a fun way, and even mathematical and scientific lessons right there for the taking.

Baking with bambini is not for the faint of heart, however.  When the adult baker is at peace with the possibility of messes, ready to mediate squabbles over whose turn it is to run the mixer or scrape the bowl, and prepared to answer pleas for "just one chocolate chip", things tend to turn out much better overall, as the inevitable minor mishaps aren't fuel for frustration that might lead to snappish tones of voice or the like.

Here's how this morning's cookie baking scene went down.  It's a school day, so the elder lad wasn't in on the action. 

The 20-month-old lass is tired and ready for a nap at 10am, but I am able to rouse her interest in cookies -- except she wants them *right now*.  The younger lad is rarin' to go mix up batter but balks at the idea of washing his hands.  (Why they do this baffles me, as they *love* to play in the water.)  Mama holds her ground on the hand washing, asserting no mixing is to be done until hands are clean.  The nine week old younger lass is rousing from a catnap and wants to nurse.  This holds up things in the batter-making process somewhat, but that's alright.

Hands are clean, so I scramble to queue up ingredients in an effort to simplify the process.  That in and of itself is one of the mightiest challenges of the entire undertaking.

Butter is churning in the mixer under the younger lad's watchful eye.  The lass is happily scooping and spilling the mixture of dry ingredients in a mixing bowl, edging out only a tiny amount of the mixture onto the counter.  She's angling for a chocolate chip, though, each time her brother asks for one.  "It's not time for those, yet," I tell them, and they register their discontent. 

Finally the moment has arrived to add the chocolate chips.  They each get one (and so do I).  When it's time to add the dry ingredients, the lass is not so willing to give up her bowl.  She will, however, if she can use the mixer, too, but this idea is a "thumbs down" according to her brother (even though he's had use of the mixer all this time). She dumps in her contribution, and because we are making a double batch, the batter begins to climb over the beater.

The lad is placated by the idea of him scooping the dough out of the bowl and plopping it onto the cookie sheets.  As I put the first four scoops in the four corners of the cookie sheet to hold down the parchment paper, he says the cookies are like magnets.  He and his sister each take turns helping me dole out the dough onto the cookie sheets, which then go into the oven.  The younger lass is climbing up my shoulder from the confines of my left arm.  This cookie baking business has lost its luster for her.

The waiting begins, and if not for the prospect of a banana and some yogurt (and some other "growing food"), I might've had mutiny from the little ones who want cookies for lunch.

Nutritional requirements met, the lass gets to try one of the cookies from the first tray out of the oven.  She wants another.   The lad has deferred cookie gratification until after his brief nap, as the thought of finishing his lunch at that time did not suit him.

Why do I put myself through such sometimes harrowing moments baking with my bambini?  Well, for one thing, I want cookies just that much.  But more than that, in this venture together we cultivate patience in the Mama, an understanding of and respect for the mixer's machinery in the bambini, consideration for those not present who might want cookies too; build valuable kitchen skills that will serve the bambini their entire lives; and have home baked treats to show for our efforts. 

Most of the time, baking with the bambini is a fun way to spend a chunk of time together.  The times when things get dicey have refined my multitasking and quick-thinking skills.  As much time as we spend together in the kitchen, I pray the memories we are making are happy ones for the bambini.  Through the lens of hindsight and with a healthy dose of humor, our family lore is being baked one batch at a time.

Now on to clean up the mess...

perish the thought

They're after my chocolate.

The lass hears me rustling in a snack container and says "choc'lat" (as in chips) and makes it clear she wants some.   
How'd she know that's what in there?

The younger lad tells his elder brother as the latter boards the Bambini Ride, "we bought a chocolate bar at Target this morning.  Want to share it?"   
What's this "we" business?  Who said anything about sharing?

The elder lad moseys into the pantry and asks if he can have "something from the secret stash."
Apparently, it isn't so secret.

pandemonium

Sometimes I really surprise myself by the absurdity of my ideas -- or rather, that I would cook up **and act upon** such ridiculous things.

Why I thought taking the bambini to a fast food chain with an indoor play area was a good idea is beyond me, as we hardly ever eat fast food *or* go to indoor play areas where I fret about whatever germs might be lurking on the equipment and spend the entire time keeping track of three little people in the maze of plastic and mesh with the fourth one in the sling. 

Chalk it up to my sleep deficit.  Sometimes my cognitive abilities are consequently impaired. 

Alas, with the brave help of my parents and sister, we loaded up all four bambini (the elder lad had a day off from school, and my family came to visit for the day) and took a field trip to this eatery with a reputation among moms as *the* place to go.  To be sure, there were lots of families with young children, many of whom were probably there after delivering a spiel about eating "a good lunch" before going to play.  I gave that spiel myself.  I might need a new spiel writer.

Very little of the "good lunch" (as it were) was consumed.  The play area was held hostage by two unsupervised children too old to be in there anyway egging each other on to "scream louder!".   And were there naps taken after all that excitement?

Of course not.

Does any of this come as a surprise to anyone?
Probably not.

I suppose it's one of those lessons this mama had to learn by living it herself.  Standing by me while I learned it (and enduring the screaming) was truly a work of mercy by my parents and sister.

Now we've been there, done that, and don't need to again.  Whether we eat at home or out some place, we'll find another place to play -- preferably outside. 

cookie monster

Do you think the elder lad's teacher might have some choice words for me if I send cookies each the size of her Kindergartners' heads for their mid-morning snack tomorrow?

I probably would.

Even if the cookies do have oatmeal (for "O" week), whole wheat flour and wheat germ in them, and even if the theme O'the week is friendship such that they could theoretically share the cookies, sending saucer-sized cookies might not earn me any brownie points.

Ooh, brownies...

*Smaller but still decent-sized cookies are boxed up and ready to go...

sweet tooth revisited

This happens every time.  My sweet tooth just goes berserk after I have a baby.  When I'm pregnant, it waxes and wanes depending on how nauseated I am, but it reaches fever pitch after the baby is born.  It's all I can do to keep it in check, allowing myself a little indulgence but trying to be smart about it.

In this fourth bout with the Sweet Tooth (it gets capitalized now -- it's that formidable), I'm trying a few things to make sure things don't get out of control:

1. I try to have a protein-dense breakfast, like our pancakes, cheese grits, or breakfast casserole.  If I have something like a bagel and cream cheese (much as I love that), I'm more inclined to go for something else high in carbs later on, and the rest of the day I struggle to keep from consuming nothing but carbs.  This gets me nowhere good.
2. When I do have something sweet, I try to choose something like our chocolate chip chickpea cookies (protein and fiber are hidden amongst the chocolate) or protein-laden chocolate Greek yogurt.
3. I'll allow myself such delights as chocolate milkshakes (though the trash-can sized ones are only for right after delivery) and my mother-in-law's apple küchen so long as I've had enough protein beforehand to take on the sugar spike that ensues. 
4. Once these mint Milano cookies I'm so very fond of that my mother brought me are gone, they're gone. 

*Note: dark chocolate (like my favorite dark 85%) lies beyond the realm of the balanced diet parameters.  Dark chocolate is nearly always considered "health food" thanks to the antioxidants and endorphins it imparts.

For my family's sake as well as my own, I must eat well -- not only so that I can supply the raven-haired lass with the best nutrition, but also so that I feel well enough to be able to take good care of everyone. If I haven't eaten well, I can't do that. Too much sugar and not enough protein spell sluggishness, irritability, and muddle-headedness, and I'm already plenty muddle-headed!

It's an ongoing battle between my Sweet Tooth and me, but I think I might just have the upper hand.

chowhounds

What is up with these lads -- especially the elder one?  Eating *entire* bagels with peanut butter?  Fresh -- not freeze-dried -- strawberries?  Those "saucer" peaches -- seen 'em?  Ham and cheese sandwiches?

Grilled turkey?!

And now the younger one is even eating entire halves of bagels with cream cheese -- not just quarters!   They're keeping pace with their sister, whose appetite has only increased since her first dabblings in solid food.

I think I better brace myself.  This could be serious.  I already bought the lad's uniform pants.  Will they fit when school starts?

a deposit in the bank of experience

The edible chemistry lesson didn't end how I hoped it would.  The colors weren't right, and the consistency was a bit ... um ... sludgy. 

So instead we whipped up some cream cheese frosting, left it white, lopped it into a zip-top bag fitted with a star piping tip, and decorated the cupcakes (which we inadvertently left at home when we departed for our Fourth of July festivities).  Both lads had great fun with the piping bag (and sampling the frosting for quality control).

This is one of those experiments my beloved would call "a deposit in the bank of experience."   Not that we won't give the other icing another go some other time, but in this case, we're likening the white frosting to the snow-capped mountain peaks for that whole patriotic association. 

Here's the whole recipe...

"this is like chemistry"

On our date earlier this week, the elder lad and I went to Whole Foods (where the fun rocket ship carts are) and swung through the bakery section.  Thereupon we discovered some cupcakes decorated in a patriotic fashion with red, white, and blue icing.  The lad was captivated.

So I've been trying to come up with a home-baked version of the cupcakes for the Fourth of July holiday.  We baked some yesterday, and today it was about the icing.  I wanted to try a recipe from The Sneaky Chef using organic powdered milk as the base and fruit juice (black cherry and blueberry) for coloring instead of dye.  I substituted agave nectar for the powdered sugar.   The result is a little short of what I was hoping for, so we're still working on it.

As we added this to that and stirred and taste-tested, the lad made a keen observation:

"This is like chemistry," he said.  Little does he know...

is this a compliment?

"Mom, this pasta isn't good *or* bad.  It's just right."
-- elder lad

Um... thank you?

it's what's for dinner

By now loyal readers are familiar with the various idiosyncrasies of the collective bambini palate here.  As a refresher, the lads are carbivores.  How they do love their baked goods.  They do like bacon (and, ahem, chicken McNuggets, once in a blue moon), but other than that, it's slim pickins for protein diversity in their respective cases.  We do try to use as much whole wheat flour, wheat germ, and flax seed meal as we can in our baking to up the protein content.  We keep offering a variety of healthy foods.  It's up to them to eat it, though. 

The younger lad loves his "ma-muh", the drinkable yogurt we blend up almost daily, so I take some solace in knowing that it's rich in protein in the form of milk and yogurt (sometimes even Greek yogurt) and contains minimal sugar to make it a fairly decent source of nutrition for him (and the lass, who calls it "go-gur").  He is also a fruit lover.

The elder lad's primary source of protein is peanut butter (we get the natural kind).  He will have nothing to do with the yogurt homebrew.  Trouble is, he's been having an intermittent but persistent (thankfully not emergent, though, at least so far) allergic reaction to *something*.  We're not sure if it's environmental, has something to do with shampoo or laundry detergent, or food-related; in case it's the last of those, we've been trying to ferret out the source by eliminating certain potentially allergenic foods such as the berries he has only recently began trying in the form of some flavored organic yogurt and fresh or frozen fruit in smoothies -- and his trusty peanut butter.

A few days into this exercise, we're still seeing symptoms and he's still very itchy.  I'm not sure how long the body takes to rid itself of proteins from peanut butter and berries (if that's even the cause); I know it takes a couple of weeks to eliminate dairy proteins from one's system when one is on that course (which we're not -- yet). 

So if peanut butter is off the menu, what will he eat?   Good question.  Please keep him in your prayers as we try to figure out what's causing him such obvious discomfort.