• Love, The Tooth Fairy

    Yo-Yo Boy lost his first tooth yesterday.

    That’s right, I said his first. Yes, that’s right … he will be turning nine years old on Thursday. Yes, that’s right—he’s a late bloomer. It’s not my doing, okay? It’s not like I’m scotch-taping his teeth to his gums, refusing to let them fall out.

    Actually, I’m with you—it was about time, if you ask me. His mouth was beginning to resemble a falling-down split-rail fence! His two bottom teeth were both loose (I think his top two are also loose), and his second teeth had grown up behind them. We even made a special trip to the dentist to see if everything was okay, and the doc assured us he was just fine. He explained that because Yo-Yo’s new teeth were preventing his tongue from naturally bumping up against the loose ones, it might take extra long for the first teeth too fall out. He sure was right about that.

    Then yesterday while the kids were resting and I was sitting at the computer, deep in a thought-filled stupor (that’s what happens to me when the blissful, post-lunch quiet descends upon the house and I have just slurped down a large cup of café con leche), I heard Yo-Yo throw open his door (it creaks) and pound down the stairs in his annoyingly flatfooted way. He sprinted towards me, his hand outstretched before him, at breakneck speed. “My tooth fell out!” he half-stage whispered, half-squawked. He widely grinned at me, revealing a mouthful of blood. I sent him to the bathroom to wash up and when he came back I oohed and aahed over the little piece of enamel. We put the tooth in a glass, to save for the Tooth Fairy I reminded him.

    “Aw, mama! That’s you. I know that!” he said.

    “Really? Hmm.” I said.

    He had to call Grandmommy and Grandaddy to tell them the story, and he couldn’t wait for Mr. Handsome to come home so he could fake him out by putting the tooth back in and then pretending it fell out again. There was much speculation over what the Tooth Fairy might bring. “It can’t be big,” I warned. “The fairy is really small, you know.”

    As I shooed the kids up to bed after the bedtime stories, I told Yo-Yo to make sure he left his window open a crack so the fairy could get in. “Mama!” he said, exasperated. “There is no Tooth Fairy. I’m talking to the Tooth Fairy right now!”

    “Huh,” I said. “I don’t know about that … I don’t think I look like much of a fairy.”

    Mr. Handsome ended up spending part of the night in the boys’ room because The Baby Nickel woke up. He said that Yo-Yo kept waking up, too excited for the fairy. He even asked Mr. Handsome if he could look under his pillow and Mr. Handsome said no and Yo-Yo boy didn’t look.

    Yo-Yo came running down the stairs at 6:30 this morning. “Look, Mama! Look what the Tooth Fairy gave me! And she wrote me this note and the writing is tiny because she’s so small. Come read it!”

    Several minutes later he said, “I know it was you that gave it to me.” I think he was trying to convince himself.

    When it comes down to it he does know that I am the Tooth Fairy, yet for those few minutes the line between reality and imagination wavered. If I had my way, I’d keep that line blurry for just another few years. Or at least long enough to let the Tooth Fairy collect her precious baby’s pearly gems.

    And I won’t use any scotch tape. I promise.

    Dear Yo-Yo Boy,

    I have been waiting and waiting for that tooth of your’s to fall out. Once in a while I would even fly into your room and peek into your mouth while you were sleeping, just to make sure it was still there. I almost never see a tooth hang on that long, especially with another tooth behind it pushing it out, and especially in an almost nine year old. (By the way, happy birthday ahead of time!)

    Now, you get busy wiggling that other tooth. It will soon fall out, mark my words.

    Love,
    The Tooth Fairy

    Ps. I hope you like the little car. Maybe if you crash it into your mouth (on accident, on purpose) it will knock the other tooth out.

    Pps. I hope it is not too difficult for you to read this. It’s just that my typewriter can only make small letters since it is so tiny, but you know, that’s just how it is for a little Tooth Fairy like me.

  • Jigging For Cake

    By any chance, did you put up some rhubarb this year? Did you happen to freeze any of the green-red chunks in plastic bags? In two-cup portions, perhaps? If so, you are a lucky winner and I now give you permission to dance a little jig. I’m serious. Go ahead. Dance!

    Now you need to fetch that bag of rhubarb from the freezer, turn on the oven, and pull out your medium-sized glass mixing bowl. You are going to make a cake, and the cake will be so tasty that you will probably (absolutely, certainly, and definitely) eat entirely too much.


    In this cake the rhubarb is mixed into the batter and then sprinkled with the brown sugar mixture, but then as the cake bakes, the rhubarb and brown sugar-cinnamon topping sink to the bottom, creating a fruity, gooey, sometimes crispy-caramel-y bottom layer.


    It’s the kind of cake bottom that makes you insist that it’s your job to serve everyone their piece, and then you intentionally use a fork instead of a cake server to scoop the pieces onto the dessert plates because you are well aware that the fork will not pick up all that brown crunchy goo, which means that after you’ve swept the cake pan off the table and set it back on the counter, you can hunch over the pan and quickly, using your spoon or even your fingers, polish clean the pan’s sweet bottom.


    And then you’ll need to dance another jig to burn off all that snuckered cake.


    Not that I would know anything about scraping up brown-sugar goo with my fingers and then dancing a jig as penance. Nope. I do stomach crunches.

    Rhubarb Cake
    It is possible that this recipe came from Epicurious, though I can’t be certain about that, because when I jotted down the ingredients in my little recipe book I forgot (oops) to make any mention of this recipe’s origins.

    This time around I added some red raspberries, as well as the called-for amount of rhubarb—the berries were a pleasant enhancement in regards to both color and flavor.


    For the batter:
    ½ cup butter
    1 ½ cup sugar
    1 egg
    1 teaspoon vanilla
    2 cups flour
    1 teaspoon baking soda
    ½ teaspoon salt
    1 cup buttermilk or sour milk (to make sour milk: pour a couple glugs of lemon juice or vinegar into the bottom of the one-cup measuring cup before filling the cup up to the brim with the milk)
    2 cups rhubarb, chopped, tossed with 1 tablespoon cornstarch

    Cream together the butter and sugar. Add the egg and vanilla and beat some more. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt (that you have already mixed together in another bowl) alternately with the buttermilk. Do not over-beat. Gently stir the rhubarb into the batter and pour the mixture into a greased, 9 x 13 pan.

    For the topping:
    1/4 cup butter
    2 teaspoons cinnamon
    1 cup brown sugar

    Mix together with your fingers and sprinkle over the top of the rhubarb batter.

    Bake the cake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes.

  • Autumn Comfort

    As you all know, ‘tis the season for pumpkins and sausage, and I just found a splendidly homey, yet gourmet-ish, recipe that combines the two: sauteed onions and garlic, browned sausage, white wine, fresh sage, pumpkin, cream, nutmeg, and cinnamon, with Parmesan cheese grated on top. If I had to categorize my food, this sauce would fit under the title of October Comfort Food; it goes hand-in-hand with wood stoves and crunchy leaves.


    Pumpkin-Sausage Cream Sauce
    Adapted from Simply In Season

    1 pound, or less, bulk sausage
    1 onion, chopped
    4 cloves garlic, minced
    1 bay leaf
    1-2 tablespoons fresh sage
    1 cup white wine
    1 cup water
    1 cup pumpkin, cooked and mashed
    ½ cup cream
    one or two pinches cinnamon
    1/4 – ½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
    salt and black pepper as needed
    Parmesan cheese, optional

    Brown the sausage in a kettle or skillet. Scoop the sausage into a bowl and set aside. Add a little white wine to the pan to deglaze it, and add the onion and garlic and, if necessary, a little olive oil, and saute until golden and soft. Add the bay leaf, sage, and wine and simmer for a couple minutes to reduce the liquid by about half. Add the water and pumpkin and heat through. Add the sausage. Turn the heat down to low and pour the cream into the sauce, making sure that it does not bubble (you don’t want it to curdle). Add the cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and black pepper. Serve the cream sauce over pasta (or rice), sprinkling it with Parmesan cheese, if desired.