I have not been doing much creative cooking lately. I miss it.

I miss discovering a brand new-to-me recipe, assembling the ingredients, and then chopping and stirring my way to exciting new taste sensations. Cooking traditional favorites is satisfying and pleasurable (especially when no one complains and everyone leaves the table happily stuffed), but it gets boring after awhile. I get bored way too stinkin’ fast.

When my days are relaxed, I can fritter (ooo, that reminds me, I want to make apple fritters soon!) about all I want, crafting and concocting to my heart’s content. One of my favorite happy feelings is waking up in the morning and then remembering that I get to play with, say, empanadas in a couple hours—oh, joy! Playing with food makes me giddy.

So if I like it so much, why am I not doing it? Because creative cooking takes brain energy and time, and right now my time is getting poured into my kids (and The Donut Party of 2010 and belly dance and church meetings) because—get this—I’m homeschooling my kids.

People have often said to me, ““I don’t know how you do it—homeschooling four kids…wow!” and up until recently, I didn’t understand their shock and awe. Homeschooling was no big deal. It simply consisted of us living together, growing older together, and learning about cool stuff together.

Which is true.

I also believed that homeschooling didn’t need to take much time.

Which is not true.

Folks, I can not believe I am saying this. My shock is profound. I am gape-mouthed and puzzled, scratching my head and spinning in circles. I am choking on my huge forkful of crow.

What in the world ever happened to my nice little idea of homeschooling?

I’ll tell you what happened. What happened is that my four little squirmy, pooping, suckling, screeching, grabbing, crawling babies done did growed up into four opinionated, inquisitive, mouthy, emotional, energetic not-so-little-anymore people who use up a lot more of my mental energy than I ever would’ve thought possible.

And that’s the truth.

Turns out, both babies and older kids are exhausting, but in different ways. How I’ve experienced it, caring for the physical needs of a baby is boring and draining and nonstop. Caring for older kids is less physical but much more mentally exhausting.

Here are a couple examples to drive home the point.

Example #1: A mama can (not that she does) have deep thoughts while changing a poopy diaper and rinsing it in the toilet. A mama can not have deep thoughts while teaching a child how to scrub the toilet.

Example #2: A mama can read a book while nursing a baby. A mama can not read a book while supervising table manners and appropriate mealtime conversation.

Example #3: A mama’s mind can go elsewhere (though it may be too exhausted to do much gallivanting about) when walking a baby to sleep. A mama’s mind can not go elsewhere when explaining Why Not to an angry child.

So see, after the morning sessions of Fred and piano, spelling and geography, science and Bible, my brain is zapped. I don’t have the energy to dream expansively of fancy dishes and savory sauces—just dreaming up the next day’s menu is all I can muster energy for, and then, just barely. Several hours of being fully present to my children does me in.

I think it’s right about here that I’m supposed to gush happily, “But I love homeschooling my children even more than cooking! It’s so wonderful!”

Except that I don’t know if that’s true.

(And no, I’m not playing Mama Martyr.)

It’s just that cooking involves dirty pots and sore feet, but homeschooling involves grit and exhaustion on a much deeper level.

And, yes, yes, happiness, too. It’s just that the happiness is more muted (and profound) than the giddy high that a flaky pie crust brings. (Also, children aren’t as easily moldable as a pie crust. There is no instant gratification when it comes to homeschooling.)

An Analogy: Homeschooling versus cooking is like a good night’s sleep versus caffeine. Homeschooling is like a full night of sleep and cooking is like a shot of strong coffee. The former is more satisfying, the latter more electrifying.

So there you have it, a long-winded, analogy-riddled and example-filled explanation for why I’m not cooking much these days. Things may shift (they always do) and suddenly I’ll find myself with lots of time to fritter and futz with food.

When that happens, you’ll be the first to know.

(Note of clarification: cooking creatively is relative. As soon as I was done with this post (minus the editing part), I got up off the couch to go experiment with some pepperoni rolls. So see, I’m still cooking creatively. It’s just not as much or as often as I’d like. So in other words, don’t be totally shocked when you see a new recipe pop up in this space. It doesn’t mean the big yellow bus has whisked my little ones away.) (Though the fact that the big yellow bus hasn’t stopped here doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes wish it did.)

This same time, years previous: puzzling it out, a milestone

When it comes to gifts, Mr. Handsome is about impossible to shop for. He has distinct tastes, but he never lets on what they are. Me, on the other hand, I outline everything in detail, frequently mention my wish list, and even go so far as to grill the kids to make sure they understand everything.

But Saturday was Mr. Handsome’s birthday, not mine. His birthday is sandwiched between mine and Yo-Yo’s—mine 14 days before and Yo-Yo’s 14 days after. In this house, fall is otherwise known as Birthday Season.

Even though I knew I’d get nowhere, I still tried to pry some information out of the man. “What do you want for your birthday?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, hon. You’ve got to be a little more helpful than that. Do you want time alone to work on the barn? For us to go on a family outing? A certain tool?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “The kids could clean the barn, I guess.” And after a reflective pause he added, “Just don’t spend too much money. We don’t have much left after buying that camera of yours.”

So it wasn’t much to go on, but still, it was something. This is what we came up with.

1. Little Notes

I sat down with each of the kids and asked them what they liked best about their papa. The three older kids then wrote the notes in their best handwriting, and all of kids decorated the bits of paper.

They worked on them a little bit each day for a week and ended up with a grand total of about 20 notes.

Saturday morning, the Birthday Boy had to stay in bed while the kids scurried around the house (and upstairs and out to the barn and down to the basement) taping the notes in all the places Mr. Handsome was likely to go: on the back of the toilet, on his deodorant, on the steering wheel of his truck, on the air compressor, etc.

Then they waited for him at the bottom of the stairs…

and followed him around to watch him find the notes.

“Hey, guys,” I whispered to them. “Just act normal. Pretend you don’t know anything about the notes.”

But my kids don’t know how to act normal. The continued to employ the Cluster Method.

Mr. Handsome would read each note…

and them look at them and smile.

He told us later that it was his favorite thing about the whole day.

2. The Human Package

After breakfast, Mr. Handsome was ordered to the sofa. The rest of us relocated to the basement where I draped a sheet over the kids, stuck a push broom in Miss Beccaboo’s hand and smacked a ribbon on Yo-Yo’s head. They shuffle-footed into the house and stood before Mr. Handsome. And waited.

“I think you have to unwrap it,” I suggested pointedly to Mr. Handsome.

He pulled off the blanket to reveal three giggling kids and one theatrical boy who read from a scroll that sported a bunch of hieroglyphics, the gist of which was: we will clean the barn for you.

So they did … for about thirty minutes. Then they gave up.

It was a nice gesture, though.

3. The Birthday Supper

He mentioned that he’d like meat for supper, perhaps spaghetti with sausage. So I made a huge pot of sauce with fat Italian sausages, loose sausage with onions, and meatballs. It was a veritable meat orgy.

And I didn’t cook any vegetables to go with the meal. Mr. Handsome eats his vegetables like a champ (not to mention a bunch of other weird creations), but they just aren’t his thing. I counted the green-free meal as one of my gifts.

4. Birthday Presents

The kids gave him their gifts: “spicy” (cinnamon) gum, “spicy” (barbecue) chips, Pringles, and a gift certificate to a bagel shop.

Yo-Yo played him a song on the piano.

Though it wasn’t actually a song. He just played chords while reading a poem about getting older, bald heads, and middle age spread. (Ever since some people did a reading at church while piano music was playing in the background, Yo-Yo has been big into playing chords while reading scriptures or poetry.)

Then I gave Mr. Handsome my gift, an assortment of frozen food, all prepackaged and ready for his lunches. There were:

*pepperoni rolls (Recipe forthcoming, once I get it perfected. Sorry, Mr. Handsome. I gave you 16 unperfected pepperoni rolls. Plus, I forgot to take off the plastic wrapper thingamajiggy. Plus, I ate one of them so you really have only 15. Hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.)
*containers of fruit salad
*bags of gorp
*molasses crinkles

Oh yes, and two pounds of precooked bacon strips since he is such a bacon freak.

(My one, non-food gift was a year’s subscription to Newsweek.)

5. The Tussle

Then the kids jumped on their papa.

They tickled him.

They knocked the lamp over.

And they drug him away.

It was an unplanned attack, but it may become a tradition. You know, a show-us-your-stuff test to see how decrepit you’ve become (or not become).

However, I think he’s pretty much guaranteed to get his butt whupped from here on out, regardless of his strength. The kids are gaining on him and there’s nothing he can do about that. Especially once The Baby Nickel gets a couple years older and a couple pounds heavier. Then there is no hope for Mr. Handsome whatsoever. The Baby Nickel moves like a wrecking ball.

This same time, years previous: anticipating the mothballs, potential

I can’t get anything done for this black box that’s glued to my eyeball. This new toy of mine gets more face time than my children and my honey combined. I obsessively adjust its sexy dials and push its cute buttons (in the most gentle and loving way possible). I caress it. I sigh blissfully, beaming joy into the cosmos, and I think many, many happy, sappy thoughts.

I snap shots fast. I snap them slow. The schlick of the shutter gives me a head rush. It’s addictive.

Some of you mentioned that my new baby makes you feel a tad bit jealous.

Well, you know what? This might sound odd and completely impossible, but when it comes to this camera, I’m jealous of me.

It’s bad manners to go on and on about a new toy, so I’ll try to restrain myself. It’ll be hard—no, nigh near impossible is more like it—but I’ll try. Manners make the world go round.

And I don’t want to be cast off our spinning planet into outer space.

(For more reasons than one. I don’t think Canon Rebels work real well in outer space.)

Mr. Handsome decided to take a nap this afternoon. It was the perfect opportunity to study perspective à la Rebel. (I told you minding my manners would be impossible.)

Big gigantic feet.

Who in the world wears shoes while sleeping? That is, like, the most uncomfortable nap ever!

Sweet face dreaming sweet dreams…

Side angle of honkin’ big shoe-clad feet…

Side angle of the napper…

Oops. Okay, honey. I get the point. I’ll leave you alone now.

It’s one week and one day until lThe Donut Party of 2010. Crunch time is upon us. We’ve been sprucing up the outdoors, cutting down ratty shrubs and trees, tilling the garden under, pressure washing the house. Even Mother Nature got on board and gave us several days of rain so that we could have some green to go with our donuts. (A crispy brown summer segueing into a desolate cold winter would’ve been too much for me to bear. I so needed this green reprieve.)

What’s left to accomplish? Well, there’s the window washing, deep cleaning, setting up, grocery shopping, hauling and transporting, and finishing touches of pretty. Then, of course, there are the demands of regular life (homeschooling, meal prep, laundry, and exercise) plus some special extras (overnight company, an almost-whole-day belly dance workshop, and church meetings).

Even though it’s all manageable, I feel mighty stressed about the whole thing. Stressed as in I’ll-probably-get-a-fever-blister stressed. Why can’t I just chill and go with the flow? Why do I allow myself to go through the angst when I know right now that everything will get done and we’ll have a great time? I wish my anxiety had a switch that I could flip to “off.”

Instead, I just flip out.

It’s a mind game, I know, and pity for me, I almost always lose when it comes to mind games.

The kids built another fort, this time using fence posts and old tarps.

They first set up camp in the garden but once they realized that their fort had a longer life expectancy if it were relocated to the field, they tore down, piled everything in the wagon, and moved West.

Yo-Yo and Miss Beccaboo have slept in it for the last couple nights.

They love it out there in the wild. (Yo-Yo claimed that a chipmunk ran back and forth on his tummy this morning.) It’s where they belong.

Yesterday the kids rediscovered the glories of mud.

Yo-Yo filled a five-gallon bucket with clay and turned it over to The Baby Nickel.

Yo-Yo also dug himself a hole…

and then laid in it.

It just occurred to me that I didn’t have Yo-Yo take a shower last night. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking.

I keep finding mud everywhere—the shower curtains, the floor, on the little plastic dishes they borrowed, etc.

I also keep finding my butter knives in the oddest places—like on the rocks in the flower garden.

I have a new pie crust recipe.

You: Are you KIDDING, Jennifer? You already have, like, 17 pastry recipes on this blog and you are talking about ANOTHER one now? What is WRONG with you? You can only eat so much pie, you know.

Me: Whatever.

It’s really rich, this pastry is. It’s so rich, in fact, that even if the pie filling doesn’t bubble over, the oven still smokes because the crust itself bubbles and froths and drips droplets of grease onto the oven floor. It’s my kind of crust.

It has both lard and butter, then an egg, too, for good measure. It mixes up right quick in a food processor, though the machine is not necessary—you can do it easily enough with your phalanges.

I think I’m finally getting good at not over-mixing the pastry. Look at those nice big globs of fat. Yum-yum.

I made a double batch of pastry today since it’s Mr. Handsome’s birthday and he prefers pie to cake. I made an apple pie and a red raspberry-rhubarb pie (with some blueberries thrown in to bulk it up), and I think I’ll mix up a batch of sour cream ice cream to serve alongside even though the birthday boy won’t be able to have any. Stomach problems, you know. It’s what happens when you start getting old.

Pie Pastry, with lard and egg
Adapted from Julie of Dinner With Julie

Put a cookie sheet on the bottom rack of the oven to catch the crust drips.

Also, this makes a killer quiche crust. And pastry crackers!

2 1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
½ cup butter, cold, and cut into chunks
½ cup lard, cold
1 egg, beaten
2 teaspoons vinegar
some cold water

Put the flour and salt in the food processor and pulse once. Add the fat and pulse briefly, just until the large pieces are broken up.

Put the beaten egg into a half-cup measure. Add the vinegar. Top it off with cold water. Add the liquids to the flour and fat and pulse several times until it starts to come together but is still crumbly-dry in spots.

Dump the whole mess out on the table and gently, with as little touching as possible, draw the shaggy dough together into one ball. Divide the dough in half, shape each half into disks, and wrap with plastic wrap. Chill in the fridge for a couple hours (or days) before rolling out for a pie, or bag and freeze for a pie down the road.

Yield: one double-crust pie, or two single-crust pies

This same time, years previous: green soup with ginger, happy pappy-style cornbread. Look at that! Serve these two together and you have a right fine meal to fill your little tummy wummy.