Miss Beccaboo still isn’t reading.

The funny thing is, she can read. She reads whole sentences like “Jane rides the mule past the gate,” or “Bob had nine dimes and gave me five.” She knows the rules and how to sound out the words (something Yo-Yo never learned to do), but it still hasn’t clicked.

This bothers me more than I thought it would, perhaps because she’s a girl or maybe because she so badly wants to read. I don’t want her to know that I’m concerned, so I have to actively tamp down my worries and play it cool. I wonder if I should do something else, try a different method or drill her more often. I’ve even considered teaching her over the summer.

It is not like me to worry so. I believe that The Learning Time Table bestowed upon us by The System is one hundred percent bogus. I believe that there are different types of learners and different types of intelligence, all of which are equally valuable.

Considering all my noble ideals, my angst over my daughter’s reading, or lack thereof, is ironic. Instead of fretting, I should be thrilled that I have this incredible opportunity to put my beliefs into practice. I’ve always said kids learn when they’re ready and here I get to watch the amazing process up close, firsthand! Whoo-hoo!

While I’m not exactly thrilled by this opportunity, I have enough common sense to know that pushing Miss Beccaboo is not the answer. Even though I strongly believe this, and have lots of research to back me up, I have to repeatedly remind myself to stay calm. Otherwise, I fall victim to the senseless “shoulds” and “have-to’s” of our culture. And that’s pointless.

So when the school year ended, I steadied my resolve and determined, all over again, to simply let Miss Beccaboo be. I shelved the reading workbooks and turned her free. We don’t talk about reading (not that we discussed it much before, but I’m making a point to avoid the topic) and instead she does chores and plays, often combining the two in delightfully quirky ways as is her custom.

Technically, I’m not doing anything to help her read, unless you count our fun read alouds and the books on tape she adores. To proponents of our country’s (tortured) educational system, perhaps this approach seems negligent. But I beg to disagree. Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing to do.

And that’s something.

About one year ago: Cottage Potatoes
About two years ago: Orange Julius, Swiss Chard with an egg on top

So yes, I’m taking belly dancing. Coin belts are involved. It’s very very fun.

It’s also frustratingly difficult.

You don’t believe this? You think it’s just me that has a problem ‘cause I’m a dance-move challenged mama of four? Okay, then let’s see you try this.

Stand up, feet spread a foot apart and flat on the floor, knees bent, back straight. This is the belly dancing stance. Always return to it. Never forget it.

Now, make your knees go like pistons, never straightening them out all the way. Don’t you raise your eyebrows at me—just do it. No, no, no, do NOT move your shoulders! That’s better. Remember to keep your head up. Your piston-ing legs should make your hips jut out in classic baby-holding fashion, you know that move at least. Keep your shoulders still, back straight. Faster now. Snap those hips tight!

Let’s try something else. Pretend you have a rod going straight up through your body. Make your hips move around it while holding the rest of your body still.

Now try it again, just moving your tail bone this time. Now your waist, good, and now your chest—no no no no, not your waist and your chest, just your chest. Geesh.

Now for your neck. Pretend you’re painting circles with your chin—

What’s that? This is impossible, you say?

Yep, I agree completely, absolutely, and wholeheartedly. But Rose (instructor/hostess/friend) is totally unaware of this and makes us do it anyway—she’s like a snake in a hula-hoop, minus the scales and flicking tongue. She tries to encourage us (or rather, me, ’cause I’m the newest student) by explaining that since our bodies don’t normally move this way—no kidding—it takes intense focus. In fact, it’s more a study in the art of refraining from moving than it is learning to move. The movement is so concentrated and subtle and specific; just keeping all the other muscles in check is enough to make my head explode.

Exploding heads are not graceful.

This past class Rose told us to tighten our upper stomach muscles while relaxing the lower ones, and then to flip-flop. I never even knew I had those muscles, let alone that I could isolate them. I’m pretty sure she was pulling our collective leg.

So that, my dears, is my new endeavor. The kids play, the moms dance in front of a big mirror, and then we all gather around the dining room table and drink tea. In all respects, a lovely morning indeed.

This new enterprise suits me, food-loving, belly-focused, navel-gazer that I am. My existence has come full circle—I feed my belly good things and then I take it dancing. I am such a well-rounded person.

What would be a belly post without food? Not a good belly post, that’s what. So for those of you who prefer to make your belly’s dance on the inside, I’ve got a shrimp recipe for you. Mr. Handsome, a decidedly non-belly dancer dude, boogied to it big time, to the tune of three huge platefuls.

Aside from the obvious shrimp and linguine, this stars two of my favorite ingredients: cilantro and lime. I tell you, I am head over heels in love with those two. My cilantro patch is rapidly transitioning into its last days, but it’s forever plentiful at the Mexican market that squats outside my favorite butcher shop. And the market, I’ve discovered, is a blessed boon for good limes—eight fat juicy green ones for a single solitary buck. (Locals, take note—the Mexican squatter market is open Fridays and Saturdays from 8 to 5. It’s scrappy and small. I adore it.)

Linguine with Shrimp and Cilantro-Lime Pesto
Adapted from the July 2010 issue of Bon Appetit

1 ½ cups packed fresh cilantro, divided
2 tablespoons chopped onion
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon chopped seeded jalapeño or serrano pepper
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon olive oil
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 pound linguine
1 pound uncooked shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 tablespoons tequila or chicken broth
1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese

In a food processor or blender, add 1 1/4 cups of the cilantro leaves, the onion, lime juice, cloves, jalapeño, salt, and pepper and pulse till chunky. Gradually add the half cup of olive oil and blend till smooth. (May be made one day ahead of time. Cover and refrigerate till ready to use.)

Cook the linguine according to package instructions. Drain and set aside.

While the pasta is cooking, heat the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet, add the shrimp and cook for three or four minutes. Add the tequila and stir till sauce is slightly syrupy, about 30 seconds. Add the pesto and stir to coat. Add the pasta and toss to coat. Taste to correct seasonings. Chop the remaining cilantro and sprinkle over the pasta along with the feta.

About one year ago: Spaghetti with Swiss Chard, Raisins, and Almonds
About two years ago: Yogurt

Our apricots are done; my sister-in-law’s are not.

I dried apricots; my sister-in-law is borrowing our food dehydrator so she can dry her apricots.

I am posting about dried apricots so that my sister-in-law will know what to do; I am posting about dried apricots so I will remember how to do it next year because it is my custom to forget everything I ever learned. And then some.

I hope I remember, come next apricot season, to check the blog.

Dried apricots are good. Chewy, sour, sweet. My uncle calls them “ears.” They’re kind of ugly, but so is a bunch of other food, though I can’t think of any examples at present. Besides, aesthetics are overrated. It all goes to mush in the belly anyway.

Drying Apricots

Tear washed apricots in half and remove the pit.

Flatten the apricot, pushing up on the curved part with your thumb and pushing down on the cut part with your fingers. Come, I’ll show you.

Get in position…

Smoosh.

Thanks, hon, for taking the pictures. It tested your patience mightily, I know, but you hung in there and clicked the camera five whole times, only two of which weren’t fuzzy. You’re the best.

And speaking of “hon.” Last night Mr. Handsome and I were in the kitchen when in ran The Baby Nickel. He started rummaging in one of the drawers in search of a cup. I asked, “What are you guys doing?”

“Playing Honey.”

“Huh?” Mr. Handsome and I asked in unison.

He stopped digging long enough to turn his head toward us and then, speaking slowly and clearly, he rephrased his answer: “We’re playing Mother and Father.”

Back to the apricots. Lay the apricots peel-side down on the trays.

Dry till pliable but no longer juicy-wet, about 10-12 hours in my dehydrator.

Pack the wrinkly ears into jars and freeze.

One of my dehydrator loads yields three-plus quarts, stuffed.

And since I’m on the subject of apricots, let me tell you what else we did with them.

*Sweet and sour jam.

*Cook jam.

*Freezer jam FAIL.

*Canned apricots: firm-ripe ‘cots torn in half and put in a jar (not even all pretty like you’re supposed to) and then smacked down tight by banging the jar on a wadded up towel, plus 1/4 cup sugar and some water, and then processed for five minutes (bring canner’s water to a slow boil and then boil very gently for five minutes cause you don’t want the apricots to turn to mush).

*Canned apricot puree: all the apricots that are no longer firm (but not rotted), torn in half and pitted and then smooooooshed into jars with a fork and canned for ten minutes at a medium boil. No need to add sugar or water. Upon opening the jars, I’ll blender them up real good and then thicken the sauce with sugar and Therm Flo. The resulting apricot puree is super rich. We’ll eat it over ice cream, in smoothies, or I’ll use it as the filling for these bars.

About one year ago: Red Beet Greens. I have next to no red beets in the garden this year. I’m sad.
About two years ago: What my kids look like when they drink soda.