I turned in my final Kitchen Chronicles column, a few hours ahead of schedule even. (Though later I realized that a recipe for cooking beans probably didn’t count as an actual recipe but by then I didn’t care, and anyways, I think a bowl of boiled, salty beans is a full meal, no enhancements required, and that means it’s a recipe, right?)

I voted. The kids and I crowded around the little booth over in the corner of the hall, each of them pushing to get a clear shot of me scritch-scratching my vote in with the black sharpie. And just like last time, I wished I had thought to bring my camera so someone (not sure who) could’ve captured a picture of our ten bodiless legs.

I dropped off the kids at a friend’s house and then spent the next four hours eating bagels and scones, drinking coffee, writing/tweeting/editing/blogging, and constantly refreshing my cousin-in-law’s blog post on voting in order to stay on top of all the fascinating comments.

I ran some errands and made my first purchase for our new house: a few boxes of white twinkly lights to fend off the wet, cold, gray weather of the highlands. I plan on taking votive candles, too.

I picked up the kids and took them El Chipotle for supper. My little sister (through the Big Brother Big Sister program), who is all done growed up and has two kids of her own and a job at Chipotle, gave me a coupon to there for a party of five. We sat at a round metal table (and now I wish I had a round stainless steel metal table in my house) and stuffed our faces and didn’t fight. It was nice.

We went to the library and stocked up.

Back home, the kids did their hands, feet, and faces while my husband and I unpacked the car, straightened the house, and I posted the following on Facebook:

My husband: Do you guys know what the electoral college is?


My son: (not wanting to have the discussion) Yeah.


My husband: Okay, then what is it?


My son: It’s the place where you go to learn how to vote.


So now we’re having a bedtime civics lesson. #electionday

We cozied up the fire and jumped right into our new read aloud, Over Sea, Under Stone. The two younger children fell asleep before I even finished the first chapter.

The kids in bed, my husband snuggled up on the sofa in front of the computer. We interspersed our obsessive Huffington Post Live watching with episodes from Once Upon a Time and Parenthood. I made hot chocolate and scarfed some Halloween candy. For the nerves, you know.

This morning, the kids got yet another civics lesson when we crowded around the kitchen table to watch the speeches that my husband and I had been too tired to stay up for. And then my husband went to work and the kids and I moved on to Spanish, reading, and math lessons, making jewelry, reading library books, and baking a pumpkin cranberry cake.

But that is all today and I was supposed to be talking about yesterday, so I guess I better stop now.

P.S. For those of you beleaguered by the election season: here is a picture of neighboring houses in our town. We are friends with both families, though we know the ones on the left—both figuratively and literally—better. I first saw the sign on my way on our way to church on Sunday and it totally made my day. I couldn’t stop smiling. (It’s going on seven thousand shares, so clearly I’m not the only one smiling.)

This past weekend I made beirocks.

I hadn’t made beirocks for a really long time. In fact, maybe I never made them before. I don’t know.

I’ve known about them forever, though. And I’ve eaten them at friends’ houses. And I’ve read about them on blogs. But it just never crossed my mind to actually make them myself. That is, not until you all suggested I make them for my lactose-intolerant husband’s lunches.

And then I was like, Duh, these would be perfect!

They’re not hard to make. Just fry up some beef and cabbage, make a batch of five-minute bread dough, roll the meat up into the dough (kind of), and bake.

The kids were thrilled. They call them meat rolls and ate them warm, dipped in ketchup and/or mustard. I ate mine dipped in curry ketchup. So, so good.

Beirocks
Adapted from the More-With-Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre

Next time I’ll add one grated carrot along with the cabbage, just for color.

Also, they are pronounced “beer-rocks,” more or less.

2 pounds ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
a pinch of hot pepper flakes
some generous squirts of hot sauce (I used Sriracha)
3 cups thinly chopped cabbage
1 recipe of five-minute bread
more olive oil, for the baking pan
cornmeal, for the baking pan
1 egg, beaten, and mixed with 1 tablespoon cold water, for wash, optional

Fry the ground beef and onion in the olive oil over medium-high heat until cooked through. Add the salt, pepper, hot sauce, and cabbage. Stir thoroughly, reduce the heat to low, put a lid on the pan and cook for about 20 more minutes, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage is tender. Add more seasoning, if desired, and set aside.

On a well-floured workspace, roll out the dough as thinly as possible. Cut into squares, about 4 inches by 4 inches. Put several tablespoons of meat filling into the center of each piece of dough and pinch the corners together to close.

Place buns, seam-side down, on an oiled, cornmeal-sprinkled baking sheet. Brush the tops and sides of each roll with the egg wash. Let rise (I didn’t bother to cover them) for about 15 minutes. Bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes until golden brown.

Serve warm or at room temp with ketchup or mustard for dipping. Freeze leftovers.

Yield: about 20-30 buns.

P.S. I totally forgot to put up and link to my last Kitchen Chronicles column! It’s a previously posted recipe, so the pressure to share wasn’t there, I guess.

This same time, years previous: crispy cinnamon cookies,  homeschoolers have it tough

Charlotte has taken to hardcore, middle-of-the-night, obsessive-compulsive barking. As in, she won’t. shut. up.

Last night, after listening to her bark for a moderate eternity, I had enough. I poked my husband in the leg with my toe.

“Lock her in her crate,” I said, slurring my voice so he wouldn’t try to make me get up.

“You do it,” he snapped.

“No, you,” I was still trying to sound other-worldly in a groggy sort of way. “There’s no door on the crate. You need to fix it.”

“You fix it.”

“I don’t know how.” (Dang it. What was wrong with him?)

“Figure it out.”

“No.”

Yap. Yap. Yap. Yapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyap.

Silence. I played possum. He did, too.

Yap. Yap. Yap. YAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAP.

My husband heaved himself out of bed and stormed off down the hall. I smiled to myself and snuggled deeper into the covers. After a few minutes, the barking stopped.

“What did you do with her?” I asked when he came back up to bed

“I told her to be quiet and when she didn’t listen I locked her in the crate.”

“Good. Thanks.”

I was just starting to relax when—

Yap. Yap. Yap. YAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAP.

The barking was muffled, but insistent. And just as gratingly irritating as before.

“She’s still barking,” I pointed out.

My husband didn’t move a muscle.

“You need to go deal with her.”

“YOU GO TAKE CARE OF HER.”

“Shh, don’t wake the kids. Maybe put her crate in the basement?”

Down the hall he stomped once again.

A few minutes later, back under the covers he crawled.

“What’d you do?”

“I tried to muzzle her with a hanky, but she kept barking. And then she bit me. So I put her in the van.”

The rest of the night was blissfully quiet.

At least, it was blissfully quiet until the other dog started barking (I told her to be quiet and she listened)…

And then the mouse under the floor decided to feast on some crunchy bits of wood…

And then our younger daughter made her nightly voyage to our room and regaled us with pity-me tales of terror and woe until my husband relocated to her room to sleep away the few remaining hours with her on her single bed. 

After that, well, I sprawled out diagonally on our queen-sized bed and slept just great!

So now, please tell me: what is the best way to cure a dog of the nighttime barkies? Our sanity (and the dog’s life) is at stake.

(Okay, so I’m joking about the “dog’s life” bit.) (Kind of.)

This same time, years previous: piano lessons, laid flat, living history