everyday; ordinary; commonplace

We’ve officially entered soup-and-bread weather!

The bloodier the better, my kids say.

Leaving me with the edges.

Whooping it up real good.
(Because my husband threatened to quit working if I didn’t feed him some real food NOW.)

It’s a process: the homecoming outfit selection.

Sunday morning rehearsal.
(The hat stayed home.)

One minute the sky looked like this. 

And the next minute it looked like this.

This same time, years previous: another farm, another job, back in business, a dell-ish ordeal, field work, autumn walk, a pie party, how to have a donut party, part II, party panic.

When we arrived back home from Puerto Rico, I was acutely aware that we would need to take measures to detox from technology. Four months of city living, and removed from the standard sources of entertainment that we typically rely on — libraries, peer groups, farm chores, gardening, acres of green, a full barn, a stocked kitchen — had resulted in all of us becoming depressingly dependant on technology. Even though I’d temporarily reconciled myself to a different lifestyle, the entire summer I was biding my time, itching to get back home so I could slap on the limits.

I wasn’t exactly sure what those limits would look like, though. I assumed that regular life would pull us away from screens naturally, and it did … but only to a point. Even with college classes, social events, and jobs, my husband and I and the two older children kept defaulting to technology. In the evenings when I’d make the rounds to say good night, I’d often find the older two kids curled up in their respective beds, watching some show or another. Observing them so sucked in, my anxieties skyrocketed. We desperately needed to press a reset, but how?

For days, I racked my brains for a plan that would make a difference but that wasn’t so extreme that it would be doomed to fail. Finally I landed on an idea: no screens for entertainment purposes after 8:30, Sunday through Thursday.

Since this rule would apply to the adults (the kids weren’t the only technology addicts in the family), I ran the idea by my husband. “This means no middle-of-the-night movies, you know,” I said pointedly. (When he can’t sleep, he often comes downstairs to watch movies.) “No problem,” he said, “I can read.”

To each of the kids, I presented the idea separately. My main talking points:

*We’ve all become much too dependant on technology.
*If we don’t put boundaries on technology, it’s way too easy to default to it.
*The younger kids don’t have access to technology, and they ought to have the opportunity to grow up with the same sense of family and togetherness that you had.
*There’s plenty of other stuff to do, like music, reading, games, visiting.
*This will help to provide a structure for the work week. You’ll get more sleep, which will help you focus.
*You’ll still have the weekends to do with what you want.

So, what do you think? I asked them.

My older son’s response: Okay, maybe.
Me: Maybe isn’t good enough.
Him: I can’t promise anything, Mom, but I’ll do the best I can.
Me: You don’t think this is a good idea?
Him: Well, yeah.
Me: Then why not commit?
Him: Okay, fine. I’ll do it.

My older daughter’s response: Aw Mom, really? Do I have to?
Me: Don’t you think it’s a good idea?
Her, whimpering: Um…yes?
Me: Then what harm is there in tr—
Her: OKAY.

My idea has been in effect for about a month now, and even though our media fast is laughably piddly — just five nights a week and only after 8:30 P.M. — the shift has felt huge. Now that half of the family (or three-fourths) isn’t staring at a screen with headphones on in the evening, the atmosphere is different. No longer divided into technology haves and have nots, the playing field has been evened. And even though we’re often separated physically — the kids still like to hide out in their rooms, doing their own things (and ignoring my shouted demands at them to come down and read in the living room with their dear mama) — the family feels more together, more present.

For me, instead of looking forward to a show before bed, I now look forward to curling up on the sofa with a mug of cocoa and a book. Sure, some nights I feel mildly bereft — a movie sure would be nice right now — but rules are rules and books are fun, too, so end of story. And bonus: since reading makes me tired, I’ve been going to bed earlier and getting more sleep than ever before. (I think we all are.)

I’ve noticed that the five-day pre-bedtime media break goes a long way in loosening a show’s grip on my psyche:  the less I watch, the less I want to watch. Without the distraction of a show tugging me away from life, other things have a chance to take center stage, things like thinking, sleeping, talking, and reading, which might sound boring but actually aren’t.

P.S. Full disclosure: We haven’t been one hundred percent consistent — there have been times we’ve forgotten or (certain children) have outright chosen to disregard the rule — but then we talk about it and try again.

This same time, years previous: practical and beautiful, a hairy situation, hair loss, the quotidian (10.19.15), the reading week, rich, would you come?, how to have a donut party, part one, Italian cream cake.

Look at this gorgeous bag of homegrown popcorn that my niece gave me for my birthday! 

Homegrown popcorn tastes completely different from store-bought — store-bought is tough and chewy while homegrown is tender and crispy-light — and even though I buy locally-grown popcorn direct from the farmer, my niece’s popcorn was leagues better. Which makes me wonder: why is it so impossible to grow good popcorn on a commercial level?

I made myself a batch of feast-for-the-eye-and-mouth popcorn the other night, and while some of the kernels didn’t pop up properly, most of the seeds did do a partial-pop thing so they were perfectly edible and delicious — two different kinds of crunch in the same bowl.

Also for my birthday: a pasta maker! I’d asked for (er, demanded, rather) this months ago, and my husband pulled through.

And then Chiro’s family jumped on the bandwagon and got me a ravioli maker/mold, a pasta roller cutter thingy, and a drying stand.

Now I’m very much on a pasta kick, of course. The other day I made this for supper (but I used collards instead of kale and noodles instead of beans), and then one afternoon when I had time on my hands, I made a batch of fettuccini just so I could try out my drying rack. The rack worked wonderfully, much to my younger son’s delight: no longer did he have to painstakingly detangle clumps of stuck-together noodles.

I let the noodles dry on the rack overnight before slipping them into half-gallon jars and storing them in the freezer. The noodles were quite brittle but my cousin had warned me that, even though she’d dried her noodles to the snapping point, they’d still, for some odd reason, grown mold at room temp, and there was no way I wanted to risk that.

Have you ever tried cocoa and coffee cheese?

I discovered this when I was at Costco with Chiro and Lery. We’d long teased Chiro about his custom of plopping a thick wedge of cheese in his cup of coffee (hot chocolate, too, he’d told us) — the cheese flavored the coffee and then, at the end, there’d be a melty-soft lump at the bottom — but now here was Chiro’s habit in reverse: soft Fontina cheese with a rind of spices, cocoa powder, and coffee. He bought it, of course.

The cheese is yummy — and a small piece is all that remains — though I still prefer a modest barrier between my cheeses and hot beverages.

Also purchased by Chiro and Lery at Costco (they kept us well-stocked!): 18 Carrot Gold Chips.

They are so, so good — sweet and salty, crispy and light — though they have a richness that deters one (or me, at least) from gorging on them as with regular potato chips.

Have you seen the new Netflix documentary Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat? I watched the first episode by myself on Friday, then the next two episodes with the kids on Sunday evening and the final one, again with the kids, on Monday afternoon before supper.

I learned a good bit about food, but mostly, I just loved watching Samin. Her laughter is contagious, her exuberance inspiring. Recommend!

Here’s a trick to making a good pie a whole lot better: underfill and overbake. Just as Hermione and Harry had to learn the wingardium leviosa curse — swish and flick — every pie baker ought to learn this pie-baking spell: underfill and overbake, swish and flick.*

I inadvertently discovered this piece of magic while making a grape pie. I lined a good-sized pie pan (10-inch, maybe?) with pastry, crimped the edges, and then poured in the hot grape filling. I’d forgotten, however, that the pie filling was only three-cups worth, hardly enough to even fill the pie halfway. What with a good inch of crust towering above the piddly amount of filling, the whole thing looked woefully pathetic.

But then I put the pie in the oven and magic happened. The pie edges melted down the sides, slumping around the fruit like a crostata. Since the crimped edges were protected by the pie pan’s glass sides, the pastry baked evenly without any threat of burning, so, when the recommended baking time was up, I just kept right on baking it.

The resulting pastry was deeply golden brown through and through (no soggy bottoms in sight!) and the crumb was crispy-flaky, all toasted, buttery goodness, swish and flick! 

*If you like Harry Potter and/or dance, watch this.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (10.16.17), a list, home, the adjustment, grab and go: help wanted, pepperoni rolls.