Finally, it’s happening. I printed off my book, passed it to one of my friends to bind for me (via her work connections), and then, just last week, I smacked the book — an actual whole book, can you freaking believe it? — down on the table and announced, HAVE AT IT.

All along the kids have been begging to read it. “But it’s about us, Mom!” they’d wail. “You have to let us read it!” 

“Oh, I will,” I’d promise. “Don’t you worry.”

Now, they are.

With the book as finished as I can get it, I’ve switched from writing to hawking, i.e. finding an agent. Everyone says agent hunting is a grueling, soul-killing process, and everyone is right. But! I’ve already spent nearly eight years writing the damn thing so: I’ve got endurance. I’m in this for the long haul. [she says with panic in her eyes]

My younger daughter snatched the book up immediately. My younger son usually reads it when he’s eating: the other morning, he busted up over the part where my husband spelled out the word “push” in masking tape over the old tablecloth we spread atop the bedroom rug for my son’s homebirth. My husband reads it in fits and starts, over breakfast or in the early morning before everyone else gets up, and my older daughter reads it when she comes over in the morning to drop off Charlotte for the day and then waits for my husband to finish getting ready so they can go to work.* Once everyone finishes with it here, the book will go over to my older son and daughter-in-law so they can have a turn.

It’s sweet to see them all so excited, and it makes me a little nervous, too. I don’t usually spill my innermost thoughts about my children — about my parenting — to my children. I mean, they probably already know everything just by living with me, but saying it outloud feels different. More risky. A little scary. What if I haven’t portrayed them fairly? The last thing I want is for them to feel hurt or misrepresented. It’s a fine line to walk, being honest about myself while talking about them at the same time. 

But that’s why they’re reading it, I guess: so they can tell me where I’ve got it wrong so I can fix it. Here’s to hoping the damage isn’t too great! 

(And here’s to hoping I can find an agent, pleaseohpleaseohplease.)

***

*Over the weekend (I started writing this post last week), I changed course and told my older daughter she needed to be the first one to read it since it was her extreme late reading that pushed me to deviate so far from traditional educational practices. That same day she stopped by to pick up the book, and the very next morning she blew in the door and slammed it down on the table.

“You finished it?” I asked, my jaw dropping.

“Yep, at 11:30 last night. Seven hours.” And then, with a roar, “Take that, English people!”

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.1.21), chicken and sausage gumbo, ROAR, the quotidian (2.1.16), lemon creams, stuck buttons and frozen pipes, and just when you thought my life was all peaches, taco seasoning mix.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

I wish my family liked ramen as much as I do.

These, on the other hand, we all agree on: can’t get enough!

He made these twice in three days.

Cookie taco.

How many is too many?

Buttermilk Pepper Jack: Emma’s late-fall milk makes the best cheese.

For my childhood Barbie: my mother sewed a wedding dress to match her own.

Thin-shelled.

New toy.

Let’s smoke!

Clubhouse to personal studio: the kid’s got goals.

No ovens, no bread: arriving to work at 4:30 only to discover that a car took out
a utility pole and all the electricity that went with it.

This same time, years previous: eight fun things, I need new slippers — help!, butter dumplings, vindication, the quotidian (1.30.17), crispy pan pizzas, sour cream and berry baked oatmeal, about a picture, swimming in the sunshine, mornings, the quotidian (1.30.12), Gretchen’s green chile.

When the cousins were here, we had pie three days in a row. At the start of the week, I knocked out three graham cracker crusts, wrapped them in plastic, and stashed them in the jelly cupboard. The first day I made a key lime pie. The second, a German cheesecake. And the third, a banoffee pie. [takes sweeping bow] My family thought they’d died and gone to heaven.

Banoffee pie — a mashup of bananas and toffee — originated in Britain (I think) and is enormously popular, from what I’ve read. I’ve been wanting to try one for years (seriously!), and since I’d made a large batch of dulce de leche that week, and we had a bunch of ripe bananas on the counter and that final crust in the cupboard, that’s exactly what I did.

The recipe was so simple — graham cracker crust, dulce de leche, bananas, whipped cream — that it felt trashy. I read it a bunch of times to make sure I wasn’t missing something, and then I read a bunch of other recipes, too, just to double check (and to familiarize myself with all comments and potential variations).

I was skeptical that anyone would like it, but I was wrong. The pie might be kinda low-brow — kinda like the classic banana pudding (that I loved) — but hey, not all pies need to be intimidating. And banoffee pie can be as classed-up as you like, what with homemade whipped cream, raw milk dulce, and, if you’re feeling righteously industrious, homemade graham crackers — or not!

Either way, it’s pie and people will gobble it. 

Banoffee Pie

Most instructions say to assemble the pie immediately before eating, but some people say it’s better on day two. The bananas will brown a little, but they also kinda meld into the dulce so it’s not terrible — just be sure to cover them well with the whipped cream to slow the oxidation. 

Lots of recipes call for 2 cups (cans) of dulce and only 2 bananas. However, I scaled back the dulce by half (it’s so sweet) and double the bananas. 

Variations I’ve considered but haven’t yet tried include 1) caramelizing the bananas, 2) adding rum to the whipped cream, or to the dulce, 3) using cocoa powder in place of grated chocolate, 4) putting a thin layer of chocolate ganache on the bottom of the crust before adding the dulce, 5) using a coconuty shortbread instead of grahams for the crust — and so on. Flavors that keep popping into mind include coconut, pecans, pineapples. Mess around!

1 9-inch parbaked graham cracker crust (see below)
1-2 cups dulce de leche
3-4 bananas, perfectly ripe and without any spots
2-3 cups sour cream whip (see below)
grated chocolate, optional

to assemble:
Spread the dulce de leche over the bottom of the crust. Slice the bananas and arrange over the dulce. Top with the sour cream whip, making sure to completely cover the bananas. Flurry the top with freshly-grated semi-sweet chocolate. Refrigerate.

for the graham cracker crust:
1½ cups (150 grams) graham cracker crumbs
1 tablespoon white sugar
1 pinch salt
3-4 tablespoons butter, melted

Stir together the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and salt. Add the melted butter. The crumbs should hold together when firmly fisted but not be so saturated that butter oozes out. Press the crumbs into a 9-inch pie shell and up the sides — use a metal cup, if you like. Bake the crust at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Cooled crusts can be wrapped in plastic and stored at room temperature for several days, or frozen for longer storage.

for the sour cream whip:
2 cups heavy cream 
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon sour cream
2 tablespoons 10x sugar

Combine all ingredients in a mixer and beat on high until soft to medium peaks form. 

This same time, years previous: ricotta pancakes, how we homeschool: Milva, Samin’s soy-braised beef short ribs, what kind of stove should we buy, the quotidian (1.25.16), the quotidian (1.26.15), first day of classes, housekeeping, thoughts, gripping the pages.