So last week my husband and I took off for Saskatoon, Saskatchewan for several days of MDS leadership training.

The entire time was spent in meetings (I stepped outside once, for about one minute), so it wasn’t exciting in the “Ooo, I’m in another country” sense, but we did hear lots of French in the airports and I got to have coffee and donuts (my favorite: the honey-dipped) at Tim Hortons , so there was that.

The trip home was brutal, thanks to a midnight-until-5:30 a.m. layover in Toronto. Sleeping (ha, yeah right) under a plastic tree on a dirty carpet in a drafty airport was so NOT glamorous.

And to add insult to injury, the two older men we were traveling with hardly even batted an eye at the sleep deprivation and travel conditions. They were like a pair of energizer bunnies. My husband and I could hardly keep up.

But the best part? Coming home. (Which begs the question: if I love coming home so much, then why in the world are we leaving for four months?!)

While we were gone, the older two kids stayed at home and the younger two rotated between my parents’ place, a friend’s house, and home. Throughout the week, our older daughter would send us photos: of the table loaded with pans of rising sweet rolls, of her dinner plate of steak, cabbage slaw, and purple cabbage, of the kitchen counters piled high with dirty dishes (and the caption: “Cooking is so hard!”)

She was the one who picked us up in town. On the drive home, she filled us in on their week. They’d eaten supper at my parents’ place, and another supper at my brother’s house. My daughter’s mentor took her out for lunch once. One of her friends was visiting from out of state and the three girls had a sleepover.

Our youngest lost a tooth, she said, so she’d bought him a Tooth Fairy present (though she hadn’t yet given it to him, since he promptly lost the lost tooth). She’d scheduled four riding lessons for the next week. And, she proudly told us that she’d cleaned the entire house. “When I’m in charge,” she said, “I keep my house clean,” and I laughed at her use of first-person possessive, and wondered: Have I made myself redundant?

When we pulled into the driveway, my husband sucked in his breath, “What in the world?!” and my daughter laughed and said, “Yeah!” but even though I was looking all over the place, trying to figure out what the big deal was, I couldn’t see a thing. My daughter kept talking — “eight tons … gravel … bobcat” — and I finally saw it: they’d redone the driveway!

Fed up with listening to my husband gripe about the mudpit that was our driveway, our older son had finally taken matters into his own hands. He, along with the help of his sister, borrowed a bobcat, graded the driveway, ordered the gravel, and paid for it in cash (their own — though we refunded them the majority of the money later because hello, they fixed the driveway).

The house was spotless (except for the upstairs bathroom that my older son never cleaned like he was supposed to…and that is still quietly, dirtily, waiting for him), the freezer stocked with sweet rolls, a big tub of leftover broccoli soup in the fridge, laundry on the line, vases of flowers on the table.

‘Twas glorious, utterly glorious.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.17.17), the quotidian (4.18.16), wrangling sheep, cheesy popcorn, take two: Omri, nutmeg coffee cake, and then he shot me through the heart, ground pork and white bean chili, asparagus walnut salad.

Last week, Amanda posted a photo of their supper spread — gado gado it was called: a variety of steamed vegetables over rice and topped with a peanut sauce — and it looked so utterly fantastic that that very afternoon I swung by the grocery store for the sole purpose of acquiring the proper ingredients: purple cabbage, cucumbers, cauliflower, and cilantro.

The meal was simple to make — pop rice in the cooker, make a sauce, and prep and steam the veggies — our supper plates that night were spectacularly colorful, the meal so wonderfully light. After all the winter fare, it was just the thing.

And the rest of the family liked it well enough, but…

“It’d be better with chicken,” my older son said.

“Grilled chicken,” my husband said.

So when we ate it again for lunch the next day, this time it came with a piece of grilled chicken on top.

And they were right — it was better.

Gado Gado
Adapted from Extending The Table.

Gado gado is basically just a salad, but with the veggies steamed instead of raw. I prepped all the vegetables at once and then steamed them, one vegetable after the other, only taking about two minutes for each batch — when done, they should be still a bit crunchy. Once steamed, the veggies can sit at room temp for a couple hours, or store in the fridge until ready to use.

I though the peanut sauce a little flat, flavor-wise, and have since done a little research and determined that one tablespoon of fish sauce may do the the trick.

steamed vegetables: 
Cauliflower, broken into florets
Carrots, sliced into matchsticks
Purple cabbage, chopped fine
Zucchini, halved lengthwise and then sliced into moons
Other options: green beans, green cabbage, broccoli, sweet potato, etc.

raw vegetables: 
Radishes, thinly sliced
Cucumbers, chopped
Cilantro, rough chop
Bean sprouts

other components:
Brown rice
Boiled eggs
Grilled chicken, optional (and probably not authentic)
Peanuts, chopped, for garnish
Peanut sauce (recipe follows)

Peanut Sauce
3 tablespoons peanut oil
½ onion, chopped fine
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, minced
1 heaping cup peanut butter
½ teaspoon (or more!) red pepper flakes
2 bay leaves
3½ cups coconut milk or water (or a combination of the two)
1 lemon (or lime), zest and juice
1 teaspoon each soy sauce and brown sugar
Plenty of salt (start with 1 teaspoon)

Saute the onion and garlic in the peanut oil until tender and translucent. Add the fresh ginger and cook for another minute. Add the remaining ingredients and simmer for 15 minutes.

To serve:
Put rice on the place and then pile on the vegetables. Add the boiled egg and chicken, top with lots of peanut sauce (treat it like a gravy), and sprinkle with nuts.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.11.16), right now, when popcorn won’t pop, Mr. Tiny, an evening walk, mint wedding cake.

Wednesday evening, Alice, my younger daughter’s dog, was hit and killed.

The man who called to alert us said he found her body in the road about a mile from our house. He pulled her to the side of the road. She was still warm, he said.

The children had just gone to bed. We told them the news. My husband and older son retrieved the body. Alice looked just like herself, her body unmarred. Ruffled by the blustery night air, her soft fur smelled fresh and clean.

My husband and son dug a deep hole by the back deck. My daughter removed her collar and dog tag. We wrapped her in an old pink blanket. The girls shoveled in the dirt.

“We can plant a special bush,” I said.

“Or a red fern,” my older daughter said.

On my younger daughter’s birthday, less than two months ago, she wanted to recreate the last year’s birthday, the moment when we’d surprised her with Alice. She changed into the same skirt she’d been wearing that day, and my husband delivered Alice — this time big and squirmy — into her lap while I took pictures.

They turned out just as blurry as the first time.

My husband often teased me about my affection for Alice — You’ve totally fallen for that dog, Jennifer — and I’d roll my eyes, but it was true. I’ve always liked our animals — been fond of them even — but I’ve never liked any of them as much as Alice. She was so alert, so curious and playful. She was expressive, and smart. And she loved to run.

All our dogs have roamed on occasion — slipping through a left-open gate or a hole in the fence — so it took as a little while to catch on that this was different. Alice wasn’t just sniffing around the neighboring fields, she was running, perhaps for miles. Charlotte would run with her, but being so little, she struggled to keep up and came back footsore.

So we buckled down. We borrowed an electric shock collar. We kept the dogs in the kennel, or tied. When they were loose in the yard, we’d watch them. But even so, they still managed to get away every now and then.

That’s what happened last week. She made off when no one was looking.

Four hours later, the call.

None of us slept well that night. The next day I canceled everything and stayed home with the children. I gave the girls regular chores. I made granola bars. My daughter put daffodils on the grave. We cried a lot.

I suggested to the girls that we go run some errands, to get out of the house. My older daughter didn’t have the energy to join us, so just my younger daughter and I went. We stopped at Target to return a shirt we’d gotten her for her birthday and to pick out something else, but she only tried on one shirt before quitting. Her heart wasn’t in it.

That evening my father stopped by with a bouquet of flowers for my daughter.

My sister-in-law texted that they’d be bringing us dessert that evening, and after supper my brother stopped in with a pie — strawberry rhubarb, made by my ten-year-old niece — along with a bouquet of wildflowers and a packet of homemade cards from the cousins.

The shock is wearing off now, but the grief still comes, unbidden, in waves. Even though we joke and laugh and fight, there’s an undercurrent of sadness. Eventually it won’t hurt so much, I tell the kids. It’s okay to cry. And so we do.

We miss Alice.

This same time, years previous: beginner’s bread, scatteredness, the quotidian (4.6.15), the quotidian (4.7.14), answers, yellow cake, cardamom orange buns, asparagus with lemon and butter.