This same time, years previous: not a special breed, an ecclesiastical funk, this will make your eyes hurt, the quotidian (4.2.12), three stories, chickpeas with spinach.

This morning, I took my children to an art exhibit.

They weren’t exactly gung-ho (more like riotously grumpy) but I decided this time their preferences didn’t count. They would see art and they would appreciate it, end of discussion and get in the car.

As a board member of the Arts Council of the Valley, I had already been treated to a private tour of the exhibit. Our guide, a woman who knew everything about Shahn (she wrote a book about the guy, for Pete’s sake), gushed information. Her passion was contagious.

I don’t think I did a very good job conveying that passion to the kids. But I sure as heck tried! I wrote down questions for the younger ones and encouraged them to draw a picture they liked. I pointed out interesting facts, read the long quotes out loud, and babbled commentary. Guys, his art is so relevant even today. Isn’t that amazing? And, Look at all the hands. See how he draws small hands on the politicians he doesn’t like? If he were alive today, he’d be having a blast.

Two kids were begrudgingly compliant and one refused to appreciate anything, but my younger son, bless his heart, was totally into it. He had fun looking at Shahn’s photos and then finding the same people in his drawings. He asked questions that I couldn’t answer and got all wrapped up in copying one of the drawings.

The kids were ready to go after about thirty minutes, but I stretched our visit to an hour. I hoped that just by hanging out in the space, some bits and pieces of Shahn’s message would seep into their souls, shoring them up so they could spend their lives fighting for human rights.

Or just not killing each other.

Whatever.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (3.30.15), babies and boobs, braided bread, grape kuchen with lemon glaze.

These days, I can’t seem to keep us in groceries. Before this month was even half gone, I’d blown through three-quarters of the food money. In hopes of getting to the end of the month, I’ve been making menus and then—miracles of miracles—sticking to them.

Two things:

1. My mother suggested I’m running out of money because I buy avocados. I told her that I thought my money shortage had more to do with the number of people in our family and the fact that the majority of them are growing. I also told her that if seven dollars a month was what was breaking the bank, then we were in much better shape than I previously thought and I should be able to remedy the situation right quick. And then she said, Well yes, you do have four growing children, and I was like, Yes, Mother. I do.

2. “Making menus” is short for “standing motionless in front of the back hall pantry shelves for extended periods of time while racking my brain for ideas, and then, suddenly, dashing down cellar to stare into the freezers’ abysses while mentally trying to conjure potential well-rounded dinners from unappetizing frozen blocks of food stuffs.”

Anyway.

So far, no scurvy. Last week I splurged on fresh veggies, but then I discovered some packs of spinach and the tail end of a bag of peas in the freezer so I haven’t even yet used the fresh kale and broccoli that I bought. Amazing! Oh, and there is a box of instant potatoes—from our donut-making experiments—in the back hall. Until those white flakes get used up, things are not truly desperate.

I kind of like the making-do challenge. I’ve been fixing big (since the meals aren’t necessarily elaborate, “thoughtful” might be a more accurate word ) breakfasts: baked oatmeal, omelets, bran muffins, oatmeal with frozen strawberries. Yesterday morning I made teff pancakes with blueberries.

My son, on the hunt for a new recipe for a pancake supper that he never got around to making, discovered (and pooh-poohed) the recipe that had come from one of my emails from the NYTimes cooking website. I, however, thought it looked interesting. The recipe was similar to my regular cooked-oatmeal pancakes, yet different enough—all that teff!—that I was curious. Even though I feared the kids might revolt, I made a double batch. It was high-time I used up those last two cups of teff that had been hanging out in my freezer since who-knows-when.

Everyone loved them—surprise, surprise—and my older son raved. (I think he was just pleased that I was making pancakes on a day when he didn’t need to leave early for the rescue station.) All wholegrain, the pancakes are so dark that they appear dangerously healthy-looking, but the texture is light and tender. And even though they only have a little molasses, and no sugar, they taste sweet.

Teff Pancakes with Blueberries
Adapted from the NYTimes Cooking website, Martha Rose Shulman’s recipe.

1 cup teff flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon soda
½ teaspoon salt, scant
2 eggs
2 tablespoons molasses
1¾ cup buttermilk (I used vinegar-laced milk)
3 tablespoons oil
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup leftover cooked oatmeal
1-2 cups blueberries

The night before:
Combine the wet ingredients, including the cooked oatmeal, and store in the fridge. In a separate bowl, combine the dry ingredients.

In the morning: 
Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix to combine.

Ladle the batter onto a hot, buttered skillet and dot with blueberries. Cook the pancakes over medium heat—they take a little longer to cook through than other pancakes, so take your time. When the pancakes are bubbly and getting dry around the edges, flip and finish cooking on the other side.

Serve hot, with butter and syrup.

This same time, years previous: absorbing the words, wuv, tru wuv, Good Friday fun, the boy and the dishes, cream puffs, oatmeal crackers, coconut brownies.