Nine years ago, I had four children under the age of six. For the next few years, I was in survival mode. Nearly every day around 3 pm I’d call my husband and ask, through clenched teeth, what time he was going to be home.

“Please,” he’d say, “I get home at five. You already know that. You don’t need to call me.”

“But sometimes you get home at 4:30,” I’d explain for the hundred millionth time. “Just knowing you’ll be home a half hour—even just fifteen minutes—earlier gives me energy.”

And so I called him, day after day after day. For years. Sometimes I called him in tears. “You need to come home now,” I’d screech. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And he’d come, bless his heart.

I rarely call him at work anymore. Even when a kid tantrums for hours on end (like yesterday morning), it’s not the same. Sure, my nerves are jangled and I’m punchy-pissed, but I’m not climbing the walls. I can do this. The tantrum will work its way out, and the child will eventually get involved in something non-screamy. There will be moments of wit-gathering calm. No longer is my husband’s five o’clock arrival my only reprieve.

They say that parenting is always hard, and it’s just the kind of hard that changes from age to age. When my children were young, people told me that “these are the golden years.” I’d remember them fondly, they said. Fast-forward to the future and I’d be hankering after my life with babies.

But you know what? I don’t. At least, not really. Sure, raising older kids can be rough, but the struggles don’t hold a candle to the boredom and angst I felt when I had a houseful of babies. The exhaustion and frustration. The loudness and intensity. The constant messes. The never-ending battle to find some alone time, some peace and quiet. (And don’t dare think for one minute that battle is a cute metaphor. No way. That battle had all the desperation and despair of a life-or-death situation. My soul was dying.) 

When I see sleepy mamas wrangle irate toddlers into carseats, or hear about the child who won’t go to sleep without a nip at the boob-grog, or watch parents juggle toys, sippy cups, and diaper bags, all I can think is: we don’t have carseats! My boobs no longer make milk! And, diapers? what are diapers?

Okay, okay. So there were sweet times, too. I look back at pictures like this and get hit upside the sappy heart with a wave of longing. They were so innocent and sweet! Such bright eyes and soft skin! My babies.

But! Now my “babies” wipe their own butts and wash their own hair. They hang up laundry, scrub floors, clean the bathrooms, and empty the trash. They make phone calls and earn money and go on trips and put books on hold at the library. They disappear to their rooms to read for hours on end. They sleep in. They tell funny jokes and make cutting observations. They rub my feet. It’s so much better now.

But just because I think it’s better now doesn’t mean all mothers feel the same way. Maybe, for some mothers, parenting older children really is a whole heck of a lot harder. Maybe my desire to spread hope by saying “it gets better” is just as misguided as those dreaded “these are the golden years” comments.

Or is everyone like me, thinking that each new stage is, over all, better than the last?

This same time, years previous: colds, busted knees, and snowstorms, the quotidian (2.13.12), the outrageous incident of the Sunday boots, a meaty lesson, physics lesson, and slow thinking.  

Remember my vodka cream sauce and how I got the recipe from a guy that posted to Facebook? That vodka cream sauce is now MY VERY FAVORITE SPAGHETTI SAUCE IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE, so when Mr. Foodie posted again, I was all ears. This time he wrote about one-pot macaroni and cheese.

Boring, right?

Um, no.

See, my friend’s mac and cheese called for a special ingredient: sodium citrate. I had never heard of the stuff before, but after only a few minutes of web research, I ordered it. It’s inexpensive, and there’s nothing more effective than firsthand learning.

I’ve only used the sodium citrate to make mac and cheese twice, and each time I’ve done it differently. I’m still experimenting (I have questions! I have ideas!), so maybe this post is a little premature. But I can’t help myself! With this magical stuff, macaroni and cheese has never been so fast, easy, and creamy-lush. It’s a game changer, and I want you all in this game with me. Let’s go!

First, about sodium citrate. Sodium citrate is an emulsifier. Dissolve a teaspoon of the white powder in some water or milk and then heat it up, mix in a bunch of cheese, and you have the creamiest of cheese sauces ever. It seems weird to cook with a mystery powder, but best I can tell, it’s really no different from using citric acid (not the same thing) in canning or baking powder in baking.

Second, about the one-pot part of the mac and cheese. My friend’s method involves adding the dry macaroni to a pot of simmering milk, and then allowing it to soak, burner off, for twenty minutes. Voilà, perfectly cooked macaroni! Then add the dissolved sodium citrate and stir it into the cooked macaroni. Add the cheese, stir until creamy, and dinner is served. Bonus, since the sodium citrate eliminates the need for a thickening, flour-based roux, you have (as long as you use a gluten-free pasta) gluten-free mac and cheese. Brilliant! 

I still prefer my baked mac and cheese. I think it’s more flavorful (butter!) and complex-tasting. Plus, it has those toasty edges from the hot oven. But compared to the instant mac and cheese, I suspect this stuff is leagues ahead. And when it comes to quick lunches and hot summer days when the oven must stay off or I’ll die, this version definitely has the upper hand.

Ideas for future experimentation:
*perfect nacho cheese sauce without the Velveeta
*creamier cheesy potato and broccoli soup
*fondue
*other ideas?

One-Pot Macaroni and Cheese

All the flavor comes from the cheese, so choose accordingly. The sharper, more flavorful (smoked gouda! extra-sharp cheddar! blue! Parmesan!), the better.

1 pound dry macaroni
5 cups milk
4 cups grated cheese
1 teaspoon sodium citrate
2/3 cup water
freshly ground black pepper

In a large kettle, bring the milk to a simmer. Add the macaroni and stir well. Turn off the heat, smack on a lid, and let sit for 20 minutes.

Dissolve the sodium citrate in the water. Add to the cooked macaroni and stir well. Add the cheese, a handful at a time, stirring well after each addition. Add a couple grinds of pepper and serve immediately.

Optional method: cook the macaroni according to package instructions. In a saucepan, dissolve the sodium citrate in the 2/3 cup milk. Bring to a simmer. Add the cheese and stir to combine. Mix with the cooked pasta and serve.

Note: I made the cheese sauce as in the optional method and poured it over steamed broccoli. The cheese sauce got watery, but I’m not sure why. Too much moisture in the broccoli, perhaps? I mashed up the leftovers and served it as a sauce for fried potatoes.

For further reading on sodium citrate in macaroni and cheese, check out this and this.

This same time, years previously: and then I turned into a blob, how we do things, a roundabout compliment, life, interrupted, potato gnocchi, and mocha pudding cake.  

Sunday, we had a taste of summer. It was so warm—nearly bumping 70—that the air felt heavy. So luxurious!

After church, the kids shucked shoes and straightaway went about the serious business of making all things mud, and I coerced my husband into planting some shrubs. What is it with our innate need, come the first signs of spring, to plunge our hands into the dirt? We are such primal beings.

This week, the temperatures are dropping again. But that’s okay. At least we had a taste.

This same time, years previous: home education series: the moral high ground, school: the verdict, learning to knit, hauling wood, and my me-me list.