I took the kids to the library today. Well, first I took them to the pool. It was pouring outside, but no thunder, and today was the day for swimming lesson sign-ups. So we made like ducks and went.

The kids swam all day yesterday. They had free passes to the water park and their papa (otherwise known as my husband) took them. They got there around 1:30 and returned home a little before 10 pm, eyes red from the salt water and good, old-fashioned exhaustion. The littlest one—who last year wouldn’t even go on the lazy river—went down nearly all the slides. Hip-hip for growing up!

But the library. We checked out a boatload of books even though we already have a monstrous-scary pile at home. I just know I’ll confuse myself with what’s due when and have to pay big fines, but oh well.

The library has a new policy: kids, 12 and under, must be attended. It drives me batty, these super-cautious rules. Not because I have any desire or need to leave my kids at the library (but it’d be nice to have that option), but because it seems a shame to not encourage the local kids, the ones out riding their bikes all summer long, to come in and read for a spell. What could be more idyllic than a group of kids zipping over to the library to hang out on a hot summer afternoon? It makes me sad, this loss of trust and childhood freedom.

Coming home from the library, the kids completely fell apart. Low blood sugar and lack of sleep, I presume. I (stupidly) had them fold three wash baskets full of laundry before they ate, so we were pretty much in full crisis mode by the time I handed them their eggs and toast. The meal over, they were sweet as angels. After all these years of immersion parenting, you’d think I’d learn TO JUST FEED THE LITTLE TWITS when they start acting up.

But back to yesterday. I had big plans for my alone time: a walk, lots of writing, some reading, etc. I did the walk—that part was good—but it went downhill from there. I did a little writing, but couldn’t get into a groove, so I gave up and tried to read. But then I just got sleepy. So I ate a chocolate peanut butter ice cream cone and tried to read/write some more. But the sleepiness persisted. So I had two more helpings of ice cream. And then I fell asleep anyway. Whatever. Apparently, I am no good at producing anything if I’m not under pressure.

I skipped supper (unless you count the ice cream as supper) and drove into town to attend a dramatic reading of Ariel Dorfman’s Death and the Maiden. (I think they might perform it again in the fall. Locals, it’s worth seeing. Difficult, but very worth it.)

And then I came home and ate carrot sticks and nachos.

P.S. The photo has nothing to do with the post, just in case you were wondering.

This same time, years previous: sourdough waffles, fancy strawberry shortcake

Hot weather struck. I made mint tea concentrate.

Some of our chickens have been laying eggs everywhere but in the nesting boxes. When my husband mowed the pen, he uncovered about four dozen eggs. We washed them up and then generously shared them with family members who, unlike me, don’t mind cracking risky eggs.

This same time, years previous: sheet shortcake, fresh tomatillo salsa, white chocolate and dried cherry scones, stirring the pot (thoughts on homeschooling), preserving cilantro

I cooked this morning, yay me.

Lately, whenever I ponder what to make for supper, scrambled eggs and salad are the only things that pop into mind, so, clearly, something needed to change.

*I brought some teeth-jarringly sweet (my fault, oops) applesauce up from the freezer to thaw before mixing with a jar of bland (the apples’ fault, not mine) sauce.
*I baked a cake (it sunk a little—I’m worried I left out half of the oil) and made the icing to top it with.
*I had my daughter make granola.
*I fried up meat, garlic, and onions for sloppy joes.
*I boiled and peeled a bunch of potatoes for baked hash browns.
*I made a baked oatmeal for tomorrow’s breakfast.

It felt good, all that simmering and stirring. And it feels even gooder (don’t judge) to know that I have a bunch of dishes (that don’t star eggs and lettuce) at my fingertips.

I don’t like it that I haven’t been writing much about food. I do try new recipes (though much less extensively these past few weeks), but then I often sit on them for awhile, waiting to see if I might decide to use them for the newspaper column. (Speaking of which, a new column—old recipe—came out this week.)

What I want to tell you about now, though, is a chocolate ice cream. I made it awhile back, for The Family Reunion of 2012, and people thought the ice cream
was rich and dark, which it is, but it tastes richer and darker than it actually is. It’s a subversive ice cream.

I know there are already two chocolate ice creams on this blog. There’s Chocolate Ice Cream, and then there’s The Best Chocolate Ice Cream Ever. (I didn’t give myself much space to grow, did I? Silly me.)

I’m not going to try to one-up myself and say this new ice cream is the BEST best ice cream ever, but it is very, very good. In fact, for now (look at me being all cautious), it’s my new favorite chocolate ice cream.

It’s a Jeni recipe, of course. Now that I’ve discovered her methods, I’m kind of in love. She’s on to something with these eggless ice creams of hers.

PS. Excuse the abundance of parenthesis. I must be feeling rather parenthetical these days. (Or something.)

 Jeni’s Chocolate Ice Cream
Adapted from David Lebovitz’s blog

1 cup milk, divided
4 teaspoons cornstarch
1 cup cream
1 cup evaporated milk
2/3 cup sugar
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
1/3 cup cocoa powder
3 ounces semi-sweet chocolate, chopped
1/4 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon vanilla

In a small bowl, combine 2 tablespoons of the milk with the cornstarch. Set aside.

In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the remaining milk, cream, evaporated milk, sugar, and corn syrup. Bring to a gentle boil and whisk in the cocoa. Boil gently for four minutes. Whisk in the cornstarch slurry and boil for one more minute.

Remove from the heat and whisk in the chopped chocolate, salt, and vanilla. If the mixture is at all gritty (for me, one time it was and another time it wasn’t), pour the hot mixture through a fine-mesh strainer.

Chill the mixture and freeze according to your ice cream maker’s directions.

This same time, years previous: mint tea concentrate, nothing is lost on the breath of God (Wayne’s death)