In the past three days…

I traveled by:
*airplane…

*air train
*subway…

*bus
*car
*elevator
*escalator
*foot…

I slept:
*on the 29th floor of The Westin Hotel…

*not enough

I bought:
*a pop-up map
*a pretty-itty-itty bracelet
*dried plums
*sesame candy
*a bag
*scarves
*little Japanese dishes
*a book about Hamlet
*a bunch of ridiculously expensive candy
*some presents that must not be named

I saw:
*life-size transformers for a promo for the new movie (and struggled through the massive crowds of people mobbing the celebs)…

*a man on a unicycle…

*boys doing flips on the street…

*lots of women in excruciatingly high heels
*horn players (not car horns) tootling up a brassy storm
*a man beating the crap out of an old spackle bucket and making it sound like something beautiful
*huge lines at the Broadway discount ticket booth
*the top-side of a thunderstorm…

*giant lampshades…

*lots of garbage…

*my reflection…

I ate:
*lots of bread and coffee…

*Italian
*Mexican
*a roasted marshmallow milkshake
*a chocolate cupcake…

*cheese, cheese, and more cheese!
*bread dipped in super-expensive olive oil
*an almond croissant

I learned (or, in some cases, relearned):
*to text
*I like grass and miss it when it’s not there
*that so many people packed into one place make me feel simultaneously claustrophobic, insignificant, and free to be me
*I don’t particularly like Times Square…

*bakeries make me super happy
*to bargain
*I want some flirty summer dresses
*I miss my family even when I’m having fun
*our little town has a really nice farmer’s market
*rampant commercialism and touristy attractions aren’t my thing…

*it’s therapeutic to take feet photos…

*when feeling overwhelmed, it is good to go to a coffee shop and do nothing but sip coffee from a paper cup and stare out the window at all the people scurrying across the concrete landscape…

A few little paragraphs in which I fill in the gaps:
The Fresh Air Fund paid for me (and two other volunteers) to travel up to NYC. They covered our costs for transport, two nights at a hotel, and food for three days.

In exchange, all we had to do was show up at Port Authority on the trip day and ride down with a busload of kids.

And now that I’ve been officially trained, I get to do it by myself next year, but with the co-escort of my choice. (Mr. Handsome honey—would you like to go on a little date with me?)

Dude, man, this deal rocks.

P.S. Many thanks to my Brooklyn girlfriend for a three-page write-up of off-the-beaten path attractions. It made for oodles of scavenger hunt-type fun.

P.P.S. My all-time favorite place: Murray’s cheese shop. The hyper guy behind the counter knew his cheese inside and out and stuffed us to the gills with samples. He wouldn’t let us buy anything without tasting it first, and there was nothing dainty about these samples either. He mounded a rose petal jam on the Fromager d’Affinois and poured a pile of mini chocolate chips on the Roomano, a kid-friendly gouda. I never would’ve thunk it, but really, chocolate and cheese go together famously!

Back home, I created a mini cheese bar with my three cheeses (a Tickler Cheddar along with the two I already mentioned), chocolate, red wine, baguettes from my early morning jaunt to the bakery, and leftover sausages, onions, and peppers from my Italian lunch. The kids loved the d’Affinois the best, especially with the chocolate.

I hereby declare that any and all future NYC trips will include a trip to Murray’s and an insulated tote bag. Amen.

And the end.

This same time, years previous: goat cheese whipped cream, how to dry apricots, red beet greens, linguine with shrimp and cilantro-lime pesto, spaghetti with Swiss chard, raisins, and almonds, yogurt

In spite of feeling like my kids bicker nonstop, there are days where they play together for hours on end. The past couple days have been an absolute dream. I savor this break in the thunder clouds and do my best to soak up the comradery. I’ll need the good memories to draw upon when the sibling love gets scarce.

Of course, what gets their jive juice going isn’t normal, calm, inside-the-box play, like building towers out of blocks or a jolly game of Parcheesi.

Or, say, simply swinging on our industrial quality swing set, oh no. That would be way too…normal.

The kids have to go and mutilate the set by removing extemporaneous swings and importing a huge slab of wood until they end up with a seesaw and merry-go-round hybrid.

The kids pad the board with mounds of old winter coats, arrange themselves just so (balance is key), and then order the Baby Nickel to spin them.

They scream a lot, and I have to keep yelling out the door at them to STOP SCREAMING. I HATE screaming. It ranks right up there beside whining and clock alarms. Yelling is fine, I say. Screaming is not. And then I walk away and the screaming starts up again. Perhaps it’s an uncontrollable side effect of spinning?

They like to just hang out on the board, too, dozing in the sun like the sloths I sometimes wish they were.

Eventually they tire of spinning and/or balancing and move on to making one enormous swing.

It serves dual purposes.

Purpose Number One: a perch for eating popcorn.

Purpose Number Two: a swinging stunt platform.

The younger two lay on their backs and pump the swing with their legs while the older two hang from swingless chains and do their thing.

As I was typing this, the swing set morphed into yet another structure.

They added a ladder and some old canvas and, voilà!, a tent was born.

Tomorrow our family heads in five different directions. When we return, the swing set may be a thing of the past. Or not.

In any case, it was a great diversion while it lasted.

This same time, years previous: beef empanadas, one whole year, reasons, lemon donut muffins, weird, honeyed apricot almond cake, brown bread, simple granola, fancy granola, French chocolate granola, oregano, garlic, and lemon roast chicken with asparagus and potatoes, and a sketchy character. Whew!

Or, to be more accurate, two new bad things. Because it’s not like there weren’t any bad things in my life until these two bad things came along. For the record, my life is full of bad:

bad hair (my baby’s—it looks like someone took a machete to it)
bad language (oops, did I just SAY that?)
bad behavior (only my kids’)
bad weeds (naughty, naughty weeds!)
bad communication (my husband’s specialty)
bad memory (all mine)

But now I have two new Bads to add to the list. That I’m in love with them makes it all the worse.

Bad Thing One: thinned down dulce de leche for my iced coffee, oh yes!

(But can it be called “thinned down” if it’s half-and-half doing the thinning? Hm, I must think on that.)

1. Open a can of ducle de leche and take out a large glob.

2. Heat the glob up in the microwave for a few second, just enough to help it relax.

3. Whisk in some half-and-half.

4. Whisk in more half-and-half.

5. Whisk in more—

6. Yeah, just keep whisking and adding till it’s the consistency you want, which would be creamy and pour-able, kind of like Hershey’s chocolate syrup.

7. Store the now very skinny dulce de leche into a jar and put it in the fridge.

8. Every afternoon when you pour your iced coffee concentrate into a pint jar, add a hearty glug to go with.

(9. And if you’re feeling particularly wicked, top off your pint with a scoop of leftover whipped cream that’s been getting all lonely in the back of the fridge.)

My little dishwashing boy pounced upon the sticky bowl, and in the midst of giving it a good tongue washing, he happily announced, “Mom, I’m in love with dith!”

Bad Thing Two: chocolate peanut butter cake.

It’s all my mother’s fault. When she was here this past weekend, she brought the pre-assembled fixings for a chocolate cake and then baked it up in my oven since hers is on the fritz. The plan was to take the cakes home with her, but she made a little one for us to eat right then and there in honor of Father’s Day, and in spite of my warped and hole-y measuring cups (Jennifer, this is ridiculous!) and the unappealingly smeared-on icing (thanks to one little girl), the cake was really good.

And then my mother said, in an off-handed sort of way, “You know what I’m going to do with one of these layers when I get home? I’m going to ice it with peanut butter frosting and then drizzle a chocolate ganache over top.”

And then she smacked her lips at me.

I played it cool, genteelly nodding my head at her, but truth is, she did me in. I had to have a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting and chocolate ganache.

So I made myself one. Because I’m practical like that.

The formula: this chocolate cake (but I used regular cow’s milk instead of coconut milk) PLUS this peanut butter frosting PLUS this chocolate peanut butter ganache from Smitten Kitchen (recipe follows) EQUALS a chocolate peanut butter cake that totally, totally, totally meets The Persistent and Persnickety Peanut Butter Chocolate Craving.

Bake the chocolate cakes in two round pans. Each cake goes a long way, so freeze the extra one or give it away. (I gave it away.)

Spread the cake with the peanut butter frosting. Really lay it on. (I’m struggling with Icing Application Regret—I should have been much more generous.) Set the iced cake in the fridge to set up—it needs to be rather firm so that the ganache won’t push it all around.

Pour on the ganache. Use a knife to push it (artfully) over the edge. Store the cake in the fridge. Cut off slices as needed.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Ganache
From Smitten Kitchen

8 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
3 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
½ cup half-and-half

Put the chocolate, peanut butter, and syrup in the top part of a double boiler and cook until melted, whisking occasionally. Remove from heat and whisk in the cream. Spread over the cake while still warm (but not too hot).

This same time, years previous: lemon ice cream with red raspberries, slushy mojitos, in honor of Father’s Day: the giant green slug, a public service announcement about peas