Author: paul@digitaldendrite.com

Never to be left out, I just heard Ellen yell to Kim:

E: “Mom, what’s 12 times 12?”
K: “144”
E: “so that means that 12 is the square root of 144?”
K: “…um…yes.”

She’s in 2nd grade.

I know, it’s been ages. I’ve been busy.

But I was just sitting in my room and hear Katie grunting something out.

“one. ugh. Twooo.”

and I’m sitting thinking, “what’s wrong?”

and then she picks up pace a bit, “buckle my…shoe”

and I wait.

now, faster, and with a beat, “three…four…open. the. door.”

I listen more, smiling.

now, she starts scatting it, “five, uh ,six, uh, pick up da stix.”

“and seven and eight, dont you be late.”

She’s suddenly Louis Armstrong, improvising lyrics and timing.

Where she gets this from, I have no idea. But it was cute.

Work has been so crazy busy lately, but I can peek my head out a bit to wish Happy Birthday to Ellen. Happy 8th Birthday, peanut!

Her birthday was a quiet affair this year. They went to Paint a Pot and…painted pots. I made dinner last night for Ellen who, when asked what she wanted said, “well, can we afford crab or lobster?” When I answered that we had some crab here, she said that was fine and then proceeded to explain that she’d also like “baked potato, if they’re not too much trouble” and “spaghetti, sauce optional.”

Today, I made the cake with a first foray into the world of fondant. I think it came out pretty well:

I’ve been marooned at my in-laws for 5 days and, although it’s been better than has been typical, there are still little things that make me crazy. The first “feature” of my in-laws home that leaps out at me is their choice in clocks. Not content with a quietly clicking or even silent timepiece, they have a Cuckoo clock. Ok, so every hour, including all through the night, the damn thing, which is only about 40 feet from where I restlessly try to sleep on a bed the size of a Tic Tac, chirps once for EACH hour. So, at 11 PM, it quacks a greeting 11 times. At 4 AM, 4 times. You get the idea. But wait…there’s more! They don’t just have ONE Cuckoo clock…they have TWO! And, they’re not QUITE synched. So, at 5 AM the one goes off 5 times…then the other one goes off 5 times about 30 seconds later. If the first one didn’t getcha, the second one will! Oh, but wait…there’s still more! If you call right now, and apparently, they did, we’ll throw in a wall clock that plays a different Christmas song EVERY HOUR. So, cuckoo one…cue cuckoo two…lights on christmas music! And this is at 3 AM, then 4 AM, then 5 AM…and so on, and so on. And I thought it was annoying hearing the garbage truck at 6:30 AM. At least that’s only once a night!

The second issue, which until recently has really not been an issue, is the “food” that mom-in-law makes these days. In the past, my problem with her food has generally been something petty, like making fun of the jello molds they insist on having on every table. Perhaps it’s just me, but I can’t get into sweet orange jello with peas floating in it like green planets in a gelatin universe. Also, their morbid fear of making steaks anything but well done tends to rankle–last year we had 1/2″ thick T-bones that were grilled for 20 minutes. Well done would not really be a term to describe them…more like carbonized. However, all of these petty complains were usually done in fun as mom-in-law was ultimately a pretty good Midwestern cook. Simple, but tasty was her creedo. This year, however, that creedo was sort of reworked to “what the fuck am I eating, and can it fit between slices of bread?”

“Steaks” were something called “Swiss Steaks”, which, I guess, is a way of referring to a collection of sinew and cartilage held together by pieces of fat as “Steak” without having to trademark the word “steak” as is done in “Creamery Butter Topping®.” These inedible lumps of gristle were brought to the table and one specifically given to me that was called “rare.” These piles of grey putty may be the first steaks I’ve seen that I wouldn’t dare eat any way but cooked through, and, although it bore the moniker “rare”, it was the same lifeless-flesh color as everyone else’s. This was the first thing to go on a sandwich for the week, but oh, no, not the last. inedible as it was, a couple of slices of bread, some pickles, and some ketchup made it dinner. That was to be followed by plain, broiled, boneless chicken breasts with plain white rice in what was jovially called “Chicken and rice.” The hearty chunks of chicken with gravy over rice that I sort of expected was nowhere to be seen, but the clumped white rice that screamed for the bottle of La Choy Soy Sauce and dry, peppered boneless breasts made their appearance, briefly, on my plate. They were quickly put onto sliced bread with ketchup. Was this the last sandwich? No, of course not. There were still several days left. Roast turkey, served cold–sandwich! Salami and cheese served at great-grandma’s–sandwich! Turkey served again as leftovers–yoooou betcha! Sandwich! All told, I believe my count for a total of 9 meals in Iowa was 7 sandwiches. The only reason that the other mealtimes weren’t on bread was that Christmas day’s chili was the only thing I could find, Saturday I went out and bought wings for the crowd watching the Giants game, and Tuesday I flew out and only managed a 1/2 oz. bag of pretzels for the day.

Over all, however, the trip was painless. I stayed out of her way. She stayed out of mine. I got shirts for Christmas. We got her something–I have no idea what. Thus endith my “vacation” for the year.

So, our annual “live” tree is up for the year. Covered in ornaments, lights, and the arch enemy of the cats, it sits in all it’s soon-to-be-dried-up-and-dead glory in the corner of our living room. It’s actually kinda nice looking, although we forgot to turn off the radiator and one side got fried (we clipped off those branches). Drinks like crazy–we’ve gone through several gallons of water already. The highlight, though, is the return of our “traditional” tree-topper:

Never let it be said I don’t adhere to tradition.

Tonight I was faced with the unenviable task of having to explain to Katie and Ellen that one of Katie’s classmates died a few days ago. We sat down to dinner, and before we started, I asked each of them what they thought happens when someone or something dies. They told me what they thought, Katie saying you go into the ground, Ellen saying that they go to heaven (which surprised Me since we have zero religion in the house, and I’m jewish.) At that point, I explained what happened. We talked about it a bit, and then I suggested that Katie could make a card for the older brother and sister, so she did.
She made a picture of the little girl with a sunset. Bear in mind, though, that she never draws a sun setting. it’s always up in the corner, like every other little kid draws, usually with a happy face. Well, not this one. Little kids are awfully perceptive. Kim wrote the words Katie dictated, and she’ll take it into school tomorrow.

So today was/is Thanksgiving, and a week’s worth of preparation yielded some good food. The menu was:

• Turkey (of course), brined in vegetable stock, cooked A La Alton Brown’s suggestion.
• Blue Corn cornbread/yam/ham stuffing
• Cauliflower with mustard-cheddar sauce
• Roasted maple-brown butter carrots
• Cranberry sauce (Kim made it, don’t know the recepie)
• Twice baked chedder-buttermilk potatoes
• Ginger-snap gravy (I use the pan juices, some stock, and thicken it with Ginger Snaps instead of flour)
• Baby Spinach salad

The turkey was about as good as I’ve ever had. It was done perfectly. I followed Alton’s suggestion and brined it (I’d done this before), then cooked it for about 30 minutes at 500 degrees, then covered the breast only with a piece of pre-sized (before i cooked the bird) oiled foil “breastplate” and cooked it until the white meat was 155 degrees. Alton says 161 but I think that would be too done because when I took it out, I cover it tightly and let it continue to cook for about 30 minutes in it’s own heat. It was delicious, both white and dark done just right. It really didn’t need any gravy, but of course, was good with it.

All the sides were nice too, but the turkey was the star, which, I think, is too rarely the case. Now, on to the home made dark chocolate pudding with home made whipped cream…yum!

Ellen brought me a card she just finished making to send to her cousin, Sarah. The text, which she made up, is as follows:

You are like the Cornacopia. You carry wishes and love. Happy Thanksgiving, Sarah. Love, Ellen.

How sweet is that??

This came from my parents today:

“We were discussing katie’s relationship with victoria. As you know, katie
has been helping victoria with english as russian is her native language. I
pointed out that’s because victoria probably came from russia to the united
states. Katie said it was a good thing victoria moved here otherwise she’d
be late for school every day.”

Good ol’ Bug.

Ellen has always been a very empathic kid, frequently breaking down and crying if anyone else was unhappy. Katie, however, has rarely displayed that sort of behavior. She doesn’t exactly rub salt in people’s wounds, but she’s also doesn’t just burst into tears when anyone around her does.

However, today, Kim told me a story about Katie that makes me rethink her a bit.

She has an older friend, Andrea, who was sick today. So Katie got to only see Andrea as she sat in the back seat of her mom’s car, while Kim talked with Andrea’s mom. So Katie goes up to the window and waves to her in the back seat, and then gets back into our car with Kim, at which point she bursts into tears:

Kim: What’s wrong??
Katie: I’m so sad that Andrea’s sick. I was so worried about her! I wish it was me that got sick instead of her!

Our two little martyrs. Joan and Jane D’Arc.