The "What's That?" Hall of Fame

Gall on oak tree

I've discovered that I say "I don't know" quite a bit these days. What does a toucan eat? I don't know. Why do owls have yellow eyes? I don't know. And nowhere do I say it more than on our walks. It's there, outdoors, that the kids find the most confounding objects -- things that I have later come to identify, by many hours spent with guidebooks and using Google -- as various flowers, nuts, birds and insects.

The problem is I forget these quickly. One day leads into the next and suddenly we're staring again at a bug we saw last week and I'm trying to remember if that's a centipede or a millipede. So this year I've embarked upon cataloging everything we find with pictures. Here are our initial entries into the "What's That?" Hall of Fame. Pictures are below.

Used gall (I guess!)

1. Galls on an oak tree. Galls, I've learned, are the protective coverings of insect larvae, usually of small wasps. They are harmless to trees and can grow in leaves, twigs and branches. Once we figured out what these little reddish balls were we went in search of more on oaks around our street and found another gem: a used-up gall! You could see the individual larval pods (I have no idea if that's what they are actually called!) and the holes where the insects emerged. Cool.

2. Millipede. Repeat to self: Not a centipede. Not a centipede.

3. An orbweaver spider. This little guy (or girl?) has a neat spiral-weaved web attached to our house. I've watched him have a few meals, and what's really cool is that when he's nice and full his sac gets all puffed up.

4. Wasps. I don't know exactly what kind, but I suspect they are Bald-faced Hornet Wasps. They are working on a nest between our storm window and the pane (inaccessible to us, thankfully). I'm keeping track of their progression. At any given time there are two or three little worker wasps building.

Our resident wasps making their hive

Millipede (and a pillbug, for good measure!)

Orbweaver spider

Tuesday Night Lights

MM started swim team this year, and it occurred to me that I have now been on all three sides of the swim team triangle: I've been a swimmer, a coach, and a parent. Let me state for the record that the least fun side is the parental one; you stand around for a while, explain to your sons why they can't swim, stand around some more, chase a son or two, explain again why only swim team members are allowed to swim, and finally give up and buy all the hot dogs your kids can eat.

Incidentally, thanks, Mom and Dad, for sacrificing so many Tuesday nights of our youth to stand poolside. And for the hot dogs.

Anyway, MM was super excited about time trials and her fifteen yards of fame. She is decent at freestyle, although breaststroke and backstroke are unrecognizable. Her dad and I really built up the idea that this was for fun and that winning did not matter. And even though MM is the type of kid who wants to do everything perfect the first time around (she can't paint a sunflower without comparing herself to van Gogh) she seemed to buy into it.

Let me confess that although I spouted the party line of "Have fun! Who cares about winning?" I held in my prideful parental heart high hopes that she would cut through the water and soar to the finish line ahead of her competitors. What parent doesn't secretly want his or her child to excel?

So when they called Six & Unders I walked her over to the Clerk of Course and sat her on the miniature green benches with all the other swim-capped goggled girls. She grinned up at me. "Just have fun," I told her.

"I know. And it doesn't matter if I win."

"Not one bit."

Seconds later she climbed onto the block like a little spider, all gangly appendages and bobbing head. She crouched (she jumps, not dives) and when the buzzer went off she looked at me. "Should I go now?"

"Go!" And win! 

But the second she cannonballed into the water something strange happened; I wanted to laugh and cry at once. She wasn't just lunging off the block; she was lunging into the world of competition, a world that will become more and more her home as she ages. Until now she has been our baby, number one in everything. But now she is out there, in some ways alone, and she will not always win. She will learn that in everything there are winners and losers, that sometimes a race or a game is painful. She will understand that as you stand aloft victorious there is pain for others; you cannot win without making others lose.

It was over quickly. Her strokes were strong. To breathe she had to interrupt her windmilling arms and doggie-paddle as she gasped for air. Then the catcher reached for my little girl and I could read his lips as he told her "Great job!" and I knew by Catherine's look of delight that she believed him. Then he carted her to the other side of the pool, far away from me.

I found her accepting accolades from her adoring fans (Daddy, Grandma and her brothers). With her cap and goggles still in place, cocooned in a hot pink towel, she turned to me. "Did I win?" she asked, but the words were delivered with a child's curiosity, not with angst or expectation.

I thought back to the race. I had watched only her; somehow, in a flurry of splashes, I had forgotten about her competitors. "I don't know," I answered, but I don't think she even heard me because already Daddy had picked her up and she was giggling. I realized then, as the starting buzzer trilled yet again, that for one of the last times, winning truly did not matter. Not to my daughter, and not to me.

We were too busy having fun.

IHC: Kale chips

Kale, kale, kale. What to do? It's bitter. Really bitter. My general solution to anything bitter (well, to anything, really) is to add lots of salt and oil. They make everything all better.

So try this with that beautiful bunch of kale you bought on impulse because it's soooooo healthy and you really should be eating more of it: Wash and dry it, douse it brush it with olive oil, and heap sprinkle about two teaspoons of salt all over it on a baking sheet. Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes until it looks crispy and a little brown.


Then, tell the kids they're having green potato chips for snacktime.

Adventures in canning

From this...

Canning fresh produce like strawberries and tomatoes has long been toward the top of my bucket list. Every spring I would think, "This'll be the year," and then after a quick Google search I'd become cross-eyed from discourses on acidity and pressure. I mean, there's a reason I'm not a physicist.

But this year I resolved that I would indeed make and preserve strawberry jam. The impetus is our subscription to a produce-delivery-service which brings all kinds of cool veggies, like kale and bok choy (actually, the kids love kale chips as long as I refer to them as "green potato chips." Bok choy -- not so much). But we also get strawberries -- fresh ones, picked the day before. Between the delivery and picking them ourselves at local farms, yesterday our fridge was sagging under seven pounds of berries. Can or rot!

...to this.

So I kicked the kids out of the kitchen for safety issues (lots and lots of boiling water), put Dominic down for a nap, read through the recipe about a dozen times, took a deep breath... and an hour later I had four pints of beautiful red strawberry jam cooling in cute Mason jars. Unbelievable.

And yes, I am totally going to make dorky red-checkered labels for the jars.

This Old Stump

Our yard is little, but I suppose that to insects it's pretty dang big. Recently we spent an afternoon turning over rocks, riffling through damp ivy, and checking the undersides of flowerpots for insects -- all in the pursuit of education, and not just because it was a heck of a lot of fun.

Okay, maybe it was the latter.

One of the greatest bug habitats we found was a tarp that had been cast on the ground overnight. When we pulled it up, the whole underside was covered with slugs. Delight all around.

But the piece de resistance was the old stump. About ten years ago a hurricane polished off a bunch of pine trees in our yard, and we were left with their stumps. Rather than pay to have them dug out, I figured they would decompose sooner or later. I was right! They were mushy and rotted, and -- score! -- home to all sorts of insects. The kids used butter knives and plastic spoons to chip away layers of bark. They found ants and termite larvae (kill! kill! kill!) and a bunch of other creepy crawlies, and we even kept some of them in a plastic container for the afternoon. Luckily the kids bored of "playing" with them quickly, and we ceremonially released them to return to their mommies and daddies (except the termite larvae).

And sure, I'm still missing a couple butter knives, and now instead of ugly stumps we have decimated wood chunks on which children or small animals could easily impale themselves, but was it worth it from an educational perspective?

You bet.

Herbfest: Not as boring as it sounds

The Butterfly Princess becomes a clown

Last season on one of the Food Network's competitions the contestants were tasked with naming their own cooking shows. A chef named Herb came up with the incredibly creative moniker HerbTV. You could tell by the judges' faces that the second he said it he was GONE.

Cut to our town's annual Herbfest on the grounds of the historic Page-Walker Hotel. We were accidental visitors last year and had a great time, so this year I attempted to round up a group of homeschooling friends for a field trip. No luck. Most reactions were along the lines of Herbfest? Is that as boring as it sounds? 


The town needs to add a tag line to reflect that you don't just stand around admiring lavender and thyme. There are booths showcasing and selling nature photography, wool skeins, old-timey crafts, plants, natural foods, birdhouses and goat soap (that's soap from goat's milk, not soap to wash the goats living in your garage).

Or the town could just mention that the Great Harvest Bread Company gives away free samples of its blueberry-lemon bread.

There is just as much for the kids as for the adults. My three walked out with flowerpots decorated for Mother's Day and dinosaurs and flowers painted on their cheeks by members of the Cary Teen Council. V-Man finally saw inside his beloved smokehouse (see the Smokehouse Birdhouse post) and while he was disappointed that there wasn't meat hanging from the nails, he did see a drying cotton plant for the first time.

Sometimes holding a butterfly sounds better in theory

The best part, according to the kids, was the Butterfly Lady. She was in a corner booth surrounded by... wait for it... butterflies. And caterpillars, and eggs, and little tiny squiggles crawling around plastic containers that were freshly-hatched caterpillars. And she didn't mind one bit when 18-month-old Captain D pile-drived her mesh butterfly house full of monarchs. In fact, she asked if MM would help her release the butterflies by dressing up as one.

Fulfilling a lifelong desire to morph into a butterfly princess, MM uttered a breathless YES. A few minutes later, the crowd gathered around the Butterfly Lady for the release and MM bounced up to the crowd's front, awaiting her moment of fame. MM pranced around when the Butterfly Lady strapped wings on her back. Then the Butterfly Lady explained how well butterflies can hear and took giant ears out of her bag. The Butterfly Princess looked rather nonplussed as she added the over-sized ears to her couture. Then the Butterfly Lady covered MM's feet in pink felt (I forget why, as I was too busy snickering at the Butterfly Princess' quick transformation into a clown) and plopped antennae on her head. By the time the goofy giant yellow sunglasses made an appearance MM wanted to quit. But she suffered through the indignity and even took a bow for the crowd, and then removed her extra appendages much more quickly than she ever manages to remove her clothes at bedtime.

Captain D contemplating the smokehouse

At the release, the monarchs fluttered around, landing on arms and feet and heads. Captain D did his best to bat them out of the air, and V-Man patiently held out his finger and called, "Here, butterflies, land on me" -- and then promptly screamed when one did.

So seriously, the town needs to add a tag line so that families realize that Herbfest is a fun way to spend a Saturday morning. Something like...   

Hey, I've got one. Herbfest: Not as boring as it sounds.

Swallowtail Butterfly

Found this beautiful freshly-dead swallowtail out running with the kids at a lake. We took it to the park ranger, who delightedly added it to her collection.

Beauty is all around us.

Hunting for Inchworms

A "twig mimic" inchworm

Inchworm Home Sweet Home

Inchworm of a geometer moth

For the past few weeks it has seemed like within minutes of venturing outdoors I am sure to hear the delighted scream of someone screeching, "Mommy! There's a WORM on your shoulder!" Terrific. They're these little green inchworms, and they seem to drop right out of trees, and they are everywhere.

Well, finally I decided to figure out just what they were, and lo and behold, they are inchworms. But what's even more incredible -- and which proves yet again just how little I know -- is that these little guys turn into moths.

Wow. I had no idea.

So of course we had to catch some and build a little habitat. It turns out that they're the larvae stage of the Geometer moth, geo-meter being Greek for earth-measurer, which refers to how the inchworms draw up their mid-sections to creep along the ground. Cute little fellows. Find them dropping down on silky threads from trees -- or on your shoulders.

Our habitat started out as a bona fide bug-catching glass jar with holes in the top, but we discovered that the squiggly little guys could squeeze right out the holes, and since I didn't relish the thought of finding them in the Cheerios, we recycled a plain old plastic cup with a lid and punched TINY holes in the top.

Success. And not just because they didn't escape but because I have now kept them alive for 48 hours. According to all the information I've found on the Internet (which is always correct), they eat leaves (verified -- oak leaves, preferably) and will enter the cocoon stage sometime in the near future and emerge as moths sometime in the not-so-near future. Like, November. In which case, our little critters are only going to be enjoying their new home for a few more days, because we have vacation plans coming up, and I refuse to call up neighbors and ask if they'll babysit our inchworms.

Fish birthday cake

We have a tradition around here that grew out of me being a cheapskate my innate creativity and desire to serve my family. The birthday boy or girl (or man or woman) gets to request a cake, and I'll figure out how to make it (seriously, $55 for a silly-looking princess cake?).

Last year V-Man requested a volcano cake, and then a few days before his birthday he amended his request to an EXPLODING volcano cake (thank you, Food Network). Being the amazing mother that I am (ahem...) I managed a pretty cool exploding cake thanks to a Bundt pan, baking soda, vinegar, and food coloring. And it was even safe to eat.

We had a couple adult birthdays around here lately, one for an uncle who is an avid fisherman. So the kids suggested a fish cake, and since I didn't feel like making Nemo, I opted to make an actual fish cake. Since I quickly realized that buttercream frosting wouldn't mimic fish scales very well, I settled on tackling something I had wanted to attempt for quite some while: FONDANT. The homemade kind -- the kind that inspires any amount of horror stories.

I'll cut to the chase: It worked! No horror stories here. I found the recipe here, and it involves lots of marshmallows and powdered sugar. A few tips:

• Don't do it with kids around. Go ahead and just mark out a night after they're in bed. Otherwise it's impossible. 
• It's MESSY. VERY VERY MESSY. And sticky. But the result is downright professional.
• People will be suitably impressed whenever you can work "While I was making fondant..." into a conversation (assuming they know what fondant is). But your husband will think you're nuts for going to all this trouble for a birthday cake, and around 1 a.m. he will stare at the horrendous marshmallow mess in your kitchen and undoubtedly ask, "Why can't we just buy a cake?" Instead of screeching, "Because they're too freaking expensive!" just smile and say, "Our kids are worth it, honey." Alternatively, you can throw some fondant at him.

Frogs!

Making frog costumes

Our recent unit of study was FROGS! Jumping, hopping, kissing... what's not fun about frogs?

There's no shortage of books about tadpoles and frogs, given that frogs are the example most commonly used to demonstrate how amphibians go through metamorphosis. But we found a couple other charming books that made the kids giggle every time. I highly recommend The Frogs and Toads All Sang by Arnold Lobel, and What Did I Look Like When I Was a Baby? by Jeanne Willis. Don't worry if you can't sing the songs -- just make up any old tune. The kids don't care.

V-Man as a toad... there's something very fitting about this.

Inspired by the Frogs Sang book, we had a FROG PARTY. The kids made costumes by painting paper bags (we painted spots so V-Man could be a toad), and we drew lilypads on the deck by tracing round placemats (sneak in some counting practice here by drawing numbers in the pads). Then we made lemonade and I surprised them with a frog's favorite snack -- Ants on a Log (celery covered with peanut butter and raisins). We would have had a frog's other favorite snack -- gummy bugs -- but somebody ate them all after the kids went to bed one night...

Because MM was getting a little sick of her usual reading lesson (and so was I), I suggested she compose a story about a frog instead. She did, and we spelled it out together. I had intended to have her write an entire story, but then I realized it would take approximately three years to do so, so we didn't get further than "Starbright the frog could not find any insects. She had been hungry for five months."

The unfinished story of Starbright the Frog.

Besides, I'm pretty sure that Starbright the Frog was seconds away from meeting a handsome Frog Prince who would take her to live in his castle for ever and ever, so I'm not too disappointed in our stopping point.

Starbright on her lilypad, probably waiting for her Frog Prince

In a more academic pursuit, we spent a lot of time at the creek looking for frogs, which meant I did a lot of extra laundry, and which also meant we had a lot of wet sneakers drying on the porch. Between that and all the running strollers in the front yard, I fear our house looked a little red-necky for a while. 

Or maybe we just looked like the house of a busy, happy homeschooling family.

Ants on a log... a frog's favorite snack.

IHC: Garbage Cake

The perfect April Fool's Day dessert - Garbage Cake!

You'll need:

• 1 box of chocolate cake mix

• parchment paper

• 1 tub of chocolate frosting

• long pretzel rods

• candies - especially gummy worms, but anything else that looks gross or garbage-y

The really impressive part about this is that I actually got around to reading a parenting magazine. Thank you, Family Fun, for the cool idea. Here's how to do it: Bake a chocolate cake mix in a 9 x 13 pan. It helps to line the bottom with parchment paper. When it has cooled, measure out the length of the pretzel sticks and cut. On a tray, smear the whole thing, sides included, with chocolate frosting. No need for smooth strokes. Line the sides with the pretzel rods, then on top stick whatever candy you want. Get creative! I took Peppermint Patties and cut a circle from the middle (just the dark chocolate part) to make wheels.

Picking up trash on the moon

The other day we were at Target (our home away from home) and V-Man saw one of those robotic picker-upper claw thingies and might as well have bowed prostrate before the aisle cap where it was displayed.

"Mommy," he breathed in that tone usually reserved for cupcakes with three inches of chocolate frosting, "do you know what that is?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's one of those robotic picker-upper claw thingies."

He gave me a look I get a lot lately, that are-you-really-that-dumb? look. "No," he corrected me. "It's what astronauts use to pick up garbage on the moon."

Oh. We bought it, of course, and a few hours later set out for a long run in the triple stroller. V-Man insisted on bringing his robot claw astronaut trash-collecting tool, and despite the high probability of it striking his little brother in the face, I let him.

One block into the run: "Mommy -- stop! I saw TRASH." From then on I stopped the stroller about every ten feet so V-Man could use his claw to pick up Styrofoam packing peanuts, crumpled receipts, plastic bags and an assortment of other gross stuff. All of it went in the bottom of the stroller. He found a lot, and with great enthusiasm hopped out of the stroller to pick up the slightest bit of trash with his claw.

It was a good exercise in keeping the earth clean, but also a good exercise for me in following the kids' lead. If I had said NO to buying the toy, NO to taking it in the stroller, NO to letting him get out and pick the stuff up, we would all have missed out on a good learning experience -- and a good time.

And it didn't hurt that we left our 6.3-mile route around the lake a little nicer than we found it.

Smokehouse Birdhouse

Proof that three-year-olds can be unpredictable: Since January I have had the local newspaper's annual Birdhouse Contest marked on the calendar. I figured for sure that we would be making a princess birdhouse (check) and a rocketship birdhouse. But about a week ago, as we were on the way home from the craft store with silver spray paint, V-Man announced he wanted to do a smokehouse birdhouse instead.

His fascination with smokehouses is nothing new. About a year ago we visited a historic hotel and plantation near our house, which has a smokehouse from the 1860s. Once V-Man learned that a smokehouse is used to dry and smoke meats, he had to know more. We researched smokehouses, looked up youtube videos, visited one in Colonial Williamsburg and made a smokehouse out of popsicle sticks. Trust me, there's not a lot out there about smokehouses. Strange.

So back to the Smokehouse Birdhouse -- we took a bluebird box that was waiting to go up (and house chickadees, no doubt) and V-Man glued balsa wood all around. Then he painted it. Luckily, the natural brush strokes of a three-year-old have a very "rustic" quality to them so his smokehouse birdhouse looked quite old and decrepit. Then we broke balsa wood for roof shingles and he painted it red.

The final touch: Since we couldn't exactly hang smoked carcasses, we hung the next best thing... mealworms, a bluebird's favorite food. I am quite happy to report that he insisted on doing the mealworm work himself.

The result was a fine birdhouse that he entered in the competition alongside his sister's beaded Turkish harem-like bird palace, officially titled "Princess Bird Gazebo." And V-Man took second place in his age category, which can only mean one thing: The judges must not be mealworm fans.

Tree detective

About a year ago I started noticing trees. Rather, I started noticing how much I did not know about trees. The kids would ask me, "What's that tree?" and unless it was a pine, my answer was always, "I dunno."

Because I hate appearing like a moron to my kids, I embarked on a project to identify the most common trees and birds of our area. Well, that little project has blossomed into a full-blown Nature Society for our local homeschool group, and my initial curiosity has grown into a bookshelf of field guides.

One of my big questions, after I could cautiously identify most trees, was how to tell what a tree is in winter -- most tree ids are done by leaves. But if there are no leaves, how could I identify a tree? Would I have to spend six months of the year answering, "I dunno"?

Luckily, no. I can look smart year-round in a couple ways. One is by id-ing unusual bark, such as the peeling bark of a River Birch or the shaggy bark of a Shagbark Hickory.

Another way to tell is by spring blossoms. Dogwoods and Eastern Redbuds are easily identifiable.

Peeling bark of a River Birch, Betula nigra

Eastern Redbud, cercis canadensis, with flowers and seed pods still attached

Pink Flowering Dogwood, cornus florida

For the birds

Chickadee nest in the bluebird box.

My grandfather used to claim that written instructions -- like for programming the VCR -- were "for the birds." He might have been right; I think the birds around here need some written instructions. We've got chickadees nesting in the bluebird box, and our cardinals, who have the perfect place to nest in these tall, private bushes on the side of our house, decided to build a nest in the triple jogging stroller.
They are now homeless. 

On our quest to attract a variety of birds to our yard, we visited Wild Birds Unlimited, which is a very dangerous place to visit with kids. Not because there are real wild birds flying around, but because they have lots of breakable bird baths and ceramic thingies in the shape of bluebirds. They also have bluebird houses for $39.99, and if I had paid that instead of $8, then I'd really be mad at the chickadee squatters. 

This is NOT the place for a cardinal nest.

Anyway, the lady at WBU was very helpful (and proved to me how very little I actually know about birds!) and explained how some birds won't be attracted to feeders full of nuts because their bills can't crack them. Others won't eat millet, since it's only for ground-feeding birds like juncos. Goldfinches like thistle, blue jays like peanuts and cracked corn, and bluebirds prefer mealworms, the freeze-dried variety of which can be plumped up by soaking in water. Sounds like the perfect job for a three-year-old.

We now have five feeders around our yard, including one just for hummingbirds. So far we've seen all the usual suspects (that's you, sparrows), but also a mourning dove, and MM swears she saw a red-winged blackbird. I think I will believe her out of hope.

Stay tuned to see what actually shows up at our feeders. For now, I'm going to check the mailbox for chimney swifts.

Westward ho!

The past few months we have been studying the founding of America and the colonial period. Now that we finished that unit with an awesome trip to Colonial Williamsburg, where V-Man attempted to join the militia, we are ready to expand westward in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark!

I confess that until recently I had little idea who Lewis and Clark were. That happens a lot; either I had a really bad education or I daydreamed my way through school. Anyway, L & C were the guys selected in 1803 by President Thomas Jefferson to explore the country. After two years of traveling they found the Pacific... and gazed upon it with a wild surmise... nope, sorry, that was Balboa surveying Cuba, although Keats got it wrong on purpose -- the two-syllable Cortez worked better for that line.

(Don't have any idea what I'm talking about? I'll explain in another post. Or just read On First Looking into Chapman's Homer).

Finishing up our Colonial unit by making "quilts" for our journey west.

So, as introduction we've been reading A Prairie Dog for the President, which is a really cute story, and books about Sacajawea (I have momentarily subverted MM's fascination with Disney princesses and transferred her affection to Indian hero princesses). Sacajawea was the Indian gal who guided Lewis and Clark across the land.

Another area where my education has proved deficient is in our presidential history. The kids know all about George Washington, but then MM asked me who became president after GW returned to Mount Vernon.

Crickets.

Thank God for Google. In case you're wondering the same thing, it was the Federalist John Adams who took office in 1797, and then he was unseated by his political rival Thomas Jefferson in 1801. Want to hear a cool little trivial fact?

Both men died within hours on the same day -- July 4, 1826. Exactly fifty years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. God bless America!

Here are some books we'll be using:  
Lewis and Clark for Kids: Their Journey of Discovery with 21 Activities

A Picture Book of Lewis and Clark

Lewis and Clark (In Their Own Words)

Bluebird, bluebird

A few weeks ago on a beautiful Sunday afternoon the family headed out to a local park to build a bluebird nesting box. Bluebirds are cavity nesters, and with the rapid development of land and the disappearance of their natural habitat, their numbers have been declining. These special boxes give them a safe, dry place to build their nests.

So we built the box, and we took it home and mounted it on a stake just like the directions instructed. We even bought a piece of PVC pipe to put around the bottom to keep snakes and other predators away.


Then we waited. That same week we saw two sets of bluebirds cavorting around the yard. We bought a book of bird calls and learned to identify bluebirds by their song. The kids did a lapbook on bluebirds.We participated in the Great Backyard Bird Count. One afternoon V-Man and I sat in a neighbor's driveway and watched the bluebirds fly in and out of the nesting box, and MM made a trail of grapes from the trees to the nesting house for the bluebirds to find their way. Soon, we thought, we'd have little baby bluebirds.

Fast-forward to this morning. The box is constructed so that one side flips open for you to keep an eye on nest-building. We tiptoed up to the box, knocked softly on the side to warn away any birds inside, and flipped open the side. And guess what? We have -----

CHICKADEES. 

Apparently bluebirds use pine straw for their nests, and chickadees use moss. Oh well. To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a bird is a bird is a bird.

Off to study chickadees.

IHC: Yogurt

You will need:

• a yogurt maker

• 1 quart of milk (if using skim, you'll also need 1/2 cup of dry milk powder)

• 1 cup of Greek yogurt

I think that all new parents go through a “quest for perfection” phase, especially when it comes to feeding their infant. Nothing impure will ever touch my baby's lips! So we reach for the organic strained peaches, the whole grain organic cereals, the gluten-free teething biscuits. For a while I made MM organic pureed millet, whatever that was.

It was during this food-saint phase that I happened to glance at the ingredient list for a six-ounce container of organic strawberry yogurt and saw that it contained 32 grams of sugar. Through a complicated system of converting grams to teaspoons of volume based on the actual food, I figured out that these 32 grams equaled 7.674 teaspoons of sugar. That's a heck of a lot of sugar, even if some of it comes from the fruit.

I know what you're thinking – can't we just go metric?

In my quest to abolish sugar from my baby's diet, I researched yogurt makers and lucked out when I stumbled upon the Cuisipro Donvier Electronic Yogurt Maker for $20 at a discount store. It has paid for itself a hundred times over; if you figure that a typical six-ounce yogurt costs 70 cents, and that to make your own eight jars costs one quart of milk plus a starter yogurt –-

I'd calculate it but V-Man took apart my calculator. Trust me, it's way cheaper.

Making yogurt is simple. The hardest part is the planning: This is a twelve-hour process, so don't start it at 3 p.m. unless you like getting up at 3 a.m. Take one quart of milk (that's two pints, or four cups, or 32 ounces, or 946.352952 milliliters). If you're using skim, add a half cup of dry milk powder to help thicken your yogurt. Heat this over LOW heat, stirring constantly. And if anyone manages to do this and NOT scald the bottom of their pan, please let me know. 

With any luck, your yogurt maker came with a dummy-proof thermometer that has lines saying things like “Add starter here” and “Hot enough! Stop!” If not, here are the temps: heat the milk to 185 degrees, then cool it in a separate bowl to 110 degrees. Little old women in Greece say that it's cool enough when they can dip their fingers in for 20 seconds. I am not a little old Greek woman, so I need my thermometer.

The cooling process should take about an hour; less if you use a cooling bath.

Then it's time to add the starter. This just means adding live cultures to your mix; i.e. yogurt. Take your cup of Greek yogurt and put at least half of it in a new bowl. Add to this a cup of your milk and whisk it so that the yogurt dissolves in the milk. Then add the rest of the milk and mix well. Transfer this to your yogurt jars. I find it works well to fill each jar halfway, then to go back around and add more mix. This way, any starter yogurt that has collected on the bottom will make it equally into all the cups.

We're missing one of the cups... it's probably in the sandbox.

Now you just set your timer  for 9-10 hours and wait... and wait. The longer it “cooks,” the thicker your yogurt will be. Still, don't expect your yogurt to be the consistency or the taste of the store-bought stuff, unless you're planning on adding sodium citrate, malic acid, cornstarch, gelatin and pectin. 

What you can add, to counteract the tartness, are a whole host of good things: jam, fresh berries, wheat germ, chopped nuts, vanilla flavoring... or, if you're out of the food-saint phase like I am, chocolate chips.

Sometimes I just like to say "Yes"

Because you get moments like this.
 

The Lord is my shepherd

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

You know that story about the ducklings, the one where Mama Duck shepherds them safely into the water, all the while being kind and patient? Well, I have a confession: Sometimes I don't feel like a good Mama Duck. Sometimes I feel like the Mama Duck who snaps at her ducklings to hurry up, to quit dawdling and whining and would you please just tie your own shoes because we're late?

The Lord is my shepherd; here on earth, I am my children's. It is my calling not just to be patient and kind with them, but to teach them patience and kindness. Yet sometimes – often – I forget.

After one such moment of snappishness, MM snuck up behind me and placed her skinny arms around my waist and said, “Mommy, I love you, even when you're being a bad mommy.” Such simple forgiveness. I had not even asked for it; I was still too busy fuming. She saw the need for forgiveness, she saw what I needed and opened her little heart to me. She taught me, in that moment, the art of pure forgiveness.

The Lord is my shepherd, yes.

And sometimes, my children are my shepherd, too.

IHC: French bread

French bread: So easy a horse can do it.

What you will need: 
1 1/4 cups water at 110-120 degrees
1 1/2 tsps yeast
2 tsps sugar 

3 1/4 cups flour
1 tsp salt 
1 tbsp olive oil
various spices (oregano, rosemary, etc.)
dusting of cornmeal
1 egg
original recipe taken from www.allrecipes.com


Baking French bread is not hard. For years before Kroger started selling its $1 Take 'n Bake loaves little old ladies in France were rising at the crack of dawn to rustle up some dough and slide it into their wood-fired ovens. If they can do, we can do it with our KitchenAid Mixers and Viking ovens. Not that I have a Viking. My stove was a dented Sears discount. Anyway.

For this simple French bread recipe, you just need a few ingredients, as well as good planning skills. If you lack the latter, this recipe is pretty forgiving if you let the dough rise for an extra hour while you shuttle the kids to lacrosse practice. 

First things first: Heat up 1 1/4 cups water. This takes about 25 seconds in the microwave, and it should be between 110-120 degrees. Add 1 1/2 teaspoons yeast (the little packets are 2 1/4 teaspoons). Then, add two teaspoons of sugar and let it all sit for 10 minutes. Why add the sugar? This shows you whether or not the yeast is active (should become frothy and bubbly as it "eats" the sugar) or dead as a doornail.

Easier without paws.

In a separate mixing bowl, meanwhile, measure out two cups of flour, one teaspoon salt and whatever spices you want to use. Oregano and rosemary work well. Once the yeast has finished proofing, add one tablespoon olive oil (forgot about that, too) directly into the flour, then incorporate all the yeast mixture and mix well. You can use a KitchenAid mixer for this, but I find it's more trouble than it's worth. Too much cleaning. Slowly work in another 1 1/4 cups flour. At some point, take your rings off and mix by hand. You'll know you're done adding flour when the dough is no longer sticky.

Now it's time to knead. Why knead? Well, there's actually a scientific explanation. It helps form gluten strands and trap the carbon dioxide inside the dough. Then, when you bake it, the bread rises. If you didn't knead it, all the carbon dioxide would just escape through the top and you'd have a flat loaf. Do this for 8-10 minutes, pushing the bread down and folding it over again and again. 

Now comes the easy part. Put your ball of dough in a bowl lined with olive oil, cover it with a towel, and let it rise in a warm place for an hour or so, until it has doubled in size. If your bread isn't rising, try turning your oven to 200 degrees and putting it in there. Or, I've had success putting it on top of the running dryer. 

After an hour, pound it down and divide it into two halves. Take the first half and place it on a clean surface to roll it out. This is where a non-slip pastry mat comes in handy (or, as my kids call is, the magic carpet). Roll it out fairly thin (like, 1/8 inch) into a long narrow rectangle. Then, starting on a long side, roll it up and seal it at the seam. Do the same for the other.

Now you should have two identical snakes of dough. Take a baking pan and brush olive oil in two lines. Cover these with a dusting of cornmeal. Place your loaves on these, and let 'em rise. Should take another hour or so. 

I thought we were making oats.

All ready? Good. They should be puffed up nicely. Preheat your oven to 375. I've found that putting a pie plate or small bowl of water in the oven helps to keep the crust crispy. Use a knife to make four diagonal slits across their tops. Brush the loaves with egg. Bake for 20-25 minutes, and enjoy with some olive oil.