The New Year's Child

It's been said that simply having children doesn't make one a mother.  Sometimes the mothering is done in the presence of one's own children but not necessarily towards them.

When Mr. Gaelic and I decided to allow Deirdre to host a New Year's Eve party at our house while we were at another party, we had our reservations.  But we wanted to give her the opportunity to show us how much she's matured over the last year.  Or to fail miserably and learn from her mistakes. 

After the talent show at the other party, Mr. G and I headed back to our house.  Suspicion was high when we heard Maeve in the back seat speaking into her cupped hand holding her cell phone, telling whomever was on the other end that we were on the way home and were presently at the corner of Such-and-such Street and This-and-that Road.

Instead of changing into casual clothes and walking down the street to watch the fireworks, we camped out in our bedroom and watched to see if anyone was going outside for anything illicit.  Sure enough, there were four boys in the garage, smoking cigarettes and climbing on Mr. G's motorcycle.  At 6'5", when he moseyed outside and told the boy to get off the bike, the cigarettes went out faster than the boy got his leg over the seat.  The high school kids don't call Mr. G the Terminator for nothing.

While Mr. G was doing the tough dad thing, I was on my knees in front of another boy who had made the mistake of going to another teen party which had been busted up earlier.  He somehow made his way to Deirdre's party.  Already intoxicated.  Three-sheets-to-the-wind intoxicated.  Deirdre sat beside him while I asked him if he knew who I was.  "You're Didi's mom."  I asked if he knew where he was.  "At Didi's."

"Can you drink something?"

"Yes."

"Take these two Tylenol and drink this water."

When another boy's mother showed up to drive her son and the intoxicated boy home, it was imperative that she knew what had happened.  Although my thoughts were the same as hers, I didn't voice them.  "You really messed up," wasn't something that he needed to hear right then.  With a hangover, he'd know it.  And he can always be told later, when he might actually remember hearing it.

Dierdre did an okay job for hosting her first party.  She could have done better.  She also could have done much worse.  Mr. G and I debriefed her after everyone had left and told her as much.  She acknowledged that and apologized profusely for not being able to stop the intoxicated boy from showing up and for not being able to stop the boys in the garage from smoking.

The lesson she learned was that, even though we don't approve of certain activities by teenagers, we're not going to berate them or throw them out when they are in need of a caring adult.  Her thanks to us for helping with the intoxicated boy were sincere. 

My lesson came when she told me during the debriefing that the intoxicated boy was the same one who was in the hospital two weeks prior from attempted suicide.  His parents had abandoned him and both blamed him for their problems.  My lesson was that I must parent any child in need.  Not just the ones that I birthed.

The Ghost of Christmas Regifting

That does it! I refuse to celebrate Christmas ever again. Either that or I’m going to become a hermit.

The week after Christmas is the annual neighborhood “Regifting Party”. Basically a White Elephant party. A way to trade in (and up?) that chartreuse sweater from Great Aunt Erma.

Before I put my foot down a few years ago, the Regifting Party was fun because of all the extended-family gifts. Back then, the extended family of siblings-in-law, cousins, nieces, and nephews would exchange presents. The problem is that the exchanging of gifts was done out of obligation rather than desire. When people that you’re not close to give you gifts, they don’t always work out. Because how would our relations, who are scattered all over the country, know enough about us to buy something that really meant something to us? We rarely hear from them.

Now they get Christmas cards only. But the kids’ only surviving grandparent still sends a check in early December for me (usually) to buy something for the girls from her since she doesn’t “know what they need” as she says. I don’t mind doing it. But I imagine when she reads her thank you notes from the girls that she’s as surprised as they are to what she gave them.

This year after all the presents were opened and we sat around the living room amid hills of wrapping paper, one of the girls commented that the gifts this year really came from the heart. My gifts from Santa, Finola, and Deirdre all made me cry. (Which is why I won’t celebrate Christmas again. They’re getting too good at making me cry.)

This year, no one asked for anything. No one wrote out lists of Christmas wishes. Each of us in the family had to think about what made the others what we are. Our likes, our needs, our wants.

And they all hit the bull’s eye.

Which means that we have absolutely nothing to take to the Regifting Party. Anybody got any soap-on-a-rope?

Menu Plan: December 27 - January 2

Existentialists, hedonists, skeptics, stoics, epicureans!  Finola and Mr. Gaelic are talking philosophers as I'm thinking food.  Funny that one of my favorite foodie websites is Epicurious. 

Christmas Day is over, but the Christmas season has only just begun.  And already the planning is underway for two more holidays quick on Christmas's heels.  And just as with Christmas, both of the upcoming holidays have their own set Gaelic-family menu.  The holidays?  New Year's and Epiphany.

When the kids were young, I would cook a private restaurant-quality dinner for Mr. G and me to have after the kids went to bed.  Now teenagers, they stay up later than we do.  And get invited to New Year's Eve parties. 

• Monday
• Breakfast:  cream of wheat
• Supper:  pinto beans, okra, rice pilaf
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  pancakes, sausage
• Supper:  pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  soft boiled eggs, toast
• Supper:  vegetable soup, homemade bread
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  oatmeal
• Supper:  tacos, refried beans (use leftover pintos)
• Friday
• Breakfast:  cinnamon toast
• Supper:  dinner out at New Year's Eve party (family friends so our kids know their kids)
• Saturday
• Brunch:  friend's New Year's Day party
• Dinner:  neighbor's New Year's Day party
• Supper:  ham steak, black eyed peas, collards (traditional Southern New Year's Day feast)
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  bacon, eggs, grits, toast
• Dinner:  roast chicken, quinoa, pumpkin

Epiphany is next week.  Another week to plan.  Even though I already know what will be on the menu on the 6th.  You, on the other hand, will have to check back next week to find out.

Menu Plan: December 20 - December 26

This will be a busy week in the Gaelic household.  Finola returns from college late Tuesday night.  There is a party at a neighbor's house on Christmas Eve afternoon from 3:00 to 5:00 for kids and adults.  Deirdre and Maeve are acolyting at the 11:00 p.m. Christmas Eve service.  That means that Saturday is Christmas.

For as long as I can remember Christmas Eve supper was always spaghetti.  Probably because my mama didn't want to have to spend a whole lot of time in the kitchen if she was going to be cooking a big meal the next day.  That tradition is being instilled in my children.  There were exceptions to the spaghetti rule.  For a while we would alternate hosting Christmas Eve supper with friends.  Our years to host, I would give a nod to the wife's Italian heritage and make a pasta with seven types of seafood.  Still the pasta from my childhood, but the more traditional Italian Christmas Eve flavor.  On our off years, my donation would be a homemade panettone.

Here are this week's menus:

• Monday
• Breakfast: grapefruit, toast
• Supper: butternut squash soup (leftover from last week), fresh baked bread
• Tuesday
• Breakfast: cereal
• Supper: chili with assorted toppings, rice
• Wednesday
• Breakfast: bagels, creme cheese
• Supper: potluck (to clean out the fridge)
• Thursday
• Breakfast: oatmeal
• Supper: potluck (to finish cleaning out fridge) or delivered pizza
• Friday
• Breakfast: cinnamon toast
• Supper: spaghetti
• Saturday
• Breakfast: waffles, sausage links
• Dinner: standing rib roast, red wine sauce, horseradish sauce, Yorkshire pudding, mashed root vegetables, Brussels sprouts, congealed salad, steamed pudding with hard sauce
• Sunday
• Breakfast: cream of wheat
• Supper: shepherd's pie (use leftover root vegetables as topping)

 Christmas dinner may sound like a lot of work.  It's the same menu from year to year.  After 20 years of cooking holiday meals by myself, by this time I can do it in my sleep.  Sort of like every other holiday with their own constant but individual menus.

Menu Plan: December 13 - December 19

Almost 200 pounds!  That's how much meat was stuffed into the freezer this past week.  In the long saga of the meat co-op, the last possible pick-up time until next spring was last Wednesday.  My order included a quarter of a cow and a half of a hog.

In reorganizing the freezer, there was a treasure trove of some of the richest homemade stocks you've ever laid eyes on.  They lay forgotten underneath more recent additions of puppy pops (doggie ice cream), frozen yogurt, and Phish Food.  Part of the reorganization included making a detailed list of everything in the freezer and the numbers of same items. 

With the discovery of liquid gold, this week will see more soups on the menu.  Even though stock freezes well, it should not sit at the bottom of the freezer never to see the bottom of a soup pot.  And with that, I give you this week's menus.

• Monday
• Breakfast:  bagels, cream cheese
• Supper:  peanut soup, millet bread
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  cereal
• Supper:  pinto beans, corn pudding, fried okra, cornbread
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  cereal (again since Mr. Gaelic is catching an early flight to Chicago for business)
• Supper:  butternut squash soup with bleu cheese, fresh baked bread
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  cream of wheat
• Supper:  potluck
• Friday
• Breakfast:  grapefruit, toast
• Supper:  date night (both girls are babysitting)
• Saturday
• Breakfast:  bacon, eggs, grits, toast
• Supper:  pizza for girls, Winter Solstice Party with Boat Burning for Mr. G and I (yes, a real Viking tradition)
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  pancakes, sausage links
• Dinner:  pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans

Our friends, who are Jewish, are having their annual Winter Solstice Party where they burn a boat, just like the husband's ancestors.  Jewish Vikings???  No.  He converted to Judaism for his wife.

A How-To Guide of Menu Planning

Gail asked how I do my menu planning. It all started when I was a youngster. My mother didn’t read regular books. No dime-store romances, no New York Times bestsellers, no Book of the Month Club selection. No, she read cookbooks in the evening. And she loved to throw parties of all kinds, dinner parties, cocktail parties, open house buffets, cookouts, picnics, coffees, breakfasts, you name it, she threw it.

She taught me how to shop the ads. Take the grocery store weekly circulars and find the loss-leaders. Those are the items that are deeply discounted to get people into the store. Like the 99¢ per pound chicken legs or the 49¢ per pound baking potatoes. Then build a meal around chicken legs and potatoes. See what else is on sale, rinse, repeat.

Going organic has put a damper on shopping the ads. But it’s still helpful to have an idea about what to cook for supper on any given night. Now the formula is more along the lines of particular types of dishes on certain nights.

Ever since finding the Meat-Free Monday movement, Monday’s suppers hearken back to my childhood with a plate of three Southern-style veggie dishes and maybe a cornbread. Anything as long as it’s all vegetarian, but not vegan. That’s too foreign for my household.

The rest of the week consists of one night of a soup, one night of a nice meat-centric meal, one night of seafood, and one night of leftovers to clean out the refrigerator for the next week’s groceries. Some things get repeated during the week. Maybe it’s the meat-plus-two; maybe it’s the all-veggie meal.

Once the Crockpot has passed inspection, perhaps on nights when there is carpool duty, supper might be slow-simmered. My oven has a delay start and a cooking timer. There are nights when the meatloaf is placed in the oven with a delayed start time ensuring that it’ll be ready to come out right at supper time after the last extracurricular activity.

If you want to get started on menu planning, make a list of the things you cook regularly. Then rotate them throughout the month. There might be spaghetti, roast chicken, tacos, broiled fish, sloppy Joes, tuna casserole, meatloaf, chili, chicken tetrazzini, you get the idea. Fill in with some lighter meals such as warm winter soups or light chilled summer soups. Or something quick and fast like sandwiches and a can of tomato soup.

Use either method. The rotation plan is my default plan since I don’t shop the ads like my mother did. It’s hard to shop the ads when most of our food comes from the organic meat co-op or the farmers’ market. For that, you have to think on your feet about what’s fresh and what you can make with those. Or use the shop-the-ads plan basing your menus on what’s on sale at your grocery store. Here’s a hint. When I used to shop the ads, I didn’t limit myself to one store. There were three stores in a close radius whose ads I would shop.

Regardless of your method, have fun with your meals. And eat with someone else as often as you can.

Menu Plan: November 15 - November 21

If you've ever been to Five Guys Burgers & Fries, you know that they serve roasted peanuts from a box while you wait for your order.  I treated the kids to lunch recently at our local Five Guys.  We got a serving of peanuts to shell at the table.  After finishing our hamburgers, there were still some peanuts on our table.  Just scoop them into the bag with the leftover fries.

They're fun to snack on.  But it gave me a hankering for boiled peanuts.  Those slimy, squishy, good-when-hot-but-yuck-when-not snacks.  Most often they're found at roadside stands in the American rural South.  They are definitely an acquired taste.

Yes, it's an established fact that I'm weird.  Just deal with it.  In other foodie news, here's this week's menu plan.

• Monday
• Breakfast:  banana bread
• Supper:  take-out/delivery (afternoon teacher conferences + evening ballet class = no time to cook [slow cooker on the blink])
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  cereal
• Supper:  meatloaf, mashed potatoes, carrots (save some potatoes for Friday)
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  oatmeal
• Supper:  baked eggs, salad, homemade bread
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  blueberry muffins
• Supper:  baked mac and cheese, creamed spinach, beets in orange sauce
• Friday
• Breakfast:  soft-boiled eggs, toast
• Supper:  butternut squash soup, homemade potato bread (use left-over potatoes)
• Saturday
• Breakfast:  pancakes, sausage
• Supper: pizza for girls, Mr. Gaelic and I are headed to a party for our friends' daughter who is in graduate school in London and will be home for the holidays
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  bacon, eggs, grits, toast
• Dinner:  potluck (need to clean out the fridge and freezer in anticipation of Thanksgiving)

Thanksgiving?  Already?  That means that Christmas is 41 days from today!  Didn't we just celebrate Hallowe'en?  Ack! 

Please don't send me boiled peanuts for Christmas.  They're best eaten hot and fresh.  Just like Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.  But that's another blog entirely.

Beneath the Kilt

What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?  It depends on the man. 

Several years ago during a parade in town, several clans had been imbibing a bit too much scotch trying to warm their innards on a cold winter day.  As one clan approached the reviewing stand, an elderly "gentleman" stumbled and proceeded to roll and roll and roll across the pavement right towards the crowd of dignitaries.  In true Scots fashion, he wasn't wearing anything except his kilt.

This past Saturday night, one of our associate priests who is the dean of a local seminary held a Murder Mystery party at his house for the Beefeaters.  The Beefeaters have nothing to do with gin or guarding the Tower.  It began as a group of men at church who would clean up the church cemetery on a semi-annual basis.  They also enjoy relaxing afterwards with a grill full of red-meat products and some good single malt.  It has grown to include Lady Beefeaters who are either honorary members or actually help with the cemetery cleanup.

One of the Beefeaters is USDA-certified AAA prime beefcake eye candy.  At a pool party in the dwindling days of summer, he was the one who wasn't embarrassed in his swimsuit.  Rippling six-pack, shaved head, earring.  And the life of party, even finding a way to attach a keg to floaties so the guys in the pool didn't have to go far for a refill.

The murder mystery party was a fancy dress affair.  Although some people dressed for the role they were assigned (my role was the actress, Mr. Gaelic's was the doctor), most people wore long dresses or tuxes.  Except BeefeaterCake.  He wore a kilt tuxedo - looks like a tux from the waist up and a kilt from the waist down.

During the opening explanation and the closing accusations, we were seated in a large circle since there were 16 of us.  (Eight characters per game so we were split into two different rooms for dinner but all played the same game.  Yes, there was another actress and another doctor.  And the Gaelics and another couple were lucky enough not to be seated with our spouses - you can interact with more people that way.)  BeefeaterCake was seated directly opposite in the circle.  And he doesn't seem to know how to keep his legs together, sitting with his knees spread.

But like a thoughtful Scotsman, he wore tartan compression bike shorts underneath.  Not traditional, but thoughtful.

Menu Plan: November 8 - November 14

Having exhausted all my ideas on why my photos won't properly upload on Blogger, there are no pictures of the cake we took with us to the Murder Mystery Party last night.  (And no pictures of Thing 1 or Thing 2, either, for those of you who asked.)

It's a flourless cake.  Just three ingredients - 1/2 pound of unsalted butter, 1 pound of bittersweet chocolate, and 6 eggs.  My preference of bittersweet chocolate is Valhrona Amer, which is 71% cocoa.  It's like the Darth Vader of chocolate.  Beware the Dark Side! 

To cut through the richness, my choice of accompanying sauce is a raspberry puree.  Again, three total ingredients - raspberries, lemon juice, and superfine sugar (not powdered).  Because only the raspberry juice is boiled down, not the pulp, it retains a fresher, tarter taste.  And the dark red against the dark brown almost black looks so cool.

Even though another couple brought a cleverly decorated cake, mine tasted better.  Rolled fondant takes so much time that the red velvet cake underneath was a bit on the dry side.  My one attempt at a fondant cake wasn't as moist as most of my cakes.  But the hand-painted fondant flowers were really memorable.  (It's was Mr. Gaelic's birthday cake the first year we were married.)

But enough about desserts.

• Monday
• Breakfast:  carrot-raisin muffins
• Supper:  butternut squash soup, homemade potato bread
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  cereal (as always on Tuesdays)
• Supper:  barbecued ribs, homemade white bread, sauce (Ask anyone who's ever tried Dreamland BBQ, it's the only way to eat ribs.)
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  soft-boiled eggs, toast
• Supper:  fried okra, black-eyed peas, picked beets, spoon bread
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  cereal (Veteran's Day = no school = sleep late)
• Supper:  French onion soup, salad (Veteran's Day = remembering my daddy who landed on Normandy Beach on D+14 = French food)
• Friday
• Breakfast:  English muffins, fig preserves or honey (We're currently out of Tupelo honey, so I'll poke around the condiment section for something interesting.)
• Supper:  cheese soufflé, asparagus
• Saturday
• Breakfast:  pancakes, bacon
• Supper:  pizza for girls, Mr. Gaelic and I are headed to a party at church for major donors of a new grand piano
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  sausage gravy, homemade biscuits
• Dinner:  roast chicken, potatoes Anna, green beans

Sometime during the week, we'll finish off the last five slices of chocolate cake.  The slices are quite thin since the cake is quite rich.  As well as the almond cookies that Maeve made last night while we were trying to solve the murder mystery. 

My budding chef.  Following in her sisters', and mother's, and father's footsteps.

Generation Why

One of the problems with being born on the cusp of anything is not quite fitting in to either group completely. While I’m definitely a Leo, I’m sort of Gen X. Technically speaking, I was born within the year span for Generation X. But my upbringing was done by the Greatest Generation parents and an older Baby Boomer sister.

My husband is a Baby Boomer. Since I had my children while I was relatively young (by today’s standards), most of my close friends are Boomers as well. I fit in very well with them in certain aspects, even though I still love me some Police, Prince, and Michael Jackson (rest in peace).

One thing where I fit in better with my parents’ generation is my child-rearing philosophy. The problem began with the Boomer generation who decided to allow their children to call adults by their first names. They dropped all honorifics, including Aunt and Uncle so that Uncle John became just John. Amongst my set of friends, we have a rule that we all instituted without confirming with each other first – children address all adults as Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So. Does the fact that my close friends are all friends from my parish have anything to do with it?

One of my biggest pet peeves is placing children on par with adults, such as inviting children to adult parties and adults to children parties. I may be friendly to children but I’m not friends with them. They should have their own friends just as I have mine. When we were invited to a neighbor’s birthday party, I knew that the momentous occasion would include children. Looking at the invitation alone was enough to make the hives welt up on my neck.

At the party, I watched in both amusement and horror as a mother explained to her preschooler that the two drinks in the pretty dispensers were alcoholic – one with gin, the other with rum – and that the child didn’t like either of those, “remember?” To the side was a pitcher of a red colored drink for the kids. Why should a child serving him or herself settle for red if he or she likes green or blue better? Thankfully, only one child tried to help himself to the blue adult drink (at least that I saw).

The last 50th birthday party that I attended was an adult-only affair. The adults could be adults and mingle with other adults without having to worry about whether their children were heading off into the street or helping themselves to the blue rum-based drink. Call me old-fashioned, but if you’re going to invite the whole family, save the hard liquor for after all the kiddies have gone home. At which time I’ll have my Old Fashioned made with bourbon and on the rocks.

Man About Down

Calling all friends, neighbors, acquaintances, blog buddies with pools! My poor overworked bod, sore from too much ballet, too much taking care of sick kiddies, and too few margaritas, needs some spa time. Hopefully something less expensive than a day at an actual spa.

Swimming pools just make so many activities more enjoyable. What better way to spend some time than at a boozy weekend throwdown for those of us who can’t afford a weekend in the Hamp’s? Okay, okay. You supply the pool, I’ll supply the booze. Hell, I’ll even supply the guests.

So, call me. I’m waiting to hear from you. Swimsuit and towel in hand.

Weather Report

Epiphany is winding down. I go to a Carnivale party over the weekend where the hostess insists that I can't drink or eat until I have beads on. Break open another box of beads straight from New Orleans, put two around my neck, and head straight for the bar on her back porch where the drinks are chilled not with ice but by the outdoor air.

At church, we are reminded that Wednesday is Ash Wednesday. The priest confesses to having an addiction. To baseball. He's looking forward to Ash Wednesday. Not because he plans to give up his addiction during Lent, but because Wednesday is the first day of Spring Training games, which to him means the first day of Spring.

Sunday afternoon on our way to a Girl Scout delegate training session, my second daughter asks when I'll take them out of school. I have a tradition of checking the kids out of school on one of the first really nice spring days to go to the cathedral and play in the garden. She says that playing in the garden as a child made her feel like princess. I remind her that it's still winter.

"I hate winter," she says.

"Then kill the groundhog," I answer.

But the radio this morning reminds me that the groundhog saw his shadow after all. I miss the traffic and weather on the 8's and ask my husband what today's forecast is. His reply? He gives me the rundown of the highs and lows for the week. But today?

"Blustery with a chance of winter."

Somewhere?

It’s that season again. Hollywood rolls out the red carpets. Limo drivers spiff up their stretches. Stylists coif and dress the Swells.

It will be very interesting to watch the round of award ceremonies this year. Why this year more than any other? Because, as many Americans are tightening their belts and cutting back on luxuries like dinners out, starlets don’t seem to be affected in the least.

The red-carpet gauntlet at the Golden Globes was awash in sequins, and tulle, and lace. And baubles. While some writing-heads on “news” blogs remarked about Hollywood getting the memo to tone down the bling, there were still enough precious and semi-precious stones draping décolletés to make Mr. Arpels blush.

Escapism is one of the few things that bad economies are good at, along with alcohol consumption. Conceivably, the awards shows, and the Inauguration and its ubiquitous balls, offer us a glimpse of what was once and what may well be again. Somehow. Some day.

Stitch 'n' Bitch

Have you noticed that when women get together to knit that we tend to gossip too? Oh, yeah, we do. I guess they're going to revoke my girl card since I'm letting secrets out.

My Day in Pictures

Yes, knitting was one of today's activities. And as you can see from the picture at left, alas, no fire in the fireplace. Not much work was completed on the project, but it's coming along nicely. Don't I look very relaxed in my chair with my needles? That's because I enjoyed what's in the picture to the right earlier in the day.

Unlike the picture, though, sleep was one of today's pleasures. After two very late nights of a Girl Scout sleepover and movie night on the 30th and dinner and a play on New Year's Eve, I really needed a good nap. Don't we all love catching a cat nap every once in a while? Especially when the sun is warming your back as you read a new book.

Ah, heaven in a couple of hours. I can't tell you how refreshing it was to stretch out on the couch, toss a warm fuzzy blanket over me and snuggle up with one of the kittens.

But soon, our obligations flooded in again in the form of an open house at our neighbors' house across the street. Even though we weren't the oldest couple at the party (the kids stayed at home), we appeared that way since our youngest is older than most of the other children in our neighborhood. My husband likes to call me his child bride.

Yep, that's right. A true Southern New Year's dinner, complete with baked ham, black-eyed peas, and collard greens. It's the last celebration of the Christmas holiday but the first celebration of 2009.

My New Year's resolution is to entertain more. If I could, I'd have a party of some sort every month. Maybe I should include tomorrow's gathering. I've invited over a dozen women (and one guy) for a knitting session. Hen Party! Look out!