A Great Little Read

This month it was my turn to pick the book for our book club, and somehow that always gives me a little angst. Pleasing a lot of different women is not an easy thing to do. It is so difficult that it almost gives me a little empathy for my husband. Almost. I must be difficult to please. Anyway, after considering my options I remembered a little book that I had enjoyed a couple years back.

Now since it had been awhile since I had read Anne Tyler's book Saint Maybe, I became a littl worried last week after talking with a book club member who wasn't crazy about it. "Oh, no!" I screamed inside. "I don't want to be known as the loser-book-picker." (Very different from the loser-butt-picker you may have heard about. But I digress.) The point that I am actually trying to make is how I can happily report that, after finishing it again this weekend, I am still crazy about this book, and I must share!

I think Ms. Tyler is a genius writer when it comes to depicting family life and relationships which is her usual subject matter. Her characters are well developed, always slightly flawed and and little quirky or off-beat but very real. She has a great ear for dialogue and a keen eye for the unspoken language in all human relationships. I think her depictions communicate the nobility of average, quiet lives, and she has a great sense of humor and irony to boot. Her characters stay with me, and I find myself thinking back to them time and again.

Ms. Tyler also wrote The Accidental Tourist which was made into a film in the 80's starring William Hurt and Gena Davis. Then in 1990, she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her novel Breathing Lessons, of which I am also a fan.

If you're looking for a good read, I highly suggest her work.

I'm Still Here...Just Trapped Under This Mess

Still chaos here, but improving. Today, since I cannot seem to be content with messing up 4 rooms, I am going to paint the laundry room. Why not, right? If the brushes and rollers are already out...

Well, here is what chaos looks like, and maybe is an explanation for why I can not be more interesting as of late:


Here's the loft all ripped up!


These cabinets used to be in the loft and were black.


Now they are red and will live in the family room.


Everything, and I mean everything, is out on the counter and waiting to be organized.

Well, they aren't before pictures. I never seem to remember to take before pics, but I'll post some pictures when I'm done...someday.

What was I thinking?!

On Friday, what started out as a simple little project of rearranging the furniture in our loft, turned into a full house explosion. Now I'm painting three pieces of furniture, covering cushions, making window coverings...I'm tired even thinking about it, but since I'm in total chaos right now, I've got to get busy. I can't live like this much longer. Sanity NOW!

She's on a Roll

The one-liners from my 5 year old daughter just keep coming! Two days ago soon after my daughter left for school my friend called and said, "I had to call and tell you what Logan said this morning. She's so funny!"

That kind of beginning always worries me.

This is how it went according to Kimball (husband of said friend who carpools the kids to school):

Emily (friend's daughter) asked, 'Daddy, is it better to be pretty or nice?'"

He responded, "Well, what do you think?"

"I think it's better to be smart."

All of a sudden Logan pipes up, "No! It's better to be pretty. My mom's smart, and sometimes she's mean."

I'm not sure which part is more offensive to me: That she doesn't think I'm pretty or that she thinks I'm mean. It's a quandary.

Picking at My Picatta

Because of the impeccable timing, I must post what happened after serving the Chicken Picatta I raved about yesterday.

Last night, upon finishing her chicken and leaving most of the pasta alone, Logan said, "It's a little sour for me." And then, putting a consoling hand on my shoulder, she soothed, "Maybe you can try again next time, Mom."

Hrumph!

Well--just for the record: What does a five year old know, anyway?

Dinnerswap: A Housewife's Best Friend

Holy Labor Day, everyone! Did anybody else's house take it on the chin? Man, I have been trying to catch up all day. I guess that's what I get for really vacationing over the three-day weekend. Well, it was good while it lasted.

Today's post will be about my next favorite housekeeping trick--next to laundry-load-a-day. If you missed that one the first time round go here. Anyway, my next favorite trick is the dinner swap. My friend and I have been at it for just over a year now, and we're still going strong, despite my mother's doubts in the beginning.

Here's how it works. My friend cooks on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I cook on Tuesdays and Thursdays for both of our families. Friday through Sunday we are on our own. I think both of us finagle a meal out over the weekend, and most of the time I have so many leftovers we have a leftover night as well. Add that all up and most of the time, I only have to cook 3-4 dinners a week.

Now, I'm a girl who even likes to cook, but let's be honest; anything you have to do everyday gets a little old. The gift of giving me two days off and still getting a terrific homemade meal...Well, it is just AWESOME! And it's really no big deal to make a little extra if I'm already cooking anyway. The other side benefit is that we are both saving grocery money because we don't have to buy so many ingredients. Maybe now you see why it has become one of my very favorite homemaking tricks. It's a win/win all the way around.

Some things that make it work:
1. Ideally the partners should be within easy walking distance. If I had to pack my kids in the car and haul her meal across town while mine got cold, it wouldn't last long. As it is, I just put her servings in those nifty disposable tupperware things, load them in our shared wicker basket and walk the two doors down. Easy.

2. The families should eat similarly. I could no way share meals with a vegetarian. I need my meat. My friend and I also agree in parenting style in this area. No special or extra meals for kids. They've got to eat what is prepared. And there is usually enough variety so there is something they like. We also don't get nuts with the gourmet ingredients. I mean it's good food, but we both have kids. Enough said.

3. Flexibility and communication are a must. Sometimes schedules need to be adjusted. Thursday soccor practice means that we eat earlier on that day. We just make it work.

4. Another great help in the beginning was signing up for recipes at Dinner Planner. Every week we'd get 7 recipes with, and--this is the best part--a color-coded shopping list. It was like dinner by numbers it was so easy. Plus it helped get us out of the "food rut" we had found ourselves in. You know--you make the same things over and over again. New ideas really help, especially when it comes right to your email in-box.

Like I said, my mother thought it would never last, but so far I can't imagine going back. Maybe someday it won't work for us, but for now it is just dreamy! If you can find a buddy, I encourage you to give it a try. I'm so glad I did. Gotta go. Tonight I'm making Chicken Picatta. Yum!

This Might Explain Something

My character developement has one major influence: Mockery. You see, I was a girl born after 5 older brothers. Heaven did see fit to bless me with one sister, but unfortunately she was 20 years older than me and too long gone to be of much help on a daily basis. Now, I don't know how much you know about young men, but I can tell you, with authority, that the only form of affection they are capable of is constant ribbing. Now that I think about it, that goes for adult men, too. Ultimately my brothers haven't changed a bit. They can find any reason to tease me mercilessly.

A poor girl can't even make a sandwich without being subjected to their mockery.



It's a good-looking sandwich, right? Apparently that was the problem. I took it on the chin for that pretty little nibble, and if they can find fault with my sandwich artistry, imagine the torture I was put through during my dating years. It was ugly folks.

So if, once in a while, you hear a note of sarcasm, jest, or the outright jab slip into my dialogue, you'll understand that I can not help it. Those were mother's milk to me. And please consider my feelings once in a while and throw me a bone. After all, if you're not making fun of me, I can't feel the love. It's just the way I was raised.