Affogato Mocha

Friends, I had such good intentions.  I knew I would be able to spend some time in here today, and I had so very many things up my sleeve that I have been dying to share.  The wisteria, for one, which spent the better part of the past eight days transforming my yard into a brilliant purple wonderland, and of which I took something like twelve bazillion photographs.  And then there was the pimento cheese recipe that I obtained from Southern Soul BBQ and which I whipped up yesterday and greedily scarfed down for lunch today, piled high atop toasted ciabatta from my favorite local bakery.

Quite seriously, the most perfect pimento cheese recipe and one which I have not been able to stop thinking about since I first fell in love with it at a wedding last month.  Really, I promise to be back here soon with this recipe.  It would be rude to keep it to myself.

Oh, and those roasted sweet potato wedges from last night, all charred and smoky, crispy on the outside, creamy and velvety smooth on the inside; and the date-nut truffles that use neither sugar nor butter and which are simply the most wonderful little bites of healthy decadence...

But then I made a fatal mistake.  I was fooling around on Pinterest (because it is Sunday afternoon and I can waste all the time I want), and I typed 'coffee ice cream' into the search box (silly me) which yielded a recipe for Affogato Mocha.  I am sure it will come as no surprise that, without thinking twice, I put down the computer and went straight to the kitchen (mistake #3, if anyone is still keeping score).

Affogato Mocha, you see, is a very simple and elegant little dessert made up of ice cream drowned in espresso - sort of like a milkshake, only not blended, and much more glorious.  There are countless variations, many of which call for chocolate ice cream or gelato, but it is no secret that I find coffee to be the greatest flavor known to man.

I had coffee ice cream in my freezer, coffee liqueur in the pantry, a tiny container of grated dark chocolate in the refrigerator, and a French Press just waiting to be filled with double-strength coffee.  It was fate.  I would have been mad to resist.

Within minutes, the adults in the house were in a state of bliss, slurping up the last drops of this luscious and sinful easy little dessert.  I would have been remiss to not run straight here to share it with you.  Cheers.

*****

AFFOGATO MOCHA, serves 2

• 2 scoops coffee ice cream
• 4 Tbs espresso or double-strength brewed coffee (still hot)
• 2 to 4 Tbs coffee liqueur 
• 2 Tbs grated dark chocolate

1. Place one scoop of ice cream in each of two small bowls.
2. Pour 2 Tbs espresso over each scoop of ice cream.
3. Pour 1 to 2 Tbs coffee liqueur over each scoop.
4. Top each bowl with 1 Tbs grated dark chocolate.
5. Serve immediately.

Surprise Spring

Every year, I am shocked and appalled at how busy I am from mid-January through late March.  And every year, almost without fail, Spring sneaks up on me from out behind the cold, gray late winter days, and it jumps out in front with a wild explosion of wisteria, the quirky droning sound of busy little bumblebees, the surprise onset of thick, fluffy grass, and days so beautiful they take my breath away.

The doors are flung open all day long now, and the sun feels so delicious.  The grand busy-ness of my work season is abating (though not quite gone yet), and I steal moments where I can.

There have been entirely too many, "No, honey, mama is too busy right now," conversations in the house lately, and an abysmal lack of time for anything unrelated to the barebones basics of our homeschooling routine or to the accounting/taxation side of my life.

But we are master moment-stealers, and our schedules are beginning to find some margin again.  Time for reading stories together, time to play with the members of our reptilian menagerie, time for baking mostly-healthy-but-slightly-decadent treats, time for bloom-gazing.  Time for each other.  Oh, Springtime, we are so pleased to see you again.

An Unusual Week for An Unusual Boy

Eight years ago, our first child decided he wanted to be born two weeks early.  We were woefully unprepared.  The Money Pit house would not be completed for another six weeks, which meant we were bringing our little boy home from the hospital to the ancient little trailer we were living in during the renovation.  The delays on the house also meant that I had delayed purchasing a new (used) car because I am allergic to making too many financial decisions at one time.  This particular issue was a big one.  My beloved CRX did not have a backseat.

I had contractions on and off all that day, and I was absurdly active from dawn to dusk.  We ate dinner that evening, and settled in to watch a movie (I wish I remembered which one), but before the first preview was over, I doubled over with my first Very Real Contraction.  When it passed, I shrugged and reached for a doughnut.  Within minutes, another Very Real Contraction came.  The Carnivore looked at me.  I stared blankly back at him.

After the next Very Real Contraction, we began to time them, watching in disbelief as we began to fill the page with times that were consistently within five minutes of each other.  We called the doctor, told him how closely the contractions were coming, and he said to head to the hospital immediately.

We argued with him, of course.  We still had two weeks to go, you see.  And it was late evening on February 28, and the following day was February 29, and we couldn't possibly have this baby on Leap Day.  Besides, they were probably just going to send us home after a few hours and tell us it was false labor, right?  RIGHT?

The doctor laughed.  "You're having this baby, tonight," he said.  "It's time to come to the hospital now."

The Carnivore looked at me.  Again, I stared blankly back at him, before doubling over with another Very Real, Very Painful Contraction.  "I haven't packed yet," I cried.  "We haven't bought a bigger car yet," I whimpered.

"I'M NOT READY," I yelled.

I called my mother.  "But America's Most Wanted is about to come on," she complained.  "Besides, first babies never come early."

Princess of Denial, allow me to introduce you to your mother, The Queen of Denial.

The Boy Wonder was born in the early morning hours of February 29, 2004, and this week, he officially turned two.  He is an unusual child, with an unusual birthday, and we celebrated him all week long.  In an unusual fashion, of course.

Create-a-Face pancakes for breakfast, with puddles of artificially-colored and artificially-flavored strawberry syrup?  Yes.

A drizzly day ambling slowly through our small local zoo, hooting like an owl?  Yes.

Time to dawdle and watch the ducks?  Yes.

Time to dawdle with the ducks?  Yes.

Ice cream for lunch?  Yes.

A giant chocolate cake with creme de menthe buttercream and chocolate buttercream, topped with mini chocolate chips, and matching cupcakes?  Yes.

A birthday party at the Nature Center where you can pet snakes and go on a nature walk and introduce your friends and cousins to one of your very favorite places on earth?  Yes, yes, and yes.

Happy Birthday, my dear funny little son.  Thank you for keeping us on our toes from the very beginning.  Thank you for being patient while we learned how to be parents.  Thank you for being you.   "Today you are You, that is truer than true.  There is no one alive who is Youer than You."  

Three Times A Day: Day Twelve

~~ Morning ~~

I came into the living room at seven this morning and saw that the temperature was 67 degrees outside.  I opened the doors wide, letting the fresh air and the sound of the birds morning songs fill the house.  The rain started by nine o'clock, and we stood in the open doorway and enjoyed the warm breeze.

~~ Noon ~~

Elvis saw the open door, and inched his way inside, spending much of his time wistfully looking outside, as if we had trapped him inside the [still open] door.  That silly big dog doesn't fool anyone.  When thunder shook the house, he tried to wedge himself into my lap.  

~~ Night ~~

Tonight's temperature is supposed to dip back down into the thirties again.  I was tempted to complain bitterly about that fact, but then decided to simply view today's warmth as the lovely gift it was.

Three Times A Day: Day Eleven

~~ Morning ~~

Thursdays have been our out-of-the-house days this year.  Princess Hazelnut spends the afternoon with my mom and grandma, The Boy Wonder goes to his homeschool academy, and I juggle meetings with clients.  It has been good for all of us, these afternoons in which we go our separate ways once a week.  Their favorite part is snuggling up together to watch a morning cartoon while I shower and get ready.  Mine is the time spent impersonating an adult.  By the time we return to each other, four short hours later, we are excited to see each other again, and we hug and kiss and tell each other all the little details of our time apart, as if days have passed.

~~ Noon ~~

I was a beat or two off all day.  Clients weren't where they were supposed to be at the right times, I was still a little unsteady as a final decision was made about The Boy Wonder's educational plan for next year, and at least twice I swore everyone around me was speaking a different language.  As I left downtown, and made my circuitous climb up the flights of stairs in the parking deck, I suddenly realized that the seven-month-old 'Out of Order' signs were no longer on the elevator doors.  I was almost to the top by that time though, so I just shrugged and kept climbing.

~~ Night ~~

Six years ago, our little family suffered a loss that seemed to be insurmountable.  My sister gave me purple hyacinths during that time, and I will forever associate their heady fragrance with those difficult winter days.  When the four of us reconvened at dinnertime today, Princess Hazelnut greeted me with a grimy fistful of daffodils and the first hyacinths of the season, and I carefully placed them in my favorite corner of my desk.  The office seemed so full of love this evening as I worked my way through a pile of paperwork.  

Every time I inhaled their perfume, I smiled.  

Inhale, smile.  

Inhale.

Smile.

Three Times A Day: Day Ten

~~ Morning ~~

I hold so tightly to these sacred early beginnings to the day.  Time to myself, time for quiet and for exercise, for reflection and for matters of faith.  

~~ Noon ~~

After lunch, as we wind up the homeschooling hours and I transition to my office time, we take our coffee break.  The heathens have always come running when they hear the espresso machine firing its engines.  I make myself a vanilla latte with a double shot of espresso.  The children eagerly line up for their vanilla steamers (steamed, frothed milk with a wee drop of vanilla syrup, hold the coffee).  It is an absurd ritual.  Which descriptive probably sums up why we love it so.

~~ Night ~~

I should not have waited until I was tired and frustrated to plan the menu for the next week.  When time is short is when I most crave nourishing, healthy meals, but when we clearly don't have the margin in our schedule for leisurely time spent in the kitchen.  Balance is elusive.

Three Times A Day: Day Nine

~~ Morning ~~

My well-established morning routine of late has fallen deep into disrepair.  After Princess Hazelnut's middle of the night insistence on lipstick (?) resulted in my lying awake for a few hours, I chose sleeping in over virtuosity.  With only a few minutes to myself before the madness commenced this morning, I poured a cup of coffee, and sat by my favorite window for a few minutes with the book I favor when things seem out of balance and I feel the need to focus my gaze into the center of what my life looks like right now.  Not what it used to look like, or what I wish it looked like, or what I strive for it to look like in the future.  

Right now.  

Today.

~~ Noon ~~

There was no getting around the messiness of the day.  The Boy Wonder ate a bagel and dawdled through his math worksheet while Princess Hazelnut water-colored with nothing more than construction paper, water, and a straw.  I chose to let go these affronts to my sensibilities and focused instead on climbing out from beneath a pile of lesson plans, invitations that needed to be extended, and an email that needed an answer I did not have.  The math was accomplished, the artwork admired, the invitations completed, the email acknowledged.  

Nothing was perfect, everyone was satisfied.

~~ Night ~~

When I said, "Please keep your toys and assorted whatnots off this one little end table in the living room," I did not mean move the smallest pieces 13 inches higher onto the ledge of my reading lamp.  But I am impressed both with the clever circumvention of the rule, and the fact that a new Lego sculpture is hidden here almost every day. 

 Ingenuity of the little boy: 1.   Rules of the mother: 0.

Three Times A Day: Day Eight

~~ Morning ~~

Oh, reality, I hardly know thee.  I suspected today would feel strange, and it did.  I woke up at my usual time, automatically reaching for my exercise clothes, but then I thought better of it.  Better to ease back into Real Life, I thought.  Then I walked into the kitchen and found the shells arranged on the table.  Like a wink from the weekend.  

Oh.  It really did happen.

~~ Noon ~~

At least fifteen times before lunch, we made a break from the humdrum.  Two minutes of math, followed by jumping jacks in the living room.  One page of spelling, then a turn or two in the spinning chair.  I didn't have the heart to tell Princess Hazelnut that the daffodils she proudly brought inside to me were the ones from the front garden.  The ones we do not pick.  She was so happy to show me that she knows the ones with the orange center are Bita's favorite, and that she now knows the white ones are mine.  Methinks my mother may have given the little imp a gardening lesson.  I couldn't help but wonder if they also discussed my propensity for black tulips. 

~~ Night ~~

Sparklers on the front porch.  Because nothing about our day was normal.  Because I learned how to slow my shutter speed down so I could get the cooooolest shots of the light trail.  Because it was Monday and we kind of like the abnormality of our recent days.  Because tomorrow is Fat Tuesday and I'm not making a King Cake.  [Because there were sparklers in the basket of treasures that was put in our hotel room to welcome us to the wedding.  And because of course we brought them home to the kids].

Three Times A Day: Day Seven

~~ Late Morning ~~

We had said our goodbyes the night before.  Well, we said them shortly before dawn, that is.  We snagged a few hours of sleep, packed up the car, and walked a couple blocks down to a cafe for breakfast, stopping in a nature store to pick up some painted shells to bring home to the kids.  

KIDS?  We have kids?  It was still the late-nineties, wasn't it?  Had I finished college?  Had we gotten married?  Did we have a mortgage?  Re-entry was going to be tough.

~~ Noon ~~

When we drove in early Thursday evening, I said the same thing I used to say when we came here, "I don't know how you ever left."  By Friday morning, feeling more than a little worse for the wear after the first ridiculously late night, I whimpered, "I see why you left this place."  Driving away, though, I kept my eye on the For Sale signs, knowing how much easier it would be to buy in this down-market.  Not that I can figure out how on earth we could uproot two self-employed people with location-specific clientele.

     ~~ Night ~~

Seeing her in the window of my mother's house when we pulled up was just what I needed.  We collected the kids and came home.  Home, together.  

Three Times A Day: Day Six

~~ Morning ~~

After an unnecessarily decadent breakfast of butter pecan french toast, a walk was in order.  The tide was out, and the sun was hidden, and the gorgeous gray moodiness of the sky and the water blended into each other until we came upon the Valentine's Tree.

~~ Noon ~~

We walked slowly through the cemetery, reading birth and death dates, marveling at the history of this ancient, lovely place.  There were so many children buried here, and each tiny grave marker, along with the gentle inscriptions gave us such pause.  One said simply 'Our Isabelle,' another nearly broke our heart with it's words of "at the age of six years, six months, and fourteen days."  Just as we were leaving, giving up on finding the grave I was searching for, he flagged down a guide to ask where it was.  We held hands and quickly trekked back through, finally finding one of the beloved writers of my teenage years, buried only a few yards away from the gravestones that had inspired some of the books I loved so well.

~~ Night ~~
Now that the last of his old crowd got married tonight, he joked that they would have to start dying off in order to get them all together on the island again after this final hurrah.  Granted, this wedding would be hard to top.