Real Mommy Chronicles

Mexican Feast…Estilo Rapido!

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 18, 2012

My husband is a lucky guy. I mean, there is the obvious, of course: The JACKPOT of a wifey he found himself and those angelic angel-y angels of children she cooked up for him and all that jazz. But he is also rich in the friend department. He has this core group of best friends that he has had since Freshman year of college. They fight and cry like little girls sometimes, but they have remained pretty tight over the past 13 years or so.

As my husband and I started dating Sophomore year, these poor guys kind of got stuck with me as a default friend for all these years. I can genuinely say that I do love each of them and at one point or another they have all held important roles in our lives: Godfather, Best Man, allowing us to conceive Carlitos on their kitchen counter. (Kidding Justin! It was definitely your couch. Probably.) (Dad, I’m so sorry – I should have told you to stop reading one paragraph ago.)

But here’s my secret: I am totally jealous of their friendship.

My closest friends live in the following cities: Paris, Boulder, Boston, Washington, D.C. and New York. Like, one per city basically. I love people in general, but am not super good at maintaining friendships when we move away. So far, it seems I manage to average one long-term friend per city after moving.

Meanwhile, my husband does NOT love people in general. (He actually strongly dislikes about 99% of people on this planet according to my observations.) Yet he has managed to remain close with the same group of guys for a gazillion years no matter where any of them have lived.

Suddenly, they all live in New York. They are like kids in a candy store. Or boys in a bar. Yeah, that’s more fitting. Or just plain old literal.

So, what comes with a barrel of handsome, successful men living in NYC????? Fancy girls, that’s what! And these guys really know what they’re doing. Ralph Lauren, Anthropologie, Glamour, Macy’s…just a few employers of the ladies on these gents’ arms. And they ain’t workin’ the cash registers at any of those establishments, if you know what I mean.

And then there’s Michael. If you’ve ever checked out my Sites I Love page, you’ve already seen his stuff. He’s a pretty fantastic artist. So he found himself a pretty fantastic international fashion designer, Paola, and he proposed to her. And now she and I are stuck with each other. For life, if all marriages and friendships involved have the shelf life I think we all hope for. But it’s cool, because, you know, she’s aight. She’ll do. If you like funny, successful, pretty girls who share your love of cooking. Which I do.

So we had them over for dinner. (ON Wednesday – I swear! ) And I started the evening following everything Miss Manners has ever taught me:

1. I put off cleaning the floors until the last minute and didn’t actually complete the task before they arrived so that the Swiffer could be elegantly hanging out in the middle of the hallway when they came upstairs. That way they felt comfortable (eh, maybe forced) to leave their shoes on to avoid all milk and juice spills tie-dying the floor.

2. When they arrived perfectly on time I looked at Michael with wide, frantic eyes and said, “Ohmawgawd! I can’t believe you are here on time! Nothing is finished and I still need to jump in the shower! You have never been on time to one of my dinner parties! I figured you would be 2 hours late like usual so I thought I still had time!” I know. This one is *almost* rude, but I saved it by awkwardly apologizing 5,348 times afterward.

3. As soon as they came up to the apartment and were offered a drink by my husband I actually did jump in the shower. What? You’ve never had your host take a shower once you arrived? At a four person dinner party? Well, I am sorry to hear you have been missing out on such courteous and appropriate treatment at your social events. You should come party at my house.

Once everyone had a michelada in hand and I had, you know, finished toweling off, I took a deep breath. And then Paola and I started cooking, while the men started in on the fantastic bottle of Mezcal Paola had just brought back from Mexico City. (I told you already. Fancy girls.)

Mezcal is like that friend that is tons of fun but with whom you know you shouldn’t hang out too often because trouble is never far behind. Smoky, intense and likely to get you pouring out your deepest darkest secrets. In short: sip, don’t shoot.

I took exactly one photo during the dinner party itself. I just wrote and erased 4 excuses for that fact. They were all lies. The truth is that I just got caught up in all the beer and hot sauce and guacamole and Juanes. I’m easily distracted when food is involved.

Here is the singular photo:

One photo and there isn’t even any food on the plates yet and the lighting is fuzzy? Yes. We are talking about a gal who took a shower after her guests arrived. Clearly I wasn’t on my game, folks.

So, here is what we had at our Mexican Feast:

- tacos de flor de calabaza (zucchini flowers)

- tacos de huitlacoche (corn smut) (What? That didn’t help define it? Fungus. It’s a fungus. A yummy one.)

- frijoles (beans)

- queso fundido (melted Oaxacan cheese)

- ensalada de nopalitos (cactus salad)

- flan

And here is the huge secret that permits you to create such a huge feast on a Wednesday night: most of the ingredients are purchased pre-made. Oh, and make friends with someone who grew up in Mexico and have them cooking by your side.

The huitlacoche and flor de calabaza can be purchased in jars. You simply warm them up and let people put as much as they want in their tacos.

Our recycling was like a Who’s Who of a Mexican grocery the next morning.

Paola brought still warm (drooling over here) frijoles from her favorite Mexican Outpost here in NYC, Mexico 2000, but you can also buy a can of refried beans and cook them with some onions and milk and Voila! you are the Mexican 70/30 Semi-Homemade Sandra Lee!

We just pulled apart the Oaxacan cheese, put it in a ceramic pot and plopped it in the oven at 300 degrees for However Long It Happened To Take To Warm Up Everything Else minutes. Or until it melts. Whichever comes first. Use yer noggin.

Let’s see…what else……oh yeah! Tortillas! You can warm them up in damp paper towels in the microwave for about 11 seconds (Yes, *about.* Shut it.) Or, if you live in the Dark Ages an old-school Brooklyn neighborhood like us and don’t have a micro, you can just put a pan or griddle on low and lay them in it, flipping until warm and pliable. No butter or oil. You there. Put it down. Not kidding. Leave ‘em alone.

A very special person taught me how to make flan from scratch a while back and I shared it with you in a post, so feel free to try that delicioso recipe. Or, if you choose to make this whole Mexican FEAST on a Wednesday, you may want to try the boxed version, as we did this time. You just buy this little Jello-box-sized-box (feeling super descriptive today) that says Flan on it and, uh, try to make it through the four steps. I’m pretty sure step four actually just said “4. Eat it, you idiot./ Comelo, idiota.” It’s that easy. And still yummy enough to disappear in under 2.2 minutes even after consuming a feast already. (You sick of the word feast yet? Good.)

So, that leaves me with the one true recipe I am giving you on this What’s For Supper Wednesday: Ensalada de nopalitos. Oh, and I guess I still have to do my appendix or glossary or footnotes or whatever that stuff is that you put at the end of a BOOK. Seriously, is this not the single longest blog post I have ever written?!?

Before you embark on this recipe, I figured I’d show you an example of what to look for when finding a jar of nopalitos. Because I am an idiota, I didn’t take the picture until after emptying the jar of it’s distinct contents. To make up for being such an idiota I composed the jar oh-so-lovely-y with some papel picado. There will not be a ‘katrina skeleton of death in a good way’ staring at the jar on the shelf. Well, there probably won’t be anyway. Don’t want you getting all confused at the store and not walking out with any nopalitos just because there was no skeleton.

Ensalada de Nopalitos:

Ingredients:

~ one jar of nopales (found in Latin groceries or the International Food Aisle in a supermarket)

~ one large beefsteak tomato

~ half of a large Spanish onion

~ bunch of cilantro

~ 2 limes

~ queso fresco

To make:

Rinse the nopalitos well in a colander. Chop the tomato. Chop the onion. Rip or chop a handful of cilantro. (more or less depending on your taste – cilantro is kind of a love it or hate it kind of thing)

Mix everything together in a bowl or serving dish. Squeeze 1-2 limes (keep tasting and stop once you can taste the lime, but it still isn’t overpowering) over everything and mix it together. Mix in some salt and pepper. Crumble queso fresco on top.

Here’s what it looks like while resting glamorously in some tupperware the next day:

Annnnd, now I want more. I hate when I look at food pictures of things I don’t yet have ready to eat in my fridge.

Also, after bashing Giada pretty good I feel like I owe you an apology for how damn easy this recipe is. Although, in my defense, at least it is an actual recipe. Toast is still not a recipe, de Laurentis, ya hear?

Please enjoy your Mexican Feast any day of the week, with as many people as you can fit in your home, and with plenty of Juanes and Juan Gabriel blasting. I guarantee it will be impossible not to have a good time. I do. I guarantee it. Up there with death and taxes.

Posted in What's for Supper Wednesdays | Tagged bad hostess, ensalada de nopalitos, feast, flan, flor de calabaza, frijoles, fun dinner party, huitlacoche, Juan Gabriel, Juanes, Mexican, Mexican Semi-Homemade, Michael Kagan, Paola Hernandez | 2 Comments

Crazytown ~ Population: 2 (my kids)

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 16, 2012

Example A:

The scene: Xavi is waving my house keys around (probably contemplating whether they belong in my rain boots or the Diaper Champ today). He is offering up a nice combo of conversation and babbling. He then looks upward out of the blue.

Xavi: No baby! No baby!

Me: No baby? Where’s the baby?

Xavi: Baby outside.

Me: There’s a baby outside?

Xavi: Yeah, baby outside. {shoulder shrug}

Me: Why is there a baby outside, Xavi?

Xavi: Godputitthere.

Me: God put it there?

Xavi: {looks at me sideways and confused and shrugs again} Yeah.

Then Xavi looks up at the tree outside of his window.

Awesome. Our neighbor’s tree is apparently haunted by a ghost baby. Oh, and my kid sees dead people.

Example 2:

The scene: Dinner time. Apparently, Mommy and Daddy had a glass of wine pre-meal or else this whole scenario would have ended in a Time Out long before it played out fully.

Husband: Carlitos, do you want one or two more ravioli?

Carlitos: …….

Husband: CARLITOS, do you want one or two more ravioli?

Carlitos: …….. {Chews, while staring straight ahead. Takes a calm sip of water. Still stays silent.}

Husband: CARLITOS, do you want ONE or TWO more ravioli?

Carlitos: Want to see me do my stomp dance?

Husband: CARLITOS, DO YOU WANT ONE OR TWO MORE RAVIOLI?

Carlitos: ……….

I start laughing and ask Carlitos the same exact question. Nada.

I explain to Carlitos that we are laughing because we have asked him the same question four times and he keeps responding with non sequiturs like “Hey! I like bluebirds!” and “I am four years old!” He doesn’t even crack a smile.

Husband: Carlitos, Do. You. Want. One. Or. Two. More. Ravioli?

Carlitos: {As if he is hearing this for the very first time and none of the above has taken place} Ummmm, yeah.

I double over laughing because even though I am freaked out by the craziness of my child, this is the most perfect payback EVER for my husband. I can write him an email with a question up to six times with random other comments serving as his responses. When I finally get him to answer whether he wants A or B his answer is always “Sure.” Which, of course, does not even answer the damn question.

But yeah, back to my kids. My kids are apparently certifiable.

Or eating mushrooms they shouldn’t be from the park or something.

Either way, not good.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged baby zombies, crazy kids, crazytown, ravioli, shrooms, WTF | 6 Comments

Winning

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 13, 2012

The other day I had a craving. I crave things often. It’s basically how I meal plan:

I have to have steak tonight. I need chocolate…NOW. I am craving scallops SO BAD. I’m jonesing for a salad. Just a giant, crunchy salad, you know? (I almost never say that one, actually.) My body wants bacon. Pull over; let’s buy some bacon.

My poor family is just along for a food coma-inducing ride. Until they figure out their way around FreshDirect.com I guess they are at my mercy though.

In any event, this wasn’t even a food craving. I just get easily distracted by words like ‘crave’ that I associate with food. Sorry.

No, I was craving nature. The good old outdoors. Some trees. Air that you want to breath deeply into your lungs. An animal or two that isn’t carrying some type of nasty Mc’Nastiness Disease Of Filth.

We have done lots of farm visits and excursions before and I had the urge to go back to one we had already visited, called Stone Barns. I tried to get the boys pumped about this plan, but they weren’t in the mood.

Plus, it was dark and gloomy outside. Okay, maybe they’re right – we should save it for a sunny day. While I researched other excursion options that had indoor activities, I kept having to swat away this annoying little buzzing in my ear. It went something like this:

I WANT TO GO TO CHECKER CHEEZIZ! I WANT TO GO TO CHECKER CHEEZIZ! I WANT TO GO TO CHECKER CHEEEEEEEZIIIIZZ, MOOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!

Ugh. Carlitos, how do you even know what Chuck E Cheese’s is?

My friend, Alex, he went there and he played games and he got MONSTER TEETH.

I looked on Yelp to make sure there hadn’t been any recent brawls or killings at our nearest Chuck E Cheese. Nope. Just weird adults leaving real reviews with big words and loads of pretentiousness about the cardboard quality of their pizza.

Seriously? You live in NYC and likely even in Brooklyn. Don’t ever, ever, ever go to Chuck E Cheese’s for pizza. Especially if you don’t have kids in tow. That just makes you dumb and creepy.

Anyway, once I finished double checking that we probably wouldn’t die there, I told the boys that we could go. They crapped their pants and died.

The irony.

They died of excitement, guys, excitement. Dunwurryahboudit.

No, I have no idea why this post is going so hard core Brooklyn. It just feels right. Go with it.

So we went to Chuck E Cheese and guess what? It was un-friggin-believable. Fuggetaboutit. Unreals.

Seriously, it was really fun. But of course, there were moments. You know, like when we first arrived and Carlitos and I immediately had to pee so I asked Xavi to hold the tokens WITH BOTH HANDS SO THEY DON’T DROP, OKAY XAVI? TWO HANDS. HOLD ON TIGHT. BATHROOMS ARE DIRTY, XAVI. CHUCK E CHEESE BATHROOMS ARE SOMETHING EVEN WORSE THAN DIRTY. DO NOT DROP THEM!

What? You mean, like, don’t do this, Mommy? Is this what I shouldn’t do? You sure? I’m just going to let go anyway and see what happens, okay? You don’t mind picking up 50 tokens from the floor behind a toilet in Chuck E Cheese, right? I mean you do love us, don’t you? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Things obviously got better from there. I mean, how could they get worse? I guess Carlitos could have gone up to the giant, dancing rat and licked him or something, but that was unlikely. It took us four years to convince him it is okay to play in mud and use finger paint.

That Yelp review was totally right – the pizza does taste like cardboard. And even watered down, the fruit punch had an effect on the boys similar to crack, it was that sweet, but honestly? Isn’t that the point? To be clear: If you take a girl on a date to Chuck E Cheese in an earnest, rather than playful way, your calendar will be wide open afterward, leaving you time to write verbose and obnoxious reviews on Yelp. There won’t be a second date.

While Carlitos wanted to do all three ‘motion rides,’ Xavi pretty much just ‘tolerated’ rather than ‘enjoyed’ any game that didn’t involve balls.

This was more Xavi’s speed. Although that poor dog would starve to death if it was up to 2-year-olds to ‘feed’ him. That is one lonely ball in his hungry mouth.

My personal favorite part? The row of miniature toilets. I’m sorry, but they are the cutest thing ever. Not that I would let me child sit on one without seven layers of toilet paper, but still, super cute. Good one, Chuck.

You thinking what I’m thinking? Yup, here is your Christmas card 2012 preview.

After playing 50 tokens and even getting a 150 ticket strand from an employee because one game stole our tokens, we still only had 186 tickets. Which earns you…a tattoo. Like, the kind you can buy for 25 cents in the little machine at your local pizza parlor. Actually, we did have enough for two pairs of ‘monster teeth’ which are actually glow in the dark vampire teeth. And have been used exactly, ohhhh…NONE times since that day.

Fortunately, they did make for some fantastic photo ops.

Awesome. If there is anything I want more than my 2-year-old putting plastic, glow in the dark, Made in China objects in his mouth, it’s having him chew on them. It clearly made him smarter already – upside down AND inside out! Impressive, Xavi!

Is it just me or does it seem like these magical chompers made Carlitos smarter, too?

Okay, honestly, he clearly has his YA fiction series confused. These are vampire teeth, Carlitos not zombie teeth. Silly.

I can admit that all three of us had so much fun. And we didn’t even get Coxsackie or pink eye or anything else body-ravaging and completely disgusting!

However, I still totally made the boys then go shopping with me in the mall attached to Chuck E Cheese’s, while looking at their plastic teeth, raising my eyebrows and saying, “Didn’t mommy take you to Chuck E Cheese’s today?” any time there were complaints. By the end of the day Carlitos was saying he never wanted to go to Checker Cheeziz every again if it meant shopping afterward. Unintentional score by mommy! Oh yeah!

Seriously, on the car ride home he grumpily said that it had been “the smallest day ever.” I then listed everything we had done that day: played games at Chuck E Cheese’s, ate pizza, won prizes, bought him a moon sand construction set (don’t EVER do this if you value clean floors, by the way), and bought him new sneakers he wanted.

His response? You bought me sneakers first and then the moon sand. You have it in the wrong order, mommy.

Speechless.

Actually, I’m never speechless. What I really did was remind him that his days usually just consist of the playground and some Diego. Games, prizes, pizza, a dancing rat, new sneakers and a toy? What could be better? Plus, mommy is in a good mood from buying shoes which happens exactly twice a year. And mommy in a good mood is always in your best interest, kiddo.

Frankly, I would say this was the winningest day ever. Perhaps I’ll be the one screaming for CHECKER CHEEZIZ the next time we have a free rainy day. If we can get enough tickets to win two more ‘monster teeth’ for my husband and I we may truly have this year’s Christmas card done way ahead of time. Super win.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged Chuck E Cheese's, dancing rat, pizza, tickets, vampire teeth, winning, Yelp reviews | 10 Comments

Thanks, Us Weekly!

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 9, 2012

There was a brief but glooooorious year or so that I had a free subscription to Us Weekly. I won’t say why or how so that I don’t get anyone into trouble. (more for somehow being associated with me than for giving me a free subscription to Us Weekly) But let’s just say someone went ahead and changed careers without even consulting with me first and now: No more Us Weekly connection. The nerve!

One of the most clever Us Weekly segments was ‘Hide the Plug!’ also known as ’25 Things You Don’t Know About Me.’ I’m not a celebrity…but I’d sure like to be! So, let’s pretend that I am and that you want to know eeeevvverything about me. Don’t you? DON’T YOU?!?

Good. That’s what I thought.

Now let’s see if you can fiiiiiiind thaaaaaat pluuuuuuug!

1. When I was younger I wanted 6 children and had each of their first and middle names already chosen…as well as their gender and birth order. Then I started teaching and now I am okay with just having 3 children. At some point I also finally understood that I can’t control gender and birth order. I may be a goddess, but I guess I’m not God. Whatevs.
2. I put on a whopping 65 pounds when I was pregnant with Carlitos and had to finally resort to Nutrisystem to get off the last 15 pounds. I never thought I would ever use a diet program. I wish I hadn’t – I have basically been 30 pounds overweight ever since.
3. I have a blog called www.realmommychronicles.com where I love to save endangered elephants and provide dental care for children and make purses out of re-purposed glitter.
4. My dream vacation is driving across the country in an RV. I haven’t convinced my husband it’s a good idea yet.
5. I have been skydiving in the Swiss Alps twice. When we landed they told us we could go again for half the price. We did. Best birthday gift to myself ever!
6. I have also been bungee jumping in Acapulco, yet I am afraid of heights.
7. Exclamation points are a weakness of mine. I have already had to go back and delete 5 of them from this post alone!!
8. My name is on the wall in the mess hall at Camp Favorite (yup, real name) for being part of the “1 Match Club.” In explanation: I can build a fire and start it with one match. ONE. In dissection: I am awesome.
9. I used to take voice and piano lessons when I was little. I once wrote a song (music and lyrics) entitled “Daddy, Daddy, Don’t you Know I Love You?” I made the mistake of playing the song for some friends years later and never heard the end of it. It’s actually pretty catchy, if I do say so myself.
10. My husband, best friend and first son’s godfather (also a really close friend, obviously) all came into my life because I knew what I wanted. They say I asked them to be my friend (or boyfriend). I say, hey, it worked didn’t it? You’re here.
11. A very original fact: I am addicted to chocolate. (and bacon, filet mignon and champagne) But mostly chocolate.
12. If I ever venture into business, rather than education, I will probably open a sandwich shop. I make the best sandwiches. No, really. I already have all of the details and the business plan written…in the Notes app on my iphone.
13. I really, really, miss living by the ocean. I even miss the rotten egg smell of the salt marsh at low tide.
14. When Carlitos Eli was an itty bitty I was obsessed with the smell of his breath; It was slightly sweet. When he was asleep and breathing heavily I would stick my nose close to his mouth and just breathe it in. In the last few months he has developed morning breath when he awakes…I am still so obsessed with it. I think it is the funniest thing that my little baby has morning breath! I breathe it in as much as possible before brushing his teeth. (With Xavi it’s the stinky toes he’s had basically since birth that I am totally obsessed with.)
15. Parties are my jam. I love throwing them. Usually as theme-y as possible and preferably with a dance party portion.
16. Both births = ZERO drugs. I’ve mentioned this one before, but honestly, they really don’t hand out any certificates or awards for this, so I will have to be my own cheerleader.
17. I love being the center of attention. This is possibly due to being an only child. *Possibly.*
18. When I vomit (which is rare) I sound like an angry dragon. I know because multiple people throughout my life have used this exact random description to describe it. I think it is due to my obscenely large tonsils.
19. Most days I use baby wipes to ‘wash’ my face…if I wash it at all, that is. My husband says this is gross hygiene, or lack thereof. I say it’s impressive.
20. I make a mean tortilla soup.
21. At this time I speak English, Spanish and French. Many years ago I also spoke Italian and German. My mother-in-law still introduces me to absolutely everyone by telling them that I speak 5 languages. I then have to awkwardly escape when they say, “Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsche.”
22. In kindergarten I typically ate sardine and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch. (You see why I had to inform people they were henceforth my friend. Period.)
23. My favorite season is Fall. It feels nostalgic…even when I don’t know why.
24. When playing board games I feel very strongly all rules should be followed to a T. Some friends and family mistake this for “competitiveness”. Although…I *have* been known to take a photo of my Monopoly winnings next to the loser’s remaining property and $5. He still married me 8 years later – couldn’t have been that bad.
25. I hate yoga.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged 25 things you don't know about me, bologna, celebrities, plugs, Us Weekly | 8 Comments

Seared Salmon Over Mint-Pea Puree

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 4, 2012

Before we moved to the giant jungle of New York City, surrounded by tons of friends who *possibly* see babies in their distant 10-year plan, and ohhhhh, zero grandparents, we lived in a quaint (read: tiny) house in Maryland. There, Carlitos had three sets of grandparents, two aunts, numerous step-aunts, cousins and a backyard.

It was dreamy.

My husband’s family all lives there already and my parents, upon learning that their hussy lovely daughter was pregnant, sold their home and moved down there, too. There was a lot of ‘home shuffling’ the first year: apartments and condos in various areas of D.C. for my parents and ourselves. But then we found that tiny cottage in Maryland and my parents moved two streets away.

It was awesome.

We, of course, assumed they moved that close because they wanted to spend every waking second with us and help raise our child. While this may have been their original sentiments also, I think reality quickly settled in. Suddenly they were all using words like ‘boundaries’ and ‘visiting hours’ and saying things like ‘We do have a life outside of you guys.’ and ‘Why don’t you just go HOME! That’s your HOME! Are too good for your HOME! ANSWER ME!’

I’m kidding of course…in that honest sort of way.

The one time we always knew we would be welcome was when we offered to cook. Aha! Loophole! It was really a win-win: My parents would pay for fabulous produce at the town farmer’s market and top quality fish at Whole Foods…plus usually some wine that cost more than $6.99. (Show offs) We would cook them a delicious meal while they played with their grandson. And then my dad would do the dishes. Alright, so it was more like:

Us = win, win, win

Them = win

But still, everyone was happy. And nobody was giving us side eye when we started to take our coats off to stay awhile.

I think the favorite meal we created on one of these occasions was a recipe from Giada de Laurentis. Frankly, she annoys me. I watched her show one time and she was making toast with Nutella and sliced strawberries. That is just a slap in the face. Like, Look at me! I have a million amazing family connections, got myself this here cooking show and just to throw it in your face that I had all of this awesomeness handed to me without earning it in the slightest I will get up here and show you how to make toast!

She’s like that chick who owns Dylan’s Candy Bar. Yeah, my dad is a little someone named Ralph Lauren. Heard of him? So, I could do just about anything in the universe I wanted to with my life. Focus on charity? Start a well-run business? Do anything productive with my fortuitous fortune? Nope. I think I will half-ass a candy store but still get tons of publicity because of who my daddy is, yo. Have you ever been in a Dylan’s Candy Shop? Useless.

But I digress.

I did, grudgingly, try this one recipe of Giada’s and I have to admit it is bangin’. Girl makes toast on TV but this recipe is elegant and complex (flavor-wise, not in difficulty) so…she clearly stole it. So…I am stealing it from her. (But obviously actually giving her credit since I just spent three paragraphs talking about how it is hers. Don’t sue me, G.) I altered it slightly this time and used onions instead of shallots, but I can admit it is better in it’s original form.

This dish is the perfect meal to welcome Spring…and to keep the summer running as far into the Fall as possible. Mint? Lemon? Peas? It’s freshness and brightness and flirtatiousness galore to wake your taste buds out of their winter roasted brussel sprouts and beef crockpot variations stupor.

And if you ever start to feel like you are over staying your welcome somewhere, offer to make this. Just don’t forget to ask the host for their credit card so you can go buy the ingredients on their dime. They love that part.

Seared Salmon Over Mint-Pea Puree

(Even though I did replace shallots with onions this time, this is honestly a recipe that I enjoy best in it’s original form, so if you just click the link above it will take you to her recipe. I know, I have some serious brass cojones to talk trash and then link to her recipe, but I am who I am.)

We don’t have a microwave, so I just put a tiny bit of water and turned the heat on really low until the peas were defrosted. You can also just leave them out for about 30-60 minutes ahead of time if you plan ahead. But if you’re the type to plan ahead, why are you reading this blog? Go find Martha.

Make sure you wash your lemon well before zesting!

Be sure to zest every inch of the lemon BUT don’t go deep. Try to stay above the white pith – it is very bitter!

Needle nose pliers = the BEST tool to extract any remaining bones. Plus, you’ll feel all Alton Brown-y.

He strikes again! At least hand sanitizer is easier to clean up than foot powder. This serves as proof that I feel you that cooking legit meals is hard with kids – and it is why my kids are often eating mac n cheese and pre-cooked chicken sausage with frozen lima beans – BUT a little mess in the foyer is worth it sometimes.

Then I got smart and involved Xavi in the cooking process. Look! Pureeing mint and peas is so easy a 2-year-old can do it!

When cooking the fish, warm the oil in the pan at medium, put it in skin side down and cover. Keep at medium heat and do not flip! Once the top of the fish starts looking opaque you know it is cooked through and the skin will be perfectly crispy. Give your kids the salmon skin with a smile on your face and they will devour it…and then they will be wicked smart. I’m totally not kidding.

My final tip? Cut the salmon into serving-size filets BEFORE cooking. I cooked the whole fish this time and then tried to cut into servings after and the plates ended up downright ugly (hence no final photo). When cut ahead of time, placed on top of the puree and then surrounded by the lemon brodetto, this is a dish that would even impress your mother-in-law. Gorgeous.

Posted in What's for Supper Wednesdays | Tagged brodetto, delicious, Dylan Lauren, Dylan's Candy Bar, Giada de Laurentis, Happy Gilmore, lemon, mint, pea, recipe, salmon | 10 Comments

Male Bonding, Without Beer

Posted by RealMommyChron on May 1, 2012

I love my kids. I try to show it daily through actions like cooking for them, coming up with arts and crafts projects to do with them, reorganizing their bedroom, hugging and kissing them constantly.

Those are my love languages: Doing for, Affection, Care taking

And it works – I know my kids know that I love them more than Kanye loves himself. They show it by reciprocating with constant hugs and kisses, calling my name when they get hurt and unfolding every single newly folded t-shirt in their dresser. (I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming they are confused about how to demonstrate their love in that area.)

So I am always intrigued (I mean this genuinely – like, in my cultural anthropology major way – not obnoxiously) when I watch them with their daddy. They wrestle, aggressively tickle, build block cities. My husband puts together their furniture, takes them on errands to buy tools, gladly makes unscheduled stops at any carnival they happen to pass by when he sees wide, excited eyes in the backseat. When he looks up The Shins on the computer and tells Carlitos that the singer is also in Broken Bells (Carlitos’ favorite band), Carlitos comes right over and nestles under my husband’s arm…then stays there as they start listening to a This American Life story on NPR about the Euro.

They bond on almost entirely different levels, in almost entirely different ways, with their daddy than they do with their mommy.

And they feel just as loved.

Carlitos asked his daddy if there was any left over Miso soup from dinner last night. When my husband said there was because he didn’t have any and got up to go warm it up for Carlitos, Carlitos leaned into me and said, “Daddy left me all of the soup last night because he knew that I love that soup and I might want it today for my afternoon snack.”

I smirked at my husband when Carlitos wasn’t looking, thinking he would think it was just as cute that Carlitos made up his own interpretation about why there was soup left. I am the center of the universe, says the child. Right?

Instead, his daddy quietly said, “You know me well, Carlitos.”

And I know he meant it.

It is almost unbearably wonderful to watch my husband and his sons speak love languages with each other that I often don’t understand. It is about them and between them and I don’t really have any role or any part in it.

But I love it… I love their love.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged bonding, daddy, fathers, love, love languages, sons | 21 Comments

Park Slope AKA The Land of Neverending Material

Posted by RealMommyChron on April 27, 2012

If you ever find yourself suffering from a writer’s block, simply take a stroll through Park Slope. I can 100% guarantee you will see at least one thing, incident or fruitcake mama* that will get your juices flowing.

The other weekend, I threw the kids and a 2 hour supply of fruit snacks at my husband and sped off to fit in a kickboxing class at the Y. I somehow managed to find parking within 10 minutes (my personal Park Slope parking record!) and raced inside.

Just to be told class had been cancelled at the last minute. Boo hiss

But there was a Zumba class in an hour and if I waited 30 minutes I could get in line to get a ticket!

Really?!?! Yeah, no thanks.

As I stormed back to my car in a giant cloud of pout I noticed something:

At first I thought it was someone’s sign about a missing dress. Which, granted, would be odd but not entirely out of the question. Because where are we folks??? Park Slope! Where anything is possible!

But no, as I looked closer I realized it was even better:

Yes, it is a letter to the tree explaining that now that Spring has sprung it is time to take off the old winter outfits and break out some bouncy florals! (Whaaaa…you mean there were winter outfits tied to these trees and I missed them?! No fair.)

But wait! There were more!

First of all, if you are going to be a treehugger to this degree, (I mean, practically literally, right?) I think it is only respectful to give the tree a name. I don’t care if you go human-y with Eloise or Kim or tree-y with Leafy or Greenalicious, but something. You wouldn’t want the tree responding with, “Thanks, girl!” would you? Well, unless it’s a sassy tree, I guess.

Also, that better be pleather, girl!

And here is my personal favorite:

Of course. Of course the one from a guy has the poor tree half nekkid. And, Ed? Bowler hat? Bra disguised as shirt? Doc Martins? Pick a look, man! Or is this the porn of Park Slope, the way Williamsburg-ites get off on Suicide Girls?

In any event, I would also like to address the fact that ALL of you just ASSUMED that these trees are girls. Sexist much? As soon as I have some free time I am totally going to laminate a photo of khaki shorts and a polo for this tree’s neighbor tree. (Yes, AND I am going to make him preppy! Just to really piss you off! Bwahahaha )

Or maybe I am the Tree Genderist one for assuming the dresses mean you think the trees are girls.

Shoot. You’ve got me all befuddled and caught in an existential gender/tree wardrobe spiderweb.

Damn you, Park slope, dammmmnnnnn you!

But seriously, I can’t wait to see what these leafy ladies get to wear beginning on the Summer Solstice…

*It is quite possible the fruitcake mama you see might be me.

Posted in Chronicles: observations of the outside world | Tagged dressing trees, gender, Park Slope, WTF | 10 Comments

Well Ya Gotta Have Faith, Faith, Faith

Posted by RealMommyChron on April 25, 2012

I gotta have fai-aith.

Why does every thought of mine force a correlating song into my head? I have no idea.

Xavi had diarrhea all day on Sunday. We thought it was just a fluke in the morning, but by the third bout in the early afternoon we realized we needed to go straight home and get him water, rest and a little soak in a room temp tub. Poor kid was such a trooper, though. We all spent the day at the New York Hall of Science and it wasn’t until that third round that he started really crying and freaking out when I changed his diaper.

It took the three of us sitting in the bathroom with him at home to convince him to sit his bottom down in the bathtub, red-faced from crying and shallow, scared little breaths looking at us with pleading, unsure eyes. Then you could see relief wash over his face and he understood that this was much more soothing than any wiping that had gone on today.

We put them to bed early, exhausted from our big day, and within 15 minutes we heard Xavi crying out for us and saying, ‘Kaka’ over and over. As a team, his daddy and I cleaned him off as gently as possible, as he cried the ‘hurt cry’ that any parent knows drives a dagger right through your heart. I told him we were all done and that it would feel better now and he started whimpering, ‘Okay, mommy…okay, mommy, okay’ over and over again in a way that made it clear that even though he was still hurting in that instant he believed me fully.

This little being has complete faith in my husband and I (and his big brother, too, to be honest) and in that moment it just about broke me. We try our best to do the right thing for our kids, the best thing for our kids, every moment of every day. But sometimes we fail them; We aren’t perfect. And the fact that Xavi still has unwavering faith that we love him, want good things for him and that he can trust us unequivocally…well, it’s actually pretty overwhelming when you think about it. Or when it punches you in the gut when the tone of your baby’s voice somehow makes it all crystal clear.

A big part of why it’s so hard to break a child’s love for and faith in their parents has to do with the fact that they can’t take care of themselves and rely on the parent to take care of them. Evolution hasn’t broken the innate sense to cling to this adult who is supposed to take care of you and keep you alive at all costs, even if they mess up a lot. It makes sense.

But I have noticed, as I have gotten older, that I recognize faith in many other relationships as well. And I think it’s really kind of wonderful. Not to get too mushy or anything. (too late)

Growing up, I teetered between realistic and cynical on most topics. But more and more I find myself giving people the benefit of the doubt. And enjoying it when someone does the same for me. Believing in people, believing in good, trusting.

My husband has been supportive of this blog from day one. We could use more of a second income, while raising two kids in New York, and this blog offers none. But he encourages me to keep writing anyway. What’s more, he actually thinks I should take it a step farther and write a book. Imagine that. He simply believes in my writing. Believes in me. And has faith that if I keep it up – and believe in myself as much as he does – I could be a huge success someday. He is not my child, he does not have to have faith in me…and yet, he does. It’s amazing how much strength and peace that can give you.

Faith is contagious in a lot of ways. The more I see my family have faith in me, the more I know I feel in them, the more it starts to spread even farther out.

Last week on the subway a man told our subway car that he was a Marine Vet who was homeless and hungry. When he passed by with his cup I dropped in a dollar. A minute later a man two seats away leaned over to me and told me a story about a time he had given five dollars to a homeless woman who said she was 8 months pregnant, but had then seen her several months later with a stomach just as large and the same story. He told me most people asking for money use it on drugs or alcohol. How could I know that this man would really go buy himself some food?

I told him I knew how he felt. I have actually also given someone five dollars because they asked for money to buy a slice of pizza for himself and his wife, both homeless. I then watched him walk right by two pizza parlors on that block and off into the night around the corner. Since that time I always listen carefully as someone speaks. If they sound high or are slurring words, I don’t give. I don’t want to knowingly support someone’s demise from drugs or alcohol.

But honestly, otherwise I choose to believe them. I can’t know everyone’s circumstances, but I do know that if they are asking for help, who am I to not at least try and help in some way. More importantly, who am I to not believe what they are saying, one human being to another. Maybe that sounds silly or too existential, but it’s not on me if they are lying. It is on me if someone has the courage to ask for help and I choose not to believe them and help them in some tiny way. That’s how I see it at this point in my life, anyway.

The feeling of your baby looking at you with trust and love, even as he is in pain, is very powerful. But it also makes you feel powerless. I guess most of all it makes you feel extremely, extremely human. Which kind of makes you realize we are ultimately in this together. All of us.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged diarrhea, faith, humans, love, pain, trust | 8 Comments

Trouble

Posted by RealMommyChron on April 23, 2012

We are having a lazy day. Xavi has a stomach bug and I want him to rest…and not spread his germs to any other little kids…or worry about cleaning ‘lakes’ from his diapers in public. Never fun. It is the kind of lazy day where you glance at the clock on the stove and want to stick a thumbtack in your eye when you see it’s only 9:30 am. I’m not sure why it makes you want to blind yourself – it’s just that frustrating.

Seriously?! We have only been awake for 3 hours?!? (My childless readers are, at this very moment, saying, “Seriously?! You were already awake for 3 hours?!? Annnnddd, I’m never having kids. Kthanks.”)

When 11 am finally crept around (Whaddya got bricks tied to your ankles or somethin’, 11 o’ clock?!) I got online to make Lazy Day Lunch: GrubHub. As I finished placing the online lunch order for the three of us, I realized that Xavi hadn’t been in the living room for a few minutes. Then I noticed a slight perfumey odor. Visions of my girly body lotion filling the bathroom sink or the Febreze bottle, uncapped, lying on our bed flashed through my mind. I hit send on the order and ran out into the hallway. As I got to the front entryway, here is what I saw:

This face is soooo Xavi. Guilty, flirty, hopeful little smirk. We are in SUCH trouble.

Oh no.

I turned the corner…

In large quantities Odor Eater foot powder smells really good. Who knew? That doesn’t mean I was excited to see all of our shoes, hats, umbrellas and even clothing donations COVERED in the stuff. On the bright side, the carpeted stairs are a hip ‘dusty Nantucket red’ now and will probably be smelling fresh long after we move out.

I took off Xavi’s powdered clothes and wiped down his feet and then started on the floor…

Great ad, right? Feel free to send a check, Swiffer.

By the time I got it all cleaned up Xavi had accomplished several new tasks…this time, helpful ones. Thank God.

He dressed himself! A St. Patrick’s Day shirt, bathing suit and his brother’s shoes. And put back together his easel!

Kidding. I put it back together. 6 times. He is actually on the verge of taking at apart again in this photo.

And this is Xavi with a nasty stomach bug…you should see him on a healthy day.

Sigh.

Posted in Real: my personal trials, tribulations and tales | Tagged diarrhea, GrubHub, lazy, Odor Eater, stomach bug, Swiffer, trouble | 12 Comments

Two Years

Posted by RealMommyChron on April 21, 2012

Xavi,

Mommy borrowed your Can Do! spirit and made a Tres Leches cake with whipped cream frosting…to bring to the sunny park. Your tias and tios stayed up all night and helped me make shark cupcake toppers and frost the cupcakes. We all love you that much.

Last Sunday you turned two. It was one heck of a magical birthday celebration. All of your family came from up and down the East Coast to be here for your special day. Your friends came, Carlitos’ friends, mommy and daddy’s friends – everyone wanted to celebrate with you because we all love you.

It is hard NOT to love you, with how special you are and all. I’ve never met anyone else with stinkier toes (Seriously, what is up with that?), who uses their hair as a napkin, or who enjoys sneaking into the bathroom to wash his hands for half an hour (Using half of the soap in the soap dispenser, mind you. Those aren’t free, you know.)

I just found a letter a wrote to you when you were 9 months old, and while you have retained your stinky toes and ‘aggressive’ affection, I busted out laughing when reading and remembering that we ever used the word ‘serene’ to describe you.

Honestly, you really are One of a Kind. Grammy calls you a Love Bomb and it is pretty accurate. While you do tend to go through life looking like some sort of bomb went off behind you (butt paste on the floor, marker on the couch, cheese on the wall…that sort of thing) you are constantly overflowing with love. Your hugs and kisses are the most genuine, gooey, delicious things EVER. Goofy, giving, affectionate, physical…you are just A Lot…in all ways. And it makes it pretty much impossible not to fall in love with you.

I’m the Xavster! Gotta love me!

We are never unclear on your wants or desires. We know that you must have at least one ball of some sort with you at all times. And we know to duck if we hear you say ‘Catch!’ because it will likely be some sort of close-range throw at 90 miles an hour with a regulation size basketball. I’ve learned that it’s hard to ‘catch’ those in time. And I’ve learned that it hurts to take one of your throws to the face. Your ball skills are unreal. You dribble, you shoot, you pass, you kick, you drop kick, you catch. Everyone who sees you in action with a ball looks at me with raised eyebrows. I know what they’re thinking and no, they can not be on your payroll when you are MVP in the NBA (or the next Pele…we aren’t sure which yet).

You are not only passionate about sports, but you are fiercely attached to your brother, as well. At your birthday party he got himself a Time Out and you immediately went over to him. I thought you were just going to sit with him like you always do when he gets Time Out (even if he gets it for doing something mean to you) but this time you started pulling his arm and when he told you he had to stay in Time Out you put your arms around his neck and used all of your strength to actually pull him back to the party. The guests simultaneously put their hands to their mouths and gave you a collective, “Awwwww.” Even though sometimes your connection to Carlitos can actually mean you are teaming up against me, I still love the bond I can already see between you two.

Looking wary of mommy and her whole “Stay in your seat!” routine.

Your stubbornness doesn’t just apply to your brother’s Time Outs. You once stayed in Time Out for an hour, with mommy and daddy coming in each minute on the minute to ask if you were ready to say sorry for hitting. You shook your head NO each time. We all say you look like a handsome version of your Mima and it is becoming clear that you are just as stubborn as she is, as well. Maybe more. This “You’re not the boss of me!” attitude can sometimes be a problem for daddy and me since, you know, we actually are the bosses of you for the time being and we haven’t quite convinced you of this yet. I know your sense of self and determination will make you a strong and independent adult someday, though, so we are pushing through your frequent use of the word ‘no.’

This independent spirit is pretty cute, speech-wise. Your two favorite phrases are, “Look at meeeeee!” and “I do it! I do it!” Usually you are referring to things that are pretty impressive like putting on your own socks, standing on the top of some frighteningly high object, or carrying the entire bag of Chinese delivery upstairs on your own. Sometimes your independence and physicality collide. (Who am I kidding? This happens daily.) Like, when I finished assembling your new easel, went into the kitchen to get you milk and came back out to this:

Seriously, who engineered this thing? A toddler? It’s like they were asking me to take it apart entirely.

A few weeks ago you started telling us you wanted to take your naps and go to sleep at night in Carlitos’ bed. I guess you felt like we weren’t taking you seriously because you then started jumping out of your crib every day at nap time and bed time. Scared that you were going to break a limb…or worse…you got your way and we moved you to the bottom bunk and packed up the biggest symbol of babydom and put it in storage. You looked like such a big boy sleeping in a Big Boy bed. I was so sad at how fast you were growing up…and you weren’t even quite two yet!

But we were quickly reminded that you truly were still a baby, and maybe not as ready for that Big Boy bed as you thought when we kept finding you over here…

Unrequited Love: You trying to cuddle with your dresser.

Xavi, every single day you surprise me. Whether it’s by finding a way to get 15 different balls AND my car keys into the Diaper Champ or suddenly busting out some 5 word sentence about washing a grapefruit, you are always, always thinking for yourself. That is a surefire way to be a leader in life who will have an impact wherever you go.

In the two years since you joined this family, I think you have truly brightened all of our spirits in a way we didn’t know was possible. You are joy and trouble and fun personified. Your presence ensures that none of us are ever bored and that we always feel loved. You are a spectacular little guy. Please don’t ever lose that goofy, adventurous spirit.

Just Xavi, being Xavi.

Happy Second Birthday, John Xavier! We love you more than you love balls.

Yes, that much.

Posted in Mommy: just showing some baby love | Tagged balls, birthdays, John Xavier, love, Xavi | 6 Comments