New Year's Resolution

Mojito Cake

I really miss cooking and baking.  Back in NoVA I cooked all kinds of fun stuff.  At one point, Miss Mississippi and I had an unofficial "bake-off" going.  My specialties included Mojito Cake, Plum Port Tart, Cheesy Cauliflower Soup, Shepherd's Pie and Tikka Masala (ok- that may have been Mr. Ginger's specialty.)  Point being, we moved, I got knocked up which led to lots of food aversions, and then Grandma Steve started cooking in bulk so that I could survive what I fondly think of as the Dark Age and... I stopped cooking.  But I love, love, love to cook.  It's so therapeutic and rewarding.  I love using all of the gadgets and experimenting with interesting ingredients.  When I bought the Cake Love cookbook, I read the entire thing because Warren Brown not only provides the recipes to his cult classics, but he also includes lots of cooking and baking lessons between cakes.  If you have never experienced a Cake Love cake, I highly recommend a trip to D.C.  If that's not feasible, just order the cookbook.  You'll be glad you did. 

Now that I am a WAHM (work at home mom, in case you're checking me out in the singles ads), I want to get back into the habit of cooking.  Most days Grandma Steve comes over to help with daycare, and sometime around 2:00 pm she says, "So what should I make you for dinner?"  Is this awesome?  Yes.  Are you jealous?  More than likely.  And although I by no means plan to stop taking advantage of this glorious situation, I need to get back into the swing of things.  The reason my mom is the best cook ever is because she cooks.  I want the Dude to refer to me as the best (or maybe second best) cook ever, so I think I'd better step up my game. 

Here's the plan:
1) I am going to participate in my cousin's baking club called Bake 52.  When it is my turn to host, I will blog here about the recipe I have chosen.  Every other week I will post pictures/comments to that host's blog.  This means that in 2012 I will bake at least 52 items.  That's probably more recipes than I have cooked and baked in the last year combined! 
2) I am going to attempt to cook at least one vegetarian recipe per week.  If you have any suggestions, please let me have them because this is a big goal for a carnivore like me and other than Cooking Light I don't know where to start.

So, a month early, here is my official and public New Year's Resolution.  I am going to cook.  Often.  And if you bring the wine, I'll feed you.

Fall.  Autumn.  Also know as the segue between Hot and Cold.  Fall is like...it's like when your hot chocolate gets too cold drink as hot chocolate, but it's still too warm to talk yourself into believing it's just chocolate milk.  Or, maybe it's like when you have the flu and you have a fever so you know you need to cool off, but you're somehow freezing and you just want to crawl into bed and shove a blow dryer under the covers near your feet.  It's this weird in between season that doesn't really have that much to offer.  School is in full swing, there aren't many vacation days happening, the sun starts to disappear and your body starts to crave everything cream and butter just when you drop a pants size.  No?  You don't feel that way?  You think Fall is amazing?  Huh.  That's weird.  I'm pretty sure Fall is just the price we have to pay for Summer and Christmas, but to each his own.

Here in San Diego, Fall is both Indian Summer and cold/flu/allergy season.  The Santa Ana's blow through and dry everyone out, but at least we get to bask in a few stolen days (ok, weeks) of hot hot heat when we know deep down inside we should be wearing boots and scarves and attractive hats.  In October we had three, maybe four, really cold rainy days and in my haste I put all of the Dude's shorts away.  I promptly pulled them back out when the thermometer reached 80°.

For a few years now I have been trying really hard to jump on the Fall bandwagon.  I think that eventually it will happen.  (I'm simultaneously trying to learn to love a Bloody Mary, and I wonder if the two could maybe join forces to help foster a love for one another other?)  I love Halloween (which was like, 78° here) and I think soup is the perfect food.  Those two factors alone are not altogether a bad jumping off point.  It is slowly growing on me.  I think my relationship with Fall will progress as my waistline widens.  So here is my game plan for loving Fall:

1.  Make Persimmon Cake again (did this once when we were part of a CSA, and ate the whole thing- I was pregnant.  Back off.)
2.  Craft the perfect Mulled Wine
3.  Take more pictures of the Dude being adorable in knitted outfits and other absurd baby sundry.
4.  Spend more time on Pintrest looking at cool Fall crap that I won't ever actually make myself.
5.  Start a not necessarily Fall tradition that is 100% fail proof awesome and schedule it for Fall so that it becomes a Fall Tradition and I can feel like I cheated the system. (i.e. Wine Tasting)
6.  Buy some skinny jeans and a pair of Frye boots to stuff them into.
7.  Continue NOT teaching, in which case Fall does not represent the loss of freedom.

This year Fall looks pretty promising.  Here is what a GingerWeaver Autumn looks like so far...

Xerox Gingers at the Pumpkin Patch

Not loving the slide with Aunt Mint

Grandma Steve and Grandpa MacGyver

Hi-Five to Ice Cream!

"Will this llama help keep the weeds down?"

Brad and Janet GingerWeaver

Aunt Columbia

Mini-Mummy Bites

Pizza Ghoulies

Grandpa "Goose" and Grandma Nature

IncrediGingers

Anyone want to go camping? Last chance...

Let me first start by saying that I am perfectly aware that I lead a charmed life. Ok. Now onto the post.

We love our house. It is the Brady Bunch Dream House. Maybe not as swanky or pink as what Barbie landed, but we have plenty of fake brick and faux-rock accented walls. Join us for s'mores around our avocado green, mosaic tiled, round fire pit which is fully loaded with two electric burners and a 1978 Susan B. Anthony for effect. Take that Barbie. What we DON'T love is that our house floods. Every. Time. It. Rains. Don't believe that "It never rains in Southern California" malarkey, either. I have the pictures to prove otherwise. You see, the guy we bought from (we'll refer to him as Douche) is well, a douche. He did a helluva job covering up every last little bit of evidence that would show signs of water damage/flooding. Oh yeah. I'm totally calling Mike Holmes.*

Anyway- after months of work by our amazing attorney, Uncle Esquire,  the fate of our home repairs lie within Douche's ridiculously large, terribly expensive but not terribly valuable, 5th wheel toy hauler. You know what I don't need in my East County driveway right after I've died my hair pink?  The only thing worse might be a Fox Racing tattoo.

But guess what?!  Wednesday is the day that we get rid of the Beast.  It's on Ebay with no reserve.  We want it gone.  And come Wednesday, I will once again be able to change The Dude's diaper in the morning without staring at a 40 foot reminder that life is not fair.  You can be a lowlife liar, who is fiscally irresponsible and still walk away with no real ramifications.  He wasn't sad to give us this thing.  He couldn't afford the insurance or registration anymore and it was about to get repo'd.  And that's when I stop to remember.  Karma's a bitch.  He may not have had to fork over the cash it will cost us to fix this house, but he's definitely paying the piper.   I have this awesome house and he has a pending bankruptcy, an ugly divorce, an estranged daughter, a failed business and a $500 hitch he doesn't need.  Am I happy?  No.  I'm not.  His misfortune doesn't lessen my burdens nor does it bring me joy or a feeling of justice.  But it does put things into perspective.

This really is a fantastic house. We can have killer parties here and The Dude gets to play in a huge backyard.  I have 10 different vegetables and fruits growing in my gorgeous raised beds.  The dogs have opportunities to catch bunnies and gophers (but that's another blog post altogether) and someday I will have a chicken coop.    I make lavender lemonade from the Meyer lemons in my backyard. Sometimes coyotes wake us up at 4 a.m. And yet, I'm about 15 miles from the ocean and 20 minutes from just about anywhere in San Diego. It is as perfect for us as anything could be. I'm not thrilled at the idea of ripping out my driveway and the amount of money it will cost to "fix" the problems correctly.  But it really isn't so bad, and on Wednesday it'll be even better.  Life is good.  After all, not everyone has a coin collection embedded in their masonry.

*Turns out Mike is pretty popular, and therefor rather busy.  There are also some filming regulations or something so they only film in Canada.  At least I tried to "Make it Right."

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

Well, actually, I have basil, oregano, rosemary, and lavender; but Paul and Art really have a way with words, so why fix what ain't broke?



I have a kick-ass herb garden.  We bought some tiny little potted herbs at the Farmers Market in April and wowza!  They have really taken off!  Or maybe more like taken over.  My basil is more of a tree than anything and the oregano looks like a monster from a cheesy drive-in horror film from the 1950's.  The lavender is beautiful, but sadly it is not the culinary variety, so we'll have to remedy that.  Rosemary is awesome, especially since my friend just told me that when it gets bigger I can use the woody stems as skewers.  The question is, what the flock do you do with all these herbs once you've got 'em?  I have big pesto plans for the basil.  But what about oregano?  It seems like it's just sort of an afterthought in Italian-American crock-pot meals.  So, please, enlighten me if you've got a clue.  In the meantime I think I'll just keep looking at them and feeling super cool for not killing them.

It's October and in addition to the herbs, I have a watermelon vine growing!  Over the summer I was watching this brilliant little guy who was going into 4th grade.  Oddly enough, he didn't want to hang out down in toddler-ville.  I hit up JoAnn's looking for projects and I stumbled upon this watermelon starter kit for like, $3 on clearance.  He planted the seeds, tended them and no kidding, they lived.  I was pretty shocked that they sprouted in the first place, so I was ready to call it a successful venture.  Einstein, however, was not ready to be done.  The next day I transplanted them into the herb garden and waited for them to die, thanking the stars above that school was almost ready to start up.  Can you believe it has actually sprouted a blossom?! Granted, the last time I checked, watermelons are not a winter harvest, so I'm not going to hold out for mini-melons like the box claims I will have.  Regardless, I'm still pretty enraptured by this tiny yellow flower that greets me every morning!

The blossom is hiding today.

After my recent success as a laissez faire gardener, I am convinced that I can grow real vegetables and fruits in my backyard.  I live in San Diego, so it's not like there's going to be a big snow or anything, right?  Mr. Ginger is outside building me the fanciest, most beautiful, and eartquake resistant raised beds you ever did see.  (He might be picking up a few traits from the Weird Dude, my dad.  You ever heard the expression "A rowboat built like a steam ship"?)  By the end of this weekend I will have three redwood planter beds.  I am thrilled!  I have visions of The Dude walking out back to pick a tomato or eating raspberries fresh from the garden.  Ahhh  suburbian heaven!  The only problem?  I have no idea what to plant, when to plant it, or what to do once it starts to grow.  Clearly I need to go scour the interweb for a local gardening blog, or maybe go buy a few books, or stalk the only other person I know who has raised beds.  Maybe I'm a natural born plant grower and my instincts will bring us  plethora of produce.  Or maybe herbs are just tasty weeds and I had better start researching.

Glory Days

It's amazing how nothing really changes. Take tonight for example. I could, arguably, still be in college.

1.My significant other has a night class so I'm home alone for the evening.

2.I have just cleaned up someone else's mess off the carpet,

3.I'm drinking wine and eating a Lean Pocket for dinner.

4.All I can hear right now is someone moaning and the thumping of a bed against the wall.

Here's what's really happening:

1.Mister Ginger has a night class for which the VA pays him a pretty penny upon completion.

2.I gave the Dude some apple oatmeal for dinner (big treat) and gave him a bath. On the way to his room he bent over to pick up his favorite yellow ball and proceeded to shit on the freshly steamed carpet. Then he smooshed it. After screaming at the dogs to leave the poop alone, I hauled the Dude in for bath #2 (it's not funny.) Ok. I get the dude in his crib with two binkys, two bears a mini weird fuzzy blankie thing that resembles a glad rag from your local sex shop, and a real blankie. Oh. And the plastic innards of a Glow-Worm. He goes to sleep so i get ready to clean up Poopapalooza. I have to call Grandma Steve to figure out why the machine isn't working. Ok. Done. Shit. The machine woke up the Dude. Ok, fine. Talk to Grandma Steve. Take two on the bedtime.

3. A little crying, but mellow so I go open a bottle of wine. White. Yummmm.... What to eat, what to eat? I don't even want to eat, but I'm terrified of getting shitty when I'm alone with the Dude, so I must eat. Screw this. Lean Pocket it is. Seriously? More crying? All I wan to do is drink a glass of wine, fold about 900 loads of laundry and watch some Gossip Girl on Netfilx.

4.So here I sit, waiting for the wailing and thumping to stop whilst I eat my Lean Pocket (really 300 calories? Is that lean???) The worst part? It's an Italian Meatball Lean Pocket. Everyone knows that's really a red wine kind of meal. Sigh. Wish me luck on round three of bedtime.

Pumpkin Chip "Muffins"

I love summer. Actually I love Summer with a capital S. Summer is my best friend. So, you can imagine that I like to hold off on all things apple, pumpkin, spice, etc. until mid-November at the earliest. In my world, Halloween is the end of Summer. This is partly because I'm delusional, partly because I'm stubborn, and partly because I grew up in Southern California where Summer has a mind of her own. Last year in San Diego we had no summer. The year before that I spent Thanksgiving pregnant and sweating because our turkey dinner was cooked indoors despite 87° weather. (p.s. The two Virginia years were rough for me. Ask anyone who witnessed my ineptitude doing recess duty in a tank top and sandals amid falling leaves and snow. It was ugly.) I, therefore, choose to believe in the Endless Summer.


Back to the muffins. Big Sissy had just been down for a visit, and the Little Sissy asked her about the "magical muffins." I'm sure many of you are familiar. It's apparently a Weight Watchers kind of deal, but it doesn't seem believable that these would be diet approved. Fast forward a week when Little Sissy and I have The Chick and The Dude and no projects planned. Enter emergency Pumpkin Chip Muffins to the rescue. Yum. Pumpkin is now allowed if, and only if, I have two hungry toddlers in my charge and no animal crackers in sight. I'm having a sordid love affair with one right now. I'm singing Brobee's "Party in My Tummy" song in my head as I type. I'm talented like that. Here's the recipe and directions on how to keep munchkins happy in the process of making them. Enjoy!

Ingredients:
2 boxes of Spice Cake
1 large can (30 oz.) of pumpkin (NOT pie filling!)
1 bag (12 oz.) of mini-chocolate chips

Step 1: Get naked. Pour cake mixes into a bowl and stir to break up any clumps.

Step 2: Pour mini-chips into bowl and mix well.

Step 3: Clean up any fallen chips.

Step 4: Don a party hat.

Step 5: Mix pumpkin into dry mix. It ain't easy. No you don't need more pumpkin. I called to confirm this with Big Sissy. She said, "It'll get better." It did, after about 50 calories burned from stirring.

Step 6: Bake at 350° for 20-25 minutes depending on your oven.. You know the drill- check 'em at 20 minutes with a toothpick. If they don't scream, they're done.

Step 7: Celebrate and share a bite with your puppies. Try to make it a non-chocolaty bite, but that's almost impossible with these treats!

Photo Credit: The first image is not mine. I never got a pic of the final product, mostly because we were scarfing them down in a not-so-Weight Watchers like fashion. This picture is pretty close, although they claim to be cookies. It's from this blog: http://deliciousdixie.blogspot.com/2010/10/pumpkin-chocolate-chip-cookies.html

My Fart

Today I am still finding myself randomly brought to tears thinking of my high school friend, Lisa, who lost her little baby girl Sunday night.

After a raucous night of meatloaf and Jeopardy at The Padres house we brought The Dude into bed to snuggle for a bit (which we can only do when he falls asleep in the car, because he's a no-snug zone when he is concious) and I took some time to smell him. That may sound weird for you Freebirds aka unparents, but when they are brand new babies, we spend hours and hours sniffing their new baby heads. The scent is absolutely intoxicating. It's like olfactory Oxicontin. As Don Draper's ex-mistress, turned beatnik, turned heroin junkie said, “It’s like drinking a hundred bottles of whiskey while someone licks your tits.” Ok, quite frankly, I don't like whiskey and having my boobs "licked" kind of just makes me think of nursing our special needs dog, Poppy, but it's the hyperbole that's important here.

Well, The Dude doesn't smell like he used to. It's not so much the heroin-like baby deliciousness. He kind of has this milky, Cheerios, wet dog, sweaty, pee smell by 8:00pm and if we have been at Grandma Steve's house for dinner and skipped bathtime, well, he goes to bed nasty. Call me unfit. Call me gross. Call me tired. But last night, last night, I held him as close as he would let me before wriggling free. I breathed in the stench of that sweaty little boy's scalp so deep that I thought my lungs would give out. And then he thrashed about until he positioned himself as the little spoon to my big spoon, and he yawned a huge yawn. It was gorgeous. It brought tears to my eyes. And then he farted on me.

I love that fart. I will always remember that fart. It was a fart just for me, and I'll take it.

The Blob

Yesterday I was watching The Harajuku Girls and when the Harajuku Mommy came to get them, she touched up the hot pink stripes in my hair. Sweet. Except it was almost dinner time, and I really didn't want to go wash my hair. You KNOW how I hate to wash my hair. So 3 hours later, I rinsed it out. I no longer have pink stripes. I have a pink blob. Oh yeah. I have a fancy wedding today at 5:30pm. Why am I so stupid?

**UPDATE**

Don't worry kids. Hair+fancy wedding crisis averted. Sissy and I went to do the make-up for Sissy's friend, Bridezilla, and it turns out we aren't going to this Shit Show after all.

p.s. Thank you for loaning me the lilac dream dress anyway, Miss Mississippi. You are a dream. I may still find a way to wear it because it is so divine.

To Do List

My To Do List includes the following:

1. Make dinner. Like for real. Like, actually take raw food and cook it before The Bob gets home.
2. Fold the diapers that I hid because the daycare inspector guy was inspecting.
3. Buy paint for the downstairs even though my mom forbade me to paint it, which btw, how come I'm 30 years old and I'm sneaking behind my mom's back to paint my own house? Oh yeah. Because she's smarter and scarier than me. And if I can't even get off my ass to fold diapers and make dinner I probably don't need to paint 1300 sq. ft. of house. But I'm doing it anyway. And by I'm doing it, I mean I'm trading the next door neighbor, "Muno," a week of babysitting for painting.
4. Figure out how to paint house without mom knowing.
5. Sew some reusable Swiffer Wet Jet pads out of old diapers that are too small to hold the massive amounts of pee and poop that my child generates. I should probably learn how to sew first. Or, maybe I can buy The Sissy lunch and she'll do it for me.
6. Celebrate, once again, that I am indeed NOT a special ed teacher anymore and that I am not getting ready to write the first slew of IEPs of the season. Eff yeah. I love my life!
7. Find some kids to enroll in the now officially licensed day care that we're opening this fall.


I should probably go get another cup of coffee and think about my list for a while and wonder why nothing gets done around here.