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Sometimes the stars line up, or whatever it is that causes people to wake up in a good mood instead of a bad one – good weather, a certain amount of sleep, chance.
Yesterday was such a day. Or, I should say such a three hour window. Because it is not possible to have a two year old and a five year old in good spirits for twelve hours straight.
There was no Kindergarten yesterday. Something about parent teacher conferences and who knows what else. And the weather in fickle Calgary has been nothing short of amazing. So I decided to be super fun mom and take my kids on a little adventure.
‘Should we go on an adventure today,’ I asked my oldest after breakfast. His reply: ‘no, I don’t want to go on any adventures today. I just want to play.’ Charmed, I’m sure.
Eventually he warmed to the idea and suggested we go to Bragg Creek which we visited a week or two ago. Except I was already feeling ‘brave’ venturing out on my own with the three, I didn’t really want to add to that a forty minute car ride and a hike to the creek.
So I suggested a trip to Edworthy Park instead – to the pebble ‘beach’ by the river, so the boys could throw rocks. Because if I’ve learned anything by now, it’s that my boys are never happier than when they’re standing ankle deep in water, tossing pebbles (boulders) about. Which is fine with me, because if I’m outside in good weather and my kids are enjoying themselves….it’s pretty much magical. Throw in some nice scenery and it’s as close to perfection as one can get.
The first order of business was the drawing of the map. ‘So we don’t get lost,’ my oldest suggested. I swear we don’t spend a lot of time getting lost, but apparently he feels like we do. After we drew a map to our destination – which, strangely, resembled the Horn of Africa with an asterisk to indicate ‘the beach – it was time to pack the snack.
Cereal bars, applesauce, and juice boxes. Because, aside from a half-open bag of candy corn, those are the only snack-like things I have on hand. The Gort placed them in his lunch box which he put inside his backpack. And that was it.
Shortly after 11 we drove to the park. ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ my oldest remarked. Yes, it was. That our time in the car coincided with beautiful music, made it more so.
We pulled into the parking lot and began the trek across the bridge, to the beach.Where we promptly sat down on the rocks and pulled out the snacks. Three minutes later the older two were ankle deep in rocks and water; the Hen nearly clipping his brother’s head with a rock on several occasions. Accidental, I’m sure.
Another woman arrived on the scene toting her three children – one of whom had a broken leg. Just goes to show, even when you’re feeling brave, you’re never the bravest one out there. There’s a woman pulling her son in a wagon, while corralling two toddlers just dying to show you up.
We started chatting in the way two adults stranded under similar circumstances tend to do. Apparently we got a little distracted because, after several minutes, a polite Ethiopian man called out to me and pointed to the direction of my oldest son.
Who was in water up to his armpits – because he was following the trajectory of his applesauce container. The irony of this occurring right after I’d told my fellow mom that my oldest was such a ‘cautious child’ was not lost on me.
But because it was a perfect day, he was fine. And he didn’t seem to care at all that he was completely, soaking wet.
We stayed for another twenty minutes while the boys made a rock tower, cooperatively, with their new friend. I guess days like this only happen once in a while so you really appreciate them.
Of course, the day wouldn’t be complete without at least a small jenerous moment. When we pulled up to our house, the Gort jumped out and ran to the front door; a flash of lightning white skin and camouflage underwear. Apparently he’d taken off his wet clothes in the car.
As I gazed upon the boy, all I could think was: it’s (a cuter, smaller version) Spike, from Notting Hill.
It was a banner day chez Johnson yesterday. I cleaned the house. It’s probably pretty pathetic or a true sign of serious laziness when one feels justified in making such an announcement. But it was a lot of work. I discovered it is indeed possible to have small children at home all day and a clean house. All you have to do….is stand up all day long and clean.
If you sweep your dining room and kitchen floors three times in the course of a day, they can stay clean. If you do 4 loads of laundry, the bulk of your laundry pile will disappear. If you walk up the stairs with a paper towel and spray bottle in hand, following the trail of 2 dirty-handed boys, whilst scrubbing the wall vigorously, you may be successful in removing all their handprints. If you vacuum and sweep every floor surface in the house, it will actually look clean. At least until the next person comes home and doesn’t take off their dirty shoes. Or until someone empties the contents of your purse on the floor.
In addition to cleaning, I also cooked dinner. It’s small wonder that we didn’t win the lottery yesterday. My discovery of the chicken satay burger recipe in the March 2009 issue of delicious coincided with the presence of ground chicken in my refrigerator, and fresh ginger and cilantro. The peanut sauce is most delicious and would fulfill all of your other peanut sauce needs. In other words, it would be worth making even without the chicken burgers. If you’re averse to chunks of things in your food, as I and my children are, put the onion and cilantro in a food processor so it’s extra fine.
For some added international flavor click on the link and listen to: ‘C’etait salement romantique.’ I don’t often listen to the radio when I’m in the car, much less pay attention to what is being played. But for some reason the radio was on yesterday, if at a noise level that only registers with dogs. The piano music grabbed my attention, as did the decidedly non-English lyrics, and I turned up the volume. And I used my high school french to decipher the artist’s name as it was being announced. And actually remembered it well enough to look it up on the internet last night.
No small feat(s) for moi, but I’m glad I did..and you might be too.
Chicken Satay Burgers (delicious, p. 106, March 2009)
270 ml can coconut milk
1/2 cup peanut butter
1/4 brown sugar
4 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tbs sweet chilli sauce
1 tbs grated ginger
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs lime juice
400 g ground chicken
1 onion finely chopped
1/3 c breadcrumbs (preferably whole wheat)
1/4 c chopped cilantro
To make satay sauce, place coconut milk, peanut butter, sugar, garlic, sweet chilli, ginger and soy in a saucepan over low heat. Stir for one minute or until peanut butter melts. Bring to a simmer and cook for 5-6 minutes, stirring, until thickened. Add lime juice and set aside.
Place ground chicken, onion, crumbs, chopped cilantro and 1/2 cup of peanut sauce in a bowl and combine well. Form into 4 patties and chill for at least fifteen minutes.
Heat oil in a frypan over medium-low heat and cook patties for 3-4 minutes a side, or until cooked through. Serve with toasted buns with lettuce, tomato, onion, cilantro, chilli and remaining sauce.
‘We don’t need to pray…..we only pray for good meals.’
Such were the encouraging words proffered by my dear preschooler the other night. Honestly, I don’t make this stuff up. When he hesitated after saying ‘we don’t need to pray’…I knew exactly what he was going to say. I practically mouthed the words as he rattled off the last phrase.
This is the same kid who, when I told him after repeating a particular infraction multiple times that he had until the count of 1 to correct the behavior, replied: ‘that doesn’t even make sense.’
Despite disparaging the meal I’d made, he ate all of it. It’s a fabulous recipe for people who have to make a meal while someone is tugging at their legs, wailing. Or for people who don’t have the ‘time or inclination’ to cook an elaborate meal. [And you can listen to this while prepping and eating, which makes the whole process that much more enjoyable. Of course, if you like it a lot you should order it online - I think that's the point.] And if you have a gynormous bag of frozen thin green beans from Costco in your freezer, you can serve them (cooked) on the side.
This recipe, which we had last week, is also tasty. However, if you have kids and want them to eat the food you make, I’d highly recommend you omit or significantly reduce the amount of cayenne pepper called for. Unless of course your kids hail from Texas and were born eating fire.
The first chickpea I tasted didn’t even seem that spicy. But when both kids were crying, refusing to eat the food, and I was drinking copious amounts of water…..
So, there you go. I made two dinners in two weeks. And played 12 plus hours of Scramble in the span of four days.
Can you say ‘mother of the year?’
It wasn’t too long ago that ’six degrees of separation’ was all the rage. I was never particularly clear on the details…something about how any two people on earth could be connected in six ’steps’ or less? Or was it that any Hollywood actor could be connected to Kevin Bacon in six steps or less?
Regardless. I wonder if the same social scientists have picked up on a phenomenon I like to call ‘The Bon Jovi Phenomenon’ for lack of a better phrase.
It’s pretty simple really. I have a theory that any and every time one goes on a roadtrip, regardless of duration, one will hear at least one Bon Jovi song. And 99% of the time that song will be ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’. Which, let’s be honest, is one of their best.
I don’t know if our actuarial friends have done a study on which bands are, statistically, most likely to be heard at any given time on the radio. But I’m convinced Bon Jovi is one of them. We just finished a day of driving the other day – in Canada, mind you – and ‘Dead or Alive’ came on before we exited the car. Maybe this only happens to me, but I’m guessing not.
And it just so happens there are only two degrees of separation between Jon Bon Jovi and Kevin Bacon.
After mentioning the Gipsy Kings in a blog entry, I was inspired to surprise J and see if I could find tickets for one of their concerts.
It just so happened that they were going to be at the Ravinia Festival in Chicago on August 2nd. I jumped at the chance to pay more than double the regular price through one of those rotten ticket consolidator outfits. (Why I didn’t just order them off the Ravinia site I will never know.) Hefty bottom line aside, we were on our way to see the Gipsy Kings.
We left the boys in our hotel room in Deerfield with my mom. Visions of romantic, kid-free picnicking and fabulous music dancing in our heads. But then there was traffic and ominous signs flashing messages like: ‘lawn seats sold out’, ‘main lot closed’, ‘use overflow parking lot.’
Which meant, after spending 35 minutes inching along a 4 mile stretch, we parked at the Chicago Botanic Garden to wait in an interminably long line for the shuttle bus. By this point it was nearing 7pm – the concert would start at 7.30pm And we hadn’t eaten any dinner. After surveying the mile-long line to the shuttle, we decided to race walk to the concert with the hopes of making it there with enough time to gobble down some food.
The journey was probably close to a mile. And we weren’t dressed for speedwalking. But, undeterred, we walked our hearts out – beating everyone ahead of us…except for one couple who didn’t even look like they were walking fast. Perplexing. We decided their legs had to be longer (younger!) than ours – how else could you explain the fact that we were walking ourselves to an early grave and they appeared to be strolling.
At 7.10pm we got to the concert. I raced around the food court grabbing things that looked edible – a bag of m&m’s, a small pepperoni pizza, pasta salad, 2 bottles of water and a slice of carrot cake – $35.
The lawn area was completely packed (hence the sign saying it was sold out) and we were desperate to eat before heading to the pavillion for the concert. So we parked ourselves on the pavement. We’d been eating for 2 minutes when some security man came and told us to leave – no eating on the pavement, only on the lawn.
Uh, you try to find a spot on that lawn.
So we walked and ate and stood and ate, and then found our seats in the pavillion. Fortunately, our seats were facing the center of the stage. Unfortunately, we were in the very, very last row of the entire pavillion. Again, why had I jumped at the chance to pay substantially more in order to sit in the very last row?
But there was great people watching to be had. Nerdy, yuppy, middle aged people eager to get their groove on and prove their affinity for other cultures. Or something like that. We had two particularly excited middle aged women (think Ginger from Gilligan’s Island) in front of us who were just dying to get out and dance even though their respective husbands with their wedged-on Dockers pants weren’t having it. So they just bought flashing rings and flamencoed at their seats. The one husband sat sending text messages on his blackberry or treo and the other stood, occasionally bending his knees a little bit.
There was rhythmic fanning and offbeat clapping in abundance. One eager concertgoer appeared to be trying to breathe some life into the aging Kings’ performance with her enthusiastic gyrations.
Because let’s face it. The Gipsy Kings are old. Maybe not old-old, but perhaps too old to be standing up for almost two hours in front of a few thousand people on a summer night. They’d been singing for less than 40 minutes when they left the stage for an intermission. And various members continually rotated off the stage during the performance – for bathroom breaks, we guessed. J had gone to one of their concerts in Miami about 14 years ago (!) and they apparently had a little more pep back then, performing 4 or 5 encores.
This time around, the group had to be begged to come back on stage for an encore. The audience chanted ‘Bambo’ for several minutes before they emerged. They played the requested ‘Bamboleo’ – the song that propelled them into stardom – and that was it. They said ‘we love you’ and hobbled off, never to be seen again. The lights came back on. No amount of cheering and clapping was going to bring them back.
So we walked back to the car since we didn’t even know where to find the shuttle bus. And wouldn’t you know it, that surprisingly fast walking couple beat us again.
I recently switched the boys’ bedtime CD, which makes for quieter nights now that we’re not listening to ‘You are my Sunshine’ in stereo.
As I was listening to it last night, I remembered it was during the movie, ‘So I Married an Axe Murderer’ that I decided I would marry J. He certainly hadn’t asked – we hadn’t even been on a date unless you counted this movie (I had tagged along with two of his roommates). We were watching the preview when his roommate Jake complained about J’s constant listening to ‘Spanish’ music. My ears perked up. Why would a regular ‘American’ kid listen to Spanish music?
And so I learned that he’d spent most of his youth in South America with his missionary parents. Bilingual and good looking. So I decided I would marry him.
Luckily I liked the ‘Spanish’ music, too.
Considering I spent four years holed up in a practice room as an undergraduate student, it’s pretty odd that I never listen to music. So I’m trying to do a little more of that this year.
Yesterday I listened to an Astor Piazzolla CD on the way back from Chicago. His ‘Libertango’ is pretty amazing. Check out this video on youtube which features Yo-Yo Ma.
