June 6: Rosemary Butter Cookies

God. Where to start? It feels like I have so much to cover.

Should I start with the fact that I'm a horrible mother and served my children Spaghettios and Pasta Roni for dinner tonight? Or with my soul-weary decision to put myself on a local/national/world news fast? Perhaps I should discuss my cat's burst skull cyst or cover James' recent diverticulitis diagnosis. Too gross for you? Then how about the 95-Degree Honey Bucket Incident?

Maybe I should just start with the cookies. Rosemary Butter cookies (pg. 144) are the best I've tried in a long time. My family wrinkled up their noses at the idea of rosemary in cookies, but they were great!

I have to admit I have a soft spot for rosemary. We saw Angels and Demons last week, and I was thinking later about how millions of people find meaning and direction in all of the pomp of the Catholic church while I find holiness in the random crooks of a rosemary branch. I appreciate how its scent clings to my arm when I brush up against it while gardening. Following Renee's advice, I tuck a sprig of it in my pants pocket just before a road trip. I've added it to chicken and egg dishes and even baked it into bread. Now cookies!

Mostly, I think I just like cooking with something I grew. It probably comes from when my grandparents had a small farm near where I grew up. As an extended farm family, we ate and cooked with the seasons: chickens, eggs, apples, plums, corn, potatoes, berries and lots of vegetables. My sisters and I would pull carrots out of the ground, run hose water over them and eat them right there in the garden. Many summer afternoon snacks consisted of green peas and raspberries. We baked with eggs right from the chicken, and could have fresh corn every night August through September. As a child I took it for granted. Now I see how lucky we were.

It just feels right to walk out the door and get some of what I need for use in the kitchen. We always grow strawberries on our patio; this year Ian's growing tomatoes. The boys and I prowl the woods behind our house for the little wild blackberries for an old-fashioned cobbler. These are small things, but somehow they just seem right. I like to think my Grandpa Elmer would approve.

It'll be especially important to take time for these kinds of things this summer. Time for cobblers and and homemade jam. Because it's going to be a cluster$#&* of a summer.

James' mom is selling her house and moving into a retirement condo. That's going to be a lot of work for James. (He's already delegating to me.) My dad is moving to Palm Springs, and I'm trying to figure out how to talk James into agreeing to Sam's and my plan to help Dad get his 52 dogs and 104 cats down there. Road trip! (Maybe.) We have camping trips, Dave at the Gorge (love the new album by the way), soccer up the wazzoo, and so on. I don't want to forget about simpler things, like walks in the woods and trips to the new Maple Valley Farmer's Market.

Okay. I know I titillated you with the reference to the Honey Bucket. Let's start by recognizing that sometimes moms just don't grasp the full urgency of a four-year-old's request to "go potty." "Going potty" is generally translated as "peeing." Unless a child says he's on the verge of a major diarrhea disaster, most moms probably just think the kid needs to take a whiz.

My kids are usually pretty specific and graphic about what goes on in and into a toilet. So, I was pretty surprised when what I expected to be a routine trip to a soccer field portapotty turned into a Poop Holocaust. There was poop everywhere: on the child, on the floor, on the walls, in the clothes. On me.

This I expect from a two-year-old. But for crying out loud--the boy is almost five! I have no wipes in the back of my car! No extra clothes! No industrial-strength pressure washers. Which, by the way, is probably what was needed for clean-up given the piss-poor quality (pardon the pun) of the toilet paper they put in portapotties.

I won't go into any further detail about events of that afternoon except to add two important points:

1. It was 95 degrees that day.

2. Ian had to walk back to the car wearing only his t-shirt and poopy socks.

I have to admit, I have a fair amount of Portapotty Guilt. Especially when a trip to the portapotty in question just tonight revealed that this poor Honey Bucket is now padlocked shut. And it's our fault.

There. Now those of you who asked to see the story in the blog (Denise) got it. And I'm expecting the Portapotty Police to show up on my porch any time.

May 23: Mocha Shortbread Wedges

Let me start by reporting the sad event in our lives this week: the passing of our dog, Misha.

Misha was a quiet little guy. He never gave us any trouble, other than needing weekly baths and a trip to the groomers every other month. He rarely barked--and then only at the squeaky toy du jour. He'd grown grey and lethargic in the last year or so and, in the past few months we noticed he'd gone quite deaf. Silly old dog. He fell ill a few days before his death. By last Sunday I knew it was time for a visit to the vet, something Misha hadn't needed in more than 10 years. He died at James' side in the waiting room. I'm glad he didn't have to be poked and prodded by strangers or stuck with a needle.

It's strange around the house now. Every morning for more than 12 years I've gotten out of bed and gone to let Misha out. I still head for the back door first thing. Sometimes I think I hear him snoring in the corner of the family room. James says he still looks for him when he comes home from work. The house seems so empty without his quiet little presence.

Of course, Ian immediately asked if we could get a puppy, which James and I answered with a unanimous "NO!" Someday, when the boys are older, maybe. But not for a long while. My mother-in-law has a puppy, Sammy the Havanese (or, as I call him, "Sammy You Little Shit"). Puppies are fun to visit, but we don't want to live with one. Besides, our 17-year-old cat, Kizmet, would probably have a stroke.

In other news, I baked Mocha Shortbread Wedges (p. 133) on Friday night. They're super-easy, and I needed easy. They contain espresso powder, so the coffee flavor is pretty strong, and they're not quite the same consistency as true shortbread. But they're cookies, and they're from the book, so they qualified for a blog post.

It's Memorial Day Weekend. Summer at last! We celebrated by taking the boat out on Lake Washington. Seattle native that I am, I warned James that the lake would be pretty cold yet. I grew up swimming in it, and I know that it's not tolerable for me at least until July at the earliest. That snowmelt run-off is still keeping the water pretty damn cold in May. James didn't believe me until he jumped off the boat just off Mercer Island. The look on his face was worth the trip.

But Christian inner-tubed almost the entire length of the west side of the island. We were surprised and proud of him. He loved it, which is a big change from last summer's tubing experiences. Ian, who normally loves swimming, jumped in, then jumped right back out. I laughed from inside the boat, nice and warm in long sleeves and sweats. I'm no fool.

We cruised all the way from Renton to Fisherman's Terminal in Seattle. There's so much to look at on Lake Union and in the Mountlake Cut. The boys loved it. We pulled up to the Fisherman's Memorial in Salmon Bay and had a great lunch at Chinook's. We learned that Ian loves clams and that one Copper River Salmon lunch is worth $27.

I have a day of housework and yardwork ahead of me. Maybe a walk on the Cedar River Trail with Ian, since James and Christian are out trailriding on the motorcycles. At the moment, Kiz is sitting next to me watching me type, probably gloating about being the Last Pet Standing. She never did like Misha. But we human family members will always miss him.

May 10: Peanut Butter Cookies, Part V

Midnight, May 10

Phone: "Ring, ring!"
Me [after much running around looking for phone in the dark]: "Hello?"
Phone: Silence.
Me: "Huh."

7:21 a.m., May 10

Phone: "Ring, ring!"
Me: "Hello?"
Sam: "Kristy! Did Laura have her baby last night and not tell us and then announce it on Facebook?!"
Me: "Huh?"

Yes, folks. That's how it happened. That's how I learned that my nephew, August Russell, had entered the world, 10 days before expected. My poor sister Laura tried in vain to reach all of us in the hour before and the hours after his arrival. Without telephone success, she went to the next most obvious vehicle of communication: the Web.

Although I visited August the day he was born, I will blame my extended blog silence on my patient wait for photos. No photos, no posts.

Nearly two weeks later, I had to resort to stealing one off Laura's Facebook page.

That makes this my most overdue blog posting to date. I did actually bake peanut butter cookies for my mom the night before Mother's Day. I also took some to Laura in the hospital. But what's a baby post without pictures!?

There are other causes for my long silence. Most notably:

1. The day after Mother's Day I ended up sick with a fever. Normally, I enjoy a good fever. But it was hard to enjoy this one with two kids screaming and fighting and carrying on. Mercifully, I have very little knowledge of what when on during my long day in the guest bed. I will say, however, that James found green jello in our bed that night. I blame Ian.

2. My family will not leave me alone. Any time I sit in front of the computer for more than five minutes, someone is calling for me. It reminds me of when I try to use the bathroom. So, short of updating my blog from the office (which seems unethical even for me), I don't know what to do. Today I'm relying on video games to distract them.

3. The weather has been fabulous. So I've been outside a lot. Those of you who may have been worried about my clematis, I have good news: It's back with a vengeance. And you were worried.

I swear, I'm back too. Back to cookies and back to blogging. Tonight I'm baking a new recipe, so watch for updates tomorrow. I hope it's good. I know the peanut butter cookies were "divine" because even Sam loved them. I know because she texted me to tell me so.

May 2: Chocolate Charms

After two martinis at Wild Ginger and two hours of David Sedaris at Benaroya, my sister Sam and I found it hilarious to discover her name in lights on the corner of Second and University in downtown Seattle. Granted, after two martinis, we found swine flu, breath mints and the Benaroya seating chart to be equally hilarious. Nevertheless, there we were at 10:00 last night, standing on University like a couple of dorks, taking photos with our camera phones.

We're so easily entertained. And such fun when tipsy!

Although, apparently only one of us looks young enough to be carded. (Sam, you whore.)

After our evening of Girls Gone Wild Ginger, I'm now doing the domestic thing at home with Ian. James and Christian are on their annual fishing trip, and here I am, baking Chocolate Charms (pg. 110) for my sister Laura's baby shower tomorrow. They're not too bad--less sweet than I expected, but very chocolatey. I was going to make umbrella-shaped sugar cookies. But, apparently, one needs meringue powder for the frosting details. And, apparently, meringue powder is a specialty item. One not carried in Southeast King County--the freaking boonies where I live.

It's 10 p.m., and I'm very tired after my late night. But after a three-hour power nap, Ian is all revved up for the evening. So cookies it is. I sure wish he'd go play with some toys. At the moment he is staring at me across the desk and sporadically singing a song about lizards and monkeys in a tree. I think he made it up.

I realize now that I neither baked nor blogged last week. I wish I had a fabulous excuse, but I don't. Just been busy. Lots of kids sports, as usual. Lots of work. Lots of housework that I no longer have any enthusiasm for. But I have a vague feeling that happy things have happened in the past two weeks. Kind of like when you wake up with a foggy memory of the feeling of of dream, I sense that good things have been going on. I guess there have been some things to be glad about.

Things like:

1. My CD course on Languages of the World. I LOVE it. And I think I have a crush on my linguistics professor.
2. The Cedar River Trail. My goal is to walk on it at least once a week through the fall with a friend. Or, if I'm hard up, my family. Failed this week. I blame the rain.
3. Expedia.com! Their jobs are cooler than mine. Denise and I attended a meet-and-greet there last Thursday. She was trolling for job leads and I was her wingman. We went away with a vague sense that we are old and we are losers. Why is everyone on Twitter, and since when did Social Media become a function of Corporate Communications?
4. My new solar-powered garden lights. Now my backyard twinkles just like Renee's!
5. Jill Soloway, author of Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants. I love me a Chicago hoor.
6. Southland. After 40 years of watching cop shows (anyone remember Adam 12?), I think I could actually be a cop. Or successfully date one.
7. My new Victoria's Secret Wave bra. Now I understand how those skinny models can look so stacked!
8. Dave's new album. Pre-ordered and eagerly awaited. But I'll never be able to say Grugux. I keep pronouncing it Grugrux. That Dave. He's so deliciously odd.
9. The whole concept of drinks after work.
10. The "21+11 Run." More on that later.

But I'd say that, consistently, my favorite thing has been sharing a laugh with my favorite funny people. And there are so many! What a bunch of wackos I hang out with. Do the crazies gravitate toward me or vice versa?

There's something to think about. But then again, I'm not the one whose name appears in giant blue lights just a few short blocks from the Lusty Lady and the Deja Vu Triple X Club for Gentlemen.

April 21: Buttered Rum Meltaways

Autumn in April. It's 77 degrees outside, and my kitchen smells like turning leaves, college football and woolens.

Buttered Rum Meltaways (pg. 138) would be fabulous with a mug of hot cider. So it was a little odd to be baking them on the hottest day of the year so far. Note to self: excellent choice for Christmas cookies.

James was in Palm Desert for two weeks and is on his way home as I type. He's probably somewhere in the Portland vicinity right now (I asked him to moon downtown on his way through). In his absence, I've been flaunting the booze bottles, including the rum I used to make these cookies. Renee and I squeezed in two martini nights, and my vodka bottle served as a very able bookend for the past 12 days. I never did, however, crack the cosmo mix I got from the Safeway clearance display.

I guess it's one of those things; when given the freedom, we want to do all those things we normally never get to do. Hence the Absolut on my kitchen counter.

I didn't get to all the chores I said I'd do while he was gone. I didn't sort and print all my digital photos. I didn't go through the boxes of kids' artwork. I didn't work on my recipe collection. But I did savor every moment after the kids went to sleep, reading in bed late into the night. We turned off the TV early every evening and we didn't use the heat pump. Instead, we cooled the house the old-fashioned way, with open windows. We planted flowers and herbs. I washed my face twice a day. We sorted baby boy clothes for my sister's soon-to-be newborn. (It's a girl! No, it's a boy! No, we don't know what it is!)

It sounds like James enjoyed his break. He golfed, lounged, soaked, ate out and just chilled. I could hear the tension draining from his voice every day. I hope it stays that way.

Meanwhile, the boys are excited about his return. Christian just taped a note to the front door for him. Ian keeps asking when Daddy will be home. The dog and cat, I'm sure, are ambivalent.

I think he'll be surprised when he sees the yard. Things grow quickly in a two-week period in April. Especially the lawn.

The clematis, however, hasn't grown fast enough. I'll have some explaining to do there.

Other developments during his absence:

1. The school is recommending the accelerated math course for Christian starting next year. That means more homework for him and more Xanax/deep breathing for me.

2. Ian finished soccer. He won a trophy and thinks he's God's gift to pre-k sports. Next up: t-ball.

3. I bought two new pairs of jeans, four shirts, a pair of bling sunglasses and a bra. And I got my hair highlighted. I needed all of those items (or so I tell myself) due to my whopping gain of 2.6 pounds of muscle and 1 pound of fat. Well, except the highlights and the bling. That was just vanity.

4. I've decided that making the bed is over-rated.

5. Speaking of beds, I've also decided I like the left side better than the right. We'll see how that flies at about 12:15 a.m. tonight.

Speaking of tonight, I should get the boys to bed. But they're playing so nicely out there. No TV blaring, no yelling, no hitting.

Yet.

I need to get busy enjoying my last few hours of reading leisure. Curl up on the left side of the unmade bed with a good rum cookie and a mug of vodka, with the lamplight shining on my blonder streaks and my new bra dangling from the ceiling fan.

Okay, so maybe not the bra part. But the rest, definitely.

April 11: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines and Lemon Madeleines, Parts II

"GO TO BED!"

I think I have made this statement at least 400 times since Tuesday. It's Spring Break, and my boys refuse to go to bed.

As I type, Ian is passed out on the couch and Christian keeps prancing into the office to ask if the Easter Bunny is real.

It's 10:30 p.m.

"GO TO BED!"

I just wrapped up one batch of Lemon Madeleines and Orange-Cardamom Madeleines each. My contribution to Easter brunch at my Auntie Karen's house tomorrow. I'm exhausted. But not from the cookies.

It's probably from staying up until 1:30 a.m. this morning reading Metro Girl in bed. Quiet alone time is so precious that I'm willing to give up sleep to enjoy it. But now I'm paying the price. By 8 p.m. tonight I was on the verge of a panic attack. I blame the exhaustion and all the mysterious sounds I hear after dark. One night I was sure someone was on my roof.

This is all because my husband is lounging in Palm Desert. For two weeks. When I talked to him tonight he had just climbed out of the hot tub. His biggest problems? He shot a 97 today and our TVs down there don't have DVR or Tivo. His biggest challenge today? He had to convince the gardeners to trim the citrus trees for no additional fee.

He didn't have a four-year-old huck a small electronic blackjack game at the dashboard of the car while he was pulling into traffic. He doesn't have arthritis in both thumbs from repeatedly grabbing a 55-pound four-year-old around the upper arms to drag him to his room/hoist him off the floor/pull him off his brother. He's not having to watch the clematis die. (See last week's entry.)

Am I bitter? No, not really. Seriously. I'm glad he's enjoying himself. But I swear to God, I've never loved my job more than I do right now. I am so excited about going back to the office on Monday, words just can't express.

I felt bad, though, by Friday that the boys had been cooped up here while I worked most of the week from home. So, I shut down Regence early on Friday and took them up to Seattle to go plant shopping and have dinner with my mom. It was a fun afternoon and evening. The boys love their grandma and her plant store. They charmed everyone with their dimples and freckles. And everyone came home happy with a car full of new plants.

We bought a climbing rose, a clematis (yeah, I know--one's not going to cover it), a cute dwarf columbine, several other perennials and a bunch of herbs. We planted most of them today, out in the April drizzle. It was really nice. Until Ian yanked a bulb out of the ground and picked a fight with Christian. I'm sure our neighbors think we're trash.

Tonight Sam and Al stopped by for mac-and-cheese then followed us to Tukwila to watch Christian play soccer. It cost me $7 in quarters at the gumball machines to keep Ian half-way entertained, but it was worth it. Christian scored four goals and his aunt and uncle were so proud of him. I'm the mother of a soccer star!

Alright. He was just back in here asking about the freaking Easter Bunny. And I have to go put a nighttime diaper on a sleeping Ian. Ever try to lift a sleeping 55-pound child into a bunk bed? With arthritic thumbs?

I should tell Christian flat out that yes, there is an Easter Bunny. I've seen him myself. Many years ago in my Auntie Karen's front yard. He had a basket of eggs in one hand and a drink in the other.

On that note, I don't want to stay up too late and surprise the Bunny. It's time for me to GO TO BED.

April 4: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines

Mmmmm. Cardamom...

Orange-Cardamom Madeleines (pg. 210) smelled amazing even before baking. Butter, honey, sugar, vanilla--all good stuff. The final touch: an orange glaze. I might make these for Easter Sunday. You start baking cookies and writing a cookie blog, and people start expecting a higher level of baked goods.

It has been a beautiful weekend in Maple Valley. In honor of the first true day of sun and warmth, I went out and butchered my clematis.

I didn't actually mean to butcher it. I started out just thinning it. But one clip led to another, and before I knew it, it was nothing but a few hairy sticks coming out of the ground. I feel really bad. I know our neighbors are driving by and saying, "Oh my God! What did those morons do to their clematis!?"

Okay. I feel really stupid, too. But there's new growth on it! I swear. Just the same, I may pick up some new ones at the nursery. We had to plant the clematis six years ago to block the view of our heat pump from the road. Homeowners' association rules. Watch us get an "unsightly appliance" ticket or something this week because boy, that heat pump is fully visible now.

As I type, James and Christian are playing a loud and obnoxious video game. Ian is howling because he ran into a table and bumped his chin. Overreacting as usual. Actually, I think he's really crying because he wants another ice cream cone and I said no. The glutton.

Ah, chaos. Speaking of which, James leaves for Palm Springs at 4 a.m. Tuesday morning. I get to spend the next two weeks with the boys. Half of that time I'll be working from home. And don't think, dear reader, that it'll be some idyllic Spring Break, with me writing fascinating copy while the boys happily play Lincoln Logs at my feet in a beam of sunshine. That's a bunch of crap.

The boys will be begging for video games or TV and I'll be yelling at them to Shut the Hell Up. I'll have to leave the computer 52 times a day to serve food, clean up a spill, break up a fight, send someone to his room, let the dog in/out, mop up cat puke, pour juice, and turn off the TV. If it's nice, I'll be sweeping dirt off the hardwoods, throwing rocks out of the house and chasing Ian after the little escape artist levitates himself over the back fence.

It's going to be a long week.

I'll hold onto my sanity by looking forward to good things, like:

1. Going to the David Sedaris book-reading with Sam on May 1! Love that angry gay man.

2. Grilled cheese sandwiches, mochas and edamame for dinner while James is gone.

3. Sleeping in while "working from home."

4. The new Dave Matthews album! Oh my God. I'm so excited. Also, I have tickets to see Dave at the Gorge over Labor Day. Friday and Saturday nights. Again. It's the closest I get to going to church. ("And the congregation responds: People in every direction. No words exchanged. No time to exchange them.")

5. Martini Night!

6. Watching whatever I want on TV, April 7-22.

7. The end of Spring Break.

8. My new boots! I bought knee-high, high-heeled, ass-kicking boots. They'll be here in 3 to 6 business days. I'm currently on day 2. I swear to God, I clapped my hands like a toddler during story time right after I hit "Make purchase" on the Nordstrom site.

9. The whole bed. To myself.

10. Uh. Plant shopping at Sky Nursery.

I'm also looking forward to my sister Laura's baby shower the first weekend in May. I love babies. I even kind of liked mine. But other people's babies! Mmmmm. So sweet. Today, as a matter of fact, is Laura's birthday. Happy Birthday, LaLa!

She's having another girl. I hope that the family Curse of the Second Daughter doesn't fail us. Second daughters on my mom's side are hellions. Heh, heh, heh. I have two wild boys. It's only fair that someone share my pain. But just to be nice, I'll bake something fabulous for her shower.