Camp Guilt

So summer camp has started for the kids. It rained literally something like 25 out of 30 days in June, so we had no idea if camp would even happen this week. (It's outside near the beach, no indoor facilities.) The kids are in heaven. They're spending their days with their pals in the water, on the playground, playing soccer and basketball, doing crafts, going on field trips, etc. etc.

Who knew I was supposed to feel guilty about all this good fun? Apparently, I am. There's a new form of motherhood recrimination: Camp Guilt.

I've heard rumblings about this in years past, but it seems to have reached a crescendo. More than one person, upon hearing of our (very modest) day camp plans, has said to my husband, "Well, your wife is going to have herself a great summer." Then a friend was griping the other day about how her husband's ex-wife (who is altogether unlikable, unkind and downright unmotherly) was sending her kids to "babysitting camp." She said this as if the mom was guilty of horrible neglect. I'd never heard this expression, never thought of camp as something to be ashamed of. Babysitting camp? I'm guessing it's all day. The horror.

Of course, the mommy war/guilt thing has raged for years. It's all about us women and our insecurities. I get it. Most of us feel torn about our choices and the stakes -- our kids' futures -- are unquestionably high. So any time we see someone making different decisions, we might feel conflicted about our own. But maybe we could draw the line here at whether our kids are at beach camp or at a soccer clinic or at home building a fort. It's summer, dammit! Relax!

You'd never here a man saying something like this to another guy, "Your kids are going to camp? What are you going to do all day?" But sure enough, another mom recently posed that question to me with the same disbelief as if I'd just told her I was spending the summer cruising the Greek islands. Let's see, I've got two kids, a husband, a small business and a novel in progress, but apparently that's not enough to justify a few hours without my kids by my side. I should have answered like this:

"Well, after I drop the kids, I'll work out, then shower, make breakfast, clean up every else's breakfast mess, write for a few hours, get a snack, throw in a load of laundry, maybe go for a walk, mow the lawn (not kidding!), do the grocery shopping and a few more errands, come home and put away groceries, get started on dinner, sweep the kitchen floor, pay bills, fold laundry, pick up kids, watch kids and inevitable play-date friends, make snacks, broker peace agreement between kids, supervise craft project, clean up kitchen again, get dinner on table, do dishes, fold laundry, do tub/pjs/brush teeth/games/stories/goodnight!"

That enough for you, lady? Sheesh.

I'll tell you what, I won't pass judgment on what your kids are doing this summer if you'll do the same. Deal?

Now let's go get a popsicle and chill.

Chicken Tostadas

I made this recipe last night, originally from Gourmet magazine, and it was great. We all loved it except for Mopsy, but that's not saying much as she doesn't really like much beyond cheesy noodles.

I used just one serrano and it was HOT. A note of caution: after roasting the peppers on a cookie sheet, wash it thoroughly before baking dessert. Otherwise, you'll end up with some very spicy chocolate chip cookies, like I did. Not pleasant.

CHICKEN TOSTADAS

1 medium white onion

1 pound tomatoes, quartered

2 large garlic cloves

1 or 2 fresh serrano chiles, stemmed

1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoon vegetable oil, divided

3 cups shredded iceberg lettuce

6 large radishes, halved and sliced

1/2 cup chopped cilantro, divided

1 rotisserie chicken, meat coarsely shredded (4 cups)

6 (6-inch) corn tortillas

1 (1-pound) can refried beans, heated

1 avocado, halved, pitted, and peeled

1/2 cup Mexican crema or sour cream

1/4 cup crumbled queso añjo (aged white cheese, also called cotija) or ricotta salata

Accompaniments: sliced serranos; lime wedges

preparation

Preheat broiler.

Cut half of onion into 3/4-inch wedges, then chop remainder. Toss onion wedges, tomatoes, garlic, and whole chiles with 2 tablespoons oil in a 4-sided sheet pan, spreading in 1 layer.

Broil about 4 inches from heat until softened and charred, 10 to 15 minutes. Meanwhile, toss together lettuce, radishes, chopped onion, and half of cilantro.

Purée tomato mixture in a blender along with one or both roasted serranos (to taste) and 1 teaspoon salt until smooth. Transfer purée to a bowl and stir in chicken, remaining cilantro, and salt to taste.

Heat remaining 1/2 cup oil in a heavy medium skillet over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Fry tortillas, 1 at a time, turning once or twice and pressing with tongs to immerse, until golden brown, 45 to 60 seconds per tortilla. Drain briefly on paper towels, then transfer to plates.

Spread tortillas thickly with heated refried beans, then top with chicken mixture. Slice avocado over tostadas and dollop with crema.

Mound lettuce mixture on top and sprinkle with cheese.

Funny of the Day

We were at the beach today with a gaggle of kids and somehow the conversation turned to boyfriends and girlfriends. One of the kids' pals, a 7-year-old girl, supposedly asked her parents for a cellphone. The reason: so she could call her boyfriend. Yikes! I shivered at the thought. And I made a mental note to never, ever get my kids their own phones.

But it reminded me of a story. Earlier this year, QB was telling me that his buddy Seth has had a girlfriend since Kindergarten. For 2nd graders, that's a serious, long-term relationship. Practically a common-law marriage. In any case, I asked QB what having a girlfriend, means, exactly, to a 7-year-old boy. Not that he knows from personal experience. He does not have a girlfriend. (A few marriage proposals, but no girlfriend.) And I'm hoping he won't for about 15, 20 years.

"So, what kinds of things do a boyfriend and girlfriend do together when you're in 2nd grade?" I asked, praying the answer wouldn't have anything to do with kissing or sneaking out to the woods at the end of the cul-de-sac.

He thought about it carefully and answered,

"I think you swing on the swings together."

I nearly melted. If only it could always be that easy. I wished I could bottle that sweet innocence and hold onto it forever.

Face, Meet Egg

I would love to be able to skip this entry and avoid this subject altogether. But I write happily about my husband and in-laws' silly behavior and it's only fair I do the same when it's I who behaves badly.

I am an ass. Let me just start there. No other way around it. Not only am I an ass, but I'm a careless one at that. And to make it worse, my kids have suffered for it.

The dog has gone back to the rescue group. It's been a brutal four or five days during which I snapped (after waking at 4 am because of the barking and spending the day scrubbing poo out of carpets.) Then there was bickering, negotiating, persuading and debating. The bottom line is that this dog, maybe any dog, needs more time than I have to offer. I have to figure out who can watch the kids, for instance, while I walk her in the morning for an hour. (She needs 1.5 hours of walking each day, not the 30 minutes we were told.) And in the afternoons, when Isabelle barks up a storm and I'm trying to get dinner on the table, I found myself barking at the kids to pay attention to her, feed her dinner, throw the ball, etc., none of which they were eager to do.

Within the span of the week, I already started getting kid push-back like: "I don't want to walk her, Mom. I'm playing Legos!"

A significant portion of this problem was created by my unrealistic expectations. I thought the work of taking care of a dog would be shared more evenly among the family. Of course, it wasn't -- and I should have known better. And it was a lot of work, more than I anticipated. My neighbors have since told me I looked like the walking dead since we brought home the dog.

I wanted to be able to give this to my kids. (I know, bad reason to bring a dog into your life.) I thought that I wanted it for myself. I thought I'd be able to handle it.

So, yes, I'm eating crow, big time. All the groups that rejected us as adopters were right, after all. I couldn't feel worse about the whole thing. My kids have suffered for losing her, Isabelle has been through yet another transition that could have been avoided, and Jarvis has had to watch this train wreck unfold. He saw the track we were headed down a month ago. Like I said, I'm an ass.

The kids have done amazingly well. They knew that the first two weeks were a trial period of sorts. (The rescue agency accepts the animals back gladly during this period.) But still, they loved her and it was devastating news to have to deliver. QB wailed for a half an hour when I told him and said,"It's like adopting a baby and killing her two days later!" Ouch. Mopsy took it in stride and barely even said goodbye to her -- the opposite of what I expected.

I went alone to New Jersey to drop her off yesterday afternoon. I expected to feel relief afterwards, but I only felt guilt and sadness. Who does such a thing as this? I cried half the way home.

This morning Mopsy woke up and remembered Isabelle was gone when she looked in the backyard. Then she asked me, "Mommy, today can we get a kitten?"

The Darndest Things

We've been watching a lot of The Parent Trap lately -- the Lindsey Lohan version. For those of you who don't remember this adolescent romp, it's about twin girls whose parents divorce and split their kids, who reunite accidentally at camp . The twins hatch an idea to switch places and try to get their parents back together, despite the fact that the father is about to remarry.

It's raised some amusing questions.

Mopsy: "Does our Daddy have a girlfriend?" I stifled a laugh and wanted to answer, "I don't think so." But I decided not to mess with her.

And then today the conversation went something like this:

Mopsy: "Where did you find Daddy?"

Me: "I found him at a party in New York a looong time ago."

Mopsy: "And you thought he was right for the family?"

Yeah, something like that. I think she's confusing mating rituals with the dog rescuing process. Luckily, I chose a husband more wisely than I did a pooch...

Really?

I only have one thing to mention today. The dog was awake, needing to go outside at FOUR IN THE MORNING. And it was pouring.

The ice just cracked.

Funny of the Day

Here's the latest from QB. One recent morning, he was sleepy and dragging as we hurried to get out the door to catch the bus. He told me,

"I liked it when I was a kid and I didn't have to get up early for school."

Yeah, those were the days.

Poop Report

This dog is on thin ice over here. I'll tell you why:

1. Yesterday, I awoke to find both urine and poop AGAIN on the dining room carpet. (The expensive one.) Apparently, the rug is her new toilet. I tried the trick of feeding her in here, and --guess what?-- she didn't want to eat in the smelly dining room. Well, guess what, Dog, neither do we!

2. Last night Jarv took her for a nice long walk after I gave her a good brush and belly rub. How did she thank us? She came inside, squatted on her new bed in the (carpeted) family room, and started to pee. Having spent much of the day scrubbing carpets and mopping, I lost it. What, was she saving it up? Mind you, this is a dog I was told was house-trained. False advertising anyone?

3. If that wasn't enough, she decided to put one last nail in her own coffin. She woke me up this morning at 4:45 to go outside. That's right, people, a quarter to 5. In the morning.

Growl.

Oh, and now she has diarrhea. Have you ever experienced doggy diarrhea? It is quite possibly the most vile, foul-smelling substance on the planet. And, added bonus, it gets all over the underside of her tail. Cool!

I know what you're thinking. I wanted a dog. I wanted this dog. I know, I know, I know. It's my own stupid fault. If anyone had told me I was signing up for a house full of crap and 5 am wake-up calls, I would've probably gone in a different direction with this thing.

Lucky for Isabelle, the kids already have a bit of a soft spot for her. Plus, she's pretty freakin' cute.

Dog Blog

I thought getting a dog would give me great blogging material. Instead, I have no time or energy to blog. I've started waking up at 5:30 in the morning in anticipation of Isabelle needing to go outside. If you know me, you know exactly how crazy this is. I have a hard time getting up at 7 to get QB ready for the school bus.

This is what the days feel like: let dog out...let dog in...Mopsy takes dog back out...dog runs away...throw on coat...run down street...catch dog...feed her breakfast...grass on the kitchen floor...sweep, sweep, sweep...dog's eating Barbie!...pick up pieces...look for chew toy....let dog out...let dog in...give her a treat...mud on carpet...vacuum, vacuum...dog's barking at deer...be quiet Izzy!...throw her ball...poop on the grass!...clean up...brush her fur... she's asleep in the shade...she's eating a shoe! She's eating a sock! She's eating a Lego!...bring her in...dog sneaks upstairs....take dog back downstairs...aack! Poop on carpet!...try to clean up before Jarv sees it...not able to clean up before Jarv sees it....blot, scrub, baking soda....listen to Jarv rant about poop on expensive carpet...dog goes out.

Aaah. And this is all before noon.. No wonder we're all wiped out.

But I might be giving the wrong impression because Isabelle is a gorgeous and fantastic dog. She's sweet and gentle, low-maintenance and loving. She adores the kids and let's them do basically whatever they want to: use her as a pillow, open her mouth and brush her teeth, take food and bones away from her. In fact, she ran away from Jarv this morning and he chased her for about 20 minutes until QB came outside and Isabelle ran right over to him. QB, Mopsy and I were quite amused. Jarv was not.

The other huge plus for Isabelle is that she doesn't do a lot of those annoying dog things like jumping all over you, begging for table scraps, barking incessantly, stealing food off the counters. She just wants to lie at our feet and be rubbed. Now, if we could only solve the house-training issue....

We're in the clear on the QB allergy issue. The doc says he's got no sensitivity. The timing sure seems suspect, tho. His symptoms haven't gone away, despite being hit with about 4 different meds. We'll see.

Darn Dog

Too tired to blog tonight. Dog had me up at 5:45 a.m. to go out in the rain. What's up with that? Not in my contract, I don't believe. I didn't even want to get up at 5:45 for my babies.

Let's see, highlights. Today Isabelle pooped in the basement. (Maybe I should rename the blog The Poop Report.) Luckily, she deposited her specimen nicely on the Dora the Explorer book and the entire bundle went in the trash. QB considered it a scatological commentary on Mopsy's choice of reading material. 

New development: Jarv and I are worried that QB might be allergic to the pup! Since we got her, he's had itchy eyes, runny nose, sneezing, scratchy throat, funny-sounding voice. It actually started in the car on the way home from the pick-up. And he's got asthma, which ups the ante. He's been tested for dog sensitivity before and was negative, but who knows. We're going to the allergist tomorrow for a pow-wow. That would be quite a twist. We'd have a crisis of monumental proportions on our hands.

Paws on the Ground

The pup has arrived! We went to pick her up yesterday at the rescuer's house in Jersey. After a few minutes of playing with her, I asked QB if he liked her, to which he answered, "I don't like her. I love her." Mopsy was enthralled at first sight as well.

But the poor thing was terrified when we got her home. She burrowed herself in the bushes and shook. She wasn't even interested in a porterhouse steak bone that we saved for her. Jarvis, ever understanding and compassionate, pronounced her L-A-Z-Y lazy. It was even more amusing that he delivered this analysis from his perch on the couch. 

We had all settled on the name Butterscotch, but Isabelle, her first name, seems to have stuck. Unsurprisingly, when we call out "Butterscotch!" she has no idea we're talking to her. So apparently, Isabelle it is.

Today, she's been much more playful and active. She even ventured far enough away to poop on the neighbor's lawn. Oh goody. The fun begins.

D Day

Tomorrow's the big day. We're driving to New Jersey early in the morning to go check out this pup (currently) named Isabelle. She's just arrived after a very long trip from North Carolina. 

The kids are beside themselves. It's like Christmas Eve over here. Mopsy can't sleep and all they want to do is get ready for the dog. Mind you, we're going to check out the dog and see if she's right for us. If not, we'll have to keep looking. But we hope she is. 

I'm very, very nervous. I feel like I've committed to adopt a baby and have no idea what kind of kid I'm going to get. High-maintenance? Hyper? Cooperative? Destructive? Time will tell.

Every night at dinner I ask the kids what was the best part of their day and what was the worst. The other night, Mopsy said that buying necessities for the pup at the pet store was her "best thing." QB reported that simply looking through the bag of dog treats, brushes, water bowls, etc,  was his "best thing." So I think we're either coming home with a dog tomorrow or two very sad kids.

Will keep you posted.

Maple-Brined Pork Chops

• I made the most excellent pork chops last night. I never make pork chops. Don't even like them. Mom used to make them when I was a kid and my memory is of something hard, tough, and dry.
• 
  
• But this recipe from Epicurious is a great one. The pork came out incredibly moist and flavorful. Mopsy referred to it as steak. (Funny, since the four chops cost a total of $5.50) QB ate two. Thought I'd share my modified version of the recipe.
• 
  
• Brine:
• 1/4 cup salt
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup Grade B maple syrup
• 1 1/2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• 1 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes
• 1 tablespoons juniper berries (I didn't use this as I have no idea what it is!)
• 1/4 teaspoon whole cloves
• 1/8 cup fresh rosemary, chopped
• 1 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme
• 6 garlic cloves, smashed
• 1 tablespoons chopped fresh ginger

• 4 cups water
• 4 center-cut loin pork chops, 1 1/2 inches thick
• Freshly ground black pepper
• canola oil for grilling
• 
  

Combine all brine ingredients in a pot, bring to a boil. Make sure all the sugar dissolves. Let cool. Place chops and brine in a non-reactive container and let sit for up to 12 hours. Remove chops and pat dry. (Don't rinse.)

To grill, season pork with pepper and brush with a little oil, if desired. Sear chops over a hot flame on each side. Reduce temperature and cook a few more minutes. 145-150 degrees will be pink and moist. 160 well done.

Epicurious suggests serving it with this Roasted Pear Chutney. I'm way too impatient for that, but have at it.

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Roasted-Pear-Chutney-106240

Baby Steps

Every day it gets a little worse. Earlier this year, QB informed me that, no, I could not kiss him goodbye at the bus stop in the morning. A high five would have to do. It hit completely unexpectedly. The other parents and I shook our heads in bewilderment as the bus pulled away. He was only seven.

Soon thereafter, I was no longer allowed to sling my arm over his shoulders as we walked home from the bus in the afternoons. Should have seen that one coming. Instead, he'd hop on his bike and speed ahead of me. He was just a blur of green and blue as he raced home to grab a snack and run off again to play with his friends. 

Yesterday afternoon, Mopsy was off playing with the usual suspects and QB and I were messing around with the basketball in the driveway. We practiced some bounce passes, some chest passes, a lot of dribbling. QB tried out a few fancy spin-around moves. I silently congratulated myself for getting him to do something sporty that didn't involve batteries or a remote. Jarvis, I knew, would be thrilled. He's always haranguing me for not playing sports in the backyard with him instead of, say, making headbands with ribbons and little buttons. (It's something we've been known to do. QB is a most excellent accessories designer. One twisted-ribbon design of his was purchased by a few high-end boutiques, much to his delight.)

In the middle of my little back-patting session, a pack of neighborhood kids walked by our driveway. In a flash, QB tossed the ball into the sport caddy, darted in the house, and closed the door behind him. And we'd been having such a perfectly nice time. I knew why, of course. He didn't want to be seen playing with me.

"It was the big kids, Mom," he explained, his cheeks red with embarrassment. It's way cool to play b-ball with Dad, but Mom? Not a chance. 

Every day, he's wants less and less to do with me. It's heart-breaking. One day, eventually, he'll pack his things and leave. I'll probably be happy to get an occasional phone call. In another sense, the shift is gratifying. His budding independence must mean Jarv and I are doing our job half-way right. 

But I miss him.

Funny of the Day

So we're eating the Trader Joe's marinated mahi mahi last night which reminded me of a funny story. If you read yesterday's post, you know I shop at TJ's eagerly and frequently. (Yes, let's alert the media.)

QB and Mopsy love this dinner and it couldn't be easier to prepare. I defrost, dump the whole thing in a pyrex pan and bake for 15 minutes. Meanwhile the kids rave about it as if I've just baked the best cookie of all time. 

Recently, we were eating the Mahi Mahi, and QB said earnestly, "Mom, when I grow up, remember that you have to give me this recipe!"

An Ode to Groceries

Groceries, groceries

Oh, how you bore me.

 

Must I buy you all the time?

Must I wait in those check-out lines?

 

Apples, kiwi, cantaloup

Wheat bread, brown eggs, bars of soap…

 

Maple syrup, red potatoes

Avocados, ripe tomatoes.

Produce, yes, you’re on the right,

Coffee’s in the back, out of sight.

 

I know where you are. I’m here every day.

Okay, maybe not, but it feels that way.

 

Free-range birds? Grass-fed beef?

Oh, who cares. I could fall asleep.

 

Up one aisle, then down the other

Across the back, why do I bother?

 

We must eat, I’ve got kids, you say?

Who needs food? Let’s quit for a day.

 

We’ll skip dinner. Cereal’s fine.

How 'bout a pitcher of water with lime?

 

If it means no Trader Joe’s, I’m in.

The kids may end up a little thin.

 

Flour, catsup, green leaf tea

Noodles, crackers, runny brie.

 

Frozen shrimp, organic peas

Muffins with some blueberries.

 

Piled up, my cart's stacked high

The nosy checker says, oh my!

 

Lady, you’ve got a lot in there.

What do you think of our new bosc pears?

 

Bag it up, total the bill.

Come again? How much on the till?

 

Haul it out, bags in the trunk.

Schlep it home, I’d rather be drunk.

 

Kids come home and say, oh, gross.

Arugula? Turnips? Sprouted toast?

 

Where’s the ice cream, cookies, gum?

Didn’t you get our stuff, dear Mum?

 

No, I didn’t. Go play with Rover.

Five days later, it starts all over.