We've Moved!

Thanks to the mighty Rooster, The Chicken Contests can now be found at a brand new site.

Hope to see you over at www.thechickencontests.com!

Under where?

I got over excited in Baby GAP today. Went right up to the clerk and told him I was looking for "big girl underwear." He sort of stuttered, and it took me a couple of breaths before I realized that the toddler balancing on my hip wasn't really cluing him in too well.

"For her," I said.

We headed home, got the new underwear on, and within 20 minutes had the first miraculous big girl moment we've ever had in our bathroom.

Purchasing underwear is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Pickle

BB learned about death this weekend. Our beloved Pickle, aka the oldest cat in the world, passed away on Friday. It was news met with mixed emotion by BB's senior relatives who have been plying Pickle with thyroid pills, pureeing her cat food in the food processor, and rigging elaborate ramps and puppy pee-pee pads to her litter box.

Which is not to say we won't miss her. We will. After 21+ years, it's sad not to hear her little voice when it's dinner time. Or several hours from dinner time. Or whenever someone enters the kitchen. But she lived a good life, and my parents were AMAZING when it came to keeping that little cat happy. Crushing pills twice a day and providing her with electric heating pads even in summer. Pickle was not only the oldest cat in the world, but the luckiest.

When BB asked, "where's Picky?" I sat down on the floor and pulled her into my lap to tell her Picky was gone. "She went away?" asked BB. And I used it, the "D" word. "Yes, honey. She died. That means she can't come back, but we can remember her and that's how we can keep loving her."

So we remembered things about Pickle. Like she liked to sit by the heater. And she was nice. And liked to be petted. And she liked to eat. We talked about all the places Pickle liked to eat in great detail. At which point, BB decided it was time for a snack, and merrily made her way to the refrigerator.

Later, when Rooster and I googled "What do Jews tell kids about death" (and after scrolling through all the Nazi references), we found a nice ask-a-Rabbi article that gave us hope that we had presented the right thing to BB at this big moment in time.

According to Rabbi Jeffrey Goldwasser, "Jews believe that death does not mark the end of a person's existence. The people we love who have died continue to live in our memories, and in God's awareness."

Which is a really lovely way to think of death, I think. So here's to you, Pickle. May your memory be for a blessing.

Guilt

I don't think it's wrong for adults to go to bed a mere hour after a two year old hits the hay. In fact, I'm pretty proud that we manage to stay up until the clock strikes 8 o'clock. But when ambulance sirens can't wake us-- that's when the shame hits. What if BB was crying? Or an earthquake hit? Or those sweet elderly neighbors who I just blogged about last month had a medical emergency?

Oh wait. That actually happened.

Last week, our cool neighbor ended up in the ER, and we didn't even wake when the ambulance arrived.

Here's the guilt. I did wake up as the medical team was preparing to leave. The engine must have revved, or a door must have slammed-- and I got out of bed to peek through the blinds to see what the noise was. What I saw was a fire truck and an ambulance, and I froze. I knew I should run outside to help, but I told myself I wasn't even sure the hubbub was about our pals.

Oh the lies we tell ourselves.

This isn't a terrible story. Our neighbor is okay. But this is one of the moments I'll regret. A time when bad judgment and weak character got the better of me. Like the childhood pal I didn't invite to the wedding. Or the friend's father who came to visit from out of town, took a train 40 miles to meet BB, and who I did not drive back to his hotel. Or my roommate's unaffectionate dog who tried to nuzzle into my lap for a rare cuddle, and who I pushed away-- he had a seizure two seconds later.

I think about these moments all the time. I run through my action and inaction and I grunt a little in shame.

That's what I'm doing now. Grunting in shame.

My New Year's resolution: don't take the unaffectionate way out when it comes to other people. Even if you have to get out of bed.

Beer & Pizza

The two things BB says to me after we get home from work/school every day are:

"Put on comfy clothes, mommy?" This means my gray sweatshirt and striped jammie bottoms.

"Want beer, mommy?" From the bottle. Straight.

Yep, she learned my routine through observation. Mommy shame.

I made these nice quinoa pizza cupcakes the other day and although she refuses to eat them, I feel in my heart that my efforts to provide healthy food cancel out my affinity for elastic waste bands and beer at 6 p.m.

Quinoa Pizza Cupcakes

3 cups cooked quinoa

2/3 cup pureed spinach (sauteed in oil and garlic first)

2 eggs

tomato sauce

mozzarella

Mix the quinoa with the pureed spinach and eggs. Scoop into mini cupcake tins. Top with a dollop of tomato sauce and some mozzarella. Bake at 375 for 15-20. Cool and serve.

Celebration Drink

It's been a gnarly month. But then someone died and left my non-profit a nice generous gift so it looks like I won't totally fail the organization that hired me to raise money for them. At least not this month.

To celebrate, I took a deep breath and invited a girl from work out for a drink.

That came out wrong. We weren't celebrating the death of my generous donor. In fact, the girl from work probably didn't know we were celebrating. But I was shouting all over the inside of my anxious, neurotic self.

Only hitch about my party plan-- I had BB in tow. Now in Chicago, this was no problem. I could take my 1 1/2 year old daughter out just about anywhere give her some cheerios and enjoy a single beer before 7 p.m. bed time.

Two year olds are different. And I forgot to pack a diaper. So we started the evening off with a real bang and I spent most of our chit chat time trying to keep the stink bomb I call "lovebug" away from my almost-friend's smell detector. Then came the dumping of the rice on the floor, closely followed by the scooping of the black beans on my silk skirt.

Friendliness wasn't at aces either. BB wouldn't smile at my friend. She banged her metal spoon on the plate. And she blew our cover by telling me to change her poo poo.

Kind of eroded my credibility from earlier in the evening when I was all braggin' that I haven't let being a mom change my social life-- no, not at all. (Actually true since my social life's best moments from the past five years include ducky slippers and Rooster repeating back the last sentence of my latest monologue to prove he was listening).

It was all sort of awkward-- the trying too hard, the rearranged food, the...perfume. But fun. As was the long soaking bath BB got once we got home.

Where did you come from?

My child:

• "Wipe my nose, Mommy," before allowing Mommy to bring her into day care.

• "Where my Baby Dahlia, Maggie?" when Mommy picked her up from day care and neither Mommy nor teacher Maggie noticed that her baby doll "Dahlia" wasn't in our bag.

• "No touch my body," when Mommy pats her on the back. (This one I find a little disturbing.)

Oh, she is so much more interesting than cooking! Which explains why for dinner tonight I couldn't think of anything to eat other than re-toasted chocolate chip pancakes from Sunday. I'm afraid this does very little for my credibility as a cooking blog.

Scary.

They bus kids into our neighborhood for halloween because there are so many mansions near by. We straight up ran out of candy at 7:30 p.m. and had to bring in the pumpkin for fear of reprisal.

At work today I kept hoping people would ask me what we dressed BB as, but only one woman did, and only because I posted a full color xerox of her on my bulletin board. I admit, we went twisted for splash effect. But how can you not love an almost-two-year-old dressed as a Clockwork Orange thug?

Photographic Food Memory

Rooster called me from his bike today to tell me that Off The Grid was over on Haight street this evening. Half a dozen ethnic food trucks gathered in one place? You can bet I fled work to be there. I wish I could say "fled work early" to be there, but alas.

From her car seat, BB shouted "rice!" as soon as she saw the food trucks, gracefully parked around an island of staggered folding chairs and some street musicians. Photographic food memory from last time we were at the trucks FIVE WEEKS AGO? That's my little foodie.

BB drank mango lassi and ate curried rice. We ate steamed buns with crispy tofu and greens from Chairman Bao, and some tasty tikka masala kathi rolls.

Major thanks to Cooking with Amy and Anna who referred me to Amy's blog when we moved here-- that's how we learned about Off The Grid in the first place.

What BB Learned in Chinese Day Care

They may not let us into the classroom but we know she can do this:

• Sing the ABCs (except h-i-j-k)
• Count to 3 unprompted and up to 10 repeat-after-me style
• Sit quietly and cross her feet at the ankles with her hands in her lap.

That's all we've deduced so far.

And this is what she can do at home:

• Crack eggs (sort of)
• Beat eggs with a fork
• Spread tomato sauce on pizza dough
• Put cheese in one large pile on pizza dough
• Say "BB cook this" every time Mommy's cooking.

Kiddie contests, I'm almost there...

Our Own Sweet Style

Today at the free Golden Gate Park blues festival, gorgeous 20-somethings sporting nose studs wove through the crowd selling "special" red velvet cupcakes and pot brownies, and I realized I may have actually been the only person there with a unique SF "look." Or, to be fair, me and BB were. Because we were MATCHING. Yes, on purpose.

In San Francisco, everyone is so darn original. Loop after loop of individuality worn as devil-may-care sets of pigtails twisted into knobs and secured with pens, chopsticks, or twigs. A sea of old granny sweaters (each totally one-of-a-kind) layered over sun dresses that play peek-a-boo with tattoos on backs, chests, or calves.

Not me and BB. Striped shirts and patagonia vests topped with yellow jackets when it got chilly. View it with horror, or view it with a simpatico lens-- I didn't spend six years in the Midwest for nothing.

Oh God, now that I just wrote that, I think my subconscious is building a new Bay Area identity based on a Midwest stereotype. Pretty sure I did this exact same thing in Chicago, but in reverse. Is it weird to unconsciously manipulate one's own image to be at odds with the main trends?

Hmmm, maybe I am a Bay Area native after all.

Trick Your Baby

The real question in the nest these days is: how smart is my pasta-freak daughter really.

Last weekend she picked out the broccolini I squirreled away in her grilled cheese sandwich. Bubbe is a little horrified by my attempts to feed BB secret vegetables, but I can't help myself. And let's face it, green stuff is going to be important for this girl. She has my genes-- exercise might not be in the cards.

Tonight I embraced a new tactic-- bury the vegetables deeper into the dish. After BB went to sleep, I pureed broccoli with tofu, cottage cheese, nutmeg, and a little milk to make a healthy whole wheat mac and cheese.

Because while some kiddos could take food or leave it, my kid takes it. And takes it. I pretend like I'm shocked, but secretly I'm totally proud of my culinary aficionado. Nothing demonstrates a lust for life like a robust appetite. Now I just have to make sure that that healthy appetite gets filled with healthy cuisine!

Usually I freeze BB's food in ice-cube trays, but for someone who likes "Pata, patat" as much as BB, I'm giving cupcake tins a whirl.

Trick Your Baby Mac & Cheese

(I didn't measure, so amounts are approximate, but you get the gist)

16-oz broccoli florets, steamed

8 oz firm tofu

6 oz low-fat cottage cheese

1/4- 1/3 cup milk

grated nutmeg

salt

pepper

2 cups cheddar, divided

1 pound whole wheat elbow pasta, cooked al dente

Puree steamed broccoli with tofu, cottage cheese, milk, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Add more milk to thin if necessary. Stir in 1 cup cheddar. Mix broccoli puree with cooked macaroni. Portion out, sprinkle with remaining cheddar. Freeze or bake till bubbly.

September 14th update: HUGE hit!! BB has officially (and happily) been duped by my tofu broccoli sauce: "Moh? Moh?" Oh, and she also told me I should drink some wine: "Wine, mama. Wine." Do I love this kid or what.

Vlasic

Rooster’s been in Chicago for ten days now for work, and Bubbe (that’s my mom), has come to stay during my back-to-work adventure.

She’s been amazing, although she did point out that the shredded cheese in my refrigerator smells like it’s gone off (why is she always right?), and she’s not too fond of my dessert selection (mochi balls). Luckily, this means that on our second night together, she brought over deep dish pizza. Tonight she arrived armed with chocolate chip cookies.

BB is pretty happy about the situation too. Aside from missing her Daddy-- every morning she wakes up and solemnly says, “Daddy working"-- she’s psyched about Bubbe, who has introduced her to Elmo. And pickles.

Just kidding about the pickles.

What Does A Vlasic Do For You?

How to Enter: In 100 words or less, share what your favorite kind of Vlasic pickle is and describe how you use it to zest up a dish.

Judging Criteria: Based on creativity and adherence to theme by a panel of judges from Vlasic®.

Prizes: One “What Does a Vlasic Do for You?” Grand Prize Winner will receive $1,000 cash provided by Vlasic Pickles. 10 finalists will each receive $100 cash.

The Entry: A zippy dill sauce for a crispy fish sandwich

Smug Baby Food

Smugness always comes back to smack you.

BB has been in daycare since she was 6 months old. She spent an average of 50 hours a week there in Chicago and except when she was sick, she never cried at drop-off. I thought I had a spectacularly well-adjusted kiddo. Enjoys the company of others! Knows mommy is coming back! Has a fun-loving, flexible personality!

Other mommies would say that their kid was well adjusted because they DID cry at drop-off, that this indicated that they knew their parents were leaving them, and that their attachment to their parents was stronger than their attachment to anyone else. But I always viewed that as poppycock.

Our new daycare is run by a very nice Chinese woman and her four assistants, but drop off is appalling. BB sobs and sobs, and when I leave, I shake the whole way down the stairs.

Every day I wait 30 minutes and then phone in (I used to roll my eyes when I heard about helicopter mommies who did this). “Is BB okay?” I ask when I call, “how long was she crying?" I strain for the sound of her wails in the background, and confess to horrific fantasies in which they lock her in a room during my check-ins so I won't hear her scream. The subtext of my questions is of course, “am I a bad mother?” “is my child going to be permanently damaged and hate society because I left her in daycare?”

In retrospect, maybe my Chicago drop-off-joy wasn’t actual smugness. It was relief. Because this experience? It is heart wrenching. The woman who runs our new day care is quite lovely and promises that the sobbing will only go on for another week. Another week?

If it wasn't for these quinoa cakes, I'd say my nasty smug days had gone right down the toilet.

My Baby Food Is Healthier Than Your Baby Food: Spinach & Quinoa Cakes

• 3/4 cups brown rice
• 3 cups water
• ½ cup quinoa
• 7 tablespoons olive oil, divided
• 2 teaspoons garlic, minced
• 16-ounces frozen chopped spinach
• black pepper
• pinch of nutmeg
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 8 eggs, lightly beaten

Bring brown rice and water to a boil in a medium pot. When boiling, lower heat so water is at a bare simmer. Cook uncovered for 20 minutes. Add quinoa, cover and keep at a bare simmer for 15 more minutes.

While quinoa is cooking, heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add 3 tablespoons olive oil and the garlic. Sauté 30 seconds. Add frozen spinach and cook until the biggest clumps are heated through (5-6 minutes). Turn up heat at end of cooking time if necessary. Season with black pepper, nutmeg and salt.

In a large bowl mix together cooked quinoa and rice, spinach, and eggs. Stir until uniform.

Wipe out the spinach skillet. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil until hot but not smoking. Cook Quinoa Cakes in ¼ cup portions, 3 minutes on first side or until golden brown. Flip like a pancake and cook 2 more minutes. Add more oil as necessary and keep cooking. Makes 25 pancakes.

Freeze pancakes when cool. Defrost one at a time to feed to your baby (or your spouse).

She's Famous

We have a joke in my family that my mom and my sister can't go anywhere without being stopped (or stopping) 2-3 people on the street for a quick chat. Except it's not really a joke, because it's true. They simply know everyone. It's a combination of charisma, genuine friendliness, and just the tiniest amount of scorn for social rules that involve boundaries. And guess what? It's genetic.

Today in Ashland, Oregon on a family vacation...

We are heading to our parked car with BB, who has just thoroughly enjoyed herself at the Ashland Science Museum (bubble room, shadow room, and whiffle balls as far as the eye could see).

We're halfway between the museum and our car, when BB hollers out an enthusiastic "bye bye!" to a woman and her... daughter? granddaughter? moving in the opposite direction. The woman stops and shouts to us (because we are that far away), "is that BB?"

Rooster and I look at each other like, "huh?" and I turn tentatively and shout back, "it is..." with an inflection like who are you? and the woman says, "I thought so. We met this morning when she was with her grandpa at the bagel shop. Hi BB!"

Keep in mind we've been in Ashland less than a week. It's a town 6 hours from the Bay Area. And we just moved to the Bay Area. As in, on July 10th.

So there's BB waving an enthusiastic farewell to her new BFF, and there's the woman with her daughter/granddaughter in tow, just beaming. Like they've spotted a celebrity.

I fear we are really in for it once this kid can talk.

Oh, and the picture is of her eating her first baby ice cream cone. She devoured it all by herself. We are so proud!

Day Care #1

We went to visit our first San Francisco Day Care today, and I fear I have been Midwesternized. The philosophy at this lovely top-of-the-line institution is pretty darn...tolerant for my taste.

Instead of traditional rules, the children are encouraged to take the initiative to resolve their own conflicts. When trouble kicks up in the play-yard: mutual toy-lust, taking-turn anxiety, even pushing-- the kids sit down with their teachers to talk through their feelings and discuss how to cope. I get it-- creative problem solving and all that. But what about boundaries and personal space, and right and wrong? I want my child to know the rules. If she chooses to bend or break them later in life, so be it. But I want her to know that it is not okay to push, and it is advisable to share, and that two year olds lack the necessary judgment to run their own lives.

Another rule-- teachers don't ask questions that have a right or wrong answer. The fear is that a child could feel bad about himself because he got something incorrect. Or worse, he will hit on the right answer and then worry about whether or not he can repeat the feat tomorrow. Okay, again, I get it. Except that when it comes to certain things-- order of the alphabet, say, or days of the week, there is a right and a wrong answer. Failure is all part of learning how to identify success. Right?

Oh god. I'm going to be a Bay Area Mommy Reject.

Baby Food Tip: Beets

Three days till the fundraising Gala is over and done with and I get my life back!!!!!!!! Post June 5th, baby food tips might actually come in the form of real recipes instead of "how to open a package" instructions...

Baby Food Tip #2: Beets

12 months +

Don't you dare cook these yourself. Get yourself to Trader Joe's. Buy the steamed and peeled ready-to-eat baby beets. Cut open the package. Cut beets into pieces. Put a bib on your child and serve. Nitrates, what nitrates?

Benefits:

• Easy to keep in the house.
• Require no cooking.
• From Whole Foods website: "These colorful root vegetables contain powerful nutrient compounds that help protect against heart disease, birth defects and certain cancers, especially colon cancer." Ambitious for a baby, no?

Kale Cubes are coming, I promise.

Ethiopian Buffet

Got to BB's school late on Thursday to find that breakfast had started and that all babies were eating applesauce with spoons. By themselves.

BB sauntered right over to the table (holding tight to Mommy's pinky), sat down, and picked up her own spoon. It was tremendously impressive.

We tried the same trick at home but apparently school and home have different rules. My back was turned for no more than 2 minutes (reason in the form of recipes to follow), and that kid had eaten half a bowl of yogurt. With her hands. Grooosssss. We have to cure her of this before serving her my new but messy love: Cuisine de Ethiopia:

I made up these recipes so the don't have authentic Ethiopian names. Also, the measurements are hypothesis, because you try measuring with a 14-month old on your hip (post yogurt) and see how far you get...

Ethiopian Chickpea Puree

1 medium onion

4 cloves garlic

1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled

2 tablespoons corn oil

1 can garbanzo beans (chickpeas), 15-ounces, drained

1 teaspoon fenugreek (the secret ingredient!!)

1 teaspoon turmeric

1/2 teaspoon paprika

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

salt and pepper

1-2 tablespoon lemon juice

In food processor, puree onion, garlic and ginger until finely chopped. Heat corn oil until hot but not smoking. Saute onion, garlic, ginger until fragrant. Add chick-peas. Saute 2 minutes. Add fenugreek, turmeric, paprika. Saute one minute. Add Dijon and s&p. Saute 5 minutes. Turn off heat. Puree in food processor until smooth. Add lemon juice. Puree again. Refrigerate. Serve with Injera. Yield 2 cups.

Thick Red Lentils

2 tablespoons corn oil

1 1/2 cups chopped onion

1/4 cup tomato paste

2 teaspoons paprika

3 tablespoons garlic, finely chopped (1 head)

1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger

4 cups water

1 pound lentils

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 teaspoon brown sugar

1 1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon black pepper

Heat oil in heavy saucepan. Saute onion until translucent. Add tomato paste and paprika. Saute 1 minute. Add garlic and ginger. Saute 1 minute. Add water. Bring to a boil. Add lentils. Simmer for 30 minutes until tender. Turn off heat. Add lemon juice, brown sugar, salt and pepper. Yield 8 cups.

Gomen (with spinach, because we didn't get to the grocery store to get collard greens) (and look, an authentic name!!)

3 tablespoons corn oil

1 cup sliced onion

1 teaspoon minced garlic

1 teaspoon minced ginger

2 cups sliced green or orange bell pepper

1 teaspoon turmeric

1 teaspoon fenugreek

1 teaspoon paprika

1/2 teaspoon allspice

2 15-ounce bags frozen chopped spinach, thawed

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat oil in heavy saucepan. Saute onion until translucent. Add garlic and ginger. Saute 1 minute. Add peppers. Saute 1 minute. Add turmeric, fenugreek, paprika and allspice. Saute 30 seconds. Add spinach. When simmering, stir vigorously and turn heat to low. Cook 3 minutes. Turn off heat. Add lemon juice and salt. Yield 8 cups.

Biter

I hang my head in Mommy-Shame. We have a Biter on our hands.

The first call we got was last week. "BB bit one of her friends," said the teacher on the line.

Immediately I thought, what the hell did her "friend" do to her? But what I said was, "oh no! Is the kid okay?" The teacher assured me that everyone was fine, and that these things happen. The next natural question of course was, "who'd she bite?" The teachers stay silent when it comes to "incidents" in the classroom, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the other kid must have been bullying my angel. Heaven knows what the other kid's mommy was thinking.

Since we had one of BB's teachers sitting for us that night, I grilled the poor girl mercilessly until she confessed that the Bite-ee was a kid named E who tackled Naomi and made her cry last month. Rooster and I decided that this was an appropriate scenario in which we should indeed blame the victim.

But today I got another call. BB bit a different friend. Twice. At pick-up, I asked one of the psychologist-student teachers what all this means.

"This is a perfectly normal developmental moment," said the psych-student.

"In what way?"

"The kids get frustrated when they can't communicate, and biting is a pretty common result."

"Other kids in the class bite?" I asked.

"Well no. Not yet. We usually see this sort of behavior when they're a little older."

"So my child is more sophisticated then the other kids."

Her are-you-crazy-lady face flashed for just a moment before she masked it, and suggested that we maybe try to avoid games that involve "play-biting" at home. Play biting? I told her that we do NOT play bite. She looked at me with pity and offered to print me some reading material from her text book in case I wanted to read it.

Shame, shame, shame.

Peter Pan

Watch me take a cue from Peter Pan and think Happy Thoughts, because man have I been in a downward spiral!

Happy Thought #1: My assistant at work told me that Baby Bird is more sophisticated than any other baby she has ever met because BB knows how to drink from a plastic water bottle.

Which cancels out Sad Thought #1: Everyone else in the contesting world is too sophisticated for me! Have you seen the other blogs out there? The flavor combos! The recipes! The friggin' food photography! I am totally finished. Not to mention Food & Wine superstar-- I never had a glimmer of a chance.

Happy Thought #2: Anyone who hasn't seen me in a couple months looks at me now, like the guy from our condo meeting tonight, and says: "wow, you got skinny!"

Which cancels out Sad Thought #2: Rooster and I haven't eaten anything but leftover-big-pot-of-whatever-I-made-on-Sunday, and cheese and crackers for weeks now.

Happy Thought #3: My baby talks. A lot. She has an opinion about everything, and she uses the most grown-up shrugs and gestures to accompany her commentary.

Which cancels out Sad Thought #3: I have no idea what she is saying.

Closing with a Happy Thought: She's a budding artist!

Over and out.