I've been trying, recently, to really focus on making good meals again. I've allowed myself to get discouraged because it seems like, at every meal, there is at least one child (and sometimes one adult) who chimes in with a "this is disgusting!" or "this is gross!" or "I'm not eating this!" I get all moody and annoyed and defensive when this happens. The next day, as I'm cooking something different for dinner, those "this is gross" chimes ring through my head and I dread sitting down at the table for another round of discouragement. Mmmmmm...discouragement. Butter makes it taste better.

I know. Part of the problem is that I need to develop a thicker skin. I need to remember it's my job to make the food and their jobs to decide to eat it or not. (For the record, I don't say "OK, let me make you something different" to the complainers.) I need to rebuild my cooking confidence. (For the record, I am NOT a bad cook. I cook a lot of good, usually-healthy, and well-prepared meals.) I need to deal with the fact that I just have picky eaters and not let it discourage me.

Tonight I made dinner. I'm surprised the world is still spinning on its access, gravity still works, the moon still makes the tides, and all is right with the world, because get this: every single person ate dinner tonight without complaining. In fact, everyone ate with compliments dribbling from the corners of their mouths.

Vindicated! ;)

Parmesan Chicken Nuggets (adjust for the size of your family)

3 pounds chicken tenders or breasts
3 eggs
1 T water
1 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp salt
1-ish tsp pepper (I don't measure, I just grind away)
1 batch homemade bread crumbs*, or two cups seasoned packaged crumbs
2 handfuls grated parmesan cheese
olive oil
butter

Rinse chicken and cut into bite-sized pieces. Place on paper towels so chunks are dry as possible. Beat eggs with water. Combine flour, salt, and pepper. Pour bread crumbs* into a third dish; mix with parmesan cheese.

Bread the chicken: dredge in flour, then in egg, then in bread crumbs. I keep a big jelly roll pan that I only use for chicken, and just spread the breaded pieces on it as I go. (This part takes forever.) Heat a swirl of olive oil and a tablespoon-ish of butter (I didn't measure this part) in a skillet. (If you're cooking for more than about three people, try using two pans.) Cook chicken chunks on each side until cooked through and crispy. Serve with a variety of dips. (At our house tonight, there was blue cheese dressing, Caesar dressing, ketchup, honey, and fry sauce. Match the eater with the sauces for bonus points!)

*homemade bread crumbs. I am not a fan of packaged bread crumbs, mostly because I fail to get through a package before they go bad. Also because, unless we're eating at Subway, we don't eat white bread. So I always make my own (with wheat bread), and it's really easy! Plus it's a good way to use up the heels that no one will eat. (Did I mention my eaters are picky???)

3-6 pieces bread (for this recipe I used six pieces, four of which were heels, and had just exactly enough)
rosemary, garlic, oregano, basil, and pepper, or whatever spices you like

Toast the bread on one side so it's really, really toasted. Turn over and toast it again. You want it crispy but not burned. Let cool. Tear into chunks and drop them into your food processor or blender. (I use a blender as I don't own a food processor.) Sprinkle the seasonings across the bread. Process until crumbed.

The only drawback to tonight's everyone-loved-it main course? I think it took me five and a half hours to finish. Maybe six. Still...still worth it.

1. My left bunion, which is starting to hurt when i wear flip flops. (It also hurts when I wear hiking boots.) I cannot stand the thought of having it repaired because then I will no longer be able to stand on my toe knuckles. Curling my toes under my feet, while freakish, is my way of thinking. I do it when I am writing or doing anything else that's creative. I don't know how to function without curling my toes. Seriously...I don't want my foot sliced open. The exchange—pain for the ability to curl my toes—is still worth it.
2. My left ear, which has this weird crinkly sound in it. And sometimes hurts, but not in the consistent way that would suggest an ear infection. It sounds like two rocks being rubbed together, very far away. It also crackles when it does this—a physical feeling. It started doing this on the way back from California. If I had a doctor, I would go see him/her. I am seriously starting to think of that scene from Brokedown Palace.
3. People who try to worm their way around the law with the aid of seemingly-corrupt lawyers. Like that commercial for the lawyer whose job is to get people out of their DUI convictions. Seriously? I firmly believe that that lawyer must be an alcoholic. He's got that "this is everyone else's fault but mine" thing that alcoholics do down pat.
4. This creepy guy at work who comes in to use the computers. Every time he comes in, he walks over to me and says "Hey, you wanna turn me on?" which translates into "will you please log me onto a computer." My repeated firm responses of "No, I don't" are not seeming to penetrate. Seriously: do you not see my wedding ring? Do you not realize you're older than my own father? Do you realize how icky this entire situation is?
5. The fact that I returned 15 books to the library yesterday that I really, really want to read. Books I didn't even crack open. I am, however, halfway through Wolf Hall, which is seriously good.
6.  Back-to-school colds! Wheeeeee! Welcome to the petri dish that is public school. Please, take some of us home with you! Poor Haley, because a sore throat and  stuffy nose and headache are putting serious dents in her weekend plans (which were to run a cross-country race).
7. Seemingly all of my music. I seriously need something new to fall in love with, music-wise. I watched a snippet of Storytellers on VH1 about the group Phoenix, and I thought that might do it, but I can't get past how bad their teeth are. OK, that was seriously rude. Someone recommend some good new tunes quickly!
8. My scrapbooking mojo, which seems to be missing. Mostly, it's because I feel out of touch with all the newest trends. My approach...I am seriously starting to question if I am old, staid, and boring.

So, tell me...what is annoying you lately? I hope it's not just me whose got a bunch of annoyances floating around?

This is a strange time in my life. Haley is starting high school in a couple of days. Jake is starting junior high. Kaleb is starting kindergarten. Only for Nathan will this year be old hat.

And I'm starting to think: how did this happen?

I was almost at this point—all of my kids in school—before Kaleb was born. There are five and a half years between Nathan and Kaleb, and one of my co-workers (I was teaching then) asked me, point blank, what I was thinking. "You were almost there!" she said. "You almost had everyone gone off to school and your life back to yourself." What she didn't understand was just how much I love having babies.
She also didn't know how much of those 5.5 years between babies was spent in a sort of agony. I wanted one more baby with every ounce of myself. Kendell didn't. We argued and discussed and talked and waited and bargained and discussed some more and argued some more. I dreamed of and imagined and even shopped for this last baby I wanted so desperately.

After Kaleb was born, I still wanted one more. But I came to the realization that neither I nor my marriage could withstand my previous baby hunger. I couldn't go through the hopeful months, the crushed months, the prayers for a surprise and unplanned baby. My marriage couldn't withstand the arguments and the discussions and the tension. I had to teach myself that the longing for just one more baby was in part a longing for the ability to have my own children turn into their baby selves again—not that I wanted a new one, but that I wanted the past ones back. I told myself that it wouldn't matter how many babies I had, I would always want one more. And instead of thinking (very often) about that one-last-baby, the dream baby, never to be had, I focused on the baby I did have.

Nathan started Kindergarten when Kaleb was three months old. I willingly gave up the "life to myself" my co-worker couldn't understand me passing by. I just loved him, and savored everything about his baby years
(even the 3:00 a.m. diaper changes and nursing; even the exhaustion and the frustrations and the stubbornness of my youngest) and his toddler years
and his preschool years.
I had five years during which Kaleb was sort of an only child. At least during the daytime hours, when the Bigs were off to school.

I relished every little bit I could.

And now, it's his turn to be off to school. At last week's back-to-school night, I watched him meet his new teacher and run around his new classroom, and I felt everything in me break wide open in mourning. I didn't savor enough. I tried, but I must have wasted some of the time. It wasn't long enough, my respite from life to myself. I'm not ready to let go. I'm not sure if he is ready to be let go—if that stubbornness that only I can talk him down from will confound his teachers and make them fail to see his sweetness.

But ready or not, here I am. And I am surprised at how much it hurts to be here. I've done this three other times, the simple letting go of the hand that is all it takes to send a five-year-old off to school. You just let go. But this time, it is not so simple. This time, as with all of Kaleb's beginnings, it is a start for him and and end for me. An end to having someone with me always (as frustrating as that sometimes is), and end to the tender delight and unconsciously funny way of thinking that a small child brings. An end to being the main influence in his life. An end to my days with a little one all my own.

And yes: there are trade offs. There will be solitude; I will finally have time to myself during the day. I will be able to write, which is what I have always wanted to do with my life. I will be able to go to the grocery store without fighting a thousand "can we get this?" requests. I won't have to worry about finding babysitters anymore.

But I would trade all that, if I could. If I could just get back to those days, the ones when I had all the time in the world with my little ones—I would trade the solitude and the writing time and the easier trips to the store. How do you push on through your life without someone small to hold your hand, to make you laugh, to come to you with hugs and sweetness at all sorts of random times? How can I bear it, this life to myself?

When we were in California, and I put on my swimsuit, I made an immediate decision: I need to start training for a race. Call it my weakness, my athletic flaw, or my selfishness; I simply don't run consistently unless I have a race I'm working toward. So, when I got home, I signed up for the Halloween Half Marathon and got busy.

Then my ITB pain kicked in. 

Gah! The ITB thing makes me insane. I've followed all the recommended fix-your-ITB-pain stuff: the stretching and the icing and the heating and the resting. I've acquired a little pink ball that I roll up and down the length of my ITB before I run. I apply Myomed. The pain in my left knee still insists on kicking my butt.

So yesterday, the day after a painful run, I decided to just walk my four miles, instead of running them. I think that description—"just" walk—is how many runners feel about walking. As if it is a lesser exercise. But today I am discovering "just" how wrong that assumption was. Because I am sore. My hamstrings are sore and my calves are sore. That muscle that runs behind your knee, on the back of your leg? Also sore. My foot muscles are sore.

Another thing that surprised me about walking: how my thought patterns changed. The slower pace slowed my thoughts down, too. I had a nice, long conversation with myself, and although I didn't solve any world problems—nor any of my personal problems, either—I did feel a sense of inner peace. Running brings me that, too, but it had a different quality after the walk.

Casting all running snobbery aside, I've decided that a nice, long walk is in order, once a week, as part of my training-for-the-half process. Obviously my legs need it, and it gives my ITB a break, and my angst as well. Walking: it's a good thing!

I was talking to an old family friend the other day (hi Paul!) about old times, and suddenly remembered this cake. I used to bake it whenever we got together, but then they moved, and I haven't made it since. Not because it's not delicious—it is!—but because I associated it with dinner at their house. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since, though, so I made one for Sunday dinner. It's sitting on my kitchen table right now, biding time until it's late enough to eat dessert without feeling guilty. Mmmmm.

My copy of the recipe is nearly unusable, obliterated by chocolate spatters and eggy smears, so I thought I'd better blog it before I lost it. Here is, the best chocolate bundt cake ever:

2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup oil
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
1 cup 2% or whole milk
1 cup boiling water

Prepare the bundt pan: Coat your pan with butter, and then spray a good, heavy coating of Pam, making sure to get in all the cracks and crevices. Then, sprinkle sugar (NOT flour!) along the bottom. Rotate and shake the pan until the sides are all coated with a very thin layer of sugar.

Sift together the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, beat eggs till frothy; add oil, vanilla and milk, then beat again. Pour the liquid into the dry ingredients and begin to mix. Add the boiling water as you continue mixing the batter; mix for about 2 more minutes, or until everything is smooth. Bake at 350 for 38 minutes.

When the cake is cooled, frost it:

1 cup chocolate chips
2 T butter or shortening
1/2 cup half and half
1 tsp vanilla

Melt the chocolate and the butter/shortening over very low heat until smooth. Pour in the half and half all at once, then continue stirring over low heat until the frosting thickens. Stir in vanilla. Pour over the cake in drippy dollops. Serve with vanilla ice cream!

My sixteenth summer was epic and revolutionary and significant in many ways; one of the biggest was my job. I'd decided to leave gymnastics behind, and I needed something to fill my time, and since all of my friends already worked there, I decided to apply, too, at the telemarketing center that was just one town north from me. (Chris! I can't believe this, but I have forgotten the name! What was it called?) That job was awesome. I'd go to driver's ed in the mornings (I couldn't fit it into my regular school schedule because of the gymnastics) and then to work at 3:00. It brought me the freedom that having your own money brings. I could put gas in my car (it needed a lot) and buy my own Pepsi (and other things) and procure my own wardrobe (without any "I won't buy you anything black" comments). Most important, it was the place where I met my VBFF, Chris.

Plus, I was a damn fine telemarketer.

Our job was to call Citibank customers and convince them to upgrade to the gold Citibank visa card. It really wasn't very difficult to convince them, as the interest rate was lower—16.9% instead of 19.9%. (How odd is it that I can remember those numbers still?) Every time you had a successful call, you'd make a tally by your name. I always had a lot of tallys by 10:00 p.m.

Now, when telemarketers call me, I try at least to listen. I feel like it's sort of a good-karma payback for my own telemarketing days. I rarely (OK: never) buy what they're selling, but I still try to be polite. If they're calling to do a survey, I usually play along. My only exception: if they call at the wrong hour.

Telemarketers' hours should be the late afternoon. And if you call me at 8:00 in the morning? Even if you wait politely until 8:07 a.m.? I am wont to be a little bit rude to you. All telemarketing karma aside, I'm going to be annoyed if you call and wake me up to take your survey. And yeah, you're right: it's 8:00! It's 8:07 even! I should be be out of bed. But, alas, I am not. I'll be sleeping if anyone lets me. My kids or my husband waking me up is one thing. But a telemarketer? Ummmm, no. If you want to be the recipient of my kindness to telemarketers, call after noon, OK?

Since no one guessed the town we stayed in (San Clemente), the winner of my beach-related scrapping-supply give away is Karen

who DID guess the beach we hung out at the most: Laguna. (Karen, will you email me your regular address?)

We didn't go to Disneyland, although this trip was inspired by our February trip; when we went to Newport Beach for a few hours, we all decided that we needed to return to California for some beach time. Like everyone else, I was excited to go to the beach for three days...but I left not certain if I really, really love it. I was anxious every beachy, sandy, wave-filled second, terrified that someone would get swept away by a wave and drown. No one did drown, though, so maybe I just need to figure out how to get over my anxiety. (And I'm talking serious, heart-pounding, adrenaline-filled anxiety...for three entire days at the beach.)

At any rate, a handful of California highlights:

Despite the pebbly beach,

San Clemente is a lovely town. Our hotel was a little bit disappointing—the information said it was "right across the street" from the beach...apparently "right across the street" translates into "three-quarters of a mile," but the walking did everyone good. We got to our hotel early enough that we still had three hours before the sun set. Our day ended when Kaleb accidentally beaned Jake with a big rock, right on the scalp; no stitches were required, but he did get to get his bloody wound cleaned by the life guard.

Every morning we were there, I went down to the beach to go running. Beach running is perhaps the only thing that I was entirely anxiety-free for. There is a lovely little 2 1/2 mile-long trail along the north beach, so I ran on that every morning. It includes a wooden bridge, and gorgeous ocean views

and brought me great happiness. We also discovered a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called La Tiendita. Fabulous Mexican food for a great price!

The first day, we went to Bolsa Chica state beach, which was OK. It was freezing that day, and I just sat in the beach towel talking to our friend Jean and shivering. The kids still had fun. Kaleb, especially, is entranced by the water. He kept going in to catch the waves, even though he was shivering. Then he'd come and get buried until he was warm again:

Haley mostly read her book—she was reading Nation, by Terry Pratchett, about an island in the Pacific that was devastated by the tsunami caused by Krakatoa—but we also practiced taking arm's length self-portraits:

(isn't she gorgeous?)

Since we were close, we swung by here:

My California guide book highly recommended it, but it was just sort of ehhhh. I mean, I would love to go for a run along the trail, but we didn't get to see any birds. The most interesting thing was the contrast between the "ecologically sensitive area" and the oil drills in the distance. (I would have taken a photo but I was still freezing and shivering.)

Nathan was my compatriot in cold. I think we both shivered the entire day. Still, doesn't he look like a classic surfer dude?

We spent the next two days at Laguna beach. They were much, much warmer. Warm enough for me to get in the water, all the way out beyond the breakers, and then body surf in. That was fun until I nearly lost my swimsuit bottom and mooned everyone. Then I just sat by the beach towels. The beach towels and the swim bag full of cameras and MP3 players and cell phones. All the stuff that nearly got ruined when the biggest wave swept up the beach and completely doused our spot. (No one else's spot, mind you. Just ours.) (Kendell's sand wall had nothing against the ferocity of that wave.) I saw it coming and started scrambling—grabbing bags and books and everything I could. The library books took the brunt of the water and were completely ruined. I'm talking: so wet that the spines cracked backwards. I tried to overlook the irony of a book about a rogue wave being ruined by a rogue wave, but there you have it. At least I managed to save the electronics-filled bag, right?

Later that day, we took a whale-watching cruise. This was the highlight of the trip for me. Yep, even better than running: seeing a blue whale swimming through the ocean. We were freezing (everyone's clothes got soaked by that crazy wave) but it was still magical. Here's the short bit of video I took just before my camera battery died:

(That's Kaleb's voice you can hear!)
 

There were sunburns, of course. Most notably the tops of my feet and Jake's skull. For most of one day he walked around in my bandana

until a wave washed it away, and then he wore my floppy hat (with strict instructions to NOT lose the hat).

There were the usual arguments  you get when you spend perhaps too much time together.

There was that pesky and persistent anxiety of mine.

But all in all, rogue wave aside, it was a great beach vacation!

There's a pile of sandy beach towels on the back porch, waiting to be washed. They'll have to wait though, because there're also piles of darks and lights to be washed, too; they all smell vaguely of hotel. Plus our enormous suitcase is sitting in the middle of the front room, waiting to be put away, and all of my lotions and soaps are still in Ziploc bags on the bathroom floor.

All signs that we've recently returned from a vacation!

Despite all your excellent advice, we didn't get to go to San Francisco. We started planning this spur-of-the-moment vacation too close to when we were leaving, and the tours to Alactraz were already completely booked. So we just went to the beach instead. We'll save San Fran for another vacation.

While I'm doing laundry and putting stuff away and obsessing over the smell in the suitcase, I thought I'd do a little blog give away. If you DON'T know which California beach city we stayed at, leave me a comment with your guess. (Here's a tiny hint: we stayed south of Los Angeles.) Whoever guesses correctly first will be the happy winner of a package of beach-related scrapping supplies.

Happy guessing!

I've been so busy this week blogging at the Write. Click. Scrapbook blog that I have overlooked my own blog! If you are of the scrapperly sort, you might head over and check out my posts over there. I'm blogging all week (well...what is left of it!) about preserving some details of your life RIGHT NOW (a la my last randomalities post.) Right at this very second. And even if you aren't a scrapperly sort, you can use some of the ideas on your blog. (The summer survey could be turned into an instant meme, just with a quick copy & paste.)

Anyway. If you've been wondering where I've been...now you are in the loop!