christmas eve

As they have been doing for over 50 years, NORAD is again tracking Santa's Christmas Eve flight around the world. If all goes according to plan, we just might cross cloud-filled paths as we make our own flight to Texas. If we see him, we'll be sure to remind him how good you were this year.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

i'm not sure why i'm telling you this

When I was younger, my mom would periodically use the clip side of a brown star-shaped hair barrette to scrape away at the caked on earwax in mine and my sibling's ears. Gross, I know. But had you'd taken a peek at the buildup for yourself, you would have swiftly done the same. It didn't hurt exactly, however I can't truthfully tell you that I looked forward to the experience. But to this day, I get shivers down my spine along with an uncontrollable urge to clean out my ears when, during visits home, I find that star-shaped barrette laying in a bathroom drawer.

Fast forward twenty-some-odd years to today where I'm lying on the couch reading my book when Garrett walks up to share with me what he is reading. Because I'm mostly horizontal, I am given a clear view directly into his grimy little ear canal. Crusty leftovers from recent shampoos. Lint from a blanket he snuggles with. Mac 'n' Cheese from yesterday's lunch. And let's not even mention the actual earwax.

Suddenly I found myself wishing that the dreaded star-shaped barrette was more accessible.

I'm sure that, at this point, you might not believe me if I told you that I really do bathe my child. Frequently, even. But here's the thing: no longer is Garrett a willing participate in the ritual we call washing. He writhes and screams when I shampoo his hair and dodges me while scrambling to the other side of the tub when I attempt to soap up his body. Which, as I'm sure you can imagine, makes ear washing a bit of a challenge.

Today, though, after being completely grossed out by the state of his inner and outer ears, I determined to take matters into my own hands, and I wasn't going to take writhes, screams, or dodges as an answer. I grabbed a warm, wet washcloth, pinned the boy down, and went to work.

All told, the deep cleaning only took a minute or two. (Garrett, though, I'm sure, would like to tell you otherwise.) But at least now they're clean, which is a very good thing considering that it is my lap he'll be sitting on, with his toddler-sized ears directly in view, during tomorrow's flight to Texas.

drop everything and go make these cookies

Seriously.

My friend, Disco Mom, as a part of her month-long mouth-watering Virtual Goody Plate, included a recipe for Surprise Mint Cookies (a.k.a. Junior Mint Meltaways).

You might remember that I love a good surprised-filled cookie. And so last week I went on a quest for Junior Mints. Oddly enough, it took me a few tries before I found a store that actually had Junior Mints in stock (I guess the rest of the neighborhood got a hold of the recipe, too), but I eventually came away victorious.

The cookies are simple to make and delicious to scarf down -- I mean, eat daintily. (On second thought, I really do mean scarf down. They are really, really good.) Think chocolate chip cookie dough, sans the chocolate chips but with instead a Junior Mint hidden inside. The mint melts as it bakes, creating a cookie infused with minty chocolate.

Because my heart just can't leave you here, sitting in your own drool, without sharing the recipe, I will post it below. All kudos for these cookies really should go to Disco Mom, without whose recipe I wouldn't be aware of this little bite of heaven, so if you want to thank her personally, feel free to here. (She also posted pictures, which I, in my eagerness to scarf them down, didn't do.)

Surprise Mint Cookies
a.k.a. Junior Mint Meltaways

3 cups flour

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 cup butter

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

A large box of Junior Mints (movie theater size)

1. Sift together the flour, soda and salt. In a separate bowl cream the sugar, brown sugar and butter until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time and vanilla and combine well. Add the flour mixture a little at a time and beat until well combined. Chill dough for 2 hours.

2. Preheat oven to 350. Roll the dough into 1 to 1 1/2 inch balls. Make a slight indentation with your thumb and place a Junior mint in it. Use your fingers and thumb to cover the mint with dough. Keep the mint as close to the top of the cookie as you can, just enough to cover with dough. The minty filling will seep down and make the bottom super sticky if it's too low. Even though there is plenty of butter in the dough you should lightly coat your baking sheets with cooking spray in case the bottoms become sticky from the candy.

3. Bake for about 12 minutes until lightly browned. Let cool for about 4-5 minutes on sheets before moving to a cooling rack. Decorate cookies any way you like [DM drizzled melted chocolate chips over the top of hers] or leave plain [I was lazy -- err, I mean too eager to eat them -- and took this route...they're still tasty plain]. Enjoy!

Makes about 3 1/2 dozen (i.e. not nearly enough)

christmas comes early

Late Friday night, just as we were going to bed, Santa stopped by asking if it was all right with us if he dropped by our house a little early this year. Because a) we didn't want to have to bring more gifts back from Texas than was necessary, b) we knew that by celebrating Christmas on Saturday, we'd be guaranteed a white one, and c) who doesn't want Christmas to come early?! we told him sure, why not! So Saturday morning, we led Garrett into a magical living room replete with gifts to unwrap and a fully constructed train set. He couldn't have been happier.


Garrett was a very good boy this year, as evidenced by Santa's gifts. Besides the train set, he got a set of shape sorting blocks, a puzzle, a bead roller coaster, and -- best of all -- a set of wooden building blocks. (Santa even gave us a few more smaller gifts to safe keep until we stuff them in his stocking for the real Christmas Day.) I think it goes without saying that Garrett has been in heaven ever since.

In the afternoon we trekked through slush, ice, snow, and, sadly, local-only trains to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the Neapolitan Baroque Creche which is displayed at the base of their annual Christmas tree. Because it's a special exhibit, I wasn't allowed to take my photos. Fortunately for you, however, some, including the one below, can be found online.


While we were there, we also walked through another special exhibit called "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Aquisitions." Two of my favorites were Photo: This Is the Color of My Dreams by Joan Miro and Autograph Quilt by Adeline Harris Sears.

The Autograph Quilt was especially interesting. Here's the story behind it from the Met's Online Catalogue:

In 1856, seventeen-year-old Adeline Harris, the daughter of a well-to-do Rhode Island mill owner, conceived a unique quiltmaking project. She sent small diamond-shaped pieces of white silk worldwide to people she esteemed as the most important figures of her day, asking each to sign the silk and return it to her. By the time all the signatures were returned and ready to be stitched into a "tumbling-blocks" patterned quilt, Adeline had amassed an astonishing collection of autographs. Her quilt features the signatures of eight American presidents; luminaries from the worlds of science, religion, and education; heroes of the Civil War; such authors as Charles Dickens and Ralph Waldo Emerson; and an array of prominent artists. Today, the autographs displayed in this beautiful and immaculately constructed quilt provide an intriguing glimpse into the way an educated young woman of the mid-nineteenth century viewed her world.

If Adeline was making an autograph quilt today, I wonder who would sign it.

Since we were nearby, we also took a brief walk through a snowy Central Park. It was beautiful, and a welcome break from the dirty, urban aftermath of a New York City snowstorm. Watching handfuls of kids sled down Cedar Hill only cemented further into me the idea that urban kids are not deprived of a spectacular childhood. Theirs is different, perhaps, but no less fulfilling.

A little cold and exhausted from an adventurous day, we headed home, ate some dinner, and spent a relaxing evening realizing dreams of small-scale archetectural fame.


(I think Blake likes the building blocks as much as Garrett does.)

even old new york was once new amsterdam

I studied history in college because I liked how the discipline explained things. I liked to trace things backwards in order to shed light on the reasons why certain things are the way they are and why certain people behave the way they do. I loved how studying history allowed events from the past to come alive to me in the present. Getting to the root of a moment absolutely thrills me.

Which is perhaps why I thoroughly enjoyed my most recent read: The Island at the Center of the World: The Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony that Shaped America by Russell Shorto. Like its title suggests, it's the story of the Dutch West India Company trading settlement on and around Manhattan Island and inland up the Hudson River. Based primarily on the official documents recording the colony's settlement and progression, which are currently being translated into modern English from 17th century swirling Dutch script, the book sets out to correct the myth that America's first (and only) roots came from Puritan New England. In fact, the Dutch had already been comfortably settled in the New World about a decade before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.

At the center of the story are two principal characters: Adriaen van der Donck, an enlightened young lawyer whose ideas of representative government are more than a century ahead of his time; and his nemesis in the New World, Peter Stuyvesant, the gruff director of the New Netherland colony. The two men were nearly always at odds, one desperately trying to progress the colony's method of government forward, the other fiercely clinging to already well-established traditions. Both, however, along with their fellow settlers, did much to shape America as we know it today.

When you think of 21st century Manhattan, I'm sure you conjure up images of rowdy, multi-ethnic citizens, big business, and a lot of hustle and bustle. When you imagine 17th century Manhattan, do you summon similar images? Because you should. As a major port settlement in a growing global economy, New Amsterdam was geographically suited to not only attract swarthy individuals, but also wealthy traders eager to do business. As word of readily available land and opportunity spread, settlers from all over Europe made their way to New Netherland and put down roots. In Europe, the Netherlands were known for their tolerance of religion, cultures, and ideas, and this tolerance continued on (to a limited 17th century degree) in its North American colony as it attracted Europeans from all walks of life. A walk down a street in New Amsterdam, crossing the paths of busy, determined people with cultures and personal convictions as varied as the throng of trade that passed in and out of the city's ports, would be remarkably similar to a walk through Lower Manhattan today. I find that fascinating, and I have the original Dutch settlers, with their ideas of tolerance and knack for business, to thank for it.


The book was fascinating and surprising readable (i.e. being coined as a "history buff" is not a requirement to enjoy this book), and I highly recommend it. I assure you, too, that Shorto does a much better job of explaining exactly how the Dutch colony helped shape today's America than I ever could. So pick up a copy and give yourself a bit of further education on early American history and how it has created the American culture we know today.

the snowy day

Technically it's not his first snow, but honestly, it might as well be.


For the five minutes we spent outside exploring the snow, he was all wonder and curiosity. And then he got cold. So we decided to finish enjoying it inside.

because everything sounds better with a british accent

Last weekend, after we'd finished rearranging the living room to make way for the piano, we turned on the TV to test the antenna. Saturday Night Live was on, and the skit airing was called "Bronx Beat with Betty and Jodi." For those of you unfamiliar with this SNL segment, here's the gist: two gum-chewing, thick-accented friends from the Bronx host a talk show. The premise may be simple, but the results are hilarious. Here is last Saturday's "Bronx Beat."

People like Betty and Jodi are not limited to the Bronx. I come across their Brooklyn counterparts, accents and all, every day at the grocery store, the laundromat, the bus stop. Though the SNL imitation of them may be a bit exaggerated, it is nonetheless very, very real.

My favorite exchange from the skit?

BETTY: You know what else? British people are so dignified. They have manners.

JODI: Uh-huh. They sound like geniuses.

BETTY: Yeah. I bet the dumbest person in England is smarter than anyone we know.

Couldn't have said it better myself, Betty.


*Thanks, Adam, for finding an embeddable version online!

garrett the carrot, reprise

It appears that Garrett's growth spurt is over, and consequently meal times have become a bit more challenging. No longer is he voraciously stuffing every crumb of food I set before him into his belly. Instead, these days he's eating more and more like a picky little bird (and not the sort of bird that sweetly chirps about an approaching spring; no, this is the sort of bird that incessantly whines about how cold it is). Don't get me wrong -- he's still a sweet boy, despite the teething and the cold which I'm sure have contributed to his waning appetite as well as to his recent edginess. I just wish he'd eat more.*

Take last night, for example. I served a chicken and rice dinner with a side garden salad. The salad had pieces of grated carrot in it which Garrett, of his own accord, figured out how to dip into ranch dressing. Only, once dipped, he wouldn't eat the carrot; instead he'd lick the ranch off, then dip again for more. After several licks and dips, he'd set his used piece of carrot off to the side, select a new one, and begin the process again. He didn't touch anything else on his plate.

So. For those of you just joining us, all my son ate last night of his dinner was ranch dressing.**

Garrett is so weird sometimes. And here is further proof:


Lately, when he's tired or bored, I'll find him curled up with his blanket and binky on any available piece of floor looking as if he's about to conk out. (He hasn't fallen completely asleep yet, though it's bound to happen any time now.) His typical position is on his stomach, knees folded beneath him, with his bottom sticking up in the air, and I have found him thus everywhere from below the kitchen sink (see above) to underneath chairs in the livingroom. So bizarre.

Also? Just the other day he realized that a great place to stick his fingers when they are not otherwise occupied is up his nose. He doesn't pick; he just safekeeps them there. I can't decide if I should be grossed out or charmed by his resourcefulness.


*Though he's eating less food than I thought was normal for him, he does still eat. I'm not worried about him wasting away to wispiness. But it is getting pretty annoying to prepare meals which he's proved to me before that he'll happily eat only to watch him pick at them in disgust. I'm sure this is just one of those toddler phases I've been warned of, but still. It's frustrating.

**Of course, being the sort of mother who doesn't like to send her child to bed on an empty stomach, I offered him an assortment of food which was not on the menu, but which I knew he'd eat at least a little bit of. But just out of curiosity, do you think any nutrients can be derived from licking a carrot? And do kids ever get sick of eating the same old fallback foods over and over again?

i heard a bird sing

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

- Oliver Herford

Found in The Random House Book of Poetry for Children, edited by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by Arnold Lobel

austenbook

About a month ago I got an email from my brother Riley telling me to "get with the times" and sign up for a Facebook account already. After all, if my grandpa could get on Facebook, then, good grief, so could I.

I thought about it for a few days. I had purposely been resisting the whole Facebook trend because I honestly didn't need another reason to be at the computer. I had enough to do. But Riley did have a point. So one quiet evening, while Blake was out of town on business, and I was left with a bit of time to kill, I let myself get sucked in.

After about two feverish days of finding, adding, and confirming friends, I was nearly ready to throw in the towel. Turns out everyone is on Facebook! It's like this exclusive club available to anyone, and it was making me dizzy. I was finding people from my old home ward, from my school years in Provo, friends from Ricks and BYU, Indiana and New York. It's a good thing the friend-adding frenzy died down, giving me the go-ahead to only check into my account on occasion, else I would have taken a big fat pass on membership in the Facebook Club. Which, don't get me wrong -- I do think it's pretty fun to run into people I never thought I'd see again. I'm just also immensely relieved that the initial fervor has calmed down considerably.

The best part about Facebook, though, is that now I can fully appreciate this Pride and Prejudice Facebook News Feed that my friend, Emily, shared with me. If you're a Jane Austen fan, click to read through it. It's hilarious.