On Beauty

photo credit

I have never been beautiful and for this I am grateful. I'm not saying that I can't land on "pretty" on a good day and rate better than average most days, but beautiful, the kind of beauty that turns heads and intimidates, that inspires grand gestures, and smooths out the challenges one usually encounters in life, that level of beauty is out of my reach.

In my teens the recognition that my nose was just a little too big and my proportions were a little too small was a source of niggling discomfort, like a bruise you sometimes press just because it's there. In my drawing class in college the further realization that my eyes weren't symmetrical was a stronger spark of pain because my psychology class had labeled symmetry as a defining characteristic of beauty. With this discovery, I could no longer tell myself that I was one small nose job away from attainable beauty, it was quite significantly out of my reach.

But it was also at this time that I was discovering that as much as beauty might be nice, I'm not sure I would choose that if I could. It's true that in real life, no one is offered the option to choose between brains and beauty, but in a sense it often works out that the outcome is beauty or personality.

Those of us who aren't born with startling beauty end up developing other talents to get by in the world. Since our looks aren't greasing the wheels making people want to know us without any effort exerted on our part, we develop a sense of humor, an ability to tell good stories, and a quick wit. I don't think I'd trade that to have people fall all over themselves around me. I prefer to think I'll be the life of the retirement home one day.

Failures of Kindness

In this season of graduation speeches and advice, I read this speech from George Saunders on the Times site. You should definitely read it in its entirety. It's filled with lovely sentiments and good advice, but the part that really punched me in the gut was this:

                   But here’s something I do regret:

                   In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech 

                   name will be “ELLEN.” ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only 

                   old ladies wore. When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into  

                   her mouth and chewing on it.

                   So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair 

                   taste good?” — that sort of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d look after such 

                   an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was 

                   trying, as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth. At home, 

                   I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, 

                  fine.” And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

                  Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

                  And then — they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing.

                  One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

                  End of story.

                  Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other 

                  kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even 

                  (mildly) defended her.

                  But still. It bothers me.
                  So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

                  What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.

                  Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded . . . sensibly. 

                  Reservedly. Mildly.

It reminds me of one of those things that I can't let go of from middle school, that niggles at me to this day. There was a girl who was a bit slower. She didn't have the ease at making friends that so many others had, but she was genuine and would never have dreamed of anything hurtful to say to anyone. And one of the popular girls who was certainly capable of thinking and doing hurtful things toward other girls took notice of her one day in our gym locker room and told her she needed a makeover. 

This potential mean girl proceeded to outline her eyes with tons of liner and tell her how much better she looked. I didn't say a word; I just went home that night and cried because I didn't do anything for her. I didn't (and actually still don't) know if this was one of those rare times that the potential mean girl was being genuine. After all, it was her own eyeliner and it was a similar look to her own, so it was not obviously done to be funny or hurtful. I was afraid to speak up because I didn't want to hurt the shy girl finally getting attention from the popular girl. She practically beamed at herself in the mirror afterward. 

So why did it bother me so much and why does it continue to bother me? 

At the time I thought it was the uncertainty about the situation that bothered me so much, but now I suspect it's because I didn't go out of my way to be her friend. That memory just illustrates so vividly how badly she wanted a connection and how often we were all so indifferent to her. Perhaps that potential mean girl was actually nicer to her than I was. She paid attention and made a gesture, and I didn't. I wasn't mean, but I missed the opportunity to be kind.

Though She Be But Little...

My daughter has gotten a healthy dose of stubborn from each of her parents, she cleverly "doesn't hear" me when I ask her to do things she doesn't want to, and she refuses to take naps when there is anything even slightly interesting going on that she might miss.

But as aggravating as our little curly-headed monster can be, I find myself filled with pride even at her most infuriating moments.

Probably chucked the spoons seconds later to go
both hands in on the custard and blueberries

She tries pretty much anything if she sees us eating it.
She happily eats moderately spicy things (hot Italian sausage, salsa), loves rabbit and lamb, and eats sauteed spinach (though that's currently one of the few greens that is easy to get in her-it's a texture thing). "MmmUmm" she says as she awkwardly spoons food into her mouth. Then, when that's not quick enough or accurate enough, she abandons the spoon and uses her hands.  

Making silly faces during dinner

She loves to be silly.
Daddy taught her how to throw snowballs at mommy's butt, so now that's the first thing she does in snow, giggling uncontrollably when she squishes it on my rear. She loves to make us laugh, repeating anything that gets a laugh out of us over and over. She makes funny faces and dances and sings. Her laugh is possibly the best sound on earth. She's recently started giggling to herself over things, which is so entertaining even if I can't tell what in the world she thinks is so funny.

She's loving.
Hugs and kisses, pats and squeezes, this girl loves to snuggle. Her enjoyment of snuggle time is nearly always at war with her urge to run wild, but she is almost always willing, even in the middle of the most raucous game, to throw a quick kiss your way if you beg. Then you are treated to an adorable damp pucker that delivers a squishy kiss. 

Feeding her Lambie a bottle

She's emphathetic.
Whether she's concerned each and every time she hears a baby crying, or she's worried to tears every time Elmo loses his blanket in Elmo in Grouchland, my daughter wants to make it better. Her cousin, Owen, gave her a small polar bear for her first Christmas. It's not her favorite toy, like it is his, but she definitely recognizes it as one of her toys. When we were all together for Thanksgiving, she found Owen's PB in his bed and took it thinking it was hers. When we explained why he was looking so concerned, that it was his version of her Lambie, she immediately made sure to give it back and brought it to him throughout the visit.

All the kids listening quietly to Santa
read a story? Nope, I'm definitely out.

She's headstrong.
She says no even when I'm pretty sure she actually means yes. She does what she wants and pays me no attention at all. It's clear she hears me, but you can see those wheels turning as she decides if my wishes align with hers. The answer is usually no. More than any other characteristic, I think this one delights my own mom the most. It seems I may be raising a mini-me. And most days I would say she's coming out ahead. As much as I might admire their control, I'm not one of those calm, talk-it-out-with-the-child-until-they-make-the-right-decision types; I'm a yeller. My tone is decidedly loud. I've made my nephew cry just by saying, "Oh no, don't eat that!" in what I considered to be a normal level of exclamation (seriously, it wasn't loud!) Eleanor remains unfazed through all my varying tones and decibels. Obviously there are problems with this. How am I going to get her attention and make her stop immediately when she's doing something dangerous? I'm not sure a deadly whisper is going to cut it. 

This railing is only about 10 ft off the ground

Watching the ants march up the tree trunk

She's adventurous.
She walks up to anyone and says hi to perfect strangers, loving the attention they give. While visiting a friend on the heart ward at the hospital, she would dart into the other rooms (we managed to catch her most of the time), trying to visit the other patients (missed her once, and we ended up visiting an elderly gentleman while he was eating his dinner. I said something awkward about hoping he would recover quickly and apologized, me somewhat mortified after we ran into a nurse on our way out-you always feel like people see uncontrollable children as a parental failing. Found out later from the friend we visited that the elderly man had loved it. Thank goodness.)

Sharing a book with Longfellow Bear

She loves books.
It is so amazing to have her interact with her books now. Not only is she (finally) relatively gentle with her lift the flap books, but she participates in the stories I read to her. She repeats lines from Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes (a family favorite), and she has a whole routine throughout Where the Wild Things Are. The Kissing Hand is in our rotation this week. Eleanor has me kiss her hand and she kisses mine, just like the mommy and baby raccoons do in the book. Makes my heart melt every time.

Giggling riotously in her toy basket

She sings at the top of her lungs.
It's true that this occurs most often when she should be napping peacefully in her crib, but sometimes I'm treated to her lyrics in the car on the way to or home from daycare. So far the tunes and words are pretty unidentifiable, but I love to hear her belting them out. Her current favorite is the Itsy Bitsy Spider, which she would happily listen to on repeat for our entire 20 minute car ride to daycare. The best I could do in negotiation was that we would listen to it every other song. She also meets her daddy at the door when he arrives home from work, demanding that he share his "nunes" with her. He always happily crouches down and hands her one of his earbuds so she can hear his tunes.

The McArdle Family Chili Cookoff

We were thrilled to have one of Nathan's sisters, Jenny, and her husband, Brandon, visit us the weekend before Thanksgiving. We love any chance to have Eleanor spend time with her relatives. She's growing so fast, we want everyone who loves her to get to spend time with her at each stage, (especially those difficult stages.-Take all the time with her you want. I'll just be over here far away).

This visit was a particularly fun one because we tested out a game (Rapid Recall) during her nap and had a McArdle/Brooks chili cook-off.

The final four looked surprisingly different.

Photos by Jenny McArdle

Shown here in medaling order:

Nathan's Southwest Cowboy Chili courtesy of my birthday gift from Jenny, the Nom Nom Paleo Cookbook (top left)

Jenny's Pumpkin and Chicken Chili (no idea where she got the recipe from-I think this one is it, but she substituted some ingredients) (top right)

Brandon's modified Alton Brown Pressure Cooker Chili recipe (bottom left)

And my exotic Kangaroo Meat Chili [Original recipe from the Edgewater Cookbook (our neighborhood fundraiser cookbook) but with ground kangaroo meat instead of beef]. This is a somewhat similar recipe. (bottom right)

In order to pick the winner, everyone ranked all four dishes in order of their favorites and the ultimate winner was the one with the most points. Even though he didn't even rank his own first, Nathan's was a hands down winner. The broth was so velvety delicious that even when we ran out of beef by dinner, I still poured myself a bowl of broth.

I gave myself a last place vote because I was completely turned off by the kangaroo meat. Raw, ground kangaroo has a very fishy smell, which, though it was covered by the chili ingredients and didn't bother anyone else in the group, did me in. I just could not get behind it. I will say it completely mellowed by the next day.

Homemade Halloween

Not even on my life list, folks, but I still broke out the glue gun and the sewing machine for this year's Halloween costume. Before anyone feels too sorry for Nathan's series of low key, uncrafty costumes, I must add that though it is painful for me to send him out in public this way, these costumes are exactly his preference. I might have managed to get him in a fox costume this year if I had finagled, but he was very excited to get to wear his TSC hat.

 

O Frabjous Day

Motherhood Notes:

I just sincerely prayed to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, for his help in returning the bacon puzzle piece that has been missing from the playroom for the last week...This was a last resort after fruitlessly looking on eBay to purchase a "Melissa and Doug bacon puzzle piece." Spoiler: no matches.

Update: DUDES, it totally worked. It better than worked! Day of the prayer not only did the bacon puzzle piece show up in Eleanor's room (which was the only room in the house I would have bet money on for it NOT to be in), but something I had long declared gone forever appeared after almost 2 months! I hadn't even asked for that one because I had so thoroughly given up on it!!! I told Nathan that I believe. I BELIEVE. I am converting to Catholicism. Or at least naming my next child Saint Anthony. Sorry kid, Mommy owed him one.

I was entirely too optimistic when I went to bed at 11 last night...I've been up since 5 AM because Eleanor doesn't understand the time change. We read Little Blue Truck (currently, according to my toddler, every animal moos) and the Babylit Jabberwocky twice. I always read Jabberwocky with a Scottish accent. I discovered this morning that my Scottish accent is much more authentic when I'm half asleep.

I currently have 3 pairs of shoes that need repair in my car trunk that have been riding around with me since last fall...The shoe repair place is less than a mile from my office.

I just discovered dried egg on my silk shirt that is suspiciously in the shape of a toddler face print...I've already had two meetings this morning.

Nathan has a surprise coming when he drops off this week's dry cleaning. I wonder how much they'll charge for the coat part of Eleanor's chicken costume?

A Place More Kind Than Home

My friend Aileen and I have been trading writing exercises as a way to sharpen our dulled writing skills. This week's, chosen by moi, was for us to write a Dear John letter from our favorite piece of furniture.

Please keep in mind that I took poetic license with elements here, so this is merely based on some facts (Sorry, Mom, I'm sure the Barrister wasn't really disappointed to be in your room. And there really haven't been any actual close calls, just many imagined ones that have made me a bit sick to my stomach...).

Dear Hanna,

I loved your grandmother very much even though I was not the center of her life. She brought me in to her home many years ago. I thought I was on my way to displaying valuables or even holding her husband’s important ledgers; however, to my disappointment she put me in your mother’s room where I housed your mother’s and aunt’s doll furniture like some sort of giant dollhouse. I came to accept this as my lot in life; at least I was out of the way of your rowdy uncle’s ever bouncing soccer ball. 

Things began to look up as the children left the nest and your grandparents made the long move to Vermont. They kept me even as they got rid of some of the lesser furniture (I was relieved that some of the coarser elements in the household were sold off. That bookshelf had always leered lasciviously at me from down the hall.)

I had hoped that I would have a more prominent placement in the new home and was thrilled to hear that I would be placed downstairs in the dining room for all to see. I looked forward to holding your grandmother’s beautiful wedding place settings or some of the lovely blue glassware she collected on lamp buying expeditions with your grandfather.

It was sadly not to be, however, as I was placed in the front entry hallway between the dining room and the living room. It took me years to realize the full disappointment of this placement. The family always gathered in the kitchen, and visitors did not come to the front door but to the side door down the hall. The hallway was merely a passageway between two destinations. Only children seemed to linger by my side with all others walking purposefully past without a glance in my direction.

I tried to find the bright side to my situation. I now held exotic, one-of-a-kind dishes and goblets. I had the company of a whole menagerie of animal serving dishes and pitchers-chickens, ducks, moose, a kitten, and even a bunny or two. I was safe from the clumsiest of newly walking grandchildren as they did not usually venture to the uneven slate floor on which I rested. But I could never quite see what was going on in the household-it was always maddeningly just out of reach, around the smallest of corners to my left or right.

I was devastated for your grandmother the day that your grandfather died, and devastated for myself when I discovered that your grandmother had died (I contend that it was of a broken heart), but I held out hope that I would go to one of the grandchildren who would care for me as your grandmother did. I had high hopes when I discovered you had claimed me (though immense trepidation to find how far I would have to travel to get to you). It was a terrifying and very bouncy ride though thankfully your father is a very thorough packer, meticulously wrapping each of my glass doors.

It was a happy few years at the center of your home, as I was able to continue displaying much of your grandmother’s dishes and even continued to have one of my chicken friends keeping me company. Yes, I had to get used to the hustle and bustle again (your house is much louder than your grandparents’ had been for many years), but I have not survived the past 100 years by being entirely inflexible. These old wood slats can still bend a bit.

However, I come to the point of this letter. This past year has required too much from me. There have been too many close calls as you have been distracted with broom and mop handles. There have been too many moments of frozen panic as a chair pushed quickly back from the table has nearly toppled into me, and there have been too many instances of last second snatches of that damnable wooden xylophone mallet from your feral toddler as she headed directly toward my delicate glass doors. (Pardon my language; I must take a moment to collect myself.)

Do you know how many years these curved glass panels have survived? I have not made it this far to see them smashed in a moment of mayhem! And let me point out that nearly every moment in your once quiet household is now filled with mayhem. I cannot live like this. My blood pressure is as elevated as my once exalted status as the best piece of furniture you own. Now, however, instead of being a source of pride, I am merely a liability.

Don’t think that I don’t know you now gaze at my pristine glass with dread. You and I both know that you would have a nearly impossible time trying to replace one of these panels should when your little hellion darling finally destroys me. I can no longer just sit and accept my fate. I am leaving for safer accommodations. I’m sure there’s a racetrack or bowling alley somewhere that requires a trophy case. Lord knows they’ll be quieter than your dining room.

Best,

Barrister Bookcase

I Want Wednesday-Tiny Kid Edition

Here are a few of the things I've had to talk myself out of buying for E this week...

A small collection of magnetic blocks with a carry pouch you can have in your purse...genius!

Talked myself out of it: Only thing happening with these blocks right now would be E eating them...



Tablecloth that doubles as an adorable playhouse...gorgeous!

Talked myself out of it: Only thing happening with this cloth would be her pulling it (and everything on the table) off and across the floor...


Marbleworks set that provided my sisters and me with hours of building and marble racing fun for at least a decade...in fact, I kind of want to play with it now even as an adult.

(Why I Should) talk myself out of it: Only thing happening with this is that she would eat ALL the marbles immediately.
(But I really really want it, and I'm having a Discovery Toy party on Friday so I might buy it and store it away for, yes, I know, a very long while.)

Looking for that Painless Dentist

I've run across some clichés lately that have really bugged me. I know you're not supposed to put much stock in clichés, but still they keep getting said for a reason-people seem to really believe they are sharing gems of wisdom. Every time I hear someone say it, I just want to interrupt with these rants.

I hear the statement (said with a sort of pitying condescension to those of us who haven't found one of our own to brag about) that "good relationships are easy." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Who said this first, one of the Babysitter's Club kids? If not a child, then certainly someone who has watched way too many romantic comedies thinking that they were how-to manuals rather than fiction. That single statement explains in a nutshell why the divorce rate is currently so high. Yes, a good relationship may be easy occasionally, but on the whole, relationships take work. It's clearly up to every person to determine the balance of hard work to laughter in order to determine if a relationship is worth it in the long run, but stating that a good relationship is easy is like saying that a good dentist is painless (and I have had years of painful dental work).

Second, "live every day like it's your last." This one is nuanced, I'll admit. In certain situations, I'll go ahead and give it a pass. (Such as the make sure the impact you leave is a good one because you may only get one chance version of this. The live life to the fullest-ok yeah, who can argue with that? But the whole follow-your-passion-because-this-might-be-your-last-day-thing I really can't get behind.) I'm not here to stomp on your dreams, folks, but the fact is that then this is terrible advice. You're going to wake up tomorrow, kid. You're going to need to pay your electric bills. Yes, if you're miserable in your job, let that be the impetus to find something you'll like better, but remember that even a dream job is a job. Don't let fear keep you from trying new things, but remember that you are not entitled to happiness no matter the cost. Remember, you'll be accountable for your actions tomorrow and the next day. And probably the one after that too.

Well, I feel better.

My judgy face (well, one of them anyway).
This does, actually, occur often while I'm driving.
People, ya'll. On the roads, they are Just. The. Worst.

I'm Soooo Literate, Guys.

Funny Gatsby comics via The Bloggess. (Also, the f-word makes things even more funny. Unless my daughter reads this one day...in which case, the f-word is not classy, Eleanor; don't say it.)

More good ones from Hark, a Vagrant here.

Cross Another One Off the Life List

Got a little busy last year and lost a lot of my blogging inspiration. Just realized today that I never posted evidence of one of my Life List accomplishments: To make my children their first Halloween costume.

Though I only have one child currently, I am justified in crossing this one off the Life List because I'm pretty sure any subsequent children will wear the same costume for their first Halloween because it took forever to make and because it's pretty original. I made it all myself without a pattern. Even her little sweatpants were made using a second hoodie as they did not have any baby sweats in the right color.

Our first family Halloween costume theme: Chicago Hot Dog

Nathan went as our favorite hot dog restaurant worker (Wolfy's), while I went as your typical Chicagoan Hot Dog Eater, and Eleanor was a Grade A, one of a kind, 100% all Vienna Beef Chicago Hot Dog with all the fixings (poppy seed bun, yellow mustard, onions, pickle relish, sport peppers, and a tomato wedge). I even sprinkled her with celery salt for total authenticity.

Mind. Blown.

I understand what he's doing here, but it still looks like magic to me anyway. Plus the music is lovely and relaxing.

Best Books of the Year (Probably)

I realize it's been ages since I've written a blog post. I have occasionally had ideas floating around in my head to blog, but I'll be honest that more often than not they have been fragments that never build to anything because I have a million other non-related fragments also swimming around in there. Perhaps I should just start posting smaller bits. Perhaps not as my current fragment is "Why is Snoop Dogg/Lion hanging out with Justin Beiber so much these days? Does he see himself as some sort of parental figure to him? I wonder if he even sees himself as a parental figure to his actual children as he seems sort of like a giant kid himself?"

Anyway, before another fragment rears its ugly head, let me get to the point of this post, which is to share the best books I read in December. I think they were my favorite books in all of 2013, but I honestly don't remember a rather large portion of 2013, so I could be wrong. Still these two were very, very good. Go read them now. They're good enough I feel secure in telling you that you wouldn't even regret buying them in hardback.


Life After Life-You may have heard some of the hype around this one, but I assure you that it's such an unique and creative concept that it lives up to the hype. It's super weird (it follows the varied lives and deaths of one character over and over again), but if you bear with it, you will find yourself sucked into the many lives of Ursula Todd, vividly experiencing WWII in a variety of ways, and regretting when you turn the last page. It's complex, and I think I don't entirely understand the conclusion (I'm not sure I could even tell you if there's a happy ending or not), but this novel was outstanding and I found myself thinking of Ursula weeks later as if she were a friend temporarily away on vacation.

 Tell the Wolves I'm Home-This will especially strike a chord with anyone who remembers the nationwide saga of Ryan White from the '80's. This book is a really wonderful deep, slightly dark young adult novel exploring love and grief. It's quirky but lovely, and includes a number of images with such a haunting painterly quality that even months later they stand out starkly in my sleep-addled, sieve-like memory. I really loved June, the main character; loved her dry sense of humor, her observations, and her humanity. Also, I thought Brunt really nailed the ending. Sometimes a story just builds and builds, getting better and better and the author just can't pull off a satisfying ending and the story just takes a big old bellyflop. Not here though, I found the conclusion to be fulfilling.

My Husband Does Not Appear to Understand Texting

There are just some things that warrant a phone call...

I would begin by suggesting that if one's text includes the word "urgent" in any context, a phone call might be the better choice. Though actually pretty much any of these words should suggest a call rather than a text. Seriously; "urgent" "inflamed" "lung lining" all seem pretty call worthy to me.

You Know You're a Booklover

Last week I got a little carried away on our employee ordering site (I get 60% off Penguin books!) and ended up spending about 3 times as much as I intended. I eagerly awaited the package and when it arrived on Wednesday, it felt like Christmas morning!

But here's the thing, not a single one of the books in that box was over 25 pages...they were all for Eleanor. And she's FIVE MONTHS OLD. Kid can usually manage to enjoy one whole book in a sitting, sometimes two if she's in the right mood, but I'll level with you and admit that I realize she doesn't care what we're reading. In fact, a couple of weeks ago, she seemed just as enthralled when I read some of my Dublin Murder Squad novel out loud to her (it was very enjoyable for us both. Nothing like getting to read a tough Irish guy's speech patterns out loud. Sometimes cursing can be really fun. No, Eleanor, that's not true. It makes us look cheap. Don't curse. Unless you can do it with an Irish accent.)

However, as I pulled book after book out of the box, positively cackling with glee, I realized I may have an addiction. A serious addiction demonstrated by the full two shelves already dedicated to books for Eleanor. But I'll tell you this-we read every one of those books aloud that afternoon, and Eleanor did not pull her usual shriek/freakout in the middle of any of them.

Some of the best ones that we acquired:

Secret Pizza Party (This one even got a thumbs up from Daddy, and he's a hard sell. The running commentary of asides from him when he's reading to Eleanor is the stuff of comedy routines. "Holy cow, that beard in the costume shop is almost twice as much as the hat. No wonder he went with the hat and trench coat as his disguise..." "Look, Eleanor! That guy bought the beard!")
The Day the Crayons Quit
Stuck
Lost and Found
This Moose Belongs to Me

If I am Good to You, Won't You Be Good to Me?

My face is leaking...

Just a Minute: August 2013

August was a learning month for me. I had to learn to let go as Eleanor started daycare, I learned that I really can't prepare for Leisure Games by myself anymore, and I learned that Miley Cyrus has a lot of tattoos. I try not to watch her somewhat disturbing video, but that song is so catchy.

reading...I just finished the fourth book in the Dublin Murder Squad series by Tana French. They are incredibly good. A lot of people were probably turned off from her later novels because her first one, Into the Woods, didn't ever solve one of the mysteries. Her later ones tie up all the loose ends, however, and they keep getting better and better. This one, Broken Harbor, left me incredibly unsettled for days afterward. I don't want to give anything away, but it was so well-written that the details of the book stayed with me.

listening...A Ghost in My House by Lucy Schwartz never gets old no matter how many times I listen to it.

adjusting...Eleanor's first day of daycare of August 26th. It was awful. But only for me. She was her usually sunny self, happy when I left her, happy when I picked her up again. It's never going to get easier, I'm told. Preschool, grade school, high school, college. Every time I say goodbye to her as she stands on the brink of a new precipice, I will be a mess. Sigh. Having a kid just tears you open and exposes your tender insides to the world.

Photo by Béatrice Peltre
via allabroadbaby.com

cooking…I have made numerous batches of Oatmeal Carmelitas this month. It seems they go over well for every occasion. As this is the beginning of zucchini season, I broke out my favorite zucchini recipe, Cherry Tomato, Zucchini, & Goat Cheese Clafoutis, while Sarah was here, and I plan to make it again at least a few more times this fall. 

A Goodbye Gift

It's hard to let Sarah go back to school. Having a nanny was a short-lived luxury. (She bought me presents just because-better than a husband!) It's probably good that we're putting Eleanor in daycare prior to any possibly shy-around-strangers stage as it will make the transition easier on her and definitely easier on me, but it doesn't make me any less sad to say goodbye to Sarah. As a thank you/we love you gift, I made Sarah a locket with Eleanor's picture.

I've had these lockets in my stash but have always been stumped about how to make them feel less unfinished. I'm not sure what they were manufactured to have in those ovals, but a jewel or fitted insert would be hard to track down in the right size if I even wanted to go that route.
However, the other day I was struck by the thought of faux enameling it with a bit of nail polish. A couple of drops and a careful spread to make sure it reaches all the sides and then all I had to do was wait until it dried thoroughly. The best part is that it's pretty easy to wipe it down and start over if I make a mistake. I love how it turned out!

New Fruits

We took Sarah up to Devon Avenue the other night for some Indian food. After dinner, we walked around so she could get a feel for Chicago's version of India (not all that far off, really), and stopped at a few of the grocery stores up there that we like. I found SIX new fruits that I haven't tried yet, so we had ourselves a strange fruit tasting last night.

From the top middle, winter melon, a Forelle pear out of South Africa, guava, jack fruit, dosakai, and a burro banana.

The dosakai tasted like a tangy cucumber (almost pickle-like), the winter melon was the blandest melon I've ever had, and the jack fruit was everyone's favorite and truly almost the weirdest fruit I've had yet. Its deep yellow fruit had the consistency of meat, but its flavor was somewhat like a mango. The guava was lightly fruity, but the hard seeds were difficult to get used to, the pear was very nice with a good flavor and firmness, and the banana was terrible! I decided to pan fry it so it really ended up just tasting like french fries. Looking it up later, I should have let it ripen because it's supposed to be a very lemony banana flavor. I think I'm going to have retry this one with a ripe one.

Also, as I typed this, I had a tasty plumcot that I just picked up from Trader Joe's for breakfast.

Photo Journal: Fountain Square, Indy

Nathan had a bachelor party in Indianapolis this weekend, so we took a quick trip down. While there, we discovered an upcoming part of downtown that I fell in love with. I can definitely imagine living in Fountain Square and having more happy breakfasts at Peppy's.