Mother's Day Month

Posted - Monday, April 30, 2012 11:59 PM

This is my month. My month, do you hear me? One day isn’t enough – the whole month should be dedicated to moms, in gratitude for the back-breaking, bone-jarring, nerve-shredding job we do for our littles (and bigs. Let’s be honest - big kids are not so easy on the back, bones or nerves, either. I have a 30-year-old brother who is the real life incarnation of Ferris Bueller and the damage he has wrought on my parents is of biblical proportions). Dads, you can have June, with its humidity, mosquitoes and sunburn. But May – and all of those sun showers, gentle breezes and hand-picked bouquets of dandelions and buttercups – is all for mom.

But I don’t want to give short shrift to anyone else who lays claim to May. For instance, May is also National Blood Pressure Month (fitting for moms of boys); National Barbeque Month (grilled potato wedges, anyone?), and National Photograph Month, which I might just celebrate for the first time, ever.

Happy Mother’s Day Month to all moms and to the moms-to-be - especially those ladies who are moms in their hearts, but who are still waiting for their opportunity to have their babies. It’s your day, too.

Grill'n Season

Posted - Wednesday, June 1, 2011 11:56 PM

The brats and burgers were on fire. The words I muttered to myself, as I turned my eyes heavenward, were profane. I lowered my spatula in defeat and announced to the friends and neighbors gather in the yard, “Well done. Eeeeeverything is well done.”

“Can you clean the grill?” is a question that has several shades of nuance that I was unaware of at the time I asked it. Or, more specifically, at the time I was advised that, yes, the grill had been cleaned.

Because while the outside of the grill was gleaming and spotless, and the grates on which our burgers, chicken, dogs, and brats would get their char marks were de-funkified, the innards of the grill – where, you know, the fire comes from – was still caked in last year’s grease. Lots of last year’s grease.

The smoke coated the food and climbed straight into the sky, hovering over our house like a neon sign alerting the whole block, “Third-year griller still can’t get the flame right.”

Our corn was sooty by the time I pulled it from the top rack of the grill. Slathering it with butter mixed with lime juice just served to marbleize the coating on the veg. By the time the kids finished eating it, they looked like they’d spent the better part of the day in a coal mine.

But just about everything got eaten – the chicken thighs marinated in balsamic vinegar and worchestershire; the caramelized-onion stuffed burgers. And of coarse, the dozen or so ears of silver queen white corn that were markedly more gun metal gray than silver when served to the guests.

Oh, well. It was the first grilling of the season. There are sure to be more, and we’ll have the kinks worked out this month. We have to – time is a’ wasting.

How can it be that there are only four Saturdays in June? I feel like 20 years ago, the whole summer was made of June. June and watermelon and lemonade.

That’s what I’m shooting for this June: fewer plans, except to sip cool drinks and watch the grass grow. I’m going to try my hand at reinventing the watermelon agua fresca I fell in love with last summer, and also pursue the perfect lemonade recipe. I’m going to give myself some Saturdays in the middle of the week. I like to think I’ll park my beach chair in the driveway, sip my perfectly sweetened beverage of choice and wave to the neighbors as they cruise by.

I won’t clean that grill – I’ll let the hubs scrub it down. And next time we call the neighbors over for an impromptu cookout early in the evening, the smoke will only serve as a signal that we’re making the most of this month.

Children of the Corn

Posted - Friday, July 1, 2011 11:56 PM

When my brothers, sister and I were little, our parents would take us down the shore. The Jersey Shore. No, not that one, the one with the rambling old beach houses, miles of clean, wide beaches and a fleet of sunburned Fudgie-Wudgie guys pushing half-ton refrigerators through the sand selling popsicles to all us kids. Ocean City, after all, is a dry town. No Situation there.

We’d take the scenic route from Chester County, PA, over the Ben Franklin through south Jersey. I never got why people scoffed at New Jersey being “The Garden State.” If ever you drove from my house to 43rd and Central Avenue in OCNJ, all you saw was cornfields and peach orchards. If you took that drive, you’d have a tough time deciding which farm stand to stop at: the one that had ruby red tomatoes in bushel baskets on display, or the one on the opposite side of Rt. 42 that maybe has Bing cherries? I recommend taking that ride in a station wagon with wood paneling. I recommend sitting in the “wayback” with your little brother. I recommend rolling the windows all the way down.

“See that corn? It’ll be knee-high by the Forth of July,” my dad would say that to us when we got to Jersey. We were all barely knee-high, ourselves. It seemed preposterous to us that the corn, barely tall enough to cover our ankles right then at the tail end of June would be as tall as our dad’s knees by our return trip home. But he was right. It grew up so fast.

Right now, I’m prepping my kids for a trip down the shore. I’ve got laundry piles strategically positioned throughout the house: new pajamas, swim trunks and matching rash guards, “boardwalk outfits,” and my stash of cloth diapers. I’m agonizing over which lovies and stuffed animals get to make the trip. I’m paper- clipping my cash into little bundles to try to be a penny pincher – albeit one who will spring for vanilla fudge and macaroons. I’m trying my hardest not to look at pictures from our trip last year, when Cam still had a baby face and Finny was still under construction in my tummy. You see, I feel like, just last week, they were at my ankles, and now they’re up around my knees. They grow up so fast.

I’ll be riding shotgun this trip; my little brother won’t be able to make it at all. I’ll probably have my laptop to contend with, instead of a pint of juicy cherries. A working mom is a working mom, and business doesn’t stop for my vacation. But when we pull off Central Avenue and I hear the crunch of the gravel and sand beneath the wagon’s tires, I’ll click off the shared drive and over to the cookbook. I have a technique for corn on the cob that’s fool proof - any domestic gourmet should have it at the ready.

Corn and babies: With the right amount of sunlight and water – they’ll sprout up before your very eyes.

The Heat is on

Posted - Friday, July 29, 2011 11:56 PM

The day I accepted a job offer in Newark, the temperature in that city reached 108 degrees, the highest temperature ever recorded (in Newark. I’m sure it’s been hotter elsewhere at some point, but I can’t recall being in any of those places. And after this heat wave, I don’t want to add them to my “once-we-retire-we-should-go-there” list).

I’m taking it as a sign. A good sign; one of many. All were pointing toward this job being the right move: Walking on Sunshine came on the radio while I was driving to the interview, so I was all fired up. A motivational speaker giving a webinar I attended used the same Anais Nin quote I referenced in June. One of my interviewers had a Myers-Briggs “INFP” sign hanging over her desk (my personality type, too!). All signs pointed toward “good decision.”

Taking a leap like that isn’t easy under normal circumstances, but it’s especially hard when the heat makes you want to lay in the bathtub pouring red plastic Solo cups filled with sudsy water over your body, wrap your head in a sopping wet Buzz Lightyear washcloth and stay there until September. But August isn’t going to get me down.

It has, however, forced me to get creative with the variety of inside activities I do with the boys. We are a treasure-hunting family these days. I got Cam a treasure box a few months ago, and now my morning routine involves loading it up with some of his favorite action figures and hiding it somewhere in the house after he and Finn leave for school. When I get them home in the evening, I can usually count on a 15- minute treasure hunt to keep Cam distracted while I unpack the bags and pump out a bottle while Finn sleeps.

We also beat the heat by reading books, building forts, playing trains and watching Mickey on the tube. And, in a stroke of self-serving, evil genius, I was able to explain to Cam what a chiropractor does and I convinced him he wanted to be one when he grew up. Can you say, “backrubs?” Ahhhh, summer.

Someday we'll remember dancing in September

Posted - Thursday - Sept 1, 2011 11:00 PM

Someday we’ll remember dancing in September I love September. I can’t even type the word without hearing Earth, Wind & Fire in my head. I can see myself, hand in hand with Lee walking triumphantly into our wedding reception. September, perched as it is on the tail end of summer, is languid, without being lazy. I want to crochet a scarf, sip some tea, bake a pie and head to the shore to lay on the beach and snooze … all at the same time.

The September calendar filled up quickly this year. Finn’s first birthday, of course. And our wedding anniversary. Plus, trips to PA, projects nearing completion and recipes to try out all need my attention this month.

I’m working to add another little project into the mix: community service. I have my organization all picked out and I’ll be making a push soon to rally you, the troops – whether to get your encouragement, volunteerism or (eeeks at self in uncharacteristic embarrassment) maybe a donation to a worthy cause. But more on that later.

September is going to be about celebrating. So, pour yourself a cocktail and raise your glass to whatever it is you’re commemorating this month (and I hope you are) and enjoy the last few days of summer.

Posted - Saturday - October 1, 2011 12:00 AM PM

I'm scaling back this year, but that doesn't mean I'm skimping. There will be pumpkins and apples, for sure. Perhaps, just not a six-foot scarecrow whose button-down shirt (brand new, mind you) was selected to match the shutters on the house. Maybe I'll lay off the faux spider webs, as well. Truth be told, I may not even put the particle board head stones in the front garden. It's not that I don't like Halloween anymore - because I do! My favorite holiday, as a matter of fact - it's that all the trappings that go along with the day end up, well, trapping me. I'm going to enjoy Halloween this year, not just spend three weeks decorating for it.

I have the spooky plug-in jack o' lanterns for the mantle and windowsill in the living room. I love the way they glow orange and cast a ghoulish light on the stacks of puzzles and random dump trucks peppering the living room floor. It makes the disarray seem seasonally sinister, instead of just like the mess it actually is. I've got the pre-fab scarecrows to decorate the front step and the carport support beam. I left them out in the elements a little too long last fall and ended up having to scrub away the mildew from their faces and shirts before storing them back in the attic. I hope, when I finally bring them down from above they are in as good a shape as I'm anticipating. I'd hate to find the Tilex I used on them corodded off their details. That's not the look I'm going for!

Rather than creating a spook-tacular Halloween haven out of the yard and house, I'm going to concentrate this year on highlighting what's actually my favorite aspect of fall: the smells. I've already dabbled in pumpkin cupcakes (for Finn's birthday). I've made two batches of soup - one butternut with curry and another one, classic sweet potato, and I enjoyed them both. My next target scent will be apples, and I think I'll bake a pie, mull some cider and stew some for dinner with a pork roast.

Our fireplace is gas, so I'm going to have to go outside for the smell of wood smoke - one of my favorite harbingers of the cold weather seasons. We have some pavers left over from our walkway, and Lee suggested we build a fire pit. Maybe (with some warm apple cider in hand) a late night by the fire pit could be a great place to tell the kids some ghost stories.

So, scaling back won't mean we do less. I hope it means we have more time to do more.

Slice of Life

Posted - Friday - November 4, 2011 12:00 AM

Ah! on Thanksgiving Day ...
When the care wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?

- John Greenleaf Whittier

Who's down for some pie?

I am, but I dare not make one. First, I'm just not good with the crust.* And second, I don't want to risk the wrath of my Older, Wiser Sister (OWS). One year - it may have been last year, it may have been five years ago ... who knows - my sister said she was making a pie for Thanksgiving. Pecan. Oh, happy day, you're thinking, right? Well, I was too. Until the day, when my sister-in-law ALSO made a pecan pie. And it was a pie stand off. Woe to all who took a slice of SIL's pie without a slice of equal or greater volume of OWS's pie. You better bet your damn self we all found them to be equally delicious. Although, if memory serves, SIL put chocolate chips in hers. Not that it was better. Just different.

And then there's the traditional pumpkin pie. We don't make it at our house - we buy it. We pre-order it. We stand in line on the eve of all Fall and Winter holidays to pick it up from the orchard where I used to work. We talk about it for days before and days after - "Did you have pie? Try the pumpkin? It was good, right?" We do this ... despite knowing, firsthand, that this orchard does not make the pumpkin pie. It's frozen. They bake it in the oven in full view of a breathless and pie-crazed customer base, but it is not made there. No, seriously - I mean it. I used to do it as an under-age bakery worker, frying up apple cider donuts and surreptitiously discarding Sara Lee packaging in the dumpster. "Home baked" the old-fashioned script on the orchard box says. Not exactly the same as "home made."

But we don't care. It's tradition. And that pie is really, really good.

So, I won't be baking a pie, but I will be doing some weekend craft projects. I have a few ideas to do with the kids - wreath-making and Christmas ornament painting. But I'll leave the pie-baking to my OWS and SIL. And Sara Lee. They have it down pat.

Sleighbells Ringing – Check. Ring-ting-tingling – Check.

Posted - Friday - December 11, 2011 1:54 PM

This Christmas is going to be awesome.
Finn was a little tootsie roll last year, asleep in his carseat for all of the festivities. This year, he’s the Heat Miser. He is down for some holiday cheer. And Cameron! Oh, my handsome, sweet, spaztastic gentleman. He’s already questioning the physics behind Santa’s descent through the chimney. I am constantly on my toes coming up with explanations and justifications. I doubt that next year, “Magic, obviously,” is going to be an acceptable final word on the matter.
While this is going to be only our second Christmas with two little boys, we plan on keeping our decade-old traditions alive. First and foremost: scrambling in the final few days to secure presents. I swear, I’ve been looking for months. I just agonize over prices, colors, sizes, sustainability, kid-enjoyment-factor … and I can’t seal the deal. Now, it’s December and I’m still on the hook for four kids, a husband and a Secret Santa. Not to mention the teachers and the coworkers. And the karate instructor. And the school administrators. Yikes.
But the tree is up. Lights are on. Decorations are poised for deployment. Garlands are artfully draped across the mantle. And our buntings are tied securely beneath the wreaths in our windows. The halls are decked.
And the food! I scored on my Thanksgiving contributions, but lost points for A.) being late to Thanksgiving and B.) not taking any pictures. I won’t make the same mistakes this year.
I hope you find time during what’s sure to be a busy month to appreciate what a lucky thing it is to be busy. I’m going to work on transforming my stress into excitement – I hope you do the same! The old year is fast away – so let’s hail the new one, lads and lasses. Merry Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah!

January: Lovely, dark and deep

Posted - Sunday - January 1, 2012 10:11 PM

Honestly, the only thing I can think about regarding 2012 is how the Mayan calendar predicts the world ending the day before my son’s fifth birthday. And I’m kind of like, Well… if we have the party the weekend before, so long as it’s not raining fire and brimstone, our retinas haven’t been burned by rogue solar flares and zombies aren’t terrorizing the countryside, we should be good to go. Maybe we take the kids bowling?
It just never stops. I mean, barring Armageddon, there is no escaping the beat going on. One party down; next up: Christmas. Christmas down; next up: Lee’s birthday. Lee’s birthday down; next up: Easter. Each event complete with the trappings of a special occasion: a cake, a celebratory dinner. A frantic last-minute run to Shoprite for toilet paper and another bag of ice. Maybe a trip to Pennsylvania.
And in the meantime, marketing campaigns and targeted communications need to be sent on behalf of my business partners. Someone always seems to need to go to the doctor. And thank-you notes need to be sent. My God, the thank-you notes …
This month will be spent preparing: the troops; the budget; the office; the menu, and the manuscript. As with years past, I plan to be prepared for greatness, should it choose 2012 to strike. “And miles to go before I sleep,” a wise man once said. And miles to go before I sleep.
Life moves along to the beat of our drum – the frantic, hectic drum that sets us in motion. And fiery End of Days notwithstanding, we’ll march forward, Transformers and Gloworms held aloft, daring the Mayans, the zombies and the business partners to try to keep us down.

The Annual Turkey Toss

Posted - Tuesday - January 31, 2012 11:59 PM

February’s where we start to drag, agreed?

The weather begins to wear on us, the slush, the cold, the darkness … all starts to have a combined chaffing effect and right around February 15th or so, we throw up our hands and say, “Enough, already! Bring on the sun glare, the scorching heat, the tourists – I don’t care. I’ll take the pitfalls of summer, just get me out of this winter!”

Luckily for me, February 15th happens to be Lee’s birthday, so I can usually counter that desire to flee for warmer climes with – yup, you guessed it – a Bowling Birthday Party! What grown man doesn’t want his birthday held in a bowling alley? None that I know, that’s for sure.

In all honesty, I’m a terrible bowler and pretty enthusiastically try to bow out of the actual bowling portion of the evening. I never get a strike, let alone a turkey. But, I love wings. And nachos. And beer. So, for these reasons, the bowling Alley birthday party tradition is allowed to continue.

So, in addition to packing Valentines treats for daycare, organizing indoor treasure hunts for the kids and scheduling low-cost Ladies Nights for my gal-pals, I’ll also reserve a couple of lanes, ice up some beers and let the man have his day. Although, this may be the first year kids are invited. I have to check with the birthday boy on that one!

Cherry Tree Lessons

Posted - Wednesday February 29, 2012 11:59 PM

I know Presidents Day is in February, but I declare March to be George Washington Month.

Cameron has become seriously preoccupied with our first president. From the documentaries we’ve caught on History Cannel to the car dealership commercials exploiting his image, old George has been in Cam’s face on a pretty consistent basis. Enough for me to have to go scrambling to the internet to dig up new facts for bedtime stories every night after dinner.

And I love it.

As an unabashed history nerd, I feel it’s imperative to feed my big guy’s seemingly insatiable appetite for stories starring the first president. I’ve explained what a surveyor is, regaled him with tales of Valley Forge and scared him to pieces with clearly biased descriptions of Hessians. A day trip is in order.

We are really well situated for a George Washington love fest. In addition to some visits to local “George Washington Slept Here” sites (of which there are many), I think we’re going to try out some late-18th century recipes and maybe see if we can have a Revolutionary Dance Party (who doesn’t love some harpsichord?). The weather is going to be favorable, and the places we can see are only 20 minutes away. I’m very happy Cam’s zeroed in on Washington, whose heroics are pretty local, rather than, say a Texan or Californian.

These days, I’ll take General Washington being my son’s hero over some pop singer or athlete/felon. There are definitely lessons to be learned, but they’re the old fashioned ones that will stay with him for a lifetime.

Three is a Charm

Posted - Saturday April 7, 2012 11:28 PM

As I write this, most of my world still has no idea that I’m pregnant. No Facebook announcement, no boisterous toast at a jam-packed holiday dinner, no gentle explanation to the sad-faced sushi chef, disappointed that I passed up his crunchy spicy salmon roll. All of that is still to come.

I’m playing this one close to the vest, because, well, this might just be the last. If my accountant/husband has anything to do with it (and he sort of does) this will definitely be the last Johnston to join the firm. All too soon, this little one will make a grand debut, so I’d like to keep him to myself for just a little while longer.

I’m going back to my crunchy roots for this pregnancy. I’m digging out the Bradley Method Workbook and my old copy of The Thinking Woman’s Guide to a Better Birth . Oh – and I’m making my mix tape early this time … I don’t want to run the risk of birthing another baby during a song by Air Supply. It takes years to build up a kid’s cool points when he comes into the world to “Making Love Out of Nothing At All.”

But besides those few random things that need to be done to prep for the actual birth, I’m not going to do much of anything – just relax, enjoy my growing tummy and all the kisses it gets from two big brothers. Chaos is my family’s default setting, so I’m going to try to avoid the insanity that often goes with pregnancy planning and “un-plan” instead. I’ll just reread my favorite books, download a lot of Foo Fighters and wait for #3 to introduce himself (or herself) to the rest of us.

Mother's Day Month

Posted - Monday, April 30, 2012 11:59 PM

This is my month. My month, do you hear me? One day isn’t enough – the whole month should be dedicated to moms, in gratitude for the back-breaking, bone-jarring, nerve-shredding job we do for our littles (and bigs. Let’s be honest - big kids are not so easy on the back, bones or nerves, either. I have a 30-year-old brother who is the real life incarnation of Ferris Bueller and the damage he has wrought on my parents is of biblical proportions). Dads, you can have June, with its humidity, mosquitoes and sunburn. But May – and all of those sun showers, gentle breezes and hand-picked bouquets of dandelions and buttercups – is all for mom.

But I don’t want to give short shrift to anyone else who lays claim to May. For instance, May is also National Blood Pressure Month (fitting for moms of boys); National Barbeque Month (grilled potato wedges, anyone?), and National Photograph Month, which I might just celebrate for the first time, ever.

Happy Mother’s Day Month to all moms and to the moms-to-be - especially those ladies who are moms in their hearts, but who are still waiting for their opportunity to have their babies. It’s your day, too.