granola crunch

{there is nothing quite like fresh bread}

I never fancied myself the kind of gal who would make her own bread. I'm more of a cupcake girl I think. I thought that people who made their own bread were the same type of people who made yogurt from homemade cultures and used cloth diapers. Homemade yogurt and cloth diapers are awesome; they are just way too much work for someone like me. Or so I thought.

Over the Christmas holiday I visited a dear friend who was staying with her family in the valley. Her mother sent me home with some of the most delicious brown bread I have ever had. Now, before my own mother disowns me, I want to point out that I said *some of the most delicious* not most delicious brown bread I have ever had. I immediately asked for the recipe. My carbohydrate induced euphoria must have made me forget about my misgivings about bread making.

A few weeks later a hand written recipe arrived in the mail. I decided to give it a try. What the heck. A girl can only eat so many cupcakes...

I have been converted. Making bread is amazing and it is not that hard. My family can't get enough of it and I love knowing exactly what they are eating (in a caring not controlling way of course).

Jeff is out bidding my brother a final adieu Halifax style (read: at the pub) so I decided to try my luck with bread making a second time. I was afraid that last time was beginners luck and never again would I reach such culinary heights.  My first batch was so good I almost wanted to retire as a bread maker while I was at the top of my game. But the requests for more brown bread kept rolling in (okay, all the requests were from Jeff, but he can be very persistent).

Guess what? The bread worked again.

It is official: I, Emily Pond, make my own bread.

If I write a post about using a diva cup you'll know I've truly gone to the dark side. Stage an intervention please.

xo

{Ellen's oatmeal brown bread}

Potty Mouth Pond

This week has been one of many changes for the Harris clan. First we saw little Lou off to Thailand, and on Saturday Dylan, my baby brother, follows in the footsteps of many Maritimers as he heads to Edmonton for work. As a result we have spent even more time than usual at my parent's place squeezing in every last drop of family time we can.

We schlepped over to their house for a farewell dinner in D’s honour tonight. After we ate, we all sat around the table as we usually do. A calm quiet came over us, the sort of pause that happens after a delicious meal shared between loved ones. 

Out of nowhere Violet looked at my plate and said with disgust in her voice, “What is that crap?”

Silence. 

Did she seriously just say that, I thought to myself? 

What should I do now? I looked around the table; everyone was holding back their laughter. I looked at my plate. There was nothing but a small piece of salmon skin...

I think Jeff was the first to laugh out loud. 

Violet looked confused. She must have wondered what we thought was so funny.

She looked at me again and said, “Mummy, what is that wrap on your plate”. 

We all burst out laughing, because it was funny and also because it was a relief. Sweet girl hadn’t said crap, she said wrap.

Phew. That was a close one.

xo

{"What is that crap?"}

Mais, Bien Sur

{Violet this time last year, not acting very French}

The French do a lot of things right: food, wine, fashion. Now, according to last week's Saturday Essay in the online Wall Street Journal, parenting can be added to that list.

The part of the article that interested me most was about delayed gratification. Basically you want your kid to be able to embody the adage "short term pain, long term gain." If they can do that, they can apply the same self-control in a host of other situations. Heck, I wish I could embody that adage! The article provides an example of French parents who buy their children bonbons but make them wait until a scheduled snack time to eat them.

Wait, does this mean the parents have to wait to have their treat too?

The article suggests little things parents can do that help them raise a child who has the ability to wait. A child who can wait knows they are not the centre of the universe (*she covers Violet's ears at the sound of the words*), and knows a thing or two about boundaries. Those are attributes I can get behind. 

I am going to give this approach to parenting (parenting strategy?) a try. As evidenced in the photo above (and this post) delaying gratification is not Violet's strong suit. She can't really be blamed for this. We rarely ask her to do it; we rarely ask ourselves to either. 

Violet is a woman of action, this lesson will not be an easy one, but I think in the end this will be good for us.

The test will be if I can handle the short term pain (massive temper tantrums, some of which will undoubtedly take place in public) for the long term gain (a child other people can stand to be around).

I'll keep you posed! 

xo

zuppa di giorno

{Ina's roasted vegetable soup, Ellen's homemade bread}

Jeff and I try to buy most of our meat at the farmer's market. Since we can't dine on nine dollar chicken breasts every night we've introduced lots of veggie options into our weekly menu. I will admit this endeavour has had varying degrees of success. A certain white bean and kale dish is easily the worst meal I have ever made. On the other hand we've found a few gems. Micheal Smith's rice and lentils are a family favourite -- they are filling and cost pennies to make. We've also discovered the joy of a simple soup. Seriously, I am filled with joy when I get home from work and all I have to do is reheat a soup we made on the weekend. So easy, so quick, so little mess.

Last Thursday it took Violet and I forever to get home after work. It was the first day of the transit strike and traffic was a nightmare (I know I risk sounding like a complainer, I am very grateful to have a car I promise). Anyway, when we got home Jeff was making dinner. Sweet husband, I thought.

I noticed that the soup pan was on the burner, and that the burner was on medium high heat. Curious, I thought.

"Hun, why is the burner on with nothing in the pan? " I asked.

"I am heating it up like I always do..." 

Jeff is undoubtedly a better cook than me. I was skeptical about this method but I was tired and Violet was cranky so I took her into the dining to colour while he made dinner.

A few minutes later I saw flames out of the corner of my eye. I heard Jeff scream, "What the cuss!"

"I told you that was I bad idea Jeff!" I yelled to the kitchen, the fact he might have been burned overshadowed by my indignation. 

I went to the kitchen and surveyed the damage - there were chopped vegetables everywhere.

Jeff gave me permission to share this story only if I didn't exaggerate. I want to say, and I truly believe, that there were vegetables all over the kitchen. He says they flew two feet max. Either way, Violet and I had nutella wraps for supper. Jeff had humble pie.

Seeing as he really is a sweet husband, Jeff sought to rectify the soup debacle this weekend. He made two delicious soups and popped them in the freezer. So tonight we enjoyed Ina Garten's roasted vegetable soup, no explosions. 

The soup is so easy. Roast vegetables, puree with warm chicken stock and enjoy. We used carrots, sweet potato and squash. When you buy the squash already cut up this soup takes almost no time. When you buy the whole squash it takes forever and you risk losing a finger - your call. We've made this soup four or five times and every time it tastes a little different. It depends on the ratio of the veggies. I like that it always changes it keeps things interesting - not as interesting as fire balls above the stove, but this is more my pace anyway.

xo

{Simple and delicious}

secret heart

Last night I put on high heels. I also wore lipstick, it was called Roman Holiday. I felt like my old self again, the version of me who wore cute clothes, went out for drinks and got pedicures. It felt great.

This morning the old version of me wanted to kill the new version of me. The new version had committed to meeting my neighbour for a 5:30 am run -- she normally goes to bed early.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the lazy mornings and long brunches, the midday yoga classes and the shopping. I definitely miss the shopping. Oh and my feet really, really miss the pedicures.

As I tucked Violet into bed tonight, she whispered to me, "Mum you really wear me out, but I love you anyway." It is a line from her favourite Olivia book.

I wouldn't trade that moment for all the free time in the world.

But ask me how I feel tomorrow. Sometimes I am more open to trades than others!

xo

{tired but happy before the Ron Sexsmith concert}

guilty as charged

Nightmares are a nightmare. Just before five o'clock this morning I jumped out of bed when I heard crying from Violet's room. When I got to her bed she was still half asleep. She told me she had dreamt that she was "swirling underwater." I have never felt more guilty, oh, except for the last time she had this dream.

It all started over the Christmas holiday. Violet was invited to her third ever birthday party; the first one where I didn't really know the parents. We got the invitation before Christmas, the party was to be held at a local wave pool. Fun, I thought. I promptly accepted the invitation on Violet's behalf.

Violet is not the biggest fan of pools. To be honest, I'm not either so I never pushed the issue with her. We tried swimming lessons once, there were a lot of tears. I couldn't see the point. I love to swim and going to the beach is one of my favourite ways to spend the day, but the combination of freezing cold chlorine water, unflattering Speedos and a general distain for things I am not that good at has kept me out of the pool. Come to think of it, those things have probably kept Violet out of the pool too -- oops.

When I pictured the party in my head, I pictured a swim lesson. Think lifeguard, a little stage to stand on and parents looking on from the comfort and warmth of the pool deck. For that reason, despite the fact that Jeff reminded me to bring a suit, I thought I wouldn't need one. I had emailed the mother of the birthday girl asking if this was a "parents stay" kind of party. I hoped it was, but I don't know the standard operating procedures around these things. My only point of reference is when I was a kid myself -- I don't remember there being parents at birthday parties...

When I stepped into the dressing room before the party I knew I had misstepped. All the other mummies were wearing bathing suits.

It is okay, I said to myself. They won't just let the little kids roam free, that wouldn't be safe...actually, that is exactly what happened. Poor Violet, nervous to begin with, alone in the pool, had to latch on to the other good mums who own one piece bathing suits and would never assume pool parties were just for kids.

I am lucky because one of the mums agreed to watch her, after all Violet can't swim at all. The party was the most nerve wracking 45 minutes of my life. I watched like a hawk as my stomach churned with guilt. I felt betrayed by the other mums -- why didn't someone tell me that mums have to swim at kid parties too? It seems pretty obvious now, but it honestly didn't cross my mind.

Violet's little head dipped under at one point when her friend's mum was tending to her own daughter. It was a nano second but it obviously scared her if it still keeps her up at night.

Hence Violet's nightmare, hence my new nightmare. Instead of laying on the guilt (which I thought was my motherly duty/ right of passage), I am now plagued by it.

My co-worker graciously said that if this is my biggest parenting guffaw of 2012, I'll be doing alright.

I'm still not so sure.

{a happier water related memory}

Lou Lou

{goodbye for now/ happy birthday lou!}

I would like to preface this post by saying that I do not bake a cake every few days. It just so happens that we have a lot of birthdays at the beginning of the year. It also happens that my little sister is taking off for a three month long vacation to South East Asia this Tuesday. All this to say, I had no choice but to make her a "goodbye for now/ early happy birthday" cake.

I was feeling adventurous so I thought I would try a cake of the ice-cream variety. Who doesn't feel like ice-cream in early February? Perhaps my baking luck is turning; I only had to make this cake once. If I am being honest, I should mention that I had one minor mishap. I noticed the other day that one of our silicone spatulas had a loose piece on the end. I thought these things were supposed to be really durable? I didn't want to throw out an otherwise perfectly good spatula so I popped it back in the drawer. As I was stirring the cake batter I noticed that the loose piece was missing. I felt like a Real Housewife of Orange County: where could that silicone have gone? Luckily the piece was sizeable and thus easy to find when I poured the batter onto the pan. Don't worry family, I checked, the piece I found in the cake fit the spatula perfectly.

The cake (recipe found here) was good, but not great. I was impressed how easily it rolled and I thought it looked really pretty, but the cake itself seemed overpowered by the ice cream. If I made it again I would use better ice-cream (I used the PC ice cream shop mint chocolate chip) and I would make sure to freeze it overnight. The recipe recommends a night in the freezer, but it also suggests using a jelly roll pan and it is not 1950 -- how was I to know what to take seriously?

I'm excited for my sister and I'm proud how brave she is. Now get back here in one piece missy.

{I'll miss you Laura Lou}