on-hand modern

My kitchen doesn't always smell like smoke...

My readership has officially gone international, meaning my mom reads my blog now. (Thanks, Mom!) She and my dad have been living in Peru since February, doing lots of nice things for people, including helping them recover from last year's devastating earthquake, among other things. Of course, she had to email me after my last post to point out that it wasn't like I hadn't seen her bags o' Costco yeast a million times. I just hadn't bothered to ask where she got them. Which is true. The older I get, the more I realize there are a lot of things I never bothered to ask her, like how she managed to stay sane with a house full of 8 kids (when I have enough trouble with 2) and why she ever let me out of the house during grades, oh, 5 through 10. (Let's just say I went through a bit of an awkward phase and leave it at that, okay? Note to self: overalls were never a good look for you.)

Besides, I just assumed the yeast came from the same place all the food in my parents' house comes from: The Storage Room. That magical place where food spontaneously appears, to be prepared and consumed by whoever shows up at the house hungry, which during my starving student years was perhaps more often than I care to admit. Ah, the days when I used to "grocery shop" in my parents' 2-year food supply...(Again, thanks, Mom and Dad.)

So I've been going through yeast like crazy, ever since I read about this bread book on, oh, a half-dozen or so different blogs. I checked it out at the library, and I must say I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself and my ability to put something like this on the table:

Granted, the method is pretty fool-proof, but, still, I'm making bread! (Which reminds me, that's another thing I never bothered to learn from my mother...sheesh, Mom, what *did* you teach me?)

The book is full of recipes for different kinds of artisan bread (not sure what makes it "artisan"--is it a fancy word for rustic?--wait, here's a definition), all based on the concept of pre-making a large amount of dough, storing it in the refrigerator, and using it as needed for fresh-baked bread in only minutes of active time a day. I've tried only the basic recipe so far as I haven't had any rye or oat flour on hand (it's called "On-Hand Modern" for a reason, i.e. I'm lazy...and cheap), but it's a keeper. And I intend to try the other ones as well. Just as soon as I buy the book. (I had to take my copy back to the library. Apparently other people didn't bother to learn to bake bread from their mothers either.)

Bring on summer!

Today we drew one step closer to summer vacation: Olivia's last day of dance class, which clearly didn't come soon enough based on the state of her tights...

Next week is the end-of-year recital and her first on-stage performance. We're very much looking forward to it. Especially K, who's ever so slowly coming to terms with the painful memories of his past and the torturous hours he spent cross-eyed and comatose at his sisters' recitals when they were kids. (No, dear, you may not bring a GameBoy to your daughter's recital. Yes, I'll pack you plenty of beef jerky and Lemon Heads.) Actually, he's being a really good sport about it, and when Olivia asked him to dance with her in a special father-daughter number, he agreed. I'm told by Olivia he will be attempting to shimmy. To the theme song from "Hawaii 5-0". In board shorts. Possibly with his shirt off. Okay, I'm kidding about that last part, but I'm pretty confident it will be a performance to remember nonetheless.

Olivia wanted to give her teacher, Miss Sharon, something to remember her by this summer. We waited until the last minute, of course, and finally settled on this tiny-cake-in-a-jar idea I've been wanting to try since the holidays. I used a boxed cake mix because time was short and I had one on hand. And old yeast jars I've been saving for just such an occasion. (Sidenote: why didn't anyone tell me you can buy yeast in bulk at Costco? I wasted so much money, and, yeah, I blame you, Mom.) Our first attempt was not-so-good. We overfilled the jars, resulting in a goopy mess all over the bottom of the oven and a less-than-pleasant aroma that continues to linger three hours later. Our second attempt was much better. We filled the jars only about half-way, baked them for about 20 minutes, and then packaged them up with vellum and ribbon:

Meanwhile, it's suddenly 85 degrees outside today (after being in the mid-60s yesterday), and I'm happy to turn off the oven. The exhaust fan on the other hand...yeah, I'll have to get back to you on that.

How does *your* garden grow?

An "Unforgettable" Memorial Day Weekend

Ah, how I love me a long weekend. Especially one that involves sunshine. And warm weather. And these little munchkins:

I even managed some time to sew. Perhaps that isn't very Memorial Day-ish, but I had to take advantage of the kids' marathon nap this afternoon. (Speaking of which, can someone explain to me why it is that they take their longest naps when K is home? It makes no sense, unless he somehow wears them out better than I do. Or...maybe it's the Benadryl he slips into their smoothies? Come to think of it, he did mention something about being out of allergy medicine. Hmm...)

Then again, today's project did sort of have a "memorial" spin to it. I'm not exactly sure how the idea came about, although something tells me it might have been inspired by the hilariously sitcom-like events that took place during a phone call with my sister (way too) late last night. Long story short...five kids + backyard barbecue + Sunday night = she owes her next-door neighbor a roll of toilet paper. Classy, sis.

Alas, my sister isn't the only super-woman who needs reminding on occasion. Introducing the Note-2-Self bracelet--same materials as the baby-safe felt photo album, much simpler construction:

Button closure (the best part is that because the felt doesn't fray, I didn't have to sew any button holes):

Teal lining with opening for notes-to-self:

Sporting the bracelet:

What do you think? I was planning on christening it with an inspiring haiku or something, but now methinks something like "BYOTP to sister's house" might be in order. (Kidding! Sort of.)

Easy Book-Making: 3 Ways

1) No Sewing Required

I posted earlier in the week about Asher's birthday flip books, inspired by these instructions I found online. They are simple to make, requiring nothing more than a printer, paper, scissors (a rotary blade comes in handy if you are making several), white glue, and a hairy subject matter. Okay, that last part is optional, but, let's face it, great hair is always a plus. (Says the woman who once got the award for "Biggest Rat's Nest" at summer camp. Sigh. True story.)

2) Sewing But No Fabric Required

I made a bunch of these notebooks for Olivia at Christmas time:

She was going through a Harriet the Spy phase and filling multiple volumes a day with the hilarious observations of a five-year-old ("Dus PePl Rile DrIve Me Crase I Theeck So"). These books are a no-brainer: scrap paper folded in half and machine-sewn down the middle. (Snap!) They're so simple/cheap I'm actually thinking of making a "cookbook" version as the invitation for Olivia's cooking-themed birthday party in the fall. (Yes, she plans her birthday parties up to a year in advance, doesn't everybody?)

3) Sewing and Fabric (But No Turned Seams) Required:

I was brainstorming ideas for a gift for my sister who just had her sixth (!) baby last January. Not an easy task, by the way, which is why I just barely stuck it in the mail today. (Sorry.) I finally came up with this idea to make a baby-safe photo album out of wool felt and re-purposed vinyl:

Obviously, the photo album is a little more involved than the previous two projects but is still easy enough to make in an afternoon. To put it together, you will need:

• 4 pieces of wool felt cut to 6" x 6"
• 4 pieces of wool felt cut to 6" x 5.75"
• Scrap plastic/vinyl (I cut up one of those zippered bags that bedding comes in)
• Scissors
• Thread
• Sewing Machine

Cut "windows" in the center of all 4 narrow pieces of felt, as well as all but 1 of the square pieces (this will be the outside back cover so it doesn't need a window). Cut 7 pieces of vinyl slightly larger than the size of your windows. Machine-sew vinyl to felt. Stack felt pieces in the following order: square piece (front cover), narrow piece, narrow piece, square piece, square piece, narrow piece, narrow piece, square piece (back cover). With wrong sides together, align the top, right, and bottom edges of the first square piece with the top, right, and bottom edges of the narrow piece beneath it. Top stitch around top, right, and bottom edges but leave an opening on the left (this is where you will slide photographs into your finished album pages). You have now completed 1 page. Repeat the process with remaining felt pieces until you have 4 finished pages. Stack pages and, leaving slightly less than a .25" seam allowance, top stitch down the left side to create the spine. Finished!

In Which I Solidify My Reputation

K and I had a free night last week due to the fact that choir is on hiatus until the fall. Yes, I sing in a choir. A church choir. And, no, I will not post a picture of our performance attire no matter how amusing K thinks that would be. (Let's just say that whoever said black is always slimming hasn't seen this outfit, and, no, the shapeless, shoulder-padded, spangled, red jacket/cape/poncho doesn't help.)

So what does a wild and crazy married couple *do* with an unexpected free evening? In this case, buy some used furniture from Craigslist (cheap!) and spend the next 2 hours scrubbing what appears to be 40+ years of cat hair off it. While watching Season 1 of the Smurfs. On DVD. From the library.

I'm not sure which part of that is more embarrassing, but...it cleaned up nice, didn't it?

You can see there's still a small stain one one of the arms, and I need to get the Goo-Gone out to take the stickers off the legs (they say "IBM" which is apparently where this chair came from). Also, the back legs need new feet, but, hey, it's vintage Saarinen. And besides, that's what Season 2 is for, isn't it?

Something blue: old and new

We go through jeans in this household like most people go through paper towels. Last time I bought a pair for Olivia they lasted three weeks before she blew out the knees. This offends me for a number of reasons. First of all, I despise going to the mall. Second of all, I despise going to the mall with (my) children. And third of all, if I really must venture out shopping with two children in tow, is it really too much to expect for a pair of jeans to last longer than it took to buy them?

So. I have this pile of old jeans. Most of which still fit Olivia around the waistline, even though she has outgrown them height-wise. I also have a sewing machine, which I "borrowed" six years ago from my mother. Enter Operation Denim Make-Over...

A professional seamstress I am not, so the skirt's not winning any awards for construction. But I had fun experimenting. And, best of all, no children, mothers, and/or innocent mall personnel were harmed in this endeavor. I did manage to break a sewing machine needle, but that's beside the point. (Get it? Beside the *point*? Yeah, I know. That was bad.)

Flipping Out

There are three great loves in my son's life: things that go, things that growl ("ROWR!"), and things that bounce. There used to be a fourth, but he quit that habit at about 19 months. (Sigh. My baby is growing up.)  In light of his third love, we celebrated his second birthday last week at the bowling alley, which technically speaking, isn't so much about things that bounce as it is about things that make A Very Loud Noise when you drop them. (Come to think of it, maybe he *does* have a fourth love...)

My children's birthdays are always a bag of mixed emotions for me. I tend to wax nostalgic around those times. K wonders why I insist on making a big deal about the earliest ones when it's clear that a) they have no idea what's going on and b) it's unlikely they'll remember them. What he doesn't realize is that their birthdays are as much about *me* as they are about them. Milestones in their lives = milestones in my life. And besides, I am what I am. And what I am is a person who makes a Big Deal about everything. (After almost nine years of marriage the guy should get that, don't you think?)

Anyway, I made these flip books (adapted from instructions here) in honor of The Birthday Boy:

I figure they are an homage to all that is Asher--reflecting both his quirkiness (indoor basketball with his trusty spatula-sidekick, aptly named "This!") and his two-year-old state of perpetual motion. Oh, and lest I forget...his shall-not-be-swayed opinion that pants are strictly optional. (His father agrees.)

I sent the books out to our extended family through the mail today. I hope they enjoy them. It's times like this when we miss our families the most. After all, what's a birthday without the traditional Spanking Machine? (For the uninitiated...picture a gauntlet of 20+ pairs of legs--some hairy some not--through which one must crawl to receive his obligatory birthday swat...nothing says "Happy Birthday" like a bruised ego and a sore bum, at least not in this family.)

Pout. Whine. Sob.

(See, I told you I make a big deal out of everything.)