Our Daily Bread...Pudding

You know what happens when you're expecting company and you light a fire in the fireplace without opening the chimney flue? You have to make bread pudding.

It makes perfect sense to me. Let me explain. Smoke doesn't smell good. Bread pudding does. By the time Young One's friend was here to finish working on their social studies project, our house only smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.

We needed a little comfort food this weekend. This is a super easy dessert. It's frugal because it uses up stale bread (or the ends of the loaves that no one seems to eat that find their way to a bag in my freezer to perish as breadcrumbs for breading or meatloaf). I lightened it up and I think it could use less sugar if you wanted to cut the calories even more.

Tastes best served nice and warm. I usually plan to take it out of the oven right before dinner is served. This recipe stands alone just fine or would be lovely with vanilla sauce, caramel, or sweet cream.

Super Sweet and Simple Bread Pudding

6 slices of bread
2 TB melted butter
4 eggs or egg substitute or equivalent egg whites
2 cups skim milk
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In an 8x8 inch pan that has been sprayed with nonstick cooking spray, tear up bread into bite size pieces. Drizzle with melted butter. Mix all remaining ingredients until well combined and pour over bread pieces. Bake for 45 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Let rest at least 10 minutes before serving.

I Will Always and Forever Be...Your Duckman

Young One's locker keeps jamming because the girl next to him doesn't clean hers out. The papers from her locker ooze out and cause her neighbor's lockers to jam. Annoying, yes, but not life ending. I told him to talk to her about it. He blushed a ferocious shade of red and said, "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm" and left the room. She's pretty cute, I've seen her. Maybe one day her messiness will be endearing.

I'm flashing forward to prom dates, corsages, first dates...

Now flashing back to my own school locker neighbors. I wonder what happened to the Duck Man that was next to me. He wore white shoes just like Ducky's. He drank vodka mixed with milk from an old Thermos. He told me it kept his ulcers at bay. And, apparently, fed his addiction. I wonder about him from time to time. I was always nice to him. Felt sorry for him. Worried about him.

In a school that held strong boundary lines between groups, I walked over the lines a lot. Our lockers were assigned by alphabetical order. I could have swapped with someone to be closer to my group of friends, but I never did. I preferred to have my own space.

My Ducky made me laugh between classes. We had our inside jokes. Sometimes, looking back on it, I wonder if I was the only person at school that was nice to him. He didn't have a lot of money. He dressed in his own creations of combination thrift store and hand me down. His white shoes were maybe meant to be fun, but my suspicions were that they were his one and only pair.

I wonder what's become of my Duck Man. I guess I need to do a little digging.

14 Phone Calls Later...

I woke up this morning, not feeling quite right. Seems the urinary tract infection that I was in denial about yesterday was raging this morning. My back was killing me. I knew I had to get to the doctor.

• One phone call later, the appointment was made.

Home again, antibiotics in hand, I settled in on the couch to prepare for Confirmation lessons tonight. I'd taken this antibiotic one other time before, so I knew what to expect. I'll feel better as the day goes on. I've had these infections before. They suck, but I caught this one very early.

And then, itchy throat, ears, eyes, skin, difficulty breathing, heavy chest--I was having an allergic reaction.

• One phone call to the doctor.

• One phone call to the hubby.

• One phone call to Young One's friend's mom to let her know their study date was off this afternoon because I wouldn't be able to pick them up.

• One phone call to school to leave a message for Young One that I won't be picking him and his friend up from school.

• One phone call to church to call in the subs.

• Three phone calls to a friend to see if she could sub for Confirmation.

• One phone call from said friend to clarify sub details.

• Two phone calls from the doctor's office.

• One phone call to sit on hold returning the doctor's call.

• One phone call back to church to let them know a sub was arranged.

Benadryl, Aveeno, rest, new antibiotic. Repeat all until well again.

Tangerine Dreams

A busy day requires an easy dinner or one that is already done when you get home. I made this recipe up from ingredients that I had on hand. We loved it.

Sage might be a nice change, I'll probably try that next time.

Tangerine Pork Roast

1 tsp dry mustard
2 tsp dried marjoram
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp tangerine peel, zested
1 TB brown sugar
2 tangerines, juiced
1 bone in or boneless pork loin roast

Place roast in crock pot that has been sprayed with nonstick cooking spray. Place first five ingredients in a bowl and mix well. Squeeze zested tangerines over the roast in the crock pot. Rub roast with spice rub. Cook on low 10-12 hours or high 6 hours. Roast will fall apart when it's done. Great served as a roast the first day and as shredded pork sandwiches the next. Leftovers freeze well.

Extra Extra! Read All About It! Just Not Here!

Started a family blog for family news. I'm still going to maintain Take a Whisk as my foodie and personal blog, but expanding out to include more friends and family over at I Love You Same.

See ya there (and still here).

Welcome Home. "How was your day?"

Even when I was working full time plus on my business, I was almost always able to pause in my day and meet Young One as he got off the bus after school. This flexibility was really the best part about being a business owner. I wish I would have taken more "because I'm the boss" benefits than I did, but, hindsight is 20/20.

My day is still bracketed by the departure and the arrival of the school bus. Every morning is a bittersweet goodbye, every afternoon a warm welcome home. I get a little apprehensive each afternoon, I have to admit. Could today be the day he comes home in tears, slighted by a friend, bullied by a peer? Is today a celebratory day or one in which he's hardly in the door before he blurts out after school plans with a friend? Is there a joke, fresh on his lips, ready to be delivered in a "wait, wait, I got it wrong, it goes like this" kind of way?

I am so blessed, feel so privileged to be the one that's there for him, no matter what. A constant presence. A ready ear and a welcome home. My job is to make sure he feels valued, important, supported. I do it gladly. I can't imagine giving that position to someone else. I can't imagine missing out on this.

A snack or a drink is usually the first order of business. It's not just a habit, it's a necessity. Lunch or brunch as we now call it takes place at 10:30 in the morning. By afternoon, there's at least one hollow leg to fill.

Today, however, it was a quick drink and a rush to the garage to hop on a scooter. Up and down the driveway and our block, he punctuated his laps with glimpses of his day. "I lost a tooth in Mr. Skinner's class. He asked if anything else was going to fall off?" "The girl in the locker next to me had so much garbage hanging out of her locker it jammed mine!" "Did you know that DJ Hero Renegade gets better reviews than the old regular kind." "Some kid's baby sister threw up on his SHOES. Isn't that gross?"

We talk. Occasionally he asks me about my day. Sometimes we just sit in companionable silence. It's not a huge part of our day, but it's a necessary one. The winding down, transitioning into home life again.

"You're my touch stone, Emma." A quote from Terms of Endearment.

I hope that I am Young One's touch stone. Someone to come to, listen to until he can speak no more, a place that gives him rest, a sounding board. I hope that I can always be that for him. I don't think there's any more important thing to be.

The house smells like baking apples! What a great way to make a house feel cozy and welcoming. Warm apple sauce that simmered all day makes a great after school snack. It's very easy to make and can lend that Martha Stewart/June Cleaver sort of sense of accomplishment without mental anguish, a starched apron, or Valium.

All Day Applesauce

Fill your crock pot with washed, peeled, cored, and slice apples. Overfill it if you can. Sprinkle with brown sugar and a liberal amount of cinnamon. Squeeze in half a lemon. Simmer on low until softened. Taste for sweetness and add a little more sugar if needed. It's best if left a little bit tart.

Boys to Men

Had to do a little shopping for clothes over the weekend. Not fun with a kid who hates to shop for clothes, but what can you do? Capri pants on a preteen boy is not a good look.

We attempted to purchase a few things at Old Navy, but wound up leaving with one pair of pajamas and one shirt. "The colors are too weird here."

I knew it was best we found things that he would actually wear, but my patience was running thin. My, "You don't see anything here that you like," sounded strained even to my ears.

We're entering uncharted territory on this adventure called parenthood. Gone are the days when I could bring home a shirt with the latest superhero from a movie or video game. We went through a stage where nothing with stripes could cross our threshold. That ruled out almost 99.4% of all boys shirts made on this planet. Rules also dictated that while PJ's could be irreverent and funny, shirts worn to school could not. For this, I am thankful. The thought of backing up a kid who feels he being unfairly treated by a teacher when he's known to wear a shirt that says My Sister Barfed on My Homework still strikes fear in my heart.

He's not into skater boy style, thank God. I have an unspoken rule against skulls on clothing, but he seems to have picked up on that and agrees with me. He's somewhere between skater boy and Ralph Lauren. No skulls, no sagging pants, and definitely no sweater vests or plaid shirts. I think his style could be titled "Don't notice me, no scratchy bits, plain-but-the-color-has-to-be-right, and comfortable."

So, that's what we went looking for. Nothing that could possibly be "made fun of" was purchased. Think middle school camouflage. Nor did we bring home anything that was uncomfortable or itchy. One striped shirt made it home, so that phase must be over. D commented that my poker face reaction to this purchase was Oscar worthy.

But, all of this, relatively boring, right? I mean, what mom doesn't go out shopping with their kid? What mom doesn't go through the style dictations of their twelve year old? What mom doesn't make the transition from being able to purchase clothes FOR her child to purchasing WITH her child?

We all do, but that's not what stopped me in my tracks this weekend.

What could possibly make me hide behind a clearance rack for a little longer than a bargain shopper usually does? What could have me contemplating wiping my tears with a polo shirt the size of a five year old?

We're leaving boys department. He's too big! And the difference between a boy's XL and a men's S is not that great. Mostly men's size small came home with us and he doesn't need to grow into them.

I had to have a moment in the boy's department. We're not completely saying goodbye. He still has a few inches to grow before he can fit into man pants, but I doubt that will take long. He's tall and skinny. He's my eye to eye guy now and will soon pass me up. I think he may be taller than his dad's six feet someday.

I sent Young One and D off to peruse the few toys and video games that the store carries just for this purpose. I know somewhere in a security office hidden away in the dismal depths of the store a security guard was muttering, "We have another one." I took a walk down memory lane. I wandered through the little boy section that bordered the big boy clothes. I stroked a little suit complete with bow tie and held up a sweat suit the size of my mom purse. I crossed the border into Baby Land and got weak in my knees near the Onesies.

The time goes by so quickly and most of it is lost in diaper changes, sleepless nights, play dates, permission slips, and school supply lists. And these moments, those that slam into your chest and have you gasping, are few, but potent.

Growing up is inevitable, so is growing older. I weave my aging throughout his growing and together, we're creating this tight bonded fabric of love. Schmaltzy, I know, but it's where I am right now. I'm standing back and standing with him. He needs me less, and more.

Bittersweet is the only word I can think of to describe this time in our lives. I love it and hate it all at the same time.

I got to hold a baby the other day and I was more than happy to hand him back to his mother. I wouldn't want to go back in time for anything. We're where we've grown together to be. But, I have a feeling, there are going to be lots of Mommy tears in my future.

Next time, I'll have Kleenex.