Destruction, frustration

I. Am. Going. Crazy.

And I'll tell you why.

I'm raising a boy. A boy who despises math with every fiber of his being, who wants to test every limit set upon him no matter how small, and who claims he wants to go back to "real school" next year.

I know a lot of people feel that homeschooling is their calling, something that they will do through thick and thin, no matter what, come hell or high water, etc. I am not one of those people. I would love to say I am, would love to be able to embrace this as a permanent lifestyle, but I am just not built that way. I love my alone time. I would love for the kids to be in someone else's classroom all day so I could go back to college and further my own education. I would love to be able to help with homework, give guidance where needed, and think that supplementing with the odd experiment is doing great. Mediocrity? I doubt it. I went to public school all the way through and I came out all right, top of my class, so given a decent chance (and my kids are smart and I would transfer them to a good school), they should be all right, too.

Right?

Ugh. Me and my stupid conscience.

I brought M1 home because he neeeeeds to be here. It's a choice made in his best interest, and 95% of the time he loves it. And I do thoroughly enjoy it when he's making headway and we're having fun and doing experiments and reading cool books and I can watch him learn and grow and laugh.

But math. Math, math, math. I'd rather eat live cockroaches for a week than pull the teeth required to get him to do math.

I really do try to make it fun. When he was learning his addition and subtraction facts last year, we played games. When learning to tell time, we broke out manipulatives and had fun with it. Same with money. But he's gotten all that down and is learning the "boring stuff," i.e. adding multiple numbers with lots of carrying (321+468+296+741=?), and for the most part, math IS dry. It just is, at least until you get into algebra or geometry or something where you can play with the numbers and move them around. OK, so even then, it can still be fairly boring. But he makes it worse on himself by refusing to do the work, refusing to focus on anything that takes him more than about 30 seconds. I'm using graph paper to help him get everything lined up right, and that helps him keep things straight, but it doesn't help him focus. Every 30 seconds, I catch him eyeballing a cat or fiddling with the eraser on his pencil or trying to pick things up with his toes or wanting to do his work on the floor or another table or whatever. I'd happily ignore it all if he then got the answers right, but his lack of focus is sooooo strong that he repeatedly fails each and every worksheet.

Being a good homeschool teacher, I can't really let him move on until he gets the stuff right, can I? So we cover it again, and I hand him the sheet to correct. I'd love to just hand him a calculator instead and say, "Here! Use this!" and make it easier on everyone, but I can't. Because if he wants to go back to "real school" at any point in time, then he has to know how to do this stuff. I've chosen a curriculum that works with the way he thinks, and he likes it, and he understands HOW to do everything - that's not the issue - but he WILL. NOT. FOCUS. It drives me batty. He'll hand me a worksheet that's half-done. Or I'll ask him to correct the problems he missed, and he'll bring it back to me five minutes later with nothing changed... and repeat that ad nauseum. This morning we're correcting a sheet from Friday. He's on his fifth correction because he hasn't changed a darn thing from the first time I handed it to him today, and from his attitude, it seems he has no intentions of doing anything about it. He's currently opening and closing his pencil box with his toes and looking intently at nothing somewhere in the middle of the room.

I'd love to give up. Can I do that? Please? Maybe I will. It's very, very tempting.

Oh, and did I mention he's in massive trouble, anyway? Ohhhh yeah. He took an arrowhead and sliced giant gashes into his nightstand after his father had caught him trying to carve his bedroom door with it and specifically told him, "You will not use this to cut things unless you have permission first." He said he understood, but clearly impulse took over (again). Oz and I had been planning to get him a desk for his birthday, but now I'm starting to rethink that scheme because of this little incident. I get so angry every time I see the destruction of property that he has caused. I'll get over it, but now I question the wisdom of letting him have his "rock collection" in his room. I'm still trying to work out an appropriate punishment for this one other than confiscating the arrowhead, which has already been done and which didn't faze him in the least.

Aren't things supposed to be a little easier than this? Just a tad?

Mostly I just needed to vent this morning. We're supposed to be going to a meeting with our homeschool group in less than an hour. I was hoping we'd get everything done for the day and he'd be able to play, but it looks like I'll be bringing books along. Most of our groupmates are more of the permanent homeschooling/unschooling variety, which works for them, and I'm sure they'll be aghast at me dragging along all this stuff for him to do, but that's just how it works for us. It's the price we pay for having homeschooling be a potential temporary choice. I have to toe the line a bit more.

Again, most of this is just venting, and I know he'll get it sooner or later. I do. Though quitting really does sound nice right about now. I just wish he'd understand how frustrating it is to me to have to make him do this.

I just wish it was easier!!!!!

Tostones!

I realized today that I seriously need to get some sort of tagging system set up for my blog so I can divide it into categories. I couldn't remember whether I'd posted this recipe or not and just spent the last 20 minutes of my life going through every blog post I've ever written to make sure. Bleh.

Anyway.

TOSTONES!

What are they, you ask? Twice-fried plantains. A friend of mine from Puerto Rico once showed me how to make them when I showed up at her house for lunch on time. I had no idea I was supposed to be an hour late! Gotta love learning new customs. I totally got the upper hand, though, because she taught me how to make these, and my kids love them.

Get some plantains. Two or three of them are enough to feed my family of four. You don't want them totally green or you'll never get the skin off, but you want them fairly green. Too much yellow and they get sweet, and then they're still great for dessert but not for tostones. (I once got stopped in the grocery store by a Jamaican woman who was convinced I had no idea how to cook plantains because I was buying them green-ish. She had never heard of tostones. And then after I told her what I did with them, a little old lady stopped me for this recipe because she was curious, too. Plantains are apparently cause for grocery store curiosity.)

Chop the ends off, make a big slice down one side of the skin, and peel.


Slice them on a bias. You want to make them about 3/4" thick. More isn't bad. What I'm showing here is about as small as you want them. You'll see why later.

Heat up some oil and fry them in batches. When they start turning brown all over (flip them as needed), pull them out and let them drain on paper towels.

Yes, it's a dark photo, but it at least gives you an idea of how they should look after their first fry.

Then you'll need a couple of plates or a bowl and a plate. You'll put one of the fried slices on the back of the plate and smush it as flat as you can with the other plate or bowl. I like to use something with a rim so they don't get *tooooo* flat. In Puerto Rico and other Hispanic countries, they actually have wooden tostone makers (kind of like miniature tortilla makers), but us gringos have to make do.

Once they're flattened, fry them again. Drain them and sprinkle them with salt before they cool. *NOTE*: Go light on the salt. It sticks to the tostones like crazy, and the flavor can easily get overwhelmed by sodium. My friend used seasoned salt, but I react badly to MSG, so I just use regular table salt. I'm sure Mrs. Dash wouldn't be bad, either.

They taste kind of like potatoes but have a slightly different flavor. I love 'em, and I hope you will, too!

Book of the Week

Now that school is back in session, I'm really going to try to keep up with things this year and post about actual educational schtuff. That's not to say I won't be posting about other things. I'm sure my wandering mind will take care of that, and I have a recipe waiting in the wings to be shared. But today will be the first of many installments of...

Wait for it...

The Book of the Week.

I know you're shocked.

As a way to broaden M1's fictional horizons and get him to start actually talking about the books he reads, I've started "assigning" books. He'll read them; we'll talk about them; and if he's inspired, he might continue with the rest of the books (if it's a series) or find more books in the same genre. We'll just see how it goes.

For the first week, his book is



Now. How sad is it that I didn't even know this was a book, let alone a series, until about two months ago?

Call me Ignorant. I'm going to swipe it before M1 is done with it and give it a read myself. I'm looking forward to it.

What a day!

Oh, I know it's not over yet. I'm aware. I just had to blog about my day because I have 30 seconds of freedom (more if I'm able to properly ignore my children) and just had to come get it all off my chest.

I woke up with migraine precursors this morning, which pretty much made me an instant curser of my morning. It felt somewhere between the morning sickness I got with M1 (which was about two steps away from laying down in an open grave and requesting burial) and wanting a claw hammer to pull the nail out of my head that someone had shot in there during the middle of the night.

Treximet is my friend in these situations, but it still takes a while to work, and in the meantime, I was playing Single Mom because Oz is out of town again, the dishwasher needed unloading, M2's lunch needed packing, the litter boxes were full, I had to get the girl to school, and... oh, yeah, I homeschool the boy!

Driving the girl to school was fantastic. I had to wear sunglasses to even be able to drive. I don't own a pair of prescription sunglasses, though, so I had to put my regular glasses on the seat beside me, pray nobody pulled me over to ask me to read anything smaller than a stop sign, and be grateful that I can drive to the school in my sleep, because when I'm having a migraine I'm A) sensitive to light, sound, temperature and B)somnolent. The drive to school is mainly east, which means the sun was shining right in my lap and dancing back and forth like some manic hypnotist. By the time I reached the school, I was officially a zombie. I took the girl into her classroom, muttered some gibberish that M2 interpreted as, "Bye, love. Have a good day," but that clearly must have been something different because her teacher was staring at me oddly (must have been the sunglasses, which were still on... must have been), and meandered back out to the van.

I made it back home in one piece and made a bargain with the Devil and my son that if I got to take a nap till the medication kicked in, I'd do things like make macaroni and cheese with hot dogs for supper.

The Devil kept his end of the bargain, because M1 actually took a nap with me, and we were both awakened by the sound of the FedEx guy ringing the doorbell AND knocking. I answered with couch pillow lines still sunk deep into my cheeks, which must have amused the guy because he eyed me, blinked, and immediately launched into some sort of chatter about checking the temperature using the thermometer we have on the front porch while I'm nodding and still blinking the last of the sleep out of my eyes. I think I told him not to check the temperature when it's going to be 9000 degrees outside that day. Again. Because it's Oklahoma in August and what do you expect?? Really, dude.

He was good for waking up. I have no idea what's in the box that he delivered for Oz. Which reminds me, the mail guy left an Amazon package on the porch that I really should go get because I suspect it's the gel packs of omega-3 vitamins and Oz's special hair gel. Gel left in 9000-degree heat probably isn't a good idea.

I digress.

M1 and I "did school" for the day and then got lunch, and then I bargained with him again so that he'd go run errands with me today so that we didn't have to do them tomorrow. I'm lazy like that. Or is that lazy? I'm not sure. We went to Mardel, a Christian bookstore that carries lots of homeschooling supplies, and picked up a planbook that I use to keep track of all the stuff we do because I'm paranoid in case we ever move to a state that requires records, which isn't likely but that's why I say I'm paranoid.

Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's comin' to get me....

I also looked for graph paper because the boy CANNOT do math in a workbook to save his life because he can't remember to carry to the right line or to stay in a line or write out or double-check, and while I *know* he knows the material, if he can't prove it, I'm having problems letting him move on. Mental block.

I ran into problems when I realized that the Powers That Be don't make graph paper any more. They make "quadrille paper," which is graph paper with a fancy name, and they only make it in 1/4" squares, which M1 couldn't use to save his life. He'd have to use four of them to write one number, and then we're right back to square one.

Most Illogical, Jim.

One trip to the grocery store and library later, we picked up M2, who promptly got mad at me because I had parked the van and come in to the school to pick her up, and she had PACIFICALLY TOLD ME to get in the line of parents and wait for her to come out so she could push the "magic button" that makes the door open and close in the van.

I was properly chastized. I bowed and scraped and kowtowed my way back out the door... hauling her with me.

Now I've gotten all the chores done and am wondering what sort of demon made me promise to feed the kids mac 'n' cheese for dinner while watching M2 get marker all over her face while making a "book" and listening to M1 try to work out what a 5x5 grid means in the instructions of a game he dragged out of the hall closet.

I suppose I can't ignore them any more. I at least need to go try to bargain some vegetables into the mac 'n' cheese. I'm thinking broccoli and spinach. And maybe vitamins for me because I've been a naughty girl and haven't taken them the past few days which is probably why I got the migraine in the first place. The Bad Fairies found me.

----

Oh, and if anyone knows of a good kids' yoga video, do let me know, eh? M2 has taken a liking to the idea of yoga, and I'm all about teaching her physical activity with calming techniques. It might keep us all from going insane. :)

Stashing

This is a post about stashing, staches, caches, and hidey-holes.

I am qualified to write this because apparently I inherited my mom's ability to fit 9000 containers of food in my refrigerator, know where it all is, not have anything fall out when I open the door, and be able to get to it all without taking out 4500 things first.

I could write about that. I could. I could even take pictures. I'm told it's impressive.

But today, it's all about the kids.

Somewhere during gestation of both children, they took my genetic ability to hoard without looking like a hoarder... and mutated it. My children are STASHERS. They're not hoarders, though M1 sometimes tries to be. They're stashers. Stashers, stashers, stashers.

That's a hard word to repeat over and over, even while typing.

M1 started young. I put a hamper in his room when he was tiny and explained to him that all clothes, when he takes them off, go into this hamper. We worked on it. He had it down pat. Sometime about the age of 4, though, he got an idea.

For the record, ideas in the mind of a 4-year-old are dangerous.

He would put a pair of underwear in the hamper. Then he'd stash the T-shirt behind his dresser, the shorts in a toy bin, and socks under his bed. The next night the T-shirt would go in the hamper, and he'd stash the rest of his outfit in other random spots. After doing 2-3 loads of knits, it would occur to me that he wasn't meeting his quota of clothes and I'd go hunting. And Every. Single. Stinkin'. Time. I would find dirty clothes in half a dozen spots around his room. I'd find one hidey-hole; he'd invent another. Sometimes he'd even put the dirty clothes into the drawers for his clean clothes! Inventive, that one. Every part of me wants to say, "And if you'd apply yourself like this to learning X, we'd be a lot farther along!"

But I don't. He'll learn someday, right??

Anyway. As irritated as I got over finding dirty clothes (and now clean ones that he doesn't feel like putting away), he ain't got nuttin' on M2. She makes his stashing seem benign. Normal. Almost to be expected.

What blows my mind about her stashing is that she loves her room to *look* clean. She vacuums it, has everything put away nicely, and enjoys having it all 'just so.'

Looks can be deceiving.

She also doesn't pick things you'd expect to be hidden in her room.

Her stashing, unlike M1's, isn't harmless. She's slightly more... well... DESTRUCTIVE with her stashing.

Yesterday we had a very quiet day. It was glorious. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do and everyone was doing what he or she wanted. Oz was playing games and/or doing some work on his computer. I was finishing a library book. M1 was reading Garfield cartoon books over and over. And M2 was playing happily in her room.

All was right in the world.

Or so we thought.

She came out and we had some snuggle time, and then she went back to her room. Oz followed her to tell her it was about time to put her toys away, and he came back holding her nightlight and her lamp. I was puzzled, because I hadn't heard any screaming.

Apparently, she had unplugged her nightlight (we still don't know why) and her lamp. And she had taken the white cord of her lamp AND COLORED IT BLUE.

That's right! She had taken markers into her room. Several of them. And scissors. She had stashed them at the bottom of her stuffed animal basket (a large hamper) in her closet. Oz and I removed what we could find, and then I found two more today. She brought out yet another this evening while cleaning her room. She'd already been in trouble twice this week for art-related issues, specifically taking window markers and coloring on the tablecloth and using glue on the wooden coffee table (again), so I suppose the third time is indeed the charm. And I'm sure that it's partly my fault for not keeping a good eye on her while she's creating her masterpieces. We didn't confiscate any of her art supplies, just made her put them back where they belonged and told her to make sure they *stay* there.

But for heaven's sake.

I fear the stash. And I'm starting to wonder if this art box that Oz and I have... well... stashed... for her for Christmas is a good idea after all. I need to check and see if there are slots for everything. That'll probably be the deciding factor.

But if you hear me shrieking about curtains that have been colored purple, you'll know. The Stash has struck again.

Cookie monsters

A couple of weeks ago, the kids decided they wanted cookies. I wasn't feeling very cookie-ish (mostly because I'd already promised the kids I'd make jalapeno poppers for dinner that night), so I told them that if they wanted cookies, they could make them.

M1 LOVES to cook. He broke out his cookbook, found a recipe for oatmeal-raisin cookies, and started piling all the ingredients and supplies together. M2 really did want to help, no matter what her look says here.

And no, she doesn't have a mullet. She had been sweating during her rest time and has a habit of shoving everything - snot, spit, sweat, whatever - straight up. So she'd done that and her hair had stuck.

Yes, I did wash it later that day.


Anyway, even after we realized we didn't have enough raisins for cookies but did have enough raisins for a snack-me-over while the cookies were baking and substituted chocolate chips for the raisins in the cookies, the kids did fantastic. M1 read the recipe and measured.

M2 dumped the ingredients into the bowl and stirred until she deemed it was ready (and then M1 would take over and stir a little more, just because he's the big brother and is a bit of a perfectionist about cooking).

They asked for help making the first cookie, to make sure that they would all be the right size, and then they scooped the cookies onto their own cookie sheet.

No squabbling at all!
They - and I - were very proud of their cookies. They had a few that day and then took the rest to the splash pad the next day to share with friends.

After they finished the cookies, they decided they wanted to make muffin-tin meatloaves for dinner and kicked me out of the kitchen altogether. It was rather heartbreaking because I wanted to be in there to take photos of this independent process unfolding, but I was on strict orders to stay out unless summoned. Which I wasn't, until it was time to put the mealoaves into the oven. They tasted great!

It was lovely to see the children not only working together but also doing something so well.

I told Oz later that night, "You know, they could totally be those kids who survive on their own after their parents disappear. At least till the food ran out."

And, scary as that thought is since they're only 7 and 5, he had to agree.

First Day Back: A List

1. I need sleep the night before school starts. I'm currently running on D for Deprived.

2. My son has an ear infection and has needed medication every 4-5 hours since yesterday afternoon. Thankfully we now have antibiotics.

3. My daughter got up at 1:32 a.m. to inform me there were bugs in her hair that had crawled into her bed and ask could she sleep with me, please? There were no bugs. I still don't know if it was a vivid dream or a hallucination, but I do know that the mental debate kept me up for a while.

4. I didn't have time to fix coffee this morning. Seriously running on the fumes of fumes.

5. I always have to look out the window whenever I hear a siren coming down the street. I don't know why.

6. It's even worse if I hear the siren stop because then I want to go drive by the scene and see what's going on.

7. No, I'm actually not a rubbernecker. I have a fear of getting slammed from behind from people who are, though. Not that I've been in two rear-end accidents in the last two years or anything.

8. The boy bought candy corn at the pharmacy this morning. I still don't know why I let him do that. I blame #1.

9. I'm reading a book right now called "The Russian Concubine." I'm 102 pages in and loving it. Very descriptive. It appeals to my sense of mental imagery.

10. I'm about to go pick up the girl from kindergarten. I hope she had a good day. No phone calls is a good sign.

11. I am fixing homemade Canadian bacon pizza tonight. It sounds more delicious by the minute.

12. Thursday is my Friday for work. This is a good thing. It's been a slow week, but I'm still done.

13. Next week is Friday the 13th. Yes, I am superstitious.

14. I am the substitute helper chick at the preschool tomorrow. Let's hope I get some sleep before then!

Another chapter

School starts again tomorrow.

In some ways, I'm sad. I know that learning comes in all shapes and forms. The kids have done all sorts of learning and growing over the summer. M1 has gained a lot of maturity, patience, and is finally beginning to understand the difference between appropriate and inappropriate reactions. This is huge for him. Of course, we've also visited the natural history museum and studied the fish. M2 has practiced writing, improving the shapes of the letters in her name. She has made constant use of art supplies like scissors, markers, etc. and is always picking up things from her brother. But it's been very nice to get up at 8 a.m. instead of 6:45 and be able to go days without even thinking about making learning happen.

I'm also sort of sad that M2 is going to be in kindergarten this year. She's getting so big! Yes, I've thought of trying to keep her at home, but there's no way I can do that. She resists even attempting to learn from me because she has a giant fear of failure, and the littlest mistake causes her self-esteem to take a hit. She needs to get back into the swing of things and have others to gauge herself against. While she's been at home, she's gone from being very confident in her ability to do things like draw pictures and play violin to being very upset at the smallest of mistakes. My reassurance isn't helping.

So while I'm sad that she's going away from me and that M1 is entering another school year at home, this time as a second-grader, I'm happy that she may be in a place where she can calm down and find herself again. Her fits have been less frequent, but they still happen and are now most often triggered by places with many people. I'm not sure what this means for school, but I trust her teacher. I've spoken with her and have a lot of faith that we can work together to make M2's kindergarten experience great.

I'm also excited about some of the stuff that M1 will get to do this year. Medieval studies, logic problems, art projects, "feasts," science experiments, lots of reading - I know he's not excited about getting up early, and he says he's not excited about school (I'm not offended... it takes a lot to excite the boy and using mostly the same curriculum that we ended the school year with in June isn't going to get his blood flowing), but I think he's going to have a lot of fun.

I know I've come a long way, too, in my expectations and outlook on the whole homeschooling experience. I'll never be an unschooler, but I'm certainly a lot more relaxed this year than I was last! Here's to new years, new experiences, and just taking it all in stride!

The Experiment

So late last night while I was in the shower, where all great things are pondered, it suddenly hit me how integral my cell phone has become to my life. The children love to sit and watch Oz and I play games (or mooch the phones and play games themselves), and these days more often than not I give out my cell phone number as my contact instead of my home phone. The only people who call my home phone are my mother-in-law, my dad and his wife, my grandmothers, and Oz's grandmother.

And automated phone systems for doctor's offices.

And political callers.

Oh, and the odd actual telemarketer whom I happily tell off, hang up on, and report to the FCC for violating the Do Not Call List agreement.

Anyway, I use my cell phone a lot and so does Oz. When I was riding this train of thought in the shower, I of course began thinking about all cell phones. My dad got his first one back before cell phones were just phones. This thing had a handset with a curly cord and came in a black pleather case the same size as but thicker than a Kindle does now. Reception was crap; it only worked if you happened to be on a major highway near a fairly large city, and you were lucky if you could understand the person on the other end.

Oh, how far we've come.

Ten years ago, Oz and I were barely married and I didn't even feel the need to get a phone till the icy-cold winter day when I got a flat tire on the way to work and had to frighten a little old lady in her house when I came knocking on the door at 7:45 a.m. asking to borrow her phone to call my husband for rescue and the office to let them know I'd be late. Oz decided I needed a phone at that point, and I didn't really even try to say no. I never thought I'd use my cell phone a lot, but surprise! I never thought I'd be a texter, but yeah, I so am. I never thought I'd check my e-mail on my phone, but I do. I even keep track of my kids' monthly allowance money on a list on my phone so that if I'm at the store and they want to buy something, I know how much they have to spend and can deduct the amount on the spot.

Oz has stood in line at the Apple store the last two years to make sure he has the latest model, and I upgraded with him this year, so we both have iPhone 4s. Fancy shmancy, perhaps, but he's smart enough to sell the old ones so that we aren't paying out the yin-yang for a phone because I'm still cheap and it's still a phone, no matter what it does. Until they come with 24K gold plating and do housework, I'm not paying more than $100.

Back to my pondering.

I decided last night that I'd see if I could make it a whole day without using my phone. I didn't tell anyone because A) I only decided this at midnight last night and didn't feel the urge to tell everyone right then because while *I* am always up at that hour, most normal people aren't, and B) It wouldn't be a true experiment if everyone *knew* not to call my phone today, would it?

So how did I do?

I give myself a B.

First thing this morning, before I was quite conscious, because I am soooo not a morning person and am never quite conscious for the first 15-20 minutes I'm actually up and moving, I picked up the phone to see what time it was, check my e-mail, and see what was on Facebook. Then I remembered my experiment and put the phone down.

By noon, I'd missed a phone call (with voicemail) and two texts (I'd heard the dings), and the screen of the phone was starting to look urgent with all those numbers and details lined up. I didn't check it. I didn't even call Oz to tell him about M1 slicing his finger open with a brand-spankin'-new pocket knife that my dad had bought him at the gun show yesterday, although my fingers were itching to call and tell SOMEBODY.

Things went south when I started thinking about supper and realized I needed milk and eggs if I planned to fix fried okra. I picked up my home phone, actually dialed the 10 digits - I'm practicing for the mandatory 10-digit dialing that goes into effect here over the next year - and called my husband rather than just texting him a grocery list to get on the way home. Wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't called back via cell to verify, but I needed the food, so I answered.

Other than that, I've done well! I re-read a book instead of playing games, and I strongly suspect I won't even have to charge my phone up tonight like I usually do on a nightly basis.

In the end, I suppose my phone isn't quite an addiction yet, but it's definitely a strong habit. My friend Mary will probably call within the next half-hour, and I haven't decided if I'm strong enough to resist the Lady Gaga ringtone that I gave her.

The experiment can end now, right? ;)

MOUSSAKA!!!

I probably should not be posting about food right now. The only thing I've consumed today has been a mug of coffee flavored with ungodly amounts of delicious caramel macchiato creamer.

I blame my friend Christy for the creamer, but the lack of eating is entirely my fault. Oz has been sent to remedy this problem with copious amounts of take-out. I'll be back to my fat and happy self before too long.

In the meantime, though, I thought I'd share this gem of a recipe. Moussaka. I make the Greek version, and it is heavenly. Time-consuming but heavenly. And Oz won't eat it because he despises eggplant in any form. The kids count the days till he leaves on trips and they get to have moussaka. They have been known to consume an entire 10x14" pan of moussaka in one sitting.

Start by peeling and slicing the eggplant. Lay out a length of paper towel and sprinkle salt on the towels, then lay down the eggplant, and sprinkle more salt on top. The purpose of this is to draw out as much liquid as possible.

And believe me, eggplants contain a *lot* of water. You have to let them sit for about half an hour but longer won't hurt. Blot the tops, switch out the paper towels, whatever you have to do. Just get the water out. Salt is a wondeful eggplant diuretic. If only it worked that way for me...

Once you have all the water out, you fry the eggplant up in a saucepan with some olive oil. I have to keep the pan moving or they'll soak up tons of oil to replace the water, which I think would defeat the purpose. On the other hand, the slices become beautifully soft when the oil gets into them.

I just tell myself at least it's olive oil and not, say, coconut. There are worse things in the world, right?

After the slices are fried, they can rest on more paper towels till you're ready for them again.

The next step is to get the meat part ready. The recipe says to use 1/2 lb. of ground beef or lamb. My family eats like there's no tomorrow, so I go ahead and use a whole pound sometimes. That's what I did here. There's salt, pepper, onion and garlic in this pan, too.

After you drain the meat, you add in the flavors. I love the smell of herbs and spices cooking in my kitchen. The recipe calls for fines herbes. I don't keep chervil in my kitchen, so I make do with chives, tarragon, and thyme. I've never had any complaints.

You also throw in some tomato sauce and red wine. Stir it all together, put the lid on that, and let it simmer for 20 minutes while you're working on the béchamel sauce. Before it's all finished, you'll let this cool just an oonch and stir in a beaten egg to help hold it all together. Or you can temper the egg and then stir it in, if you're in a hurry like I usually am.

Now... if I could read directions correctly, I'd know that I'm supposed to make a roux and THEN put in scalded milk. But I am a horrid person who can't follow a recipe properly to save her own life, so I put the milk in the pan to scald...

... and then, when the milk is scalded, toss in the butter, whisk while it melts, and then whisk in the flour.

I'm probably crazy with luck, but I've never had a sauce turn out lumpy this way. I'm not sure what I'm doing to deserve such great luck. I'm sure next time it'll be a miserable failure. And yes, I use black pepper. I know a true béchamel contains white pepper so that you don't mar the beauty of the sauce, BUT... I don't keep white pepper and this is going into something that's going to be topped with a spice, anyway, so I personally doesn't feel it matters.

Oh, and folks... don't use skim milk or margarine. Splurge on the good stuff. You won't regret it.
Once your sauce is ready, it's time to layer. Eggplant slices, the meat sauce, and some Parmesan cheese go into a well-greased pan. Top it with the rest of the eggplant and the béchamel. Sprinkle with nutmeg. Don't be shy. Use fresh nutmeg, too. It's a good reason to get some.

Why, yes, I am a food freak. Why do you ask?

After an hour in a 350-degree oven, you have this beauty on your hands. It won't last long, but if there are leftovers, they're also delicious cold after a night in the fridge. I don't make this often, and now you know why - who has time for meals that take hours to prepare? - but it is sooooo worth it.


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Moussaka

2 large eggplants, peeled and cut lengthwise into 1/2”-thick slices
Salt
Olive oil
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1-1/2 tsp. butter
1/2 lb. lean ground beef
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. fines herbes
1 T. dried parsley
1 8-oz. can tomato sauce
1/4 c. red wine
1 egg, beaten
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2 c. milk
1/4 c. butter
3 T. all-purpose flour
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste
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3/4 c. freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg

1. Lay the slices of eggplant on paper towels, sprinkle lightly with salt, and set aside for 30 minutes or more to draw out the moisture. Then in a skillet over high heat, heat 2 T. olive oil. Quickly fry the eggplant until browned, adding more oil if needed. Set aside on paper towels to drain.

2. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter and add the ground beef, salt and pepper to taste, onion and garlic. After beef is browned, sprinkle in the cinnamon, nutmeg, fines herbes and parsley. Pour in tomato sauce and wine and mix well. Simmer 20 minutes. Allow to cool slightly and stir in beaten egg.

3. To make béchamel sauce, scald milk in saucepan. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Whisk in flour until smooth. Lower heat; gradually pour in hot milk, whisking constantly until it thickens. Season with salt and pepper.

4. Arrange half of eggplant in a greased 9x13 baking dish. Cover with all of meat mixture and 1/2 c. Parmesan cheese. Cover with remaining eggplant and remaining Parmesan. Pour béchamel sauce over the top and sprinkle with nutmeg.

5. Bake for 1 hour at 350 degrees.

6. Drool and enjoy.