Slow-start routine.

This morning I read a post on a lovely blog, The Inspired Room. Have you ever heard a more perfect title for a home-decor blog? I don't think I have. The last post on the blog is titled "The Five Minute
Jump Start the Day Routine" and it outlines the 5-minute routine Melissa goes through every day to start her day on the right foot: make the bed, open the shades, turn off the porch lights, unload the dishwasher. She does this every morning, no fail. No wonder she has a blog about keeping house and I have one about... well, not keeping house.

It's not like I don't have any aspirations as far as my house goes! I do love decorating, the clothes hanging in my closet are organized by color and my shoes are all in clearly labeled fabric shoe boxes. Also, my spices are organized in alphabetical order. But that's more or less where it ends. I'm a messy organizing freak, which means I get all excited at the idea of alphabetizing and organizing minutiae but loading the dishwasher and vacuuming is about as much housework as I can tolerate in one go. (I am awesome at emergency cleaning, though.)

Here's how my ideal Jumpstart morning routine goes:
- I get up at 5.30
- by the time the alarm clock goes off for the rest of the family, I have already exercised and showered
- I get Sarah ready for school and make everybody breakfast
- I clean up the kitchen and start the dishwasher
and most importantly, in this scenario I don't go near the computer until Stella is down for her nap, around lunch time.

Now, you have to remember that's all in my head. Here's how the real morning routine goes:
- 6.30am, alarm clock goes off, I wake up and find Stella in my bed. Try to remember how she ended up there. Oh, yeah, that was the 5th time she woke up. Ok.
- get Sarah up, make her breakfast, keep saying "get dressed, brush your teeth, comb your hair, (etc)" until she gets through the morning routine and is ready to go. See her off.
- drink water. Sit at pc, check e-mail while I wait for Stella to wake up.
- make Stella breakfast, cuddle, have breakfast, tweet, blog or read fave blogs.
- sooner or later, load dishwasher.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. So close.

Ungrateful brats, the lot of you (ehm... us) ;-)

I really wish I had found this before Thanksgiving, to give everyone a little inspiration – you know when you sit at the table and you go "Ehm, I'm thankful for... hey, anyone else wanna go first?" Well, now you woulnd't need to. Check it out, and be thankful for Blackberries and planes, if nothing else ;-)

Holy... it IS true, we never stop learning! (letter to myself)

Dear Elisa,

I think you REALLY need to wake up properly before you do anything at all in the morning. Either that, or the universe thinks you are too cocky and you should remember you don't know everything, so you should get some lessons, starting NOW.

Lesson 1: do not use olive oil spray on a cast iron pan that is already on the burner, with an actual flame underneath it. Not unless you want to have eyebrows flambé for breakfast. You were lucky to have barely escaped that one. Consider it a warning.

Lesson 2: you know that hyper-sensitive fire alarm right outside the kitchen? You know how it goes off any time you fry, caramelize or bake anything, and the only way you normally avoid it is by turning on the your stove's exhaust fan? Good. Well, since the exhaust fan is broken and you keep forgetting to call the repairman, you should have expected the aforementioned hyper-sensitive fire alarm to go off when you made breakfast this morning, you silly moo – hence alerting all your neighbors that you were cooking something, and likely burning it.

From now until the fan is fixed, you are to open any and all windows in the kitchen and let in the freezing-cold New York winter air, in the hope that this morning's occurrence can be avoided. You choose, either you call the repairman or you'll have to start wearing your winter coat while making breakfast.

Lesson 3: what is wrong with you, going to the mall on the first week of going on a diet? The mall, where you have to pass Harry & David and a cafeteria to go to Sephora, and you have to pass Starbucks, Godiva and the pretzel place to go to Gap Baby, and where you have to go upstairs to the food court to go to the family restroom. Honestly. You know you can't resist carbs when your blood sugar is low. And you know you can't resist anything chocolate-filled or chocolate-covered... ever. Testing your willpower, were you? Bad idea. Don't make that face, you know what the results were! Starbucks Mint Brownies 1, Willpower 0.

Ah, what a great start to the day. It builds character, I tell ya.

Dangerous squeals

Stella has a really high-pitch little voice. You can tell because she has recently begun to utilize the ultrasound feature quite often. She now squeals when she is happy or having fun, and instead chooses to go for high-pitch screams when she is mad. And while I am becoming immune to this not-so-charming habit (possibly because by now I've gone half deaf), other people still find it... well, annoying is kind of a euphemism.

An example: yesterday we were at Starbucks. We go to this Starbucks quite often, because it's in the Stamford Town Center, inside Barnes & Noble, and just a short escalator away from H&M. I basically go there every time I am in Stamford, which is a lot. That Starbucks is practically a second home - ok, a third, Whole Foods would definitely come first (I know, weird combination). Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes. We were there, all together. Stella of course started running around, which is quite normal for a toddler, and generally accepted I think. But two Russian students sitting at one of the tables would beg to differ. They were trying to study or working on a project or something, and they were annoyed that Stella was running past them. The Starbucks was far from quiet, so I didn't give it much thought. However when Sarah, who had been playing with her sister, decided to come sit down, Stella wouldn't take it. I was sitting peacefully drinking my latte and my husband was eating cheesecake and reading a magazine, when all of a sudden we heard a scream of a pitch so high that I am surprised the windows didn't shatter. Every.Single.Person. jumped on their seats. My husband and I went "shhhh!" but we had already been spotted as the parents of the screaming child.

It was over quickly, though, as I got up to play with her (which mostly consisted of me watching her while she ran back and forth between two isles of games) and she didn't scream anymore. But she squealed. Oh, the squeals. Those are pretty loud and high-pitch too. Occasionally Stella and I would go sit back down, but after just a couple of minutes she'd run away again, squealing and giggling because she knew I'd follow her. And every time I got up I could practically feel the daggers the two students were mentally throwing at me, their stares burning into back. I tell you, I felt like they were picking which scarlet letter to brand me with.

Then I'd walk by and they'd stare at me, most likely willing me to go away and stay away. It was making me uncomfortable. So when at one point I started choking on my latte I was sure they had given me the evil eye, so I told my husband I wanted to leave. He said "Oh, it's time for Sarah's hairdresser appointment" so I didn't encounter much resistance. Just as well - I am pretty sure by then every single person in Starbucks wanted to shoot us. I said as much, and my husband laughed.

Yeah, you laugh. I'm the one who got the evil eye. Now if I grow a beard or a third arm I'll have only my daughter's squeals to blame.

Here friend, have some stinky bread

Last week dh came home from the office and plopped a goo-filled ziploc bag on the counter, and handed me a sheet of paper. He said our friend R. send it for me. A little grossed out, I started reading the instructions for Amish Friendship Bread. Two things became apparent to me:
1. This was sort of like chain-mail, except you can't make it disappear by pressing Ctrl+D. Sure, I could throw it away, but that would be bad Karma.
2. There was no way this was an Amish recipe (read further to see why I came to this conclusion).
3. I'd have to make the damn bread.

Here is a chronicle of my Amish Bread progress:
Day 1: more than happy to follow recommendation to do nothing - I'm happy to touch the stuff as little as possible.

Day 2: mushed the bag.

Day 3: mushed the bag.

Day 4: started mushing the bag, caught a whiff of an acidic smell coming from it, re-read instruction sheet which reassured me not to worry because "it's normal for batter to rise, bubble and ferment". Yuck.

Day 5: mushed the bag, wondered if this whole process is at all sanitary - are we all going to get food poisoning from this concotion that's fermenting on my counter?

Day 6: added milk, flour and sugar and mushed the bag - added only about 1/4 of recommended quantity (read further to know why).

Day 7: mushed the bag, tried to fight the nausea caused by the smell.

Day 8: mushed the bag, decided to Google "Amish Friendship Bread" and got about 700 pages of results. Wondered if I was the only one in the universe not know about this. Then Googled "Amish Friendship Bread, gross" and got about 40 pages. Felt better about being grossed out by this thoughful token of friendship as I was obviously not the only one.

Day 9: mushed bag. Dreading backing bread tomorrow. But then, at least it'll be over and there won't be any more mushing.

Day 10: armed with a gas mask, poured contents of bag in glass bowl and added milk, sugar and flour. Only added about 1/4 of recommended amount - no way I'm spreading this pestering concotion by forcing it on my friends! Surely that is as thoughful (if not more) as actually sharing this.

Proceeded to put other needed ingredients on the counter: eggs, milk, flour, apple sauce, seems pretty straightforward up until the last ingredient on the list... instant vanilla pudding?!?

Now, that just seems wrong for so many reasons. Surely Amish have no packaged instant vanilla pudding in their pantries. So this recipe is an urban legend. An urban junk food legend. Is there a Snoop-type website for stuff like this?

Back to Google, this time in search of an alternative recipe. Found it! (Also found recipe for Amish starter, despite warning that "only the Amish know how to create the starter" - I told you it was an urban legend!)

Opened all windows, mixed ingredients, baked bread.

Gotta admit, it smelled pretty good while it was baking. Which prompted me to ignore my fear of food poisoning and taste some (never could resist freshly baked bread!). It tastes ok actually - on the other hand, pretty much anything will taste good with when you add that much sugar to it.

In closing: 10 days of mushing smelly goo for a not-so-special result means I am NOT likely to repeat the experiment. If you see someone coming towards you with a ziploc bag filled with goo RUN!

5 Things I've learned since becoming a mom

1. Yoga is very applicable to motherhood: the breathing especially will help during labor and later on it will help you to keep your head from exploding when you find your toddler using your most expensive face product to draw on the kitchen window.

2. Breastfeeding isn't an effective birth control method - however a screaming infant who doesn't sleep more than 30 minutes in a row is a VERY effective one.

3. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but a homemade gift certificate for "daily showers for the next 3 months guaranteed" is also a great push present.

4. People who criticize me for leaving such a big age gap between my two daughters (6 1/2 years) are usually childless, have only one child and aren't sure about having another one, or have much bigger issues to handle with their own children.

5. My husband is the real Prince Charming.

Extreme? Who, Me?

Okay, yes. I’ll admit it; I’m extreme. I’m an “all or nothing” girl. And while this may have come in handy before children, when I worked full-time, and the “all or nothing” usually translated to “all—period,” with me getting things done and getting everyone under me to do the same—since I left work and had children, things have taken an interesting turn.

I have never been a domestic goddess, not in the strict sense of the word. I’ve always loved cooking, probably thanks to my wonderful grandma, who used to let me assist her in preparing all those delicious, family-style dishes straight from the heart of Italian cooking, the kind of things you’d find in the menu of a popular Trattoria. And when I was growing up, I always loved to cook, even going as far as spending many of my summer mornings making lunch for my parents and trying new dessert recipes on my friends when they came to pick me up to go out or to do homework together. Is that normal for a teenager? Maybe not, but I also did the normal things (gossip, friends, crushes, homework, etc.) so it’s not like it made me weird, right?

Now, with this interesting introduction, you might think I ended up becoming a brilliant chef. That’s not the case, but I do still enjoy cooking. But then, the “extreme” thing gets in there, too. But I get ahead of myself, let me backtrack a little.

While I always loved cooking, I never really enjoyed cleaning up. Or cleaning, for that matter. Or washing dishes. Or tidying up. Now, if you show me a tidy room, I’d be more than happy to add a few decorating touches, but I’d rather not be involved in the actual “cleaning and tidying” thing, thank you. Does that make me a slob or a creative spirit? Hmmm … ok, let’s not go there.
So now I am a mom. And like any parent knows, you have to adapt once you have kids, because your routine changes and it often takes you longer to do things or you can’t do things as you’d like. So that’s where the “all or nothing” comes in, and not exactly to help: when I am faced with a situation where I cannot do things perfectly, exactly as I’d like, then my interest drops and I prefer not to tackle that task at all. In other words, if I cannot do it all, then I’d rather do nothing.

Silly, you say? Perhaps. Infuriating? Maybe. Frustrating? You bet. Confusing? My husband probably thinks so. Because in our ten years of marriage, he might have gotten used to me being not being a great housewife, and he puts up with it because I’m a good cook and I can do “emergency cleaning” like nobody can. (You know, when you are hosting a dinner party that weekend or expecting visitors and the house is sort of a disaster.)

But what puzzles him is that sometimes I will get something done in the house that is a total surprise and then he doesn’t know what to expect anymore. Like the time he came home to find the living room furniture totally moved around (including the entertainment center with the heavy TV), new paintings hanging on the walls, the ficus reduced to a pathetic skinny shrub (overzealous pruning from someone without a green thumb), the ground floor perfectly sparkling-clean, and all books, magazines, CDs, and DVDs organized (some alphabetized and/or categorized). I know—what? Right? That’s what he said, or probably would have said if he hadn’t been totally speechless once he entered the house. Now that’s when I get an "all"—and I have a chance to actually get it done the way I pictured it.

Ok, so I’m a weird mix of slob and perfectionist, so sue me. But how does the “all or nothing” affect my love of cooking, now that I’m a mother of two (including a toddler who is a specialist in making a mess and getting into mischief)? Ah. That’s a good question. While I am still an adventurous cook and love to try new recipes and learn new techniques, I’ve learned to play to my strengths. Since peaceful cooking time is a rare occurrence, I have to concentrate on:
- dishes I could make with my eyes closed (so they come out fine even if I’m distracted and otherwise occupied).
- dishes that I can make in the pressure cooker or slow-cooker (my new favorite things).

That’s just so that I don’t fall into the nothing when cooking is involved, even when I don’t have time for the all.

Playing to my strengths also means that I invest my energy towards making something worthwhile. So if I need to bring a dessert somewhere, I either make something I know will turn out well, or I buy something. So if we meet at a potluck and I brought a seven-layer cake, you can safely assume it’s from Whole Foods, not from my oven.


This article can also be found on DivineCaroline