Grandma Morgan's rolls

One of my prized possessions is an index card smudged with butter and ink.

Years ago, I don't remember when, I asked Jeff's Grandma Morgan to write down her recipe for rolls. She looked a little surprised. Surely she knew how legendary her rolls were, how no holiday dinner was complete without them. Surely she basked in the flurry of arms reaching to grab a hot one when she paraded around her big dining table with the latest pan fresh from the oven. I don't think anyone bothered with a roll basket.

I never saw her mix the dough or shape the cloverleaf balls. When we came to dinner, even well before the appointed time, she'd already done most of the work.

I wish I'd thought to ask for a private lesson before arthritis robbed pliable fingers, and before the baker was gone.

Grandma Morgan died last month. She was an elegant, accomplished woman who made me want to stand a little taller. She loved babies and cultivated incredible gardens. I love that she seemed equally at home playing in the dirt and -- at least once upon a time -- in flour.

Yes she was surprised when I asked for her recipe but she pulled it from the top of her head and wrote it down quickly. The arrows, cross-outs and spartan directions of this recipe card amuse me. I treasure it.

We love you, Grandma!

with 1-day-old Elise, 2001

Rolls 

(with my notes in italics)

2/3 cup shortening (part margarine) --  (I asked her to clarify this; she said 1/2 cup margarine and a rounded Tablespoon of shortening. Go figure!)

2 cups scalded milk

1/2 cup sugar

1 Tablespoon salt

3 yeast cakes (or pkgs.)  in 2/3 cup warm water and 2 teaspoons sugar

4 eggs beaten, add to cooled milk

8 cups flour, approx.

Raise one hour. Roll Mix. Roll out. Raise again, 1 hour or plus. Bake 375 for 8-10 minutes.

More!

1. Scald milk. Meanwhile, mix yeast packages (equivalent of 2 Tablespoons plus 3/4 teaspoons) in 2/3 cup warm water and 2 teaspoons sugar.

2. Remove milk from heat. Add 1/2 cup margarine or butter with rounded Tablespoon of shortening to warm milk.

3. Beat 4 eggs.

4. Mix yeast, cooled milk, eggs, 1/2 cup sugar and 1 Tablespoon salt. 

5. Gradually mix in  8-9 cups of flour.

6. Let rise one hour. Stir down dough, make into desired shape and place in greased pans. Let rise another hour.

7. Bake at 375 for 8 to 10 minutes.

It gets better

The perspective of details:

1. I gave Samuel ice cream. La-di-dah. Ho-hum.

2. It was a potty treat.

3. Not as a reward for producing -- a bribe just to get him to sit there!

4. It was 5 p.m., almost dinner time. I didn't care. This kid hadn't produced since 10 a.m., and was a screaming, naked time-bomb running through the house. Something had to be done. Enter the bit of ice cream Jeff brought home for our in-house date. (He'd eaten his share alone.)

5. THE ICE CREAM WAS BEN AND JERRY'S!!! THAT'S PREMIUM STUFF, PEOPLE!!!

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

And here we see a scene I vividly recall from my own childhood when I, like Elise, was enlisted to read to a younger brother in training.

I'm thinking about installing a loudspeaker in the bathroom so James can read to Samuel, and I can listen to James from the kitchen while I work, thus fulfilling James' oral reading homework.

P.S. On Elise's watch, Samuel ran off from the EMPTY potty and, er, "decorated" the fireplace.

Do-it-yourself pumpkin portraits

Emma saw me working on this post for another blog where I freelance (and I mean freelance), and she convinced me to come out of blog exile (did anyone notice?) and put it here. Hmm, maybe because she's the star? Whatever. Enjoy!

Something about Halloween releases the creative juices, wouldn't you say? Characters, decorations, eerie foods, ways that parents can hide the candy ... 

Usually around here Halloween is a crazy rush. Out of necessity I am an absolute pro at making last-minute costumes, and I can carve a basic triangle-eye, gap-toothed pumpkin in no time flat. 

But one year I let those creative juices steep and stew for a while with very satisfying results. Ah yes, Halloween 2000, I remember you well. It was a presidential election that year and I saw a newspaper photo of two jack-o-lanterns someone had done of Bush and Gore.

I could do that. At least I wanted to.

Only I had two significantly cuter subjects in mind, my 4-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter. 

The dreaming, ambitious side of me actually considering drawing my children's faces onto the pumpkins (!), but then the practical side reminded me that I'm not an artist. So I decided to use a photograph as my pattern.

Here's how to create your own using Adobe Photoshop:

1. Choose your pumpkin and get an idea of the size area you want to carve.

2. Size the image to match your carving area.

3. Convert to grayscale (black and white).

4. Go to Image, then Adjustments, then Posterize. Play around with the number settings until you like what you see. This step ends up looking something like this:

Hmm, is that an orange speck of pumpkin goo on her chin, and in my scrapbook all these years?

5. Print and get ready to carve! Or in other words, set aside your entire day and thank your lucky stars that PBS can help occupy the children while you sit in the room with them.

I wanted the white areas of my pattern to be the lit, open areas of the pumpkin. I drew on the pattern before carving to better outline the parts I would cut. Then I taped the pattern to the pumpkin and used the poker from an inexpensive carving kit to punch dots through the pumpkin. With a paring knife I "connected the dots" in specific sections to make the cutaways.

This is what the pattern of holes looked like in reverse:

I carved Emma's pumpkin first and actually got better and faster as I did Kyle's. I scooped, outlined and carved the two pumpkins over a five-hour span tending my children. 

In the decade since I've added three more children ... who vocally wonder why they don't have a jack-o-lantern portrait too. (Hey -- fold the laundry and I'll do it!) Sadly, I've never done another; my time has been needed elsewhere. This project was indeed rare for me, to actually see my ideas take form -- and that's why I love my memories of it. A little creative victory, if you will, all thanks to Halloween.

P.S.

If you've read all the way through this, let me reward you with a little tip. What do pumpkins and canning rings have to do with each other? Oh, I'm so glad you asked. I DARE you to find a better tool for scraping out a pumpkin's insides. So get carving!

Happy Halloween!

Modeling clay

The walk to school on the first day, Aug. 23.

Indulge me here. I know, I know. The first day of school was last week, and I honestly had this post written in my head then -- but it was trapped there, awaiting the time my hands were free from housework long enough to type. (O, laundry, will we ever part?)

We're off to a great start of school. Our goal is scripture reading at 6:20 a.m. before Jeff leaves for work. So far only Elise has a perfect record of attending, but we'll keep at it. It's worth it.

The children are split two and two between the elementary and junior high schools. And if you're thinking -- what? Emma is in junior high? -- yes, my heart tried to deny it too. 

The traditional front step shot. James is wearing a name tag his teachers mailed to him.

Ooh -- somebody go get Samuel!

Never mind.

Samuel's favorite site at the school: the aquarium.

Modeling Clay

The boy took his assigned seat across from James, scanned the room of new classmates and blurted out in disgust:

"Not him again! I HATE George!"*

James looked up briefly from fist-pounding his yellow Playdoh.

I waited expectantly. I was there, having dropped James off for the first day of first grade. In mere seconds my head was already screaming with "Hey, that's not very nice!" and "I'm the only adult who heard this, what do I do?" I watched to see James' reaction. Would he reply with something far worse?

"Well, I like him," he said evenly. And that was that. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I was so proud of him. Without hurting the speaker he stood up for the subject. 

But I also know that, just as easily, on another day, James could be the one saying hurtful things. It comes with the territory of being a child. You hope, when you can't be there yourself, that someone else will gently help your child squish out the mistakes and start molding and forming again. That if caught in time, no harm is done.

We all reach a time as parents where we simply cannot be as hands-on as before. First grade is one of those measurable times for me. I struggle knowing that the balance of my child's waking time in the home, compared to out of it, shifts dramatically. It's hard.

I can't be there every minute. Instead, I can make sure the clay of my children's character does not dry out, that it does not get broken down by grit and debris, that it does not become so diluted and soupy that it can't take shape. I can teach and model, over and over -- till I'm blue in the face! -- but ultimately my children must sculpt themselves.

Their creations amaze me.

*name changed, of course :)

Dear Grandma,

Dear Grandma,

Thank you for the package! When Mom and I came home from a meeting it was fun to see a box under the door mat. Mom was really excited when she said, "Samuel, this is for YOU!"

I already knew that. "Yeah, my toy is inside," I told her.

She took pictures of me opening it, but she didn't take pictures of my words. If she had, they would have looked like this:

Wow!

and

This is so cool!

over and over that day.

I love my new tools! They're just the right size for my hands.

The drill makes a really great sound -- but that's not the only way I can use my ears:

See? How about my nose?

(James taught me this but I'm pretty sure I would have figured it out on my own eventually.)

I haven't put the drill in my mouth yet (at least not that Mom has seen ... shh!), but my new tools do turn my mouth into a big smile.

Thank you, Grandma. I love you.

Love,
Samuel

Someday Eyes

Gardening has taught me appreciation despite flaws. Gardening has taught me to look at an expanse of land for what it can become, to see future flowers where now are just weeds and hard-packed dirt.

Gardening requires my "someday" eyes.

The children I raise need the same approach. One recent day I was particularly hurt that my teenager exploded in anger when his sister's sudden sickness prevented our trip to the amusement park. I was so upset with him. Where was his compassion?

Where, too, was mine?

I sought a quiet moment to reconcile my negative feelings. The prayer was quick. I came to understand my son's disappointment and his limited tools to express and control it. Even greater, a picture formed in the upper right corner of my mind. I saw him as a man, leaning beside his own daughter in the bathroom and stroking her hair out of the way.  Blond, I think.

Someday.

I saw my son for all the potential within him, and my heart swelled anew with the charge to get him there.

You know you're a mother when ...

... from a room away you can HEAR the difference between a crayon and a Sharpie permanent marker in your 2-year-old's hand.