One Year

I can usually hear the footsteps the second the feet hit the ground. A tiny body sliding out of her giant bed, stepping around the dog sleeping on the floor, blankets and Tiger in hand. She sometimes opens the blinds, the creak of the roller a dead giveaway, just to make sure it's morning. Then she stomps down the hall. It sounds like stomping, even though she barely weighs 30 pounds. Her hand grasps the knob on the door to my room. A short turn and she peeks in. If she sees me awake she quickly pops in the room, slams the door behind her, props her crap on the bed, and climbs in.

She usually doesn't say a word. Not until she is settled and snuggled beside me. Her face is glowing with a morning smile and she practically purrs with delight. We lay like that for a what is probably only seconds. Then she pops her head up.

"Mama, can we bake today?"

*******

One year ago I marked my first day as a stay at home parent. My husband left for work, to return more or less almost 4 months later. I was thrust into the role of full-time parent with no regular paycheque. It was an initiation, almost hazing, that no college student would ever survive. 24 hours a day, alone, with my kids.

Being home with my kids was never a reality I imagined. I was going to either save the world or make a lot of money working hard. For a while I thought I could combine the two. Then these little creatures emerged, growing with me, and encouraging a sense of self I never knew was there. Our family changed and the needs of the whole outweighed my desire to save the world. Instead I needed to work on just saving us.

So, here I am. A year in. Much calmer now - most days - and still working on keeping us all sane. I've had to revise my own expectations about what can be achieved by the family and by me, in our time. I've also blown apart my own thoughts about the pleasure this would bring me and the peace it gives my husband. I still wonder what the hell I'm doing and I don't love it every day. But I like it. A lot.

In this past year I've developed a whole new relationship with the girls, worked to define this new thing with my husband, and searched for a balance to my own desires and goals. It's been HARD. And that's not counting the disappointments, struggles, grief, and disorder that the last year also brought.

And I wouldn't change a thing. As hard as this life is, it is better. Much, much better.

*******

Peach pie, lemon cupcakes, muffins, scones, cookies, bread... We're baking it all. Practically something new every day.

The Monster isn't as thrilled with being in the kitchen as she used to be. If there is the prospect of chocolate she will join us. Otherwise, The Evil Genius pulls up her bright orange chair, rifles through the cupboard for her apron, and says to me, "So, what should we bake today, Chef?"

With the Monster starting Kindergarten this morning I see even more baking in my future. That kid will have the best snacks in her heart covered backpack. Full of love and most likely chocolate.

Nectarine, White Chocolate and Cardamom Scones

(adapted from the basic English Cream Scone recipe in the original Five Roses Flour cookbook)

Makes 16-18 kid-size scones

1 nectarine, chopped into 1/2'' chunks

3 ounces white chocolate, roughly chopped

2 cups flour (you can mix whole wheat with regular, but don't go 100% whole wheat)

1 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp ground cardamom

1/4 cup cold butter

2 eggs

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 tbsp sugar

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment or a silicon mat.

Make sure your nectarine and white chocolate are chopped. Set aside.

Combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and cardamom in a large bowl. Cut the butter into the flour. Frankly, we use our hands. 3 years olds are very, very good at this. You could also use a pastry cutter. Stir in the nectarine and white chocolate

Reserve 1 tbsp of egg whites in a small bowl, then beat the eggs with the cream. Add to the dry ingredients and mix well. The dough will be wet and sticky. Drop by heaping spoonfuls onto your prepared baking sheet. Leave 1'' between scones.

Brush the tops with reserved egg white and sprinkle with the sugar. Bake for 10-13 minutes until lightly golden.

A Pie for Mikey

You start out with an idea, a concept of where you want to take it. A taste, a feel, a look. A finished product to be savoured and enjoyed. Something to share, to show off, to take pride in.

You gather the things to make it, and you bring them close. You handle them, you edit, you cut, you taste. Add heat, maybe some sizzle, and quite often a long simmer. At many times will you season, highlighting the flavours and subsequent adventure.

Usually it gets messy. You are either the type of person who cleans as they go or the kind that has a third hand following them washing and wiping as you move. It doesn't matter, as long as you address the mess at some point.

Eventually you sit to enjoy. It isn't necessarily what you expected it to be. Sometimes it doesn't work and you have to start over tomorrow. Quite often it's better. Much better than expected.

One day it explodes. The pleasure is insatiable. The joy immeasurable. On another day it is more subtle, simple. It is good, but not great. The pleasure and peace, however, is there. It's lingering and comforting. Perfect.

At least, this is how my marriage feels.

My husband is my best friend and an incredible man. Kind, generous, a little bit wicked. Committed, driven, and horribly sarcastic. He owns his own business and used to race mountain bikes. But I always thought I'd marry a professor or snooty intellectual. We'd live in an old house filled with books and no kids. Obviously that isn't what I've got.

My man in my life and our marriage came about like a farmers' market dinner. One day you find something that looks fantastic and you go with it. And so we have, experimenting along the way. Some days it explodes with pleasure and some days it is lingering and comforting. Perfect.

Imagining a life without my husband nearly stops my breath. Cold.

And now there is a colleague, a friend I met through blogging, who is living this fresh hell right now. Her husband, the father of her two little girls, suddenly collapsed and died last week. She is feeling the immeasurable pain of loss, the unimaginable.

This pie is for Mikey, for her, for their girls. This pie was his favourite and it deserves a celebration. As does he, as does the love he and Jennie shared. Their recipe gave the world this pie. Let's celebrate.

The food blogging community - including those who live close to Jennie and are lucky enough to share a drink and pizza with her - are gathering around her right now. This is community. Today we are making pie. People the world over are taking Jennie and Mike's pie and making it for their own loved ones. They are adapting the pie for themselves, making the recipe for their own loves. In doing so we celebrate a man, relationships, and the spirit of adventure in love, cooking, and life.

A pie for Mikey.

Community (And Pickled Chioggia Beets)

"Anti-social media."

That's what my husband says when you bring up Twitter, Facebook, Google + or anything that incites or requires interaction through a computer or smartphone. He is, at heart, a huge people person. His business requires near constant contact with people - all of which he prefers to do face-to-face or at least on the phone.

His argument is that people think they have friends that they make or maintain friendships through social media, but that it's just superficial. Indeed, he merely tolerates my stories of people I've never actually met. He's not discounting that, once you've met in person, a friendship can grow.

I'll admit, some days I completely agree with him. Then I get a note from someone who reads the blog that is full of more support than a friend I've had for years has given. Or someone I only know from on-line shows up at my door with food, when no one else does on a bad day. Or I am heavily impacted by a tragedy that rocked the world of someone else.

Always remember, there is a real person behind that on-line presence.

That means you can indeed form a relationship with someone you've never met. Will it be as close as the one you have with your best friend since high school? Maybe. Maybe not. But it will still be valuable and important for its own reasons.

On the days that I do see merit in what he says, I take a step forward into my community. Not my on-line world, but the one that is literally outside my door. I take a walk and chat with the neighbour. I grab a beer with another mom from the preschool. I call my brother or sister to just chat about our kids. Nothing can replace a face-to-face conversation.

Because of those conversations I have beet pickles today.

There we were, minding our own business, devouring my husband's hamburgers in the backyard. Our front door was wide open, the dog was probably sound asleep, and the kids were already performing after dinner hula hoop tricks. Suddenly the back door opens and one of our neighbours walks through. In her hands was a grocery bag full of chioggia beets and a big bowl of apricots.

With family in warmer climates and friends coming through she was left with a pile of produce from her folks' backyard. Too much for her and her husband, she brought them over to share. And she knows I would happily accept because we've actually talked before. We live on a street where most of us make an effort to know each other. So she knew I would tackle the colourful produce with gusto and none would go to waste. (There is an apricot crisp in the oven for another neighbour who just had a baby.)

This is my community. Embrace the friends you have when they need it, whether with a quiet note or the full force of your arms. Embrace the shared journeys. Embrace the beets they bring to your backyard.

This was my first time making beet pickles. Inspired by the Pickling Party, hosted by Shauna Ahern from Gluten-Free Girl, and my neighbour. The recipe is a mish mash of ideas from memory, Aimee from Simple Bites, and the Harrow Fair Cookbook. Even my cooking is an amalgamation of my many communities!

Pickled Chioggia Beets

Makes 3 500 ml jars

2 1/2 pounds scrubbed beets, tops and stems removed

2 cups white vinegar

1 cup rice wine vinegar

3/4 cup water

1/2 cup sugar

2 tbsp pickling salt

1 tsp coriander seeds

1 tsp mustard seeds

3 cloves garlic

rosemary (optional)

1. Boil the beets in a large pot of water for 25 minutes. Make sure a fork will go through the largest beets easily. Drain and immediately place in a sink or bowlful of cold water. Once cooled use your hands and, if necessary, a knife, to trim the skin from the beets. Slice and set aside in a clean bowl.

2. While the beets are cooking clean and process 3 jars and the screw lids in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes. Keep hot in the water while you clean and slice the cooked beets.

3. While you prep the beets combine the vinegars, water, sugar, salt, and seeds in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil and keep hot, hot until ready to use.

4. Quickly drain your sterilized jars. Keep the water boiling.

5. While they are still hot add a garlic clove to the bottom of each jar, then fill with beets. Stop filling 1/2'' from the top. Carefully pour in the pickling liquid, leaving at least a 1/4'' from the top of the jar of space. Wipe the rim of the jar with a clean cloth and screw on the lid.

6. Process for 20 minutes in a boiling water canner. Do not start timing until the water comes to a boil after you add your jars.

(Why didn't the skeleton cross the road? Because he had no guts!)

(Said skeleton keeping the almost pickles company.)

Seven Tips for Dining Out as a Family

The first meal out for our family after having a baby was sushi. Our newborn slept in her car seat and I gorged on the fish that had been banned from my diet during pregnancy. It was bliss for everyone. Our last venture to that same sushi bar (last month) was a bit more raucous, with the girls not so quiet now. But they sat at the bar, ordered their favourite sashimi, and flirted with the host who gave them candy.

We can't imagine our lives without the opportunity to take the kids out for dinner. If we didn't take them we might not go ourselves with limited babysitting in town! But if you want to take your kids to a restaurant, whether it involves a giant golden M or serves fois gras, there are some basic guidelines. These are guidelines for parents, not rules for kids.

1. Start at Home

If you want your kid to sit at the table, eat, and not run around and scream at a restaurant table then you need to expect that behaviour at home as well. I know many a parent who struggles to keep their kids at the table, regardless of where they are sitting. While I can't provide any tips for getting them to stay in their seat - other than expecting the behaviour and enforcing it - if your kid can't sit at the table for 20 minutes then a sit down restaurant isn't going to be a successful venture for you.

2. Revise Your Dinner Expectations

When you take your kids out to dinner with you then your experience will not be that same as dinner out with your partner. There is no lingering over dessert, conversations are not usually about politics or money, and you will likely eat pretty fast. Dinner out with the family isn't romantic, but it can be fun. Keep your expectations in check, as well as your timing.

3. It's all in the Timing

Knowing when your kids need to eat and when they'll crash is important if you choose to eat out. Don't arrive at the restaurant at 6 if they are used to dinner on the table at that time. Be prepared to order an appetizer or the entire meal when they come by to take a drink order. And ask for the check right after your meal is served in case you need to make a speedy exit.

4. Choose Wisely

There is no need to limit your family meals out to fast food or even chain restaurants. Steakhouses, greasy spoons, and yes, fine dining are all acceptable. Do not take your kids to the best place in town if all they've ever eat are chicken fingers, you need to work up to that. Consider going to a nicer restaurant on a weekday, not on typical date nights on the weekend. Preview menus on-line or with a drive by to ensure there is something your kids will likely enjoy. Try brunch instead of dinner, it's faster, more likely to have preferred options, and is a more casual environment - even in a fancier restaurant.

5. The Art of Conversation

I'm not a fan of bringing toys and such to the restaurant, but I can see the benefit for other families. A run of the mill restaurant will sometimes provide the menu that can be coloured, or you could bring your own colouring book. Books, a small doll, a random car, or even an electronic device might also be effective in occupying your kids while you wait for food. It should go away when the food arrives though. We take the time in a restaurant to have a conversation - as effective as that is with a 3 and 5 year old. I also don't want to set the precedent that toys are commonplace when you go out for dinner. Each family will have to decide what is appropriate.

6. Lose the Kids Menu

Even the fanciest of restaurants sometimes have a kids menu. Ignore it. It may be fine dining, but they are often dumbing down the food in addition to smaller portion sizes. Instead, look to the appetizer or soup/salad portion of the menu. Alternatively, you can order one main course and split it among two or three children. Do not relegate your kids to a diet of chicken fingers or grilled cheese sandwiches. Or at least, save those for the nights you stay home when you don't feel like cooking.

7. Be Prepared to Leave

Yup, be prepared to get up and walk out without dinner. If your kids are misbehaving, whining, or generally being bad or disruptive, be prepared to leave without eating. Aside from showing restauranteurs and other patrons that you have control over the situation, you are also showing your kids that certain behaviour is not tolerated. Whether you let them eat dinner at home after that is another matter. (I would not, but that's me.) If you want your restaurant experience to be successful and repeated, then you need to set the precedent.

On the recent debate on Q, with Jian Gomeshi, Emma Waverman, and Simon Majumdar, the host and guests talked about a ban on kids in restaurants. While I squarely believe in the comments made by Waverman, it was this quote from Majumdar that sums it up. Restaurants want to ban kids, primarily because of crying and bad behaviour, and that "Boils down to wretched parenting."

If you want to take your kids out of the house - and we all need to at times - then you need to step up to the plate, plan ahead, and be clear on your behavioural expectations with them. A restaurant isn't always a break at dinnertime, don't treat it that way unless the kids are at home with the babysitter. Dinner out with the family is an opportunity for exploration, conversation, and treats.