Learn Something New Every Day

On Memorial Day, we christened our new friend "Crush" in the muddy, shallow, and nearby waters of Washoe Lake. We drove through Washoe Valley, which is a stunning and expansive valley flanked by the Sierras on the west, including the distinctive and aptly named Slide Mountain, and smaller, green-tinged ranges on the east, which eventually lead to Virginia City. It would be perfect, but for the cursed wind. The valley is rich with glorious pastures and well-fattened livestock. Spotting a gorgeous speciman on the move, I called out to the boys: "Look at that black horse! He's a looker!"

To which Gabe responded, "How do you know it's a boy?"

"I don't," I replied. "I'm just taking a guess. Maybe when we get closer I'll be able to tell."

Fortunately the horse continued running toward the highway. I spied the evidence. "Yep, he's a boy," I announced.

"How do you know?" queried Gabe.

"Because I saw his thingy . . . you know, his um, um, boy parts!"

"Oh for crying out loud," piped in Dan. "Gabe, she saw his penis."

Now, in all my experience with horses (which I might add is not insignificant), I don't think I've ever referred to a colt's thingy as "a penis." Sure that's what it is, but I much prefer euphemisms--donger, weiner, wizzer, that sort of thing. I still get a kick when I remember the little boy I babysat who, upon petting our young colt, humbly said, "Boy, he's got a BIG pee-gun." Is there a species specific term for a horse's penis? I haven't a clue, although I remember hearing somewhere that a "dork" is the term for a whale's. So I was relating all these thoughts to Dan, and taking nearly as long as this paragraph, when from the back seat I heard Gabe.

"Wa-wa-wait a minute!" he sputtered incredulously. "Are you saying that girls do not have penises?!?!"




Do I need to remind you that he's nearly eight years old?

Do I need to point out that this is clearly a deficiency resulting from having only brothers?

Kudos to Kris

Alright, I'm just letting the entire world wide web know that my vote tonight is going to Kris Allen.

He's cute, he's mellow, he's talented (guitar, piano, viola and ukulele?), and I could actually see myself buying his music. And last week's "Heartless?" Still humming it, sister.

Sure Lambert can wail and has serious stage presence (oh yeah that's right, he's been on Broadway), but I don't think I'd actually buy any album he makes. That, and the white gunk on his tongue last week really grossed me out.

I waited all season for the Johnny Fairplay moment when it would be revealed that Danny Gokey was never really married, but it turns out he was and it's a sad story. Still, I was not the least bit heartbroken to see him go last week--he lost me with "the scream" the week before and the cake fight with Allison. I'm so over cake fights.

So here's my prediction: Kris Allen will win because of the Danny Gokey voters. Clearly, they were those who voted for the nice guy, and Kris is a nice guy. Who can sing. And who's cool.

Whaddaya have to say about that?

Sons of a Mother

Things I've recently said which I know mothers of daughters would never say:

1. DO NOT go down the slide with a drill in your hand!

2. Yes, scissors cut underwear too.

3. DO NOT, under any circumstances, wipe your nose on my sleeve!

4. Hands out of pants, NOW!

5. NO, peeing on the driveway under the Yukon DOES NOT hide your pee.

6. That's the dogs' water bowl; not their pee bowl. (Notice a theme here?)



And I'm quite sure the cards given by daughters on Mother's Day did not include:

Nate, 4 years old

A monster with bombs. It wasn't entirely clear if the bombs were coming from me or the monster; we know it wasn't Nate because part of the picture included his leg getting hit by a bomb. As you can see, he scribbled over the flower his Dad drew for him.

Gabe, 7 years old

Mom driving a robot while taking on a tank. Clearly I'm a woman of many talents, even if it isn't clear who's shooting whom.

Jake, 6 years old

Mom rescuing Jake. This one's complicated. That's Mom with the wild hair and crazy smirk saving Jake from being electrocuted by the robot. Apparently, Mom is using multiple mirrors to bounce lasers back at the robot, who is about to explode. Oh yeah, and that's Wall-e just passing by.


I imagine mothers and daughters spent last Sunday in matching dresses, exchanging flowers and butterfly-adorned cards. But I'll tell you, I'd fight any battle necessary for these boys.

Leedle Link

Just a "leedle" link to leedle deedle designs. Leigh's having a sale this week on her handmade jewelry.

She's a friend of my friend Sara, and she's got four boys too. So I'm tightlikethis with her. And 20-30% off; heck, that's my drug of choice.

Those of you having birthdays, etc., let me know what you like from here. I respond better to unsubtle hints.

Flan Bueno

Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

(I'm not even sure what that really means, seeing as I studied French and all, a language which has proven incredibly useful here on the west coast.)

We love to celebrate Cinco de Mayo (perhaps because we lack significant ethnic/cultural holidays of our own?). Our festivities are a salute to mexican food: a feast of either tacos, burritos, enchiladas, or the ever popular quesadillas. Of course there are chips and salsa (with guacamole!) and sometimes salsa con queso.

And I always make flan. I love flan--really custards in general--but flan is divine. The smooth, creamy texture with the caramel topping. Delish. Some years I make the instant jello flan (easy and yummy), and other years I've tried Martha Stewart's multi-step flan (better without the rum; well actually, I don't know what it tastes like with the rum). Someday I'm going to get my hands on an honest-to-goodness authentic recipe and I'll be in heaven. A redundant heaven, but heaven nonetheless.

Other significant people in my life do not share my enthusiasm for flan. Namely, four males residing under my roof (I'm leaving Pete out of this, for all I know he might really take to it tonight). In an act of ultimate chivalry, my husband will eat one obligatory ramekin or slice. The others just whine and cry until I succumb and toss them some oreos.

I've also learned that celebrating Cinco de Mayo isn't for everyone. As fairly recently-weds living in Provo, we hosted the LDS missionaries for dinner on Cinco de Mayo. I served enchiladas, chips and salsa, and of course flan. I should have known the dessert would be a bust when the elders had no idea what enchiladas were. (How is that even possible?)

After an unimaginably long first course (I was going to say "ungodly," but I feel like that's close to taking the Lord's name in vain and it's inaccurate, since the guests were missionaries after all), I served the flan, in darling individual ramekins. One elder wouldn't even taste it, and the other just mushed it up with his spoon to make it look like he'd eaten some. The audacity!! Clearly these elders had it too easy, because I know for a fact that at the same exact moment there were at least 5,000 missionaries in Mongolia or Thailand or Brazil or Wisconsin who would've killed (figuratively) for enchiladas and flan. Well, at least the enchiladas.

I've developed a thick skin over the years and am respectful of those with differing tastes, but I'm always looking for new recruits to the "Flan Fan Club." So, why don't you throw a fiesta today and make some flan! It's really fun and tastes good too. Well, at least to me.

Here's the recipe I made for tonight (taken from The Martha Stewart Living Cookbook):

Coconut-Vanilla Flan

1 9-inch pie plate

1 1/2 cups sugar
pinch of kosher salt
5 large egg yolks
3 large eggs
1 3/4 cups canned coconut milk (the whole can 13.5 oz. can)
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

(The original recipe called for 3 tablespoons rum, which I omitted for obvious reasons. I've tried imitation rum extract, but I think I added too much.)

1. Preheat oven to 325. Line a shallow baking dish (large enough to hold a 9-inch pie plate; I used a 9x13 pyrex) with a clean dish towel (to cushion the pie plate) and fill with boiling water. Keep it warm in the preheated oven (I didn't because I got distracted, oops).

2. Place 3/4 cup sugar in a heavy-bottomed medium skillet. Cook on medium-high heat until sugar is melted and medium-dark brown, about 5 minutes. (It also says to swirl the dish and brush down the sides of the pan with a pastry brush dipped in water to prevent crystallization. I tried, but mine still had crystals because I didn't cook it as long as the first one that totally cracked as I was pouring it. This is the part of the recipe I'm worried about. Maybe I needed a heavier bottom.) Pour carmelized sugar into the pie plate, swirl to evenly coat (hard to do when the sugar is already cracking!); let cool.

3. In a large bowl, whisk together the remaining 3/4 cup sugar, the salt, egg yolks, and eggs until combined. Whisk in coconut milk, milk, and vanilla (my coconut milk had some chunks that would not whisk in, but I'm okay with that). Pour into the pie plate and transfer to the hot water bath in the oven. Bake at 325 until flan is just set and is no longer liquid when lightly touched in the center, 40-50 minutes (mine took 60 minutes, but that may be because my hot water bath was a bit tepid to start with). Transfer to a wire rack until cool. It's best if chilled overnight in the refrigerator, unless you like it warm.

4. When ready to serve, slide a knife around the edge. Place a serving dish on top of the flan and flip it. Spoon the extra syrup on top. Slice and serve. And enjoy. Or tolerate.





Ohh, I'm really feeling the italics, aren't I?

Another Copycat

Reading cjane's recent copycat debacle reminded me of the little ditto-er I've got under my own roof. (Yes I know, I don't have a cjane or nienie button. I also haven't updated my sidebar pictures in a year and a half. Get over it. I do read both frequently; in fact, I even donated a pregnancy for nie day last August. See.)

Countless are the times I've heard, "Mom, Jake's coffeying me!" (To which I respond, "Then say 'Jake is not very smart!'" Doesn't everyone?)

However, Jake does come up with some great original zingers. He's a riot. A couple weeks ago, he stunned me by announcing:

"If I'm ever attacked by skeletons, I'm just going to say: 'Hey, how are you even moving without any muscles?'"

Hysterical brilliance, right? So I thought, and so I shared with anyone in hearing distance. My apologies for bragging: My boy's a genius!

Because shortly thereafter, all was revealed. In the background played an episode of El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera (I was totally won over by the episode with the tempting river of horchata--seriously, who writes this stuff?). Manny and Frida were being attacked by skeleton amigos (of course), when Frida stops the lord of the skeleton amigos cold by saying, "Hey, how are you even moving without any muscles?" After which the fierce skeleton crumples into a pile of bones.

WHAT?

My boy's not a comic genius? He's a (gulp) copycat? A (horrors) plagiarist? Darnit. Is there no original thought left?

Maybe he was just quoting.




**I couldn't decide between the two pictures, so you're getting a double shot of Jake! Apropos, don't you think?