Cooking and Kids - Cooking with Kids

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on June 24th, 2011

My mom always says that the hardest thing about cooking is deciding what to make. Once she visualizes the menu, it all comes together. Correction: It flies together, three burners madly bubbling away with the fourth dedicated to puffing up the hand-kneaded, hand-rolled, hot chappatis that could make a meal in themselves. She always whips together a couple of chutneys on the side in the midst of this culinary tempest: one fiery and the other sweet and tangy. Everything is served up pronto, piping hot, pungent and salivatingly delicious. Here’s another remarkable thing about my mom. The woman cleans up the kitchen as she goes along. When she finishes cooking, you have something that you’re prone to overeat just because it tastes so good, and she has a clean kitchen. When I finish cooking, I have a disaster in my kitchen, and what’s on the plate are the survivors from that wreck.


Alas, I did not inherit my mother’s cooking talents. I may have had a better chance had I spent more time in the creative side of the kitchen rather than specializing, as I did, on the consuming end. Hey, I can appreciate good food. I won’t even turn my nose up to mediocre food either, because that’s how I’ve survived in my own kitchen.


The only hope of cooking salvation is that I’ve pushed my own children into the kitchen every summer, weekend, holiday, and at any other time they appear to be idle. Depending on the child, this can be quite often.


Better were the homeschooling years when you could have some time in the kitchen together “doing” fractions, discussing nutrition, and munching ingredients. We made quite a mess, but we also made some amazing things: our own doughnuts, lollipops, ice cream, even corn chips from scratch. They also made enchiladas, baked chicken, soups from scratch, and big, soft pretzels.


Not every child learned to cook. Some just learned to look busy.


This summer, I am supposed to be living the life of luxury. With school out, I’m not teaching. We have five children largely at home, so I’m not rushing them places. (The eldest daughter, working on campus with a summer internship, has abandoned her role as chief household baker and assistant chauffeur.)


The luxury is that my eighteen-year-old daughter, the second eldest, is cooking dinner every weeknight. Here’s an even bigger boon: she cooks more than four things, so there is something different every night. In my household, this is the dangerous and revolutionary sort of thinking that is bound to cause unrest in the fall. What will I do in the fall when she returns to campus? Last summer my daughter Tevy and I teamed up to teach cooking classes for children at Tagaloo, a nifty little shop that specializes in children’s themed parties and classes for both adults and children. It’s located in Old Town Warrenton.


To tell the truth, the classes, menus, shopping, and planning were all done by my daughter. I was there helping out, taking pictures of the children in their colorful aprons, or working with children as they wrote out the recipes in their recipe books. Basically, I did what I have always done best in the kitchen: assist, support, laugh, and eat.


This summer, as a young adult, Tevy is again offering the cooking classes through Tagaloo. You might be surprised to learn that none of the cooking the children did required the use of a stove or oven. There was cutting and microwaving, and each day had its own theme. The children were taught about nutrition and to clean up after themselves, too. Even children as young as five really enjoyed and benefited from the class.


There was a day of Summer Fun of making fresh squeezed lemonade, a big fruit salad in a watermelon basket; a Mexican Fiesta with fresh guacamole and salsa, a bean and cheese soup in the microwave, and an English tea party complete with hot tea and cucumber sandwiches.


The classes are being offered again this summer. Each is a week long, from Monday through Friday. The July 25th – 29th session is in the mornings from 9:00 – 11:30, while the August 1st – 5th session is in the afternoons, from 1:00 – 3:30. I’ll probably be there as the support crew again.


If you’re interested, give Kimberly Entrican a call at Tagaloo, 540-229-1656 or visit http://www.tagaloo.com/.  

Now you might think to yourself that I have just used this whole column as shameless advertising for my daughter, but that’s not true. I still have the ability to feel shame.

Mama’s School of Money Management

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on June 17, 2011

I’m not the world’s best money manager.

Last week we received a letter from the IRS informing us that there were a couple of things we seemed to have omitted from our tax returns in 2009. Receiving such a letter and realizing that you have been under this kind of scrutiny from the friendly folks at the IRS has the same effect as discovering that you and your family have been sharing your kitchen with rats. Rats can ferret out stashes of food. They are ridiculously smart, and nearly impossible to get rid of. Hmm. Rat infestation or an IRS investigation – now there’s a tough choice.


Apparently, back on our 2009 taxes, I had failed to report $ 85 of income from my sole day of substitute teaching at Kettle Run High School. You know, when money is pouring in everywhere: the checks for this column and that one direct deposit for substituting in Algebra II, it’s easy to lose track.


Why I had not revealed this extra bang in our buck, I cannot fathom. Was it because I hadn’t received a W-2 form from Fauquier County? Or perhaps I had received it and misplaced it. Surely I must have been notified, because even the IRS knew.


The oversight of $ 85 would not have been bad in itself, but there was the additional matter of not having included the previous year’s state tax refund as part of our income. At least, on that one, I can try to claim innocence, as it was an oversight on our tax preparer’s part.


Despite juggling other things when this letter arrived, I definitely dropped those balls to attend to the IRS’s bone. The tax preparer graciously walked me through the forms and even compensated us for the $19 of interest that accrued on the $400 we owed.


My husband was completely philosophical about the $ 400 we had to send in to the IRS for the taxes we owed: “We’re not paying anything extra,” he says. “If that’s what we owed, then that’s what we owe.”


I wish I could have shared his stoic outlook a couple of years ago when I received our first piece of mail for 2009: an electric bill that exceeded eleven hundred dollars. It was $1,171.28 to be exact. That’s right. And I’m not even going to say how shocking it was, because that pun is too low even for me.


Apparently, the meter, strapped to the side of our house, became infected by our athletic apathy. Why should it be the only one constantly running and spinning around here? It decided it was tired of running this marathon and chose to slow down to our leisurely saunter, much like the gym student who realizes that no one is specifically monitoring him.


The meter’s slower pace of life had the very pleasant side effect of producing low power bills for a few months – until someone at the power company noticed its anemic performance. I might have realized something was wrong too, but I had attributed the low power bills to a clever accounting practice of mine that allows me a bit of mathematical laziness.


I’m going to share this trick with you here at no charge. That way, if it gets you into any trouble, you can’t demand a refund. So here it is: When I’m paying our bills with some inconvenient, jagged number in our checking account - let’s say it’s $446.17 and I get a bill for some other, (hopefully smaller) amount – let’s say $67.59 for water from The Town of Warrenton, I like to pay it out so that it leaves me a smooth, rounded number in our account. (Naturally, I only do this for recurring bills so the credit rolls over to the next month’s bill.)


So here I wouldn’t pay just the $67.59. I might pay $76.17 so that it leaves me with $370.00 to work with in the account. If I’m feeling overzealous, I might even pay $146.17 so I’m left with exactly $300, and then I pay the other bills out in whole dollar amounts too so that they also leave credits on the accounts.


This works well until I hit a one-time sort of bill, like the IRS demanding some money. Even I know not to leave any excess funds there, so I pay it exactly, and that might leave me with another jagged number. But we can smooth it out with the next bill.


I realize that I gain nothing by this method, and if I were smart, the extra dollars would always and only be applied to bills in which the excess could help pay down the principal owed, such as on a mortgage. But then again, as I told you, I’m no financial wizard. I’m just curious, though, where the IRS is putting its money so that it could grow $400 by almost 5% in this economy in one year’s time.

The Danger of Dodgeball

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on June 10, 2011


Some people will do almost anything to get out of PE class, even for the last week of school.

Last Friday was the last day of school for students at Providence Christian Academy where I’ve been teaching math and science. Numerous end-of-year events were planned for our sixty or so students. It turned out to be a little more eventful than just the panned activities: the awards ceremony, followed the distribution of yearbooks, and the school picnic.


And then there was the call from the school nurse at Fauquier High School.


Oh, Lord. I’ve had one of those calls before. When the school nurse calls you, it is far more frightening than being called by the school principal. Give me the principal any day. You’d almost always rather hear that your child is acting up instead of throwing up, or even worse, that he or she has been involved in some accident.


Incidentally, I wish to say how sorry I am for all the families and friends who lost the young and precious lives in the tragic car accident in Bealeton. Please, in no way, is this column meant to try to compare my phone call with the awful news they received, nor with their grief and sorrow that will forever be theirs.


The last time I had a call from the school nurse, I missed it. I was in Reston and didn’t get to my cell phone that was uselessly vibrating on a ledge because I was wearing a dress without pockets. Fortunately, my husband was close to home that day, and he handled the call. It’s a good thing, too, because he handles blood better than I do.


That’s the time that my eldest son Sergio had been working in the shop class. Another student was trying to chop a block of unclamped wood, and the block of wood spun off the chop saw, sailed across the room, and skittered across the left lens of my son’s safety glasses, and then gashed him just under the eyebrow.


Immediately when that happened, several “cooler” students suddenly appreciated the value of safety glasses. Almost in unison, their safety goggles descended from their heads and onto their noses, like the covers closing on the cockpits of fighter planes.


Even I will admit that most safety goggles make you look about as appealing as a four-legged insect. These students began to see the wisdom of looking like insects with sight, compound, stereoscopic, or otherwise, rather than being dashing dudes with the eyesight of a mole.


By the end of that emergency room visit, he had needed five stitches to close up that gash. Head wounds bleed a lot. But you probably already knew that. When it comes to things medical, everyone has advice to give. It almost rivals unsolicited advice on parenting and potty training.


So, to speed the story along (only 350 words remain), Sergio got injured during PE class. Here’s a shocking revelation: no one in my family is athletic. We haven’t got a clue about the Redskins – are they some proper kind of potato? Just kidding. As an American, of course I know about our national pastime, right after watching reality TV and keeping up with Facebook: it’s baseball, right? Just kidding again. I know it’s football.


You may have thought my child was injured while exhibiting athletic prowess: dodging or lobbing a ball, but basically, Sergio tripped and fell backwards and sideways over an unattended dodgeball. Clutter can be dangerous.


The x-rays at Fauquier Hospital indicate that Sergio had a chip fracture in his femur. I’m not explaining that because you are probably a medical expert already. Just eat your redskins and email me with some advice on how to handle this.


He is home with crutches and a splint that is tightly wrapped in Ace bandages from thigh to toe until we can visit the orthopedist on Monday. In some ways, this is an ideal excuse from PE for him. Sergio has never cared for PE class – no offense, in case the instructor is reading this and considering awarding an A to a student who only brought home his uniform twice this semester for washing. My son claims his uniform didn’t need to be washed because, despite the best efforts of the instructor, he never really broke a sweat. Please. I guess if you don’t break a sweat, you might as well break a bone.


I got him home from the emergency room, with my greatest immediate worry being: What if he needs to visit the restroom while wearing this cast? When will his father be home?


The Friday evening commute back to Fauquier County is notorious, but my husband came home soon enough. Being the practical gadget lover that he is, he had already purchased a raised toilet seat, so the user can be seated almost as high as the sink. What a relief! And I really didn’t mean for that to be a pun.


My thanks to Sue Brittle, the school nurse at Fauquier High School for attending so well to my son.

Movies and toddlers don’t always mix

published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on June 3, 2011

Summer is almost here, and it is time to begin the annual pilgrimage to movie theaters in adjacent counties while complaining about the lack of one in Fauquier. Yes, I know you have a giant flat-panel TV with high-everything including the price tag. Plus, your home surround sound has enough satellite speakers to be classified by NASA, but if you watch a movie in the forest without spending $25 for a tub of popcorn and a couple of sodas, have you really watched a movie?


Regardless of the price, going to a movie theater with toddlers can be tricky, even if it is an animated kids’ movie. After all, very few young children can appreciate the entertainment value of sitting still and quiet in a darkened room. Any one of those conditions alone: being still, being quiet, or being left in the dark, is typically associated with punishment.


I remember the summer of 1992 when my eldest had just turned two. A Disney cartoon was playing where we lived in Long Island. When we got to the theater, we realized the Disney show would not be on for another forty-five minutes. Our apartment was a twenty-minute drive away. It was one of those classic dilemmas about the man waiting for a bus that is very late. If he begins walking, he will be extremely late, and you have to choose whether he starts walking or keeps waiting. We decided on another movie, figuring it was a movie, after all. I cannot recall the name of that movie because, as it turned out, I did not see much of it.


The first hour went okay. We had food and drink with which to amuse and occupy ourselves. Never mind that a medium tub (they serve you in containers fit to feed a farm animal) of popcorn and a drink cost more than lunch or the movies, but at least it served to keep the Creature quiet.


No sooner had the comestibles been consumed than my toddler began seeking the next form of entertainment. Little did I realize that I would be the one providing it. After some fidgeting, I heard those words, so musical and sweet to the mother who has been potty training her child, “I want to make poo-poo.” Wow! Could life get any better than this?


Beaming with pride and a sense of urgency unknown to the parents of the diaper-going masses, I bustled out holding the tiny hand of my little person. However, there was no reason to get happy; this was a fake-out. She toured the bathroom, hallway - every place where there was light and you didn’t have to sit still or be quiet. I tired of the game, and was no longer nervous of the dreaded “accident,” so we returned to our seats. A couple of minutes later, I heard “Poo-poo” again. This time it did not have such a magical or chiming quality, but, being a conscientious parent, I fell for the trap. And then, even one more time after that. My husband has always said that I’m gullible, and I think my kids have sensed it from their very beginnings.


At long last, my patience had worn thin. I could no longer remember the name of the characters in the movie, and I was acutely aware of the people behind us who must have suffered my head looming and ducking in their view of the screen three times now. I would not be suckered again. I was fully prepared for the next fake call of nature.


“Poo-poo,” came the little whisper and its accompaniment, the tug on the sleeve. (By now she had probably associated “poo-poo” with going for a stroll - perhaps she had some canine qualities?) I ignored her. “Mommy, poo-poo.” More ignoring. “MOMMY! Poo-poo.” I shushed the Creature. But I saw that this would not work for long, so I put my finger lengthwise in her mouth. She bit…rather hard. I tried to free my finger, but she was now exhibiting other, more disturbing, canine qualities. Finally, in desperation, I had to squeeze her cheeks in order to extract my finger. As soon as my finger was out, her voice bellowed all over the theater “SQUEEZING MY FACE?!”


I rushed out with the Creature, incredibly embarrassed and fearful of any social workers who might have been inside. We waited outside for the remainder of the movie, where we have largely remained as long as there has been a toddler in tow.


Last weekend was my youngest daughter’s 9th birthday. Happy Birthday, my darling Zita! We took in a movie at the Delco Movie Theater in Winchester (540-662-6800), that column reader Gina of Joan of Art Custom Framing had once emailed me about. At $ 2 per seat, cash only, it was just $16 for our family! At those prices, it’s okay that the two screens are showing slightly stale movies in a theater that hasn’t changed much since the 1970’s. Even if you don’t like the movie, the drive there is scenic enough to justify the trip.