Telling Secrets

There is something about bedtime that erases all kid-related unpleasantness from the day. When I see my little boys snuggled up in their covers, with the bedroom lights on low and the fresh smell of toothpaste on their breath, it's as if all my boys' best qualities have risen into view right along with the night moon.

They are cute and sweet and clever and oh, so precious.

And that may be why during bedtime long ago, I started telling them secrets. I believe the secrets were originally a way to distract them and settle them down; maybe keep one quiet while the other prayed? Sooth hurt feelings of one when the other got to pick the night's CD.

However it started, this is what happened: I leaned in close to one of my children and started whispering. "I love you very much. Today when you helped me take the garbage out and I didn't even have to ask, that made me so happy. I love the way you are responsible with practicing the piano and can tell you are learning a lot. I love to hear you play the piano. I am so glad I get to be your mom."

As I whispered these secrets, whoever I was whispering to would get very still and very quiet. And usually, after I finished telling the secrets, they stayed still and quiet. Win-win!

The other day Jonah and Isaac reminded me that I hadn't told them bedtime secrets for a while and said it was something they both really loved. (Just as a side note, and in case the sound of little birds chirping and sappy violin music is getting too loud, this all stemmed from a conversation about whether or not I'd ever spanked my kids. I have, and what little spanking occurred, generally occurred around bedtime. But miraculously, the boys don't ever remember being spanked. They DO, however, remember The Secrets.)

That night at bedtime Jonah reminded me, "tell us secrets, mom." So I did.

I leaned in close and whispered the best things I could think of: How Jonah is so creative and expresses complicated ideas through drawings and how wonderful I think he is. I went on and on and was pretty proud of my original and meaningful examples of Jonah's unique personality and positive qualities.

I am creating wonderful memories. I am a Good Mom!, I thought

I finished and stepped back, ready to bask in the look of wonder and confidence in Jonah's face that I'd created.

"That's exactly what you said last time," he said.

"I did?" Hadn't it been more than six months since the last time I did this?

"Yep. Can I get another secret?"

Um, I kind of said everything I could think of.

"Only one secret a night," I said quickly. And while I pondered the rejection of my verbal gift, any potential disappointment was outweighed by the realization that he'd remembered.

But best of all, he doesn't remember me ever spanking them.

How to be a Boy: Packing for Scout Camp (or, How to get Your Mom to Hem Your Pants at 10:45 pm)

You're going to Scout Camp! Prepare yourself for a week of maximum fun and minimum hygiene. All you have to do is gather some pants, socks, underwear, a toothbrush (Oh, who are we kidding. You're not going to brush your teeth) and your Boy Scout handbook and throw them all into a backpack. Does this task seem overwhelming? Well, that's because it is.

Why don't you sit down and play a few on-line games and let your dad do the dirty work. When he asks you to help, let him know you're confident he can handle packing. When he insists you come upstairs and find the flashlight and compass in your mess of a bedroom, give yourself about ten more minutes on the game and then walk slowly upstairs.

Stand at your bedroom door and scan the room for your flashlight and compass. You don't see it, of course. Your room is a mess. All you can see is dirty clothes, a couple empty chip bags, and every piece of the board game Risk. Go back downstairs to your computer game and let your dad finish up.

The night before you leave, stay up late watching TV even though you have to wake up at 4:30 am the next morning. Before you go to bed, rifle through the clothes on the floor to find something to wear the next day. Make sure that each item of clothing is official Boy Scout clothing even though official Boy Scout clothing is not mandatory.

When you notice you can't find your favorite official Boy Scout pants, interrogate your mom. She does the laundry after all. Where did she put it?

"I think dad packed your pants," she suggests. "Why don't you wear the official Boy Scout pants I bought you two months ago?"

"Those aren't official Boy Scout pants," you tell her. "They're blue, not green."

"But the tags say, 'official Boy Scout uniform,'" she says. "Why don't you just try them on?"

Do some huffing and puffing about trying on pants. Why does this have to be so hard? You have to get up early, after all. You don't have time for this. Start to try the pants on over your pajama bottoms, then huff a little more when your mom tells you to take your pj's off.

Well, look at that! The pants are too long. These will never work. "I'll have to tuck them into my shoes!" you complain. "Why did you pack my Scout pants anyway?"

There is no possible way you will be ready to go to Scout camp now. You might as well just not go!

"I'll hem the pants for you," your mom offers. "Just go to bed and I'll hem them for tomorrow."

Then go to bed and sleep well. You'll be going to Scout camp tomorrow.

The Hat

This is Ethan before going to work at Camp Ireland Cub Scout Day Camp. He is a staffer who will help Cub Scouts learn and have fun throughout the summer. It's been his dream to work at Camp Ireland, ever since going as a Cub Scout himself, eight years ago.

As part of his uniform, Ethan got a coat and hat that say, "Camp Ireland," and "Staff." He wears them, along with his Scout socks, pants, belt and shirt (two Scout shirts, actually) each day with pride.

I think the hat has magical powers.

The hat has caused Ethan to start tucking in his shirt. It has caused him to--dare I say it--act responsibly by doing things like packing his own lunch and practicing magic tricks he'll be doing at camp. The hat has made him wake up on time each day and get ready without any nagging or prodding from me.

The hat has caused him to mature several years in just one day. It's boosted his confidence and changed his attitude. He wears the hat even when he changes out of his scout clothes. He wore it to light fireworks on the 4th of July and when we went shopping for a tiny tube of toothpaste for his own week at Scout camp. 

I arrived a little early to pick him up yesterday and listened as they practiced the Camp Ireland song. They were pumping their fists and shouting in unison the words to the song. There was this feeling of belonging and camaraderie that was so uplifting. And every staffer was wearing their special hats. 

Coincidence?

The Jell-o Project: Fancy Schmancy (Or, Total Request Jell-o, Part 2)

When I returned from my trip to California last week, there was a letter waiting from my sister in Virginia. She'd photo copied a recipe for Raspberry Chocolate Gelatin from a magazine and folded it up and put it in an envelope, stamped and addressed it, and mailed it through the postal service to my house here in Portland. Let's hear it for snail mail! (Ironically, this exact recipe was also one of the three Betsy had sent electronically through Facebook only days earlier.)

Like the watermelon lime squares, this recipe doesn't exactly use Jell-o brand gelatin, but rather plain gelatin and pure fruit. And, since it's raspberry season here in the Pacific Northwest, and since I was having a little soiree for the 4th of July, I thought it would be the perfect time to try it out.

The mold is a Dixie cup, which makes each of these little desserts the perfect size for sampling. Jell-o phobes don't have to make a big commitment to the jiggly stuff and could be more likely to indulge. So that's a plus.

Another Dixie cup plus: when it comes to unmolding, you simply rip the cup away to reveal a perfect little mold. No need to dip the mold in warm water while trying to coax your creation onto a plate in once piece.

Straining the raspberry pulp was time consuming, but I let gravity do most of the work while I worked on creating a layered cornbread salad, also for the 4th of July get-together. Other than that, the preparation of this dessert was quite straightforward.

And now for the taste reaction:

I loved the taste of pure raspberry gelatin and the chocolate provided a nice contrast to the fruit. The texture was a little firm. I guessed that most people, upon seeing the dessert, would anticipate creaminess rather than jiggliness and would find the firmness off-putting. The next time I create this dessert, I'll try it with half the gelatin. It's possible that the structural integrity will be compromised, but maybe not.

Robert happily ate all of his raspberry chocolate gelatin, but would not comment. He instead gave me a knowing look that said, "I refuse to answer on the grounds you will blab everything I say on your blog."

This shrewd move caused any other comments to be curtailed, so I had only the powers of observation at my disposal. Although, dear Bekah said she liked it and would happily eat another if she hadn't been so full.

While most people who took the raspberry chocolate gelatin left remnants of the gelled substance on their plates, I should mention that among the dessert spread was banana cream pie, chocolate cake with salted carmel icing, blueberry cheesecake, and brownies with home made ice cream. Every plate had a generous dessert sampling, so I can only hypothesize that my guests were slightly stuffed and, contrary to popular belief, there isn't always room for "Jell-o."And that could be the biggest discovery of all.

Someone call Bill Cosby.

The Jell-o Project: Total Request Jell-o

Guess who's legitimizing Jell-o? Food Network, that's who. They've come out with some pretty fancy recipes that are sure to skyrocket Jell-o back to a place of prominence on dinner tables everywhere. Even though the three recipes they published don't exactly use Jell-o. Let's be clear: if it wiggles and jiggles, it's still Jell-o.

This Jell-o Project goes out to Betsy, who sent me the recipe, along with the two others in the magazine with the oh-so-subtle caveat, "I'll be watching your blog."

I've taken your challenge, Betsy, and give you one of your own: Let's see how your family likes a little Jell-o at their meals. As part of the Jell-o Project, I'd be interested to find out if your family reacts the same way to Jell-o mine does. Will they love it or hate it? Will you have to force them to eat it just so you have get an honest, blogable reaction? Will you have left-over Jell-o in your fridge for 2 weeks before you finally dump it down the drain? Or will the left-overs be dumped that night? I'll need a complete blog write-up with all the scientific details.

Consider the gauntlet thrown.

Watermelon Lime Gelatin made its table debut last night with high hopes. It is, after all, simply pureed and strained watermelon, sugar and lime juice. There were no chunks, no shrimp, no hidden crushed pineapple. It was just plain watermelon juice, gelled.

The mint leaf on top did cause some concern and I'm not sure it made enough of a difference to the taste that I will include it next time. "Do I eat it?" Was the big "mint" question. I wasn't sure how to answer, especially after my piece of mint was not as tender and swallowable as I thought it would be.

Other than that, this dish was delightful. At least to me.

Ethan and Isaac insisted on eating their watermelon lime gelatin sans utensil because slurping is more fun. Jonah ate his, but didn't ask for seconds, as I thought he would. (Watermelon is his favorite fruit.) Robert ate his and was pleasant enough about it.

We will see how everyone feels when they find out we're eating more Watermelon Lime Gelatin tonight.

What We Did

I wasn't going to let Robert's crazy work schedule keep me from having a little summer get-a-way, so I took the kids and some swimsuits down to Angela's house in Oakdale for a week of fun in the sun.

The one thing I can't quite get over is that I drove the 670 mile trip all by myself. Actually, that was 670 miles one way. So I guess I drove 1340 miles all by myself. I feel like I can do anything now.

We left last Thursday at 3:30 am. Crazy you say? It's not. Getting an early start was wonderful. I was perfectly awake (my sleepy time is always in the afternoon) and there were only truckers in the slow lane on the road. And by 7am, we'd already had 250 miles under our belts.

Making this trip by myself was a big deal for me. But we also did a lot of other things.

We went out for yummy sushi. All the kids like sushi except for Jonah, who was a good sport and tried some anyway. Isaac mostly likes California roll, so he didn't partake of the more exciting pieces. Which only left more for me. Yum!

The restaurant was new and while the food was excellent, there were several service issues. This bowl of chicken udon was one. I'd asked the waitress about food for my two boys who weren't going to eat a lot of sushi. "How big is the bowl of udon?" I asked. It was $9, so I assumed it would be a family-sized bowl. "Does it feed four?"

She looked confused so I said, "or does it feed two?"

"Yes, it feeds two," she said, and I asked for her to bring it out with an extra bowl so Jonah and Isaac could share. 

As you can see from the picture above, the bowl was way more than enough for two little boys. The bowl was so large, the spoon kept falling into it and getting lost among the noodles and chicken. I was irritated since it was so inconvenient and unwieldily. Could the waitress not have made a more appropriate suggestion?

After sushi we went out for Thrifty ice cream, which is really now Rite Aid ice cream. Then we headed over to Uncle Andrew's fire station. The kids got to sit in the trucks and even work the lights (but not the siren) on one of them. 

The next day we drove out to Columbia, about a 40 mile drive. Columbia is a preserved gold-rush town and was at one time, the second biggest city in California. It was really interesting and I could have easily spent more time there. 

Angela bought all the kids bags of chicken feed and we went to feed the chickens--the same breed that was originally kept in Columbia. Eggs were a valuable commodity among the argonauts, sometimes selling for as much as $3 each.

We enjoyed listening to a street musician play authentic old west songs like "Ring of Fire," and "King of the Road." Although none of the kids would dance, I emptied out my change and let them drop coins into the musician's bucket. I'm sure he was thinking he'd rather hear the silence of dollars dropping than the plink of quarters, dimes and nickels. Oh well. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit. 

We bought candy at Nelson's Candy Kitchen, and no, they don't give discounts to people who's last name is Nelson. We asked. Jonah was pretty excited about his milk chocolate California bear. I got rocky road fudge, Ethan got peanut brittle and Isaac got classic gummy penguins and frogs, just like the old miners used to enjoy after a hard day of panning for gold.

They offered stage coach rides for $6 each--$3 extra if you wanted to ride shotgun up on top. We passed on paying for the ride because we were going to get old fashioned photos done of the kids. However, when we went to inquire, there was a 2 hour wait. We will just have to do that another time.

Just past Columbia there is a trout fishing farm. They provide the rods, bait, net and that hook remover thingy and we pay by the inch after we catch the fish. We ended up with four lovely trout that Andrew prepared fabulously on the grill when we got home. 

Jonah was so excited when he pulled out his fish. "My first fish! My first fish! Mom! Get a picture!" (I did, but it didn't turn out very well.)

We didn't do much else at Angela's house. Except bowling, playing video games, attending a ward diner and seeing Madagascar 3. Oh yeah--and swimming.

We swam in the afternoon and in the evening. And we would have swam in the morning too, but it was usually too cool. 

There were lots of cannon balls and belly flops. We floated and dove and played sharks and minnows. (And when I saw "we," I mean "the kids." I just mostly floated.) 

The kids, for the most part, got along just fine and the minute we walked in the door from our 11 hour drive, Jonah asked if he could Skype with Calvin. Later that night, before bed, he came into my room and said, "Mom, I miss Calvin." And then, first thing this morning: "Mom, is it too early to Skype with Calvin?"

I should also mention that the food was delicious and Angela and I stayed up late doing digital scrapbooking and watching movies and attempting to watch North and South (I don't think Angela is convinced parts 2, 3 and 4 will be worth her time.)

What we did, was have an amazingly great time.

The Jell-o Project: Feeding the Missionaries

Earlier this week we had the missionaries over for dinner so I made Grandma's Gelatin Fruit Salad. Who better to appreciate the subtle complexities of a nice, Mormony Jell-o salad?

Or so I thought.

A few days before our dinner appointment, I started to hear rumors about one Elder and his particular eating habits. Evidently, he is a picky eater and doesn't eat fruit or vegetables or any food that is foreign or unusual to him.

But Grandma's Gelatin Fruit salad has marshmallows and bananas. Who doesn't like marshmallows and bananas? Not to mention the creamy Cool Whip slash custard layer on top?

One elder from Far West, Utah had two helpings.

The picky elder wouldn't touch it.

The rest of the family ate and enjoyed the Jell-o, except when Ethan pointed out the crushed pineapple in the bottom layer. Then there was some complaining. Some even claimed I'd been deceptive with the crushed pineapple.

Whatever.