Jeffrey and Eleanor never talk about what they do at school, at least not voluntarily.  The most we can eke out of them is through very specific questions about something they find exciting.  Recently we asked Jeffrey what games he plays with his friends at recess, and found that he and the other boys spend much of their playtime running away from a “Kissing Girl.”

A kissing girl!  One of society’s oldest recess traditions!  I was briefly a kissing girl in second grade, myself.  It is oddly reassuring to know that this bizarre childhood game is still alive and well.

However, at other times Jeff or Ella will, all on their own, blurt out some random piece of information pertaining to a recent school lesson, leaving me rather mystified.  Figuring out the context is everything.

Jeffrey: “Mom, I want to learn the kind of fighting that Kung Fu Panda does, only it’s not called ‘Kung Fu,’ but something else.”  Source?  A unit on Korea that included a video of Tae Kwon Do. 

Since then, Jeff has been constantly talking about this martial art whose name he can never remember except as “Kung Fu but not Kung Fu.”  Which sounds like some cockamamie “technique of no technique” that sprung from the universe of Mortal Kombat.

Eleanor: “Mom, another word for a cape is cloak.”  Source?  Reading “Little Red Riding Hood” in preschool.

Jeffrey (while cuddling on my lap): “Mom, can you feel me with your sensors?” 

Uh . . .

“Yeah, like your tongue.  Go ahead and taste me.” 

Erm.

Source?  Learning about the five senses as part of science class.

In my last post, I described how Jeffrey, out of fear for the mouse that had snuck into our kitchen, had increased his piano time in the hope of scaring it away.  He was, specifically, practicing pieces for his recital, which took place this past Saturday.

And he done good!

Jeffrey had been practicing his pieces since September, and the learning had been slow.  So slow, in fact, that his teacher suggested that perhaps this year might not be the best time for his first public performance (she didn’t want him to do badly, and have a negative experience).  I was miffed at the idea, and Jeffrey was enthusastic about performing, so we cranked up the practice.

Every day for a week, Jeffrey would run through his entire performance — including the bows — about ten times. Five in the morning, five in the evening.  He had a solo called “Let’s Boogie,” followed by a duet called “It’s Natural to Have a Flat” (what is it with sheet music and the bad puns?) that we played together.  He not only had to play the pieces perfectly (er, well . . . perfectly-ish) but had to put the music on the piano himself, keep his eyes on the music instead of on his teacher, wait for me to get on stage so we could start together, etc.

A pretty tall order for any seven year old, but especially for Jeffrey.  But he took it seriously — whispering the notes of his song and air-fingering when we were in the car, stepping to the piano to play it through at odd moments.

Last Wednesday he had a group master class, during which his teacher would decide whether or not he was ready to perform.  I nibbled my nails the whole time, but Jeffrey was awesome — his music was “gourd-geous.”  (She had given him a gourd to take home.  What is it with the bad puns?!?)

On Saturday he was the very first kid performing in the program.  He marched up in his little blue sweater vest and did everything perfectly (well, perfectly-ish), and then I walked up next to him and we played together.  So much work for only two minutes of music! 

There was plenty of applause, especially from both sets of his grandparents, and as we rose to take our bow, Jeffrey reached down and wiped his nose on his vest.

That’s the first-grade touch, baby.

Two days ago I was typing in the kitchen, when a small dark shape darted along the cabinet baseboards out of the corner of my eye.  When I looked up, there was nothing, so I cautiously went back to work.

There was another movement, and I looked up again — only to see a little grey mouse looking at me from behind the refrigerator.  Ack!

After screaming like a silly girl, I packed up the computer and headed for the living room, but I couldn’t concentrate because I could still hear little mouse claws running back and forth across the linoleum. 

!!!!

How on earth could this stupid mouse be so bold?  And how did it get in?  This was the second mouse we had had in the kitchen in the past month, and it gave me a serious case of the jibblies.  I thanked my lucky stars that Eleanor’s dance lesson that afternoon gave me a reason to stay out of the house, because there was no way I or any of the kids were going to be hanging around with Furrytail McCreepyClaws scampering about.  When Brian came home from work, he set up a few traps and I shooed everybody out the door for a fast food dinner.

The creature was caught in a trap that evening, so all’s well now, but it didn’t prevent him from penetrating the kids’ imaginations.

Jeffrey became completely paranoid, feeling certain that the slightest movement on his part would cause a mouse to materialize from nowhere and bite him.  I told him that piano practice was good for frightening mice away, and he went through his recital piece five times.

Eleanor, on the other hand, spent time developing plans for elaborate, ruthless traps, in particular one called a “Cut Trap,” which involves a cage, a knife, a wooden block, and a giant picture of a cat’s head.  The process, as far as I could figure out, requires someone to stand patiently for hours, and when a mouse runs under the knife, he or she stomps his foot down on the wooden block and the knife cuts the mouse in two.  “And then you can go outside and play.”

I’ve yet to figure out what the giant cat’s head is for.

We are drowning in apples.  There are bags and bags of them sitting on the front porch, and even though a significant portion of them are inedible (wormholes) there are many, many more that can be used.  So, we’ve been hauling out any and all apple recipes from our personal stash.  Here’s one of my favorites; it’s been an autumn dinnertime staple for my family since Brian and I were newlyweds. 

Apple-Sausage Biscuit Pie

• 1 lb. chicken sausage, casings removed
• small onion, chopped
• carrot, peeled and chopped
• 1 celery stalk, chopped
• 1 big apple, cored and diced (leave peel on)
• 1/2 tsp. freshly ground pepper
• 1/2 tsp. dried thyme
• 1 tablespoon flour
• 3/4 cup chicken stock

for the biscuit crust:

• 2 cups flour
• 4 tsp. baking powder
• 2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 cup pure vegetable shortening
• 3/4 cup milk
• 1/2 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.  Make the biscuit crust: in a bowl, combine dry ingredients, then cut in vegetable shortening until mixture resembles coarse meal.  Add milk and mix until just moist and combined.  (Note: doing this is a pain.  I have a food processor now, which makes the biscuit crust very easy to make.  Before the advent of the processor, I scrapped the homemade crust in favor of Bisquick with cheese sprinkled on top.  Because while there are many ways of going crazy-go-nuts in this world, doing so while holding a pastry cutter is not one I endorse.)  Set the biscuit crust aside until ready to use.

Anyway, get out a big ovenproof skillet and cook up the chicken sausage, then remove to a small bowl.  Add onion, carrot, and celery to skillet and cook for about 3 minutes, then add apple and cook for additional 6 minutes.  Add salt, pepper, and thyme and stir well, then add flour and cook for a minute.  Stir in chicken stock and cook for a few minutes more, then add chicken sausage back to skillet.

When everything’s nice and hot, remove skillet from heat and use a spoon to dollop the biscuit crust on top of the sausage mixture, spreading it around to cover everything well.  Sprinkle the shredded cheddar cheese on top, then put the skillet in the oven and bake the whole thing for 20-25 minutes, or until the crust is a golden brown.

I can’t make any promises that there won’t be certain individuals in your household who will eat the crust and none of the filling.  But you can always take heart that this just means more savory filling for yourself.

It’s been so dark in the mornings lately that Eleanor couldn’t understand why she couldn’t go Trick-or-Treating the moment she woke up today. 

“You can go trick-or-treating after dinner tonight,” I explained. 

“But it’s dark now,” she patiently explained, pointing out the window.

When dawn broke shortly after breakfast, she became quite Put Out.

“Why is the sun rising?!?” she wailed.  “The sun is not supposed to shine on Halloween!  It’s supposed to be all spooky and scary outside!”

Absolutely nothing I said could console her.  She just stood by the picture window in our front room and pointed at the rising sun, her face puckered with indignation. 

“THE SUN CAN’T COME UP!  THIS IS CHEATING!!“ 

Ah, my daughter: constantly upset that she can’t literally control the universe.

Needless to say, she perked up once the day got going.  I managed to scrounge up orange striped shirts for the kids, and even found a black-and-orange hairbow for her hair.  She loved posing with the pumpkins Grandma & Grandpa helped carve this afternoon.  

The grandparents were even kind enough to bring supplies for making Jack ‘o Lantern pita pizzas so I wouldn’t have to cook today.  My contribution to the meal was to get a box of Halloween donuts from the Banbury Cross bakery.  They make darling holiday donuts in the shapes of cats, bats, pumpkins, and ghosts.  Adorably delicious, and the kids loved going to pick them up with me, especially since we got to sample a still-warm-from-the fryer fresh batch of chocolate glazed.  Mmmm.

Here they are in their costumes, just seconds before heading off to get treats.  Brian’s been out of town all week for a conference, and just got back this afternoon.  The kids were really excited to do this with him.  I was really excited to have some time to myself. 

Eleanor is Snow White, Jeffrey is Robin Hood, and Wimmy is one cute tiger.  Brian wore the tiger costume when he was a little kid, and his mom was thrilled to see it in action once more.  The Robin Hood costume is one my mother made for my little brother years ago, and she helped me make Eleanor’s costume this year as well.  Isn’t it gorgeous?  But of course, I thought Wimmy stole the show.

The kids finished Trick-or-Treating quite early but still brought home a nice haul of goodies.  Other kids were still coming to our door, though, so Jeff, Ella & Wim had the exciting fun of handing out candy themselves.  They scampered to the front door in nightgowns and pajamas, eager to hand over our big orange treat bowl.  Jeffrey even bestowed a glow stick from his own treats on a boy he knows from church.  “Take this to light you on your way,” Jeff said, all solemn.

When we began to run low on candy, the kids became very concerned.  “We’re running out!” cried Jeffrey, counting the last few fun-size bars in the bowl.  ”Let’s put in some of the candy from our treat bags!”  It was sweet that he was ready to give away his own goods, but I told them that all we had to do was turn off our front porch light, and the problem would be solved.  This they did with gusto.

Today my mother had a cyst removed from her ovaries that was roughly the size of a football.  This was a surprise, since we were all under the impression that it was more the size of a softball.  Ew either way, although Brian says he’s heard of a case involving a cyst the size of a MEDICINE ball. 

Doctors always win gross-out story contests.

But the best news, of course, is that Mom’s cyst was benign.  All previous tests had pointed to this, but it was a relief to get the confirmation.  Our good friend and next-door neighbor in Pittsburgh died from ovarian cancer just a few weeks after we moved to Utah, and it was difficult not to think about her slow decline when thinking about my mom’s case. 

I couldn’t think about my dad being left alone.  So I didn’t — strangely, although I am something of a worrywart, I’m good about putting stress aside when it’s something I can’t do anything about.  And now I don’t have to think about it at all.  Hooray!

Last Saturday was the fall book sale at the Salt Lake City Public Library.  I love, love, love this sale; hardbacks are $1 a piece, and there are many books that have been discarded with no or little wear. 

I came home with 61 books, all of them children’s books — picture books, novels, non-fiction.  I won’t gush too much over my finds, because most of my friends would simply roll their eyes and scratch their heads over the squeals of glee I emitted when I found the Opie/Sendak collaboration I Saw Esau, or American Folk Songs for Children, edited by Ruth Seeger and illustrated by Barbara Cooney.

Or Gloria Whelan’s Listening for Lions.  Or Brock Cole’s Buttons.  Or a hardly-read copy of NBA winner What I Saw and How I Lied.  (For those rare nerds who know these books: see?  The book sale is AWESOME!)

And it was a good thing I had those books to read, because shortly after the sale ALL THREE OF MY CHILDREN CAME DOWN WITH THE FLU. 

Oh, yes.  The good, old-fashioned wasting fever kind of flu.  I didn’t leave the house for days, didn’t talk to any other adults except Brian and the few people who called me on the phone.  Ack.

Jeffrey was the last to get it, which was a good thing, because he’s the most high-maintenance of my kids when sick.  Ella and Wimmy spend their sick days taking 4+ hour naps, but Jeffrey follows me from room to room, drapes himself over any available furniture, and moans, moans, moans, asking for me to play games and read stories.

Which, really, isn’t that daunting of a task.  I fished out my old CD-ROM of King’s Quest VI and played it through (which I have already done half a dozen times since I first played it sixteen years ago.  Love that Prince Alexander).  Jeffrey loved helping me solve the puzzles, find the magic map, answer the riddles, cast the magic spells and rescue the princess.  He covered his head with a blanket when Prince Alex travels to the Land of the Dead and challenges Lord Death.  And he laughed like silly when Alexander finds the genie’s lamp at the very end.

But beyond that fun stuff, I went more than a little stir-crazy.  Now the children’s fevers have gone, but Jeffrey and Eleanor have developed nasty coughs — the kind that lasts all night.  When they are in the same room, the coughing is frequent and loud enough that they sound like a pan of popping corn.  Poor kiddos.

Tonight at bedtime I read stories to Jeffrey while Brian read stories to William.  (Eleanor was already down in bed with the flu.)  For some reason, William was not keen on the idea of stories from Brian tonight, and kicked up a great big noisy fuss.

Jeffrey, on hearing the various screams coming from William’s room, simply shook his head.

“You know what?  Daddy should have been a dentist instead of a doctor.”

Oh?  Why was that?

“If he was a dentist, then he would be able to help Wimmy with his screaming.” 

Pressed for details, Jeffrey furrowed his brow in concentration, and tried to explain.  “Daddy should be a dentist because the screams are coming from William’s mouth.”

Well.  That’s simply logic, that is.  If only I had known before now that a toddler’s screams could be mollified by a dentist!

“Yeah, Daddy should have gone down the dentist trail instead of the doctor trail,” he concluded with the kind of sage nod of the head that is wonderfully hilarious on a person wearing Spider Man pajamas.

When Brian and I moved into Retro Acres, we discovered an apple tree in the backyard and an electric cast-iron skillet in the kitchen.

Although I wasn’t very thrilled by either prospect — our house in Pittsburgh had a crabapple tree that caused us no end of rotten-fruit annoyance, and the skillet seemed like just one more appliance to clutter the kitchen — my mother convinced me otherwise.

Come October, she said, the hard green bumps in the tree would morph into sweet deep-red lumps of awesome, and the skillet is an excellent device for deep frying foods — no splatters, constant temperature.

What better circumstances for cooking apple fritters?  They’re golden brown nuggets of sugary goodness, they are.  I’ve had a couple of friends request that I post good recipes on this blog, so here’s my first. 

My recipe is adapted from Martha W. Murphy’s excellent The Bed & Breakfast Cookbook, which I highly recommend picking up.

Apple Fritters

• 2 cups flour
• 2 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 6 Tbs. sugar
• 1/2 cup milk
• 2 eggs
• 2 cups peeled, cored apples, chopped fine (about two big apples)
• cinnamon and sugar, for rolling

In a big bowl, mix together flour, powder, salt, and sugar.  Measure the milk in a big liquid measuring cup or small bowl, add the eggs, and whisk together.  Gradually pour liquid ingredients into dry, mixing well to prevent lumps.  Use a rubber spatula to stir in the apples.

In a skillet, heat up 1″ of oil to approximately 340 degrees F.  Drop a little bit of batter in the oil while it preheats — when it begins to bubble, puff up, and brown, then the oil is ready for cooking.

Have a paper-towel-lined plate and a shallow bowl of cinnamon sugar ready.  Drop heaping tablespoons of batter into the oil and cook for 2-3 minutes per side.  When cooked, they should be about 4-5″ across, and a deep golden-brown.  You may have to experiment to get them right; I find that making them on the small side prevents a doughy center.  If made correctly, the outside should be brown and crisp, and the inside soft, fluffy, and studded with apples.

Drain the fritters on the paper towels for a moment, then roll in the cinnamon sugar.  This makes roughly 1 1/2 dozen hot ‘n’ tasty fritters.  Mmmm.

Eleanor says that I am “the best mom ever ever ever” (pounding fist on the table for each “ever”) “who makes fritters.”  Brian calls apple fritters “the breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack of champions.”  William screamed when we thought he was finished and tried to take his plate away.  Jeffrey didn’t say anything, but has learned to snatch up fritters with cat-like reflexes.  I think my diet’s ruined, but that’s nothing new (I am down 12 pounds, if I do say so myself.

Hooray for the Utah Educator’s Association!

They schedule their annual conference for the first weekend in October, giving all the schoolchildren in the state a four day weekend.  Brian and I decided to take one last camping trip for the season and head down to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks in southern Utah.

The only downside to our plan is that the first big cold front of the year swept into town the day before we were supposed to leave.  We had a 1/4 inch of snow on the ground the morning we were packing!  Not very encouraging.  But despite the sleepless nights (for me; I can’t sleep when there’s a draft anywhere around) and very cold mornings (William started screaming when his hands turned purple, so we ended up going to a diner for breakfast two of the mornings we were there) the trip was just lovely.  The high temperatures were in the 70s — it was like hiking through an air conditioned room!

Day One: Arches

William loved the Windows area of Arches.  He kept pointing at them and happily cried “Big Wok!  Big Wok!” (big rock!) over and over.  Later, he saw a group of pointed sandstone fins on the horizon and exclaimed “Mountain!” while holding his hands over his head in a little mountain-shape.

Our big hike in Arches was to the Double O Arch — two round arches stacked on top of each other.  We had to scramble up a series of sandstone boulders to get to the main part of the trail, which the children loved (in fact, they were the only kids we saw on that part of the trail).  One part of the hike requires walking on the edge of a tall narrow fin.  There were ledges on either side of us, so it was safe, but it still induced a good sense of virtigo.  Eleanor, on the other hand, found it exhilirating.  “I’m flying high like a bird in the air!” she exclaimed.

When we got to the Double O, Jeffrey climbed on a boulder and sang a song about how a double O makes an “oo” sound, like in “book.”  Cute.

We had a camp stove, which allowed us to cook our dinner at a picnic table in the park and watch the sunset at the same time.  Hot dogs always taste better when you get to watch this while eating them:

Day Two: Canyonlands

Canyonlands is about 30 miles away from Arches, and is divided into three different districts, each more rugged than the last.  We spent our time in the most accessible district, Island in the Sky.  It is named as such because it is an enormous mesa that climbs above the canyons to an elevation of 6,ooo feet.  Looking out at the seemingly endless mazes of rocks and ravines really does give the feeling of being on top of the world.

Our most challenging hike in Canyonlands was called Aztec Butte, which scrambles up a sandstone hill to a series of ancestral Puebloan ruins dating from about 1200 A.D.  Archaeologists believe they were used as granaries.  In retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have taken the kids on this hike, because the climb down was kind of scary. 

But Jeffrey, who has a fascination with ancient cultures, thought it was wonderful (and bombarded us with questions about the Puebloans for the rest of the trip). 

We all had a big adrenaline rush when we came back down from the butte.  Eleanor skipped down the last ten yards of the hike, singing “Stay on the trail, stay on the trail!  Do what the ranger sayyyyyys . . .

Again, we used our camp stove to cook up some dinner (barbecue sandwiches!  Mmmm!) in the park at sunset.  We sat near the edge of an overlook (there was a ledge underneath, don’t worry) and saw this spectacular view:

It really did feel like we were floating miles above everyone else.  I love Island in the Sky.

Day Three: Sand Dune Arch

We had a sprinkling of rain on Sunday morning, so we quickly struck our camp and headed back to Arches for one last visit before saying goodbye.  I wanted to take the children to Sand Dune Arch, one of my favorite places in the park.  It’s an arch that is nestled between a group of sandstone fins, but what makes it fun is the enormous piles of fine sand that have collected around the base of the fins.  It’s like a giant sandbox, with lots of boulders, nooks and crannies for exploring.  Whenever I’ve been there before, the place is usually packed with people, but for some reason it was deserted for about 45 mintues after we arrived.

The light rain had left the top layer of sand wet, which made it perfect for building sandcastles.  The kids were of the opinion that this was the best place ever.  Don’t worry, they knocked the castle over before we left. 

The big rainstorm hit just as we drove out of the park.  The kids were a bit sad to go, which made me happy — I’m so pleased that they are developing a love for the outdoors.  It was a wonderful trip, and I can’t wait for another visit!