On Food and Community

by Cate on March 23, 2013 · 5 comments

in Family,Feminism,Food

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Our Thanksgiving table, 2012

In high school, I dabbled in veganism. When people asked me why, I was often baffled; I couldn’t tell them that I thought veganism would be a good cover for my eating disorder. But it was. I said no, thank you to all the temptations that public high school had to offer: Krispy Kremes and candy bars on testing days, snacks smuggled into class, even the odd offered Altoid (gelatin). I carried raw oatmeal and cinnamon in snack baggies, eating it dry. I chewed 5-calorie gum for hours, my jaw aching. I grew smaller. I felt very alone.

When I began to inch toward recovery, I gave up veganism, and then vegetarianism, too. I ate with my family again, what they were eating, and we sat at the table talking long after the dishes were clear. Some friends and I had a habit of visiting new restaurants on a weekly basis, or we’d buy frozen pizzas and make cookies. I had missed the food itself, of course–being vegan is not for the unaccomplished cooks among us, which I certainly was at the time–but most of all, I had missed the companionship.

My best friend and her longtime boyfriend visited last weekend, and together, we ate. Joanna and I were once a sad pair, both of us starving, substituting books for sustenance. Now we are softer, happier. We ate tomato risotto, and salad, and bread. We ate pancakes and banana pudding, Indian food and mango lassis. Around the table, we smiled and committed what, at one point, would have been a radical act for the both of us: we ate until we became full.

I love to cook. I love transforming raw ingredients into something fragrant and delicious and often beautiful, if rustic. But what I cherish even more than the act of creating is the gathering which follows. The clinking of spoons, unfolding of napkins, warming of bellies.

{ 5 comments }

My babies.

by Cate on March 12, 2013 · 11 comments

in James,Motherhood

My baby turned one last month.

As his birthday approached and I cleaned house and nursed him and bought ingredients for cupcakes, I had the feeling that somehow he was ceasing to be my baby. That on the morning of his first birthday, his baby curls would suddenly straighten, his apple cheeks would lose their blush. On his birthday, he woke up early. He was still very tired, but too restless to fall asleep again, so I got up with him, letting Jason sleep. I tied a rebozo with a short wrap from the basket, and James rested his cheek against my chest, babbling as I made my tea. Eventually he fell asleep, and I drank my tea, and sat down on the couch as the sun came up. I dozed. My baby turned one.

When we woke up, he was still a baby. His head was sweaty, he wanted to nurse. He was still crawling. (Though he has now begun to take tottering steps). I was afraid, because he might be my last. I don’t know. We may have another. We may not. As he plowed through his birthday cupcake, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the last first birthday party I’d host.

I’m not ready to be done with little ones. Sure, sometimes it’s frustrating and awful and I’m trying to pee in peace while James is climbing up my pant leg, and Simone is screaming because A HAIR A HAIR A HAIR IS ON HER FOOT!, but I love this season. I love that Simone looks to me for answers about why the water is lower when I stand up in the bath versus when I’m sitting in it. I love that when James is tired, he reaches for me and just wants to cuddle until he falls asleep. I love impromptu dance parties in the kitchen, and trips to the park, and wrapping–how I love wrapping. I love that Simone blows kisses which turn into raspberries. I love breastfeeding, and picture books, and peekaboo.

Simone will be four this summer. James just turned one. They’re both my babies.

{ 11 comments }

Snowy days

by Cate on February 3, 2013 · 13 comments

in Babywearing,Family,Home

Today Jason made his weekly pilgrimage to the Barnes & Noble cafe to work on his National Board certification in peace. A snowy day and an inspiring post by Jamie reminded me that intentional mothering might as well start with a day at home.

While the kids played in the kitchen, I made myself a cup of tea, kneaded a batch of whole wheat bread dough, and set it out to rise.

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I wrapped James for his nap – he was asleep before I finished knotting.

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When he woke up, I peeled sweet potatoes for a sweet potato casserole. I’ve created a healthier version of my mom’s classic recipe, and we like to eat it as a breakfast dish.

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We played dominoes.

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We read. Lots and lots.

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And while Simone shared her Duplos with James, I wrote a letter to my best friend.

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Sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of keeping a household running smoothly with children, I forget that the laundry and meals and mopped floors aren’t really the point. They’re necessary jobs, of course, but that doesn’t mean they should take first priority. There’s value in slowing down, in being there. This evening I wrapped James in a quick rebozo, and while usually I would stand at the counter checking my email while swaying him to sleep, I paced the dimming bedroom as his warm little cheek nodded against my chest. A difference of five minutes…but what a difference it made to me.

{ 13 comments }

Butter Cake

by Cate on January 28, 2013 · 7 comments

in Recipes

After the holidays, I’m always in the mood for lighter desserts. I have convinced myself that it’s time for spring foods, even though it’s still January and bitterly cold. I tried this butter cake from Love Soup about a month ago and it was so good that yesterday I made it again. It’s the perfect recipe to have in your repertoire: simple, delicious, and quick.

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Ingredients:
1 cup unbleached white flour
1 tsp baking powder
Sea salt
1/4 – 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 cup butter, softened
1 cup plus 2 Tbs white sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 tsp almond extract
Dash vanilla extract
1/2 cup finely chopped almonds (optional)
1 very generous cup of fresh pitted cherries, blackberries, blueberries, peaches, or other summer fruit
Powdered sugar (optional)

Directions:
Prepare a 9-inch cake pan by buttering it and dusting with flour. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, a pinch of salt, and the cinnamon. Set aside. Beat the softened butter with 1 cup sugar until smooth and fluffy, 4 to 5 minutes. Beat in the eggs and both extracts. Lightly whisk the dry mixture into the wet one and add the almonds, if using. The batter will be very thick.

Spoon the batter into the cake pan and spread it gently until it’s fairly smooth and even. Sprinkle the fruit on top, taking care to distribute them evenly. Sprinkle the top with the remaining sugar. Use less for very sweet fruit, more for less sweet. Bake the cake for about 50 minutes. The sides should be light golden brown and pulling away from the pan. You can either remove it carefully from the pan (turning it over onto a plate and then over again onto a platter) or leave it in the pan. Dust with powdered sugar. Serves 6-8.

{ 7 comments }

Making my own peace

by Cate on January 7, 2013 · 5 comments

in Home,Simplicity

Jason was working late, on the heels of a restless night and an unusually busy morning. By mid-afternoon, I was exhausted. I set Simone up on the couch with a blanket and turned on the television. I wrapped James onto my back, paced until he fell asleep, and stood at the counter making a list of the month’s dye orders.

Suddenly, I realized that aside from the sounds of Arthur coming from the family room, the house was quiet. I took a peek. Simone was huddled into the folds of the special zoo quilt, her head on the sofa’s armrest, eyes closed. Napping. My preschooler hasn’t taken daily naps since she was a year old, and has hardly napped at all since she was two. I wasn’t about to wake her up.

I realized that I needed to start dinner: a butternut squash and caramelized onion galette from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook. I made the galette dough and prepared the squash for roasting. James woke up and I unwrapped him so he could play on the floor. He was quiet and happy while I sliced onions and put them in a pan to caramelize. The kitchen smelled of butter and cooking onions. Outside, a schoolbus stopped and children departed. I could hear their muted shouts, the soft rumble of the bus departing.

On the weekends sometimes, we stay with my husband’s parents. They live on a sizable portion of land, and it’s so quiet that when a car speeds past on the highway, we all turn our heads. On those visits, we leave our laptops behind. We sit on the couch and rest. We let my husband’s mom serve us tea and snacks. We read. We take walks around the lake. And I always wind up telling Jason that I want to move out to the country.

But it suddenly occurred to me, as I cooked dinner in a quiet house, that it wasn’t living in the country I wanted. It was peace. And I can make it myself, simply by closing the computer. The children won’t always nap, of course. I won’t always enjoy cooking dinner. But striving to be fully present? I can do that.

{ 5 comments }