Eggs, puppy and rest

We've had two 6-egg days in a row this week!
I've been able to gift some of our beautiful eggs to a couple of dear friends, one of whom agreed to babysit Ivy until Michael gets home today.

By Thursday morning, I realized my broken foot could handle no more and called for help. I've had almost two days now that I've been able to mostly stay off my foot.


I'm sorry, Mommy.

It still hurts and walking is painfully difficult, but with Michael coming home today followed by the weekend, I'm hoping for some improvement.

Fortunately, Ivy has been behaving herself at my friend's house. They have an acreage and she gets lots and lots of exercise, so when she's inside, she spends most of her time like this.

I miss my baby...

Fowl Play

Or, How I Kept My Dog From Killing My Chickens and lived to tell the tale.

Ivy's been showing lots of interest in the chickens lately, running from one end of the chicken run to the next, barking and generally carrying on. I knew I shouldn't let her do this, but my mobility has been somewhat hindered by my broken foot.

Two days ago, the dogs had been outside for a while and I asked Melissa to check on them. The next thing I knew, there was a shriek of panic as Melissa screamed to me, "Mom, Ivy's in the chicken run!"

Have you ever seen someone run with a broken foot? Painfully comedic, it was.

By the time I got out to the chickens, Melissa was already there, in her pajamas and stocking feet. We both had dashed out without our coats.

Ivy had pulled aside Michael's clever little chicken wire tunnel, the one that led from the coop into the run, and was in a frenzy of chicken chasing.

As I waxed rhapsodic about our chicken coop the other day, I failed to mention a few of the hastily constructed, poorly thought-out, last minute safety features we installed. The chicken wire draped over the run makes it impossible for even a child to stand up in it and the gate into the run was wired shut to prevent prison breaks.

So, there we were, an 11-year-old girl in stocking feet and a hobbled middle-aged woman without a coat, frantically trying to stop our puppy from killing our chickens.

I managed to untangle the wires from the gate, allowing Melissa into the run in a half-crouch. She grabbed Ivy amidst the frantically squawking chickens and dragged her to me. I reached out to grab her with my left arm. Did I ever mention that I've been fighting tennis elbow in my left arm since last May?

Ivy pulled away, wrenching my elbow and forcing me to let go, allowing her to resume her mad chase. Meanwhile, three of the chickens, feathers flying and squawking in fear, flew up at the chicken wire covering, and out through a newly formed gap.

I tried to grab one, but didn't have a good enough hold of her, enduring a wing-battering and a stab on the lip from her claws. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't come to see what all the screaming was about, as Melissa shrieked about murder and I bellowed at the rampaging dog.

Then again, we probably just blended in with the usual background noise.

Anyway, Melissa grabbed Ivy again, dragged her to me, and I man-handled her into the house and shoved her in her kennel. I went back out to retrieve Wally, who seemed a little bewildered by all the hullabaloo, and brought him in as well.

We fixed the chicken wire tunnel as best we could, at least so that the chickens still in the run wouldn't escape, closed the gate to the run, reopened the hatch door to the coop, and took a deep breath.

Three chickens were missing.

Melissa promptly found one in front of the coop and put her back inside.

Where were the other two?

I sent Melissa in for boots and both our jackets so we could search the yard thoroughly. The two escapees were found, huddled together by the garage. Melissa shooed them to me, as I couldn't step down onto the rough terrain (again) and I was able to take them one at a time and return them to safety.

It took both of us a little while to calm down and count our blessings that no chicken was actually killed. There's no way I can Ivy-proof the run with my foot as it is, so the poor ladies will have to stay cooped up until Michael gets back.

On Friday.

On the positive side, I've come up with a way to pay for Ivy's spaying. I plan to rent her out, $50/hour. She'll help farmers determine whether their chicken and other poultry set-ups are predator-proof.

Needless to say, we're teetering on the edge of desperation here.

But we're all still alive.

Even the chickens.

Dark Days Eat Local - Week 14

We actually had this meal shortly before my husband left last week for two weeks in Chile.

Yeah, I know.

It must be tough.

No, actually, he's working 16-hour days in corn fields.

Not really my idea of a good time.

With him gone and my foot broken, I haven't been doing much cooking.

This meal was incredibly delicious and looking at this photo makes me even more tired of take-out than I already was.

We had local steaks, broiled, topped with local onions sauteed in Iowa soy oil and splashed with balsamic vinegar. Just before serving I sprinkled Maytag blue cheese on top.

Oven roasted CSA beets and local potatoes rounded out the meal

We finished with a homemade (with local eggs) angel food cake topped with blackberry sauce made from a pint of local blackberries I canned last summer.

Too bad I forgot to take a picture...

He loves me...

and has a good dose of guilt!

So, how does one get flowers twice in one week?

It was easy.

All you have to do is break your foot, have one child sick with a virus, have the other child only be 11, have a 65-pound, 5-month-old St. Bernard puppy and an older dog who throws up a lot.

Oh, and your husband must leave on a two-week business trip to South America.

Worth it?

What do you think?

Coop Deluxe

Tubleweed Tiny House Company

No, this isn't our chicken coop.

But ours will look awfully similar once we get it painted this spring.

Michael built our chicken coop from scratch. Um, no pun intended.

He used internet resources to know how much space 10 hens would need, how many nest boxes, etc. I can't tell you the finer points of the construction, but it was his own design. Most of the lumber was second-hand, some we already had and some from a colleague of Michael's who had recently torn down a building. I think we spent about $200 on supplies. The windows, with screens for predator protection, open for ventilation and let in lots of daylight. The coop even has its own outlet for the heat lamp and water warmer.

What I thought would take a couple of weekends to build, however, ended up stretching into two months or more. Meanwhile, the chickens rapidly outgrew the old rabbit cage in the basement. We had to attach our extra-large dog kennel to the rabbit kennel to give the growing birds enough room. During the last few weeks of their basement dwelling, the grew so large that the kennels had to be cleaned every day. This gave Michael the extra push he needed to finish the coop.

Nest boxes. We ended up having to give the birds two extra nests as they grew into egg-laying size. For the new nests, we used old milk crates.


Racoons are a real worry here, even though we live near downtown Des Moines. We read that a racoon can open anything a toddler can, so we tried to build as many safety features into the doors as possible.

This is their nifty back door. The ramp leads into an old dog run we converted to a chicken yard. You can see the chicken wire over the top, to keep the birds in and the predators out. To open the door, we slide a wooden bar back and pull a rope. The rope is secured to the chicken yard fence and the birds have access to the yard and their coop all day long. At night, we lower the hatch and slide the bar across the door.

The coop is insulated and even has wainscoting on the ceiling.
We have a double lot, with the garage at the end of our driveway that runs sideways behind our house. The garage sits off to the side of the yard, with the chicken yard running behind it. The coop is completely contained within our fenced yard, another necessary safety feature.
Oh, and we use an old combination lock on the front door.

It took going on last fall's Farm Crawl for Michael to realize he was over-building. Once he saw how the local farmer's housed their chickens, he realized he could finish up much faster.

The chickens are happy with their coop, I believe, as they've started laying consistently. We're now collecting as many as 5 eggs a day.

If the economy continues to tank, I figure all we'd have to do is add plumbing and we could rent it out.

Of Design Flaws and Neanderthals

I have a major design flaw.

Actually, I have more than one, but this particular flaw is causing me a lot of pain right now.

You see, I have super-duper high arches.

Said arches lead to improper weight distribution in my feet.

My right foot, in particular.

I found out today that the poor design of my foot, along with walking on my treadmill, are the cause of my recent, and ongoing, pain.

X-rays only confirmed what the doctor suspected.

I have a stress fracture on the top of my foot.

No wonder it hurts so much.

I've been limping around since Thursday of last week, trying to manage the dogs, the kids, the household, without bending my right foot when I walk.

Not an easy task.

I've been popping Aleve, which has helped.

So has a nice big glass of Merlot.

I now have a lovely orthopedic shoe, designed to keep my foot immobilized, that I am to wear for two weeks; three if I still have pain.

So tell me, who's going to take the puppy out to poop at midnight?

Oh, and Sarah is still sick, so she's basically just taking up space and using up tissues right now.

Michael is still a continent away.

Poor Melissa.

It's not easy being the only able-bodied person in the house.

I think this is the greatest of my design flaws, though a slightly larger chest and a stronger back would be nice.

If this were all, it wouldn't be so bad.

But my design flaw is coupled with several systems failures, all of which make me feel as if I'm falling apart.

My first and foremost system failure has to do with serotonin. Either my brain doesn't produce enough or my synapses don't absorb it fast enough; thus my lifelong battle with depression.

The second system failure, hypothyroidism, has caused me much fatigue and grief over the last 5 or so years.

Fortunately, my system failures and design flaws can be treated with great success these days, though my doctor has forbidden me to use a treadmill ever again.

But I've often thought about prehistoric times. Though the question is likely moot, as I wouldn't have lived to my middle forties then anyway, I can't help but consider what my life would have been like.

Would my high arches have caused problems keeping up with the rest of the hunter-gatherer band? Would I have been left behind, alone on the grassland, waiting for the saber tooth to get me? Had this happened earlier, due to the number of walking miles put on by the time of puberty, would I even have successfully passed on my genes, flaws and all?

Do you keep a melancholic around the campfire when she just brings the rest of the tribe down? Or would all the walking have kept the depression at bay?

How about the thyroid? No one would have wasted their own energy carrying an exhausted elder on a travois.

I'm pretty fortunate to live in the times I do.

Though it might have been a lot easier letting the puppy out of the cave to pee...

Without Him

Footprints in my bathtub
Toothpaste in the sink
Pawprints on the kitchen floor
What am I to think?

Dirty dishes stacking high
Laundry pile flows
Ashes scattered on the hearth
Is this how it goes?

Beds unmade, dogs unfed
The porch? It isn't swept
The children? Eating junk food
My hair? It is unkempt.

Rugs with bits of dog bones covered
The upstairs hall? A mess
Table surfaces full of mail
Whose fault? I must confess...

My darling, dearest took a plane
Away to Chile he flew
Gone for two weeks in the sun
Earning money, it's true

But me? I have an injured foot
My daugher, she is sick
The puppy's crazy, the dog threw up
This life I wouldn't pick

Youngest daughter soldiers on
The eggs, she counted four
The chicken water must be changed
Who'll head on out the door?

This isn't the first time he's been gone
You'd think it would be old hat
But without exercise, due to foot
I'm afraid I'm getting fat

Five days down, 10 more to go
The girls and I'll survive
All we have to do, he said,
Is keep ourselves alive

My foot will mend
Her sore throat heal
The dogs will wag and slobber
I love my darling, I tell myself
As down the steps I hobble

I must work hard not to hold a grudge,
The mantra in my head
I beg the girls, just a litle nap?
A mere hour in my bed?

The boys have called, they love me so
The girls and I are fine
My primary coping skill, I find
Is lots and lots of wine

We'll make it through, our love intact
Our house? A different matter
A funny thing, these times apart,
Our love they do not shatter

We're building memories
Forging bonds
Loving ever after
But when he calls, I must admit,
I don't feel much like chatter

Time apart, it strengthens hearts
The old adage simply states
That sage, I'll wager, was a mom
At home without her mate

Despite it all, we excitedly wait
Anxious for his return
Someday, I think, it would be nice
For him to take a turn...

He's working hard, and so are we
A continent apart
And though it's tough, for all of us
He's always in my heart

We await his return with open arms,
Oh my, we love him so
We'll hold him tight, kiss him lots
Until next time he has to go

Valentines

I don't know why so many people seem to "hate" Valentine's Day.

I find it delightful to have a day dedicated to expressing one's love to those near and dear to us.

And of course, just because there is a specific day dedicated to expressing love doesn't mean that love can't be expressed every day.

Michael left on Valentine's Day for two weeks in Chile. It will be warm, but he'll be spending grueling days in corn fields. Definitely not a pleasure trip. On a last minute trip to the grocery store for dog bones and ibuprofen he also bought these lovely tulips for me.

He brought them to me while singing "Besame" a la Andrea Bocelli. Sweet.

The girls woke up to big heart shaped boxes of chocolates from Walgreens. I used a prescription transfer coupon that netted me a $25 gift card. The chocolates were free and the love is genuine.

I also made a batch of double chocolate brownies for them.

Zachary and Stephen got Valentine's wishes via email.

It was a sweet and lovely day...

Dark Days Eat Local - Week 13

This week we had the distinct honor of using our own eggs for our local meal. This was the first week we had a dozen - actually 13 - eggs! I'm sure the excitement will wear off some day, but I think it's far in the future.

Michael made us fried eggs and oven fries, a meal we would eat every day if we could. We had locally made butter on homemade whole wheat oat bread. Umm, umm.

Our local family-owned dairy, Picket Fence Creamery, milks Jersey cows. The milk is incredibly creamy and delicious, unlike any milk I've ever tasted before. It's always a sad day when we run out and have to buy regular milk from a commercial dairy. The creamery is about a 40 minute drive from us. Though the milk is sold locally in a specialty grocery store, it's substantially less expensive, even figuring in the cost of gas, to drive out to the dairy. We're experimenting with freezing gallons of milk in the hopes that we can do a once-a-month stock up trip.

Finally, we thawed another quart of strawberries from last summer. I had recently splurged on a pound of fresh strawberries from California. Believe me, there was no comparison. While the fresh strawberries were okay, our strawberries - frozen at the peak of flavor - beat them hands down.

Last summer we planted our own strawberry patch. I can't wait to see what our yield is this summer. It's exciting to think of strolling out and picking our own fresh berries!

Progress

There's a light at the end of our debt tunnel.
Unfortunately, it's a CFL, so it's still a little dim.
But it's definitely better than the deep, dark cave we seemed to be facing a few months ago.
Probably the greatest boost to digging ourselves out of debt has been our new attention to detail. We are tracking absolutely every single penny we spend. Then, Michael and I are sitting together in front of our spreadsheets, sometimes for hours at a time, planning, discussing, and working together to dig us out of our hole.
All this, and we haven't even been fighting about our decisions.
It's all about attitude.
We both want to get out of this mess, admittedly of our own making, and eliminate the constant worry and stress that debt causes.
The second greatest boost to our debt reduction was the bonus dh got from work. We were almost positive that it would be eliminated this year, so it was a welcome and much needed surprise that the company still delivered. Now, I'm not talking million dollar Wall Street broker bonuses here. But it was enough to pad our meager savings account and pay off a whopping $11,000 credit card balance, my son's spring tuition, a new kennel and dog treats for Ivy, and a few other dibs and dabs we owed here and there.
This still leaves us with our car loan, a second mortgage (used to make our old house liveable), and two credit cards with uncomfortably large balances, but we can see that each month we're going to be able to make strides on our dual goals of savings and debt reduction. We've also renewed investing in dh's 401K, though we've definitely shifted our stock/bond ration to a much more conservative mix.
It isn't easy being on a strict budget like we are. Sometimes I feel as if I'm almost strangling as I weigh a purchase against the actual cash I have left for the week. But I realize I should have been doing this for the last 15 years and welcome the self-discipline I'm developing.
We are on track for being completely out of debt in about 2 years and I've never been so excited. There's still a long road to travel, but I'm much more hopeful that we'll actually get there.
Whew!

A Question of Presidential Taste

Dear President Obama,

My family and I are quite disappointed in you.

No, this isn't about the stimulus (we're glad it passed), and while we're certainly disappointed in the tax foibles of several of your nominees, we regard that less a problem with your judgment than with their honesty.

No, Mr. President, my concern hits much closer to home than even a tax credit. You see, we heard that your staffers introduced you to a cookie made here in Des Moines and that you and your wife and children "love" them.

Apparently, your staff brought you and your family "Baby Boomer Chocolate Chunk" cookies during the campaign. Word is that you loved them so much that your staff even had them shipped to you and yours even when you weren't in Iowa.

Recognizing this as high praise for a cookie, I jumped at the chance to buy a package of "Baby Boomer Chocolate Chunk Cookies" when I saw them in a local grocery store. In fact, I bought three packages of the cookies, each containing two, so my whole family could try them.

Now, I consider myself a proud and loyal Iowan and I certainly wouldn't want to harm anyone's business, let alone a small bakery in the newly resurging are of downtown Des Moines known as East Village. But this is an issue on which I cannot remain silent.

Therefore, I say this with the utmost respect for you and Michelle, Mr. President, but you've got to be kidding.

The cookies were tasteless, bland, and, dare I say, non-descript. And though the chocolate chunks were large and plentiful, the cookie itself was, to put it bluntly, flavorless. Even my children, ages 11-20, asked if they had to finish their cookies.

I realize you have many pressing concerns on your agenda, Mr. President, but I would think that having a rather blah cookie known as the "Obama" cookie would rank relatively high on your list.

I can only imagine that if you and your family truly love these cookies, you must never have had a homemade, fresh-from-the-oven-delicious, chocolate chip cookie.

I find it particularly sad that Sasha and Malia seem unaquainted with the delights of home baked goodness.

Now, I know you and Michelle likely don't have much time to spend in the kitchen these days, but I'm hopeful you will take the time to ask your mother-in-law to pull out the mixer and oven mitts in the White House kitchen and bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies for those little girls.
I believe that once you've tried a freshly-baked cookie, you'll realize the error of your ways. And once you do, a simple "I screwed up," is all I ask.

Sincerely,

The Lauers

P.S. I've included here a recipe for a whole grain chocolate chip cookie my family loves.

Obama-worthy Chocolate Chp Cookies (adapted from King Arthur Flour Whole Grain Baking)

3/4 cup butter

1 cup paccked brown sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon espresso powder

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/3 cup honey

1 Tablespoon cider vinegar

2 large eggs

2 1/4 cups whole wheat flour

3 cups bittersweet chocolate chips

Melt the butter and stir in sugar. Heat until mixture begins to bubble. Remove from heat and transfer to medium bowl to cool.

Sir in vanilla, salt, baking soda, espresso powder, baking powder, honey and vinegar. Add eggs, beating well after each addition, then flour, stirring to combine. Mix in chips. Refrigerate dough several hours or overnight.

Preheat oven to 375. Place dough by rounded tablespoonfuls onto lightly greased baking sheets. Bake the cookies until just beginning to brown around edges, about 12 minutes. Remove from oven and cool cookies on pan, about 5 minutes.

Haute Couture

Must-have fashion for the trendy lizard in your life...

Local Shopping, Winter Edition

Michael and I did some local shopping on Saturday, and while it's not as easy as finding a summer time farmer's market, it's still entirely do-able.


We went to three different businesses all within 30-45 minutes of home, Picket Fence Creamery, where we bought a dozen eggs, a pound of butter, 12 gallons of skim milk, 1 gallon of whole milk, 2 pounds of egg noodles from Amana, a gallon of cider, and a pound of ground goat meat. Jill Burkhart, the owner, said many people freeze their milk, so we decided to give it a try. I still need to buy eggs, as my hens are only just beginning to lay.


From Picket Fence we traveled a couple miles down the road to Northern Prairie Chevre, where we purchased feta, several varieties of chevre, and a bottle of Iowa wine. So far we haven't found an Iowa wine that we like, but I keep trying.

Then, we drove to Adel to Wills Family Orchard, where we purchased the most gorgeous Empire apples. I've never had this variety of apple before, but it's now one of my favorites!

All together we spent only about $127, not bad for all this yummy food.

Oh, and the goat meat?
Michael made delicious homemade pizzas for supper, one of which featured sauteed goat meat, feta and chevre, some of the last of our local frozen green peppers, and local onions. Only the olives weren't local.




The pizza was fantastic and only used 1/2 the goat meat, so we'll definitely be having this kind again. A little accident with a sprinkling of cinnamon in the cooking meat only added to the Mediterranean flair of this local meal. (Thankfully!)

Of Warm Weather and Mud

Our "mini-Spring" here in Iowa seems to have come to an end.

I've never been so relieved.

What?

Me?

Who's cold from October to April?

Who still wears socks in June?

Glad the 60 degree weather is gone?

Yup.

You see, a funny thing happens when temps warm and the snow melts.

Mud.

Lots and lots of mud.

In fact, a yard full of mud.

And these days, a yard full of mud = a house full of muddy dogs.

One dog, in particular.

Of course, it's my little primrose.

While the older dogs love to go outside and play, their shorter coats and smaller feet seem to collect less mud.

Of course, Ivy doesn't just run while outside. Every outdoor experience involves rolling, sliding, digging and skidding through the yard.

Clean-up sessions might last up to 30 minutes, and involved a bucket of warm water, multiple towels, and immeasurable patience.

From all involved.

So while today's temps in the 30s have me throwing an extra log on the fire, it is with huge relief. I'll make hot chocolate and wear an extra sweater while I bask in winter's return.

And I'll try not to think about spring...

Dark Days Eat Local - Week 12

I seem to be cooking on the fly lately, not coming up with a dinner plan until the 11th hour. This is when I become especially grateful for my freezer. I found a package of leftover ratatouille from this fall. Just enough to make a ratatouille quiche!


Ratatouille, a French vegetable stew, is one of my favorites. The batch I made last fall was chock full of local and homegrown veggies, including eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, and onions. Combine it with a few spices and some local gouda cheese and our own eggs and it makes an incredibly delicious crustless quiche.

Local green beans, frozen at their peak of freshness, served with a little butter and salt

Home made bread...

And applesauce streusel quick bread for dessert, made with home canned applesauce and local (purchased from a Missouri farmer on our way home last fall) pecans.

Happy Hookers

Melissa and I have been taking a rug hooking class.

We are two of the four pupils in the class. It's funny, the other two women and I discovered last week that we all live within probably about 1/2 mile of each other. We also share a lot of the same interests, though we are at different stages in our lives. We've talked about wanting to learn how to pressure can, making our own laundry detergent, our crazy puppies, other classes we'd like to take.

Small world.

Our teacher is a wonderful woman whose boundless energy amazes me. She works two days a week, takes care of her grandsons two days a week, is taking classes and completing projects to become a certified rug hooking teacher, dyes and cuts her own wool, knits, takes care of her older brother's health needs... and more, I'm sure.

Something she told us last week made me pause and realize that sometimes I take my relationship with my children for granted.

I am always surprised when I hear of the strife my daughter's friends and acquaintances at school often have with their parents. There is one set of parents who insist their daughter get straight As and won't allow her any extracurricular activities unless she complies. She gets mostly Bs and obviously has a horrible relationship with her parents. It makes me so sad to hear of this; I can only imagine what will happen to this poor girl. I do know she's likely to run as far away from her parents as fast as she can when she turns 18.

And for what?

A parental power trip?

They don't know what they're missing.

Our rug hooking teacher told Melissa and me she was talking to a friend of hers last week about us.

Hmm?

Well, she thinks it is so neat that we're taking the class together and loves how we interact. Melissa and I joke around a lot, poke fun at each other, respect each other and share a profound, tangible love. I guess I didn't realize how obvious the love is from the outside.

Our teacher told us she shared with a friend how special Melissa's and my relationship is and as she told us, she started to cry.

Apparently, her son, as a teenager, committed suicide.

Treasure your relationship, she told us. So many parents don't.

And the loss is nearly unbearable.

I came home that night with a renewed sense of the rightness of my relationships with my children and a greater appreciation of them.

Someone once said when your child walks into the room, he/she should see joy on your face. The joy you have in their mere existence. The love you have for them should be tangible, obvious, and all-encompassing.

I've always tried to remember that.

Because my children are my joy.

A Few Miscellaneous Baked Things

Whole wheat chocolate chip cookies

Oatmeal bread

Applesauce Streusel Bread

Apple Butter Bread

Three Blind Mice Bread

Michael and I have put ourselves on the most strict and best monitored budget/spending plan we've ever had.
I guess at 54 and 45 we've finally decided to grow up.
Anyway, last week I had $70 cash of my weekly spending allotment left and stopped at the grocery store for fresh fruit, fizzy water, dog bones/treats, pop, and bread. Zachary was home for the weekend and served as my human calculator as we weighed out the apples, bananas, oranges, tallied up the cost of the rawhide vs. Busy Bones, and made tough decisions such as skipping breakfast cereal in favor of chocolate chips. We finally got to the bread aisle and it was a sobering experience.
One loaf of whole grain bread was nearly $4 and a loaf of not-so-great French bread, intended for garlic bread for dinner, was $3.29.
When the kids were little I always bought my whole grain breads at the day-old bread store and saved a bundle by making good use of my freezer. But our tastes have changed, I'd like to think improved, and I don't like to stock up on store breads much.
The sticker shock - and sticking to my $70 cash on hand - forced me to recognize the importance of baking our bread myself.
I've always baked bread, usually in spurts, but also heavily relied on the grocery store when I just wasn't in the mood or felt too harried. But let me tell you, it really hurt to spend so much money on bread that doesn't begin to measure up to homemade.
The careful budgeting and sticking to only a certain amount of cash each week has definitely made me consider any and all purchases much more carefully. If I overspend this week, I have that much less to spend the next.
Anyway, I bought the bread as I had none at home, but the very next day I dove back into bread baking with renewed vigor.


Three Blind Mice Bread is a recipe adapted from Jean Hewitt's The New York Times New Natural Foods Cookbook. It's actually called Three Grain bread, but I used to call it Three Grain Rice bread. Somehow, this morphed into the Three Blind Mice Bread my family loves.

2 cups whole wheat flour
4 1/2-5 1/2 cups white flour
1 cup cornmeal
1/4 tsp baking soda
2 tsp salt
5 tsp dry active yeast
1/4 cup butter
2 cups warm water
1/2 cup honey
2 cups cooked brown rice, room temperature
1 egg, beaten

In a large bowl, mix 2 cups of whole wheat flour, cornmeal, salt, baking soda, and yeast. Add butter.
Gradually add warm water and honey, mix thoroughly, approx. 2 minutes, with paddle attachment of stand mixer. Add 1/2 cup more flour and beat 2 minutes more.
Stir in rice and enough extra flour to make a stiff dough. Switch to dough hook and kneed for 6-8 minutes, until smooth and satiny.
Put in an oiled bowl and turn to oil the top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.
Punch dough down and turn onto floured counter top. Cut dough in half, cover and let rest for 10 minutes. Form each half into a 9-inch round. Place on a greased baking sheet, cover, and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1-1 1/4 hours.
Preheat oven to 375.
Use handle of wooden spoon to make deep indentations in the rounds. Brush loaves with beaten egg.
Bake for 35 minutes or until loaves sound hollow when tapped on the bottom.


For some reason, I always have baked this bread in loaf pans. This time I decided to form the rounds the recipe calls for.

I can only imagine what this bread would have been called had I used this method when the kids were little!

Next time I think I need to place each loaf on a separate baking sheet ...

Rest and Relaxation ...

at last.
This is what Michael sees when he comes home from work at the end of the day.

Doggy number one, snoozing peacefully on the couch.

Doggy number 2, resting quietly under a chair.

Even our recuperating house guest is catching some shut-eye.

Ah, it must have been a beautiful day in the neighborhood, he thinks as he surveys this scene of serenity.

Then he comes upon Sarah, Melissa and myself, barely able to string together a coherent sentence...

laughing madly in the throes of insane hysteria...

obviously suffering from some sort of inexplicable derangement.

What's a poor husband/father to make of this?

What we are suffering is the after-effects of 8 or more hours with 3 dogs. Wally and Gil are mostly easy-going, contributing to the mayhem only when treats are offered, meals are served, or prized toys are stolen.

That's right. It's all little miss sugar plum here.

Every morning is like struggling with a 60 pound 2-year-old on speed, as Ivy races through the house, devastation in her wake.

Nothing is safe, not cats, nor magazines, nor books, nor rugs, nor shoes, nor cloth napkins left on chairs. Today she discovered how to open our automatic kitchen garbage can and found the cleaning supplies stored under the kitchen sink. She emptied the laundry basket one pair of socks at a time, beating me back to the basket to grab a new pair before I could put the newly soggy ones back in.

Believe me, it's not as if I'm leaving her alone and unsupervised.

Really.

She does these things in the blink of an eye, and with her increasing size it's becoming more and more difficult to keep hold of her leash indoors when she's determined to roam.

Yesterday, she spilled her water bowl.

On purpose.

And while I was wiping up the water, stole the kitchen towel right out of my hands.

She also discovered the source of yummy smells - the kitchen counter!

A new place to explore whenever she gets away from me for a second.

My newspaper?

Shredded.

Coffee cup?

Tipped.

Sigh.

Yet right now, as I write this, she's sound asleep at my feet, totally wiped out from her day of crazy mischief. I look at her and am filled with love.

How crazy is that?

Oh, and Michael?

He says he believes us...

but I think he's really just afraid.