She Puts the “Ahhh” in Spa

Mother's Day

Ahhhh, so relaxing …

I really only have a few small requests for Mother’s Day: I want to sleep in, I want to read the Sunday paper and drink my coffee in peace, I want to be lazy, and I don’t want to cook.  I’m cheap and easy to please!  And even though Mike shakes his head and is open to debate about how “low maintenance” I think I am on Mother’s Day, he always, always comes through.  This past Sunday was yet again a wonderful Mother’s Day for me.

Elena may have learned a thing or two from watching her dad plan an elaborate surprise for me a few weeks ago, as she decided to come up with her own surprise.  She was so excited for me to see what was up her sleeve that I happily broke away from coffee and paper-reading time so that she could reveal her surprise.

Turns out she’d spent a good part of the time I was snoozing away in the morning to prepare a very personal “spa” experience for me.  She’d set up the entire bathroom with different potions and concoctions to pamper me with.  I started off with a nice exfoliating facial scrub.  This was followed by a strawberry mask for my face and a buttermilk soak for my fingers.  We then moved to the tub for a salt scrub for my body and a lemon rinse for my hair.

Mother's Day

The strawberries are great darling, now how about you whip up something for your dear mother’s crow’s feet?

Things were pretty relaxing until the strawberry mask.  I swear I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.  It was such a mess – the strawberries were cold and slimy and dripping everywhere.  They tickled my nose and I sneezed so hard I sprayed strawberries everywhere.  At one point Eli looked at me lying on the bed, coated in mashed-up fruit and with my fingers stuck in a bowl of buttermilk on my chest, and said, “You look like Jesus all covered in blood.”  At another point the whole family was involved in my salt scrub – me getting scrubbed by Elena, Eli joining me in the tub, and Mike just enjoying the spectacle.

One day the kids will be mortified to hear this story –  Elena rubbing me down with salt, Eli in the tub with his mother.  That in and of itself will be enough to give me joyous Mother’s Day memories for years, but you know what was so awesome about it (besides the photos)?  It was the perfect mix of what I love Mother’s Day to be: laughing, enjoying my family, and feeling cared for.

Hope you had a wonderful day celebrating the mothers in your life.  And if you ever want a truly unique spa experience, I know just the girl for you.

 

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Don’t Call It a Comeback. Or a Pop-Tart. It’s a Hand Pie.

Homemade Pop-Tarts

Confession:  I have very few junk-food downfalls.  Chips don’t interest me much.  I have chocolate bars stashed in the pantry that are over a year old.  Ice cream, unless it’s homemade or of the Jeni’s variety, doesn’t call my name.  There are only three things that elicit a dangerous siren song for my stomach:  Cheetohs (crunchy, not puffy – those are gross), Almond Joys and Pop-Tarts.

If there are Pop-Tarts in the vicinity, I’m going to eat them.  I like mine frosted, not toasted.  I eat the unfrosted end first (one end always seems frosted to the edge), then the middle, and finally the sides.  They are my favorite hangover remedy (2 Pop-Tarts, a Diet Coke and a handful of ibuprofen, along with a solemn promise to never drink again).  I once launched into an epic fight with a boyfriend that nearly did us in – it began with his refusal to share the last Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tart and ended with tearful accusations like, “You don’t really even love me, do you?”  The boyfriend is long gone, the Pop-Tart love still burns on.

Elena loves them just as much as I do, although she prefers the more disgusting progressive flavors, such as S’mores and Cookies & Cream, to my boring Strawberry.  All along I’ve been saying no to her grocery store requests for toaster pastries, telling her it’s all the high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils that are the problem, when in all actuality it’s the fact that her mother can’t resist all the high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils wrapped up in that pretty little foil package.

Homemade Pop-Tarts

When I offered to make a recipe or two from my recent book review of Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, Pop-Tarts were by far the most requested recipe (along with Fig Newtons – apparently we all have a little problem in the snack aisle).  I was totally down with this.  After all, I’m a big believer in one of Michael Pollan’s Food Rules: “Eat all the junk food you want as long as you cook it yourself.”  The idea being that if you have to go to the trouble of making potato chips and the sort from scratch, as opposed to ripping open a bag and sticking your head inside, you’ll eat much less junk food.

Damn you Michael Pollan, for being right.  Homemade Pop-Tarts are delicious.  The crust is light and flaky like pie.  The insides are perfect – sweet but not cloying.  Mine even had frosting and sprinkles.  BUT. But.  They’re really not Pop-Tarts.  They’re more like pretty little hand pies.  What makes a Pop-Tart so alluring is the odd combination of too-sweet filling and sawdust crust.  That, and the fact that they are out of the bag and in my mouth in ten seconds with only a few minimal crumbs to sweep away.  The homemade version, while delicious, is a hours-long process that left me with a crusty countertop and a sink full of dishes.  Both kids took a few bites, willing the freshly baked pastry to morph into an honest-to-goodness Pop-Tart, before they gave up.

I’m sorry, folks, but this time the chemists and food scientists win.  If you want a rustic little hand pie, by all means make this recipe.  If you want an honest-to-goodness Pop-Tart?  Buy it.  Just don’t make a habit of it or try to talk me out of mine.  Neither scenario will end well.

Homemade Pop-Tarts

Homemade Pop-Tarts

As featured in Make the Bread, Buy the Butter

Makes 10-12 Pop-Tarts

Ingredients

  • 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
  • 1/2 pound (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into bits
  • 1/4 cup cold milk
  • 1 egg
  • 2/3 cup jam, any flavor
  • Sugar, for sprinkling (optional)

For the Icing

  • 1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar
  • 1-2 tablespoons milk
  • 1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

  1. Whisk the flour, salt and sugar in a large bowl.  Add the butter and, using your fingertips or a pastry whisk, blend until the mixture resembles coarse meal.  Add the milk and mix until clumpy.  Form into a ball, then shape into a disk.  Wrap tightly with plastic wrap and chill for a minimum of 1 hour.
  2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.  Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or lightly grease.  Beat the egg in a small bowl.
  3. On a floured work surface, roll out the dough as thin as you can.  Cut the dough into rectangles 2 1/2 by 4 inches.  Re-roll and cut scraps.
  4. Brush the perimeter of half of the dough rectangles with some egg.  Spoon 2 teaspoons of jam into the  middle of each egg-brushed rectangle, leaving a 1/4-inch margin on all sides.  Place an un-egged dough rectangle on top of each jam-spread rectangle.  Seal the edges tightly by pressing with the tines of a fork.  Prick the tops of the pastries to release steam.  If you are not going to frost the pastries later, sprinkle the tops generously with sugar.  Place the tarts on the baking sheets.
  5. Bake for 30 minutes, until golden.  Let cool completely on a rack.
  6. If frosting the tarts, in a small bowl, mix the confectioners’ sugar with the milk and vanilla to make a thick, smooth, spreadable frosting.  Frost the tarts.  These are best eaten immediately, though you can store them at room temperature for up to five days in a cookie tin.  You can toast these if you like, but use a toaster oven or a regular oven, unless you want to clean frosting and chunks of pie crust out of your regular toaster.

 

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Eli-isms

Eli Silly Face

Life is pretty darn good these days.  Not only have we found ourselves in the parenting sweet spot for the moment, but we get to spend our days with this kid.  As if his faces aren’t enough to entertain, the things that come out of his mouth are comedy gold.
The mispronunciations are one of my favorite things about having kids.  Nothing will earn you a faster SHUSH! around me than you trying to correct my kid’s adorable pronunciation into the boring grown-up version.  It will happen eventually, let’s not suck the joy out of it on purpose.  Eli’s got a few on heavy rotation right now that I love.
  • It’s not a weapon, it’s a webbin. As in, “Mom, where are all my ninja webbins?”
  • In a very Freudian boy-slip, any and all instructions that come with toys or games are called destructions.
  • So I might have a bit of a potty mouth.  I try to save the really big bombs for adult time, but every once in awhile a “dammit” slips.  No worries, though, since Eli repeats it as damage. He says it with just the right intonation and exasperation as the real cuss word, though.  “DAMAGE!” I dropped an M&M and now I can’t find it.”

Almost as cute are the almost-but-not-quite phrases.  Perhaps you’d like to play a nice game of tics, tacs and toes with the boy?

But what really gets me are the moments when he says something totally out of left field.  Elena came home after running an errand with Mike the other day and this was their conversation:

Elena: Guess what Daddy and I saw? Ducklings!!

Eli: Oh yeah?  Guess what I saw … a hipster!*

Or this one, from a few months ago, when he was just beginning his obsession with ghosts and zombies.  He was asking me a myriad of questions about zombies.  Trying to find a way to nip this conversation in the bud I said:

Me: You know zombies aren’t real, right buddy?

Eli: You mean they’re pretend?  Like God and Jesus?

Obviously we need more church and less zombies in our life.  But definitely not less Eli-isms.  They never fail to make my day.

* Eli doesn’t actually know what a hipster is.  When asked, he said it was an animal with furry ears and a very long tail.  Which kind of makes sense, since you can trap a hipster if you like.

 

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