Dear Jeff and Jodie,

I'm writing today for two reasons. The first is to tell you how much I've enjoyed your book, The Working Parents' Cookbook. Over the last five years or so, I've been excited to learn how to cook, and my husband and I like preparing fresh, yummy meals together. We've liked a lot of the recipes from your book, and sometimes I just use it as inspiration to make up my own dishes, which is great. We both work and have two little girls, so I also appreciate that many of your recipes are low-maintenance and tasy.

The second reason I'm writing has to do with that recipe in your book for "Clam and Corn Fritters." We don't eat a lot of deep-fat-fried food in our family. Almost none, really. As a matter of fact, I once gave up fried food for a year, and didn't really miss it at all! But you know, every once in a while, I do get a hankering for that crunchy itch that only deep-fat-frying can scratch. And in the summer time, what's not to love about recipes calling for fresh corn? Yum! I like to use organic--it's so sweet and tasty, and good for the environment, too. Plus, my husband got laid off, so we're trying some fun new recipes from home since we can't afford to eat out. Clam and corn fritters, here we come!

Your recipe called for about two inches' worth of canola oil in a pan or skillet. Heat up that oil on high heat until it's bubbling a little, and then turn it down to medium heat and throw that fritter dough in there. It browns for a minute or two, flip it for another minute or two, and eat your heart out! Prep time only 15 minutes, cooking time only 10. Fantastic!

Of course, I might have made a few changes to the recipe, knowing what I know now. For instance, I might have said something like, "If you put the skillet on high heat and the oil doesn't really bubble but just starts to smoke, and then all of your smoke alarms start going off in the house, and then your five-year-old who is TERRIFIED, just terrified, of smoke alarms and anything having to do with fire is around and starts screaming and holding her hands over her ears, and maybe pees her pants a little, then you should gently usher your children out to the backyard, calmly remove the batteries from the smoke alarms, and, donning a protective rubber suit, turn off the heat on the burner and let the oil cool."

"Furthermore, it is not recommended to disregard the signals the smoking oil and alarms and screaming children are sending you, and simply throw the fritter batter in the pan anyway. If you do this--not that you would, you're much too smart for that--the fritter batter, which contains kernels of corn, will sputter and explode and eventually self-combust into flame. Lord, it's like deep-fat-fried popcorn dynamite!" I'd probably modify the recipe to say something like this, though I bet you could do it much more stylishly, in that mod way you have of writing. My bet is you guys are really cool people, in person. You definitely are in the cookbook.

Also, Jeff and Jodie, you might warn people to keep a fire extinguisher and some aloe vera lotion on hand. Not that I needed either, really, until this morning. The pain held off for a while, perhaps because I was in shock. I don't remember much after the fritters exploded into flame, but I do have a faint recollection of cowering in the corner of the kitchen while my husband hopped about, avoiding exploding corn fritters and hot oil splatters, trying to reach the knob to turn the stove off. He tells me now that he next mistakenly tried to move the skillet off of the stove and on to the counter, where it immediately bonded to the Corian, which is now blistered and scarred. Then, after a few minutes, he moved the skillet back to the stove. Some of that Corian was still moist, apparently, from the burning, because the skillet then affixed itself to the element on the stove, via the Corian glue. I'm crafty, so I'm thinking about how to turn the whole thing into an art project. Please let me know if you have any ideas.

We've been wanting new counters and a new stove anyway, so no worries.

BUT, if I were to rewrite that recipe, knowing what I know now, I might advise that folks trying out deep-fat-frying for the first time use a big old stewpot, not a skillet. I would advise that some stoves run hotter than others, and that smoking oil means things are running real hot. Turn that mother down, yo! I would also advise that folks put in one test fritter, before throwing a bunch in, just to see how far that corn is going to pop, so they can protect themselves accordingly. I take total responsibility for being a deep-fat-frying moron, so not to worry. But maybe a little more information on "Clam and Corn Fritter" making might help others in the future, who find themselves in a similar predicament.

After all was said and done, the fritters that weren't destroyed in the melee turned out to taste pretty good. At least, that's what my husband Eric said. I was too traumatized to register eating them, though he swears I did. And we still haven't found our children, after they ran out of the house. But not to worry, I'm sure they'll be back soon.

Best of luck with your next cookbook, and I'll send pics of the kitchen remodel when it's done,
Jen

http://toddlerspit.blog.com

Does it seem weird to you that my girls' favorite thing to do in the evenings, after bath, is to run around the house naked, having a "naked kung fu dance class"? This involves their naked little bodies slithering and jumping around, booties out, arms and legs whacking at the air like broken windmills, while they scream "HI-YA!" and "nakey-nakey!" at each other. Does that seem weird?

I am insufferable right now. InSUFFERable. And I know it. You poor things, all six of you readers, all of a sudden reading a flurry of posts right now because now, the last few days, I have entered a manic crafting-writing-creating phase. I've made a new skirt, a shirt, crocheted a bowl (from pillow case scraps), made a dragonfly necklace, and some other crap I've probably forgotten about. All from stuff in my overflowing craft closet. And then I redesigned the blog and am posting and have actually been on Facebook recently and drawing with Addie and that stuff.

Addie and I were on the way home from ballet today when I needed to pull over and get gas. She wanted to get out with me and see how the pump and stuff worked, and I let her (relax, now, I gave all of the requisite stern warnings and such). She asked about the changing numbers on the pump, and I told her one tells us how much money we have to pay and the other how many gallons of gas go in the car.

So, I'm grumpy about a few things today. This was the third morning in a row I've woken up with a nasty crick in my neck, which I think is in communication with a knot in my mid-back, both of which are causing me much angst. It's off to the miracle-working shaman D.O. tomorrow morning for some help.

I made it to a new gynecologist today, and again got no answers about whatever it is that continues to plague my uterus. Apparently, my body will just heal itself. Ugh.

Okay, so Eric and I have been having some major emotional ups and downs over the whole lay-off thing, and it's certainly scary some days, and I get sad and depressed (doing my best to just fully feel those emotions, deeply and well, rather than suppress them). But, well, I hate to admit it, but having to give up some things has made me realize how much great free stuff there is out there to take advantage of (provided one has some transportation, free time, and an internet connection). It's like, now that I'm not overloaded with t.v.

Addie came wandering into our room at 6am, saying (in the most cheerful voice on the planet), "You know, I really can't open my eyes! It's SO strange!"

Damn, damn, damn, I whispered to myself. Then out loud, DAMN.

Addie wakes up every few weeks, her eyes swollen shut with pus. Out come the pinkeye drops and the saline for squirting up her nose. Kid has some clogged pipes, and they seem to often get clogged on Monday mornings when I have deadlines and conferences to attend and am already behind from being sick myself.

I spent the morning trying to get our landline number switched over to Eric's cell phone, canceling the cable and the newspaper, cutting our donations, and calling my gram to see if she would pay for Addie's ballet lessons for a while (praise Ruby, she will).

My sweet, smart husband got laid off from his job this morning. I felt a heaviness descend on my heart, for sure, and I've had a few moments of sniffles, times where I let the fear and uncertainty get me down. I particularly get woozy when I think about what a year I've had, with my family members being sick and now this. But that is not useful thinking, that cumulative thinking, and it's not reality, anyway.

I crawled into bed last Sunday night, after Addie's 5th birthday extravaganza at Chuck E. Cheese's, and am just now crawling out. We're still not totally sure what happened to me. As best as the doctors can explain, my uterus kind of exploded in some sort of never-before-seen infection. Or an evil little gnome of a cyst on my right ovary set off its own little suicide bomb. Or something else entirely. Maybe unrelated to Chuck E. Cheese, maybe not.

Here's a snapshot of Addie, as she turns five this next week:

She can read whole chapter books all by herself. Her favorite ones are about fairies, of the Tinkerbell variety. "Mama," she whispers as she crawls into bed with me in the morning, "when we go to Disneyland someday, we will have to be very quiet. We will hear the tinkling of the bells and that will tell us how to get to Pixie Hollow. Okay?"

Operation Reduce Expenses begins today.

I teach late on Thursday nights, usually, but it's "E-Days" here on campus, which is a three-day festival-type thing that happens every year at Mines, and is when our normally staid, quiet, nose-to-the-grindstone student body goes a little crazy. As in, I smelled alcohol on more than one student last night in class. And the amazing fireworks show was scheduled to begin right at the end of class. So I ended the three-hour seminar early and went back to my office to watch the show from my office window and finish grading papers.

Thoughts on spring and everything else.

This time last week, I was pretty convinced that the girls' health was rapidly deteriorating, that there was some invisible toxin in our home making us all sick, or that my "natural" cleaning products weren't killing enough germs, or that they had some undiagnosed chronic illness.

The revenge of black beans and more...

What's up, peeps?

Eric and Addie have been in San Diego this weekend, jumping on beds and Lego-landing. Which means Nolie and I have had a chance to hang out at home and get to know one another. Here are a few things I (re-)learned about my youngest, and myself:

1) She is possibly one of the most affectionate people I've ever met. Lord, that girl just wants to hold your hand and walk around with you and give you kisses and hugs.

Here's what I've been thinking about: abandoning struggle. Not necessarily avoiding specific struggles, or pretending struggles don't exist and aren't useful sometimes, but abandoning those struggles that I myself unnecessarily produce. No, not that. Abandoning the idea of struggle as a dominant narrative in my life, as in "Life is hard," or as in, "You have to fight really hard for what you want." Nah, I'm suggesting. Nope.

Unchurch has a series of classes one can take in Science of Mind teachings--they teach you methods of centering and unification with spirit, like ways you can pray or meditate, and you do some readings from the founder, Ernest Holmes. Anyway, after five years of attending unchurch, I decided it was time to take the first class.

The thing about the sick kids is that I seem to process it as static. We're going along and doing okay and I even make some strides being more present or gentle with them, and then we have a week like last week, where we had a severe croup and a cold and vomiting and ear infection with draining pus, and it's like there's this buzz in the back of my head. Before I know it I'm crying and up at all hours worrying that it's some hidden illness we haven't identified yet and that it's all going to end badly, badly, and it will be my fault for not standing up for my children and their health!

This morning's conversation with my grandmother* (she starts things off):

So what did you think of Michelle Obama's inaugural ball gown?

I liked it! I thought she looked lovely, the off-the-shoulder bit and all.

Hmmph.

What?

I thought it was not a good idea, for a woman with a stomach. It did her butt some favors, though. She's a swayback, just like I am. That's very common among Africans.

Maybe we have some Africa in our blood, gram.

What?

(major pause)

And her hair--did you like her hair?

Yeah, I thought it looked good.

We've been at a couple of get-togethers lately with parents who have kids around our kids' ages. Which is the only way I learned that I needed to go and get Addie signed up for kindergarten. And which also baptized me in the time-honored, middle- to upper-class ritual of debating the pros and cons of particular schools, enrolling your kid in multiple schools at once, taking school tours, and essentially projecting out your kid's entire academic life through graduate school.

To say that I feel daunted is a bit of an understatement.

Okay, so it seemed impossible a few weeks ago, but I'm actually back at work now and enjoying it. I feel like, for the moment at least, I'm staying on top of deadlines, I have time to read and write, and I'm not feeling overwhelmed by department politics. I only have one class this semester, and it's one I've taught a number of times, so teaching is more pleasure than pain.

I've been trying to post for the past few days but there was some problem with blog.com or my "dashboard" or something and I couldn't. If I had, I might have blogged about...

A friend gave me the wonderful novel *The Monsters of Templeton* for Christmas. In it, the main character complains of constantly being served up helping after helping of humble pie. Why all the humbling, she asks her mom. Maybe you needed it, her mom replies.

Addie: Mama, I don't like breathing.

Me: Why?

Addie: Because it makes fleas in my mouth.

Me: It makes fleas in your mouth?

A: NO, FREEZE! It makes freeze in my mouth.

M: Oh. Yeah. I know that feeling. It might help if you try to breathe through your nose.

Addie tries breathing through her nose, which result in a mellifluous sounding "heeeee." Ah, sweet nose whistling. We both laugh.

A: That's probably from all my booger eating.

M: Yeah?

A: Yeah. I don't know why I love boogers so much. I just do.

M: Yeah.

M: Gross.