Summer playlist

::On my MP3 player
I'm enjoying the cool, mellow tones of Joshua Radin lately. He's just right for those lazy afternoon moments, lounging on the couch in my air conditioned home or those post-beach evenings, suntanned and sleepy.

::On my bedside table
Earlier this year I ordered a subscription to National Geographic, and I'm not sure why it took me so long to do so since I'm totally in love with it. From the stunning photography to excellent writing which explores other cultures, science, and history, this is definitely bedside travel at its best.

::On my DVR
I want to travel Mexico with Rick Bayless. In the meantime, watching his PBS cooking show Mexico: One Plate at a Time will certainly do. I've always suspected that authentic Mexican cuisine was far more than quick fast food, ground beef tacos, and Velveeta cheese-slathered nachos. Bayless' confirms this theory, educating viewers on the diversity and complexity of Mexican cuisine in his typical, charismatic fashion. Every week I look for one night where I can curl up alone on the couch and savor the show. I can't get enough.

::On blistering hot Saturdays
Hands down, Karis favorite thing to do is swim in the lake with Daddy B (her grandpa). He's fun and lets her do things Mom is too fussy to let her do in her presence like swim in the lake (!), jump off the stairs, and stay in the water for hours on end. I'm pretty sure he's been elevated to superhero status in her mind.

::In my freezer
I can't seem to get popsicles out of my mind lately. They are the perfect way to cool down and consume juice and fresh fruit. Inspired by this post, I purchased some limes and a few extra cartons of blueberries and raspberries this week. Now I'm on the hunt for good popsicle molds that are inexpensive and good quality (nothing worse than a frozen pop that slides right off the stick). I stepped into Williams Sonoma this morning and spotted this fancy pants machine, and though it would fit the bill in the quality department, the price tag caused some eye rolling (not all that uncommon for me in that store).

Summer friends

He has one of those faces I won't soon forget. On Tuesday he told us quietly and without much fanfare that it was his birthday. We made a big deal of it, singing boisterously until he finally cracked a smile. I hope to see him again soon, riding around on his bike.

The cruelty

(Karis, holding our newest crop of grape tomatoes and just about the only contact she can have with them these days.)

Imagine a world without tomatoes. No red-sauced pizza, spaghetti, ketchup, etc. Well, that's exactly what I've been doing over the last 24 hours. I haven't wrapped my brain around it yet, but I've been informed I must.

I took Karis in to the pediatrician for a re-check for an infection yesterday, and the doctor, flipping through her chart, says in a no-big-deal kind of way, "Oh, and she's allergic to tomatoes."

(Head spinning for a few moments.)

"What?!" I finally threw back, followed by a slew of objections to the diagnosis: "But we eat tomatoes like everyday!" and "Tomatoes are in everything!" and "But we're GROWING tomatoes in our backyard!"

I like Karis' doctor. She's calm and collected when crazy parents say the aforementioned things. She smiled and responded, "I'm growing tomatoes too. They are this high (pointing to her chest)."

Her distraction worked, and we talked a little bit about our gardens, comparing notes. When the conversation lulled, I looked at her and asked in a small, pleading voice, "Really? No more tomatoes?" There was no point in asking twice.

I drove home, my head swimming in a sauce of shock, grief, and hopelessness that is a life without tomatoes. The injustice seemed overwhelming. Whoever heard of a tomato allergy and better yet, whoever heard of a good substitute for tomatoes in cooking?

I thought about the delicious homemade pizza we dined on the night before, and what's more, the amazing marinara sauce I discovered just one week prior. My friend shared a recipe she had learned, and it was everything I was looking for in a sauce. It wasn't like this sauce which has been all over the internet but left me wanting more herbaceous, garlicky flavor. Well, with my friend's delicious recipe, I finally found what I was looking for, only to be told my perfect new sauce could be harmful to my child.

The cruelty. The injustice! The lycopene deficiency!!

Now I am aware that my diet doesn't have to change, but as any parent knows, the hassle of cooking separate meals and keeping small kids out of adult food, no matter how forbidden, is just that...a big hassle. I'm a mom that cooks one meal for one table, not a chef cooking a menu for multiple tables. I plan to keep things that way.

As the day wore on and some rational thinking took over my emotionalism, I came to a few good conclusions. The truth is, I can do without tomato sauce. There are plenty of substitutes for red sauce on pizza. For instance, there's pesto sauce, white pizza, thai peanut pizza (a family favorite, inspired by the one at this restaurant), and on and on. I obviously won't be too limited in the pizza department.

And while classic spaghetti is certainly a no-go in the dawn of this tomato-less era, there are many pasta recipes that depart from the classic tomato-drenched pile of noodles. We can afford to get creative in that department as well.

I guess what I am most sad about is the umami factor, that strange new term everybody in the culinary world has been talking about. Tomatoes have umami, a certain savoriness that, when added to dishes, enhances flavors giving them a meatier taste. I like umami. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. I often add a little bit of raw tomato, tomato sauce, or paste to dishes to boost flavors. But umami no more, at least not from tomatoes.

I'm a cynic by nature so irony doesn't easily escape me. Just hours before the fateful doctor's visit, I watered our upside down tomato planter. I looked at the clusters of grape tomatoes ripening on the vine, plump and practically perfect. I was elated that these tomatoes were growing so well. This was by far my best attempt at growing tomatoes to date, and I couldn't wait to harvest them. In just two short hours I would get the bad news.

Of course we'll still harvest them, and then we'll hide them. Hide and eat in quiet moments as Karis sleeps or plays in the other room. Who knows, the sneaking around may even be exciting.

So to commemorate this beloved fruit which has now been banished to a late night dish, I want to share with you my new and newly retired marinara recipe. Just because I can't savor the umami, doesn't mean you can't.


Off Limits Marinara Sauce

2 large tomatoes, cored and chopped
8 basil leaves
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 Tbs. tomato paste
Small pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste

Puree all of the ingredients together in a food processor until your desired consistency. In a small sauce pan, bring mixture to a boil over medium high heat then reduce to low and simmer for 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Salt and pepper to taste.

Yields: Approximately 2 cups of sauce

Summer blue

Neighborhood kids playing outside in between rain storms.

Summer games

Lasso the soda bottle

A girl and her dog

In focus

My camera has been neglected lately, seeing far too much of the dark confines of my camera bag. I've been writing up a storm, enjoying the opportunities to express myself with words. But I've been missing that camera. It allows me to capture the story in one little picture, a colorful snapshot that says everything without having to spell anything out.

But it takes work to take photos--work to see (really see) the stories going on around me. So I've preferred to write about those stories in hindsight rather than lug around a camera and try to capture them in the moment. I have little "in the moment" energy to spare, it seems.

Blogging is a mixed bag, a sometimes ego-feeder and, at other times, encouragement to the artistic soul. A fellow blogger stumbled on my blog the other day and left a kind comment about my photography. It took me by surprise given my current camera drought, but it provided just the push I needed to pull it out and start experimenting again.

I love what Rebecca is doing for the month of June. A writer/photographer like myself, she dedicated this month to posting only pictures. I like this idea, and though I think I'll still throw in a few wordy posts here and there, I want to focus on photography for a little while. In short, I hope to slow down and capture all these summer moments going on around me.

Salad, Santa, and self-centeredness

A few good friends came over for a play date today. With a near-empty fridge, I scrounged together a meal least fitting for three hungry toddlers--salad. But a tasty coating of Asian dressing made the meal as savory as any meat dish, in my opinion. Empty plates at the end were proof enough.

Karis is rather charismatic in her prayer style. Whenever somebody prays out load in her presence, she takes it as an invitation to join in saying her own prayer, just as loudly (if not louder). I've been hesitant to correct since any spiritual involvement from a child is a beautiful, complicated, growing thing. When I started to pray out loud before lunch, she lept in with this beautiful number:

Dear God,
Thank you for me and Mama K and Daddy and Karis and Mrs. Nikki and me and....(pause).... Santa Claus. Amen.

Fighting back laughter and feeling slightly embarrassed, I turned to Nikki who immediately commented on the skillfulness of working oneself into a short prayer not once but three times. A skill? Perhaps. An indicator of even more prayers needed? Most definitely.

Juggle juggle

:: Last week, a few granny smith apples and a captivated family audience made for an impromptu showing of Matt's juggling skills that he developed somewhere in the boredom of youth. Karis was completely enthralled, giggling and wide-eyed.

She forgot about that show until yesterday when, in the middle of her bath, she began "juggling." She juggled all through her bath, during the walk to her room to get dressed, and throughout the rest of the afternoon. She would stop me periodically and make sure I knew exactly how it's done. With her hands full of imaginary juggling balls, she'd look at me and say, First you have to throw them up in the air like this. Then, her body straight as a board and arms out in front of her, she'd toss them up and begin moving her hands up and down to mimic the characteristic motion of rapid catch and release.

It's cute and all, but I'm a little afraid that if I encourage this sort of behavior, she'll end up like that guy in college who road around campus juggling while riding on his unicycle.

And, no, that wasn't my husband.


:: I've been doing my own juggling act of sorts lately. Writing one article a month for a local publication wouldn't seem like a big undertaking, but when you add that to what is essentially a season of single parenting due to Matt's busy schedule right now, I feel like I'm spinning many plates. Unlike Karis and Matt, I fear my juggling skills are a little lacking, evidenced by the mess and curious odor in my kitchen at this very moment.

So what do I do? I ask to write a second article for the upcoming issue. I'm writing a restaurant review, and the truth is, I'm really excited about the opportunity. On Monday, I went to meet the owner of a local Ethiopian restaurant, and I tasted and loved (!) the food. The above picture is a little preview of what's to come.

Click here (scroll down to pg. 9) to read the latest article I wrote where I reminisce about childhood baseball memories with my father. It was a fun piece to write.

Sophie's eggs

I can never buy store-bought eggs again, and I've got my neighbor Miranda to blame. She told me about a woman in her church who raises chickens and sells the eggs. The directions were simple: give Miranda $3 and she would go to church, pick up the package, and bring me back a dozen, light brown, delicately-speckled fresh eggs. That's good neighborliness of an Anne of Green Gables dimension.

Well, kind Miranda dropped off the purchase this morning, and it's official...I'm in love. I mean how could I not love these 12 beauties (11 actually...I fried one, posthaste) which were laid just yesterday at a family farm mere miles from my home?

To compound the matter, Miranda informed me that the care and responsibility of raising the chickens, gathering the eggs, washing, and preparing for sale falls solely on the eldest daughter, Sophie. It's essentially her own business. She does the work, she keeps the money.

Sweet, hardworking Sophie.

I've never met her, but you can rest assured I'm already drafting up a plan to do just that. I want to thank her in person, perhaps watch her work a little, and ask (in a most unassuming, non-creepy manner) if I can take a picture of her doing her chores, working hard so that my family can eat those fresh, organic, meaty-flavored eggs.

I'm not sure if I can pull it off, but I bet good neighbor Miranda will help.

Cleaning

::Karis' closet

I spent Memorial Day with my head buried in Karis clothes and shoes, and I emerged a happier, less cluttered woman. How is it that a child's closet is a revolving door of work? Clothes in, chothes out. Repeat until they are old enough to responsibly do this on their own. (When exactly is that?) Little yellow flip flops have no problem making the cut, though.

::The earth

April and May have teased our garden relentlessly. The forcast would call for certain rain. Matt would report certain rain, and I, being the cynic in the family, would laugh knowing full well that the skies have only taunted us lately. I've learned you can't trust a dark cloud, no matter how looming and scary it is. So our gardens have seen a lot more of our hard-earned city water than we would have cared to pay for--that is until the last few days. The skies have finally let go.

::Toy Store

In my recent purge of Karis' room, I tackled her out of control toy collection. I bid adieu to anything that could break easily, was made up of a million tiny pieces that migrate to every corner of the house, or had fur on it's body. (I just don't care for dust animals...I mean stuffed animals.) I brought in some plastic containers and, in the end, was pleased with the organization. Karis, on the other hand, was pleased as punch with the bag that I stuffed, on a whim, with random plastic jewelry, hats, purses, and a tou tou and labeled it her "dress up" bag. Score one for me and her.

Big

Karis never stops talking. Her lips simply don't stay closed long enough for her to take a break. She came out of the womb like that, her sobs deep and powerful. Her bedtime prayers are giant run-on sentences that start off reasonably with prayers for family members, then drift into prayers for random inanimate objects she can see in the room around her, digressing into a made up language with words like "tetch" and "ratcha", and then finally morph into questions such as, "Mom, do you remember the pink elephants we saw at Disney?" (Yes. And we're praying, remember?) Her friend's house was termed "adorable" yesterday, and when engaged in a discussion about God, she informed me, "We like sin." (Official family policy: We don't like sin.)

I never imagined I would be answering so many questions a few months shy of her 3-year-old-birthday. Most questions revolve around the names of people we come into contact with. What's the mom's name again? What's the babies name again? She rehearses the names over and over again, for days on end, until she remembers them. She just wants to know.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'm often exhausted by her constant interjections and nonstop babble from the moment her eyes open until...well, she even talks in her sleep. Truth is, I think she believes she's an adult like everyone else around her. She acts a little surprised when she looks in the mirror and sees a little kid standing in front of her. She'll even gasp a little bit and then say, "Cute!" (Confident.)

As we took our family walk last night, I watched her saunter down the street, too-long hair swaying from side to side, jean skirt bobbing playfully up and down with each step, and I was reminded of the awesomeness of parenting. Which awesome? Both, really. This is good and heavy stuff, parenting a little person with a big personality and zealous thirst for life.

But don't be fooled by her colorful vocabulary. No sooner will she use a big, made-up word like "unconstanable" to describe her nap than she'll turn to you tearfully and say, "Hold me." And I do.

Housekeeping

Just wanted to drop in and let you all know you can view the article I wrote for EU Jacksonville here. Scroll down to page 18 to view my article. For you locals, here is a list of Jacksonville establishments that carry EU monthly. I had so much fun writing this article, and I just finished writing my second!

As for that wedding, it was a great experience! It had its ups and downs, lessons learned, and knowledge gained. In a sentence: wedding photography is a tough gig! But the night was beautiful! It was a small wedding taking place in an old, southern plantation-style home. The ceremony was on the lawn under the oak trees, and after the sun went down, the reception took place in the quaint, candlelit dining room. So laid back and beautiful. Here are a few of my favorites from the night. Enjoy!

Aunt, ants, and anteaters

Aunt:
My bright-eyed, color-purple-loving niece turned 3 last week, and I took a little trip to fulfill my aunt-y duties. And when I say "duties", I am talking about a fun trip to sunny Ft. Lauderdale to eat, laugh, swim, and shop with my nieces, brothers, sister-in-law, and parents. It's a job I'll gladly fill anytime it's asked of me.

Ants:
Late spring has brought with it more than the typical humidity and sunnier evenings. Our home has become a haven to countless ants. Apparently, the initial scouters came to inspect and sent the word back to the whole crew beyond that our home was hospitable to their kind. So we've called in the cavalry to reinforce our shameless animal cruelty. My father-in-law kindly came to spray up and down, inside and out of our home today. It turns out that Karis and Me-Ma's intermittent sprinkling of ant killer on the many ant piles in our yard just wasn't cutting it. Though it did make for a sweet picture.


Anteaters:
Living a mere 5 minutes from the Jacksonville Zoo has it's definite perks. Just the other day I woke up and thought, "We should go to the zoo this morning just to feed the giraffes." Thanks to our annual pass, it would have been a great idea, and, in my ever-so-humble mind, I thought it might just make me the coolest, most spontaneous mom ever. Well, title not fulfilled that day. But we did go for a visit a few days later with our friends. We hit the highlights: the giraffes, monkeys, penguins (pictured here), and anteaters.

Regarding that last animal, my friend and I heartily agreed it might possibly be the craziest-looking creature on the planet. It's huge, awkward, and feeds mostly on ants. Weird, right? And yet I could totally have benefited from one roaming around my house over the last few weeks.

Free time, then and now

I walked past Karis' room yesterday and found her feverishly "washing" something in her play kitchen sink. I did a double take as I walked past, putting on the breaks to get another peek at the item. It looked too paper-ish and important to be in her hands. Sure enough, she had swiped my college journal from the bookshelf in the office and was playing with a piece of paper I stuck in there nearly 11 years ago.

It was a list describing the 10 weeks I spent studying abroad in Eastern Europe, each week containing a few notes on the highlights of that week. I stood there and reminisced over the details. Italy in week 2. The gorgeous countryside of Salzburg in week four. The festive, gypsy concert and awkward bathhouse experience of week six's Hungary trip. And how could I forget Vienna and all of it's gorgeous Christmas decorations in week 10? It was there that I tasted the most mouthwatering bratwurst sandwich at a Christmas festival in the park.

My daydreaming continued as I thought for a few moments about my 3 roommates. I won't soon forget our dancing parties in that old, communist-style, Slovakian dorm room, washing our travel-weary clothes by hand in a stand-up shower, or keeping the entire Slovak bird population fed when we left our perishable food out on the balcony one freezing cold night. I couldn't help but consider how we'd all changed since those days. Dianna is now mother to 7 children. Brooke traded in her dancing shoes to become an adopted mom to a beautiful, teenage girl. And Jessica went on to get her master's degree in nursing, marry the man of her dreams, and pass away after a long battle with cancer.

Along with the list of countries, I had also jotted down a few observations and lessons learned while traveling. The following are my favorites:

It is funny how a weary traveler will territorialize a space no matter how small and dingy it may be. It becomes home. No one can touch that 3 feet you have sealed off as privately your own.

You know it's time to go home when you rate a nice warm bed and a hot shower right up there with seeing a famous, beautiful, historical landmark.

Now please understand that I wouldn't trade my current stage in life for anything in the world, but I did enjoy standing there daydreaming about all of that single, college girl independence. How could I forget the incredible feeling of hopping on a train whenever the travel mood struck or climbing up an old, winding staircase to get to the top of an ancient stone castle? Those experiences leave a lasting impression.

But I found it funny that, according to the notes above, the footloose and fancy free, 20-year-old me would have traded a trip to a historic, European castle for a nice, warm bed. At that time, I envied something that the current me has plenty of: a home, plenty of personal space, a warm bed, and a hot shower. Granted, that personal space is littered with books, dolls, and miniature versions of Mickey Mouse. And certainly that hot shower only comes late into the night after everyone else in the home has nodded off. And a warm bed? I've got that too, so long as I've remembered to wash, dry, and put the sheets back on the bed in a timely fashion.

As I stuffed the note unceremoniously back into the journal and slid it back into it's spot on the bookshelf, I couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. Even if I tried, I couldn't have thought of a more fitting place to rediscover this piece of paper, a relic of my former youthful and independent days, than between the grubby hands of my 2-year-old daughter as she washed them down the drain. That might just be my favorite definition of irony ever.

Here I am at one of the many castles I toured, an experience that apparently I would have traded for a few domestic comforts. I think the look on my face says otherwise.

[Top photo] Taken atop the Untersberg Mountain in Salzburg, Austria following a hearty yodelling session with Jessica.

The view

Karis and I headed downtown for an early morning appointment. I entered the parking garage hopeful for a spot amongst the early birds and lucky ones. I was neither. So higher and higher I drove, one floor after the next, feeling some sort of disappointment with each floor, though any floor past the first only meant a short, insignificant elevator ride. (I'm trivial beyond measure.)

As I rounded the bend leading to the fourth floor, the last floor before the rooftop, with a large patch of sunlight beaming through from above, I noticed the view and close proximity to the helipad just beyond the railing. We both squealed at the sight. And that's when I remembered. I'd been in this same garage about 6 months prior. I'd experienced the same slow and disappointing drive up, and the same excited reaction at the view upon arrival.

I was reminded that there is so much joy in the waiting and trusting.

Thursday's snapshot

Watering the flower beds...and Karis' hands.

I've been a little slow at blogging lately, but I'm gearing back up to write, photograph, and share it all with you. There is so much to share with you...the update on last week's wedding, the article which hits the streets tomorrow, and other general noteworthiness. But for now, I'm just going to aim to get my blogging engine back up and running. Toward that end, I thought I'd post a few snapshots of our life over the next few days. Some words but mostly pictures that capture the moments worth remembering. I've missed this place. I'm glad to be back.

Look who I found crawling through the garden this morning. And, yes, I know I have a thing for snails. My obsession has been well documented.

Him

:: Sexy
After a hard day's work, Matt sits across the dinner table from Karis and me and says, "It's great to be home with you, ladies." These two ladies giggle and smile from ear to ear.

:: Sexier
We've been doing a lot of gardening in our front yard. Weeds pulled, rocks and other debris excavated from the flower beds, and flowers planted. We've been having a lot of fun shopping for flowers and exploring all the varieties available. So much fun, in fact, that Matt called me in the middle of his workday on Monday to say he'd gone shopping on his lunch break to buy some African Daisies which he'd seen a few days prior and just had to have. I smiled when I heard his voice over the phone, "I guess I'm a daisy man." Not only is that statement sexy, but it's also incredibly manly, not to mention wonderful for our home's curb appeal.

:: Sexiest
Of all Mexican cuisine I've tasted, pork carnitas stand proudly and deliciously at the top of the list. I've recently discovered a great, relatively simple recipe from America's Test Kitchen. I made them for the second time last week but was a little disappointed with how they turned out compared to my first attempt. But when Matt tasted them, he instantly declared, "If these are your 'bad' carnitas, I'd gladly have them any day of the week."

(Sigh)

It's perhaps the sexiest thing he could ever say to me.

Eggs-traodinary

Good friends don't keep secrets from you. They come for a visit and share with you the divine nature of soft boiled eggs. At weekend's end, they pack up their bags, say good bye, and leave you with the recipe for future enjoyment.

Make such friends. Keep such friends, and for the love all that's beautiful and yummy, make these eggs.

Soft boiled eggs

Bring water to a rolling boil. Carefully lower each egg into the boiling water, making sure that the eggs don't bump into each other as they are very fragile at this stage. Boil for 5 minutes, remove from water, and peel immediately under cool running water. Season with a dash of sea salt and ground pepper. Enjoy with a few thin slices of toasted Italian white bread.

Full on

::Into my 30's
I turned 31 on Saturday. The gift of sleeping in, a trip to the beach with old friends, spicy chicken fajitas, and a gooey chocolate fudge cake were on hand to help ring in another wonderful year and help me ignore the reality that 31 means I'm solidly into my 30's.

::Bribery
With a bed pushed up against the guestroom window, 5 o'clock sunlight teasing me, and Karis antsy to do some jumping, I began shooting. And when Karis got tired before my creative drive did, Reese's Pieces were generously promised. I realize I'm creating a monster here.

::Writer's block
I'm easy with the words on my blog, so long as no one's grading me or, more importantly, giving me a deadline. I love the total artistic control and freedom that blogging allows. But now that I'm scheduled and expected to deliver? Blank. Nada. Zilch.

At least I'm writing about something I care about, visiting the Main Street Library. But it's almost too good. I can't narrow my thoughts down. And so what do I do to help jog my brain? Blog. Here's to hoping blogging does the jogging...

Pictured here is Karis admiring the 3 story murals at the library last week.