What's Left Behind (Day Nine)

Yesterday was Day Nine of the Kids-At-Camp-Mom-Not program. Ideal day to chill some white wine. It was, after all, a Monday.

Don't judge me.

So I swing by The Wine Shop (truly, that’s the name of the business -- The Wine Shop) for a bottle of my fave sauvignon blanc. So far, so good.

Once home, I open the fridge to realize that there is zero room for wine. I can't jam in a single sprightly bottle of New Zealand’s finest. (Since I’m the type to plan ahead, I’d been hoping to chill two.) I’m dumbfounded. What gives?

Well, even though Darling Daughter and Snarky Son have been away for over a week, it appears they left mementoes, including such oddities as a one-gallon 1% organic milk jug holding nothing but the dried film of 1% organic milk, a space-hogging plastic gallon container encapsulating less than half a gallon of Gatorade, a two-liter bottle of Cherry Sprite holding two liters of Cherry Sprite less two sips, a two-quart Rubbermaid bowl of two-week-old Sausage Pasta (click here for recipe), four jars of assorted jams and jellies (notable because my kids don’t like jams or jellies), and inexplicably, two packages of Oscar Mayer Steakhouse Beef and Pepper Jack Deli Creations.

Say what?

Being the thoughtful kids they are, they wouldn’t dream of confining the treasured reminders of their existence to the fridge alone. Nope. After they left for camp, dirty laundry paved their bedroom floors, candy wrappers cluttered the dressers and plastic cups of Coke sludge could be found on the windowsills. “Sludge” of course, is what remains after the popular soft drink has roasted in a windowsill for 10 days. The resulting residue has the "stickability" factor of day-old chewing gum combined with Super Glue served to a patient with lockjaw. Never mind that neither kid is allowed to have food or drink in their rooms. Whatevs.

I’ve also found countless random price tags – ripped from items such as wind pants, sunglasses and other essential items that they just “had to have” before heading to camp, unopened bottles of sunscreen which were cast aside as unnecessary, as well as the flotsam and jetsam dislodged from their lockers at the end of the school year.

Hmm. Time to make good use of some 13-gallon plastic kitchen garbage bags. Because even now, as the kids are at camp, they are sending reinforcements home. But this time, I’m not complaining, because the reinforcements are in the form of envelopes containing the most precious items of all – letters home.

Sigh. I love these kids.

I can't even begin to pretend to be annoyed by their mail. In fact, it was fortuitous that I wasn't home when Mike The Mailman came by with the precious papers. I likely would've kissed him square on the lips.

What I learn from the kids' letters is that each of them is fabulous, fine and funny. Snarky Son, inexplicably, has been re-named “Brad” by his cabinmates. In the event that “Brad” doesn’t take, “Drake” is the name-in-waiting. Darling Daughter, who’s never been to a camp like this, declares that everything is fabulous, -- the activities, the friends, the counselors, the sleep and most shocking of all – the FOOD. She would, however, like me to send her a Crazy Creek chair. Whatever that is.

On the other hand -- fabulous food? Sign me up.

But first, I want to make room in the fridge here at home. I trash the empty milk jug, the outdated Gatorade, the unloved Cherry Sprite and two of the jam jars. Perfect. I now have ample space to chill three bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and some seedless watermelon. Which is just what I'll need to get started on some Watermelon Sangria for the Independence Day weekend.

Watermelon Sangria

2 cups of seedless watermelon puree (just toss chunks of watermelon in a blender or food processor)

1/2 cup vodka

1/2 cup watermelon schnappes

1/2 cup sugar

10 peppercorns, lightly crushed

1 knob fresh ginger, thinly sliced

1 lime, thinly sliced

1 cup ginger ale, chilled

1 bottle sauvignon blanc, chilled

kosher salt

Combine watermelon puree, vodka, schnappes, sugar, peppercorns, ginger and lime in a lidded container. Shake or stir to dissolve sugar, and chill -- at least four hours, or better still, overnight. After flavors have melded, stir in chilled ginger ale and wine, strain into stemmed glasses with ice. Sprinkle with salt and garnish -- either with lime wheels, watermelon wedges or (for Independence Day) blueberries. Cheers!

Making A List, Then Making White Sangria.

I am a list-making kind of girl. (One thing on The List, BTW, is deciding how much longer I can refer to myself as a girl.)

I make grocery lists, packing lists, to-do lists, to-call lists, to-read lists, to-write lists and long-range planning lists.

Some lists are temporary, scribbled on Post-Its, cash register receipts, gas company envelopes, and 5" x 5" notes with my name printed across the top in a brown font peculiarly similar to my own handwriting.

Other lists are longer lasting -- team rosters, upcoming home repairs (ranked according to priority), and the kids' "Before You Even Ask" chore lists -- all of which I keep on the Mac. Every summer, we also maintain, on my iPhone, a list of the state license plates (including Canadian plates, because, well, you know ...) we come across. In alphabetical order, of course. Vanity plates don't count. When we're really road-weary, we track inappropriate bumper stickers, too.

The need to note appears to be genetic -- or at least contagious. I find bullet points scrawled on bits of notebook paper and old test papers on the bedside table of one of my beloved children. I won't say which one. I wouldn't want to embarrass him.

When I was married, I kept two other mental lists -- things I knew how to do, such as cooking, managing the family finances and getting the gutters cleaned, and things I didn't need to know how to do, such as taking out the trash, buying car tires and deciding how much to contribute to a 401K.

Now, of course, I do it all. And, as the mom of the house, I've got an entire lineup of things that only I know how to do. Just a few items on that capacious list include:

• Load into the dishwasher dishes other than my own plate and utensils. Need I elaborate? "I didn't even use that spoon. That was his knife! Grody!"

• Turn a blind eye -- for longer than 30 seconds -- to an incoming text message. Sorry. Was that your phone? Or mine?

• Remember that wet towels hang on the rack, dirty clothes go in the hamper, and clean clothes should -- gratefully -- be put away. This is a toughie, but we're working on it. And have been for over 10 years.

• Re-fill toilet paper and paper towel holders. Both kids know where to find the necessary paper products, but only seem able to perch said products on top of said holders. I know, right? Unwrap. Slide on. Tah. Dah.

• Use the garbage disposal. This one's a mystery. The people who live here seem to understand the concept (putting uneaten scraps of food, i.e., garbage, into the sink), but somehow, there's a disconnect that prevents them from actually turning on the disposal, thus disposing of the remains. I really have nothing more to say about it. Nothing, that is, that doesn't involve me biting the inside of my lower lip. And sighing. And rolling my eyes.

• Clean up -- or even cover up -- any sort of pet "accident." No need for a adjectives here, right?

• Take a telephone message. If you've called me -- ever -- and I wasn't the one to answer the phone, I apologize. Sincerely. Rest assured. I didn't get the message.

On my Summer List is coming up with a recipe for White Sangria. It's no secret that I'm a big fan of my Red Sangria recipe, but summer cries out for something lighter. Or, at the very least, something else. And poor me, since summer offers such an abundance of flavors, I've got two versions in the works. Here's the first.

White Sangria #1

1/2 cup peach schnappes

1/2 cup white rum

1/2 cup sugar

1 cup sliced strawberries (plus additional for garnish)

1 cup diced pineapple (plus additional for garnish)

1/2 cup fresh mint leaves, sliced in thin ribbons.

5 peppercorns, lightly crushed

1 bottle sauvignon blanc, chilled (Note: If you choose a less "tart" wine, like a pinot grigio, you'll need to add 1/2 a sliced lemon and 1/2 a sliced lime to the fruit listed above.)

1 cup ginger ale, chilled

In a refrigerator container (with lid), mix rum, schnappes and sugar. Stir in fruit, mint and peppercorns. Chill in refrigerator several hours, or even better, up to three days.

When ready to serve, pour chilled wine and Sprite into a large pitcher. Stir in fruit and rum mixture.

Strain and serve over ice, garnishing with additional fresh fruit.

Cheers!

"What Do You Do All Day?"

I'm a stay-at-home mom.

It happened haphazardly.  Fourteen years ago, when Son was born, we quickly realized that someone would have to stay home and tend to him.  (Like most first-time parents, we considered our child to be unusually advanced, but would he be able to change his own diaper at six weeks? Iffy.)  Since I was self-employed at the time -- and therefore available and cheap -- I was as likely a candidate as anyone.  Indeed, when you consider that I'm roundly-acknowledged to be a wee bit of a control freak,  I may have been the only candidate.

When Darling Daughter was born two years later -- and refused to be held by anyone other than, well, me -- the "self-employed" facade came crashing down.  In no time at all, I was 0% bringing home the bacon and 100% frying it up in the pan.

Well-meaning friends would sometimes ask, "When are you going back to work?" but when it became plain I had no immediate intention of turning a bedroom into an office, much less returning to a world of artlessly-written job reviews, mind-numbing meetings, and incomprehensible healthcare plans served with a cup of burnt coffee, they'd then ask, "What do you do all day?"

The brave ones still do.

The honest answer?  I do what has to be done.  I wish it included eating bonbons and lifting my feet as the "help" runs the vacuum.  Instead, a huge chunk of my day is spent in the car -- chauffeuring, eating, doing homework, running errands, getting to doctors' appointment and after school activities, and commiserating with the kids about their day.  During soccer and baseball seasons, our all-but-abandoned house functions more like an over-priced closet than a home.  It is simply the place where we stash our clothes and Christmas decorations and dishes.  As the car floormats attest, most of the "real" living and dining is done in our Honda Pilot.

I also volunteer at the kids' school a lot -- as in, "a lot" more than the kids would like.  Bummer for them, but I enjoy it.  Eighth graders -- so cool and charming -- are quick to greet me, only slightly averting their eyes to ensure I understand my place.  Sixth graders aren't able to fake it.  They all but shield their eyes and moonwalk backward to avoid having to say, "Hello, Ms. Wiles."

Now that the kids are older and so preoccupied, a return to the workforce wouldn't be out of the question -- except when you consider that the current N.C. unemployment rate is about 11%.   My time will come.  So for now -- I'm sticking with my bonbon-less life.  I'll keep doing whatever has to be done and enjoy this gift of spending time with the kids and their friends.  Every now and again, I'll throw a party to celebrate the many blessings in my life.  And when I do, I'll be serving this amazing sangria.  Cheers.

Sangria

Although you can mix this up on the day of your party, it's even better if you give the fruit and spices a couple of days -- even a week -- to macerate in the rum.

5 lemons, sliced into thin rounds

5 limes, sliced into thin rounds

5 oranges, sliced into thin rounds

5 peppercorns

1 stick cinnamon

5 whole, dried allspice berries

5 whole, dried cloves

5 cups spiced rum

2 1/2 cups sugar

5 (750 milliliter) bottles dry red wine, chilled

5 cups orange juice, chilled

In a very large pitcher, combine sliced rounds of three lemons, limes and oranges (reserving remaining fruit for when sangria is served), spices, rum and sugar.  Stir and mash until sugar is dissolved.  Chill for at least two hours, or even better, up to a week.

When ready to serve, crush fruit lightly, and strain into punch bowl or serving canister.  Add fruit that had been set aside.  Stir in wine and orange juice.  Serve over ice, garnished with a lime wedge.

Note:  Leftover sangria keeps well, chilled, for about a week.