Chutes, Ladders, The Steps To College, and Broccoli Soup

So that’s that. Julia’s winter exams are officially over. “World Religions” marked another senior year “last.”

With that exam, she takes another step toward college. I’d rather not think that it’s another step away from me.

You might thing the path is predictable, but it’s not. It’s more like the Chutes and Ladders game we played when she was little.  There’s the Candy Cane Forest of college applications and the Gum Drop Mountain of exams. Julia moves forward a couple of steps, I get mired in the Molasses Swamp, and then, with a big fat college acceptance in the mail, she ascends a ladder. She moves forward a couple of steps, I move forward a couple of steps, she wonders about dorm life without her cat, Lionel, and before you know it, she tumbles down a chute.

Mostly though, Julia moves onward, onward, inevitably onward. And not just onward, but happily onward, too.

But not tonight. Tonight we’ll spend the evening watching old episodes of Parenthood and The Perks Of Being A Wallflower.  Again. And before you know it, I’ll be blinking back tears. Again.

But despite what you think, I’m happy about all these steps toward college. I really am.

Because when she’s gone, Lionel is mine. All mine.

Broccoli Soup

In my usual effort to pack in extra nutrients during exams, this "broccoli" soup also includes carrots and celery and onions and garlic.

1/2 stick butter

1 onion, chopped

16-20 baby carrots, chopped

1 Yukon gold potato, peeled and chopped

1 rib of celery, chopped

6 cups broccoli florets

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1 quart chicken stock

1 cup cream

blue cheese crumbles (optional)

In a large, deep skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Stir in onions, sauté until soft. Stir in carrots, celery, potato and garlic. Sauté until soft and slightly browned. Stir in broccoli and chicken stock. Bring to a boil, then, reduce heat to low. Simmer for 20-30 minutes, until vegetables are very soft. Use an immersion blender to smooth to an even consistency (I like mine somewhat chunky). Stir in cream. Season well. Serve hot -- with blue cheese crumbles on top, if desired.

One Last Time. With Potato Soup.

It’s broad daylight now, but I’m afraid to go upstairs. OK. I take that back. “Afraid” may not be the right word. More like “terrified.” “Petrified.”

Because although it’s been days since I climbed those mahogany-stained steps and peered over the wrought-iron railing, I know what awaits.

Our home is diseased. Closets, dressers, desks, athletic bags and backpacks are spewing forth their contents. Papers -- printed and lined and blank -- lie piled, stacked, crumpled. All-but-empty Diet Coke bottles are cast about like forgotten bowling pins. Coffee-residued cups line the end table. The bedroom wastebasket – usually emptied every month or so –can’t contain the current collection of dried out markers, inkless pens, inexplicable index cards, and Clif bar wrappers.

It’s exam time. Julia’s last set of high school exams. Sigh.

This isn’t my first rodeo. I know my job. I grease the tracks. I stay out of the way. I’m ever-present. You want fruit? Strawberries, blueberries, kiwi and grapefruit are in the fridge. Not happy with the lunch at school? I’ll be in the neighborhood – why don’t I bring you a chicken salad bagel? Running low on gas? I’ll fill you up. You’re tired? Let me fluff the pillow.

This is my job. I know it well. I’ve done it for years. But this my last. This is Julia’s last set of high school exams. She’ll have plenty more exams, of course. She’ll rocket off to college and pull all-nighters and down espressos and bounce off walls, but she’ll do it without me.

What’s most important in that sentence, I guess, is she’ll do it without me. She’ll be just fine. She’ll be awesome.

And me? I can’t even imagine. Really? I won’t be tiptoeing around the house at this time next year? I won’t be indulging unexpected requests for soup and cookies and Jello? I won’t be making last minute runs to deliver lunch to school? I won’t be dropping everything to hear what amounts to a 15 second story about a friend’s college acceptance? Or a 15-minute story about the cat?

What am I going to do?

I guess I'll cook. And perhaps, venture upstairs. Which will be neat and orderly and clutter-free –welcoming my exhausted college student home, with clean sheets on the bed, and nary an empty Diet Coke bottle in sight.

Potato Soup

Our tradition has always been that, as Julia studies, I cook and bake and try to anticipate what she'll want next. I lucked out with this potato soup tonight.

4 slices of raw bacon, chopped

1 onion, sliced thinly

16-20 baby carrots, chopped

2 ribs of celery, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

4-6 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced thinly

2 bay leaves

4 cups chicken broth

1 cup cream

2 tablespoons butter

sour cream 

In a large, deep skillet, sauté bacon over medium heat. When very crispy, remove bacon browned bits, setting aside for later, and keeping bacon grease in pan. Add onion, carrots, celery and garlic to pan. Reduce heat to low, and sauté, slowly, until onions are translucent and slightly browned. Stir in potatoes and bay leaves. Pour in broth, raise heat to high, bringing to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 30-45 minutes, until potatoes are very soft. Remove bay leaves, and using a potato masher or immersion blender, smooth out the consistency (we like it a bit chunky). Stir in the cream and butter. Season well with salt and pepper. Serve hot, with bacon bits on top, and, if desired, a large dollop of sour cream.

Crying At The Drop Of A Cap. And Gown.

I can cry at the drop of the hat.

That’s not always been the case. At least, not since I was a hormonal teenager and could cry over spilt milk, Coca-Cola commercials (remember Mean Joe Green?), unappreciative siblings, unthinking classmates, and the possibility that I’d somehow disappointed my parents. Even 30 years later, navigating the wretched waters of divorce and single parenthood, I wasn’t much of a crier. (Which is a good thing, because although my beloved fiancé can handle many, many things, tears aren’t among them.)

But that was then. This is now. Now, now, now, now. NOW.

Carter graduates in a few weeks. (Eighteen days and 22 hours and 56 minutes, because, yes, I’m counting.  And because, yes, there’s an app for that.)

To be certain, Julia and DB and I are over the moon to know that Carter will attend the University of Georgia this fall, particularly when the deal has been sweetened with a scholarship. I’m in awe that Carter earned the rank of Eagle Scout in this, his senior year. I’m grateful that he’s handling this period with grace and diligence and, more important, patience and humor. Our home bubbles with laughter. I should be reveling.

But then, I look out my bedroom window, and glimpse a shiny-eyed Carolina Wren cautiously flitting into the eaves of my back porch with tidbits of mown grass and dog hair, and my eyes well. As she prepares for her babies, one of mine prepares to leave.

So yes. I can cry at the building of a bird’s nest. And that’s not all. In recent days, I’ve cried at the addressing of graduation announcements. At the humming of Pomp and Circumstance. At the purchasing of graduation gifts. And at the dropping of a hat. Particularly when that hat is part of a cap and gown.

As Julia once said, I need to “build a bridge and GET OVER IT.”  There is, after all, an upside, right? ‘Cause let’s face it, when a hat drops, I am the only person in the family trained to pick it up. One fewer person in the house probably translates into me picking up 13 fewer hats.

When Carter goes off to college, I’ll only have to run the garbage disposal for one other person, not two, because, after 18 years, I remain the family member who has unraveled the mystery of how and when to flip that switch.

When Carter goes off to college, Julia and I will be able to speak freely about “girl” stuff, like who’s going to prom, who wore the best dress to the Oscars, who needs to put down the hummus and eat a cheeseburger, and who is plainly having “that time of the month.” OK. Truth be told, we do that already.

When Carter goes off to college, DB and I won’t have to keep count of the beers in the fridge. (If you have to ask, please don’t.)

And let's not forget that, when Carter goes off to college, so will his friends, whom I’ll no longer have to simultaneously regard as fun-loving-18-year-old comics with fabulous taste in music and potential-18-year-old predators in a house with my 16-year-old daughter.

Sigh. Who am I kidding? I can’t “build the bridge,” much less “get over it.” I love these guys. I love my son. I love witnessing this time in his life.

Eighteen days, 22 hours and 42 minutes to go.

Anybody have a Kleenex? And for Pete's sake, can't somebody pick up that hat?

Cream Of Cauliflower Soup

Although Carter is an adventurous eater (octopus sashimi comes to mind), vegetables in general, and cauliflower in specific, are not his favorite. Julia and I, however, love this soup and will enjoy it much more often -- when Carter goes off to college.

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 rib of celery, chopped

1 carrot chopped

3 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon kosher salt

½ teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 bay leaf

1 quart of chicken broth

1 head of cauliflower, cut into bitesize pieces

1 potato, peeled and diced

½  cup cream (optional)

Fresh chives, minced

Curry powder (optional)

In a large, lidded saucepan, heat butter and olive oil over medium heat. Lightly sauté onion, celery and carrot until softened, but not browned.  Stir in flour and seasonings. Sauté a few minutes, until thick and pasty. Gradually stir in chicken broth. When fully incorporated, drop in cauliflower and potato, and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer until vegetables are very tender.  Remove about a cup and half of cauliflower florets and set aside.  Use an immersion blender to purée soup. Taste for seasoning. Return reserved cauliflower florets to pot, and stir in cream, if using. Serve hot, garnished with fresh chives and (optional) curry powder.

New Year's Traditions: Dick Clark, Hoppin' John And A Plunging Pickle

I'm a fan of holiday traditions.

I always watch Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve – although I’m not entirely averse to channel-surfing now that I recognize so few of the featured performers. (Sorry, Nicki Mirage, er, Bling-Blaj, um, Minaj. Does your mother know you left the house wearing that outfit?)

I always have Hoppin’ John (for luck), collards (for money) and ham for New Year’s dinner.

I always bet on the bowl games. (However, given that I make my picks based on teams in towns I’d to visit, or teams at schools I wish my kids would attend, or teams wearing any color other than orange – take that, Clemson -- I can’t claim much success. Although all that would change if I just ate enough collards.)

Indeed, I’m so bound to holiday traditions that the kids often use it against me.

     You never make us listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving!
     You always let us open at least one gift on Christmas Eve!
     You can’t go to bed early! We have to go to the 10:30 p.m. service – it’s tradition!
     But we always have sausage bread Christmas morning!

With 49 years of tradition behind me, it’s hard to consider embracing another, but for “The Pickle Drop,” I just might. That’s right, “The Pickle Drop.”

Don’t know how I hadn’t heard about this before, but it turns out that for the past 13 years, Mt. Olive, North Carolina has hosted the New Year’s Eve Pickle Drop at the corner of, no kidding, Cucumber and Vine. Partygoers feast on hot chocolate and pickles (provided by the Mt. Olive Pickle Company, natch), before watching the lighted, three-foot pickle descend a flagpole. Again, just to be clear, no kidding.

And did I mention that big event occurs at 7 p.m.? That’s right. Seven-oh-clock in the evening, which means that, provided you don't over-indulge in pickles, you get a decent-night’s sleep -- on New Year's Eve.  I’m thinking Mt. Olivians are my kind of crowd.

Maybe my rigid, tradition-based mind could be a bit more flexible. In fact, I’m thinking I’ll add one more item to my New Year’s menu – this comforting corn chowder, crusted with bacon crumbles. But no pickles. At least, not until next year.

Jalapeno-Lime Corn Chowder

Four slices bacon, chopped

1 medium Vidalia onion, chopped
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and ribbed, minced
1 large clove garlic, minced

3 tablespoons flour

 
1 large baking potato, peeled and cubed
1 quart chicken stock
Juice of ½ lime
Corn cut from three cobs (or one 10-ounce frozen package)

1 cup heavy cream
salt
pepper

In a large, heavy, lidded skillet, sauté bacon over medium-low heat until crispy.   Remove browned bacon bits, to be used as a garnish later.  In remaining bacon grease, sauté onion until translucent, stir in jalapeno and garlic.  When vegetables are tender and fragrant, sprinkle with flour.  Continue stirring until flour is well-combined and slightly browned.  Stir in chicken broth, potato, lime juice and corn.  Bring to boil, then, reduce heat to low, and simmer, lidded until potato is very tender -- about 20 minutes.  Stir in cream, season to taste and serve hot, garnished with reserved bacon bits.

Derailing Exam Prep In One Easy Step

Thirteen days until Christmas and all through the house, not a creature is stirring.  Because exams start tomorrow.

Did we have exams in high school – back in the lava-lamp 70s?  Probably.  Maybe.  Um.  Maybe I was absent that day. 

Is it possible I didn’t have exams?  Is it possible I did, but just don’t remember? Could I possibly have been that Holly-Go-Lightly?  Well, to all three questions, my answer would be, “Don’t judge me.”

If we did have exams, I must’ve taken them even less seriously than Son did last year (see "How To Prepare For Exams In 20 Easy Steps"), which on the one hand, is almost impossible to conceive.  And on the other, it's entirely possible, if not probable.

This year, though, the Son and Darling Daughter (DD) are hard at work.  Son is diligent, no doubt still smarting from last year’s metaphorical two-by-four upside the head, and DD is cautious, surely reliving my ‘round the clock shrieks last year of  “You have to do well!  You’re in high school now!  Everything counts!”

Whatever.  For the past few days, they’ve both been hitting the books.  Not to mention the refrigerator, pantry and, on occasion, each other. Are they really well-prepared for the week’s exams?  (Son has four and DD faces two.)  Or have they both been skillfully dodging everyday chores, holiday errands, and me?

But wait.  Is that snow?  Really?  In December?  In Charlotte?  When Son has two exams tomorrow and DD has two end of the semester tests?  Really?

Really.  Out of nowhere, flakes fall – fast, furious and magically illuminated by our outdoor holiday lights.

So much for quiet.  So much for focus.  So much exam prep.  The proverbial train has jumped the tracks, hopped the rails and ground to halt in our own front yard.   Even though it’s dark outside, both kids run out to catch the season’s first snowflakes.

Not exactly the way I saw this blog post going.

What was previously peaceful progress – or at least, peaceful plugging along -- turns to a bizarre combination of exuberance and panic.  What if school closes tomorrow?  What if school doesn’t close tomorrow?   Will it keep snowing?  Will it stick?  Will the roads ice over?

Mom.  Mom!  MOM!  What’s going to happen?

I wish I knew.  For years, I’ve insisted to them, fairly convincingly, that, like Santa, I always know what they’re up to.  Not only do I have eyes in the back of my head, but I can also predict the future.

This time, though, all I can predict is that it’s going to be cold.  Darned cold.  I’ll be sure to check the school closings before waking anyone up in the morning.  And regardless of exam schedules, I’ll be making up a batch of this heavenly white bean soup.  Because baby, it’s cold outside.

Rosemary White Bean Soup with Gremolata

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

1 4" - 6" branch of fresh rosemary

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 quart chicken broth

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

2-3 cans cannellini beans (white beans), drained and rinsed

Gremolata

1 clove garlic, very finely minced or grated

1/2 cup minced parsley

1 teaspoon kosher salt

zest of two lemons

In large, heavy-bottomed pot, saute onion and carrot in olive oil, over medium heat until onion is translucent.  Stir in garlic, and continue sauteeing until vegetables are very fragrant and onions begin to brown.  Stir in seasonings, broth, lemon juice and two cans of beans.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer, lidded, for at least one hour.  Remove rosemary branch.  Using immersion blender (or food mill), puree soup.  Bring back to a simmer.  If you like your soup thicker, stir in additional can of beans and puree once again.  Season well with kosher salt and pepper.  Stir together gremolata ingredients (or even better, use a large knife to "cut" ingredients together on a cutting board) and sprinkle over soup.  Yum.

A Tip For Parents Everywhere: Don't Spank. Spray.

Parenthood ain't for sissies.

So far as I can tell, from the very nanosecond your newborn gulps that first lungful of air (did he get enough?  is he supposed to cry like that?), every millimeter of your brain is consumed -- completely devoured -- by parenting. Which begs the question: if we weren't parents, would all that gray matter accomplish something more significant and everlasting? Curing devastating diseases? Solving world peace? Keeping Lindsay Lohan sober?

Actually, that Lohan thing falls into the parenting category, which is just one example of a parent's non-stop, humbling rollercoaster of worrying, second-guessing and self-loathing. Just when you figure out how to get rid of the insidious pacifier, you're gobsmacked by potty training, which is further complicated by cloth versus disposable. After conquering grocery store tantrums, you face a never-ending ticker tape of childhood illnesses. When you finally navigate your offspring through the challenges of tantrums, cliques and wildly inappropriate language, you're frantic to think they're falling behind in the college application process. And that's all before kindergarten.

And getting kids to simply behave? Please. Even if you're carnival-man-strong or yoga-man-flexible, you can't simply bend them to your will. I've tried. Moreover, in today's parentally-correct environment, you can't beat the tar out of them either.

C'mon. You know I'm kidding, right?

Still, as the kids get older, what options do you have?

Timeouts don't work with teens. And sending them to their rooms? They wish. Some parents say to me, "Just wait 'til they can drive! Then you can take away the keys." Thanks, but for now, I'm just okey dokey that my kids can't drive. You should be, as well.

Sure. Confiscating the phone works on occasion. Or the laptop. But other times, you need something more attention-getting. More powerful. More, um, unexpected.

Something like the spray bottle.

C'mon. You know I'm not kidding, right?

The spray bottle works. Sure, it can't be 100% on major issues like drinking and driving, or academic failings. But burping at the table? Spritz. Teasing your sibling? Squirt away. Bad manners? Shouldn't take more than a couple of pulls of the trigger.

It works with Josie-the-rescue-dog. It works with the Lionel-the-pugilistic-cat. It works with the teenagers. The spray bottle just works.

Note that, even though it would surely improve my accuracy, I chose not to use a water gun. That would be wrong. But a bottle -- with plain old water in it. C'mon.

In truth, I think I'm starting a trend. Before you know it, you'll watch a teaser spot on The Today Show, extolling the virtues and unexpected effectiveness of a single, affordable parenting technique -- to be revealed in the 9 o'clock hour. And at 9-O-5, there will be me. With my spray bottle.

Until then, though, in the absence of a spray bottle, I'll flex my culinary muscles to get my way.

This Creamy Broccoli Soup -- which is easy to make, hugely satisfying, very green, and has nary a meatball or shred of ham does the trick.  I can't get enough of it.  The kids clearly can.  But it'll have to do.  Until, of course, I find my spray bottle under somebody's bed.

Creamy Broccoli Soup with Garlic Croutons

6 cups chicken stock

2 medium baking potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced

3 cups chopped broccoli

16 baby carrots, chopped

2-3 cups broccoli flowerettes

1 cup cream

1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper

kosher salt

pepper

3-4 slices homestyle white bread, diced in 1/2-inch cubes

3-4 tablespoons butter

3-4 cloves garlic, peeled

kosher salt

pepper

In a large soup pot, bring chicken stock to a boil.  Stir in potatoes, chopped broccoli and carrots, reduce heat to low and simmer until vegetables are very, very tender - about 45 minutes.  Use an immersion blender to smooth soup until consistent and creamy.  Stir in broccoli flowerettes and cream and simmer an additional 6-8 minutes, or until broccoli is just done.   Season with cayenne, salt and pepper.  Garnish with croutons.

For croutons
Heat butter over medium high heat in large, nonstick skillet.  Toss in bread cubes and whole garlic cloves.  Sautee, stirring regularly, until well browned.  Remove garlic cloves and season well with salt and pepper.  Drain on paper towels until needed.

Cold and Fat Is No Way To Go Through Life. (Anyone Else Remember "Animal House"?)

OK.  What’s wrong here?  I’m wearing jeans.  Ski socks.  Wool-lined boots.  (Really cute ones – black with tassels!)  A turtleneck and a hooded fleece jacket.  I’m zipped in and hooded up.

Yet, I’m popsiclesque.  In my own house.

Clearly, Charlotte – like most of the country – is in the midst of a prolonged cold snap.  Or more accurately, given these temperatures, a cold shatter.  Nevertheless, I’m indoors, and while the thermostat Chez Wiles isn’t exactly set at “balmy,” it is holding steady at 68.

Still, Snarky Son and Darling Daughter actually set off for school this morning dressed less warmly than I am right now.  (And no, SS wasn’t, as threatened, wearing his cheetah Snuggie.  Is it possible a teenager would say such things only to see how a parent would react?)

I’ve always been cold-natured.  And I could write the book, the employee manual, the very Gideon’s Bible on layering.  Just ask anyone who saw me in the ladies' room at last Sunday’s Panthers-Saints game. Or, more accurately, anyone who had to cross her legs, jiggle her heels, tap her toes, bite her lip, and clinch the very most inner part of her being, waiting for me to peel back all that fabric in my stall.  And continue to wait, while I took twice as long to reconstruct the elaborate textile structure I’d devised to help stave off the cold, including HandWarmers, BFF to many a woman of a certain age.  (I've actually slept with a Handwarmer under my pillow before.  Toasty.)

The “layering” premise isn't perfect, however.  I don't have scientific evidence, exactly, but consider this:  If layering really worked, then the 10-pounds I mortared on this holiday season would seal in some of my body heat, wouldn’t it?  Wouldn't I be warmer?  Fat chance.  And I say that without irony.  Fat.

Sadly, now that I’m a woman of a certain age, that's one layer that isn’t peeling off in a ladies’ room – much less anytime in the next few weeks.  As one dear friend put it, “Remember college?  After a big tailgating weekend, you’d put on five pounds.  So Monday, you'd skip dinner and that's all it took -- you were right back in your skinny jeans."

Those.  Were.  The days, my friend.  They ended.

Now that I'm in my 40s, skipping dinner is just a way to avoid acid reflux.  I need a more thoughtful, and perhaps, more nutrition-based approach to weight-loss.  And if possible, one that will also help defrost my fingers and toes (because I will not, I repeat, will NOT, raise the thermostat when I’m the only one here at home.  At least not while I’m still abiding to the holy trinity of New Year’s Resolutions -- losing weight, getting fit and cutting costs!)

I’m not in college.  I can’t lose 10 pounds overnight, but this vegetarian Black-Eyed Pea Soup has to be a good start.  Low in fat, but high in flavor, this soup is made with my other new BFF – Ro-Tel tomatoes and chiles.  Which, coincidentally, also helps warm me up.

Don’t you love it when a recipe comes together?

Spicy Black-Eyed Pea Soup

If you want to add some type of meat, something as simple as crumbled bacon or sausage would be good here.  Or, you could add a slice of ham hock while cooking the peas.  Also, note that the consistency of this zesty soup will change considerably if you refrigerate it overnight – becoming more stew-like.  I eat it both ways and can't say which I prefer!

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

12-15 baby carrots, sliced

1 rib celery, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 quart vegetable stock, divided

1 10-ounce carton fresh black-eyed peas

½ teaspoon kosher salt

1 10-ounce can Ro-Tel tomatoes with green chiles

¼ teaspoon Liquid Smoke (optional)

½ cup raw rice

sour cream for garnish (optional)

In a very large lidded skillet or soup kettle, sauté onion in olive oil over medium-heat until translucent, stir in carrots and celery and continuing sautéing until edges of vegetables begin to brown.  Stir in garlic, and sauté another couple of minutes, until garlic is very fragrant.

Pour in 3 cups of vegetable stock, increase heat to high, and bring to a boil.  Dump in black-eyed peas and salt and reduce heat to low.  Simmer, lidded, until peas are very nearly done.  Everyone says this should take fewer than 30 minutes, but it never has for me.  More like an hour.

When peas are nearly done (not crunchy or starchy, but slightly firm to the bite), stir in tomatoes, Liquid Smoke (if using), and rice.  Replace lid and simmer, stirring occasionally, until rice is done – about 20 minutes.

Check for seasoning.  If you like your soup more brothy, stir in remaining cup of vegetable stock.  Heat through and serve.  Top with a spoonful of sour cream, if desired.