Exams Are Over, and All I Want For Christmas Is A Clean House. And Soup.

With so many stomach “bugs” going around, I’m wondering whether furniture can get sick, too.  Because here we are, Day Four of exams, and it appears that every desk, dresser, backpack and closet Chez Wiles has violently and uncontrollably spewed their contents. Hoo boy. This, my friend, would be a good day for a HazMat suit.

Mysteriously, it’s not only textbooks and quizzes, notecards and calculators, highlighters and writing utensils that now carpet every flat surface. It’s also laundry and blankets, soft drink bottles and bread wrappers, dust pans and tape dispensers, boots and bathing suits (bathing suits? really?), and an extensive collection of "lucky" wool socks. (I also understand that "studying" is lucky for exam-taking, but what do I know?)  

It's going to take more than a vacuum to reverse this wreckage.  More like a shovel.  Or a backhoe.  And of course, the aforementioned HazMat suit.

The kids aren’t solely to blame. In an effort to minimize distractions and maximize opportunities for exam prep, I let a lot of things slide. That ride, however, is over.  I am the Fat Lady, and I have sung.

So today, we’re back to the real world. Back to beds made before noon. Litter boxes cleaned before the cat relocates his potty to my down comforter.  Bedtime before sun up.  Shoes put away before the dog uses them as expensive – very expensive -- chew toys.

We’re also back to “mom” food.  Not that the kids have been complaining as we’ve enjoyed everyone’s favorite breakfast-for-dinner (Waffles of Insane Greatness), hard-to-argue-with Pan-Roasted-Chicken and many meals featuring the Wiles’ family favorite food group, sausage (Not So Dirty Rice, among other delights.)

A few weeks ago, when Little Sis (LS) was here (and the kids were not), she made a huge batch of avgolemono (Greek lemon egg soup) for me and some girlfriends. Tart and well-seasoned, it’s one of my favorite soups ever.  LS, of course, made it the “real” way, starting with a whole chicken and vat of water.  And that’s what I craved while the kids sat for exams and Project Exam Aftermath commenced here at home, but I didn’t have time for all that.  So, using some of the chicken stock I had stashed in the freezer, I came up with this “Greek-inspired” lemon soup.  Not authentic, to be sure, but making this quick, and somewhat more hearty, version gives me a little more time to get the house back in order.

Does this HazMat suit make me look fat?

Greek-Inspired Lemon Chicken Soup

Six cups chicken stock with chopped chicken

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon oregano

1 teaspoon lemon zest
½ cup orzo (or rice)

2 eggs, separated

juice of one lemon

salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot, bring stock, bay leaf, oregano and lemon zest to a boil.  Stir in orzo.  As orzo cooks, whip eggs whites in a mixing bowl until soft peaks form.  Whisk in, individually, egg yolks.  Whisk in lemon juice.  When orzo is almost done, remove stock from heat, and remove and discard bay leaf.  Very gradually, stir in one cup of hot stock into egg mixture.  (This important step tempers the eggs, so they stay frothy and don’t curdle.)  Gently stir tempered egg mixture into stock.  Soup will be creamy-looking, and somewhat frothy.  If you want to be fancy, sprinkle fresh chopped parsley, or better still, fresh dill, on top and serve.

On The List Of Things I Won't Buy For My Kid: A Snuggie.

In the spirit of the season, Darling Daughter and Snarky Son submitted their wish lists for my consideration a few weeks ago. Since then, in the spirit of the 21st century – or, more precisely, in the spirit of a generation accustomed to cutting and pasting and clicking and inserting 10 minutes before class begins -- they’ve each made countless clarifications and embellishments.

If only they were so thorough when editing their schoolwork.

Still, the lists – in writing – are essential, because I’m the “Go-To.” When someone, anyone, everyone wants to know, “What do DD or SS want for Christmas?” they don’t ask DD or SS, they go to me. I’m the “Go-To.” I am the mother lode. More accurately, I am The Mother.

Although I always remind the kids that the Baby Jesus only got three presents, I like to have gracious plenty ideas to choose from. (Dangling participle. My bad, my blog.) Some years, the kids are stumped. (Until, of course, I remind them that I love nothing more than buying books.) This year, though, they were downright prolific. I wanted ideas, and hoo boy, I got ‘em.

DD’s list included possibilities priced from $1.97 (a toothbrush) to $997 (not a toothbrush). As an added benefit, I could actually read and was familiar with the items listed.

By contrast, the list “written” (a word I use loosely) by SS was largely hieroglyphic – even after he de-coded it. Does every other mom on the planet know what a Boss DS-2 distortion pedal is? And MacBeth Brightons? Anyone? Anyone? Nah. I’m not that lucky. MacBeths have nothing to do with The Bard.

So here we are, two weeks from Christmas, after two weeks of list fiddling, and it comes down to this. DD wants a ceiling fan. And braces. Sigh. Neither one of those will fit into a nice, neat gift box. However, she’s asked for the ceiling fan for lo these past five years. And the braces? She already knows that her Dad will be getting them for her as soon as the orthodontist flashes the green flag. What we have here is yet another example of why some people call her “The Golden Child.”

SS slimmed his list down, too. Having blown through more phones in the past year than he has fingers, SS’s top priority is a basic, no-frills flip phone. And a Snuggie. True, either one would fit in a nice, neat gift box, but I refuse to buy him another phone. And a Snuggie? Not gonna happen. There's no way I can click the "Buy Now" button. Not for him. Not for a frostbitten child. Not for a featherless penguin. Not for the cryogenically-preserved head of Ted Williams. OK. Maybe for the frostbitten child. Other than that, not gonna do it.

Not that I’m not flexible. I’m plenty flexible. OK. Maybe not that flexible. But I’m bendy enough. Take this tomato basil soup recipe.

I came up with the recipe for Cougar Bait (I know, he’s only 23 days younger than me, but he likes to believe ...), who’s something of a connoisseur of Tomato Basil Soup. But at the last minute, I remembered I had some ground turkey in the fridge. Just like that, a totally vegetarian dish became not-so-much.

Just a little cutting and pasting and clicking and inserting and voila – I had a very nearly vegetarian Tomato Basil Soup – with meatballs.

Almost Vegetarian Tomato Basil Soup – With Meatballs
Despite the ingredient list, the soup comes together pretty quickly -- and it's very good without the meatballs, as well.

Meatballs
1 minced garlic clove
1 pound ground meat (turkey, beef or pork)
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons dried breadcrumbs
1 teaspoon dried basil
2 tablespoons minced parsley
½ teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground pepper

Soup
1 large onion, chopped
2 dozen baby carrots, chopped
1 rib celery, chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
1 quart vegetable broth
1 bay leaf
red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground black pepper
½ cup fresh basil, sliced very, very thinly (chiffonade)

First, make the meatballs. Preheat oven at 350. In a large mixing bowl, gently mix all meatball ingredients. Try not to “pack” the meat. Form into ¾ inch meatballs. Place on an ungreased baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Remove and let cool.

Make the soup. In a very large skillet or soup kettle, saute the onion, carrot and celery in the olive oil until the onion is very translucent and the carrots and celery are slightly browned. Stir in the tomatoes and vegetable broth. Stir well, and add the bay leaf, a sprinkle of red pepper and salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Remove bay leaf, and carefully, carefully, use a handheld immersion blender to smooth out the soup. (Alternately, allow soup to cool, and then, puree in a blender until smooth. Then reheat.) Taste and adjust seasoning (particularly for salt). Stir in basil and meatballs. Simmer another 10 minutes and serve hot.

Being Prepared. For Mammograms, Good News and Good Health. (Gingered Spinach and Mushroom Soup)

As I write this, I'm sitting in the waiting room of The Presbyterian Breast Center in Charlotte NC.  Because of an as-yet-unexplained abnormality in my mammogram of last week, I'm here for a "diagnostic" mammogram and, depending on that outcome, perhaps some other tests.  I've been assured that I will not leave here today without a fairly definitive reason for my abnormal mammogram.

Coincidentally, October was National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  The event's distinctive pink ribbons were aflutter all month long -- at NFL games, at the kids' school, in doctors' office, and perhaps, most visibly, at an abundance of Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure events throughout the country.

Oddly, as I read the many breast cancer articles and reminders in The Charlotte Observer in October and listened to the advice of expert radiologists, gynecologists and oncologists on The Today Show, it occurred to me that I don't currently know of any instances of breast cancer in my circle of friends.  That's saying something, because it's a fairly extensive circle, including neighborhood friends, former co-workers in Boston, RIchmond and Charlotte, newly re-discovered classmates from Charleston and Columbia, and lots and lots of moms (particularly those of seventh and ninth graders, Boy Scouts and cross country runners).  The American Cancer Society estimates that one in eight of us will develop breast cancer in our lifetime.  My slightly superstitious side couldn't help but wonder and worry -- about all of us.

Sure, I've known women with breast cancer, and sadly, some who lost their lives to it.  The ACS reports that nearly 200,000 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed in American women in 2009.  Over 40,000 U.S. women are expected to die from breast cancer this year.  Lung cancer is the only cancer more deadly among this population.  A stunning 2.5 million U.S. women with a history of breast cancer were alive in January 2006.

I've heard these many facts over the years.  And now, I'm the one in the waiting room.

Despite recent blog posts about my Boy Scout-like desire to "be prepared," there's no way I could prepare for this.

I can't worry about something I don't know about, of course, and this is clearly something I don't know about.  I don't know what "it" is. That's why I'm here.  I suppose my abnormal mammogram could be attributed to any number of things, but the one I keep coming back to is cancer.

I won't keep you in suspense.  After an easy diagnostic exam, which was no more uncomfortable than any other mammogram, my radiologist reported that my breasts were clear for now.  (And yes, she actually did say, "for now," which I believe is the prudent thing to tell a patient.)

It appears that my original mammogram indicated a shadow of what was likely some folded over tissue.  I was reminded, of course, to continue scheduling my regular annual mammograms and monthly self-exams.  And I was reminded, of course, that it's never a bad idea to take good care of myself -- limiting alcohol and fat, getting plenty of exercise and enjoying a healthy diet with lots of veggies.

As luck would have it (and believe me, I already feel plenty lucky today), I'd made Gingered Spinach and Mushroom Soup just yesterday.  For a low-fat dish with lots of veggies -- and good taste -- I think it fits the bill.

Because as great as the folks were at The Breast Center, I don't plan to be there again next year.  Instead, that'll be me in the Susan G. Komen Race For The Cure.

To get a free annual mammogram reminder, visit The American Cancer Society website (click here) and tell them which month you'd like to receive your e-mail reminder.  You can even sign up a friend!

Gingered Spinach and Mushroom Soup

3-4 cups flavorful, homemade chicken stock (for recipe, click here)

1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger (or more to taste)

1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil ("regular" sesame oil doesn't have enough flavor)

3 cups (about 4 ounces) raw baby spinach, rolled up and sliced into thin ribbons

6 button mushrooms (I used cremini), sliced very thinly

1 tablespoon miso paste* (or to taste)

2 teaspoons lemon juice (or to taste)

In a large saucepan, heat ginger and sesame oil until fragrant.  (Just a few minutes.)  Stir in chicken stock and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to medium and stir in spinach and mushrooms.  Cook until spinach is completely wilted, but still bright green.  Stir in miso and lemon juice.  Adjust seasonings and serve hot.  (If I'd had it on hand, some firm tofu, cubed, would have been perfect in this soup, too.)

*Miso paste is a Japanese ingredient, found in the international aisle of the grocery store.

Being Prepared. Part Two. (Chicken Orzo Soup)

I shouldn't say this out loud, but -- knock on wood, knock on formica, toss salt over your shoulder, toss the used Kleenex in the trash -- everyone Chez Wiles is currently in good health.

Of course it's temporary.  But given our recent cases of H1N1 (or as my no-nonsense sister says, "It's the SWINE flu.  Just call it that."), the stomach bug (another pleasant euphemism, but this is one I prefer) and a Halloween weekend trip to the ER, I'm glad to report that both kids are at school, and both made it through a full day yesterday as well.

True, we have been through our share of Advil.  And Kleenex.  And hand sanitizer.  And bags of throat lozenges.  (We highly recommend Halls Defense Vitamin C.)  And anytime I walk near my 14-year-old son, he still reflexively lifts his bangs so I can check his forehead.

Plus, we've washed our hands.  And washed our hands.  And washed our hands.  To the point that it irritates me to have one television doctor after the other advise me to "sing The Happy Birthday song" to make sure I'm washing long enough.  Why The Birthday Song?  I'm a grown-up, for Pete's sake.  Why not something from my high school days?  Something by Earth Wind & Fire, perhaps.  Or maybe the chorus to Aerosmith's Dream On?  "Sing with me, sing for the year, sing for the laughter, sing for the tea-ahhh ..."

But I digress.  (OK.  Indulge me for one more second, "Dream on, dream on, dream on, aahhhhhhhh ...")

All the hand-washing is part of that prevention and preparation thing.  And heaven knows, I like to be prepared.

But I can't prepare for everything.  And as much of a planner as I am, also know that, sometimes, I've got to let go.

Since I'm with the kids so much, I can find them pretty predictable.  I can anticipate the instant shedding of moodiness when the right friend calls.  I can discern the difference between, "I don't know" and "I don't know (but if you keep talking maybe I'll come up with another answer)."  I can brace myself for the drama of seventh grade.  I can plan for the adjustment of moving up to high school.  I'm prepared for the unavoidable pouts and taunts of siblings.

But just as I get things down pat, I'm gobsmacked.

At dinner recently (and really, the best tidbits come out over a meal, don't you think?), Darling Daughter (DD) was expressing the occasional uncertainty you'd expect from a middle schooler.  Snarky Son (SS), as is routine for a high schooler, interrupted her.  I said nothing, but braced myself.  DD plainly had the floor.  She had the metaphorical microphone.  SS plainly snatched that microphone.  It was rude.  He deserved a smackdown.

I clinched my jaw for the inevitable eruption of bickering.  Before DD could spit our her comeback, though, SS got out what he needed to say, "You're not unattractive, you know."

Huh?  What was that?  A compliment between siblings?  And let's be truthful here -- that was about the highest praise an older brother can offer a younger sister.

So sure, I'll keep preparing and planning -- starting with this soup that's a cinch if you keep your own flavorful chicken stock on hand in the freezer.  (Recipe here.)  But every now and again, knock on wood, knock on formica, I'm happy to embrace the unexpected.  It's not all bad, you know.

Chicken Orzo Soup

4 cups homemade chicken stock with chicken pieces

(optionally, use two cans of chicken broth with 1 cup, cut-up cooked chicken)

1/4 teaspoon dried thyme or 1 sprig of fresh thyme

Two handfuls uncooked orzo (about 2/3 cup)

16-20 baby carrots, sliced thinly

1 cup broccoli flowerettes (cut in small, spoon-size bits)
1/2 cup frozen peas (optional)

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

kosher salt

In a medium-sized saucepan, bring stock to a boil.  Stir in thyme and orzo and cook until pasta is almost done (still firm in the middle), about 7-8 minutes.  Stir in carrots, cook another 2 minutes.  Stir in broccoli (and peas, if using) and cook additional minute.  Stir in lemon juice and salt to taste.  Serve hot.

Be Prepared. Or At Least Keep The Freezer "Stocked."

I like to be prepared.

By that, I mean I like to be really prepared.  How else to explain that I currently have 10, 28-ounce cans of crushed tomatoes in the pantry?  (One day soon, but probably not tomorrow, I’ll buy an equally ridiculous amount of Italian sausage and make red sauce.)  I also have nearly 20 dozen regular tampons in my bathroom cabinet.  (Never mind that I’m practically perimenopausal -- it was triple coupon week!)  And what about the 21 black Sharpie Markers in the desk drawer?  (Hmm -- can’t really explain that one.)

A person might reasonably assume that my need to “stock up” is a reflection of my recent divorce, but I’ve got to confess that emergency preparedness is part of my very nature.

Remember New Year’s Eve 1999?  I do.  I was able to enjoy myself very much, because I’d heeded warnings of a catastrophic, cataclysmic computer and banking industry meltdown.  Included in my Y2K “kit” were a stack of twenties, a bunch of ones, several jugs of drinking water, a few coolers of ice and a stash of D batteries that, nine years later, has yet to be depleted.  Just to be sure, I also prepared New Year’s Day dinner the day before.  No way was I stepping into the 21st century without my share of luck and fortune.  I made enough Hoppin’ John and collards to feed the entire neighborhood. With leftovers.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared me for last weekend.  Snarky Son (SS) came down with the flu – complete with a 103 fever, a rib-clutching cough and an unusual appetite for horror movies.  (True, it was Halloween, but I also attribute the scream cinema marathon to the fact that SS was too weary to change the channel.)

Darling Daughter (DD) then got a walnut lodged in her throat.  She could still breathe and speak, but after the doctor's office warned us of the possibility of "aspirating in her sleep," we spent three-and-a-half hours in the emergency room, which was overrun with all the flu-afflicted kids in Charlotte who weren’t at home scaring themselves silly in front of the TV.  Which explains why DD and I both availed ourselves of the complimentary ER hand sanitizer every 20 minutes until her release.

All of that came on the heels of four sleepovers, a rainy Halloween block party and a miserable evening of trick-or-treating with umbrellas.  Astonishingly, no one called DSS.  Or if they did, they must’ve given the wrong number.

And here's the capper:  I had no chicken stock in the freezer.

How could that be?  I had one kid with the flu and another with a bruised throat.  Without chicken stock, there'd be no vegetable soup, no gingered spinach mushroom soup and certainly no homemade chicken noodle soup.

You can be sure the stock shortage was temporary.  I couldn't control disease or destiny, but I surely could brew up a batch of broth.  Before long, the aroma wafted through the house, warming both the kitchen and, after a compliment from DD, my heart.  Not only was there orzo vegetable soup on the stove, but the freezer shelves are stocked.  I can now sleep easy.  As soon as I figure out what to do with those Sharpie markers.

Chicken Stock (with Chicken)

10 chicken thighs (along with any other parts you might want to toss in)

3 whole carrots, peeled

3 stalks of celery (with leaves)

1 large onion, cut in quarters

2 cloves garlic, peeled

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon whole peppercorns

4 whole cloves

5-6 sprigs parsley

1 half lemon

1 teaspoon kosher salt

Put all ingredients in a large stock pot, cover with 4-5 quarts of water, bring to boil and reduce to simmer.  Skim foam from top as needed.  After one hour, remove chicken from pot, and allow thighs to cool to touch.  Separate meat from skin from bones, discarding skin, setting aside meat and returning bones to pot.  Allow stock to simmer an additional hour, skimming as needed and adding water if needed.  Allow to cool somewhat, then strain stock, first through a colander, and then, through cheesecloth.  Skim fat, taste, and add additional seasoning, if needed.  Chop thigh meat into small bite-size pieces and return to stock.  Freeze in quart-size plastic containers, dividing meat equally among containers.  You now have the makings for homemade chicken noodle soup any day of the week!  Or, try one of these Feminine Wiles recipes, Greek-Inspired Lemon Chicken Soup, Gingered Spinach and Mushroom Soup, or Chicken Orzo Vegetable Soup.

The Name Game -- Fun For Kids And Adults Alike!

They call me “Mrs. Wiles.” 

Or “Ms. Wiles.”  Or “Cheri.”  And sometimes, “Miss Cheri.”

Turns out, the name game is pretty complicated -- and as I get older, increasingly so.

Expectant parents can spend three entire trimesters debating the merits of family names versus uncommon names, versus distinctive names versus flat-out convoluted, how-do-you-pronounce-that, how-did-you-come-up-with-that names.  Even after you narrow it down, you still have to take into account the “playground factor.”  Sorry, mommies- and daddies-to-be, but you should be aware that there are unflattering words that rhyme with “Bart.”  And “Rick.”  And “Belle.”  And “Cam.”  And although those words may not leap to the mind of a 36-year-old, they certainly do to a six-year-old.  Trust me.

Even pet names are controversial.  Local radio personality Sheri Lynch last week told the story of a dog with the unfortunate moniker, “Mommy.”  Really, I’ve got nowhere to go with that.  But I think my kids would agree that one “Mommy” per household ought to be the legal limit.  And there are days when even that seems excessive. 

Currently, the pet names Chez Wiles have musical roots.  Our rescue dog, Josie, is named for a blink-182 song.  Our cat Lionel, with the Mike Tyson personality, is actually the namesake of Lionel Richie, formerly of the Commodores.  Funny, too, that we’d choose tuneful names, when not one of us could carry a tune if it were handed to us in a gift-wrapped box.  In a shopping bag.  With a handle.

Post-divorce, the name game has only grown trickier.  Previously, the rules were pretty straightforward.  My children know to address adults by the appropriate title and the appropriate last name, e.g., Mr. and Mrs. Pitt.  The only exception would be for close family friends, whom the kids could call by their first name, as long as it was preceded by the appropriate title, e.g., Mr. Brad and Miss Angelina.

Problems crop up, though, as a single parent considers dating.  You’ve got to think short-term and long-term.  Several years after her divorce, my own mom was lucky enough to marry a wonderful man whom we’d known for years and I’d called “Uncle.”  But as my stepfather, could I call him “Uncle”?  Ewww.

And how should my own kids refer to someone I date?  "Mr. Damon"?  (Ahem.  It's my blog isn't it?)  If we married, they’d be stuck calling their stepfather by a needlessly formal name.  But "Mr. Matt" seems silly, too, right?  On the other, other hand, saying, “Hey Matt, where are y’all going tonight?” the first time they meet a Hollywood movie star seems presumptuous.  (Again, don’t judge me.  I’m just saying...)

And what about me?  Am I Cheri?  Am I Ms. Wiles?  I’ve been told I should be offended when someone calls me Mrs. Wiles, but I was Mrs. Wiles for so long that I don’t even notice it.  But to be called that by the kids of someone I’m dating?  Umm.  Awkward.

Maybe it would be best to go with the “call me whatever you want, but don’t call me late for dinner” approach.  As long as dinner is something as satisfying as this Chicken Chili.  Or is it White Chili?  Well, you can’t really call it “White,” because there are tomatoes in it.  Maybe “White Bean Chili" ...

Whatever.  Just call it dinner.

Chicken Chili With White Beans

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 onions, chopped

4 large cloves of garlic, minced

4-6 cups chicken broth (hold aside 2 cups to be used as needed)

1 14-oz. can diced tomatoes (I prefer the “petite” dice)

1 12-ounce bottle beer (optional)

2 tablespoons chili powder (or more to taste)

1 tablespoon ground cumin

½ teaspoon ground cloves

1 tablespoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

¼ cup chopped fresh basil

6 grilled chicken breasts, chopped (could also use thighs)

3 14-oz. cans cannellini beans

In a large pot (with lid) sauté onions over medium heat with olive oil.  When onions are translucent, stir in garlic and continue sautéing for about five minutes.

Stir in liquids, spices and chicken.  Don't taste it at this point.  It will taste like an culinary experiment gone bad.  You've got to be patient.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer (with lid) for 1-2 hours, stirring occasionally.  (It takes this long for flavors to meld.)  Stir in undrained cans of beans, and simmer another 30-40 minutes.  Add additional broth if needed.  Before serving, check seasoning.  Depending on the freshness of your spices and how “hot” you like it, you may need more of everything – including salt.  Serve hot.

The Fountain of Youth: French Lentil Soup

I'm 46 years old and happy to be 46.  When I was 35, I was happy to be 35.  When I was 27, well, it's obvious, right?

I've never wished to be younger.  I've never wished to go back in time (even with the undeniably adorable Michael J. Fox).  When asked "the question," I've never been tempted to trim a few years off my age.  (Which is not to say that there wasn't a time when I was tempted to add a few years.  That, however, was about 30 years ago, so I'll plead youth, ignorance and invoke the statute of limitations.)

True, not many people would want to re-visit their middle school years, but I never pined for high school days, either.  I couldn't have scooted across that municipal auditorium graduation stage any faster if I'd had jet propulsion.

College was great fun (and maybe even better than that), but I didn't want to extend the experience.  I was on the four-years-or-bust program. Part of it was financial, of course, but given my tendency to procrastinate, I honestly don't think I could've survived a fifth year of all-nighters.  Or kegging.  Or all-night-kegging.

True, now that I'm "single" again, I wouldn't mind looking younger.  My son asks whether he gave me these wrinkles, but the truth is, they're the hard-earned result of spending the better part of my youth dipped in baby oil and sprawled on a towel at Folly Beach, South Carolina.  (Ironic name for a beach, don't you think?)

Plenty of corrective procedures are available, but wands, not scalpels, would be my instruments of choice.  So unless my plastic surgeon is one Harry Potter, MD, it's not going to happen.  Even worse than surgery would be the recovery.  Why would I want to spend a couple of weeks looking like the post-Chris-Brown Rihanna, when the ultimate result still wouldn't be Rihanna?

I've got to admit that the newly available prescription gel Latisse that grows thicker, longer lashes holds huge appeal.  Apparently, it's both easy and safe.  You just apply the gel to your lashline, and voila -- lusher lashes!  Well, not exactly "voila."  And not exactly affordable.  "Voila" requires two to four months of daily use and $240-$480.

Then, you're stuck.  Those plush, luxurious lashes only stay as long as you use the product.  Leave the Latisse, and you're back to counting those individual hair folicles.  Even I can do that math.  A thicket of lashes for one year would require the financial resources of Harry's account at Gringotts.  I don't know exactly how to convert sickles and knuts (wizarding money), but let's just say that $1,400 buys a lot of Maybelline.

So it looks as if I'm going to have to turn to food for a more youthful appearance.  I took the "Real Age" quiz online (RealAge ), and surprise, surprise, my "real" age is within a year of my, you guessed it, real age.

Naturally, the kind folks at RealAge have come up with a list of things I can do to be more youthful  -- including going back in time and choosing sunscreen instead of baby oil, and avoiding the emotional stress of divorce -- but it's too late for that.  The solution now is working more fiber and vegetables into my diet.  Once again, soup comes to the rescue.

French Lentil and Spinach Soup

This is a very flavorful soup.  Don't skimp on the vinegar -- it really brightens the taste.

3 tablespoons olive oil

2 onions, diced

2 carrots, cleaned and diced

2 ribs celery, diced

4 garlic cloves, minced

1 lb. dried French green lentils, washed and picked over

8 cups of chicken broth (canned is fine)

1 ham hock

1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns

1/2 teaspoon whole cloves

1/2 teaspoon marjoram

2 bay leaves

1 teaspoon kosher salt

water

4-6 shakes of hot sauce

1 bag fresh spinach, chopped or 1 (10 oz) package frozen chopped spinach

3 tablespoons red wine vinegar

salsa (for garnish)

sour cream (for garnish)

In a very large saucepan or large soup pot, heat olive oil.  Saute onions until soft, about 5 minutes.  Stir in carrots and celery, saute another 3-4 minutes.  Stir in garlic, saute an additional minute.  Pour in chicken stock and lentils.  Bury ham hock in lentils.  In a small piece of cheesecloth (or better still, a teaball), place herbs and secure with string.  Bury this packet under the lentils.  Stir in salt, bring to a boil, and then reduce heat, simmering 1 1/2 - 2 hours, or until lentils are firm, but tender.  While simmering, add water to maintain the consistency you like.  (I like mine "brothy," but you may prefer yours thicker.)  When lentils are done, stir in vinegar and hot sauce.  Remove herbs and ham hock, and season to taste with salt and pepper.  Finally, add spinach (fresh or frozen), and stir until spinach is heated through.  Serve hot, garnished with salsa or sour cream or both.

Snow In The Carolinas

On long car trips, I'll do nearly anything to "de-bud" the kids' ears of their iPods.  So we play the "license plate game," checking off the various state license plates we spot on drives to Charleston, the beach or camp.  Sound a bit young for kids the age of mine?  It is.  But we're crazy competitive about a couple of things.  Being right is one of those things.  The license plate game is another.

Since Charlotte's only a few miles from the state border, South Carolina plates are common.  Florida, Georgia and inexplicably, Ohio and New Jersey, are next.  South Dakota, Rhode Island, New Mexico and Oregon are nearly impossible.  And based on our unscientific research, North Dakota has quietly seceded from the Union.

Oddly, we've noticed an influx of out-of-staters since the New Year.  I suspect it has something to do with the economy.  At our neighborhood grocery store today, I spied plates from Vermont, New Jersey, and New Hampshire.  Imagine those drivers' confusion earlier this week, when our fair city nearly shut down for a mere four inches of snow!  Laugh -- but in this case, the powers that be were right.  None of us should have been out on the road.  And with our city's limited road-clearing resources, even those drivers from I-95 (way) north were better off at home spending quality time with Matt and Meredith, Oprah and Phil.

When those first fat flakes floated down Sunday night, my daughter, who knows full well how fleeting Charlotte snow can be, rushed outside, where she stayed for over two hours, clad in her cold weather gear -- hat, gloves and a nylon windbreaker.  As it turned out, the snow lingered long enough the next morning to get in some sledding -- followed shorter thereafter by some frozen mudding.

Even so, there was an absolute magic to it.  We hunkered down, made potato soup, and enjoyed the frozen finale to our winter.  The forecast for this Saturday, no kidding, is 70 degrees.  And even better for me, the kids were back in school today.

Potato Soup Plus

1 onion, sliced

2 tablespoons butter

2 14-oz. cans of chicken broth

4 large Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and sliced

2 bay leaves

1 slice ham hock

1 cup light cream

salt and pepper to taste

chopped ham (optional)

steamed broccoli florets

steamed sliced carrots

sour cream (for garnish)

minced chives (for garnish)

Very slowly, brown onion in butter over very low heat.  (May take 15 minutes -- or longer -- but worth it for the rich taste.)  When nicely browned, stir in chicken broth, potatoes, bay leaves and ham hock.  Bring to a boil, turn to low and simmer about an hour, adding water if needed to keep soup from getting too thick or sticky.  When potatoes are very tender,  and broth very flavorful, use potato masher to break potatoes into small pieces.  Gently stir in light cream.  Heat carefully and season well with salt and pepper.

Put a handful of steamed vegetables and ham in bottom of each individual bowl, ladling soup on top.  Garnish with sour cream and chives.