Isn't There Something You'd Like To Say?

Yesterday was one of those days where I had to do what every good parent has to do from time to time -- absolutely nothing.  I simply sat on my hands and bit my tongue.  Suffice to say, my tongue is perforated.

It's a hard thing to watch your kid make a mistake.  It's miserable to sit on the sidelines while they learn "the hard way."

Nevertheless, there are lessons we all have to learn.  One of them is how to say, "I'm sorry."

A good "I'm sorry" resolves a myriad of issues. I'm not talking about one of those through-the-teeth and half-unspoken, "I'm sorry" (and silently, that you ran full force into my clenched fist.)  Or, "I'm sorry that your feelings were hurt" because you're such a wimp.  Or, "I'm sorry" that I got caught.  Or worst of all, "I'm sorry" that my mom is making me apologize.

I'm talking about a selfless, "I made a mistake, please forgive me, what can I do to make this better?" that eases the pain of the recipient and the provider.

Empathy can be a tough thing to teach.  But as my own kids hear over and over again, in addition to being the "right" thing to do, apologizing and admitting your error can make you feel better.

It's our job as parents to help them learn this, and the sooner the better.

So I've got a question for the various CEOs and bonus-hoarders and investment bankers and Ponzi-schemers currently making headlines and devastating American families and institutions alike:  Does your mother know what you're up to?

Actually, I've got quite a few questions.  Were you raised in a barn?  Do I have to call your father?  Where are your parents?  Isn't there something you'd like to say?

Yes!  Lawyers be damned, there is something you need to say.  Two words.  1) I'm.  2) Sorry.

Groveling isn't required, but surely would work in your favor.  Belly-crawling would be fine by me, as well.  I'd even accept tears, but since I suspect you'd only be able to muster the alligator variety, I won't insist.

To be sure, this mess is so deep and so smelly that an apology wouldn't actually fix anything, but it might ease the pain of some of your many victims.  And, if, down the road, leniency is ever an option, a heartfelt and well-rendered apology may work to your benefit.  OK.  Probably not in this life, but maybe in the next.

My son's seventh grade science teacher had a phrase that comes to mind --  "Man up."  When any of the boys in class shirked their responsibilities or complained about the workload, she'd summon a sharp, "Man up!" to remind them to behave accordingly.  I love how much meaning is packed into that one phrase.  Man up:  Stop thinking only of yourself, you are better than this, do the right thing, we expect more of you, take responsibility.  Man up.

That's my advice to Wall Street:  "Man up."  Apologize.  And start setting this right.

If your mom is Southern, she'd probably point out that proffering a plate of cheese wafers wouldn't hurt, either.  Some of the best apologies are catered.  This recipe makes about 300, which isn't nearly enough for the mess you've made.  But combined with a good, old-fashioned "I'm sorry," it's a start.

Cheese Wafers

These crackers are the perfect nibble at cocktail parties.  The recipe is easily halved, but I prefer to make a larger batch and then, freeze half of the dough "logs," to be thawed and baked as needed.

1 lb. extra sharp NY cheddar cheese (alternatively, use 1/2 lb. cheddar and 1/2 lb. blue cheese, crumbled), grated

1 lb. unsalted butter, room temperature

2 teaspoons kosher salt

4 cups flour

1/2 - 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

2-3 tablespoons poppy seeds

2 cups pecans, chopped (optional)

Beat butter until light and fluffy.  Stir in cheese, salt, cayenne pepper and poppy seeds.  Gradually stir and mash in flour.  Eventually, you'll have to use your hands to incorporate all of the flour, because dough will be very crumbly, and then, stiff.  Using your hands, incorporate the pecans.  (Be patient, this takes a while.)  When all ingredients are incorporated, break off a chunk of dough about the size of your fist and roll it out into a log.  I prefer my wafers small, so my "log" is usually slightly larger than the diameter of a quarter.  If you're feeling fancy, you can then roll the log in any extra poppy seeds or nuts (or even kosher salt -- lightly!).  Wrap the log in plastic wrap, and repeat with remaining dough.  Refrigerate logs for at least four hours (or as long as four days).  To bake, preheat oven to 400.  Remove plastic wrap from log, and, using a serrated knife, slice into 1/4" thick wafers.  (Note:  dough will not rise or spread.  What you cut is what you get.)  Place wafers on parchment paper on a baking sheet and bake approximately 10 minutes, or until lightly golden.

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.

What I Want For My Daughter

My darling, delightful daughter turned 12 yesterday.  I am only one year away from having two de facto teenagers in the house.  I'm only 52 weeks away from the much-dreaded/highly anticipated (depending upon your family station) teen years and all the hormones and acne and antics thereof.  I am only 18 score and five days away from realizing no one will ever again take my word as final, my opinions as golden, or my perspective as valid.

Shall we pray?

In truth, my girl is a joy.  She's got worries (oh boy), but she works it out -- admirably.  She's navigating the cliques and classes of middle school with aplomb.  She's smart and able and funny and athletic and giving and loyal.  And while she doesn't hesitate to lay the world's woes at my feet, she's just as quick to spin around and ask, sincerely, about my day.

Because I've been "there" (and wouldn't -- not for love, money, or even perfect hair and lush eyelashes -- ever go "back there"), I ache for her.  I want her to be resilient -- while being open and kind and confident.  I pray that she'll have an abundance of common sense while indulging an unending willingness to take risks.  I want to know that she'll always think of others -- and always see herself as blessed.

Plainly, my "List," which I think all parents have, goes on and on.

But on this, her twelfth birthday, perhaps I can skip my usual verbosity (or is it "verboseness," or perhaps "loquacity"? ) and narrow my birthday wishes for her down to four.

1)  I hope she'll always have a friend.  A friend makes good times better -- more memorable, more funny and more fabulous.  A good friend listens and shares and instructs.  In bad times, a friend helps you know what to do and and how to feel -- whether it's sorrow or anger or good, old-fashioned revenge.  Because she's not mired down in it, a friend can help you steer out of the darkest dilemma.  I'd also remind my daughter that, in a pinch, a good book can be a good friend, indeed.  But even more important, I'd take comfort in knowing that, if she has a friend, she is a friend.  What greater aspiration than that?

2)  I hope she'll always have laughter.  Laughing is fun.  Laughing lightens the heaviest loads.  Laughing makes you feel good.  (This is factual.  Research indicates that a good giggle session increases serotonin and the release of endorphins.)  Even when she least feels like it -- when she's certain she's the object of ridicule or the subject of gossip -- I hope she'll laugh.  I don't even mind if it's that asylum-worthy, eardrum-bursting hyena squawk.  (Since she reads this, she knows what I'm talking about.)

3)  I hope she'll always have a cat.  Cats are role models.  They are soft and finicky and independent.   They are graceful and fierce and demanding.  They command respect.  They are what we want our daughters to be.  I love dogs.   I love that our rescue dog, Josie, loves us to a fault, will do pretty much whatever we ask, and can lick her own, ahem, tail, but is that what we want in a young woman?  I think not.

4)  I hope she'll always have hope.  Believing -- no, knowing -- you can handle a situation means you're halfway done.  Having faith that an answer can be found means you're well on the road to finding that solution.  Holding out for what's good and what's right -- because you know that something good and right exists -- gives you faith in yourself and mankind and your Creator.

There are, of course, other things I think she needs to do.  She needs to learn to drive a stickshift.  She needs to fill up a passport before it expires.  She needs to -- just once -- propose a toast and shatter her drained champagne glass in the fireplace.  And because she's got not one, but two X chromosomes, she'll need one more thing.

Chocolate.

Is it coincidence that chocolate can elicit the return of friends and laughter and hope, and, when the wrapper is crumpled just right, bring a cat scampering into the room?

Maybe that's why my beloved 12-year-old daughter requested this favorite cake for her twelfth birthday -- chocolate cake with chocolate chips with chocolate frosting.

Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Cake

Cake

3 cups flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 cups sugar

1 cup corn oil

2 cups cold water

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 1/2 cups chocolate chips

Frosting

1 1/4 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature

5 cups powdered sugar

8 tablespoons whole milk

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 scant cup unsweetened cocoa powder

Make the cake.  Preheat oven to 350.  Butter and flour three 9-inch cake pans.  (This is a delicate cake, so be sure to prepare pans well.)  Sift first five ingredients into a large bowl.  Mix water, oil and vanilla in a separate, small bowl.  Make a "well" in dry ingredients, pour in wet ingredients and whisk well.  Scrape batter into prepared pans, dividing evening.  Sprinkle 1/2 cup chocolate chips over batter in each pan.

Bake 25 minutes, or until layers test done.  Cool in pans on racks for 15 minutes, then turn cakes out and allow to cool completely.  

Make frosting.  Beat butter in large bowl (an electric mixer is best) until fluffy.  Gradually beat in three cups of powdered sugar.  beat in six tablespoons milk and vanilla.  Add cocoa and remaining sugar, gradually.  Beat until blended and fluffy, using remaining two tablespoons of milk, if necessary.

Assemble cake, with layers chocolate-chip-side up and about 2/3 cup frosting spread between each layer.  Spread remaining frosting over sides and top of cake.  Tastes even better the next day -- for breakfast!