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.

What I'm Good At: Oysters, Sangria and Lots of Work.

We’re in the thick of autumn here in Charlotte. The temperature is dropping, the foliage is lit up like church windows on a Sunday morning, the air is tantalizingly smoky-crisp, the leaves rustle and crunch as Son walks Josie-the-Rescue-Dog, and Thanksgiving is a few weeks away. 

My only thought, though, is that it’s practically Christmas, and I’ve got boxloads of stuff to get down from the attic. The baseboards need to be wiped down. The foyer light needs to be cleaned. And I don’t think I can survive another holiday with the mustard/burgundy wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom.

Clearly, I’m not stopping to smell the roses. Or the pumpkins, the apple cider, or roast turkey, either.

It’s not that I want to rush the season, but to top it all off, Darling Daughter is urging me to have a holiday party. “It’s a lot, a lot, A LOT of work,” I remind her. “I know,” she responded, “but that’s what you’re good at.”

That’s what I’m good at.

When I was married, we had an oyster roast every year on the Friday evening that school let out for the holidays. Although common where I grew up (most Charlestonians have their own knives and gloves, which they’re expected to bring – along with a six-pack – when invited), here in Charlotte, oyster roasts are, let’s say, unconventional. Perhaps, even, bohemian. 

When invitations went out that first year, we had to answer all manner of questions. “No, it’s not like a standing rib roast.” “No, the oysters aren’t fried.” “No, ‘casual attire’ really does mean jeans and sweatshirts.” “ No. We said ‘dress warmly’ because we’ll actually be outside.” “No, you’ll have to learn to shuck your own.” And finally, “Yes, you’ll love them.”

My Charleston family – from whom we were borrowing the essential accoutrements like oyster knives, gloves, steamers and shucking tables – was equally puzzled. “Your friends don’t have their own knives? What kind of family do they come from?” “You don’t know anyone with a shucking table? They’re not hard to make, you know.” And, “Your friends have never been to an oyster roast? Bless their hearts.”

Truly, though, an oyster roast is one of the easiest parties ever. It has to be casual, because there's mud, and oyster juice, and bits of shell. There’s beer, there’s wine, and Chez Wiles, there’s sangria. There’s cocktail sauce and melted butter. My Dad, and now that he’s old enough, Son, tend to the oysters, which involves hauling the bushels up from Charleston, pressure-washing them in the driveway and steaming them in what we fondly call “The Bigass Pot.”

For non-oyster-eaters, we have chili. And saltine crackers. When the oysters are gone, the party’s over. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. (Oooh. We'll want some lemon wedges, too.)

I guess when I told DD that throwing an oyster roast requires a lot, a lot, A LOT of work, it’s mostly because I make it so. And I guess, after taking a year off, I’ll make it so again this year.

It is, after all, what I’m good at. 

If I’m going to get around to those baseboards and lights, though, I need to start cooking quicker meals. Something like this Shrimp in Cream Sauce over Lemon Rice. Honest. It could hardly be easier. 

If only I could say the same about stripping that ugly wallpaper.

Shrimp in Cream Sauce over Lemon Rice

1 cup rice 

1 14-oz. can chicken broth 

1 lemon, zested and juiced 

1 large handful of finely chopped parsley

 1 tablespoon butter 

1 large clove garlic, finely minced or grated 

1 pound raw shrimp, peeled, cleaned and de-veined 

1 lemon, zested and juiced 

1 cup heavy cream 

several shakes of Tabasco sauce

In medium saucepan, combine rice, chicken broth, and juice and zest of one lemon. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and cook, lidded, for 13 minutes. Fluff with a fork, to separate grains. Meanwhile, melt butter over medium high heat in a large skillet. Stir in shrimp, garlic, and juice and zest of one lemon, constantly stirring and sautéing until shrimp is pink and barely cooked through. Pour in cream and cook an additional 1-2 minutes. Season generously with Tabasco sauce. Taste for salt and pepper. Serve hot over cooked Lemon Rice.

Step One -- Of A Million -- Of Choosing A College

Fifteen-year-old Son is two years, 10 months away from beginning college, which means two things.  One, I’m certain that he needs to begin –- posthaste – buckling down in school, getting his name on college mailing lists, listing and ranking the college attributes he finds most appealing and appropriate to his skill sets, and then, one million other things.  Two, Son is equally certain that two years, 10 months is 34 months, which is a long, long time away, and oh by the way, he needs new guitar strings.  Can we go get some tomorrow?

Remember that scene in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy asks Scarecrow, “What would you do with a brain if you had one”?  Well, some 30 years ago, when I told my own parents I wanted to go to college, their reaction, although not verbatim, was along the same lines:  “What would you do with a degree if you had one?”

It was a different time.  Not everyone was expected to go to college.  And, colleges weren’t so discerning in their admissions decisions.  As a good-not-extraordinary student with good-not-outstanding grades and good-not-scorching SAT scores, I knew I'd have no problem getting into college.  My family just had to figure out how to swing it.  Even then, though, I wouldn’t be making a “choice.”   I’d attend the school that offered scholarship money – the University of South Carolina.

I got to go to a football game at my beloved alma mater this weekend.  And lucky me, Son agreed to go, too.  It was typical Gamecock football: tailgating of Thanksgiving proportions, unreasonably raucous fans, head-scratching calls, inexplicably sloppy play, skin-searing heat, unbridled fan faith, at least nine iterations of Sandstorm, and, despite being 17-point favorites, my beloved Gamecocks in their usual position behind the eight ball.  The only atypical part of the game was that we (the royal “we”) ended up pulling off a decisive victory over the underdog, orange-clad Tennessee Volunteers.  (Go Carolina, go Carolina!)

I enjoyed every minute of it.

Apparently, so did Son.  After the game, we continued tailgating with new, as well as tried and true, friends.  Finally, after feasting on far too much seared lamb, and baked ziti and sausage bread and spicy chilled shrimp, the two of us climbed into the Pilot to head for home.

It had been a long day, and I fully expected Son to be studying the inside of his eyelids before we hit the interstate.  But then, unexpectedly, he said, "This was fun.  And I don't know where I want to go to college, but I do know I want to go to a school with football."

OK.  On the list of one million things, perhaps not where I would've started, but OK.

Thirty-four months and nine-hundred, ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred, ninety-nine things to go.

Cheddar Chive Biscuits
I'd love to share the recipe for the Lamb in Pita we had this afternoon, but I don't have the recipe.  What I do have is a recipe for flavorful Cheddar Chive Biscuits -- which I should've taken to the tailgate!

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
6 tablespoons shortening, chilled and cut into cubes
1 1/2 cups grated cheddar cheese
1/4 - 1/2 cup minced chives
1 cup buttermilk

Preheat oven to 425.  Stir together dry ingredients.  Cut in shortening (using fork or pastry cutter), until mealy.  With a fork, stir in cheese and chives.  Quickly blend in 3/4 cup of buttermilk.  Dough should be soft and slightly sticy.  If not, stir in remaining 1/4 cup buttermilk.  Scrape dough onto well-floured board or counter.  Using floured hands, gently pat out dough, folding it over itself several times.  (Do not knead.)  Pat dough out to 3/4 inch thickness.  Cut out biscuits, placing on ungreased cookie sheet.  Bake until very lightly golden -- about 10-12 minutes.