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!

The 12-Pound Man Of The House

It appears that I am now blogging-by-request, which I imagine is just like blogging-for-pay, except, well, I am not being paid.

The client, in this instance, would Darling Daughter. (And let’s be honest, she could well afford to compensate me. She has more cash than anyone else in the house.) DD has pointed out, with great distress, that I’ve blogged about everybody Chez Wiles – including our rescue dog Josie, who's only been with us for four months – except Lionel, our hefty 12-pound orange tabby cat.

My bad. It was clearly an oversight, as Lionel is unquestionably the most popular, most indulged, most demanding, best-fed, best-groomed and perhaps, best-looking, member of our household. (This last is absolutely true, but I say “perhaps” to avoid hurting the feelings of my own offspring, who are good-looking indeed.)

When the kids’ friends ring the front bell, I know what to expect. They barely blurt out a “Hello Mrs. Wiles” before looking past me, eyes darting anxiously and asking, “Where’s Lionel?” They know Lionel’s favorite foods – blue cheese, olives (green and black), salad dressing and shrimp. And they know how to get Lionel to come running – the sound of the crushed ice dispenser does it every time.

Self-proclaimed “dog people” routinely say, “You know, I don’t usually like cats, but Lionel is OK.“ Even our mailman, Mike, has a soft spot for Lionel and knows that, despite the cat’s protestations, Lionel is an indoor cat. Indeed, everyone who’s ever come to visit knows Lionel’s an indoor cat, because throughout day, I chant, "You’re an indoor cat, you’re an indoor cat, you’re an indoor cat," as I foil our feline’s ongoing escape efforts, snatching his scruff before he squeezes out a cracked door.

I have no delusions about Lionel's feelings for me. He may count on me for food and clean litter boxes. He may rely on me for brushing and stroking and a warm spot in bed. However, if I ever took a tumble down the stairs and were knocked out, I wouldn't be surprised to be missing few fingers when I regained consciousness. I’m not passing judgment. The cat's a hunter and I’d be fair game.

To look at Lionel, you’d never guess how much fight is in him. He’ll take on any challenger, regardless of size. I’ve never – not one time -- seen him turn and run – not from the dog, not from a 14-year old boy who once tried to position him on a ceiling fan, and not from the most nefarious of villains – the electric razor. This last, we can’t understand. We just know that the sound of an electric razor causes Lionel to rear up on his hind legs and prepare to strike, cobra-like, at the offensive facial hair remover. As you’d imagine, this is the best party trick going at the Wiles' house.

A cat with such a contentious disposition should have mangy fur, snaggle teeth, a torn ear, and perhaps, an eye patch. But Lionel, bless his heart, has limpid green eyes, a tiny, pale pink tongue, and unusually long and well-groomed fur touchable as mink. (OK. I’ve never actually felt mink, but I imagine it to be exceptionally soft. Am I right?)

Lionel doesn’t have the vocal prowess to make demands, either. His attitude – particularly the mane of fur surrounding his face – might lead you to expect a roar, but when irritated, disrupted, or simply needing attention, his pupils widen and darken, his mouth stretches open wide, and a pathetic, eunuch-like “mew” slips out. Occasionally, he even “chirps.” But we don't dare call him a "sissy." He prowls the house while we sleep. Taunting would be foolhardy.

Indeed, just to ensure my own good night's sleep tonight. I may have to slip a couple of shrimp his way. This casserole recipe for shrimp and grits is a good place to start. (And while it's cooking, I'm going to check DD's room for cash. I think she owes me.)

Shrimp & Grits Casserole

Great at breakfast, or for supper.

4 c. chicken broth	6 green onions, chopped
1 c. regular grits	1 green bell pepper, chopped
1 c. (4 oz.) shredded sharp Cheddar cheese, divided 1 c. (4 oz.) shredded Jack cheese with peppers 2 tablespoons butter	1 garlic clove, minced 1 lb. small shrimp, peeled and cooked 1 (10 oz) can diced tomatoes with mild green chilies, drained

Bring chicken broth to a boil in large saucepan; stir in grits. Cover, reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes. Stir in Monterey Jack cheese and 3/4 cup of cheddar. In a separate skillet, melt butter; add green onions, bell pepper and garlic. Saute five minutes, or until tender. Stir green onion mixture into grits. Add shrimp and tomatoes. Pour into a lightly greased 2-quart baking dish. Sprinkle top with remaining 1/4 cup shredded cheddar cheese. Bake at 350 for 30-45 minutes.

Can be prepared the day ahead and refrigerated. Adjust cooking time (since grits will be cold) as needed. Serves 6-8.

Could I Have Phantom Kid Syndrome?

Today is Day One of the Kids-At-Camp-Mom-At-Home experiment, and I’ve got to confess, there have already been a few glitches. Not with the kids -- you can be sure they are fabulous and achieved the “Mom who?” stage within minutes of my departure yesterday. Nope -- I’m the old dog who can’t learn new tricks.

To my credit, after waking up at 5:30 this morning, I did remember that it is summer, so I knew I could burrow back down for another hour or so of nightmares about my 14-year-old-son driving. Before dozing off to those chilling images, though, I got up to look in on the kids, who natch, weren’t there. Oops.

When I woke back up at 7:00a, with sunlight lasering into the room and Lionel (the feline alarm clock) clawing at my toes, it seemed like a perfect day to support my local Starbucks. (True. Any day is the perfect day for a 'Bux outing.) Darling Daughter is also a fan, so I decided to treat my girl to a carton of her fave – vanilla milk.

Double oops. And I don't drink milk. Think it’ll keep for four weeks? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure it wouldn't survive the shipping.

Medical experts say that some amputee patients have sensations, including pain, in a limb that is no longer there. Phantom limb syndrome is what it’s called, I believe. I’m no doctor -- I don't even play one on TV -- but I think I may have phantom “kid” syndrome. They’re no longer here, but to me, it feels as if they are. To make matters more real, I’m considering going upstairs right now and flipping on the lights in Snarky Son’s bathroom and bedroom. Later tonight, when I go back upstairs, I’ll yell down, “Get up here right now and turn off these lights!” And I’ll get the same response as if SS were here. Crickets.

But we (the royal feline and I) are working it out. We’ve got plans. Big plans. OK. Lionel’s plans are actually the same as always: Eat, yawn, sleep, stalk. Repeat. On occasion, act indignant.

I, however, have compiled an absurdly long and ridiculously hopeful To Do List. Come on, now. What makes me think I can wire and install a ceiling fan by myself? Or clean out and organize the attic in 95 degree heat?

Making matters more ridiculous, I foolishly continue tacking items onto The List. Think I can wallpaper the bathroom tomorrow? I've never wallpapered so much as a shoebox. Write a novel in three weeks? Um. These one page blogs pretty much max me out.

I’ll have more to occupy myself in the next day or so, though, when I can commence stalking my own prey: Mike the Mailman. Seeing as how SS attended camp last year, Mike already knows the drill. Before he even gets to my yard (where I wait impatiently on the front steps), he’ll shout out, “No letter today, Cheryl!” Or, “You got two, today, Cheryl!” (“Cheryl” is the name on all of my bills. I’ve never had the heart to tell him I’m only called that when I owe someone money. Or am in trouble. Or both.)

I’m hopeful about receiving letters this week. And I have reason to be. As the kids and I made the trek to camp, I beseeched, coerced, and ultimately, bribed them to write home. We struck a deal at one dollar per well-written letter. BTW, a note that begins, “Dear Mom, Camp is great” does not pass the “well-written” test. Nor does any letter with “Dear Mom, Please send me …” as its auspicious opener. Writing BIG does not qualify as writing WELL, either.

In fact, until I get a letter, I think I'm going to disregard The List. I'll consider it my own form of protest. Kind of like a hunger strike, except there's no way I'm going to let myself go hungry. With the kids away, I can cook whatever I want -- just for me -- starting with this tangy, crispy Mexican chopped salad.

Mexican Chopped Salad with Spicy Butttermilk Lime Dressing

Dressing (Note: I like my dressing thin, but if you like it thicker, use more sour cream and a bit less buttermilk.)
2 tablespoons sour cream

2 tablespoons mayonnaise

1 small clove of garlic, minced

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or more to taste)

juice of 1 lime (at least 1 tablespoon)

1 cup buttermilk

fresh ground pepper

Salad

1/2 avocado, cut in 1/2 inch dice

1/2 cup diced jicama

1/2 of a 15-ounce can of chickpeas (garbanzo beans) rinsed and drained

kernels cut from one raw cob of corn (about 1/2 cup)

1/2 pound shrimp, sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning, grilled or seared in a hot skillet

romaine heart, chopped

Make dressing. Stir together sour cream and mayonnaise until smooth. Using butcher knife, mince garlic with 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt, to make a paste. Scrape garlic paste into sour cream mixture, and stir in cayenne pepper and lime juice. Stir in buttermilk. Season with additional salt and fresh ground pepper as needed. Chill for at least an hour or overnight, to allow flavors to meld and mellow.

Compose salad. On a bed of chopped romaine, arrange remaining ingredients, topping with the warm shrimp. Pour dressing (as needed) over.