We're On A Boat. And We're Engaged.

When I was a kid, I wanted – desperately – to be surprised.  I craved a surprise party (complete with party horns, streamers and a tiara).  A surprise vacation (to France, first class, please).  A surprise kitten (blue-eyed with long gray fur).  A surprise concert where the leader singer pulled me up on stage to dance.  (I love you, Philip Bailey!)

But I’m no kid.  I’m 49.  The only surprises I expect nowadays are bad ones.  So imagine my astonishment when, last week, I celebrated my birthday with a surprise party (on a 90-foot party boat filled my nearest and dearest family and friends) and a surprise marriage proposal (from my nearest and dearest “Cougar Bait,” a.k.a. David R. Bonner.)

Hoo boy.  I could go on and on about what a totally unexpected and fun evening it was.  In fact, “going on and on” is kind of what I’ve specialized in these past few days.  And I could go further on and on about what a darling, conniving, dead-sexy secret-keeper CB is.  In fact, anyone who knows CB can tell you that he’s the first to describe himself as “dead sexy.”

But one week after the fact – and the surprise and the engagement (well, of course I said “yes”!) – the “stun” is now a manageable “glow.”  Looking back, I can admit that I even learned a few things that evening, including:

1.  Everything is better on a boat.
2. There’s an entire untapped demographic audience for Depends.  (Let’s just say that surprises can really, well, take a girl by surprise.)
3. Not many 49-year-olds can say they are engaged.
4. Not many 49-year-olds have friends who are engaged.
5. Whether you have been engaged for two seconds or two years, someone – no, make that everyone – is going to ask, “When are you getting married?”
6. I don’t know when we are getting married.
7. My friends don’t eat enough.
8. 15 pounds of barbecue – plus turkey breast and beef tenderloin and birthday cake and heaven-knows-what-else -- goes a long way.  (All the way, in fact, back home to my refrigerator.)
9. My kids’ ability to keep secrets is somewhat frightening.
10. Everything I know about love, I’ve learned from a man I met in kindergarten.

I am one lucky girl.

Thanks, Harry Potter. It Was Magic.

It’s 5:30 a.m. and Carter and Darling Daughter just went to bed. Five-thirty in the morning, and we just returned from the movies – an experience easily summed up with a single word – magical.

I’m referring only in part to the movie Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two (or, in devotee shorthand, HP7.2) – the final installment based on JK Rowling’s books set in a world of wizardry and magic. HP7.2 was, far and away, the best in the series, by turns demoralizing and compelling, poignant and playful, thunderous and hushed, terrifying and ultimately, uplifting.

More magical for me, though, was that Carter and DD were willing to tug their sleep-deprived, teenaged selves from bed at 2:15 a.m. so we could make the show. I tried not to make a big deal about it, but I was thrilled – or more apropos of the occasion, charmed, or perhaps, enchanted – that they’d deign to go with me and be among the first audiences in America to say goodbye to magic and Muggles, quills and Quidditch, witches and wands, and horcruxes and hallows.

As the final credits rolled, I was unexpectedly overcome with emotion – not because of the ending (which is faithful to the book – full of promise and hope), but because it struck me that I was marking another “last.”

I’ve made mental notes of “last” times for some 17 years now -- ever since I became pregnant with Carter. Over the years, I sadly noted the "last" time I'd experience the delight of an unborn child hiccuping inside my belly. The last time I’d ever nurse a baby. The last time one of them would be small enough to heft on my hip. The last time I'd be able to get them into coordinating Christmas outfits.  The last time I’d be acknowledged as the family computer expert. The last time I’d reach down – rather than up – to administer a hug.

Over the years, we read the Harry Potter books together, questioning our own “muggle-ness” and magical powers.  We were so smitten with the world set in Hogwarts that Carter once directed a barber to cut his hair "like Harry Potter."  And of course, we’d watched all the movies. In fact, in preparation for HP7.2, we’d “re-watched” all of them. 

HP7.2 was the last one. Another “last.” Another reminder that – at ages 16 and 14 -- my “kids” won’t be “kids” much longer.

Driving home from the movie, the adrenaline rush that had been sustaining us collapsed. The kids were subdued. Drained. Exhausted. As I tried to initiate some post-movie chatter, Carter said, “It was great and I’m glad we went, but Mom, it’s 5:30 in the morning. Can you stop talking?”

Once home, the kids crawled back into bed for a few more winks before Carter heads to his summer lifeguard job, and DD meets up with friends at the mall.

I headed to Starbucks. As I waited for my latté, the barrista listened to my story about getting the kids up for the movie. And then, she said the best possible thing, “Wow. They’ll remember that forever.”

Hmm. Not so sure about that. But I'm pretty sure I will. It was the last one. And it was magical.

Double-Chocolatey Rice Krispy Treats
The best recipes have a magical life of their own.  I adapted this one from my friend Janet in Charleston, who got it from her sister-in-law, Lisa, who got it from her mom, Sandra.  (Aren't moms always the source of great recipes?)  Although these unusual rice krispy treats don't include any marshmallows, they are plenty sweet.  Plenty easy.  And sure to, ahem, "disappear."  

4 cups crispy rice cereal

1, 12-ounce package white chocolate chips

1/2 cup smooth peanut butter

1, 12-ounce package milk chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped roasted peanuts (optional)

Lightly spray a 9 x 13 glass pan with baking spray.  Set aside.  In a large glass bowl, microwave white chocolate chips for 30 seconds.  Stir, and continue microwaving and stirring, in 20-second bursts, until well melted.  Stir in peanut butter until thoroughly combined.  Gently fold in cereal.  Spread mixture evenly in prepared dish and allow to set -- about 3-4 hours.  When treats firm up, melt milk chocolate chips in a small glass bowl or measuring cup, using the same microwaving technique described above.  When well melted, spread over treats.  Sprinkle with peanuts, if using.  Allow to set another 3-4 hours.  Cut into small squares and serve.

“Close The Door.” Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

“Close the door.”

I’ve been a mom for some 16 years now, which means, without exaggeration, I’ve uttered those three little words some 5,840 times.* In fairness, like most newborns, my firstborn couldn't actually close a door -- much less tee-tee in the potty -- for his first 18 months, but when you consider all the variations of "close the door"  -- “Why's the car door still open?” “Stop standing in front of the open refrigerator,” “Am I the only one who knows how to close the pantry door?” and “I’m not paying to air-condition the backyard,”** -- I’m pretty sure 5,840 represents only a sliver of the actual figure.

Sigh.  Those were the days.  As a parent of two teenagers, I’ve gone from “Close the door,” to “Open the door,” to “What are you doing in there?” to “Well, if you're not wrapping a present for me, then open the door,” and ultimately to, “Open the door.  Dammit.”

Of course I don’t really say that last bit. Not out loud. I hope.

Still, I don't understand how this happened.  I'm struggling.  " Close the door" was my mantra.  "Open the door" doesn't roll off the tongue nearly so eloquently.  Besides, what is this need for privacy? What’s the secret? What are they doing in their bedrooms?  Believe you me, my kids are not wrapping gifts.  Presents to me are far and few between.  Besides, between the two of them, I believe only one knows where to find the scissors and scotchtape.

It's comforting, then, to know that after all my rapping and tapping, and pounding and nagging, I still have a predictable way to pry those doors open -- if only temporarily.  I pour myself a glass of wine, and send the following text message, "Dinner's ready."

Hear those sounds?  Those are doors.  Opening.

*  Once a day, 16 times 365 days a year.

**  An homage to my dad.  Re-worded to omit profanity.


Lemon Spaghetti (Spaghetti Al Limone) with Pan Seared Shrimp

After pork, pasta is my kids' favorite food group. The shrimp is optional.

1 pound spaghetti

1 palmful of salt, plus additional for seasoning

1/4 cup olive oil
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined (optional)

2 cloves garlic, minced

One pinch of red pepper flakes

2 lemons, zested and juiced

1/2 cup heavy cream

1/2 cup minced parsley

1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil with the palmful of salt.  Stir in spaghetti and cook just until done.  


As pasta cooks, in a large non-stick skillet, heat oil over high heat, tossing in shrimp, seasoning well with salt and pepper, and cooking until barely done -- about 3 minutes per side.  Remove cooked shrimp and set aside, reduce heat to low, and stir in garlic, red pepper flakes and lemon zest.  Saute until garlic is very fragrant and very lightly browned.  Before draining cooked pasta, stir two ladlefuls of pasta water into skillet with fragrant oil.  Drain pasta.  Stir cream, lemon juice and parsley into garlicky oil sauce in skillet.  Cook down -- about a minute or two.  Quickly stir in cooked pasta and herbs.  Season with salt and pepper as needed.  Toss with cheese, and serve hot!