Running on empty

God it was nice to have a rainless day today. We in DC are so soggy; mushrooms, those fungal lovers of humid wetness, are sprouting everywhere like Jon Hamm's beard ten minutes after he shaves. Every morning this past week, I've had to drain various pots on my deck as the flowers within weren't meant to grow hydroponically. It's all very swampy to say the least.

Our beautiful Jack turned nine yesterday morning, and we celebrated all day. Berries and whipped cream for breakfast, a fair amount of Indiana Jones Wii during the morning storm, a race to play mini-golf as the skies cleared around lunchtime. A good mini-golf course is such fun, and I got two holes in one, but who counted. 

Back home to prep for an early-evening dinner and party with Tom's parents. The kids are really lucky to be growing up near grandparents; I am still grateful for having lived so close to Nanny and Papa.  

We had flank steak and corn, cucumber and dill salad, and the ice cream cake that took two days to craft: vanilla ice cream, some sort of chocolate cookie with two chocolate sauces thing, mint chocolate chip ice cream, cream frosting. 

Jack was thrilled with everything and ate like a horse and then, bless his heart, he said he was too tired to stay up for fireworks and could we go another year. Uh, yes!

Today was long, y'all. Not bad but a real marathon. As it comes to a close, I find myself hoping desperately that family life starts to feel easier at some point. That the intensity lessens so that we can all breathe as much as we need to and when. 

I recognize that the boys' curious, spirited, joyful natures are gifts. Those qualities are the fires that will propel them to live large and expansively, to care deeply about and stand for things, to love and learn and make the world a brighter place. And I am grateful for all of that. But I also shrug, pretty much daily, under the weight of parenting it all; of reining them in and pushing them out. Of steering and guiding and molding and tending. Of deciding and supporting and being there always. 

On Tuesday, I fly them down to Louisiana for the annual Big Boys Week. I'll stay through Saturday and then return home alone. That departure is always difficult. What if something happened? Won't the house be quiet! What if they need me? 

But I also know how very much I need and am lucky to get this break. That life is hard enough without coasting into bed each night on nothing more than fumes. That one day when they move away, I will be happy that I tended to my marriage and own identity during these years, even though I sometimes feel I'm only doing those things minimally and on little more than vapor.

Go USA Women's Soccer!!!

Caramelized apricot ice cream cake

So I kept thinking about the ice cream cake and although my first thought was to go all chocolate and brownies, I then spied the  half dozen gorgeous apricots that I'd recently bought just resting on my counter. Now perfectly ripe and plump, they begged to be used before mush set in; apricot mush is the worst, second only to mealy apples in the fruit-that-makes-you-want-to-wretch category. Anyway, I really did want to follow through on the ice cream cake idea because Tom loves ice cream cake and I thought it'd be a nice surprise. And I kinda wanted some too, especially since the strawberry shortcakes have never materialized. Damn. I did NOT, however, feel like making the cake part of an ice cream cake and so started musing about substitutions. Meringues? No. Ladyfingers? Hmm....

I caramelized halved apricots in butter, brown sugar and a touch of almond extract. While those rested and cooled, I made the ice cream custard base. That chilled, I bought some ladyfingers and thought more about the cake. Ultimately, I lined a loaf pan with foil and then a layer of ladyfingers. Over them I poured the apricot syrup into which I'd whisked some Cognac and half of the now-chopped apricots. Over that I spread the ice cream into which I'd folded the rest of the chopped apricots. It's all freezing now, and I have high hopes.

Mom's irises

If spring is here, it has shown up and remained cloaked in an elusive disguise. We've had such weird peaks and valleys of temperature, many of the plants are both stunted and blooming, every day requires a varied wardrobe... Nonetheless, as June draws nigh, it seems enough sun has shone that my garden's earnest perseverance has paid off. The Japanese maple that Dad brought me many years ago as a tiny sapling is healthy and effusive, its branches reaching mightily past those of the tall - what are they- trees lining our fence which selfishly hoard the sun's rays. As if channeling Gloria Gaynor, this lovely maple will survive. Today I tied the branches up a bit, not only because I dislike (immensely) bushy, low-slung maples and so want it to reach up rather than out, but also because doing so would give the many irises Mom has brought to me over the years - rhizomes packed carefully in wet paper towels wrapped in newspaper, foil and Ziplocs in her suitcases- more room to stretch and thrive.

Just before Mom left last Saturday, we noticed a number of emergent buds in my iris patch. Irises are fun because for a while, unless you've marked them carefully or memorized exactly which is which, you don't have a clue as to what color will ultimately show. At least I never do. And then today, voila. A Cherry Cup, maybe a Sea Wisp, maybe even a Louisiana Blue. I'm not totally sure except for the CC, but in any case, they make me think of home and that makes me happy. They are spectacular flowers, aren't they?!

Elia has just given me the wonderful gift of going to pick both kiddos up from school!! Ooh, an hour in my house. I'm having a strange and strong yen for an ice cream cake (what, am I turning 8 again?) and may start in on an ice cream base... For lunch we had whole wheat spaghetti with ramp-walnut pesto, mozzarella, and lemon. Nice.