• To drink tonight

    Seeing as it’s the last day of the year I suppose I should do a recap of my favorite books or blogs, recall my best memories or the things I learned, or itemize the ways in which my body has aged. Or maybe I should tell you all the things I plan to do differently in the upcoming year.

    But I don’t wanna. It’s not that I’m not introspective because I am (or can be). It’s because I don’t like anything to dictate when I ought to do something. In other words, if I want to tell my mom I love her and think she’s awesome, I’ll do it, and not just because it’s Mother’s Day. (Hey Mom! I love you and think you’re awesome!) If I want to tell the pastor I appreciate her, I’ll make her a loaf of bread and write a note, but it might not be during the scheduled pastor-appreciation month. If I want to roast a turkey, I’ll do it, though it just might not be on November’s Fourth Thursday.

    This makes me sound contrary and rebellious, which I’m not. (I don’t think.) I just like to do things when they are meaningful to me. Perhaps it would do me good to be more introspective at the appropriate times. Maybe if I let myself (forced myself) to follow the customs I would get more out of life. Maybe it would be a good discipline.

    On the other hand, my kids discipline me on a regular basis. I’ve been subject to their demands/needs/wants for so long that I crave autonomy. (That I was this way pre-motherhood is something I’m choosing not to dwell on right now.)

    Anyway, I assumed that for New Year’s this year we would have a nice supper of leftover Christmas Eve cheeses and crackers, and then we’d all go to bed. But then I read this invigorating post by Aimee over at Simple Bites and started thinking that I might like to throw a party. It even occurred to me that we could keep it a secret from the kids—tell guests to arrive at 9 after the kids are in bed and then have our very own, adult-only shindig. (My mother thought the idea absurd.)

    But then I asked Mr. Handsome what he thought about having a bunch of friends over. He was nonplused. “It’d be so much work,” he said.

    “True, but after we have people over, you always feel great about it,” I pushed.

    “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, sighing heavily. “Go ahead and do what you want.”

    “I’m not doing it if you’re not on board,” I retorted.

    That was pretty much the end of the discussion. Because when it came down to it, I didn’t really want to up the ante on our relaxed week any more than he did. And it was clear that my husband was having some much needed alone time in his barn and really didn’t need to have me put a wrench in it. To top it off, I’m rather fond of full nights of sleep. All boring reasons, but true.

    In any case, party or no, tonight you need eggnog.


    Yes, you do. Don’t even try to argue with me.

    I made eggnog for the first time ever on Christmas eve and it was a huge hit. We’re going for round two tonight.

    I must confess that weird drinks make me a little queasy, and I’ve always considered eggnog to be on the weird side. Raw egg, ugh—gag me with a Volkswagen. I developed this aversion when I was living in Central America and got served some pretty wicked concoctions, cornmeal drinks and such. On one particular occasion when we were out in the Guatemalan bush, I ungratefully poured my hostess’s prized offering through the cracks in the wooden floorboards when no one was looking. Then I had to ignore my husband’s horrified expression while acting like it was a total coincidence that the family pigs (which were—oh darn!—sheltered under the house) were having a heyday directly under my butt.

    You will not want to dump this drink in between the floorboards or anywhere else but down your throat. I promise.


    Lots of eggnog recipes call for raw eggs and whipped egg whites, and while I’ve never actually tried them (and in all probability would probably like them) (I just said “probable” two times in one phrase—that’s bad), I think I’ll stick with this moderate, but oh-so-creamy-and-delicious, cooked-egg version. Basically, it’s just like the mix for homemade ice cream, but with more milk than cream. The spices make the tongue dance, and the rum (my favorite) takes it to higher heights.

    I made the mix again this morning (it’s chilling in the fridge) and Mr. Handsome and I will be sipping it tonight while sitting in front of the fire, our eyes propped open with toothpicks. Happy New Year!


    Eggnog
    Adapted from Simply Recipes

    Set three of the egg whites aside and use them to make marshmallows to go with the hot chocolate that some people might prefer.

    This recipe is plenty rich. I think it’d be good with just three cups of whole raw milk or with half-and-half in place of the cream (which I did today on my second go-round).

    Also, I want to try this recipe as an ice cream. For that I’d swap the cream and milk proportions.

    Good liquors for spiking: brandy, bourbon, rum (my favorite), and Kahlua.

    Also, I read a comment somewhere that suggested using this mix in a latte. I’m eager to try it—half coffee, half eggnog, with some Kahlua thrown in for extra yums.

    4 egg yolks
    2 cups milk
    1 cup cream
    ½ cup sugar
    2 whole cloves
    pinch of cinnamon
    1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg, plus more for garnish dust
    1 teaspoon vanilla
    liquor of your choice

    Beat the yolks till creamy and fluffy. Add the sugar and beat some more.

    Put the milk/cream, cloves, and cinnamon in a saucepan and heat it up till nice and hot, but not boiling.

    Temper the eggs with the hot milk by slowly adding about a cup of the hot milk to the egg mixture while whisking steadily. Pour the tempered eggs into the saucepan and continue to heat on medium-high heat till slightly thickened. Again, do not boil. Strain the mixture and set it aside to cool. After an hour, add the nutmeg and vanilla and transfer to the refrigerator.

    Serve the chilled eggnog in mugs, a light flurry of nutmeg for garnish and bottles of liquor on hand for spiking.

    This same time, years previous: in which I throw my bread on the floor and stomp on it, parents ARE teachers, and delight

  • One step above lazy (maybe)

    Mr. Handsome is home all week and the calendar is completely blank. In fact, I went ahead and put up the January page since there was nothing to look at on December’s. Life is so slow that I don’t even look at the calendar (except for this morning when I made the switch), I read in the middle of the day, and I let the dirty dishes (from our supper of leftovers because I’m not cooking all that much) wait till the morning. We’re one step above lazy and bored. We are completely relaxed. If someone were to come lift and let go of our collective family arm, it would fall with a thud.


    This level of relaxed is rare. I’ve learned that my body lets down in proportion to the amount of vacation time allotted. For regular weekends, there’s Friday’s huge sigh of relief, Saturday’s jobs and errands, and Sunday’s snooze-y-ness. But then there’s the gearing back up for the week. This time though, we relaxed for Christmas and then on Sunday night I found myself relaxing even more. This deeper relaxation is one I rarely feel. Normalcy is maintained, but at a much-reduced rate.


    Mr. Handsome hasn’t had an entire week off since…since…well, maybe not since we bought this house five years ago and he worked round the clock to fix it up. But that doesn’t really count since he was out here at this place and I was back in town at the old place with three little kids and a lovely case of morning sickness. Plus, he was so stressed that he could hardly sleep. He looked right rough. We were most definitely not relaxed.

    It’s not that my husband never takes off. He does. He stays home for a day or two here and there and comes home early or goes in late as the need arises (a huge perk of being self-employed), but normally when he takes off any notable length of time it’s because we’re going somewhere to visit people or someone’s coming to visit us. For him to have a week (plus Christmas Eve Day, too!) to just be at home with us is unheard of. We eat our meals together and he cleans the toilet (in his own way) (which is way better than my way) and we fight over our—I mean, mybook. And then we go to bed early because we’re old farts underneath our youthful demeanor.


    He is working this week, but it’s here. By 6:30 this morning, he was dressed and in his coveralls, heading out to the barn where he’s building The Stairway To Heaven. And in his spare moments he runs around the house with drywall tape and a tray of spackle, fixing our pockmarked walls.


    I suggested that perhaps the girls and I could go to Barnes and Noble some evening for coffee and he said sure (extended time in his barn puts him in very pleasant spirits) but then I (so far) ended up never saying anything to the girls because I don’t want to put on my going-out clothes.

    So maybe I am lazy after all.

    I might be getting a little bored, too. But just—yawn—a little.

    This same time, years previous: tomatoey potatoes and green beans,

  • For my walls

    I have two new pieces of art adorning my home. The first I won over at Simple Homeschool—a canvas print from Red Letter Words. My first choice was a quote from Napoleon Dynamite: What are you gonna do today Napoleon? I thought I’d hang it in the hallway at the top of the stairs. But that quote wasn’t available in the size that I won, so I opted for my second choice—the quote from Hebrews 13:2.


    Hanging on our chimney in the center of the home, it inspires me all day long. I love it.

    The second piece came to me via my aunt. Back in the day, she used to take pictures and then send them off to magazines to try to sell them (that’s some serious back-in-the-day stuff, no?). Anyway, a couple months ago she was going through some of her stuff and found a pile of black and white prints. She didn’t want them anymore so she brought them to our Thanksgiving gathering and let me and my brother pick over them. I snatched up this one, took it home and framed it.


    I’m not sure how old I am in the picture—maybe four?—but don’t I look pathetically miserable and glum? When I get my hair cut nowadays, I probably look just as morose. But with clothes on.

    My mom cut all us kids’ hair in a bowl cut that for the first six-plus years of our life. Strangers thought we were all girls, but if we had been wearing straw hats and pants with suspenders, everyone would’ve thought we were little Amish boys.


    See my mom in the background? Notice the enormous goggles? If they were sunglasses, she’d totally fit in to today’s stunner shade fad.

    I hung the picture on the wall behind our downstairs toilet, so if you come to my house and need to go pee, you’ll see a little Jennifer, subdued and naked. Neat-o, right?


    And by the way, I’ve named the picture The Little Jennifer. As in, when I made a to-do list for Mr. Handsome, “Hang Little Jennifer” was one of the items.

    “Hang Hospitality” was also on the list.

    This same time, years previous: Christmas 2008