Surrogate families.

           I’ve blogged about Kate before.  She’s my sitter/friend/third child/life saver/personal baker/lifeguard/schedule keeper.  In other words, she is family.  A very big, important part of my family.  And we love that she feels so at home in our house that she’s here most of the time.  I think it also gives her real family in Kentucky peace of mind that she has a place to go and people that love her while she’s far away.

            This summer, we were lucky enough to meet Kate’s whole family when they vacationed for a week at Seabrook.  I’d met her dad, the fabulous Mike Czerwonka, once last spring.  He and Teague are besties.

But Kate's Mom, sister, and even her grandmother came down at the end of July, and it was so nice to put faces with the endless stories we’ve heard over the past year and half. 

When the Czerwonkas first arrived, they were sweet enough to take our whole family out to dinner at the Fat Hen.  But even better than the delicious meal we shared at that hightop table, was that they invited the boys to spend whole days with them out on the island, truly making our family feel like a part of theirs.

While I was preparing for my trip to LA, Kate and her family would pick up the kids (sometimes their bikes too) and drive them all the way to Seabrook for a day full of fun in the sand, time in the pool, sea critter exploration, long bike trips to restaurants, and apparently, pink lemonade.  If you know Teague, you understand why drinking pink lemonade is a big deal.  He doesn’t try anything.  Ever.

The morning I flew to LA, I left before the kids woke up.  Kate had planned a special morning for them since I was leaving.  She came over super early, picked them up in their PJs, and drove them out to her family’s place on Seabrook where they had a special chocolate chip pancake breakfast.  Family style.

We are so incredibly lucky to have this relationship with the Czerwonkas.  It’s fun, and effortless, and reassuring.  All the things family should be.  I can’t wait for them to visit again.  And next time, I hope I get to tag along!

Choosing a school.

           It’s that time: We’ve started to receive letters from local schools wondering if we have any interest in them for Teague’s venture into first grade next fall.  I’ve known this was coming since the 2’s.  I’ve spoken endlessly to other parents about their preferences and experiences.  And now, it’s time to start visiting Open Houses.

            Honestly, the whole process stresses me out.  We’ve had three great years at Ashley Hall where we’ve made so many great friends and Teague has gotten all of the love and support he needed to crawl out of the shell he used to live in.  Sometimes, I wish he would inch his way back in.  Just a little bit.  Just enough to stop being so sassy.  Can you refer to boys as sassy or is it just called defiance?

            That said, I think the most difficult part of this decision is figuring out how to handle all of the information coming at me.  Some people have very strong feelings about certain schools.  And I worry that you can’t truly know a school until you’ve been a part of it.  Of course, each child is different and their needs vary.  So what works for my friend’s kid may not work for mine.  Teague and Crews don’t even attend the same school.  They each go where they fit best.

            But first grade is a whole new world for us.  It’s the beginning of our (real) elementary school experience.  And I want to make the best possible choice for Teague so that he can make friends and remain with them for years, just as he did through preschool and kindergarten.

            It looks like November will be a busy month.  Teague will turn 6 (Really?!) and we have multiple schools to visit and tour.  All the while, he is growing like a weed, reading, and losing teeth.  That infant I used to drag to Gymboree is long gone and has officially been replaced with a big kid.  I can’t wait to hear his opinion about where he goes.

Fridays, Sundays, Food, and Booze!

            For me, Friday means I don’t have to rush around the following morning making lunches and packing school bags.  I don’t have to get pancakes on the table by 7; teeth brushed by 7:30; and shoo the boys out the door by 7:45. 

We get to slow things down.  Watch silly shows.  Ride scooters in the driveway.  Plan our Sunday Funday activities with friends.  And of course, know that lots of home-cooked food and delicious adult beverages will be present.

            I usually start planning my weekend menu on Friday morning (typically with the help of Amanda and Kate’s requests).  They know my personal cookbook inside and out, and the texts start pouring in mid-week for Sunday Funday, a now years-long tradition in our house.

Summer Sunday Funday always implies 4 things:

1)      A cheese plate- There is always 3!

2)      Swimming and lots of other kid-friendly activities.

3)      A minimum of two entrees-Because once I start cooking, I can’t stop!

4)      Beer, wine, and Colin’s signature drink of summer which changes each year.

I tend to steer clear of the drinks of summer.  Liquor and I don’t mix.  I’m generally a red wine drinker, but when out by the pool (or anchored in the harbor) I’m a beer kind of girl.  During the hot months, I love nothing more than a smooth Blue Moon.  Sometimes, I’ll reach for a Sweetwater Blue though last year my beer of choice was a Shock Top with an orange slice.  And yes, I can settle for a Bud Select now and then.

But with the weather cooling down, and Sunday becoming less of a pool day and more of a football fete, I’m looking forward to the spicier brews.  One of my absolute Fall favorites?  Pumpkinhead Ale.  I haven’t spotted it in stores yet, but I’m on the lookout.  It is the perfect accompaniment to thick soups and robust stews.  It stands up nicely to hearty meatballs and even goes down well with braised short ribs.

Today, because it’s cool and overcast, I’m feeling inspired to make Beer and Cheese soup.  I use a delicious local beer (Palmetto Pale Ale), sharp cheddar, and leeks to create this dish.  It’s like liquid, golden, Heaven in a bowl.  With bite!  And who knows?  Maybe I’ll just keep right on cooking until Sunday.  I could always fill up the freezer.

Insight in unexpected places.

Sometimes advice or discouragement comes from the most unlikely sources.  From time to time, an unexpected conversation becomes incredibly enlightening.  And sometimes, talking to someone you don’t know all that well is great for gaining perspective on a situation you are too close to.

It’s funny how we get bogged down in our own issues.  I know sometimes I’m wandering through a dense forest of interwoven thoughts and fail to see the individual problems obscuring my view.  So when I went to a meeting yesterday expecting lighthearted fun (which there was) and then ended up discussing more serious topics, it was more than food for thought.  It was a frickin’ banquet.

From writer’s block and people’s tendency toward change, to appropriate therapeutic interventions and confidentiality concerns, it was grill or be grilled for hours.  And though unexpected, like most occurrences in my life, I think it happened for a reason.  It gave me perspective.  Reminded me how different everyone’s path can be.  And that often, regardless of how much we know, it can be hard to practice what we preach. 

I forget how not black and white things are.  Especially when you’re fully immersed in raising kids.  With them, it’s: You do “fill in the blank,” then “blank” happens.  But being a grown up is different.  We all make decisions for different reasons.  We act upon them in different ways.  And though sometimes it would be much easier to tell someone the way they are doing it is wrong, there are plenty of things people just have to learn for themselves.  And my fellow conversationalist was correct: “People can surprise you.”

My house is like Thunderdome.

            Every day around 5 my house transforms.  The day begins with home being a fun place to race cars and build things.  But early each evening, it becomes a ring for fighting to the death.  I remember when I used to dream about the day that Crews would be able to fight back.  After all, Teague spent the first 22 months of Crews’ life beating the crap out of him.  But back in February, when Crews realized he didn’t have to take it anymore, I recognized I’d made a mistake in wanting him to fight back (Jess, I think you warned me more than anyone else!).

            Regardless, no matter how fantastic our day has been; how many activities we have participated in; or how well everyone has gotten along since 6:30 am, there is something about 5 o’clock that flips the boys’ crazy switches.  They may be playing quietly next to one another on the floor or looking at a book together on the beds in the playroom.  But when the clock strikes 5, someone is going to get smacked in the side of the head with a tractor or thrown into a chair.

            I always have to ask my friends: Is this just sibling rivalry?  Is it just because they’re boys?  Do they really hate each other?  I have no idea.  I’m an only child.  And I certainly didn’t walk around smacking people as a form of conflict resolution when I was a kid.

            For a while, I entertained the idea that the boys were on a sugar high or perhaps a sugar crash at that particular time of day.  But after 6 months of this happening daily without fail (and adjustments to their overall sugar intake), I think it’s just their dynamic.  So I’ll keep prying them off one another and sticking them in time outs.  And maybe one day, Thunderdome will find its way back to the 80’s movie Mad Max and stay there.

Happy Friday! Here's a great recipe!

     I know I’ve been discussing football, chili, and cooler weather for over a month, but this morning when I stepped outside and found that it was 61 degrees, I just couldn’t help but share one of my favorite soup recipes!

French Onion and Wild Mushroom Soup

Serves 4

…………………………………………….

4 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

3 large onions, thinly sliced (Use the slicing tool in your food processor to save time!)

1 bay leaf

1 ½ teaspoons ground thyme

Salt and pepper

One 32 –ounce container beef broth (You can use chicken broth, but it’s not as rich.)

One 1-ounce package mixed dried wild mushrooms (I find them in the canned vegetable aisle.)

1/3 cup dry sherry or cooking sherry (Buy it once, it stays good for months.)

Sliced crusty bread

1 large garlic clove, halved

½ pound gruyere cheese, shredded

1)      In a heavy pot, melt the butter and olive oil over medium-high heat.  Stir in the onions, bay leaf, and time; season with salt and pepper.  Cook until onions are softened and browned, 25 minutes.

2)      Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, bring the broth, mushrooms and 2 cups water to a boil.  Lower the heat and simmer for 15 minutes.  Remove the mushrooms using a slotted spoon, and slice.

3)      Preheat the broiler.  Pour the sherry into the onions and cook over medium heat scraping up any browned bits.  Stir in the mushrooms and the hot broth.

4)      Toast the bread under the broiler, rub with the garlic, and top with the cheese.  Broil until melted.  Ladle soup into bowls and and serve with the toasts.

Why YA? (That’s Young Adult or “teen fiction” just so you know).

            People often ask me why I write for teens.  Especially since high school was definitely not my most favorite time.  I think the answer is rather straightforward: Teen stuff is raw.

            I don’t mean raw in a raunchy way.  I mean that everything you experience as a teen is novel.  Intense.  Concentrated.  And why shouldn’t it be?  You have no life experiences to temper it.  New things are fun and exciting.  They are addictive in a way that knows no limits.  When you’re a teen, you are invincible.

            Until that thing happens, which shows you you aren’t.  That’s why writing teen fiction is so pleasurable.  Not only do I get to define what’s right and wrong, I set all the boundaries and limitations of the world in which my characters exist.  I get to remember my own strengths and weaknesses and decide if a protagonist will have them too.  I have the power to make decisions I didn’t make when I was young.  My characters get to choose differently (Well, sometimes).  And it’s fun to think about what a big deal something is when you have yet to see something bigger

            When I was in LA for the writer’s conference, I heard someone say, “Teens are stupid.”  I couldn’t disagree more.  Naïve?  Yes.  Stupid?  No way.  Teenagers are savvy in a way only teens can be.  Remember how sneaky you were in high school?  Think about the hours of planning that went into something really trivial.  I’m not even talking about busting out of the house after hours.  I’m referring to a simple act like telling your parents you were seeing one movie then sneaking into another.  It required an insane amount of forethought because you hadn’t done it before.  And when you got away with it, it was positively narcotic. 

            Then think about your life with the addition of some paranormal or dystopian element.  A world where one or many things exist that isn’t really possible.  For me, that’s where the fun begins.

            I’ve written about a girl who remembers her five previous lifetimes with someone and knows that choosing to be with that person again means one of them is going to die.  I created a world in which love is being eliminated because the government thinks it will be easier to rule without such an intense emotion.  And most recently, I’ve been working on the story of a girl who awakes in a beautifully perfect afterlife after a heroin overdose, only to discover people are dying there too.  Yeah, I know.  Not exactly uplifting.  But compelling.  At least to me. 

            So that’s why I write teen.  It’s painful and sensitive and visceral and primal.  It’s authentic.  And I love it.  But I am not looking forward to having two teenaged boys who are addicted to what’s raw.  In only 7 years, I will have a teen and an almost tween.  No doubt, they will give me good material for my books…

I can tell you what it’s like to eat in a restaurant wearing only a robe.

             In a year chock-full of new experiences and big decisions, one of the biggest and most impactful was going to Mii Amo in Arizona for four days.  I was super-nervous about leaving the boys and not too keen on going to the desert.  I’m definitely an ocean and palm trees kind of girl.  Cactuses and dirt?  Not so much.

By definition, Mii Amo is a destination spa/resort nestled in the side of red-rock-filled Boynton Canyon outside of Sedona.  It has repeatedly been ranked as the world’s best destination spa, and its associates pride themselves on providing a journey of transformation and exploration. 

But you also put on a robe within five minutes of check-in, and you don’t wear clothes again until check-out.  And that just pretty much rules.

            It’s impossible to describe all of the things that make this spot so unique.  As soon as I stepped out of the car, I felt different.  Grounded.  Connected to the canyon in a way that doesn’t make sense.  It may have something to do with the strong Native American ties there.  After all, there is Blackfeet blood in my veins.  But as much I enjoyed the calming atmosphere (there is a focus on natural light, water, and pure materials such as wood and adobe brick), the red clay wraps, the past-life regression, the hot stone treatment, the aromatherapy, and the endless massages, I have to be honest: the experience was totally bolstered by the complete absence of clothes for four days.  Even in the restaurant.

            I’ll admit.  That first night sitting at a community-style table with all the new arrivals in robes was a little strange.  My first thought was, “I wonder if these people are wearing underwear?”  Then, as course after course of some of the freshest food I’ve ever consumed arrived, I kind of forgot about the robes.  And the idea that I was surrounded by underwear-less people.

            By Day 2, I was totally in my element and pretty much never wanted to wear anything but a robe again.  Well, a robe and my Uggs.  My feet are perpetually cold.  Indoors, outdoors, eating, sitting by the fire, and hanging out at the smoothie bar…all done in a robe.  It’s liberating. 

            Of course, there just had to be that one guy who always seemed to forget that he was wearing a robe.  Everybody there got a glimpse of his goodies.  My mom and I actually laughed until we cried at dinner one night because of this man’s perpetually agape attire.  Actually, I think the whole restaurant was cracking up.

            There were so many things I learned about myself during my time there, and I cannot wait to go back again.  For my birthday, my mom gave me a trip back there with her and hopefully, we’ll go in January.  There’s still a lot learn and a lot more relaxing to be done.  And yes, a lot more robe sitting. 

How far can I push it?

           On August 20^th, I posed a question: Is it possible to be an exercise convert?  I quickly received a lot feedback on Facebook, via texts, and emails.  Most of the responses were things like, “Who is this person and what have you done with my friend/daughter?”  But many others were incredibly encouraging and full of resounding “Yes’!”

            The following day I decided to start biking.  As most people who know me are aware, I don’t do many things small.  I’m either going to completely immerse myself in an endeavor or avoid it completely.  In this case, I decided the only way to answer my question was to throw myself all in.  Much to my surprise, I found I adored biking and used it to discover new places every day.  Then I started pushing myself to bike harder, faster, longer.  And to do it for a minimum of an hour each day.

            On Saturday, I woke up and rode all over my end of James Island.  And when I reached the neighborhood of one of my favorite parks (Sunrise Park, next to the James Island Yacht Club: Hands-down the best panoramic view of Charleston and the harbor), I hopped off my bike, left it by a tree, and started running.  I’m not really sure where the desire to run came from.  I’ve certainly never felt such an urge before.  But after two solid weeks of biking, I actually had the strength and stamina to make it to the park, up the hill, and all the way down to the end of the dock.  That’s when I stopped and took this pic:

I seriously felt super-human.

After running back to my bike, and eventually making it home, I thought, “Now I get it.  I understand why people do this.”

            Sunday morning I woke up at five and decided to bike early.  When I got to the end of my driveway and realized just how dark it was, that I had no lights on my bike, and no way to see the path on Fort Johnson, I made the decision to run.  (I know, it’s probably not that safe to run in the dark either, but at least this way I could stay in my neighborhood.)  My goal was to make it to a stop sign several streets away.  But when I got there, I realized I didn’t need to rest yet.  A few more streets over and I really started to feel the burn.  Then I remembered what my runner-friend Katie told me about hitting that point where you think you can’t possibly go any further and how if you just push through it, you feel a burst and it’s wonderful. 

            She couldn’t have been more spot-on.

            Reaching that point, that gray area where I wasn’t sure if I could do it, and then breaking through, was one of the most powerful things I’ve ever experienced.  It’s fun, and addictive, and precisely what I need right now (I’ve been experiencing a little writer’s block). 

This morning, I ran twice as far as I did yesterday.  Tomorrow, I might go even farther.  And who knows?  Maybe some other activity will come along that I enjoy just as much.  Now, if I could just design the perfect playlist.