Dear Joey,

Our little apartment is a disaster. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’re very aware of how cramped and awkward it is around here these days, particularly because our living space is slowly being swallowed up by moving boxes. As we empty the shelves, strip the walls, and sort through the accumulated “stuff” that fills our cabinets and closets, my heart already misses this place we’ve come to call home.

Our move leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m eager to roll up our sleeves and do the hard work needed for us to get into a home of our own. In a way, I know what to expect in the coming year. There will be good moments and hard moments, moments of grace and ease and moments where our burdens will feel so heavy that we’ll be convinced we’ll never make it to the other side. 
But after the end of this long stretch of time that will assuredly stretch our faith and endurance as well, where will we land? And will we carry with us the sense of home we’ve cultivated while living here, in this place where the four of us were first a family?

You once told me that faith isn’t in the knowing–it’s in the going. I’ve carried those words with me ever since the night you said them to me when I was unsure of myself and my place in the world. This is one of those moments when I’m holding on to those words, too, and living them out as I pack another box, another bag, another memory.

As I started to pack up the kitchen, I encountered a bit more internal resistance than I expected. So much of my day is spent in this too-small kitchen, which often irritates me, but usually makes me feel warm and happy. This is the kitchen where Addie learned to crawl, the kitchen where she started to learn how to help me cook, and the kitchen where Mia first sat contentedly in her bouncer and watched me as I chopped and stirred and braised my way to dinnertime.  It’s the kitchen where at any given moment, I might look up from the stove and see crayons, sippy cups, rattles and books strewn about, with two little faces miraculously entertaining themselves while I did dishes or put away groceries. So you see, I just couldn’t pack it all away, as if doing so would separate me from tangible reminders of some of the happiest moments of my days.

For one thing, I couldn’t pack all the cookbooks. Being surrounded by them, as it turns out, helps me to feel at home. The ones with splatters and quickly jotted notes are records of memories for me, and the hand-written recipes given to me from family conjure up images and smells of moments that link me to my past and the past of the ones I love most. These recipes remind me of the ones who have walked down this road ahead of me, and when I cook them, it’s as if I’m following their footsteps, following their lead, and going just like they did. Perhaps subconsciously I think that since things turned out alright for them, surely they’ll turn out alright for me, too. And by collecting the recipes that we make over and over again and putting them down on paper, I feel as if I’m somehow recording the history of our own family. Perhaps that’s why packing the cookbooks felt hard. To me, it wasn’t just packing away books; it was packing away memories.

I guess the good news is that old memories don’t have to stop being remembered, and new memories don’t have to stop being made. Sort of like a recipes, right? Old ones can be just as good as new ones. When I made Chicken Madeira for the first time a few weeks ago, I felt like I was making an old recipe, one that had been made for generations ahead of me, but in reality, I have no memory of anyone ever making it when I was growing up. This recipe was new to me, but I’m sure most folks have their own version of it, so it really is a classic. To me, it will always be a reminder of this apartment, and how you humored my experiments and enjoyed the results along with me over and over again.

Chicken Madeira
The first time I made this, it was the result of mixing up Chicken Milanese with Chicken Marsala and buying a bottle of Maderia wine on by mistake. It was a happy accident because I wound up creating this recipe for Chicken Madeira, which was an instant crowd pleaser.

Ingredients:
3 T olive oil, divided
4 chicken breasts, pounded to 1/4 inch thick
1 8 oz. package Cremini mushrooms, sliced
3 cups Madeira wine
2 cups beef broth
1 T Earth Balance Vegan Buttery Spread (or butter)
1/4 tsp pepper
1 lb Gluten Free Farfalle pasta

Method:
Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper. Then, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add chicken breasts; saute until golden on both sides, about 3 minutes per side. Set aside.

Add remaining olive oil to the hot pan; add mushrooms and saute for two minutes. Add the wine, broth, butter, and pepper. Bring sauce to a boil and then simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the liquid has turned dark brown and somewhat syrupy. Boil the pasta while this is cooking.

Serve chicken with plenty of sauce over the pasta.

But the other day at breakfast, as Addie was telling me (in her garbled way of doing so) that she was drinking coffee and eating oh’s and the oh’s fell over and she was all wet, too — that I realized if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t get it done. Seize the moment while I’ve got it, right? So here I am, watching Addie eat her bark and drink her soy-milk-only pretend “coffee” while she’s talking to the picture of Mickey, Pluto, and Minnie on the empty Huggies box that’s sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be relocated to my parents’ house. (Whew. That was a mouthful.)

Addie took me by the hand and led me back into the kitchen and pointed at the pan of Sloppy Joe’s that was still warm on the stove and with a look on her face that screamed “duh, mom,” she asked, “Moh-wah joe-joe’s?” she asked. How did both of us fail to put two and two together? Of course she was asking for more Sloppy Joe’s. And despite feeling silly that I hadn’t figured out what she meant on my own, I was ecstatic that she wanted to eat more. It was a huge success as far as I was concerned. Getting this picky eater to eat just about anything has been particularly difficult lately. So back in her chair she went.

I wish I could take all the credit for this recipe, but I admit that I used one of my favorite go-to cookbooks, Great Food Fast, as the inspiration. I made a few modifications (ie: red bell pepper instead of green; more celery than called for; etc.) What I came up with was a great solution for our little problem, since it uses lots of fresh veggies in addition to the meat. In fact, one could even add more than the recipe calls for – no picky eater would be the wiser, the flavor is so good and the consistency is perfect. It’s low-sugar, too, so it really is the best of both worlds: kid friendly and super healthy.

Be prepared to eat lots of them over the years, and be prepared to hear Addie as for “Moh-wah joe-joe’s peese?” and then exclaim “Mommy? Moh-cha-nayne!” mid-bite. You know, until she learns the words for “These are good!”

Addie’s Favorite Joe-Joe’s
1 T canola oil

Method:
In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion, red bell pepper, celery, garlic and season with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Stirring frequently, cook for about 5 minutes, or until veggies are soft.

Add the meat to the skillet and cook (breaking up the meat as you go) until the meat is no longer pink.

Stir in the tomato sauce, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce and sugar; simmer until thick. Make sure to stir occasionally. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper as needed. Serve on hamburger buns.

Dear Joey,

Remember how it was just yesterday that I was telling you how hard I find it to pass up a brownie when it’s sitting there, staring me in the face?

Well, be that as it may, I caved and made a batch today.  (Don’t scold.)

You see, I’ve had chocolate on the brain for the past several days now, as the desserts we’ve had lately haven’t been anywhere near the sort that makes eating it really, truly satisfying. Plus, there were two additional factors at play today that convinced me to go ahead and just make the brownies I wanted so badly.

First: We’re having a meeting with a realtor tonight, here at our house, and whether you agree or not, it’s just good manners to have something sweet to offer him besides the standard fare of decaf coffee or a cup of tea.

Second: There is a cookbook sitting in our living room, one that is supposed to be the cookbook, the one that teaches how to make just about anything one might want to know how to make: Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. It’s massive, intimidating. It’s sort of an authority in the cookbook world– and I had never heard of it until this week. I checked it out from the library first thing on Monday morning, but as comprehensive as it is, it has been exceedingly difficult to choose just the right recipe to see if it lives up to its promise. This afternoon, I realized that the choice was simple, really: if Mark Bittman gets brownies right, then he probably gets most things right.

Ah, brownies. I know they’re not fancy or terribly special, really, and Lord knows I am hoping against all hope that the realtor isn’t allergic to or disinterested in chocolate. But on a nerve-wracking evening like tonight that could change things dramatically for us (key word, could), I figure it makes good sense to have a good friend around to lend some support, and for me, today, that friend is Mark Bittman’s brownies.

And you, of course.

Love, Scratch

Ingredients:
1 stick unsalted butter
3 oz unsweetened chocolate
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a 8×8 glass pan by lining it with aluminum foil and greasing the foil slightly (I used PAM).

Gently melt the butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over low heat. Transfer to a mixing bowl when melted and mixed and add the sugar. Stir.

Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the flour, vanilla and salt. Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 20-25 minutes (do not over bake).

Brownie perfection.

Dear Joey,

Remember how it was just yesterday that I was telling you how hard I find it to pass up a brownie when it’s sitting there, staring me in the face?

Well, be that as it may, I caved and made a batch today.  (Don’t scold.)

You see, I’ve had chocolate on the brain for the past several days now, as the desserts we’ve had lately haven’t been anywhere near the sort that makes eating it really, truly satisfying. Plus, there were two additional factors at play today that convinced me to go ahead and just make the brownies I wanted so badly.

First: We’re having a meeting with a realtor tonight, here at our house, and whether you agree or not, it’s just good manners to have something sweet to offer him besides the standard fare of decaf coffee or a cup of tea.

Second: There is a cookbook sitting in our living room, one that is supposed to be the cookbook, the one that teaches how to make just about anything one might want to know how to make: Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. It’s massive, intimidating. It’s sort of an authority in the cookbook world– and I had never heard of it until this week. I checked it out from the library first thing on Monday morning, but as comprehensive as it is, it has been exceedingly difficult to choose just the right recipe to see if it lives up to its promise. This afternoon, I realized that the choice was simple, really: if Mark Bittman gets brownies right, then he probably gets most things right.

Ah, brownies. I know they’re not fancy or terribly special, really, and Lord knows I am hoping against all hope that the realtor isn’t allergic to or disinterested in chocolate. But on a nerve-wracking evening like tonight that could change things dramatically for us (key word, could), I figure it makes good sense to have a good friend around to lend some support, and for me, today, that friend is Mark Bittman’s brownies.

And you, of course.

Love, Scratch

Ingredients:
1 stick unsalted butter
3 oz unsweetened chocolate
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a 8×8 glass pan by lining it with aluminum foil and greasing the foil slightly (I used PAM).

Gently melt the butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over low heat. Transfer to a mixing bowl when melted and mixed and add the sugar. Stir.

Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the flour, vanilla and salt. Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 20-25 minutes (do not over bake).

Brownie perfection.

Dear Joey,

There are many things I am not good at that you may or may not be aware of.

I’m not good at showing restraint when there’s a brownie nearby. I am not good at keeping my purse organized, which has since translated into being unable to keep the diaper bag organized. I am not good at changing out of my pajama pants until well after twelve o’clock, and I am not good at painting my toe nails.

But, there are many things I am good at, like reading a book from cover to cover in one day, or sticking with my favorite brand of mascara, or making a good cup of coffee in the morning, or dressing both girls and myself in stripes on the same day without being aware of it, or even painting my nails the same shade as the Jell-O I made last night–without realizing it.

Now that I’ve told you this story, I can’t believe I bored you with it. Thanks for humoring me and making me feel like even the not-so-interesting stories are worth telling.

Love, Scratch

Ingredients:
1 3-oz pkg Jell-O
1 cup boiling water
1 cup unsweetened applesauce

Method:
Dissolve the Jell-O completely in the boiling water. Stir in the applesauce, cover and chill until well-set, about 4-5 hours.

Dear Joey,

Surgery days are the best days around here because it means you get to spend a bit of the morning with us instead of rushing out the door before one or both of the little girls wakes up.

These sorts of mornings start early, of course, whenever one of the little girls decides it’s time to be up and around. Sometimes they wake up at the same time. Perhaps they’re starting their conspiracies against us early?

Today wasn’t so bad, I guess. It was nearly 7:00 by the time the littlest girl was ready to be picked up. You had already gotten Addie out of bed a few minutes before, and it would have been harder for me to roll out of bed had I not heard you making good on your promise to clean the kitchen first thing in the morning.

Even though going to work later than usual means helping out around the house when you’d otherwise be exempt from it, you take it in stride because it also means you have time to enjoy your favorite breakfast–a bowl of cereal, shared with your daughter, while watching GI Joe.

I admit that when this trend first started, I wasn’t so keen on it. Flicking on the TV first thing in the morning, lounging around with Addie for awhile, and not changing her diaper or giving her breakfast until after I got up and asked about both of those things. (I know, you were tired.)

Soon, though, it turned into the two of you sitting on the couch and munching on the same bowl of cereal. This helped, but watching TV with a bowl of sugary cereal doesn’t really count as a good breakfast in my book.

But now, I realize that “good” is subjective, really, because it is a good breakfast in many ways. It’s good because it’s you with your girl making a memory. It’s good because it’s you sharing something of yourself with her. It’s good because it gives me a moment of freedom (short-lived, though it might be). It’s good because it’s a constant that she and I both have come to count on, one that would be sorely missed if we didn’t enjoy it once in awhile.

But really, GI Joe?

Love, Scratch

Joey’s Favorite Breakfast
Cereal, any kind (but preferably Honey Nut Cheerios, Blueberry Crunch, Berry Kix, or any number of sugary cereal)
Vanilla Soy Milk
1 bowl
1 spoon
Classic episodes of GI Joe (or your own favorite cartoon from childhood)
A little girl eager to share

Pour cereal into the bowl. Splash on some soy milk. Take to the couch. Turn on GI Joe and start eating. Before long, a little girl will come asking for a bite. Pick her up, let her munch, and when she’s done, she’ll probably keep snuggling with you (and as a result, end up watching your favorite cartoon with you…).

Dear Joey,

“It’s beautiful here, Rachel,” you told me, with a sort of hushed reverence that let me know you were in your element, even though I felt completely out of mine.

How long have you been wanting to do this? Getting to Yosemite and climbing Half Dome never quite seemed to work out for you before, despite your repeated attempts to do so. There is part of me that is excited for you to get there and do it, and there is another part of me that is sick to my stomach when I think about it. 

I hope your first trip up Half Dome is as fulfilling as my first attempt at making homemade granola bars. More than that, I hope that those granola bars will pale in comparison to your experience on that mountain. I can’t wait to hear your story.

Happy hiking!

Dear Joey,

“It’s beautiful here, Rachel,” you told me, with a sort of hushed reverence that let me know you were in your element, even though I felt completely out of mine.

How long have you been wanting to do this? Getting to Yosemite and climbing Half Dome never quite seemed to work out for you before, despite your repeated attempts to do so. There is part of me that is excited for you to get there and do it, and there is another part of me that is sick to my stomach when I think about it. 

I hope your first trip up Half Dome is as fulfilling as my first attempt at making homemade granola bars. More than that, I hope that those granola bars will pale in comparison to your experience on that mountain. I can’t wait to hear your story.

Happy hiking!