Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The Best Broccoli of Your Life

Frances loves broccoli. It is one of the few vegetables she'll eat on its own or as part of another dish (my poor hotdogatarian). I like raw broccoli but not so much the cooked stuff. Rob's hate for broccoli is second only to his hate for turnips. He went back for two more pieces after the one I forced on him and then I ate the rest of the pan. The entire pan in one sitting as my supper. This really is the best broccoli of your life. 


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Preheat the oven to 425.

Take 4 to 5 pounds of broccoli (two large bunches), cut into relatively big florets. Wash and dry thoroughly. Really thoroughly and then go back and dry them again. They need to be dry-dry. Put the broccoli on a cookie sheet. Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper (5 Tbs olive oil, 1 1/2 tsps kosher salt, 1/2 tsp fresh ground pepper). Toss in four garlic cloves of peeled and sliced garlic. 

Roast in the oven 20 to 25 minutes, until crisp-tender and the tips of some of the florets are browned.

When it’s done, take it out of the oven–and here’s where it gets really good–zest a lemon over the broccoli, squeeze the lemon juice over the broccoli, add 1.5 Tbs more olive oil, and 1/3 cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese (mine wasn't freshly grated and everything still came out packed with delicious). The original recipe also suggests adding 3 Tbs toasted of pine nuts and 2 Tbs of julienned fresh basil. With or without these last two this recipe will make you want to make broccoli everyday. Probably for every meal. Or as every meal. Enjoy!

Original Recipe: here.

Monday, August 29, 2011

These Boots were Made for Walking

I thought I might not like it when Frances was older enough to cruise around the neighbourhood on her own. Rob and I have become pretty accustomed to the traveling convenience of the stroller. We can go where we want, as fast as we want and, if its not close to nap time, for as long as we want. France points at kitties, woofs at dogs and happily plays with her toes. 

This week we've started going for short evening strolls with everyone on foot and I couldn't love it more. Her small feet set the pace and we make many stops and side trips so that we (she) can run up and down a sloping lawn or try to fit another stick in her fistful of sticks. It is such perfect and intentional slowness  

From one of our on foot walks to the park this week: 



My favourite: the ooh sound and lip curl she makes in moments of amazement.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Couch Tomato


Isn't it lovely? It is the second ripe tomato from this amazing birthday gift plant. The first was the most delicious tomato I had ever tasted. I don't know if this is because I grew it (and it was the first thing I'd ever really grown) or because it's journey from stem to plate was about a minute long. Either way I can't wait to dig into this one and the four small green ones that are following in its footsteps. 


Our new chair. Our beautiful new chair (and beautiful little pea).


And matching couch (which kind of makes the maps look crooked but oddly they're not). And a promise (for Rob) that this is our last couch and chair set until we move. Not that we have any plans to move anytime soon but this is definitely an old house with narrow old stairways. The three (oh dear) couch and chair sets we've had since Frankie was born (so indecisive) have had to come up and go down over the second floor balcony. It takes a lot of dada's strength and patience (holy do we love him) and is a sight to behold. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Keeping Up With Commodore

On Sunday, as we were driving from Nana and Granddad's to Sydney, our national radio call-in show asked us what we thought about technology and children. Had technology had a positive impact? A negative one? Was it sure to be the demise of civilization as we know it?

First, an about us: we don't have an iPhone or a smart phone (and I'm not entirely clear on the difference between the two). We have a cell phone and it gets used about once a month We don't have a television. We have two computers and probably spend about an average number of hours online (maybe a little less than average since our time wasting time is pretty minimal these days). We watch movies, documentaries and mini-series online and are introducing Frances to the important childhood silliness that is Sesame Street via You Tube. We keep what works for us and pitch the rest.

The call-in show began by stating that parents today are increasingly isolated from the technologies that permeate their children's lives. Our lack of smart phones aside, I'd have to disagree. Compared to the last twenty years, parents are probably less isolated than ever from the technologies that their children use. My school got it's first computer when I was in grade four. Five years later, when I started grade nine, it was assumed that our assignments would be completed on our home computer and printed on our home printer. Yes, I remember dial-up and no my kindergarten class didn't have a smart board, but I feel nonetheless that I have less of a gap to bridge than my parents did. Does this familiarity make me feel any better about the pervasiveness of communications technologies in Frankie's life? No. 

No because of cyber-bullying. No because of ridiculously shortened attention spans. And no because of the increasing irrelevance of the outdoors (in favour of the connected indoors) in children's lives. As we listened to the show we talked about the age at which Frances could have her first cell phone. Sixteen was my initial old person/parent reaction, knowing full well that this will likely mean eight years of pleading and then more pleading. One high school teacher came on and said that many of his student's can't make it from their desks to the black board without getting (and having to respond to) a text and that group-work is no longer feasible since it most often becomes students sitting in a circle sending texts to other students not in the circle. My sixteen became seventeen and then eighteen. 

A student council president came on and tried to make the case for smart phones having an educational place in the classroom. It was a stretch at best and made you wonder about the families who can't afford these phones and the sometimes hefty monthly fees that come with keeping them turned on. But what if Frankie was student council president? What if she was a member of the math club and volunteered on weekends? Would I feel differently then? Yes. If she was responsible and focused and engaged in different academic and non-academic activities I'd worry much less about her ability to use and incorporate technology into her life without it taking over; without it becoming a means rather than an end.

This was our first lesson of the day: its pointless to try to set arbitrary age limits for things that will happen years in the future, especially when we know that we don't know which technologies will then be a part of our everyday lives. Who she is as she grows up will dictate when and how much technology she has access to. 

Our second and most important lesson was one that we sort of arrived at ourselves. If we want Frances to live a robust life and to balance her use of technology with all of the other non-technological wonders that life offers, it is up to us to do the same. To balance time online with time outside and time with books and time creating. To balance our constructive use of communications technologies with our non-constructive use (oh hello there facebook) so that our access to infinite information always remains a means for us to explore and experience and contribute to the offline world rather than an endless dead end in itself.

What about emergencies you ask? We're ready for that one (when her wise seven year old mind prepares itself for check mate). Luckily, while we're young enough to know how to use a cell phone, we're old enough to know that emergencies were invented before them and not the other way around. 

Monday, August 22, 2011

Oh Hi There

Dear blog. You have not been abandoned. Its just that these are the things that have happened in the last two weeks: Gram arrived, went to Baddeck, went to Big Pond beach, went sailing, recovered sailboat cushions, visited with visiting Uncle Raymond, Aunt Tara Lee and Faith, delivered Turnip, started a new job, plotted a neighbourhood park renovation, bought a new couch and chair, went to Tedx Bras d'Or and went to Two Rivers Wildlife Park. Easily the busiest but best two weeks of summer so far. 

Except for the Wildlife Park. That was not the best. I don't know why I didn't think it would be a sad place  but it was a really really sad place. The animals weren't in tiny cages and they weren't sick or starving but there eyes were so empty and they hardly moved. Wolves, bears, foxes, cougars, goats, cows, any animal you could ever want to see up close, just lying there. I wish now that I hadn't played my six dollar part in helping them to keep doing what they're doing.  

Onto some less sad thoughts of the last two weeks: 

Frankie sleeps eight hours a night but I still only sleep six. I vow down to my toes to change this every morning that she rises before the sun. And then I stay up until midnight. Again. Or else I go to bed at ten and am wide awake at three am. I think I have been sleep-trained by my baby.

I am done in by how grown up she looks when wearing barrettes, running shoes or two-piece pajamas. Oh well, short hair, sandals and footie-pjs till she's twelve. 

When Frankie eats a full breakfast, lunch or supper I feel like mom of the year. The other nine of ten meals make me doubt that she'll ever grow tall enough to turn a door knob.

Believing that our hearts become a bit bigger and our minds a bit wiser when we can find love in life's trying moments has been a great source of calm and rootedness over the last year. Like those hungry/tired mamma hungry/tired/crying baby kind of moments. Thank you Buddhism for Mothers of Young Children.     

And a less sad photo. Kind of:


Frankie insisting that little girls don't need shaves.
No real Frankie's were harmed or shaved in the taking of this photograph. 

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Gram's Visit (A Bit Of) In Photos


Big Pond Beach 


Post-Beach Baby 
(Photo: Rob) 


Basket-o-angry-baby


Small talk with pedestrians 


Yellow Cello ice cubes (favourite food)
(Photo: Grandma)


Shady sips 
(Photo: Grandma)

Friday, August 5, 2011

This Week in (Little Camera) Photos


(Finally) keeping pins in her hair. I put in two and hide a third in my hand. When she reaches up to take them out I slip her the hidden one and she thinks she's pin-free. Everybody wins. 


Turning a hair corner? She kept this too big headband on for almost half an hour, walking around very carefully, keeping her noggin straight and still, so that it wouldn't fall out.  


Looking devilish in the Canadian Tire waiting room.


After supper explorer.


Cute (and serious) on a boat. 

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

How To Talk To Little Girls

Although knowing-better crosses my mind almost every time I do it, I tell Frances that she is pretty an awful lot. Because she is. I also tell her just as many times that she's smart and strong (this kid loves lifting really heavy things) and and funny (with her lifting-heavy-things grunts). Still, I take a certain amount of comfort and leeway in assuming that she's too young to know or remember all this mama-fawning over her (pretty) little appearance - something that surely hasn't too many more months left.

And so this morning, this was a welcome and thought-provoking find, making it far less easy to hush way all those knowing better nudges. From A Cup of Jo (a great read everyday not just today). 


I went to a dinner party at a friend's home last weekend, and met her five-year-old daughter for the first time. 

Little Maya was all curly brown hair, doe-like dark eyes, and adorable in her shiny pink nightgown. I wanted to squeal, "Maya, you're so cute! Look at you! Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing!" 

But I didn't. I squelched myself. As I always bite my tongue when I meet little girls, restraining myself from my first impulse, which is to tell them how darn cute/ pretty/ beautiful/ well-dressed/ well-manicured/ well-coiffed they are. 

What's wrong with that? It's our culture's standard talking-to-little-girls icebreaker, isn't it? And why not give them a sincere compliment to boost their self-esteem? Because they are so darling I just want to burst when I meet them, honestly. 

Hold that thought for just a moment. 

This week ABC News reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. In my book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, I note that 15 to 18 percent of girls under 12 now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down. Even bright, successful college women say they'd rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.

Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What's missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments. 

That's why I force myself to talk to little girls as follows. 

"Maya," I said, crouching down at her level, looking into her eyes, "very nice to meet you." 

"Nice to meet you too," she said, in that trained, polite, talking-to-adults good girl voice. 

"Hey, what are you reading?" I asked, a twinkle in my eyes. I love books. I'm nuts for them. I let that show. 

Her eyes got bigger, and the practiced, polite facial expression gave way to genuine excitement over this topic. She paused, though, a little shy of me, a stranger. 

"I LOVE books," I said. "Do you?" 

Most kids do. 

"YES," she said. "And I can read them all by myself now!" 

"Wow, amazing!" I said. And it is, for a five-year-old. You go on with your bad self, Maya. 

"What's your favorite book?" I asked. 

"I'll go get it! Can I read it to you?" 

Purplicious was Maya's pick and a new one to me, as Maya snuggled next to me on the sofa and proudly read aloud every word, about our heroine who loves pink but is tormented by a group of girls at school who only wear black. Alas, it was about girls and what they wore, and how their wardrobe choices defined their identities. But after Maya closed the final page, I steered the conversation to the deeper issues in the book: mean girls and peer pressure and not going along with the group. I told her my favorite color in the world is green, because I love nature, and she was down with that. 

Not once did we discuss clothes or hair or bodies or who was pretty. It's surprising how hard it is to stay away from those topics with little girls, but I'm stubborn. 

I told her that I'd just written a book, and that I hoped she'd write one too one day. She was fairly psyched about that idea. We were both sad when Maya had to go to bed, but I told her next time to choose another book and we'd read it and talk about it. Oops. That got her too amped up to sleep, and she came down from her bedroom a few times, all jazzed up. 

So, one tiny bit of opposition to a culture that sends all the wrong messages to our girls. One tiny nudge towards valuing female brains. One brief moment of intentional role modeling. Will my few minutes with Maya change our multibillion dollar beauty industry, reality shows that demean women, our celebrity-manic culture? No. But I did change Maya's perspective for at least that evening. 

Try this the next time you meet a little girl. She may be surprised and unsure at first, because few ask her about her mind, but be patient and stick with it. Ask her what she's reading. What does she like and dislike, and why? There are no wrong answers. You're just generating an intelligent conversation that respects her brain. For older girls, ask her about current events issues: pollution, wars, school budgets slashed. What bothers her out there in the world? How would she fix it if she had a magic wand? You may get some intriguing answers. Tell her about your ideas and accomplishments and your favorite books. Model for her what a thinking woman says and does. 

Here's to changing the world, one little girl at a time.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Some Thoughts on Sailing

There are few things as beautiful as the sun peeking out from behind a sail. 

I don’t get sea sick (at least not above board on sunny days with calm seas). I love the rush that comes with a strong wind. I don't get scared like I thought I would and have a lot of faith in our little boat. 

We’ve met some really great sailors and watched them at work. They keep clear, focused and calm minds. They react swiftly and intuitively, they make it look easy, and they love every gust and wave. 

Sailing will make you like the wind. Even if you once despised it as much as I did (which is a lot). Even on days when you don’t set sail. Rather than an obnoxious brute, you will see the wind as the source of a great sail for somebody somewhere. 

Sailing will make you feel connected to the power of the natural world. It will make you feel like you are a part of something that will go on forever. 

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Also, and not really related to sailing, your baby will be fine. When your first big sail lasts twelve hours she will delight in an entire day spent with her grandparents. She’ll eat her meals and have her naps and will barely look up when you return all salty and sunburnt. This will make you a little bit sad. But you’ll soon realize that these are only the first of many steps that she will take out into the world. And that your job is not to keep her close (despite your empty arms and heavy heart) but to always always let her go.
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