jetsetgreen

Friday, September 05, 2014

There and Back Again (Spanish Edition)

Should I dye my hair a crazy color? Go on a fasting cleanse? Crawl into bed and pretend I am sick? Put on another layer of very dark liquid eyeliner? The world is my neurotic oyster.

A friend asked me if I am in my post-holiday crash, the one where you feel like throwing your life overboard and going on permanent vacation. Where will the funds come from for this vacation? Who knows, who cares?! I'm on vacation until the money runs out!

(It will run out real fast, Calamity Jane.)

I took my heart, and my nest egg, in my clicking hand and bought tickets to Spain last month. Just me and the children--also my sister and her two children, and perhaps my parents. It was scary (I hate spending money,) and also something I felt like we had to do.

It's been 11 years since my last trip to Spain to see my mother's family. I was pregnant with my oldest at the time and so, so sick. I spent the train ride back to Madrid from Galicia regularly vomiting as the diesel fumes wafted back to smack me in the face. With our family complete, and no more babies, it was time to return to the motherland, no matter what.

Isn't this worth it?

(The view from the kitchen window of the flat we stayed in.)

And also this?



I mean, as far as trips go, Spain will do.

The terrible jet lag there, the brutal jet lag when we returned, it was all worth it. Except maybe the part where I dragged my kids to Spain. 

I hope they remember it when they grow up and praise my name. A 10-year-old, a 7-year-old, and a 3-year-old aren't traveling companions to sneeze at; they are to be managed, cajoled, and forced to experience culture. My parents forced culture on us, it's high time my children also experienced the sore feet, dehydration, and exhaustion that comes from looking at a set of royal china in a royal palace in some European capital. Tradition!

My kids even got off easy. Since it was just me and my sister (and our combined five small children) with only occasional help from my parents, we skipped some of the major cathedrals and attractions. Next time, my pretties, we'll learn about Baroque, Rococo, Neo-Classical, Gothic, Velazquez, Picasso, Matisse, Monet, and El Greco until your feet fall off in the middle of the Prado. How we do.

Now we are back and my life is resting uneasily on my shoulders. Where is my tiny, manual transmission car? Why are the streets here to wide and accommodating? Where is my daily visit to the bakery for fresh bread and pastries? Where is the beach with crystal waters and the sunsets that go on for forever?

Instead I'm back in my real life, with 7:00 am wake-ups, homework every night, dinner and the dishes, demanding work commitments, with terrible Fanta, and absolutely, positively, no beach.

It's no wonder my Jet Set heart pines for more impossible vacations from my real life.

But really, should I dye my hair?




Thursday, July 31, 2014

Back to School at the Road Home

Hello Darlings!

It seems like forever, doesn't it? But I'm back today with a purpose: it's back to school time at the Road Home, Salt Lake City's family homeless shelter. You're probably planning some back to school shopping soon, so maybe you could make a little plan for supporting some homeless children?

I won't tell you about when I did my back to school shopping.

(It was two weeks ago. I'm more organized than I have ever been--if all you are counting are school supplies.)

Last year I brought my kids to the store during Christmas to pick out new toys for the Road Home. It was surprising how they responded to children who don't have a home or wouldn't necessarily receive a present. I worry my kids are too entitled, and you probably have the same worry. Don't get mad at your kids for being entitled, ask them to serve, show them how much they have and how they can give as a way of gratitude in action.

It's time for the Road Home Apple Tree:



The Road Home sent me this information:

"Organizers of The Road Home Apple Tree have added the needs and sizes of 26 new children to Apple Trees at 33 locations along the Wasatch Front and are asking the public to help.
"The Road Home continues to see an increase in the number of children in need,” said Celeste Eggert, director of development at The Road Home. “We have had a 50 percent increase in the children we serve this fiscal year as compared to the five years prior. The Apple Tree Program helps to ensure that all the school age children living at the shelter are given a new outfit and backpack to start the school year." 
Apple Trees are set up at DownEast, Payless ShoeSource, Salt Lake area Staples, Old Navy and Intrepid Hybrid Communications. Donated items, which should be new and unused, can be dropped off at any of the 33 campaign partner locations from Provo to Ogden. At the completion of the campaign, which runs through Aug. 11, clothing and school supplies will be delivered to the Road Home before the school year begins." You can read more about the drive here: www.theroadhomeappletree.com

Got that? There are Apple Trees around town, in places where you are probably going to shop anyway, with a child's name and what they need. Join me in picking up an extra backpack, another sweater, and some school supplies. If you're pressed for time, refuse to do any back to school shopping because you hold strong, personal anti-consumeristic principles, or are living with a phobia of fresh school supplies, you could also make a donation.

Additionally, you might know Sue from Navel Gazing, but she also volunteers at the Road Home. She shared that the shelter can often use toy room donations as well. If you get in touch with me, I can put you in touch with her for more information on donating items, like new play-doh and Thomas trains. It's a constant need--a constant need that you and I can fill like it's nothing at all. Let's do more.

Ready?


Tuesday, March 04, 2014

Latest Controversial Position:

Shamrock shakes are gross. EW.

Monday, March 03, 2014

So Do We Watch the Tonight Show Now?

J turned to me the other night and said, "Wait, do we watch The Tonight Show now?"
"Huh," I responded, "I think we're probably old enough."
"I think this marks a rite of passage."
"I think we're your parents now."

Jimmy Fallon took over The Tonight Show a week or two ago, ending twenty years of not watching The Tonight Show. J was raised with Carson's Tonight Show, while, as we have covered here before, I was raised without television like some sort of feral, godless animal.

Even after my family got a TV, I was never allowed to stay up to watch The Tonight Show, because my parents never watched it (presumably because they were always reading the newest translation of some mid-20th century Russian novelist.) As soon as I was old enough to make the choice to watch The Tonight Show, Carson signed off and Leno took over. The next twenty-two years were filled with, at best, a profoundly mediocre Tonight Show and at worst, the same terrible jokes piled up over and over so as to create a galling Hellscape of depressive humor. I don't think I could watch a single show straight through without wanting to denounce television as a bland tool of cultural oppression and move to translate my own Russian novel.

But I really like Jimmy Fallon. And the Roots? COME ON, it's THE ROOTS. It occurred to me that Jimmy has a lot more in common with Steve Allen, the original Tonight Show host, with his musical talent and easy humor. Jimmy can actually play instruments and hold a note, an asset long absent from late night. Music and musicians are important to him, which I respect. Jimmy isn't just a standup, he does character work, skits, and, of course, competitive games.


We're in for a lot of fun.



Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Cinnamon Toffee Chocolate Chip Cookies

I like to create new recipes for the annual cookie swap my friends throw in December. This year I started with the Jacques Torres NYT chocolate chip cookie recipe as a model and then built on it. These cookies feel seasonal with cinnamon and toffee chips, studded with bittersweet chocolate, and a caramel-y dough. This is my way of saying that I will defend my title as Queen of the Cookie to the last crumb.



I love these cookies. The cinnamon in the dough isn't overwhelming, and the three different chips makes the cookie warm, sweet, and just stupid delicious. And wouldn't you know, I WON QUEEN OF THE COOKIE! You could win Queen of the Cookie, too, with this recipe. Unless you want to be King of the Cookie, or Imperator of the Biscotti. I don't want to put a limit on your dreams.

Cinnamon Toffee Chocolate Chip Cookies

17 oz Flour (3 2/3 cups)
10 oz Dark brown sugar (1 1/4 cups)
8 oz Granulated sugar (1 cup plus 2 Tbl)
1 ¼ c. Unsalted butter
2 Large eggs
1 ¼ tsp  Baking soda
1 ½ tsp Baking powder
1 ½ tsp Kosher salt
1 tsp Cinnamon
2 tsp Vanilla
1 ½ c Cinnamon chips (abt 1 pkg)
1 1/3 c.Toffee chips (abt 1 pkg)
10 oz. Bittersweet chocolate chips (abt 1 pkg)

Cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time and then vanilla. Mix all dry ingredients and add slowly until incorporated. Stir in all the chips. Refrigerate at least 24 hours, 36 is even better. Bake 375 for 8-10 minutes until golden. You could also sprinkle them with w/sea salt before cooking, add 1/2 tsp chili or cayenne powder, or 1/2 cup toasted chopped almonds to the dough. Yes, you need to let the dough chill for a day. Something happens to the sugar and the flour when it chills for at least 24 hours, turning the cookie caramel-y, crisp on the edges and gooey in the middle. Trust me.






Friday, December 06, 2013

What Happens When I Start Living (Part Time) at McDonald's

I've been spending several hours a week at a McDonald's--hold on, it gets better, a McDonald's attached to a gas station. My oldest has a tutor that's helping him with some school work and the WiFi to use while I'm waiting those hours is at the McDonald's down the street. I order a drink and find a seat to get in a little bit of work. The drink is usually caffeine because I have to drive home eventually and everyone gets upset these days when you fall asleep at the wheel. I remember the old days when you could take a twenty minute nap behind the wheel of your Crown Vic and everyone minded their own freaking business. America is going to nanny state hell, I tell you.

Sometimes I get annoyed at the people in this McDonald's, like when they hold the door open to have a conversation and it's 5 degrees outside. That isn't an exaggeration, it really is 5 degrees outside. I'm trying to enjoy a dining experience in this McCafe, because any time you are putting things in your pie hole and you don't also have to make sure small people put things in their pie hole, it's an experience. There are many other times I get annoyed at the people in the McDonald's, but then we have to remember, I am also a person in McDonald's, so pass the sweet and sour.

I should be used to the cold, experience or no experience, because my house is only partially insulated (thanks, 1979.) The geniuses who built our house didn't insulate exterior-facing walls in places like closets. Every time you open the door to the coat closet a blast of Saskatchewan's finest air hits you in the face like the broad side of the moose. The worst is the garage, which means that the uninsulated floor of the bonus room, which houses the laundry and the playroom, is over an unheated space.

It's so cold I've set up a side business in cryogenics. The kids get a kick out of moving the disembodied heads over to play Legos, and I haven't had to buy any giant plastic Lego man heads for storage. It's a win-win (that's a fancy business term from the 1990s that I'm applying to parenting, keep up.) I like folding laundry in that room because it's chic and sophisticated not to feel my fingers--like I took one of those designer drugs everyone talked about in the 1990s. I dream sometimes about having insulation blown into the garage ceiling/bonus room floor, or the closets, or everywhere. It's just too bad that I'm blowing all that insulation cash on medium Diet Cokes at McDonald's.

Tuesday, November 05, 2013

Dressing up by Lulu

Not long ago, on some chilly morning, I went to get Lulu out of her room. She was already wearing a light pink confection with seed pearls and chiffon overlay, pairing the dress with silver sparkle shoes. It was 43 degrees outside. She would not be dissuaded.


She wore that dress to breakfast and during play time. She wore it to Costco, but only after I wrestled a sweater onto her. I could only get her to take it off after she spilled chili down the front of the dress at dinner. The girl needs dress-ups, doesn't she? My bad.

I think I forgot about dress-ups.

My MIL sent Lulu a Halloween costume. It's Tinkerbelle. Lulu didn't know what it was, but she wanted it on immediately. She has worn it every day since. Her usual M.O. is to get up before I check in on her, remove her PJs, change herself, and put on the dress (wings optional, bell shoes not,) and wait until I open then door. She will spend all day in that thing. We run errands and pick up the mail as Tinkerbelle.

Sometimes we even sleep in it.

"DANCE WITH ME, PROXIMO," she screams at her brother, grabbing his hands and forcing them to twirl her around until she falls down. "I'M PRETTY and FANCY," she informs you, "LOOK AT ME TWIRL, I SAID LOOK AT ME." It's all at one volume (11) and completely mandatory. In that vein, I present to you...



Lulu's Fashion Rules:

  • No jeans. Don't even bring them in front of her face, you jerk
  • Dresses need leggings underneath
  • No leggings? Your butt better find some before she cuts you
  • Those shoes better have sparkles on them or you might as well stuff them down your throat
  • Is it pink? It had better be pink or there will be hell to pay
  • Ankle socks are better as knee highs, without exception
  • She gets to pick her elastic colors, or you can choke on those elastics
  • Don't even think about leaving the house without sandals
  • Pink adidas will work, in a pinch
  • If it has tulle, it goes on immediately
  • If it's on backwards, it's supposed to be that way, and it looks a crapload better that way, duh

Her rules might be even more stringent than my no flip-flops rule.

I don't know if I can live under this fashion dictatorship...although I suspect I have it coming.