What Has She Got Against Easter? And Other Thoughts on Spring Break

Last year, we had a very interesting Easter. This year, we're stretching the fun out over the entire week, it seems. Our washing machine broke on Friday, sending us into the weekend with no way to wash clothes or towels or peed upon sheets or socks. (Side note: Socks, I think, will be my final undoing. I hate socks. Socks hate me. We are locked in mutually assured destruction.)

Not only did the machine break, but it spread water all over our garage as well. I do thank my friend Tina for pointing out that there is reason to be thankful that our laundry room is not in our house. On the other hand, I want to smack Tina and all her silver lining brethren, as I look at the boxes of books we have strewn about our garage, which are now soggy and soft.

So the good news about the washer is that we have a friend who is a handyman, and he fixed the thing relatively easily and for very little money. So that's done.

But I should know by now, having been through a few of these things called Family Holidays, that the fun was not going to end there. Lola, apparently, has decided to mark the Resurrection of Jesus with an annual visit to the Emergency Room. This year, she was one day late, but we still managed to spend 3 hours at Children's Hospital, waiting to see if she had, in fact, broken her finger. The verdict: she has a very tiny "chip fracture" in her left hand ring finger, at the joint between her phalange and her metacarpal. A weird place to break a finger.

So we did the ER thing, and it was a fairly mellow experience. Upon coming home at 11:30, I was feeling rather proud of myself. We got our washing machine fixed and handled our first broken bone, and we're doing just fine! Everyone ate dinner, the washing machine and dryer were whirring away in the garage, doing their thing, and all was right with the world.

Please, someone, clonk me on the head when I think we've got everything under control, please.

Today dawned bright and beautiful. Today is closing on a barfing three year old with a fever of +103 and goo-infested eyes, one sinus-clobbered husband, a girls' room that sounds like a TB ward, more loads of dirty laundry than I started with and a wii-obsessed tween. (And thanks for nothing, those of you who assured me that the wii-obsession would wane, who breezily gave me false hope that I wouldn't have one of of those kids, the kind that can't put down the almighty wii remote, the kind whose eyeballs turn into TV rectangles, the kind who forsakes food, family, nature, literature, and daylight for the virtual crack that is the infernal wii. Cuz you lied to me.)

Today sucked just a little bit.

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I am seriously starting to fear the teenage years (recent FB posts notwithstanding). My tween is becoming a monster right before my eyes, and I can't even blog about most of it because he'll say to me, with his eye rolling backwards and his posture slumping in disgust: "You're not gonna put this on your blog, are you? Don't put me on your blog!" So I'll have to think of creative ways to tell his stories and seek some feedback from others.

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I have a friend whose 11-year old son is evil. He is sucking the air out of the family home. He is making it difficult for his mother to remember what a fantastic, beautiful kid he is. What should I tell her?

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My three year old is a handful. I've been known to speculate that had she been the first, there would have been no more, so abhorrent is some of her behavior. She's a force of nature, and I find myself mentally trying to prepare myself for extended periods of time in her presence, trying to fill my arsenal with tactics to control her and to help her siblings deal with her shenanigans, trying to anticipate and head off difficult situations. But tonight, as she lay in a fever-induced lump in my lap with her swollen eyes crusting over and her fever heating the house better than our 65 year old furnace, I realized that I prefer her nice and fiesty, thank you very much. Seeing her with no pep was unsettling to say the least.

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I drove the kids on an errand this afternoon (before I realized that I was carting Typhoon Mary around). We drove through some nearby hills, and shouted MOO at the cows like we always do, and Vincenzo said "Hey Lola, you like steak so much, there's some steak!" I said "Yeah Lola, here's a fork, there's your dinner!"

Lola: "HAND ME A GUN, MOM!"

She seems so mild-mannered and sweet. She's fooling everyone.

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This has been random, sleep-deprived thoughts from a woman who should never, ever underestimate just how off-kilter life can get. And one who cannot get the smell of barf out of her nostrils.

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Wherein I Share My Super Secret Apple Pie Recipe

That title might be a little misleading. There is nothing secret about this recipe whatsoever. I got it from an ancient Betty Crocker cookbook that used to be my mom’s (I think I stole it from her) and now it lives on my bookshelf all year long except when I make pie. The pages of this book are yellowed, frayed and ripped, and turning them requires delicacy and grace. This is where, once a year, I seek and find The Mystery of the Pie.

But then, pie isn’t much, is it? Just crust, fruit, and sugar. The only mystery to pie is making it yourself and the big secret is that making a pie is ridiculously easy. The hardest ingredient to find is the time, which, of course, is ridiculously difficult for most moms these days.

You can always do what I did this year: make your pie at 2 in the morning.

OK, on to the making part. The best part of making pie is making the crust. Many people think I am nutso for making homemade crust when there are perfectly nice ones to be had at the grocery store. But I prefer the homemade kind; they are flakier and yummier. Plus, if I didn’t make my own crust, the whole project would seem a bit too… simple. By simple, I mean plain rather than easy. I don’t make pie often, but when I do, I like it to be something of an event, and store bought crust does not an event make.

So. The Crust. I always make a double crust, a bottom and a top, as opposed to a woven lattice top. This recipe is for one 9-10 inch double crust pie.

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup shortening
5 to 7 tablespoons of cold water

Sift together the flour and the salt. I do this by mixing it for a few minutes with a fork, fancy sifter that I am. My mom had a real sifter when I was a kid and I really liked turning the crank. I don’t have one, so I use a fork.

Add the shortening. I plop it all in the center and then use two forks to “cut” it into the dry flour/salt mixture. When it’s pretty well mixed, I use my hands to really mix and mush and smash and smush until I’ve got a bowl filled with stuff that looks kind of like large dough-colored peas. Lots of little pieces of crumbly dough.

Add the water, one tablespoon at a time. Add the first tablespoon to the edge of the dough and mix it in to that area with a fork. Move the damp dough a little to the side. Add the second tablespoon and do the same thing. I almost always use 7 tablespoons, sometimes even 8, before all of the dough is mixed with water. Once all the water has been added, use your hands to shape the dough into one big ball. Then divide that in half and create two smaller balls.

Spread tons of flour on your rolling surface and your rolling pin, and roll out the first ball of dough for the bottom of the pie pan. How big should you make it? Well, you gotta sorta judge the size of your pie plate. I used to roll it out and then set the pie plate on top. If the dough was about an inch or so bigger than the plate, I called it done. Little tip: use the rolling pin to pick up the flattened dough: drape the dough over the pin to lift it up. Lift it up, drape it into your pie dish and press it down flat all the way around the dish; don’t worry about the extra dough hanging over the sides. Roll out your second ball of dough and leave it on your rolling surface until your pie is filled with yummy goodness.

The Filling

A word about the apples you use. You have to make sure they are good pie apples, the kind that will not get too mushy when they cook. I used Fuji for my pie this year. If you are like me, then you’ll google “good apples for pies” every single time you make this pie, because you will forget what kind you used last time. In fact, Google should probably be one of the steps in this recipe. Also, I always add pears; they taste great and are the perfect consistency. Here are the ingredients:

5-6 apples
2-3 pears
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 dash of nutmeg
1 dash of salt (optional – I used to put it in, now I mostly leave it out.)
2 tablespoons of butter

Slice the apples and pears thinly. If they are too thick, they don’t fit as nicely in your pie plate. If ya’ wanna get really detailed, here’s what I do: I use an apple slicer to core the fruit and get 8 big slices from it. Then I slice each of those into three smaller slices. Then I cut those into three thirds each. That’s OCD level detail; chopping them willy-nilly will also do the trick. Oh, and I don’t bother peeling them. I like the peels in my pie.

Combine the sugar, flour and spices; mix with your fruit. Fill your waiting pie plate with this delish mixture. Chop up the butter and dot the top of the fruit with it. Go get your rolled-out crust from your rolling surface and put it over the entire pie. Take a knife and cut off the excess crust from both the bottom and top crusts.

Making it look pretty: I take a fork and press the tines all the way around the edge of the pie to make a nice lil’ pattern and seal the edges at the same time. Then I use a knife to make little air slots in the pie; you can make pretty designs and stuff at this point. Google it. I tried describing what I do, but it sounded ridiculous, so use your imagination or google it.

Last thing: sprinkle sugar on the top. Your pie will sparkle; how fun is that?

This is a good time to remember that you were supposed to preheat the oven. I usually curse here. Basically, you want to bake this puppy at 400 degrees for around 45-50 minutes, depending on your oven. Mine runs HOT, so I end up setting it at 350 degrees and baking it for about 35-40 minutes, and I still burn about a quarter of the edge of the pie. A little roughage along part of the edge is a small price to pay for pie perfection everywhere else. Hopefully your oven is more cooperative than mine and you won’t be paying that price at all.

EAT THE DARN THING ALREADY, WILL YA? After you let it cool for as long as your patience and your taste buds will wait. We eat this pie with vanilla ice cream, of course.

And that, my friends, is my pie.

And now, my friends, excuse me while I enjoy a little rush of domesticity.

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Post Thanksgiving Musings

Here's what I've been thinking about today. A brain dump, if you will.

1. I hate that shopping is considered news.


2. I love having leftovers in the house.


3. I dread the Holidays.


4. I love Christmas.


5. Multi-tasking is overrated. I made an apple pie at 2 in the morning on Thanksgiving. It was bliss. I didn't have to divide my attention between the apples and the computer and the dirty diaper and the feeding of people and the cleaning up after them and the fighting and the whining and the questions and the explanations and the people I love. It was me and the apples. And the pears, because I always put pears in my apple pie. I was surprised by how enjoyable a task can be when it's the only task at hand and the only thing being expected of me at that moment.

I just might survive the Holidays this year if I can find more ways to monotask. I might even -- gasp -- enjoy myself!

So I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving yesterday; let's tackle December, shall we?

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