Domestic Scribbles

Junebug challenged us to find a WRINKLE for weekword.  I’m going with the irregularity definition as my weekly trips to the Farmers’ Market have zucchini on my mind.

I grew up in the country helping tend a large garden that produced a large amount of zucchinis among other things.  My mother did many things with our abundance of zucchinis including pickles (couldn’t grow cucumbers thanks to blights), bread and cake.  Yes, cake…chocolate cake.  There’s the wrinkle.

Looks like a chocolate cake…

and if you look really close, yes you can see a few specs of green.  Initial reactions were not favorable at the thought of zucchini and chocolate, but I think having #1 help grate the zucchini helped him warm up to it.

Taste testers said:

Husband: “Mmmm.  Good.”

#1:  “MMMMM!  SO good!”

#2:  “Mmmm!” and a thumbs up

#2′s friend:  thumbs up

#3:  “MORE!”

#4: “MORE!”

And there you have it, a chocolate cake wrinkle.

For those who asked…

Chocolate Zucchini Cake

3/4 c. margarine
2 c. sugar
3 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla
2 1/2 c. flour
1/2 c. baking cocoa powder
2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 c. milk
2 c. zucchini grated
1 small bag of chocolate chips

Mix margarine and sugar well.  Add eggs and vanilla and mix well.  Add flour, cocoa, baking powder and baking soda, salt, cinnamon and mix ‘til smooth.  Add milk and zucchini and mix well.  Grease and flour a 9 X 13 pan and pour batter into prepared pan.  Bake at 350 for one hour.  When cool, glaze with a mixture of 2 cups of powdered sugar, 3 tablespoons of milk and 1 tsp. vanilla.

(I skip the glaze ’cause I’m not a fan of icing.)

Fiery, tempestuous moods have been in the house this week as we waited for school open houses this morning and tomorrow morning.  So, here’s what we picked up at the Farmers’ Market before the first big reveal.

Radishes for me; peaches for #2; peppers for Husband and I was told the little one are sweet which should sweeten me up a little.

To ring in the new school year, our school insists on having us heard to a bulletin board in the school lobby on the appointed morning to see what class our children will have for the year.  #2 was a bit disappointed that some friends would not be joining her in her first grade class, but the teacher was really sweet to her when we introduced ourselves.  The crowded classroom was not anyone’s favorite and #3 and #4 were hanging on my shirt and insisting on being picked up respectively, so we did what we had to do and got out of there.

Last night, I wasn’t as lucky with a quick exit as my first PTA social/meeting was 2.5 hours.  I am not geared to be a PTA person.  I will coordinate library volunteers and count Box Tops but I am still an only child and will being selfishly advocating for my kids first.  As socially inept as I feel most of the time, I was baffled when a woman actually said to me as we introduced ourselves, “I don’t know you.”  At that point, I didn’t bother to point out our sons had been in first grade together.

In addition to last night’s social discomfort, I also learned the school system has eliminated chocolate milk in elementary schools and “unflavored 1% or skim milk” will be offered.  Unflavored?  Why the superflous adjective since without flavor, it’s just milk.  Milk does a body good and chocolate milk isn’t going to kill them.  Particularly when it’s a carton at lunch, an item I regard as part of the buying lunch treat for my kids.  Who was drinking it by the gallons at school anyway?

As I continue to process the elimination of chocolate milk as a method to help hinder childhood obesity (corn syrup is the evil ingredient), I’m thinking of my lean offspring, who look particularly dehydrated in the above photo.  That’s where I’ve gone wrong!  They haven’t been drinking gallons of chocolate milk!  Husband said we should just send a bottle of Hershy’s syrup to school with each of them.  Tempting.

Sweet!  And I totally had a poster of Luke Perry in my freshman dorm room.

Found the proof!  And my roommate had Brandon (Kelly and Dylan together made my day, but 10 years on air was just too long).  Notice the wordprocesser in front of me?  One year of that hell had me working hard the next summer to earn the cash to buy a computer for sophomore year while catching the next season of 90210 which they smartly ran new in the summers for the first few years.

Normally, I could care less about the number game, but today is 9-02-10.

I’ve posted this poem in my kitchen as it says eloquently what many of us feel about a simple piece of furniture.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.

Six years ago, two kids and I joined Stroller Strides.  It was just what I needed.  In the course of a year, I dropped 40 lbs and made new friends.  One gal had a few redheads too (although my redheads seem to be fading to blond).

From January 2007 after we’d both moved on from Stroller Strides and there were five kids between us (#3 was just six months old and probably asleep in the car carrier).  Don’t you just want to give them all hugs?!

Today.  Ages 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, and 2.  *Deep sigh*

A simple walk around the block and we returned home with a playhouse!

#4 is quite content with her new house leaving the big house to me, although I get to clean both.  Oh well, I won’t wallow in self-pity long since the playhouse was free from neighbors who’d gotten it from other neighbors a few years ago.  Recycling at it’s best.  It’s been a good week for my kids and free housing hand-me-downs as other neighbors gave us Thomas.

Alas, Thomas already is showing signs of distress living with four active kids.  Glad the playhouse is sturdier…and outside.