Pumpkin recipes modified

I feel compelled to follow up on the recipes I posted last Sunday, in case anybody ever decides to make them. In doing so, I'll be posting a Thanksgiving-related topic for the fourth consecutive day. So I hope you have enjoyed this weekend's veritable cornucopia of Thanksgiving goodness.

First, the Cream of Spiced Pumpkin Soup. The recipe was a good jumping-off point to instruct me on how to create a creamy pumpkin soup base from scratch. But when I had finished adding the requisite ingredients from the recipe, the soup was very bland and boring. Somewhere along the line I have developed an ability to distinguish individual flavors within recipes, and I can imagine interesting taste and seasoning combinations, which makes cooking without recipes a lot of fun. But it also makes me very discerning of good flavors and textures in food: a "food snob" as Gary lovingly calls me.

Thanks to my excellent chefery skillz, I was able to add a lot more of this and a few dashes of that, and the pumpkin soup turned out SO delicious. Well, in my opinion anyway. It wasn't a huge hit on Thanksgiving, but I honestly didn't expect it to be. Amidst so many luxurious, calorific options, who who would salivate over soup? I started my meal off with a little plate of strawberry-poppyseed green salad and a bowl of my soup. It was perfect to have those mild flavors before diving in to the bold, heavier dishes. Then yesterday I ate some of my pumpkin soup along with Thanksgiving leftovers. It was at that time I realized that if anyone took a bite of the soup after eating either of the VERY rich and totally drool-worthy sweet potato dishes that were served, the soup didn't stand a chance. By itself, or with a nice crusty bread, the soup had a perfect, sweet flavor. But it was completely blown away by the maple-infused sweet potatoes and marshmallow-topped candied yams/apples dishes. Oh well, that just means I got to keep all the leftovers. Suckers!

I didn't measure anything, but here is my best recollection of what I added to the soup after following the original recipe (now I can look it back up if I ever want to try and duplicate it):
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
3 tsp curry powder
2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp ground allspice

...or something like that.

Next, the Pumpkin Cream Sandwich Cookies. I had to doctor these up as well, but that is primarily because I tried using my cooked fresh pumpkin instead of canned, as the recipe instructed. The cooked pumpkin was of a much thinner consistency, so I ended up with cake batter instead of cookie dough. My first batch of cookies were large and flat, not like the ones pictured. So I added more flour to thicken the dough. That basically worked, except that now they tasted too flour-y, so I added more pumpkin pie spice. The cookies ended up having a very soft, fluffy texture, kind of like a mini-cake rather than a typical cookie. So they didn't quite look like the photos, but tasted okay.

Once again, my salvaged pumpkin cookie sandwiches couldn't quite hold their own against the Costco pies and chocolate fudge cake. I was only surprised a little that they weren't more popular with the younger set. I know pumpkin spice isn't usually a kid-favorite, but I figured they might find amusement in the whole "cookie-sandwich" novelty. I even spotted one cookie with a bite missing placed audaciously back on the platter. It was probably (hopefully?) one of the forgivable children, but still.

We got together the following night with my brother's family that wasn't able to join us on Thanksgiving, and he really liked the cookies! Bryan would never pretend to like something to avoid hurting my feelings, especially something as gay as a pumpkin cream sandwich cookie. So I sent almost all of the leftovers home with him, feeling very proud that they went to an appreciative home.

Remind me that next Thanksgiving, I ought to just volunteer to bring the canned cranberry jelly.

A parenting victory

Being a parent is challenging. And I'm getting the idea that it only gets more complicated as children grow up, which won't make it any easier. Right now we're debating the merits of pacifier weaning and struggling to interpret and avoid UFO's (unidentified freak-outs). It's impossible to know if you are making the right decisions, because their results are usually not evident until it's too late to do something different. Sometimes we have to do things that we hope are in Madelyn's best interest even when they may not be the most pleasant or easiest choice.

I am so happy to report one of those triumphant moments in parenting where our persistence about what we believed was the right thing to do paid off.

Two days ago, at Thanksgiving dinner, Madelyn was in the midst of one of her all-too-common ornery moods. Due to the combination of a missed nap and a bad cold (and possibly a new tooth, but I feel like that is one of those things we parents are always blaming toddlers' bad moods on), Madelyn was cranky and uninterested in eating. We tried faithfully to feed her, to no avail. You just can't force kids to eat, you know. So we eventually gave up in the interest of our own desire to enjoy the incredible feast.

A little while later, the dessert buffet appeared on the scene. One by one, members of the family plunked down at the table with plates overflowing with apple pie, pumpkin pie, chocolate fudge cake with whipped cream, and pumpkin cream sandwich cookies. Of course the mountains of sugar caught Madelyn's attention. I've always wondered how this little one can identify and lock in on any food in the dessert or candy category, even when she's never seen or tasted the likes of it before. Can she smell sugar in any form?

We weren't about to let Madelyn dive in to dessert after having not more than a few licks of dinner. I put together a little plate of leftovers intending to help her eat a little bit so she could ultimately have the dessert she wanted. Understandably, she was even less interested in turkey and stuffing now that the sweets were out in full force. When my back was turned, someone (a very loving Grandma), had placed half a slice of cake on a little plate in front of Madelyn at the kids' table. I discovered it before she delved in, and explained to my parents that we really didn't want Madelyn to eat chocolate cake in place of any semblance of a healthy meal. My mother said (kind of to me, and kind of under her breath), "But taking away her cake isn't going to make her want to eat dinner." While that analysis might be correct, I believe that giving her the cake would not be right in spite of it. See how hard parenting is?

Soon we had a dessert prohibition-induced meltdown. At a loss for how to remedy this tricky situation, we tried to lay Madelyn down for her much-needed nap. Unfortunately, that doesn't usually work at my parent's house. When there is a house full of cousins and noise and now forbidden treats, she won't be tricked into closing her eyes in a dark room. A certain crying style indicates weak protest, but this nap attempt elevated her tantrum to full speed ahead.

By this time, most of the family had finished dessert. Gary and I canvassed the tables clearing evidence-containing plates. Madelyn was content playing Nerf football with Audrey and Grandpa, so we took advantage of the crest in her mood swing by offering a bite from the savory food spectrum. She still wasn't going for it. The three of us calmly sat down on the kitchen floor away from distractions, and got her to focus. I remembered that in the morning, Madelyn was really excited to get in the hot tub, but we explained that we were going to take a walk first and then we would get in the hot tub after we got home. Thinking maybe that experience would be fresh in her memory, I set to explaining:

"Do you want cake Madelyn?"
"Yeah!!!"
"You need to have some yummy dinner first, and then after you eat some dinner, you can have some cake! Just like this morning we went on a walk first and then we got in the hot tub after we went on a walk. We'll eat dinner first, and then have some cake after we eat dinner."
"Yeah!!!"

And she took a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Then she ran away.

After a quick toss of the ball, she ran back to the plate and grabbed--of all things--a floret of broccoli. She devoured it on her way out of the kitchen, while her parents still sat dumbfounded on the floor. Not wanting to risk losing this momentum, I approached Madelyn with another piece of broccoli, but made her chase me to get it. She loved that game and within a couple of minutes had eaten all of the broccoli and almost all of the turkey and potatoes on her little melmac plate.

My heart was bursting with excitement and pride. Amidst some proverbial raised eyebrows, we were persistent with what we believed to be the best thing for Madelyn, and it worked. She ate a healthy dinner without force or coersion. I truly believe that she understood what we were saying. And she got to have a quarter of a piece of chocolate fudge cake. It would have been SO much easier to just let her eat dessert with the rest of the kids. But she probably wouldn't have eaten any dinner if we had. And instead of learning the natural progression of dessert as a treat after dinner, she may have learned that if she screams loud enough and refuses dinner long enough, she'll get exactly what she wants. I wanted to stand up and shout, "See?!? It worked! She ate her dinner because we didn't let her have cake!" But I remained calm and didn't gloat.

That's what the blog is for, right?

The little rascal: she is a good girl, and so smart!

We love her dearly.

Flashback Friday: In which I single-handedly ruin Thanksgiving

The ill-fated weapon of choice

It's important for children to contribute to household chores, help with meals, and the like. When I was a kid, a popular task for my parents to require of us was to peel the potatoes for dinner. I hated peeling potatoes! Or perhaps it is just that my childish self naturally preferred playing to working, and since the usual punishment involved wielding the peeler, I grew to loathe the job. Regardless, peeling potatoes is a tedious task. And for a family of seven, we aren't talking about 4 or 5 potatoes. I had to peel like 15 or 20 potatoes at a time. My family also liked having leftovers.

One particular Thanksgiving (by my best guess I was in eighth or ninth grade), my family was repsonsible for bringing the mashed potatoes to the big family dinner at my Grandparents house. For the extended family gathering, I imagine the peeling of at least one giant sack of potatoes was necessary. About this many:

I dutifully peeled and peeled and peeled those damned spuds while the rest of my family busied themselves with other tasks in preparation to head over to the big feast.

I finished shortly before it was time to be heading out the door. Being the responsible teen that I was, I intended to finish the job properly by cleaning up after myself. So I wiped down the counters, stuffed the peelings down the drain, rinsed the sink, and turned on the disposal.

Okay, so no one had ever told me that it isn't wise to put vegetable peelings down the disposal. And while the peelings from a few carrots or cucumbers probably won't cause much damage, the skins for potato quantities to feed the massive Alder clan wreaked havoc on our poor little In-Sink-Erator.

Uh-Oh. After a couple of whirls, the disposal came to a halt, but continued making a pathetic whining noise. If not simply to mock me, the sound left me with no suspicion that I had made a mistake.

My dad walked in to the kitchen while I was inelegantly scooping handfuls of scarred potato peels from the depths of the sink into the garbage can on the floor beside me. This was not a pleasant sight for him. He made it clear that he couldn't believe my foolish ignorance, which made me feel embarrassed, but also defensive. This is the kind of lesson you have to be taught or learn from experience. Up until this point in my life, the disposal had always existed as some sort of magical contraption with no limit to its destructive capabilities. To refrain from depositing several pounds worth of potato peelings in it is not simply innate knowledge. Common sense? Perhaps some will say so. But I was trying to help and all I can say is that I didn't know.

Thanksgiving dinner was to begin presently. My dad and I were elbow-deep in russet membranes. I was whisked off with the rest of the family to participate in the festivities at my Grandparents' house (only a few miles away) while my father valliantly remained to fix the horrible mess. That dinner was tainted with the taste of guilt and shame. Apparently my dad had a hell of a time unclogging the drain, and joined the Holiday celebration round about the time we were clearing dessert plates. I'm not even sure if it was fixed at that point, maybe we had to buy a new disposal.

I'm really sorry for ruining Thanksgiving that one time, Dad. I hope I've made up for it in other ways throughout the years and you've forgiven me.

Thanksgiving poop

For several days now, I have been undecided on what to write about today: Thanksgiving Day. If not for NaBloPoMo, I would have simply written nothing, and not given it so much as a second thought. However, I don't intend to fail now that I have come this far, so my brain has been on the hunt for a suitable topic all week.

One thing I was sure I did not want to write is an uninteresting directory of intangibles I am thankful for. It's not that I don't take the opportunity at Thanksgiving to reflect solemnly on such things, I just happen to think it would be a boring blog topic because the rest of you are probably feeling thankful for the same things. Not to mention, an unintended smugness often accompanies such public lists, which doesn't resonate with true gratitude, in my humble opinion. I make a concerted effort to be thankful all year long (some days it is easier than others!), so I don't want to cheese it up by making a bullet-point list containing the usual cliches.

So instead, enjoy reading about why this was the "crappiest" Thanksgiving ever.

Shortly after we commenced gorging ourselves on the Thanksgiving spread this afternoon, my brother-in-law Randy made a comment comparing the sizes of some of the grandchildren who are about the same age. The most striking anomaly is his son Kaden, being significantly taller than our niece Shelby, who is almost a year older. Then Randy said, "Madelyn seems to be holding her own against Jack, though," referring to his son who is just 6 weeks older than our Madelyn. "But Jack has definitely out-crapped her today!"

The apparent introduction of poo as an acceptable dinner topic prompted my brother and his wife to begin discussing their recent experience potty training their youngest son. Their graphic account of the difficulties helping him learn to go Number Two on the toilet certainly did not ruin Thanksgiving dinner, but it was just enough to make me slow down my gluttonous shoveling for a few queasy moments.

A couple of hours later, we finally got our under-the-weather and cranky daughter to eat some dinner. While they were playing with some of the other cousins, I heard Gary say to her, "See how much happier you are now that you've had some dinner and taken a poop?"

Happy Thanksgiving!

The stool saga continues

This morning Madelyn "helped" me make some cookies. Part of that process included forging a few new dents in our kitchen cabinets, courtesy of pointy-square-stool. Anxious for the arrival of my new, sleek Kik Step stool, I decided to find the shipping confirmation email to see when I could expect the cabinet-carnage to cease.

I love, love, LOVE the way my gmail platform operates. When I received the original confirmation email from target.com, I didn't even open it. I knew it was my order summary, so simply archived it, knowing it could be easily retrieved if the need to review it ever arose. So this morning, I found the email I was looking for in an instant. Only it wasn't an order confirmation as I had assumed.

The email contained an apology for the "unexpected error" that caused the item I ordered to be "incorrectly priced" at the time of my order. Poop!

So my ridiculously good deal on what appears to be the most amazing stool ever created was indeed too good to be true. So I searched online today to see if I could find one in a price range that I might consider. They are priced between $52.17 and $148.27 on every site I could find, many of which offer free shipping. On eBay there are some as low as $39.95, plus at least $10 shipping. I'm going to keep looking before I give in to paying that much for a step stool. Can't wait until one day when money isn't quite so tight around here and I can just get the things we need and want without all this drama.

So....the adventure continues. And for those of you who knew without a second glance that the stool from IKEA was for sitting, not standing, I just want to say: don't you think all furniture for small children ought to be safe enough to stand on, since they will inevitably do that anyway? There is probably a sticker on the box we missed that said, "varning: alder tre och uppe." Crazy Swedes and their delicate plastic furnitures. Yeah, and their meatballs aren't that great either.

Hippo butts / Zoo redemption

We had a pleasant experience at the Oregon Zoo yesterday. I still think the attraction is generally over-priced, but since my friend Sarah invited us as complimentary guests on her zoo membership, the cost was not a factor. And we had a really nice time letting the kids walk around and indulging in some adult conversation.

Every exhibit we toured was populated with its appropriate animals, so there were no disappointing, empty habitats. We didn't visit every area in the zoo, but Sarah introduced me to some exhibits that I was not even aware existed! My favorite was "Lorikeet Landing" where you go into a small aviary where dozens of neon tropical birds will (sometimes) come right up and let you touch them. You can even feed them little cups of nectar (apparently you usually have to pay for these [!] but the bird-keeper gave Sarah one for free). I just thought it was neat to be among some animals instead of observing them from a distance. There is a larger aviary on the far side of the zoo where I have been many times before, but I rarely see any birds up close. They must be in there, however, because that is where this particular inside joke originated [this is for you, Jenn]: "Jennifah, Jennifah...Look! Buuuuuhds!"].

We also saw a gorgeous lepoard sitting on the ground right next to the glass in its home near the front of the zoo. But it was behind this little bamboo wall, which as we approached it looked like an "employees only" area to me. So apparently I've been missing this beautiful leopard all along. I think they should draw more attention to its awesome presence.

The real reason for this post, if I'm being completely honest, is to give me an excuse to post this spectacular photo:

Ah, hippo butts. A classic zoo encounter. You can see why I just couldn't decide on the more appropriate title for today's post. Thanks for the great (free) day at the zoo, Sarah and Demitri. We had fun!

Unfortunate effects of erroneous math

I hate to see local small businesses close their doors. But it's hard to be overly sympathetic when said business is built on a flawed concept or poor execution: inferior customer service, inaccessible location, highly specialized product offering, etc.

Recently, a new children's clothing resale shop opened right across the street from my Curves facility in our relatively small town. I think resale shops can be fun, because I like having new wardrobe options for my own personal dress-up doll (aka my daughter), but won't pay full price for clothes she won't be wearing very long. It's also great to have a way to recycle old clothes in exchange for new ones!

The first issue I had with this particular store opening, however, is that there is already a kids' resale shop in our small town. There used to be two, in fact, but one of them went out of business. Hm. I definitely encourage those with the skills and ambition for entrepreneurship to go for it, but a little market research would have offered a clue that a population around 20,000 can support only one kids' resale shop.

Shortly after they opened, I stopped in the new store to welcome the owner and do a little shopping. Since they had not been open very long, the limited selection was forgiveable. So a few days later, in a neighborly effort to support the cause, I brought in a bag full of clothes that I was ready to part with (I'm saving the cutest stuff in case we have another daughter before they are out of style). The owner loved everything and decided to buy all of my items except one little bib that had a stain. Cool. I said I would just take the value in trade, since I had found a couple of things on her racks that I liked.

Usually, resale stores will give you higher value in trade than they will in cash, since their cost of the clothes you take is less than the retail value. The owner had me sign a form explaining that she pays consignors 30% of the resale value of the clothing, either as a cash payment or trade-in value. She tells me she will give me $9.25 for my bag of clothes.

Bringing clothes to a resale shop is always a bit frustrating. I have found this when I've brought items over to Plato's Closet before too. You are never going get what you think your clothes are worth. But we go ahead and take what they will offer us because: a) These are items I don't want anymore, or else I wouldn't be here. b) The store doesn't care if they get my stuff or not, so there is no motivation for them to pay more or argue with me about it. c) If I took my clothes to Goodwill I would get nothing. d) I could sell them for more $ on eBay or craigslist, but it probably wouldn't be worth the extra effort. e) I am already here and don't want to have wasted my time.

In this particular instance, the clothes in the bag were rejects from what I had sold to a nicer resale shop anyway, so I didn't really think twice about accepting her nine dollars and twenty-five cents.

I brought the items I wanted up to the counter, paid the difference that I owed, and headed on my way. I didn't think it was fair for her to give me the same value on trade-in than she would have paid me in cash. But it wasn't until later when I whipped out my trusty calculator that I figured out exactly how ridiculous that is.

She paid me $9.25 for my bag of clothes. Her official documentation explains that she pays 30% of resale value, which means she will sell all of my items for $30.85. If she had paid me $9.25 cash, that would constitute her cost of goods, and she would make 70% profit. But I decided to trade for $9.25 worth of merchandise from her store. That merchandise would have also been purchased from someone like me, at 30% of resale value. Therefore, the clothing that I received in exchange for mine cost her only $2.75 (30% of $9.25). So she will sell my clothes for $30.85, and her cost was only $2.75 (or less if the prior customers chose trade value instead of cash, do you see?). That is about a 90% profit margin.

With that kind of crazy math, she ought to have been rolling in profit! Except that sometimes people figure out schemes like that and decide to shop elsewhere (oh, and also there was already a kids' resale shop 3 blocks away, remember?). The thing is, I imagine the owner never examined those figures, and was oblivious to the flawed math. Unfortunately, her business didn't last long enough for me to get around to writing her a (very nice) letter explaining the inequitable calculations.