An Ode to My Apron

I thought this vintage Good Housekeeping cover had my name written all over it (that is, if you substitute the pie crust and rolling pin for a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and a big spoon), because there are two things that I really, really love to do: bake, and wear an apron.

Actually, let me qualify that statement.  I do love to bake, but I don't love to wear an apron; I only wear one because if I didn't, every article of clothing I own would be stained beyond redemption by this point.  Although I consider myself a fairly neat person, I am a fairly messy cook.  I tend to spill things, tip things over, and splatter myself with grease.  I am truly impressed by anyone who can cook without an apron and not end up wearing half the ingredients on her shirt.

My second son is quite amused by the whole apron thing, which I don't understand.  He says I'm always wearing one--even when I sleep!  Not true. I definitely take it off at bedtime. But I do spend more time sporting an apron than most gals, probably; because even standing at the sink washing dishes without one is bad news for my clothes, so pretty much any time I set foot in my kitchen, I strap one on.  Son #2 and his girlfriend came to our house for dinner recently, and when she offered to make the salad, he asked me to get her an apron first.  Gullible me--I thought she'd requested it.  I thought she was a fellow apron fanatic.  I realize now that he just made her wear it for his own amusement.

Son, what's so funny about an apron?  Heck, back in the day, most women wore aprons when they were working in the kitchen.  June Cleaver, for instance, wouldn't have dreamed of cooking without one.  Of course, June wore a dress, high heels, and pearls when she was making dinner for Ward, Wally, and the Beave, so she had a fancy outfit to protect. But hey, I don't want to have butter stains on my jeans and polo shirts any more than June wanted them on her dresses.

I need my trusty apron.  It's always got my back (make that my front).  I love it and I don't care who knows it!  So here's a little ode to my apron, a haiku--because that's the quickest and easiest kind of poetry there is, and I have to wrap this up so that I can go and ice a Bundt cake.

My Apron

I love my apron-- 

with big pockets, tied in back.

I wear it always.

(But not when I'm in bed!)

Sportsmanship on Display

Our second oldest son is just about to finish up his first year as a high school algebra teacher.  In the fall, he was an assistant coach for the varsity football team, and his boys went to the state championship game (although they didn't win).  This spring, he has been the defense coach for the varsity lacrosse team, and last night they won the championship with a 12-4 victory over his old alma mater.

That was strange for us, sitting in the stands and not rooting for the blue team we'd been a part of for 12 years (because not only did we have boys playing on it, but my husband coached the defense, too, and then our #2 son spent 5 years coaching alongside his dad).  But my husband and I root for our boys, always; and last night, our boy was a coach for the red team.  And there we were with our youngest, whose senior season was still fresh in his memory, and who had teammates he'd played with just a year ago out on that field.  Of course he was going to root for his alma mater.  So we sat there on the 50-yard line, caught somewhere in the middle for this epic battle: we were neutral territory; we were Switzerland.

The great thing is that it really was a win-win situation.  If our #2 son's team won, our baby would be happy for his brother, in spite of being disappointed for his former teammates.  And if they lost, my husband and I would be happy for the boys in blue, for whom we'll always have a soft spot.

It turned out to be a big win for the boys in red--but the best part was that both teams were class acts throughout, giving a clinic on what winning and losing with dignity is supposed to look like.  They both displayed the kind of sportsmanship you hope your kids will learn from playing high school sports.


After the game, I was able to capture some sweet candid moments when our son hugged and spoke with his former AD, who'd been there throughout his high school years when he was an athlete, and who'd become a co-worker during the 5 years he spent at his alma mater as a coach.  This man is one of the finest people we've ever met, and I'm sure each of our boys will carry with him fond memories of Mr. L for the rest of his life.  They spent a lot of time in his office next to the gym, eating the candy he bought in bulk to have on hand for the kids (but not during Lent!) and shooting the breeze.  We just love this man.

The sad thing is that Mr. L suffered a stroke last year, and although he has made a lot of progress in his recovery, he is going to be retiring at the end of this year.  I'm just happy that all 5 of our boys had him as their AD throughout their high school years.  Everyone in this family loves him, and it's truly touching to see how incredibly fond he is of our boys.  Every time my husband and I chat with him, he says, "God bless you" about 10 times.  But I say God bless him, because he has enriched the lives of our sons more than he will ever know.  And during his 13-year tenure as AD at their high school, he has played a huge role in so many kids' lives.

I will always believe that sports--and the coaches and AD's who are involved with them--can teach kids a lot of important life lessons.  Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, and you need to know how to handle both situations with grace.  Thanks to people like Mr. L, my husband, and son #2, a whole lot of boys have learned the art of sportsmanship.

Checkers, Anyone? Anyone?

Some of my sons went through a chess-playing phase when they were young, and of course most kids are up for the occasional game of checkers.  Because of this, years ago I fell in love with a coffee table with a painted checkerboard on the top that I saw in the LL Bean catalog.  I imagined that if we had such a table, there would be countless cozy winter nights with snow falling outside, a roaring fire in the family room fireplace, and my five boys huddled around the coffee table playing endless, spirited games of checkers and chess.  (I know that sounds a little too Norman Rockwell-esque.  But a mom can dream, can't she?)

Instead of paying top dollar, though, my husband and I bought an unfinished table made of sturdy oak and finished it ourselves, with barn red paint on the bottom and a light stain on top.  Then I went to town on the checkerboard, measuring everything out very carefully in an attempt to make our coffee table resemble the one they sold at LL Bean.

The table turned out really nice, if I do say so myself.

Here's the thing, though: I don't remember many epic chess and checkers tournaments played on this coffee table, with a roaring fire in the fireplace or otherwise.  I think the boys might have tested it out a few times (probably just to humor their mom); but if I remember correctly, they still chose to use the folded cardboard checkerboards that they'd always used before I decided that we just had to have this table.  The beauty of those, of course, is that they're portable and you can set them up wherever you want to.  Oh, well...the checkerboard coffee table was a good idea--in theory.

I bet if my boys went to their friends' houses and saw coffee tables like this one, they played games on them all the time.  I think with kids, the things they see day in and day out at their own houses are never as interesting as the things they see at their friends' houses--even if they're the very same things!  We have both a Foosball table and a ping pong table, but they never got as much use as I thought they would.  They saw the most action, of course, during times when our boys had friends over.  (Meanwhile, their friends' Foosball and ping pong tables were gathering dust at home.)

Our sons always loved to play pool at their friends' houses, and I always used to wish that pool tables weren't so expensive so we could get one for our own house.  But you know what?  It's just as well, because that big old thing probably would have sat there lonely and neglected in the basement while they played pool elsewhere.

We did have video games at our house, though; and much to my husband's chagrin, playing video games was one activity our guys were just as happy to do at home as at their friends' houses.  So on those snowy winter nights, they may not have been gathered together around this checkerboard coffee table...but at least they were together--in the basement, gathered around the N64.

Irish This 'N That

I just love the Irish.  They are the best storytellers, the best joke tellers.  They love to laugh and dance and raise their glasses of Guinness (or in the Pearl family's case, their cold cans of Miller Lite) at parties--to celebrate life to the fullest, surrounded by relatives and friends.

At least the Irish people I know are like that.  My husband's family is composed of lads and lasses of 100% pure Irish blood, I believe.  Both sides of his family tree are populated with Roaches, Buckleys, McCoys, Sweeneys, Mullanes, Foleys, and the like.  I, on the other hand, am a mutt.  My mother's maiden name is Kelly, but I think I'm technically only 1/8-1/4 Irish (and in fact I'm about 1/2 English, which means that my British ancestors were the oppressors of my husband's Irish ones--how sad!).*  The one thing not blatantly Irish about my husband's clan is the name Pearl, which doesn't really sound very Irish at all.  I sometimes wonder if it was misinterpreted and given a new spelling somewhere along the way, when an immigrant to this country had a brogue too thick to understand.

Anyway, fully Irish or not, I am fascinated by and drawn to Irish culture.  I would love the opportunity to travel to Dublin one day with my husband, who occasionally flies there--and by that, I mean pilots planes filled with Dublin-bound passengers.  Our beloved Notre Dame Fighting Irish are actually playing a football game there in the fall, and barring any unforeseen circumstances we are planning to go over and watch the game--and do a little sightseeing on the Emerald Isle as well.

In the meantime, I have turned our two oldest sons' former bedroom into a guestroom with a decidedly Irish decorative theme going on.

For the record, this bedroom looked NOTHING like this when two messy boys were inhabiting it.

And yesterday, I made a fiscally irresponsible choice at the grocery store, simply because I am fascinated by all things Irish.  We were almost out of butter (a crisis situation around here), so after Mass my husband and I stopped to get some.  We picked up two pounds of store brand salted butter, and then this intriguing package which I'd never seen in the dairy aisle before caught my eye: "Kerrygold Naturally Softer Pure Irish Butter."  Imported from Ireland!  It was $3.29 for a half-pound, whereas our normal butter costs a mere $2.49 a pound.  At that price, we thought, it sure better taste like gold!  (My husband quipped, "I hope 'Irish butter' isn't just another name for margarine.")

Well, we had our Irish butter on our Portuguese bread last night, along with a pot roast dinner.  And I must say, the Irish make a good butter, just like they make a good beer.  But I think from now on, we'll stick to the much cheaper store brand...except, perhaps, on special occasions, like St. Patty's Day!

*If I got my percentages wrong here, I'm sure to hear about it from my Dad (our self-appointed family genealogist).

Let Them Eat (Character) Cake!

Yesterday, my twin granddaughters got to experience one of life's greatest joys (in my opinion): they ate CAKE!  Their very first pieces of cake.  Well, I guess they mostly smeared it all over their faces, but some of the heavenly-tasting stuff did actually make it into their little mouths.

On the grand occasion of their first birthday, their daddy made them an amazing cake; I tell you, this cake looked like it was created by T.V.'s "Cake Boss" himself, Buddy Valastro.  The girls love the Elmo character on "Sesame Street," so their dad made that cute little monster's likeness out of yellow cake and tinted buttercream frosting--and it was a true masterpiece.

I give you...my son's Elmo cake!  Ta da!

My firstborn majored in engineering in college, so it is no wonder that he engineered such a perfect birthday cake for his baby girls.  He drew Elmo's features in icing with a mathematician's precision, making sure that everything was in perfect proportion vis a vis the image he was trying to duplicate.  His hard work paid off, because next to all of the character cakes I made for him and his brothers when they were little guys, this one really takes the cake.  (Did you see what I did there?)

Way back when, on the occasion of this same son's second birthday, I made him a cake in the image of his favorite "Sesame Street" character at the time: Cookie Monster.  (He was mine, too; I could totally relate to Cookie Monster's constant craving for chocolate chip cookies, the second best food there is after birthday cake.)  Here's that cake, from twenty-six years ago:

I believe I am correct when I say that the student (who spent all those years watching the cake baking process and eagerly licking the bowls) has become the master.  Because although my Cookie Monster cake, with its marshmallow eyes and Hershey bar mouth, was not bad, it doesn't hold a candle to my boy's Elmo cake!  (Again, did you see what I did there?  This Cookie Monster Cake is actually holding a candle shaped like a 2!)

I hate to end this happy post on a sad note, but did you know that Cookie Monster eats mostly health foods nowadays?  He still has the occasional cookie, but he eats a ton of veggies.  I worry that the day will come when this beloved, iconic character will be renamed  "Cauliflower Monster."  Or "Carrot Monster."  I mean, come on!  He's Cookie Monster...because he likes COOKIES!  But I guess it's not very PC these days to promote the idea of kids eating sweets.

I'm not saying little ones should gobble cookies all the time, or cake either; but on their birthdays, at least, you've definitely gotta let them eat cake!

BIRTHDAY GIRLS

My precious identical twin granddaughters are one year old today.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the two most adorable little people on the planet!  Those wee lasses came into the world like two little rays of sunshine, lighting up the lives of so many, and they are loved more than they could ever imagine.

I saw a Family Circle cartoon once that said, "God creates twins whenever he makes a face he really likes."  Look at these faces: is it any wonder that God decided one of them would just not be enough?

My daughter-in-law told me yesterday that they're planning to take the girls to the petting zoo today.  What a fun way to celebrate the girls' big day!  And what I wouldn't give to be there to see that!  (If there's anything cuter than baby humans, it's baby humans petting baby animals.)

This is not only a red letter day for Bonny and Kewpie; it's also a milestone for their parents.  I'm so proud of my oldest son and the lovely young lady he married.  Those two kids have handled the first crazy, busy, exhausting year of raising twins with patience, grace, and humor.  They are an inspiration.  Just as twins are a special miracle from God, the parents He chooses for them are special, too.  So on the babies' first birthday, here's a little poem in honor of their mommy and daddy:

The Parents of Twins

by Larry Howland

A meeting was convened one day

In Heaven's sacred hall.

The ideal parents must be found

For twins so sweet and small.

They must be patient, first of all,

And calm and kind and wise,

And capable of chasing tears 

Away from little eyes.

Would also put their children first

And have a lot of smarts,

With dedication and resolve,

Two sweet and loving hearts.

It was agreed you were the best--

No other ones would do.

Yes, Heaven found the perfect ones

And sent those twins to you!

One More Day and They'll Be One!

In one day, my twin granddaughters turn one year old.  I can hardly believe it!  Where does the time go?

I know I'll be blogging about them again tomorrow, on their actual birthday; but today, I can't stop thinking about those two little cutie pies and all the joy they've brought--not only to their parents, but to two entire families--in the one year they've been on this earth.

Their daddy was in Afghanistan until they were four months old (although he got to spend two weeks with them, when they were about a month old and he was home on leave), but now he has been with them twice as long as he was away from them.  Understandably, it took a little while after he got back from deployment for them to feel as comfortable with him as they did with their mommy.  But as you can see from these pictures, they appear to feel pretty darn comfortable with their daddy these days.

The girls climbing all over their daddy...

...and climbing all over him some more.

Being a parent has always been my greatest joy in life.  Now, seeing the son I raised--the guy who was one year old himself only YESTERDAY--in the role of  parent, and seeing how much he loves being a daddy to his little girls, is just indescribably wonderful.

I'm thrilled that I'm a grandmother (a "Grammy")--have I mentioned that yet in this blog?  Here's a great quote I found about being a grandmother, by Author Unknown (one of my favorite authors): "Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting."  Considering my strong affinity for frosting, that description gets a big thumb's up from this old lady!  And that is what I'm striving to be for these little granddaughters and any future grandchildren I might have: a grandma who is as sweet as a frosted cupcake.