Easy Now As Un, Deux, Trois!

Watch me do the can, can, canning of jam. Or the attempt thereof because, so far, the gathering of supplies has been a comedy of errors.

I helped facilitate a jam-making night last week and didn't bring my berries with because I wasn't sure how long it would take if we had more people than burners, blah blah blah. I could do it on my own later, right?

We already had a large stock pot that J bought when he had delusions of home-brewing...in an apartment...with children...and carpet everywhere. Are you laughing yet? Me too. Anyhow, I 'just' needed to get a circular cooling rack, or a square one small enough so that all my precious jam jars didn't shatter when I put them in the hot water bath.

I checked every store I could think of; Wal-Mart, Target, called HomeGoods and even Christmas Tree Shops which I've not set foot in even though it's just down the road. No dice. Seriously, what happens if someone wants to cool a pie or a small batch of cookies? Have small cooling racks gone the way of the walkman?

After picking raspberries at Tougas this morning, upping my jam varietals to two, I decided to spring for the canning pot at the Hardware store. An extra dozen jars and a lengthy conversation with the clerk (unheard of in NewEngland) I was on my way home to sterilize and smash my way to homemade jam.

As I was filling the pot up to the recommended 4.5 inch depth, I took out the crazy looking wire rack and realized that it's slotted perfectly to hold seven quart jars. Aparrently the description on the label that says "Our mini canner is perfect for making jams, jellys and salsas" was not in reference to the product on which the label was pasted.

Feeling a little in despair, I looked at my perfectly thawed strawberries and the fresh raspberries just begging to be made jamtastic, and gave them a quick apology while I called the hardware store to see if they carry the mini-canner.

No, no they do not.

Being a fan of instant gratification, I called the woman at whose house we made the jam to see if I could borrow the tray we used that night. Oh yeah, did I explain that I was shamelessly asking to borrow the rack from her microwave?! Yes, I'm that fixated.

About a half hour later, I was gleefully entering the kitchen and what do you know? The legs on the rack stick out just far enough that it wouldn't fit in my pot. I called a couple more stores to see if I could run out, be back, and make the jam in the two hours I had left before leaving to sit for a friend. Then I called Williams-Sonoma...of course they have one in stock. But the Natick Mall is 30 minutes away without traffic, so I'll have to pick it up. Wait...is that crazy? To buy a $15 cooling rack that I'm not even sure will fit, just to rig something together instead of doing it right?

Even I know when to call it a day. I re-packaged my berries, waved farewell to the newly sterilized jars in my dishwasher, trudged up the stairs and used my amazon gift card to order a canning rack appropriate for small jars which should be here in 3-5 days.

And on the 5th day, She made jam.

Young Man, Pick Yourself Off the Ground

**Caution: This is a rant.

Yesterday, at Davis Farmland, I had one of my first real Mama Bear moments. After two hours of fun in the sun and water, a pleasant lunch and some ice cream our time was winding down. I sent Henry back to the splash pad because it's a whole lot easier than wiping the sticky remains of his sweet treat from his little bod.

The aqua fun-land is divided into a large pad for the big kids with lots o' fun and a small pad for the little tykes that has a couple of simple geysers. Guess which pad caused the bigger ruckus yesterday?

I was changing Charlie's diaper in my lap so that I wouldn't be negligent in the supervision of my child and was visiting with three other mamas. I heard the tell-tale seal bark of a mother who was also seen flapping her arms like a woman trying to shoo a fox out of the hen house that meant somebody's child was causing a problem. I immediately stood up because I was pretty sure it was H.

I'm no innocent when it comes to the 'precocious' nature of my child. He's physical, but not mean, and he gets his feelings hurt easily. I saw a 4 or 5 year old boy who was sitting over a fountain of water and Henry standing over looking perturbed. He was gazing at the approaching woman like a deer in the headlights. With Charlie on my hip, I quickly asked what was going on as she yelled (and no, I'm not exaggerating, she was yelling) at H "What do you think you're doing?!"

I again asked what he did, I was literally less than 10 feet from him the entire time, and he'd been fine when I glanced at him 30 secons prior. I was informed that he'd kicked the other child. sigh. "Oh, Henry!" (there, now you know what H stands for).

But crazy mom doesn't stop there. In her floppy hat, arms akimbo, she adds loudly "He kicked him in the boaaaahls, actually! That's what he did!" Note; we're standing about three feet apart. She's clearly yelling.

Okay, a) crude talk for a playground b) I get it, your child is victimized. My child is evil. Please note that the offended child was not crying, whimpering or otherwise appearing injured and looked as surprised as H that his mother was acting like a loon as she hauled him from his spread eagle position of possession on the geyser.

There is a right and a wrong way to address someone else's child, and the way she was doing it was not it. I'm all about someone redirecting a child if the parent isn't immediately available. But you don't yell at someone else's kid, a stranger's kid at that. I've had to peel another kid off Henry before and you just do it, smiling wryly at the apologetic parent is always a plus. Because, guess what? Four year-old boys sometimes kick each other! Is it okay? No. Is it a federal offense, punishable by up to to ten years in prison, or one session of your banshee ass? No.

Floppy Hat next bellowed loudly "You need to come over here and apologize, is what you need to do!" Wait. Is she talking to my child? The one that I'm quite clearly taking by the arm to lead off the splashpad? With iron resolve to be mature, I turned to her and smiled saying "Excuse me! He has a mother. I'm it. I've got it from here. But, thanks." Translation; Step. Off. Bitch.

That boy's mom robbed him of an apology, because I was too busy explaining to H in a calm manner of unknown origin that kicking was never a nice option, and it would be no way to make that boy his friend. Crying "But, I don't want him to not be a friend! I asked him to move and he kept saying no!"

H changed and our lunch gathered up, I said good-bye to our friends and headed to the car. I restrained myself from leaning over to floppy hat indeterminate age mom/grandma and whispering "I'm sorry you're a bitch." There, I apologized.

I am a big proponent of it taking a village, but that village is not self-appointed. As parents, we choose the people with whom we surround ourselves and our children so that they can have consistent modeling and parenting. We are not the YMCA and you, Ms Cow, are not one of my people.

Why did I not see this commercial before our little Cape (mis)adventure?!

My. Endless Love.

As I enter my thirties, I realized I've spent the entire last decade with my husband. I've been thinking a lot about that 20 year-old girl I was when I met him. I was fresh out of my first real relationship, one that's frankly embarassing to look back on in all of it's feverish first-love intensity; completely undeserving of my devotion was he, as he was a total knob. Mad Dog and Manischewitz were the closest I'd come to appreciating wine and that boy's brew of choice was Keystone Ice. Yep, it was a quality time fo' sho'. The time in your life when you think the definition of Twue Wuv is to love what your partner loves, period.

Then I spotted that cute boy (J) at the club fair before school started and felt the warming in the belly that comes when you look at someone and think 'I want to know him!' As luck would have it, he was in my 8am class so, for once, I didn't hit the snooze and I wasn't afraid to let my smart and sassy side out because he was quiet, but wickedly smaht. The yin to my yang. Even better, he lived in the dorm below me, so there was ample opportunity to accidentally-on-purpose walk to classes together and chat him up without being super obvious. Well, there would have been, if one of my defining characteristics was not to be super obvious.

Looking back, I can't pinpoint the specific time in our (J's and I) relationship when I sat back and sighed and let the real me, faults and all, shine through but it happened and he still loved me. Oh, is that love? I was fiercely opinionated and independent, outgoing and loved to be the center of attention. And he let me be.

College came to a close, I graduated and waited for his old butt to finish as he'd taken time from school to be an Airborne Ranger in the Army; a fact that failed to impress me on our first 'date' when he showed me the article in a magazine during a Halloween party in his dorm about his unit, as I was sure he was pulling my leg.

I started my career as a Child Welfare social worker and during his senior year we got married, then came medical school, the birth of H, residency, the birth of C and here we are.

I'm sitting and drinking a chilled glass of Bridlewood Viognier, listening to my babes sleep and getting ready to knit some more socks. Did that 20 year-old girl think she'd be an at-home mom? Not in a million years. Could she imagine a time when she'd worship at the gates of heavy red wines? Could I have foreseen that I'd be completely content in a relationship with a man that is my partner and makes me happy, but upon whom I do not rely for my happiness? I think it's what I always hoped, but I wouldn't have been able to define it.

We will be a success of residency, unlike many that end in divorce, because more than loving each other, we are content to be our own people. We appreciate what the other person is and we make the most of what we have right now.

Oh yeah, and we make sure to have sex a lot.

All you mamas of boys; check out my review of the next installment of the Daniel X series, Watch the Skies on Knitty Reviews.