Archive for July, 2009:
Don’t put an artichoke in the microwave
I fancy myself a decent cook and purveyor of above-average meals that have gotten two children to - and almost through - the adolescent stage of life. Healthy foods fill the cabinets, fridge and freezer — Omega 3’s and whole grains, organic beef and free range chicken. Even quinoa. Of course occasionally I make a grave error in judgment - like the time I attempted to pass off turkey as beef, the misplaced attempt to hide pulverized vegetables in burgers and today, when in an effort to expand the 5-a-day repertoire, I decided that steaming an artichoke could be done in the microwave.
It cannot.
Houses that smell like burnt artichokes for upwards of four hours, send teenagers running for the proverbial hills and dogs under the beds. Come to think of it, burning artichokes might be something to consider depending on the day.
That being said, I consistently and successfully broil, braise and grill. I slow cook and stir fry. I follow recipes and I wing it. I can make different meals with the same ingredients and the same meals with different ingredients.
But I’ve never entertained the idea of a cooking blog. I’ve written posts about food and nutrition, of my whatever philosophy that has led my kids to make a lot of good choices. But cook online? On display?
No.
I don’t have pretty, matching mixing bowls or vintage measuring spoons. My mix-master is white and dusty, and my hand-held mixer has one blade. I have cabinets with stacked pots, pans and nary a pull out drawer that gives me easy access. I have lids that almost fit most of my casseroles dishes and my Tupperware collection has no real Tupperware.
I don’t clean up as I go, which means that every bag, box, package and bowl is on the counter when the cooking is done. It lends itself to little more than an overwhelming clean-up - which often means that I leave it until morning especially if I need to watch The Bachelorette or The Next Food Network Star.
While none of those things have effected my enthusiasm for creating a meal that meshes — it has tempered my ability to cook in a group - and to share my passion on a blog.
I will offer you a word of advice though - without the benefit of step-by-step instructions or a litany of colorful photographs showcasing antique stoneware bowls with bright yellow neatly whisked, bubbly egg yolks.
When you want artichokes, just open a can.
Independence Day
I awoke this morning with full-fledged intentions of writing a brand-spanking new and original July 4th red,white and blue blog post. And then I remembered that a few years ago I’d written an Independence Day post. I read it. Pretty much it still applies even three years later.
Grab your coffee, give it a read and come back and share your own thoughts on independence.
Click here.
Just beachy (now with an addendum)
Last night my daughter confirmed plans to spend today at the beach with a friend.
“I have to be at [her] house at 8:30,” she said.
“OK.”
Summer has been schedule-less thus far for me and my daughter. Getting up and out before 8:30 will require her alarm clock and gentle nudging. Her mornings have consisted of sleeping in, toaster waffles and TV in bed under a blanket. She has had plenty of outings with me and her girlfriends but they are usually afternoon and evening. What this means is that unlike the school year when the house is kidless from 8 - 3; the summer has left me without my prime time to myself. I’m a morning and early afternoon gal. For me, it’s the best time for writing, exercising, cleaning and anything else. So with my son gone for summer school by 7:45 every day, I realized that this meant one thing.
“You’ll be gone the whole day? Starting at 8:30?”
“I go away for a month in a couple of weeks.”
“Yes you do, so this is like a warm-up for me, huh?”
I feigned sad and left her bedroom, checked behind me and on both sides — and did a little jig.
*Edited to add:
As my daughter skulks around getting ready for the day, I prod my son wondering why he’s not awake, eating his morning Lean Pocket, drinking coffee as he’s taking to doing and getting his lunch together for summer school.
There is no summer school today.
Nix that jig.
The mom-blog and keyword combo
My ex called me “Sister Mary Safety.” It was a good-spirited private joke because I always drove the speed limit, paid for grapes before I ate them and never ran with scissors. I tested the water temperature in a pool, wore sunscreen, a seat belt and a bike helmet.
And I still do.
My life could be called a cautionary tale, unless you’re privy to the many times I have jumped into things head first, all of which have happened in the past seven years. When I have taken chances, been risky and stepped over lines - it has never involved my children.
When I started blogging I was anonymous. Then I let my name out of the bag and allowed my kids to decide what I’d call them when I blogged. When I write articles and essays that are published online I refer to my son and my daughter. In one Chicago Tribune article I was asked to use their first names and did so — but they do not share the last name that you all know as mine — the one in my byline. I have rarely posted their photos - and when I have, the photos have been profiles or muted views. There are photos of my kids, without ‘tags’ on my Facebook page and no one can see my photos unless I approve them. Everything in the security section of my Facebook account is private, private, private.
I have seen that many mom bloggers watermark their photos so they cannot be lifted and used elsewhere. Many use cutesie names like Slugger and Princess for their kids.
How careful do we have to be? Is there a way to make sure that the dregs of the webiverse don’t go looking for weirdness on our blogs? We’ve all read the post where bloggers list the absurd google searches that lead people to them. Most of time it’s funny, sometimes a little creepy. But if your inocuous titles and either strategically or randomly placed keywords lead sickos to your site — where you talk about your life and your kids — what can you do? Can you do anything at all?
I read an account recently of a woman who used a few choice expletives in a post title, along with the word “toddler.” She apparently told a tale about a rude woman who gave a child “the finger.” I bet it was a great story invoking gasps among a plethora of moms across the blogosphere.
But the google searches that lead to her blog after that were less than tasteful. They were sick. She’s getting advice on what to do and who to contact even though this (if I remember correctly) was an international search and obviously this person did not find what he was looking for.
The whole thing made me throw up a little in my mouth - but not only because this happened. I was the only one who responded with not only regret, but with some thoughts on what to say and what not to say on one’s blog if you want to try to avoid this kind of thing. I pointed out this was a good lesson for us all.
I know a lot of people enjoy the right to shock-blog, but from what I can they realize what they’re doing. Many bloggers will write anything for traffic. Neither was the case here. And yes, the important thing is that this blogger feel like she has “done something” in case the internet footprint left on her site helps authorities in any way. I applaud her for not shrugging it off and for reaching out for help.
But another thing ran through my mind as well: What the hell were you thinking?
As much as this sometimes feels like the corner booth in the local coffee shop, it’s the internet. The World Wide Web. As its tenants we should be responsible users, especially as moms who write about our lives and our children. We each decide how much we’ll share. There’s no right or wrong - just personal preference. But wise and careful words are not a mistake. Are they ever?
As a writer I do not censor myself but my word choices are deliberate. I am an intentional and conscientious communicator - as much as possible.
Don’t stop honest, forthright, poignant, thought-provoking or funny blogging — but maybe channel a little of your own Sister Mary Safety when you do.
‘Cause the crap that can happen online is no joke.
