29 Weeks and a Soup Recipe

Two important differences between my baby and a butternut squash:

1. I've never been repeatedly kicked from the inside by a butternut squash.

2. Only butternut squash makes a delicious soup (see below)

Babette's Winter Squash Soup

6 tbsp. butter

5 lbs. butternut squash

1/2 small onion, sliced thin

1 crushed garlic clove

2 qts. chicken stock

kosher salt to taste

fresh ground black peppercorn to taste

1/2 cup of water (I think . . . the recipe I was given didn't have an amount - so I've guessed)

1. Cut squash in half, scoop out and discard seeds, place on a sheet pan

2. Brush squash halves with 2 tbsp. melted butter, sprinkle with salt and pepper.

3. Bake in convection oven at 350 degrees for 20-40 minutes or until tender and golden, removed and cool slightly

4. When ok to touch (but still warm), remove pulp and discard skins.

5. In small stock pot, melt 2 tbsp. of butter over medium heat and add onions and garlic; sweat until onions are translucent and tender; stir in chicken stock

6. Add water and squash pulp; bring to a simmer and lower heat; cook gently for 20 minutes

7. Add kosher salt and pepper. Blend soup until smooth; do not strain.

(please be careful blending the soup - I've had problems with this in the past)

8. Brown the last 2 tbsp. of butter in a saute pan and carefully pour it into the soup; stir and adjust seasonings. (Yields 8 servings)

28 Weeks

I missed the 27 week posting . . . it was a head of cauliflower. At least some people have seen cauliflower and can identify with its general size, as opposed to this week - in which the baby is as big as a chinese cabbage - which (spoiler alert) is 2 weeks smaller than a typical cabbage.
Either way, you're gonna get gas.

Stats 101

There is a direct correlation between the number of nights that Husband is on call in a week and the amount of meals that I eat consisting solely of macaroni and cheese.

An Open Letter to my Neighbor

(Not the ones with the "hang out" kids . . . a different one).

While I'm not myself Christian, I do enjoy a beautiful Christmas lights display every now and again. The excitement of going outside with your little children and covering every branch, bush, and corner of your house with lights must give you great joy. And I would NEVER want to take that joy away from you.

That being said . . . I'm not sure who in your family came up with the idea to have the lights on a setting where entire chunks of the decor go black and then blink back on sporadically. Literally an entire tree goes black, then re-lights. Then the tree and the bush go black, then re-light. Next all the lights on, then the entire house goes dark. And not on any sort of rhythmic pattern, more like you are having electrical problems. This is not the soft "twinkle" that I'm used. Your house doesn't look spirited and joyous and festive like the others. It looks like it's having a seizure.

Sincerely.

Sing ON

My new favorite show on television is "Sing Off" - a competition of a capella groups. It's only on TV for 5 days (total) - and I have been addicted to every episode. I highly recommend the show (which I suppose you'd have to watch online at this point, considering all that is left is the finale on Monday), but please keep the following thoughts in mind when watching.

1. The female judge from the Pussycat Dolls is worthless. The other two judges (Ben Folds and one of the guys from Boyz II Men) provide commentary that is truly insightful and shows that they truly understand the musicality of these songs, but the chick has yet to say a single worthwhile thing since the show began. Each comment she makes falls into one of the three catagories. 1) It was awesome 2) Some reference where she makes a play on words with the song's title 3) Something about feeling like she is either in a club or in Puerto Rico. That's all she's got. I say they vote her off.

2. I have to make one of two assumptions - either a) it is ridiculously cold on the set or b) the costume designer has stock in a scarf company. Every show has featured multiple participants in scarfs. It's beyond a fashion statement, it's getting weird.

Other that those two things . . . watch it. You won't be sorry.

There goes the neighborhood

We have a problem. Two of them actually . . . in the form of the two young girls who live next door. We have lived in harmony with our neighbors for the past year and half - but I fear the end is near. Recently, the neighbor girls (who are probably 6 and 8 years old . . . maybe?) have been ringing our doorbell. Not to borrow a cup of sugar, or to let us know that there is a cat in our tree (both reasons they have stopped by before) - this time they have made no bones about it, they want to "hang out". With us. In our house.

Yesterday was the first incident, they rang around 5:00 pm and asked if they could "hang out" with me (their words). I fumbled over my words since I was taken by surprise (I had already gotten the sugar out of the pantry). I ended up telling them that I was about to leave the house, so I couldn't hang out now.

Today they rang while I was out doing errands and Husband was home post-call. He heard their signature double-ring of the doorbell and wisely ignored it. And then, 30 minutes later, they tried again. Fortunately, Husband only answers the door if it rings within 40 minutes of ordering a pizza - so he knew better. Three attempts in two days does not bode well for our ability to ward these children off for the next 3 and half years. Please post or email potential excuses that we can use in the future.

Out of my element

A few weeks ago, one of the parents at our school brought a platter of these mini-finger-sandwiches to work. They were warm and delicious and I couldn't get enough. I finally asked what they were. HAM DELIGHTS! What? I don't even eat ham! (Or so I thought. . . ) But these were simply delicious. They were, in fact, delightful.

Flash forward to last night, I am making an appetizer to bring over to Beth's for a Mom's Night Out gathering . . . and I decide to replicate the Ham Delights. (It was a holiday-themed get-together, and they seemed very Christmas-y for a nice Jewish girl). I found a recipe, whipped them up, and they turned out great (if I do say so myself). Husband couldn't get over the fact that I had purchased a pound of ham at the grocery, let alone that I was actually concocting a recipe that involved such traif. He said I should have made latkes - although I have to admit, the Ham Delights took 25 minutes to make and involved little-to-no mess. Sure beats 2 hours of shredding potatoes and a nasty hot oil burn on your forearms . . . Happy Channukah.

26 weeks

This week, the baby is as long as an "English Hothouse Cucumber" (about 14 inches). Apparently, the English Hothouse Cucumber has a thinner skin, less-conspicuous seeds, and is more phallic-looking that your traditional cucumber.

North vs. South

Sometimes I start writing a post and then never finish it . . . this one was from our trip to Asheville in October . . .

Greetings from Asheville. We got here last night for a little vacation celebration with Husband's side of the family. Mama Riv, Dad Doug, Mark and Auntie D. all came down south so we could celebrate Dad Doug's 60th birthday together. (Originally more exotic locations were considered, but we were a bit limited by Husband's schedule . . . so we needed something a little more local for us.)

Today we loaded into the car for a visit to the renowned Biltmore Estate. The largest house and one of the top tourist destinations in the country. You have to buy tickets ahead of time (not cheap) and you are assigned a time to enter (presumably for crowd control). When our time came around, we found ourselves in a molasses-moving herd of tourists, shuffling from one room to another at a snail-like pace. There was no roaming, no exploring, just follow the heifer in front of you.

The Yankee-kin were not amused. We hadn't even made it to the first room when someone in the family recommended that we bunk the traditional route and try to go on the tour backwards (start on the top floor and work our way down). But it was no use. We still found ourselves corralled by ropes and lines everywhere we went. By the time we were in the 4th room, Riv's eyes were rolling into the back of her head and DadDoug was starting to exhale loudly. Family consensus: time to bail.

But you can't just bail the Biltmore House . . . too many ropes and people. We literally had to be escorted out of the home by a docent. The best part, DadDoug had the just-bold-enough idea to ask for a refund (hey, it can't hurt!) and the Biltmore House was just bless-their-hearts-sweet-enough to comply!

All in all - a great vacation. Sorry it took so long to report.

Why I don't go to the mall.

As I walked through Macy's today, one of the roaming-with-sample saleswomen stopped me. With an open jar in her hand, she offered, "Would you like to try some anti-wrinkle cream (pause, pause) for your neck?"

Did I just hear you correctly, lady? You didn't simply offer me the anti-wrinkle cream . . . you have a specific part of my body that needs wrinkle-removing in mind?? That was hurtful, Anti-Wrinkle-Lady. Very hurtful.