Peach Blueberry Custard Pie

There’s really no dessert better than pie. I’m somewhat of a pie aficionado, thanks to my mom, who made it often and always encouraged us to eat the leftovers for breakfast.  Apple, banana cream, pumpkin, chocolate pecan…I love them all.  Yet among the highest castes of the “pierarchy” is this recipe—peach blueberry custard.

Several summers ago, my mom, Simon and I were brainstorming dessert ideas, and pie was on our mind as usual. By some divine inspiration, we decided to combine two of my mom’s recipes: peach blueberry pie and peach custard pie. And now, years later, as we recreate that magical recipe every summer, we sometimes catch ourselves wondering what life was like before peach blueberry custard pie.

Peaches and blueberries: two of the best summer fruits.

What I love about this pie is the combination of flavors and textures of the fruit, custard and crust. This recipe showcases the ultimate summer fruits—peaches and blueberries—with a deliciously simple, old-fashioned egg custard. Serve it hot or cold with some whipped cream and you’ve got perfection on your plate.

 

Recipe: Peach Blueberry Custard Pie

Ingredients:

• 1 unbaked pie crust (homemade is best) Crust recipe: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Butter-Pie-Crust-236477/

Fruit filling:

• 1 cup fresh blueberries
• 1 ½ cups fresh peaches or nectarines, peeled and chopped (or leave the skin on the nectarines)

For the custard:

• 2/3 cup white sugar
• 2 eggs
• 3 tablespoons butter (softened)
• 2 tablespoons water
• 2 tablespoons all purpose flour

Note: I always double the custard recipe when using a large pie dish (like I did this time)

 Instructions:

Make the pie crust according to recipe instructions.  Press the dough into a pie pan, fold under any excess dough, and press with your fingers and thumb to make a decorative edge. Put it back in the fridge for another half hour to rest.

Freshly rolled out all pie crust, previously chilled in disk form in the fridge for two hours

Crust placed over pie dish with edges folded under

I used a simple technique with the knuckle of my right index finger and the tips of my left thumb and index finger to make this decorative edge. Remember to let the crust chill in the fridge for at least thirty minutes after this to avoid it from shrinking when baked.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Pull out the crust from the fridge, poke it with a fork several times on the bottom and sides (not the decorative edge) and bake for about 12 minutes, or until slightly golden. You can put some pie weights to keep it from puffing up, but since it’s not going to get very baked, any bubbles will probably shrink once you take it out. The point of this step is to ensure that once the pie is ready, the bottom crust is nice and baked. I’m not a fan of doughy-bottomed pies.

Par baked crust. Mine puffed up in the middle but deflated once I took it out of the oven and gently pressed it down.

Make the custard! Mix all the ingredients using a whisk or mixer until fully incorporated. As I mentioned above, I often double the custard recipe.

Custard.  Don’t worry about the butter clumping up, as it will melt nicely once it bakes.

Scatter the fruit over the par baked crust.  Whisk up the custard one more time and pour it over the fruit (sometimes the custard separates a little if it sits in a bowl for a bit).

Purple and yellow are so gorgeous together! They are complementary colors, after all. Use as much fruit as you want! In fact, this pie could have used some more fruit to make the fruit to custard ratio more balanced.

BAKE ME!!!

With steady hands, carefully place the pie back into the oven, still at 400 degrees. Bake for 15 minutes to slightly brown the top of the pie, then lower to 325 degrees and bake for about 35 minutes to an hour. Since the edges of the pie had a head start and will continue to cook more quickly than the custard, you’ll probably have to cover them with aluminum foil to prevent them from burning.

About halfway there… Notice how I folded pieces of aluminum foil over the edge to prevent the crust from burning.

The pie is ready once the custard doesn’t jiggle when you gently pull at the oven rack.  If the pie is fully baked but the top isn’t browned enough, you can broil it for a a few seconds, but be careful not to burn it! Note that if you double the custard recipe, you’ll need to bake the pie for about an hour.  Cool the pie on a wire rack at least 30 minutes.

YES!!!

Serve your delicious summer pie warm, room temperature or chilled alongside whipped cream or ice cream, or just by itself, and don’t be ashamed if you go for seconds.  If you make it ahead and keep it in the fridge, take it out at least 30 minutes before serving to allow the butter in the crust to soften.

 

Tips:

• Be sure to use slightly firm peaches or nectarines instead of ripe, juicy ones. If the fruit is too juicy, the pie gets messy and doesn’t set as well. Also, this pie really only works when peaches are in season, as off-season peaches and nectarines have no flavor.
• I’ve never used frozen blueberries, as I fear the color would bleed and the texture wouldn’t be as nice. Also, the excess water might prevent the custard from setting up. But hey, if you try it out, let me know!
• This custard can be used with all kinds of fruit. I have made a simple blueberry custard, a peach custard, and even a blackberry custard pie. All are good, but as long as you have access to seasonal ingredients, peach blueberry custard is the way to go!

 

Don’t forget to leave your questions and comments below! And remember to follow, like, share and subscribe!

 

 

 

How We Became Dads

Becoming a parent is always a miracle, and our story is no exception. As we approach father’s day, I’d like to share how my husband Simon and I became dads.

Ellis at one month with me (AKA Papá or Robbie) and Simon (AKA Daddy)

In the beginning, fatherhood seemed like a distant dream, a near impossibility.  For years we talked about our plans to have a child, but once we gave ourselves a deadline–Simon’s 45th birthday–we finally took action and started doing some research.

After ruling out the idea of taking a turkey baster to one of our friends, we turned to adoption.  Before we knew it, a social worker was at our house explaining the whole process. She seemed to think that us being gay would be no problem, and she said we’d most likely have a baby within two years. Excited and horrified, my eyes widened and I took a deep breath. Holy crap. Things were getting real.

Contrary to what some people think, adoption does not consist of flying to a developing country and picking out the cutest kid at the orphanage. The real life process is full of risks and difficult choices—which we had to start making immediately.  Would we take a baby born with fetal alcohol syndrome, drug exposure or severe health problems? Were we willing to adopt an older child or did we only want an infant? And what if the birth parents didn’t respect our role as parents after placement? Worst yet, what if the birth mom changed her mind before the 72-hour cutoff? With so many factors out of our control, we did our best to follow our heart and put it in God’s hands.

From fingerprints to questionnaires to autobiographies to more questionnaires, it seemed we would never get through the application, let alone ever hold a baby in our arms. But once we finally finished, our paternal instincts were stronger than ever.

A few months after our original meeting, our agent returned to do our home study. More questions, more explaining, and finally, she handed us an empty scrapbook—our key to being chosen by a birth mom. “Take your time, you’ll have a few months before we will need this back from you. In the meantime, just have fun and don’t stress.”   “In about two years, we’d be dads!” we thought. Sounded like perfect timing to me.

One week later, our agent called us and blew our minds. “I know this is earlier than we expected, but I want to present your scrapbook to a birth mom who is open to gay parents for her daughter. Oh, and she’s due in three weeks.” Jumping with joy and freaking out a the same time, our hearts were screaming “WTF??!?! Um, are you serious?” We were instantly thinking up names and planning how I’d leave my teaching job once we got our little girl. “As far as the album,” she said, “I’m going to meet with her in a few days, so just try to get some photos together so I have something to present.” After three frantic days of organizing, cutting, editing, writing, and revising, our scrapbook was perfect.  That birth mom would have totally chosen us… If she hadn’t disappeared.  Sigh.  At least then we were back to our two year time frame.

Literally three weeks later, we got “the call” we were waiting for—a birth mom had chosen us! AAAAAAHH!!!!!!! We excitedly listened on speakerphone as our agent explained the details of the pregnancy. The mom was Hispanic and the dad was white, and although she wasn’t due for another eight weeks, her doctors predicted a premature birth, as was the case with her two previous children, who developed cerebral palsy as a result. That was the info, and the ball was in our court.

We were overwhelmed with emotions. “Sure, there are risks, but we could be dads!” “This is way too early for us, but what if this child is meant to be ours? And who knows when another opportunity will come?” After hours of talking, praying and searching for a sign, we made the decision to say no to what we had been dreaming about for years.

A few months later, Simon came home from work with a suspicious grin. Not wasting a moment, he blurted out, “We were chosen by a birth mom!” My heart started pounding with fear and excitement as he told me the details.

Everything sounded amazing. Tara wasn’t due until the summer, giving us ample time to prepare (I’ve changed her name for this post to protect her privacy). And not only had she given birth to four healthy babies before, she had already gone through the adoption process with her last one and didn’t change her mind at the last minute. We weighed the pros and cons, but we knew in our hearts this was meant to be. This was our time! After a casual “getting to know you” dinner facilitated by out agents, everyone was ready to move forward. AAAAH!!!

In the months that followed, we didn’t miss a doctor’s appointment. I’ll never forget the first ultrasound when we saw what looked like a tiny bean with a heartbeat. That was going to be our child! How could this be real?

Finally came the day when we’d find out the sex of the baby. One minute after the amazing moment we found out we were having a boy, we learned our son had something wrong with him.

The ultrasound showed fluid in the abdomen. The doctor couldn’t confirm what that meant for our baby, but it could potentially be something very, very bad. Or it could be something completely benign. Between endless Internet searches and two trips to a specialist, we were faced yet again with a difficult choice. Did we want to continue with this pregnancy or let the birth mom choose different adoptive parents?

We didn’t know what the fluid in the abdomen meant, and we were incredibly afraid that our son might have lifelong health problems. Although we had the right to say, “Thanks, but no thanks,” we were 100% committed, so we weren’t backing out. In the meantime, we prayed that everything would work out.

At about 5 ½ months, we got a frantic call from our adoption agent. “Tara’s water just broke, you need to get to the hospital as soon as possible.” As we anxiously waited at the hospital, we scoured the internet for something that would tell our preemie would be fine. Four hours later, we learned it was just a false alarm, the result of having sex with a full bladder.

In the months that followed, we saw more and more warning signs but tried to shake them off as “not a big deal.”  Tara would leave strange, rambling voicemails in which she almost sounded drunk, repeating things she had said minutes prior. She called to tell us she hated the name we had chosen for him and then cancelled two ultrasounds, but our agent assured us that things were fine.

The end of the school year came and I said goodbye to my students and colleagues, leaving my job to become a full-time dad. In normal circumstances I wouldn’t have shared my adoption news until it was a done deal, but I had to explain my departure, and besides, Tara wouldn’t change her mind at this point.

A week after school got out, I took a two-week service trip to a rural village in Panama. When I got home, Simon had some big news for me!

“She changed her mind.” My heart sank. My dreams of becoming a dad were erased. Obliterated. But there was more. Tara had no intention of keeping her child. She just wanted to find another family for him.

Anger. Confusion. Sadness. Loss. Resentment. Heartbreak. I had never experienced such a whirlwind of emotions before. What had we done wrong? What were we going to do? Would we ever have a child of our own? And where the hell was I going to work in the meantime? Despite all of our confusion and pain, we told ourselves “it must not have been meant to be.” And although we truly believed that, we still felt like total crap.

By the grace of God, I was able to get my job back. And miraculously, Simon had met another birth mom while I was in Panama, and she seemed like a great fit.  Later it surfaced that she wasn’t actually pregnant and was wanted in several states for adoption fraud.  We were shaken and confused, told to “continue life as normal, and it will happen eventually.”  Sure… Ok.

About three weeks later, I went on a trip to San Diego with my parents to clear my mind. While I was there, Simon called me with some news. Tara’s baby had been born. Things weren’t good. Her son was born with complete kidney failure and holes in his heart. They weren’t sure if he was going to survive.

“Holy freaking shit” was all I could think and say. Still recovering from being “dumped,” I was overcome with yet another chilling whirlwind of emotions. Relief, sadness, amazement, gratitude… Wow, I thought. Just…Wow.

The morning after I got home, my phone rang. “Why is Simon calling me?” I thought, “He always just texts me.” The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey babe

Simon: Hey, um. We need to talk.

Me: Okay…

Simon: I just got a call from Kelly from the adoption agency…There might be a baby for us.

Me: (Excited yet guarded) Holy shit, oh my God, are you serious? Okay…. (!!!)

Simon: I need you to go to Target and get some things

Me: OKAY…..(!!!!!!!!???!!!!)

Simon: I need you to pick up diapers, a car seat, and…

The rest of the conversation was a blur. My friend who had spent the night was listening from the other room, having a joyburst from what she thought might be happening. Yeah, it was happening.

Early that morning, a little boy had been dropped of anonymously at the hospital under the “Safe Haven Baby” law. There was no information about the birth parents, nor was there a way to contact them. Simon met me at Target, and we headed straight to the hospital to meet this little mystery baby.

That drive felt like an eternity, and after so many emotional ups and downs, I wasn’t ready to get too excited. Besides, there was still a chance that CPS would step in and insist the baby go to a heterosexual, married couple, as that was the policy in our state.  On the radio we heard Michael Bublé’s “Haven’t Met You Yet” and found the lyrics described our situation eerily perfectly.

Our adoption agent greeted us at the hospital entrance and introduced us to the receptionist as “Baby John Doe’s parents.” As we we walked back into the NICU, I scanned the room, wondering which of these miracle babies was waiting for us. Finally we arrived at his station and caught the first glimpse of our son. “Do you want to hold him?” the nurse asked. I let Simon hold him first, as I was still in shock from what was happening.

Excitement, disbelief, fear and utter joy….words can’t describe the emotions surging through my body at that moment. When I held him for the first time, I couldn’t believe what I saw. He was so beautiful, so incredibly alert, yet so relaxed. As I looked into his eyes, he looked back at mine, and reality finally hit me. He was going to be our son. Forever.

Simon (Daddy) holding Ellis. “Is this real?”

We spent the next 18 hours holding him, feeding him, and calling loved ones. As we finally buckled Ellis into his car seat and pulled away from the hospital, our life journey as dads had officially begun. After everything we had gone through, we realized that this little miracle child was meant to be our son all along.

Lucky for us, we didn’t have to worry about the 72-hour grace period during which the birth parents could change their mind! Or so we thought. What we learned next made us feel nauseous. With safe haven babies, there is a practically six-month period during which the parents can come forward to take back their child.  The idea scared the shit out of us every single day, but we gave our love without restraint and trusted in God’s master plan.

Me and Ellis on the first week of my new job as full time Papá

I was a complete wreck the day our agent attended the hearing to terminate the biological parents’ rights. Then I got the call—it was done! Yes! YAAAAAAAAAAS!!!! I squealed and did a happy dance as Ellis looked at me like, “Um… Ok, Papá!”

A few months later, we were able to finally have our last hearing to finalize the adoption. After an arduous journey filled with joy and pain, uncertainty and destiny, we were OFFICIALLY Ellis’s dads, and no one could change that.  And yes, we made our goal–the adoption was finalized literally the day before Simon’s 45^th birthday.  When my mom found out she leapt with glee and shouted “YAY GOD!!! YAY GOD!!!”

“The boys,” as our friends and family call us. Doesn’t he sort of look like he could be our biological son?

Fatherhood isn’t easy, but it’s worth every moment.  Now nearly two years later, we are eternally grateful to his birth mom for her bravery and love, and we thank God every day for the chance to be dads to such an extraordinary young man.  Ellis has enriched our lives in indescribable ways, and he is surrounded by people that love him.  And who knows, some day, once the timing is right, maybe he’ll get a brother or sister! But for now, we’re good.

Life is good! No, life is f-ing amazing!

 

Reasons Why Phoenix is Awesome

Ever had someone talk crap about your family  all over social media?  That’s how I felt after reading Vice.com’s “article” Reasons Why Phoenix Is the Worst Place Ever. http://www.vice.com/read/reasons-why-phoenix-is-the-worst-place-ever.  After seeing this whiney, nasty piece shared repeatedly on my Facebook feed, I decided to take matters into my own hands to defend the city I love.

Here are a few reasons why Phoenix is freaking awesome.

Phoenix, Arizona- “the Valley of the Sun.” Photo courtesy of wikimedia commons

It’s sunny almost all the time.

With over 300 days of sunshine per year, Phoenix has earned its nickname of “Valley of the Sun.”  Weather rarely forces us to change our plans, and we can almost always play outside while our friends and family in other regions are bundled up, facing seasonal blues or yet another destructive storm.  We’re really spoiled with sunshine, and I truly believe that our bright and happy weather contributes to an overall better emotional state year-round.

Amazing Mexican food is ALWAYS within reach.

Perfection.

For Phoenicians, Mexican food is not “ethnic food.” It’s part of who we are, and we can’t get enough of it. To us, Mexican food means Christmas tamales by the dozen, fresh carne asada tacos on homemade tortillas, or bacon-wrapped Sonoran hot dogs with all the toppings. It’s a late night trip to the nearest “-berto’s” for a sweet and icy horchata and a massive $5 burrito, or even a cheese and sour cream covered chimichanga when we’re craving something more gringo. What about some table-side guacamole or some cochinita pibil? Or… OOH! Some green chicken enchiladas?  Or, or… Ok, must stop.  Dang, I’m hungry now.

Phoenix knows how to manage water.

One of our many canals. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

Some people claim that Phoenix shouldn’t exist, claiming we are spitting in the face of nature, growing irresponsibly and carelessly depleting our natural resources without any regard for sustainability.  My response? “Gurl, you don’t even KNOW me!”

The reality is Phoenix has been dealing with a dry climate, rapid growth and limited water supplies since the beginning, and we’re much better off than most cities in the southwest. Our city was literally designed around the canals of the Hohokam, a Native American group who harnessed the power of irrigation to turn this arid valley into fruitful cropland and a long-lasting society.

Unlike most other cities in the southwest, Phoenix can count on water from more than one source. We get our liquid of life from the Colorado River, the Salt and Verde River watersheds,  ground water from the city’s wells, and reclaimed water.  In 1980, the State passed a law requiring “water banking” underground for drier times, and Arizona now won’t approve any new development unless there is a 100 year water supply to sustain it.  Are we the “greenest” and most sustainable city in America? No. But we’re not going to dry up any time soon. Check out more at: http://phoenix.gov/waterservices/wrc/yourwater/

Our sky is huge. Our sunsets are legendary.

Just a typical sunset in one of our many desert preserves. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

The sky is just bigger out here. Maybe it’s the lack of big trees, or maybe it’s because we’re just closer to heaven. Laugh if you want, but you’ll believe heaven isn’t far away when you see our hot desert sun paint a masterpiece behind silhouettes of saguaros, palm trees and mountainsides.

It’s inexpensive.

The concept of “expensive” is relative, so let’s compare Phoenix with San Diego.  Considering food, gas, housing, transportation, healthcare and utilities, Phoenix’s cost of living is 34% lower than San Diego’s.  But since median income is only 20% less, a decent quality of life is that much more in reach.  Oh, and Phoenix is also cheaper than Seattle, Los Angeles, Denver, Las Vegas, Chicago, Miami, and almost every other large city in the United States. (Source: cost of living calculator at areavibes.com)

The Sonoran desert is a different kind of beautiful.

Saguaros, palo verde trees and an ocotillo. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

If you’re looking for a grassy forest with moss-covered rocks and fairies flitting about, Phoenix isn’t the place for you. The Sonoran desert is a land of imposing mountains and vast valleys with life popping up where you least expect it. Beauty comes in shades of sage, brown, gray and black, and spring turns the landscape into a promised land of yellow, green, purple and pink. And with mountain trails all around, there are countless opportunities to appreciate the beauty of the desert.

Spring flowers on a hedgehog cactus. Photo credit: Ron Niebrugge, http://www.wildnatureimages.com

Camelback Mountain, Photo credit: wikimedia commons

We’re really quite progressive, despite what it seems.

Street art in Phoenix

Our state may have some crazy politicians, but their bizarre antics do not represent how the average Phoenician thinks.  Frankly we are very embarrassed that our politicians have made the world think we’re all racist, homophobic and generally intolerant people.  Don’t get me wrong, we have plenty of those, but generally speaking, Phoenix residents are quite middle-thinking.  Phoenix is a blue splotch in a sea of red voting districts, and as our demographic makeup changes our city is growing more and more centered.

We get to take advantage of our top-notch resorts.

Whether you’re golfing, meeting up for a drink, having a spa day or a full-on “staycation,” our city has some of the best resorts around. And best yet, the drastically reduced summer prices make those luxuries accessible for the masses.

We have excellent roads and mucho free parking.

Potholes, crumbling asphalt, and hunting for parking are foreign concepts to Arizona natives. Here our road and freeway systems are well planned, well kept, and wide enough to accommodate our growing population. And yeah, free parking is everywhere.

Citrus, citrus, everywhere!

Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

One of the “Five C’s” of Arizona industry (along with cotton, copper, cattle and climate), citrus trees are everywhere. In cooler months people have so many oranges, lemons, grapefruits or tangerines that they are giving them away by the bagful. And let’s not forget the intoxicating smell of orange blossoms in the spring! It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Summers bring out the “Phoenix” in us.

Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

Our sweltering summers bring out our resourceful side. When it doesn’t dip below 100 for months, we learn to adapt. We stay inside a lot. We praise God for the gift of air conditioning when we’re not in a pool or cooling off at one of our lakes, water parks, or with frozen treats and occasional trips to cooler places.  After a few months of sacrifice, we’re rejoicing in our gorgeous weather again for another seven months while the rest of the country braces for the dark days.

We’re a short drive away from other worlds.

West Fork, Oak Creek Canyon. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

When we need a break from our desert metropolis, we have plenty of options to drive to.  In a matter of a couple of hours we can escape to explore mountains, canyons, forests and amazing rock formations all around the state.  We can take a trip to funky ghost towns, ski resorts, artist communities or even head up to the Grand Canyon if we’re feeling adventurous. San Diego, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles are all within a six hour drive, and we’re particularly fond of margaritas on the beach in Rocky Point, Mexico, only four hours away.

Aspen trees along a road in Flagstaff. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

Skiing at Snow Bowl. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

Rocky Point (Puerto Peñasco), Mexico. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

 

Our plants and animals are the definition of badass.

A cactus wren chillin’ in a cholla cactus (pronounced choy-ah). Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

From beautiful and to bizarre, delicate to dangerous, desert life is something to be respected and admired. With their spines, blossoms, fangs, feathers, and fur, our flora and fauna are the definition of “hard and soft” and are truly the ultimate survivors. And props to them for not even needing air conditioning or bottled water!

Hey, Mr. coyote! Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

There’s always something to do (and eat!)

Day of the Dead celebration at Mesa Arts Center

No matter what you’re into, you can find it here. We have art fairs, culinary festivals, sporting events, biker fests and everything in between. And from the Day of the Dead to Chinese New Year, we celebrate our many cultures with pride.  Proof of a higher power comes in the form of taco festivals, tamale festivals, salsa festivals, and tequila festivals.  HECK yes.  Did I mention we have tons of amazing restaurants?  From Ethiopian fare to chicken and waffles, we’ve got it all.  Oh, and you know, we have some awesome Mexican food…

Our people are everything.

Rock and Roll Marathon

Phoenix’s greatest quality is its people.  We’re a little bit Midwest, a little bit California, a little bit Mexico and a ton of pure awesomeness.  We’re a deliciously fabulous, ever-growing fondue pot of people with a dream to rise above the ashes to do something great in life.  And in a city where natives like me are rare, friends truly become family.  In my 29 years here, I’ve met the most amazing individuals who have filled my life with love and learning, teaching me that the human spirit is something more powerful and beautiful than what I could have imagined.  The sappy cliché “home is where the heart is” normally makes me want to roll my eyes, but that’s honestly how I feel about Phoenix, and I have the people around me to thank.

In summary, Phoenix is freaking awesome.

“Calle 16” street art in Phoenix near Barrio Cafe.

While I don’t claim it’s perfect, Phoenix is a pretty damn awesome place to call home.  And I think the growing number of Phoenicians would have to agree, it’s far from the “worst place ever.”  When it comes down to it, you could bash any city for its shortcomings, but if you’re stuck complaining all the time, you’re missing out on the truly special and beautiful things right in front of you.

A view of Phoenix from Camelback Mountain. Photo credit: Wikimedia commons

What awesome things about Phoenix have I forgotten to include? Let me know in the comment box below!

 

 

Summer Snow: Watermelon Lime Granita

This incredible dessert transforms two simple ingredients into the yummiest, healthiest summer treat EVER!

Watermelon lime granita = perfection.

Who doesn’t love frozen treats? Growing up in Phoenix, my summers were full of Otter Pops, ice cream sandwiches, Popsicles, virgin strawberry daiquiris by the pool, and massive bowls of ice cream. My new favorite frozen dessert is granita, which I make almost weekly now that we’ve reached triple digit temperatures.

Granita in the family of shaved ice, snow cones, sorbet and Italian ice   And while so many frozen desserts are full of fat and sugar, granitas can be made incredibly healthy, like this one. With just two ingredients, this 100% fruit treat is perfect. I can eat a massive bowl without guilt, and my son can enjoy it as a sweet treat without getting twacked out on tons of refined sugar.

Let’s make some watermelon lime granita!

Ingredients:

• About 1/2 watermelon, preferably chilled
• About 1/4 cup lime juice
• Optional: Pineapple juice or sugar to taste (in case your watermelon isn’t sweet enough)

Step one: Wash and cut up your watermelon into small cubes.  Wash, slice, and squeeze your limes.

I like to cut my watermelon in half, slice it up, and then use a smaller knife to take all the flesh off the rind.

Lime time! I used about five key limes for this. If you don’t have a citrus squeezer, I highly recommend investing in one. I bought this stainless steel squeezer online and I use it constantly.

Step two: Blend! Fill your blender with chopped watermelon and lime juice. Turn it on low, using a tamper to get the lowest pieces blended, which will help the rest of the fruit work its way down. Slowly increase it to high and blend until everything is liquefied.  If you don’t have a tamper, you can put a little bit of water or more juice (pineapple, grape, etc) in the bottom of the blender to get things moving. Step three: Taste and adjust. Your watermelon-lime juice should taste sweet, tart and refreshing. If you find it’s lacking flavor, add some more lime juice and/or sugar (about a tablespoon at a time), blend again, and repeat the process until it tastes perfect. Make your granita as sweet and tart as you like! Instead of sugar, you can also add some fruit juice to bump up the sweetness. Pineapple juice would be amazing in this granita! In the end, my granita juice measured out to about seven cups.

Blended watermelon and lime. Since watermelon is mostly water, there’s no need to strain!

Step four: Freeze and stir. Pour your juice into a large, shallow glass dish and pop it in the freezer. After about an hour, pull it out and break up any ice crystals (especially around the sides) with a fork or potato masher. Return to the freezer and continue to break up ice crystals every half hour. Within about two and a half hours, the granita will look like beautiful, pink watermelon snow. Note: Using chilled watermelon will help it to freeze much more quickly.

Granita liquid poured into a 9 x 11 inch glass baking dish.

After about an hour, the top and edges are frozen. Each time you take it out, break up any ice with a potato masher or fork.

More freezing and stirring every 30 minutes and it’s looking more and more icy.

Getting there!

Summer snow! You can serve it at this point or let it freeze more. I didn’t have the time or self control to wait any longer!

Step five: Serve! Once it’s fully frozen and snowy, you can either keep it in the freezer for later or serve it right away. If it’s extremely hard, you’ll need to allow the granita to sit at room temperature for about ten to fifteen minutes. Break it all up one more time and spoon into glasses, cups or bowls. For presentation, add a sprig of fresh mint or basil or even some lime zest! Or for an “adult” version, serve it in a wine glass and throw in a splash of rum, tequila vodka or your favorite fruity liqueur.

 

So there you have it! Watermelon lime granita—my new #1 summer treat. It’s an icy and delicious, virtually 100% fruit dessert that’s bound to please kids and adults alike. Enjoy!

Awesome fact: Did you know you can use a piece of watermelon rind as a mini-facial? Just rub the rind all over your face, and feel its tightening and moistening effects. You’ll be surprised to find your skin isn’t sticky at all (unless you rub the actual watermelon flesh on yourself).

Granita is Ellis’s new favorite food!

My panacea: The Thirty-Second Hug

Improve your mood, strengthen your relationships, and be a happier, more vibrant you, all in 30 seconds a day! How, you ask? Hug it out!

Behold the power of the thirty-second hug!

Sometimes we just need a hug. Life’s pressures and challenges always seem to add up, weighing on our spirit and body, not to mention our relationships. Humans have countless remedies—exercise, meditation, massage, therapy, and a variety of substances to take us to an altered state. These are all valid and effective, but I present another idea: the thirty second hug.

Who doesn’t love a hug? Humans are programmed to crave physical touch and affection, and hugs are where it’s at! Hugs make us feel secure, loved, and important. They renew our soul and calm our nerves, reminding us that somehow “it’s all going to be okay.” And while normal, two-second embraces are great, holding on for thirty seconds takes the healing power of a hug through the roof.

Maybe you’re thinking, “Really?…thirty seconds? That’s way too long.” Perhaps you can’t shake the memories of those awkwardly long hugs when some creeper wouldn’t let you go long after your body language clearly said “we’re done now.” Fear not—when it’s with someone special and both huggers know what to expect, it’s amazing.

When was the last time you hugged someone for that long?  When you allow yourself to embrace a loved one for thirty full seconds (or more), there’s no stopping the powerful charge of positive energy that surges through both of you, leaving you feeling calm, happy, and loved. Giving a thirty second hug is like dialysis for the soul.

There is no better feeling in the world.

How can two people stay connected with so many things to distract, stress, and take time away from their relationship? When times get tough, a thirty-second hug is an incredibly powerful start. Start by trying to commit to three thirty-second hugs per week.  Whether you’re hugging a spouse, partner, family member or friend, you will be amazed at the impact it can have.

But… how can you really allow yourself to enjoy the moment with someone if you are counting to thirty in your head? Don’t worry about that. You can set a timer, or you can just let go when it seems right. Usually Simon and I end up hugging much longer, often over a minute. And while I can’t say we have a superhug every day, I can certainly tell you that when we do, we always think “we need to do this more.”

Just imagine how our world would be if every human being gave and received one thirty-second hug daily, or even weekly. Seriously, though, imagine it! The earth would be such a more loving, open, understanding place.

Let’s change the world through hugs!

With that being said, I invite you to take part in a HUG-IT-OUT challenge. It’s simple: each day of this month, engage in one thirty-second hug! Let’s change the world little by little, starting with ourselves!

If you can, hug the same person every day at the same time—make a routine out of it. As you’re hugging, focus on peace, calmness and gratitude, allowing the positive energy to flow between you and your fellow hugger.

If you don’t have a partner, close friend or family member for a daily 30-second-hug, hug-it-out as much as you can with someone else—your dog, your cat, or your friends.

Ellis and Mac have been cuddlers since the beginning.

Remember to try to have a superhug  EVERY day, and don’t be ashamed to set a reminder on your phone. If you miss a couple of days, don’t worry, just try to get as many hugs in as possible.

At the beginning of the hug-it-out challenge, reflect on your mood and general attitude and afterwards, reflect on how the hugs worked for you.

If you plan on taking part in the challenge, let me know in a comment below. Now go! Find someone to hug! You’ll thank me later!

What color is that? I’m color blind.

Look Ellis, a white car! Oooh! A red car! Look, a black truck! Look! (crap, I have no idea what color that is) It’s um, um, a CAR!

I have known I was color blind since kindergarten, when I colored the sky purple and grapes blue.  Since then, my life has been full of torment and pain due to my crippling handicap, limiting my daily activities and creating insurmountable obstacles preventing me from fully enjoying life.

My sad, gray world.

Come on! It’s not really that bad, although it can be quite annoying.  You might wonder: “What is it like to be color blind? How does the world look through his eyes?”

Anyone who is spends much time with me inevitably finds out about my “color deficiency.” Here’s how it usually goes down:

• Me: What color is that?
• Person: (looking incredulous and confused) Um… Blue..?
• Me: Ok, cool. I wasn’t sure if it was blue or purple. I’m color blind.
• Person: Whoah, are you serious? So, like, you just see black and white?
• Me: No, I can see color, but sometimes I just can’t tell certain colors from each other.
• Person: Weird. What color is my shirt?
• Me: Black.
• Person: What color are your pants?
• Me: Blue.
• Person: What color is the carpet?
• Me: (taking a guess) Brown.
• Person: YOU’RE NOT COLOR BLIND!!!
• Me: (annoyed an rolling my eyes) Ugh… Ok, if you say so.

I can’t count how many times I have had that same conversation. For people who aren’t color blind, the concept is completely mind-blowing. They’re convinced that “color blind” means our world looks like a black and white movie, devoid of the sensory delights of bright red tomatoes, green grass or the brilliant spring flowers. This misconception likely stems from the term color blind. It’s understandable that people can’t grasp what it’s like, and while I’m happy to explain it to them, the incessant “what color is this?!” game gets very old.

A stunning collection of heirloom tomatoes. No, they don’t look gray to me.

My world is full of colors, but I might not see them as well as you. Like most color blind people, I have a hard time perceiving certain hues of red and green. Sometimes I look at a color and just can’t tell what it is, and I often end up asking someone around me.

Here are some of the colors I get mixed up:

• Green vs Brown
• Red vs. Brown
• Green vs. Orange
• Yellow vs. neon green
• Blue vs. Purple
• Grey vs pink
• Grey vs. green

If a color is in it’s purest form, I can usually tell what it is. If it’s grass green, cherry red, or lemon yellow, I probably won’t have trouble knowing what it is (unless I’m far away from it). And it sounds weird, but sometimes I can actually trick my mind into seeing something as a different color. For example, I can almost “decide” to see tones of gray as pink or even green. Not exactly the superpower I had dreamt of, but I’ll take it.

 

Color blindness is mostly genetic, and it affects about 8% of men and only about 0.5% of women. My grandpa was color blind, and my cousin Tommy is too. Our condition is caused by the way certain cells in the back of our eyes called “cones” perceive light (that’s as scientific as I’m going to get).

This website, like many others, offers tests to determine if you’re color blind. I failed them all. Give it a try!

http://colorvisiontesting.com/ishihara.htm/

Color blind test.  Evidently you should be able to see a 7.

Here’s a very cool blog post discussing color blindness. http://www.colourlovers.com/web/blog/2008/07/24/as-seen-by-the-color-blind/ One thing they included was a comparison of how color blind people see famous works of art compared to “normal” people.  Check it out!

I can hardly see any difference between these.

Again, I can’t see much of a difference unless I really focus.

I would never have known these paintings were different if I hadn’t been told.

On this one I can perceive a difference in the colors of the wavy stripes, but that’s about it.

When I was a kid growing up in Arizona, my parents would talk about the beautiful fall colors of the Midwest, where they grew up. They described a kaleidoscope of vibrant oranges, reds, and golds. So dazzled by their descriptions, I decided I had to see nature’s brilliant display for myself, so I made an autumn trip to Wisconsin to visit my cousin, ready to be immersed in the beauty of the leaves. To my dismay, everything looked brownish-orangish-greenish and not very exciting. Bummer.

Yay! Fall leaves! Now if only I could see them like “normal” people.

Missing out on the beauty of the fall isn’t the only crappy thing about being color blind. Here are some examples of how my condition affects my life:

• I had no idea that tree trunks were brown. I always figured they were some shade of dark green. Who knew? Oh yeah, I guess everyone but me. (Tear)
• I often can’t tell if fruits are ripe, such as lemons, grapefruits, or bananas.
• I sometimes can’t see the pinkness of undercooked meat, which makes me obsessively anxious about it. This leads me to ALWAYS ask someone next to me if my meat is fully cooked, sometimes offending the generous host and cook who served it to me.

Is that undercooked? I honestly have no idea.

• On school spirit day, I wore our school colors, blue and gold, only for my students to later inform me that my tie was metallic green.
• I have eaten multigrain bread that I couldn’t tell had mold growing on it because the color didn’t stand out to me. Note to self: keep bread in the freezer!
• I have owned clothes I thought were brown or gray until someone commented on liking my “green” pants. Me: “What? These are green?!”

• When I park on the street, I often can’t tell if the side of the curb has faded red paint on it or if it’s just really dirty.
• I have received compliments on some “abstract” drawings after unknowingly coloring green skin, purple water, and red trees.
• Maps keyed with browns, greens, tans and yellows are the death of me. To me, they might as well not be labeled.

How is a color blind person supposed to read this?

• I know it sounds disgusting, but green mucus can indicate a sinus infection, right? When I’m sick, my poor husband has to put up with me constantly showing him my snot-wads to check for color. “Hey babe, is this green?”

• I can’t tell what color my son’s (or my) poop is. This may not seem so important, but what if it’s discolored and I don’t know it? What if there is some serious problem going on and I have no idea?!? Luckily I’m not too paranoid about that, otherwise Simon would be receiving daily pictures of our son’s feces, just to be sure.

Adult poop chart. What if I have Crohn’s disease and don’t know it?!?!

• I get really overwhelmed when tasked with choosing a color from color circles like this one.

Despite all those terrible things, I think being color blind has its benefits. My eyes have a sharpened sense of light and dark, which has been helpful in creating value (contrast) in art. And just like the blind have an sharper sense of hearing, I feel my color blindness has heightened my sense of smell and taste. I have a highly sensitive palate, and, seriously, just call me over if you need me to smell something to tell you if it’s rancid.

Yes, I can tell what color the street light is. I can see appreciate colorful flowers, sunsets, and works of art, and I freely describe things’ color with words like cobalt, terra cotta, mauve, eggplant, rust, and emerald (and not to be pretentious).

This sunset is breathtaking, even if I can’t see it the same as you.

From all the frustrating times I couldn’t tell what a color was, I get great pleasure from watching “normal” people argue about a color. I tend to unintentionally provoke these arguments by inquiring about a color, but once the debate beings, I just sit back and smile while each person aggressively defends their opinion, insisting the other person is simply seeing things wrong.

• Me: What color are your shoelaces?
• Friend 1: Yellow.
• Friend 2: Um, no, those are totally green.
• Friend 1: Dude, no. They’re bright yellow.
• Friend 2: No, they’re green. Neon green.
• Friend 1: No, they’re like highlighter yellow. So bright that they almost look green.
• Me: Um, if they look green, aren’t they green?
• Friend 1: Maybe they’re chartreuse.
• Friend 2: WTF is chartreuse?

The green vs yellow debate always seems to end in both parties deciding something is chartreuse, just like the pink vs. purple debate always ends with “it’s fuchsia.”

Chartreuse

Despite my limitations, color is a huge part of my life. I consciously notice and appreciate the hues around me, whether it’s brightly colored produce, an intense blue sky, or just the awe-inspiring sight of a tree covered with flowers in the springtime.

There’s nothing better than the sight of jacarandas in full bloom.

Color enriches my life every day, and while I might not see things the same as you do, maybe the world looks even more beautiful through my eyes!

Please share your thoughts about color and color blindness in the comments below!

Spicy “refried” beans. Healthy, cheap, and riquisimos!

Refried beans are simply one of the greatest Mexican foods ever.

But do they really have to be so fattening? ¡No, señor!

Who says you have to put fat in your beans?

Sure, I knew the word FRIED was in the name, but I never really realized how incredibly caloric refried beans were until recently. I remember being at the airport in California and seeing the calorie count on different burritos at La Salsa (which is a restaurant I’d never recommend), and my jaw dropped when I saw that one small bean burrito was over 1100 calories. Wide-eyed and horrified, my mind instantly flashed to the hundreds of deliciously lard-laden, eggplant-sized bean and cheese burritos I had consumed in the past few years, desperately trying not to calculate how much fat I had put into my body. After that moment I was forced to face the tragic reality that refried beans might have to be reserved for special occasions.

Potlucks at my house would not be complete without my friend Abraham bringing his mom’s phenomenal “frijoles puercos.” Frijoles puercos translates to “pork beans,” but they are ten million times better than American “pork and beans.” His mom’s frijoles are loaded with cheese, chorizo, and lard, making them one of the most rich and satisfying dishes EVER.

Addicted to those frijoles, for years I made my own version of that recipe, which I used to impress people and feel more mexicano. Then one fateful day I volunteered to bring my beans to a party, forgetting that several of the guests were vegetarians. Feeling trapped and impotent, I begrudgingly omitted all the meat, convinced it wouldn’t be as good. But in the end… BAM! It was still freaking delicious. After that, I never included puerco in my frijoles again.

If the frijoles were that good without pork, how would they be without cheese? It took me another couple of years to get the guts to take the risk and try it. But once I reached a point when I was trying to cut down on my dairy intake, I finally decided to take the plunge, replacing the cheese with something called nutritional yeast flakes. And guess what? It turned out awesome! (See my note about nutritional yeast at the end of this post).

Cumin, garlic, pickled jalapeños and some juice from a jar of green olives make these beans incredibly flavorful, and a couple of tablespoons of nutritional yeast finish off the dish to creamy, “cheesy” perfection. I still add real cheese sometimes for a weekend treat, but I’d say 95% of the time I stick with the vegan version, especially if I’m serving it with something rich. Try it both ways!

You can buy these in a can, but we eat them so often we go for the giant jar!

We serve our healthy frijoles with some brown rice and roasted vegetables for a dirt cheap, incredibly satisfying dinner. You can also serve them with enchiladas, in burritos, as a bean dip for chips or with any other Mexican food.

This was my dinner last night, and I have to say, it came out amazingly! The combination of textures and flavors was simply unbeatable. I know this is far from traditional, but the sprinkling of feta cheese was delicious on these beans! Best yet, the meal was incredibly inexpensive and easy to prepare.

 

 Recipe: Frijoles (Spicy, healthy “refried” beans)

Ingredients:

• 2.5 cups dried, uncooked pinto beans OR five 15 oz. cans of pinto beans
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 ½ teaspoons ground cumin
• 1 cup pickled jalapeños and juice (use less if you are a wimp with spicy food)
• ¼ cup green olive juice (optional—if you omit this, add more pickled jalapeño juice or more salt)
• ½ cup water
• 1 teaspoon salt (do not add if you used canned beans)
• 2 tablespoons nutritional yeast flakes OR 2 ounces of cheese (cheddar, jack, mozzarella or any melty Mexican cheese)

If using canned pinto beans, drain and rinse the beans. If cooking from scratch, take two and a half cups of sorted, rinsed dried pinto beans and throw them in a slow cooker, adding with enough water to cover them by at least 4-5 inches. Turn it on low and cook for about 8 hours (I do this overnight or put them on in the morning). Once they’re cooked, drain the beans.

2 1/2 cups of dry, uncooked beans before being cooked in the crock pot. Can you tell I have used this slow cooker a lot?

Place the cooked beans in a large pot over medium high heat. Add all other ingredients except for the water, salt and nutritional yeast flakes (or cheese, if using).

Beans ready to be mashed with pickled jalapeños (and their juice), garlic powder, cumin powder, and green olive juice (a couple of olives got in there too).

As everything is heating up, take a potato masher and mash away. You can blend the beans for a smoother consistency, but I like them to retain some of their texture. I usually mash the mixture for about five to ten minutes while the beans are simmering. Add the water and continue to mash and simmer.

Mash, mash, mash away!

Add the nutritional yeast flakes or cheese and stir until well incorporated. Taste the frijoles and adjust the flavor by adding the salt, more pickled jalapeño juice, olive juice, or spices.
Let the beans continue to cook until they reach your desired thickness. Remember that they will thicken more when they are chilled.

Refried beans, oh how stunning you are.

Eat! Serve them with brown rice, roasted veggies, tortillas, eggs, chips, enchiladas, or anything else you want. These beans also freeze well, so don’t be afraid of making a big batch to have some stashed for later.

A perfect dinner! Beans, rice, roasted broccoli and cauliflower, avocado, tomato , cilantro and a sprinkling of cheese.

Note: Don’t be afraid of watery beans. If you add too much liquid, you can always just cook it down until the beans reduce and thicken. Traditional Mexican refried beans are on the runny side, unlike the canned varieties or what is often served in American Mexican restaurants.

I hope you enjoyed this recipe! Remember that a meal doesn’t have to be centered around meat to be protein-rich and super-satisfying!

Fun facts about beans!

• In Spanish, the singular form of frijoles is frijol.
• Pinto means “speckled” in Spanish, as pinto beans are light brown with dark brown specks and lines before they are cooked.
• Beans are high in protein, fiber, and other vitamins and minerals.
• Bean plants actually add nutrients to the soil they grow in.
• Here’s a great link that explains different kinds of beans and how to cook them. It doesn’t include my slow cooker method, but it provides tons of great information! http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/recipes/food-guides/beans

Nutritional yeast flakes has to be one of the most unappetizing names for a food, but it’s really good, I swear! When I was in college, my vegan friends would use this stuff all the time when making anything “cheesy,” but I never really bought into the idea until recently. Now we always have some on hand. This stuff gives a cheesy, “umami” flavor to anything from soups, beans, pasta, or even sprinkled on popcorn! It’s full of vitamins and minerals, and I highly recommend giving them a try. Look for them at any natural foods store, where you might be able to weigh out as much or as little as you want. Remember that a little goes a long way.

What’s the best gift for a child? The coolest books ever.

Sometimes choosing a gift for a child is such a bewildering task. It’s hard to know what their interests are, where they’re at developmentally, and it seems half the toys a child receives are forgotten within a week or two.

As an educator, I’ve always felt that books are the greatest gifts a child can receive. They foster a love for learning, they teach language and bolster vocabulary, and they get parents and children interacting in such an important way. But even with books, sometimes it’s hard to know which to choose.  Look no further! Today I present to you a foolproof series that kids of any age will enjoy for years–and all for less than twenty dollars per book.

Published by Silver Dolphin Books

When my son Ellis was about nine months old, his aunt and uncle gave him what soon became his favorite book—Sounds of the Wild: Nighttime. In this amazing pop-up adventure, a chorus of wildlife serenades the reader through a nighttime journey starting at dusk in the fields and ending with the early morning sights and sounds of the jungle. The illustrations are breathtaking, the sounds are captivating and realistic, and each spread comes with a beautifully written description of the scene. If that weren’t enough, the back of each page provides fascinating descriptions of the animals and their role in their habitat. This book simply could not be better.

Text and illustrations by Maurice Pledger, Silver Dolphin Books.

Our favorite spread. Ellis loves howling along with the wolves! From Sounds of the Wild: Nighttime by Maurice Pledger, Silver Dolphin Books.

As you can imagine, the “nighttime book,” immediately jumped to the #1 spot in our home. Ellis was enthralled. I was obsessed. Within days he was hooting like and owl and perfecting his wolf howl, not to mention drastically increasing his vocabulary to identify everything from bullfrogs and raccoons to tapirs, beetles and peacocks.

So many educational opportunities to explore, from counting the beetles to describing the colors and position of each part of the scene. From Sounds of the Wild: Nighttime by Maurice Pledger, Silver Dolphin Books.

One of my favorite parts–the descriptions of each creature. It’s crazy to think that something as commonplace as a chicken and rooster originated from an exotic Malaysian jungle bird! From Sounds of the Wild: Nighttime by Silver Dolphin Books.

It was no secret that I loved this book as much as Ellis did. So as you can imagine, it didn’t take long for me to look to see if there were others like it. Oh boy were there! The Sounds of the Wild series contained ten more adventures for us to explore, all with outstanding reviews online! Yippee!!!

Here’s the list of all the different Sounds of the Wild pop-up books available online:

Sounds of the Wild: Jungle

Sounds of the Wild: Ocean

Sounds of the Wild: Forest

Sounds of the Wild: Desert

Sounds of the Wild: Bugs

Sounds of the Wild: Nighttime

Sounds of the Wild: Birds

Sounds of the Wild: Seashore

Sounds of the Wild: Safari

Sounds of the Wild: Dinosaurs

Sounds of the Wild: Mythical Creatures 

I wanted them all. I NEEDED them ALL. Oops, I mean Ellis wanted them, yeah. I instantly added the entire series to my Amazon wish list and pondered which to buy next. Luckily Christmas was just a few months away, so I endured the painstaking wait for Sounds of the Wild: Bugs and Sounds of the Wild: Forest. I had high expectations, but the new books did not disappoint.  And the best part? Ellis was just as excited about these new books as he was with the original.

Yay! They finally arrived!

He instantly became a bug enthusiast, and I learned some crazy ass stuff about bugs. Seriously, some of the facts I read sounded like they came straight out of a horror movie. Take the “assassin bug” as an example. This thing stealthily creeps behind a bee before stabbing it with a poker, injecting it with venom that liquefies its insides, which it then slurps out like a smoothie. Or how about the “tarantula hawk wasp?” It stings a stings and paralyzes a massive tarantula, drags it to its nest, and lays its eggs on its back to give the freshly-hatched larvae a fresh, still-living meal. I also learned about a pink praying mantis that disguises itself in orchids, bugs that prey on fish, and ants that eat so much that their abdomens become massively engorged with food to later be enjoyed by the rest of the colony.  Also, who knew dragonflies were carnivorous?

Check out that assassin bug giving his bee friend a love squeeze!

 

Winter in the Russian forest. Ellis loves this spread’s sounds so much it was the first time he ever used the sign for “more” to hear it over and over.

To me, these books are pure perfection, and best of all, they’re great for any developmental age. When Ellis “reads” them, we point out the pictures, imitate the sounds, and I describe all the things happening in each illustration. Once he has a little more patience, I will read the beautifully written descriptions of each scene. As he gets even older, we will explore the fascinating facts provided on the back of each spread.  No matter his age or developmental stage, there is no doubt he is internalizing the books’ important message of valuing, respecting and protecting nature

From Sounds of the Wild: Bugs by Silver Dolphin Books.

Besides being beautiful to the eyes, ears, and mind, these books are actually incredibly durable. I was really hesitant to have my one-year-old son reading them, but after about a year, they still look virtually new. Ellis has walked on them, thrown them, and generally been rather rough with them, and they have held up wonderfully. Now I need to revisit my Amazon wish list to start plotting my next purchase!

Each illustration is so detailed. The more you look, the more surprises you find. Did you notice the little ladybugs? From Sounds of the Wild: Forest by Silver Dolphin Books.

So if you are looking for a unique gift that a child can enjoy for years, Sounds of the Wild books are the perfect choice.  They are enthralling and educational to children and adults of all ages, and I couldn’t recommend them more!  They are available online and in some bookstores, and prices vary from $12.50 to $18.95.  Best of all, there’s a whole series to collect! I can’t wait to have them all.

What other educational kids’ books do you recommend?  Share them in the comment box below!

The Easter Beer Hunt!

 

May God give you heaven’s dew

   and earth’s richness—

   an abundance of grain and new wine.

Genesis 28

Thanks, Easter Bunny! You really know me.

When I was a kid, Easter was probably the biggest holiday in our house.  My family would always get dressed up in our finest spring attire to go to church and then come home for the climax of the holiday—the egg hunt.

 

My family on Easter circa 1988

Talk about nostalgia. I’ll never forget the wonder and excitement of catching a glimpse of bright color in the distance, then running toward it like a crazed animal to snatch that precious egg before anyone else could.  HA! It’s MINE!!! It was my time to be viciously greedy and hoard all the eggs I could get my hands on.  ‘Cause that’s what Easter’s all about, right?

 

It’s MINE!!!

My sister and I took our egg hunts extremely seriously. Before the hunt we’d switch our church shoes for some performance sneakers to crush our competitors.  And while my parents assumed we would some day grow out of this tradition, we only got more competitive with time.  As a teenager I even got in trouble once or twice for playing dirty and trying to body-slam my sister out of the way to insure I came out victorious. What can I say? I like to win.  Oops, I mean, the Lord is risen! Let’s be Christ like!

 

Elbow to the face in 3…2…1…

Besides fighting brutally for the win, there was another awesome part to look forward to—finding out what wondrous treasures our parents, er, I mean, the Easter Bunny, had left inside our eggs! We’d excitedly open those bright plastic eggs to sun-melted chocolate candies, pennies and ancient jellybeans, but we had the most fun with the notes and “coupons” our parents would leave for us. “Good for one trip for ice cream.” Hell yeah!!! “Good for an eternity of God’s love.” Ughh… “Come on mom and dad, we already have that!” we’d groan, feeling cheated and robbed.

Then there were the coupons we could redeem to have my dad do his famous Mighty Mouse call “here I come to save the daaaaaay!” or my mom’s demonic witch cackle, which, while not very Easter-like, required a lot of energy and never failed to leave us wide-eyed and clapping for more.  As teenagers the coupons got even better, with things like “good for one free tank of gas” or “one oil change.”  One year when my grandma was visiting, my parents invited her to write notes for the eggs, to which she mischievously inquired, “Can I write shove it?”  They vetoed her first choice but things like “Easter Bunny better run, hunter’s coming with his gun!” still made it into the mix among messages like “He is risen!” and “Jesus loves you!”

 

Easter 2013: Four of us ready to battle it out for our Easter eggs. At age 27, I was the youngest of the group.

About five years ago, about a week before my family’s Easter celebration (which obviously included an egg hunt), some friends invited me to something truly life changing:

 AN EASTER BEER HUNT!

Luckily this bunny is hopping home, not driving.

 

 Wait, what? An Easter Beer Hunt? Is this possibly the greatest idea ever? Why, yes. Yes, it is.

The Easter Beer Hunt takes all the things I loved about the egg hunt and made them even better. Now instead of competing for plastic eggs filled with melted candy, pennies and messages of love, I was competing for delicious, cold beers! Not that messages of love aren’t wonderful. But you can’t really drink those.

Ever since that day I have been an enthusiastic advocate for this new tradition.  Now it’s time for you to have one!  Here’s a guide to throwing your own:

Yo bunny, that’s mine.

 

Here’s how the Easter Beer Hunt works:

1. Each participant brings a six-pack or more of cold beer, preferably something unique and delicious. No Natty Ice, please.  Maybe some friend with a good job will bring some fancy microbrews and high-class imports!
2. Once all the beers are gathered, the organizer or “Beer Bunny” counts and hides them throughout the designated area (back yard, certain parts of the house, etc) while the sequestered hunters eagerly warm up for the competition.  Beers can be hidden anywhere from bushes and grass to inside a washer/dryer or even under the couch or in the recycle bin.  Get creative!
3. Once all the beers have been counted and hidden, the Beer Bunny debriefs the hunters on the rules of the game, (no tripping, punching, clotheslining, etc) making clear which areas of the property are off-limits. At this point each hunter should have a bag or beer case to stash his or her loot.  I prefer a canvas bag to ensure I have a place for as many as I can grab.
4. Finally, the game commences and mania ensues. The crazed hunters scatter across the yard, snatching every beer they can while laughing and squealing with delight.
5. Once it seems all the beers have been found, the hunters count theirs to compare with the original total. The game continues until all beers are found, although people are often unsuccessful at finding them all, and the host will likely find random beers in his or her yard months later.
6. Time to party! Everyone sits back and relaxes, taking inventory of their loot and trading with friends (this is when the serious beer snobs show their true colors). The rest of the afternoon is full of springtime merriment—drinking, talking, and eating (have everyone pitch in for pizza or ask people to bring food to share).

 

While some people might throw a Beer Hunt on Easter Sunday (before or after the kids’ egg hunt), one can host this kind of party any time in the Easter season. It’s a great in-between-holiday to link St. Pattie’s Day and Easter!  Just be conscious of the dangers of over-glorifying drinking around children, especially tweens and teenagers.

 

What’s that I see? Something hidden in the brush!

Reasons why I LOVE the Easter Beer Hunt:

• It’s a fun way to try out different beers without having to buy a whole pack of them.   Check out the single beer section at your local liquor store!
• It’s a nostalgic activity that turns adults into kids again.
• It’s the ultimate way to celebrate the end of lent.
• It’s a competition in which the prize is BEER.
• It’s a great excuse to be outside in Spring.
• It extends the Easter season!

Hooray! Now someone please throw an Easter beer hunt and invite me!  Please remember to drink responsibly and NEVER drive drunk! Seriously.

 

So many varieties to try!

Possible variations:

• Do a “soda hunt” instead of a beer hunt. Use unique and specialty sodas, flavored mineral waters and stuff like that. Virgil’s, Hansens, Pellegrino, etc.
• Mark one beer as the special beer, and give whoever finds it a special prize.
• Hide a few growlers among the other beers to really wow your guests.
• Invite people to bring other kinds of bottled alcohol to share. Mini bottles would be perfect for an adult Easter basket!

Cool sodas for those who don’t drink

 

Some fun facts about beer:

•  Beer is the world’s most widely consumed alcoholic beverage, and is the third-most popular drink overall, after water and tea. It is thought by some to be the oldest fermented beverage.
• Some of the earliest Sumerian writings contain references to beer; examples include a prayer to the goddess Ninkasi, known as “The Hymn to Ninkasi”,which served as both a prayer as well as a method of remembering the recipe for beer in a culture with few literate people.

You can make your own beer at home! Check out this website on how to do it:

http://beersmith.com/blog/2009/01/10/how-to-brew-beer-5-steps-for-making-beer-at-home-part-1/

 

Enjoy!  And remember, be safe!  A taxi ride is much cheaper than a DUI.  🙂

A cool bottle of “Lucky Buddha” beer.

Oh, f*ck! My thoughts on swearing.

Warning: In this post I freely and openly explore the concept of profanity.  If you are offended by this, check back next week!

 

Miss Suzie had a steamboat

The steamboat had a bell (ding! ding!)

Miss Suzie went to heaven

The steamboat went to HELL-

 -O operator…

Saying bad words can be fun. Cathartic. Offensive. Funny. Disrespectful.  Let’s talk about it!

I must admit, I swear more than I should. Stub my toe? FUCK! Accidentally put too much pepper in the soup? SHIT!  Sometimes I don’t even notice the words coming out.

Not too long ago Simon, Ellis and I were shopping at Trader Joe’s, and Ellis went straight to grab a mini shopping cart to push around. As he barreled past, the tall stick attached to his cart smacked me in the face without warning, knocking off my glasses.  Without thinking I instinctively blurted out FUCK! to the shock and horror of all the families standing nearby.  Simon looked back at me with a face that said “seriously, Robbie?” Embarrassed and ashamed, all I could do was smile awkwardly and try to remove myself from the situation while mouthing “I’m sorry!”

As a father, I have reflected frequently on profanity’s role in society, the family, and the individual. But at this point, I’m still full of questions about how to address the subject with my son.  Obviously I don’t want him dropping F-bombs around the playground, but does it make sense to try to censor all profanity from his world to prevent that?   If a great song has one or two bad words, do I really need to eliminate it from our playlists or do we resort to doing “earmuffs” while Ellis is around?  Won’t he hear that stuff in school anyway?  Can I say “crap” instead of “shit,” or is that bad too? At what age is it acceptable for a kid to say “that sucks” or call someone an “ass?”  Is there a place for milder versions of bad words or should all profanity be prohibited?  I really don’t know, and I’m on my journey to find out.

Earmuffs!

From the start of spoken language, humans have had words that were considered offensive, disrespectful or blasphemous.  From nasty words for body parts to saying G*d’s name in vain, all languages have an immense arsenal of offensive words. But what makes a word “bad”?  After all, it’s just a word!

While offensive to some, bad words can be hilarious.  Consider the immensely popular “children’s book” entitled Go the Fuck to Sleep.  It is a New York Times best seller and a total crackup. Here’s a page from the book.

Or how about the delightfully uncouth “censored” version of Disney’s Frozen.  Featured on Jimmy Kimmel, this video censors innocuous words from the film, letting our dirty minds fill in the blanks.  There are also “censored” versions of Sesame Street, Barney and others.

 

As funny as bad words can be, there’s a time and a place for profanity. It can add humor and expression to a situation.  It can help us express our frustration or pain.  It can also be a tool to spew hatred and negativity. It all depends on who’s talking, who’s listening, and the energy behind the word. But as a general rule: Not in public, not in front of children, and definitely not in front of your teacher.

Once a student of mine was angry and defiant when I told him to remove a black wristband with the word FUCK in bold white letters. “Come on, it’s just a word, who cares!” Clearly lacking his full frontal lobe and desperately pushing the limits for attention, I had to pull him aside to succinctly break it down for him.

When I was a little kid, I had a swearing problem. I’m not sure exactly what I would say, but my profanity was so frequent that my mom started to carry around a bottle of Tabasco sauce to punish me.  Perhaps she chose the wrong discipline technique, because now hot sauce is one of my greatest pleasures in life… So yeah, I wonder why I like to swear so much… Thanks, Mom!

Often children go through a stage where they develop a “potty mouth,” talking constantly about poop, pee, farts, butts, buttholes, etc.  What’s a parent to do?  My mom has a friend who only allows her grandson to use those words in the bathroom, and he often stays in there extra long just to repeat those words without getting in trouble.  To me, it’s not a bad compromise—he’s learning to recognize there is a time and a place for foul language, and he’s letting off some frustration at the same time!  I just hope it doesn’t have a Pavlov’s dog effect and make him angry every time he has to poop.  That would be shitty.

Swearing can be funny because it makes people feel awkward and uncomfortable (not that that is always a good thing).  Children are notorious for getting a laugh out of the forbidden nature of cuss words.  Exhibit A: “the penis game.”  Never played?  Oh, you’ve been missing out! The game consists of people, usually middle-schoolers, taking turns saying the word “penis” louder and louder until one of them gets in trouble or is unwilling to continue.  Go ahead, give it a try today at your public library, bank or place of work!

Derrrr…. Come on, penis isn’t even a bad word.

What about the Pen 15 club?  Don’t you want to become a member? All you have to do is let me write PEN 15 on your hand.  But don’t be surprised later when your dad asks why you have PENIS written on you in black Sharpie. Oh, middle school…

Innocent little Kristy asking a question in Mrs. Kelly’s 8th grade language arts class… She has no idea.

And then there’s the classic rhyme about “Miss Susie” that goes with a hand clapping game.  Kids get a thrill out of almost saying “hell,” “ass,” etc.  I’m pretty sure I started chanting that at age five…

“Miss Susie had a steamboat,
the steamboat had a bell.
Miss Susie went to heaven
and the steamboat went to Hell–

O, operator,
Please give me number nine
And if you disconnect me
I’ll kick your be–

’hind the ’frigerator,
there was a piece of glass
Miss Susie sat upon it
and broke her little

Ask me no more questions,
Tell me no more lies,
The boys are in the bathroom
zipping up their

Flies are in the meadow
The bees are in the park
Miss Susie and her boyfriend
are kissing in the

D-A-R-K
D-A-R-K
D-A-R-K
Dark, dark, dark”

Hee hee hee! Profanity is FUN!

Swearing can be so much fun that it even inspires us to learn how to be offensive in other languages!  Besides, who needs to know how to order food, ask for the restroom or call for help when insulting someone’s mother is so much more useful!

Translating profanity from foreign languages can be a bizarre and perplexing exercise.  For example, who knew calling someone ‘“big goat” (cabrón) in Mexico could incite an aggressive altercation?  The insult goes back to the concept of a “cuckold,” a man who has grown horns because his wife is unfaithful.  The symbolism of the horns is explained here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuckold

In Mexican Spanish, even the word madre or “mother” can be vulgar.  Taking it far beyond “yo momma” jokes, Mexicans have so many vulgar expressions containing the word madre that the word itself is often considered profane. If something “smells like mothers” or “huele a madres,” it means it smells like shit. Of if you say “me vale madre,” which literally means “it’s worth a mother to me,” you’re really saying “I don’t give a shit.”  But remember, while madre is vulgar and to be avoided, padre (father) means “cool” or “awesome.” Gotta love the patriarchy!

As a high school Spanish teacher, I had my advanced classes list all the bad words they had heard in Spanish. Then I explained each word without translating them into English.  Don’t call me a bad influence, I am an educator!  After all, no one wants to be the clueless “gringo” smiling obliviously when someone calls them a “pinche puto.”  Knowledge is power, baby.  Knowledge is power.

If you’re uncultured and immature like me, here’s a website full of profane words in foreign languages: http://www.youswear.com/  Go forth, and be a citizen of the world!  And don’t blame me if you get your ass kicked.

Even if you speak the same language as someone, don’t expect to find the same words offensive. Between UK and US English, or Spanish from different Spanish speaking countries, misusing a common word can turn into a hilarious misunderstanding or a situation of gross disrespect. For example, in the UK and Australia, “fanny” is a foul word for vagina.  So please don’t ask where you can purchase a fanny pack while you’re in Melbourne.  At the same time, don’t have a heart attack if a Londoner asks if you have any extra “fags,” because he’s just asking for a cigarette.

Umm… WHAT???

In Spain, the word coger means to grab, pick up, or grasp.  “Coger el telefono” (to pick up the phone) or “coger frutas” (to pick fruit) sound quite different in Latin America, where the word means “to fuck” (sexually).

Instead of using full-fledged profanity, most people, especially around children, use milder versions of these colorful words, called “minced oaths.”

Examples of these euphemisms include darn, gosh, jeez, crap, freaking, etc.  These can be especially fun and creative, like “shut the front door!” or “H-E double hockey sticks!”  My sister is famous her constant and creative usage of the word “fezie,” as in, “What the fezie!” or “Holy fezie!”

Minced oaths even exist in other languages. “Híjole” is an abbreviation of “hijo de puta” or “son of a bitch,” effectively making it the Mexican version of “son of a!”  Similarly, “ostras” meaning “oysters” is a non-offensive version of “Hostia” which comes from the incredibly offensive  Spanish expression “Me cago en la Hostia,” or “I shit on the holy Host.”

When it comes to small children, which words are off-limits?  How does that change depending on age? What about minced oaths? Hearing a kid swear or even “fake” swear can be shocking and embarrassing for the parents.  Even hearing a child say “this sucks” can be unsettling. Or what if they say, “Are you effing serious?” Oh hail no.

So does that mean I can’t say anything remotely naughty?  If I can’t shout “CRAP!” when I stub my toe or say “oh my gosh!” when I’m surprised, what can I say?

I really have no idea what naughty words are acceptable at what age.  Heck, so many minced oaths don’t even seem bad to me anymore.  I guess it’s up to each family to figure that out as they go along.  That’s what parenting is all about.

Clearly we can’t shelter kids forever.  Many tweens and adolescents associate profanity with being more adult and therefore cool (not that adults are cool, ewww). In middle school, when I was cooler than the world, I started to swear incessantly, mindlessly inserting bad words into my speech instead of using more vivid, descriptive vocabulary. This became a habit lasting into adulthood, leading me to swear without even knowing I was doing it.

I think the bottom line is to be conscious of what we say and recognize how it could affect those around us. As adults we must be open with our children and always be ready to explain why something is inappropriate.  If we consistently model good behavior and teach our kids the cultural rules and roles for profanity, we can all have fun with language without getting into too much trouble.

All in all, whether we curse like sailors or think “jeepers” is profane, it’s important to be careful with our words and be sensitive to others.

 

 

What are your thoughts on the topic of profanity?  Parents and non-parents alike, please share your thoughts, comments and personal experiences below!