Fat-Free Pumpkin-Apple Dog Treats

I baked a batch of dog cookies yesterday.  

As soon as I took them out of the oven, Gus popped his head around the corner.  This is his I'm-in-a-cookie-trance face.

Clyde, as usual, positioned himself front and center.  Notice that he is directly in front of the refrigerator.  It's his favorite place to be when I'm cooking, because every time I open the fridge I have to nudge him out of the way.

He has a knack for figuring out how to get attention when I'm focused on something other than him.

I packaged up some of the cookies for a friend's dog, a golden retriever named Jessie, whose birthday is 

today.  Happy 14th Birthday, Jessie!

Selfie

Stream of Consciousness on a Wednesday Morning

A totally selfish post.  As if my thoughts and wishes would ever matter to anyone else but me!

 My favorite peonies, blooming on the side of my house by the driveway.  I see them every time I get in and out of my car.

They've been blooming for 3 days now.  I snap a picture every time I pass by.  

I snapped this picture this morning after I dropped my son off at the train station.  Then I decided to count the peony pictures in my phone.

There are 18 pictures of the same flowers!  I won't bore you with them all.

But it made me start thinking.  How cool it is that I can so easily snap pictures with my phone all day long.  How awesome it would have been to have had a camera phone when my kids were younger.  Which led to this thought: I wish I had started my blog 20 years earlier, so that I could have a really awesome photo journal of my kids as they grew up.

Instead of impulsively taking pictures of everything that catches my eye--like big fish in the supermarket--I could have a phone full of images of my kids.  If only there were camera phones back then.  If only I had a cell phone back then.  

~1997~

If only I was blogging back then.  If only I had internet access back then.  

~2009~

At ages 22, 19 and (almost) 18, there's no way my kids would let me blog about their current lives.  And there's no way they'd let me post pictures.

But if I had started this when they were younger, they would have been fair game.  

Rum Punch

Mother's Day was perfect.  Both Sean and Caitie had their finals during the week before.  Sean came home Friday night, Caitie arrived on Saturday, and that's all I needed for Mother's Day.

And then my baseball team surprised me after our game that afternoon.

It was a perfect day.

I've really enjoyed the past week, having everyone under the same roof is the best thing in the world.

Today, Caitie and Sean both began working their internships.  Exciting for both of them.

I don't think I've mentioned that Caitie's internship is in New York City?  Uh, yes.  She moved into her place yesterday.  Sigh.

It's been her dream for a while, to spend the summer in New York City, before she graduates college.  For the last few years, I have mixed feelings with every milestone, and this was no different.  So, so happy for her, so sad that she won't be here for the summer.  

And then the worries set in.  I couldn't turn them off.  Where will she live?  How will she get to work?  How will she find her way around?  Who will help her if she has any questions?  And my racing mind answered every one of those questions with it's a city that she's never been to and she doesn't know anyone there.  

First, we tackled the housing quandary.  Where to stay?  Thankfully, her school sent us a few links to places where past interns had stayed.  

Mr. Terrific went to the first site and told me, "Hey, I like this one.  An apartment building that only rents rooms to single women who are working, interning or studying in NYC.  Includes maid service and two meals a day."  He told me the name of the apartment and I googled it.

When the results popped up, the only thing I saw was HELL'S KITCHEN.  And I swear, it was bright red letters, font size about 50 point.  I kid you not.  It's all I could see.  

I need to add a disclaimer right now, I mean absolutely no disrespect or disdain toward anyone who lives in Hell's Kitchen.  But as a mom, looking for a place for her daughter to live, surely you can understand why I would not want my daughter living in a place called hell?   And though I imagine that hell is generally an extremely hot place, I can't help but think that the kitchen--a room with an oven--might be the hottest spot in hell?  It could be a misnomer, but I just couldn't get past it.

The next place on the list was in the Flatiron District. The word "flatiron" conjured up images in my mind of steaks and hairstyling tools, and with "Hell's Kitchen" still tattooed on my brain my racing thoughts quickly drew corollaries between steaks/kitchen and hairstyling/heat/hell, but it did not make me feel like I needed to breathe from a brown paper bag lest I pass out from anxiety.  After a quick google of "Flatiron District" I learned that the name comes from the Flatiron building and that the district was previously called the Toy District, and before that the Photo District.......all names I can live with.  

Whew.  Found a place for Caitie to live that's not hell!

Berries with Limoncello & Mint

My flowers are finally blooming!

I've been spending a lot of time outside, tidying up the flower beds.

Mr. Clyde likes to join me.  

Our typical scenario:  me, on my knees, pulling weeds.  Clyde, stretched out in front of me, so I have to reach over him to pull the weeds.  I get up and move to a different spot, he moves with me.

I try not to make eye contact with him, because as soon as I do he flips onto his back, wagging his tail, asking for a belly rub.  How can I resist this big, fluffy teddy-bear face?

I recently invited a bunch of friends over for a dinner party.  My menu?

Artichoke Dip

Caprese Skewers

Stuffed Mushrooms

Asparagus wrapped with prosciutto & mozzarella

I also made scalloped potatoes, and grilled filets mignon.   Actually, Mr. Terrific did the grilling.  Partly because he likes working the grill, but mostly because I think he's terrified that I'm going to overcook the meat.  He's really good at paying attention and making sure that the steaks are perfect.

And I made this rum punch, which I'm going to feature in a future blog post.  I promise!

For now, I'm going to give you the recipe for the berries that my friend, Danielle, brought to my party.  I thought they were just a lovely bowl of berries.......until I tried them.  

Me: "Wow, what else is in here?"

Danielle: "A little bit of lemon juice, mint, Limoncello........."

Me: "What?! Give me the recipe!!"

Here it is!!

Boston Strong

First things first: a great big THANK YOU to all who have emailed or messaged me because you haven't heard from me recently and were concerned because of all that has happened here in Boston in the past week.  I am so awed and amazed at how the power of the blogosphere has created so many friendships and a sense of camaraderie with people that I have never met.

We are fine.  We did not go to the marathon, and I'm thankful that all of my friends and family who were there--whether running or cheering--are fine. Physically fine.

Mentally, it's a heck of a lot to wrap your head around, to process, to understand, to accept.  How can anyone ever understand or accept such horror?  The victims of this crime, totally innocent, enjoying the beautiful day, happily waiting so they can enthusiastically cheer for and embrace their family members at the finish line.

I remember back to when I found out about the Newtown shooting at the Sandy Hill elementary school.  My daughters and I had spent the afternoon shopping, buying Christmas gifts, and then capped it all off with a trip to K-Mart to secretly pay off the layaway of an unsuspecting shopper.  We were sitting in our car, still in the K-Mart parking lot, waiting for the light to change so we could exit.  My girls were laughing, talking about what a big surprise someone was going to get when they went to pay for their layaway and they found out that we beat them to it.  The newscaster's voice came on the car radio and said, "Parents, if you have young children in the vicinity, you may want to turn your volume down because we have some disturbing news...." at which point one of my daughters said, "That means turn it UP!!"  Which was exactly what I was thinking, so I did turn it up ( at ages 17 and 21, I do not consider my girls young children).  Our joyful mood was instantly suffocated as we listened to the news report of the  Newtown shooting.    How could those sweet children and their loving parents have possibly known that their school was a dangerous place to be on that day?

Last Monday, could anyone have known that the finish line of the Boston Marathon was a dangerous place to be?  So often, you hear the phrase "they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."  How can attending school, or cheering at a sporting event, ever be wrong?  How can being at these places--at exactly the time you are supposed to be there--in broad daylight, be wrong?

I've mentioned my friend, Gayle, in previous posts.  Gayle is a nurse, and her sister (also a nurse) wrote this recounting of the first 24 hours after the marathon bombing (unedited by me):

     Let me tell you about the clear message my sister Gayle sent to the Terrorists. Monday when the bombs went off less than a mile from where she was working she stayed put to take care of her patients. When told by BPD that another bomb was found on Tremont street near the Hospital and that they were evacuating our Emergency room she helped to evacuate premature babies to safety not knowing or caring if she was in danger. She consoled and reassured frightened parents who are anxious enough having a baby in NICU let alone in the middle of all the terror of that day. And the next day....She went back in and did it again walking through security like you have never seen in your life. Armored tanks and Swat teams not letting what happened the day before stop her from going back to Boston and her job. I know because I was with her doing the same thing.. Not letting those animals keep us from doing what we do.


Anything can happen, at any time, any place.  Our only option is to not give in, support each other and carry on.

A Low-Key Easter

Happy Easter!

And to those of you who don't celebrate Easter, Happy Sunday!

We've all been hit hard by the throw-up bug in this house.  Sean had it earlier this week (apparently it is making the rounds at his school), he was fine by the time he came home on Wednesday for his Easter break, but Friday at 4 a.m. (me), 5 a.m. (Erin) and 2 p.m. (Mr. Terrific) the rest of us succumbed.

It's been years since I've had this kind of a bug (Erin informs me that the last time she remembers me throwing up was when she was in preschool, in March 2000.  She's right!), and let me tell you, vomiting really gives your abs a workout!  And since I'm keeping score, I tallied seven workouts before noon on Friday.

The worst is over, I'm definitely feeling better, just a bit of a more lethargic, light-headed (thanks, dehydration) version of myself.

Up since the crack of dawn, of course, because although I would have liked to sleep a little bit later, Gus and Clyde had breakfast plans.  I wish I could somehow explain to them that breakfast will wait for them if they decide to sleep a bit later; that sleeping past sunrise doesn't mean they missed their opportunity to eat!

So, up we were at 6:30.  What have they been doing since around 6:45 or so?  I'll give you two hints:

Gus. Zzzzzzz.

 Clyde. Snooze.

Huh? Whazzat?  Was that a camera click that woke me.....can't you see I'm trying to catch a little shut-eye?

Happy Easter!  Happy Sunday!  I hope you enjoy a lovely day with family and friends.

Irish Soda Bread

First things first: I am not Irish.  I had never tasted, nor even heard of Irish soda bread until I started dating my husband, who is 100% of Irish descent.

Every spring, around St. Patrick's Day or Easter, my husband's great-aunt would bake an Irish soda bread and give it to my father-in-law, who would divide it and give a really large, foil-wrapped chunk to my husband.   If you read yesterday's post, you know that my anniversary is on March 14, so my first encounter with Irish bread occurred fairly soon after we were married.

My husband was all excited over a chunk of bread that to me looked like a lump of sawdust with raisins in it.  At his insistence, I tried a bite and found it so dry I couldn't even swallow it, so I choked it down with a gallon of milk.. Okay, that's an exaggeration, it wasn't a gallon but it was way more milk than you should have to drink in one sitting.  I will tell you that I enjoyed the flavor of the bread, but the texture was unbelievably dry.

At this point I feel the need to say that I mean no disrespect to anyone of Irish descent, I am not making fun of you or your bread.  I happily embrace so many things from your culture:  I love the color green almost as much as I like pink, the Boomtown Rats totally rock, and having named my children Caitlin, Sean and Erin you can be assured that I think Irish names are the bees knees.   I also feel the need to tell you that I am of Italian descent (with a name like Frances, what else could I be?  Did you ever watch the Sopranos?  Do you remember that episode when Paulie's mom invited her girlfriends over to play cards?  At the end of that episode, when the credits were rolling, suddenly there was a glut of characters played by actresses named Frances.  Like, practically every one of those little old Italian ladies was played by an actress named Frances!).  If my descriptions of Irish soda bread are insulting your Irish sensibilities and you feel the need to fire back at me that Italian panettone is blah and overrated, let me tell you right now that I agree with you.  Now that I've cleared the air, let me continue....

So, after we had been married a couple of years, I saw a recipe in the newspaper for Irish soda bread (this was the 1980's, folks, before there was internet access we actually read newspapers to get our daily fix of what's going on in the world) and I thought to myself, why should Mr. Terrific have to wait for his great-aunt's yearly baking? Why not bake it myself?  So I followed the recipe for "My Best Irish Soda Bread" (or some other similar, folksy name) and man, was it good!  It was not dry, it was perfect. 

I was so excited, I couldn't wait for Mr. Terrific to come home so that I could show him the bread and tell him that he would be able to have homemade Irish Soda Bread more often than once a year.  He took a bite of the bread, and promptly told me that his aunt's was better.  At that moment, I was wishing that it was as dry as his aunt's bread so that he would just go ahead and choke on it.

I don't know what happened to that recipe that I made all those years ago, because Mr. Terrific said "my aunt's is better" one time too many and in a hissy fit I chucked the recipe and went on strike for a few years.  The recipe that I use now is a combination of several recipes; I left out things I didn't like and added things I thought should be there.  Hope you enjoy it, and Happy St. Patrick's Day!

A Good Day!!

Happy Pi Day!! 

I baked this pie last night.  The math geek in me wanted to share the picture with you!

It's also my anniversary today........these strawberries were just delivered, a sweet gift from Caitie!!

And I baked an Irish Soda Bread for Mr. Terrific.............I'll post the recipe soon!

Maple-Mustard Pork Chops

If there were an Olympic competition for displays of disorganization, my preparation of this recipe would probably qualify me.

It all started with 4 boneless pork chops that I was going to cook for dinner.  I was totally uninspired and couldn't come up with a way to cook them.

First, I thought I would put together a honey-mustard-ginger-soy marinade.......but I was out of soy sauce and the fresh ginger that I was so sure was in my refrigerator was playing hide and seek with me.  I know I will find it tomorrow.

I decided to pare it down a bit, forget about the heavy Asian influence.  And then the honey wouldn't cooperate!  There were at least 12 ounces left in the (warehouse-size) container, but it was starting to crystallize and refused to pour.

At this point my patience was really stretched so I decided I'd go with maple syrup instead of honey.  So here we have it--Maple Mustard Pork Chops.  Not what I set out to make, but I think this is one of those times that I ended up with something better than I had planned!

Broiled Ginger-Soy Chicken Cutlets

Why don't we just get the puppy pictures over and done with:

Clyde is 5 months old now and actually willing to strike a pose now and then. 

What a difference a week makes; he no longer feels the need to investigate the camera in my hand whenever I sit on the floor with him.  Our photo sessions never last very long, anyway; I can't spend any amount of time focused on him without the urge to cuddle taking over!

I'm still unable to use my oven.  My handy-dandy repairman came to take a look at it, and confirmed that it is the baking ignition that is not working.  So I'm waiting for the part to arrive. I can still use the stove-top burners, and even the broiler, which got me to thinking:  why don't I ever use my broiler?

I couldn't remember the last time I broiled something, so I searched my blog (HA! I just KNEW this blog would serve a purpose someday!  Even if it's only to refresh my feeble memory that it's been six months since the last time I broiled something), and the broiler was last used to make Broiled Zucchini With Melted Cheese .

So I challenged myself to come up with something that can be broiled.  Erin and Mr. Terrific both agreed that this broiled chicken is a keeper!