Spring is Coming

…I can tell by the light in the front room. And I can’t wait.

Winter’s almost here.

We got our first real cold snap today, but I’m  trying to hang on to fall by turning the last of the last of the apples from my parents’ backyard into a cake and some applesauce. The crop was oh so delicious and juicy this year.

Kindergarten Chairs

A steal (10 dollars each!) from our new local antique shop, M.A.D. in Leslieville. I spied them out of the corner of my eye, but passed by them, thinking Samson’s too young for them. I only got about ten steps away, realizing I would kick myself forever if I didn’t get them now. Like that time I passed up a tiny school desk for $25 dollars because Samson was only 10 days old. Stupid.

 

I turned right around and snapped them up. Then had to lug them home while baby slept. Ain’t no thing. I’ve done it before.

We’ve got crumbs. Tips anyone?

I am by no stretch of the imagination a Neat Freak, but neither am I a slob. I enjoy the Victorian (cluttered) aesthetic, so we’re those neat-plies-everywhere-too-much-furniture-in-a-small-space kind of people, and our house is never going to achieve that modern, sparse, super clean look. I know that. That said, when I do get down to cleaning, I’m pretty particular about what I deem clean. I have my Mom and Dad to thank for that—do it once, do it right! A high standard to begin with, that standard was elevated when I was at my best friend’s house one time and we had to get at the back of their VCR to adjust the cables and people—I kid you not—there was no—NONE, ZERO, NOT AN OUNCE—of dust back there. None. And it’s not like she was expecting us to move her entertainment unit; she just keeps it like that all the time.

Granted, this was before she had a kid. And before I had a kid, I would vacuum every week, and every time I would clean the baseboards, under the stove, behind the fridge; I’d vacuum the picture frames, the bookshelves, and all the little nooks and crannies that gather dust in an old home. And then we had that aforementioned baby, and well, we were tired, we had our hands full (literally) and things began to slip.

And then Baby turned into a Toddler. Toddles likes to eat Cheerios (or as we like to call it, Baby Kibble), and for every Cheerio he gets in his mouth about 8 land on the floor. Five of those Addie will eat, which leaves about 3 that I’ll eventually get to picking up along with an apple Toddles has bitten into twice then rolled under the couch, a yogurt cup Toddles has given to the dog to lick, a cookie, some of last night’s chips, etc, etc.

Do you see where I’m going? My house is not as clean as I would like it to be. It bothers me. It does. Especially since I read this article about how many home kitchens would fail a restaurant health inspection because I thought—oh god!—they’re talking about me! But honestly, I’d rather spend time with my buddy and Hubby than be cleaning all the time, so, yes, things have slipped. I clean enough to keep me sane—I only vacuum once every 1-2 weeks, so I sweep regularly. I tidy toys several times a day so we’re not tripping, we clean the counters, we wash the dishes. But can I remember the last time I cleaned between the rungs of the radiator? Have I dusted the ceiling fan lately? No. When those things finally really make me crazy, I clean them. But yes, things have slipped.

So where am I going with this….well. I’m going to confide in you, internet, and admit something that I’m pretty damn embarrassed about. But first, a video.

 

There’s this m-m-mouse in my apartment.

If you do not feel for this guy you have no soul. That, or you’ve never had a mouse. This one didn’t eat my bread (in fact, we can’t find anything it’s actually eaten), but it pooped on my counters, in my pots and on my new Kitchen Aid mixer. Yes, we have a mouse. A mouse that is commenting on my skills as a housekeeper. A mouse that is driving me bat sh*t crazy. I’ve laid out traps, I’ve cleaned every surface in the house, but I still get that crazed look like this poor sap waiting to find the next black rice pellet that signals the mouse is. still. ALIVE. First thing I do when I wake up is search for the little suckers—on my hands and knees with a flashlight, looking, inspecting every stray coffee ground, kiwi seed and speck of dirt. And when I find them, as I inevitably do, I get angry. Angry she’s not dead. Oh, and I want her dead. I used to think I was one of those humane trap sort of gals, but now—oh no. This disgusting, disease carrying, little jerk is going DOWN. Do you hear me?! No more pooping wherever you please! No more pooping on my beautiful mixer. NO MORE POOPING IN THE GODDAMN TRAP, okay? We’re going to get you. And revenge is going to be sweet.

Family Dinner

This week we had our first family dinner, where everyone eats the same thing: a lovely squash risotto seasoned with no salt, no pepper, just cinnamon. And it wasn’t missing a thing.

A plea to mothers

Mothers of babies! Mothers of babies with dogs! And specifically mothers of babies with dogs who live in old houses!

HOW DO YOU KEEP UP WITH YOUR HOUSEWORK? (READ: HOW DO YOU STAY SANE?!)

I vacuum at least once a week, I mop/sweep the floor every other day, and still, when my baby drops a piece of banana on the floor it’s speckled with fur, his knees and feet are black from crawling and his bum looks like this:

Or worse. This picture isn’t so bad. It was taken either early on in the crawling, or I had just swept.

So tell me: what brand of crazy am I? Am I crazy to expect a baby to be perfectly clean after crawling around on the floor all day? Or am I the only one who sees the dirt?

Mastering the Art of French Cooking

 

I’m trying to get back into the swing of things here (at home and on the blogosphere). I blame the heat. Well, no, I blame the baby, but the heat was the ultimate culprit because as the heat arrived, baby decided to sleep nowhere but on top of me, and because of that we’ve been going out more and working less. Plenty of trips to the local farm, splash pad, and ice cream shop have been keeping us busy.

Today, because my freezer broke down and we have more defrosted freezer jam than we know what to do with, I revisited an old favourite and made crepes. I’ve heard talk of Julia Child being a difficult introduction to French cooking. I don’t know about that—maybe I just expect a certain level of difficulty when it comes to French cuisine—but I’m pretty clear on what she’s talking about, and don’t find her the least bit pretentious. If you’re still worried, and would like to ease in, I highly recommend her crepe recipe. You can make the batter in the blender in less than 5 minutes, leave it in the fridge until you’re ready to cook, and you do not have to perform any kind of fancy frypan flipping—just use your fingers! Also, you can easily cook the crepes up in advance, and only fill and reheat them as you need them. I did just that while hubby was out walking the dog this morning and I was wearing a baby. Easy peasy! Really!

My rhubarb freezer jam was an experiment, but it turned out lovely, and the colour is reminiscent of that fresh blend of red and green that’s so hard to capture in rhubarb. It’s not at all too sweet (and in fact has a lovely tartness), and worked very well in the crepes.

I also made one with strawberry jam, and one with some 80% chocolate from Soma. And of course I had to make two for myself with just lemon juice and sugar, but I didn’t take a picture because I gobbled them all up. 

One Giant Leap

If a House Tour of my house existed on Apartment Therapy, my “Most embarrassing element” would be my laundry room. It’s in the basement, it’s carpeted, it’s utilitarian and unfortunately you can’t hide it behind a curtain because you have to walk through it it to get to our only washroom—so guests see it.

We have done wonders for our basement, managing to make a lovely, liveable space for ourselves and Mr. S (one day I will share the before and after with you), but this one room is still on my cringe list. It’s also where we change Peanut and spend a lot of time with him (on the potty, getting dressed, etc.), so I want to get it fixed up, but in the grand scheme of things, if I’m spending money on my house, I tend to favour other areas. It’s organized and clean, but it’s a an eyesore.

But I’m working on it.

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit what it took to get this sink this clean, but boy-oh-boy am I ecstatic about the results. That’s one small step for me (who needs healthy fingernails anyway? who’s worried about inhaling toxic fumes?!), one giant leap for the presentableness of the laundry room.

scenes from our weekend

Last weekend. Better late than never, right?

Peanut was my official assistant at a tree planting picnic. He acted as a very good counterweight to my camera. Best part of the picnic? I built a birdhouse. And got a certificate of achievement. Oh yes. (Never you mind it says Kids Workshop on it. I declined out of respect for the children milling about, and the lady begged me to build one. Who was I to refuse? I had my eye on those birdhouses all day!)

We also had a lovely picnic (my first real honest-to-goodness picnic on blankets) with Uncle Jon and Auntie Kathleen. Delicious Smitten Kitchen food was served. Also, despite having a tan, my baby appears to have no pigment when he’s around his Uncle Jon.

 

chevre + jam

It’s raining. The air is heavy. The baby’s finally sleeping off his foul mood, on his own, in the bed. And I am enjoying a perfect piece of heaven – goat cheese with jam on toasted klosterbrot.