Top Ten 2013

Today, I tried to end the year in just the right place: with a clean house and a trip to Mass; by the stove and in front of the oven preparing a good meal; taking time for a run and making sure my work was done; sharing as much time as possible with my family; and reflecting - on yet another year that seemed like it could be deemed the best yet.

Sure - there was loss this year. And some heartbreaking, big ones. 

There were also some very tough moments. I honestly didn't think I would survive the first week back at work after maternity leave. There was stress and sleeplessness; fear and frustration. But mostly, this year can be categorized as nothing less than amazing. And I feel prouder than ever about what I produced on my blog this year. Probably because I constantly had an inspiring subject to write about: Mary and motherhood.

With that and after ample reminiscing, here is my top ten of 2013.  

10. Vacations to Sonoma and Martha's Vineyard

9. An amazing first Christmas 

8. Celebrating Thanksgiving in New York City

7. Racing in Chicago's marathon and Pittsburgh's half marathon

6. Visits from friends and family and the meals we gathered around (there are too many articles to choose from.) 

5. Learning how to be a breastfeeding, rat racing, working mom. 

(There are no pictures of the time I spent in the mother's room at work this year.)

4. Bath time and one very special bath 

3. Finding out that I not only married the perfect husband for me, but the perfect daddy for Mary.

2. The night and early morning that Mary was born 

1. Mary.  

Erin, how am I doing? I'm blessed.
So blessed.

Lo. 

Then There Was Soup

After the feast. And after its instant replay. After round two of leftover night, which was always heavier on the dark meat, lighter on the stuffing. When the carcass could no longer produce an open faced turkey sandwich. Then came the soup.

You knew it was soup day as soon as the stock reached a simmer. The heavenly aromas filled the house from the basement to the attic as the rolling water sucked the remaining flavors from the turkey and as the meat fell from the bones. My dad would take out every leftover and every suitable ingredient that the kitchen held and line them up on the counter, priming them to make their bold entrance into the pot.

Every year, my Dad tried to trump last year's melded masterpiece using a different combination of Tupperware clad remains - legend has it there was even a year when he added the cranberries to round out the soup's bouquet.

When the soup was declared finished, after a day's worth of brewing, we would sit down to five piping hot bowls, paired with five grilled cheese sandwiches, and the rest - gallons worth sometimes - would be frozen. There were years when we were thawing and eating turkey soup into the fall. The perfect antidote to the first chilly day of the season.

This year, to keep the holiday soup making tradition alive in Illinois; after rounds one and two of our prime feast, I started sifting through soup recipes. Because we exchanged fowl for roast beast at our Christmas gathering, we had a different variety of stock bones to throw in the pot. I also have a husband who had been asking me to make beef pho for awhile - a craving that he was driving to Wheaton to fulfill. So after some research, I started cooking.

To be fair to the leftover process, I didn't go the store for additional ingredients - I used what was in the house. And luckily, we had just about everything. Including a little turkey for tradition's sake.

I believe the end product would have made the Vietnamese chefs of Wheaton proud. Peter liked it so much that he has practically been living on the soup for three days now. There was a slight pause for cousin Joe's first birthday party the other night, but pho truly reigned in my kitchen all weekend.

The stock dried up last night. I wasn't fast enough to freeze any. So until next year's feast, the soup is retired. And with it, the leftovers from Christmas.

Lo.

LePHOver

Ingredients: 
Stock:
Rib bones from 7-8 pound prime rib
4-5 quart stock pot filled with water
3 celery ribs
2 carrots chopped
4 cloves of garlic
1 small yellow onion
8 whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon anise seed
2 teaspoons ginger (I didn't have fresh ginger in the house - would use fresh next time)
Salt
Meat from the fattier, more tender parts of the prime rib

Add ins:
Pho rice noodles
Meat from the rarest part of the leftover prime rib, thinly sliced
Napa cabbage, thinly sliced
Bean sprouts
Thai chili pepper, thinly sliced
Portabello mushrooms, thinly sliced
Siracha
Scallions, sliced
Cilantro
Basil
Lime wedges

Directions: 
In a large stock pot, bring water to boil with rib bones. Add celery, carrots, onion and garlic. Reduce heat and maintain a low rolling boil for an hour and a half. Add spices and small pieces of the fattier meat from the leftover prime rib. Add a generous amount of salt and continue to simmer for another hour and a half.

Remove from heat and strain through a cheese cloth, tossing all solid remains except some of the tender meat. Add that back into the stock. Either return stock to heat and simmer to serve immediately, or refrigerate or freeze for later.

To serve: prepare noodles by boiling water and submerging noodles for 10-20 seconds. Place noodles in large bowl. Add hot stock over noodles. Add a variety of accouterments to make your pho your own. We found success in Napa Cabbage, mushrooms, meat, Thai chili peppers, and scallions. Next time, after going to the store, I would definitely add the basil, which Peter says makes it more authentic to the Wheaton region of Vietnam.

The Twelve Hours of Christmas

The True Love in one of the season's most played Christmas carols was onto something; spacing out the gifts and celebration over twelve days might just remove some of the pressure of a very cramped 24-hour holiday window. In my case, it also might have prevented two overexcited children from puking in my living room as the last of the presents were being unwrapped.

But to give Mary an excellent first impression of this miraculous day, we did the hours between Christmas Eve Mass at 5:00 PM on the 24th and Christmas dinner clean up around 9:30 PM on the 25th proud. We went big and bold; sweet and special; we applied the same Yuletide effort and gusto that my parents and Peter's parents gave to us growing up, and made our own mark on Mary's first Noel.

Instead of days, we concentrated on making each hour grander than the next. And they went something like this.

On the first hour of Christmas, Mary got a ticket to see one miraculous baby come to Earth.
On the second hour of Christmas, Mary went to Mimi and Opa's and played with two of her cousins

On the third hour of Christmas, when Mary got a fever, Mommy held her tightly, Dad tried getting her to sleep, and then she ended up with 3 quarters of our bed.

On the fourth hour of Christmas, Daddy made more coffee as Mary unwrapped four loud new toys.

 

On the fifth hour of Christmas, Mommy sterilized five pacifiers.

Then Mary napped, Daddy shoveled, Mommy ran, and Oma stopped by with some macaroons.

On the sixth hour of Christmas, Mary did the Facetime with six Fischers around my parents tree.

On the seventh hour of Christmas, Mommy started cooking, seven pounds of prime rib ...

Six Maryland crab cakes, five cups of creamed spinach, stuffing on four hundred, rib roast on three hundred, two french baguettes and one cranberry mold.

 

On the eighth hour of Christmas, Mary got a bath, eight minutes in and then out.

On the ninth hour of Christmas, Daddy opened the door to the ninth Christmas guest.

 

On the tenth hour of Christmas, we all sat down and likely gained a whole ten pounds.

On the eleventh hour of Christmas, Mimi made a toast, to eleven blessings around the table.

On the twelfth hour of Christmas, chaos ensued as twelve sheets of wrapping paper flew ...

Revealing eleven bright new books, ten pairs of socks, nine people laughing, eight tracks spinning carols, seven German ornaments, six cute outfits, five even louder toys, four handfuls of M&Ms, three tiers of cookies, two projectile pukers, and one really tired Mommy.

Mary's first Christmas, and our first Christmas as Mom and Dad, Santa and his Mrs, Christmas Day host and hostess, was white and wonderful. Every minute was memorable and uniquely our own - new traditions, mixed with old, technology connecting divides, fresh new eyes creating new meaning for why Christmas Day is so special. Yes it was exhausting, but it was worth the hype, worth the work, and worth the wait. 

And just like all the Boxing Days that have come before, today marks the start of the next countdown - 364 days till next Christmas and the chance to retake this year's family photo. 

Lo.

The Date Bar

My Dad got a camcorder in 1987. At least that was the year of our first home video - a montage of classic memories capturing the cute, funny, awkward, and downright weird.

One segment, a true fan favorite, takes you through '87's Christmas festivities; the fire roaring at my parents house, our tall Douglas Fir wrapped in strings of popcorn towering over me, my mom making the finishing touches on her table set with Lenox's Christmas China. There is a scene of my sister reading a book about Barbie and Skipper to me, another one where I'm housing chocolate balls in footed pajamas; and yet another of all the cousins lined up on the couch, watching Disney's Christmas Carol, cowering as the ghost of Robert Marley, played by Goofy, appears in shackles and chains.

By far though, the little boy who steals the show, is my brother. Dressed in a miniature suit, he picks up a cookie from a tiered tray, takes one bite, stares at it incredulously, offers it to my Dad behind the camera, and then throws it back on the tray. The crowd roars with laughter.

There's no doubt that the cookie was a date bar. They are sneaky little ones. And have been fooling children with their seductive outward appearance for generations. I can remember making my brother's flawed choice when I was three or four as well. It imprinted a reminder to steer clear of the powdered cookies - they are NOT chocolate; I repeat, NOT chocolate. And as a chubby chocoholic, I was in no mood for a hearty mixture of fruit and nuts growing up.

Today, date bars are one of my favorite Christmas cookies. They seasonal underdogs really, trumped by jumbo sugar cookies, chocolate dominant pairings, and gingermen buttoned up with raisins. They are small, square, and could easily double as an energy bar. They pair well with an aged Port or tall glass of milk and are a welcome break from the rich cookies that tend to stick to the roof of your mouth at this time of year.

So over the past two days, along with kringles, biscotti, Hello Dollies and sugar cut outs, I had the distinct privilege of baking them as my Dad transcribed the recipe over the phone and simultaneously made his own batch.

As I finish my date bar breakfast this Christmas Eve morning, I'm sending you this advice: If you are still looking for one more cookie to round out this year's platter, give date bars a chance. They are a wonderful little cookies.

Lo.

Date bars:

Ingredients: 

2 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup finely chopped pecans or walnuts (I use pecans)
2 cups finely chopped dates

Directions:
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease an 8x8 inch pan.

Beat the two eggs till light and foamy, then beat in the sugar and vanilla.

Sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Add to the egg mixture and stir till well incorporated. Add the dates and walnuts.

Spread batter in pan evenly. Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until a dull crust forms. Let cool for about 15 minutes, then cut into squares while still warm. Roll in powder sugar. Remind your children they are about to bite into something that is not chocolate.

Sugar Cookies

Ingredients: 
1 cup lard or shortening
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 egg, beaten
4 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon baking powder
Juice and zest of 1 lemon
Roughly 4 cups of flour

Directions: 
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Cream together shortening and sugar. Beat in egg, milk, baking powder and lemon. Add flour, one cup at a time, until dough comes together. Wrap up and refrigerate for at least two hours or up to two days.

Roll out dough very thinly in several batches, cut with Christmas shapes, decorate with red and green sugar, and place on ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 10 minutes per batch.

Nine Months and December

Mary is nine months old. (Yesterday.) She now has nine months of experience being out and about in this world which is approximately the same amount of time that she spent growing inside of me. And after nine months studying life, Mary is starting to get the hang of things, realizing its simple truths.

Say that, greeting other people with a wave and a 'hebo' is something you should always do. And hey, why not greet your little toys too. Or that nine times out of ten the stuff that Mommy and Daddy are eating, isn't nearly as good as your bottle. That teeth, baby teeth, big teeth, molars, canines, and particular wisdom teeth, are a big pain in the ass. That 'no' really only means 'no' if Mommy isn't laughing when she's saying it. That sleeping, sleeping in, and napping are actually quite fun. Who knew. That outside is generally better than inside; TV is boring; clapping to music makes everything better; and when you have a fever, Mommy's and Daddy's hugs and kisses are the best medicine of all.

Then December in Chicago happens, and all the figures that Mary had been counting in life's equation get reconfigured into something that must be very strange in an infant's eyes. I can only imagine what Mary must be thinking recently:

Like when did the world change from green to white? And what is all this cold, fluffy stuff around our house?
Why is my car seat ALWAYS so cold now?
Who is the bearded fat man that you so want me to like, why does he say, 'ho ho ho,' and why, oh, why did you drop me on his lap?

How come you brought a tree in our house? And what are these prickly little things in my crawling lane?

Where did ALL these BOXES and NEW TOYS come from? What, I can't play with them? NOOOO!

Can you please go back to singing my ABCs or perhaps a little Itsby Bitsy Spider? I don't know or really care about a little drummer boy.
I thought it was bed time - why are all these lights coming on up and down the street?
Do I have to wear my red pajamas AGAIN?

Like any first time mom, for the past couple weeks I've been force feeding Christmas to Mary. But unfortunately, when Christmas Eve rolls around, I still don't think she will have a clue about what's going on. And honestly, I'm fine with it.

So much of 'Christmas' is fabricated anyway and its true meaning is lost year after year. What I'm hoping though is that the one (or however many this is) thing that she will pick up is that our kind of Christmas is a time when wrongs are righted, embraces are sweeter; when time slows down and the world celebrates a hush; when family is close no matter how far away, and when the impossible becomes possible.

If she just understands that she can't eat the tinsel on the tree, I'll be okay with that too.

Lo.

Working Girl

Last week, I exchanged a jello mold for a mirror. My mother-in-law needed a festive frame for the amorphous dessert she was preparing, so I offered my cranberry mold; unexpectedly, I got a large antique mirror in return.

She had noticed a general lack of reflective surfaces in my house and proposed that this family heirloom would go well in the guest room. While the intention was purely decorative in nature, I took it as the second hint in a week to spend a little more time in front of a mirror.

After growing in girth to accommodate Mary, pushing her out and finding a more internal glow, I was proud of kicking vanity to the curb. The understanding of mirrors that my classmate earned during her mission work in Calcutta was finally mine; Gone were the days of practicing my duck face in the mirror; instead I could focus on the most authentic reflection of myself - the one that I found in others.

So it came as a shock last week, when I was given professional feedback to polish my image at work. Apparently Mother Teresa's theory, along with no-fuss (read no effort) hair and makeup don't apply to the workplace.

Here's the thing; in the past decade, millions of Millennials graduated to valedictorian and salutatorian speeches that were similar to Keri's. They preached that we could; no we WOULD change the world, not with our images, but with the content of our characters. They were met with thunderous applause and charged ambitions. While many of us went off to save the world through our service work; the rest of us entered the work place with a style and presence that industry still doesn't know how to manage. What do I mean:

• We are outspoken. And even if we are the most junior position in the room, we are going to share our perspective. When we share it, we expect applause.
• We were never cut or picked last at dodgeball, so the notion of being left out of privileged information is foreign.
• We wore flip flops to the White House. And don't understand why these versatile sandals are not work appropriate.  
• We don't iron anything.
• We love ponytails or some aberration of them.
• We slouch. And are more interested in posing to make our arm look skinny than actually being skinny 
• We are ruthlessly competitive, but we like to roll as a team.  
• We eagerly read and share every Huffington Post article about why beauty is an illusion; why bone thin isn't healthy; and why focusing on our internal sense of well being is the best course of action.
• We have been told that we can do it all, and we will.
• As much as we know, we are still clueless.

Which brings me back to the feedback I received. For nearly five months now, I've been going to work with a wet head of hair, pulled up in a pony tail, a face wiped clean of makeup, and one of the more comfortable business casual selections that my closet has to offer. True to the words that I remember hearing at my graduation, I walked past work's mirrors and focused on the the products churning out of my cubicle.

With an eye on development and a desire to grow within my company, I recently solicited tips on reaching my goals. The one that stuck was to pay more attention to my image - that if I wanted to be a director, I needed to dress like one. Cute won't cut it. Ouch.

At first I was defensive. Then self conscious. Then expertly investigative. I did some side by side comparisons with other working women in the bathroom mirror. I looked around meeting rooms. I assessed my coworkers. And I realized that the majority of the time, I was loosing. (And I hate loosing.)

So this week, I ran some trials. I went back to the Theory section of my closet, reached for the Prada pumps, spent five minutes drying the top of my hair and applying a little makeup, and wore earrings. As much as I hate to say it, I performed better. I felt like I aced meetings, wrote better memos, and carried myself more confidently to and from my desk.

I told myself, it's not vanity, it's business. It's the cost of being a competitor in corporate America.

And I will tell my colleagues this. We have been groomed to make big change in this world, but at this point in time, we still need to groom our outer appearances to get there. It's not superficial, it's one of humanity's longest lasting super powers.

Lo.