Happy New Year!...by (Angela) Jean

To me, the beginning of September, and Labour Day specifically, have always felt more like a New Year than January 1st. I'm sure it's because growing up, the new school year always started the Tuesday after Labour Day. There was such a distinction between the seemingly endless, carefree summers: hanging out with my siblings, cousins and friends, music camp, the Goossens' cottage, summer jobs, and the school year's rigid schedule: music lessons, homework, tests, exams. I loved school though, and the excitement that came along with the first day...new teachers, new classes, and most importantly new notebooks, piano books, pencils, erasers and pencil crayons. To this day, I still get a rush seeing the store displays of school supplies.
I clearly remember the first year that September didn't start with 'back to school'. It was 1996. I had graduated university and moved to Toronto with a music degree and not much else. It felt weird. I felt drawn to the stationary store. I needed to buy pens.
There were a few years in the late 90s when my life didn't revolve around the school year schedule, but then Shawn decided to go to teacher's college and once again, September represented a new year for us. I didn't need to buy school supplies for myself, but now I could at least go shopping for him; a bonus for him too since he hates shopping!
And then guess what? Both of my kids were born in the summer! I'd love to say I planned it that way, but if you know much about me at all, you know that family building did not come easily, so it was kind of a fluke that we ended up with kids at all, let alone almost exactly two years apart. Both of my maternity leaves began in the summer, and both times I went back to work on the Tuesday after Labour Day. New year. New routine. New job. New boss. New life.
Last September, I went back to work after my mat leave with Otis, and Shawn began a leave of absence from teaching to be home with both kids. He had done the same thing the year Amelia was 1. The plan was for him to stay home, perhaps permanently, and for me to work. We both enjoyed our jobs very much, but we both felt strongly that we wanted one parent at home full time.
I was excited to go back. There were many things I loved about being home, but there were many things I missed about going to work. My work was interesting and challenging and I worked with a great team of really bright individuals (not to mention snappy dressers), but....but, I kept waiting for that moment when I would feel I had adjusted to the new routine, and specifically the commute. I was commuting for 3 hours a day, and since I was doing it with thousands of other people, I thought it must be doable. I thought I just needed to suck it up. If they could handle it, so could I. I didn't want to move, and I didn't want a new job, so I had no right to complain. In March we made the decision to stick with the status quo, Shawn requested another year's extension to his leave.
As the months went by, it got harder and harder. Shawn could see that I was unhappy and kept reminding me that we could make a change. We could switch places. There were options. I repeatedly dismissed him. I really wanted to make it work. I just need to try harder. I needed to adjust my attitude.
And then, in the middle of July I had an epiphany. A dear friend shone a bright light on something that I was trying hard to keep hidden. No amount of trying was going to make me happier. And just like that, I knew what I needed to do. Shawn and I talked it over that night. He formally requested to cancel his leave, and with his blessing, I resigned the next morning. It was tough, really tough. I didn't want to feel like I was running away from something. I need to convince myself that I wasn't. I was running toward something...the life I wanted. The life where I didn't spend more time on public transit than I did with my kids. I know it sounds cliché, but the time they are little is so short, I didn't want to miss it.
The great thing, is that Shawn's school is only 15 minutes from our house. With him working, instead of me, we get 3 more hours of family time per day. I know he will miss being home, and the kids will miss him tremendously. He is such an amazing parent, and our kids have been so fortunate to have the time with him at home.
I'm thrilled about this next chapter for our family. I have lots of plans and I promise to fill you in on them soon.


So, Happy New Year to you, whether you're a parent with a child going back to school, or a teacher with a new class, or a person who loves the change of season and the promise of something new. The summer is officially over, and with September comes cool nights, changing leaves, apples and pumpkins...some of my most favourite things! Wishing you all a year that is filled with new adventures...especially the kind that sneak up on you. Here's to Plan B!

Happy New Year! ... by Barbara (Ruth)

Yes, I am aware it is not January. And no, the title of this blog is not a mistake.

I'm invigorated as I write this - I just came back from a walk to the park with a friend and her wonderful girls. The air was brisk, the leaves were flying (according to the almost-three-year-old), and there was a certain energy in the air.

After the park we celebrated the end of summer with a last ice cream of the season at Ed's here in the Beach (a fond farewell to burnt marshmallow until next season), and talked about our plans for the fall. I started to get so excited just thinking about it - my favourite season of the year and all the fun it promises!

My sisters Joan and Janet set for school, circa 1964. This
was before "packing purses" started, but you can be sure
Janet packed that bookbag with great care.

This love of the fall season is a family tradition actually. The night before Labour Day was very exciting in our house - we had to decide what to wear for the first day of school (in those days, that was a big occasion and we dressed up! Mind you, those were also the days when you dressed up to go on a plane.), get out our new lunchboxes and pencil cases and book bags, and, most importantly, "pack our purses". Oh yes. The four sisters made a big deal of packing our purses with all the things we might need at school.

For me, fall is when everything returns to normal after a summer of feeling completely enervated (GW) by the heat and humidity. I'm no longer trapped inside the air conditioning, and can leave doors and windows open, and go for big long walks. I start baking again in the fall. Even work gets better with people back and revived after their holidays - you can actually get things done again because everyone is in the office for a change! And of course fall is all about apples and football and cute jackets with colourful scarves and clear skies and colourful leaves and cozy nights.

My Mum and I actually dubbed September first as our New Year's celebration about ten years ago. We were sitting on the dock up at the cottage after a really nice summer, and we were actually looking forward to getting back to the city. Our guests had all left, and it was a little forlorn up there, and we started talking about our plans for the fall and getting excited about it. We decided that much more than January first, September first felt like a time of New Beginnings and anticipation, and that has stuck with us ever since!

I have so much to look forward to this fall - a long weekend in Chicago, a basement renovation, and a trip to Maui, to name a few. And of course I'm excited that, like the new fall season on TV, you can all look forward once again to regular postings on The Musings of Barbara Jean!

And so now I'm off to pack my purse for tomorrow. It may not be the first day of school for me, but that's no excuse for being off-season. :)

Happy New Year to you all!

I like cake, make no mistake-Take 2...by (Angela) Jean

Amelia's birthday cake was inspired by a drawing she made for me several weeks ago. I wish I had kept the drawing and scanned if for you, but you'll just have to trust me. It was a picture of a round white cake, with white icing and pink, yellow, purple and orange flowers on it. It had four candles on the top.

I've always loved the smooth look of fondant cakes and have watched my fair share of Cake Boss and Ace of Cakes. I thought I'd give it a shot.

I bought all the fondant pre-made and pre-coloured, at Bulk Barn (the happiest place on earth). I'm no hero.

I decided to make a white cake and used a favourite recipe from the Martha Stewart Baking Handbook. It is such a delicious cake that I forget how much work it is. Every time I'm making the cake I swear I'll never make it again. And every time I eat the cake I moan.

Ingredients

• 3 cups cake flour, (not self-rising)
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
• 2 1/4 cups sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 cup milk
• 8 large egg whites

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter two 9 by 2 inch cake pans; line the bottoms with parchment paper; set aside.
   
2. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and salt; set aside.
   
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat butter and 2 cups sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes, scraping down sides of the bowl as needed. Beat in vanilla. With mixer on low speed, add flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the milk and beginning and ending with the flour; beat until just combined. Transfer mixture to a large bowl; set aside.
4. In the clean bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites on low speed until foamy. With mixer running, gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar; beat on high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form, about 4 minutes. Do not overbeat. Gently fold 1/3 of the egg-white mixture into the butter-flour mixture until combined. Gently fold in remaining egg-white mixture.
5. Divide the batter between prepared pans, smooth with an offset spatula.
6. Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until cakes are golden brown and a cake tester inserted in centres comes out clean, 30-35 minutes.

I inverted the cakes onto a cooling rack and let them cool.

I made a very simple frosting to fill between the layers, and to cover the cake before adding the fondant.

• 2 cups sifted icing sugar
• 1/2 cup butter, room temperature
• 1 1/2 tbsp milk
• 1 tsp vanilla

I mixed the ingredients by hand with a silicone spatula. The frosting came together very quickly. No need for an electric mixer. Truth be told, I didn't feel like washing the bowl for the mixer AGAIN.

My biggest challenge for the next part was tempering my perfectionistic self with my inclusive-mothering-teaching self, as is always the case when I bake with Amelia. Little kids want to rush. They want to get it done. They want to do it All. By. Themself! I, on the other hand, want to take my time, set up properly, go slowly and have it look as good as it can.
I have to bite my tongue a lot, and resist the temptation to say "No! Wait! Not like that!" I want her to learn patience, and attention to detail, but not at the expense of enjoyment. I want her to remember baking with me (and this translates to other activities too) as being magical and fun. I don't want her memories to be having to watch only, or of me barking at her. For the most part, I think I'm OK at finding that balance...i.e. letting her decorate her own batch of cookies, gingerbread house etc, but this time was trickier because fondant was new to me too, and we only got one kick at the can.
Amelia helped quite a bit. She rolled all the little balls of pink and purple fondant. She used the cookie cutters to cut out the flower shapes and she decided where each flower got placed on the cake.
Rolling out the fondant was pretty easy. It did crack a wee bit in spots, but all in all I was pleased. Unfortunately, with all the biting of tongues and icing sugar all over my hands, there are no photos of the process.

But, as my Dad says "we made a memory" and it was a good one!

I like cake, make no mistake...by (Angela) Jean

As you may recall, we have recently celebrated a couple of birthdays around here.
I thought you might like to see the cakes Amelia and I made. This post is Part 1-Otis' Cake. Part 2-Amelia's Cake will follow shortly.

For Otis' birthday I decided to make Flower Pot Chocolate Mini-Cakes.

The idea is adapted from one I saw in a Martha Stewart magazine article many years ago. I have made variations over the years for all kinds of parties. These are a big hit at bake sales too. When I make them for fund raisers, I use artificial flowers, wrap each pot in cellophane and tie them up with ribbon. They look adorable.

For the cake batter, I used this recipe from MarthaStewart.com.

Moist Devil's Food Cake

• 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter
• 3/4 cup Dutch-process cocoa powder
• 1/2 cup boiling water
• 2 1/4 cups sugar
• 1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
• 4 large eggs, lightly beaten
• 3 cups sifted cake flour (not self-rising)
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup milk

Since it had been a while since I  made these, I had lost track of my mini pots. In fact, if I remember correctly, I used them up last year when I brought a bunch of spider plants to a give away at a baby shower. Anyway, I needed new pots. I bought these at Canadian Tire. I think they were 59 cents each. I washed them thoroughly with very hot water, and let them dry on some clean tea towels.

Since the pots have holes in the bottom, I lined them with paper cupcake liners.

I preheated my oven to 350 degrees F, and lined up my pots on a large baking sheet.
I prepared the batter according to the directions:

1. Sift cocoa into a medium bowl, and whisk in boiling water. Set aside to cool.
   
2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter on low speed until light and fluffy. Gradually beat in sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes, scraping down sides twice. Beat in vanilla. Drizzle in eggs, a little at a time, beating between each addition until the batter is no longer slick, scraping down the sides twice.
   
3. In a large bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, and salt. Whisk milk into reserved cocoa mixture. With mixer on low speed, alternately add flour and cocoa mixtures to the batter, a little of each at a time, starting and ending with flour mixture.
   

I divided the batter among the pots, filling each about  halfway.

They take about 25 minutes or so to bake, but I recommend testing them with a skewer to make sure they're done.

The rascals love watching things bake in the oven.
When they are done they look like this.

Each one gets a coat of chocolate icing. And I admit, I used store-bought icing this time. Judge me, if you must.

A sprinkle of Oreo cookie crumbs, to simulate dirt.

A few chocolate pebbles for decoration.

Are those not the coolest?
And finally, a sprig of mint from the garden. Voila!

I caution you: if using mint, make sure you pick it as close to the time of serving as possible and only add it to the cakes right before serving. Mint wilts really quickly (like 5 minutes quickly). For this batch I used a combination of mint and parsley. The parsley fared much better in the wilting department.

Now, the funny thing about these, is that they look so real that kids don't always get it. My son and nephews were a little confused as to why I was serving them plants! Amelia was excited because she was my helper and in on the joke.

They tasted great and were enjoyed by young cousins and...well, not-so-young cousins....

The pots are now all washed and ready for the next occasion....I'm trying to think up a way to use them for some kind of Christmas Tree cake....stay tuned!

Granny Squares (and Stripes and Hexagons)... by Barbara Ruth

It occured to me the other day that I have quite a few homemade afghans. Ten actually, if you count the ones at the cottage.

I'm perfectly aware that today one says "throw" vs "afghan" (even though all throws are technically afghans). And I know that cashmere and chenille "throws" are much more chic and elegant, and (because I watch real estate television) more likely to be what is draped casually across the back of a sofa in a beautifully staged Manhattan condo.

I also know, however, that you can't have as satisfying a nap with a "throw" as with an afghan. Specifically, a Granny Square afghan. And I know whereof I speak (see previous post on sleep.) You see, each of my afghans is made with a hug in every stitch. Cheesy,  but absolutely true.

In our family, these priceless blankets are called Grammy Afghans, thanks to my niece Jennifer, or so the story goes. Apparently several years ago when the smallest things could make life complete, her brother opened a parcel to find his very own afghan made by my mother. Jennifer, already possessing this magical sleep-inducing treasure, was thrilled for her brother, exclaiming "David! You finally have your very own Grammy Afghan!"

My Mum is an amazing knitter/crocheter/seamstress (a talent that mysteriously missed my DNA, although each of my sisters got the gift). She is also a child of the Depression years, and as such it goes against every fibre of her being to throw out leftover yarn. Enter Granny Square afghans such as these:

Eventually she began to make patterns that called for specific colours. My favourite is this one, which is in her room at the cottage: 

She even took orders once in a while, making afghans to whatever colour scheme specified by the intended recipient. These ones are mine:

And this one... this one was made in the 70s, as you can tell by the colour scheme. I have the pink one, Elizabeth's is blue, Janet's is yellow, and Joan's is green. I'm not sure if they still have theirs, but I sure do... 

How's that for pink?!?! And yes, it's on my bed right now, clashing with everything I own. But it is the coziest thing, and it helped me nap away a headache this afternoon. And every single time I use it, I feel my Mum giving me a great big hug. And I feel comforted. And I sleep.

Take that you fancy shmancy chenille "throws".

On the day you were born...by (Angela) Jean

Just like your brother, your story actually starts on the day before you were born.

The first contraction. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock it was 4:00am, on the dot. I drifted back to sleep until the next one, twenty minutes later, woke me up again. This went on for a couple of hours and then at 6:30am I woke your Dad up and told him I thought things were starting. We were both extremely excited....and terrified.
Daddy quickly got out his Palm Pilot and
opened up the excel chart he had designed specifically for the task of timing contractions. He had a stop watch and would record the exact times that each contraction happened. You could tell we were first-time parents.
I knew the key to keeping labour going was to stay on my feet so we got out of bed and went for a walk in Cedarvale Park. We walked along the path that filled with morning joggers. More than one of them seemed a little alarmed to see me doubled over with contraction pain every 10 minutes. They kept running...faster, in the opposite direction. I wanted to keep walking, but by 7:30am it was already too hot outside.
We went back to the apartment and waited. Not sure what to expect.
At 9am I called your Auntie Sara. She was going to be my birth coach, so she and 12-week-old Baby Nicolas drove up to Toronto with Beppe and Nonno.
Daddy and I kept timing those contractions.
The St.Thomas crew arrived at about 1pm. And then....well....we waited.....and waited. The contractions kept on going, but never got closer than about 7 or so minutes apart.
We ordered supper, and continued to wait.
As the evening progressed I was starting to get frustrated. I wanted to meet you so badly. I could hardly wait. I felt like I was going to be in labour forever.
At about 10pm I suggested that Daddy go to sleep. I wasn't sure how long everything would take and at that point it seemed like things were stalling. I wanted him to get some rest in case we had to make a trip to the hospital in the middle of the night. By about 10:30 Auntie Sara fell asleep on one of the couches. Beppe stayed up til 11 and then fell asleep too. Nonno promised to stay up with me (we were still timing the contractions) but he fell asleep in his chair about 10 minutes after Beppe. There I was, laying on a couch in the living room of our little apartment (and yes, in case you're counting, we did have 3 couches back then) surrounded by a bunch of snoring family members. At 12:30am I decided I was being ridiculous. I needed to lie down in my bed and try to get some sleep.
I tiptoed to the bedroom trying my best not to wake up Daddy. I heaved my gigantic self into the bed and as soon as my head hit the pillow I heard a POP! followed by a gush of water. It was the last thing I expected to happen! I jumped up, my biggest concern was not to get the bed wet, and nearly doubled over with a huge contraction. Yes! Things were really starting now!
The commotion in the bedroom woke everyone up and we called the hospital, not sure if we should head there or not. The triage nurse told us to wait awhile. Within 10 minutes of that call I knew it was time to go. The contractions seemed very powerful and very close together.
Auntie Sara nursed Nicolas and left him at the apartment with Beppe. Nonno drove me, Daddy and Auntie Sara to the hospital. I have no memory of that car ride.
We arrived at the hospital sometime around 1:30am. The next several hours are a real blur for me.
I remember being 'checked' in triage and being told by the student doctor that I was 7cm dialated. The supervisor doctor checked me again and said the student doctor must have small hands because I was really only 4cm.
I was taken to the labour room and because I had said I wanted to have a drug-free birth I was able to sit on a birthing stool and walk around the room freely with no IV. I remember that the room was kept dark and that none of us said much. I remember trying to concentrate on relaxing during the contractions and flappping my lips like a brass player as I exhaled. The first nurse we had, pretty much stayed off to the side. Every once in a while she would come over to check your heart beat, just to make sure you were OK. At some point, Beppe and Nonno brought Nicolas to the hospital lobby and Auntie Sara left so she could nurse him.
At about 6:30am two new nurses came in and they were amazing. They suggested different positions for me to try to see if we could get you to move down . I spent the last part of my labour on my knees with my arms leaning over the head of the hospital bed. That must have been the position you liked the best because you really started to come down quickly. I have a vague memory of nurses starting to move quickly and unfold paper sheets and call for doctors because they knew you were coming soon. All I remember is feeling like my entire body was going to split apart. You crowned while I was on my knees, but when the doctor came in she wanted me to turn over to deliver the rest of you. I told her I couldn't turn, and she told Daddy and the nurses to just pick me up and flip me over. If I had been a more experienced Mom, I would have refused and insisted on delivering you the way I wanted to, but I didn't know any better and Daddy and the nurses flipped me over. You didn't waste any time and came flying out about 2 seconds later. You screamed your head off and they put you right on my chest.
You were chubby and red, slippery, slimy, and covered with hair. Your nose was smooshed and your eyes were squinty. You were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. You were perfect in every single way. 
I knew that I loved you from the minute I knew you were coming, but the moment you were born you, Daddy and I became a family.

August 3, 2007 8:55am

What's on YOUR chest? ... by Barbara (Ruth)

Recently I found one of my old lists, and it caused me to chuckle enough to consider it blog-worthy. I had started noticing tshirts that were really hilarious, and noted them in my blackberry: 

• What is Scientology anyway? No, seriously. (We're all thinking it, aren't we?)
• My Patronus is a Wookie. (Cross-geeking!)
• It's all Gouda. (Wonderful play on an overused phrase.)
• My other ride is your mother. (Dirty. But I laughed out loud in the store.)
• Alabama - so many recipes, so few squirrels. (If you've seen the clip on YouTube "Leprechaun in Alabama", you will know how apropos this is.)
• Trap or Die. (What does this mean? I saw it on a teenager's tshirt and it scared me a little.)
• Stop Clubbing Baby Seals. They never buy a round, they dance too close, and their breath smells of herring. (I saw this online... pretty funny... like the joke "So. A baby seal walks into a club." HAHAHAHA - I never get sick of that one.)
• I'm Kind of a Big Deal. (Oh if only I had the nerve to wear that one!)
• PB&J BFF (If you know me, you know why I'd love that shirt.)

There's a lot of power in a tshirt. Originally part of work clothes in the army and navy, the tshirt was popularized by Marlon Brando in 1960's "A Streetcar Named Desire", and then became easy protest garb and eventually wearable art in the 60's and 70s. It's hard to believe the famous "smile face", or "I 'heart' NY", or even the Rolling Stones tongue & lips logo all started in the 70s on a tshirt. 

People go mad for clever tshirts these days. At my first job I remember it was amazing how many people entered contests just so they could have that free tshirt that would invariably be too big and end up as sleepwear or in the Goodwill pile. And when Delta was bordering on bankruptcy several years ago, they asked employees to pitch in and volunteer 8 hour shifts to clean planes. Their pay? A tshirt. And get this - 300 people signed up for the first shifts.

Then of course there are the tshirts with the company logo across the chest. Consumers everywhere are suckered in to shelling out thirty or forty dollars so they can wear "ROOTS" or "Guess" across their chests. I wonder who the clever person was who figured out how to get customers to pay for the privilege of providing free advertising for a company?

I may eventually purchase my favourite tshirt. If what people wear on their chest is so powerful, then this is a message worth spreading: