Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 9 Comments

Kid’s Menu Isn’t Good for Kids – Eat Like the Italians!

Share

I imagine you are tired of me pining away for Italy. You probably don’t want to hear me go on and on about how fantastico our vacation was. No one cares that Bird and Deal are saving up their piggy bank pennies to help us buy a vacation house in Sorrento (tops on the family wish list). I realize it gets old.

But we dream on. And I wax on.

This summer’s vacation to Italy showed me what my family was made of. Every fiber that could have been unraveled or wound too tightly actually fell into place seamlessly. My sons made me extraordinarily proud. They were champs on the long flight and various forms of transportation we took ranging from a high speed to train to cable car to teeny tiny bus to hydrofoil. They snored soundly like mini Rip Van Winkles, regardless the bed they laid their weary heads in. But most of all, their insane appetites and culinary curiosity made me beam.

You see, in Italy, there’s no such thing as a kid’s menu. You know how I loathe such a thing. Parents perpetuate poor eating choices and habits and thereby are remiss in teaching children healthy and tasty lifestyle choices. Food is far more than sustenance. It is a culinary peek into other cultures and a means to appreciate myriad nuances of what makes people tick. Food is not a battle of wills or a bribery tactic. Food is love. Food is family. We’d be a more peaceful world if we broke bread together. Soapbox tucked away…for the moment.

Restaurants that shill crap on the kid’s menu just to make a buck off the adults who presumably add to the ticket by ordering an adult beverage are providing a disservice to our youth. Chicken nuggets, fries passed off for a vegetable, and fruit cocktail sound like prison fare to me. It’s certainly not what nourishes young minds, staves off obesity, and opens palates to a global appreciation of food and where it comes from. Mac Daddy and I rarely order off the kid’s menu. Market Restaurant in Raleigh happens to have a pretty good one, offering fresh food and real vegetables that never saw the inside of a can. Bird and Deal would rather taste “real” food, which is why eating in Italy was heavenly.

They inhaled fresh anchovies (that we can thankfully score at Bickett Market!) , homemade gnocchi with a simple tomato sauce, mortadella, fresh ricotta, squid, roasted chicken, and arugula (at almost every meal…not a ramekin of ranch dressing in sight). They opened their minds by way of their mouths. The philosophy of food in Italy, among many other things, are what attract me to the country. I felt so comfortable and welcome there. Food defines that culture, and every market, grocery store, restaurant, and gelato shop underscores the genuine appreciation for food. The Italians truly understand that food feeds more than your belly. Food feeds your soul. That’s why I crammed food stuffs into my suitcase instead of shoes and handbags. To know me is to realize just how astounding this is.

Meanwhile, Stateside, food feeds our need for convenience, ease, speed. Gone are the values that bind us together as family. Eating together at the table, napkins on laps, conversation flowing, televisions turned off (being on mute doesn’t count). Knowing, and seeing, where our food comes from isn’t even something people care about, or so it seems. Children are in a serious food crisis on our shores. And the plethora of kid’s menus out there adding fatty fuel to that fire.

When Bird and Deal daydream about Italy and longingly harken back to their favorite moments, it always involves food.

Like mother, like sons.

Buon appetito!

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 1 Comment

Summer Vacation – Wordless Wednesday

Share

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 23 Comments

Help Bring Noor And Ramsay Home

Share

Somehow in the midst of all the mommy wars we’ve forgotten about dads. I’ve written a lot about dads. The best stay at home mom I know happens to be a dad. Fathers are parents too, right? Yet we relegate them to babysitter status much of the time. It’s funny to quip about a father’s shortcomings and faux pas. We snort at their missteps and gasp at their guffaws. One thing we don’t see enough of are shining examples of Fatherhood. Mac Daddy happens to be king of that club. Talk to him about signing up and tutorials. Bird and Deal are damn lucky to have such a man to call Daddy.

Noor and Ramsay are lucky little boys too.

The distressing thing is that Noor and Ramsay have not seen their father in over one year.

Now banish all stereotypes playing out in your minds, lest you think this is another deadbeat dad tale.

Au contraire, my friends.

Colin Bower, father to 8-year old Noor and 6-year old Ramsay, had sole custody of his sons after his divorce in 2008. Noor and Ramsay were kidnapped from their Boston home on August 11, 2009 by their mother, Mirvat el Nady, a British and Egyptian citizen. KIDNAPPED.

Colin was left hanging, no sons, no ex wife to be found, and a male voice from an Egyptian cell phone telling him he’d never see his sons again.  I’m a writer, a creator, a thinker, a dreamer, a story maker upper, yet I cannot begin to fathom what Colin was feeling at the time.  I cannot imagine what happened next in this real life horror. Panic? Rage? Fear? I bet his world was spinning while his mind and heart were racing.

A father whose sons were taken. Kidnapped. Who can imagine such a scene?

Here are some details from the Facebook page set up to help shed light on this story and drive the world into overdrive to take action: “According to US Immigration official records, the mother used Egyptian passports in the name of “Power” to travel to Egypt with the boys to Cairo on August 11, 2009. There is a US federal warrant outstanding for the arrest of Mirvat el Nady on charges of kidnapping and an outstanding international Interpol red notice has also been issued.”

Colin is about to embark on his sixth trip to Egypt to try to find his sons and bring justice and peace to his world. He doesn’t  even know where the boys are. Despite an Egyptian court order to see his sons, his ex wife has not complied. Yet he fights. He endures. He will prevail. He must.

Colin has had no contact whatsoever with his sons since August 9, 2009. There are two little boys about Bird and Deal’s age without a daddy to tuck them in. Our world is full of children struggling through life with absent fathers. Here we have a father who is struggling to see his sons. A father who was given sole custody of his boys. A father who clearly wants nothing more than to hear “Daddy” while being squeezed in the mother of all embraces.

Please use your voice to help bring these children home to their daddy. Come on, Social Media World, show me what you’ve got. We’ve banded together over tutus and babies and strokes and illnesses. I realize I’m leaving out lots of other ways we’ve lent our voices and our actions to make this fine world of ours even better. Let’s show the world that we can muster it up one more time, mkay?

Here’s how you can voice your support:

1. “Like” this page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Help-Bring-Noor-And-Ramsay-Home/152445694771527
2. Contact the Egyptian government: embassy@egyptembassy.net
3. Create a video, photo, or message and upload it to the Facebook page. And once you “like” the Facebook page, be sure you listen to Colin’s message to his sons.
   
4. Thank Senator Kerry for all his support: support@johnkerry.com
5. Share this post and/or this information to your own page and encourage your own friends to help Noor and Ramsay.
6. If you’re active on Twitter, show your support and encourage your friends to help Noor and Ramsay by using the hashtag #noorramsay.

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 4 Comments

Basil Lemonade – 5:00 Fridays

Share

My summer garden has gone to hell. The kind of hell where Beelzebub is the Master Gardener. The North Carolina heat coupled with an overseas vacation has left my vines limp. Seriously, the heat here has caused sweat to puddle in crevices I never knew existed. We’ve all been a tad salty, which makes me think that Mother Nature wants to use us to salt the rim of her gargantuan margarita. So in my weeded plots, the plethora of peppers have prospered, but a girl can only add so much spice to her life. My cilantro blossomed early and fell from grace, much like a certain someone I went to middle school with but will not disclose because she is Facebook friends with some of my Facebooks friends and I don’t want to ruffle her feathers lest she is still a mean girl.

My peppers do have a friend in the garden. Basil, not to be confused with the boy’s name Basil (pronounced BAZ-el). I most certainly do not have a little Greek gnome firing up some saganaki in my backyard.

My garden is a veritable edible U.N. with dollops of India hobnobbing with Thailand and flirting with Central America. France pokes her head out and waves too, but she sports a limp. But back to my basil. My earthy, fresh basil that is worthy of so much more than a chiffonade over maters and mozzarella.

Basil reeks of summer and offers a minty freshness that can be used in place of well, mint. Basil pairs well with lemon, another summer staple. Also, I’m addicted to all things lemon after our glorious Italian vacation. I swear Sorrento means lemony goodness in Italian. Unfortunately, I live in Raleigh, where lemons abound in the aisles of Costco, not in the groves that pepper the hillside. Being a Costco girl, I happen to have a mega bag of lemons sitting on my table in an aptly decorated hand painted vessel adorned with lemons that I bought in Sorrento.

Basil Lemonade

Homemade lemonade (I happen to like Family Fun’s recipe.)

Handful of fresh basil

1 or 2 oz Rain Organic Cucumber Lime Vodka

Lemon slice

Prepare homemade lemonade. Muddle fresh basil leaves with cucumber lime vodka. Pour into a tall glass filled with ice. Top off with lemonade. Slap a lemon slice on the side of the glass to make it look gussied up.

Find yourself a porch swing or a rocking chair. Inhale the fleeting nights of summer. And if you happen to see a gnome noshing on your beet roots, ask him what he did with the Leprechaun Bird and Deal caught in their trap last March.

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 0 Comments

Bunked – Wordless Wednesday

Share

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 16 Comments

It’s Not Even the First Day of Kindergarten Yet and Mommy’s a Wreck

Share

In my house August is all about birthdays. We squeal and fuss over Mac Daddy, trying to get him as excited about his birthday as we are. Then we shift gears to dote on Bird, who needs no nudging in the I’m So Excited It’s My Birthday I’m Gonna Wet My Pants department. We also spend a lot of time indoors during while August, North Carolina’s hottest month, has a choke hold on us. And in the spare moments we steal outdoors, we spend an inordinate amount of time swatting at mosquitoes. August is a month of celebrations and skeeter bite home remedies.

By this point in the year Summer has worn out her welcome. I am tired of sucking in my stomach and searching for the perfect alternative to flip flops. The boys are sick of our weedy yard that doesn’t deserve to be called a lawn. Mac Daddy has had his fill of trying to weed and whack said yard. We look longingly at our outdoor fireplace and beckon Fall. I, for the footwear and forgiving sweaters, Bird and Deal for the marshmallows roasted in the fireplace, and Mac Daddy for the brown liquor on ice to be savored fireside. Fall is when we breathe around here. Unlike our years in Minneapolis, Madison, and Chicago, we know that what follows Fall is shortlived and novel. Fall in North Carolina is lingering and lovely.

Funny that we refer to the back-to-school season as Fall. In reality, the kids go back to school in August. When it’s hot as Hades. August ain’t Fall. I’ve been living in blissful denial all summer about what this August brings. My version of reality was quite splendid until Mac Daddy came along and poked an epee through my bubble.

Me, said with my head in the clouds: “We’ll be packing two lunch boxes every night in just a few weeks. Sigh.”

Mac Daddy, spoken with zero sensitvity: “A few weeks?! Hmph. You nuts or what? More like next week.”

Me: “Oh shit. NEXT WEEK?”

Mac Daddy: “Um yeah, where’ve you been all summer?”

Me, tearing up, knots around my heart: “It can’t be! Where has the time gone? I’m not ready!!! WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Mac Daddy: “Is is that time of the month, Sweetie? Are hormones making you overly sensitive or is this really an issue?”

Me: “Grrrrr…..”

You see, this August, back to school season means that Deal is going to kindergarten. I’ve been saying it like a proud Mother Hen all summer, but truth be told, I hadn’t heard, much less believed, a word of it. Denial. A mom’s best friend. I generally wash the denial down with a nice cool pinot grigio. It’s been a fine antidote this summer. And unfortunately, not one that’s gonna hold. It’s time I come to face that sorry ass Time Bandit that’s stealing my baby and whisking him off to the land of storybooks, monkey bars, phonics, colored pencils, library cards, and lunch lines.

I’ve got the kindergarten blues. In the biggest way. Those school supplies lists really should include Kleenex, Xanax, and wine. Also, a prescription for retail therapy.

I surely can’t let on that I’m totally and absolutely devastated by this milestone. Shattered. Sad when I should be happy. Sulking when I should be proud. You see, my baby boy has been my sidekick for five years running. We’ve been a dynamite duo all these years that Bird was off at school. Deal and I have had a lot of time together just being mother and son. I regret that things weren’t that way with Bird. He was just 22 months old when Deal was born so our time as a twosome was brief. But we remedy that when we can, carving out time for just the two of us to frolic and go on sushi dates.

Bird paved a solid path for his little brother. He welcomed us both into his classrooms when I volunteered and skooched over graciously to offer a seat when we met him in the cafeteria for lunch. Bird loves to learn so he has been a shining example to his little brother, and I’m confident that Deal will flourish in kindergarten. Deal will forge his own path in school, and I’ll be right behind him. It’s not the same as beside him, but I’ll run to his side when he needs me.

And on that first day of school, it will be me who will grip his tender hand tightly while Mac Daddy nudges me to let go. The tears will roll, the sobs will heave. The house will be empty.

And so with a torn heart and watery eyes blinding my future, I walk on shaky ground as my baby boy starts kindergarten. Lesson number one: letting go.

Read More

Posted by Ilinap in Dirt and Noise | 5 Comments

Key West Lemonade – 5:00 Fridays

Share

Mac Daddy shares a birthday with our dear friend Shan. We used to raise the roof and celebrate together every year. That was before we had mortgages and student loans and unwieldy nose hair and thighs that touch and children. Basically, that was before we had a whole lot of responsibility. And for the record, I’m willing to bet that Shan’s thighs don’t touch. She also doesn’t have nose hair, but I’m sure her husband does. See, we get old and hairy in the wrong places while the hair in the right places falls out or worse, turns grey. Down there. I know it’s coming. It is, right? I mean, I don’t know anyone older to ask such an intimate question but I do see old ladies in the locker room at the gym. And you should know that I only spell “grey” with an “e” when I am feeling particularly boorish and need a little boost to sound smart. It’s totally working, right? No? Well, pretend I’m writing it with a British accent.

So where was I? Ah, at the intersection of friendship and the greying of the pubes. It’s a fine place to be, all things considered.

Here’s the thing about having birthdays — it sure beats the alternative. I’d rather you belt out Happy Birthday in the middle of some crummy apostrophe restaurant than solemnly sing On Eagle’s Wings to celebrate my life among hard church pews. Know what I mean? I would argue that aging is more than it’s cracked up to be. With age comes wisdom. It’s cliche, but cliches stick around for a reason. This is why it’s always funny when I tell people I’m the only Indian in the world who’s bad at math and science.

Mac Daddy does happen to be good at math. And he’s from Wisconsin. Shan is not so good at math, but she’s damn creative. Mac Daddy and Shan happen to be two of my favorite people. If I could just get Shan to move to my zip code I’d be one exuberant woman. It’s kismet that they share a birthday. Shan’s husband and Deal also share a birthday. This means our lives will be inextricably linked forever and always. You see, Shan and Chris were the only guests at our wedding in Key West 10 years ago. By design. Mac Daddy and I exchanged our own vows in the gardens of the Audobon House with Shan at my side and Chris at his. We cried. We snickered. We toasted. We boiled our bums off in the hot Florida sun.

We used to vacation in Key West together for several years running. Then we got we got mortgages and student loans and nose hair and thighs that touch and children. But we’ll always have Key West.

Key West Lemonade

2 oz Tru organic vodka

2 oz sweet and sour mix

Splash of  7Up (Sprite works too.)

Splash of cranberry juice

Lime slices

In a tall glass filled with ice, mix vodka and sweet and sour mix. Add 7-up and cranberry juice. Garnish with a slice of slice. Slurp up a slice of heaven.

Happy Birthday to Mac Daddy and Shan! I love you.

Read More