Nobody's Home (Forwarding Address)

I don't know if too many visitors come around here anymore, but in case anyone does - I'm not here. Feel free to browse the archives (please do!) but I won't be posting here anymore. I think of this space as a house I used to live in - sometimes I drive past and feel nostalgic for days gone by, but I've moved on.

Where am I now? You can always click over to this page right here - that should point you my way. If you'd like to get in touch with me, you can email me at elizabethlauranelson at gmail dot com, or find me on Twitter.  I'm writing more than ever; I'm just doing it other places. I go by Elizabeth Nelson now - the name I was  born with. Sometimes Elizabeth Laura Nelson, if I'm feeling fancy. I hope you follow me to wherever I find myself!

Thanks for reading.

- E xo

Monday Morning, 8AM

In my effort to expose the girls to the news a bit more and be less overprotective, I turned the radio up loud enough so the girls could listen to Morning Edition with me today while they had breakfast and I packed their lunches.  When I switched it on, they were doing a story about sex education and teen pregnancy prevention programs.  Awesome.

"What did they just SAY?"  Molly demanded, looking scandalized.  "They're talking about sex," I said.  (I was only halfway through my first cup of coffee - what do you want?)  "MOM!  Violet's going to hear you!  Don't say that WORD!" 

Ah, Violet - our innocent kindergartner.  She was riding the train with me the other day and asked if she could listen to my iPod.  As I put the earbuds in her sweet little ears, she turned to me and whispered "Mom, do you have "Fuckin' Perfect" on here?"  This was on a packed subway car, by the way.  And it was a stage whisper.  Mom of the Year, yet again.  (In case you're wondering, yes I did have "Fuckin' Perfect" on my iPod, and yes I did let her listen to it. Shut up.)

Back to the breakfast table and NPR: I already said I hadn't had enough coffee, right? I am really  not equipped to have a serious conversation about sex education and teen pregnancy at 8AM.  Instead, I performed a rousing rendition of Jermaine Stewart's classic "We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off" and danced around the kitchen while making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  I can't believe I still remember that song.  (You know what I want to know?  What IS cherry wine, anyway? Boone's Farm?)  I think the kids liked it.  Also, they never want to be seen in public with me again.  Oh, well.
                             
                                                                                                                 
    

Parenting Fail

"How come you didn't tell me about Japan?" demands my 9-year-old as she shrugs off her backpack and parks herself at the table to sort through her homework assignments.

I look up from the email I am rushing to finish so that I can put out a snack for the girls and start packing for ballet. "Um, why? Did you talk about Japan in school today?"

"YES! Mom, didn't you know there was an earthquake and a tsunami and a whole bunch of people got killed? Everyone was talking about it at school! EVERYONE knew about it except for me. Why don't you ever tell me about this stuff? Why don't you ever tell me ANYTHING?"

Lick-the-Beaters Chocolate Chip Cookies

All right, you guys. I'm going to give you my secret recipe - the one I've been refining for years (no joke) and the one everyone always asks me for. I can't vouch for how this will work at altitude, but the recipe I was working with toward the end of our time in Denver was pretty similar to this one and I had fairly consistent success with it. Everything comes out better at sea level though - it just does. After we moved here I realized I actually could bake bread and make cakes from scratch. I felt like a magician. Ah, sea level. I was always meant to come down from the mountains, you know? This altitude is so much better for me. I can breathe here.

So without further ado, here is the recipe.  Oh wait, no - one more thing. You'd probably have figured this out on your own, but I call these "Lick-the-Beaters Chocolate Chip Cookies" because they don't have eggs in them. I have no desire to do vegan cookies - I am ALL ABOUT THE BUTTER - but leaving the eggs out rocks because you can lick the beaters (and the bowl, and your fingers) without worrying about that scoundrel, Sal Monella. He wants to make you sick, but we're not having any of it. Go ahead and eat this dough by the spoonful if you want to. I won't tell.

Elizabeth's Lick-the-Beaters Chocolate Chip Cookies

1/2 c. butter (1 stick!)
1/4 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. white sugar
2 T. maple syrup (the real stuff, of course)
1 T. soymilk (or whatever milk you prefer - we don't do cow around here)
2 t. vanilla
1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
3/4 c. chocolate chips (semisweet, always!)

You know the drill: cream the butter and sugar, add the maple syrup, milk and vanilla, then add the flour, baking soda and salt. You can sift your dry ingredients together and add them in slowly if it makes you feel good - whatevs, I say. Depends on how much of a hurry you're in. Then stir in your chocolate chips, drop by teaspoonfuls onto a cookie sheet (line it with parchment paper or foil, please) and bake at 350 degrees for just about 9 minutes. Take them out even though they look just a smidge underdone, and let them sit on the cookie sheet for a few minutes to finish baking through and firming up. Spatula them onto a wire rack to cool - a little bit, at least. The chocolate really will be too hot to spatula them directly into your mouth. I know you want to, but listen: we are all grown-ups here. YES WE ARE.

If your kids are nice, you should let them have a cookie (but only if they are very very good children) and then they will look like this:

Sad Blog

Did you all know that I have another blog - sort of a secret blog? It's about missing my dad and I update it very infrequently. (You're surprised, right? I know. I am such an avid blogger.)

I have felt very private about it; I disabled comments and never really meant it for public consumption. For some reason though, I feel like sharing it today. Missing my father is such a big part of who I am now - who I'll be forever, I guess - and it feels inauthentic to pretend it isn't.

I might post some more writing there soon; it will be kind of rough and ugly. Grief is rough and ugly. No one has to read it, but maybe it will help someone. I know there are people out there grieving hard every day and pasting a smile over it. Sometimes it helps to talk about it, and sometimes it doesn't. We shall see.

You can click on the title of this post to go there if you want.

(I took this picture of my dad when we went to Antarctica together in 1994. I love it - and I love that I know he was looking at me.)