cheese for grandma

I've been trying to teach Juniper to smile.  Without a camera, her face splits into the most glorious of kid-smiles, the corners of her mouth pushing her cheeks into tight, dimpled apples; every single one of her straight, white teeth all lined up like little soldiers in her mouth. Her eyes squint, the left more than the right, always.  

But with a camera, she hides her face behind her hair, her arm, her work, her peanut butter and jelly.  In group photos, she'll happily and readily make a "silly face."  If she's excited or even a little embarrassed, she'll stick her fingers in her mouth.  All of them.  It's been this way for a while.  I just can't get a posed, say cheese picture of this kid.  And I want to.  For me, yes.  But mostly, for my mom.  I want to be able to pay a professional to take pictures, real portraits, of our nucleus of four.  My mom's been asking, probably for years.  First, I have to be sure Juniper will smile.

Okay you pros out there, what say you?  I know some of you do this for a living, or at least as a favor.  How do you get a stubborn 4 year old to smile--really smile--for the camera?         

(Hi mom.  I know you're laughing.  Apparently I was the same way, and still am.  I have a picture on my fridge of my cousin smiling sweetly and me in a half-snarl, sticking my tongue out.  I was maybe...7?)

I've been trying to explain why I take some of these photos: Your grandparents rarely see you and I can send photos so they will know what you look like, what you've been up to.  Think how sad Grandma would be not to have any pictures of you smiling!  You have such a beautiful smile.  

My mom sent the girls new sundresses the other day.  We were, for once, not planning to be terribly dirty; instead spending the morning at the library, picnicking in the lawn followed by haircuts for both me and Juniper.  And here they were, eating nectarines and horsing around on the library fence.  

99 percent of the photos I take for myself and this blog are candid.  For once, I wanted some cheese.  The best I could get:

Yeah.  We have some work to do.  And then there's Hazel, the more amenable kid, showing Grandma her nice white teeth, See!:

Another impromptu cheese attempt from earlier this spring:

Me: "Oh, come on!  Say CHEESE!"

And again from our trip to Missoula, this time my man behind the camera and I am directing (but not smart enough to remove my cap).  Apparently, "Say PUPPY!" elicits more of an excited, screaming O face than a smile.

I never thought I'd have to teach my kids to smile for the camera.  Mom, we're working on it.

my best pizza yet

{RECIPE: Calabrese Pizza with Nectarine, Goat Cheese, Rosemary and Balsamic Reduction}

When it comes down to it, I have cooking-confidence in just two areas: pizza and soups (vegetable soups at that).  Hot damn if I didn't just tonight make my best pizza yet.  Inspiration leapt from the nectarines on my counter, the Calabrese salami heading south in my fridge, the arugula and spinach attempting to bolt in my garden, this recipe and that pizza in Portland.  Seriously people.  I almost never say this about my own cooking (because it's almost never true), but this pizza is damned good.

The Recipe:

I am an Oh-shit-it's-4:00-and-I-wanted-to-make-pizza! kind of gal, so I typically revert to this super easy, relatively fast dough recipe from Smitten.  I double the recipe for two pizzas and use half white, half whole-wheat flour.  I preheat my oven to its lowest setting then extinguish it for a place to raise dough (most of my house is too cool to get enough rising in an hour or so).  I'm sure there are much better dough recipes out there if you're not in a rush.  This one takes just a few minutes before leaving to rise.  

Dough balls
Olive oil
Fresh Rosemary, chopped
Goat cheese
Calabrese salami in thin deli slices and chopped
Mozzarella, grated
Nectarines, thinly sliced (I used two per pizza)
Balsamic vinegar
Spinach
Arugula
Chives, chopped

While dough is rising, simmer Balsamic vinegar in a pan until it is the consistency of warm, runny honey.  Set aside (it will thicken while it cools--if it thickens too much just add water, stir and re-heat).

Preheat oven to highest setting.  (This is key.  I was always afraid I'd bust my baking stone, and went for a safe 425.  Now I know why my dough was always mushy on the bottom.  No more!)

Roll-out (or toss, if you're that awesome) pizza dough and place on baking sheet.  Spread olive oil all over, sprinkle with rosemary, goat cheese, and calabrese.  Lightly cover with grated mozzarella.  Top with thinly sliced nectarines.  Bake about 10 minutes or until golden and bubbly.

Meanwhile, toss together spinach, arugula and a sprinkling of chives with regular balsamic vinegar.

Pull the pizza from oven, drizzle with your balsamic reduction and top with a great heap of the fresh greens.  And then tell me, did you like it?

^I barely caught a photo of this vanishing pizza.  Sorry--food photography is not my forte, even when it *hasn't* been half-eaten.^  

* Pizza is the one meal where I will make a "kid's version" since I'm making two anyway.  Sometimes I want to go out on a limb that I'm pretty sure my kids won't appreciate.  For this pizza, my "kid's version" was the same except I added a thin layer of red sauce over the olive oil and rosemary, I didn't add as much goat cheese (they claim not to like it but I'm working them up), and I cut the nectarine into chunks that looked a little more like pineapple.  Plus, I topped with just the chives and no balsamic reduction.  Served with garden asparagus on the side, they completely devoured this meal.

kind of like an avalanche

I'm still reeling backwards but not tonight.  Tonight, it's today, and yesterday, and the day before.  Okay?

This last week our slow, cold spring took a leap forward.  Now, all three meals are consumed outside.  Morning coffee's in the front porch swing, eyes sweeping up to the rapidly waning snow line.

Speckled baby robins hop about our yard and iridescent hummingbirds buzz past our ears.  Every morning a red-tailed hawk rides the thermals up, up, up that sentinel of a mountain.  Western meadowlarks sing with wreckless abandon stamped yellow on the treetop.  Mourning doves fool the kids into believing they're owls.  My first-ever tulips smack me daily with their robust beauty.

Four-year-old conversations bounce from God to pollination to death to nutrition to the locations of Idaho, Montana and Wyoming.  Hazel joins the conversation with a two-year-old's sense of dictatorship.  ("NO!  It's NOT a bee!  It's a WASP.")  I furiously dig, plant, tend.  Corn and beans are tucked snuggly into warm, moist soil.  New beds are going in, new trees, new shrubs.  Hazel my sidekick helps me water and pat seeds into the ground.  Juniper swims through her thick, busy pretend world, coming up for air and roping us in.  

:: Snaps.  From today, yesterday, the day before, and probably the day before that.

:: Front porch breakfasts.

:: Short, open, garden fence under construction so we can let the chickens into our yard again.  Also, where I toil.    

:: Childhood was meant to be played dirty.  My future flower bed, current mud pit:    

:: Lunch at the picnic table.  (After clogging the drain with bath numero uno.  Hey Jasmine, now I know what you do with that outdoor shower!)      

:: Front porch horseplay.  

(The crib is in limbo; nobody sleeping out there or anything.)  

:: My latest apple tree--Norkent--gracing the garden.

:: Along the driveway and below the dining room window.  Late last summer this was a weedy, gravely patch of blech.  My man made the beds, I tucked in the bulbs.  It is young and has some filling-out to do, but I know it will happen.

:: Saturday we went to the Old West Days parade.  Juniper and a friend pounced at candy while Hazel stayed in the stroller, covered her eyes and surreptitiously ate Juniper's candy.  

:: What my husband does with the kids when I go to some hippie class on growing herbs.  Pajama hikes to an avalanche:

:: Hazel.  The fearless, accomplished climber.

:: Juniper has been obsessed with the book and video series, "The Magic School Bus."  Anytime we see a school bus it's magic, and she watches with awe and expectation.  Like it's going to shrink, turn into a bee and fly into a hive.

Me, earlier that day:  "Juniper, do you want me to do your hair today?"

Juniper:  "Um, no thanks.  Leave it down.  I like it that way; it's kind of like an avalanche."  

:: We sold the camper trailer we bought when Hazel was 4 months old.  It served us well for those early years, but we are so happy to have it off our hands.  We drove to our old friend's house for a bar-b-que and camped in their yard.  Hello, new family tent!  Purportedly, in a sever wind and snow storm, you will be the last tent standing.  Shall we put you to the test?