Wait, actually, this might give you an idea:

Pretty disgusting, but we all enjoyed ourselves, and I made these incredible carrot-ginger cupcakes using only things we already had at home. Never have I received such rave reviews for cupcakes. Probably because I have never made cupcakes before.

(It's been a pretty good few weeks for treats in general, actually. I whipped up this vegan Mexican Chocolate Cake to take to a friend's house just yesterday. Highly, highly recommended. You would never guess it was vegan.)

Now we're starting our fourth week of Operation Mother Hubbard. I'm really proud of us. We've continued purchasing fresh produce and dairy at our corner store, and I have to admit I've gotten a box of vegetable stock and a bag of sugar as well. We're deep into the cupboards, though, and we're STILL eating way better than we were before we started this project.

Check out the dry goods cabinet:

Pretty incredible compared to Day 1, especially because a lot of the stuff that's still in there is baby food. (More photos here.)

So we're still going strong and haven't even broken into our freezer stash yet. I think we can keep this up well over a month! I'm loving the opportunity to use ingredients I forgot I had, as well learn how to substitute ingredients based on what I have on hand. So far OMH has dramatically improved my baking skills and challenged me to be a more creative cook.

Still not sure what I'm going to do with two enormous jars of pickles, though. Suggestions?

Here's what our fridge looked like at the end of the first week of Operation Mother Hubbard. More photos on Flickr. 

We ate leftovers a LOT this week. Leftover veggie lasagna, leftover Irish stew from our favorite pub, leftover burrito filling, leftover dilly bean potato soup, and more.

But I also made several dishes from scratch with ingredients on hand, and we're still eating the leftovers from those:

• Pumpkin Enchiladas. These have been a staple in our kitchen for a few months now. I add black beans and wilted spinach for some more protein and vitamins. Also because the idea of a tortilla filled only with warm canned pumpkin is pretty unappealing to me. With this recipe, I used up some jarred taco sauce, two cans of pumpkin, a can of black beans, an enormous can of enchilada sauce, and assorted produce.
• Maple Parsnip Soup. Taken from the Mennonite Central Committee's Simply in Season cookbook, this recipe seems like it wouldn't be very filling, but it is. Especially when served with Bisquick drop biscuits. I substituted cream for the evaporated milk because that's what we had on hand, and I added some carrots for color (and because some of my parsnips had gone bad). I also left some chunks in the soup rather than pureeing it totally smooth, which I think enhanced the heartiness factor. 

My sister-in-law and her husband recently bought their first house. Over the past few months, they've put a lot of elbow grease into transforming it from an over-wallpapered monstrosity to a beautiful, modern, calm space in which to raise their family and entertain.

It's been inspiring to witness (and occasionally take part in) their renovations. While we don't have the resources right now to do anything major - or minor, for that matter - the process has made me look critically at my own home and bookmark a few ideas to refresh our space.

In particular, our guest room is a mishmash of different styles and ideas, but not in a fun, eclectic way. No, the guest room has more of a "here's a bunch of stuff, ta-da" feel to it. I really like the colors we chose for the room - a deep teal and chocolate brown with white accents - and I love the antique Eastlake bed and dresser passed down through Nathan's family.

But I don't love the mint-green rickety farm table serving as a dumping ground for technology. The guest room is an out of the way place for our printer and all that jazz, but I hate how random and unfinished it makes the room appear. For ages, I've been trying to find an Eastlake desk on Craigslist, to no avail. I couldn't come up with a way to tie the room together.

I flipped through some of my old Domino magazines recently, though, and was reminded that it's okay to mix design eras, wood finishes, IKEA and Eastlake even, if you do it in an intentional fashion. So now I'm okay with putting a more utilitarian, modern desk in there. However, that usually requires updating the antique elements of your room.

As a result, I've been thinking about sanding and painting our Eastlake furniture, which is currently kind of an outdated (but very beautiful) honey oak. Sort of like this, only without the mind-blowing lemon. Maybe a muted white and chocolate?

Here's the furniture, for reference:

I'm not really worried about ruining the value of the furniture by altering it; since they're family heirlooms, we'll probably never get rid of them, and I'd rather transform them into interesting showpieces that fit our home. What do you think? Color suggestions? Dire don't-you-dare warnings?

More mile zero photos on Flickr. If you're into that sort of thing.

So far so good. Spent $7.25 at the produce market yesterday for butter, spinach, half a pound of parsnips, and brown sugar. The brown sugar was a cheat, but necessary to these terrific cookies that I'm sending to a friend who's on bed rest. Said cookies also used up a bunch of oatmeal, dried cranberries, chocolate chips, and baking ingredients.

Other than that, we're up to our eyeballs in leftovers. But slowly and diligently eating our way through them.

So, starting today, we're embarking on Operation Mother Hubbard. I was inspired by my college friend Kurt, who documented his own pantry-clearing challenge online. We will be using only the ingredients we already have on hand to make healthy, creative meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We will not stop doing so until the cupboard is bare. I'm thinking this will be about a month, but I'm not sure.

When I brought up the idea on Facebook, a few friends expressed concern that there was no way to do this responsibly without fresh fruit, vegetables, and dairy. I agree. So I'm giving myself a $10-15 budget per week to be spent at our corner produce market. They sell their vegetables in bulk for chump change. (How they manage this, I have no clue. Sometimes it's better not to question one's Ukrainian produce lords.) They also have quality local dairy products, so yogurt, butter, milk, and cream - plus the occasional carton of eggs - are all up for grabs.

I'm looking forward to this challenge, which will also force me to plan more meals in advance and think outside our usual five staple weeknight dishes. I'm excited about trying some recipes that have been loitering untested in my bookmarks folder for too long. I have no idea what I'm going to do with that pound bag of flaxseed I discovered in the back of the cupboard yesterday. I have some plans for those parsnips in my veggie bin, though.

ON NOTICE THIS WEEK:
Copious leftovers
Parsnips
Jalapeno peppers
Broccoli
Apples
Tortillas

I'm comin' for you, jalapenos.

(Thanks to one of my favorite young adult authors, Jennifer Donnelly, for this insight. She blogged about it here. You should read her new book, Revolution, regardless of whether you like historical fiction or teen fiction. It's just plain GOOD.)

That's my theme for 2011, actually, now that I think about it: Good Enough. Not as in "I half-assed this that and the other thing, and I don't care. Screw it." As in, "I did my best. This worked out. This did not work out. And that is okay."

I'm a perfectionist. I am also a champion self-flagellator. (Self-flagellant? Isn't there a word for this sort of thing? Like those guys in Dan Brown books who moan and pace their cells and beat themselves on the back with a cat o' nine tails?) That's why I fail to complete so many things that I start: if I can't do it to my own obscenely high standards, I am almost incapable of doing it at all. It is not my way to say that something is good enough - that I'm good enough - unless I have given my all, bled myself out, stayed up all night, cried and sweated a project into being. Unless I have wrecked myself for the sake of whatever I'm doing.

Motherhood is starting to change that in me. I want to be a good mother to Adelle. A very good mother. The best. But you learn pretty quickly as a parent that there is so much that is out of your hands. And you learn that you cannot be what your child needs - a calm and steady presence, a warm and comfortable lap, a smiling face, a guide, a rock, a clown, a priest, a home - if you have wrecked yourself in the process.

I spent Adelle's first four months trying to be the perfect mother. I literally poured myself out, literally sacrificed my body (and my mind), over and over, a dozen of times a day, to nurture this small person and help her grow. I would do it again in a second. But my attitude was not sustainable. I resented her for needing me so completely; I feared the judgment of other mothers; I clung to the hormonal roller coaster in a panic; I wanted my old life back; I loved my child desperately; I berated myself for my failings. At some point, I had to accept that this cycle into which I was locked was not going to bring perfection or comfort or happiness to anyone in my family.

So, I am learning to let go. One step in doing so has been to make a list of things I resolve NOT to do this coming year. Some are monumental. Some seem inconsequential but have already made me a saner person. I've never been good at New Years resolutions for reasons I've already mentioned. Perhaps I can be a bit more successful if I let myself off the hook in advance.

11 New Years Releases for 2011
1. Do not fold the cloth napkins after they have been laundered. This is your least favorite household chore. It is time-consuming and boring and nobody cares if they're wrinkly anyway. Toss them into the drawer in a heap and shut it.
2. Declare email bankruptcy. Anyone who has not heard back from you yet is not going to hear back from you ever, at least not about that particular email. Delete as much as possible. Unsubscribe from lists. Start anew.
3. It's okay to drink coffee. Stop saying you're going to quit.
4. Use a few of Adelle's naptimes a week to do something you like, not something you think you should do. Quilt. Read. Write. Surf Facebook.
5. Everybody loves the photos of Adelle that you post, but you don't have to do it everyday. A few times a week is good enough. Also, stop uploading photos to three different sites so various family members can make prints of them. Upload them once to Flickr, with no captions, and be done with it.
6. You do have to stop eating cookies for breakfast and telling your husband that he needs to pick up more butter at the grocery store so you can make yet another sweet treat. The time for that is over. It was fun while it lasted. However, you do not have to starve yourself. Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. (Thank you, Mr. Pollan.) It would be nice to fit into your work clothes in May.
7. Speaking of work, your anticipated return to the library is definitely going to give you a guilt complex about putting Adelle in daycare. There will be crying. It's okay to cry. But she will be happy with other kids and caring adults. You will be happy doing what you love. Don't let other people give you hassle about it, either. It is a good decision for your family.
8. Yeah, you're flat broke. You need to stop going to Target so much. You need to stop eating out so much. You need to stop needing things that you don't actually need. But try to remember to be generous to others in the midst of this. Keep giving. And buy something lovely and small every once in awhile from someone who makes their living by selling lovely, small things.
9. And speaking of things - get rid of them. Purge the closets and basement boxes and bloated bookshelves. You can do without.
10. Go for more walks. Dance. Engage your core. But sometimes you should laze about in your pajamas and watch television with your husband and stay in bed with your baby.
11. By the way? It's okay that your baby still sleeps in bed with you. It is. Really. It's not going to scar her for life. She will learn to sleep on her own in time. For now, snuggle. Soak up her warmth, and be warm for her. Drink in the first smile of every new day. Smile back.

I think that's enough to start. I have more goals, especially related to the organizational bit, but I'm not going to beat myself up about it. See? I'm keeping my resolute releases already.

Nevertheless, I've at least THOUGHT about how I would answer each prompt, and yesterday as Adelle and I were jamming to some MGMT on the iPod, I remembered the Rocking Out post from December 5. I love hearing about what other people are listening to, as well as sharing my own playlists. So here are my top tracks from 2010.

Jonsi - Go Do. Can't embed this one due to copyright restrictions, but it's worth clicking the link to see the beautiful video and hear the ethereal voice of the lead singer of Sigur Ros. This is the first music Adelle ever heard outside the womb, on the drive home from the Birth Center. I love having such a precise sense-memory of the joy and awe I felt on that day.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros - Home. Exuberant. Lovely. "Home is wherever I'm with you."

Florence + the Machine - Dog Days. A few years ago, I started getting way more into upbeat, fully orchestrated pop music than the mopey, depressing singer-songwriter crap I enjoyed in college. Florence is great at doing artsy with sparkle and pep. Adore the crazy-ass video.

Bright Lights Bigger City :: Cee-lo. Oh, how I love Cee-Lo. Don't bother watching the video, which is pretty sexist and stupid-gangsta. But it's such an awesome jam.

Janelle Monae - Tightrope. Nothing makes me happier than this song. Don't dance to it. No, don't. Seriously, try really hard. Don't you dare dance. Stop it!

MGMT - Kids. These dudes are so weird. I hate this video. Don't watch it unless you want to be traumatized. Just click play and navigate to another screen.

Mumford & Sons - Little Lion Man. Warning to sensitive ears, liberal (but, I think, powerful and justified) use of the f-bomb. Love these guys and their driving banjoes. I know you're with me, Lis!

Laura Marling - Rambling Man. What's with all these messed-up freaky videos, man? Oh well. I love Laura and her beyond-her-years voice.

Willow Smith - Whip My Hair. Aaaaaand finally. My guilty pleasure. What, you thought the rest of these were guilty pleasures? Oh no. You ain't seen nothin' yet. I absolutely love this sassy number by the 10-year-old daughter of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett. Haters gon' hate, so just whip your hair.

Okay, there's more, but Adelle's up from her nap. (I think she overheard me whipping my hair.) Tell me, what did you rock out to in 2010? And what was your guiltiest pleasure?

if you don't know what to do,
do the next thing. water
the plants. cut the crusts of old bread
for the birds and feed the fruit
rinds to the garden. empty
the grounds from this morning's
coffee and tuck them in
with the hydrangeas, prepare
them for winter. let their black sleep
give way to blooms of springtime blue.
open the windows. unsettle
the dust on the sills and in the corners
so there will be space for new air.
let the rooms have room
to breathe, to be filled again
to the brim. there is much we can do
when we don't know what to do.
remember there is strength
even in standing still. let the world
do what it will all around you.
let the history of what was -
the old molecules of skin, hair and bone -
fill you up. let them become you.
you will carry them with you,
wherever you go, whenever
you are ready.

-fall cleaning by laura burhenn

Here's how it works. Every day, Princess Meg posts a prompt like the one below. I will respond to that prompt here (and also at a private Tumblr I'm working on with some local friends). My plan is to sit down with a cup of coffee during Adelle's first nap of the day and bang it out. It probably ain't gonna be too deep though, y'all. A few bullet points, a few photos. There's a baby to wrangle. Household chores to studiously ignore. Facebook statuses to update. Ahem.

Anyway. Here's to a new beginning.

According to Livejournal, this is what I was up to five years ago. (Remember Livejournal? No, just me, the sole cyber-nerd among you?)

• In 2005, I still lived in Michigan. I worked at Calvin College, thinking and talking and obsessing about pop culture. I was getting restless.
• In 2005, I was writing a blog called Evangelical Expatriate. I was still wrestling deeply with questions about what kind of Christian I was and wanted to be. I guess in some ways, I still am. Looking back, I'm proud of what I wrote there.
• In 2005, I got married to Nathan and we created our compound-named family. We celebrated our first Christmas in a tiny apartment with a single space-heater. We didn't have enough vacation time left to go home to our families on the East Coast, so we spent Christmas day driving around Michigan's Upper Peninsula, crossing over into Canada. We had dinner at the only place open, a Chinese restaurant.
• In 2005, we were pretty sure we were going to move to Philadelphia. I was seriously contemplating a new career as a librarian. I was volunteering at a library and it felt immediately right - one of the few "eureka moments" in my life.
• In 2005, I didn't know any of you [the friends with whom I'm doing this project on Tumblr] except for Josh & Kathryn. I didn't know what I had to look forward to.

Of everything that overwhelms me about becoming a parent - which I will, officially, in just over three months, if all continues to go well - this reality is the most depressing. Is it even possible to raise kids capable and desirous of inhabiting imagined worlds for hours at a time anymore? I mean, if Michael Effing Chabon would have to bribe and/or force his kids to become princes and princesses of an entire kingdom populated by twee fauns and talking rodents, what hope is there for the rest of us?

These questions provide one of the central themes in Chabon's new-ish volume of essays, Manhood for Amateurs. I originally checked it out of the library for Nathan, something to add to his stash of suddenly fatherhood-heavy bedside reading. But I dipped into the first essay on my dinner break that night and got hooked. I always feel a little weird reading it in public, but tell myself that there is no more rank amateur at manhood than me.

My favorite essay plays off the theme of lost childhood adventure mentioned above. It's called "The Wilderness of Childhood," and you can read it here. I'm generally not a huge fan of romanticizing the past, but damn, it really is depressing to think that kids today are facing the abandonment of "sandlots and creek beds, the alleys and woodlands... in favor of a system of reservations--Chuck E. Cheese, the Jungle, the Discovery Zone." I valued the opportunity to run around like a feral animal, with a gang of other wild childs, in the woods of my suburban neighborhood growing up. I want my children to have that same chance. I will have to battle my natural tendency towards anxiety and urge for control - and, apparently, culture at large - to do it. Not sure how, just yet, but reading things like Chabon's essays at least help me feel less alone in wanting to make sure the wardrobe door still stands slightly ajar and invitingly mysterious.

"Also as a reminder, we prefer Extensions agencies to use lemon-scented disinfectant, rather than pine oil disinfectant."

It would not surprise me if there was a good reason for this preference, but the phrasing struck me as amusing. Long live bureaucraZy!

(Click each photo for the large size, as these are best viewed up close.)

For the tragically uninformed, these images are taken from Madeleine L'Engle's magnificently weird and moving science fiction novel for children, A Wrinkle in Time. They demonstrate the titular wrinkling of time and space through a phenomenon called a tesseract, which incidentally is like an actual scientific reality.

I would totally get this inked into my skin. What children's book quote, image, or other literary symbol would you get written on your body (especially if it didn't hurt so much)?

Happy third anniversary, Nathan!

"Ultimately there comes a time when a decision must be made. Ultimately two people who love each other must ask themselves how much they hope for as their love grows and deepens, and how much risk they are willing to take. It is indeed a fearful gamble. Because it is the nature of love to create, a marriage itself is something which has to be created. To marry is the biggest risk in human relations that a person can take. If we commit ourselves to one person for life this is not, as many people think, a rejection of freedom; rather it demands the courage to move into all the risks of freedom, and the risk of love which is permanent; into that love which is not possession, but participation. It takes a lifetime to learn another person. When love is not possession, but participation, then it is part of that co-creation which is our human calling."

If you like poetry or adorable baby goats (I happen to like both), this clip is for you.

Nathan and I visited the Carl Sandburg Home in Flat Rock, NC, while we were in the Asheville area a few weeks ago. The home, now a national historic site, still looks lived in by design. The adjacent farm is still used to raise goats who are descendants of Lillian Sandburg's champions. These are a few of the highlights, set to a song that kept looping in my head as we walked around: "Carl Sandburg Visits Me in a Dream" by Sufjan Stevens.

(Sorry for the crappy video resolution, though. iMovie is giving me trouble with the full quality upload option.)

> Carl Sandburg National Historic Site
> Who is Carl Sandburg?
> Listen to Sandburg read "The People, Yes"