Recently in the reluctant grown-up Category

I conveniently forgot to take and upload photos just as we fell off the Operation Mother Hubbard wagon at the start of week 3. What can I say, we were hosting a Super Bowl party. Which meant we needed lots of Doritos. And meat. You would not believe the amount of meat we served.

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 general approach to food purchasing and preparation is lazy yet spendy. I would rather buy a whole new batch of ingredients and start from scratch than root around to figure out what I can combine to make a meal. Then half of what I buy goes bad or sits in the back of the cabinet for six months. Not only is this financially irresponsible, it drives my husband crazy.

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.

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

"Sometimes [my children] don't seem able to operate in an imaginative world. ... If, like the four Pevensie children (two boys and two girls) of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, they were sent off to the countryside to avoid the Blitz, my children might well have to be marched, under protest, to the room with the old wardrobe and shoved in among the coats; it would be hard for them to grasp how an entire old house, filled with unknown rooms and corridors, might become a world of unlimited play." - Michael Chabon

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.

Let's say you have recently, as in three days ago, completed your masters degree in library science after one-point-five fast-paced yet laborious years.

And let's say you are about to become the children's librarian at a well-loved, well-funded urban neighborhood library.

And let us also imagine that you are realizing how little you actually know about children's literature, even though you like it in general. (Let us say, in fact, that you are far more well-versed in teenage vampire fiction than is healthy for any person, but especially for someone who needs to recommend books to people under four feet tall.)

Meanwhile, let's imagine that you have always wanted to read all the Newbery Medal-winning books for children, dating back to 1922, fully realizing that some of them might be dull.

And let's say you have recently been obsessed with Jezebel.com's trip down memory lane into juvenile fiction of the 1980s.

Also, you are addicted to serial YouTube collaborations by nerdy literate people.

Let's say you're considering joining their ranks and vlogging through the Newberys, two at a time, one from the recent past, one from the distant past. There would be field trips to your library's incredible Children's Literature collection, and possibly interviews with children you have wrangled into reading these books with you. Not to mention humor.

Would you be crazy?

Would you have collaborators, and who would they be?

And what would you call such an endeavor?

(FYI, Newbery Project is already taken. Newbery Experiment is a bit too clinical. Newbery Pie is too cutesy, although I am not averse to puns. I mean, YOU are not averse to puns. All hypothetical.)

Over the past few years, the Harry Potter phenomenon has made it kosher for responsible adults to carry around literature intended for kids. And not only to be seen reading children’s books in public—to obsess over them. Grown people don’t hesitate to discuss the finer points of quidditch on electronic discussion boards, compose songs about wizardry as an intelligent career move, or dress up as teenaged sorcerers in anticipation of each new book’s release.

All this is quite a relief to me, personally. Although I read a lot of fiction intended for adults, I have failed to abandon—and, in fact, often prefer—the types of books I read in high school. These days I have a bonafide professional reason for it: I’m four credits away from becoming a public librarian, and public librarians need to know What The Kids Are Into. But that aside, I don’t think I could give up the world of young adult fiction anyway. It’s too fun, too morbidly humiliating and exhilarating, too emotionally complex—and, these days, too well-written...

>> Read more about my Top Ten Young Adult Books for Grown-Ups at catapult magazine.

>> Revisit your favorite teen lit of yore - including the witch-tastic Summer of Fear by Lois Duncan - at Jezebel's Fine Lines reviews.