Giveaway: Thank You, Have Some Jewels!

Hello, dear people!

FIVE has been a little . . . out of sorts lately. We blame Two; no photos, food, or crafts -- she hasn't even posted for nearly three months! She keeps shoving it off onto her recent "bilateral lung transplant surgery". . . Pshaw! To make up for her woeful neglect,*** we teamed up with Scarlet Samples to offer one lucky FIVE reader $30 in credit at their lovely jewelry shop. Scarlet Samples carries a wealth of wondrous necklaces, bracelets, broaches, rings, and earrings -- all of them fantastic deals. Here are the <$30 pieces we chose (ahh, the perks of blogging):

One liked the lovely honey quartz

Two chose the ethereal white pearl

Thee prefers the yummy rainbow agate

Four chose the dainty green pearl

Five fancied the black agate

TO WIN:

☞ Follow FIVE (by clicking on one of the links to the left of this post)

☞and ☞

☞ Peruse the Scarlet Samples website, 'like' them on Facebook, or follow them with Twitter

☞and ☞

☞ Tell us what your favorite necklace, bracelet, ring, etc., is in the comments section of this post

We'll announce the winner next week!

***All joking aside, every single one of you deserves a bedazzled chocolate scepter for the tremendous outpouring of love, support, and happy thoughts you've sent our way during Two's surgery and subsequent recovery. In my heart, you've each already won a bedazzled chocolate scepter.

Transplants, babies, and other indoor sports...

It struck me the other day that each of my pregnancies has coincided with a period of intense family crisis. During my first trimester with Princess H, my Grandfather -- I was going to say "beloved Grandfather," but that's just utterly inadequate to describe my feelings for him or the relationship we had -- passed away after a stunningly short battle with cancer. Six weeks after that, our dad's car malfunctioned and sent him careening off of a mountain road. He fought valiantly and I genuinely thought he was going to pull through. But ten days later, he, too, was gone. I remember being terribly sick before my flight to Denver the next morning, and not knowing whether it was grief or pregnancy. Over the next months, anticipating the arrival of our first little wonder was the lone sparkle in a very dark and difficult chapter.

Very early one morning the next September, Two called me from her hospital room at Johns Hopkins, where she and her doctors had been fighting off acute right heart failure brought on by her IPH. "I have lungs," she said. When my sleep-deprived, again-pregnant brain finally processed what she was saying, I grabbed a toothbrush and a change of clothes, kissed my husband and sweet baby girl goodbye, and drove like a crazy woman, hoping to get to Baltimore in time to be her "plus one" on the medivac flight to Cleveland. On the plane, Two was in good spirits. Even though she was tired, she exuded her signature radiant energy. We didn't know what we were getting into that time. In retrospect, this was a very good thing. In addition to her transplant, Two unexpectedly needed massive heart surgery, too. Her surgeon later confided that she was one of the sickest patients he'd ever brought out of surgery alive. For six agonizing weeks, Two lay deep in a coma, walking a tightrope between this life and the next. I cannot count the times I ducked into the ICU bathroom to protect Tiny Baby (in my belly) from the daily x-rays used to screen for blood clots. It was one of the few concessions he got during those long, surreal months.

So, here we are with Baby Number Three looming large(!), and Lung Transplant Number Two just behind us. This time around -- mercifully, miraculously -- things seem so much brighter. Given all the pre-transplant trauma, I don't think any of us were prepared for this remarkable, thrilling recovery. Of course, Two makes the grueling process look much easier than it is. No question, this is a long, hard road. But last time she climbed Everest.

I'm not entirely sure what my point is. Maybe this: In many ways, these are the defining challenges of my adult life. They have stretched and pulled and torn and changed me in ways I couldn't have anticipated or imagined. But looking back at the last four years, it's not the pain or grief or fear that define how life has changed. The rebuilding and reshaping of my soul in the wake of these totemic natural disasters occurred in the wild new context of motherhood. The resplendent joy Princess H and Tiny trail from their chubby little dirt-stained feet play in contrapuntal harmony with all the tragedy and crisis like a Baroque fugue. It leaves me exhausted and in awe, stronger and more grateful than I was or thought possible before All This. The sleepless nights and backaches and tantrums are very loud reminders that the only things in life that are really worth doing, are usually really hard. I realize this isn't a groundbreaking revelation -- people have been saying it for ages. But learning it for myself still feels surprisingly cosmic.

Baby Vice

Last summer in Korea, I saw a sign for The Baby Lounge; a gaudy neon baby bottle flickered in its window while a throbbing dub-step remix of Baby Beluga beat on its door. I can only assume the club was filled with "cool" infants, kicking to the music from their patent leather exersaucers in between sips of apple juice-tinis. I shook my head at the dissolution of pastel colors, stuffed dinosaurs, and fleece blankies. Last Thanksgiving, I walked in on Charlotte, Princess H's favorite doll, like this:

Apparently, her habit cost her a role in Toy Story 3.

Where have guilelessness and naivete fled? Have the uncorrupted and the new lost their sanctity? I was impelled to philosophize on innocence, sin, and their respective natures. I worried that my dear niece and nephews may have been poorly influenced by their delinquent toys or their overly-matured peers. I started to see signs of their moral corrosion everywhere I turned.
Just look:

Keep on eye on those babies.

Otherwise they'll end up like my bum brother C.

Cake poppin'

Last week Five and I did something crazy. Amazing. But completely nuts. 

Somehow, we I decided that--to thank all of Two's incredible nurses, respiratory therapists, techs, etc.--we would make cake pops....and rice krispy pops. Now, in light of recent successes in hospital cooking, you may think this was a logical plan. But, it's important to note that the idea was actually utterly insane, for a couple of reasons. 

First, we don't have a real kitchen in our hotel room. We have a pathetic little kitchenette which consists of a stove, sink, cappuccino maker, and microwave. 

Second, in order to adequately thank everyone, exorbitant numbers of pops needed to be assembled. We're talking upwards of 200. 

During the process, I was overcome by bouts of insanity (note: if ever you contemplate making hundreds of baked goods--IN A HOTEL ROOM! Don't). But--throughout the hours of molding and sticking--dipping and sprinkling, there was one thing that kept me poppin: 

Jutka. 

Jutka is our magical Hungarian fairy godmother/mommy. She is the picture of grace, elegance, domesticity and competence. She makes the most incredible food. Ever. Every creation is more exquisite than the last. So exquisite, in fact, that when I lived with her for a week, I ate 6 square meals a day. No joke. She is truly wondrous, but the really miraculous part is that she concocts everything in a teeny tiny little kitchen. As I was putting together these treats, I couldn't help but remember the countless meals Jutka has crafted for our family--often varied multi-course meals (think one menu for carnivores, one menu for vegetarians, and one menu for salt-free/macrobiotic eaters). 

She is amazing--and love her.

(cake pop tutorial here)

Drive

Did any of you see that movie Drive that came out last year? It was a bit grizzly, but seriously beautiful. I will admit to being one of the many fans of the dreaminess that is Ryan Gosling. ( I mean, can you blame me?) But even more than the movie, or monsieur Gosling, or the fact that Christina Hendricks came on for a bit part to scratch that Mad Men itch... It was the music that took my breath away. It's the perfect soundtrack for a grey-day road trip. Like this one Dr. P and I took on a whim to Roosevelt island last week.

Dr. P got back from the hospital when there was still daylight--a rare treat--and even though it was fading fast, we really wanted to get into the wilderness a bit. So we rushed off to the memorial to Teddy Roosevelt. For those of you who have never been to the island nestled in the middle of the Potomac, I highly recommend it. A fitting tribute to the conservationist president,Roosevelt island is a nature reserve right in the city. It's great for a long walk and some new scenery. You can even canoe over, like Dr. P and I did last year. This time however, the five minute drive was a necessary evil if we wanted to catch the sun.

This song featured prominently in the film, and it now plays in my head on lonely walks and quiet afternoons.

Harmony

Mr. One's cousin (or, rather, one of his 50 [first] cousins) is an amazing cellist and bona fide YouTube star. His latest video just happens to be a mashup of two songs that are particular favorites of mine and Two's, respectively. It's rather lovely, and I thought I would share...

Incsi Fincsi

When I was a 'tween, (before that term existed), I belonged to the Stitchin' 'n' Kitchen 4-H Club. Unlike most 4-H groups, which tend to focus on animal husbandry, we were a rather domestic bunch. We did a lot of cooking and needlecrafts. And, truth be told, I never really excelled. I think the partially-assembled pieces to an abandoned red corduroy jumper might still be in a box in my mom's garage. But my inability to complete sewing projects never stopped me from putting together some sort of entry for the County Fair -- usually a song and dance with my best friend Amy, occasionally a wool scarf I had crocheted or woven on a borrowed loom, and, once, a full-blown Hungarian feast.

I don't remember exactly what was on that Magyar menu, but I'll never forget my interview with the sweet judge lady the day I presented my culinary homage to the TD's ancestral homeland. She surveyed my carefully laid table, full of family heirlooms and pungent paprika, and sampled dainty bites of the various things I'd prepared. "Everything is lovely and delicious," she remarked. I beamed. "...But I'm worried it's not quite nutritionally balanced." I was confused. I hadn't realized this was one of the goals of the meal. She continued, "Do you think, perhaps, it might be possible to replace some of the sour cream with yogurt?" I looked at her with wide eyes. "No, no. I think that would be a very bad idea. Because, you see, this is HUNGARIAN food. And they use sour cream." End of discussion. I did not win a blue ribbon that year....

I made Hungarian food for some friends this week, and, glancing down at my shopping list, I had to laugh at the memory. My post-it looked something like this:

• eggs
• sour cream
• cream cheese
• ricotta 
• butter
• sausage
• cucumbers

Nice.

No question about it, a lot of traditional Hungarian food is an indulgence. But it is seriously yummy stuff. Here is a recipe for one of my absolute favorites. I'd worry about divulging a family secret, but every time I want to make this treat, I pull out an old, battered (pun intended) copy of the 1982 Congressional Club Cook Book, to which Mimo contributed this gem. It's a fluffy, bright, ricotta tart that has seriously spoiled all other cheesecakes for me, ever. It's not the simplest dessert to put together, but I think, every once in a while, it's worth both the time and calories...

Hungarian Rhapsody Dessert -- or -- Mimo's Túrós Süti

For the crust:

2 cups flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 cup melted butter

Mix it all together and press it into a 9x13 pyrex. I usually just mix everything together right in the pan. Pop it in the oven @350 for 20 minutes.

While that's baking, make your filling:
1 1/2 cups butter
1 1/3 cups sugar
8 eggs, separated
1 lemon
1 Tbs real vanilla
1/3 cup flour
1 8 oz pkg cream cheese
1 cup ricotta cheese

Beat the egg whites, gradually adding 1/3 cup sugar. When stiff peaks form, set the fluffy goodness aside. You don't need to wash the mixer before you continue. Love that.

Next, cream together the butter and remaining sugar. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating thoroughly after each addition. Mix in the juice and zest of the lemon, vanilla, cheeses and flour, beating like crazy the whole time. Did I mention you should beat it a lot? When you're finally done beating everything, the concoction should be very light and fragrant. Gently fold this together with your waiting whites, and spread the entire floaty, fluffy, fatty cloud in the hot, par-baked crust. Put it back in the oven for about 45 minutes, until the center is set but not dry. Let it cool, cover generously with powdered sugar, and cut into squares. I like to serve it as slightly messy finger food, along with a big bowl of fresh berries and some nice sparkling water. Which can almost make it seem light....

Speaking of Mimo, can you believe she cooked like that and looked like this? Our grandparents were/are total hotties!

*My camera is acting up. If I can get it to work later today, I'll post some glamor shots of the cake, too...