You wanna know what I did last night? I went to the movies.

By! My! Self!

Utterly by myself. Not even the baby. Since she is almost eight months old, I guess that I can accept that she has totally vacated the womb and I can go places for short periods without her. I was kind of shaky about it at first, but it was so worth it.

Shall we discuss the snack bar? Oh, glorious junk food! Beeg popcorn, beeg boxes of Junior Mints and Sour Patch Kids, beeg soda. (See? I had three of the four major junk food groups covered – salty, sweet, and sour. If they would have sold onion rings or veggie dogs I could have rounded out the savory fourth group, but no dice.) When the concession girl discretely goggled at my lone self versus the huge pile of edible garbage I was buying, I popped off with “Well, I only get one kidless movie every couple of years. I have to make it count.” Oops. Overshare.

Into the theatre to find a seat. The great thing about going stag is being able to sit in the very middle fairly close up and no one has a problem with that. The downside? No one to watch your popcorn while you have a pre-show potty break. The couple I asked to keep an eye on things for me thought I was a little weird. They should have had a talk with the snack bar girl.

It was wonderful to go on a Monday night. I am one of those annoying movie people who wants utter silence, at least during the quiet parts. It was only me, three couples and one large family and I was so blissed out.

So I finally got to see The Order of the Phoenix. I thought the directing was fantastic, and the kids are getting so much better at acting. But the whole movie was like a highlight reel of the book – there was just too much to fit in, even in two and a half hours. But I was alone! I probably could have been watching I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry and thought it a fine film.

Okay, no. That would take a lot of illegal drugs. But it sure was a nice evening.

I am not very good at remembering significant dates. Well, I remember them, but not until it is pretty much too late to do anything about them.

It isn’t that I don’t have them in mind, it’s just that days go by so fast. Even as I’m planning something splendiferous to mark the occasion it will go right on by like some kind of speeding train. And there I am, still standing at the platform, thinking of how they mill the paper to make the ticket to get on board.

I’m not only talking about events important to other people. All this applies to things that are significant to me, which shows you how clueless I really am. Dang!

All this to say that last Thursday was my third blogoversary. (Here’s where I throw a small handful of confetti and toot a little horn. Rats! Now I have to vacuum so the cats don’t eat the confetti and yak it up all over my bed.) I could have been so clever and witty posting about it. But the train is long gone, and I’m still standing here with no ticket and hair that looks like a tumbleweed from the draft.

I suppose I will have to be witty next time. Not long to wait, now.

Man, I love coffee.

No, I really. Really. Love coffee.

Because I am a nursing mama, I have to limit my intake. (It’s either that or constantly try to pry the baby off the ceiling.) I get one cup in the morning. It’s not much, and the small amount makes it that much more important to my sanity. No matter how long the night or how little sleep I may get, that travel mug of salvation is going to be there for me in the morning.

Through our local food co-op, I can get snobby coffee for the same price I’d pay for the regular stuff in the grocery store. For the last few months I have been drinking Ethiopian Yergacheff and feeling like a queen. It’s not just your average cup of Joe – it’s the kind of coffee that makes you thank God for taste buds. Smooth and rich and lovely. Mmmm.

But my order has run out and now I’m back to Millstone. It is like the difference between Cary Grant in a crisp grey suit and Jeff Goldblum in a sweaty t-shirt. Still an okay guy, but a little rank and not at all as swoony. (Let us not speak of Folgers, the Rosanne-Barr-on-a-bender of coffee.)

So. I will still have my coffee to save me in the morning. But my spoiled little self will cry a little as I wait for a few weeks for the next order to come in. And this time, I’m ordering double.

I may be a bit sparse in posting for a few days. But I’ve a very, very good excuse.

Last night was one of our favorite events of the summer – the annual barn party and bluegrass sing-along. The sky threatened rain, but was satisfied with mere clouds and a healthy breeze. As a born-again northwesterner, that was just fine by me. I like a chilly July evening.

It’s so hard to wait for it each year. Each June, when the date is announced, it’s a month-long countdown until the Big Day. The Princess and the Bear take out the memories of past years like shiny treasures and pass them around in conversation daily. The food! The music! The hay fights! And there is always speculation about what the dessert table is going to offer this time.

We ate outside again this year, since all the tables were full and eating in the barn would have meant climbing the humongous hay steps or hanging from the rafters. Even with the damp, chilly evening there was a great turnout, young and old.

Grandad and Moo enjoy some eats.

Then! Restless children! Who need to get their ya-yas out! We set them loose outside to run up the hill. Down the hill. Up the hill. Roll down. Wipe out. Eat wild blackberries. Examine slugs. Wrestle Grammies. After about a half hour of that, they were good and ready to wander back inside (but not before washing off the slug slime and deer poo).

As homeschoolers, it’s a heavy burden being solely responsible for helping our kidlets grow to become the well-rounded, wise individuals they are meant to be. You can have all the manipulatives, the perfect curriculum, and a school room decorated right out of the Pottery Barn catalog, and it’s still no guarantee that you are getting it right. There are always going to be things you miss that you have to go back and pick up.

The other day I found out that my children had a big, fat, gaping hole in their education. It wasn’t something that would show up on a standardized test, but it was still pretty obvious. And yet, I had totally missed it. The mother-guilt was enormous.

Brace yourselves.

My children had never seen any Looney Tunes. (Go ahead and put one hand on each cheek and scream. I’ll wait.) We don’t watch much commercial television, so it just never came up. The Princess – age eight – kind of knew who Bugs Bunny was, but otherwise, they were completely clueless.

Time for a brush up in cultural literacy, stat! I popped in the dvd and showed them a few highlights. “What’s Opera, Doc?” (my very favorite) is on the second collection, which I don’t have, but I found it on YouTube. I had forgotten how hilarious the old cartoons were. There were tons of jokes that went right over my head as a kid that I catch now.

We are having a blast going through them all. And all without brainwashing my children into wanting Bratz dolls and cereal with nuclear colors. And it’s still a better education than the state schools can provide.

Forget how mind blowing Photoshop can be… I just wish I’d had this guy do my senior pictures.

What exactly is funktifying my fridge? Could it be…

A) Rotting vegetable matter? Nope, the veggie drawer is relatively clean. I have ancient condiments, but no new life evolving in the crisper.

B) My mom’s home-fermented kombucha? Hmm… no… Even though it has a pretty distinctive aroma, all the seals seem to be a-okay. Wave to the little beasties in the bottles!

C) The two crocks of sourdough starter in the way back? (white and whole wheat) Perhaps a little funky. There’s some hooch floating around in there; I probably ought to feed them today. We’ll see if I can get a break in my busy bonbon-eating schedule. Moving on.

D) The snobby cheese? Whew! Bingo. The Humboldt Fog and the Le Chevrot are locked in some sort of reeking battle over fridge space and are marking their territory. Looks like the only way to determine a clear winner is to eat one of them.

My refrigerator: it’s a jungle in there.

Because I love you, my friend, and because I want to spread joy and happiness in the world, I will share with you now the most wonderful recipe for salsa verde. Ever!

It all started when my mom handed me a small Tupperware dish and said, “This is Rick’s salsa. You’ve got to try it.” (Rick is a coworker of hers.) And, verily, it was good stuff. Green and garlicky and spicy. But there was a problem: there was only a couple of tablespoons of it, and it was soon gone. As in, lick-the-container-clean-when-no-one-is-looking gone. This is the same way junkies end up on the streets.

Since it was either learn how to make it for ourselves or camp out on Rick’s doorstep until he gave us more, my mom asked if he’d teach a class. A salsa class! (No dancing required.)

The best thing about this recipe is how easy it is, which means you can whip up more whenever you need it. (Like, say, daily.) There is no dicing, no seeding, no fussy measuring. And it all goes in a food processor or blender. That beautiful singing you hear? It is the angels rejoicing.

• 2 jalapenos
• 5 tomatillos
• 5 cloves of garlic, peeled
• 1 med fresh tomato, cored
• 1 bunch cilantro
• 1 lime

Pop the jalapenos and husked tomatillos in a saucepan with water to cover. Simmer them until they soften up a bit and get a deeper green. Turn off the heat and fish out the chiles and tomatillos – but save the water; you may need it later.

Lop off the tops of the jalapenos, then put them, the tomatillos, garlic, and tomato in the food processor (or blender). Process until they’re chopped, but not liquefied. Rip the leafy part of the cilantro off the bunch and add it to the machine, then squeeze about half the lime in there for taste and to keep things from turning brown. Process again until the cilantro is blended in. Salt to taste. If it’s too thick, add a little of the water from the saucepan. Consume!

It’s infinitely flexible, too. Want it more tomatoey? Add a little tomato paste. More heat? Add more jalapenos. (Rick’s best batch that day had a whopping six. I’m telling you…heaven.)

That’s it! You are now free to slather it on eggs, pizza, nachos, whatever. I like it best with plain tortilla chips and an icy Fat Tire. Ah!

Ta! Ta! Ta! Ta! Ta! you tell me in your whispery baby voice.

You grin, and you have Julia Roberts, Giada, and any other over-toothed beauty blown to smithereens with your two tiny pearlies.

And – is it possible?! – your legs have gotten even chunkier. Even the fronts of your knees have chub folds! They are like turkey drumsticks from a Renaissance fair. It’s pretty funny to see a baby who has abs of steel with legs like that.

This was the month you discovered food! Glorious food! So far, the sweet potatoes, carrots, and bananas are treating you right…even if they are slooowing down your digestion a bit. (Hang in there, kid.) You liked the bananas so much, you just about started speaking in tongues when you got your first bite. It was beyond your imagination that anything could taste so good.

The Princess is actually begging me to move you into her room. How cool is that? You are so adorable that our confirmed isolationist is gunning for the day you move in.

But she will have to wait a bit longer. I don’t think I can spare you yet.