Itty Bitty Babies

The babies are here! The babies are here!

The hummingbird babies, that is.

Look how tiny they are . . .

This isn't a very good picture but I wanted you to see the scale. Those two babies together are about the size of my thumb. My ginormous, gigantor thumb.

I don't mean to hurt their feelings or anything but they aren't very cute. In fact, I wouldn't hesitate to use the description "butt ugly" but I can't say it in front of their mom. She's probably hormonal and postpartum right now and I don't want to give her any reason to peck me to death in defense of her kids.

This is really something being able to see these guys up close. I'll try to get more pics before we head to Maui on Wednesday but I'm not making any promises. I mean, I'm busy tanning and I need a pedicure and who knows what all might come up before we go.

This high maintenance stuff is about to kill me . . .

Rhubarb Butter

Last weekend I received no less than 3 big grocery bags full of rhubarb. Two friends, Dawn and Sheryl, each bestowed this bounty from their gardens and Tammy let me come and raid hers. Thanks guys!

It's taken me most of my adult life to develop a taste for this beautiful fruit, and I'm making up for lost time. My second-favorite thing to make with fresh rhubarb (the favorite being rhubarb cobbler) is rhubarb butter. It's actually rhubarb jam but has the consistency of apple butter. So, in true Karenpie fashion, I renamed it and made it my own. For those of you who despise rhubarb and are rolling your eyes at the very thought of this post - I'm sorry. It's been nice knowing you.

Here's my attempt at food blogging. Look out Bakerella. And Pioneer Woman. And Smitten Kitchen. And Kayotic. Sigh. I'm pretty sure they have nothing to worry about.

Oh wait - before I forget - here's a really important cooking tip. If you take nothing away from today's post but this, my work will be done. Ready? Got a pen and paper handy? Here goes:

Make sure your footwear matches the food you're creating. It's just one of the many nuggets of truth I've acquired in my quest to become high maintenance.

You're welcome. Think nothing of it. No, really. Stop! You're making me blush!

OK, enough of that nonsense. Let's make us some rhubarb butter.

Start with some beautiful, clean, red rhubarb stalks. About 4 lbs, trimmed.

Chop the stalks into small pieces. You should end up with 15 - 16 cups of chopped rhubarb.

Throw the chopped rhubarb into the biggest bowl you have. The bowl needs to be big enough to hold the rhubarb AND deep enough to do a lot of stirring because you are going to add . . .

. . . 3 1/2 cups of sugar.

Welcome to Mt. St. Sugar. A little known but highly desirable resort destination. It's right down the road from Chocolate Lake. I love to vacation there.

Stir it up and let it sit at room temperature for a couple of hours. Or, if you're me, until you remember it 4 hours later. Try to stir it frequently and scrape the sides of the bowl during this time, to get the sugar down into the fruit where it will dissolve.

*Important Cooking Tip Alert* At this point it is vitally important that you do a taste test, just to make sure everything's, uh . . . tasting good and, uh . . . Oh just trust me. The little crunchy pieces of rhubarb with their coatings of sugar are yummy. Think celery but slightly sour. Try it. I won't tell anyone you have no self control.

It won't take long for it to look like this. See that lake of lovely, clear juice? Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate it overnight. If you remember, stir it a couple of times before you go to bed.

The next day (or if you're me, two days later when you remember you started this project), pour off all the juice that has accumulated in the bowl. Pour it into a large stockpot. Pretend I measured it and know how much is actually there. Here's a serious cooking tip: use an 8 qt. stockpot. I'll explain later.

Bring the juice to a boil and add the rhubarb. Quickly return to a hard boil - one that won't stop when you stir it. Set your timer for 20 minutes and put 3 or 4 small plates in the freezer (I'll explain later). Lower the heat so you can maintain the hard boil without scorching. I had to put an oven mitt on my hand to protect it from the bubbling, popping, angry rhubarb. It had a total attitude and was punishing me for the extreme temperature. I ended up stirring it almost continuously for the 20 - 22 minutes it was cooking.

At this point I have 3 pans on my stove. The pan at ~10 o'clock is the one with the rhubarb in it. The small pan at ~12 o'clock is holding clean jar lids in simmering water and the largest pan on the right side has 4, clean, pint jars submerged in boiling water. Yes, I should have told you earlier - this recipe makes 4 pints.

When your timer goes off and the 20 minutes is up, get one of the chilled plates out of the freezer. Spoon a small amount of rhubarb onto it. It should "set up" within 2 minutes.

For me, a good "set" is whatever I like on my biscuits or toast. I prefer a softer, more spreadable consistency rather than the firm gel you find in something store bought.

Push it, like you see me doing with my freaky alien finger, to judge the consistency. If it's too runny, keep boiling the rhubarb and check it every 2 minutes, doing the frozen-plate-finger-push thing until you're happy with the set. If you're satisfied, add one final ingredient:

Store bought lemon juice. Do NOT use fresh-squeezed. A home economist told me that recipes deemed safe for home-canning use this lemon juice. It has a higher acidity, probably from the added ascorbic acid, and therefore more preservative properties.

Stir 2 tablespoons into the rhubarb and remove it from the heat.

If the rhubarb is cooked to your satisfaction, you're ready to can! These neato jar lifters are a fabulous tool for home canners. Pick up a jar, pour the hot water out and set it on the counter.

Place a canning funnel in the mouth of the jar.

Ladle the hot rhubarb into the hot jar, filling it to 1/4 inch below the jar rim. We expert, experienced canners call this "head space". Wipe the rim of the jar, in case you got sticky rhubarb stuff on it.

Get a lid out of the hot water with your neato, magnet tool and place on the jar.

Screw on a clean band.

Return the filled jar to the pot of hot water. When all 4 jars are filled and back in the pot, put a lid on and bring the whole thing to a boil. This is called a hot-water bath and is an important part of processing the rhubarb to make it safe to preserve. Boil it for 5 minutes. When it's done, take the jars out and leave them on the counter to cool. Keep them out of drafts - you don't want them to cool too fast.

When they are cool, test the lid (the flat part) for a good seal. If you can press down on the center and it doesn't move, it's sealed. If it pops up and down when you press it, you must refrigerate it. Get out that recipe for homemade biscuits or jam bars and use it up!

OK, remember about 42 hours ago when I said "use an 8 qt stockpot - I'll explain later"? Well, I used a 5 qt stock pot to cook the rhubarb. It was plenty big enough to hold the stuff, just not big enough to accommodate the hard boiling. Here's a sample of what I had all over my floor, stove, walls, nearby appliances and person, when I was finished:

This was WITH one of those splatter guards on top of the pot. Every time I lifted the cover, it was like this mutant rhubarb monster was trying to throw itself out of the pot. Sheesh.

Despite the fact that it looks like I murdered somebody in my kitchen, I love making this stuff. You make it and let me know what you think! I"ll bring the homemade bread over and we'll have a rhubarb eating fest.

(Click here for printable recipe)

Mama Bird

Yesterday, while I was weeding in the backyard, Katie came up to me and said, "Mom, I saw a big wasp nest or something weird in the tree a couple of days ago." Being the supportive mother that I am, I said, "Huh?", ignored her and continued weeding while she looked for the "weird wasp nest". Then I heard her say, "There it is! Mom I found it again!" OK, THAT got my attention because I destroy all wasp nests I can find, especially if they are anywhere close to where my kids play.

I looked to where Katie was pointing and sure enough, there was something in the pear tree - but it wasn't a wasp nest (Could I say "wasp nest" any more times? Wasp nest, wasp nest, wasp nest). It was . . .

. . . . a hummingbird nest! Those reddish things, hanging in the tree, are red anjou pears and are about the size of large grapes. So, the hummingbird's head is about the size of a grape. We got all excited and called the other kids over - mine plus the three extra kids who were still here from the sleepover the night before. We got too close and Mama Bird flew away. When she took off I got worried and made all of us move away. I don't know much about birds, but it seems logical to assume if she felt threatened, she might just abandon her nest. So we left her alone.

Later in the evening, we went to look again and Mama was gone. I felt bad because we saw these in the nest. Just two, tiny little eggs, no bigger than Tic Tacs - and no mama bird. But, Katie was keeping watch and saw her come back!

There she is, hunkered down on the kids, caring for them like a good mother. You didn't abandon your babies - you were probably just hungry, weren't you Mama Bird? I mean, a mom's gotta eat, right? You probably found the nearest grocery store and headed straight for the dairy section to chug down a pint of chocolate milk before paying for it because you were HUNGRY, DANG IT, and . . . uh . . . I mean . . . er, I've heard that pregnant women on other continents . . . uh, do that and . . . um . . .

OK, FINE. I did that with all three of my pregnancies. I'd be grocery shopping and the hunger would blindside me and I'd waddle my pregnant self to the milk cooler and grab a carton of chocolate milk. That bad boy would be open, drunk and gone inside of fifteen seconds and the cooler door would still be open. Then I would look around guiltily, wipe off my chocolate milk mustache, chuck the empty in the cart and slink away in shame. After closing the cooler door. Then I'd have to explain to the checkout person why I was paying for an empty carton. HEY. I didn't say I was PROUD of it. Oh never mind.

Don't you worry Mama. I've got your back.

I'm thinking about hanging a hummingbird feeder close by, that way she won't have to go far to get something to eat.

We moms have to take care of each other.

Milestones

The last month and a half has been full of family events. Birthdays, graduations - you name it and we've probably celebrated it in the past 30+ days. A hugely important event occurred yesterday - my mom and dad's 50th wedding anniversary. You remember me talking about our upcoming trip to Hawaii? Their anniversary is what we're celebrating!

To celebrate their own anniversary, my folks are taking all sixteen members of my family to Maui for a week - the five of us, my brother and his family of five and my sister's family of four. We leave in 2 weeks! By the way, all my high-maintenance activity has paid off. I'm tan, super-skinny and all my varicose veins have magically disappeared. People keep mistaking me for Paris Hilton. Anyway . . .

I can't wait to smell the air and see a sunset or five, while taking romantic walks on the beach with Duane. I want to do nothing but read, with the ocean sounds in the background, while a cabana boy brings me drinks in coconuts. Yes, that was "drinks", as in plural. I'd like to try snorkeling but the important thing is to relax and spend time with family. We're a pretty fun bunch and nobody - I MEAN NOBODY - can make me laugh like my brother and sister! We're talking peeing-your-pants laughter. Laughing 'til you cry and your stomach hurts and whatever you've been drinking comes out your nose. I guess that's a video you don't want playing in your head. Sorry.

On to more mature subject matter.

This is my mom and dad on their wedding day in 1959. Aren't they beautiful? Yesterday I marked the occasion by sitting on the couch with my kitty on my lap. I watched 2 hours of the Hallmark channel before the basketball game started. I love Sunday afternoons.

Here are my folks, leaving after their wedding reception in the church basement. Don't you love the hats and Mom's gloves? I remember playing dress-up with that hat when I was little. Dad's tux is in the plastic bag, hanging behind Mom. I wonder if they had to return it on their way to the honeymoon?

Of all the wedding pictures I've seen of friends and family, it seems like this particular shot of the newlyweds in their get-away car is consistently the best. It's candid, it's natural and the smiles are HUGE. There is such a feeling of joy! It pours out of the picture.

With my folks, the joy is still there. I am so thankful to have parents who not only still love each other after 50 years, but act it out. They respect each other, they're considerate of each other and they have fun together.

Recently, I asked my mom who her best friend was, thinking it would be one of the ladies with whom she plays golf or has lunch. She told me, "Dad is my best friend." It's a gift from God, a marriage like this.

Happy anniversary Mom and Dad.

I love you.

Here's a Little Story

Once upon a time there was a little boy. He lived with his family on a farm in Kansas. He grew up building things and taking them apart (just ask his mom about the go-cart incident). He was, and still is, a hard worker. I think he learned it from his dad.

He also learned to grow things and harvest them. They grew crops on this Kansas farm and the little boy learned, at an early age, how to drive big machines like combines and tractors and grain trucks. When you grow up on a family farm, everybody has to pitch in and help. The little boy learned to drive a car when he was eleven (just ask his mom about the driving incident).

The little boy grew up to be a fine athlete. He played any sport he could and excelled at them all. Especially football.

He was a quarterback in high school and junior college and worked hard at that, as well. Not only was he a good athlete, he was also a good student. His brain worked overtime to figure out how things work and how they could work better. He became an engineer.

The little boy grew up - oh boy did he grow up. Then I married him. And had babies with him. The end.

Not really. There's more . . . .

Now the little boy is a man. He has a family and he works hard to take care of them. The strong work ethic is paying off - we're a high maintenance bunch. He is a tender-hearted, strong, loving servant to our family. Today is the little boy's birthday. He is 49 years old.

Happy birthday sweetheart. You are the love of my heart.