It was while visiting Paul’s brother last year that I first heard about “the diet”. My sister-in-law, a very health conscious person, was describing her new diet. Not for weight loss, but more for health and vitality. It went something like this: no wheat, no sugar, no coffee, no alcohol, no dairy, no corn. And there were a bunch of other no’s, too many to name.

“Really?” I said, “What DO you eat then?”

This I managed to get out between bites of piping hot meatballs, forkfuls of long spaghetti drenched in rich tomato sauce, and big gulps of wine.

We had been out skiing on a brutally cold and windy day, and I was famished. Shoveling in mouthfuls of the pillow-y meatballs, I listened to what she had to say. She explained about eating lots of protein and vegetables, cup after cup of herbal tea, and plenty of fruit.

While I listened, I ate. This is what I said while I listened: “good for you” and “you must feel great!” And this is what I thought while I listened: ‘how terrible!” and “no. way. would. I. ever. do. that.”

I helped myself to another serving of meatballs, and Paul filled up my wine glass.

She sipped her water with lemon and told me that giving up all those foods, for two weeks (TWO WEEKS!) made her feel good. Period. It’s the only reason why she did it.

“Huh,” I said. And that was that. The weekend ended, we went home, and I never thought of it again. Until this winter. I don’t know why it came back to me. What stuck with me were her words about how good she felt. Light, she said, and full of energy. I found myself wondering, could I possibly do that? Could I challenge myself to giving up all the foods and drink that I love? My coffee? Red wine? And could I stop opening a box of lemon cookies and eating them by the handful while I grocery shop? I love doing that!

But I wanted to feel that same way my sister-in-law did. I wanted to feel good. The winter had me feeling like, well, blah. I was tired and run-down. So her words came back to me, and I took the challenge. On a cold and sunny Monday morning in January, I started my two week feel-good diet.

The first order of business was a pot of tea, no honey or sugar. Then, eggs and fruit for breakfast, spinach salad with chicken for lunch. In between I snacked on raw nuts, carrots and seeds. I tried not to think about lemon cookies and hot cups of coffee with cream and sugar. At dinner, my family ate big, steamy plates of cheesy lasagna. I ate chicken sausage with sautéed kale. On the weekend, they poured puddles of maple syrup over thick pancakes topped with butter. I ate more eggs. They scooped bowls of chocolate ice cream for dessert. I cut up a grapefruit and tried not to sulk.

For two weeks we went on that way. The diet turned out to be alright, not as torturous as I thought it would be. I would be a liar if I said I never sneaked a spoonful of ice cream or the crust from someone’s buttered toast. To lessen the temptation, I did no baking during my two-week diet. Left alone with a plate of brownies, I would have broken down completely and devoured it all. My family complained only a little.

As the days passed, I started counting down. Counting the days until I could have things like a pastrami sandwich. A big cup of coffee. Red wine. Yes, I longed for my old favorites. It was surprising to discover what I didn’t miss, though. The mid-day sugar fix and the extra helpings of pasta, the late-night bowl of cereal – these things I easily did without. What’s more, I started to feel good. I felt lighter, just like my sister-in-law said. No highs and lows, no afternoon energy drain. I just felt like me. It was a good feeling.

As the two weeks drew to a close, I started to dream. There was, of course, the cup of coffee waiting. But also a cheeseburger on a big squishy bun. Pasta with creamy cheese and the sweet, guilt pleasure of a small bowl of cereal before I tuck in at night. I don’t like to wake up hungry. I decided that to celebrate the fact I made it, actually made it with little or no cheating, through two weeks of my feel-good diet, I’d bake. Bake and eat. Zoe asked for a gingerbread cake, I came up with a simple lemon frosting, and all we had to do was wait for the week to end.

On a Sunday evening after dinner, Zoe and I mixed and stirred this simple cake together. I rubbed my hands together, knowing that I only had to wait one more day before a thick, sweet slice was mine. On Sunday night, kids and husband happily ate a piece. Monday morning, we cut more to put into lunch boxes. By that evening, I was pacing back and forth in front of the cake plate, knowing how good my piece would be. And this cake, I had earned. That evening, there was just enough cake left to cut into five equal pieces. My plan was to run to library, pick up a few things, then come home to a well-deserved treat. I’d wrap up in a blanket in front of the fire, pour a small glass of red wine and slowly eat my gingerbread cake. Calling out to all that there was a piece of cake for each, and that I would return soon, I left. I hurried through the aisles of the library, cake on my brain.

Finally, my errand was done and I went home to my cake- I mean, my family. I didn’t exactly run in the door, but I was moving fast. I dropped my library bag, kicked off my boots, already tasting the tender, spiced crumb with sweet lemony frosting. I pulled out a plate and a fork, looked for the cake platter, and stopped. The platter was empty. There were but a few crumbs left, lonely on the bottom. The frosting bowl was in the sink, filled with water and soap. Four little plates and forks were stacked by the sink, all scraped clean.

Wait. No. It wasn’t possible. I looked in the refrigerator, around the counter and in the bread drawer. I looked under the sink out of desperation. There was no cake for me. Someone had eaten my piece of cake. I could have – I should have – cried and yelled and threw my hands up in the unfairness of it all. Each person claimed innocence. Yes, I asked multiple times. There wasn’t much to do, except sip my wine in grumpy silence, knowing someone in my house had betrayed me. I had my suspects.

There have been a few cakes baked since the gingerbread thief stole my piece. After the two week feel-good diet, I settled into a food routine of moderation. No eating cookies mindlessly from the box. No third cup of coffee, no second serving of meatballs. Lots of vegetables.

I recommend a dietary change. It’ll do you good. You’ll have more energy and feel good about yourself. My advice? Do some research, find a cleansing diet that works for you, and stick to it. Then, reward yourself with a thick slice of spicy gingerbread cake. Start a fire, pour glass of wine. And whatever else you do, guard your piece.

Gingerbread Cake with Lemon Cream Cheese Frosting
adapted from Nelly Bunk

1 1/2 c. flour
2 t. each ginger and cinnamon
1 t. baking soda
pinch of salt
1/4 c. olive oil
1/2 c. molasses
2 eggs
3/4 c. packed dark brown sugar
1/2 c. hot water

Preheat oven to 350°. Grease a 9″ circle cake pan. In a large bowl, stir together flour, spices, baking soda and salt. In another bowl, beat oil, molasses, eggs and sugar. Pour in water and mix well. Pour wet ingredients into dry and mix until just combined. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 30 minutes, or until top is spongy. Serve with a dollop of frosting.

frosting:
4 T. salted butter, 4 oz. plain cream cheese, 1 1/2 c. powdered sugar, zest from 1 lemon, 1 T. milk
Bring the butter and cream cheese to room temperature. Beat together the butter, cream cheese, sugar and lemon zest for 3-4 minutes, until very light and fluffy. Pour in the milk to thin a bit.

And, a new piece Paul and I are collaborating on in Life@Home magazine: Kitchen Crumbs.

Paul deserves a nap now and then. He’s hard-working, loving, an all-around good guy. There is a part of me that’s supportive, accommodating and the good wife who always says, “Yup, go close your eyes. I’ll wake you up in 20 minutes.” That good wife would say it, then give him 25 or 30 minutes. The other part of me, and maybe it’s my evil twin, decides it’s time to vacuum. Or invite the neighborhood kids in for a snack. The loud kids.

It could be that I’m jealous. Napping doesn’t come that easily for me. I’d love to nap as easily and happily as my husband. But I can’t. Planned sleep comes to me only after a cup of tea and pages of my book. For Paul, it’s as easy as the late afternoon sun, a warm blanket and closing his eyes. It doesn’t matter that the football game is playing loudly on the television. Or that Agnes barks at the front door. His dreamy eyes stay closed and he sleeps. He must have been a wonderful baby.

On summer afternoons, Paul likes to snooze on our front porch. He stretches out on the couch while the sun dips low in the sky and the steamy air cools. He sleeps right through Elliot and his pals running past, yelling and toting Nerf guns. One of them will hide behind the couch where Paul naps. Elliot will run over and yell, “Gotcha! You’re DEAD!” They all scream and yell, laughing or howling at the injustice of being discovered so quickly. It’s enough to be heard from the backyard, down the street even. But Paul, with a peaceful look on his face, naps on.

I do nap, however infrequently. My afternoon sleep comes when I least expect it. In the orthodontists office last week, wrapped up in my down coat, I cozied down in one of the corner chairs. The office was quiet and low voices murmured, lulling me into sleep. I couldn’t help it, sleep just happened. When I awoke, Lucy and her orthodontist were standing in front of me, waiting to go over her treatment. I must not have been the first mother to doze in the office, because he didn’t look very surprised. Lucy was mortified, but I was quite refreshed.

The last time I had a quiet afternoon at home, I felt the lull and the pull of my eyelids. Yup, I thought, a nap would feel so good. My timing was perfect: Elliot was outside playing with friends. Zoe and her pal were upstairs, squirreled away in her room. Lucy was out for the day. So I made the cup of tea. I found a warm spot and gathered up the appropriate paraphernalia: my glasses, book, and a fuzzy blanket. The house was so quiet, I could hear the hum of the refrigerator. In the big chair, blanket tucked in, I sipped tea, read a few pages and made room for Bugs, our cat. He likes to nap too.

A few minutes in, I sipped, I read, and I felt my eyes starting to close. Even Bugs sighed deeply and turned the purring off for awhile. Blissful sleep was within my grasp. Until Zoe. She stood before me, friend in tow. “MOM!” she yelled, as if I was hard of hearing, “Hey Mom! Can we make cupcakes? PLEEEEEEEASE?”

There was a part of me, the same part, I think, that wants to vacuum while Paul is sleeping; she woke up first. She wanted to yell at Zoe. She was very upset at being roused after only five minutes of napping. She wanted to throw out a curse word or two and make Zoe and her friend go away. But the reasonable, nice me intervened. I blinked and reached out for Zoe’s hand. “A few more minutes, Zoe. Then I would love to make cupcakes with you.” That’s what I said when her friend was there. Later, we had a talk about how to act when someone (especially when that someone is me) is curled up under a blanket with her eyes closed. We walk right by, I told her. Walk by very quietly. She apologized and promised to try that next time. She just couldn’t help being excited about cupcakes, though. And I don’t blame her for that.

There are plenty of things that make afternoon napping better. Quiet houses. Warm fires. A cat and a blanket. Food matters, too. No one naps after eating super healthy food like salads and veggies. It’s a big bowl of stew, the over-stuffed sandwich or the piece of cake that sends us off for a winters’ afternoon nap. Which brings me to the apple crisp. I am a firm believer in one-apple-dessert-a-year-is-not-enough. We always make an apple pie at Thanksgiving and then all the other desserts tend to take over. But my family loves sweet, bubbly, warm apple desserts. We shouldn’t have to wait until next fall for another. This one is a different take on our traditional apple crisp: heavy on ginger with a bit of cinnamon. Paul loves a big scoop of this apple crisp with a big glass of cold milk. And you know what he does after his plate is cleaned, right? On a cold, quiet afternoon, a serving of warm apple crisp is like a lullaby for my dear husband.

There is also wintery food that won’t send you off for a nap. This salad is a blend of all the healthiest foods around – kale, squash, pomegranate and walnuts. It’s sweet, crunchy, earthy, all the flavors I love to put together. Will a bowl of this super-food salad keep my husband from taking an afternoon nap? I doubt it. That’s alright, though. Because the nice me, the supportive and loving me – I’ll let him take his nap. And I won’t even vacuum while he’s doing it.

Butternut Squash, Kale and Pomegranate Salad
based on a salad from the Honest Weight Food Co-op in Albany

1 T. olive oil
sea salt
1 medium-sized butternut squash, cut into 1″ cubes
4-5 leaves kale, stems removed and sliced into shreds
seeds from 1/2 pomegranate
3/4 c. toasted walnuts
dressing: 1/4 c. olive oil, juice of 1 lemon, 1 T. minced shallot. Whisk together and season to taste with sea salt.

Preheat oven to 400°. Toss squash with olive oil, season with salt and roast on a foil lined baking sheet for 15-20 minutes, until just starting to brown. Spoon into a glass bowl and toss with the kale while still hot. Cool. Add pomegranate and walnuts and gently stir dressing in. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Keeps for a few days, covered and refrigerated.

Apple-Ginger Crisp
I use a mixture of sweet apples and 1 or two tart green apples
serve with a scoop of ice cream or sweetened whipped cream

4 lbs apples, peeled, cored and chopped (about 10-12 medium apples)
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 t. cinnamon
1 1/2 t. ginger
pinch sea salt

for the topping:
1 stick butter, room temp
1 c. pecans, chopped
1/2 c. white flour
1 c. oats
1/2 c. brown sugar
2 T. crystallized ginger, chopped fine

Preheat oven to 375°. Butter a 9×13 glass baking dish. Toss the apples with the sugar and spice, and spread into baking dish. Use your hands to mix together the topping ingredients in a large bowl, then press lightly over the apples. Bake for 40 minutes, or until the apples are bubbly and the top is golden brown.

The rewards of having these little people in my house are so great.

Every day I am blessed by their presence.

These things I say to myself, over and over. Especially now, with a teenage daughter and very-close-to teenage daughter in my house. Sometimes it doesn’t feel so joyful. Occasionally, I have to remind myself of the rewards. And now and then, I don’t feel blessed by their presence.

Take one early morning last week. It started out badly and then got worse. Two girls wanted into a small bathroom at the same time. The favorite shirt of one landed in the laundry pile of the other, therefore making the lines of ownership blurred.

Doors were slammed. Feelings were hurt. People were angry. I tried to soothe the situation, but ended up yelling at everyone.

After some stamping around the kitchen, grabbing toast and barely brushing shoulders, they were both gone. They punctuated their departure with a passionate slam of the front door. I stood with coffee cup in hand, slippers on feet, staring at the door.

“I love you. Have a good day,” I said to the hard wood. Mornings like that are terrible. When we aren’t all mad at each other, I like to them to sit and eat. I like to say a few kind words to my children before they hurry off.

When that doesn’t happen, I feel crushed. So I stood there, wondering how I could have done it all differently. As it usually happens, Paul came to my rescue. He crept quietly into the living room and hid behind the big chair. First I saw the top of his head and then his glasses and blue eyes.
“Is it safe?” he said in a loud whisper, “Is it safe to come out? Are they gone?”

His eyes darted back and forth, as if looking for the enemy. I threw my head back and laughed.

I also find solace in memories of the way I myself acted. Once, I was going with my father to a picnic at his colleague’s house. At 15 years old, I’m sure I didn’t want to go. But what I remember clearly was his insistence that I change my shirt. That day I had put on my brand-new tie-dyed shirt. It was brightly colored and had a big black skull on the front. I loved it. He hated it. Even after he explained that I shouldn’t wear it because his friends recently had a death in their family, I still stamped my feet. Terrible, really terrible behavior.

And take my sister. She’s four years older than me, and did some pretty awful things as a teenager. Once, she took my school bag, stuffed with work and books and papers, and shook it, upside-down from an upstairs window. On a windy day. On purpose.

I think about these things because we both turned out pretty alright. We’re nice people. We’re thoughtful and loving and kind.

Alright then, my sister and I survived this age of acting terribly. So will my children. On some days, it’s hard to see it.

Take the day I took my daughter to the mall. We went to buy her new jeans. The mall is my very least favorite place of all, ever. But I went, because she wanted to. I bought her the jeans, and the coffee from Starbucks and I tried to act happy about it. So I was surprised when later that day, there was eye rolling, some stamping on the stairs. A door slam.

Paul wasn’t around to joke about needing a hockey mask or a cattle prod when dealing with my daughters. So I drank a cup of tea, did homework with Elliot and then beat him in Gin Rummy. I took a few deep breaths. We walked to the library to pick up a book. While he browsed, I ran into a woman I know. Lucy babysits for her children.

“I just want to tell you,” she said in her library voice, “how much we love your daughter.”

“Oh?”

She held one hand to her chest and the other on my arm while she said,”Lucy is so kind and so patient and so sweet. She is incredibly generous. We just love her.”

I wanted to say, “MY Lucy? Really?” But I didn’t.

Instead I smiled. She might have wondered why my eyes welled up a bit. I nodded and thanked her, and said how good it was to hear it. I know it’s true. On some days, though, I need a little reminding.

There are so many times in life that I call my children into our kitchen, and ask for help with the salad, or the sauce. Sometimes I just want them to sit on our barstools and talk while I finish cooking our food. It’s nice to hear their voices at the end of the day. On that day, though, I let Elliot turn on his beloved video game. I left the girls to be alone in their rooms. Maybe, I thought, we just need our own space today.

I chopped and cooked a huge bowl of curry with shrimp and vegetables and long, slurpy noodles. The glass of wine I poured made the silence and peace even more welcoming.

When the noodles were ready, and Paul was home, we sat and ate. Bad feelings were forgotten and the time alone allowed me to see my daughters with fresh eyes. I looked and saw good, smart, kind people.
We had a great dinner that night, with a few laughs and a good story told as well. There was no eye rolling, not even once. And definitely no hockey masks required.

Shrimp and Vegetable Curry

canola oil
1 small onion
1 T. curry powder
1 14-oz can coconut milk (not the light variety)
1 c. chicken broth
1 c. crushed tomatoes
1 c. shelled edamame
1 large carrot, peeled and chopped
1 small head broccoli, stemmed and chopped
1″ piece fresh ginger, peeled and grated
juice of 1 lime
sea salt to taste
1 lb fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 handful cilantro, chopped
Cooked soba or other Asian wheat noodles (available in the Asian section of the grocery)
hot sauce for serving

In a large, deep skillet, heat a bit of canola oil over a medium flame and cook the onion until soft. Stir in the curry powder, cook for a minute, then stir in the coconut milk, chicken broth and tomatoes. Bring to a simmer and add the vegetables. Cover and cook on medium-low for 3 minutes. Stir in the ginger, lime and a good shake of salt. Taste. Add more salt if necessary. Lay the shrimp on top of the curry, cover and cook for another 2 minutes, or until shrimp are pink and cooked through. Place the noodles on a large serving platter, pour the curry over, sprinkle with cilantro and serve hot.

It starts when we walk in the door. She turns circles around our legs and acts all excited.

“Where have you guys been for so long?” We sing this out in our best Agnes voice. She seems to know when we are interpreting her thoughts and she licks our feet and turns circles even faster.

“OK, it doesn’t matter where you were. Just as long as you’re here now.” We say this as we pet her head and reassure her. No, we answer, we’re not going anywhere for awhile.

The voice we’ve given her is innocent and sweet. And in truth, a little dopey. It’s a perfect match to her personality.
When we go for a hike, Agnes always comes along. The last one we did this summer was on a wandering trail along a river in the woods. The day was gorgeous: sunny and warm. Agnes stood patiently, waiting for her leash to be unhooked, and then she was off. She’s good that way; on a hike she’ll thunder ahead of us, just far enough that she can still see us, then come racing back and touch our legs with her wet nose.

That day we laughed as we said what surely she must have been thinking: “This is the best hike. This is my favorite trail. I love the way this tree smells. You guys are the best, hey aren’t you coming, come on you’re being so slow…..” And on and on.

She ran off the trail now and then to jump into the sparkly water. There she’d wait for us, wondering when we would jump in too. “Come on, girl,” we called out to her we passed. She stood, saying, “What! I can’t believe you aren’t swimming. Wait! Just come in for a quick dip. See? I’ll share my stick!”

Then, there are the words we give her when life isn’t so good. Like when Paul gets out the electric clippers. Haircuts make Agnes sad and no amount of dog treats can change that. Tail tucked tightly between her legs, she turns and faces the wall when the clippers come out.

“Uh-uh. No way. I’m not getting a haircut today,” she says without looking at us. Her voice changes from bouncy and happy to sad and whiny. Elliot is spot on with this imitation.

And while Paul trims up the long fur on the backs of her legs, she stands in the driveway, shaking. Her sad eyes say, “This is terrible. It’s just terrible for me.”

There is also the humiliation a dog must endure in order to eat more dog treats. Paul likes to hold her head still and place a biscuit on her nose. She sits there, balancing her biscuit perfectly. Agnes looks up at me and in a deadpan voice says, “Really?”

“I know,” I tell her, “that’s just downright embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing. Humiliating, too.”

Agnes is also subjected to playing dress up, and for this she is game. Lucy ties my scarves around her head and Zoe dresses her in fancy shirts. For this, we imagine she is on the doggy runway and she trots around showing off, saying, “Look at me, darlings.”

These early September days are quiet for Agnes. It’s a change from our summer days, when there is almost always someone here to keep her company. Our mornings are a flurry of coffee, backpacks, dog treats, quick breakfasts, shoes, and then silence. All at once, we are gone. We try to sneak in a walk around the block or a few tennis ball throws before we leave for the day.

Being back in the school routine means quiet days for Agnes but busy ones for us. Often we walk in the door late in the afternoon, do homework and then go back out again. She’s been known to sit near a kid who is thoughtfully working on a homework assignment, and just stare. We know she’s saying, “Hey you. Pay attention to me.” It works. We throw down pencils and take her out to throw a stick or play tug-of-war.

Agnes eats each and every bowl of food like it’s the best she’s ever had. Yes, we pretend she’s telling us just how much she loves her dinner. “Dog food? My favorite! I love this stuff. This is awesome!” Even so, we like to treat her now and then to homemade dog treats. The beautiful thing about baking for a dog: she is grateful no matter what they look like or whether they are a little burned on the bottom.

She’s there, of course, waiting for us when we walk in the door. It goes something like this: “You’re here you’re here you’re here! I’m so happy I love you guys!” She’s back to her bouncy happy Agnes voice.

We pet her and feed her dog treats and tell her, “Yes Agnes. We love you too.”

Aggie’s Favorite Dog Treats

2 c. flour
1 c. rolled oats
1 c. peanut butter
3/4 c. chicken or beef broth

Preheat oven to 350°. Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl. Scoop small spoonfuls of the dough onto a greased cookie sheet. Press to make flat, round cookies. Bake for 12 minutes or until browned and crisp. Cool completely and store in an airtight container.

Every year, right around March, I start to feel it. I long to see the ocean. I just need to see it once, each year. I need to stand on the beach of Cape Cod bay at low tide and look out over the expanse of beach, smell the ocean air and feel the sand between my toes. I love that feeling.

So just to satisfy my need to see the ocean, we packed it up and headed out to the Cape. This year, we planned on camping out for three nights, spending two glorious days on the beach. I planned it all out, considering which beaches we would hit, what we’d eat for dinner and even what book I’d read once there.

I planned for us to spend the first day on the bay. As very young people, my children spent many happy hours at the bay. They built elaborate sand castles and filled every space with hermit crabs. Bucket in hand, we walk out as far as we can go, what feels like miles, until we find the edge of the ocean. They love to hear the story of Elliot, just over a year old, big hat strapped around his chin, had something in his mouth. I used a finger to try to scoop it out, but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, he spit out a terrified hermit crab.

After the exploring and the sandcastles were done, it was time to do what I most love to do on the beach: read. The book I brought was perfect, I thought: Geraldine Brooks’s new novel, Caleb’s Crossing. It the story of a young Puritan girl living on Martha’s Vineyard in the 1600s. She befriends a Wampanoag boy who becomes the first Native American to graduate from Harvard College. I couldn’t wait to dig into this rich historical story.

Flopping down on my towel, I dug in my bag for the book. Funny, I didn’t feel it. I pulled out Elliot’s goggles, Lucy’s magazine and Zoe’s bag of chips. Paul’s New York Post was there. It seemed I remembered something for everyone. Except I had forgotten my book. I was so sad. Paul offered to get it, to walk the 2 mile distance back to the campsite. No, I thanked him. I could survive. For awhile I watched the clouds. Then I swam in the warm water with my kids. I thought about my book but tried not to pout. Elliot walked down the beach with me, stopping every foot or so to pick up a rock. The afternoon was lovely. Just without a book.

That night, we cooked up a big piece of fresh cod in our cast iron skillet. It was simply prepared with a bit of lemon and a shake of salt. I warmed tortillas over the fire to wrap the fish in, and we chopped tomatoes to put on top. I declared it the best meal I’ve ever had and everyone smiled. Yeah, I say that a lot.

After dinner I thought about crawling into the tent with my book and flashlight. Instead I sat with my family, idly talking by the fire. I’m so glad I did. We played word games and told stories. Elliot did an imitation of our cat acting like our dog that made me snort with laughter.

The next morning, Zoe and I made coffee and pancakes topped with fresh peaches. My kids happily ate that and what they had begged for: Strawberry Pop-Tarts. Then, we packed it up headed to the ocean side of the Cape.

We arrived, set up our umbrella, laid out towels and I tried to cover all exposed skin with sunscreen. Impatiently, they let me. Coated with 50, they raced to the ocean, boogie boards under arms. I settled in my chair. My book was waiting.

You can probably guess how it turned out. In the bag was all the stuff I’d packed for everyone else. And no book. It was on the other side of the Cape, still tucked in next to my pillow and sleeping bag. Right where I left it. I took it better that day, sighing and pulling myself up from the sand. There would be no 17th century story of people who lived so close to where I sat. Instead there were popsicles, horseshoe crabs and a current to ride. Elliot watched for sharks while we played, endlessly, in the sand and waves. He kept a keen eye but didn’t spot a shark, not even one.

When it was time to go, I didn’t want to. I was reminded of how it felt to be a little girl, one who didn’t want to leave the water on the last day of vacation. I knew I’d have to say goodbye and wouldn’t see the ocean again for a year. A year always seems so long.
Next morning we were in the car, Paul taking us back to Albany. I was satisfied, calm and riding my post-ocean-holiday-high. Though the miles stretched between me and the ocean waves, I could hear them in my head, over and over.

I miss the ocean while I’m away from it. Next year, we’ll go back. It will be there waiting as it always is; the waves, the crabs and all the soft, warm sand. We’ll bring our cooler and our toys and boogie boards. The book? Maybe I’ll bring my book. The truth is, I really didn’t miss it, anyway.

Fresh Ocean Cod with Tomatoes and Lemon
serves 5 generously

1 ½ lb. fresh cod
1 large ripe tomato, cored and chopped
olive oil
juice of 1 lemon
sea salt
black pepper
1 handful chives, chopped fine

Light a grill to medium heat. Rinse fillets and pat dry with a paper towel. Season generously with salt and pepper. Place on the foil and bring the edges up so any liquid doesn’t run off. Cover the fish with the tomato, a drizzle of olive oil, the lemon juice and the chives. Place another piece of foil over top and seal all around. Place the aluminum foil packet directly on the grill and cook for 7 minutes. Peek into the fish, using a fork to test for doneness. When the fish flakes in the center, it is done. Serve hot, scooping the juices over each serving. Excellent with sweet summer corn and a green salad.

In the summer, my brain goes to work every day. But my heart just isn’t there. In my heart, I’m sitting in the warm sand, listening to the ocean waves. They crash endlessly, but still I never tire of the sound.

Since I’m not a kid, I know I can’t spend the summer with sand in my hair or hiding out in my treehouse. Instead, I do what the rest of the grown-ups do: I go to work. And then I relish the time I do get to spend with the warm sun on my face.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my job. It’s just that it’s… work. It’s not play. And this is summer. So I get my work done. I do the best job I can possibly do. And then I grab the hands of my children and run outside.

We’ve been lucky enough to have plenty of play time to balance out our work this summer. Elliot and I floated in a raft on a cool lake together, watching the clouds. Zoe walked to the farmers market with me, arm linked in mine, talking all the way. And Lucy, she and I painted our toenails together on our back deck. Not exactly high adventure. But time spent together.

And then, there’s Paul. I love goofing off with my kids. It’s what you’re supposed to do with them. But loafing with my husband in the summer is special. We don’t get to do it very often. It all goes back to the work thing.

A few weeks ago, the outlook for work and play changed when Paul’s mother came to our house, picked up all three children, and headed to Rhode Island for a week. Yes, a week. Paul and I were so excited about this time we would spend together that in the days leading up the pickup, we would walk past each other and high five. Or just smile big, goofy grins. We both knew what the other was thinking. We were counting down the days till we would be alone.

They left without even a backwards glance. In truth, so did we. The first day, he and I drove to Lake Placid. We ate. We hiked. The vista from the top of the mountain was beautiful. I knew my kids would have loved it. But I was happy to be solely in the company of my husband.

From Lake Placid we took a ferry to Burlington. The water was peaceful and the wind blew our hair as the sun set over the Adirondack mountains. After docking, we walked and walked through the city. It was one of those rare times when Paul walked into dress shops with me. He sat and waited while I tried on a dress, a pair of shoes, a scarf.

We made phone calls to Rhode Island. Kids were doing what they should do in the summer: playing, swimming, being outside. They didn’t miss us at all.

Back at home, we still had five days and no children. We rolled up our sleeves, buried ourselves in work by day, and arrived home exhausted. With no children to care for, we had time to exercise, have cocktails on the porch and read. We entertained the idea of having a party but the quiet was so nice, we didn’t want to spoil it.

So despite the season, we continued to work. Our dinners were late. Paul and I carried our plates to the front porch to eat our simple suppers: a piece of fish or chicken, a salad, maybe a piece of corn.

It’s hard to admit but I didn’t miss my kids until the end of the week. We were all so happy, them basking on the Rhode Island beach and us, at home, working and playing when the work was done.

On Saturday, they came tumbling back in our door: loud, messy, wonderful children. The quiet and tidy house was gone. With them, summer was back. Paul and I had a lovely holiday. But what’s summer without kids? Yes, we endure work. We do it so that at the end of the day, we can play with our children. It’s what summer is for.

Elliot brought back his sweet boy energy, with him his Legos and his bicycle. Zoe entered the house mid-sentence, continued talking and hasn’t stopped since. Lucy, she watched over her younger siblings while they were away. She called to proudly announce that Elliot had eaten a salad. She stayed close to him in the ocean. And she came back asking to cook these salmon burgers. It was something ordered in a restaurant. Lucy can be persistent. She sent me texts until I shopped for the ingredients.

Part of enjoying summer, of having a leisurely and enjoyable season, is the food we eat. Lucy’s burgers, with a big green salad, are a tasty and light summer meal. It’s healthy, delicious food. Your brain will tell you to make these easy and delicious burgers for your family. Then, you can listen to your heart and get back to the good stuff: the ocean waves, the beautiful sunsets and floating in rafts while looking at clouds in the blue summer sky.

Lucy’s Salmon Burgers

2 lbs wild salmon
1 c. panko breadcrumbs
2 eggs
1 t. sea salt
1 t. grated fresh ginger
1 T. hoisin sauce (found in the Asian section of the grocery)
2 green onions, trimmed and chopped

wasabi mayonnaise: 1/2 c. mayonnaise combined with 1 t. wasabi paste or powder (found in the Asian section). Taste and add more wasabi if desired.

canola oil, for the grill

Lettuce, tomatoes, buns

Peel the skin from the fish and cut into 1″ cubes. Place in a food processor with the other ingredients and pulse until well combined. Be careful not to turn the fish into a paste. Form the salmon into 5-6 burgers, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for an hour.
Heat a grill to medium. Coat the grates with oil using tongs and a paper towel. Carefully place the burgers on the grill. Cook for 4 minutes, flip and cook for 4 more.

Serve the burgers on buns with the wasabi mayonnaise. Any leftover burgers are really nice on salad greens the next day.