SHARING

When I first had children, there were very few signs that those squirming, pooping, and screaming creatures were related to me. There might have been a familiar eye color or expression, but that was about it. And then as toddlers they just seemed like crazy drunks.  There was no time to even think about what we had in common with all their drama and my constant fatigue. 

But now that Bella is older, I can't stop seeing myself. There's the arch of my foot, the curve of my shoulder, and the diagonal line of my tricep. When Bella sits, she crosses and then double crosses her legs just like I always have.

When I was Bella's age, a crazy hormonal monster used to wake me up early in the morning. So I would read to pass the time. This same monster has been visiting Bella for about 6 months. Thank god she loves books or she would just be staring at the wall until the sun came up.

Early yesterday morning, I went in to kiss Bella and she had already been reading for an hour. I stroked her hair, rubbed my finger against her check, and said, "Happy summer." And then I got all goofy and full of pride and excitement about her love of reading and I told her that something really exciting would happen if she read 100 books this summer.

"Like what will happen?" Bella asked.

"Um. Like something hella awesome." I hadn't had coffee yet. 

"Mama. Wait. 100 books is a lot. How about 60?"

"Deal, my love."

She skipped lunch and finished A Wrinkle in Time by dinner. 

Oh how I love Bella's ability to focus. It's just like her daddy's. 

And I love summer. Dash's optimism. My husband's support. Anchovies. HBO's Treme. New York City. My kids' faces when I give them ice cream (intake of breath, huge smile, pink cheeks).

A few months ago, babble.com asked me for an original recipe. I decided it was time to explore ice cream.  We haven't stopped churning batch after batch of eggs, cream, half and half, and sugar.

Over-the-knee boots. Harold McGee. My husband's sense of humor. Michael Ruhlman's Sex and Chicken article. Ina May Gaskin. Warm ice cream base.

The enhancements (flavorings, chunks, toppings) vary, but our base is always the same. And that base—just thickened, poured through a strainer, cooled in an ice bath—is one of the most comforting things I've ever spooned into my mouth. 

My mortar and pestle. Parents as grandparents. Avocados. Truly Madly Deeply. Heirloom tomatoes. Pergolesi's Stabat Mater. Writing. Caramelized onions. Crimes and Misdemeanors. Homemade chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

We made some mistakes in those early batches. Too much cream. An overcooked custard. Not enough sugar. But now we've got it down.

My camera. Adele's voice. James Joyce. Pandora. Nigel Slater. Annie Hall. Yoga. My nephew. My old dog. Martinis. Cooking for my husband. La Tur cheese. Vanilla bean ice cream licked right off the mixing paddle.

"You learn from mistakes" is one of those expressions that no one wants to hear. Recipes are a really safe way for kids to explore this annoying message. Trial and error. Sometimes entire batches of ice cream are thrown out. It's okay. We start again.

Sardines. Birth. Pizza. Sardines on pizza. Writing recipes. Crème fraîche. Chocolate.

Check it (my new favorite expression from my friend Jen). My recipe for Creme Fraiche Stracciatella Ice Cream is over at babble.com in a feature called Meals for the Family: Over 50 Best Recipes from the 100 Best Food Blogs. Thank you babble.com. You brought ridiculous amounts of ice cream and joy into my home.