photo credit: chidorian

I was a child of welfare. I grew up with a single grandmother who, despite all she did, often could not afford to feed the family. Government cheese and free school lunches meant that I could eat another day.

Now, I am a single mother of three. Receiving help from the state means that my children can too eat. In an ideal world, feeding my family would not be a problem. In an ideal world, people would understand that helping those in need is the moral thing to do. Does feeding my children mean that I am abusive to them? Does providing a meal in the only way possible at the time mean my grandmother was cruel to me? Does being poor automatically mean abuse is happening?

According to some, the answer is yes.

my question is what poor excuse for a parent can’t rustle up a bowl of cereal and a banana? I just don’t get why millions of school children qualify for school breakfasts unless we have a major wide spread problem with child neglect.

Neglect. A parent who is trying to feed their children, verses the one who doesn’t care. Is the child who is getting a school lunch more neglected than the one who is getting nothing? The parent who sucks up their pride, and admits that they can’t do it on their own, is that parent so horrible that we should really call it neglect?

There are certainly hundreds of thousands of neglected children out there. They don’t got to school because their parents can’t be bothered to send them. They don’t get a meal because their parents can’t be bothered to reach out for help. There are children living on the streets, tossed out and turned away, living in conditions that would make a sane person vomit.

And yet, we have the parent who says “Something happened, and now I need help” being insulted and accused?

Have we sank so low that we can’t even help those who are in need, those who are asking for help?

I was a child of the welfare system. My deeply religious, Republican grandmother knew when times were too tough for her to handle. So she reached out. With her privilege to help her, she was able to feed me. And now, I need help. I’m not a drug addict, or neglectful, or unwilling to try. I’m a mom, who fell into a bad place and needs a little help to get up. I’ve got a big box of privileges to help me get there, but there are thousands of families in worse situations who have nothing to stand on. Many, have even lost the will to try.

And you sit there, on your pedestal, and call them neglectful for asking for help?

Someone is the neglectful abuser in this situation, and it isn’t the mother trying to feed her kids.

Macintosh apples were on sale, 3 pounds for $2.69. I think I may have literally squealed when I saw it. Apples hold a special place in my heart. Each crunchy, crisp bite takes me back to the big apple tree in my grandma’s back yard, the one that was always offering apples for snacking, baking, and mashing.

Applesauce, what would life be without you?

So after loading my arms with all the apples I could carry, I spent the evening peeling and slicing and sneaking bites here and there. Sweet and tart, the perfect swirl of red and green, these were apples meant for love.

Add a little water, turn on the heat, and let them cook until they get mushy. Some recipes say put them in a blender or food processor to get them mashed after cooking. Not me. I just keep cooking and stirring until they mush on their own. You run the risk of burning the bottom if yo don’t pay attention, but I think they taste sweeter when they get to cook longer.

A half cup of sugar, a splash of lemon juice (some say use it, others don’t), and a couple shakes of cinnamon. Bring it to a boil, and start ladling into the jars. Try not to steal a taste while you do this, or you’ll end up with burnt fingers and tongue.

Awww.

I’ve got 6 pints, which should last us a couple months but I suspect may run out much sooner. The boys aren’t as wild for applesauce as Saffron and I are, but they may change their mind.

My only regret is that they didn’t help me make it like we had planned. I couldn’t find an apple corer at the store, and didn’t feel comfortable handing them knives. Then plans went to boot and I ended up finishing the apples after they were in bed. Next time we’ll get an earlier start on it all.

Has anyone else made applesauce? Any secret tricks to making it awesome?

photo credit: Dr. Hemmert

I don’t plan to turn this into a recipe blog, but I made the most amazing mashed potatoes last night and had to share them.

The recipe came from the book Earth to Table: Seasonal Recipes from an Organic Farm. We had to do a few slight changes, mostly the milk. Saffron’s been showing a pattern of tummy trouble after cow’s milk, cheese, and ice cream. So feel free to make it straight out of the book, or change a bit for your own needs. And don’t be shy if you’re not a fan of Brussels sprouts, this will change your mind!

• 5 medium Yukon gold potatoes, diced
• 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• 3/4 cup finely chopped bacon (I used 5 slices of veggie bacon, fried then crumbled)
• 1 1/2 cup finely chopped Brussels sprouts
• 1/4 cup local dry white wine
• 2 tbsp minced fresh thyme
• 1 1/4 cup milk (I used unsweetened almond milk)
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter
• 1/4 cup diced chives
• salt and pepper to taste

Place potatoes in a saucepan and add enough cold salted water to cover by 1 inch; bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat and simmer until potatoes are tender, about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a skillet, heat 1 tbsp oil over medium heat. Add bacon and saute until slightly crisp, about 4 minutes. Add Brussels sprouts, wine, and thyme; cook until Brussels sprouts are tender and wine has evaporated, about 8 minutes. Remove from heat.

Drain potatoes and, while still steaming, add bacon mixture. Add milk, butter and chives. Using a fork, lightly mash potatoes until crushed but still chunky. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serves 6

I made a double batch of this last night, planning to use the leftovers later. There was only enough leftovers for 1 person, that’s how much got ate. Even Michael, who hates Brussels sprouts with a passion got seconds before I told him what the green stuff really was.