For this back-to-school edition of Works-for-Me Wednesday, I'd like to share some strategies for learning and doing arithmetic.  Some of these I learned in elementary school, and others I picked up later but wish I had known in elementary school!  I'm now the data manager of a large social science research study, so I use a lot of arithmetic and algebra in my work: I have to figure out what algorithm to type into the computer to get it to do the right thing with the data, I have to check the computer's results (to make sure that what I told it to do is what I wanted it to do!), and when I see problems in the data I have to figure out where they came from by adding and subtracting the numbers of participants who gave various answers to various questions.  I also use some of these strategies for tasks like figuring out which sale price is a better value, calculating a tip, adding up the boxes and dollars on Girl Scout Cookie order forms, and figuring out how old someone was on a certain date.

Chisanbop is a system for counting to 99 on your fingers.  It's much more useful than counting your fingers because it not only goes higher than 10 but also represents the tens column and ones column using separate hands and enables you to see what's happening when you carry and borrow numbers between columns.  I learned Chisanbop in second grade (thank you, Mrs. Boone!), and it was the thing that finally got this carrying and borrowing business to make sense to me.  I still use it when I'm having trouble keeping track of addition or subtraction in my head and when I need to "hold" a number while using my short-term memory for something else.

Use the buddy system to form tens when adding a long column of numbers.  Each number between 1 and 9 has another number who is its buddy, and when they get together they make 10.  Take your pencil in one hand, and use the other hand to Chisanbop the number you'll be "holding."  Look at the ones column, find a pair of buddies, strike out those two numbers, and add 1 on your Chisanbop hand.  When you reach 10 on your hand, write a 1 in the hundreds column, "clear" your hand, and continue.  When you've found all the buddies, write the number you're holding in the tens column, then add the remaining numbers in the ones column in the usual way and write the result.  Move on to the tens column.  Here's an example:
526
 28
 86
152
714
412
268
 49
+21

     In the ones column, we have 6 and 4 (count 1 on your hand), 8 and 2 (2), 2 and 8 (3), 9 and 1 (4).  Write "4" at the top of the tens column.  The only number left in the ones column is 6.  Write "6" under the ones column.
     In the tens column, we have 4 and 6 (1), 2 and 8 (2) . . . and that's all the buddy pairs . . . oh, but 4+1 makes 5 to go with that other 5 (3).  Write "3" at the top of the hundreds column.  Still in the tens column are 2, 1, and 2, so write "5" under the tens column.
     In the hundreds column, we have 3 and 7 (1) and another 1 and 4 to go with a 5 (2).  Write "2" under the thousands column.  The only number left in the hundreds column is 2.  Write "2" under the hundreds column.
     The answer is 2,256.  Wasn't that easier than "6+8=14+6=20+2=22+4=6, I mean 36, or was it 26 or [sigh] 6+8=14..."?
     I had figured this out as a strategy for extreme addition years before my uncle Ken told me the "buddy system" terminology, which had worked well with his kids.  He said that they drew some pictures of 2 and 8 playing together, etc., and hung them up as visual aids to help them memorize which numbers are buddies.

Pennies and dimes are great for visually representing carrying and borrowing problems.  Set out a pile of dimes for the tens digit and a pile of pennies for the ones digit in each number. 
     For addition: Combine the pennies, count out sets of ten, "take them to the bank" and trade them for dimes, and then count the remaining pennies and write that answer in the ones place.  Now count the dimes and write that answer in the tens place.
     For subtraction: Look, you can't take away that many pennies because you don't have that many pennies.  Take a dime to the bank and trade it for ten pennies.  Now do your subtraction of pennies and write that answer in the ones place.  Now do your subtraction of dimes and write that answer in the tens place.
     You can add dollar coins when you're ready for 3-digit numbers! 

Working from the left is sometimes easier.  When I'm doing arithmetic in my head (or on paper where the numbers aren't aligned vertically, like in my checkbook), it's often easier to start from the big end of the number, like this: "526+28?  Okay, 526+20=546; 546+8=two less than 556=554."  It sounds weird to say it's sometimes easier to add 10 and subtract 2 than to add 8, but somehow it is!  I've read that these two strategies are commonly applied by Japanese students who beat American students in arithmetical speed and accuracy, so even though I can't explain why it works, I feel that I "have permission" to do these problems a different way than my teachers taught me.

Having trouble remembering the steps for solving a long-division problem?  "Dad, Mom, Sister, Brother" is a mnemonic to help you remember to Divide, Multiply, Subtract, and Bring down.  My fifth-grade math teacher taught me this one (thank you, Mrs. Goforth!), which was particularly easy for me to remember because those were the members of my own family in age order.  It's really helpful for a kid who is confused about why we're multiplying and subtracting when this is a division problem—put aside the "why" for a while and pretend you're a machine doing these processes in your factory, and after you've got it running smoothly and have filled a page with these neat-looking tapering structures you now know how to make, then you can think about "why" again and probably find that you understand more than you did.

Look for patterns.  Schools tend to teach this sort of skill as a boring search for the Least Common Denominator—terminology which threw me into despair because "least common" means "hardest to find," doesn't it? And I was having a lot of trouble remembering which end of the fraction was the denominator, and when this new skill turned out to be about division rather than any visible fractions, oh man, I was really lost!--but it's a lot more fun and useful to do informally.
     For example, Brand A is on sale at 3 for $5 and has 20 in a package; Brand B is on sale at 5 for $10 and has 25 in a package.  Well, $10 is twice as much as $5, so we could say the Least Common Denominator is $5 (or $1 or 1c!), but really the easier way is to look at how many we can get for $10.  Double the amount of Brand A, and you get 6 packs of 20 which is 120.  $10 worth of Brand B is 5 packs of 25 which is [5x20=100, 5x5=25] 125.  Brand B is the better value.

RELATED ARTICLE: Early Encounters with Variables

        

Disclaimer: We only have one child.  He is unusually observant and tends to pick up social rules fairly easily and accurately.  What works with him may not work with every child.  We are only two parents, and the two of us share extremely similar values.  What is comfortable for us may not be comfortable for everyone.

Our son Nicholas will be starting kindergarten tomorrow in a large, urban public school.  It's possible he will observe undesirable habits and try them out himself.  Who knows what we'll encounter?  But there's one kind of bad habit we're not too concerned about: using crude language in situations where it's inappropriate.  Daniel and I are not easily offended by profanity, but we think it's important to avoid offending others.  We think that the policy we've had about profanity so far is working pretty well!

Ever since we were kids ourselves, we've been noticing that bad words are much more appealing to kids who believe they're really scandalous, so we decided to take a calm and casual stance: We do not gasp or cover our child's ears when someone says a bad word in his presence.  In fact, if the person then realizes a child is present and apologizes, we just smile and shrug it off.  If we are quoting profanity when speaking to other adults, we don't spell it out or whisper it or otherwise act like it's a big secret.  Living in the city, in a neighborhood with many college students, we hear plenty of language in public places and in music other people are playing.  No big deal.

If we hear our child curse, we react to his situation and feelings rather than his word choice.  "Oh, your tower fell down!  How frustrating!"  Later, when he's calmed down, we might bring it up and make sure he knows that these words upset some people so they should be used carefully.

We might curse in front of the kid, but we don't curse at the kid.  Daniel and I use occasional profanity when speaking to each other or our friends, even if Nicholas is listening, but we don't use it when we're talking to him.  Especially, we don't call him nasty names.  (We don't do that to each other, either!) 

We've picked up his preschool's policy that private parts and their functions may be discussed only in the bathroom.  This is an easy way to understand which topics are not appropriate for polite conversation.  Of course, there are exceptions—we can talk about gerbil poop while cleaning their cage in the back yard, we can talk to the doctor on the phone—but in general it's a good rule, so Daniel and I almost always accept correction from Nicholas when he points out that we're saying something inappropriate.  This rule has prevented Nicholas from ever dancing around some public place singing loud songs about poo-poo and weenies and such like many preschoolers I've known!  When we see a kid doing that, Nicholas says to us, "How rude!" although he also giggles.

We watch and listen to media with occasional profanity, but we avoid the extremes.  We are far more concerned with protecting our child from violent entertainment than with protecting him from language, sex, or social issues.  We still watch "The Simpsons" and listen to rock music, but we haven't played Eminem or Frank Zappa in Nicholas's presence since he learned to talk, and we don't watch movies or TV with extended fighting and cussing.

We don't take the name of the Lord in vain.  I don't see anything in the Bible about how thou shalt not use a certain word for excrement as an all-purpose term for bad stuff, but it is very clear about not taking the name of the Lord in vain.  I started taking this seriously about a decade ago, when we became friends with a man who uses plenty of other profanity but never, ever says the words "God," "Lord," "Jesus," "Christ," or "holy" unless he means them literally.  I realized he had a good point and began reforming my own habits.  Oddly enough, this rule is the only one that's been an issue with Nicholas so far—see example below.  I explained to him, "God doesn't like it if we say God's name just because we're excited or mad, when we're not really talking about God at all.  In fact, a long time ago God told the people that this is one of the most important rules."  Since then, when he's said "God" inappropriately, I say, "Are you asking God to notice that [thing he's exclaiming over]?" or, "Are you asking God to help you with [what he's upset about]?" and usually he says, "Oops, no, I just meant that..."  A couple of times, though, he's said that is what he intended and restates it: "Thank you, God, for making people smart enough to make that cool train!" or "God, please make my thumb stop hurting!"

This policy works for me!  I'm now going to give some specific examples of how well it's working for my family, but if you do not want to read any bad words, please stop here.

To our amazement, the one time we had to deal with Nicholas picking up inappropriate language at preschool, he didn't learn it from the other kids; he learned it from the teachers!  One day when he was 3, something exciting happened, and he said, "Omigawd!"  I asked where he heard that, and he said, "The teachers say it," and named a few teachers.  I explained the reason not to say it, as above.  Nicholas suggested that his teachers might not be aware of this.  (I don't know if he ever took it upon himself to tell them.  I decided not to address this issue with the school myself.)  He seemed to have formed a habit already, as he said it several times over the next few weeks, and I reminded him to think about what he really meant.  Then one day he said it in front of our friend mentioned above, who turned on him and said firmly, "Never say that.  Say, 'Oh my goodness!'  Say, 'Gosh!'  Say, 'Golly gee whillikers!'  Say, 'Oh my stars and little comets!'  Say, 'Bloody fucking hell!' if you have to, but do not take the name of my Lord in vain!"  Problem solved—I've heard Nicholas forget only twice over the course of two years since then.

The only time the preschool ever informed us that Nicholas had used foul language, he had knocked over some toys accidentally and said, "Damn it!"  Of course we spoke with him about how some people don't like to hear that word, so it's not polite, and now that he's been informed that it's not allowed in school he must be careful not to say it there.  No further problems.

The only time I ever violated our rule about not cursing at the kid, the kid totally called me on it: He and I were at a party, while Daddy was sick at home, when I developed a migraine and needed to go home.  Nicholas did not want to leave.  It took me a long time to persuade him and then to give up on persuasion and drag him out to the car.  Then he wouldn't hold still long enough for me to buckle him into his seat.  We fought for a long time while my pain intensified and I worried about becoming unable to drive.  Finally I screamed, "Just get in the fucking car seat NOW!!!"
Nicholas glared at me with shocked indignation and said, very firmly and clearly, "Mama.  It is not a fucking car seat.  It is my car seat.  So you be nice about it!"
Point taken.
And that is the only time I have ever heard my child use the F word.

Recently, my uncle was visiting and talking to me (while Nicholas was in an adjacent room) and mentioned a dog bite that had "hurt like hell."  Nicholas scampered in, very pleased with himself for deducing the meaning of this phrase: "It hurt like burning in the fiery furnace and the gnashing of teeth biting you!"  I was impressed with his literary reference but also intrigued that he had interpreted the "gnashing of teeth" as meaning teeth biting you—I always thought it meant gnashing your own teeth in misery, and perhaps it does, but the mental image of giant teeth biting at people in hell is pretty compelling.  Anyway, I'm glad to have my child thinking about what people mean by their words rather than reacting to certain words with, "Ooooohhh!!!  He said a Bad Word!!!"

Our standard response to other people apologizing for cursing in our child's presence developed very early, when he was a baby too young to talk.  In the course of adult conversation at a party, a friend used some colorful language and then glanced at the baby in Daniel's lap and said, "Oops! Sorry!"  Daniel shrugged and said, "Ahh, fuck it!" in the tone that means, "Never mind; it's no big deal."  Everyone laughed.  We've since used this line several times, including just a couple of months ago.  It succinctly conveys that we don't expect people to censor themselves for our child's sake and that we're not too concerned about profanity . . . yet it hasn't given Nicholas the impression that he can use profanity any old time.  He's picking up on the rules just fine!

        

I love hot drinks.  In addition to my dependence on coffee or caffeinated tea, I drink hot chocolate or herbal tea regularly in cold weather to warm me up—and I sometimes need that even in the hottest weather when my office building's management chooses absurd air-conditioner settings!  I'm also a big fan of quick oats at home and instant oatmeal as an office snack: It's quick and easy to make, it's tasty, a packet has just enough calories to make me feel really full without spoiling my next meal, and Costco recently introduced a Kirkland brand gigantic variety pack of instant oatmeal that's organic yet very affordable!

I used to make my at-home hot drinks and oatmeal by boiling water in a kettle on the stove burner.  That worked just fine.  But at work, I was heating water in the microwave, which just doesn't work all that well—it can get too hot without actually boiling, sometimes parts of the cup are different temperatures, and if you screw up (particularly with oatmeal) it can explode and slop all over you!  My new year's resolution in 2002 was to switch from coffee to tea, but tea made with microwaved water was just not right.  I needed a better boiling method to help me keep my resolution.

Meanwhile, I'd been reading that kettles with their own electric heating elements save energy, compared to a stove-top kettle or microwave. (Now it seems the energy usage may be more complicated if the stove is a gas stove, which mine at home is, but there's no stove at work.)  I liked the idea of being able to make tea at my desk while working, instead of slogging to the break room and standing around there for three minutes and then trying to carry a mug of hot liquid back to my office without spilling it.

I bought a Chef's Choice electric kettle (Model 685) and have used it every workday ever since.  It was expensive, but it's worth it!  This is a great little appliance that would make an excellent gift for a college student or any hot-tea or instant-food aficionado.

• It heats up really quickly, especially when I put in only as much water as I really need.  (The trick to getting this right, when you are filling your kettle at the same faucet day after day, is to count how many seconds you let the water run, then see if that was the right amount, too much, or too little.  Soon you'll learn the right number of seconds and just count to that number each time you fill the kettle.)
• It shuts off automatically after the water boils, if I forget about it.
• The handle comes up high, so I can hold it at the top and tip the kettle to pour every last drop, without losing control of it.
• It uses little enough power that I can have it plugged into the same power-strip as my computer; the surge of electricity it uses to heat up isn't enough to cause any disruption.  (My boss was worried about this when she first saw it.)
• The heating element is entirely enclosed, so it can't set anything on fire.  (Note that the outside of this stainless steel kettle is very hot, though, for a little while after boiling.  It needs to be kept about an inch away from skin and anything plastic, that's all.)

An appliance that might be even more helpful for dormitory dwellers is an electric hot-pot, which is similar to the electric kettle but opens across the whole top so it can be used as a cooking pot.  I have fond memories of the two hot-pots that were my only cooking appliances in the dorm: I used one just for boiling plain water (like the electric kettle I have now) and one for cooking foods like rice, pasta, and soup, so that the lingering flavors from food didn't get into my tea/coffee/oatmeal water.  The hot-pots I had were cheap, with plastic sides that made a slight odor when heated and put who-knows-what chemicals into my food.  If I were buying one now, I'd choose stainless steel!  It's also important for the heating element to be enclosed and as smooth as possible; any grooves will trap food and require lengthy scrubbing.

Almost any food you can cook in a regular saucepan on the stove can be cooked in a hot-pot.  This was my technique for cooking spaghetti in a hot-pot:

• Bring water to a boil.
• Add spaghetti noodles.  Cook until done.
• Unplug hot-pot, put on lid, and carry it to the sink.  Hold slotted spoon across spout to keep noodles from escaping as you drain the water.  (Eventually I did buy a colander, but it took up a lot more storage space than the slotted spoon!)
• Remove lid, scoop noodles to one side, add sauce, and plug in hot-pot.  Stir constantly while sauce is warming. 
• Unplug hot-pot and immediately remove spaghetti to plate.  (If you let it stand in the hot-pot, it will meld onto the heating element, reducing the amount of edible food and making clean-up more difficult.)

Spaghetti is my favorite food, so I loved being able to make it myself.  The year I didn't have a refrigerator, I'd buy a jar of spaghetti sauce and keep it sealed until I was prepared to eat spaghetti three days in a row, using up all the sauce; the open jar would stay fresh and unmoldy long enough for that.

While I'm talking about electric cooking appliances that have worked for me, I have to mention the coffee percolator!  Since writing about it last year in my 7 Product Recommendations, I've gotten a second one to use in the office.  Like the electric kettle, the percolator can run on the same power-strip as a computer without causing power fluctuations.

Check out Works-for-Me Wednesday to see what's working for other people!

        

When I was in college, I belonged to a very silly geek social organization called KGB.  We did a lot of weird things, including some which were worked into the structure of our weekly meetings.  One of these was Things Not To Do: You'd get the floor, say, "Things Not To Do," and share an experience that hadn't turned out so well.  I have a collection of TNTD from my time as recording secretary, which I've always thought would make a cute little book, kind of the opposite of Chicken Soup for the Soul.  I've also mulled the idea of making TNTD a regular feature here in The Earthling's Handbook . . . and now I am inspired.  This Works-for-Me Wednesday, I'll tell you about something that spectacularly didn't work for me!

Things Not To Do:

1. When signing up for what you will bring to the employee picnic, don't choose a category of food just because nobody else signed up for that category so you feel like it's the helpful thing to do.  It's not helpful if you can't make something good in that category.
2. Don't sign up to bring a dessert in August if all the good desserts you know how to make are baked ones.  I don't have air conditioning, so I figured (when signing up, which was three weeks in advance for some reason) that if it was hot the week of the picnic I'd make some kind of cold dessert.
3. Don't delay your decision about exactly what "some kind of cold dessert" until the night before the picnic when you think you are probably getting a migraine.  If you have done this, please, for everyone's sake, just give up on bringing something homemade, take good care of yourself for once, and buy something ready-made to serve at the picnic.  The world will not come to an end.  (I am writing this primarily so that I will read it again.  Apparently I still have not heard this sensible advice often enough to learn anything.)
4. Don't make a recipe called Fruity Whip from the Prudential Preferred Realty Make-a-Wish Foundation fundraiser cookbook of 1998.  Please don't.  Sure, it sounds so simple and convenient: Just mix up some Jell-O in one bowl, mix up some instant pudding in another bowl, use the electric mixer to turn the Jell-O into froth, stir the pudding into it, and chill overnight.  It is simple and convenient.  The trouble is, it's not food.  Not only is it not Real Food up to the standards of today's trendy food snobs, but it is . . . well, see below.

I went to bed last Tuesday night having done all four of those things, and I awakened to a Wednesday that emphatically, horribly, undeniably did not Work For Me.  The migraine had me completely in its clutches already (it's very unusual for me to wake up with a headache, but this time I did) so that I couldn't eat breakfast, couldn't do much of anything, and soon decided to call in sick to work and go back to sleep until time for the picnic, which I still hoped to attend because my five-year-old son was looking forward to it so much and it's always been a fun time for me, too.  But the migraine was still getting worse at picnic time!  I finally managed to swallow my prescription drug only 15 minutes before a wave of pain made me vomit.  There was no way I could go to the picnic.  Eventually I managed to get back to sleep, and in the evening I started to feel better.

My son was disappointed but fairly gracious about it, especially once I pointed out that we would now have the Fruity Whip all to ourselves; he had helped make it and was excited to eat it.  But when I got up in the evening, I noticed a large serving of it with just a few bites taken out, sitting covered in the refrigerator.  When I asked my son about it, he said, with a worried, confused expression, "It's too sweet.  Or something.  It's . . . you try it!"  I didn't feel up to trying it until Thursday, after my nausea threshold had returned to normal.

Now, let me say that I do kind of like Jell-O, I do kind of like instant pudding, and I actually really enjoy most varieties of those fluffy Jell-O salads other people make.  Those aren't foods we keep around for frequent eating, but I think they have their place, in moderation.  I had expected that if I combined a Jell-O flavor I like (raspberry) with a pudding flavor I like (vanilla) and the combination sounded reasonable (raspberry and vanilla, yum!) then that would taste pretty good, and I hoped that the frothing step would turn it into a fluff.  The misgivings I'd felt while making the Fruity Whip were just effects of the nervous mood and aesthetic hypersensitivity caused by the migraine, I thought.

But it wasn't just me.  It wasn't just the migraine.  Fruity Whip is an abomination even a five-year-old cannot choke down!

First of all, the color of the Fruity Whip was more alarming than I had remembered.  Apparently the intense red of the Jell-O had combined with the yellowish white of the pudding to create a vibrant orangey pink that seemed almost to emit an evil glow.

It was not a creamy fluff; it was a gelatinous shlump which nonetheless was an acceptable dessert texture on the macro level, but once you'd had it in your mouth for a few seconds you'd notice the graininess or tiny fat globules or whatever was going on there, some kind of failure of the ingredients to combine with one another.

Worst of all was the flavor.  Mix real raspberries and real vanilla, and you get something good.  Mix raspberry Jell-O and vanilla pudding, and apparently the two sets of artificial flavoring go to war, each trying to climb on top of the sugar molecules, and the debris of conflict so upsets the milk that—oh, I don't know what the chemistry could possibly be, but it was awful!!!  Too sweet, too fake, tangy stuff prying up your gums while icky stuff curls under your tongue, too many flavors arguing with your taste buds.

I literally could not stand to eat it.  I hate wasting food—I'll eat plenty of things that are dirty or burned or slightly moldy or I just don't like them—but I could not eat this or ask anyone else to eat it.  Much as I regretted having put two cups of real milk in there with the two packets of fakeness, I had to admit that this stuff was not food.  Friday, when we were rushing around getting ready to leave for a weekend trip, I scooped the Fruity Whip into an old coffee canister and set it next to the trash can.

And then, the following evening, minutes after the startling revelation about the grilled cheese, I had another startling revelation which sounded like another Thing Not To Do: Don't put food that contains two cups of milk out at room temperature in August!!  Duh, I should have left it in the fridge until time to take out the trash!  Well, at least we had fun in the moment, 300 miles away, laughing over the prospect of coming home to Fruity Whip exploded all over the kitchen by whatever terrifying gasses it might form in putrefaction!

But we came home to no odor, no explosion, nothing.  I opened the coffee can and got an overwhelming whiff of the ongoing battle between fake raspberry and fake vanilla, without a hint of sour milk.  There was only a tiny patch of mold on the stuff.  Even scarier than food that's gone bad is "food" that can't.

God works in mysterious ways.  That was a really dreadful migraine, but at least it saved my co-workers from the horror of the Fruity Whip.

        

First the recipe, then the story.

To make one delightfully delectable grilled-cheese sandwich, you will need:

• 2 slices of bread
• your favorite cheese, in slices about 1/4" thick, enough to cover one slice of bread
• about 1 Tbsp. marinara sauce (see recipe in The Earthling's Cookbook, or use jarred sauce)
• about 1 tsp. yellow mustard
• plenty of butter
• a good frying pan
• a spatula

Spread butter on one side of a slice of bread and mustard on the other side.  Place butter-side-down in pan.  Arrange cheese on it.  Place pan over medium heat.

Spread marinara sauce on one side of the other slice of bread and butter on the other side.  Place sauce-side-down on top of cheese.  Nudge sandwich with spatula to make sure it's not sticking to the pan; if it is, lift it just long enough to slip some more butter under it.

Closely supervise sandwich, adjusting heat if necessary, until cheese begins to melt.  Flip sandwich over.  Note brownness of the side that's now on top, and cook the second side longer if you want it browner, less time if you want it less brown.  (It's hard to explain grilled-cheese technique!  You kind of just have to learn through experience.  The main lesson I've learned is that nervously flipping the sandwich every twelve seconds does not give good results; it's likely to fall apart or dry out if you do that.  Flip only once, unless your first side is so unacceptably pale that you have to give it a second turn.)

Eat it as soon as it's cool enough.

Check out Tasty Tuesday for more recipes!

Now I'll explain about the 14 years of gratitude: My life-partner Daniel taught me this recipe long ago and said he had learned it from his friend Jeremy, previously mentioned here as the source of the stuffed shells recipe that is our favorite holiday feast and the recipe for Jeremy's Breakfast Pitas in The Earthling's Cookbook. I can't recall exactly when I first tried this sandwich, but I remember making one just before moving out of my apartment to live with Daniel in April 1996, so it's been at least 14 years!  All this time, Daniel and I have attributed the recipe to Jeremy.  Our five-year-old son also likes grilled-cheese sandwiches and quickly learned that this variant, his favorite, is called "Jeremy style".

Well.  This past Saturday, we were visiting Jeremy and talking about cooking, and Daniel mentioned how grateful he is for this recipe which we use all the time . . . and Jeremy said, "What? That's not my recipe!  I don't even like marinara that much!"  Some confused discussion ensued, during which he suggested that maybe he had taught Daniel his technique for draining diced fresh tomato so as to make a grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich that isn't too wet, but Daniel had no memory of having even heard of that technique.

So, where did this recipe come from?!?  It's a mystery!  But it's our recipe now!  As for the positive thoughts of Jeremy I had every time I made the sandwich, I can hardly regret those—I didn't like Jeremy all that much when we first met, but he's kind of grown on me over the years, and positive thinking undoubtedly played a role: "That Jeremy! [grumble grumble] but he does make a good sandwich!"

        

Daniel wrote another computer game for another contest!  "The Sand Boxes" is accessed by clicking the icon with a picture of a wooden Inca face (also, the title pops up when you roll your mouse over the icon) on the contest page.

This game has graphics and is shorter than Daniel's previous game, "Ka".  It takes about half an hour to play.  In "The Sand Boxes", you are trying to rescue a trapped archaeologist by finding and opening puzzle boxes with sliding parts, to find the golden keys, one of which will open The Mountain's Mouth.

I'd say anybody over about 8 years old who has some patience with puzzles would enjoy this game.  Our 5-year-old had some luck with it but not enough logic/persistence to solve some of the puzzles—for example, if he'd already tried moving a piece without success, he wouldn't try that piece again even after moving another piece and creating a space next to it.

These puzzles move using very realistic physics.  There's even a combination lock!  It's annoying to turn with your mouse, but it does work exactly like a real combination lock.  (And I carefully decoded the numbers of the combination from the place where they are encoded, only to realize as I spun the lock that Daniel had used the actual combination from the padlock he photographed, which is mine!  I haven't used it in a while, but I might have remembered the combination—I certainly recognized it—so that was an odd moment, finding my lock in an archaeologist's camp in Peru!)

        

I learned to read at age three and have been frustrated that my child hasn't followed in my footsteps, in that regard—he's five-and-a-half, and although he's been acting like he's about to catch on to reading for a couple of years, he still only recognizes a few short words.  Any day now, I expect him to have a sudden flash of comprehension, and then he'll be able to entertain himself more, which will be great!

Anyway, this morning I happened to think up a little strategy that helped demonstrate to Nicholas both the practical value of reading and how close he is to being able to do it.

He had been disobedient yesterday, repeatedly turning on the television when Daniel (his father) had told him he was not allowed to watch television, so Daniel had unplugged the TV from its power-strip, unplugged the power-strip from the wall, and put it away in the basement.

There's actually another handy strategy here: If you behave as though the TV requires a power-strip and cannot be plugged directly into the wall, your child may assume this to be true and not experiment with it!  This means that you can disable the TV by taking away the power-strip instead of moving the big heavy TV.  We use the power-strip to save electricity: shutting it off stops the TV from drawing any power, whereas if it's plugged into the wall it uses some watts to "look" for signals from the remote.  We plug our VCR and DVD player into that power-strip, too, but at times when we're not using them for a while we unplug them completely; why power those LEDs and remote-sensors for no reason?

Anyway, this morning Nicholas was behaving well, and I was willing to let him watch a couple of PBS Kids shows but not willing to delay my breakfast to go down to the dusty workshop area of the basement and dig up the power-strip.  He actually didn't ask me to do that for him, just asked me to unlock the door to the basement steps.  He went down but came back up a moment later.
     NICK: I can't find the power-strip.
     MAMA: Hmm, I know we have several of them down there.
     NICK: But where are they exactly?
     MAMA: In the box labeled, "Power Strips" on the shelves near the corner, straight ahead from the stairs.
     NICK: (starts toward stairs, pauses) How am I supposed to know which box says, "Power Strips"?
     MAMA: Well, this is where knowing how to read comes in very handy.
     NICK: (after a moment's thought) Does "Puh-OW-WWRR" start with a P and then a W and R?
     MAMA: That's right!
     NICK: (goes downstairs, returns one minute later carrying power-strip)  I found the box of  Puh-OW-WWRR SS-tuh-RR-ip-SS!!!  I found the same one we were using for the TV before.  But look, Daddy plugged it into itself!  That's not good!  The electricity going in a circle will burn it out!!
     MAMA: Um, no, that doesn't happen.  There's no electricity in it unless the plug is plugged into an outlet.

I like his theory—almost as interesting as last night's assertion that the pleasant aroma outdoors in the evenings is "grasshopper sweat."   But I really like the way he figured out for himself how to recognize the words written on the cardboard box where the spare power-strips are stored.  I think he already knows more about reading than he's letting on, and when he starts kindergarten it will all come together.

        

It's Works-for-Me Wednesday, and I'm very busy at work today with not much time for writing, but I've been thinking about a simple thing here in my office that really works for me:

I have a small digital clock-radio plugged into the same power-strip with my computer and monitor.  At the end of the day, I shut down my computer and then turn off everything at once using the button on the power-strip. (That saves energy, compared to leaving the monitor in sleep mode all night as many people do.) There's no battery in the clock, so it doesn't keep time overnight.  That's a problem, right?

Wrong!  My handy clock tells me how long I've been here!  When it's blinking 08:00, it's time for me to wrap up what I'm doing and go home!  This has saved me untold hassles and childcare overtime fees.  The clock sits on the desk just behind my mouse pad, where its blinking doesn't annoy me but I see the number every time I glance toward the mouse to align my hand on it.

I don't need a clock to tell me what time it is because my computer (which does have a battery) has one of those in the corner of the screen.  The thing is, what with child- and transit-related delays, I don't arrive at work at exactly the same time each day, so I used to waste a lot of time trying to recall exactly when it would be time to leave.  More importantly, I tend to do my best work in the mid-to-late afternoon, and it's a kind of work (data management for a multi-year research study) that can become very absorbing as I figure out what went wrong in which algorithm that led to this pattern of encoded responses . . . so once I get going, I can keep working happily while I become late for everything and get overtired and hungry.

Originally, I bought the clock-radio so I could listen to the radio, but I discovered its time-management ability when I was pregnant and coming to work at strange times because of my unpredictable hours of morning nausea.  Even when not queasy, I was very tired all the time, but I was determined to live up to my bosses' trust in me to work 8-hour days with flexible starting times.  Instead of thinking, "Okay, I got here at 12:45, so I can go home at 8:45....  Now, what is the deal with this skip pattern?  124 people answered -8 to Q5E, but only 45 are -8 on Q5F; 124 minus 45 is 84 minus 5 is 79....  Ugh, I'm tired; how long have I been here??" I could simply glance at the clock!

Of course, there are times when I keep thinking, "I'll just finish this one thing," for half an hour or more, as it turns out to be a bigger or harder problem than I expected, and if I don't have to pick up my kid I may let that go on much longer than I should (considering that the kid and his father, who did pick him up, are wondering what happened to me!), but that's my fault, not the clock's!

        

I've tried many coleslaw recipes over the past 20 years but never managed to produce a batch of coleslaw that tasted quite right to me.  Sure, I could eat a serving and enjoy it, but the typical cabbage is pretty big and makes a lot of coleslaw, and I never made any that I liked well enough to keep eating it until it was gone.  I sadly concluded that I just don't have cabbage nengkan and ought to leave the making of coleslaw to others.

KFC and Long John Silver's, for example, have some of the best coleslaw around, in my opinion.  See, it's not that I'm some sort of haughty connoisseur of coleslaw; I like the mainstream American type; it's just that I've never been able to make it correctly.

Well, last week's farm share gave us a very pointy-headed cabbage that my 5-year-old son thought was so cute, he drew a smiley face on its outer leaf with a marker and insisted that I take a picture of them together.  Sighing nervously, I planned to search for a new coleslaw recipe and try again, but before I got around to that, I happened to follow a link to a blog that linked to this recipe for Copycat KFC Coleslaw.

My search for a good coleslaw recipe has ended at last!  This is the one!  It really does taste very similar to KFC coleslaw and has the same sort of fluffy texture.  The leftovers held up well for the 4 days it took us to eat them all.  (We liked it very much, but it's still only a side dish!)

I substituted sour cream for both mayonnaise and buttermilk, to avoid making a grocery run for ingredients we probably wouldn't use in anything else.  That worked just fine.

Our food processor's grater attachment turned the cabbage into properly tiny shreds.  The carrots, though, came through in very long shreds.  Running them through a second time made them smaller.

        

We live on a little side street just one block long, built in 1920 and paved with yellow bricks.  Those same bricks have been there for 90 years.  There are only a few spots patched with visibly newer bricks or concrete. 

In the eight years we've lived here, our street has had only one small repair: Winter freezing created a pothole; the repair crew fished the fallen bricks out of the hole and put them back in place after filling the hole.  Meanwhile, almost every bit of asphalt street in the neighborhood has been replaced.  We've been spared the disruption, noise, dust, and odor of jackhammers tearing up our street and big soot-belching machines laying new pavement.

In researching this article, I learned that asphalt is the most-recycled material in the United States, and asphalt paving can be made porous for better storm-water management.  Well, it's good to know that the paving used on the majority of streets is not too terrible for the environment!  Still, asphalt is "the heavy residue of the oil refining process," and much more petroleum is used to power the machines that tear up and replace asphalt paving every decade or so.  Bricks may be more environmentally friendly in their initial production, and they certainly require less maintenance, at least in my observation around our neighborhood.

The brick-paved, one-way, up-on-a-cliff street was a big selling point for us when choosing a house because it's not an inviting short cut or drag-racing route; most people won't drive on our street unless it's their destination.  That means less traffic passing our house and better odds of finding a parking space.  Yes, it's true that driving on our street is a bit bumpy and noisy, but we appreciate the way that deters other drivers more than we're bothered by it ourselves.  People tend to drive more slowly on bricks, which is safer for us as pedestrians and safer for our on-street-parked car.  The rumbling noise warns us when a vehicle is approaching so we don't walk or pull out of a parking space in front of it.  We especially appreciate that noise's warning other people of our car, since we have a hybrid car which coasts very quietly.

When the street is wet or icy, the texture of the bricks gives wheels and feet something to grip.  Although we have to drive down a steep hill to leave our street, traction isn't a problem unless the ice or snow is very deep or rain is falling so hard that the street can't drain fast enough.

We love the way our street looks: It's like a nice old building, instead of a swath of smelly petro-goo.  It has plenty of texture and character.  Little green plants grow between the bricks in the parking lanes.  It's very charming.

The light color of the bricks reflects heat, so walking across our street in the summer doesn't throw a tremendous scorching blast into your face.  You can even walk barefoot on it without burning your feet!  The feel of the bricks is very pleasant, unlike the scrapey texture of asphalt.  We haven't yet had the misfortune to fall down and slide on this pavement, but if we do, I bet we won't get hurt as badly as on asphalt or concrete.

Living on a brick-paved street works for me!


UPDATE: The week after I wrote this, I read in the newspaper that the borough of Swissvale (immediately outside Pittsburgh) decided to repair some damaged brick streets with bricks rather than asphalt because of long-term maintenance costs and public pressure.  Apparently we're not the only home-buyers who are attracted to brick-paved streets.