Spinach and Artichoke Quiche

1 Wholly Wholesome Whole Wheat pie crust
1/3 cup onion, chopped
1/4 bag frozen artichoke hearts, thawed
1 package Lite Silken tofu, blended
1 1/4 cup egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup shredded swiss cheese (you can choose your cheese, but it should be a strong cheese)
1/2 cup fresh spinach

1. Preheat over to 350.
2. Sprinkle onion, artichoke hearts, spinach, and cheese in pie crust.
3. In a large bowl whisk tofu, egg whites, salt, pepper, and cayenne. Pour into pie crust.
4. Bake 45 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.
Makes 6 servings. 385 calories each.

As the writer and the cook were eating the quiche, we stopped to appreciate a very momentous occasion...
What is that noise...silence. A buzzing, wonderful silence.
Why was silence a golden token on this evening? What circumstance or being could make nothingness so fulfilling?
Tyler.
My little nephew. My baby - first time ever, beautiful and noisy - nephew.
He was sucking his binky, staring to outer space, while gently being swung to-and-fro by my carefully rocking foot.
It was the cook and writer's first solo babysitting mission, and after a couple of hours we had come to enjoy what I am sure my sister and the hubby had come to cherish over the five weeks of Ty's existence: silence!
For such a little thing, for such a delicate rose, Tyler can make a whole lot of noise. And as I also found out, when walking him around the downstairs, trying to calm him after he awoke from our stroll around the neighborhood, he is in the words on John Mayer, "stronger than his body." What started as an innocuous "baby resting in your arms like a loaf of bread" position became a "hold on to the little thing for dear life as he pushes and squirms out of your arms" struggle.
The cook seemed to execute the "shoosh" technique better than me, as my "shoosh" was a more of a suggestion than a command, and the lack of authority made the little guy feel more confident about raising his cry to a scream.
But there we were, consuming my beautiful cook's quiche without even a whimper. Before this delightful epilogue was Tyler's dinner.
Nothing gets me hungry for a meal like holding a baby bottle stocked with my sister's breast milk. I laid Ty on my arm, and shoved the nipple into his narrow mouth. After a few seconds, he latched on and started sucking away...this is easy enough.
Not so fast. After a little while, but with plenty of sister left in the bottle, Ty stopped sucking. In a way only babies can achieve, he puckered his lips and squinted his eyes to portray the most uncomfortable look I have ever seen.
"What is this," I asked the cook. "He looks like he is playing scrabble with George Bush."
"He needs to be burped," the cook replied.
Hmmm. My first burping. There was a little apprehension, but also some excitement. Another milestone about to be surpassed. I slowly lifted Ty's head, and placed his body against my shoulder, and started to gently tap his back. Nothing.
The cook observed this nonsense, stormed over to my tender caress, pulled my hand away, and briskly thumped Tyler's back until he burped loudly.
"That is how you do it," she confirmed.
I put Ty back down in feeding position, and shoved the nipple back into his awaiting mouth. As he ate faster, some of the milk started to discard from his mouth and run down his cheek. Seeing as though I had one hand supporting his head and the other holding the bottle, there was NO WAY I could change his position and pat the excess off his face without some help.
I asked the cook to come hither. As she leaned over to wipe the milk off his little cheek, she got just close enough that I could sneak in for a kiss. Just as a snake awaits ever patiently for his prey to enter striking distance, I knew I would only get one thrust. Got her!
I think Tyler caught on to my game, because he kept drooling, I kept calling, the cook kept helping, and I kept kissing. Our first conquest together!
The next partnership came via the continuous burping. Ty would eat, stop, look constipated, and wait to be burped. I did the burping until the cook came in and whisked Ty away.
"I've got this," she assured.
The cook picked him up, walked him to the kitchen while patting his back, until splash! Ty vomited more spit-up than the possessed character in "The Exorcist." The cook's neckline and shoulder were painted with mommy's regurgitated breast milk.
All I could think was, "he must have waited to do that on her intentionally." Yes, a true bond was certainly in the making.
Previous to the spit-up and feeding was a great dance session. I don't know if any of you faithful readers remember the Youtube video of the baby dancing his butt-off to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies," but it was hilarious, and if you have not yet watched, please do. Ty was trying his best to match the virile dancer move-for-move.
"So I was afraid, I was petrified, living here without you by my side..."started blaring from the radio. The cook and writer thought it might be entertaining to groove for the little guy, so we busted out our best awkward arm pumps and leg kicks. Instead of thinking we were epileptic, Ty seemed to enjoy the suddenness of our movements, and started to mimic them in his baby ways.
A little arm punch here, and leg twitch there...eyes wide open, glowing like the sun. He could not have been more curious. He will one day learn that there is nothing wondrous about bad dancing, but I did not want to spoil his youthful enthusiasm.
So there we were, a night full of memories, a kitchen with three instead of two, and a wonderful silence. Just two lovers, their beautiful nephew, quietly sucking on his binky, surely spoiling us through the transcendence of the moment.
Soon he would lose his mouth toy, and shout and cry, and we would pick him up, and carry him and cradle him and shush him and love him the way he requires. And despite the toil, we would be happy for every second we could spend with Ty.