A Shoutout to My Husband

So I was at a conference two weeks ago, and we were doing some touchy feely thing that I don't get too jazzed about.  Maybe I'm too cynical; maybe I'm too easily sucked in.  Whatever the case, I was doing this thing about who I am.  I started writing.  "I am a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a teacher"...wait a minute!  I didn't put down wife first.  That made me sad.  It made me so sad that I began to openly weep, which is something that I do not do often.  I mean, I'm a crier, but I usually reserve my crying for people I know.  But there I was, crying in front of perfect strangers, trying to figure out why I hadn't put wife in the top three. 
I love my husband.  He is patient; he is kind; he is a partner in our relationship; he is probably the best father on the planet. He is also the laundry guru.  My only contribution to laundry is buying the soap he likes when he tells me to do so. So what was up with his being late on the list?  I decided right then that I would make a point to tell my husband not only that I love him, but that I also appreciate him.  I promised myself that I would do this more than I have been doing it (which, to be honest, wasn't much). 

 

So I have been thinking about other women out there who may be like me and love their husbands, but may not appreciate them as much as they should.  Below is the list of things that I think are awesome about my man in no particular order:

1. He loves me a lot.
2. He adores our children.
3. He is more patient with me than I am with him.
4. He's smart, like, really smart.  He's a lot smarter than I am.
5. He's funny.  A day does not go by when I don't at least chuckle at his jokes.
6. Laundry...enough said.
7. He wakes me up in the mornings at the desired times (they differ, mind you, and he remembers which day goes with which times).
8. He gets the kids ready on the weekdays.  All I do is take them to and from daycare.
9. He used to take them to and from daycare; in fact, he did this for four years until he moved schools.
10. He gets up with the kids every weekend and plays with them while I wallow in bed.
11. He makes pancakes every Sunday.
12. He listens to my dreams, and he supports me, even when I decide to do something ridiculously time consuming (this blog~well, given my lack of posts...~, a book in the making, running for office...you name it, he has been supportive and level headed).
13. He plays with our children, he loves our children, and he is patient and kind with our children. 
14. He takes care of all of the finances, but he shares the information and recognizes my ability to make educated decisions on the money.
15. He's a great kisser.
16. I never have to go to the post office because he has some sort of love affair with them...I don't get it, but I sure do appreciate not having to go.
17. He loves me a lot.  I know I already said this, but it is worth mentioning again.  I enjoy being loved this much. In fact, I revel in it.  

I could continue to go on extolling the virtues of the man I love.  I thought that you might want to think about how wonderful your partner is.  Men get a bad wrap these days.  Maybe we need to appreciate them more and harp about their shortcomings less.  Just a thought from a mom and a wife whose view on things is a bit skewed but getting better (see above).

Cheap and Easy Potato Soup

I used to make this every Sunday for about four years.  It makes enough to take to lunch every day for the week and costs about $10.00 total for the entire recipe (less if you buy store brand like me). 
So if you are saving your calories and watching your wallet this time of year, this is the recipe for you.

Potato Soup:
One big bag frozen hashbrowns
1 packet white southern gravy mix (dry)
One or two boxes chicken stock
One small onion, minced (or chopped if you are lazy like me)

Dump it all in a slow cooker, stir it all together and cook until kind of creamy; about four to five hours on high.

If you want to make this for dinner, add some shredded cheese, a little bacon, some chives, and a dollop of sour cream, which is probably more caloric than the soup, itself.  I always like the accoutrements, though. 

So save a little money, save a little dough; Christmas is coming, doncha know?

The C Word

Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean Christmas. 

I have a hard time with the commercialization of this holiday.  I get worked up over back to school stuff in July;  I'm irritated by Halloween stuff going up right after school starts; and I really, really can't stand Christmas hooey hitting the aisles before I have even completely thawed a turkey for Thanksgiving.  And what is it with bathing suits stocking the stores before I even get the courage to step on the scale in January? There is subliminal commercial insult there.  I know it.

I am also Grinched Out by the fact that people spend way too much money on this holiday, not to mention that some actually begin buying for the following year the day after Christmas.  Indeed, I am not a fan of this holiday.  I prefer Thanksgiving: eat, drink, be merry, but don't decorate the house, the lawn, or buy pesents.  I  know that I may be talking out of both sides of my mouth, given that I have been posting recipes for the holidays for a couple of weeks now.  I should have titled them as Thanksgiving Holiday Recipes, but I was remiss. 

Now, if I could get away with bagging the C word altogether, I would be full in; however, I have a husband who loves the C word and children who should probably have it as part of their childhood memories.  I would love to drop the decorations, the tree, and the suburbian pressure to decorate the house with lights, tacky blow up figures, and sleighs on the roof. I saw a sign the other day for a company that "does Christmas lights".  Seriously?  I almost called to see how much they charged just so I could feel superior.

My very first adult Christmas tree came into my house because my roommates at the time, Jonathan and Stephen, decided that I needed a little holiday cheer.  I bah humbugged them, but I lost the battle.  The house looked great, the outside was uplit like nobody's business, and the boys were smug.  The bastards moved out right after Christmas, though, leaving me to clean up all that Crap (another C for Christmas). 

Then I got married, and we had our first "couple tree".  The "couple tree" was really a "baby-makes-three tree", because the girl child appeared  in the womb approximately five days after we said, "I do."  That's another story for another blog (actually, I touched on that in one of my first forays into this blogging business).  So we did the Christmas thing. It was small; it was quaint;  I'm not a huge fan, remember?  Then the girl child appeard in the flesh, and Christmas took on a whole new meaning.  Toys and books from inlaws, beautiful layettes from others, and more stuff than a child could ever need began to appear under the tree. 

Now we have two little ones roaming around with sparkles in their eyes and lots of ideas for what Santa will bring.  They don't watch television that has commercials, but pre-school is enough of a commercial for anyone. Everything that H sees goes on the list for Santa.  The boy child is still unable to articulate anything of consequence but Santa and "Sunshine", our Elf on the Shelf bribe/blackmail to ensure decent behavior from Thanksgivng to Christmas.  On the 26th, we are kind of screwed; H likes tomake up for her goodness and kindness with a month long streak of bad.

Given the demand for gifts, gifts, gifts, and given my senitments about the C Day, I have new rules in place for the holiday this year. Three presents each under the tree.  NO MORE!  Christmas is about...get ready for it...Christ.  You know, His birth?  In a manger? No room for a bed and all that? The Three Kings each brought one present for Jesus, and the little kid with a drum sang a song.  If three presents and a ditty are enough for the world's Savior, I'm thinking that my children will do just fine with three presents under the tree on the 25th.  I can't speak for the grandomthers and their benevolence, but I would love a college donation instead of clothes and toys for my kids. 

And NOTHING goes up until all Thanksgiving leftovers are either inhaled or thrown away. Period. 

Because of these new edicts, I am in hopes that I can single handedly take the C(rap) out of Christmas and bring in something more important like the F words:  Family and Friends.

Quick, Easy Dessert That Will Impress Even the Discerning Hostess

This has a scant three ingredients, and it takes ten minutes to put together! 
You do have to pull out the food processor for it, though...sorry.

For the chocolate lover in all of us,

CHOCOLATE LAYER TORTE
It's really called Chocolate Icebox Cake, but that sounds so plebeian.

2 15 Ounce containers of Ricotta Cheese
12 ounces of melted semi-sweet chocolate morsels (cooled enough to touch)
1 nine ounce pack of chocolate wafers (these can be found in the ice cream aisle...just saving you the twenty minutes it took my husband to find them)

Line a standard loaf pan with parchment paper, leaving an overhang on two sides.  Layer the ricotta mixture and half of the chocolate wafer cookies in the prepared pan (three layers of the ricotta mixture and two layers of the cookies, beginning and ending with the ricotta).

Refrigerate for at least 12 hours and up to two days.

To serve, remove from the pan, slice and sprinkle with shaved semi-sweet chocolate.  If you are feeling uppity, add some real whipped cream (more rich, more better!). 

For those of you who are wary of the ricotta, don't be; it's great to use in desserts. 

I'm thinking about changing this one a bit and using white chocolate instead of semi-sweet and raspberry preserves as the middle part.  It would be lovely for the holidays, garnishing with fresh raspberries, raspberry glaze, and sprigs of mint.  Just a thought.  If you try it, let me know how it turns out!  If I try it, I'll not only post my findings, but also a picture. 

This recipe came from Real Simple Magazine. August, 2010. 

Quick and Easy Candy for the Obligatory Cookie Exchange

When I was pregnant, I ate Take 5 candies by the truckload.  I started off with Peanut M&Ms, but my friend Shannon got me hooked on Take 5.  I still get a hankering for these tasty treats, so I was really excited when I saw these Pretzel things that a colleague made.  The only thing missing from them was the peanut butter in the Take 5.  I had more than my fair share in the English Office.  In fact, I believe I ate all of them. When I asked her how to make them, she laughed. 

Here you go:
1 Bag of mini pretzel twists (the thick ones are best...Snyder?)
1 Bag of Rolo Candies
Tray of Pecan Halves

Place a piece of parchment paper on a cookie sheet.
Place pretzels on them
Relieve each Rolo of its pretty gold foil
Put a Rolo on each pretzel
Top each Rolo with a pecan half
Bake at 350 until the candy melts (about eight minutes).

Cool. 

YUMMMMM.

"Tis the Season...To Cook! Pumpkin Spice Cake for Your Pleasure

It's been a while since I last blogged; life can do that to a girl.  But here is my promise to all of my twelve faithful followers:  Now that Halloween candy and costumes are past; now that the new job is somewhat in hand; now that all birthdays are done; and now that I can catch my breath for five minutes at a time, I, your humble parent, will be putting up easy recipes for THE SEASON. 

What with parties, school gatherings, family, and other things that require gluttony, I am going to post recipes that can be mixed up and put together for THE SEASON, beginning with:

Pumpkin Spice Cake and Honey Frosting
So here's the deal with this recipe:  It's a cake or a bread.  It can be for dessert, breakfast, or burnch.  It even soothes the savage toddler or husband (when T comes home and smells this cooking, he is pretty geeked).  The frosting can be used as a spread, as well. 
Is this good for low carb?  No.  For low fat?  Ummmm...not even close. 
Is this a good recipe?  You betcha.  It takes ten minutes to put together.  Then sit back, drink a cup of tea, and watch the Hallmark Channel while your family salivates.

Ingredients:
1 Stick Butter, melted
2.5 Cups All Purpose Flour (you can also mix with whole wheat flour, too)
2 Teaspoons Baking Soda
.5 Teaspoons Salt
2 Tablespoon Pumkim Pie Spice
2 Large Eggs
1.5 Cups Sugar
1 Can Solid Packe Pumkin Puree (or just the stuff you use for pumkin pie)

Directions
Preheat the oven to 350 F
In a medium bowl, mix flour, soda, salt, and pumpkin pie spice
In a large bowl, whisk eggs, sugar, butter, and canned pumkin (NO beater neccessary) until smooth
Add dry ingredients to the pumkin mixture
Turn batter into prepared pan (loaf pan or a 9" square pan)
Bake until toothpick comes out clean, about 45-50 minutes
If putting into a bread pan, cook for 75-80 minutes
Cool for ten minutes in pan and then turn out on a rack.

Frosting/Spread
1 Stick Butter, softened
1 Package Cream Cheese, softened
.25 Cups Honey
Directions
Beat together until smooth (you do need a beater for this part) 

So if you do a bread, use the cream cheese stuff as a spread.

YUMMY, quick, and easy. 
I can't guarantee that the other recipes will be this simple, but I will do my best.

On This Day...

Ten years ago today I was teaching Acting I to a group of students who were at best interested, and at worst ready to fall asleep.  It was a beautiful, clear morning, and no one was very excited about being cooped up in a black room with no windows, which was the Lab Theatre.  During the class I got an all call to the faculty to check email.  I did, and was told that there was something going on in New York.  I had another email that asked about my parents.  Were they okay?  Then Scott, a colleague, came into my room and told me to turn on the television.  The look on his face was something that I will never forget.  I did turn on the television.

The Twin Towers were on the screen; one of them had smoke coming out of it.  My students were wondering what was happening; I tired to assure them that everyting was okay, but I had no explanation for the smoke and panic from the media.  I asked that we simply watch quietly.  Within two minutes the second plane hit the second tower.  At that point, we knew that something was wrong. 

Soon thereafter. there was an all call for teachers to turn off their televisions. I waited a minute or two, and then I saw the surreal. One of the Twin Towers collapsed.  I then knew that what we were witnessing was not only horrific, but also historical.  I also knew that my students should be spared this.  What if one of thier family members were working in New York?  What if one of them was in the Towers?  I turned off the television, and I tried my best to do what teachers and schools do: keep the students safe and secure; it was a difficult task. 

Throughout the day, there were questions being asked that I could not answer; there were worries that I could not assuage.  In fact, I was worried, as well.  Mom and Dad were flying home from Montreal that morning.  I was to meet them for dinner in the evening.  As per their itinerary, they were to be flying over New York right about the time that the Towers were hit.  I was devastated by worry for them and for my fellow countrymen.  I was almost debilitated with fear that I might lose two of the people that I cared about most: my parents.

But my calling was to teach children. My most important job that day was to ensure the safety and the security of those in my charge:  my students.  I worried about the kids in my classroom;  I worried about my former students who were in New York for study or for work; I worried. 

One of the most beautiful things about being a teacher is the ability to get lost in the lesson and get lost in the day.  I was able to do that. I was able to help students try to understand what was happening, even though I was unable to help them understand why it was happening.  School should be a safe place for children.  I hope that I and my colleagues gave the extra understanding and support that day to our charges. 

I found out during my planning that my parents were safe in Atlanta.  Theirs was the only flight not cancelled simply because someone important was on the plane.  Each of my students who were in New York had graciously checked in at the school letting their former teachers know that they were safe.  Michelle, in particular, wrote on her online diary about what she was experiencing.  What she wrote was dark and scary, but told through the eyes of someone young and...innocent, for lack of a better word. 

I cancelled rehearsal that day; it was the right thing to do, but I stayed at school in case my students needed to be somewhere safe.  I think that I needed them more than they needed me.  I then met my family at my parents' house.  September 11, 2001 was not the night to go to dinner; September 11, 2001 was the night to stay at home and cook with family and spend time with family and pray with family. 

That is what we will be doing this evening, the tenth anniversary of one of the most terrible tragedies to hit our soil.  Where were you when the world stopped turning, and how will you spend your day?

Recent Books; I've Been Remiss

So I have read two books recently that were really good.  Apparently, I read dark literature, and I am probably not going to change that.  I guess it's because I have good life with good friends, good family, and good (okay, debatable) children. 

Bel Canto

Story of terrorists who invade a private party for a Japanese man.  The man is visiting from Japan to the South American country because his favorite opera singer has agreed to perform.  The story is in third person omniscient and opens the reader up to the minds and hearts of not only those held captive but also the terrorists. 

It's a slow read in the beginning, but as the book progresses, the reader finds himself/herself engaged in the intimate details of why one does what one does. 

Three Stars; the ending was a bit truncated, and the epilogue a bit too "happy"

Zeitoun

 Read this one in about a week, and for those of you with children, you will understand that this is a feat.  It accounts a Muslim family before, during, and after Katrina.  The book shows the effects of a government gone awry, and the people within the government agencies gone power hungry. 

For those of us who are sucked into tragedy and feel empathy for those who experience tragedy, you will understand why I read this.  When Katrina hit New Orleans, I sat in front of the television and cried until my husband turned off the television and forbade me to turn it on again.  I sent money, I gave blood, and I adopted a family in need (probably to no avail after reading this book).

This non-fiction tempts the reader into believing that New Orleans may have been much better off if the federal government, more specifically FEMA, had not gotten involved in the disaster.  I was completely sucked into the narration of the book.  The ending, which I had to go to early on in the book, depicts a triumph of the human spirit that is admirable~I, myself, would not have fared as well as the protagonists. 

The Tale of the "Sneaky Penis"

Okay, it sounds more risque than it really is, but I feel the need to share...

In our family we are very open about private parts. I grew up in a puritan Catholic manner, so the words penis and vagina were not uttered.  In fact, as a child, I was pretty certain that if I went farther than first base, I would be killed in a horrific car accident and end up with a front row seat in hell while pregnant.  It took me until I was in university to...well, whatever.

We decided that we would be very factual about boy and girl parts with our children, and we have called them by their medical terms since they were born.  Which is why I was shocked when my husband came out to the porch one morning this week while I was enjoying my coffee to tell me this story.

Apparently Daddy went upstairs in his undies to get the kids ready for school.  The girl child would have none of this, and she told him in no uncertain terms that he was to go and put on some pants.  He complied but was a bit befuddled.  Upon returning properly clad in full dress to get the four year old, she said to him, "Now your sneaky penis won't get me."  I asked her about it, but she clammed up like a kid getting into trouble, so I let it be.  I mean, did she hear about the sneaky penis at school?  At church?  From Dora?

In a way, I'm glad that she thinks penises are sneaky. She's not wrong in her assessment that men's appendages have caused many a heartache. The sooner she realizes that boys are sneaky and so are their penises, the better off she will be, and the better her father and I will sleep at night.  Lord knows I don't want to have "the talk" with her any time soon (double digits, but I'm not fooling myself), so this was refreshing.

On the other hand, I don't want her to be all worked up over a penis.  They have their place.  Without one in particular, she would not be here to talk about sneaky penises.  I don't want her to be afraid of men and their penises, but being wary of them and their sneakiness would not be a bad thing.

Would it? 

I'm chalking this one up to childhood and calling it a day. Thoughts?

The New Millenium and the RSVP

I like to think of myself as an Emily Post follower.  I know how long I have to write thank you notes; I am aware of when and where to take gifts, big or small; I know where the water glass, wine glass, and all utensils go on the table; however, until I was 37, I was unaware that RSVP stood for "respond, please".  I blame my mother for this; I blame that sweet woman for a lot of things, but for 37 years, I thought that RSVP, stood for "reserve, please." 

I found out about the "respond" versus the "reserve" when I was called out for not showing up to a senior recital for one of my former students. She is now a professional opera singer, so I kind of feel regrtful in addition to being embarrassed...still (Catholic Guilt runs deep, friends~I'm sure Mom still feels the sting of not enlightening me of the RSVP).

Since that time, though, I have become a bit of an RSVP snob.  I would judge people who did not RSVP in an appropriate manner or in an appropriate amount of time.  When we have parties at our home, I get all worked up about people who don't RSVP, and then I simply delete them from the invitation the following year.  I mean, really; how hard is it to RSVP, especially in today's world of Evites, and Facebook, and email follow ups.  I even ask people to email the RSVP to save time and a phone call that requires small talk, which is never small. 

Then I found an invitation to a party for one of my daughter's many birthday parties that she is invited to stowed away in the catch-all basket that also contains seeds, scrap paper, receipts, a jump drive, a few screws, tape measures, and any other thing that is homeless in our home.  I was doing the "holy god, I can't take this mess any more," and I found an invitation to a party for THAT DAY!  It was yesterday, so this is still fresh in my mind, and I am mortified. 

As a self-proclaimed RSVP snob, I am horrified that not only do I have to apologize for not sending appropriate response, but I am feeling so guilty that I think I need to send a gift...

So I appeal to my twelve readers and ask your help.  Do I simply call and apologize?  Do I rescind my snobbery and become one of the unwashed masses who still think that RSVP means "reserve"?  And what about Facebook?  Does that even count, any way??? 

Maybe we/I should be a little more understanding about things over which we/I have no control. I mean, it may be enough to leave a restaurant for grammatical errors on the menu; being and RSVP Nazi might be taking the snobbery factor too far.

Whatsay you?

Sour Cream Poundcake for the Southerner in You

I got this recipe from my husband's deceased aunt.  In their family, one does not deserate the deceased by making their recipes.  I don't know why, but it's true; or it was true until Lynette, Sis' daughter-in-law, got uppity and made this poundcake.  Since that time, Sis is living through her recipes, which, in my humble opinion, are completely awesome.  Legend has it that Sis would spend her days in the kitchen making everything from homemade buscuits to peach pies.  Her sloppy potaotes are epic (recipe forthcoming). 

I was posting recipes that were easy to fix and good for you, but this is much more fun, and, now that summer is here, I have more time to get back to my southern roots and pay homage to a woman whom I have never met, but who has recipes that really speak to the southerner in us all. 

First up: 

Sour Cream Poundcake
You must follow this recipe exactly;  A Kitchenaide is best, but I kick it old school and use a hand mixer. If anyone would like to procure me a Kitchenaide, I will happily take it off your hands.  I hope my better half is reading this. Never mind.  I would weigh 750 pounds...

5 Eggs
2 Sticks Butter
3 Cups Sugar
1 Cup Crisco
3.5 Cups Flour
1tsp Baking Powder
.5 Cups milk
.5 Pints sour cream
1.5 tsp lemon extract
1 tsp vanilla

Cream shortening, butter, and sugar in a really big bowl.  Add eggs one at a time, while continuing to mix and scraping the bowl. 
Mix flour and powder together in a separate bowl. 
Add flour mixture alternately with milk and sour cream.  This takes a while, but it is imperative to get the cake to rise properly.  I put a third of the flour in and beat it well, then add the milkl, beating it well; flour and sour cream; flour.  The batter is pretty thick.
Pour into a coned bundt pan (the really tall one with the removeable bottom?).  This requires a helper because the batter is really heavy.
Bake at 325 for 1.5 hours

In honor of Aunt Sis. 

On This Mothers' Day

I would like to take a moment to wish all moms a happy day. 

I never really appreciated my mother until I became one, myself.  It is truly a job that is not for the faint of heart.  Being a mom requires stronger stuff.  I am not a gushy person; I am more of an in-your-face-realist.  In that vein of thought, I have decided that Mothers' Day is overrated for those with small children. The only ones who really think that Mothers' Day is awesome are old moms whose children have grown up. These people have been able to get their young ones out of the house with some reasonable sense of sanity remaining, and because of that, they deserve to be celebrated.  I am not in a hurry for my children to grow up too fast, but on days like this, I do look forward to seeing how they will turn out and what I will get from them when I am old and, hopefully, appreciated.

I am looking forward to being old with grown children with my sanity in tact so that I will be able to enjoy the beautiful roses my husband buys me for more than thirty minutes because after thirty minutes one or both children decide that the roses are for other things than admiration:  a paint brush, or a stirring stick, or just to be taken apart so that the petals may be counted.

I am looking forward to having my grown children having me over for dinner and telling me how awesome I was as a mom, even if they are lying through their teeth.  On this one magical day of the year, I will be celebrated as not only wonderful, but also insightful, patient, kind, patient, caring, patient, beautiful, patient, giving, and patient.

I am looking forward to being served breakfast in bed that is for me alone unless I want to share.  Upon waking up in the daylight, I will have this fabulous meal on a tray with an unbeaten rose in a small vase, and I will be able to eat with relish...in silence...and not have grubby fingers digging my strawberries out of my bowl. First person singular possessive pronouns will be a part of my vocabulary again in reference to inanimate objects.

I am looking forward to celebrating Mothers' Day when I am old because I can then say that I have survived motherhood.  I will have conquered the most difficult job on the planet, and will have come out on the other side with dignity, respect, and only half of my hair pulled out.

Moms everywhere, I salute you.  Whether you are on the other side watching and being celebrated, or, like me, you are looking forward to being celebrated, I hope you enjoy your day. 

It's Official, I'm a Soccer Mom

Not only am I a soccer mom, I am the Team Mom.  Now before you judge, thinking that I run around in a minivan all day, please do not.  I run around in a truck all day; my husband drives the minivan.  I always made fun of the minivan until my friend Dana told me not to be a hater; minivans rock.  When H was born we became believers. Even the dog thinks that the minivan has super positive qualities.  He likes simply stepping up into the car instead of making a running jump (he’s getting older, poor guy).  I also made fun of the way that these soccer moms have coffee together and shop together and get their nails done together.  I am not much of a joiner.  My exercise consists of a morning run with my four legged child as a partner since he doesn’t talk or yoga by DVD, and I have never played team sports.  I do think that they are important, though.  “No man is an island” and all that. So when the opportunity to have the girl child involved in some team sports, I was in.

Some of the other moms at H’s school wanted to join a soccer league, and we thought that it would be a good way to get the girl child to exert some energy on a Saturday morning and learn to play well with others, as she struggles with that.  What I didn’t think about was that I would have to get up early, cook breakfast early, get two children dressed early, and get us all out of the house before 9:30 (thank God we didn’t sign up for the 9 am games!).  I also, innocently enough, offered to be “team mom”.  What I didn’t realize was that I would be in charge of ensuring that everyone knew about any changes, any postponements, any announcements, any anything. 

The first game, I did all of the above, threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, popped a baseball hat on my head, and off we went to our first soccer game.  I was in for quite the awakening.  Not one mom had a baseball hat on her head, and forget about any of them walking around without make-up.  Shit!  This meant that I had to shower before each game?  Cleanliness is something that I have never considered to be a virtue.  In fact, I subscribe to one of my sister’s thoughts as to cleanliness being overrated rather than a virtue.

These moms were also very well prepared for their children’s matches.  While I had a big bottle of water in the boy child’s stroller and the camera as an afterthought, these parents were equipped with camping chairs, sports drinks by the case, blankets, cameras, video cameras, and jackets with colors corresponding to their kids’ team shirts all organized neatly into a wagon.  I kept wondering what time these chicks woke up on Saturday.   I felt like I was at a college soccer game, not one for four year olds. 

Well, I quickly became one of those parents.  I shot about a hundred photos (not all of my kid, mind you), I jumped and clapped and cheered like I was at a pro-football game, and told the four year old that she was awesome, even though she was more interested in picking dandelions than actually kicking the ball.  I gave her a pep talk before the second half, and made mental notes~all I had was a water and a camera~ about what I was supposed to bring to the next game, and planning what I will do for snacks.  Even the snacks are a one-upmanship.  I'm waiting for someone to break out the hibachi at some point (what ever happened to tossing out some juice boxes and rice crsipy treats?).  I'll probably make something homemade, more for budget's sake than anything, right?

What in theory was to be a Saturday morning diversion became an epic adventure in keeping up with the Joneses.  I still don’t have coffee with the moms;  I still wear my baseball cap to the games without showering; I refuse to haul a bunch of stuff to the field in a wagon; however, I am into the game when we get there, taking lots and lots of pictures and posting them to Kodak for the other parents to see.  My question, though is, "How did I get sucked into this? When did I become 'one of those parents?'"

I'm Busting Outta Here!

On Thursday this week, my husband encouraged the boy to swing his foot up and to get himself out of the pack and play.  Mind you, that the pack and play is a holding area while husband showers and I struggle to get the girl child ready for school.  We have/had a system that worked.  Due to my husband's positive reinforcement, the plan is now defunct, where I have to come up with another one.

It's only common sense that the little man would take his new found knowledge and figure out how to get out of his crib in short order, and that is exactly what happened during nap yesterday.  I was resting with a book when I heard a loud thump, which I thought was the work of my daughter.  I went to the door and rang the doorbell so that she would think the witch was coming for her.  I did not hear any running back to the bed; in fact, all I heard was a giggle from my son's room.  I then heard a shaking of the door.  Upon investigation, I saw Houdini standing in his room just itching to run out. 

After we got everyone back down for a nap, I slept on the floor of his room to ensure no more shenanigans.  My children absolutely need naps, and it is my job to ensure that they sleep at least two hours during the day.  I need for them to take those naps, as well.  I don't know what the age of naplessness is, but I don't think that seventeen is too old for them to lie down for a couple of hours on the weekends. 

In the afternoon, we converted the crib to a daybed so that the toddler wouldn't fall on his head in the middle of the night.  I am not a fan of waking up for midnight emergencies, even head trauma.  I figured that if he can sleep on a matt at school without gettng up, then he can stay in his bed.  I was so very wrong.  According to the father, little guy woke up around four times last night.  It was not my night to get up with the little darlings, so I was unaware of the wakings.  I think that my husband would have loved for me to feel his pain, but tonight is my night, a school night.  I will feel the pain shortly, assuming Little T hasn't mastered the art of staying in bed. 

I am always pointing out my daughter's short comings, but I neglect to give her props where props are due.  She slept through the night at 8 weeks, and is still an awesome sleeper. She is a three hour nap girl when she finally drops off, and is quite compliant when it is time for bed in the evenings.  Her younger brother, however, is not as easy.  I kept them on the same militant schedule, so I'm at a loss as to what his deal is.  The girl child was also convinced that she could not get out of the daybed, either.  Little T was found in the middle of the room last night crying. 

I write this with a bitter sweet thought.  My babies are growing up, which is good and bad.  It's good because this means diapers may be a thing of the past shortly.  It's sad because we are done at two children.  No more for us.  Now I have to wait at least 20 years before I can snuggle with an infant that is directly related to my womb.  I say 20 years because if anyone shows up at my house with child, somebody's going down.

Recipe Sunday

Sausage and Spinach over Linguini

This is a Weight Watchers recipe variation that has found its way into our hearts...and tummies.  Takes literally 15 minutes to prepare, so it's awesome for busy nights. 

One Package Sweet Turkey Sausage Links, cut into thin slices
One Package Fresh Spinach
3T Pine nuts (or more)
1T Olive Oil
Red Pepper Flakes (around 1t)
Whole Wheat Linguini

Boil linguini according to directions.
While pasta cooks:
Sautee sausage links in olive oil until browned.  Add pine nuts and red pepper flakes, toasting the pine nuts.  Toss in the bagged spinach and stir until wilted.
Drain pasta, reserving 1/3 cup of the liquid.
Pour starchy water into the sausage mixture, tossing well and serve over the pasta.
Add Parmesan cheese because no pasta dish is complete without it. 

You can add mushrooms, garlic, and onions to this too, sauteeing with the sausage, but my husband is quite the purist.  I quote: "Can we please just follow the recipe as it was written?"

When we are off carbs, I use two bags of spinach for bulk.  Celiac friendly.

A Whopper with Pee

The other morning I woke up to my son’s mewling at about 6 am.  I got his milk heated up and went to his room, whereupon I was greeted with the most noxious smell ever.  I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose (sexy lingerie went by the wayside a long time ago; in fact, I think I have worn a cute nightie twice~on my honeymoon).

I pick up the sweet thing and take him to change his diaper.  What I encounter is the largest diaper in the world.  I mean, it was huge.  It was so huge that I set it aside to show it to my husband.  After we got all cleaned up and changed, I took him downstairs with said whopper. 

I then got out the old Weight Watchers scale, which I knew would come in handy one day, albeit not for this, and I weighed the thing: 16 ounces straight up.  A POUND of excrement came from my kid! Of course I post this on Facebook, and get quite a few comments.  One of which was from my cousin who wanted to know what the Tare weight of the diaper was.  I love Susan.  I’m an English teacher, so I had to look up “tare weight”, even though I was pretty sure of what it meant through context.  The diaper, unladen, is one ounce, so Little T peed and crapped fifteen ounces in a ten hour period. 

I’m impressed.  I’m dumbfounded.  How does a child excrete three percent of his body weight?  Now, I call him Little T only because his daddy is named T.  He is not a small child.  He was smaller than his sister at birth, but H was a bit of an anomaly, clocking in at nine and a half pounds. He’s a big boy.  But a pound of shit?  Really?

Recipe Sunday

Hot Chicken:

Yes, you can pick this up at the local grocery store, but there's someting about roasting my own that makes me feel just a little bit superior.

One chicken, innards removed and cavity rinsed.
Pat dry
Rub with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.
Place on a roasting rack, breast side up.
Roast at 425 for 30 minutes
Turn heat down to 350 and roast for another 30+ minutes, until the meat thermometer reads 170.

You can put potatoes and carrots and onion in the roasting pan, too.  They catch all the juices and brown up nicely.

DONE!

The 2 for 1 Deal

Little T got tubes put into his ears on Monday.  After six ear infections; twelve trips to the doctor, including dagnosis and follow-up, each with copays; and six doses of antibiotics, we finally got to see a specialist who agreed that he needed these tiny things that prevent infections that he had been getting. I did the math, and we spent over six hundred bucks before we got to get the tubes.  Now we get to pay our deductible for surgery.

I'm thinking that there should be a two for one surgery for boys and a get it while it's hot surgery for girls at birth.  For boys, put the tubes in right along with the circumcision.  I mean, they've already got a scalpel, and how much more pain can it be to poke a hole in the kid's eardrum after cutting his penis ( a whole other story about Little T and his circumcision issues.  Men, beware:  it'll make you squirm)?

And since girls aren't subjected to the "birth cutting", I'm thinking they should share in the pain, as well by having the tubes put in.  Yeah, I know we women have lots of other things that we have to deal with simply because we're women, but let's level the playing field a little bit with the surgeries.

Red Light, Green Light

While talking over coffee, a friend told me that her daughter had to go to yellow in school.  She was aghast, as her daughter had always been on green.  My daughter also has the traffic light system.  For those of you who may not be aware of the system, it goes a little something like this:

Green:  All is well, and the child had a good day.

Yellow:  A couple of re-directions, and a “Peace Time”.

Boohoo Blue:  Two “Peace Times”

Red:  More than two “Peace Times” or something egregious

It used to just be the three colors, but Boohoo Blue is new, and I believe that it was added for no other reason than my daughter.  H is…well…difficult (See “Unto Us a Felon Is Born”).  As I said, I think it was put there because of her.  They probably worried about her self-esteem and the fact that her name was on Red a lot.  Now most parents are horrified when their children are in Red; however, in our house, Red occurs so often, that we look at it as a common thing.  In fact, we consider it a pretty good week if she is on red only twice.

Now, before we get into the issues of the traffic light system, of which there are many, I have to admit that I like having consistency, and I also like to know how the kids’ days go simply by looking at the wall and finding a red, blue, yellow, or the ever elusive green sticker next to their names. I also find comfort in the fact that there are consequences at home for the respective colors.  If H is on green, she gets to watch television for thirty minutes; if she is on Yellow, then Mommy watches the news;  Boohoo Blue is her room until dinner; and Red is straight to the bedroom, out for dinner, and back to her room afterward.  We may be moving to no dinner, but I'm getting a lot of negative feedback about this idea.

Don’t judge the consequences.  If you think that I am too harsh, come and hang out with my daughter for an hour or two.  I will have your full support in less than 120 minutes, guaranteed. 

What do your kids’ schools use as behavior modification?  There has to be something out there that is foolproof, and since we’re not allowed to recommend to the school that they use corporal punishment on our kids (although I think that Red would be more rare, and green more common, but that’s just me), I want one that really works.

Recipe Sunday

Here's a little ditty that my husband and children love.  It's from Real Simple.

Curried Chicken Thighs with Carrot Cous Cous

4-6 Bone in Chicken thighs with the skin on
1 minced shallot
2T lime juice
1T fresh grated ginger
1T curry powder
2T olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Mix the shallot-the olive oil in a little bowl.  Put some under each skin of the chicken thighs. 
Bake at 400 until the skin is crispy and the juices run clear (40 minutes???)

Cous Cous with Carrot
1/2 Cup shredded carrots
4 servings Cous Cous
Boil water according to cous cous recipe
Put in carrots and boil for a couple of minutes
Put in cous cous and cook according to directions.

Pour Chicken juices over cous cous

Serve with steamed broccoli.

Your turn.