Spring has finally sprung in my hometown. For the past three days, it's topped out in the high 70's. Gorgeous, sunny weather. Beautiful things are starting to grow in my garden.
(Dandelions are also starting to grow in my garden, but I'm digging those suckers up as fast as I can.)
I've set all my seedlings on the front porch to harden off. Two new rose plants are waiting in their gallon containers to be planted as soon as the arbor they are to climb is installed.
The only problem is, I know I'm doing too much too soon. It generally is not considered a good idea to plant in my neck of the woods until mid-May. We've been known to get a hard frost well into May. But I just can't help myself. Here's hoping the cold weather stays away for good!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Baby Cages and Easter Chores
What fun holiday celebration would be complete without a baby cage? (If you haven't seen this episode of Scrubs, watch it before calling CPS on me. It's a joke, I promise.)
Also, when you've done your time, you've got to do your Easter chores:
But seriously, we also let him have a little fun. We blew bubbles:
And fell asleep in church:
He slept through the trumpets. He slept through the tympani. But right after this picture was taken, SuperHubby was telling someone that he and Tom had seen a fire truck before church ... and sproing! his little head popped up and swiveled around. It's all about the fire trucks, baby. (And yes, this may be the single most unflattering picture of me ever taken, between the Dumbo ears and the giant belly. Oh, the pride I sacrifice in the name of an easy blog post.)
And examined giant, mutant goldfish.
Happy Easter.
Also, when you've done your time, you've got to do your Easter chores:
But seriously, we also let him have a little fun. We blew bubbles:
And fell asleep in church:
He slept through the trumpets. He slept through the tympani. But right after this picture was taken, SuperHubby was telling someone that he and Tom had seen a fire truck before church ... and sproing! his little head popped up and swiveled around. It's all about the fire trucks, baby. (And yes, this may be the single most unflattering picture of me ever taken, between the Dumbo ears and the giant belly. Oh, the pride I sacrifice in the name of an easy blog post.)
And examined giant, mutant goldfish.
Happy Easter.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Flower Power
They may be forecasting snow showers all weekend, but gosh darn it, at least my door looks springy.
I took a little rainy afternoon trip to the Michael's yesterday, and lo and behold, all their spring flowers were 50% off. So I made myself a new wreath and had enough left over for two spring arrangements. Not quite as nice as real, but they'll last longer!
I took a little rainy afternoon trip to the Michael's yesterday, and lo and behold, all their spring flowers were 50% off. So I made myself a new wreath and had enough left over for two spring arrangements. Not quite as nice as real, but they'll last longer!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Miss Communication
I have been stumped for some time by the Tominator's reluctance to speak. He makes a lot of noise. He makes a lot of very interesting sounds. But speak -- in actual words that we can understand? Not so much.
His friends at playgroup, all boys, all within a few weeks of Tom's age, all speak in sentences. They have no trouble stringing multi syllabic words together in sensible, rational ways.
Tom ... again, not so much. He can identify and sound out more than half the letters of the alphabet - he can even pick them out of text. But put them together to make a word? Not gonna do it.
Well, today I figured out what the problem was. And apparently, it was my problem.
You see, I don't speak Spanish.
Tom does.
We were in the bathroom, getting ready to wash our hands, and Tom looks up at me and says, clear as day, "Agua! Agua!"
So all that nonsense, with the trilled r's that he's always spouting? I guess I'd better get myself some Speak in a Week and figure it out.
His friends at playgroup, all boys, all within a few weeks of Tom's age, all speak in sentences. They have no trouble stringing multi syllabic words together in sensible, rational ways.
Tom ... again, not so much. He can identify and sound out more than half the letters of the alphabet - he can even pick them out of text. But put them together to make a word? Not gonna do it.
Well, today I figured out what the problem was. And apparently, it was my problem.
You see, I don't speak Spanish.
Tom does.
We were in the bathroom, getting ready to wash our hands, and Tom looks up at me and says, clear as day, "Agua! Agua!"
So all that nonsense, with the trilled r's that he's always spouting? I guess I'd better get myself some Speak in a Week and figure it out.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Garden Starting Shortcuts
As a passionate, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants gardener, I love starting seeds each spring. It gives me such a sense of accomplishment to know that I grew many of my garden plants "from scratch."
The thing is, all the gardening books make seed starting sound SO hard. You have to use special seed-starting mix. Then you plant them in trays watch carefully for each seeding to form two leaves. Then you carefully scoop out each seedling and transplant it into a pot. Then you transplant it again into your garden.
Bah, I say. That's way too much work.
Through trial and error, I've discovered a wonderful system that allows you to plant once, and then transplant straight to your garden when the weather is warm enough.
The secret is to save the little plastic six packs (or larger) that already-started plants come in at the nursery. When you plant your annuals this spring, be gentle when you remove them from the plastic pack. Wash those suckers up and save them for next year. The packs are perfect because they are little self-contained cups with built-in drainage holes.
Then go to a local garden shop or a WalMart and get yourself a couple of plastic gardening trays. They are about 10x15 inches and solid plastic. Here, they set you back about 99 cents.
When you're ready to start the seeds, mix up some regular old potting soil (I use Miracle-Gro) with some peat moss. I make my mix about half and half; the peat moss serves to lighten the soil just a bit to make root development easier on the plants.
Then fill all your little cups with soil, and put them in your plastic trays. The plastic trays are essential to this step. Stick your seeds in the soil, and mist with a spray bottle. Then add an inch or so of water to the plastic trays - so that the cups are sitting in the water. The dirt, and eventually the plant roots, will suck up the water through the holes in the bottom of the cups. Makes keeping the soil moist a breeze.
Cover the whole shebang with some clear plastic wrap and place in a sunny window. You can also use a florescent lamp to encourage growth. I use an old florescent desk lamp that we had hanging around the house.
In about three days, you should see sprouts, and as your plants grow, remove the plastic wrap. Keep watering by adding water to the trays, and let them grow away! You may need to thin the plants in the cups, but that is easy to do by just clipping off the weaker seedlings.
When it's time to put your plants in the garden, you have an easy time of it. Just pop the well-rooted seedlings out of the cups and go to town! It's like having a garden center on your back porch, and that works for me.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Out of the Loop
This just goes to show how far removed I am from popular culture:
My friend went to college with the three ladies who have started this company. They sell fancy underwear that is packaged (with a personal freshness wipe) in a little case that looks like a passport.
Their website lists a variety of uses for such pre-packaged panties, including a "hot date for cocktails after a hard day's work." I had no idea that women needed fresh underwear in order to drink a martini. But then again, I don't drink, so what do I know?
Seriously, I wish these ladies well and hope their business takes off. I guess I just don't get it.
My friend went to college with the three ladies who have started this company. They sell fancy underwear that is packaged (with a personal freshness wipe) in a little case that looks like a passport.
Their website lists a variety of uses for such pre-packaged panties, including a "hot date for cocktails after a hard day's work." I had no idea that women needed fresh underwear in order to drink a martini. But then again, I don't drink, so what do I know?
Seriously, I wish these ladies well and hope their business takes off. I guess I just don't get it.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Failure
Today, I ate my leftover stuffed cabbage all by myself. I didn't share my lunch with anyone.
Today, I failed.
My friend Maria stopped by the church unexpectedly around noon today, with her new boyfriend. They are moving in together, if they can scrape up the deposit for the apartment.
I met Maria through the church. She used to come in to help her mother quilt on Thursdays, but spent most of her time visiting with me in the church office. She helped with office work, helped watch my son, even stayed over at my house a few times.
When she went to her senior prom, I volunteered to do her hair and makeup, and made a gift of the cosmetics.
When Maria graduated high school, she had a career all lined up. She was a certified nurse assistant, and had secured a well-paying, health-insurance-providing job at a local nursing home. Things looked good for Maria.
Then she met a man, and followed him around the country. She was fired from her job. Her upright, Chrisitian parents didn't approve, so she moved out.
She's spent the last year living in squalor, subsisting on food donations and soup kitchen meals, wearing clothes gleaned from other people's trashcans.
When she and her boyfriend showed up, I was glad to see them. They were filthy, and I'd just put Tom down for a nap, but I invited them in. We chatted. Then her boyfriend said that he was going to have to pawn the gold necklace Maria had bought him two days ago for his birthday, because they had no food and hadn't eaten today.
"You haven't eaten all day?" I asked. (I can't even imagine no food all day.)
"Well, we haven't been eating very well lately," Maria admitted. She said she's been passing out a lot, but she doesn't know why.
My lunch - uneaten - was in a bag on the counter behind me. I thought about giving it to them, but I didn't.
I looked at Maria with her greasy hair and filthy nails and heard the words of Jesus in my head:
Whatsoever you do unto the least of my people, you have done unto me.
And I did nothing.
Today, I failed.
My friend Maria stopped by the church unexpectedly around noon today, with her new boyfriend. They are moving in together, if they can scrape up the deposit for the apartment.
I met Maria through the church. She used to come in to help her mother quilt on Thursdays, but spent most of her time visiting with me in the church office. She helped with office work, helped watch my son, even stayed over at my house a few times.
When she went to her senior prom, I volunteered to do her hair and makeup, and made a gift of the cosmetics.
When Maria graduated high school, she had a career all lined up. She was a certified nurse assistant, and had secured a well-paying, health-insurance-providing job at a local nursing home. Things looked good for Maria.
Then she met a man, and followed him around the country. She was fired from her job. Her upright, Chrisitian parents didn't approve, so she moved out.
She's spent the last year living in squalor, subsisting on food donations and soup kitchen meals, wearing clothes gleaned from other people's trashcans.
When she and her boyfriend showed up, I was glad to see them. They were filthy, and I'd just put Tom down for a nap, but I invited them in. We chatted. Then her boyfriend said that he was going to have to pawn the gold necklace Maria had bought him two days ago for his birthday, because they had no food and hadn't eaten today.
"You haven't eaten all day?" I asked. (I can't even imagine no food all day.)
"Well, we haven't been eating very well lately," Maria admitted. She said she's been passing out a lot, but she doesn't know why.
My lunch - uneaten - was in a bag on the counter behind me. I thought about giving it to them, but I didn't.
I looked at Maria with her greasy hair and filthy nails and heard the words of Jesus in my head:
Whatsoever you do unto the least of my people, you have done unto me.
And I did nothing.
Friday, March 16, 2007
The Very Hungry Mommy
In the light of the moon, a Mommy lay in bed, awake and starving. Stealthily, she crawled out of bed and went in search of something good to eat.
At 10 p.m., she ate through one bowl of cereal, but she was still hungry.
At 1 a.m., she ate through two Girl Scout Samoas cookies, but she was still hungry.
At 3 a.m., she ate through three bowls of fruit salad, but she was still hungry.
At 5 a.m., she ate through four Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies, but she was still hungry.
At 7 a.m., she ate through one bowl of cereal, one banana, one piece of cinnamon toast, one low-fat string cheese, one glass of orange juice and one cup of green tea. And she didn’t even have a stomachache!
Now she wasn’t a little Mommy anymore – she was a big, fat, mommy.
But she was still hungry.
My apologies to Eric Carle.
At 10 p.m., she ate through one bowl of cereal, but she was still hungry.
At 1 a.m., she ate through two Girl Scout Samoas cookies, but she was still hungry.
At 3 a.m., she ate through three bowls of fruit salad, but she was still hungry.
At 5 a.m., she ate through four Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies, but she was still hungry.
At 7 a.m., she ate through one bowl of cereal, one banana, one piece of cinnamon toast, one low-fat string cheese, one glass of orange juice and one cup of green tea. And she didn’t even have a stomachache!
Now she wasn’t a little Mommy anymore – she was a big, fat, mommy.
But she was still hungry.
My apologies to Eric Carle.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
No Means No
A play about a mother’s spiral into insanity at the hands of her toddler son.
Characters:
Mama: Loving, but frazzled, hugely pregnant twenty-something mother.
Tom: Spirited, intelligent, pre-lingual eighteen-month-old boy.
Act I
At Rise: (A bathroom somewhere in Pennsylvania. It is dawn. Mama is brushing her teeth at the sink. From offstage she hears the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. Toddler son, Tom, appears in bathroom lugging 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola.)
Tom: (Holding bottle out to Mama)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: No Tom, that’s Mama’s juice. Tom may not have that juice.
Tom: (Making drinking motion with bottle)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: (Sighing)
Mama said no.
Tom: (Running out of bathroom and sliding down the stairs, still clutching bottle)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: (Following Tom downstairs into the kitchen, sees that Tom has found a cup and is holding both the Coke and the cup out to her.)
I know that you want that juice, Tom, but you may not have it.
Tom: (Making the American Sign Language sign for please)
Ugh, ugh, ugh!
Mama: (Gets apple juice from fridge.)
Here Tom, you may have this juice.
Tom: No, no, no!
Mama: (Giving in)
Ok Tom. Let's compromise.
(Mama fills Tom’s cup with water and adds a splash of Coke for color.)
Here. You may have some of Mama’s juice.
Tom: No, no, no!
(Falls to floor, crying and kicking. Will not take cup.)
No, no, no!
(Tom continues kicking and crying inconsolably. Mama sighs and pours Coke down the drain to avoid further conflict. Lights fade.)
Act II
At Rise: (Brightly-lit kitchen. Tom is sitting in his highchair playing with his spoon and awaiting his breakfast.)
Mama: Here’s your waffle, Tom.
Tom: (Crying)
No, no, no!
(Stuffs waffle greedily in mouth.)
No, no, no!
Mama: (Sighs.)
(Lights fade.)
Act III
At Rise: (Administrative office of a church, drab, full of filing cabinets. It is lunchtime. Brightly colored children’s toys are scattered on the floor.)
Mama: Tom, it’s time for lunch. Let’s heat up your soup. Do you want to push the buttons on the microwave?
Tom: (Carrying bowl of soup and running towards the microwave)
No, no, no!
(He begins crying.)
Mama: Tom, do you want to help Mama? Give Mama the soup.
Tom: (Wailing)
No, no, no!
Mama: Here, let me help you.
(Attempts to pick up Tom, but he slides to the floor, tears streaming down his face. He kicks the floor.)
Tom: No, no, no!
(Mama heats soup, and Tom calms enough to climb into his highchair, where he proceeds to eat with gusto.)
Mama: Tom, do you want some cornbread?
Tom: (Reaches for cornbread.)
No, no, no!
(Lights fade.)
Characters:
Mama: Loving, but frazzled, hugely pregnant twenty-something mother.
Tom: Spirited, intelligent, pre-lingual eighteen-month-old boy.
Act I
At Rise: (A bathroom somewhere in Pennsylvania. It is dawn. Mama is brushing her teeth at the sink. From offstage she hears the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. Toddler son, Tom, appears in bathroom lugging 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola.)
Tom: (Holding bottle out to Mama)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: No Tom, that’s Mama’s juice. Tom may not have that juice.
Tom: (Making drinking motion with bottle)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: (Sighing)
Mama said no.
Tom: (Running out of bathroom and sliding down the stairs, still clutching bottle)
Ugh ugh ugh!
Mama: (Following Tom downstairs into the kitchen, sees that Tom has found a cup and is holding both the Coke and the cup out to her.)
I know that you want that juice, Tom, but you may not have it.
Tom: (Making the American Sign Language sign for please)
Ugh, ugh, ugh!
Mama: (Gets apple juice from fridge.)
Here Tom, you may have this juice.
Tom: No, no, no!
Mama: (Giving in)
Ok Tom. Let's compromise.
(Mama fills Tom’s cup with water and adds a splash of Coke for color.)
Here. You may have some of Mama’s juice.
Tom: No, no, no!
(Falls to floor, crying and kicking. Will not take cup.)
No, no, no!
(Tom continues kicking and crying inconsolably. Mama sighs and pours Coke down the drain to avoid further conflict. Lights fade.)
Act II
At Rise: (Brightly-lit kitchen. Tom is sitting in his highchair playing with his spoon and awaiting his breakfast.)
Mama: Here’s your waffle, Tom.
Tom: (Crying)
No, no, no!
(Stuffs waffle greedily in mouth.)
No, no, no!
Mama: (Sighs.)
(Lights fade.)
Act III
At Rise: (Administrative office of a church, drab, full of filing cabinets. It is lunchtime. Brightly colored children’s toys are scattered on the floor.)
Mama: Tom, it’s time for lunch. Let’s heat up your soup. Do you want to push the buttons on the microwave?
Tom: (Carrying bowl of soup and running towards the microwave)
No, no, no!
(He begins crying.)
Mama: Tom, do you want to help Mama? Give Mama the soup.
Tom: (Wailing)
No, no, no!
Mama: Here, let me help you.
(Attempts to pick up Tom, but he slides to the floor, tears streaming down his face. He kicks the floor.)
Tom: No, no, no!
(Mama heats soup, and Tom calms enough to climb into his highchair, where he proceeds to eat with gusto.)
Mama: Tom, do you want some cornbread?
Tom: (Reaches for cornbread.)
No, no, no!
(Lights fade.)
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Sunday Snow Day
We had planned to go home today, but the snow started falling during church and just kept falling and falling and falling ... so instead we went sledding.
All bundled up ...
I love sledding with Dada!
And building snowmen with Grandpa ...
And we rounded out the weekend with some tickles from Mama. Here comes the tickle-monster!
He's gonna get you!
(And yes, my son is part piranha. Look at those teeth!)
All bundled up ...
I love sledding with Dada!
And building snowmen with Grandpa ...
And we rounded out the weekend with some tickles from Mama. Here comes the tickle-monster!
He's gonna get you!
(And yes, my son is part piranha. Look at those teeth!)
Friday, February 23, 2007
Update on Prayer Requests
My friend Jeanette gave birth to Ahren Alexander yesterday afternoon. He was 19 inches long and 7 lbs 1 oz. So far, things look good. He's been eating well and has been making urine. Doctors will do some tests today and again later in the week to make sure everything is working well, but right now things look very positive.
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Please keep praying for Ahren's continued health.
Thank you all for your prayers and support. Please keep praying for Ahren's continued health.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Product Review: Fabulous Snacks by Kashi
While many of my bloggy buddies are famous enough to be asked to review products, I just do it out of the goodness of my heart. No one's advertising department has contacted me for reviews, but when I find a product I love, I feel like I should tell my tens of readers about it.
So, without further ado, here's my new favorite portable kid feast and fabulous snack find: Kashi's TLC Cherry Dark Chocolate Granola Bars. I tripped over these the other day at Wal-Mart, and decided to give them a try, even though they are slightly more expensive than their Quaker counterparts.
Tom loves granola bars, but I've always felt bad about filling him up with super-sugary snacks, even if they do come convienently wrapped. Enter Kashi. While the bars do still contain 8g of sugar, it's balanced with a healthy (but tasty) 4g of fiber and 5g of protein.
Plus, they taste great to adults, too. The cherry flavor is a great combination of sweet and tart, not at all cloying, the way I find other chewy granola bars to be. The bars include actual dried cherries, along with tasty, real dark chocolate chips. No artificial flavoring, nothing. Yum.
Kashi offers several flavors, but the others I saw contained big pieces of nuts, and I am not that confident in Tom's chewing ability. I do, however, plan to check out the trail mix variety for myself.
Kashi's Cherry Dark Chocolate Chewy Granola Bars get a big five-star rating from Wishful Thinking.
So, without further ado, here's my new favorite portable kid feast and fabulous snack find: Kashi's TLC Cherry Dark Chocolate Granola Bars. I tripped over these the other day at Wal-Mart, and decided to give them a try, even though they are slightly more expensive than their Quaker counterparts.
Tom loves granola bars, but I've always felt bad about filling him up with super-sugary snacks, even if they do come convienently wrapped. Enter Kashi. While the bars do still contain 8g of sugar, it's balanced with a healthy (but tasty) 4g of fiber and 5g of protein.
Plus, they taste great to adults, too. The cherry flavor is a great combination of sweet and tart, not at all cloying, the way I find other chewy granola bars to be. The bars include actual dried cherries, along with tasty, real dark chocolate chips. No artificial flavoring, nothing. Yum.
Kashi offers several flavors, but the others I saw contained big pieces of nuts, and I am not that confident in Tom's chewing ability. I do, however, plan to check out the trail mix variety for myself.
Kashi's Cherry Dark Chocolate Chewy Granola Bars get a big five-star rating from Wishful Thinking.
Nut-Free Streusel
Superhubby can't eat nuts, and I've been searching for a decent nut-free streusel recipe for years. Finally I found one that I could adapt, and I am so excited.
2/3 c. uncooked regular oatmeal, coarsely chopped in a food processor
2/3 c. all-purpose flour
2/3 c. sugar or packed brown sugar
5 T melted butter
1 t cinnamon (or use 1/2 t each ginger and nutmeg)
1/4 t salt
Mix all ingredients together with a fork until crumbly. Top baked goods (coffee cake, muffins) and bake as directed. This recipe freezes well, too, if you end up with more streusel than you can use.
I made this with ginger and used them to top cherry muffins a few weeks ago. Delicious!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
In Need of Prayer
**UPDATED**
If you are the praying type, please take a moment and pray for two families who are experiencings serious emergencies right now.
My parents are volunteers at White Sands National Monument in New Mexico. Yesterday a 77-year-old visitor to the park went out to take pictures on the dunes. He never returned. Overnight temperatures in the desert dropped to the 30s, and he is without much food, water or warm clothing.
Resucers have been searching the 275-square-mile park for 12 hours, and they still haven't located him. He and his wife are visiting from Austrailia. Please pray for Lou's safe resuce.
**Lou has been found, alive and whole. He survived the night in the dunes by covering himself with dry grasses, and walked to safety this afternoon.**
The second request is for my neighbor's daughter, Jeanette. She is pregnant with her second child, and will be induced Thursday because her son's kidneys aren't forming properly. Fluid continues to build up around his kidneys, instead of being excreted in a normal manner. Because both kidneys are affected, this could be a very serious and life-threatening illness for him. Doctors say there is about a 25% chance the problem will "fix itself" after birth. Please pray for Jeanette and her family.
If you are the praying type, please take a moment and pray for two families who are experiencings serious emergencies right now.
My parents are volunteers at White Sands National Monument in New Mexico. Yesterday a 77-year-old visitor to the park went out to take pictures on the dunes. He never returned. Overnight temperatures in the desert dropped to the 30s, and he is without much food, water or warm clothing.
Resucers have been searching the 275-square-mile park for 12 hours, and they still haven't located him. He and his wife are visiting from Austrailia. Please pray for Lou's safe resuce.
**Lou has been found, alive and whole. He survived the night in the dunes by covering himself with dry grasses, and walked to safety this afternoon.**
The second request is for my neighbor's daughter, Jeanette. She is pregnant with her second child, and will be induced Thursday because her son's kidneys aren't forming properly. Fluid continues to build up around his kidneys, instead of being excreted in a normal manner. Because both kidneys are affected, this could be a very serious and life-threatening illness for him. Doctors say there is about a 25% chance the problem will "fix itself" after birth. Please pray for Jeanette and her family.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Works For Me Wednesday, Indeed!
My blog is what you might call "out of the way." On good days, I like to think of it as a refreshing, but little-known, outpost on the mega-highway to bloggityville.
On a bad day, I call my lack of traffic depressing.
Well, let me tell you something. I participated in Works for Me Wednesday yesterday, and my traffic jumped 380% for the day. Three hundred eighty percent!
Now that REALLY works for me. (Thanks, Shannon!)
On a bad day, I call my lack of traffic depressing.
Well, let me tell you something. I participated in Works for Me Wednesday yesterday, and my traffic jumped 380% for the day. Three hundred eighty percent!
Now that REALLY works for me. (Thanks, Shannon!)
No, no!
The Tominator has learned the "N" word, and sad to say, I find it hilarious. Mostly because he uses such inflection when he demurs. It's never just "NO!" instead, he says "no, no, noooooo" with a long shake of the head.
Often it's in response to a question.
Mama: "Tom, do you want some juice?"
Tom: "No, no, nooooooo!"
Other times, it's in request for the book But No Elephants. This is a tricky one.
Mama: "Would you like to read a book?"
Tom: "Book! No, no, NOOOOOO!" as he runs to fetch above mentioned book.
Today, it was in response to some lyrics on a Veggie Tales CD.
Bob the Tomato: "God answers prayer, God answers prayer ..."
Tom: "No, no, NOOOOOO!"
I have no idea what this means, but it sure is funny. I think.
Often it's in response to a question.
Mama: "Tom, do you want some juice?"
Tom: "No, no, nooooooo!"
Other times, it's in request for the book But No Elephants. This is a tricky one.
Mama: "Would you like to read a book?"
Tom: "Book! No, no, NOOOOOO!" as he runs to fetch above mentioned book.
Today, it was in response to some lyrics on a Veggie Tales CD.
Bob the Tomato: "God answers prayer, God answers prayer ..."
Tom: "No, no, NOOOOOO!"
I have no idea what this means, but it sure is funny. I think.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Quick Kitchen Clean Up
A nice, home-cooked Valentine's Day meal is always better when you don't face a sink full of dirty dishes when you're done. My solution, as obvious as this seems, is to clean up as you go. If I wash as many dishes as possible while the main dish simmers or bakes, by the time dinner rolls around, I am left with only the dinner plates and glasses (these go in the dishwasher) and whatever pot the main dish cooked in. Cleanup takes mere minutes, and then we can enjoy our evening as a family.
Simple, but it works for me!
Monday, February 12, 2007
Friendship and Joy
"I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds 'round my neck."
- Emma Goldman
Every girl remembers her first time, and sometimes her last.
The day after my son was born, a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses found their way into my hospital room. They brightened up the dingy view of the alley quite nicely and soothed my exhausted shock at having brought this tiny, living, pooping thing into the world. That was the last time I received yellow roses.
But the first time, oh the first time.
On a clear Valentine’s Day nearly a decade ago, I woke up to find a yellow rose lying on the bed next to me, tucked in between the pages of my journal. Surprising, romantic, and extremely odd. This was not a farewell from the last night’s lover – I was 17, living at home with my parents, and quite chaste.
I pulled on my robe and hustled downstairs, where my mother was flipping pancakes. Another beautiful red-tipped yellow rose was lying by my breakfast plate. When I asked her about it, she was evasive. “I have no idea,” she said, smiling.
For the rest of the day, whenever I caught sight of the two roses nestled in a vase on the table, I wondered how they had gotten to my house. They had to be from my new boyfriend, who knew that yellow roses were my favorite. But he lived 20 minutes away, and I could not believe that he had driven out that morning, before I awoke, to make sure the rose would get tucked into my bed.
Later that evening, he picked me up for a special dinner date. Another rose popped out from behind his back. Yet another was waiting for me in the car. Back at his parents’ house, he had set up the formal dining room with candles and soft music. He carefully served spaghetti he had made himself, and we sat down to eat – at a table set with china, silver and six gorgeous yellow roses.
As we lingered over our farewell kiss outside the garage door of my parents’ house, he produced two more roses. An even dozen -- and he surprised me with every single one.
*This post is a shameless bid to win a box of Alaskan berry-filled chocolates from Scribbit, during this month's Write-Away Contest. I'm pregnant and I need them.
*This post was also submitted to Crunchable, and will appear in the February issue.
- Emma Goldman
Every girl remembers her first time, and sometimes her last.
The day after my son was born, a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses found their way into my hospital room. They brightened up the dingy view of the alley quite nicely and soothed my exhausted shock at having brought this tiny, living, pooping thing into the world. That was the last time I received yellow roses.
But the first time, oh the first time.
On a clear Valentine’s Day nearly a decade ago, I woke up to find a yellow rose lying on the bed next to me, tucked in between the pages of my journal. Surprising, romantic, and extremely odd. This was not a farewell from the last night’s lover – I was 17, living at home with my parents, and quite chaste.
I pulled on my robe and hustled downstairs, where my mother was flipping pancakes. Another beautiful red-tipped yellow rose was lying by my breakfast plate. When I asked her about it, she was evasive. “I have no idea,” she said, smiling.
For the rest of the day, whenever I caught sight of the two roses nestled in a vase on the table, I wondered how they had gotten to my house. They had to be from my new boyfriend, who knew that yellow roses were my favorite. But he lived 20 minutes away, and I could not believe that he had driven out that morning, before I awoke, to make sure the rose would get tucked into my bed.
Later that evening, he picked me up for a special dinner date. Another rose popped out from behind his back. Yet another was waiting for me in the car. Back at his parents’ house, he had set up the formal dining room with candles and soft music. He carefully served spaghetti he had made himself, and we sat down to eat – at a table set with china, silver and six gorgeous yellow roses.
As we lingered over our farewell kiss outside the garage door of my parents’ house, he produced two more roses. An even dozen -- and he surprised me with every single one.
*This post is a shameless bid to win a box of Alaskan berry-filled chocolates from Scribbit, during this month's Write-Away Contest. I'm pregnant and I need them.
*This post was also submitted to Crunchable, and will appear in the February issue.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Therapy
Take endless tantrums, fussing and an extremely snotty nose from one 18-month-old. Mix in one sick husband. Sprinkle liberally with a desire for a clean house, and continue sorting, organizing and vacuuming despite screaming toddler. Stir in 4 loads of laundry. Add a splash of barking, tissue-stealing dog. Chill at 66 degrees for 12 solid hours.
Then run screaming from the house with poorly-painted cardboard sign reading "Cancun or Bust."
Or, you could make these.
What I really wanted was a delicious pan of seven-layer bars, but I didn't have any sweetened condensed milk. So I made up my own recipe.
Therapy Bars
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Crust:
1 1/4 c graham cracker crumbs
1 T brown sugar
2 T melted butter
Mix together and press in the bottom of an 8-inch glass pan.
Topping:
1/2 c packed brown sugar
1/2 butter
1/2 c white chocolate chips
1/2 c raisins
3/4 c semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 c mini marshmallows
Melt brown sugar and butter in a sauce pan and boil gently one minute, until sugar and butter form a soft caramel.
Sprinkle white chocolate chips and raisins over crust. Top with caramel and bake for 15 minutes, or until caramel bubbles evenly. Pull out of oven, top with semi-sweet chips and marshmallows and return to oven until marshmallows are lightly brown, about 3 minutes.
Let cool at least 30 minutes and cut into bars. Makes 9 bars, or 16 if you cut them really small.
Nutritional information:
Who are you kidding? These are a heart attack and diabetic coma all rolled into one. But they are so much cheaper than Xanax, and you don't need a prescription.
Then run screaming from the house with poorly-painted cardboard sign reading "Cancun or Bust."
Or, you could make these.
What I really wanted was a delicious pan of seven-layer bars, but I didn't have any sweetened condensed milk. So I made up my own recipe.
Therapy Bars
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Crust:
1 1/4 c graham cracker crumbs
1 T brown sugar
2 T melted butter
Mix together and press in the bottom of an 8-inch glass pan.
Topping:
1/2 c packed brown sugar
1/2 butter
1/2 c white chocolate chips
1/2 c raisins
3/4 c semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 c mini marshmallows
Melt brown sugar and butter in a sauce pan and boil gently one minute, until sugar and butter form a soft caramel.
Sprinkle white chocolate chips and raisins over crust. Top with caramel and bake for 15 minutes, or until caramel bubbles evenly. Pull out of oven, top with semi-sweet chips and marshmallows and return to oven until marshmallows are lightly brown, about 3 minutes.
Let cool at least 30 minutes and cut into bars. Makes 9 bars, or 16 if you cut them really small.
Nutritional information:
Who are you kidding? These are a heart attack and diabetic coma all rolled into one. But they are so much cheaper than Xanax, and you don't need a prescription.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Tick Tock
In three months, give or take a week, I will welcome a new baby into my home. This is something that SuperHubby and I prayed about, and that we both wanted very badly. But as countdown to baby number two continues, I do not find myself rejoicing and longing to hold his tiny hands. Instead I am reduced to an inanimate lump of molten, abject terror.
Maybe it's because I have finally settled into something resembling a routine, after more than a year of sleeping, eating, cleaning, showering whenever I could. Maybe I've just become used to a child who sleeps 10 straight hours. I've become accustomed to a couple of uninterrupted hours of computer or TV time at night, no demands, no wailing, hungry, fretful children to keep me from taking time for myself. I hate that I am already fretting over giving that up once S. arrives.
I know, in reality, that three months is a very long time. I don't need to be worried that we are not even close to ready to move Tom into his big-boy room. I have time to accomplish all I have set out to do. But I am having misgivings over my decision to try to move him out of the crib and into a real bed before the baby is born. My mother reminds me regularly that she thinks moving him out of his crib is a terrible idea. I'm starting to believe her. If I don't move him, though, I will have to buy another crib. And I really don't want to do that.
Unlike with Tom, where I (falsely) had a sense of security bestowed on me by the dozens of baby-care books I devoured, I have no such comfort with this child. Even though I will have nearly two years of mothering experience under my belt by the time S. comes along, I am sure that I won't know what to do. I have no sense of security in my abilities to parent two children with such very different needs at the same time.
I want so badly to feel like this, but I don't.
I want to be glowing with the joy and wonder at the miracle that is happening every second inside my body, instead of sitting on hot packs because somehow I ended up with a shooting pain in my backside and left leg this time around. I want to be enjoying the baby's kicks, punches, jabs and rolls, not resenting the fact that putting on socks is already difficult for me.
It's sort of the way I felt about Christmas this year. I knew it was coming, the cheerful holiday presence loomed over my head and blasted from store speakers starting around mid-October. I had plenty of time and warning to prepare. But I dragged my feet. I didn't want to buy Christmas gifts before Halloween. I didn't want to plan menus and shopping lists and day trips and everything else to keep my family happy over the holidays. As a result, when I finally got around to completing these tasks, I was rushed and frustrated. Although the holidays went well, they were not the exciting family time I had anticipated. We spent a lot of time sitting around staring at our hands because I had not done a good job planning day trips and activities.
I feel like that's how it's going to go with this baby, too. I feel unprepared. And messing up Christmas is not nearly as bad as messing up my kids because I didn't know what to do.
Maybe it's because I have finally settled into something resembling a routine, after more than a year of sleeping, eating, cleaning, showering whenever I could. Maybe I've just become used to a child who sleeps 10 straight hours. I've become accustomed to a couple of uninterrupted hours of computer or TV time at night, no demands, no wailing, hungry, fretful children to keep me from taking time for myself. I hate that I am already fretting over giving that up once S. arrives.
I know, in reality, that three months is a very long time. I don't need to be worried that we are not even close to ready to move Tom into his big-boy room. I have time to accomplish all I have set out to do. But I am having misgivings over my decision to try to move him out of the crib and into a real bed before the baby is born. My mother reminds me regularly that she thinks moving him out of his crib is a terrible idea. I'm starting to believe her. If I don't move him, though, I will have to buy another crib. And I really don't want to do that.
Unlike with Tom, where I (falsely) had a sense of security bestowed on me by the dozens of baby-care books I devoured, I have no such comfort with this child. Even though I will have nearly two years of mothering experience under my belt by the time S. comes along, I am sure that I won't know what to do. I have no sense of security in my abilities to parent two children with such very different needs at the same time.
I want so badly to feel like this, but I don't.
I want to be glowing with the joy and wonder at the miracle that is happening every second inside my body, instead of sitting on hot packs because somehow I ended up with a shooting pain in my backside and left leg this time around. I want to be enjoying the baby's kicks, punches, jabs and rolls, not resenting the fact that putting on socks is already difficult for me.
It's sort of the way I felt about Christmas this year. I knew it was coming, the cheerful holiday presence loomed over my head and blasted from store speakers starting around mid-October. I had plenty of time and warning to prepare. But I dragged my feet. I didn't want to buy Christmas gifts before Halloween. I didn't want to plan menus and shopping lists and day trips and everything else to keep my family happy over the holidays. As a result, when I finally got around to completing these tasks, I was rushed and frustrated. Although the holidays went well, they were not the exciting family time I had anticipated. We spent a lot of time sitting around staring at our hands because I had not done a good job planning day trips and activities.
I feel like that's how it's going to go with this baby, too. I feel unprepared. And messing up Christmas is not nearly as bad as messing up my kids because I didn't know what to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
