You are currently browsing the monthly archive for January, 2007.
Rave: Have you seen the Citibank commercial where the outdoors-ey guys are mountain biking but one dude doesn’t have bike? And he pretends to pedal down the mountain and totally eats it? Ok, I laugh out loud at the commercial, I think because it reminds me of my brothers- they would totally do that. But here is the totally funny part- the boys saw that commercial, and now they RIDE their IMAGINARY bikes all over the house! I can’t stop laughing!
Rant: Who in their right mind thought it was CUTE to make scissors walk all over the freakin’ place, chomping and nibbling and being flippin’ SCARY, as they eat your old credit cards? OH how cute, look little Suzy, cute scissors- put your fingers close and lets laugh as the 100’s of POINT-UP scissors dance around the roadway! Holy crapsticks, it gives me the heebies just thinking about them…
That is all.
Grrrr. Some mornings just shouldn’t happen. Wake up late, with a headache. (Why does this happen sometimes? Why on earth would a person wake, after a good night’s sleep, with a headache. Grrrr….)
Jeffrey forgot to do his homework- rush rushrushrush… do homework, ruffle through handouts I should have looked at last night. He needs $$ for a project at school- ruffle through change jar on DH’s dresser to pilfer proper cash…
Get dressed. GET DRESSED! NOW!
Wake baby up *sob*
In rush to get out the door, catch my pants on the door frame and tear pocket. Get Abby and Jeff in car, go back inside to grab Beanie, and realize THE DOOR IS LOCKED.
Spend several minutes persuading Beanie it really IS a good idea to let mama in- grab him, self, purse, phone, KEYS and coat and head out the door.
Halfway to school, realize no one has had breakfast. Drive-thru, here we come! All I can think of is Supersize Me- and how atrocious a McMeal is for breakfast- is it really better than nothing? The Monkeys think so…
I can’t reach the Monkeys to give them their “food” from the drivers seat, so I have to pull over and brace myself on the ice and snow to go around, open the back door, and hand out the “food”- at which time Beanie, so excited for his potato crispy-thingamabob, inadvertently dumps his whole jug of milk out on the seat.
Back in the car and on our way. Yeehaw. Get Jeff there in the nick of time (barely) and head for Target. When? When Oh when, will I just give up hope on the Target thing? Long story short, there is a full cart of things I want and need somewhere in the middle of Target, left because Beanie thought hitting me and screaming “Don’t HURT ME, Mama!” was a good idea- even though I wasn’t touching him. Oh, I wanted to hurt him, believe it-!
So, dragging Kicking-Screaming-Boy directly to Jail, not passing GO, not collecting $200, we came home.
I’m going to go cry now.
*sob*
Pre-dawn, Jeffrey crawls in bed and nestles down next to me, holding my hand tightly.
“Mama?” he whispers.
“Hmmm- what, baby?” I inhale the shampoo and Little-boy from the flames of hair tickling my cheeks…
Rolling over, he puts his hands on my face, looking earnestly at me from two inches away. “I don’t want to grown up, mama. I don’t want to get big.”
Barely able to focus on his freckled nose- I ask why he doesn’t want to get big.
“I don’t want to get big because when I do, you will be old and die.” He starts to cry as the words choke out.
Gulp.
Lump in my throat, thoughts whirling, I try and figure out what to say… He is right- I won’t lie to my children, someday I will get old and someday, hopefully a long time from now, I too will die. It just wasn’t something I was prepared to face before the sun was even up today- and here it was, freckles sprayed across it’s nose, staring earnestly towards my face.
I hope and pray my answer was not only good enough, but that it was the truth.
I have big feet. When I say “big feet” I really, really mean that- as in, it’s been often impossible for me to find cute shoes since my feet hit their current size in 7 th grade. I remember my grandma taking me shoe shopping as a fashion-victim Jr-high student, and the only shoes in my size were the old-lady podiatry specials. When you’re 11, and you wear a size 11, the world is not a pretty place. It was not beneath me to shove my long feet into too-small shoes and hobble around in pain for months. There’s no counting the tears I have shed in shoe stores.
I thought I would surly die when I heard having a baby can make your feet grow– the wail of pain. Yes, they did grow a tiny bit post-baby #1, but mercifully not again with #2 or #3- at least not enough to push me over into the realm of “transvestite and cross-dresser” sizes…
Thankfully, things have gotten a bit better. There are now quite a few shoe makers that carry what they call “extended sizes”. So I’m still not normal, and not all shoes make it up to the ES bracket, but the choices are way better than they were 20+ years ago. Way better.
So look at what I found, on total SALE, in MY size today:
Presenting the Cutest Shoes I Have Ever Owned! I simply could NOT pass them up- in homage to the teary, misfit, self-conscious mid-adolescent girl I once was, I bought these wild, totally impractical, will not match anything, looks a little like Minnie Mouse, shoes that FIT ME!! AND I LOVE THEM!!
Note to the wise: Round-toed shoes make even water-skis like mine look acceptable in polite company. Darling, I tell you. I’m going to wear them with my Bee Girl outfit when I blog!
Footnote: Ha ha! I modeled them for DH when he got home tonight, and he was glad I was happy, but didn’t say much beyond a vapid stare- maybe the gray sweats and one of his white t-shirts kinda threw the outfit off? The Monkeys kept telling me how pretty I looked- A mama’s gotta love her boys!
Scene: My kitchen, the boys are peeling potatoes for dinner. They like to help, and I like having them help. I have given each of them their own peeler, cutting board and 4 potatoes to peel.
Beanie: “My potatoes are juicy, Jeff!” *giggle giggle giggle*
Jeffrey: “Oh, Bean! Mine too- if I skwish them, more juicy juice comes out!”
Beanie: “I’m a drink da juice, Jeff!”
Jeffrey: “No Bean! It will kill you! It’s poison like apple seeds!! Besides, we have to skwish them so all the juice comes out. That’s how you make mashed potatoes.”
We got a call the other day from a friend of a friend who heard from her hairdressers cousins parakeet that we are thinking about selling our house- and when I called her back this morning, she is flying in this afternoon and wants to come take a look-see.
Any guesses how big my laundry pile is? Any guesses how deep the toys are in the playroom? Or how long it’s been since I scrubbed the shower-doors? Uh, yeah, guess what I’m doing today?? I need the Scrubbing Bubbles, Mr Clean and a drill sargeant! Oh, and maybe a gallon of Clorox, too!
You may not remember Blind Melon, and you may not know the melodious young hippie-man who sang her tap-dancing ditty over-dosed on heroin and died a few years ago. But I’ll bet you remember the Bee Girl.
Millie posted the video for this song yesterday, and watching it took me far and deep down memory lane. Even now, years removed from those struggles, at home in my own skin, tears spring to my eyes when the mean girls laugh at Bee Girl. Bless her little sweet, stout heart, she keeps trying, dancing and tapping and looking for another bee… someone, anyone, who gets her.
I spent most of my life being Bee Girl. It’s a hard girl to be.
When you finally, ultimately, one day, find that meadow full of other dancing bees, the joy is palpable. It’s a blessing that I have felt more than once in my life- and I have also felt the sting of the mean girls more than I care to recall.
I think this is why I keep this blog. No longer can I run in the meadow, dancing with Jerry and Carlos and Stevie and Bob; going wherever the wind blows. But I can still nurture the part of me that lives there and loves that freedom. I can let the creative side out- I can write my hopes, frustrations, ideas, be a mother, rant and love my kids all in one post, and say whatever I need to say. It’s my modern Bee Girl Dance, and you are all my fellow Bees, twirling around in the meadow with me. Thank you for Bee-ing here.
I was a tiny girl and membership was decades away when Spencer W. Kimball was leading the Church. My afinity has been for GBH and how wonderful he is- and for the last several years (since I became a member) we have been studying the “old timers” (no disrespect intended), it is wonderful to me discover how pertinent and aplicable the teaching of SWK are. Reading the lesson and studying for RS has been a joy the last few Sundays, and I just wanted to throw that out there.
So GBH isn’t the only amazing man, eh? How ’bout that. I’m delighted.
This makes enough dough for two 12″-14″ pizza crusts…
- 1 3/4 cups warm water
- 1 Tbsp active dry yeast
- 2 Tbsp sugar
- 2 Tbsp light olive oil
- 1 1/2 tsp table salt
- 4 cups flour
Now, every bread recipe I have ever seen calls for too much flour. The “4 cups” thing is a general amount, but it’s more than likely you won’t need it all. Here is what you watch for to know you’ve added enough flour: If the dough cleans the sides of your mixer-bowl, but still is sticking to the bottom, you’re good. If the dough is sticky, add more flour. Let your mixer knead the dough until it’s the softness and texture of fat baby thighs. Also, let the dough sit for a few minutes before you really get down and knead it- the water takes a few minutes to fully hydrate the flour molecules, so what may look dry, in five minutes might be perfect.
So make your dough, knead it, then place in a lightly sprayed (with Pam or whatever) bowl, cover tightly, and refrigerate overnight. Yes, this step really does make a difference. The crust I tried making the same day was good, but the overnight one was chewy and had a much better texture and tooth. No idea why, but it’s true.
Also make your sauce the day before- the herbs will have a chance to bloom and meld.
- 1 - 14 oz. can of tomato sauce
- 1 - 6 oz. can of tomato paste
- 1 Tbsp sugar
- 1 tsp salt
- 1 tsp granulated garlic
- 1 Tbsp dried Italian seasoning
- 1 tsp dried oregano
Stir all this together, cover and refrigerate. No need to cook.
To make your pizzas you will need the following:
- a pizza stone, in a preheated 500* oven
- A cutting board or rim-less cookie sheet
- parchment paper
- dough, divided into two balls
- sauce
- Mozzarella cheese, grated
- Canadian bacon, 12 slices per pizza
- Salami, 12 slices per
- Pepperoni, 24 slices per
- Mushrooms, sliced thinly
- Green pepper, sliced thinly
- Red onion, sliced thinly
- Black olives, sliced
- Italian sausage, 1/4 lb per pizza, pinch off pieces and scatter on pizza
- Linguica sausage, 1/4 lb per pizza, pinch off pieces and scatter on pizza
- Ground beef, 1/4 lb per pizza, pinch off pieces and scatter on pizza
- Louisiana hot sausage, 1/4 wiener per pizza, diced
- cheddar and provolone cheese to top
- cold sliced tomatoes to top after cooking
Of course, you can add or subtract any ingredients you like or not, but this is the quintessential combination pizza.
Take one of your dough balls, and press into a circle, and start pulling and pressing in your hands to make a disk. It will be very springy. That’s good- it means you have excellent gluten, and the crust will be fabulously chewy- but it does not make for easy rolling. You can try and roll with a pin, but just working it with your hands really is the best way. Keep pressing out until it’s approx 12-14″ circle.
Dock the whole disk with a fork (prick the dough), and set on a piece of parchment paper on a rimless cookie sheet or cutting board. (you’ll transfer the pizza andthe parchment paper to the hot stone in the over by sliding it off the sheet or cutting board- so “no rim” is important)
Smear the amount of sauce you like all over the dough- leaving about 1/2 inch around.
Top with cheese, and the toppings in the order I have them listed, or be a rebel and do whatever you want- but don’t blame me!
When you have your Mt. Vesuvius created, get your kids out of the kitchen, open your blistering oven, slide the rack with the stone out, and carefully slide the pizza AND the parchment right onto the stone. Slide rack back in, close up, and set the timer for 18 minutes.
In 18 minutes, you will have the best pizza you’ve ever eaten. Pull the hot pie and the paper from the oven, toss the browned paper, and use your Chef’s knife to cut the pie- a pizza wheel just squishes the topping off a pizza this big. Top with cold tomatoes. Enjoy!!!
If anyone makes this, let me know how you like it!
Here are the results of the Jake’s pizza cook-off- look and weep!
This is what it should look like before you cook it- a virtual Mt. Vesuvius of toppings. And I’m totally serious. For a Jakes Combo pizza, here is what MUST be on it, in this order:
Crust, tomato sauce, real mozzarella cheese. Canadian bacon, salami, pepperoni, mushrooms, green bell peppers, onion, black olives, Italian sausage, ground beef, linguica, Louisiana Hot Sausage, topping cheese.
And here is what it looks like after 18-20 minutes in a 500* oven on a blisteringly hot clay pizza stone:
Does that or does it not look awesome? And for those of you in the know about what a Jakes pizza should look like- pretty good, eh?
This mountain of pizza cannot be cut with a wheel- cut it like they do at Jakes- with a great big knife, rocked back and forth so as not to lose your toppings…
It’s all gone already… DH took the rest of it to work today… sob.
Now, I must be off to actually MEASURE what I did so I can share it with you! Recipe coming soon! Darn, that means we have to have pizza, AGAIN, tonight. I’m sure the family will be crushed.
One of the things I miss most about life in Northern California is Jakes Pizza. Oh, I know, with all the beauty and wonder that is the California coast, how is it I miss food most– but if you wonder that, then you’ve never had a Jakes pie.
It’s a small group of restaurants on the peninsula, and they go by Jakes, The Oasis, The Boardwalk, The Garrett, and Jakes II. That’s it. There is nowhere else you can get such gastronomical glory- these places are it- and even though they have different names, they are all owned by the same family, and have essentially the same menu.
When I met my husband, I was 16, and Jakes was my first job. I got the job because my brother’s Little League team was sponsored there, and after the games that’s where we gathered… so did every other Little League team, regardless of sponsorship. You can’t get a table in Jakes on a Saturday during baseball season.
Anyway, since we left California almost 5 years ago, we’ve lamented the lack of good pizza, and I have taken it upon myself to try and make a decent pie at home. Even though there have been some abysmal failures, having a pizza-tasting streak is still a mighty good thing, and no one has complained. But last night, I finally did it. I hit it- and oh, mothership, was it glorious!
Even though I only worked there for a while, I remember pretty much everything about making the pies- I mean how hard can it be, right? The toppings were’nt so hard- but the dough and sauce has been the trickiest. Getting the spices and consistency right took a while, and the getting the right mix of chewiness and crispiness with the crust was key.
So last night, I put together all the alchemy I’ve amassed in my five years of trial and error, and blew the doors off the oven. Glory of glories, it was (almost) perfect! The house smelled divine, the texture was good, the taste was soooooo close. If you didn’t know better, you could close your eyes and be there.
The problem is, we know better.
So, tonight, I’m giving it another shot. I think I know what I did not-quite-perfectly. The dough didn’t sit in the fridge all night- and batch #2 has, and I suspect that may be the key. I’ll let you know! Happy, happy, joy, joy, pizza, pizza, pizza!
(If you want the recipe, and you beg, I might share it!)
Maybe your kids are the best eaters out there. Mine, however, are not. Most definately not. Well, if the food group is “sugar”, “cake”, “candy” or “popsicle” they’re pretty darn good eaters, but if it’s found somewhere on the Id of the food pyramid, forget about it.
Anyway, I found a sure-fire way to get them to eat more fruit- well, apples at least, and that’s a pretty good start since we live in Washington. My secret? This.
A New England apple peeler deely-bob. It suction cups to the kitchen counter, you pop the apple on, twirl the handle, and it cores, peels and slices your apple into one, long, continuous apple Slinky. Yes, for reals, and the boys LOVE it- they fight over how many apples they can have each day. How cool is that? Oh, and there are no sharp blades or pieces the boys can cut themselves on, or each other- if I’m in the kitchen, that’s enough supervision for this one… Good, good stuff, mamas.
Yay! Morning church! Yay! Hooray! Huzzah! Morning church! I can’t beleive how much easier and better it was, and Beanie is a SUNBEAM now! Hooray for morning church!
One of the best unforeseen benefits of the Dyson has been my Dear Husband’s love of power tools. Since the Dyson is new, super sucky and way cool, it’s his new best friend.
He vacuums probably twice a day now!
This morning, he let me sleep in ’till after 9 (!) and when I got up, he was vacuuming the kitchen and dining room, had moved the furniture, and had torn Abby’s room apart to get every possible speck. The crib was moved, the dresser, changing table and play kitchen- he had the boys fishing toys out that had been dropped down the heater register and the laundry had all been taken downstairs. And he was vacuuming every crevice, corner and cobweb. With a smile.
Seriously mamas. Worth every penny…
File it under “Great Ideas!” and call it a day. When we started out, the day was clear and the sun was shining, but by the time we got home last night, we had looked mortality in the face, and I had definitely flinched.
DH has been out of town on business, and I had cabin fever, so I decide all three Monkeys need some fun. You’d think I would know better by now. You’d think.
First I thought the mall might be a good spot to burn some energy. It’s been wicked cold here, and playing outside is risking a toe or three- so off we go. Coincidentally, I also thought I might get an errand or two done at the same time. Are you laughing yet? At the mall: Macy’s is closed for inventory. Beanie drops his chocolate shake 3 seconds post purchase. The joint I bought it will not give him another, and doesn’t offer me anything to clean the giant chocolate puddle. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Boys have to pee. Food court is on floor two; public restrooms are on floors one and three- what man who thought that was a good idea??
Nordstrom is kind enough to let us use their potty. Jeff locks himself in a stall, then poops and can’t figure out how to open the door without making a giant gross mess. While cleaning said mess, Beanie disappears. Panic wells in my breast as I check each stall in the immaculate Nordy potties, calling his name. By the way, calling “Beaner!” in a public place might be ill-advised, but did not readily occur to me, as I had lost a child. Leaving Jeff with Abby in her stroller, I run out of the potty, do not see him anywhere, and begin to call. Loudly. Panic begins.
He was in the sequin designer cocktail dresses. Time to go.
Ah, but as we leave the mall, it has started to snow! There was no snow, no forecast of snow- we have no snow gear with us! Make haste, and head off for a planned play date with friends. What a fiasco, by the way. We might have had even more fun if we had met in the Lladro department of Macys, perhaps after giving the kids all a Coke?
When time arrived to pick DH up at the airport, it looked like a blizzard. Serious whiteout- again, no one had snowclothes, and you couldn’t even see the roads. It’s dumping snow. Dumping. My kids are freezing and crying, and I’m just trying to get everyone in the dang car- let alone their car-seats. Everyone in, still crying, now I have to find the snow scraper and broom thing- and scrape all the windows. Yes, there was already inches of snow, and even a layer of crunchy ice, and it’s still dumping.
Then I dropped my keys…
Did you know keys totally vanish when you drop them in 4-5″ of snow? Yes, they do. So I’m kneeling down, no gloves, no heavy coat, feeling around for my keys as snow covers my back, neck and head. “This is how the pioneers died…” is playing on a loop in my noggin. Feel the keys with my now numb fingers, and get in car.
Ok, so I wasn’t really in danger of dying in the parking lot of the Exchange.
I had to sit there for a minute just to figure out who I was again before I headed out to the airport. Thank goodness for my Alaskan friend Mo- I would never have made it outa there…. I just followed her. But even she said that was a lot of snow.
So it’s not just me.
You can read about this morning at Mormon Mommy Wars. Dandelion’s don’t like snow. I hate snow.
Beanie, snuggling with me on the couch: “Mama, I want to be a little Hermaid like Ariel. I have orange hair already, but it needs to be longer, Mama.”
Me: “Hmmm. Wellll…. you can learn to be a super swimmer this summer, and that’s kind of like Ariel.”
Beanie, lifting my shirt: “But Mama, I need some of these to be a Hermaid…” patting my chest now.
Me: “Uhghph- what?” Gently moving his hand and looking quizically at his sweet face.
Beanie: “But they need to be purple, Mama. Purple thoses are what Hermaids have.”
*sigh*
Later, in the kitchen, Jeff comes in looking crushed and sad.
Me: ” What’ s up, babe?”
Jeff, in all seriousness, eye welling with tears: “It just crushes my tender little heart when Beanie is mean to me…”
So my youngerst son who covets purple bikinis and growing a tail is crushing the heart of my water buffalo of a five-year old with his cruel words…
All I wanted to do was make dinner…. and Abby headed off down the hall again.
Abby is mobile- no speck of dust, nor mote of fluff, nor under-table leavin’ is safe from her tiny, glommy, moving hands. It’s so cute too, because she is sooooo slow, but soooo steady. Lift hand. Place hand. Move knee. Place knee. Repeat. I love watching her key in a a speck and make her brand of haste- only to be stymied by me or a brother, who drags her back to start all over again. And she just keeps going.
I could learn something from the girl.
I seem to derail all to easily these days… don’t we all as adults? The tenacity of a baby learning something is truly inspirational- they don’t give up- they keep coming, keep trying, keep falling, getting plucked away, rolling when they want to sit, and they keep going. If we had half the determination and will our children do, the world would be our pearl.
My kids are giggling and laughing from the other room, and I find myself grateful for the tiny tender mercies today. Abby is sleeping peacefully, nestled in her crib with soft, warm blankets and a full tummy, my husband is at the office, earning a livable wage for honest work, we have good medical insurance and quality doctors and medical centers close by, our home is strong and well-built and warm.
It’s time to think of some things I’m grateful for, things I love, and things that make me really, really happy… Add yours
An old wooden swing hanging from an oak treee
Radio Flyer wagons
Black and white photographs of loved ones
Pianos with keys that don’t work
The way children forgive so completely and immediately
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Yosemite
Sharpie permanent markers
Terra Cotta pots with geraniums in them
Meeting grandma and grandpa at the airport
Foggy mornings
Spicy Indian food with raita to cool your mouth
The sound of crickets as twilight settles in
Sundried clothes
Stinging cheeks from the wind at the beach
Walking on warm, round river rocks
The smell of antique wooden furniture
Lemons
The first time your baby calls you Mama
Valentines from your child
Cowlicks
Sharp quilting needles and a good English thimble
Post-it notes
Mexican food
The smell of Jasmine on a summer night
Good tweezers
Magnets
Getting all the laundry done and put away
Towels right out of the dryer
Cotton diapers on chubby baby bottoms
Soft, old well used paintbrushes in a crock on a windowsill
Picking tomatoes in my dad’s garden before the day gets too hot
Honey
The gleam and feel of hardwood floors
Georgia O’Keefs handwriting
Playing “jacks”
The many talents of my mother
Kindergarten teachers that play guitar and sing
Old, faded, loved worn quilts
Summer thunder storms and the awe they inspire
The crack of a wooden bat on a baseball
Old push-key manual typewriters
The smell of rosemarry and thyme
Cedar
Advice from my dad on how to do something properly
LL Bean laceup mud boots
Clogs with thick socks
Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge
Audrey Hepburn
Feeling your baby move inside your body
Chatting with a neighbor in the middle of the street
Fireflies in Iowa summer
Disneyland
Hope chests
Fresh, taut, clean sheets on the bed at night
Going barefoot
Phone calls from your siblings
Driving a convertible though Napa
Homemade sourdough bread
Paste and tempera paint
A friend stopping by unannounced
The smell of a barbecue floating on the breeze
Discovering a new book I love
Bing cherries from my grandma’s freezer
Pillow cases with hand crocheted edges
Kindergarten artwork of our family
Understanding why Jackson Pollock needed to throw paint
The sound chickens make when they are content
The patina scriptures get when they are lovingly used
This precious face…
I could go on and on and on….
Aaaaand it’s done. You know, the tiny voice in the back of my head- the one that pleaded with me not to go? Yeah, that one. I shoulda listened. Someday maybe I’ll learn.
When I got to Jeff’s school, he was covered in mud- even in his underpants. Thankfully, I was prepared, and changed my muddy mess of a boy, including skivvies, shirt, jeans, jacket and socks. I did this while Abby crawled/lunged/rolled around the kindergarten classroom and Beanie sat in for Jeff during circle time. He even raised his hand, cute boy. Thankfully, the teacher is good natured.
Mud-clothes bagged, Abby tucked under my arm, diaper bag flung over my shoulder, Jeffrey’s backpack and car keys in the other hand, we trekked out to the car in the pouring rain. Beanie was lagging behind, and Abby was already buckled in when he got to the door. Unfortunately, in the slippery slippiness caused by the rain, Beanie missed the step, and bounced down into a pothole the side and shape of Lake Michigan.
Poor baby burst out screaming, it’s pouring on me and Abby, into the car, on my crying boy, and now he is not only scraped up, but soaked to the bone. Jeff was already buckled in an raring to go, since I had just told them we were headed to the Giraffe, oblivious to what was happening behind him. That’s my number One son for you.
Thankfully, life has taught this mama a few lessons along the way- and I had a complete change of clothes for Beanie (including socks and Spiderman underwear!) in the emergency bag in the back of the Burb. Still standing in the pouring rain, I change my shivering boy from the back barn-doors, and comfort his pride with some quick hugs and kisses. I get him buckled in his seat, and realize I am now soaked, too. I’m not that prepared. There was nothing for me in the back- but there will be from now on!
I seriously thought of scrapping the whole thing.
Leaning my head against the cold, wet window, I say a quick prayer to get me through this day. Wishing I hadn’t opened my big mouth moments before, I knew I couldn’t cancel now, so off we went, hot little gift card in hot little hands.
It wasn’t as horrible as it could have been, I’ll just say that. The fact that they had a finite budget regulated what they could choose, and it was a good lesson in economics. Yes, you can get that, but if you do, you must put the other thing back… That sort of thing.
When the boys were satisfied, we headed off toward little girl-land to find something for Abby, and Beanie decided to pitch a fit. When I tossed his little butt in the cart, he started to holler, and I told him we would leave now with no toys if her didn’t stop immediately.
“Mama!!!!” and his voice dropped lower ”I’ll be REVERENT!”
Laughter burst out… Poor kid. *sigh* Impromptu discussion about what “reverent” actually means, and why Toys R Us does not require reverence. And with that we made our exit.
Could have been worse. It has been, actually.
This is my favorite picture of Beanie. Can’t you just picture him with a pound of butter, all shiny faced and peeking out from under the bed? He’s a little bit older now, but doesn’t really look any different. Well, ok, he has a scar over his right eyebrow from the bunk-bed catastrophe, but it adds character.
Right now, I eavesdropping on the baby monitor as he entertains Abby. I love listening to them talk to each other- she yelps with delight, and he makes goofy noises and shakes her crib. He tells her she is too little for Playmobil, then shows her how spitting is naughty. She yelps with delight some more.
Today was the first day of school back from the holiday break. Nothing pains me more than having to wake sleeping children. Such a profound waste, it is. I have promised them a trip to Toys R Us to spend their hot little gift cards when we pick up Jeffrey from kindergarten in an hour, so with any luck it will go better than my last trip to the Giraffe. Jeff’s school just called to tell me he slipped on the playground, is covered in mud, and needs a change of clothes. *sigh* almost made it thought the morning…
So, I am going to take a kindergartner covered in mud, the above little scamp, and a baby who hasn’t had her nap yet today, to Toys R Us. There is still time to stop me. Someone please stop me… It ought to make a hilarious entry later. Abby is starting to squeal- I must be off to make sure he isn’t throwing toys at her, or pulling her toes, or some other idea that seems good to his three-year old noodle…
Just a little bit of blog business- I cleaned out my files and whatnot, and pared down my links list. Some blogs that don’t regularly post anymore have been deleted, and I have room if anyone wants a link here, e-mail me or leave a comment, and I’ll probably add you. Because I’m cool like that. What can I say? All 12 people that read me might go see your site.
Now, I have never made the plea for the lurkers to unveil their faces, and I know I have a LOT of lurkers (several hundred of you people, you know who you are!) and only about a dozen regular commenters. But if any of you lurkers know a site that deserves a linky-do, you can comment anonymously. I promise I won’t hunt you down. I”m way too tech un-savvy for such a thing, anyway.
If I deleted you- no offense. Let me know, and I’ll pop you back on, but the fluid nature of blogging does mean people come and go, so chime up.
Other than that, go to your studios and write. Make stuff. Paint. Create, sew, color with some crayola’s, write on the shower doors in shaving cream, fog the windows up good and write your name, for heaven’s sake, make something! Take joy in it! Write! Yippee! That’s my two-cents for the day. Do with it what you will.
January: Wallowing in the misery of pregnancy, trying to keep up with two little kids while barfing all day, every day. Oh. So. Fun. The porch pumpkin was firmly spreading it’s grossness across the front of our house, Jeffrey announced to his pre-school class that Mama pees her pants when she barfs, and Beanie stopped napping. (Ugh. And I thought this January looked bleak!)
February: The Porch Pumpkin disappeared, I discovered huckleberries and had a showdown with my mother-in-law. My hormones are out of control, and I can’t stop barfing, but my traffic is way up, as everyone wants to see what the circus freak is doing today. My grandpa died, and my kids think the Valentines I left in the living room are from Santa Claus and grandma. I can’t pull myself from bed to explain.
March: Mother in law feigns a heart attack to keep from talking to me, I am horrified at the general apathy of folks who don’t know what the 19 th amendment is, and I’m still a hormonal barfing wreak. “B” is for boogers that grow in your nose at night, and for Butter Snack, that Beanie ate under the bed. The water heater died, I was still pregnant, although now I am fainting, too!
April: I am dilated to 4cm and still pregnant, still miserable and still barfing all day, every day. I decide to write the kids birth stories, partly because I hope to spur the new one to be born, partly because I fear for the shards of my brain I have left failing me. I have the night from hell with the Drug Nazi and am sent home with no baby. Finally, on the morning of the 25th, Miss Abigail decides to make her almost 9 lb grand entrance. In sixteen minutes flat. Yes. I may be split in two, but I’m not pregnant anymore!
May: Baby blues hit, and the family tries to adjust to a new baby, some of us better than others. A visit from family to welcome the new baby, leaning to parent three, and going to Target becomes a fiasco rather than a joy. Tender and emotional time.
June: No sleep, no sleep, no sleep- and my writing shows it! Jeff refuses to eat peas and we name him Princess, I muse on my fountain pen, and Beanie and Jeff try nursing their dolls. My body has become alien, I freak out, and wax poetic on the glories of cheese. I take three kids and a newborn to see “Cars”. Alone. I really am crazy. Abby gets thrush and I make the jump to WordPress.
July:Take the boys picking strawberries and make the best jam ever, and memories too. We begin reading Charlotte’s Web, and open a love affair with my favorite book ever. Jeff gave his first primary talk from behind my legs, and Abby maxes out the baby swing. We make ketchup, I offer to beat your kid, and wax lovely about my dear husband. Jeff embarrasses me yet again in a public restroom, I introduce you to Chelsea, and at the end of the month, Charlotte dies, and my boys and I have good cry.
August:Target fails me again, and Beanie gets his first stitches at the ER, while Jeff shows the early stages of a bra-fetish. The Boys get hold of my thread and try and spin webs downstairs, bringing on the demise of our vacuum, and I celebrate my first blogiversary, right before I head off to see the family in California. We make the trek to Disneyland, and I have fun even if no one else did. Jeff turns five!
September:Beanie turns three! Jeffrey starts kindergarten and skates into class on a wave of mama’s tears, and I take part in the online commemoration of the victims of September 11th, memorializing James V. DeBlase. Beanie potty trains himself, and stashes food under Abby’s crib. Jeff gets sent to the principal’s office for the first time and Abby makes friends with the neighbor’s horny cat.
October:We’re sick, and I painted the bathroom, and no one noticed. My art comes back, and I start a new line of patterns. We discover the Pricesses, and by boys are eating a wildebeest in the bathroom. Jeff learns to read, and Beanie announces to the world that he has “big balls, mama!” and that there is a monster living in his pants… And we got high-speed!
November:We got a couple of cords of wood and start to use our fireplaces, and I introduce Jeff to the joy of Monopoly. We are all sick again. Jeff looses his first tooth, and Beanie turns to rubber bands in Costco, while Abby continues to smile and be the happiest baby on earth. I am a coatrack, and have too many thing going on for any one woman. We have a fabulous Thanksgiving with friends.
December: We’re sick again. Jeff looses another tooth, and discovers yet a third loose. I publicly cry my anguish with Voldemart and vow to never enter their vile doors again, which I manage to actually hold to so far. It’s cookie time, and I actually figure out how to post pictures of my projects. Christmas is lovely, and on with the new year.
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