Eva is almost a year old, which means I’m due for my period anytime now. It’s been like 20 months and I have NOT missed Aunt Flo at all. And don't even comment "too much information" cuz I KNOW that!
So here’s a recipe for something I can’t get enough of lately:
Puppy Chow (although the way I eat it, let’s call it Piggy Chow)
9 cups any Chex cereal (off-brand is just dandy)
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
½ cup peanut butter
¼ cup (1/2 stick) butter or margarine
1 t. vanilla
2 cups powdered sugar
There are many different ways of doing this, so I’m going to give you a couple of ideas:
1. Melt chips, peanut butter and butter in large pan. Take off burner and add vanilla. Add cereal and mix it all up, trying not to crush the cereal. Then add powdered sugar.
2. Put cereal in big bowl. Melt other ingredients in small saucepan, adding vanilla at the end. Pour mixture over cereal and stir. Then pour the whole she-bang into a big old Tupperware container, add powdered sugar and shake.
3. Do the same as above, but put cereal/mixture into large paper bag, THEN add powdered sugar and shake.
4. Do the same as above, but put cereal/mixture into large plastic 2-gallon resealable bag, add powdered sugar and shake.
The Chex people say to do #4, but I’m telling you I’ve done this before and the chocolate mixture MELTED THE BAG.
Maybe I’m just not cut out for this Domestic Goddess job.
I’m sure Step-Witch and Smoosh will have a comment for me on this one since they are the pushers who turned me on to this concoction in the first place.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Food Processors
So I went looking for a food processor at Target for Aron’s birthday. And yes, that IS what he asked for. He’s wanted one forever, and I’ve been too paranoid about the ultra-sharp blades in the company of children to ever buy him one. He LOVES to cook, makes spaghetti sauce, etc., so he really wanted a food processor.
The first thing I notice is Target doesn’t carry Cuisinart food processors. They only carry Kitchen-Aid (a reputable brand of mixer, to be sure), Oster (a good blender, right?) and Black and Decker (good tools).
I wasn’t sure what to do. I tried to call Tresa but got no reception on my end. So I had to use my bean. I could smell the smoke coming out of my ears from overuse.
Hmmm. The Oster and the B&D have a 10-cup capacity. The Kitchen-Aid only has 7. BUT the Kitchen-Aid is twice the cost, and don’t you get what you pay for? The Oster was on sale like ½ price, and I wondered why. The Oster and B&D floor models were trashed out and looked cheap.
So I went for the Kitchen-Aid.
What would you have done or what brand do you own and love?
The first thing I notice is Target doesn’t carry Cuisinart food processors. They only carry Kitchen-Aid (a reputable brand of mixer, to be sure), Oster (a good blender, right?) and Black and Decker (good tools).
I wasn’t sure what to do. I tried to call Tresa but got no reception on my end. So I had to use my bean. I could smell the smoke coming out of my ears from overuse.
Hmmm. The Oster and the B&D have a 10-cup capacity. The Kitchen-Aid only has 7. BUT the Kitchen-Aid is twice the cost, and don’t you get what you pay for? The Oster was on sale like ½ price, and I wondered why. The Oster and B&D floor models were trashed out and looked cheap.
So I went for the Kitchen-Aid.
What would you have done or what brand do you own and love?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
When Are Kids Old Enough to Have a Pet?
We don’t have a pet. Sweetie the hamster died about a year ago, and the Grow-a-Frog died (after a very short life) this summer. Getting a dog freaks me out and here’s why.
I would have to pick up poop. I would have to feed and water the dog. I would have to remember to get it shots and tags. I would have to rearrange our lives and race it to the vet if it got sick. And if it got REALLY sick, there goes our modest savings account.
“But your kids are old enough to help,” you say. Sure, but WILL THEY? Without constant hounding, I mean. It would clearly be up to ME to keep the thing alive. I have FOUR people to keep alive on a daily basis plus myself. That’s plenty for now.
And if you’re wondering why I’m such a curmudgeon, let me give you my pet history. I had the requisite dogs and cats growing up, and they were lovely. I got to see cats make babies and the babies being born. When I was older, I had about 3 cats of my own, then a few babies came out of that. I had about 5 cats sleeping around my head on any given night. And I loved it.
I picked up a stray cat one night at a gas station, and Aron let me keep it at his apartment. She was a schizoid cat. Later, in searching for Aron’s lost male cat, we got another cat. They were fine until we started having kids. The schizoid girl crapped all over the place. They both scratched up the furniture. Joel ate their cat food and played in their cat box. It became a problem.
So I know what hard work pets are. Who do you think cleaned Sweetie the hamster’s cage, maggots in the summer and all? Kept her fed and watered? Played with her? Carried her in a tiny sling while I did dishes?
If my kids were pets, Joel would be a Chihuahua. Michael would be a turtle. Callie would be a Siamese cat. Eva would be a bunny rabbit.
I would have to pick up poop. I would have to feed and water the dog. I would have to remember to get it shots and tags. I would have to rearrange our lives and race it to the vet if it got sick. And if it got REALLY sick, there goes our modest savings account.
“But your kids are old enough to help,” you say. Sure, but WILL THEY? Without constant hounding, I mean. It would clearly be up to ME to keep the thing alive. I have FOUR people to keep alive on a daily basis plus myself. That’s plenty for now.
And if you’re wondering why I’m such a curmudgeon, let me give you my pet history. I had the requisite dogs and cats growing up, and they were lovely. I got to see cats make babies and the babies being born. When I was older, I had about 3 cats of my own, then a few babies came out of that. I had about 5 cats sleeping around my head on any given night. And I loved it.
I picked up a stray cat one night at a gas station, and Aron let me keep it at his apartment. She was a schizoid cat. Later, in searching for Aron’s lost male cat, we got another cat. They were fine until we started having kids. The schizoid girl crapped all over the place. They both scratched up the furniture. Joel ate their cat food and played in their cat box. It became a problem.
So I know what hard work pets are. Who do you think cleaned Sweetie the hamster’s cage, maggots in the summer and all? Kept her fed and watered? Played with her? Carried her in a tiny sling while I did dishes?
If my kids were pets, Joel would be a Chihuahua. Michael would be a turtle. Callie would be a Siamese cat. Eva would be a bunny rabbit.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Red Lobster Interrogation
So Aron got a special little bonus for traveling so much and told the kids we could eat out anywhere they wanted. They LOVE popcorn shrimp, so they chose Red Lobster (a personal favorite of mine, as well).
Toward the end of the meal, a couple of older people told us how well we are raising our children because they were behaving so great. I tried to tell them it was only because I wore their little butts out at the park for 2 hours before dinner, but they insisted I was Mother of the Year, so I basked in that.
Until the woman from the next table over (what is it about a large family that brings people out of the woodwork with opinions and questions?) chimes in with, “They ARE doing very well.” I thanked her, trying to return my focus to my family dinner and chocolatey dessert.
Then I hear, “I’ll bet you homeschool them, too.” Where the hell did THAT come from? I said, “Actually, we do. How could you tell? I’m not even wearing a denim jumper.” She said she was just guessing but wasn’t surprised. O-kay.
Again I try to focus on my wriggling baby and DESSERT, and the kids whose behavior is starting to deteriorate.
Then She asks me if I do it for religious reasons. I said, “Well, yes. I do it because Catholic school is too damn expensive!!!” She looked at me funny, so I explained my usual deal: I started it to keep them close, it made sense, it was cheaper, takes less time, allows us all kinds of freedom of education, field trips, spontaneous play and learning, lots of time with grandparents and other family members, we can cater to their individual needs, and because Aron travels and we get to go with him sometimes, which helps to keep our family a cohesive unit.
AGAIN with the dessert, which I am now cramming into a to-go box next to my garlicky shrimp pasta.
The she says, “My husband wants to know if you were a teacher before?” I said, “Nope. Only 2 years of community college, too. We use a packaged curriculum, but you don’t really even need to do THAT.”
“Are you in the homeschool association?” Well, there’s not really one, so I tell her I’m in about 4 homeschool groups and that the kids are practically OVER-socialized.
“I’ll bet they go to bed late.” I said, “Yeah, they do. Like 10 p.m. And then I wake them up at 4 a.m. with a bugle and make them do push-ups and jumping jacks.”
No answer.
Then we beat it out of there before she could get our license plate number and report us to The State. My friend Leigh always tells me I’m too honest, especially with people I don’t know. But I don’t like to blow smoke up people’s butts, ya know? I could’ve played Suzy Homeschooler and lied about bedtimes and such, but why? I’m not doing anything wrong.
And if you could meet my kids you’d see I’m doing a lot of things RIGHT. Jeez, call The State on me if I’m smoking crack in bed til 3 p.m. every day or leaving my kids at home alone. But HOMESCHOOLING? I’m not doing it because I’m too lazy to drive my kids to school or oversee their homework.
Toward the end of the meal, a couple of older people told us how well we are raising our children because they were behaving so great. I tried to tell them it was only because I wore their little butts out at the park for 2 hours before dinner, but they insisted I was Mother of the Year, so I basked in that.
Until the woman from the next table over (what is it about a large family that brings people out of the woodwork with opinions and questions?) chimes in with, “They ARE doing very well.” I thanked her, trying to return my focus to my family dinner and chocolatey dessert.
Then I hear, “I’ll bet you homeschool them, too.” Where the hell did THAT come from? I said, “Actually, we do. How could you tell? I’m not even wearing a denim jumper.” She said she was just guessing but wasn’t surprised. O-kay.
Again I try to focus on my wriggling baby and DESSERT, and the kids whose behavior is starting to deteriorate.
Then She asks me if I do it for religious reasons. I said, “Well, yes. I do it because Catholic school is too damn expensive!!!” She looked at me funny, so I explained my usual deal: I started it to keep them close, it made sense, it was cheaper, takes less time, allows us all kinds of freedom of education, field trips, spontaneous play and learning, lots of time with grandparents and other family members, we can cater to their individual needs, and because Aron travels and we get to go with him sometimes, which helps to keep our family a cohesive unit.
AGAIN with the dessert, which I am now cramming into a to-go box next to my garlicky shrimp pasta.
The she says, “My husband wants to know if you were a teacher before?” I said, “Nope. Only 2 years of community college, too. We use a packaged curriculum, but you don’t really even need to do THAT.”
“Are you in the homeschool association?” Well, there’s not really one, so I tell her I’m in about 4 homeschool groups and that the kids are practically OVER-socialized.
“I’ll bet they go to bed late.” I said, “Yeah, they do. Like 10 p.m. And then I wake them up at 4 a.m. with a bugle and make them do push-ups and jumping jacks.”
No answer.
Then we beat it out of there before she could get our license plate number and report us to The State. My friend Leigh always tells me I’m too honest, especially with people I don’t know. But I don’t like to blow smoke up people’s butts, ya know? I could’ve played Suzy Homeschooler and lied about bedtimes and such, but why? I’m not doing anything wrong.
And if you could meet my kids you’d see I’m doing a lot of things RIGHT. Jeez, call The State on me if I’m smoking crack in bed til 3 p.m. every day or leaving my kids at home alone. But HOMESCHOOLING? I’m not doing it because I’m too lazy to drive my kids to school or oversee their homework.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The WalMart Incident and Trusting Your Parenting Instincts
*settle in; this is kinda long
This occurred in December of 2005, but it is still fresh in my mind. It taught me to not engage total strangers who think they are allowed to spew opinions about my life (that’s what FAMILY is for, anyway, right?!). It also taught me to not leave the house with a bunch of kids unless I am mentally prepared to deal with My Public.
So I take my 3 kids (ages 10 months, 3 years and 5 years) plus Joel’s girl friend Alex to WalMart. I was at the back of the store perusing, and Michael was sitting on the floor in the middle of the aisle. Then someone pushing a shopping cart tried to get through and all hell broke loose. I now know I would MUCH rather look like Pushover Mom and ask the innocent shopper to go around the next aisle than have what happened happen.
INSTEAD, I tried to be the Mom Who Looks Good in Public and first asked Michael to move. Okay, any non-quirky (that’s my new word for what Michael is: quirky) kid would’ve said, “Yes, ma’am” and moved. But he wouldn’t move. Not out of defiance, but because he kind of shuts down. It’s hard to explain. Social stuff isn’t his thing.
So I gently moved him out of the way. And he LOST HIS MIND.
He went into his Fugue State with screaming and crying. I decided to beat it out of there. But not before I bought my stuff. Did I mention it was after Christmas and I had some AMAZING deals in my cart?
So I’m heading for the front of the store with Michael behind me still screaming. If I speak to him, he screams louder. So I did the logical thing and IGNORED him. Thankfully, he followed me instead of running off like some kids do.
Once in line, I hear a snotty woman one line over say, “Maybe she can’t HEAR him.” Instead of ignoring her like I should have, I chose to entertain her and the rest of the store. I said to Snotty, “I can hear him. What do you want me to do, Miss Child Psychologist?”
She goes, “TALK to him or something, at least.”
I go, “Okay, watch this … Hey, Michael, are you okay? What can I do for you, Baby?”
He screams louder.
I say to Snotty, “GREAT idea. Got any more?”
She turns to her friend to make more snotty comments. I reach out and touch her arm to get her to turn around and finish this. She shouts for Security, who comes running over. Since I didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in jail, I backed off.
I unloaded my all-important craptastic deals onto the conveyer belt, Michael STILL screaming and crying. Snotty was STILL talking smack the next aisle over. I’m betting she has exactly ZERO kids of her own.
So I make it out of the store and to the van. It is then that I am visited by the Three People of New Year’s Eve (like the 3 Ghosts of Christmas, get it?).
As I’m struggling to get Michael into his carseat, my brother-in-law Ray comes up to the van just to say hi. I wish to GOD he had been in WalMart when I needed him because he’s a tall, strong guy and would’ve scared the pants off Snotty.
Next (do I have a sign on my van that says Open For Visitors????) comes the woman who offers Michael M&Ms as he’s screaming. I told her, “Go ahead and try to REWARD his bad behavior, but he’s not going to want them … he’s in an alternate universe right now.”
And did the M&Ms work? Let’s see. His MOTHER said they would not work. His MOTHER who is with him 24/7 and knows him better than anyone in the world. WHAT DO YOU THINK? (Sorry to yell at you, Reader.)
Michael is STILL struggling with me about the carseat issue, still screaming.
The final Person of New Year’s Eve is an ACTUAL child psychologist (fast forward to 2021, when I am updating this post, and Michael, who is 18 now—I kid (!) you not—wants to be a psychologist).
This occurred in December of 2005, but it is still fresh in my mind. It taught me to not engage total strangers who think they are allowed to spew opinions about my life (that’s what FAMILY is for, anyway, right?!). It also taught me to not leave the house with a bunch of kids unless I am mentally prepared to deal with My Public.
So I take my 3 kids (ages 10 months, 3 years and 5 years) plus Joel’s girl friend Alex to WalMart. I was at the back of the store perusing, and Michael was sitting on the floor in the middle of the aisle. Then someone pushing a shopping cart tried to get through and all hell broke loose. I now know I would MUCH rather look like Pushover Mom and ask the innocent shopper to go around the next aisle than have what happened happen.
INSTEAD, I tried to be the Mom Who Looks Good in Public and first asked Michael to move. Okay, any non-quirky (that’s my new word for what Michael is: quirky) kid would’ve said, “Yes, ma’am” and moved. But he wouldn’t move. Not out of defiance, but because he kind of shuts down. It’s hard to explain. Social stuff isn’t his thing.
So I gently moved him out of the way. And he LOST HIS MIND.
He went into his Fugue State with screaming and crying. I decided to beat it out of there. But not before I bought my stuff. Did I mention it was after Christmas and I had some AMAZING deals in my cart?
So I’m heading for the front of the store with Michael behind me still screaming. If I speak to him, he screams louder. So I did the logical thing and IGNORED him. Thankfully, he followed me instead of running off like some kids do.
Once in line, I hear a snotty woman one line over say, “Maybe she can’t HEAR him.” Instead of ignoring her like I should have, I chose to entertain her and the rest of the store. I said to Snotty, “I can hear him. What do you want me to do, Miss Child Psychologist?”
She goes, “TALK to him or something, at least.”
I go, “Okay, watch this … Hey, Michael, are you okay? What can I do for you, Baby?”
He screams louder.
I say to Snotty, “GREAT idea. Got any more?”
She turns to her friend to make more snotty comments. I reach out and touch her arm to get her to turn around and finish this. She shouts for Security, who comes running over. Since I didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in jail, I backed off.
I unloaded my all-important craptastic deals onto the conveyer belt, Michael STILL screaming and crying. Snotty was STILL talking smack the next aisle over. I’m betting she has exactly ZERO kids of her own.
So I make it out of the store and to the van. It is then that I am visited by the Three People of New Year’s Eve (like the 3 Ghosts of Christmas, get it?).
As I’m struggling to get Michael into his carseat, my brother-in-law Ray comes up to the van just to say hi. I wish to GOD he had been in WalMart when I needed him because he’s a tall, strong guy and would’ve scared the pants off Snotty.
Next (do I have a sign on my van that says Open For Visitors????) comes the woman who offers Michael M&Ms as he’s screaming. I told her, “Go ahead and try to REWARD his bad behavior, but he’s not going to want them … he’s in an alternate universe right now.”
And did the M&Ms work? Let’s see. His MOTHER said they would not work. His MOTHER who is with him 24/7 and knows him better than anyone in the world. WHAT DO YOU THINK? (Sorry to yell at you, Reader.)
Michael is STILL struggling with me about the carseat issue, still screaming.
The final Person of New Year’s Eve is an ACTUAL child psychologist (fast forward to 2021, when I am updating this post, and Michael, who is 18 now—I kid (!) you not—wants to be a psychologist).
She goes,
“I saw what happened in there. You did everything right. Ignoring versus beating him is a much better alternative. That woman in there was just mean. You’re a good mom. Keep it up.”
And the sun's rays shone up my minivan, and then angels sang happy songs over the validation of me trusting my instincts as a mother and trying to do the best I could by my kids while also obtaining some good deals.
And the sun's rays shone up my minivan, and then angels sang happy songs over the validation of me trusting my instincts as a mother and trying to do the best I could by my kids while also obtaining some good deals.
Isn’t it strange who God sends you when you are at your lowest point? Just a few simple encouraging words, and I suddenly had the strength to buckle that carseat and be on my way.
Here is my awesome, well-adjusted family today, July 2022
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)