At any rate, all these deaths leave me a little depressed. And it was a really long week. So, that's all your getting this Tuesday. Stop back later in the week, when I'll be doing my spin on kids. Have a random Tuesday, folks.
Monday, June 29, 2009
At any rate, all these deaths leave me a little depressed. And it was a really long week. So, that's all your getting this Tuesday. Stop back later in the week, when I'll be doing my spin on kids. Have a random Tuesday, folks.
I'm even more excited that they are Sarah Lee buns. If you came here from Kristina's blog, you'll already know that Sarah Lee gives a scholarship to my Alma Mater, Skidmore College. And I was the lucky recipient of that scholarship. As a result, I am a devoted fan. I always keep a pound cake in my freezer along with some frozen berries, just in case someone drops in and I need a quick snack. Her cheesecake is wonderful, too (I highly recommend it if you are going to blow your diet and need something to hide in your closet with).
Some suggested I get a little more elaborate about the recipe I suggested in my comment (which won me the buns- the comment won, not the recipe. You get the picture).
You will need:
-A camping Pie Iron*
-left over buns (hot dog or hamburger, we're not picky)
-a few cans of pie filling (any flavor that makes you happiest)
-some sort of lubricant (Pam or something works well)
This can either be done over an open fire, or on the grill, depending on how you plan to spend your holiday. All you have to do is lube up the pie iron **, place the bottom of the bun in the iron. Spoon in some filling (If you are doing hot dog buns, you'll fit two on at once. Open one bun for the bottom, and another for the top- just rotate the top one so you get a top and a bottom for each pie!) Place the top of the bun on the filling, and close the iron. Slap that bad boy into the fire, or onto the grill. Wait around 5 minutes. Check and see if it's done to your liking. Voila. Dessert.
I'm pretty sure that up until the fire part, it's pretty kid friendly. As always, an adult should supervise kids around any sort of fire (unless your kids are flameproof, in which case, who am I to tell you what to do?)
If you do use hot dog buns you will get two per iron, which is nice for two reasons. First, you can have the kids share, and get two served at once. Second, if you consider a whole pie a serving, you can have two different flavors, and make it seem like two desserts!
I hope everyone has a great 4th of July. With all that's going on, it is a good day to reflect upon the fact that no matter how bad things get, we all still live free in one of the best nations on earth. My sincerest sympathies to all who need a little more this year, may you year only get better.
* This is what they look like: http://www.target.com/Pie-Iron-Cookout-Set/dp/B000E0RU36/qid=1246281378/ref=br_1_13/176-9985623-8111039?ie=UTF8&node=160210011&frombrowse=1&rh=&page=1
I am, in no way shape or form, endorsing Target for purchasing camping items. Just providing some visual cues as to what a camping pie iron looks like, for people who might not know. I'm pretty sure you can get them much cheaper elsewhere.
** DO NOT SPRAY PAM BY THE FIRE!!! It's just a poor idea, trust me. And if you have teenagers, supervise them with the Pam, lest they discover what happens when you spray Pam into the fire...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
When I read this weeks topic, that song by the Gin Blossoms "Hey Jealousy" immediately popped into my head. Except, have you ever read the lyrics? I don't get what it has to do with jealousy. If you do, please, explain. To me, it has as much to do with Jealousy and the Alannis Morissette song has to do with things that are Ironic (I mean, those things suck, but there not ironic in any way...)
So there went the start to my post. Dad gum it. But it did get me thinking about recent bouts of jealousy.
I try not to be jealous of other folks. I do the best I can, and it's pretty darn good for me. I don't want for much, and lead a pretty happy life. Right? But when I gave it some long though, yeah, I do get jealous.
My recent jealously has been of PB. Because he is a night person, and I am not, he gets the prime bath and snuggle times. Now, I can do both of these, but I am not a night person. So, bath time just isn't the same with me. By bath time I'm exhausted, so it's all I can do to sit in the bathroom and watch them splash around and have fun. On occasion, I do take the night time snuggle opportunity, but as my lap quickly disappears, LG is less likely to fall asleep in my arms, so I surrender him to PB for the final snuggle. I used to get most of the snuggles. When there were bottles involved, PB pinch hit but I was the regular player. As LG gets older, and his needs change, I've had to make sure we change up our routine so that I can still get in some quality time with him. But I still feel like PB gets the fun times, and I get the "work" times. Oh, well. Sigh.
On another jealousy front, LG has finally taken a stand that we are his MB and PB. When my work routine was more flexible, I would frequently show up at school a little early and sit on the floor with the kids. LG might come over and say hi, but was just as likely to just keep up whatever he was doing. The other little ones would come over for a hug, or to sit in my lap, and LG didn't seem to mind, or even care. Recently, though, he has changed his mind. If I let another little one sit in my lap, he will be right there to assert his "my mama" shove of the other poor little kid. I picked up my niece on Sunday, and suddenly had someone tugging on my skirt to be picked up, too. He used to be much better at sharing his things, also. Now he's taken to performing the "boneless ninja" move (as PB calls it) by flopping to the floor if anyone takes something away from him. I guess it's all a part of growing up and realizing how the world works. And, usually, it's fun to watch.
Does other people's jealousy every make you feel guilty? At school, there's a Dad who just loves LG. His daughter is a traditional cupie doll baby. She cooed and was cute as a button, but not much of a mover or shaker like LG. Not even a sassy girlie girl, like our girlfriend, Miss M. So, when this dad sees LG he gets all excited and goes over to play with him. I think it's partially because he'd really like a boy (he's actually about to have another little girl). And sometimes it makes me feel bad. You can just tell this guy would love to take LG home with him, even for just a night. Roll the ball around, and build some blocks. It's cute to watch, but heartbreaking at the same time. And yes, PB knows how lucky he is to have gotten his LG.
Enough about jealousy. Go covet someone else's blog.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
So, I was going to blog all about how LG's Grampie is better than everyone else's (for Father's Day). And I was going to include this picture:
But PB says it's not nice to brag about how Grampie drags LG all around the yard in a wagon. Other people might feel left out. So, I won't write about how we have the bestest Grampie, and he could probably kick your Grampie's butt. I'll let it be, so you can continue to live in the illusion that your Grampie is the funnest.
What I will blog about it is the restroom at my place of business. Because, although it is really trivial, it bugs the living snot out of me for some reason. A little background. We are a tiny office, only 48 employees. Really. For the whole organization. And about 29 of us are women. Not bad, right? The office has two floors, with a ladies room on each floor. Common sense would dictate that people on the bottom floor will use that restroom, and people on the top floor will use the one on the top floor, right? Nope. For some god forsaken reason, everyone wants to use the bathroom on the top floor. Now, I happen to work down the hall from that rest room. And being pregnant, frequently find the need to visit it. And there is ALWAYS someone in it. Always. Now, it's a two seater, so usually it doesn't matter. But sometimes there is a line. Of women from downstairs waiting to use the upstairs bathroom. Really? Just use the one on your floor, for god's sake! Grrr, I shouldn't have to wait for people who work in another part of the building to use the restroom in my area!!!
Now, they site a few reasons for their upper bathroom usage.
1) Our bathroom is bigger. Hmmm. Not really. We have a "lounge" area, but nobody is using that. So what's the difference?
2) Our bathroom is cleaner. Nope. I've used both. This is a load of hooey. The same lady cleans both. She does a great job. But if all 29 of us use the one upstairs, it would stand to reason that the lower one will stay cleaner...
3) They need to stretch their legs on the stairs, the walk is good for them. Ok, I'll take this one. But then, you should let me go first, since you're taking a break anyway. Right?
And I guess this wouldn't bother me so much if they would follow the basic rules of etiquette.
1) No talking while your actually using the facility. In the line, or at the sink, fine. In the stall? No. I get approximately 10 minutes of "alone" time a day, between work and home. I don't want you filling that time with gossip, or news about your kid in college. Yup, I care. And I want to hear. Just not in that time. I have other things to focus on. And you do, too. Like keeping the bathroom clean.
2) Don't prop the door if your in line. Either come back another time, or wait until someone comes out. Or, god forbid, go use the other bathroom!
3) Do not criticize me if I choose to not stand in line and do go use the other bathroom. I don't want your advice. I just want to pee.
4) When you're done, leave. Don't stand there and chat. It's the bathroom, not the water cooler.
5) Don't bring a friend. This isn't a bar. It's an office. We're all adults. You don't need help. Just get up from your desk, use the restroom and go back to work.
6) No hairspray or perfume spraying in the bathroom. Do that krappe at home. Don't subject us to that. We all know that the ventilation system in our building sucks. Don't make matters worse.
I know. Not everyone agrees with my "rules". Apparently, many of the ladies downstairs don't. But I feel the need to defend myself by saying that almost all the upstairs women feel this way. And as a result, we frequently go downstairs. Now, isn't that just the dumbest thing???
I'm done. And I do feel better for subjecting you all to that? Have any restroom rules of your own? Feel free to share.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? could we?
Memories, may be beautiful and yet
Whats too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So its the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
The way we were...
Ok, come on, people. It's not possible that I am the only one that had Babs running through my head when I heard that this weeks spin topic is Memories. Or am I really the only person who's life has an internal soundtrack that includes 70 lounge acts?
However, I had no idea what I would write. Until I actually read the lyrics. And really remembered the song. Then all sorts of memories from my childhood came rushing back. My Mom loved Barbara Streisand (and Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow, for that matter).
We used to have one of those HUGE console TVs. The ones where you had to get up to change the channel, and it was really more furniture than TV? Yeah, one of those. And on top sat the record player. Like a shrine to music. With it's little holder for the yellow things you had to put into the center of 45s so that they didn't move all around. And speakers that were bigger than me. And a little red thing made of that red lint material so that you could dust the records before you played them. And we were not allowed to touch it. Ever. Because we might damage one of my parents records. And that was a sin worse than most others.
I can remember that the player would hold up to 10 albums. And my Mom (or Dad, depending on who was around) would stack up 10 and let them play. Mom would stack Barry, and Neil and Barbara, throw in a little Kenny and Dolly. And if a relative was over, she'd throw in some of the Italian music (am I the only one who realizes that Lou Monte sings more than just Dominic the Donkey?) It was great. She'd dance around the kitchen with who ever she could grab, singing along and humming when she didn't know the words. And we'd laugh and dance. On days when my Dad wasn't around, she'd sneak in a little Jackson 5, or Debbie Harry (my dad didn't like that kind of music...) There was always music when my Mom was around.
On Sundays, though, my Dad was in charge. He'd load up the player with Sousa marches, and opera, with some Neil Sedaka and Beach Boys thrown in (I know, random, right?). Just as much fun, but different. He didn't dance around. He did sing along, though. He'd play it loud enough that he could here it while he did work around the house. Have you ever heard a Sousa march at top volume? Whew, it'll rattle the ears off your head.
As a result, I know all the words to the most random songs you can imagine. And it didn't stop with the LPs. Once I was old enough, I bought a tape play and introduced my Mom to Madonna. Hmmm, that went over so so, at best. She liked the music, but didn't like the outfits. My brother listens to all sorts of stuff. He loves Rush, and was into Kiss when they were big. He got a CD player in high school. I can remember that his first CD was Lita Ford. She was a hottie.
Now, we subject LG to all sorts of stuff. PB likes music, but his taste... is lacking. So, it's all up to me to make sure LG knows about the Beatles, and the Neils (Sedaka and Diamond). We listen to the Beastie Boys (I know, I suck as a parent. I'm not a great sensor. But you should see him groove to Brass Monkey!) And on Sunday mornings, LG and I get ready for the world to some good old Sousa marches.
I'm sad he'll never know what a record feels like. Cover art will mean something completely different to his generation. He'll never take the sleeve out of the album cover to read the words. But I'm happy that the music lives on at our house.
Here's hoping that you all have some great memories of the way things were. And that you're busy making memories of the way they are now, for your family and friends. The best feeling in the world is when someone breaks into a big grin and says "Do you remember when..."
Have a good week!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
If you, too, would like to Spin, go see Jenn at Sprite's Keeper and get in on some of that action.
Now to the Spin:
Our summer plans- uhm, we have none. Other than projects around the house (which abound) we didn't make a plan. Since there is another little badger on the way, we figured we shouldn't go too far. We might go camp for a weekend, but that's about it.
On a bright note, it's giving us the (fill in the blank- time, money, opportunity) to do all the projects we put off in past summers. Like:
Put a new roof on the garage. It's been leaky since we bought the place, but we've never gotten around to just putting on a new roof. It's sort of a dreaded project, but it's time.
Turn over the stupid flower beds. The woman who owned our house before us went a bit overboard with the plantings. I swear, there are at least 20 flower beds around our house. Way too many for a lazy, at best, gardener like myself to keep up with. As a result, my poor MIL tries to infuse her green thumb on my lawn. To limited success. We decided last year we were going to just make some into lawn, so we can focus on the ones we'd like to keep. Please don't think we're destroying Martha Stewart's garden, though. Most of what is out there looks like Krappe (yes, with a capitol K). This woman had no sense of color or flow. They bother the living snot out of me. PB discovered that most of them were used to cover tree stumps that her husband was too lazy to remove. Ahhh, I love this guy.
Turn the office into LG's new room. Soon. We have to do this soon. So he can adjust. And I can adjust. We don't know what we're doing with it yet, but we do know it has to get done. Do most people go with a theme for this stuff? When I was a kid, we just painted the walls and went with it. Do I need to do more?
Swim in our pool. Yes, it's a project. Last year we did more cleaning than swimming. As soon as it gets warmer, we're going in. Feel free to drive over and join us.
And that's about it. Now you know why I'll be reading all the other spins and admiring you plans. Happy week, folks.
She thinks the crib climbing won't be an issue. They can't put up any kind of barriers (tents or anything) due to state law. But they keep an eye on him. She said he's usually exhausted back there, so she will keep a better lookout for when he wakes up. If they don't make a big deal, she thinks he'll just stop on his own. We'll see, I guess. Or he'll fall on his head and learn that way.
He's drinking two sippy cups with Carnation Instant breakfast now. Hopefully that'll help him put on the lbs. I guess he just didn't like chocolate because strawberry and vanilla go down fine. I think it's all gross, to be honest. Really, who has ever had to push flavored milk on a kid?
All in all, he's still a great kid, in her mind. Which is a relief. All his antics are just part of his personality, active and sweet. He's still the "quiet little inspector" as they call him. Whew.
* The angry hands are two little hand prints painted on the wall. When you first hit, or do something naughty, you get a warning. The second time, you have to go stand with your hands on the angry hands. No exceptions. When you're ready to say you are sorry, and your hands can behave, they can come down. I don't know how they make it work, but they do. Even a 1 year old gets it.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The first part is not random at all. It's the Lava Muffin Recipe, for those of you who drooled with me last week.
Chocolate Lava Muffins:
8 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1 stick butter
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
Butter, to coat muffin tin
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
Place a small metal bowl over a saucepan with simmering water. Melt the chocolate and butter in the bowl. Stir in vanilla.
In a large mixing bowl, combine sugar, flour and salt. Sift these into the chocolate and mix well with electric hand mixer. Add eggs one at time, fully incorporating each egg before adding the next. Beat at high until batter is creamy and lightens in color, approximately 4 minutes. Chill mixture.
Coat the top and each cup of the muffin tin with butter. Dust with the cocoa powder and shake out excess. Spoon mixture into pan using a 4-ounce scoop or ladle. Bake for 10 to 11 minutes. Outsides should be cake-like and centers should be gooey.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I can remember that my Mom used to tell me she loved me all the time. Multiple times a day. There was no denying, I felt the love. My Dad told me, too, but I don't think as frequently. He was better for the big bear hug. The implied, "I love you", if you will. And really, if neither of them had never said the words, I still would have known. Uhm, cause I was theirs. And they didn't sell me to the gypsies. Even though I'm sure they were tempted.
This has moved on to the next generation, too. I can't tell you how many times a day I tell LG I love him, and hug and smooch him. It's hard not to, he's so darn cute most of the time. Poor kid. I'm sure he's thinking "Yeah, that's great. Now can we love on some of those cookies up there?" But I still say it out loud. Habit.
So, why, if I'm fairly certain I don't need my parents or LG to say the words, do I need PB to tell me? I mean, I know he loves me. I get hugs and kisses. Prezzies of all sorts. Oh, and he sticks around. But I still get a little weirded out if he doesn't say, "Love you" on his way out the door in the morning (and I don't reply "Love you, too"). What if something happens while he's gone? Will he remember that I said I loved him before bed last night? Yeah, I'm sure, either way, his dying thoughts won't be about something I did or didn't say... But it still makes me uncomfortable.
On the flip side, I can tell he's peeved at me if he doesn't say "I love you" before he falls asleep at night. Again, it's just a ritual. But a telling one. We still love each other, but when you're mad, it's really hard to say.
I think it's the idea that parents have to love their kids. (I know, this is a generalization, but play along). Your husband Chooses to love you. More than other people. And you just want him to confirm that choice is still the same. Years and years later. Cause what if he forgets? Dumb, yes. But I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who feels this way.
I did teach PB something I never should have, too. When I was little, and would get mad at my Mom, I would refuse to say, "I love you". (I know, I was a treat, right?) But she would always reply, "That's ok. I love you enough for the both of us." Grrrrr. I think the guilt made it worse. I know it does when PB says it to me now. But there was a lesson in it. And I'm pretty sure that when LG gets older, I'll use it on him, too. Some things need to be passed on. Tradition.
Ok, I'm sure people expected this post to go some other way. But my MIL reads my blog, so telling the story of the first "I love you" is completely out of the question. And you people don't need to know that much about me either.
Have a good week, peoples. And Spin if you dare! www.spriteskeeper.com
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
But, it is Tuesday, and I am feeling random. Here goes:
To the people at my husband's insurance company,
You should be forewarned that a grumpy, pregnant woman will be calling you at exactly 6:am YOUR TIME. Because you fail to note on the insurance card, or in your message, that you operate on Pacific Time. Not EST. So I have been calling you for the past few hours. Until said husband pointed out that they are in Cali... Now, I understand that times have caused you to not be a 27/7 help line anymore. And that most of the layoffs in said company have been in your state. So, it is reasonable that you would vent your wrath on us mid-westerners who still have jobs. But that doesn't mean I'll be nice to you now, either. I'm just saying, you asked for it.
I'll move on, though.
Why can't people merge on the highway? And I'm not just talking about the maroons who wait until the last second to merge into the correct lane thinking they just got ahead. I also mean the people who are in the lane being merged into. For god's sake, let the other people in. It's not going to kill you. It won't make you late. I'm not saying let a whole line of 10 cars in, but just one? Really? That's why it's called a Merge! Besides, it's good car karma. And you can never have too much of that.
Before this weekend, I had thought I had seen dirty kids. You know, the kids who come in from the rain covered in mud? But, no. I hadn't seen anything. We took LG camping for the first time. And I had originally said, "Well, maybe we'll skip baths for the weekend. It's only two nights. He'll be fine." Hmmm, not so much. So dirty that PB agreed he needed a bath, too. His feet were black on the bottom. He had dirt in his diaper (man, I have no idea how Houdini does that. The kid never goes without a onsie. How does he get stuff into the diaper???) Food in his hair. Grime between the fingers, under the nails. Ewww. Poor PB had to sacrifice his quality 10 minutes of alone time in the shower to take LG in with him. Which freaked him out, but that's another story for another time. I wish I had thought to take pictures. (oh, and we had a great time, also. dirt included.)
We also discovered this weekend that LG can't eat hot dogs, and is stubborn as a mule. When he eats something he can't chew enough to swallow, he hoards it in his cheeks, like a chipmunk. But keeps putting more into his mouth. This weekend it was hot dogs. I knew he still had food in his mouth when we took him out of his high chair. And when we put him into his car seat to go on our driving tour. At our first "lookout" I decided he'd had enough time to chew or swallow (this was before we realized that he couldn't chew and swallow it...). I tried to pry his little mouth open and get the rest of his lunch out. No go. I didn't get a thing. He did bite me, though. Not five minutes down the road, long after I had put the napkins back into the diaper bag in the back of the car, he spits the contents of his mouth down his shirt. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson, "Why you little!!!!" sigh. But now we know better. Nothing that requires molars will go within grabbing distance.
The Un-Mom spoke about warm chocolate cake this morning. Now I'm thinking I might need to make cake tonight. Because we really need more sweets in our house. Mmmmm, cake. Oooooh, or Lava Muffins! We haven't had Lava Muffins with Raspberry sauce in a long time! Mmmmm.
Must go now and fantasize about cake, uhm, I mean work. Yeah, must go work now. Bad cake. Go back into your mental corner and think about what you've done...