Daughter and the Tights

Not to be outdone by Son, Daughter made life interesting yesterday morning. The monitor is in her room, so we heard her wake up and talk a little. This is her normal morning routine. Because she is doing so well with potty training, we usually rush right in so she can go to the bathroom first thing.

I'm not sure what was different yesterday. Husband and I listened to her talk and move around the room. So, I get ready for the shower and Husband goes to get her. A minute later, in walks Husband. As I ask him where Daughter is, in she walks.

She was wearing her favorite Dora pajamas (pants & top) but she had added a new accessory. She had pulled her pant legs up and tried to put on tights. Red tights. They had made it up to her knees and she was waddling along proudly proclaiming, "Tights! Tights!" It was too funny.

I decided to humor her and take of the pants and put on the tights. She hung around in those for a while and then, picked up her pants, put them on, on top of the tights, and went about her morning. I have no idea what the fascination with the tights was all about, but what a great way to start the morning; with a laugh.

Sleep Walking Son

The night before last, we had and interesting experience with Son. At about 9:45pm, we heard (through the monitor) his door swing wide open and hit the stopper on the wall. Husband and I sat up, wondering what the deal was. Sometimes he wakes up to go the the bathroom, but he is usually very quiet.

I opened the door to our bedroom carefully (he has scared me to death in the dark before when headed to our room). He met me mid way in the hall with his leopard in hand. Leopard was a Valentine's Day gift. He looked up at me and announced that he would no longer be able to take care of leopard. He put him in my hands, turned and walked away.

It was so strange that I just stood there for a minute waiting to see what he would do. Next thing I know, he is walking around in a circle around our kitchen island and around the playroom over and over. He was muttering something to himself about running out of milk. I thought maybe he would take a lap or two and head off to bed. Nope. He just kept waking.

I called Husband to come check this out. He couldn't believe it either. There was Son, late at night, walking around and muttering to himself. We could not stop laughing. It was the funniest thing.

I have to admit, I was a little nervous to stop him because I wasn't sure if it would scare him, so I gently reached for his hand and walked him back into his room. I tucked leopard in beside him and he rolled right over and closed his eyes.

I can't wait to tell him this one when he gets older.

Why I don't need a gym membership: Cooking

If I keep cooking like that last post, I will starve myself skinny.

Meal Plan Disaster

Last month, I planned out all of our dinner meal for the entire month of February. Either I’m a genius, or completely crazy. I like to think it is a little combination of the two. One of my goals consisted of making something I had never made before at least once a week. No big deal right?

I really needed something like this to change out current list of things we eat ALL THE TIME. It was also good because I had to use new spices and new combinations to make dinner. Before this, I was beginning to think everything I made had the same flavor. (I didn’t really notice this until Husband noted that the chili and the spaghetti sauce tasted a lot alike. He was right.)

And so, this month, I have done well with the goal. The first week, I tried a Sweet Bacon Wrapped Pork Loin It was awesome. It got rave reviews from everyone (the extended family got to try it too.) and I was feeling inspired, encouraged, ready to take on anything.

Until last night’s recipe, Sweet and Sour Meatballs. The recipe was so simple. I printed it out last month and added chile sauce to the grocery list. Every time I went to the store, I checked for chile sauce. I couldn’t find it. Seriously, what’s the deal. So last night came around and I had no chile sauce, however, I did have some Frank’s Red Hot Sauce in the pantry from a couple of weeks ago. It was free with coupon. What’s the difference right? So I added the hot sauce (the whole thing) and the grape jelly to the crockpot. And so, I went on with my afternoon.

After a while, I needed to add the meatballs. When I took the lid off the crockpot, the smell was so strong, my eyes were burning. That was my first sign of problems, but I justified it to myself. “Husband likes spicy foods.” “Husband wanted new flavors and this is truly a new flavor.” I quickly threw the meatballs in and closed the lid.

Obviously, the kids and I were not going to be able to eat these meatballs, so I started making some for us. I used teriyaki sauce and a little soy sauce. How can you mess that up? Easy when the teriyaki sauce is actually a marinade and you added the whole thing into the pan and let it cook on a really high heat and burn not only the meatballs, but the sauce. Again, I tried to salvage the meal. I turned it down, cooked some rice and stir fry veggies. This would all work out.

The smell of the two sets of meatballs mixed together was nauseating. I just kept cooking in hopes that they would taste great separately. Husband got home, walked through the door and the look on his face said it all. He tried to hard not to look disgusted because he new tonight was a new recipe night. He even offered to taste both, just to check them out. I can’t believe I let him. It was horrible. He didn’t spit them out or throw them up, but it was close. His eyes were watering he kept drinking a lot of soda.

In the end, “New Recipe Night” completely backfired. The point of preplanning meals and all of this effort was to keep us from eating out as much. Last night, Carl’s Jr. was glad to see us.

One of those days

(I wrote this on Monday, but I am just getting it on the blog.)

Ever have one of those days? It’s 11:00am, Monday. Let me know if you can top this day so far.

Husband woke up late; told me he didn’t have time to make coffee. As a consolation suggested that I sleep in this morning. Great idea! My day should have started out well, right? So I slept in, forgetting that the kids were going to GJ’s today. Oops. What is worse? The way I woke up for a second time. Husband was standing over me telling me that he had dropped his motorcycle on the way to work and was a little banged up. In a sense it was probably better that he told me while I was half asleep. Otherwise, I would have freaked out.

So I get out of bed and realize my throat hurts. Not again. It feels like the beginning of another sinus infection (my fourth in about 6 months). I am looking around the room, getting my bearings as I hear through the monitor, “Mama, pants off.” Not good. Daughter is in a bed now because while she was in the crib, she kept taking her pajamas and diaper off. The theory was that if she were in a bed, she would wake up, get out of bed and start her day as opposed to being stuck in the crib and having nothing better to do than quietly wake up, take off her clothes and play around with her diaper and what ever she found in it.

You know the saying, “With great freedom comes great responsibility? Let me modify that, “When your kids get great freedom, your responsibility increases greatly.” So true when you let a 19 month old loose in her room with no supervision.

Still, so far, not too bad. Manageable. Husband showers so as to rid himself of the gravel embedded in his skin, Son wakes up smiling and happy (as usual) and Daughter is standing in her room, sans pants, her poopy diaper on the floor, adamantly announcing, “Poop goes in the pot!”

I move on. Clean up Daughter. Put on a cartoon. Fix an incredibly healthy breakfast: Poptarts, and keep going. I make coffee (it comes out horrible), lay out the kids clothes and gobble down a Poptart. I get dressed.

We pile into the car. I am taking Husband to work because last night, we took his truck to my parents house to work on and it is now in pieces in their garage. Off we go to GJ’s. All is well there. Drop off the kids, head over to my parents to pick up Husband’s backpack that he left there last night. Try to sneak in so as not to wake up Pops. Apparently, woke up Pops because I see him peak out of his window as we are driving off. Great, add “give Pops a heart attack” to my list of accomplishments this morning.

Head to CVS and hope that my day will get better. We all know how I feel about CVS. It should be able to turn my day around. Not the case. I spend my ECB’s on stuff for Husband’s injuries and don’t get any ECB’s back. That’s right, I just spent them. It was tough to take. I bandage up Husband and drop him off at work. Head to HR at the old job to sign paperwork that they lost the first time we signed. Terrific.

I look at the clock. Most of my Mommy Morning Out is gone. I try to salvage it. Head to Barnes and Noble. Order a Chai. Realize I left my wallet in the car. In a moment of panic, tell the cashier that I left my wallet at home (even stupider than leaving it in the car. Walk out. Embarrassing!

Go right across the mall parking lot to the Starbucks. I walk in, wallet in hand and stand behind a family ordering. The problem? No one in the family speaks English. I know people who speak fluent English who struggle to order at Starbucks. You can just imaging how it works for people who don’t. It takes forever. The keep going over to the shelf and buying one more mug or one more bag of coffee as if they are on their last day at some type of tourist attraction and they just need one more souvenir. 40 dollars later, they are done. I step up to the counter; ready to give my super easy order when their first sets of drinks come out and they are incorrect. (Poor, poor barista!) After several minutes of discussion, she starts over.

Cashier apologizes. No big deal and I smile as I order. He asks for my name. I tell him. He writes “Angie” on the cup. For those of you who haven’t heard the speech: “I am Angela, AJ, Ang, hey you, kiddo, lady, whatever! JUST NOT ANGIE!” Angie is a hooker name. (No offense to all the Angie’s out there. I was in the seventh grade when I came to this conclusion. I am not even sure that I knew what a hooker was, and yet, the thought has stuck with me and I just can’t seem to get rid of it. So there it is in permanent marker on my cup – the one that I take home and reuse over and over again- “ANGIE.”

Can it get worse? Sure, you can try to put the straw in your drink and bust the lid and nearly spill Chai tea all over yourself. And so, here I am, writing this with a pen and a piece of paper because I left my laptop at home. One of the pens I was writing with ran out of ink and I had to dig through my purse to keep going.

On the bright side, I have not given up hope that this day will get better. In fact, when I get home, I will start by taking permanent marker and scratching out the name, “Angie” from my cup. Then, all will be well.

An Interesting Book Choice

So I am going through a classic literature phase. I have no idea what the deal is. I am rereading Les Miserables (one of my all time favorite books) and I have Bram Stoker’s Dracula on deck. I was supposed to read this book for a history class as a freshman, but I didn’t. No surprise there.

So, it is like I lead two lives. The grown up me is reading the classics. The mother me is reading “What to Expect When You Use the Potty” by Heidi Murkoff. I am sure you can just imagine how captivating this book is. Why are we reading this book? Daughter is in the potty training process and this book caught my eye in the library.

I sat down with the kids for the first reading of the book. Be impressed; I did a great job of not cracking up. In fact, I was completely serious as I read the chapter title, “Where do pee-pee and poop come from?” I took a deep breath. I was hoping the worst was over. I was wrong. The next chapter, “Why don’t pee-pee and poop look like food and drink?” That was a tough one. Next was, “What’s a potty?” Totally readable. “How do I know when to go to the potty?” (a conversation starter to be sure) I thought I was in the clear. I turned the page, “Will I wear diapers after I learn to use the potty?” Ah, I was on the home stretch. I can read the rest seriously. Wrong. “Why do I have to wipe after I go to the potty?”

It was there that I started laughing. I had been serious long enough. We had quite a moment; the three of us cracking up on the couch asking each other about wiping. It is never dull at our house.