Thursday blues

I had a craptacular day. So much so that I have nothing nice to say about it. And like a good little girl, I will follow my grandmother's advice. When you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing. sooo...

NOTHING!!!


Here's to having something more to say tomorrow.

Train of thought

The hardest thing for me to do with this blog is just write whatever happens to be stuck in my head. I'm a trained writer. A piece has to have a clear beginning, middle and end and make sense the whole way through. But that is so not how my brain works.

The hubby has long since given up asking how I get from point A to point B in a conversation. It all makes sense to me. What, not everyone one can connect laundry to that one time in college at that party? Huh. C'mon, keep up with me people. 

So I am jumping out of my comfort zone and going to try to just drain my brain onto this page today. Because I don't have a coherent story to tell and my one fan will give me an earful if she can't read my blog today. That or she might spray paint my van pink and green. It's a toss-up.

Here we go.

My 3.5 year old threw the mother of all tantrums (again) while trying to get his hair cut. I wished I had a roll of duct tape but settled for using a death grip with him on my lap. Obviously this renewed fear of haircuts means I am a horrible mother and have no control. Seriously, I'm pretty sure at least one of those is true. 

At the same time, he has played nicely with his sister for the last hour. I think I must have driven into the Twilight Zone on my way home.

The hubby wants a boat. Well, that's not really new, but he's actually put a bid on a sailboat on eBay. With my blessing. I am hoping that a hubby who runs off to sail on weekends is better than a hubby who pouts and moans because he can't go sailing on weekends. It's apparently light enough to go on top of my van (no trailer required) and store hanging somewhere in our garage. Now if I just knew where that cash was going to come from, besides our birthday/Christmas gift fund...

I am more excited about the book the hubby's grandma sent me for my birthday than the gift card from his parents to buy clothes. Because I am sure the book fits. The clothes I'd have to try on may not have a very friendly number on them, and that's just depressing. 

So on that note, I dragged the monsters out on a walk with a friend and her daughter this morning. I spent the entire 30 min huffing and puffing, all while telling little man to stop whining, get back on his bike, go faster, and no we're not done yet. Next time we walk while he's at school. And I'm gonna make her talk, so I don't sound like the out of shape asthmatic that I am. I think she knows better, but I have to pretend.

And in honor of National Coffee Day, I am having another cup. Pumpkin Spice. I may need a 12-step program when Starbucks stops offering Pumpkin Spice Lattes. It won't be pretty.

THE END!!

Cartoon coma

Normally I don't mind when my kids veg out in front of the TV. Anyone who has met them can say they have plenty of energy and they use it almost every waking hour of the day. No danger of mine becoming overweight couch potatoes.

I've asked other mom friends if their kids get as stir crazy as mine. They don't. Mine are the only ones I've found who LITERALLY run laps through my house in that cluster of an hour between nap and dinner time. And sometimes the other hours of the day too. OK, more than sometimes. Daily.

So it makes no sense that I get the Mommy Guilts when I plunk a sick child in front of cartoons. It's logical - they need to sit and relax so they can get better, and preschoolers and toddlers don't quite understand the "sleep it off" concept that I adore.

Not that I've slept anything off in a long, long time. Can't say I've slept anything on either. Sleep? What's that?

When my little man came down with a fever and passed out on the couch before dinner yesterday, I was hoping that the bug would be through his system by this morning. Alas. So no preschool (I didn't have the heart to tell him he was missing), and we stayed in jammies for a long time. I may or may not still be in my pajama pants. Nobody saw me get the mail today. You can't prove anything.

But we milked the Disney Channel for most of the morning, turned it off to play for an hour or so before lunch, which he did not want to eat (top sign he was sick). So we watched Sesame Street and then I talked him into "resting" in his room after another dose of tylenol. He agreed (another sign he was still sick) and "rested" for 2.5 hours. This is the same boy who hasn't napped regularly in 6 months.

But he did wake up on his own with no fever, so I was hopeful we'd turned the corner. He was reluctant to eat dinner, but came around. Halfway through his bowl of mac n cheese, he said his tummy hurt. I banished him to the couch to lay down and thank goodness for DVR, because the preschool cartoons are slim pickins this time of day.

So the cartoons will last another hour or so until I can throw both kiddos in the tub and justify an early bedtime. Hoping that more sleep will me tomorrow we can go back to normal. The silence today was unnerving. I guess I'd be grateful for a little chaos. But I didn't say that. No, really I didn't. Maybe I'm getting sick...

When in doubt, make them eat

My kitchen smells yummy right now. After assembling a pan of baked ziti, I moved on to applesauce muffins. There's a loaf of garlic bread in my freezer too.

No, my family is not getting any of it (okay, well maybe a muffin). It is all for a mom friend of mine who just had a baby, and since I know how crazy and sleep-deprived I was after my kiddos were born, I will take any chance I can to help her out.

We moms aren't always the greatest at admitting when we need help. I know I am definitely guilty of that, although the older my kids get, the more willing I am to say that I am in fact, not superwoman (I know, ruining your image of me right there). I gladly accepted a week's worth of meals when Leah was born and all 3 different pans of lasagna were delicious. I think we might have had a different meal thrown in there, but there was definitely a lot of lasagna.

I have figured out how to make a few casseroles that I am not embarrassed to share, but my favorite thing to do for others is bake.

Everything I know about baking I learned from my Nana. I spent so many days in the kitchen, at the table or on a chair at the counter, helping her with pies, cakes, bread, everything. She used to give me leftover bits of pie crust to make my own "cookies." I'd cut them with little cookie cutters and put sprinkles on them and put them in the oven.

She is why I make applesauce every fall and always have freezer strawberry jelly on hand. I refuse to buy store-bought pie crusts and I would NEVER buy a pie to take to a holiday gathering. She makes killer banana bread that is famous in Indiana and Wisconsin, mainly thanks to the care packages I used to get. In college, she would write the names of my friends and roommates on loaves of "Nana bread" for me to pass around. She couldn't do my laundry or help me study, but she could make sure that I felt a little bit of home.

Because in my family, food equals comfort. Holidays and Sunday dinners were always more food than we could eat in a week, which meant everyone went home stuffed and with "care packages" for the days to come. The first few times I took Craig to Nana's, he started getting annoyed every time she asked him if he needed anything to eat - which was every 10 minutes, it seemed. He didn't quite understand.

At 94, Nana's not as quick in the kitchen anymore, although she does supervise my aunt with the banana bread. She loves to hear what I've made and that my kids love to watch me.

All those days in the kitchen have paid off.

John Deere-ification

I may have mentioned my lack of country background. My Nana hails from the hills of West Virginia, but that's as close as I have gotten.

Now, I think my bestie's hubby has made it his mission to make me the butt of his city/country jokes and try to John Deere-ify me.

Like this.

Amazingly enough, my van did NOT come from the dealer with that attractive PINK John Deere license plate.

See, last spring my bestie got a new truck. Her new one didn't have a plate holder on the front bumper. So there's this lonely license plate, crying in their garage. After seeing my empty front plate, Farmer Boy decided to take matters into his own hands. 

So while I was in their garage helping with a garage sale (and getting my SIL to buy up a ton o' baby boy clothes), my van was parked pointed away, closer to their barn and shop. So Farmer Boy snuck into the garage, got the plate while we weren't paying attention and went about his day. He grabbed the neccessary tools and put the plate on my van, with my little man watching him THE WHOLE TIME. Farmer Boy told him he was making my van pretty. Little Dude was okay with that and failed to mention that to me. Bestie had no clue until after. Darn good thing, too.

That NIGHT, the hubby comes into the house ranting about somebody punking my van. I'm thinking, when could it have possibly been vandalized?! I'm panicking. He starts laughing and tells me to go out and look at the front. 

I. Could. Not. Be. Lieve it! Punk got me GOOD. But there's no way I was gonna figure out how to get it off, so 6 months later, there it sits. Now I can spot my van from a mile away in a minivan-riddled parking lot. Not always a bad thing.

But as loud and proud as that is, that was the only JD gear I had. I have a nice company T-shirt (also pink. sigh), but even though the combine is green, technically doesn't say John Deere. But I just had a birthday.

Here's what my bestie got me. She has a matching mug. I think the John Deere-ification is inevitable. Resistance is futile.

What's next? Pink and green overalls??

My happy place

It's Wednesday. Hump Day. "Oh my gosh is it Friday yet" day. My kids haven't seen Daddy since Sunday and are in desperate need of naps. I tried to get their hair cuts today.

There has been more screaming and crying this morning than we've seen in weeks. And the kids have been pretty loud too.

It's a bad day.

So instead of a gloomy Indiana day, I am imaging that I am here.

Or maybe here

Yeah, that'd be okay.

The greatest breakfast ever

My birthday was awesome - trip to Chicago without the kids, a Dave-sighting before the concert and sleeping late in a super-comfy hotel bed.

The concert was great. I think I missed some of the older favs (that he played Friday - oh, to have gone to both?! I know, gift horse and all), but I heard hands down the most kick-a$$ version of "Two Step" EVER. The sax player who has taken over for LeRoi Moore was AWESOME. I had my doubts, but he proved himself.

And the band played "Christmas Song," which I love. Dave started "Jimi Thing" and let the stadium sing without him until the second time through the chorus. It was hilarious. No "Where Are You Going" but the crowd was really too pumped for that. I'll just have to catch that next time.

I really need to go see him more often than every 10 years.

But really, the best part of the weekend? Eating. No, not just eating. Eating a nice, peaceful meal where I didn't have to cut anyone else's food, referee any fights, discourage sound effects or cajole anyone into eating.

I love my children dearly, but man, do I miss that.

With all of the Magnificent Mile at our disposal, I settled on what I would have picked if we were in any big city - PF Changs. Call me boring, but yu-um. Boring is delicious then. I pieced together my meal from their appetizer menu - lettuce wraps, spring rolls, dumplings and spare ribs (It wasn't all for me - Craig did help in addition to feeding his need for Dan Dan Noodles).

We slept in (aahhh...hotel bed) and grabbed a late breakfast at the Grand Lux Cafe on Michigan Ave. I am not a big breakfast fan. I need to be in the mood for eggs and meat (blech) in the morning and that rarely happens. I am usually content with coffee, yogurt and the occasional bowl of cereal. But an egg dish on the menu grabbed my attention - Tuscan Farm House Eggs.

What? You say.

Scrambled egg whites and bruschetta over toast. Sounds simple and a little different. O.M.G. It was so good!!

The smell was enough to start me drooling. The hash browns were not necessary. They were just taking up space on the plate. And would have taken up precious space in my stomach that could have been filled with tomato-ey, garlicky deliciousness.

Craig seriously rethought his decision for a waffle, eggs and hash browns.

I was nice. I let him have a bite. One.

If had reached for more, I might have stabbed him with my fork. Maybe. It was that good.

You better bet I'm gonna be trying to recreate THAT in my kitchen. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I better stop before I short out the keyboard.