I like my girls, at this moment Eliza has an old lady scarf perched on her head and is doing her best pirate impression, She's trying to say "Arrrgh", but since saying her r's isn't quite a skill she has yet, it's kind of more like "Awww", maybe she's a bashful pirate. Anyway, as I was saying, I love my girls. And we're going to have another one...oh boy.
I was absolutely positive this bun in my oven was a boy, my crazy old neighbor lady told me it was a boy before I even knew I was pregnant. She would come out of her house, in her night gown, followed by 13 of her cats and say in her trance like voice "your pregnant, and it's a boy", then turn back around and disappear. If you can't trust a prediction like that then what is this world coming to? Also, my doctor would listen to the fetal heart beat and spout off all the old wives tales that said that the slower beat meant it was a boy, and he's delivered a bajillion kids (Seriously, he's old, he wears a bow tie). So you see, I had it on pretty good authority Charlie was finally going to get a boy that would play in the dirt with him (my girls don't like dirt, Eliza gets up several times during a meal to wash her hands...I'll worry about that later.)
But then the ultrasound day came, with me on the table with that gross jelly all over me, Charlie and the girls trying to stare at the screen and pretending they knew what they were looking at and the doctor announced that we were getting girl #3. I breathed a sigh of relief because what on earth do I know about boys? Charlie laughed, because what else can he do? Mia's response? "Darn!" We all looked at her for a second and she said in her really disappointed voice "little sisters are too much work". Then we all looked at Eliza, who was busy trying to shove a latex glove into an outlet...she didn't really care what else was going on in the room. And I've mostly gotten used to the hormonal uncertainty that is the established mood at my home. (Do any of you remember a vignette in the old Animaniacs cartoon called Katie Kaboom, where the daughter of a family was all sweetness and light, until she got mad, then she made the incredible hulk look like a sissy and destroyed the house with lasers coming out of her eyes and tossing Acme bombs with abandon? Yeah...Mia...) hmmm. I guess I at least have the stuff for a baby girl already.
Let the fight over names begin!!!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
I need to pick my vacation destinations more carefully
I took the soul crushing van of doom on a road trip last week. And, it did not, I repeat, did NOT, involve a soccer tournament. Ok, kind of it did. Charlie was going to Cedar City for summer games. I paused and envisioned myself trying desperately to entertain my high energy children by myself in a hotel as charlie refereed soccer for 14 hours a day, and practically shouted that he was going alone. I only meant to be vehement, but I have volume control problems sometimes. Then, I had another vision of me with the two bored girls here at home for four days, while I was in the throws of morning sickness(oh did I forget to mention I am expecting again? Well, there you are.) Most days I have about 3 hours in the morning where I feel human, then I crash into a ball of nauseous slime on the couch until bedtime, only to rise to hurl once in a while. Charming, I know. My world is a glittering palace of glamor and excitement.
Where was I? Oh yes, so I was thinking about how much fun that would be, then for a split moment I envied polygamists. (in no way do I agree with their doctrine, but when you feel awful, you kind of wish you had a back up housewife around to entertain the kids and do the dishes. That's all I'm saying.) Then I thought of my awesome big sister, Wendy, who loves me and is nice to me even when I am whiny and gross. So I announced that while Charlie was gone, I was taking the girls to see their Aunt. He mostly looked confused at this point, taking the girls on a car trip longer than 10 minutes is something I avoid like the plague. But he just shrugged and said to have fun. Then I sat down and realized I had just planned a trip to VERNAL. Wendy has very few faults, but one of the major ones is her choice of hometown. Come on, Vernal. Hmm. I suppose there are good things about Vernal, so I will end my rant here.
All in all, it was pretty awesome. The girls behaved reasonably well. I was right in assuming that Wendy would keep my kids safe and entertained while I crashed on her couch for a few days, she's like the really cool version of Mary Poppins (but with less singing.) And the girls introduced her to Phineas and Ferb. I'd call everyone involved a winner. Even the van, it contained us and transported us just as advertized. Hmmm.
Where was I? Oh yes, so I was thinking about how much fun that would be, then for a split moment I envied polygamists. (in no way do I agree with their doctrine, but when you feel awful, you kind of wish you had a back up housewife around to entertain the kids and do the dishes. That's all I'm saying.) Then I thought of my awesome big sister, Wendy, who loves me and is nice to me even when I am whiny and gross. So I announced that while Charlie was gone, I was taking the girls to see their Aunt. He mostly looked confused at this point, taking the girls on a car trip longer than 10 minutes is something I avoid like the plague. But he just shrugged and said to have fun. Then I sat down and realized I had just planned a trip to VERNAL. Wendy has very few faults, but one of the major ones is her choice of hometown. Come on, Vernal. Hmm. I suppose there are good things about Vernal, so I will end my rant here.
All in all, it was pretty awesome. The girls behaved reasonably well. I was right in assuming that Wendy would keep my kids safe and entertained while I crashed on her couch for a few days, she's like the really cool version of Mary Poppins (but with less singing.) And the girls introduced her to Phineas and Ferb. I'd call everyone involved a winner. Even the van, it contained us and transported us just as advertized. Hmmm.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
vehicle induced identity crisis
The day finally came. My tenuous and distant grasp on anything associated with my carefree youth has finally slipped away from me. I drive a minivan. How those words have crushed my soul with their enormous weight. I knew this day would come. The moment the phrase "Hey, lets have kids" passed between Charlie and myself, the minivan of doom has hung with its soul crushing mass over my head. Like the proverbial cartoon piano hanging precariously from a fraying rope out a window waiting for me to pass by, it has been there. Hounding me relentlessly from the edges of my subconscious. And now it is here. Parked in my garage. Mocking me and my self image as a carefree, relatively cool person. I stare at it as I go to lock the doors at night, and for just a moment we stare each other down. It always wins. I'm a middle aged mom who drives a minivan, there's no denying it anymore.
I will write more and make it amusing later, some day...when it doesn't hurt. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I learned to drive in a minivan. My mom's minivan was the only vehicle available to me until I had bought my own car. Why is this so hard for me to accept? I'm not even a car person. It shouldn't bother me. I should accept it as just another marker of the passage of time in my life. Like the first time I bought eye cream, or waited patiently for food storage items to go on sale. It's the way life goes, and I will accept it. I can still be me as I drive down the road in my shiny, silver dodge caravan. Just give me time. And perhaps a drink.
I will write more and make it amusing later, some day...when it doesn't hurt. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. I learned to drive in a minivan. My mom's minivan was the only vehicle available to me until I had bought my own car. Why is this so hard for me to accept? I'm not even a car person. It shouldn't bother me. I should accept it as just another marker of the passage of time in my life. Like the first time I bought eye cream, or waited patiently for food storage items to go on sale. It's the way life goes, and I will accept it. I can still be me as I drive down the road in my shiny, silver dodge caravan. Just give me time. And perhaps a drink.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Martha Stewart takes a holiday
So, maybe it's just me, but sometimes I have days when I wonder why the universe has allowed me to be a parent. Most the time I'm ok, I give myself a B+, which is fine, I'm not striving for hall of fame or anything, just survival.
So imagine my surprise when I woke up Friday and had an itch to sew my cute little girls cute little matching sun dresses! I don't know what happened. Sewing generally thrills me about as much as wading through pools of spiders. But hey, who am I to resist a completely innocent urge? I dragged the kids to the fabric store (mia was in tears because that was not what her plan for the day was) and forced them to pick out fabric as I slyly asked the clerk what the easiest pattern in the store was as I am a what I like to refer to as a special needs seamstress. Anyway, long story short, here's what we ended up with after 3 hours of me cursing my machine
Yes, they are freaking adorable, thank you for noticing. This picture was taken Sunday morning about 10 minutes before we left for church. Approximately 13 minutes later, Mia's dress, hair and dignity will lay in shreds on the kitchen floor. (Aha! you were wondering when I would get to the "Amy is a massive mom failure" part of my story!) We wandered to church, my cute little matching girls holding hands and giggling, me trailing behind with tears of self satisfaction glistening in the sunshine. We selected our usual pew and settled in for the chaos we accept as sunday worship with kids. Here's where I made my fatal mistake, I asked Mia to (Brace yourself) Move to the END OF THE ROW! I know, how dare I say such things to her? Her screams of indignation echoed through the chapel as I tried to calm her down and explain that she can't sit in the middle because she puts her feet on the hymnal holder thingy and refuses to let anyone squeeze past her. This lead to more hysteria and a violent outburst. Charlie finally noticed that he was dressed and at church with his family just in time to raise his eyes from his smart phone and see his angelic 6 year old take a swing at me with her remarkable right hook. I've always been proud of that right hook. Anyway, he dragged her out of the church, all the way back home with her scratching and screaming and clawing at him the whole way. By the time they reached the safety of the house she had ripped her dress, reduced her cute curly hair to a hopeless birds nest and worked herself into such a frothy mountain of rage it took her nearly 2 hours to get a hold of her emotions and return to church (charlie had sewn her dress strap back on with a needle and thread and tried his best to salvage her hair, because he is adorable.)
Anyway, my point is, within about 3 minutes my "I am the worlds best mom with adorable girls whom are worthy of a magazine cover in dresses I sewed with my own hands" mood fell to "my whole ward just saw what a miserable failure of a disciplinarian I am and my children are secretly abusive monsters that should be locked in the basement for the safety of the whole neighborhood" kind of mood. It happens that fast. Eliza and I sat through the meeting with shame hanging over our heads (well, I did anyway, eliza mostly was irritated that her dad wasn't sitting next to her, she likes him lots.) Yep, that's how it goes. Kids. Hmm.
So imagine my surprise when I woke up Friday and had an itch to sew my cute little girls cute little matching sun dresses! I don't know what happened. Sewing generally thrills me about as much as wading through pools of spiders. But hey, who am I to resist a completely innocent urge? I dragged the kids to the fabric store (mia was in tears because that was not what her plan for the day was) and forced them to pick out fabric as I slyly asked the clerk what the easiest pattern in the store was as I am a what I like to refer to as a special needs seamstress. Anyway, long story short, here's what we ended up with after 3 hours of me cursing my machine
Yes, they are freaking adorable, thank you for noticing. This picture was taken Sunday morning about 10 minutes before we left for church. Approximately 13 minutes later, Mia's dress, hair and dignity will lay in shreds on the kitchen floor. (Aha! you were wondering when I would get to the "Amy is a massive mom failure" part of my story!) We wandered to church, my cute little matching girls holding hands and giggling, me trailing behind with tears of self satisfaction glistening in the sunshine. We selected our usual pew and settled in for the chaos we accept as sunday worship with kids. Here's where I made my fatal mistake, I asked Mia to (Brace yourself) Move to the END OF THE ROW! I know, how dare I say such things to her? Her screams of indignation echoed through the chapel as I tried to calm her down and explain that she can't sit in the middle because she puts her feet on the hymnal holder thingy and refuses to let anyone squeeze past her. This lead to more hysteria and a violent outburst. Charlie finally noticed that he was dressed and at church with his family just in time to raise his eyes from his smart phone and see his angelic 6 year old take a swing at me with her remarkable right hook. I've always been proud of that right hook. Anyway, he dragged her out of the church, all the way back home with her scratching and screaming and clawing at him the whole way. By the time they reached the safety of the house she had ripped her dress, reduced her cute curly hair to a hopeless birds nest and worked herself into such a frothy mountain of rage it took her nearly 2 hours to get a hold of her emotions and return to church (charlie had sewn her dress strap back on with a needle and thread and tried his best to salvage her hair, because he is adorable.)
Anyway, my point is, within about 3 minutes my "I am the worlds best mom with adorable girls whom are worthy of a magazine cover in dresses I sewed with my own hands" mood fell to "my whole ward just saw what a miserable failure of a disciplinarian I am and my children are secretly abusive monsters that should be locked in the basement for the safety of the whole neighborhood" kind of mood. It happens that fast. Eliza and I sat through the meeting with shame hanging over our heads (well, I did anyway, eliza mostly was irritated that her dad wasn't sitting next to her, she likes him lots.) Yep, that's how it goes. Kids. Hmm.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Hello?
Is anyone still out there? Charlie finally had time to sit down and figure out why I was locked out of this account this morning, so I guess I'm back. Woohoo!
Man am I relieved, the voices in my head were beginning to be really obnoxious without this particular creative outlet. I've been telling my kids my rants instead, and quite frankly they don't really care. Anyoway, I promise to start writing again, even if no one is reading this anymore, in fact that may be a good thing, no pressure and all that.
Man am I relieved, the voices in my head were beginning to be really obnoxious without this particular creative outlet. I've been telling my kids my rants instead, and quite frankly they don't really care. Anyoway, I promise to start writing again, even if no one is reading this anymore, in fact that may be a good thing, no pressure and all that.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A real vacation?
I've been meaning to write about my valentines day experience this year, but it's taken me a while to process it all. Here's the best I can do.
We had a "vacation". Yes, it is once again soccer season. This tournament was in St. George/Mesquite, and I was feeling saucy so I decided to pack up my girls (have you ever packed for a baby? You basically have to take everything. I finally stopped myself at the 6th recieving blanket and after packing every burpcloth in the city of Spanish Fork. Oh, and water, who knows what kind of water they have in Mesquite, how can I feel good about feeding my baby Mesquite water?) and headed out to the fields with my husband in his cute little referee shorts. (Yes, they have to be that short, otherwise the socks would look ridiculous.)
So St. George was the same as usual, dry, forsaken looking palm trees, people who wish they were in California, yada yada. And Mesquite...not so much. Apparently if you don't golf there is no reason at all to go there. And to make things even more adventurous we got to stay in a hotel that was actually closed...and perhaps haunted. I decided it was haunted because then the disgusting, dirty decor was ambience, not a health code violation. It seems our hotel was used as an "overflow" hotel when the real hotels just didn't have room. It was kind of fun, in a life risking sort of way. The up side is that none of us got bit by mystery bugs, unlike our poor soccer-referee neighbor. He looked like a bedbug buffet.
BUT! It weasn't all bad. Here's the awesome part. All the soccer games got cancelled for the last two days so Charlie actually had to SPEND TIME WITH HIS FAMILY ON FAMILY VACATION. Sorry, it still gets me a little excited that he was finally able to experience that. Because he is an over achiever, and it was Valentines weekend, he even came up with a plan all on his own for family fun. Vegas was only an hour away, and he had 48 hours to spare, so instead of packing up and heading home like everyone else we headed south to Las Vegas for a romantic Valentine's get away...with two kids in tow...Brilliant!!
I don't want you all to get the wrong idea. I was impressed by his gumption. He even got us a big fancy suite at the Luxor so we had panoramic views from our in-room hot tub of the glittering city lights. We went walking around the various casino's trying to see everything we could (I had Eliza in her Moby wrap. You get some good comments when you take a 3 month old into a casino.)
Mia's favorite thing was the volcano in front of the Mirage. She made us stand and watch it at least 3 times before we were allowed to go back to our room and crash. My favorite thing, and possibly the most romantic thing Charlie has ever done for me, was that we got to spend an hour at Sephora. I frantically searched for my favorite eyelash curler (refer to my previous entry about my love affair with the Shu Umera eye lash curler). Alas, it was no where. And I gave up in a wave of self defeat and sat down next to one of those people pretending to be a statue outside on the side walk. Charlie quietly got up, and went in the store with Mia happily trailing after him (although he previously made it clear that he would rather eat lint than step inside a Sephora...boys are weird). Ten minutes later he came out holding a large bag and Mia came out smelling like she tried all the perfume samples. He handed the bag over and said "They don't carry them anymore, but I got the lady to give me all the ones they had left in the stock room". Man, I really love my husband.
Later that night, as we were in our romantic hot tub, watching the view of the strip through our slanted, pyramid-corner windows, I glanced over my two children, splashing around and giggling in the tub like it was their own private pool, to my adoring husband and was completely content and happy. Best Valentines day EVER.
We had a "vacation". Yes, it is once again soccer season. This tournament was in St. George/Mesquite, and I was feeling saucy so I decided to pack up my girls (have you ever packed for a baby? You basically have to take everything. I finally stopped myself at the 6th recieving blanket and after packing every burpcloth in the city of Spanish Fork. Oh, and water, who knows what kind of water they have in Mesquite, how can I feel good about feeding my baby Mesquite water?) and headed out to the fields with my husband in his cute little referee shorts. (Yes, they have to be that short, otherwise the socks would look ridiculous.)
So St. George was the same as usual, dry, forsaken looking palm trees, people who wish they were in California, yada yada. And Mesquite...not so much. Apparently if you don't golf there is no reason at all to go there. And to make things even more adventurous we got to stay in a hotel that was actually closed...and perhaps haunted. I decided it was haunted because then the disgusting, dirty decor was ambience, not a health code violation. It seems our hotel was used as an "overflow" hotel when the real hotels just didn't have room. It was kind of fun, in a life risking sort of way. The up side is that none of us got bit by mystery bugs, unlike our poor soccer-referee neighbor. He looked like a bedbug buffet.
BUT! It weasn't all bad. Here's the awesome part. All the soccer games got cancelled for the last two days so Charlie actually had to SPEND TIME WITH HIS FAMILY ON FAMILY VACATION. Sorry, it still gets me a little excited that he was finally able to experience that. Because he is an over achiever, and it was Valentines weekend, he even came up with a plan all on his own for family fun. Vegas was only an hour away, and he had 48 hours to spare, so instead of packing up and heading home like everyone else we headed south to Las Vegas for a romantic Valentine's get away...with two kids in tow...Brilliant!!
I don't want you all to get the wrong idea. I was impressed by his gumption. He even got us a big fancy suite at the Luxor so we had panoramic views from our in-room hot tub of the glittering city lights. We went walking around the various casino's trying to see everything we could (I had Eliza in her Moby wrap. You get some good comments when you take a 3 month old into a casino.)
Mia's favorite thing was the volcano in front of the Mirage. She made us stand and watch it at least 3 times before we were allowed to go back to our room and crash. My favorite thing, and possibly the most romantic thing Charlie has ever done for me, was that we got to spend an hour at Sephora. I frantically searched for my favorite eyelash curler (refer to my previous entry about my love affair with the Shu Umera eye lash curler). Alas, it was no where. And I gave up in a wave of self defeat and sat down next to one of those people pretending to be a statue outside on the side walk. Charlie quietly got up, and went in the store with Mia happily trailing after him (although he previously made it clear that he would rather eat lint than step inside a Sephora...boys are weird). Ten minutes later he came out holding a large bag and Mia came out smelling like she tried all the perfume samples. He handed the bag over and said "They don't carry them anymore, but I got the lady to give me all the ones they had left in the stock room". Man, I really love my husband.
Later that night, as we were in our romantic hot tub, watching the view of the strip through our slanted, pyramid-corner windows, I glanced over my two children, splashing around and giggling in the tub like it was their own private pool, to my adoring husband and was completely content and happy. Best Valentines day EVER.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
My new friend Kip
I had a birthday a few weeks ago, so no whining that I haven't written, I'm an old lady now with arthritic hands so this takes a lot of effort. I've been on a stupid diet and exercise kick since then. Charlie bought me Wii Fit Plus for my birthday and I got a membership to weight watchers....because apparently we both hate me. So I am old AND unpleasant. Gosh, are you sure you want to read this? I may insult you because I can't have a brownie, so all of my brownie hormones have converted into yelling-at-random people hormones.
Since the blessed anniversary of my birth, every morning I turn on my stupid Wii and pull out my stupid balance board and say good morning to Kip. He is my cartoon personal trainer. I could have picked the chick one, but I may have called her names that I don't think my kids should over hear at their tender age. So, Kip....yep. He's my buddy. And I hate him. Stupid Kip. I named him Kip because he looks really perky and slightly effeminate. I'll bet he was a cheerleader in his computer animated high school. He tries really hard to be in my good graces, but then he says something dumb like "your balance is a little off, do you find that you trip a lot when walking across a room?" Then I have to let out a string of not so nice words at him, but he doesn't care. He just goes on to the next torturous yoga pose as if he is impervious to my pain and insults. But if I stop, he yells at me. Yesterday in the middle of the palm pose I had to leap off my balance board because Eliza was screaming at me that she had flipped over on her stomach and got stuck (this happens a lot and I usually just sit there and laugh at her....because I need a brownie). Anyway, I jumped over to grab her and Kip shouted, as if I was across the room in the kitchen eating a brownie "HEY! THOSE MUSCLES AREN'T GOING TO TONE THEMSELVES YOU KNOW!" So I jumped back on the balance board, scared that he would make me do more lunges if I didn't shape up. I don't like being yelled at.
So, in my old decrepit age, I am being bullied by an inanimate object. I'm not sure what that says about me. I could just not turn on my Wii, but then he would get all mad at me for not working out. And he would probably yell at me. And then I would cry. So for now, I just deal with it, but some day he is going to push me too far. Then I'll do something, I don't know what. I may...put the disk in the freezer....that'll teach him. Oh yeah Kip, you have it coming. Just keep pushing me.
Since the blessed anniversary of my birth, every morning I turn on my stupid Wii and pull out my stupid balance board and say good morning to Kip. He is my cartoon personal trainer. I could have picked the chick one, but I may have called her names that I don't think my kids should over hear at their tender age. So, Kip....yep. He's my buddy. And I hate him. Stupid Kip. I named him Kip because he looks really perky and slightly effeminate. I'll bet he was a cheerleader in his computer animated high school. He tries really hard to be in my good graces, but then he says something dumb like "your balance is a little off, do you find that you trip a lot when walking across a room?" Then I have to let out a string of not so nice words at him, but he doesn't care. He just goes on to the next torturous yoga pose as if he is impervious to my pain and insults. But if I stop, he yells at me. Yesterday in the middle of the palm pose I had to leap off my balance board because Eliza was screaming at me that she had flipped over on her stomach and got stuck (this happens a lot and I usually just sit there and laugh at her....because I need a brownie). Anyway, I jumped over to grab her and Kip shouted, as if I was across the room in the kitchen eating a brownie "HEY! THOSE MUSCLES AREN'T GOING TO TONE THEMSELVES YOU KNOW!" So I jumped back on the balance board, scared that he would make me do more lunges if I didn't shape up. I don't like being yelled at.
So, in my old decrepit age, I am being bullied by an inanimate object. I'm not sure what that says about me. I could just not turn on my Wii, but then he would get all mad at me for not working out. And he would probably yell at me. And then I would cry. So for now, I just deal with it, but some day he is going to push me too far. Then I'll do something, I don't know what. I may...put the disk in the freezer....that'll teach him. Oh yeah Kip, you have it coming. Just keep pushing me.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Cute kids
Alright, you know how all kids are cute? Even the ones that are kind of funny looking are adorable in that E.T sort of way? Well, my kids are cute, dang it. But I will be the first to admit that they have had their less than glowing phases. Even little Eliza in her short three months has had a few less than stellar looks.
For example, she was born with male pattern baldness. Not completely new baby bald. Oh no, the only bald part was right in the front and center, the rest was almost 3 inches long, all around the perimeter.
You can see the hair in back sticking up like a mad scientist...tee hee. See, cute, even if it is funny.
I almost considered just buzzing the rest off and letting it all grow out together, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I just tried to camouflage it with a comb over. Yep, I had a little baby girl with a comb over. I also tried head bands, but they never stay put. Now the bald spot is just grown in enough that I have started to do things with her longer hair, like pigtails and stuff.
I actually mostly do this for my own amusement. I tried a mohawk, but that seriously didn't work since it only went to the middle of her head and the front just had that "new baby chick" fuzz. Maybe I'll try putting it in curlers and see what happens. (Can you tell I am not working right now? I need a hobby. Perhaps I should try knitting again to spare my kids from my boredom.)
I had a similar problem with Mia. When she was born, she had a mullet. A serious mullet. Plus, she had white hair, so she was like an albino baby with a mullet. It was pretty startling at first. But, I got used to it, and by the time she was about 18 months it all sort of worked itself out and now she has this gorgeous mane of golden shimmering hair that would make women in shampoo commercials seethe with jealousy. I don't have any pictures of her mullet on this particular computer, so she is going to be spared the embarrassment of those being published. But here is the lustrous current state of her hair.
So, when I see funny looking kids on the street or at the store, I just smile. Because I understand. It isn't their fault. Even if it isn't something like their hair, or being crossed eyed, it isn't their fault. It's probably because their mom dresses them funny or has no idea what to do with their hair. So, make fun of the parents if you must, it's all their doing, but spare the kids. They just do their best.
For example, she was born with male pattern baldness. Not completely new baby bald. Oh no, the only bald part was right in the front and center, the rest was almost 3 inches long, all around the perimeter.
You can see the hair in back sticking up like a mad scientist...tee hee. See, cute, even if it is funny.
I almost considered just buzzing the rest off and letting it all grow out together, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, so I just tried to camouflage it with a comb over. Yep, I had a little baby girl with a comb over. I also tried head bands, but they never stay put. Now the bald spot is just grown in enough that I have started to do things with her longer hair, like pigtails and stuff.
I actually mostly do this for my own amusement. I tried a mohawk, but that seriously didn't work since it only went to the middle of her head and the front just had that "new baby chick" fuzz. Maybe I'll try putting it in curlers and see what happens. (Can you tell I am not working right now? I need a hobby. Perhaps I should try knitting again to spare my kids from my boredom.)
I had a similar problem with Mia. When she was born, she had a mullet. A serious mullet. Plus, she had white hair, so she was like an albino baby with a mullet. It was pretty startling at first. But, I got used to it, and by the time she was about 18 months it all sort of worked itself out and now she has this gorgeous mane of golden shimmering hair that would make women in shampoo commercials seethe with jealousy. I don't have any pictures of her mullet on this particular computer, so she is going to be spared the embarrassment of those being published. But here is the lustrous current state of her hair.
So, when I see funny looking kids on the street or at the store, I just smile. Because I understand. It isn't their fault. Even if it isn't something like their hair, or being crossed eyed, it isn't their fault. It's probably because their mom dresses them funny or has no idea what to do with their hair. So, make fun of the parents if you must, it's all their doing, but spare the kids. They just do their best.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Love song for Macey's
I do have my share of happy places. I love my circle couch, sitting there with a remote (or novel, because I'm well rounded) and a diet coke is pretty much my version of bliss. Also, I have made it a habit to hang out at Macey's, my local grocery store. Yes, I know, grocery stores are not known for their relaxing amenities, but bear with me, it makes sense in a round about Amy-has-a-unique-albeit-skewed-outlook. (albeit is an interesting word....I'm going to have to use it more.)
Here is the play by play: First, you go in, you coral your 4 year old into a grocery cart so she can't run around and drive you crazy, and you put your infant in a front carrier because then she falls asleep and you can just pretend you have a horribly misshapen growth on your chest and ignore her. You take a deep relaxing breath and proceed into the store.
There, you are visually assaulted by "The Wall of Bargains", but in a good way. Chocolate covered pretzels, four for five dollars? Brilliant! Hunts spaghetti sauce for 1.09? Don't mind if I do. You leisurely work your way through the displays of consumable wonders and notice that you are working up a thirst. Just when it seems palpable, you wander smack into the Deli section and gaze longingly at all things deep fried. The deli wins a place in my heart because it houses a magical fountain drink dispenser. So, of course you mosey over and help yourself to a diet coke (you also may need to get a drink for the child in your grocery cart, depending on her noise level.) But, if drinks aren't her thing, never fear, because the Bakery is next, and the wonderful bakers in their baking aprons will give your child a cookie, because Bakers are like the Santa Claus's of pastry and cute kids get what they want. While you sip your beverage and your cart-caged child eats her cookie, you can stare in amazement at the cake being decorated by the woman in the glass-enclosed cake decorating area. (Mia can watch her for hours...I wonder if she feels like a zoo animal because I sometimes get the urge to throw treats at her for her performance. Maybe she would rather be thought of as a street busker and have me throw change into her white baking hat, I'll have to try that line of thinking next time.) Then you walk past the donuts and play the "What would I eat if I didn't have to lose 30 pounds" game.
And this is just the first corner of the store. At Macey's wonders await you around ever corner! Visit Tim the produce dude and get his advice on pineapple selecting. Sample ladies and candy bar displays lurk around every corner, like the proverbial trench coat wearing alley loiterer...except friendly and safe. Yep...this is one of my happy places and I am not ashamed any more. After all, don't people always say that happiness is where you find it (I never really seem to get platitudes right so feel free to correct that if you must.)
Here is the play by play: First, you go in, you coral your 4 year old into a grocery cart so she can't run around and drive you crazy, and you put your infant in a front carrier because then she falls asleep and you can just pretend you have a horribly misshapen growth on your chest and ignore her. You take a deep relaxing breath and proceed into the store.
There, you are visually assaulted by "The Wall of Bargains", but in a good way. Chocolate covered pretzels, four for five dollars? Brilliant! Hunts spaghetti sauce for 1.09? Don't mind if I do. You leisurely work your way through the displays of consumable wonders and notice that you are working up a thirst. Just when it seems palpable, you wander smack into the Deli section and gaze longingly at all things deep fried. The deli wins a place in my heart because it houses a magical fountain drink dispenser. So, of course you mosey over and help yourself to a diet coke (you also may need to get a drink for the child in your grocery cart, depending on her noise level.) But, if drinks aren't her thing, never fear, because the Bakery is next, and the wonderful bakers in their baking aprons will give your child a cookie, because Bakers are like the Santa Claus's of pastry and cute kids get what they want. While you sip your beverage and your cart-caged child eats her cookie, you can stare in amazement at the cake being decorated by the woman in the glass-enclosed cake decorating area. (Mia can watch her for hours...I wonder if she feels like a zoo animal because I sometimes get the urge to throw treats at her for her performance. Maybe she would rather be thought of as a street busker and have me throw change into her white baking hat, I'll have to try that line of thinking next time.) Then you walk past the donuts and play the "What would I eat if I didn't have to lose 30 pounds" game.
And this is just the first corner of the store. At Macey's wonders await you around ever corner! Visit Tim the produce dude and get his advice on pineapple selecting. Sample ladies and candy bar displays lurk around every corner, like the proverbial trench coat wearing alley loiterer...except friendly and safe. Yep...this is one of my happy places and I am not ashamed any more. After all, don't people always say that happiness is where you find it (I never really seem to get platitudes right so feel free to correct that if you must.)
You owe me big time Jake.
I have had to add a few things to my list of stuff that has made me lose my faith in humanity. Now, along with Oprah, Celine Dion, and techno remixes (why oh why must they go on for so long and be so repetitive??? Who enjoys that? It's like being pounded over the head with a drum machine.) Last night I had to add the Bachelor to my list.
I watched this juggernaut of a show in it's first season, when it was a novel idea, finding love on national television? How on earth will that pan out? But now we all know, it doesn't. No way, no how. So why is this show still on? How have they managed to find women who are willing to pretend that they think that finding the love of their lives equates dressing in skanky cocktail dresses and fighting over some rose happy guy who is willing to go on national and make out with 20 women to find the love of HIS life...honestly, there aren't this many stupid people in the world, are there? Oh and last night I made a drinking game out of it (I couldn't find the remote, hence my being subjected to this show). Every time some idiot woman talks about having a "connection" with Jake (the current Bachelor) you take a shot of the beverage of your choice. I drank protein water because I am trying to lay off the hard stuff (diet coke). Also, every time Jake cries because he has to send someone home. Has he not ever seen the show before? Why is this taking him by surprise? IF he is really there to find his true love he should be thrilled to whittle the pool of bimbos down to one so that he has found her. Come on. Quit your bawlin' pretty boy.
So, after last night I am banned from watching that show. Apparently Jake the pilot + protein water makes me a little bit violent. Charlie was afraid I would throw some projectile through his pretty new TV and removed all hard objects from my reach. And also, apparently the rage that show has created within me has made me tense my muscles in my back and today I cannot stand up straight or lift my 12 pound baby up without tears of wretched pain springing forth. Stupid Bachelor.
I watched this juggernaut of a show in it's first season, when it was a novel idea, finding love on national television? How on earth will that pan out? But now we all know, it doesn't. No way, no how. So why is this show still on? How have they managed to find women who are willing to pretend that they think that finding the love of their lives equates dressing in skanky cocktail dresses and fighting over some rose happy guy who is willing to go on national and make out with 20 women to find the love of HIS life...honestly, there aren't this many stupid people in the world, are there? Oh and last night I made a drinking game out of it (I couldn't find the remote, hence my being subjected to this show). Every time some idiot woman talks about having a "connection" with Jake (the current Bachelor) you take a shot of the beverage of your choice. I drank protein water because I am trying to lay off the hard stuff (diet coke). Also, every time Jake cries because he has to send someone home. Has he not ever seen the show before? Why is this taking him by surprise? IF he is really there to find his true love he should be thrilled to whittle the pool of bimbos down to one so that he has found her. Come on. Quit your bawlin' pretty boy.
So, after last night I am banned from watching that show. Apparently Jake the pilot + protein water makes me a little bit violent. Charlie was afraid I would throw some projectile through his pretty new TV and removed all hard objects from my reach. And also, apparently the rage that show has created within me has made me tense my muscles in my back and today I cannot stand up straight or lift my 12 pound baby up without tears of wretched pain springing forth. Stupid Bachelor.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Writer's block?
So, many of you have mentioned my novel that I was once writing. I was doing this when Mia was a baby and I was stuck at the house most of the day while she slept, which is a magical and really boring time of motherhood. I got about 50 pages written of a delightful murder mystery that I never really thought I would try to get it published or anything, it was just for my own amusement. After that point, however, Mia grew into the "hey, what's up with you ignoring me? aren't you suppose to be interacting and doing mom type stuff?" phase. So the book got put on the back burner and mostly forgotten about. I tried to find it a couple of years later, when she started to go preschool and I had a few minutes to myself every day, but it was gone, I couldn't even remember if I had written it on my current laptop or the previous one. So sad.
Here's the kicker though. I thought maybe I would just start over again, because i had a really good, intricate plot all thought out with lots of twists and surprises and many fabulous and amusing characters....but I can't remember how it ends. I've been wracking my brain for weeks and weeks and I have no idea who did it and why.
As frustrating as this is, I think it points to a bigger problem. What other incredibly brilliant things have I forgotten? Who knows, I may have cured cancer and solved world hunger on a lunch break a few years ago and just forgot to write it down. I've always embraced my absentmindedness and tried to convince those around me that it was a charming quirk that just made me more lovable. But no, it is a serious character flaw that will probably lead to my demise, and maybe even the destruction of the world someday. Man, try walking around with that burden on your shoulders. Being me isn't for the faint of heart.
I've tried to correct this problem by buying various PDA's and calendar systems, but the catch is that you have to remember to use them. I once got this awesome day planner from the UVU bookstore, that had lots of Mormon and Utah themed jokes and quotes that cracked me up and kept me awake while I was in my really boring physiology class, but I never remembered to write anything down, other than the family birthdays and stuff that I really didn't need reminders of. And it isn't even that I forget everything. I can remember completely trivial and useless details to a fault. I am a genius while playing Trivial Pursuit and if you ever need to know any details about the career of Danny Kaye or the use of Jello throughout history, I am a handy person to have around. But for actual, useful information that is relevent to anyone's life, you may want to ask that Mom-mannequin that I wrote about in the previous blog.
Here's the kicker though. I thought maybe I would just start over again, because i had a really good, intricate plot all thought out with lots of twists and surprises and many fabulous and amusing characters....but I can't remember how it ends. I've been wracking my brain for weeks and weeks and I have no idea who did it and why.
As frustrating as this is, I think it points to a bigger problem. What other incredibly brilliant things have I forgotten? Who knows, I may have cured cancer and solved world hunger on a lunch break a few years ago and just forgot to write it down. I've always embraced my absentmindedness and tried to convince those around me that it was a charming quirk that just made me more lovable. But no, it is a serious character flaw that will probably lead to my demise, and maybe even the destruction of the world someday. Man, try walking around with that burden on your shoulders. Being me isn't for the faint of heart.
I've tried to correct this problem by buying various PDA's and calendar systems, but the catch is that you have to remember to use them. I once got this awesome day planner from the UVU bookstore, that had lots of Mormon and Utah themed jokes and quotes that cracked me up and kept me awake while I was in my really boring physiology class, but I never remembered to write anything down, other than the family birthdays and stuff that I really didn't need reminders of. And it isn't even that I forget everything. I can remember completely trivial and useless details to a fault. I am a genius while playing Trivial Pursuit and if you ever need to know any details about the career of Danny Kaye or the use of Jello throughout history, I am a handy person to have around. But for actual, useful information that is relevent to anyone's life, you may want to ask that Mom-mannequin that I wrote about in the previous blog.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
stylin' mom
Alright, so I am not one to buy into all the latest trends, by nature...plus you have to actually be paying attention to stuff, which I don't normally do in order to be trendy so, whatever. But with all this new "mom gear" you are suppose to have I have been doing a little research and have come to the conclusion that people are dumb.
This is not a new conclusion, I will admit. But come on, do people really need all this stuff? I mean honestly, has anyone ever been in desperate need of a diaper stacker? This is my second kid (a little girl, named Eliza, for those who were wondering) and I have yet to actually use one of these. There are a bunch of other things, like bedside bottle warmers and wipe warmers which seem like a good idea, except that you actually have to be in a state of mind to remember to use these things, which doesn't happen when you have a baby screaming at you at 3 a.m. so, those are also off my wish list.
Ooo, here is one thing that I love though. The Moby Wrap ( I tried to insert a link to it right here, but I am still a technological idiot and it didn't work. Sorry)
Granted, I had to look it up on youtube and watch a bunch of instructional videos to figure out how to put the dang thing on, but as I do have a baby that insists on being held all day, and a job that requires the use of both hands, not to mention the need to brush my teeth once in a while, it's pretty darn useful. Now if only someone would invent some sort of shield so that when I eat while "wearing" my baby I wouldn't drip and get crumbs all over the poor kid. Or, maybe someone would invent some sort of mannequin (except not creepy) version of a mom so that the mannequin could wear the baby and the baby would never know, and I could just take a nap. Hey, maybe it could even somehow trick older kids, like Mia, into thinking that I was playing with her at the same time so I could take a real nap, not the kind where she comes in every 10 minutes to explain to me that she is bored and the TV does not count as a playmate. Hmm...yes, inventors of the world need to get right on that idea. I'll be here waiting.
This is not a new conclusion, I will admit. But come on, do people really need all this stuff? I mean honestly, has anyone ever been in desperate need of a diaper stacker? This is my second kid (a little girl, named Eliza, for those who were wondering) and I have yet to actually use one of these. There are a bunch of other things, like bedside bottle warmers and wipe warmers which seem like a good idea, except that you actually have to be in a state of mind to remember to use these things, which doesn't happen when you have a baby screaming at you at 3 a.m. so, those are also off my wish list.
Ooo, here is one thing that I love though. The Moby Wrap ( I tried to insert a link to it right here, but I am still a technological idiot and it didn't work. Sorry)
Granted, I had to look it up on youtube and watch a bunch of instructional videos to figure out how to put the dang thing on, but as I do have a baby that insists on being held all day, and a job that requires the use of both hands, not to mention the need to brush my teeth once in a while, it's pretty darn useful. Now if only someone would invent some sort of shield so that when I eat while "wearing" my baby I wouldn't drip and get crumbs all over the poor kid. Or, maybe someone would invent some sort of mannequin (except not creepy) version of a mom so that the mannequin could wear the baby and the baby would never know, and I could just take a nap. Hey, maybe it could even somehow trick older kids, like Mia, into thinking that I was playing with her at the same time so I could take a real nap, not the kind where she comes in every 10 minutes to explain to me that she is bored and the TV does not count as a playmate. Hmm...yes, inventors of the world need to get right on that idea. I'll be here waiting.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I figured out my password!!
Sorry, it's been a while, having a baby and all that. But mostly it's been a while because I couldn't remember my password and had to spend a couple weeks hacking into my own account. Woo hoo! I will write a real post soon, I just needed to let you guys know I am still breathing and stuff. Love your guts!!
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Hiding the Crazy
I apologize. Not for abandoning you for so long, oh faithful blog, but for unloading all the crazy that I have been trying to conceal for months now. As you know I have previously hinted that I may not be in my right mind due to all these lovely pregnancy hormones so I have mostly kept my sporadic thoughts to myself as much as possible. But today I am bored. And I can't watch one more episode of Backyardigans with Mia or I will beat my TV.
Yesterday was a fun day. It started off with Charlie getting up early with Mia so that I could sleep in (Charlie is so awesome) and then 30 seconds later my darling unborn baby started kicking me in the bladder, again, so I had to get up anyway. So, I ventured downstairs and realized that I had to clean my pigsty house up because there was a BYU football game on that night. No, I am not a crazy superstitious football fan who thinks we will lose the game if my house isn't spotless. It's just that Charlie (who is very friendly and sweet) invites people over at random to watch the game with him and I never know how many are showing up expecting a party. So, I pleaded with Charlie and Mia to help me scrub stuff. I cleaned the kitchen as they vacuumed all things that would hold still.
Then I decided to make cinnamon rolls (shut up it makes sense). Except about half way through the baking time I remembered I have a horrible cold (courtesy of stupid charlie and his germs) and I can't smell. What is the point of baked goods if you can't smell. So I screamed at the oven and decided to go hide in the shower until I calmed down. So I locked my bedroom door, and then locked my bathroom door and hopped in, enjoyed the steam and tried to chill out for a few minutes. It lasted all of 2 minutes until Mia, with a nail file in hand, picked through both locks (who taught my 4 year old to pick locks? Dang Charlie) so that she could come tell me, with her face full of fury, that her dad had sprayed her with cold water. I asked her calmly, (while inwardly chanting a soothing yogic phrase that I made up because I don't speak yogic) to tell him that was very mean and that I would be down in a few minutes to talk to both of them. She sounded satisfied that her dad was going to get in trouble and ran away (Man, I really want some seven layer bean dip right now.) Then, she came in again to say that dad was in bigger trouble now because he was tickling her when she was yelling at him. Then he came in to say that Mia was totally just trying to get him in trouble and was only crying when I was around to hear it. (I'm still in the shower at this point, trying not to scream). No wonder I am so freaked out to have another kid, I already have two of them that I can barely handle.
So, after my super relaxing shower (man I really want bean dip....I don't have any chips though. And now I am going to cry, Darn Charlie and his non-chip buying). My dad and Charlie's mom and brother showed up for the game. I served my cinnamon rolls with tears in my eyes because I wasn't even tempted to eat them. Then I got a lecture from my mother in law on random and various things such as daring to schedule my induction, delivering at the wrong hospital. Why was I so thoughtless as to breath in Charlie's germs and get a cold? Oh, and my favorite was "why on earth are you naming your daughter Elijah? How do you spell that? is it a family name? (for the record, that isn't happening, but I was having fun with this topic so I let her go on for a good 20 minutes, even arguing that Elijah was my great grandmother's name and she was an amazing woman, before Charlie decided to step in and explain that no one had even considered that name and she must have made that up herself.) (Ok, bean dip is gross, never mind)
So, dear blog...you see what you are missing? Not only are my emotions random and inconsistent, but they aren't even particularly entertaining. Oh, we lost the game last night, but that is ok.
Yesterday was a fun day. It started off with Charlie getting up early with Mia so that I could sleep in (Charlie is so awesome) and then 30 seconds later my darling unborn baby started kicking me in the bladder, again, so I had to get up anyway. So, I ventured downstairs and realized that I had to clean my pigsty house up because there was a BYU football game on that night. No, I am not a crazy superstitious football fan who thinks we will lose the game if my house isn't spotless. It's just that Charlie (who is very friendly and sweet) invites people over at random to watch the game with him and I never know how many are showing up expecting a party. So, I pleaded with Charlie and Mia to help me scrub stuff. I cleaned the kitchen as they vacuumed all things that would hold still.
Then I decided to make cinnamon rolls (shut up it makes sense). Except about half way through the baking time I remembered I have a horrible cold (courtesy of stupid charlie and his germs) and I can't smell. What is the point of baked goods if you can't smell. So I screamed at the oven and decided to go hide in the shower until I calmed down. So I locked my bedroom door, and then locked my bathroom door and hopped in, enjoyed the steam and tried to chill out for a few minutes. It lasted all of 2 minutes until Mia, with a nail file in hand, picked through both locks (who taught my 4 year old to pick locks? Dang Charlie) so that she could come tell me, with her face full of fury, that her dad had sprayed her with cold water. I asked her calmly, (while inwardly chanting a soothing yogic phrase that I made up because I don't speak yogic) to tell him that was very mean and that I would be down in a few minutes to talk to both of them. She sounded satisfied that her dad was going to get in trouble and ran away (Man, I really want some seven layer bean dip right now.) Then, she came in again to say that dad was in bigger trouble now because he was tickling her when she was yelling at him. Then he came in to say that Mia was totally just trying to get him in trouble and was only crying when I was around to hear it. (I'm still in the shower at this point, trying not to scream). No wonder I am so freaked out to have another kid, I already have two of them that I can barely handle.
So, after my super relaxing shower (man I really want bean dip....I don't have any chips though. And now I am going to cry, Darn Charlie and his non-chip buying). My dad and Charlie's mom and brother showed up for the game. I served my cinnamon rolls with tears in my eyes because I wasn't even tempted to eat them. Then I got a lecture from my mother in law on random and various things such as daring to schedule my induction, delivering at the wrong hospital. Why was I so thoughtless as to breath in Charlie's germs and get a cold? Oh, and my favorite was "why on earth are you naming your daughter Elijah? How do you spell that? is it a family name? (for the record, that isn't happening, but I was having fun with this topic so I let her go on for a good 20 minutes, even arguing that Elijah was my great grandmother's name and she was an amazing woman, before Charlie decided to step in and explain that no one had even considered that name and she must have made that up herself.) (Ok, bean dip is gross, never mind)
So, dear blog...you see what you are missing? Not only are my emotions random and inconsistent, but they aren't even particularly entertaining. Oh, we lost the game last night, but that is ok.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
total cop out
Ok, I know it's been a while, but honestly, I am one grouchy grouchy hormonal woman right now and I have been afraid that if I write something it would be horribly offensive to someone and then I would have to gravel apologetically and that is irritating.
So, in lieu of an Amy post, I have hijacked a recipe Russ sent me. He figures that since he lived in France for a couple years he has magically absorbed the ability to bake. Those of you who know my cute little brother understand how this is completely logical in his world. Those of you who don't...enjoy getting to know a truly individual character.
Title: Russ's French Bread Bowls
Description:
Bread Bowl Recipe- Made with patience and love. He just emailed it to me because he is super helpful
Ingredients:
5 ¼ cups of flour
1 Tbs of Kosher Salt (or normal salt if you are poor)
1 Tbs of yeast (good yeast)
1 ¾ cup of warm water
1 Tbs of Sugar
Directions:
Put hot water in your mixing bowl. Add the sugar, then sprinkle on the yeast. Let the yeast yeastify for like 5 or 10 minutes- you will know when it has yeastified. Okay, now you put in the salt and add the flour a cup at a time. Mix until beautiful. Cover and let rise for an hour. Okay, an hour has past…move on. Now you want to divide the dough up, I have no freakin clue how many bowls you can make from this recipe, but just make the dough balls an adequate size, maybe about half the size you want the final product to be. Kind of roll and tuck the dough balls until the top is smooth like a nasty mushroom. Let it rise. You can glaze the dough with your favorite glaze. Egg whites work well with a pinch of salt. Even just salt water works. Some people like milk, milk will make it a softer crust. Okay I should have told you earlier to preheat your oven to 445 F. you should have done that dang it. 445 you say? Yes, I say 445. You see this will cook the crust good, what you do is cook it at 445 for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 390 degrees and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so. If you tap your bread and it sounds hollow, then you are done. …but are your done? NO!!! let your bread cool until you can touch it without swearing. Cut the top off, scrape out the middle, then, if you want to eat paradise then you will mix garlic etc with butter or olive oil and brush that inside the bowl then place it back into the oven at a reasonable temperature to toast it. So you get a garlic bread bread bowl. Fill the bread bowl with your favorite bread bowl filler and eat. Perfect way to show your family that you love them.
Number Of Servings: some
Preparation Time: a while
So, in lieu of an Amy post, I have hijacked a recipe Russ sent me. He figures that since he lived in France for a couple years he has magically absorbed the ability to bake. Those of you who know my cute little brother understand how this is completely logical in his world. Those of you who don't...enjoy getting to know a truly individual character.
Title: Russ's French Bread Bowls
Description:
Bread Bowl Recipe- Made with patience and love. He just emailed it to me because he is super helpful
Ingredients:
5 ¼ cups of flour
1 Tbs of Kosher Salt (or normal salt if you are poor)
1 Tbs of yeast (good yeast)
1 ¾ cup of warm water
1 Tbs of Sugar
Directions:
Put hot water in your mixing bowl. Add the sugar, then sprinkle on the yeast. Let the yeast yeastify for like 5 or 10 minutes- you will know when it has yeastified. Okay, now you put in the salt and add the flour a cup at a time. Mix until beautiful. Cover and let rise for an hour. Okay, an hour has past…move on. Now you want to divide the dough up, I have no freakin clue how many bowls you can make from this recipe, but just make the dough balls an adequate size, maybe about half the size you want the final product to be. Kind of roll and tuck the dough balls until the top is smooth like a nasty mushroom. Let it rise. You can glaze the dough with your favorite glaze. Egg whites work well with a pinch of salt. Even just salt water works. Some people like milk, milk will make it a softer crust. Okay I should have told you earlier to preheat your oven to 445 F. you should have done that dang it. 445 you say? Yes, I say 445. You see this will cook the crust good, what you do is cook it at 445 for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 390 degrees and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so. If you tap your bread and it sounds hollow, then you are done. …but are your done? NO!!! let your bread cool until you can touch it without swearing. Cut the top off, scrape out the middle, then, if you want to eat paradise then you will mix garlic etc with butter or olive oil and brush that inside the bowl then place it back into the oven at a reasonable temperature to toast it. So you get a garlic bread bread bowl. Fill the bread bowl with your favorite bread bowl filler and eat. Perfect way to show your family that you love them.
Number Of Servings: some
Preparation Time: a while
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
First day of preschool, part II
Yes, it is that time of year again, even if the 90 degree weather doesn't know it. Mia just made her first trek of fall to her preschool class. And yes, she was just as giddy as last year, but somewhat more confident since she had done this before. In fact, she tried to get me to stay home and let her walk the half a block by herself. She said that I could watch her through the window, but that was all the supervision she would need. I didn't fall for it, don't worry. We walked together, stopping every 20 feet or so because Mia needed another picture taken of her cute new school out fit. Once again, she stopped me at the door of the classroom and stated firmly that preschool was for kids, not mommy's. I wonder if I'll ever get used to that.
As she walked into the class and greeted her teacher I lingered by the doorway and listened to her instruct Miss Nicole, the lead teacher, that this year she was to be addressed as AMELIA,not Mia, and she would really like to learn to read this year. She carefully placed her backpack in her cubby hole and sat at a table with her hands folded as Miss Nicole met my bewildered gaze from the doorway. I guess she was trying to decide if she should just let AMELIA take over the whole class as she sat in the back and played with the classroom pets, a small tank full of frogs. I understood as I have had this feeling when dealing with AMELIA several times in the past few months.
Make no mistake, I am happy that my daughter seems to be turning into a confident young lady and stuff, but she isn't the boss of me, Gosh! So, while walking home thoughtfully by myself I decided that perhaps I should spend as much time trying to instill confidence in myself as I do my child. Then I thought that sounded like a lot of work so I probably will just fake being in charge like I normally do. Plus I can still be in charge of bribing her because I am taller and can reach the cookie stash. It's going to be ok.
As she walked into the class and greeted her teacher I lingered by the doorway and listened to her instruct Miss Nicole, the lead teacher, that this year she was to be addressed as AMELIA,not Mia, and she would really like to learn to read this year. She carefully placed her backpack in her cubby hole and sat at a table with her hands folded as Miss Nicole met my bewildered gaze from the doorway. I guess she was trying to decide if she should just let AMELIA take over the whole class as she sat in the back and played with the classroom pets, a small tank full of frogs. I understood as I have had this feeling when dealing with AMELIA several times in the past few months.
Make no mistake, I am happy that my daughter seems to be turning into a confident young lady and stuff, but she isn't the boss of me, Gosh! So, while walking home thoughtfully by myself I decided that perhaps I should spend as much time trying to instill confidence in myself as I do my child. Then I thought that sounded like a lot of work so I probably will just fake being in charge like I normally do. Plus I can still be in charge of bribing her because I am taller and can reach the cookie stash. It's going to be ok.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Maple Syrup Tidal Wave
You know how every once in a while you feel like you actually have a grip on life and may actually be getting into somewhat of a groove, and then something comes along and, not unlike Nelson in the Simpson's, trips you and points and lets out a hearty "Ha Ha!" That happens to me a lot. I had just begun feeling that I had somewhat of a grasp on how to do this working pregnant mommy gig until yesterday. I forgot to feed Mia and myself breakfast before making our daily trek to my place of employment to pick up tapes to transcribe. At first blush this didn't seem like much of a problem. I knew we wouldn't starve in the 30 minute round trip, but then I thought, "Hey! (always my first mistake) Let's go to Sonic" So I took a quick detour and ordered up a breakfast sandwich for me and French Toast sticks for Mia (Kids like dipping things, it's a whole sub-culture). This seemed like a brilliant plan until I opened the bag and pulled out the packet that held two tablespoons of maple syrup and started handing it to Mia. A nagging little voice in my head tried to stop me, because syrup + child + car ride did not seem like a brilliant move. But I shrugged and handed it over thinking "so she gets a little sticky, we'll be home soon and it's only a smidgen." I'm an idiot.
20 minutes later I was hauling Mia, covered from head to toe in syrup up the stairs to the shower peeling maple soaked clothing off her as we went. And once that chore was done I got to attack the entire back seat of my car with the steam cleaner...twice. It still smells vaguely like an all night diner, but at least there is no sticky residue left.
So, now that the wind is out of my sails I have given back in to the feeling of merely muddling through one alarming incident to another. But that is ok. It keeps me humble.
20 minutes later I was hauling Mia, covered from head to toe in syrup up the stairs to the shower peeling maple soaked clothing off her as we went. And once that chore was done I got to attack the entire back seat of my car with the steam cleaner...twice. It still smells vaguely like an all night diner, but at least there is no sticky residue left.
So, now that the wind is out of my sails I have given back in to the feeling of merely muddling through one alarming incident to another. But that is ok. It keeps me humble.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Bad clowns=Bad hair?
So, today my hair looks as though it has been struck by lightening and then tenderly styled by a blind psychopath. I blame the rodeo. Don't look at me like that, I could have blamed Celine Dion, but that would have been weird.
So, last night I got to go to the Spanish Fork Fiesta Days Rodeo. Woo hoo!! In theory a rodeo is lots of fun. Lots of cowboys and the summer crowds swarming around you while you eat deep fried things, plus the added bonus of the chance of mayhem should an errant hoof connect with human flesh. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, now add 100 degree weather, three cranky preschoolers, two fighting married couples, a cute but sticky baby boy and a generally hag like pregnant lady. Yep, that was my night. Kind of takes the awesome out of it. And so does that stupid rodeo clown who thinks a urinating car is funny....you had to be there. Needless to say, Boom Boom the clown is not on my list of favorite performers ever. He was pretty lame. And he didn't even get attacked by a bull, so he was lame without a purpose, which is even worse.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before my clan struck out for cowboy heaven, Charlie and I painted my living room. I've been trying to decide on a color for the better part of a year, and finally I just closed my eyes and picked a grayish blue. It is very nice. But, when Charlie and I do projects together we generally aren't friends for a while afterward. We have good intentions, but after about an hour of working we both are pretty sure that the other one is completely wrong in their approach and bossy beyond reason. And neither of us is ever willing to back down and apologize so we are not the most fun couple in the world for a day or so afterward. Apparently my brother and his wife had some sort of ordeal going on as well because there were dirty looks being thrown in all directions. Poor Dad was trying desperately to make this a joyous experience for us all so we were pretending (with varying degrees of success) that we were thrilled to be sitting on medival torture devices they call wooden stadium benches.
Oh, so back to my hair. When I finally crawled home at about 11 p.m. (which is about 4 a.m. in a pregnant lady's world) I dragged myself into the shower because my lower extremities were covered in spilled snow cone (courtesy of my loving daughter and nieces). And promptly started crying because I then saw that my feet resembled a kindergarteners efforts of shaping clay into a human form. Stupid heat and hormones. So I just crawled into bed, with no forethought of what my half wet hair would look like in the morning. I blame Boom Boom and his dumb rodeo clown ways for all of it.
So, last night I got to go to the Spanish Fork Fiesta Days Rodeo. Woo hoo!! In theory a rodeo is lots of fun. Lots of cowboys and the summer crowds swarming around you while you eat deep fried things, plus the added bonus of the chance of mayhem should an errant hoof connect with human flesh. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, now add 100 degree weather, three cranky preschoolers, two fighting married couples, a cute but sticky baby boy and a generally hag like pregnant lady. Yep, that was my night. Kind of takes the awesome out of it. And so does that stupid rodeo clown who thinks a urinating car is funny....you had to be there. Needless to say, Boom Boom the clown is not on my list of favorite performers ever. He was pretty lame. And he didn't even get attacked by a bull, so he was lame without a purpose, which is even worse.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before my clan struck out for cowboy heaven, Charlie and I painted my living room. I've been trying to decide on a color for the better part of a year, and finally I just closed my eyes and picked a grayish blue. It is very nice. But, when Charlie and I do projects together we generally aren't friends for a while afterward. We have good intentions, but after about an hour of working we both are pretty sure that the other one is completely wrong in their approach and bossy beyond reason. And neither of us is ever willing to back down and apologize so we are not the most fun couple in the world for a day or so afterward. Apparently my brother and his wife had some sort of ordeal going on as well because there were dirty looks being thrown in all directions. Poor Dad was trying desperately to make this a joyous experience for us all so we were pretending (with varying degrees of success) that we were thrilled to be sitting on medival torture devices they call wooden stadium benches.
Oh, so back to my hair. When I finally crawled home at about 11 p.m. (which is about 4 a.m. in a pregnant lady's world) I dragged myself into the shower because my lower extremities were covered in spilled snow cone (courtesy of my loving daughter and nieces). And promptly started crying because I then saw that my feet resembled a kindergarteners efforts of shaping clay into a human form. Stupid heat and hormones. So I just crawled into bed, with no forethought of what my half wet hair would look like in the morning. I blame Boom Boom and his dumb rodeo clown ways for all of it.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Idaho and Michael Jackson
Ok, I need to tell you about my fourth of July, but with all this MJ hoopla going on I have to mention one little thing that's been bothering me...It is always sad when someone dies, but isn't this the guy we were all afraid of with his penchant for young boys and his ever melting face? Why is he suddenly beyond reproach? Ok, I've never met the guy, and I do like one or two of his songs, but he really hasn't had an impact on my life. (except in fifth grade when we named our class hamster after him because he had one white paw...or that one Simpsons episode where the 300 pound white guy in the mental institution thinks he's Michael Jackson and then writes that birthday song for Lisa because my cousin Lisa wandered around singing it for weeks "Lisa it's your birthday, Happy birthday Lisa" over and over and over until we were ready to commit her.) That's all I'm saying. Isn't suddenly being a Michael fan like suddenly liking whatever sports team just won some big title?
Ok, so Idaho. Yep, it's still there. I've only been to Idaho a handful of times in my life. Once for a color guard competition in Pocatello, and I've been to Lava Hot Springs once or twice, so I really don't have much of a reference base. It was awesome to see my Uncle Tebbs (all of my uncles have bizarre names, it's just one of those things). I love my Uncle Tebbs because he is my dad's older brother, and he is the one person who can reduce him to tears from laughing so hard in less than a minute. Also, my dad seems to revert to being a little boy when they are together and it makes me giggle to watch.
Aside from that awesome bonus, I mostly spent my weekend being irritated. Since it was all my siblings (at least the ones who care, Wendy) that were there with their families it was kind of intense with all the tiptoe-ing around my schizophrenic brother and bipolar sister and emotionally fragile brother in law....and Russ. It was downright exhausting, come to think of it. And perhaps it was because I was in a hormonal/murderous mood, but the fireworks that were touted to be the best this side of the Mississippi were just...meh.
I already acknowledge that I need to give it a fairer shot...maybe next time I'll go by myself and actually get a chance to pay attention instead of trying to keep my nieces from jumping into the Snake River every time I turned around. Or maybe when I am not pregnant so that I don't have to be cursing the fact that the bathroom was a 15 minute walk.
Ok, so Idaho. Yep, it's still there. I've only been to Idaho a handful of times in my life. Once for a color guard competition in Pocatello, and I've been to Lava Hot Springs once or twice, so I really don't have much of a reference base. It was awesome to see my Uncle Tebbs (all of my uncles have bizarre names, it's just one of those things). I love my Uncle Tebbs because he is my dad's older brother, and he is the one person who can reduce him to tears from laughing so hard in less than a minute. Also, my dad seems to revert to being a little boy when they are together and it makes me giggle to watch.
Aside from that awesome bonus, I mostly spent my weekend being irritated. Since it was all my siblings (at least the ones who care, Wendy) that were there with their families it was kind of intense with all the tiptoe-ing around my schizophrenic brother and bipolar sister and emotionally fragile brother in law....and Russ. It was downright exhausting, come to think of it. And perhaps it was because I was in a hormonal/murderous mood, but the fireworks that were touted to be the best this side of the Mississippi were just...meh.
I already acknowledge that I need to give it a fairer shot...maybe next time I'll go by myself and actually get a chance to pay attention instead of trying to keep my nieces from jumping into the Snake River every time I turned around. Or maybe when I am not pregnant so that I don't have to be cursing the fact that the bathroom was a 15 minute walk.
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