My Three Sons

Each time I'm knitting something, it never fails that one of the boys will ask me 'Is that for me?' The answer has always been no .There are loads of adorable patterns for kids, an entire ravelry group devoted to people who knit for their kids and even knit for their male children. I felt like a loser. All this time spent making knots with two sticks and never anything for my own chitlens.

Through a random string of instagram likes (Hello, Big Sister Cardigan KAL), leading to pattern searches, led me to Kate Oates of Tot Toppers. I have seen her 'Gramps' cardigan everyeon, and it has been in my queue for ages, but this one, Boys Can Wear Pink, is T'Shirt style with raglan sleeve shaping, and knit in the round with nothing but a little underarm grafting in the way of seams; I knew I was on to something. A quick glance at the calendar showed Easter as being a few weeks away. I definitely had time to knock out  three sweaters for them. I know myself well, I am quick to jump to the 'Meh, not enough time. I can do these for another event.' So I told the boys and let them pick from some color options and from there I had a lot of fun playing with making the colors work both for the pattern yardage needs and for their personalities.  I made their current clothing size (10, 6 and 4-yes, Jack often wears 4's already...) and all three of them fit perfectly. The yardage requirements were correct and I made zero modifications-that in itself is pretty awesome.

This all kind of started with purple sparkly Toms. Charlie desperately wanted them when they went up on Zulilly because they were purple. Wouldn't you know, it's hard to find things that are purple for a six year-old boy that weren't 'designed' for a girl. I was talking about it at bookclub and a friend who knows Charlie said 'What about purple Chuck's?' Yes. That was the ticket. Those were also found in the 'girl' department, but nobody would ever know, so there was no risk that someone would hurt his feelings. It's a fine dance to honor who your kids are while protecting them the smallest bit. Some kids wouldn't care what others think, but Charlie does, and I know that. I happened to have some Violet colored Cotton-Ease that I called 'Dusky Purple' to appeal to his fashion sensibilities and the most fun and funky hand-dyed yarn from Republic of Wool in the colorway Wanderlust (hailing from Portland) for the tie. (And they matched his purple shoes to boot)

Henry and Jack are much more subdued, and their sweaters were as well. Utilizing two of my coveted YOTH ooak gradient sticks (with an added skein of Big Sister in Hazelnut for Henry's in order to meet the yardage requirements) for them was perfect. I love the finished hem and sleeves, which was also super simple but makes for a really clean-edged finished piece.

 Paired with button-downs they already had in their closets, twill pants and Chuck Taylors, they were perfectly presentable for the country club brunch and egg hunt and now I have the itch to make lots more fun and funky pieces for my kids. Usually having an itch isn't an awesome thing, but in this case I'ma scratch it.

why yes, that is a tattoo on his face...isn't that where all moms want their kids to put them?

Because I'd been so fixated on finishing their sweaters, I realized yesterday that I hadn't put much thought into Stella's outfit. I went out to the six month bag and found there were several adorable spring dresses. Sadly, I didn't realize until today that I have zero pairs of tights for her cold legs. Girl mom fail. She didn't even have a bow in her hair. Ah well. Baby steps.

always a sweet smile from Miss Stella June

Thanks to Kate for such a fun and simple pattern that leaves loads of possibility in customizing for personalities. Next up, I have some fun sweaters by Tin Can Knits up for Miss Stella and Mr. Jack for next Fall and Winter and even the remainders of this spring. Check out their new Max and Bodhi collection, the first release is adorable. These also count as sweaters 1-3/12 for Twelve Sweaters in 2015.

Happy Easter, all!

Voluntary Commitment

It seems that life has a way of rushing in and swooping me along the swift path of productivity, and I often don't notice it until I find a little lull and have a minute to appreciate just how busy I've been. At the beginning of this school year, because it was such a rough school year last year, I tried to keep our after-school commitments to an absolute minimum.

This Spring, seeking some additional physical outlets for him, I decided it was high time we tried swimming lessons again. Our prior sessions resulted in H acting like a little spinner dolphin on the side of the pool while he was supposed to be sitting patiently awaiting his turn, or listening raptly to the instructor. Needless to say, it was counter-productive. This time, I asked that he not be given flotation devices and wouldn't you know, the realization that you may drown if you don't do as instructed has had the desired effect. Swimming, to me, is one of those life-skills that are not an 'extra'. Our trip to Aruba in December confirmed that my kiddos need to be confident and competent swimmers before our next water trip, because it will just be more enjoyable for everyone.

This session went really well, so I signed him up for the next as well. At the same time, I signed Charlie up for his very same lesson and was shocked when the child who had clung to me like a frightened spider monkey anytime we approached any form of water aside from the bath-tub, leapt into the arms of his teacher without hesitation on the very first try. Go figure.

Lessons proceeding swimmingly (aren't I so witty?!), I read an article in the Union-Bulletin about an imagination yoga class offered through parks and rec. Designed to help kids aged 4-12 control their bodies, quiet their minds and gain greater attention spans, I did not hesitate to sign up both of my bouncing baby boys for the April session.

Oh, and did I tell you that I had also promised H he could sign up for T-Ball? Right...when I started entering the games and practices into my calendar, I realized that there will be several nights when we go from swim to T-Ball, or Swim to Yoga, and I started to panic. Wouldn't you know, H had one of his best weeks ever in school when we were committed to the gills? Not that I'm advocating over-committing your kids, or that it will work for us each time, but with a little overlap of activities, I'm glad I didn't sacrifice one for the other. Also, while my calendar looks really full, the actual time commitment is not huge. A half-hour lesson twice weekly for swim, 45 minutes once a week for yoga and T-Ball practice three times  a week (one of those days being Saturday morning or early afternoon) for about an hour; taken piecemeal, it's not so overwhelming.

I've tried to do this with any other requests that come in for my time; can it be done in the evening after my kids are in bed? Is it something I can do on my own, without having to coordinate schedules with someone else? If I stay on task, how much time will it really take? If I think about it that way, and I feel like it's something I can truly manage, I'll take it on. If it interferes with the sanity-saving time I've laid aside for my own needs (read: time that Charlie is in pre-school), I say no. I felt a crushing wave of guilt when I declined coaching H's team for T-ball, but the realities are these: I would be a really shitty coach, since I don't know very much about baseball. I really want to be H's cheerleader, not his instructor, because it's just a better combination. Finally, I have darling Charlie to drag along with me as it is and he's, how do you say, attention-starved since the revelation of baby #3 on board.

After the initial guilt passed, I'm so happy with my decision. With Junior Club (my town's version of Junior League), exercise and other 'self-care', the activities that the kids are in, a burgeoning belly and an already full schedule, I feel like I have a full plate. But, it's delightfully balanced with leafy greens, carbs, protein and a little bit of dessert at the end.

How have you managed to stay balanced with a busy life?

Blueberry Playdate Scones

This morning I dropped H off at the Y for 'Little Campers' and then Charlie and I started on our way back home when I saw what looked like an opossum crouching right near a curb, with it's little tail curled beside it. But it had it's mouth open as if it were licking water from the side of the road. And it wasn't moving. Perfectly still. With it's eyes closed. It looked a little mangy and was so still that I thought it had just died where it was sitting. I stopped in the middle of the road...it's Walla Walla, it's all good, and whipped out my iPhone to take a picture. Of course, the camera feature wasn't working, darn!

Was I going to take a picture because I'm a totally morbid weirdo? Not entirely, I wanted to show J, because it was the oddest thing I've seen in awhile. Wait, aren't they nocturnal? Why was it sitting there in the middle of the morning? Just as I was about to drive away it gave it's head a little shake and it kind of startled me. Curiouser and curiouser. I know, you think I've entered the early stages of dimentia for writing a post about dying animals with a photo of delicious scones. I know it's gross, but bizarre little things like that happen all the time and we forget about them if they're not documented. Almost dead opossum is definitely one to save for posterity. Right? Hm. Wrong? Okay, continue on.

Morning death watch over, I got to the end of the block and saw my friend walking with her kids. I told her about Operation: Dying Opposum, and she said she saw him in the middle of the road yesterday and he was moving slowly and looked 'squishy'. Ew. But on the bright side, since she was just a few blocks from her new house, she invited me over to see it. Tour commenced, opposum put out of my mind, and I realized I was supposed to be using this valuable hour to mop my floors and bake something for snack before hosting a playdate at 9:30. Yikes!

We got home and I started clearing the debris from the previous day from our counters. Discarded envelopes, yesterday's paper and all the other recyclables were swept to the new, glorious, stacking bins in the garage. A quick sweep of the floors, dishwasher loaded and counter wiped off and it was already 9am. Crap! Hmm...what do I have that's quick and yummy?  I couldn't remember how many kids were planning to be there, muffins would take too long, quick bread--not so quick. Then I remembered; Blueberry Yogurt Scones. Low-fat, low-sugar, delicious. This is a recipe my sister passed along from her days at Humble Bagel in Eugene, OR and I've made them about a million times. Most of all, they're fast and wicked easy. I grabbed the ingredients (all of which most people will have at any given moment in their house), pre-heated the oven to 350, pulled down two bowls and a wooden spoon and got down to business.

It's meant to make 8-16 scones, because you separate the dough on a floured surface into 2 or four mounds and then cut each mound into quarters. Instead I separated them into four mounds and patted them into rectangles and used a pizza cutter to make one length-wise cut and three width-wise cuts in each to make scones about the size of the commercially marketed 'two-bite' variety. The perfect size for kids and it also makes over two dozen, so there's enough for everyone.

Laid out on parchment covered cookie sheets (bakeware can be returned to its proper place after discarding the paper so you have very little clean-up), I brushed on a quick egg-wash and then sprinkled each with a little organic turbinado sugar for some bling. Since they were so small, I cut the baking time down to just 15 minutes and they were perfect. And, once everyone arrived, gone. From start to finish, it was less than 30 minutes. I baked each tray separately, or it would have been even less time.

Next time you find yourself facing the tick, tick, tick of the clock, (yes, I just finished Season 5 of Dexter...sorry, if you haven't watched, that reference means nothing) pull out this recipe and you'll have fresh scones in no time. You could substitute any berry for the blueberries, or a little orange zest and dried cranberries. But without further ado:

Low-Fat Blueberry Yogurt Scones

based on the recipe from Humble Bagel

2 c. flour

1/2 tsp. salt (I used coarse kosher)

1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

3T sugar

2/3 c. oil

1 egg white

1 c. yogurt (I used non-fat plain greek)

1 t. vanilla (if you use plain yogurt, omit if you use vanilla, or just don't want to use it :))

3/4 c. blueberries (or other fresh berries, but blueberries are so good!)

1 egg white

Organic Turbinado sugar

Sift dry ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. Whisk wet ingredients together in a separate bowl and then add to dry ingredients, without over-mixing. Fold in the blueberries carefully so you don't crush them. Dough will be sticky. Turn out onto floured surface and pat into four rectangles, cutting each rectangle into 8 scones. Place on parchment or silpat lined cookie sheets and brush with the egg white. Sprinkle the tops with a pinch of turbinado sugar and bake for 15 minutes, or until golden on the underside and just turning golden on the top. These are best when eaten immediately; they're so good, this won't be an issue anyhow!

In Vino Veritas

Yesterday I put on my magic pants (aka compression tights) for the first time. Which led to a second 'first' for me; going commando. The only time I don't regularly wear underwear is to bed. I know that the majority of people don't wear them when they run, but I was not sad to be a minority in this matter. Why the sudden change of heart? Because when you stuff sausage into casing, there's often not room for foundation pieces.

After yesterday's run, I could be convinced that it's a better way to go. I'm just glad that I take care of that 'situation' or it may not have been as comfortable.

On the running note, I've officially registered for my first full marathon. It's not the same one I talked about before, but it will be a great fit because Jared will be there to cheer my on, and my best friend is running with me. I think my sister-in-law who ran with the two of us at the Fine Wine half-marathon in July is going to run as well. My friend and I are marathon virgins, while my sister-in-law has birthed this baby before, so it will be interesting to see how our experiences differ. June 4th, 2011 in Newport, Oregon. I'm equally excited and nauseated, but I'm willing to apply the same suspended disbelief that I did while training for the marathon and only focus on the mileage for the week.

Last night J and I went to a fun holiday party. A good time was had by all and the vino was flowing freely. A little too freely, actually. It was my day off in the game, so I relished my glass five glasses of cabernet and a cab/syrah/merlot blend and had a great time meeting some of the people with whom Jared spends those long days and nights.

I was feeling nice and toasty, but not bad, as we paid and thanked the sitter, went through the nightly routine and the enjoyed the rest of all that date night entails. (see C.D. I do talk about sex sometimes!) Okay Dad, you may want to stop reading now.

Anywho, the fear of all parents became a reality for us as I heard the pitter patter of little feet, about a fraction of a second later than I normally do and voila; coitus interruptus. Awesome. As I lay mortified in the bed, J ushered a sleepy and seemingly unaware H back to bed. Within about 30 seconds both kids were awake and crying for their Mama.

Rocking them both in the La-Z-Boy, I was starting to drift off when I felt that unforgettable hot and flushed feeling. I called out for J trying not to wake the sixty plus pounds of dead weight that was pressing on my guts and exaccerbating the urge to purge. J to the rescue and kiddos were extracted from my grasp just in time for me to rush to the bathroom and tango with the gods of drinking. I'm so glad I left the lights off because I can only imagine I would forget what I'd drunk and think I had stomach cancer.

Teeth brushed, clean shirt slogged over my head (does anyone successfully avoid splash-back?), water swish-swish-swished and then a glass downed and I welcomed the surrender to my bed. Thanks to a caring spouse who's been there, done that a cold cloth was pressed to my forehead and I was out like a light, but only after I murmured 'Seriously, how old am I? Nineteen?!'

This morning brought two pre-schoolers who don't really care to know about what you did while they were sleeping, and raring to go with zero sensitivity to noise, action or speed of movement.  The show must go on so rally I did with a bowl of oatmeal fortified with greek yogurt, peanut butter and some ibuprofen. Opening the Advent Cubicle for the day's activity and found the rest of my cure, watching my kids decorate gingerbread cookies (well, mainly eat candy and frosting.)

T minus 10 days

As I look around at the growing nakedness of my apartment, with boxes shoved anywhere they can be, it's starting to hit me...we're leaving in ten days. No longer are we counting months or weeks, but days. The movers come a week from tomorrow, and I feel like I still have a lot of packing to do, but I've also already done a ton. The good thing about starting this early has been that I've been able to get rid of a lot of stuff! I've hauled about 8 garbage bags of clothes and shoes to the Planet Aid collection box in the last two weeks alone. Add to that the 8-10 bags of papers that have been taken to the recycling and I'm feeling pretty good about the way I'm going about this move.

Last time, we were stuck at the last minute having to just dump whatever I thought we couldn't live without for the time it would take the movers to get to us, but ended up that it wouldn't fit in our car...that's even after we'd purchased a gynormous sky box, which will soon make it's way from loft to the lofty heights of the freestyle again.

While I'm on the verge of tears when I think about what we'll actually be leaving, the prospect of a new home, new places to explore and some permanency are really exciting. To get even more excited, I decided to start nailing down the details of the room in our new home that will be priority Numero Uno; H and Charlie's room. With each box we pack and picture we take off the wall, I can feel H's anxiety rise. When I loaded his dresser into the car which I planned to deliver to someone via craigslist sale after dropping him at pre-school on Friday (his last day of school, no less) I thought he was going to lose it.

I explained that this dresser had just been temporary, but that we were going to use Daddy's dresser in his room because it was bigger, would be painted a cool color, etc. Then we got to start talking about the coveted robot sheets, which he drools over each time the Land of Nod catalogue is delivered to our house. Today, I bit the bullet and ordered them. I also called a Walla Walla furniture store, Walker's Furniture, after finding a great bunk-bed set that can be separated to two twins until H and C are old enough to make the climb. They were nice enough to hold the sale price for us, since we won't order them until next week.

Next up, paint colors. With a light grey (Gentle Rain) base, there will be a center section around the room with fun, bold stripes in Dragon Fire, Southern Blue and Utah Sky. Of course, H can't live without the Ugly Dolls that are pictured in the bed as throw pillows.

I hope that having a fun bedroom will help to make the transition less sad, although I know full well that material things won't take the place of friends it will, at the very least, make him understand that this is his home, and not some temporary resting place.

Last up, but very big news for our family, is that we're going to be making a new addition in August. No, silly, I'm not pregnant! That would give me the gestation period of a dog...which, coincidentally is exactly what we're getting! Since this is my first dog, I'm so excited that we have what I feel like will be the perfect opportunity. We'll be inheriting my girlfriend's seven year old lab, who is an awesome dog. H has been asking for 'a black labrador' for a long time, so I'm really, really looking forward to it.

I've been obsessively reading websites about incorporating an older dog into your family, introducing your children to a pet, and balancing all that will come with having a canine member of the family. I fully admit that I will be learning as I go but, as with having my kids, I'm as ready as I'll ever be! Will there be frustrations and imperfections? Yes. Will I take a little bit to get over myself and my gross-out factor with animal hair? Absolutely! But the most important thing to me is that I'm genuinely excited, and looking forward to having that something added to our family that fills the house with affection, a standing date with a leash as I'll have someone counting on my to move my booty every single day and, yes, a responsibility that keeps you grounded to your home-base.

At the very least, I'm sure my adventures in doggy-rearing will provide some very entertaining blog-fodder.

Hot To Trot

Today was a super hot run! We ran as a team in 99 degree weather with I don't know what percentage of humidity. For 5.15 glorious miles we sucked in what air we could and sweat profusely, but at the end we were done. And we'd all done it together.

The race is coming up quickly, and I feel pretty prepared. I'm certainly nervous, but the course is out now, and we've run every bit of it in training, so there are no surprises. Tonight's run was rough also because I came off of a very good week. Last week, I ran both runs without stopping to walk, which felt amazing. The weekend long run was over eleven miles and it was hilly, hilly, hilly. After we'd completed it, we were told that if we could complete that run, we were golden for race day.

This evening when I felt the sun baring down on me, I started to worry; what if it's like this on race day? Although I know that it will most likely not be 99 degrees by the time I finish (hopefully before 11am), it could very well be quite uncomfortable. Runs like tonight serve only to help me not be as concerned about the effects of weather on my performance. Thanks to an incredibly unpredictable New England Spring, we've run in every weather condition from sleet and snow to insufferable heat.

I'm getting closer and closer to that thirty pound mark, and after spending the last few days hitching up my shorts, I think it's time to break down and buy a couple, since I don't see altering my current shorts happening anytime soon.

A friend from high school started a team for the Portland Marathon in October. While I won't be training for the full marathon, J has become inspired and just might. I'll be doing the 10k at the least, and the half at the most. I'm excited to have events that I'm committed to at least through the fall so that I can be motivated to continue training.

Losing this initial weight and getting into shape is making me feel more confident about presenting myself to new people when we move. This whole process of 'dating' other moms is hard work! Almost as much as getting ready for your annual exam.

With a 'four and three-quarters' year-old who's starting to express his anxiety about making new friends, I've got to be ready to hit the ground running (literally, probably!) in order to make connections. J rolled his eyes about this idea, but I'm doing it anyway; I asked the realtor for some of our new neighbors' stats and will be sending them a letter 'from H' letting them know that we're coming to town; as luck would have it, the neighbors across the street have four boys ranging in age from three to twelve. I'm all about letting my freak flag fly.

Tomorrow will be crazy busy, but I get to cap it off with...that's right: Sex and the City 2 comes out tomorrow! I'll be in the theater with a smile on my face, will you?

The photo is of me after the 11 mile run. I was SO proud of myself! We ran at just over 12 minute miles for the whole time...and no, that's not a WWF championship belt, or a really big rodeo buckle, just turned the camelbak around before they took the picture!

DIY Popcicles

Yesterday, while we were riding in the car, H had brought with him the latest Land Of Nod catalogue for his perusal. He's been having a great time looking at all the kids' magazines to make his ever-growing birthday wish list, and to pick out all the things we'll have in our new house. After several reinforcements of 'you aren't going to get everything you ask for', I've decided to just let his imagination run wild.

Today, he added 'popcicle machine' to his list. Once I saw what he was talking about; the plastic molds for popcicles, I told him we could actually get those that day. As an alternative to traditional dessert, I've been giving the kids frozen Horizon Organics Yogurt Tubers or Del Monte Fruit Chiller tubes, and they love them. I realized that this would give me a great way to use the frozen strawberries that I have in abundance since I accidentally ordered 6 cartons of strawberries instead of 2 the last time we had Roche Bros. deliver.

A quick trip to Target and we had a set of four popcicle molds, which H quickly identified as being enough for our family, 'but not enough for Granny and Papa', so we may be getting more if this is successful.

I found a recipe that calls only for three ingredients and we got out the blender. Within ten minutes we had four fruit pops in the freezer, pictures uploaded and blog post complete. We even had extra so that the kids got a smoothie with their dinner.

Frozen Fruit Bars (makes 4):

1/2-3/4 c. strawberries

3/4 c. skim-1% milk

Sugar (to taste...I used almost a tablespoon, but you don't have to use any at all)

Pour into molds and freeze overnight; enjoy!

It's the Climb

I know that I have been quite remiss in my posting, but the last month brought with it so many deadlines, details and deeds to be done. Family and friends came out for a visit, so I let the tour-guiding and hostessing commence.

I've been run, run, running except now it's not just to the grocery store. Over the last 3 months, I've logged almost 170 miles, according to my training tracker on dailymile.com and I'm starting to feel the aches in my joints as they protest such a large woman punishing her body like that. But in return, my body has been shedding weight and I'm now just shy of the 30 pound mark.

Despite that loss, when I look in the mirror I still feel frustrated because I have so much further to go, but then I take a step back at moments like Wednesday evening when I sprinted up the block to finish a 7.28 mile run, of which I didn't walk a step! In an hour and thirty-two minutes (less than the time it takes to loaf on the couch and watch a movie) I burned almost an entire day's worth of calories, and to date, I've lost over 10% of my former body weight. Now, it's time to focus on the next ten.

While I was feeling flustered, I also paused and thought how I would feel if one of my friends had told me they'd lost 30 pounds in three months. That's a huge amount of weight and I'm so much more comfortable in my skin because of it. But, more than the weight, I feel so much more fit. I may have the aches and pains that temporarily cause me to feel like an octogenarian, but overall, I'm in the best shape I've been in in a long time...maybe even ever.

I had the realization hit me of just how important this team, and the goal I have of completing the half-marathon on June 13th is to me. With my obsession with Sex and the City firmly established, I should not have to explain the underlying sacrifice in this decision; my girlfriends are going into New York City this weekend, but I declined joining them because I have a long training run that I know I won't complete on my own at another time. Yes, my friends, that is dedication.

I've had movers and cleaners come out to give quotes and faxed back contracts, I've purchased appliances that I picked out online, while talking to the Sears employee in Walla Walla, had delivered to the house which I had not yet seen the finished interior of, and a third party met them there and installed them for me. I had a minor moment when I thought the wrong tile was used on the fireplace surround, but additional pictures taken by the realtor and emailed to me, showed me that lighting was everything. That also gave me the chance to see my gleaming new appliances properly installed and just waiting for that Thanksgiving dinner or birthday cake. Bottom line; the assessment is done, the certificate of occupancy has been issued and all that remains is some sod being laid down and the closing of the deal

I have so much to cram into the next month before we leave; overwhelming doesn't quite hit it. In an effort to keep it simple, the boys' joint birthday party (H isn't technically 5 until August, but I want him to have a party with his friends) will be a breakfast in the park, with a tower o' glazed donuts serving as the cake. I'm getting rid of everything that I don't see even remotely using in the new house, while trying to remain realistic about the things that we don't really need to replace right away. All those towels and kitsch add up so quickly!

And in the mix of it all, I have these two beautiful boys who I need to prepare for the huge life-changing event of leaving all that they know, and making a new home across the country. It's such an odd feeling to be returning to my 'home' while at the same time taking my kids from theirs. I am so excited for the next phase in our life, but I'm also terrified to leave the one we're in.

And, that's the ten minutes I have free for today!

More Than Meets The Eye

Today, after a leisurely morning of running kiddos to and fro, I told H we had a birthday party to attend that afternoon. He was ecstatic for the opportunity to wander the toy aisle at Target, pronouncing for all to hear exactly what he'd be getting for his birthday...in August.

Amidst protests by H that the birthday boy would not like a bottle of wine, I indulged him in the under ten dollar purchase of the Transformer, Scalpel, (a creepy microscope/flying insect) with a matching Transformer card, of course. Oh, did I mention that this was a 30th birthday party? For one of J's co-workers?

Luckily, said birthday boy is probably one of the most gracious and genuinely nice people you'll ever meet and he took the time to open the gift with H, take it out of the packaging and then 'transform' it...which, I don't know how many of you have tried that lately, but it's not exactly an intuitive process. It's the little things, like seeing them acknowledge how excited your child is about something that may not be exciting to them, that makes you genuinely like someone.

Cake consumed, a ball-game playing in the back-ground and a party foul perpetrated by H (who quickly pronounced over the spillage of beer 'It's okay! It was empty!') I decided it was time to tuck the kiddos under my arms and head home so that J could enjoy some much-deserved social time with his friends.

Before leaving, Birthday Boy suggested to H that they 'share' the Transformer, and that H's shift would start tonight. Of course, you could tell from the shifting of his eyes and sly smile that this was what H had planned and hoped for all along. The car ride home was spent with me reinforcing to H that this was a very special exception and he would never get to take a birthday gift home with him again.

And, yes, it's tucked in with him right now.

As the evening wore on, I was plagued with questions; Did I do the wrong thing? Should I have allowed him to get the gift even though I knew it was completely age-inappropriate, and kind of a gag gift even if H wasn't in on the gag?

I hope I didn't set him up for disappointment at future parties where he'll get the hairy eyeball if he presents the guest of honor with a parenting plan for joint custody of the gift. Then again, I think we'll just cross that bridge when we get there.

You're Beautiful, It's True...

Recently, each time we pass someone; neighbors, burly maintenance men, teen-aged girls going home from the bus, H has one phrase for them. 'You're Beautiful!' The reaction has been fairly universal; the recipient of the compliment smiles and says thank you. That should be a source of pride for me, right?

So, why, after the second or third week of this have I started telling H, 'You know, you don't have to say that to everyone.' Perhaps it's because he's said it to the same neighbor about 400 times now. Or that sometimes, there's a look of confusion before the comprehension of what he said clicks in, or just that I don't want to have the weird kid who gushes compliments to strangers...

When I broached the subject with him, saying that maybe he doesn't have to say that every time we pass someone, he countered with; 'But everyone always says thank you.' You're right, they do. And, maybe, it's the only time somebody will have someone else say that to them, and maybe he really is able to see the beauty in everyone.

What is wrong with me that after four years of drilling into his head to use kind words, I'm suddenly trying to add caveats to the rules? I have to tell you, the first couple times it was sweet, but now it just feels awkward.

Yet another parenting moment when you just have to get over the way you feel about something, because in the end, he really is just saying something nice. Isn't that what I've been asking him to do all along?

Some Assembly Required

Last night J and I were driving home from a nice dinner with friends, the kind where our children curled up in the hosts' bed while we chatted in front of the fire, when we heard from the backseat that muffled sound of liquidy loveliness that no parent wants to hear.

Yeah, for some reason, Charlie just barfed all over himself, then looked at us with a puzzled expression the rest of the ride home as I tried to reassure him through my own checked gag reflex that he would be alright. There didn't appear to be any real reason for the up-chuck, no fever or other sickness, it was just a one-time fluke. Try telling that to the uber-porous nylon straps of the car-seat.

When we got home, I completed the revolting task of disengaging him from the seat and thanked my lucky stars I'd packed a fluffy blanket in which I could swath him for the trip upstairs. Safely deposited in the bathtub, cleansed and rinsed, he chitty-chatted in the fresh, warm bath-water playing with his toys, bright-eyed as can be.

Meanwhile J was wrasslin' with the carseat in the kitchen, balancing it on the edge of the sink trying to use the spray nozzle to clean it out. He sure gave it the old college try and we made apologetic looks at one another as we performed the herculean feat of disassembling the seat without getting debris all over the kitchen. Thank goodness for washable covers, that's all I'm saying. I sprayed Clorox Anywhere everywhere on the seat that wasn't already in the washing machine but alas, this morning there was still the pungent reminder on the straps. There must be a solution for this out there, but I've yet to find it.

Seat re-installed in the car, and the false hope in my head that the smell would dissipate, I sprayed the straps with a citrus disinfectant/deodorizer, and we were off to a Valentine party. At that point, I heard my dad's voice in my head telling us 'The only thing air freshener does is make it smell like you pooped in a pine forest.' Light a match, open a window, air it out. But in February in New England, what's a girl to do?

Later that day when it became clear that the stink was here to stay, I seized the opportunity to turn lemons into lemonade at Babies R Us, where they're currently running a promotion for you to turn in your old baby gear (strollers, carseats, basinets, etc) and you get 25% off the price of the replacement. I had been planning to get a new seat for Charlie in the next 3-4 months anyhow as he's almost at the weight limit of his front/rear-facing convertible (which was handed down from H), so it was all in good time.

I really like the Graco Nautlilus 3-in-1 that we bought for H, but he recently graduated to using it as a high-backed booster sans harness so I got the genius idea that I would re-install the harnesses, pass that seat to Charlie and just buy H the Graco TurboBooster; problem solved, money saved (about half the price of the 3-in-1), voila!

Oh, did I mention I didn't go to the store until after Charlie's nap ended and I'd delivered dinner to a friend, placing us in the parking lot post-purchase at 5:45pm? Or that turning in a car seat means you have to assemble and install the new ones before you can be on your merry way? Or that I realized mid-install that I forgot how I got the harness out a month ago, hence wasn't at all sure I could get it back in?

One would think a person would run several scenarios through their head and plan such a trip accordingly, giving thought to the ways in which you could combat some of the bumps in the road. Like, that maybe you should wear a jacket. Or that during the period of installation you'd have a rowdy toddler strapped in the cart next to the car in the dark, wind and cold, along with an unruly 4 and-a-half year-old (the and-a-half is crucial these days) bouncing in the interior space of the car. All while you force your cold fingers to manipulate and 'Click!' (yes, the directions really say "Insert the armrest into the base until you hear a Click indicating it's securely inserted; 'Click!'") the pieces of the car seat into their proper position without pinching your skin, losing your temper, yelling at your children or threatening to spank them in a public space. Because nothing makes you feel better, or more trailer-fabulous, about the behavior you model for your children than a good old-fashioned temper tantrum.

Take a breath, you are smart, you are strong, you will make this work. Just. Push. A little. Harder! Ahh, it finally 'clicked'. Well, after 30 minutes which isn't bad for two seat protectors and two car-seats...in the dark. Best of all, my big four and-a-half year-old is mighty proud of his new 'cozy' (thanks to 'GracoPedic' foam padding) seat; and that just makes it worth all the fuss.

*Image found at http://www.freepatentsonline.com/6796584.html

Let's Confer

Today, I passed another parenting milestone; my first parent-teacher conference. Yes, H is only in pre-school, but you'd be surprised how nerve-wracking it was! I walked in armed with a list of H's positive attributes just in case they weren't able to discern from their bi-weekly interactions with him that he's perfect! Yes, yes, I know that I've intimated he may be less than, but that's my prerogative as his mother.

I've been told by the pediatrician, the social worker at the pediatrician's office who gave me a 'courtesy call' after I broke down in tears over my apparent inadequacies and then today by H's preschool teacher that I'm 'really hard' on myself. Um, yeah. Isn't everybody? Maybe I'm just less afraid of letting my freak flag fly.

So, after I dabbed my leaking eye sockets with a tissue, H's teacher realized that a lot of the statements in his evaluation were phrased kind of negatively. She took some time to talk about his positive attributes which, really, is what every parent wants. A list of things to work on is great, but everyone needs to know that at the end of the day, their child has more positives than negatives, and that you're doing a great job. Or, at least, the very best you can in this given time and place.

(Recognize that little cherub? Yep, it's Junior from Problem Child.)

Falling All Over Myself

For one of our last nights away from the land of taxes, we stayed with our friends in Portland. In order to facilitate the evacuation of wiggles, we went to Out of This World Pizza so that the kids could run and run and run in the warehouse-sized playland and eat dinner in one fell swoop.

H and Charlie were having a magnificent time with the giant slides, swirly bumper carts and play houses. I wish we had something like this at home because in addition to being a great place to take the kiddos, the pizza was really good...not something old Chuck E. can claim. Plus the animatronic band is just plain creepy.

As we were eating, H quickly lost interest in his slice o' cheese, and ran off to play. After about twenty minutes, I realized I wasn't doing the best parental supervisory job and headed off to find him. Walking across the squishy mats in my trusty Dansko clogs, I spotted H in the plastic Little Tykes-style house as he was slamming a window. I quickened my pace so that I could remind him that 'We don't slam things' (aka, You don't slam things) and I failed to notice the sloped edging of the black mat.

The design of clogs have always kind of baffled me...they're much more narrow at the bottom than at the top, which is great if you like to break your ankle on every uneven surface. These things were seriously designed by a nation with cobble-stone streets?

Predictably, my ankle buckled to the side and my lithe frame went flying. 'Luckily' there was a plastic house to catch my fall. After slamming into the house and moving it a good six inches across the floor, the wall being it's stopping point, I glanced around to see that no other adults spotted my fall from grace. Sure enough, Mr. Cool Dad was snorting into his sleeve in order to at least attempt social nicety. Too late, I'd already seen it.

There was nothing to do but balance myself in a crouched position against the open window of the plastic house so that a) I could assess whether or not I'd broken my ankle b) I stopped laughing long enough to gain the strength to stand up again and c) I'd assured H and the other little boy inside that they'd not been the victims of an 'earth shake'.

Cackling like a crazed woman, I returned to the table to relate my tale, which was greeted by head-shakes and blank stares...because I still couldn't compose myself enough to get it all out in one breath.

Nothing like a little tumble to put you right back in your place.

Home, Home on the Range

This week I made yet another cross-country flight with both kids; I feel a lot older and a little wiser. About two days before our trip, I realized that a big part of my dread was the prospect of holding ChuckRoast on my lap for the duration. A quick phone-call and courtesy call-back after my wait time at 800-IFLYSWA resulted in the purchase of an infant fare ticket, and a large dose of relief.

I somehow managed not to spend a single penny at the airport, but I did have to endure the annoyance of the baggage swab which was far more unpleasant than the full body pat-down. Something in my small soft-sided Coleman cooler, in which I'd packed a plethora of flight and kid-friendly foods still in their factory seal, was showing as being toxic per their swabs.

Well, that's not good.

So, in Chicago on our layover, after we ate the majority of the contents and I was able to condense down to my one backpack, I ditched the cooler. Not only was it extra baggage, something about it made them think I was a terrorist. With Horizon Organic milk boxes. And cereal bars. And string cheese.

Plane boarded and day of travel begun, I busted out the portable DVD player that Alex had gently, and multiple times, suggested I may want to borrow. I'd survived a number of cross-country flights without an extra piece of baggage, so I'd be fine on one more, right? Once again, my faithful friend was correct and the day before I left I called to ask if the offer was still on the table.

A viewing of The Wild between Providence and Chicago, and H was ready for leg #2, as mama played the game of Sally the Sherpa to get from one gate to the next with H's back-pack, my back-pack and a small bag of diapers slung across the handles of the stroller in which both kids were blissfully secured, a car seat over one arm and a smile on my face.

I did the dance down the aisle with a car seat held as high as I could, Charlie in the sling, and Henry trailing faithfully behind under penalty of death if he touched the controls that make the jetway separate from the plane; yet another hazard in having a child whose hero is Curious George...it would be less give-you-a-captain's-hat-and-let-you-sit-in-the-cockpit and more mommy-gets-arrested-for-suspicion-of-terrorist-activity. Especially in light of the cooler debacle.

I smiled wryly at one passenger as he was holding his head as far to the side as possible so as not the be concussed by the car seat and I quipped 'As if him crying won't be enough to make you hate me, I could give you a skull fracture as well!' Luckily he laughed.

Each time one of my snotty kids coughed or sniffled, I could see passengers giving me sideways glances...I should have put snouts on them.

I love flying Southwest, but wish they would have a direct flight. Alas, part of the lot of flying on the airline that has heart, is a lot of up and down. Being a master planner, I changed Charlie's diaper in my lap just prior to the last trash collection as we were getting ready to descend in Salt Lake, where we'd have to sit on the plane and wait for the connecting passengers to board.

Just as we were given the fasten seat belts warning due to turbulence, the most foul smell filled the air. Awesome. So glad you didn't do that before I changed your diaper. Not quite brave enough to delve into that with him on my lap, I had to wait...and wait....and wait until we landed.

Back in the air again for our one-hour romp to Boise, we were almost home-free. H had fallen asleep for almost three hours on the prior flight, dosing off during take-off while reading the brochure for the 737. Charlie had yet to sleep a wink.

After arriving safely we walked to my sister's car and I noticed a large box strapped to the top of her Explorer. What. Is. That?! Oh, just a tub surround for a friend...because Sherpas run in the family.

Kids fed and car gassed we were in the home stretch; a three-hour car ride to my parent's house in rural Eastern Oregon. As I took in the slush and the grey, the sage and the open space surrounded by mountains, it came to me again how much I love my home.

About half-way there, we realized there was a slight thumping noise from the top of the car and glanced to see if the other had heard it too. After a van passed us motioning to the top of the car, we decided to pull over and investigate. Sure enough, the slush and wind had ripped off the front corner of the box.

Small pieces that could fly out should the whole box become compromised were removed and the security of the tie-downs double-checked and we were back on the road.

As we pulled up to my parents' house, Charlie was still wide-eyed and promptly handed me separation papers announcing his intent to divorce his car-seat. It was only as I sat him down on the plush carpet and he stumbled his first few steps that I realized...he had not taken a single step since 4am EST...and it was 5 at my parents'. A full 16 hours in which he hadn't been out of a seated position, other than to bounce on my lap in the plane. Ahh...a shining example of motherhood am I. In my defense, we had just enough time in Chicago to eat, change a diaper, go potty and head to the gate as they were able to leave ahead of schedule.

Go ahead Char, you are now free to roam about the country.

Temperamentally Yours

Following H's four-year check-up yesterday where I had a tearful moment after H spent the better half of the time I was trying to converse with the doctor enamoured with the crinkling sound of the exam table paper, I dusted off my copy of Temperament Tools: Working With Your Child's Inborn Traits.

Yes, I cried at the doctor's office. I cried because I'm tired of looking like she who cannot control her offspring. I cried because I'm terrified that my kid who couldn't sit still for three seconds during the appointment will be labeled as ADHD, ODD, ADD or whatever other thing I don't think he is. Lastly, I cried because laughing just didn't fit the bill. (see intensity of emotions below, maybe that's why we butt heads) Never fear, H didn't even notice because he was too busy with his symphony o' scratchy noises on the exam table.

I'm not saying I broke down, but the voice got quivery and my eyes welled with tears. I love our pediatrician, and he was very reassuring that he wasn't seeing anything that was concerning; H was behaving like a four-year old boy in a new situation and I was correcting him appropriately. Given that H is adapting so well to preschool and listening well there, that is a more important indicator than how they act in a 30 minute appointment. A fact that my rational self knows, but my perfect parenting self does not. He asked at that point why I was being so hard on myself. I explained then what has been dawning on me more and more; I don't have anything to 'show' for my 'work' anymore except how my kids turn out. He said "Well, then you're getting an A! H is great He's fine."

Emotional crisis averted, I asked him to check H's foreskin because I didn't think it had retracted yet, and it's not exactly easy to check at home. Yes, I'm going there, and you'll see why. Sure enough, still stubbornly in place. He said that he wasn't concerned, but that if it wasn't retracted by the time he was around 8, but definintely by puberty, that I could go see a urologist. I dumbly asked "And what will they do?" Yep, you guessed it, a circumcision.

I just let my head drop back. "Awesome, we chose not to do it when he was an infant because we didn't want to do something that would cause unnecessary pain, and now he might have to do it when he's eight?!" Doctor: "There you go being hard on yourself again! You made a good decision when he was born, and it's most likely that this will resolve itself. It's not medically necessary at birth."

Sweet. If you want your son to stop liking you, I've got an idea, make a decision for him at birth that causes him to have penis surgery when he's about to enter puberty! Here I thought baptizing our infants into the Catholic faith would cause controversy later. Oh no, no, we'll go ahead and one up that with pain in the here and now. But enough about that.

Back to Temperament Tools. Tired of constantly going to bed at night thinking of what I should have done better, questioning why I said that and promising that tomorrow would be a better day where I didn't let my four year-old wind me up only to repeat said routine, I realized that this just wasn't a battle of the wills I was winning.

So I got a pen this time, instead of just trying to mentally picture my scores as I went and I began marking the x's where both H and Charlie fall on the temperament traits of Activity, Adaptability, Approach to New Things, Frustration Reaction, Intensity of Emotions, Mood, Regularity and Sensitivity.

When I reached the end, I read the brief descriptions of the behaviors that go with certain 'temperament clusters' and was having a hard time finding which of the last three to pick. Then I saw "This high-energy child has many of the behaviors of the previous three. If you are therefore having trouble deciding which chapter to pick, turn first to page 117." Okay...turning pages, turning pages...then (because all the temperament examples are named after animals) 'The Bear Cub Combo";

Imagine the darting speed of a bird combined with the intesity of a prowling tiger and the powerful determination of a whale. When the temperaments of BeiLing Bluebird, Tiganda Tiger and Walocka Whale all combine in one small body, the result is the Olympic Challenge of Parenting.

You don't say!

The book then moves on to talk about learning styles, parenting tips and common behavioral issues. I have to say, as I was reading the three chapters of the animals that combine to make the temperament most like H's, the more disturbing or truly hard characteristics did not describe him. It's amazing how arming yourself with more information can suddenly turn "What the hell?! How am I this horrible a parent, and where did this ferral child come from?!" into "Oh, H isn't anywhere near that bad!" It's all relative, folks.

Learning about temperament is important to me, because I feel like the one thing I'm always so concerned about is smothering his spirit. Providing examples of effective discipline for each temperament-style, it's certainly not a book that just wants parents to let their children be free as a bird, but instead to incorporate all personalities and temperaments into a harmonious family, and not letting the intensity of one child, or your fear of their reaction to something rule the roost.

J had commented a couple times how H and I just wind each other up. Sure enough (in the Tiganda Tiger example); Intensity fuels intensity. When Mom yells, "Stop that!" or, "Be quiet!" or spanks Tiganda for hitting another child, Tiganda's intensity rises even higher. Which makes the kiddo less flexible, which makes mama mad, and the circle of strife continues.

Aparrently remaining calm will allow you to take control of the situation more effectively than flapping your arms around as you direct, demand and shout in loud tones. Oh, and probably having a non-neurotic parent helps out as well. Who knew?

I reviewed Baby Einstein's New World Animal Adventure DVD on Knitty Reviews today...come check it out!

Go Nuts! Or Not.

Today was H's first day of pre-school. Yep, after much back and forth, a particularly rough week was followed by the fortuitous placement of a poster advertising openings at the YMCA pre-school.

The fact that uber-frugal J didn't bat an eyelash when I told him about it, and that I'd like to send H asap means that everyone had begun to notice my mounting frustration with my lack of ability to sufficiently entertain/busy the kiddos; even though I felt like I was running myself ragged from Farmland to Seashore and back again to do so.

After visiting the school and paying the insanely low registration fee of $25, my next stop was at the pediatrician's office to sweet talk the receptionist into giving me written proof, on the spot, that H doesn't have rabies, and won't give them to any of the other kids.

As I went through the packet from the school, I realized that some of H's staples were nixed from the list of foods that could be sent with his lunches, foremost being peanut butter and peanut products. Some of the others surprised me...no raw carrots, even if they're cut up. No grapes that haven't been quartered. Really? He's been eating whole grapes for over two years now.

No popcorn...there goes the snack bag of Smartfood that would be a treat for him. Hmmm...the list was getting shorter. I know! Pretzels! Whenever he sees other kids that have pretzels, he always mooches some...nope, guess that one's a no-no as well according to new federal regulations regarding choking hazard food items in schools.

About to face defeat, I remembered that my friend who has a child with multiple allergies talked about sunbutter (made from sunflower seeds and actually quite tasty), so I put it on my list. Did you know that most grocery stores charge around ten dollars for a jar of sun or almond butter? Thank God for Trader Joe's, where it can be yours for the low, low price of $3.99 (which I snapped up before picking him up today, because why would I plan ahead and buy it before school started?)

So, after I felt like I had all the rules, regulations and expectations down pat, I packed H's lunch last night. As J was drifting off last night, I casually mentioned that I was buying sun butter and he was not to eat it, because it was just for school lunches. "What's sun butter?" was the response. I explained the peanut-free facility concept and his eyes snapped open. I could feel the snide remarks coming...welcome to parenting in the Third Millennium, J.*

*I know, I know...we'd feel a whole lot differently about this if our children weren't hearty German/Swedish kids who don't seem to be negatively affected by any food groups other than too many blueberries (a whole other post).

Jam Session

All supplies were finally gathered, and this girl made three batches of jam, leaving my heaving freezer finally relieved of it's burden o' berries.

The first was last night with my friend Alex, who narrowly escaped arrest on the way to my house. I am not exaggerating. Aparrently she and her husband made the minor oversight of neglecting to renew the registration on their car...for three months...which, in the Commonwealth, generally comes with an automatic trip to the pokey and an impounded car. Seeing as how she has an impeccable record and her big night out was to make jam; a fact which the officer duly noted, she was let go with the understanding that he would be alerting every officer in our town that if she were seen driving again prior to renewal...To the Moom, Alice!

So following a detour back home to get her husband's car, she arrived in one piece and we got smashed. Or the berries did anyhow. So crisis, and several hundred dollars in fines, averted, we commenced.

Here's all you need to make some really good berries into even better jam:

A large saucepan, two bowls/platters; one to measure your sugar into and one to smash the berries in, potato masher or blender (on CHOP not puree...I far prefer the potato masher), Jelly Jars with lids and rings, Wide mouth funnel, jar lifter, large pot with rack to keep jars from the bottom (I got mine from a hardware store...it's a boiling water bath canner), wooden spoons or spatulas, berries, SureJell (I used low-sugar for two batches and regular for one; the bowl o' sugar is the full-force one...and it also uses less fruit, sadly) tiny amount of butter or margerine (to help reduce foam) and a s*&$load of sugar. For the full sugar version, I actually had to switch over to my big soup pot or it would have boiled over.

If it's handy, you can also use your child's muscles to smash the berries...I employed this method on the second batch this morning.

Jars in the boiling water bath...process for about 10 minutes

Lined up like Pretty Maids All In a Row

How Do You Like Them Cookies?

I keep putting off this post, not because I don't want to write it, but because I keep having 'just one more thing' to add. The first time I saw a cookie from Wicked Good, it was when my friend Michele won a photography contest and part of the prize was her picture made into photo cookies by Wicked Good Cookies. It was leaning against her counter and I thought it was a tile because it was so precise and clean. She was so happy with the results that she took the stamped image for her daughter's birthday invitation and they printed it onto cookies that she used for party favors.

That was the best idea! No more bags of kitschy crap for the parents to toss when they get home, just delicious sugar cookies. Oh, did I mention that they not only look good, but they taste good as well? I don't know about you, but I really like sugar cookies and am usually disappointed when I bite into one to find that they're either hard, stale, or just don't taste good. I guess they didn't name themselves Wicked Good for naught.

I told another friend about the party favor, and she thought it was grand as well, and did it for her son's birthday party. (Really, it's just a ploy by me to score more sugar cookies but no harm, no foul, right?!)

That was at the beginning of the summer, and before I knew it, it was August and H's fourth birthday party was looming. I was going to be supermom and do it all myself. I had planned to make several different shapes of sugar cookies, frost them, and put them in cute decorative bags for the favors. This was in addition to making cupcakes and arranging and frosting them into the shape of a cow since we were having the party at Davis Farmland. Are you laughing yet? Have you seen the counter space that I have? There is NO WAY that I'd be able to leave the cookies overnight to let the icing harden enough to package them. It would have been a sad mess of unrecognizable sugar blobs in a plastic bag. I can just see the frozen smiles on the parent's faces; Thanks! Thanks for the great party favor! So glad we could make it!

Then providence shone upon me. Boston Mamas was smack in the middle of celebrating their third birthday and had a giveaway for two dozen photo cookies from Wicked Good and I won! I never win, so this was a huge coup!

Oh, did I mention this was two days from H's party that I won? The message from Boston Mamas clearly said that the folks at Wicked Good would contact me, but of course I contacted them first. Because I'm cool like that. I half-joking (not really) asked if they'd be able to whip those cookies out in a couple days in time to use them as party favors.

You know what? They contacted me back the same day graciously saying no problemo, and they were even going to ship them to me! Since Wicked Good is conveniently located between my house and Davis Farmland on Route 140 in Boylston, I asked if I could pick them up on the way...I wanted to lessen the chance that they'd get smashed, eaten or otherwise ruined before the party.

It was the easiest party I've ever done. I loaded up the cupcakes (in the carrier, not in the shape of a cow), picked up the pizzas from Monti's in Northboro then headed up 140 to Wicked Good. The cookies looked fabulous! They were wrapped and tied with ribbon; all I had to do was hand them out! They are reasonably priced, and the customer service is excellent.

I was all ready to do a post, but then I remembered that they have a cookie clubhouse where you can bring the kids in to decorate and bake their own creations. I mentioned it to one of my mama friends and she said "Duh! We're going in just a couple weeks!" Sure enough, it was on my calendar...so I knew I had to wait to post.

Ridiculously reasonably priced at $12.95/batch (or slab o' dough), the sugar-me-silly option allows kids to roll-out dough, cut out their own cookies with tons of cookie cutter options, and then go to town with colored sugar (exponentially less messy than frosting). While you're waiting for the cookies to bake, they each get to decorate their own bakery boxes. (The photo shown is about half the number of cookies he was able to make.)

The staff was really friendly, and each detail is well thought out, so that there isn't a lot of lag time for shenanigans with silly chillins. They kept about twenty kids entertained and busy for almost 2 hours...enough said.

Right now, they're running a great back to school special, where you get a free dozen gourmet cookies with any Back-to-School Gift purchase (use code BTS). What a fun way to ring in the new school year! I highly encourage you to drop in a decorate some cookies, or buy them pre-made for your next event. They have a huge range of designs or you can use a photo of your own. Perhaps most importantly, in a time of economic turmoil that is hard on small businesses, you're supporting a family-run local business...that's Wicked Good of you.

Earn Your Daily Bread

H loves to help me in the kitchen and I've been trying to let him help in more ways. Today, it was baking bread. The first step in my mom's Honey Whole-Wheat bread recipe is to mix 5 cups of hot tap water with 7 cups of whole wheat flour...at first I was filling the measuring cup and giving it to him to dump in, then I thought 'What am I doing?' I poured the water from the mixer into the sink and showed him the line on the cup, asking him to count each one as he poured it in, up to five. Sure enough, he was fully capable. The flour, I measured out, but let him put in and then showed him how to add 1T honey to the yeast and water mix in order to allow the yeast to 'work' better.

We had a great time together in the kitchen, and he was able to enjoy the fruits of his labor after the two risings; the first of which had initially been left out of my mother's translation of her recipe to me, so I ended up with an entire year of bread baking feeling like a complete failure since they were loaves of brick. I only found my mistake when reading Late Nite Kitchen and then called my mom "um, do you let the dough rise in the mixer first and then in the pans?" "Yeah, why?" "Sweet, you totally missed that part when reading me the recipe over the phone last year." Yet another reason it will be nice to be within driving distance of my parents; I can steal her written recipes from her house when she's not looking.

I felt like H had a fun time, and he definitely liked the bread, though he takes after his Grandma P and Papa in that he kept dunking the bread in the milk. I've never liked soggy bread, just thinking of the idea of milk toast makes me shudder. I kept telling him to stop that! That's disgusting! when he finally turned to me and said "I like to dip my bread in milk, it makes it taste better." Right. I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to be, like, allowing him to develop his own tastes and interests.

One step, however, that he will continue to miss out on that my mother did, unless I turn into uber freakshow mom when we get a house, is that my mother had an electric wheat mill and so ground her own flour for each baking session. Yeeeeeeah, we'll just stick with the triumph of baking our own bread for now.

H and Charlie had a lovely dinner last night of cinnamon toast made from homemade bread, applesauce and milk. They went to bed fat and happy, and my house still smells good this morning.

Granny's Honey-Whole-Wheat Bread

1. Mix 5 cups hot water and 7 cups of flour with paddle in the electric mixer.

2. While the above are mixing, sprinkle 2 tsp. yeast into very hot water, adding 1T honey or sugar to work yeast more effectively. Allow to sit until bubbly

3. Add 2T salt, 2/3 c oil, 2/3 c honey, yeast mixture and 1 cup more flour and mix.

4. Add 3-4 more cups flour, 1 cup at a time, dough will be sticky in the end. If it's still super wet, add a little more flour. Knead with dough hook attachment for 10 minutes and allow to raise in bowl for about 2 hours (I put my bowl covered with dishcloth on the pre-heated oven so it was warm...since my ac'd apartment is not warm right now)

5. Transfer to four loaf pans and let rise again until 1/3 larger, then bake at 350 for 35-45 minutes. Voila! You have bread!

I think I may try to use a little white flour next time, because this bread does end up being pretty dense. It's REALLY good for french toast, though two pieces will be plenty filling!