Ben is trying to get cling wrap onto the leftover casserole and is failing. The cling wrap is wildly sticking to everything, including itself, and refuses to tear. I end up helping him hold it still while we wrestle it into place.
Ben: ARGH! I hate this stuff! You have to keep it perfectly straight or it gets everywhere!
Me: (talking for the cling wrap in a Cletus-moron voice) "YAY! I KAN STICK TO FINGS!"
Ben laughs.
Me: Why do we always go for the moron voice when describing things?
Ben: Well, it is the moron of the drawer.
Me: True. Parchment paper is the snooty cousin.
Ben: The Ziploc bags are the...
Both: ...nerds / techy types.
This is where I fling my arms around him and smooch him soundly for not just laughing at my joke, not just making a joke of his own but finishing the joke with the same bizarro thoughts as me.
This is why we fit. It is also why our children don't have a snowball's chance in Mordor of being normal.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Baby
Dearest Milly,
Right now I'm watching you stand at your little play table and create a cacophony of noise. Some of it is that irritating table that has somehow survived your older siblings and is now singing at you whenever you whack the appropriate colored tabs. The other is a mix of laughter and a long WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE of discontent. You keep changing moods at the speed of light, Milly Bean. Can we discuss your bipolar nature? I hardly have time to get the camera up to get that cute picture before you're off again with the WOE IS ME and OMG I'M TIRED BUT I'M NOT TIRED PICK ME UP NOW PUT ME DOWN.
Now you're in my lap watching me type and grinding your teeth. You only have 5, darling. Is that the best idea? Also, can I have my arm back? Typing with one hand is difficult. Can I offer you a cold teether? You're the only one who likes icy cold teethers. The others always spit them out and gave me awful looks. You chew so hard I'm honestly afraid you're going to puncture them. Seriously, I've already googled "Is the stuff in teething rings poisonous?" Still, I would rather you work out those puppy teeth on hard frozen plastic than my hands. You've already drawn blood. TWICE.
Aaand you just spit up. Not on yourself, mind you, but on the couch. You have perfected the art of leaning over and yacking on me, the furniture or anything else. You rarely spit up on yourself. I keep bibs on you but it makes no difference. One can only hope that your marksmanship turns into a good quality. Maybe you'll work for the CIA one day.
As I watch you crawl all over the living room, I'm struck by how big you are. Wasn't I just whining about your feet in my ribs last week? Now you're 18 pounds of determination ready to follow your sister and brother wherever they go. You cruise, crawl and are ready to walk at any time. You have very little interest in staying still. There's too much to see and do. There are toys to fling, books to inspect and forgotten Cheerios to choke on.
I love you, Millicent. I love your spirit, your laugh and your chubby, cuddly little body. I love how you curl up with me for your last bottle of the day and then jam your thumb in your mouth with a sigh before fluttering your long lashes onto your full cheeks. I love your curiosity and will. Every time you tumble down to the floor, you shake your little head and climb right back up. When it's a little too hard then you cry for kisses.
Mama will always kiss your hurts, Baby Girl.
Right now I'm watching you stand at your little play table and create a cacophony of noise. Some of it is that irritating table that has somehow survived your older siblings and is now singing at you whenever you whack the appropriate colored tabs. The other is a mix of laughter and a long WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE of discontent. You keep changing moods at the speed of light, Milly Bean. Can we discuss your bipolar nature? I hardly have time to get the camera up to get that cute picture before you're off again with the WOE IS ME and OMG I'M TIRED BUT I'M NOT TIRED PICK ME UP NOW PUT ME DOWN.
Now you're in my lap watching me type and grinding your teeth. You only have 5, darling. Is that the best idea? Also, can I have my arm back? Typing with one hand is difficult. Can I offer you a cold teether? You're the only one who likes icy cold teethers. The others always spit them out and gave me awful looks. You chew so hard I'm honestly afraid you're going to puncture them. Seriously, I've already googled "Is the stuff in teething rings poisonous?" Still, I would rather you work out those puppy teeth on hard frozen plastic than my hands. You've already drawn blood. TWICE.
Aaand you just spit up. Not on yourself, mind you, but on the couch. You have perfected the art of leaning over and yacking on me, the furniture or anything else. You rarely spit up on yourself. I keep bibs on you but it makes no difference. One can only hope that your marksmanship turns into a good quality. Maybe you'll work for the CIA one day.
As I watch you crawl all over the living room, I'm struck by how big you are. Wasn't I just whining about your feet in my ribs last week? Now you're 18 pounds of determination ready to follow your sister and brother wherever they go. You cruise, crawl and are ready to walk at any time. You have very little interest in staying still. There's too much to see and do. There are toys to fling, books to inspect and forgotten Cheerios to choke on.
I love you, Millicent. I love your spirit, your laugh and your chubby, cuddly little body. I love how you curl up with me for your last bottle of the day and then jam your thumb in your mouth with a sigh before fluttering your long lashes onto your full cheeks. I love your curiosity and will. Every time you tumble down to the floor, you shake your little head and climb right back up. When it's a little too hard then you cry for kisses.
Mama will always kiss your hurts, Baby Girl.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Crockpot Turkey
Eventually I will have a separate place on my blog for all of my cooking posts. For now, I'm going to start putting my recipes up whenever I feel the mood is right.
Tonight, the mood is right.
Turkey is problematic. It is usually eaten only once or twice a year and is fairly tasteless. It dries out quickly. What do you do with the leftovers? I'm here to tell you that turkey doesn't have to be a once a year grind with sandwiches for the next 2 weeks.
BEHOLD! My crockpot turkey breast recipe!
The Stuff:
4 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons paprika
1 tablespoon onion powder
1 tablespoon dried thyme
2 tablespoons black pepper
1/2 tablespoons cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons garlic powder
1 8 pound frozen turkey breast
EVOO
The Process:
Thaw your turkey in the fridge. This is going to take a while. Just ask my sister about the time she hosted Thanksgiving.
Go on. Then dodge the chair she throws at your head. She's a good shot.
Anyhoo, once you have a thawed carcass, stir all of your spices together in a small bowl. Hold this bowl far away from your nose or you will violently sneeze all over the kitchen. If this happens, try to miss the turkey. If you sneeze on the turkey, take a moment to rinse it off. Please. For the children. Smear some EVOO on your turkey and then generously rub AAAAAAALLLLL of those spices into the turkey breast.
Massage the turkey. Make sure to get all of the nooks and crannies. Don't feel weird. You're just rubbing a dead animal like a lover.
It's weird, isn't it? I really hate this part.
Get it over quick and plop that bad boy in the crockpot. Turn it on low and walk away for 8 to 10 hours. When you come back then you will have wonderful juicy meat falling from the bones. Serve with dressing, potatoes or whatever your heart desires. This got thumbs up from Ben and Gideon. Sophie is going through a vegetarian phase. Animal flesh holds no interest for her unless it comes from a pig.
Time to look up some ham recipes!
Tonight, the mood is right.
Turkey is problematic. It is usually eaten only once or twice a year and is fairly tasteless. It dries out quickly. What do you do with the leftovers? I'm here to tell you that turkey doesn't have to be a once a year grind with sandwiches for the next 2 weeks.
BEHOLD! My crockpot turkey breast recipe!
The Stuff:
4 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons paprika
1 tablespoon onion powder
1 tablespoon dried thyme
2 tablespoons black pepper
1/2 tablespoons cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons garlic powder
1 8 pound frozen turkey breast
EVOO
The Process:
Thaw your turkey in the fridge. This is going to take a while. Just ask my sister about the time she hosted Thanksgiving.
Go on. Then dodge the chair she throws at your head. She's a good shot.
Anyhoo, once you have a thawed carcass, stir all of your spices together in a small bowl. Hold this bowl far away from your nose or you will violently sneeze all over the kitchen. If this happens, try to miss the turkey. If you sneeze on the turkey, take a moment to rinse it off. Please. For the children. Smear some EVOO on your turkey and then generously rub AAAAAAALLLLL of those spices into the turkey breast.
Massage the turkey. Make sure to get all of the nooks and crannies. Don't feel weird. You're just rubbing a dead animal like a lover.
It's weird, isn't it? I really hate this part.
Get it over quick and plop that bad boy in the crockpot. Turn it on low and walk away for 8 to 10 hours. When you come back then you will have wonderful juicy meat falling from the bones. Serve with dressing, potatoes or whatever your heart desires. This got thumbs up from Ben and Gideon. Sophie is going through a vegetarian phase. Animal flesh holds no interest for her unless it comes from a pig.
Time to look up some ham recipes!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
An Addendum to the Last Post
Dear Aging Hippie in the Sprouts parking lot,
I forgot that I had left my radio volume on 60. I'm sorry that Kansas began screaming Carry On My Wayward Son loud enough to make you nearly drop your bag of organic fruit bark and tofu nuggets, poop onto your vegan TOMS and slam the door of your silver Prius.
I'm not sorry I giggled all the way home.
I forgot that I had left my radio volume on 60. I'm sorry that Kansas began screaming Carry On My Wayward Son loud enough to make you nearly drop your bag of organic fruit bark and tofu nuggets, poop onto your vegan TOMS and slam the door of your silver Prius.
I'm not sorry I giggled all the way home.
Songs That Soothe
When you are an adult who must act like an adult but is still afraid of generally everything then you need to find ways to soothe your addled soul and mind.
My way? Music.
Hillsong's Greatness of Our God says it perfectly.
"Give me eyes to see
More of who You are
May what I behold,
still my anxious heart."
"Give me grace to see
Beyond this moment here.
To believe that there
Is nothing left to fear."
"No sky contains,
No doubt restrains,
All You are,
The greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
To all You are,
The greatness of our God."
Thank you, Lord, for working through these amazing people.
My way? Music.
Hillsong's Greatness of Our God says it perfectly.
"Give me eyes to see
More of who You are
May what I behold,
still my anxious heart."
"Give me grace to see
Beyond this moment here.
To believe that there
Is nothing left to fear."
"No sky contains,
No doubt restrains,
All You are,
The greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
To all You are,
The greatness of our God."
Thank you, Lord, for working through these amazing people.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Brain Buzz
My Back: "Ouch."
Me: "This sucks. I want to watch / surf in my bedroom but I have no computer and my iPhone screen is tiny."
Laptop: "Hai, I'm portable!"
My Brain: "I'm so frickin' tired."
My Kids in 30 Years: "Sorry for ruining your brain. And your thighs."
Me: "This sucks. I want to watch / surf in my bedroom but I have no computer and my iPhone screen is tiny."
Laptop: "Hai, I'm portable!"
My Brain: "I'm so frickin' tired."
My Kids in 30 Years: "Sorry for ruining your brain. And your thighs."
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