Milly is getting more mobile everyday. It's not often that I get to really hold her. More often than not, I hold a silly girl who flaps her arms and wiggles around to see everything around her. She barks a weird breathless laugh that I have GOT to get on camera so I can remember the sound forever.
Today she is crawling around on me. Her breath smells like formula and the pumpkin muffins I made last night. She holds onto my should and carefully stands up. Then she gets too excited at her accomplishment, flaps too hard and topples over. She bark-laughs and smiles the whole time. She examines every bit of my face; carefully looking at every nook and cranny of my ear and pulling at my eyebrows reminding me that I probably need to go get them waxed. (Eyebrows, not ears.) She finally giggles so much that she gets the hiccups giving herself an even funnier drunken lilt to her early morning play.
Lord, let me never forget this little 9-month old girl.
Don't let me forget her fuzzy hair that doesn't seem to part any "right" way even when she's taking an hour every morning to put every hair in place.
Don't let me forget this silliness even when she's too old for such nonsense.
Don't let me forget the grin with only 6 uneven baby teeth even when she has a mouthful of braces and then a mouthful of beautiful white teeth.
Dear Lord, let me remember.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
While He's Little
Sometimes when I get Gideon up from a nap he needs to be held. His eyes are still blinky and he's a little bit of a zombie. He lays heavily on my chest and puts his fuzzy head on my shoulder or under my chin. his downy fine hair is still sweaty on the back of his neck. He snuggles close with his arms around my neck and I rub his back. Last week, he was still in his 4T Aggie jersey.
Please let me remember these moments.
Let me remember when he's storming around the house knocking his sisters' toys down.
Let me remember when he's too old to be held.
Let me remember when he won't let me kiss him anymore.
Let me remember when he's 18, a foot taller than me and wearing a real football jersey.
Dear Lord, let me remember.
Please let me remember these moments.
Let me remember when he's storming around the house knocking his sisters' toys down.
Let me remember when he's too old to be held.
Let me remember when he won't let me kiss him anymore.
Let me remember when he's 18, a foot taller than me and wearing a real football jersey.
Dear Lord, let me remember.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Chicken Faux-mesan
Hello. My name is Kelly and I'm addicted to Pinterest.
I have boards for everything under the sun including one for my personal chuckles. Actually, there are two chuckle boards. I chuckle a lot.
On Pinterest I have found SO MANY different recipes that I'm ready to make and add to my collection at All Recipes. This is one that the whole family loved and is going right in my virtual cookbook. The only con Ben and I could find is that it doesn't heat up well. Leftovers get soggy on the top when chilled and reheated. The fresh from the oven casserole?
OH. EM. GEE.
Chicken Faux-mesan
The Stuff:
4 boneless chicken pieces (breasts or thighs will work)
Your favorite marinara sauce (I used a jar of Prego Veggie Smart)
Finely shredded Italian cheese blend
Parmesan cheese (I used the stuff in the green can. SUE ME.)
1 bag of garlic and herb croutons (Stay with me, folks!)
The Process:
Cube your chicken parts into bite sized pieces. Drizzle a little EVOO on the bottom of an 8x8 or 9x9 cooking vessel. I then sprinkled a little Italian seasoning over the EVOO. Scatter your chicken pieces into the casserole dish. Cover the chicken with marinara sauce. Don't drown it. Just cover it. Then put a layer of glorious cheese over the sauce. I just eyeballed it but about a 1/4 cup of Italian blend cheese and then a good shake of the parm should do it. Open those croutons and put a layer over the cheese. Then do another layer of cheese. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes. If the top starts to get too brown then put some foil over the top. We just want that chicken to cook and the cheese to get all melty.
What you are left with is a crunchy on the top, melty-chewy on the bottom chicken parm casserole. Ben, Gideon and I all loved it. Sophie ate garlic bread and about 3 pieces of casserole.
Here's a link to the man who created this wonderful and fast dish.
Thank you from this harried mother.
I have boards for everything under the sun including one for my personal chuckles. Actually, there are two chuckle boards. I chuckle a lot.
On Pinterest I have found SO MANY different recipes that I'm ready to make and add to my collection at All Recipes. This is one that the whole family loved and is going right in my virtual cookbook. The only con Ben and I could find is that it doesn't heat up well. Leftovers get soggy on the top when chilled and reheated. The fresh from the oven casserole?
OH. EM. GEE.
Chicken Faux-mesan
The Stuff:
4 boneless chicken pieces (breasts or thighs will work)
Your favorite marinara sauce (I used a jar of Prego Veggie Smart)
Finely shredded Italian cheese blend
Parmesan cheese (I used the stuff in the green can. SUE ME.)
1 bag of garlic and herb croutons (Stay with me, folks!)
The Process:
Cube your chicken parts into bite sized pieces. Drizzle a little EVOO on the bottom of an 8x8 or 9x9 cooking vessel. I then sprinkled a little Italian seasoning over the EVOO. Scatter your chicken pieces into the casserole dish. Cover the chicken with marinara sauce. Don't drown it. Just cover it. Then put a layer of glorious cheese over the sauce. I just eyeballed it but about a 1/4 cup of Italian blend cheese and then a good shake of the parm should do it. Open those croutons and put a layer over the cheese. Then do another layer of cheese. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes. If the top starts to get too brown then put some foil over the top. We just want that chicken to cook and the cheese to get all melty.
What you are left with is a crunchy on the top, melty-chewy on the bottom chicken parm casserole. Ben, Gideon and I all loved it. Sophie ate garlic bread and about 3 pieces of casserole.
Here's a link to the man who created this wonderful and fast dish.
Thank you from this harried mother.
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Middle Child
Dear Gideon,
OY.
I say that so often about you. It ranks right up there with coming over to your Dad and saying "OK, YOUR SON..." to which he interrupts with "I hate it when stories begin that way."
OH WAIT! I also repeat the words STOP CHEWING ON THAT about 9,458,924 times a day. Didn't you stop teething a year ago? Why does it look like we live with beavers? You are really lucky you're cute.
Those big brown eyes get you out of so much trouble. Daddy calls you a Mama's Boy but I know the truth. You are just perfect and I'm the only one who can see it even when you bring me a handful of poop you just dug out of the back of your diaper. You are such a BOY. You like rolling around in the dirt and playing with your cars. You roughhouse with anyone willing to play and some that are drafted into the effort. Another reason I know you're all boy? Every single time I change your diaper, you grab ahold of your little boy parts. Can I give you a tip? IT DOESN'T FALL OFF. YOU DON'T HAVE TO CHECK EVERY TIME.
You're a laid back little guy. You go with the flow and do whatever everyone else is doing. (Namely, your older sister.) You're starting to talk now. You can count to ten and you repeat some of the things you hear on Sesame Street and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. In fact, you just spent your whole nap today calling for Toodles. Nearly everything you say ends in a question mark.
"Okay?"
"One? Two?"
"Moo?"
You're Mama's little growling, stomping, filthy Godzilla goat-boy. You still cuddle on my shoulder every single night before going to sleep and after every nap. I wouldn't have you any other way.
Mama loves you.
OY.
I say that so often about you. It ranks right up there with coming over to your Dad and saying "OK, YOUR SON..." to which he interrupts with "I hate it when stories begin that way."
OH WAIT! I also repeat the words STOP CHEWING ON THAT about 9,458,924 times a day. Didn't you stop teething a year ago? Why does it look like we live with beavers? You are really lucky you're cute.
Those big brown eyes get you out of so much trouble. Daddy calls you a Mama's Boy but I know the truth. You are just perfect and I'm the only one who can see it even when you bring me a handful of poop you just dug out of the back of your diaper. You are such a BOY. You like rolling around in the dirt and playing with your cars. You roughhouse with anyone willing to play and some that are drafted into the effort. Another reason I know you're all boy? Every single time I change your diaper, you grab ahold of your little boy parts. Can I give you a tip? IT DOESN'T FALL OFF. YOU DON'T HAVE TO CHECK EVERY TIME.
You're a laid back little guy. You go with the flow and do whatever everyone else is doing. (Namely, your older sister.) You're starting to talk now. You can count to ten and you repeat some of the things you hear on Sesame Street and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. In fact, you just spent your whole nap today calling for Toodles. Nearly everything you say ends in a question mark.
"Okay?"
"One? Two?"
"Moo?"
You're Mama's little growling, stomping, filthy Godzilla goat-boy. You still cuddle on my shoulder every single night before going to sleep and after every nap. I wouldn't have you any other way.
Mama loves you.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Wrapping Drawer
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.
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.
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!
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