Mom, make them stop!

My oldest son and daughter are two years apart in age. I don’t know if any other parents will agree with me, but there are benefits and disadvantages to having two kids. You go through a period of shock when the workload is doubled and you’re trying to juggle a new baby with an older sibling. You think, How in the world am I going to do this? There’s no schedule. Things are crazy, and you wonder why you ever agreed to this.

But then comes a magical moment, when they’re both toddlers. One day, the craziness gets better and something amazing happens: They start playing together. And, oh joy! Oh rapture! You can actually start getting things done because they are happily entertaining each other. It’s amazing.

Until the fighting starts.

One minute, everything is daisies and happy faces. And the next, they’re at each other’s throats. Call it rivalry, call it competition, but man oh man, when they love each other, they will hate each other with the same fierceness. Yesterday, I was in the kitchen. The baby was playing with tupperware and a wooden spoon while the older two were in the living room sitting in a chair together. It started innocent, with them giggling and my daughter sitting on my son’s lap. Then it broke into playful wrestling and each of them trying to take over the chair. The next thing I knew, I heard the cries of: “He hit me!” and “Mom, she bit me!”

Yes, my darling daughter decided to fight dirty and broke the skin. Gotta say, she picked a pretty vicious spot, too, the skin below the armpit. Ouch. So she got sent to time-out until dinner while I iced and put neosporin on my wounded son. He played out the role to the hilt, whimpering that he couldn’t cut his meat because he had to hold the ice pack on his shoulder.

I sent my daughter to bed right after supper, and although she did apologize numerous times to my son, I suspect that she’s just the kind of girl who will do whatever it takes to win a fight. And Lord help anyone who tries to hurt her brothers (and vice versa).

Did you fight with your brothers and sisters when you were growing up? Did you ever draw blood?

Overheard Upstairs

My daughter was happily singing and washing her hair when I overheard the following ditty.

Lord God, Ham of God, you take away the sins of the world
Have mercy on the bus…**

Sorry, couldn’t help but share that.

**Real translation: Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.**

In other news, I fed the baby his bottle at 4:45 this morning since he would NOT wait any longer. After drinking about 5 ounces, he promptly brought the contents of the aforementioned bottle back up, all over me. And the couch.

Clearly, this is a Monday.

Learning to Crawl and other miscellany

The baby is reaching a stage where he gets bored easily. He no longer likes his exersaucer (baby jail + toys). He really hates his swing and will reach out and grab the bar to stop it from swinging. Even blocks aren’t so entertaining. I was a little wary of dragging out the Fisher Price barn, but honestly, he loved it. He chewed on the animals (which were too large for him to choke on), used the plastic white fence as a teething toy, pushed the animal noise buttons, spun the weather vane…there was so much to play with, that he entertained himself for about half an hour.

He isn’t crawling yet, my poor little beached whale. He rolls onto his stomach and writhes around, wiggling his tush and flailing. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he can push himself backwards, but in general, he struggles until he gives up and starts howling. I’ve found that the kitchen floor is good for crawling practice since the linoleum has less friction than the carpet. He’ll shove himself backwards until he gets stuck at the dishwasher or the refrigerator.

I am very afraid of the moment when he finally figures it out. My firstborn did the combat crawl when he learned how, at 10 months old. Poor kid looked like he’d been shot in the leg, from the way he used his arms and elbows to haul the rest of his limp body around. Then again, he was almost twenty pounds, and he had a lot of weight to pull. He didn’t crawl in the traditional manner until much later, around a year old.

I think my little man will probably crawl in a matter of weeks. He has the ability, just not the coordination. And when he does…I am so hosed.

My favorite muffins

I have a love affair with muffins. Not those measly, tiny ones, but the fat, cupcakey ones that are bigger than your fist. One of my favorite treats is a hot mug of coffee and a yummy muffin.

It’s a toss up between cranberry-orange and chocolate chip, for which one I like best. I think I may need to go on an Internet recipe quest for the best one. I don’t have any good homemade muffin recipes because usually I get them at the store. Mmmm…must try this.

On a completely different topic, is anyone else watching the Next Food Network Star? I’m rooting for Aaron. Though Lisa might know her food, her camera presence needs work. Adam doesn’t feel quite real to me.

Blackberry Season

Next week, I’m going up to my mom’s, and I want to go blackberry picking. Every summer, it’s something I looked forward to, as a girl. The hot weather, picking juicy blackberries (thornless), finding secret piles of yummy berries, and then baking pies.

Last summer was a travesty. Along with my mom, I took my kids, thinking that it would be a fun way to spend the afternoon. Mistake #1–not bringing sunscreen. It was so incredibly hot, we all got far too much sun. Mistake #2–not bringing water bottles. By the time we were finished, the kids were whiny, uncomfortable, and dying for water. Buying popsicles at the orchard store (aka frozen sugar) helped lift their spirits.

But my son startled me the most. He turned from a helpful, friendly boy into a crazed, raving, bawling child. Why? Because of the bugs. You expect to see gnats, bumblebees, and bugs around berry bushes. Apparently, he thought the insects were out to eat him. I remember him sobbing, “I just want them to all go away! They’re awful!” Oh, did he howl.

Next week, I’ll be better-prepared. We’ll each take a water-bottle, and I’ll hose the kids down with sunscreen. I’ll probably leave the baby home with his grandpa, and I’ve threatened to leave my older son as well (Bug Boy). He debated, saying, “Well, I could probably just use bug spray.” I think he somehow believes that bug spray is like a Jedi force field, zapping any wayward insects away. Um, no.

I’m still on the fence as to whether or not I take him with me. But my daughter? She’s a trooper, as you can see in the photo above. Each time she found a blackberry, she’d chirp, “I found one, Mom!” I have a feeling she’ll enjoy it just as much this year.

And then the real question becomes…blackberry pie or blackberry cobbler? I’m thinking both…

Did you ever go berry picking or fruit picking? What’s your favorite thing to pick?

Make Your Own Pizza Night

My husband is on travel this week, and so I let the kids pick out what they wanted for dinner. Each one got to pick out two meals, and we’re alternating. Last night, my son wanted to have a make-your-own pizza night. Where he got this, I don’t know. Possibly because his mother watches the Food Network ad nauseum.

My good friend Suzanne posted her own pizza dough recipe a few weeks ago, and she really does have some good ideas. However, the idea of kneading bread dough and figuring out how long it has to rise, etc. gives me the heebies. So I made my dough in the breadmaker. That way, there’s a little green light to tell me when it’s done.

The recipe I used was incredibly simple. Combine 1 cup of water, 1 Tablespoon of olive oil, 1 Tablespoon of sugar, 2 1/2 cups of flour, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1 teaspoon of active yeast (don’t use the entire packet–I was tempted to, but I restrained myself. This was a Good Thing.). Throw it all in the breadmaker, click the dough setting, and go off and run errands. It took about an hour and a half, maybe less, for the dough to be finished. You could probably make it ahead of time or throw the ingredients in the breadmaker before going to work, and when you get home, it would be ready to use.

I spread the classified section of the newspaper on the table and waxed paper on top of that. I sprinkled flour on the waxed paper and gave each child a hunk of dough to roll with a rolling pin. They had the best time making their pizza crusts. I preheated the oven to 425 degrees while they played. Then I sprayed non-stick cooking spray on a baking sheet, put their pizza crust on it, and let them choose their toppings. We spread a little spaghetti sauce on the dough, topped it with mozzarella cheese, pepperoni, and whatever else they wanted. Then we baked it for about fifteen minutes. My way of telling when the pizza is done is waiting until the cheese is brown and bubbly. If it’s still white, it’s not done yet. Yes, this is a very scientific method.

I told the kids that if they didn’t like their dinner, it was their own fault. Thankfully, they enjoyed it! You might try this some night if you have time.

Yesterday I stared and smiled at my new book cover a million times. I love, love, love it!

A sneak peek…at Her Warrior Slave!

I got a preview of my next book cover, Her Warrior Slave, today. Take a sneak peek here and tell me what you think!

Are They Breathing?

Last night was a major landmark for my son. Weaning aside, he slept from 8:00 p.m. until 6:15 a.m. with no interruptions. Unbelievable!

Now, of course, I did not sleep that long. I woke up at 4:00 a.m., listening for the baby. I laid in bed, waiting for the inevitable wake-up crying that didn’t come. Finally, I dragged myself out of bed at 5:30 and made coffee. Still waiting.

I got the bottle of formula mix and water ready to go. Even microwaved it. No baby cries.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. My maternal instincts were screaming–what if he’s hurt? What if something’s wrong? What if he’s NOT BREATHING?

I ran upstairs, and just as I hit the top, I heard three delicate sneezes coming from the baby’s room. I opened the door and he gave me a big ol’ gummy smile through the crib bars.

Geez. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you? But he was fine, and more than eager to have his bottle and Mommy snuggles. Isn’t it funny how you are dying for the day when they sleep in, and when it finally comes, you can’t enjoy it?

And yes. I know that this, too, shall pass. As soon as our company arrives next week, he’ll be so excited, he won’t sleep. And when we travel, same thing. But in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy every moment.

Have you ever done that with your kids?

The Decision to Wean

I’m in the process of weaning my son, and it’s not an easy thing, both physically and emotionally. I’ll be attending the Romance Writers of America national conference in three weeks, and since the baby will be at Grandma’s for an entire week without me, I don’t really have a choice. He’s nearly 8 months old, so I think it’s time.

But oh, it’s hard. Definitely harder on me than it is on him. Personally, I don’t think he’ll care much–as long as he has his bottle and snuggle time, he’s good. Really, what it comes down to, is losing that last physical connection with your baby. You spend nine months growing them, and then when you nurse them, it’s an extension of that. They’re still a part of you. Whenever my baby has been crying, is inconsolable, and all seems lost, I could simply nurse him, and all was well again. It was my no-fail cure-all for fussiness.

Weaning them means cutting those ties, and I’ll admit that this past weekend, I was a complete wuss. I used formula when I could, but if he honestly was upset, I nursed him. I’m taking my time with this process, slowly giving up the feedings. The last one is always the hardest.

In the meantime, I’m hoping that things won’t be too bad on the physical side. Last time, I used cabbage leaves to offset the pain, and it really did help–kind of like ice packs. Maybe if I go slowly enough, I won’t run into that? I’m hoping.

Why do I feel like, if I blink, he’ll be going off to college?

Adventures in Asian Food

Some of you may know that I spent a year and a half of my life in Thailand. Okay, so I was maybe a year old at the time, but apparently when I was learning to talk, I spoke a bit of Thai. I had a Thai nanny who looked after me, so I guess it’s no surprise that I love Asian food and I enjoy a bit of spice.

Fast forward to now, when my husband and I have been searching for the perfect Thai restaurant. We love take-out, especially a nice chicken pad thai. But, now that I’ve stopped teaching and am writing full time, eating out will soon be a rare occasion instead of a weekly tradition. That said, I’m on a mission to learn to cook or re-create the fast foods that we love so much. Including take-out.

Thanks to the Internet, you can find almost any recipe. So yesterday, I embarked on my quest to find the perfect chicken pad thai recipe. My past experiences with cooking Asian food was….not so good. In fact, when we were first married, my husband nearly got his head taken off when he came home, sniffed the apartment and said, “Dear God, what’s that smell?”

Me: That would be dinner, honey.

I learned that you can’t make substitutions for the required ingredients. You have to follow the directions, or you’ll end up with a mess on your hands. Initially, I bought a prepared kit for making chicken pad thai, but in the back of my mind, I thought–you’re copping out. Make the real thing, coward! So, it was with trepidation and excitement that I went off to our local gourmet grocery store, hoping to find all of the exotic ingredients such as bean sprouts, tamarind paste, and fish sauce.

No one had heard of tamarind paste. This is a problem when you don’t have a clue what it is. Was it a fruit? Was it a sauce? It wasn’t in the Asian food aisle, nor was it in organic foods. I checked the produce aisle, which wasn’t a bad thing since I found one man who could actually tell me what it was. The tamarind is a tree that bears a fruit. You use the pulp and it adds acidity to the dish. Some people substitute lime juice with a touch of brown sugar, but it’s a very unique ingredient.

They didn’t have it. And by golly, I needed 1/4 cup of the stuff. What was I to do? My food was going to taste awful, and all because I didn’t have the dratted tamarind. I had no clue where the local Asian grocery store was, so I ended up coming back home.

Note: I made chicken fried rice for the kids. They’re not into spicy food, much less exotic dishes, thankyouverymuch.

Dejected, I began laying out the ingredients, thinking that without tamarind, this was probably going to be a travesty. But something made me stop short. Wait. I had bought a prepared kit for chicken pad thai….could it be? I grabbed the box, read the ingredients, and lo and behold! The pad thai sauce packet had tamarind in it! What do you know?

So, the angels sang, I happily made my recipe in the wok…and my husband looked up from his newspaper in the den and asked, “Honey, what’s that smell?”