Pottery Barn Dream

In my dream bedroom, I would replace my furniture and actually know what cool things to hang on the walls. Here is the bed we covet: I would get these night tables, reminiscent of a bed & breakfast we stayed at for our anniversary once in Door County, WI. I'd like one of those massive, vertical wall mirrors, a comfortable reading chair, and cute lamps. Someday?

A Novel Affair

The Aurelianos ladies (one of my books clubs) came over on Saturday night to discuss Ann Petry's The Street. Afterward, John inquired as to how much of the evening was spent discussing the book. My response? A goodly amount---maybe 30 minutes.
As usual, the evening focused on food and wine. That's my kind of club. I served Wild Rice soup with an herbed spring mix salad. We started with an appetizer that I lifted directly from Friday night's date: crostini with goat cheese, toasted walnuts, and golden raisins. So simple! Rave reviews ensued.

A Flick of His Switch

Old Benjamin Bunny must have had a son like ours. Despite Supernanny JoJo's insistence, I swear that Tommy does not always respond to discipline in the form of a Time Out. Lately, Tommy has been really fighting naps and bedtime. He quickly realized that his newfound ability to use the potty granted him special permission to get out of bed again...and again...and again.

Last week was particularly exhausting as Tommy exercised this freedom, since John was out of town. Upon return, though, John got right to the heart of the matter---a slight spanking seemed to be all Tommy needed to know staying in bed was the best option.

This is a difficult issue for us. We'd love for Tommy to truly feel remorse and stay in the corner, but he's just not that kid. I remember a few years ago, my nephew, Jack, would actually put himself in Time Out. He'd just stand there, facing the wall, practically crying because he was so sad to have disobeyed his parents. My children, on the other hand, seem to be Sass Boxes who laugh in the face of rules!

How many other parents out there find that spanking is one of the few discipline tactics that get through to their child?

Let me be clear: John and I are both agreed that spanking is an appropriate discipline form only in certain circumstances. We wait until we are calm, and we explain to Tommy in a collected manner why his actions were wrong. Spanking out of rage sends a different message than we want to convey. I want Tommy to know that I don't like to spank him; instead, it makes me sad to do so!

In our society, spanking is such a taboo. And yet I do wonder, aren't there others out there---like us---who feel it's necessary and effective for certain kids?

Unbelievably Great Beef Roast

Every time I use my Crock Pot, I swear I am going to convert all my cooking to this ingenious method. Tonight, I simply combined:

1 packet of Lipton dry onion soup mix
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can condensed beef broth

and then added
-2.5 lbs. defrosted beef roast,rubbed with kosher salt and cracked pepper
-4 baby red potatoes
-handful of carrots
-handful of sliced mushrooms

I sliced a bit of onion to cover the roast, and let this cook on high in my Magic Machine for about 6 hours. Fabulous. The result was a tender, juicy roast with a ton of rich gravy. To be honest, I've never been much of a roast person, but with the Crock Pot, it can be so tender as to make me swoon.

Worse

Worse than the embarrassment of two screaming toddlers at Target:
The embarrassment of two screaming toddlers at Target and a visibly pregnant belly whereby strangers stare at you thinking, She's in over her head.

Poop Comes From Your Butt

This has been a week of huge revelations for Tommy. I'm drinking my lemonade, he mutters down the hall. And then the lemonade will turn into pee! Another big shocker for Tom has been the knowledge that pee comes from the penis, while poop comes from the butt.

Yesterday, he experienced this in a new way when He. Went. Poop. On. The. Potty.

Personally, I was so excited with this development that I danced and screamed with joy. Tommy, on the other hand, reacted with fright. He wanted a hug. He didn't really understand what was going on. He said goodbye to the poop, and we flushed it away.

I didn't get my hopes up, thinking two days of this miracle in a row would be too much for any sane (much less insane) mother to expect. But then, just now----I need to poop!! And we ran to the potty together.

From the Locker Room: Modesty or Insecurity?

After Tommy was born and my need for some bodily sanity resurfaced, I began working out at a local YMCA. I loved the atmosphere there; I knew all the people around me, and they seemed to be pursuing the goal of a genuine, healthy lifestyle. The people said hello to each other. They work sweatshorts and ripped t-shirt, like me.

When we moved out to the boondocks of this quality small town, no local YMCA was within a drivable distance. I was lured, instead, to a more glamorous gym with a great outer pool and a glitzy spa facility. I can't complain too much: the childcare department is fantastic, and I can even get my hair cut when the kids are having fun in there. On the flip side, though, the atmosphere has definitely changed. The women around me are practically supermodels, striving to sculpt their bodies while applying extra lipstick. They wear fancy ensembles and carry around yoga gear that just emerged in this spring's Lucy collection. No one says hello to you unless they are trying to pick you up. It's less of a community; instead, it feels like a competition.

One of the most glaring differences between these facilities is the locker room etiquette women display. At my new gym, the women prance about in their fancy gear and loudly discuss their upcoming vacations. At the YMCA, though, women inquired about each others' lives and seemed entirely comfortable shedding their clothing and walking around in the nude. I'm not suggesting that these practices are entirely dependent on one another; I'm merely noting this is the way it is. Why are the seeming-rich so inclined to wear clothing when their bodies are far more "perfect"? Everything about their demeanor should suggest they are proud of themselves and their flashy lives.

Grandma Julie's Pie

This recipe from John's maternal grandmother is too good not to share. John's Mom taught me to make this pie with great patience. Yesterday was the first time I think came anywhere near its potential...pie-making takes precision! I baked this pie to celebrate John's homecoming from NYC. I had originally planned to make another favorite of his (pecan pie), but Tommy informed me that he didn't want "nut pie" and instead preferred apple. Tommy's Great-Grandma would surely be proud to know he enjoyed two slices yesterday.


Julie's Recipe for Pie Crust (top and bottom crust)
1 C shortening
2.5 C flour
1 Tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 C milk (added little by little)

Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Use a pastry cutter or fork to cut the shortening into the dry mixture til it resembles a coarse meal. Then, gradually add the milk, stirring gently after each little addition. The pie dough should be sticky, but not overly sticky or crumbly. You may not use all the milk. Form two balls from the dough for a top and bottom pie crust. (Note: For pie novices such as myself, I recommend forming one larger ball and trying this bottom-only recipe. You can use the extra, smaller ball of dough for a different pastry treat.) Roll out the pie crust and transfer carefully to a 9" glass pie pan.

Julie's Dutch Apple Crumble Pie
5-7 tart apples, peeled and sliced thinly
1 9" unbaked pastry shell
1/2 C sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 C sugar
3/4 C flour
1/3 C butter, softened

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Arrange pie slices in your pastry shell. Mix together 1/2 C sugar and cinnamon. Sprinkle this mixture on top of the apples. Then combine the other 1/2 C sugar with the flour. Cut in the butter with pastry cutter or fork until the mixture is crumbly. Sprinkle this mixture over the pie. Protect your pie crust: using thin slices of aluminum foil, wrap the outer formed (decorative) pie crust so it does not burn in the oven. Bake the pie in a hot oven about 40 minutes or until apples become tender. Note: Watch the pie carefully. When the topping started to brown, I covered the entire pie top in another sheet of aluminum foil to prevent burning. The secret to great pie is a flaky crust that is not overcooked!!

Come Home Soon!

Breakdown

I am having a fight with Tommy. Right now. You are in the midst of it. Like most kids, Tommy hits a breaking point in the afternoon when he desperately needs a nap, but in his desperation, defiantly struggles against one. That is what he is doing right now.

This tantrum, coupled with the potty training and his recent return to very violent behavior (hitting me, throwing large toys at the wall) is driving me to insanity. I am becoming a mother I hate today. A ferocious, yelling monster.

Sigh.

How am I going to make it through 3 more months of pregnancy? Somebody get me some Valium.

Proof

I did it! I did it! I kept something alive other than my children. I bought this then-flowering plant at Bachman's about two months ago to put myself in the mood for spring. The flowers died, and I was sure I'd destined another plant to the same fate. I kept watering it, though, and just today, I noticed my plant is sprouting new leaves! Maybe my green thumb has finally kicked in. Does anyone know of houseplants that are easy to grow?

The (Late) Great Lamb Cake

My mom passed the lamb cake mold onto me. On Easters past, Grandma worked with precision on the cake, much as she had on many a Christmas gingerbread house. The cake mold weighs about 10 pounds, a cast-iron beast.

Inside the mold were Grandma's handwritten instructions. Slather the mold in Crisco, then Pam, then flour to ensure that the lamb cake comes out in one piece. I did get that far, but the lamb turned out to be a bit anorexic when my carrot cake recipe failed to rise appropriately.

While quite frightening in appearance, the lamb cake tasted great. Here's the fabulous carrot cake recipe.

Common Potty Sense

When I was a freshman in college, an old service elevator took me 3 floors down from my dorm room to a vending machine that sold my favorite treat: peanut-butter M & Ms. I'm pretty sure I ate a bag of those with each paper I wrote. How did I pull that off and still come out significantly lighter at the end of the year?

Our Easter weekend included many treats, and what bunny is foolish enough not to supply her favorite? While I indulged, I failed to recognize that peanut butter M & M eggs, juice boxes, and fresh fruit were too much for a potty-training young man to handle. Tommy is paying for my foolishness.

Aside from the loose stools, Tommy's training is going GREAT! We took him to the mall on Saturday, and he thought it was fabulous that the family bathrooms had "Tommy-sized" potties just for him. He only had one accident all day. Today, we've already hit the gym and he used their bathrooms twice. I am so proud of him!

Hopefully, the rest of our week will go just as smoothly. John is off to NYC for business, so I am pulling long days on the homefront.

The Pull-Up Chronicle?

Don't worry. I haven't given up. I'm writing that sentence as much for myself as for you. Yesterday was one of those days when a Mom isn't sure to forge ahead or turn back. But I'm a stubborn mule, so onward we go.

We had only four accidents yesterday, but they were brutal affairs, two of which required serious bath scrub-downs. Tommy is actually growing more and more defiant towards the potty training as the potty novelty has worn off.

Today, we are going to back off (haha) and only make him use the potty every 45 minutes. Even though you may think everyone can hold it that long, the thought terrifies me. I'm looking at the timer, and there are 37 minutes left to go.

In other news, I'm working on the great lamb cake. More to follow.

The Potty Chronicle: Day Three

Not for the Faint of Heart

There are several parenting "opportunities" for which no amount of bleach is really sufficient. One of these is the Rotavirus, and another, as you may have guessed, is potty training. I feel I must speak for millions when I say that after this morning's poop incident, I shudder at the thought of what slipped underneath my fingernails.

By and large, though, I am incredibly proud of Tommy today. He had just two morning accidents, and he went to the bathroom 3 times when we were at a friend's Easter Egg Hunt this morning. I can tell he's proud of himself, too. To see your child achieve something and believe in himself evokes a feeling of joy unattainable by yourself.

Of course, when I say Tommy went to the bathroom, I still mean I'm reminding him---and forcing him---to sit on the toilet every 30-40 minutes. Buy hey, we've got to get there somehow.

We're on our way.

The Potty Chronicle: Day Two

One of the most important things about being a stay-at-home-mom (or any at-home employee, I think) is remembering to shower. This simple rule is exceedingly easy to break, especially when you have a no-shower tendency or when you know you're going to be cleaning up urine all day long.

Yesterday was one of those days for me. I think I put on a good face for Tommy, because the many internet articles I read suggested that a positive attitude was a vital factor in potty training. By the end of the day (and the time of my posting), though, I'd had my fill of you-know-what.

This morning, I turned over a new leaf and decided to be positive for myself, not just for Tommy. I actually showered and put on a cute preggo shirt. I cleaned up several poopy Thomas the Tank engine incidents, and a few pee ones. Overall, though, Tommy has been doing OK. We even had to babysit his cousins for a few hours, and he had only one accident off-site.

I'm not sure when I can expect to leave the house for any real amount of time, and I certainly wouldn't call our experiment yet "successful." Stay tuned.

The Potty Chronicle: Day One

As with most things in parenting, potty training did not begin on schedule or as I expected. Yesterday after his nap, Tommy awoke and wet his diaper. He wanted to take it off immediately, and put on his new Spiderman underwear. I took this as a good sign.

We spent the rest of the evening throwing a Potty Party every time Tommy went on his potty; you will never know just how cute your husband can be until he puts all his enthusiasm into a Potty ChaCha.

Then, today. I knew the Potty Boot Camp would be difficult, and my assumption to that end was correct. So far, we've gone through at least a half dozen pair of underoos and sweatpants. We've had poop and pee incidents on carpet, wood, and beds. We've put stickers on charts and counted out reward M&Ms. Tommy has yet to announce on his own when the pee is coming, but a beeper on the kitchen microwave sounds out a Potty Time alert every 30 minutes.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of this is how hard it is to quickly get Tommy to the bathroom, and yet keep Lucy out. Lucy enthusiastically trots behind us, ready to sneak her hand into the potty or onto the plunger...whatever the grossest available accessory. This afternoon, we took our only venture into the outer world to get the mail, and returned just in time for a potty attempt. Tommy stood waiting for my help next to the toilet, and in just the moment it took me to sweep Lucy out of the way, urine soaked him from the waist down. "I pooooooooooped again," he cried, confused.

I started up the washing machine and cursed John for not having his cell phone turned on, again.

This Means (Potty) War

Tommy has been ready to potty train forever. The kid knows when he goes, and he now uses the coveted potty training as yet another opportunity to defy me. If you think I'm exaggerating, you haven't been hanging out with Tommy very much.

I am working hard to remain positive about this. Tommy is not yet three, and for some reason, our society views non-potty trained two-year-olds as (generally) OK. I do not. I can not handle three children in diapers, and I will not tolerate these shenanigans much longer.

The plan is this: D-Day happens on Thursday, Apr. 3, coinciding with Week of the Letter L and Lucy's (late) one-year shots. Tommy has already selected Spiderman and Thomas the Tank Engine underoos at Target. I will return to the big box for more toy bribes.

I don't know how I will handle the period between D-Day and victory, but Tommy will emerge a potty trained man.

Stay tuned for more info.

The Flood Zone

Yesterday, my sister send me a listing for a house in the small, old "downtown" near us. The house looked amazing! Built in the 1880s, it had 4 bedrooms and a wealth of space...plus, the great and enviable asset we don't have...a yard!

John and I have gone around and around about the advantages and disadvantages of new vs. old homes. Who can deny that an older home with beautiful built-ins and woodwork has more character? This particular house even has a large, historic carriage house as one of its charming features.

On the flip side, though, I can't ignore how accustomed I have become to modern home amenities. We don't even own a dresser because our closet is big enough for twice as many clothes as we have. I appreciate a bathroom vanity that we can actually use to hold our toiletries. Most importantly, I love our laundry room located just 6 to 10 feet from all the upstairs bedrooms.

It's hard to weigh all these things. If I had my choice, I'd look for a beautiful, renovated old house that has all the modern conveniences already added. Unfortunately, this is a tall order on our budget. Sigh.

Anyway, I'm excited to take a look at the house tonight. I just hope we aren't blinded by its charm.

Motherly

Is it wrong to compare your daughter's staggering efforts at walking to those of a drunken soldier?

Big House with No Little People

About once every sixth months, I get a day or an afternoon off from parenting and my house is quiet. If you are single or don't have kids yet, it's hard to appreciate the quiet. Perhaps, like I used to, you fill you home with noise from the television or radio. With two small kids, though, the quiet is simple blessing that I relish.

I'm not really sure what to do with myself today. I'm fighting the urge to get cleaning done, because I could do that anytime. I just finished reading Love in the Time of Cholera and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim this week, so maybe it's time to visit the library and browse for something new. Tommy would probably appreciate it if I looked for his current favorites, Boom Chicka Rock and Trashy Town.

What do people DO when their day isn't exhausted just filling the needs of a 2 year old, a 1 year old, and a growing baby in utero? I don't even remember. Sometimes I want to scream because it seems no matter how hard I try, I can't keep Cheerios off our floor for more than a half hour.

And then, I have a moment like this: all I want is my Lucy Goose to snuggle, and my Tommy to pull off our couch cushions and build a fort.

Things I'm Thankful For: The Ring

Some rings are less expensive and more useful than others. My husband recently brought a ring into our lives that has saved my sanity over the past month.

Tommy had stumbled onto the habit of obsessively slamming our baby stair gates against the walls and railings of the staircase. Loud and damaging, this activity had me ready to become violent.

John took a simple teething ring and latched the gate to our stairs. No sound can be made, and through some miracle, Tommy hasn't thought to pry it off.

Little Orange Fish

Three kids, one grandma, and two sisters head downtown from the exurbs to see a little orange fish and his dad. Who knew this adventure could be so complete?

Tommy was enamored with Nemo on Ice. I didn't expect much from this kids' show, but once again, Disney's mastery of a child's mind stunned me. The lights and costumes were fabulous. The acting and skating were sub-par, but in a kids' world, these are trivial. The sharks were terrifying, the octopus was cuddly. Tommy didn't blink for two straight hours.

I wish John could've been there, because maybe this show would've given him more insight into why Disney World is the Greatest Place on Earth. To me, it seems there could be no dispute. To a man accustomed to "nature" on family vacations, however, there seems to be some debate. Either way, we will take the kids there. I won't have completed my mission as a mother if we do not.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all about teaching my kids actual history and seeings the great wonders of America. But Disney IS one of the great wonders of America!!

Anyway, back to yesterday.

I bought the kids two giant slurpee cups of lemonade, and they spent most of the event happily sucking away. When Nemo had waved goodbye, I erroneously handed Tommy my cell phone FOR A SPLIT SECOND, and he managed to immediately drop it into a crevice at the bottom of our temporary stadium seating. Thankfully, Grandma bought us 7th row seats, so I could see my magenta phone glimmering 15 feet below.

I hauled my pregnant belly to the ground floor, and proceeded to crawl underneath the stadium seating to retrieve the phone. It was sticky (with lemonade? with puke? with pee?) and claustrophobia-inducing and my thoughts very quickly turned to rats. I grabbed the phone and scuttled back out to the Disney lighting only to discover that in the commotion, my scarf had also fallen down under. Aaaack! Goodbye, scarf. Facing rat world for you is not worth it.

Post event, we naturally lost ourselves trying to find the correct parking garage. Claudia declined a trip to the bathroom, and thought I knew this was stubbornness on her part, I did not intervene. Finally, we found the car.

Just as Claudia's booster seat belt was snapped into place, her pleas began, "Moooooooom.....I have to gooooo....tooooo....the.....baaaaathroooom....RIGHT NOW." Sarah tried to convince her otherwise, but the emergency was clear. She hopped out of the car, and in a Seinfeld-esque move, stripped off her polka dot tights and peed into a drain in the parking garage. Thankfully, no policemen were nearby.

I Spy with my Little Eye

Two children playing.
Tommy saying, "Now it's your turn, Wuce!!"
[Watches her put the ball into the ball poppin' toy]
"Good job, Wuce!!!! Now it's my turn."

And over, and over, and over again.

Lucy Walking!

The Sea Witch

Sometimes kids identify unexpectedly---and embarrassingly---with strangers. Like when we were at Target yesterday.

We passed a woman in the soda aisle. She was rather large, with even larger, unwieldy dark hair.


Two feet after we passed her...."Mom!!!! Is that Ursula?!?!!!"

And then, as I was pushing the cart faster and faster into the next aisle, "Mom....is that Ursula??? Mom!!! Mom!!!"


Maybe she didn't know her Disney characters.