In Need of a Really Big Phone Book

The highchair has been discarded in favor of the more mature act of eating at the table with everyone else. This makes me about 80% sad, because it means Ava has grown up that much more and isn't a baby anymore. But the other 20% is ecstatic, because that stupid high chair is always in the way in my cramped kitchen. I have to move it to get into the fridge, then move it to get to the washing machine, then move it back to avoid tripping over it.

The next step in toddler-dom is gonna involve buying this little lady a booster seat, because she's just not quite big enough to really see her plate when she's sitting at the table. In this age of the internet I don't even own a phone book to prop her up on. If only she hadn't learned to climb onto the kitchen chairs last week, I wouldn't be faced with this loss of babyhood.

Spring is My Second Favorite Season

Spring is going all out here in AZ. It started with some full on wind. Then my never watered but still thriving rose bush started looking pretty green. Soon the brown mesquite trees I see from my kitchen window will turn a shade of pale green. Then more wind. After that, more wind.

Winter is never really bitterly cold here, so maybe I don't appreciate spring as much as people in a colder climate. In fact, it kind of annoys me at first, because suddenly its 80 degrees outside and my cooler isn't on and I have to open every window in my house just to feel like I'm not dying from heat exhaustion. I blame my post-children boiling hot internal body temp.

I do appreciate things about spring. Its not too hot yet. I don't have to put socks on my kids, which means no sock matching when I do laundry. Sandals. Weekly pedicures for my ladies chubby toes. I will never love it like I love fall, but it beats August out of the park.

There are two things that are scarce in winter that make their appearance in spring. Two great and awesome things that make spring okay.

Number one:


Sundresses. These shoulders need some sun!


Number two:


Strawberries. Not just any strawberries, ripe, juicy, huge, delicious, CHEAP strawberries.

These two things make spring and all of its wind that much more bearable. 



Piece of Cake

Today I borrowed a baby. My kids were off to eat pizza with my dad, while my niece and I stayed at my house, slightly bored out of our minds. While I absorbed the insane quiet of my house, I momentarily remembered what it was like to only have one kid.

I suffer from Mommy amnesia, where the time before I had two kids is vague and blurry. I can't remember what its like to not have someone asking me to get them a bowl of cereal, or change the channel to cartoons, or grunt and point in Ava's case, or ask for their iPod. The time when Alana was a baby and my life was quieter and calmer seems like a distant memory.

My current life is all my brain can comprehend. The past or future don't seem to matter to me, all that exists is the two kid lifestyle I currently occupy.

When Alana was a baby my entire day revolved around keeping her entertained. It was just her and me at home, watching Little Einsteins and playing. Since we added Ava to the mix, and I have two kids who love to play together, I spend way less time entertaining children. Ava is a low maintenance woman most days, and she plays barbies with Alana in a mostly peaceful way, with the exception of some hair pulling incidents.

Sitting at home with just one baby, who doesn't ask to watch cartoons and just rolls around on the floor laughing all afternoon, I find myself wondering what to do with the day. No one is demanding anything of me, and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm free to watch 4 episodes of Sex and the City back to back, and no one has objected so far.

The time when you only have one kid is so carefree and quiet, compared to when you double it and go for two. I wish I had taken more time to enjoy myself when Alana was a baby, instead of hurrying to the next step. She was such a good baby and she's always been so sweet, I'm just grateful for her and her constant hugs and I love you Mommy!s. Life is different when you upgrade to two kids, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even if Ava is a hair puller, she's so cute I forgive her.


Alana was pretty excited to get a new sister



Brinley, my companion for the day

Me of Little Faith

I've come to an undeniable conclusion. My mind cannot be changed. Its the end of an era really. Close the door on that chapter. My revelation:

The Office is going to suck without Steve Carell.

I'm sorry to break the news to you all. As much as I love Jim and Pam, even Dwight, they alone cannot carry the weight of Dunder Mifflin on their shoulders. They should just end the show.

I'm going to be wearing black the day of May 12, for that will be the end of Michael Scott. Farewell friend.

Abraham Lincoln once said, "If you are a racist, I will attack you with the North."

Disciplinary Tool

I've found a new way to get my kids to listen. A way that instills fear in their hearts for no valid reason. I look ridiculous, but I don't need to exert any effort. This way is through the power of the fake mustache.

This mustache, bought at a pizza place vending machine for the bargain price of fifty cents, frightens my children. I think I look dashing. Alana repeatedly asks me to take it off. Ava just looks at me with fear.

A few times instead of threatening timeout or other things, I've instead threatened to wear the mustache. It has worked everytime. I will continue to use said threat till it stops working. Because between you and me, I threw the mustache away 2 days ago. But my kids don't know that. Don't tell!

Man Pain

We, as women, will never understand the severe degree of suffering that men undergo when they contract the common cold. To them, the simple stomach flu is ten times more severe. Because of this, they must complain more. Its not their choice, they have to do it.

When a woman gets a cold her symptoms can vary from runny or stuffy nose, cough, sneezing, sinus pressure, etc. These symptoms alone are fine. No one should ever complain about them. No one wants to hear a woman complain. When a man gets a cold however, its far more serious. They wouldn't complain if it weren't true. The normal symptoms of a cold are nothing to them. Simple annoyances. They could still go out and do manly things like watch football and scratch themselves. But when you take into account the added man pain, the cold becomes a crippling disease that must be combated with severe whining and pampering from all of the unsympathetic women in his life. We must bring them soup and crackers and juice and blankets. If not, more serious measures will be taken that you will ultimately regret. They will call their mom.

The stomach flu itself is nothing to a man. He is capable of handling it so much better than any woman, who would be in the bathroom and constantly complaining. But because of the unfair addition of man pain, he is left confined to the couch, with only March Madness basketball to comfort him. This situation should be considered serious. If left unattended, he will once again call his mom. Bring him whatever he needs, or the man pain will be debilitating.

Women can never understand man pain. What do we have to compare? Childbirth? Nope. That's nothing compared to man pain. Wimps. Just because you pushed a 7 lb baby out of a small hole, or had them cut it out of a different small hole that was then sewn shut, doesn't mean you understand the suffering that goes hand in hand with man pain.

We all need to work together this March to raise man pain awareness. To combat it. Maybe organize some sort of walk/run to raise funds for its research. Talk amongst yourselves. Together we can find a cure for man pain. The man in your life will thank you. You'll thank you.

My Lucky Day

I'm not Irish. I do not care about or celebrate St Patrick's Day. I will not sing Oh Danny Boy. I do not eat corned beef and cabbage. I'm not wearing green. You can't pinch me through the internet.

I'm also not very lucky. I've never won a single raffle in my life. I did however, purchase a winning $10,000 lottery ticket when I had a job. Too bad it was a lottery pool and I had to share it with 20 other people. I have a theory that was my life's savings of luck and I used it all up for my share of $250.

One thing about me is lucky though. I'm lucky to have these two hot ladies. They are so cute and perfect and bratty. I did stick some green accessories on them today to prevent pinching. Alana has some green in her various necklaces and Ava has a green barrette that you can't see. I don't want anybody pinching those chubby ladies but me.

I'm also pretty lucky to have a husband who picked up the slack while I was sick for two days, and only bragged about it a little.

Also on the lucky list: Mr. James P Sullivan. aka Sulley. Every night he gets tucked in warm and cozy by a caring 4 year old.

I should also consider myself lucky that I wasn't the one forced to eat Ava's dirty toddler feet. Gross.

Blogging from Death's Door

I may die from the stomach flu. I'm on day two and I still feel crappy. My kids have abandoned me to go to my in-laws house where someone has the energy to care for them.

I'm in my room, alone and feeling like I have to puke. I'm ready to feel better, or at least more like myself. I miss my kids.

I know I really feel like crap when my house is a huge mess and I don't even care. There is a Barbie in my fridge, I don't know how it got there and I don't care. There's also blankets on my bedroom floor, Otter Pop drippings in the kitchen and I left the bread out on the counter during my attempt at eating this morning.

Next time you hear from me hopefully my fridge will be Barbie free, I will have possibly washed my hair and I won't feel like puking everytime I blink.

Eleven Years in the Making

The year 2000 was an important one for me. I turned 18. Graduated from high school. Got a job. Not a prestigious job, but still a job. Someone has to feed all the people who are too lazy to make their own food right?

I started working at Wendy's in June of 2000 and for a while I was in pita heaven. To me, the pitas were the best thing on the menu. They were unique. They were delicious. They were semi-healthy and vegetarian friendly. I didn't eat red meat as part of some punk alternative lifestyle I had embraced at that point in my life, so they were perfect for me at a place that mostly sold hamburgers.

Then, fast food tradegy struck. The worst possible thing that Wendy's could do. They were phasing out the pita to make room for more salads. I hate salad. Even though the pitas were kind of salad, they were wrapped in warm soft carbs, which made them edible. I'm still mad.

I was devastated. I hoarded the leftover bread in my freezer so I could make my own. But when that supply ran out, I was left pita-less. Years passed. I tried every new pita bread that Walmart put out. They were never the same. They weren't soft. They were stale. They left a pita-shaped hole in me that couldn't be filled.

Till Friday. I was innocently browsing one of my favorite recipe blogs, Mel's Kitchen Cafe, when I clicked on a wrap bread link from a recipe she had posted before. I was intrigued. Could this end my pita quest? I wrote it down, bought the only ingredient I didn't have on hand, and yesterday, I made it. Its the BEST PITA BREAD EVER! Its soft. Its salty. Its delicious. I made them a second time. I've eaten two today.

Now my life is complete. The pita-shaped hole in my heart is filled.

***My fave Wendy's pita was the Chicken Caesar. Its just this yummy bread, grilled diced chicken, romaine lettuce, parmesan cheese, and a caesar dressing. I like Kraft Caesar Vinaigrette, because it tastes just like what Wendy's put on their pitas. Wrap it up like a soft taco and enjoy!

The Art of the Ghetto Milkshake

Two facts about me:

I do in fact own a blender.
Sometimes I'm lazy.

Sometimes I get a hankering for a good, thick chocolate milkshake. Yes, I just said hankering. No, I'm not making any apologies.

It is my personal belief, but also a tried and true fact, that the only proper way to make a chocolate milkshake is with chocolate ice cream. None of this nonsense that Dairy Queen and some other restaurants do with the vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. Except Denny's. They make a mean chocolate milkshake with actual chocolate ice cream. They even give you the extra. For these reasons Denny's will always hold a special place in my heart. I'll even forgive them for their new thin sliced bacon.

If you really love chocolate milkshakes, like me, then you're a purist who will only consume them when prepared with chocolate ice cream. If you go out of your way at the movies or Disneyland to get a perfect wonderful delicious milkshake, and then pay upwards of five dollars for it, then you're a true milkshake aficionado.

Sometimes at home I have the desire for a chocolate milkshake. I have the ingredients. Who doesn't keep chocolate ice cream on hand at all times? But I have one major problem. I don't want to get out, then wash the blender. So I do the only natural thing. I make a ghetto milkshake.

To make a ghetto milkshake: scoop desired amount of ice cream into a cup. Nobody tell my dad I soften ice cream in the microwave first. He hates that! Add milk till it touches the top of the ice cream, depending on how thick you like it. Get a fork. Combine the ice cream and milk with the fork, mashing the ice cream up as you go. Drink it.

This saves time and dishsoap. Its also much quieter than getting out your blender and alerting your ice cream sniffing children to what you're doing. You can then eat it at the computer and avoid sharing.

Now if you'll excuse me I think I need a milkshake.

Professional Patience Testers

These two monsters have an impressive resume when it comes to trouble making. They can unroll a whole roll of toilet paper, then color on it with a purple marker. At least it wasn't brown. They can empty out an entire cupboard of books, then fall on one and cry about it. They can refuse to eat dinner, then claim starvation two hours later. Ava frequently cries for me to go sit with her in the living room, then gets up when I sit down and leaves to go play. Alana asks me to read her a long book about the Little Mermaid, then I look up and she's watching the TV.

Sometimes I wonder if I have an unusually low amount of patience some days. If waking up on the wrong side of the bed is a real thing. Hiding in the closet seems like a good option. Dora's voice is burned into my brain and haunts my dreams.

I dream of five minutes of quiet, but when my kids nap I'm kind of bored. They leave and I don't change the channel from Spongebob. They are part of me, and without them I'm lost. If I have to wipe boogers from little faces everyday for the rest of my life its worth it, if I just get one hug a day from each of the little monsters.

Motherhood can consume you. You lose yourself in it. You ponder the last time you showered. You don't know what day of the week it is. You get excited when a new episode of Max & Ruby comes on, because you're so sick of the old ones. Wearing non-elastic pants seems like a special occasion.

Personal hygiene is a vague concept. Last week I felt accomplished because I washed my hair everyday. This week I'm doing good too, with the exception of Monday. Virtual high five. I deliberately keep my hair short enough that a ponytail isn't an option, because it ends up being the only option.

I wouldn't trade my girls for daily showers. I wouldn't want to watch different crap on daytime television. Nick Jr is fine. I wouldn't want to do laundry without a few pairs of princess underwear thrown in. I'm only mildly sick of watching Megamind. I'd seriously consider a life without Dora, but it wouldn't be worth it.

I just need to find my extra patience storage. Maybe buy some in bulk at Costco. See if there are any good deals on Craigslist or Ebay. Borrow some from a patient friend.

Once in a while I just need to step back and remind myself why I do the things I do. When I want to scream instead of calmly explaining why we don't stand in the open box of Otter Pops, why we shouldn't try to stand on the seat of a bike, why seatbelts can't be unbuckled mid-road, why biting your sister over a barbie disagreement is a bad idea, why Playdoh doesn't go in your nose or anyone else's, I should instead take a breath, count to ten, and ponder this ridiculously long run-on sentence.

I don't want to be a grouch. I want to hug my kids everyday. I am who I am because of them.

Fried Dough Heaven

Do you feel like your life is incomplete? Do you wonder what is missing from it? I have the answer. Beignets. Fried beautiful pieces of dough completely drenched  lightly dusted in powdered sugar. I've ruined my appetite for dinner with these. Not that I care.

As much as I'd like to take credit for this recipe, I can't. It came from the source of at least half of my recipes. OUR BEST BITES. They are geniuses. Go to them. Learn from their infinite wisdom. Make these. Then add some honey. Yum.

Pics

I took some pics of my sister's family. Trying to get four kids to smile/look at the camera can be quite a challenge. Brinley was determined not to smile, but I caught a couple here and there.

Little Piggies

The undeniable favorite game of these two ladies involves toes, me counting toes, and lots of tickling. They are huge fans of This Little Piggy. I'm not sure which of their little toes went to the market and which one stayed home, but I'm pretty sure none of them have ever eaten roast beef.

The only thing I'm sure of it that they both think its hilarious when I count their toes. Ava loves it so much that I can't just do one foot. I have to do both. Alana requests this game several times daily. Can you count my toes like piggies? I guess I can.

Flash Forward

The other night I was taking a bath, minding my own business, when Alana came into the bathroom to say hi. I never close the door at this point in my life, because everyone that lives here sees me naked all the time and doesn't even blink. She waltzed in there, baby in hand, swaddled with love, with the most happy look I've ever seen planted on her four year old face.

As she carried that miniature version of Rapunzel, with its tangled hair and well used receiving blanket, she looked at that doll with pure love, as if it were her own child. In my mind in that very second I didn't see her as her perfect four year old self, but as a grown woman, at least 20+ years in the future hopefully, looking at her brand new baby.

I saw her as the great mother I know that she'll be, and just for one second, I got sad. She is not allowed to grow up so quickly. Tomorrow she'll go to kindergarten. By Friday it will be her senior prom. Then she'll move out and leave me. Get married. Have some babies. Hopefully in that order, but if the last two are switched I'm in no position to judge.

How can she grow so quickly? I just had her, now I'm having visions of her as a mother!

Sometimes she's sweet, and sometimes she's sassy, but she's not supposed to be so grown up yet. She's too little to want to wear makeup and dangly earrings, even if the earrings in question are mini pieces of pizza. She wants to help do the dishes and laundry, because of her hurry to grow up, but why the rush to do chores? Take my advice and let your mommy do your laundry till you're at least five.

This is how I feel when I think of her as a grown up: