Snow Day Thoughts

It is 19 degree and snowing heavily outside.

The kiddies are watching a movie.

The washer and dryer are humming.

The house is cozy and warm.

Does anyone else out there feel like eating his or her weight in chips?

Or is it just me???

It's Not Butter. It's Parkay!

Because of  Ellerie and her day to day craziness, I have been letting some of my daily household chores slack.  Specifically, I have been avoiding the grocery store like the plague.  I just can not figure a way to. . . 

 

a) keep Ellerie safe in the cart.  She can and does escape each and every time I strap her in.

b) keep Ellerie next to me while I shop. Frequently, I have rescued her from a cereal shelf, or I have left my cart in a mad run to catch her little devilish self.  Both of which cause snickers and sly smiles from my fellow grocery shoppers.  I hate snickers. (Not the candy, mind you.  Just the expressions.)

c)actually completely shop for an entire grocery list while Ellerie is with me.  Instead, I have been participating in some drive-by shopping where I just run in and grab a few things when I can.

Consequently, I have done the only thing that I could do in this situation.  I have enlisted hubby's help in the grocery store chore.

This has been a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because, quite honestly, for the most part, I do not like to grocery shop.  Now, if I can shop with my list, and my coupons, and a starbucks . . . with no children and with no time limit, then, hooray!  I like to grocery shop.  But, grocery trips like that are few and far between so, like I said, getting food is not my favorite chore to do.

So, hubby agreed to pitch in, and truthfully, I have to love him for that.  After a long day at work, I am sure he doesn't want to hit the market for the sheer possibility that he may run into one of his student's or worse, one of his student's parents.  No teacher or coach likes to participate in the ambush parent- teacher conference in Aisle 4 next to the peanut butter.  But, the man volunteered for grocery duty knowing full well that that was one of its possibilities.  He is a good man.  For that, I am grateful.

I am not grateful, however, that he is a man in a grocery store.

Because a man in a grocery store does not remember what his wife needed or even asked for.  A man in a grocery store does not consult his list.  Ha!  He laughs in the face of a list!  A man in a grocery store, I say, is an empowered man.  And that, my friends, is dangerous!  

Recently, I asked hubby to take a grocery trip for me.  "Can you get some butter and milk at the grocery store? We ran out."

Hubby didn't look up from his laptop but quickly replied, "Sure hon.   I'll go in a minute."

Ten minutes later  he gathered his keys and started out the door.  "What was I supposed to get again?" he threw at me over his shoulder.

Knowing the dangers of the man and the grocery store, I RAN to the door and yelled after him, "BUTTER AND MILK!!!!!"

He turned, smiled and said, "Right.  Butter and milk."  He winked and then stated proudly, " No problem."  

And then I knew that we would have a problem.

When he returned, he had spent well over $20.00.  He had purchased milk, (2 gallons) lunch meat, sweet and low, and some other assorted goodies.  Quickly, I scanned the bags and asked, "Hon?  Where's the butter?"

"What do you mean 'Where's the butter?' "  he retorted.  "It's right there!"

I looked and my heart sank.  It was  most definitely not butter.  It was margarine.  And if that wasn't bad enough, it was the generic margarine.  The one with the white box and non-descript blue letters that says, "Vegetable Spread".  Yep.  That one.

"Hon?  I appreciate that you went to the store.  I really do, but . . ."  I hesitated.

"But what?"  he asked pointedly.

I blurted it out, "But, this is not butter!"

"Yes. It is. It's what I used as a kid," he explained.

"Well, just because you used it as a kid doesn't make it butter.  Butter is yummy.  This stuff is ," I searched for the right word.  "ummmmm . . . artificial."

He looked at me like I was crazy.  Images of the movie, The Breakup, flashed through my head where the couple fights over the man's grocery trip.  She wanted 12 lemons.  He bought 3.  She had a problem with it.  He didn't understand the problem.  Same here.  I wanted butter.  He got margarine.  Vastly different in my book.  Strangely the same in his.  To-may-to. To-mah-to.

You get the idea.

Before he could explain himself anymore, I just decided to take one for the team.  "Thanks for trying hon.  I appreciate it."

He smiled, satisfied with himself.  I smiled too, knowing that I would have to take back the grocery chore very soon.

Either that or I will have to learn to like margarine.

Yuck.

Nobody Nose the Trouble . . .

I was wondering when it would happen. 

Today was the day!

All three of my children have now officially stuck an object up their  respective noses.

Abbie's was a french fry.  Easy enough to pull out, but because of the salt, a bit tear inspiring.

Ethan's was a piece of pepperoni.  Don't ask me how he even got that in his little nostril!  It was wedged in quite well, and  that peppy pepperoni produced many a tear and some sweat.  It must have been pretty spicy.  Ethan definitely cleared his sinuses that day.

And now, dear Ellerie.  Miss El decided to try out a popcorn kernel.  This was definitely the most difficult to extract, but dig I did!  After a few tears and giggles from her brother, the kernel "popped" out (Ha!) covered in booger slime.

Success!

Time to celebrate.

Let Her Eat Cake

So, not only did I battle a squirrel today (see my earlier post), I also baked a Halloween cake.

It was sooooo cute. The kids helped to decorate it a darling, light, orangy color. Sprinkles in orange and black. Cute bats and pumpkins.  You get the idea.

It was tasty too. The kiddies and I each had a piece, and then . . . disaster struck.

Disaster, that is, in the form of . . . Ellerie.

While the rest of us were otherwise occupied, Ellerie sat down, and just ate herself happy with that cake.

Sigh.

A girl after my own heart.

To the Drive Food We Go

On the way home from his young fives class, E asked the following question.

"Hey mom?  Can we have drive food?"

"Drive food?"  I countered.  "Do you mean drive through food?"

He smiled and replied.  "Yep!  I need some drive food fries.  It's been forever."

It has.

And although not the healthiest of fare, a McDonald's french fry hits the spot every now and then.

Antagonizing E

Recently, after a morning of following his sister around and being a normal pesky little brother, Abbie had had enough of her brother Ethan!  She looked pointedly at me and pleaded, "Maaaaa- oooooom? Can you help me?  He is driving me crazy!" 

I instantly sympathized because I, too, was the big sister, and there were days when my younger sister drove me batty too.  I nodded yes to Ab and turned my attention to Ethan who was hiding behind the door in an attempt to scare Abbie as she walked by it.

"Ethan.  Can you please stop antagonizing your sister?"

He paused and hopped out of his hiding place.  I knew that that was too easy, so I waited for his next move.

"Mom, what's tag-o-nize?"

"Antagonize.  It means to try to drive your sister crazy on purpose.  It means to do things that you know that she does not like just because you can do them, " I reasoned.  "It makes her not want to play with you."

He pondered my words, hopped off my lap, and went to play with his Star Wars men in his room.  I figured that he had understood my explanation and that was that.

But it was not.

Yesterday, after our Sunday dinner, the kids asked if we could go get an ice cream treat.  Ice cream sounded good to me ( and really, when does it not?), so I loaded up the kiddies in the mom mobile and headed to the local ice cream shop, a Dairy Queen.

On the way there, Ethan asked from the back seat, "Mom?  Can I get a tag-o-nize blizzard?"

I didn't understand him right away.  "What E?  What kind of blizzard do you want?"  I questioned.

"A tag-o-nize blizzard.  I saw it on a commercial,"  he explained.  "It has peanut butter cookies and it will make me drive Abbie crazy."

This time I paused.  What in the world was he talking about?  Hmmmmm.  Then our earlier conversation dawned on me, and I had it figured out.

"Do you want an antagonizing blizzard Ethan?"  I asked.

Instantly, he smiled ear to ear and said, "Yep!  I want peanut butter and to drive Abbie crazy."

I laughed. 

Abbie did not. 

 "Ethan.  There is no antagonizing blizzard.  There is no blizzard that will magically give you power to torture your sister.  There is, however, a Tag-along blizzard at Dairy Queen, and it has peanut butter and chocolate cookies in it."

His smile disappeared briefly and he said, "Well, I suppose that I'll get that one instead."

He was quiet, but as a mom, I could spy into his heart, and I knew . . .

he really wished there was a tag-o-nize blizzard. 

Poor guy.  

Although, after a dose of sweet cream and sugar, he was certainly back to his pesky, antagonizing ways.

I should say . . . poor Ab.

Because really . . . any blizzard is an antagonizing blizzard when it comes to little brothers.

Sweet and Salty

There was an article in my local paper today about a bacon candy bar.

No.

I am not joking.

And, at first, I'll admit that I was a little bit . . . shall we say . . . grossed out.

But then, I got to thinking about two things.  One,  my love affair with all forms of bacon, and two,  my love affair with any and all chocolate substances.

So, bacon and chocolate . . .

Hmmm . . .

I just may have to try it.

Until then, I will just have to satisfy my sweet and salty craving with Pig Candy. (Yes, that really is the name of this dish.) It is a recipe I love, love, love from the Sweet Potato Queen's cookbook.   If you too are craving a little something something that is sweet, salty and crunchy,  make up a batch of Pig Candy right away.  I guarantee that once you taste this concoction, you will have to hide the batch from the rest of your family so that you can eat yourself happy without having to share.  Better yet.  Make a double batch.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Pig Candy

1 lb. of bacon 

1 cup or more of dark brown sugar

Take the bacon out of the package and chop it up into small pieces.  Then, toss the pieces until coated in the brown sugar.  Lay the pieces on a broiler pan and put into a hot oven (400 degrees?)  until bacon is crispy.  Remove and let cool ( if you are able to resist eating it right away.)

The Sweet Potato Queen also recommends tossing the bacon pieces with pecan pieces as well as brown sugar.  I can readily attest that this version is ridiculously yummy.  I, myself, have tweaked the recipe a bit and put in some chili powder with the brown sugar to make a sweet, salty, and spicy combo.  Super yum.

Any of these options are great.  I mean, really, how can you screw up bacon?

So there you go.  Sweet. Salty.  Easy.  My kind of recipe.

And now, I'm off to find the grocery store that sells the bacon candy bar. 

I'll keep you posted.

Yummy!

Well, it's about time that I bless you with one of my very favorite recipes.  It is super easy, and super delicious (Cause really  . . . why make it or eat it for that matter, if it wasn't?)  I make it in huge vats and snack on it all day long. 

 You should too.  

Really.  You should.

Here goes . . .

Queen of the Night Salsa 

From the Sweet Potato Queen's Big Ass Cookbook And Financial Planner

(I love a good title, don't you?!)

2 cans of black beans, drained

2 cans of corn, drained

1 chopped red onion

several tomatoes chopped

some fresh cilantro chopped

some lime juice

about a tablespoon or so of vinegar

a little bit of oil

salt and pepper

That's it!  Pour it in a big old bowl, mix it up and eat yourself happy.  It is especially delicious when consumed with yummy  and cold margaritas and tostito chips.  I have also used this as a dressing to my salad,on top of a burger, and as a yummy side at a picnic ( No mayo, no worries about poisoning.)  I have also tried this with fresh, off the cob, corn and it was so divine that I almost passed out with the chip and half eaten salsa in my hand.  It is that good!

Hope this hits the spot today.  And if it doesn't, don't forget the margarita.

That should do it!

********I am participating in the Mcklinky blog hop with this post!

He is ALIVE!

Can I get a Hallelujah?

He is risen and we rejoice!  

Mr. Coffee is alive!!

On Friday morning when Mr. Coffee slowly perked out 2 cups of muddy coffee after nearly 2 hours of mightily struggling to brew, hubby and I thought that he was a goner.  It saddened us for several reasons.  First and foremost, hubby and I are coffee lovers.  Mr. Coffee had provided us delicious smells to wake up to as well as a cup of comforting joe on many a bitterly cold morning.  It was going to be hard to say goodbye.  Secondly,  this particular Mr. Coffee had 2 separate carafes so that each of us could have our own distinct blend ready for us every morning, and  . . . neither of us had to share. If you are married, you know that this is a HUGE deal, because while it is always nice to talk of compromise in marriage, it is not always easy to be the one to give in, especially when it comes to preferred taste in coffee brewing.  That is why having 2 carafes was sooooo important!  No compromise!  No sharing! Just a hot pot of morning wake me up for each of us, alone.  (I have heard that some people say the secret to a great marriage is having separate bathrooms.  While I would love another bathroom for just little old me, I tend to think that the secret to a great marriage is having a good morning , which begins with separate coffee pots!)

So, we spent a good chunk of Saturday trying to find a store that sold our exact Mr. Coffee model.  Hubby googled while I ebayed, and after much searching, we found out some very disturbing news.  There were no more Mr. Coffee's like our own beloved.  Our model was out of stock and discontinued.  Frustrated, we pondered our options. Neither of us liked the idea of going back to one pot, but we didn't want 2 separate coffee makers sitting on the counter either.

Hubby finally figured out a solution.  (He must hate to share more than me!)  We took our chances with repair.  Apparently, Mr. Coffee needed a form of angioplasty, and if successful, he could be as good as new.  We paced through his procedures, wringing our hands and murmuring prayers.  He spit, gurgled, and screamed as he rallied through his surgery.   Finally, it was done, and . . . I am proud to announce that after much white vinegar (and a house that smells like we just dyed 5 dozen easter eggs)  Mr. Coffee lives again!  He has returned to brew for yet another day.

I can't wait for tomorrow morning! 

 I hate to share.

I Spoke Too Soon

Of course, I spoke too soon yesterday.

This morning hubby had to go into work early.  Pause.  You would think, "So what?  She should be able to handle that. "  Yes, I agree.  I should be able to do the morning routine once in a while.  But, alas, Murphy's Law was in full effect this morning, so not only did I not have my hubby, I also had to deal with the following:

1.  Being pissed on. Literally.  My pjs were soaked from El's leaky diaper, and I could not remain in them like I like to do (see yesterday's post).     

2.  Burning breakfast.  Completely.  My bright idea about popping in cinnamon rolls for a yummy, easy breakfast backfired when I forgot to put on the oven timer.  Consequently, by my estimations, the rolls baked for 32 minutes instead of the customary 15.  I was not comforted by Ab, my 7 year old, patting me on the back and stating, "Just keep trying mom!"  

3. Having no coffee after 45 minutes.  None. It's official.  My coffee pot is dying.  Even now as I write this, it is still attempting to brew the last 4 cups of water and it has been on for 1 hour and 51 minutes.  I think that Mr. Coffee has given up in the face of my constant morning demands and succumbed to the light.  I wish him well.  He was a good friend.

So, yes, this morning was challenging, but I survived.  Barely.  It just makes me wonder, "Who was Murphy and why did he make such a negative law?"  Why not- when anything right and good can happen, it will?  That would be my law-  Where chocolate would appear on my pillow each evening before bed and the scale would say, "Congratulations!  You are at your ideal weight!"  Where my husband would always be around for poopy diaper changes and ovens would turn off when they sensed that the food inside was burning.

Aaaah dreams!  They sustain.

At least my seat heater in my car worked this morning!

The Morning Routine

I believe that I have perfected the early morning school drop off.  This is momentous as it is only February, and I figured it would take me at least one full school year to get in the groove of being functional at 8 am. (Have I mentioned that I am absolutely not a morning person??)

Anyway, this morning routine is not done without help, however. ( Special thanks goes to my hubby, Paulie for humoring me and my crazy ways.)  First, before I wake up, hubby wakes up and MAKES MY COFFEE.  This is essential, because , quite frankly, I am not even functional to measure my own grounds in the morning.  Then, while I am still snoozing, hubby cleans the kitchen,  makes the kiddies breakfast, and wakes them up.  (If you haven't figured it out yet, hubby is a saint, that I do not thank enough.)

You may wonder, "What, dear Annie, do you do if he is doing all of the essentials?"

At this point in the morning, I have done nothing, which is about all I can handle.  Finally, I drag my body down the stairs where hubby is waiting with a blanket and  my coffee in hand.  With a kiss and and a "Good Luck!"  hubby leaves me, and I am on my own. My first thought - warm up the car!  Quickly, I run outside in my pjs and slippers, dodging patches of ice, and my  neighbors' stares as they leave for work, and I start my car.  Just as quickly, I run back inside to tackle the rest of the morning.

So, after downing my first cup of joe, I hustle kiddies into their clothes.  Many a day, socks have been unmatched, and at times, underwear have been forgone.  My philosophy . . . who cares?  No one sees those particular pieces of clothing.  They can slide.  Teeth are brushed, hair . . . well, let's just say that I have delegated that chore, and both my 7 and 4 year old are responsible for their own tresses.  Easy enough for a boy with a military do, but not so easy with a girl whose locks resembles Gene Wilder's mane, on a good day.  No matter!  I say, let them take responsibility! Let them take ownership! (Translated: I am slack-ass and it is one less thing for me to do.)

While the kiddies are donning all of their winter gear, I dash up the stairs to get myself dressed.  Now, here is one of my last brilliant steps.  I do not remove my pajamas.  Instead, I take one of my exercise warm ups, and then put it directly over my sleep attire.  So technically, I am dressed, but I am also  still in my pjs.  Semantics, I know, but there is just something about it.  It is a mindset, I suppose.  I feel like,  if I have to be up in the real world than at least I can do it on my terms.   I am still deliciously cozy, and I feel like I am keeping a juicy secret.  Frankly, what mom wouldn't want to stay in her pjs as long as possible?

Finally, I load the kiddies up into a WARM car.  (yeah, I know . . . I am contributing to  global warming . . . but when it is 7 degrees . . . I can not sit in a frigid car.  Blame it on my Florida upbringing.  I'll recycle more and hope it will even out in the end. ) As my seat heater warms up my pj covered fanny, I can smile and know that  I have survived another crazy morning.

It's the little things that make my day.  Coffee, wearing pjs, and a heated seat.  That's not too much to ask, is it?