A Favor

It is Christmas Eve and Charlie has no idea what is really coming to him. He understands that he will be getting some presents, but I don't think he quite realizes the multitude of gifts his grandparents, aunts, uncles and many of our friends will be bestowing on him. For these gifts, I am very grateful and I have no doubt he will play with them...for about 10 minutes a day (if you're lucky). The rest of the time will likely be spent kicking a ball he made out of a crumpled up Costco add, running around in circles with my scarf over his face or slamming his body repeatedly on the couch.

But these "toys" are nothing compared to his favorite thing to play with which is literally a bucket of water on the back porch and anything you want to put inside of it. Cups, plastic toys, his dirty laundry, just to name few. While it never really gets all that cold out here on the left coast, I realize it is still winter and playing in water, outside, might not be the best choice. (That didn't stop me from sending him out the other day, in the rain, with no shoes on...or pants. What? I didn't lock the slider and go take a bath!) That said, I figured I needed a rainy day activity similar to water play that could be done inside the dry, warm house.

So I was an awesome Pinterest mom last night and Charlie and I made "rainbow rice." I used this blog post here as my guide. Also, no, I don't have any pictures of the two of us making the rice together. Why? Well, I invite you to take some pictures of your two year old whilst food coloring and a jug of vinegar are all within his reach. If you are comfortable stepping back to capture that beautiful moment, well then, you win mother of the year, forever.

So the rice worked like a charm; he played and I glamorously folded laundry at the kitchen table. We then proceeded to have this conversation:

"Mommy, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Can you get that washcloth?" Assuming he needed it for his rice play for some reason that only a toddler can understand I gladly handed it to him.

"No Mommy! I don't want that! Um, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

Pointing to another one he said, "Can you get that washcloth?"

"Sure, babe. Here you go."

"No, Mommy! I don't want that thing!"

To quote the princess bride I thought to myself, I do not think that word means what you think it means, and said, "Um, okaaaay. You said 'can you do me a favor' so I thought you wanted me to give it to you. That is what 'a favor' means."

"Oh. Mommy, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, honey. What is it?"

"Can you please stop giving me those things?"

"Sure, love. You got it." And I suppose he finally did. 

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #7

So, I hate cleaning. I do it because it is one of those things you "have to do" because otherwise you'll start to lose friends and end up with your own show on TLC, but it is not at all fun to me. I know there are some people out there who actually enjoy the act of cleaning, but I just don't get it. I understand there is a feeling of accomplishment once you have cleaned a room but that feeling is brief for me. Mainly because I know I won't be able to keep it that way anyway and in a couple days, it will all be a mess again and I'll think to myself, "I could either clean this or sit down on the couch with a bag of cookies and watch Real Housewives." (The choice is clearly the latter. Also, I swear I am not depressed....that depressed.)

But cleaning is a necessary evil. Sometimes to help me take that extra step off the couch and away from the trashy TV and bags of carbs I trick myself into having to clean with of few of these simple tips:

1. Invite guests over. I mean, sure you live in squalor a lot of the time but you don't want anyone to know that! 

2. Get sick. I realize this is probably a less than desirable choice to get your house clean. See, I am just getting over the walking death and during that time I absolutely did not clean. In fact, I was the antithesis of clean considering I was hacking my germs all over everything. Great things became of this. You see, Grant wouldn't let me touch anything, like the dishes, the laundry, or him.  In fact, he slept on the couch for the past four nights and I am beginning to think that Charlie now thinks that is where Daddy sleeps now. I can't wait for him to divulge this information to the coffee shop the barista or his preschool teacher. But the best part about all this is I didn't have to clean a thing.

But then I got better. As soon as started to feel better I had to clean because, um, ew. Specifically my bathroom. I cleaned the hell out of that bathroom. And then I got winded and had to lay down. But we are still 24 hours and counting with a freaking clean bathroom. I call that a success.

3. Plan a messy activity. Sometimes I give Charlie something to do that will force me to clean up afterwards and probably have to take cleaning to the next level (ie: sweep and mop the floor.) Since today was rainy and my son was going insane it was time to get messy.

This was my favorite thing to make when I was a preschool teacher. It's technical name is "oobleck" which is annoying and preschool-teachery. There are plenty of recipes online for it, like this one, but I just mix some corn starch and water and food coloring until it becomes THE COOLEST CONSISTENCY EVER!!!

Is it a solid? Is it a liquid? Will it get all over the kitchen? Yes it will. But Charlie played with it for a good solid hour. No. Joke. That is 60 minutes, moms and dads. That is like one whole hour of Real Housewives! (Or you can play with your child, talk about what it feels likes, what it looks like, blah blah blah). If I am being honest, I was right in there with him for at least half of that time playing with the stuff; it's strangely therapeutic.

Did I mention he was also not wearing pants? No? We have a lot of days like this at our house. Neither here nor there.  Anyway, so tomorrow I am thinking about squirting shaving cream all over the floor and telling him to GO NUTS!

The Other White Meat

Grant received a shirt in the mail a few weeks ago and with it came a prize. It was one of those little sticky hand thingies. You know, those things that you could get for a quarter out of a vending machine? They are made of a sticky plastic material and is connected to a long sticky string so you can fling it against the wall. The only difference was that this one was not a hand on the end of a string but rather a Domo Kun.

My son has hundreds of dollars in toys and yet when he saw this it was the only thing he chose to play with for most of the usable hours in his day. I suppose it was at least a step up for playing with old receipts and dry cleaner claim tickets he finds in the bottom of the diaper bag. Until it broke (you will understand why this was inevitable in a moment) most of what he did with this cheap, piece of crap toy was swing it around wildly attempting to take out his own eye or one of my breakable candlesticks. It was less than pleasing but I figured probably harmless and it occupied him so I let it go for the most part. What I absolutely did not want him to do was put it in his mouth. Because, call me paranoid, but I am pretty sure a sticky plastic rubber band is the last thing you would want lodged in your throat. Since Charlie has selective hearing when it comes to rules, I threatened to take it away as well as actually took it away about...47 gabillion times. One evening, shortly before Domo Kun met his demise, Charlie, once again, tried to bite the head off, and once again, I told him I would take it away from him if he bit it again.

He took it out of his mouth, gave me a sneaky little look and then proceeded to walk behind his train table and "hide." I say "hide" because he is much taller than the train table and even if he crouches down, you can still totally see him. I knew what he was trying to do as soon as he walked over to the table mainly because he is only two and I'm a grown-up who is way smarter than him. I am also way better at hiding. I mean, come on kid, did you even once think about leaving the room I was in to commit your crime actually out of my sight? How about behind the curtians at least?

And this is why I always win at hide-and-seek.

The other reason I knew what he was doing was because after his sorry attempt to hide from me, he popped his little head up from behind the table with the domo kun actually hanging out of his mouth. He looked around and then directly at me with a look that seemed to say "Woah! How did you know I was back here!" He seemed shocked that I had "discovered" what he was doing. Yes, excellent detective work on my part what with all the sitting here on the couch and watching you do it. Fighting the very strong urge to laugh, I tried to give Charlie my best, "I am very upset with your behavior face" and instructed him to come and speak with me at once.

I explained to him that being sneaky like that was not okay. In some ways it was a lot like a lie. When mommy or daddy tells you not to do something you need to follow the rules both when they can see you and when they can't see you (even though I totally could). Because hiding your bad behavior is not being truthful and is still wrong, even if no one can see you do it.

Have I lost you? I'm sure I have. Just like the concept likely flew right over Charlie's head as well. But I don't care. He needs to learn that lying is wrong and the truth, as they say, shall set you free (although, probably still get your Domo Kun taken away).

So fast forward a few days and I make pork chops for dinner. I cut up a few pieces for Charlie's plate knowing that it is unlikely he will eat it because it is not made of noodles and covered in neon orange cheese sauce. To my surprise he starts to gobble up the little cubes of pork. He even asks for more.

"Of course you can have more, honey! You really like these pork chops, don't you?"

"This isn't pork."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not. This is chicken. I don't like pork."

Now what do I do? I looked at Grant and in my best "ventriloquist" style of speech I said, "So...are we uh, doing this or what?" Because remember, hiding bad behavior is not being truthful and still wrong even if no one....GODDAMMIT MY PARENTING COMES BACK TO BITE ME IN THE ASS SOMETIMES!!!!

I wish I could say I said something like, "No Charlie, it is actually pork you are eating and while, I know this is probably going to cause a tantrum at the dinner table because you are going to insist that it is chicken and really what is most important here is that you are actually eating the damn stuff and not whether or not it came from a furred or feathered creature, that would be a lie. And lying is wrong. That said, another chop, my dear?"

But I caved.

"I DON'T LIKE PORK MOMMY! I LIKE CHICKEN!"

"Uh-huh. Would you like some more?"

"Chicken?"

"Some more...meat?"

"Sure!"

Hey, you know what?!?! Judge all you want! No one told anybody anything about lying by omission. One lesson at a time, I say.  

Happy Halloween (late)

Here is another beauty from my good friend, Joel. While pleased with his contribution, I was a bit surprised that he chose to write a post about Halloween, considering several years ago, Joel eliminated nearly all refined sugar from his diet. This was no easy task for Joel because I know that there was a point in his life where he could eat his weight in Kit Kat bars. I think a small part of his heart still yearns for one final chocolaty wafer of pure goodness. 

PS: Sorry this post is so late. My intention was to have it up on or before Halloween but I have been dealing with some insurance company BS that was very stressful and annoying but is too long of a story for you to read and/or care about. I will tell you this though: Insurance companies can go eat a bowl of...well, I won't finish that sentence but it ain't festive snack-size candy bars, I'll tell you that much.

A Halloween Gift
by Joel Daniel

Preface: Heather, curator of I Love Tongs, asked me to write a guest blog last year about Hanukah (I think because I am the only Jew she knows). I agreed, but, unfortunately, found myself with a case of writers block. With this post, I am hoping my block is lifted and I can contribute a piece for each of the remaining secular and Jewish holidays that remain for 2012. Here is to Halloween. L’chaim.

As Halloween approaches, nostalgia and warm feelings consume me. Halloween is the greatest holiday, and not for the reasons most people think.¹ It is the giving. Sometimes it is the gift of laughter or amazement in looking at a clever costume; other times lust and a fantasy fixation for the remainder of the year; still other times a kiss with a stranger that dressed like a Klingon at a bar you can only vaguely remember how you got to. Obviously, there are gifts of candy to local children,² and finally there are gifts between neighbors and good citizens that did not know they had anything to give to begin with. I want to discuss one such occasion.

I grew up in what many would describe as an idyllic town in California’s great Central Valley. It has its fair share of rednecks, meth labs and crank addicts, but it also has quaint neighborhoods where neighbors know each other’s names and probably what they ate for breakfast.

My best friend lived in one of these neighborhoods, and he had these neighbors; by proxy, I had these neighbors. One of my friend’s neighbors (I will refer to them as the “Cleavers”) were the kind of people that elaborately decorate their house for every holiday, paying close attention to those having something to do with old J.C.: rabbits, baby Jeezey, fancy lights, etc. Another neighbor (I will refer to them as the “Bundys”) did not, at least judging by their outdoor décor, relish in the holidays.³ Importantly, the Cleavers had to pass the Bundys' house to reach their own, but because the street ended in a cul-de-sac, the reverse was not true.

When I was thirteen, and dealing with the confusion of hair sprouting from unfamiliar places, and the alienation that comes from being a teenager, my friend and I decided to take a break from scheming ways to look at the adult magazine section of the local liquor store to do a neighborly deed. It started with a ceramic pumpkin shaped candleholder residing on the Cleavers' porch – adjacent to the naked porch of the Bundys'. On the day inspiration struck, we were headed to Thrifty’s for some ice cream on some rad BMX bicycles. Upon seeing the pumpkin, a question was posed: “I wonder what we could do with that?” As nice as the pumpkin looked, it was apparent it probably had a different and better life in store. A plan formulated on our little ice cream jaunt. At the store we purchased a Hallmark-style greeting card (along with the double fudge chunk we had set out for), walked across the street, and liberated a box from the dumpster of the shoe store.

With box, card, and ice cream dripping in hand, we rode back to the “hood” and waited patiently for dark.⁴ Under the cover of clouds and darkness, we made our way to the bushes outside the Cleavers' house. When the light of their porch was turned off for the night,⁵ we took the pumpkin and placed it in our box. We sealed the box, and waited another hour until the light on the Bundys' porch went out. We placed the box on their porch wrapped neatly with a bow—found in my friend’s mother’s gift-wrapping drawer—and the card, on which we inscribed:

“To: the Bundys.
From: the Cleavers.
From our house to yours
Happy Halloween Neighbors!”

We patted ourselves gently on each other’s respective backs and went to bed.⁶

The following morning, we woke, dressed, ate a Girl Scout cookie, and climbed atop our BMXs to ride. We saw the same thing the Cleavers would see day after day (during the fall season), year after year: a⁷ ceramic pumpkin candleholder sitting on the Bundys' porch. This is the meaning of Halloween. Tricks and Treats. The warmness that comes from sharing with neighbors – even things the neighborhood may not have realized were available to share. Happy Halloween.

--

1. i.e. Boys dress like girls, and girls dress like they are auditioning to be showgirls.
2. And A-hole teenagers that just can’t let this tradition go. 
3. Oddly, one year they put up blue and white lights at Christmas. They probably bought them on clearance from the grocery store not realizing these were Israel’s colors (my town was not a bastion for Jewish people), and probably thought why not dip into holiday decorating cheaply to see how it felt. Regardless, it brought a twinkle to my eye.
4. Most likely we played Legend of Zelda, and ate Girl Scout cookies out of his parents' freezer.
5. At 10 p.m., as every night, like a well-functioning digestive system.
6. We probably played more Zelda and ate more cookies first.
7. (their)

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #6 (Sorta)

I remember the first time I took Charlie to the store by myself. Well, I don't actually remember if it was the exact first time, but to be fair, at that time in his life, I often didn't remember to eat, shower or urinate regularly. What I do remember was he was very, very little. As in, unable to focus on anything further than 3 inches from his face, little. And I imagine I just needed a couple things and thought to myself, "He'll be fine. How long can getting four items from the store take, anyway?"

I was such a fool.

He slept the whole time I was shopping. In other words, while the cart was moving. But, as soon as I entered a line to buy my groceries and the vibrations of the wheels stopped, he woke up. And since newborns are still are unclear as to why they are not swimming in around in a nice, warm water bath and receiving a constant supply of nutrients from the sandwiches and bowls of ice cream their mother is shoving into her face-hole, he got mad. Really mad.

As he started to scream, it felt like all eyes were on me which is not that far from the truth, considering we were trapped in a grocery store cue with no where to go. I could feel my pits moisten and that all too familiar tingle of my milk coming in. I tried to stay calm and just gently shush my sad little boy even though what I really wanted to do was start uncomfortably cry/laughing and say, "Ha! I just...it's just that, the thing is, hahahahahaha, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I"M DOING!"

I am not sure if everyone in front of me with paying with a check or if time was actually standing still for a brief moment, but after what seemed like hours, it was FINALLY my turn to pay. The checker then proceeded to tell me that my baby was crying.

Yes, he is. Thank you.

"He is hungry." She told me. I think I laughed nervously while awkwardly fumbling for my ATM card.

"I think he needs a bottle. You should bring a bottle with you because he is hungry." While trying to fight the puddles that were beginning to well in my eyes, I said, well, probably nothing. Or simply, "yeah" or "okay" and then took my bag of groceries and got the hell out of there. At the time, I remember thinking that maybe that lady was right. The truth was he probably woke up and felt hungry and started to cry. But that is not what I thought she was right about. Should I have a bottle with me all the time? I mean, I know I have chosen to exclusively breast feed but maybe I should have a a bottle of formula ready to go just because the random checker at Safeway says so. Because clearly I am a terrible excuse for a mother because my infant was crying for 17 seconds.

Of course, now that I am more experienced (and more rested on a daily basis) I realize that that lady can shove it. If I could go back in time I probably would have something something like, "Oh!!! Hungry!! So that is why he has been crying like that for the past four weeks! I mean, I fed him at the hospital but no one told me I had to keep feeding him! Thank you random lady and yes, I would like paper bags, please."

Why having a child also means that you are wearing a giant sandwich board that reads, "I NEED ADVICE" is so strange to me. Wendy Molyneux was able to explain exactly how I felt most times I went out in public with my newborn here. This is probably my favorite quote:

"Yes, he IS crying, isn’t he? You are right. He’s probably hungry. Should I feed him? And if so, where do I put the food? His eyeball? His butt? What kinds of cuts of meat do babies like? Should I not give him hot peppers? How much salt is too much, and when can I expect him to use a knife? If he spits up, should I have him put to sleep?"

 I speak only for myself, but what came to realize as I navigated the daily ins and outs of being a new parent is this: We have have no idea what we are doing and exactly what we are doing. We don't know what our child needs but know exactly how to fix it. And we are all just doing the best job we know how to do.

So please, parents of the world, have a little confidence in yourself because you know what you are doing. And if you don't, you'll figure it out. But rest assured that no one knows what your child needs better than you do.

And to the random lady in the office supply aisle at Target. Yes, my son is crying. And yes, he is probably hungry or he crapped his pants or I just told him that Santa isn't real. But you wanna know what I think? I promise you I know what I am doing and I don't need your help. So please, admire how adorable my child is and aside from the off chance that I leave his car seat on the hood of my car and start to drive away, kindly keep your big trap shut. And go with the mulit-colored post-it notes because, hey, go crazy.

Smart Boy

(To be fair, I usually opt for a savory breakfast if given the choice. )

"Charlie, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Um, I think...a hot dog."

"We don't eat hot dogs for breakfast, silly!"

"We eat them for lunch?"

"Yes."

"OK, then I would like lunch."

Stuffed Zuchinni

A friend of mine has a garden that produces way more veggies than her family can eat. This works out well for me because I don't have a garden or the ability to keep most plants alive. If you know anything about summer squash, it grows like a weed and if you turn your back on the suckers for even a moment, you'll get giant freak-show sized vegetables. This is not far from what happened in her garden and one day she presented me with this one:

I considered it cancelling my gym membership and just dragging this thing around with me for the the rest of my life.(Because if it wasn't already clear from my duck lips, that was one heavy son of a bitch.) But I decided to keep paying my monthly dues so I can use their elliptical machines for 45 minutes every couple days and instead, this zucchini was headed for the food processes.  I ended up making two loaves of bread and freezing half of it for bread another day. Since I still had leftovers, I saved those to hide in Charlie's scrambled eggs because I can be sneaky like that sometimes.

I imagine the summer squash will keep coming for a while, and while I am in no way complaining, I need to get creative with my preparation so as not to get board. Besides the bread and the scrambles I have sauteed it, roasted it and most recently, stuffed it. And, really, what doesn't taste better filled with meat and cheese? Dare I say, nothing does.

I sauteed an onion, scallions, garlic and fresh mint until tender, then added the ground beef and cooked until browned.

This is one of my favorite kitchen tools. And I have never used it for it's original intention. But look it how well it handles gutting a zucchini.

See? Gorgeous.

Once the meat as cooled, add crumbled goat cheese, toasted bread crumbs and chopped tomatoes (the ones I used also happened to be from her garden and they tasted like what candy would taste like if candy was made from tomatoes.)

Stuff the squash (don't be shy, really pack in in there). Top it with some more of the toasted bread crumbs and bake in a 350 degree oven until heated through and bubbling. Basically, since I have made this, all I can think about are other things I can stuff with meat and cheese.

The things I learned today

1. I still got it.

2. I actually no longer have low back pain everyday. (Some days, sure. Just not everyday anymore and that's a big deal.)

3. I discovered the only way I will ever make Rice Krispy Treats again. EVER. You're welcome.

Salted Brown Butter Krispy Treats. Sweet mother of all things holy.

Um, Goldfish

 (Disclaimer for my family members with sensitive ears: There is a swear in this post. You know, a "cuss". A "naughty word." Sorry. Sometimes I enjoy a well placed curse word for comedic purposes. And what can I say, cats have potty mouths. Read on.)

It is a well known fact that kids are terrible at naming things.

How do I know this? Because when I was about eight years old, my sister gave me a stuffed cat for some gift giving occasion. I will never forget this cat. It was about the size of a real cat and was positioned much like how a cat would be if it was say, snobbishly sitting on a marble pedestal. The look on it's face seemed to say, "I am cat. Don't fuck with me." Why my sister thought that this screamed "Heather" I'll never know. I didn't even like cats. So, I am sure it also goes without saying that children are also terrible at giving gifts.

Either way, I liked the present as much an any kid would who was handed something free. And like most children I had a desire to name all my inanimate object so I decided to name this cat, Givalen.

Yes, that is what I said: Givalen, pronounced give-uh-lynn. I figured I would go ahead and help you sound that one out since it ISN'T A REAL WORD!!! My reason behind that name was because my sister "gave" me the cat. But based on that logic, the cat should have been named "Gavalen." I suppose you could argue that the cat was "given" to me...but that is not the point! The point is that the name was ridiculous and why my mother did not immediately kick me out of the house with a blanket, juice box and a note that read, "Free daughter. Comes with this cat," I'll never know.

After the death of our beloved little friend, Ernesto, Charlie was really looking forward to adding a new fish to the family. And like a freaking idiot, I asked the two-year-old what he thought would be a good name for our new fish.

"Um, I think, um, Goldfish."

"Right. We are going to get a new fish, but what do you think we should name it?"

"Um, Goldfish."

Goldfish? This is even lamer than my stupid cat name! At least mine was original! We tried to explain to him that while it is a goldfish that we would be buying, he could name it anything he wanted. For example, my mom (aka, Mimmi to Charlie) has two dogs named Lily and Tippy. They are dogs but they have names. So, we asked again, "What would you like to name our new fish when we get it?" His response:

"GOOOOOLLLLDFIIISHHHHH!!!!!!!!" Alright. Fine.

Finally, the day came and it was time to get our new little fish and Grant asks, one last time to be sure. "So, what do you want to name her, Charlie?"

"Um, I think, Orange." A little better I suppose.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet our newest family member, Madame Orangina the 14th, Orange (or Orangie) for short. You have thirteen years worth of big shoes to fill, little lady.

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #5

These days, Charlie needs a lot. For example, he NEEDS to jump off of every curb he sees. He NEEDS to hold all the groceries in his part of the cart. He NEEDS to eat the cereal out of my bowl instead of the exact same cereal in his bowl. All very valid needs, indeed, and I deal with them on a case by case basis.

Sometimes these needs of his make it even more difficult to leave the house on time. And while I understand that he probably really does need to touch every single one of his toys on his way out the door, the doctor doesn't tend to buy that excuse when you are twenty minutes late and they have given your appointment away. In a perfect world, this would never be a problem because I would be just that organized, leaving plenty of time for all the toy fiddling needs but that is not real life and I would rather sleep to the last possible second than be "ready ahead of time." Since that is just not realistic most days, sometimes doing whatever I need to so we can get out the door on time is what this mama "needs" to do.

Since I know this about myself, I try my best when I am not rushing to make an extra effort to not pull him away from an activity because of my insane time schedule. Tonight, at the end of his bath, I told him it was time to get out and to go push the lever to let the water out. Getting out of the bath is a similar to trying to get out of the house. All of a sudden he remembers all the toys he "forgot" to play with and maybe he should wash his belly one more time and Mommy, since we are just sitting here doing nothing, let me tell you about my entire day in great detail. This evening was no exception. When he swam over the drain on his belly and pushed the lever for the drain. Probably by accident, while trying to push himself up to standing so I could get him out, his hand covered the drain and the sound of the water leaving the tub slowed almost to a stop. He did it again and again, until finally he looked up at me with a giant smile that seemed to say, "Mom, I just discovered the coolest thing ever!"

When the tub finally drained and I did get him out of the bath I asked, "Charlie, what happened when you put your hand over the drain?"

"It was going little."

"And then when you took your hand off?"

"It got big."

A completely organic discovery by my two-year-old about how a drain works, all because I gave him an extra 30 seconds to figure it out. So awesome.

Camping or Bust(ed foot)

Growing up camping at least once a summer, I knew it was something that I wanted to be a part of Charlie's life. As a child, the only thing I remember about camping was it was days filled with playing in the dirt, eating sugary cereal and never having to be interrupted by a pesky bath. What I did not remember was all the work that went into camping. There is a lot of prep ahead of time that basically goes something like this:

• Making To-Do lists
• Making shopping lists
• Organizing
• Forgetting my lists while shopping
• Questioning why I am doing this at all
• Deciding to bring more booze to the campground

I made the mistake of telling Charlie we were going camping several weeks in advance. Since he has no concept of time, when I said, "Charlie, in a few weeks were are going camping! Aren't you excited?" He heard, "Charlie after you finish that snack we are going camping! So hurry up and choke it down so we can get on the road for a trip of a lifetime!!!" And every day after that it didn't matter what I told him we were about to go do, it was unacceptable unless it was camping. Want to go to the park, Charlie? No, I'm going camping. OK, how about the toy store? Camping, Mommy. Disneyland? I SAID CAMPING!!!!

My favorite part about all of this, besides trying to talk him down from a tantrum about not going camping yet even though he has no concept of time or what it means to be patient, is the fact that he has no idea what the hell camping means. For all he knew, "camping" actually meant, "being poked repeatedly with electric cattle prods" but goddamn it, he was going.

And then this happened:

Yes, that's right: mere days before camping, my graceful child tripped over a little plastic toy which maybe (and this is a big maybe) resulted in a hairline fracture in his foot. Based on the diagnosis, the doctor wrapped up the foot in this brace that he was not to walk on at all and smiled at me meekly and said, "So, yeah. You are just gonna have to carry him all the time." It took everything in my power to not beat him senseless with the heel end of Charlie's cast.

"So we are going out of town this weekend."

"Oh, you can go out of town," he said.

"We are going camping."

He giggled under his breath. "Uh, you can go camping if you want."

That is when Charlie started beating him with his cast.

So I can go camping. I can do anything I want, but I'LL JUST HAVE TO CARRY HIM ALL THE TIME. Are you out of your mind?? No, but really, it should be fine, considering most two-year-olds have the ability to listen and understand reason. You see, he actually said to me that he could get more injured from trying to walk on the cast. For example he could get a head injury from tripping and falling. All for a foot that MIGHT NOT EVEN BE BROKEN. Anyway, doc, that's great. So, where can I pick up my prescription for Valium again? Generic is fine, just so long as I don't have to wake up until my VERY BUSY TWO-YEAR-OLD CAN WALK AGAIN.

Even though walking was out of the question. Charlie did figure out how to get around:

Here you see him dragging his bum leg behind him toward a bowl of yogurt raisins that I kept moving just out of his reach. What?!? The doctor wouldn't let me get the Valium so a mom has to have a little fun now and again!

We saw a specialist the next day and were hopeful that he would tell us the splint was not needed and he could go on his merry toddler way. That is almost what we got; the splint was removed and he was fitted with a walking boot.

Here is a picture of Charlie sporting his boot while he helps organize the garage. The doctor said he can walk in it so he can work. He's the one who wants to go camping anyway and those tents aren't going to set up themselves.

So the Shellens went camping, boot and all. It was a long drive, it rained, was only sort of warm but it was worth every single second. Camping FOR THE WIN! 

Charlie and Ella, clearly up to no good.

The Falls. Just stunning. 

The Meyers.

 The part you can't see is the kid crying on the side of the trail because Brittaney stole their bike. JUST KIDDING!! (It was her own kid she left crying on the side of the trail.)

STICK!

The Shellens. (It's almost cute enough for our 2012 Christmas card)

Nah, this one is way cuter.

Ernesto

In 1998 at a Walmart in Jackson CA I bought a goldfish for $0.12. I figured we would at least have a few good months together that would consist of a little tank cleaning, fish food feeding and general debauchery, but our relationship, like any other relationship you would have with a fish, would be short-lived.
 
Little did I know that I would be spending over a decade with my little friend, Ernesto.
 
When I bought him, Ernesto was less than an inch long and completely white aside from a splotch of orange atop his tiny head. When I first brought him home, he had a modest dwelling, perfect size for one tiny goldfish. Red rocks covered the bottom of his bowl and a viney water plant floated freely about in the water. He had everything a fish needed, really. But, after a few weeks he seemed lonely so I bought him a friend and a larger bowl. Bruce was a bit bigger and completely orange. He moved in and it seemed that the two were getting along well. They split household chores. Bruce knew it was unacceptable to poop when company was around and so on. Three days later, Bruce was belly up.
 
Okay. Maybe it was wrong of me to assume that Ernesto enjoyed the company of men and was requesting a "hetero" kind of living arrangement. Fair enough. So for my birthday my sister gave me Francette. A pretty little goldfish whose scales were pink. Things seemed to be going well once again. Problem solved; Ernesto was not gay. But the love story that would be Ernesto and Francette was over before it started and she suffered the same fate as Bruce and was dead within days. This was around the time that Ernesto was given a new nickname "Ernesto the Jackal: Night Killer."
 
Fine, he wants to live a life of solitude. I can respect that. And so the years went on. He and my other aquatic companion, Jacques, an African Water frog who lives for 7 years, came with me to college. (Each absolutely in his own respective tanks, mind you. There would be no more night murders on my watch.) And I drove them to and from Sacramento, where I attended college, and the Bay Area for holidays and long weekends home. I would place their tanks in an upside down box lid, pack socks and shirts around the them to avoid shifting and cover the tops of the tanks in plastic wrap to prevent water loss. The box sat on the floor of the front passenger seat of my 1982 Chevy Nova hatchback where there was very little protection between the wheel hub and the floor of the car.  I was always nervous about what the effects of the noise and the vibrations would be on delicate fish ears, but it didn't seem to bother him one bit.

Also, do fish have ears? 

When Jaques passed away I thought that for sure Ernesto was right behind him. It is not like I wished death upon him. I would've been devastated if he died but I knew that 7 years was a long time for a fish. Jesus, 7 days is a long time for most goldfish! But Ernesto pushed on. Often times, people didn't believe that he could possibly be the same fish. This had become increasingly hard to prove since his all white body with the orange splotch on his head had now changed to an all orange body with not a speck of white to be found. But I swear to you, it was same Ernesto. 

So how did I do it?  How did I keep him alive all this time? I am almost embarrassed to admit it.

I cleaned his tank less than often and by that I mean once every 2 months...if he was lucky. Also, I have never used tap water that I then fortified with some kind of bottled dechlorinator.  The only kind of water that my fish's scales have ever touched was Arrowhead Mountain Spring Water. Was this the spa treatment for a fish? Was I spoiling him? More importantly, was this even necessary? Frankly, I don't know and I don't care. It worked. Admittedly, laziness played a big part in the infrequency of the tank cleanings. But the real reason is I never wanted to do anything that would upset the environment. Once the algae started to grow, thick and slimy on the side of the tank, I started to worry that he may have now adapted to this type of environment and changing the water and scrubbing the glass back to crystal clear would somehow shock the little guy's clearly aging body. But once it reached the point of not being able to see inside the tank anymore, (or company was coming) I knew the cleaning had to happen. I felt bad about my sometimes lack of interest in the cleanliness of the tank, but I was doing something right. In fact, I was a good fish mom. We had made it though thick and thin. Countless miles back and forth up I-80 on the floor of my car, 2 murders, and even a short bout of skin ulcers that was cleared up with an antiseptic additive that I added to the water daily. I thought for sure that the ulcers would do him in but he came through with flying (or swimming) colors. No one could believe that he had made it this long. Around the time Ernesto was 6 years old, I decided to set a goal for our relationship.  I hoped that he would live to 10 years old, or live to meet my first child. Which ever came first. In July 2008, Ernesto hit his first milestone. He made it to the 10 year mark. I was proud of him and it was really all I could ask of him. But then, in March of 2010 he met the second goal and helped us welcome Charlie home. Such a trooper.

It may seem silly that I completely broke down in tears when I walked up to his tank last night to see that he had passed away. But he has literally been a part of my life for almost half of my life. I have known Ernesto almost as long as I've known my husband. And he knew me. I know this because he always got excited when it was time to be fed and would swim over to the side of the bowl wagging his little fish fins in anticipation of the flakes. Earlier that day, Charlie was feeding him and he sat in my lap and we looked in the tank together and Charlie said, "Hi Ernesto! Come and get some lunch!" I am so glad to have had that moment with him and Charlie. 

I have to giggle a little today when I think about what I said to Grant when I found him floating lifeless in the tank. "What do you think happened??" I asked.

Grant placed his hand on my back and said, "Well, honey. He's a goldfish...and he was 13 years old." 

Thirteen great years. 

Ernesto

July 1998 - June 2012

Rest in peace, little buddy.

Candy what?

My mom saved a lot of things from my childhood. Clothes, toys and boxes of artwork from school take up space in the loft in my parents garage. It is nice that my mom has held on to these memories for my sister and I to look back on. However, I know that I'll never be able to do this as well as she has for my kids. There are many reasons for this:

1. I am not as organized as my mom. Why my mother did not pass the organization gene on to me, I will never know and I will forever be bitter about it. You would think after years of watching my mom file and straighten and label some of it would've rubbed off on me. Instead, I feel like every drawer in my house looks vaguely like a junk drawer; no matter what I do, they all seem to be littered with paperclips and old receipts.

2. I don't like clutter. I get that this doesn't make sense considering I just told you I was not organized. So basically, if I feel like things are getting cluttered I just start throwing stuff away (or into the drawers that I keep all my paperclips in.)

3. Clearly, my soul is made of ice. Now, this one is not entirely true. While I did throw all of your Christmas cheer right in the recycle bin and if you are sitting still in my house long enough, I'll probably try to donate you, I do keep the "important" things. For example, on my birthday, in 7th grade, my close friends were kind enough to surprise me with balloons and flowers in the morning before school. My, now husband, at the time had a major crush on me (and who wouldn't, especially the way I could rock a floral print body suit and crocheted vest.) Despite the crush, he failed to remember it was my birthday. So at lunch he went out into the soccer field and picked me a bouquet of tiny lawn daisies which he tied together with the rubber band from someone elses' braces. They are dried and brown today, but I still have them.

Another example, my great grandfather passed away when I was ten. My sister and I both got a roll of quarters as our "inheritance" and we could buy anything we wanted from him. I bought this:

I guess, at the time, it reminded me of him:

(These are my Great-Grandparents whom I called "Bah" and "Daddal." That cute little long-haired version of Charlie in the middle is actually me.)

For a child I can see why this weird little frog was cool/cute/display-worthy. Today, I realize that this thing is basically why the term "fugly" was invented. When I stopped displaying it, I put it in a box full of other memories and forgot about it.

Before Grant and I got married we had a garage sale to raise money for our honeymoon.  While going threw boxes looking for items to sell, I found this frog and thought to myself, "You know, I am ok with parting with this. I mean, it is not like I will ever display it again." So out it went, onto a table with other various items that I was planning on selling for probably no more than $1.00 each.  All day, the patrons came and went and I saw my gelato and pasta fund growing and growing.

And then, someone picked up the frog. My heart nearly stopped. He walked toward me, and I started to panic.

"How much for this?" He asked.

(Oh God! What do I do? What do I do?) 

"$25!" I blurted out.

He looked at me like I was insane, but this is mostly because I practically grabbed the little guy out of his hand and started to stroke his like resin head. "It's ok little froggie. Mommy will never leave you." Needless to say, I did not sell the frog that day and I don't plan on getting rid of it anytime soon.

So yes, fine! I throw away Christmas cards and photographs sometimes! But I keep what is important. Like the painting that hangs on the bulletin board in the kitchen. Even though I know there are probably thousands more to come, this was Charlie's first painting and I just can part with it yet. And while my mom probably hung on to too much stuff, amongst it all, there was some really important stuff too.  Like this gem for example:

 

 ("The Candy Beaver loved to eat candy. He smiled big and he made up a poem." Gold. Absolute gold.)

Waste not.

For the past two years, we have been getting a weekly veggie box from a local, organic farm. Up until recently we were using Terra Firma which we just loved and I would highly recommend them. However, in order for them to keep their cost low, the recipient has to go pick up the box from a drop off location. This was not really a problem for me until the day I was running late to an appointment and had to go pick up the box with Charlie who needed to touch/feel/molest EVERYTHING between our car and the home that stored the boxes. Also, it was raining so that made it about 4,000 times more fun. That's when I thought to myself, "Why am I picking up this box myself like a barbarian when I can have a different company deliver organic, healthy food directly to my doorstep?" (First world problems can be so annoying sometimes.) So we switched to Farm Fresh to You which is slightly more expensive but much more convenient and provides us with equally delicious fruits and veggies.

I have never intended to waste food, even before we started getting a produce box. But now I really make an effort to eat everything we get from the farm because for some reason it just feels worse to throw those unused carrots away as opposed to the ones I buy from Safeway. It's like I can hear them screaming or something when they hit the trash. But this strange "vegetables have feelings too" guilt thing I am feeling means I have to be fairly creative. Since the food is seasonal you will often get the same food week after week. Take for example, leeks. I love leeks. But after six weeks of them, you start to run out of ideas. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before Grant comes home and asks, "Hon, what flavor ice cream is this, exactly?" Just shut up and eat it, dear.

But leeks are not the only thing I have had to get creative with. Here are a few other ways I have done my best to use everything the farm provides:

1. Make broth. Also, want to make it yellow like the kind you buy in the store? Boil the skins of yellow onions with the rest of your veggies. Or, do this. Just saying.

2. With a couple weeks of lemons and oranges backing up I decided to try to make marmalade, inspired by this recipe.




My marmalade making could use a bit of practice as it is a bit bitter and not quite the right consistency. However, served on something sweet, it's not all that bad.


Alright, full disclosure. The real reason I made the stuff was so I could give my kid a slice of lemon and take a picture of him making this face.

3. I've said it before and I'll say it again: make soup. Why? Because soup is awesome. And, you can pretty much throw any vegetable you have in your fridge in it and it will still taste amazing.


Seriously, everything is in that soup. Cabbage, kale, chard, potatoes, onions, leeks (good Lord those Goddamn leeks). If Grant had walked by while I was making it, I probably would have thrown him in.


And, guess what broth I used? That's right ladies and gents! Homemade, baby! Also, just look at the color of my Le Creuset? Next to my very colorful, healthy soup? Christ, that is one sexy piece of kitchenware.

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #4

When it comes to nutrition, deception is key.

I am very lucky that my child is willing to eat a wide variety of food. He eats nearly all fruit and tolerates a few vegetables. While I am happy that he will eat two bites of broccoli without coaxing at dinner, I do not believe him when he says he is done after those two bites. I mean, really? You're full? Because I bet you'd be changing your tune if I handed you an ice-cream sundae or a bag of Cheetos. Therefore, I sneak the veggies in whenever possible.

If your child is anything like Charlie, they are willing to eat an entire casserole of macaroni and cheese in a single sitting. This is a perfect place to sneak in the veggies. Broccoli, spinach and mushrooms are all delicious options. However, if your child is on to your little games and picks around anything that is green, I have an awesome alternative: cauliflower. It is white and almost indistinguishable against the noodles. Also, I am pretty sure this trick would work on adults who refuse to eat veggies as well.

I enjoy making mac-n-cheese from scratch but I imagine it would work with the boxed version, too. I chopped up the cauliflower into tiny rice-sized pieces. I mixed it in with the cooked noodles and cheese sauce then baked the casserole until heated through.

At dinner, I served Charlie the macaroni and a small side of cauliflower because I always try to give him some of the veggie in it's non hidden form to at least encourage him to try it.

"Do you want to try some cauliflower?"

"No." he says, as he takes another bite of macaroni.

"HA! Well, jokes on you kid!!! BECAUSE YOU JUST ATE SOME, SUCKER!!!"

(Don't say that.)

Another sneaky place to hide veggies is in things like meatloaf and even fruit smoothies. That's right, people. Sometimes my kid drinks kale shakes for breakfast.


And he looks good while doing it! AMIRITE Ladies??

A good friend and former co-worker of mine, Milena, used to talk about how she would make "mashed potatoes and friends" for her son. Basically, it was mashed potatoes with a bunch of other cooked veggies mixed into it. So sneaky and so delicious.


Leeks, green garlic, spinach and some lemon zest. Tonight it was going to be mashed potatoes and green friends, apparently.


Saute the greens in olive oil until tender then mix into the mashed potatoes with a splash of milk and some grated parmesan cheese. The cheese is (not really) optional.

So did Charlie eat it?

Um, no.

But that is not the point. The point is that I am trying to expose him to a variety of food....you know what, screw it. Have a bag of Cheetos, kid. And how about you just dip them in ketchup while you're at it.

Also, cheese

The proper order of a grilled tuna sandwich goes like this: bread, cheese, tuna, cheese, bread.

Why?

1. Because if you just put cheese on one side, the other side of the bread has nothing to grab on to. This could create a potential mess and nobody wants a mess.

2. More importantly, if I have to give you a reason why you should add more cheese to something I might find it difficult to remain your friend.

Bop-less

Shhhh....listen. Do you hear that beautiful sound?

The sound I am speaking of, also known as silence, is happening right now because my boy is napping! If I am being completely honest, I have little room to complain as he has always been a good sleeper. Actually, take that back: Charlie has always been a great sleeper. I knew we must have gotten the deluxe model of baby when at just two-months-old, we put him to bed after his last feeding at around 11 p.m. and then Grant and I woke up to a quiet house at 7 a.m. Convinced that something terrible must have happened, we rushed into his room. What we found was our swaddled little monkey, happily snoozing away. Thank God the sound of our jaws dropping to the floor did not wake him. Instead, we gave each other a silent "high five," crept out of the room, crawled back into bed and promised we would buy him anything he ever wanted for Christmas, forever. Barring any illness or unforeseen circumstances, he has been sleeping like that ever since.

When other parents would ask me, "So, how is he sleeping? Still keeping you guys up?" I would cringe and say, "Not really. He has been sleeping through the night for a while now." They would look at me quizzically and ask, "Like, since when?"

That's when I would brace myself, give them the answer, and then throw my arms up in an effort to block the punch that was headed straight for my skull. It was a warranted sucker punch to the face though; sleep deprivation can make you do crazy things, or so I've been told.

Up until a week ago, naps were also no problem at all. But then, we decided it was time to throw a wrench into this whole perfect set-up and take away the pacifier, or as Charlie lovingly refers to it, his "bop."

I was anticipating a serious battle of wills when it came to taking the bop away, especially at night. For several months now, Charlie was only using his bop for nap and bedtime but never during the day. He never asked for it during the day either, but when it was time to go to sleep he knew what was coming.

"Get bop?" he'd ask.

"Yes, we will go get bop." I'd say and he would start to giggle with delight. As soon as he saw it he would shake from the anticipation of all the awesome soothing that was about to occur. After a story or two (or five sometimes) he would go to his crib, wide awake with not so much as a whimper and fall asleep all on his own.

(Seriously, why am I doing this again? I mean, so he takes his bop to college? Who cares! )

A few weeks before saying goodbye to his bops, we began talking about how he was such a big boy and pretty soon he wasn't going to need them anymore. Maybe he could give them away to a baby who needs them? He agreed that he was in fact a big boy and he seemed willing to give them away. Easier said than done, I thought.

The first night without it was remarkably easy and I was so very proud of my big boy that I almost cried. I then realized that the truth was this manipulative little stinker has been playing me for a fool and probably could have ditched the thing 6 months ago. Well played, little one, well played. But, if night time was so easy that nap time should be a breeze.

Or so I thought.

The first nap, both Grant and I were home. He went down without a protest like the night before and we thought we had it made. But then he started talking to himself which turned to singing and then to screaming. He clearly wasn't going to sleep so we caved and went in to get him likely just seconds before he began dismantling his crib.

The next day I was home by myself with Charlie and fearing we would have a repeat of the day before, I decided on a "no mercy" approach and mercy, I had none. He lasted for about 2 minutes and then the wailing began. But I was not going to let him get to me; this was nap time and he could sleep or cry all he wanted but he was staying in there for at least one hour. Besides I had brownies to eat and talk shows to watch and all the other things stay-at-home moms do! Right? I'm sorry, I forgot, it wasn't talk shows to watch, it was bathrooms to clean which means it sure as hell wasn't the kind of brownies you were initially thinking of either.

The day three nap had to be better though, right? It became clear right away that I was about to have a repeat of the day before. But I was sticking to my decision: no mercy. So when I went upstairs and he was screaming "Mommy sing me a song! Mommy sing me a song!!!" And I stood outside his door, my heart broken into 70 million pieces at my feet trying to convince my brain that this mom was NO MERCY!

And then I opened the door to his room. I mean for Christ's sake, he wants me to sing him a song!!! You think he is going to ask for that when he is 15-years-old? I picked him up and said, "Charlie it is nap time so I will sing you one song and then it is time for bed. Do you understand?" He whimpered out a pathetic, "yes."

We sat down in the rocker, his head on my shoulder and requested "Homeward Bound" by Ben Kweller. He was asleep before I got through the first chorus. That's when I realized that I was clearly asking too much of him. Just days before I allowed him to go to sleep with a tool and then I took that tool away without replacing it with something else. So now, I spend a few extra minutes helping him fall asleep with a song or two. It's not going to last forever and someday I imagine I'd bet I'll be willing to do just about anything to rock him to sleep one more time.

What? "No mercy mom" also knows how to compromise!


Charlie at seven months old when this thing was basically another appendage.


Charlie Shellen: Train conductor, lover of mac-n-cheese and Super Big Boy.

Happy Belated Valentine's Day

By Brittaney Meyer

(My best friend, Brittaney's in-laws live in Twain Harte, CA and usually at least once a year, they have all of us up for a weekend of wine, food and fun (in no particular order.) This president's day weekend was no exception. Brittaney and I usually are responsible for breakfast. For Brittaney's breakfast she made, smoked salmon Eggs Benedict with homemade hollandaise sauce, potato and brussel sprout hash and fruit salad. When the meal was finally complete and it was time to eat, Brittaney said, "Now I feel like this meal needs bacon."

God, I love this girl.)

I should preface this post with the following statement: I’m not big on Valentine’s Day. Please don’t misunderstand—I am for love. I am for expressing that love. I just feel that it is more important to express my love and appreciation for say, my husband, throughout the year during everyday moments instead of on the 14th of February. I also feel that it is important that he express his love for me throughout the year and not on a Hallmark prescribed “holiday”… and he does, because, let’s face it, it don’t get much better than this. Am I right?

That being said, I love cooking and I love a theme so, in that regard, Valentine’s Day is right up my alley. Hence, many years ago, when Ryan and I were too poor to buy each other Valentine’s gifts even if we had wanted to, I instituted the “all red food” Valentine’s Day dinner tradition. I will admit, I am not perfect (hard to believe, but true) and I have missed a year here or there because of some conflicting circumstance, but, for the most part, I have kept up the tradition of the all red food dinner. Here are my three rules for the “all red food” dinner:

1. All food groups should be represented—as it is very difficult to find red dairy products that don’t violate rule #2 (see below) I give myself a pass on this one and allow dairy products to be the white “accent” to my red dinner.

2. If at all possible, one should not cheat—a.k.a. food coloring should be avoided and substituted with foods that actually are red of their own volition (please note that I broke rule #2 this year because my husband promised our daughter red polenta—amature).

3. Beverages are part of dinner—they should be red.

Here is what the Meyer family ate this Valentine’s Day:

Starter: Tomato, Bean and Mozzarella Salad with Oregano Vinaigrette



Yes, I realize that basil is not red. But do you know what basil is? Delicious! So, lay off.

Starch: Pink Polenta (see disclaimer above)



I mixed some red food coloring in with the polenta—looks appetizing, right?



And then I cut it with a cookie cutter, pan fried it and made tiny, pink, heart shaped polenta fritters. Our five-year-olds thought they were the highlight of the meal.

Main Couse: Eggplant Parmesan



It doesn’t look that great in the pan alone so you will have to get by on a picture of it with its dining buddies. On the downside, it did not come out as red as I had hoped. On the upside, it tasted better than it looked.

Beverage: Martinelli’s Sparkling Apple and Pomegranate Cider



Apparently Martinelli’s is good for drinking AND smelling—Madison said she sensed top notes of cinnamon and raspberry while appreciating the crisp, clean finish.

Dessert: Strawberries with whip cream “accent”



This is the conversation I had with Ella while making dessert:

Ella: What are you making?
Me: Whip cream and strawberries.
Ella: Strawberry shortcake?
Me: No, just strawberries with whip cream.
Ella: [pause] And cake.
Me: No cake.
Ella: Why? What happened to the cake?

Apparently dessert was a slight disappointment. However, I’m pretty sure the pink hued polenta hearts more than made up for it. Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope you were able to spend it with people you love.

Love, B