Baby No. 1, Rule No. 1: Baby must be sung to and rocked by Daddy. If he is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but only if the baby is very tired. Rule No. 2: To help baby fall asleep, caress her arms and legs with fingertips. Baby will hold arm or leg out for maximum reachability.
Baby No. 2, Rule No. 1: Baby must be sung to and rocked by Daddy. If he is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but she must allow baby to crawl onto her chest and shoulder and snuggle into the neck. Rule No. 2: DO NOT caress her arms and legs with fingertips. This will upset her.
Baby No. 3, Rule No. 1: Baby must be wrapped in a blanket, then sung to and rocked by Daddy. If Daddy is unavailable, Mommy will suffice, but DO NOT try to snuggle baby on the shoulder unless he is facing out. Otherwise he will squirm and fight until he is put down so he can crawl away.
Toddler No. 1, Rule No. 1: Every night she will request to, "Yay on Mommy." Mommy must lay flat on back with toddler on her chest and abdomen until snoozing has commenced. Then she may carefully roll toddler onto her bed and tiptoe out of the room.
Toddler No. 2, Rule No. 1: Every night she will command, "Way buh-bus." The translation for this is "Lay by us." With Child No. 1 tucked into her bed on the top bunk, Mommy or Daddy must lay by Child No. 2 on bottom twin bed. One hand must rest on her chest if she is laying on her back or on her back if she is laying on her front. DO NOT move hand away, not even to quickly scratch an itch, or toddler will grab the hand by the wrist and put it back where it belongs.
When it is finally bedtime for Mommy and Daddy, Daddy must remember to kiss Mommy before he puts on his mask and turns on his VPAP machine. If he forgets, Mommy will give him his good-night kiss on the arm. Then Mommy must position herself below the flow of cold air pouring from the mask.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz................(for awhile anyway).
29 August 2010
27 August 2010
Reusable Recipes: Meat Edition
When I got married, my paternal grandmother gave me an empty cookbook. It has become the special cookbook, because only tried-and-loved recipes get recorded on its pages; recipes for special occasions, and recipes that get used over and over again.
I learned my three favorite meat recipes from my foster mother, who is now a vegetarian. All I have to say about that is I am glad I lived with her while these meals were still on the menu, because they are YUMMY!
And here they are:
Pulled Pork (We always called it shredded pork when I lived with them, but I have decided this name is more fitting [plus, I love alliteration!])
Cook a picnic pork shoulder, fat side up, covered, in a 300 degree oven overnight or 6-8 hours. Make sauce while it cools (or whenever you want). Separate meat from bones and fat. Pull meat into small strands; place in 9 x 13 pan. Cover with sauce. Heat in oven, stirring a few times and then broil if desired.
Sauce: Warm in pan: 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine, 1 cup brown sugar, 1 1/3 cup ketchup/catsup, 1 Tablespoon prepared mustard, 1/2 cup vinegar, 2/3 cup water, 1/4 cup soy sauce, 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce, 1/4 teaspoon pepper,
2 teaspoons salt. Stir well, until everything is dissolved together.
This dish makes a delicious leftover too!
Sweet Taco Meat (This may sound strange to you, but it is better than you can imagine. Serve on soft tortillas with your choice of taco toppings and ranch dressing or sour cream.)
Brown 2 pounds ground beef. Drain. Add in pan: 1 envelope dry onion soup mix, 1 cup ketchup/catsup/tomato sauce, 1/3 cup brown sugar, 2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce. Simmer and stir until sugar is dissolved. Simmer for a half an hour, stirring occasionally.
I realize that most of the ingredients in this recipe are the same as the pulled pork, which explains why I love it so much!
Oven-Fried Chicken
Crush 2 cups of cornflakes and stir in 1/4 teaspoon of garlic salt and a few dashes of pepper. Dip chicken pieces (about 2 and a half to 3 pounds) in 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine. Roll in bread mixture (No, not you. The chicken!) and place in a greased 9 x 13. Sprinkle with remaining crumbs and butter. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 1 hr. Don't turn (No, not you. The chicken!)
I often think of Amelia Bedelia (my namesake) when I read or write recipes, can you tell?
I learned my three favorite meat recipes from my foster mother, who is now a vegetarian. All I have to say about that is I am glad I lived with her while these meals were still on the menu, because they are YUMMY!
And here they are:
Pulled Pork (We always called it shredded pork when I lived with them, but I have decided this name is more fitting [plus, I love alliteration!])
Cook a picnic pork shoulder, fat side up, covered, in a 300 degree oven overnight or 6-8 hours. Make sauce while it cools (or whenever you want). Separate meat from bones and fat. Pull meat into small strands; place in 9 x 13 pan. Cover with sauce. Heat in oven, stirring a few times and then broil if desired.
Sauce: Warm in pan: 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine, 1 cup brown sugar, 1 1/3 cup ketchup/catsup, 1 Tablespoon prepared mustard, 1/2 cup vinegar, 2/3 cup water, 1/4 cup soy sauce, 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce, 1/4 teaspoon pepper,
2 teaspoons salt. Stir well, until everything is dissolved together.
This dish makes a delicious leftover too!
Sweet Taco Meat (This may sound strange to you, but it is better than you can imagine. Serve on soft tortillas with your choice of taco toppings and ranch dressing or sour cream.)
Brown 2 pounds ground beef. Drain. Add in pan: 1 envelope dry onion soup mix, 1 cup ketchup/catsup/tomato sauce, 1/3 cup brown sugar, 2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce. Simmer and stir until sugar is dissolved. Simmer for a half an hour, stirring occasionally.
I realize that most of the ingredients in this recipe are the same as the pulled pork, which explains why I love it so much!
Oven-Fried Chicken
Crush 2 cups of cornflakes and stir in 1/4 teaspoon of garlic salt and a few dashes of pepper. Dip chicken pieces (about 2 and a half to 3 pounds) in 1/2 cup melted butter or margarine. Roll in bread mixture (No, not you. The chicken!) and place in a greased 9 x 13. Sprinkle with remaining crumbs and butter. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 1 hr. Don't turn (No, not you. The chicken!)
I often think of Amelia Bedelia (my namesake) when I read or write recipes, can you tell?
17 August 2010
I Love You, Two!
Dear Two,
I have heard you are terrible, but I love you. I have watched two daughters grow through your year. I cherished that phase both times. Sometimes I would look at my girl and think, "Oh, good. She is still a baby." Other times I would exclaim proudly after a new accomplishment, "Good, girl! You are so big!"
I guess what I mean to say is that I am thankful that I had a year to say goodbye to the baby who needed me so much. I had time to say goodbye to things like putting on her shoes and changing her diapers.
I also had a year to celebrate new conversations and welcome her ability to use words to tell me of her wants and needs. And even though she was big enough to walk and run, she was still small enough to want to be carried and rocked sometimes.
So thank you, Two! I think you are lovely.
Love,
Me
03 August 2010
Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwiches
If I made a bar chart that showed how many times I've eaten each different food item in my lifetime, peanut butter and honey sandwiches would tower over all the others. Most of them were consumed in my childhood, on days when my mom didn't feel like cooking. I find it strange that I never got tired of them. Even now, they are my ultimate comfort food.
Then there are the other foods. Don't mind me as I reminisce.
My mom makes the best potato salad. I have tried many times to recreate it, without success. It always had the perfect amount of olives, eggs, and dill pickles. She also made goulash, but don't ask me what that is because I'm not really sure. For us it was any meal in which pasta, tomato sauce, and hamburger were the main ingredients, but I don't think that's what goulash really is. It seemed like most meals that were made of those three ingredients ended up on the floor, but that's another story.
Whenever my mom needed to take a potluck dessert somewhere, she usually made a pumpkin roll. I have never made one because it looks so complicated. I'm impressed by my mom's ability to make this wonderful dessert because she didn't bake very often. I like to bake, but I usually stay with simple things like cakes, cookies, and muffins. I'm pretty good at making rice crispy treats, but I don't think that counts as baking.
Two or three times a year, we would have a big "Thanksgiving" dinner. My dad often took pictures of the formally set dinner table at these non-occasions, complete with three proper daughters with napkins on their laps. Dad always included a table manners lesson during these dinners. My little sisters especially loved when he would "accidentally" make mistakes (like flinging food from his plate with his fork). His lessons were informative as well as entertaining. Dad took a lot of pride in teaching us.
Sometimes my dad made steak or fish or shrimp or shish-kabobs. I shared my dad's love for crab salad from the deli, and I still remember the first time I tried some of his canned smoked oysters. I should have been grossed out, but I loved them. I still do. In fact, every year, Santa puts a can of smoked oysters in the bottom of my stocking because he loves me and knows I'm a good girl.
We ate tostadas regularly. I don't know how other people prepare tostadas, but my family ate them just like tacos, but with a tostada shell. Our toppings were: refried beans, hamburger, avocado (sometimes), diced tomatoes, sliced black olives, and sour cream. Sometimes our dinner was seven layer dip (made from the same ingredients) with tortilla chips. We used a small rectangular coffee table in the front room for this meal. Mom and Dad sat on the couch, and my two sisters and I would kneel at each of the other three sides of the table. It was always a race to see who could scoop away the largest section of the big circle serving platter, even though we knew none of us could ever beat Dad. We liked this meal, and in our childish enthusiasm would declare, "Dip for dinner!"
When we had tostadas or dip, I got to cut up the tomatoes or olives. I diced the tomatoes into very small bits because I didn't like them, so the smaller the pieces, the better. My whole family would be waiting for me to get those tomatoes cut up so we could eat!
But back to the peanut butter and honey sandwiches.
My kids love them too. I think it is ironic that my daughters think I am neglecting them by only allowing them to have peanut butter and honey sandwiches once a day when for a long time, I thought I was neglected because some days that was all there was to eat.
In the Bible, it says that John the Baptist lived for a time on locusts and honey. It must work: although I would rather get my protein from peanut butter than from locusts, no doubt!
Then there are the other foods. Don't mind me as I reminisce.
My mom makes the best potato salad. I have tried many times to recreate it, without success. It always had the perfect amount of olives, eggs, and dill pickles. She also made goulash, but don't ask me what that is because I'm not really sure. For us it was any meal in which pasta, tomato sauce, and hamburger were the main ingredients, but I don't think that's what goulash really is. It seemed like most meals that were made of those three ingredients ended up on the floor, but that's another story.
Whenever my mom needed to take a potluck dessert somewhere, she usually made a pumpkin roll. I have never made one because it looks so complicated. I'm impressed by my mom's ability to make this wonderful dessert because she didn't bake very often. I like to bake, but I usually stay with simple things like cakes, cookies, and muffins. I'm pretty good at making rice crispy treats, but I don't think that counts as baking.
Two or three times a year, we would have a big "Thanksgiving" dinner. My dad often took pictures of the formally set dinner table at these non-occasions, complete with three proper daughters with napkins on their laps. Dad always included a table manners lesson during these dinners. My little sisters especially loved when he would "accidentally" make mistakes (like flinging food from his plate with his fork). His lessons were informative as well as entertaining. Dad took a lot of pride in teaching us.
Sometimes my dad made steak or fish or shrimp or shish-kabobs. I shared my dad's love for crab salad from the deli, and I still remember the first time I tried some of his canned smoked oysters. I should have been grossed out, but I loved them. I still do. In fact, every year, Santa puts a can of smoked oysters in the bottom of my stocking because he loves me and knows I'm a good girl.
We ate tostadas regularly. I don't know how other people prepare tostadas, but my family ate them just like tacos, but with a tostada shell. Our toppings were: refried beans, hamburger, avocado (sometimes), diced tomatoes, sliced black olives, and sour cream. Sometimes our dinner was seven layer dip (made from the same ingredients) with tortilla chips. We used a small rectangular coffee table in the front room for this meal. Mom and Dad sat on the couch, and my two sisters and I would kneel at each of the other three sides of the table. It was always a race to see who could scoop away the largest section of the big circle serving platter, even though we knew none of us could ever beat Dad. We liked this meal, and in our childish enthusiasm would declare, "Dip for dinner!"
When we had tostadas or dip, I got to cut up the tomatoes or olives. I diced the tomatoes into very small bits because I didn't like them, so the smaller the pieces, the better. My whole family would be waiting for me to get those tomatoes cut up so we could eat!
But back to the peanut butter and honey sandwiches.
My kids love them too. I think it is ironic that my daughters think I am neglecting them by only allowing them to have peanut butter and honey sandwiches once a day when for a long time, I thought I was neglected because some days that was all there was to eat.
In the Bible, it says that John the Baptist lived for a time on locusts and honey. It must work: although I would rather get my protein from peanut butter than from locusts, no doubt!
02 August 2010
The Question
I am a little slow. It always takes me a long time to finish any given project, and sometimes I do not get jokes until the next day. This story will probably demonstrate.
I was on a date with my long-distance boyfriend on a Sunday night and things were awkward all evening. I was grumpy. He was acting strangely. We planned to spend some time on our favorite bench at the temple grounds before we went to a fireside* together, but there were a lot of people there, so we decided to go after the fireside. Which reminds me of the time we accidentally got locked into the temple grounds:
Anyway, back to my story. So we made our way to "our" bench after the fireside, but someone else was using it. So we found another and sat down to talk and read something together, something personal and spiritual in nature. We had read them together before. I felt close to him as he read to me a prayer for his future: a future with a wife and a family. I leaned my head against his chest as he finished reading. He then said quietly in my ear, "I want you to be the woman my blessing speaks of. Will you marry me?"
I was stunned. I remember asking myself, "Did he just propose to me?" We had talked about marriage many times (this is kind of an understatement), but he had never actually asked me to marry him. "Was this it? He wasn't on his knee, I didn't see a ring...but those aren't requirements, are they?"
There was a long moment of silence.
I was startled out of the dialogue going on in my head when in a worried voice he said my name (with a question mark). I decided I should answer him, so I said, "I will."
Then he stood up and I turned to see he was trying to dig something out of his pocket. He was having a hard time with it, and when he succeeded, all of his pocket change clanged onto the sidewalk. He mumbled as he picked up the coins. I stared, thinking to myself that the pennies were relatively insignificant at this moment, but I was also amused by what was happening. He tried to pick the dark pocket lint off the fuzzy pink ring box before he handed it to me. When it was in my hands, I didn't know what to do. I did not want my reaction to it to be calculated, and opening the box myself made it feel like it would be. I said I didn't want to open it. Not understanding, he started to worry about me not liking the ring (even though I hadn't seen it yet). Finally, I forced myself to open the box. It was lovely. It was more than I had expected.
Realizing that this was the moment that would always be the story of the start of our engagement, I started to cry as I told him how sorry I was that I had been in a bad mood all evening. If I had known, I would have been angelic!
But then again, I guess it was good for him to know what he was in for.
I was on a date with my long-distance boyfriend on a Sunday night and things were awkward all evening. I was grumpy. He was acting strangely. We planned to spend some time on our favorite bench at the temple grounds before we went to a fireside* together, but there were a lot of people there, so we decided to go after the fireside. Which reminds me of the time we accidentally got locked into the temple grounds:
We enjoyed a long conversation as the beautiful white building towered above us, glowing white against the night sky. We strolled to our car, but realized the tall gate was closed. Quickly, we walked to another exit--but it was also locked. My boyfriend panicked. I laughed (so typical of both of us). He began to plot our escape: something involving him hoisting me over the 8-10 foot iron fence. I was wearing a dress and heels, but even if I had been in a leotard, I would not have dared! We rang the doorbell by the baptistry in hopes there would be someone in the building who could let us out. I was thinking about what would happen if we didn't make it home by curfew (midnight). How would it look to our parents if we did not come home until morning? Then I thought of how my parents would worry. It seemed like we paced for hours, but it couldn't have been hours because a security guard let us out, and I was returned home before midnight.
Anyway, back to my story. So we made our way to "our" bench after the fireside, but someone else was using it. So we found another and sat down to talk and read something together, something personal and spiritual in nature. We had read them together before. I felt close to him as he read to me a prayer for his future: a future with a wife and a family. I leaned my head against his chest as he finished reading. He then said quietly in my ear, "I want you to be the woman my blessing speaks of. Will you marry me?"
I was stunned. I remember asking myself, "Did he just propose to me?" We had talked about marriage many times (this is kind of an understatement), but he had never actually asked me to marry him. "Was this it? He wasn't on his knee, I didn't see a ring...but those aren't requirements, are they?"
There was a long moment of silence.
I was startled out of the dialogue going on in my head when in a worried voice he said my name (with a question mark). I decided I should answer him, so I said, "I will."
Then he stood up and I turned to see he was trying to dig something out of his pocket. He was having a hard time with it, and when he succeeded, all of his pocket change clanged onto the sidewalk. He mumbled as he picked up the coins. I stared, thinking to myself that the pennies were relatively insignificant at this moment, but I was also amused by what was happening. He tried to pick the dark pocket lint off the fuzzy pink ring box before he handed it to me. When it was in my hands, I didn't know what to do. I did not want my reaction to it to be calculated, and opening the box myself made it feel like it would be. I said I didn't want to open it. Not understanding, he started to worry about me not liking the ring (even though I hadn't seen it yet). Finally, I forced myself to open the box. It was lovely. It was more than I had expected.
Realizing that this was the moment that would always be the story of the start of our engagement, I started to cry as I told him how sorry I was that I had been in a bad mood all evening. If I had known, I would have been angelic!
But then again, I guess it was good for him to know what he was in for.
*A fireside is a religious devotional,
usually held in the evenings.
usually held in the evenings.
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