Things That Make Me Go Hmmmm...

I'm exhausted, we have a blizzard forecast and I stupidly went out to a yoga class tonight in the snow. You get a really short one from me today!

Every week when I go to work (because I'm only in the office one day a week, after all!), I park in nearly the same spot. I suppose we all have our spots where we park. We have the same marker we use to remember, we walk past the same cars day after day, and we start to notice things that stand out.

Like one of the senior executives at my company. His car is parked just a few cars away from mine every morning. It's easy to tell whose car it is because he has a ... quite distinctive license plate.

Every morning, I walk past this red Cadillac with the distinctive license plate. Most mornings, I think nothing of it beyond noticing that it's there.

Then there are the days when it's snowed.

On those days, it's even easier to pick out than normal. It's the only car in the vicinity that is covered in snow.

Two things about that strike me as odd.

First, he's an executive. He makes wayyyyyyy more money than I do. He's also way older than I am, which means that he's been making way more money than me for way longer. So I just don't get it. Why does the man not have a garage to park his car in?

Second, the car is literally covered in snow. You can see just a little of the rear windshield and sometimes some of the side windows. The trunk is piled high with snow. The roof seems like it could cave in for all the thick white stuff piled atop it. Even that distinctive license plate isn't visible. How does he manage to drive all the way to work without the snow falling off his car? And (personal pet peeve) why doesn't he just quickly scrape the snow off?

Today, his car was piled high with snow. Because, you know, it snowed on Saturday. Two days ago. I'm still wrapping my mind around this one.

That's My Girl!

It's Sunday. In the winter. So guess what my husband and the wee ones did today?

okokok, besides go to Sunday school and church. Oh, and get us almost kicked out of the nursery because Little Miss had an accident of the solid kind in her pants.

Nope, I'm not referring to any of that. Hello! It's playoffs in the NFL! They were watching football, of course. Later this afternoon, after the Eagles shocked the world, the Steelers game came on.

By this point, I was home for the gym and was listening to the conversation while making dinner in the kitchen.

Little Miss asked -- oh so innocently -- Daddy, why are those people waving napkins?

Yeah... she's got a future as a heckler alright.

Sweetie, those are called Terrible Towels. And you don't want to call them napkins in front of a Pittsburgh fan. As cute as you are, that won't save you from their wrath at denigrating such a sacred object.

Where'd That Come From?

It snowed here yesterday. I shoveled. Whee, I got exercise on a day when I had other obligations that prevented me from leaving the house. I woke up this morning, and there was more snow. No big deal though, as it was supposed to taper off around six in the morning and be done.

For those of you who live in warm climates and think you like snow, here's an idea of what I was shoveling this morning. It wasn't horrible, especially because it was more powdery than truly the heavy, wet stuff, but still not fun.



Then I looked up, and this odd sight met my eyes:



Yup, that's a giant tree branch laying across my sidewalk there. Except, it doesn't really look like it came from the tree it's sitting near. Huh.


I take it back. This sucker isn't a branch, this is an entire tree.



Upon further review, it definitely did not come from the tree it's sitting in front of. So did someone have an accident? Did they want to hide what they'd done? Did they think that I wouldn't notice that there was a tree here that either uprooted itself to be nearer its true love (my tree) or was placed there in hopes that I would think it was just a branch that fell off my tree with all the snow we had?

And really. Why is it sitting in my yard and across my sidewalk? I immediately began debating whether the village tree pickup would pick up such a large branch or whether I'd be charged for its removal. Considering that I only had a half hour to shovel the snow before I had to get the wee ones in the car so we could start our merry day on time, I did the good bloggy thing and took a picture of it but left it sitting there.

When we got back, I discovered this:




Not that. Look closer. See my mysterious tree? Me, neither! It somehow disappeared, although there were footprints around it. It must have been someone strong though, as there were no signs of it being forcibly dragged somewhere, nor were broken little twiggies left behind. I'm thinking that the cover up is complete.

Bizarre. Then again, I'm glad to not have to deal with it.

Oh, you thought I was talking about the additional two or three inches I spent another hour shoveling. Well, there is that, too, I suppose. It never did stop snowing and at 4pm, it's still snowing. I have a feeling that round three of snow shoveling is going to be needed today. I'm on strike though. This time, my husband has to shovel.

Why I Shouldn't Have Four Kids*

And I promise, this post has nothing to do with the two children of a friend of mine that I watched all morning and part of the afternoon today, in addition to the wee ones.

I can only explain "Don't slide down the snow mountain towards the driveway. Slide towards the grass. I'm trying to get the snow off the driveway right now" in a patient voice so many times. It's possible that I reached my limit this morning.

I only have so many eyes. I can't watch four kids playing in different parts of the basement and referee all disagreements fairly at the same time. I just don't have it in me. And I don't believe kids when they say that someone else started it. I don't care who started it, what you did is not the appropriate reaction, and person X isn't going to get in more trouble, so just tell me what happened to we can figure out how to avoid it next time.

I wouldn't look good in a size zero. I know how much work it is chasing after two wee ones. Add in two more and it is geometrically more work. I'd never stop moving, and I'd never have time to eat. Besides, I wouldn't want you all to hate me because I were thin. As a challenge today, once we moved inside, I spent all the time not refereeing arguments picking up toys and straightening. I was unable to ever get caught up.

Bad excuses don't fly with me. And little ones (and big ones) come up with way too many. Today I made myself an iced chair latte and brought it downstairs while continuing my referee duties. Within five minutes, Little Miss had knocked it onto the light beige carpeting. Very light beige. Her excuse? "It was in my waaaaaayyyyyyyyy." Right. Because the middle of the coffee table while you're twirling around the room, arms akimbo, is justifiably in your way. Much like the tower one of the boys was building in the middle of the room with plenty of space on all sides was in your way when you wanted to walk by. I just don't buy it.

I only have so many ears. I can only listen to so many stories or requests at one time. When children are talking to me, I really try to give them my best effort and engage them and encourage them. I lost so many threads of conversation today... and the poor kids were so excited to talk to me, too.

My health insurance only covers 30 days of inpatient mental health. When the babysitting children left and the wee ones went down for a "nap" (and I use that term loosely), I literally sat on the couch staring into space for a good twenty minutes. I think I was close to drooling and catatonia. I am not cut out to watch that many children, and I know I'd end up in the loony bin.

DCFS would be called on me. It would probably be partly my fault, too. Let's just say that I'm not one hundred percent caught up on laundry right now. Mister Man wore his last clean pair of pants today (I did the wee one's darks and lights today so he has more clean clothes now, don't worry). I can just see it now when I get the call from his teacher, "Hello, I just wanted to make sure that everything is ok at home. We've noticed that your children have been coming to school in clothes with Nutella stains on them. Sometimes the clothes have little holes in them, and we're just concerned that there may be something wrong." We haven't gotten there yet, but if I'm down to the last pair of pants with two wee ones, imagine what would happen with four.

Along those same lines, it's possible that we don't have enough time for the wee ones to get a shower every single day. Now double the children. I know there's the saying about getting a bath on Saturday whether you need one or not, but I really don't want to start putting that into practice.

God gave me two arms for a reason. When I need to referee, sometimes the wee ones are in a bit of a tussle. I can separate them and hold them apart while talking to them, if necessary. I'm just not good enough at yoga to try to keep four kids from getting into it.

I can't drive a minivan. It's a mental thing. I know a lot of people have them and love them, but I just can't do it. I've given in somewhat with my Pilot with the three rows, but it's still not quite the same. In my head, I mean. With two wee ones, I can periodically get into the third row to fasten Mister Man's booster seat. Having two wee ones in the way back and two in the middle in child safety seats of some sort would require contortions that I'm not capable of. To do this on a regular basis, I'd need an aisleway, which means a minivan. Nope. Can't do it.

And the number one reason I don't have four children is that I would lose my free childcare. My parents love watching the wee ones. They do daycare for me every Thursday, which is a huge moneysaver. And whenever I need a babysitter, whether it's for a Nothwestern game or a wedding or a night out or a daytime appointment, my parents are there for me. For free. But I was warned after Little Miss that I should not have a third child or this status would be in jeopardy.

So what reasons did I miss?

* Now, let me clarify that this is my personal view. I am not cut out to be a parent of four children. I admire those who have more children and carry it off with aplomb. It's a real talent, but it's one that I recognize I don't have.

However, if two months from now you hear that I'm pregnant with twins, you'll know it was this post that jinxed me.

A Glimpse From The Past

I've always grown up with pets. My parents had cats before I was born. Of course, the fact that I was born nine years after they got married and they got the cats shortly after they got married meant that those two cats really wanted nothing to do with me.

And really. My parents named them Charmin and Percy. I think Percy was because he was such a regal cat (who sadly got bladder cancer and died a very sad death when I was four). Charmin? Two guesses why my parents named her that. I have to admit that I didn't get the point of the name until I ummm had graduated college. Then it dawned on me. Yes, she had run away (or so we're told) when I was seven. It took another fifteen or more years before I figured it out. Sometimes, I'm a bit slow.

I, however, wanted a cat of my own. And what Mommy wants, Mommy gets -- apparently. When I was two, my parents took me to a pet store. Of course, we'd never go to a pet store now that we know how they work and all about the wonderful world of shelters. In any case, they had six cats in a giant glass cage. I was told I could choose any one of them. I picked one out, and the man handed it to me. Perfect.

Except it was a boy. My mom made me put him back and choose another. Oddly, we went through the same routine with four of the other five cats. Finally, the only one left was the one sitting in the water bowl. I sighed and chose that tri-colored torti. Fortunately, she was a girl. I remember walking out of that store with the cat riding on my head. Like I said, we didn't know much back then.

I named the cat Caesar because someone else I knew had a cat named Caesar, and I thought all cats were named Caesar. Hey, I was two; don't question me. She was a great cat. I remember sitting on the floor of my house one day crying for who knows what reason. No one could comfort me, and I know my dad was getting worried about me. Caesar crawled into my lap and laid down. I immediately stopped crying and just pet her for awhile.

She was truly mine. Every night she would sleep with me. She wasn't just on my bed, but she was my pillow. I fell asleep listening to her purr into my ear. I woke up the same way. Cats are supposed to be nocturnal, I know, but I swear that cat never left my room while I was sleeping.

She would come when I called. As soon as she heard my voice, her feet would pitter patter as fast as they could to my side, and then she'd follow me around. Plus, she was protective of me. We had a tomato swing (remember those?) in my basement, and one day I was twirling around on it singing the "I'm shrinking, melting, shriveling" from The Wizard of Oz. I got hugely melodramatic, and my mom was getting worried about me. Caesar knew how to fix it. She reached up and swatted a paw at me to tell me to knock it off. And I did.

Once, she got out of the house, and we thought she was gone forever. Again, back in the day, we didn't know much and she was an indoor/outdoor cat (hello FIV, FeLV, racoons, coyotes, mean kids, cars, etc etc), but she always came home by my bedtime. Until she didn't. She was gone for four days when we got a call from a neighbor saying she thought she had our cat. She'd tried to shoo it out with her broom, but it was hiding under a chair in her living room. We hightailed it over there, and Caesar was so grateful to see us!

A mere few weeks later, we realized that she was pregnant. Oops. Nice going, Mom and Dad. Yeah, they forgot to spay her. She had seven kitttens. One was the tiniest runt, and we did our best to save her. We fed her with a medicine dropped, but it was for naught and we ended up burying her in a tiny bracelet box in our backyard.

As for the rest of the kittens, my parents were done with three cats. My mom was determined to get rid of the six kittens. She had me put them in a picnic basket and walk around the neighborhood to give them to friends. The friends happily took them, and I came home with an empty basket. Unfortunately, my mom started getting calls a few minutes later from the parents of those friends about how the kitten their child now had needed to live at our house and the child could only come visit the kitten. I'm still not sure how my mom managed to stay in the good graces of the neighborhood after that.

Somehow, we got rid of all but one of the kittens. I don't really remember how we did it, but one lonely kitten remained. My mom was getting desperate. Finally, I remember her sending me with the kitten into Monk's Dairy Bar (I wonder if that place is still around!) with tears streaming down my face, sobbing that if they didn't take the kitten that my mom was going to flush it down the toilet.

They took the kitten. I was convinced that my mom was going to flush him, obviously. Today, my mom tells a different story. She doesn't recall anything about threatening to drown the kitten in the sewer system, but I have a very different memory burned into my brain. Caesar was spayed as soon as the kittens were weaned, and we didn't have any more litters.

Shortly after that, Caesar made her second move, as we went from Connecticut to Belgium (I'd gotten her when we lived in Illinois). She was a great buddy, and she continued to be so as we went from Belgium to Illinois to Minnesota, where she lived out her golden years, still as my nightly pillow.

When I went to college, my mom told me how Caesar would sit in front of my door meowing at night. Eventually, she'd stop meowing and just lay down and sleep in my doorway, waiting for me to come home. During winter break, she fell into her old routine of following me around during the day when I was home and sleeping with me at night.

Spring break, we went on vacation in Florida instead of heading back home to Minnesota. A couple days into the trip, my mom told me to sit down on the bed because she had something to tell me. Caesar had died. I bawled. My friend since I was two was no longer there, and it was the closest person or thing to me that had died in my eighteen years. I'd had her since I was two and don't really have any memories of not having her around me.

Eventually, I asked for the details. My mom told me that she'd done everything she could, that they'd taken her to the vet for many visits, they'd given her fluid and medications but it just hadn't been enough.

That was when my brain started working again. My parents had done everything they could. Yet they were here with me in Florida. And this wasn't the first day of the trip. When I asked the question, I found out that she had died three weeks prior. My mom hadn't wanted to worry me while at school.

I believe I threw a Grade-A teenage tantrum at that point. How dare my parents deign to decide what I could and couldn't know about my dear friend. In a way, I'm still bitter that they didn't tell me when it happened. While I was upset, it was fully something that I was able to handle. I've always felt cheated that I wasn't able to grieve when she died but that it was forcibly delayed.

I've had cats since then, and we have cats now. None of them have ever quite held the same placce in my heart that Caesar did, as wonderful as they were. I just hope that the wee ones develop that same kind of relationship with the cats we have now, Meow and Roar. And when I peek upstairs at night and see them cuddled up sleeping next to Mister Man, I know we're well on the way.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

So. Yeah. Little Miss has lung issues. We all know this, especially after her hospital stint last month.

It wasn't her first run-in with lung issues. She had pneumonia and bronchitis pretty bad in May 2007. And she had RSV last winter. And she always has a cold with a cough.

When we went to the pediatrician for a checkup after the hospital stay, he recommended putting her on Pulmicort, which is an inhaled steroid, indefinitely to prevent future flareups.

I filled the prescription and gave her the first dose.

Then I read the side effects: leads to osteoperosis which runs rampant in my family, may stunt growth, weakens the immune system. And there are more. Pages more. And I got less comfortable with giving her this medicine where we immediately had to run and wash her face and rinse her mouth so she wouldn't get thrush.

While complaining to a friend of mine, she asked if we'd ever had her tested for a dairy allergy. I looked at her blankly, and she explained that many children with dairy allergies have them show up as ear and lung issues. I should go research it.

So I did. As infants, many have projectile vomiting and diarrhea. Intractable diaper rash is common. They have lots of lung and ear issues. And they're describing my daughter to a T.

My daughter who was on Xantac at the age of 8 weeks to try to keep some food down. My daughter who slept on her tummy because putting her on her back at any point in time induced projectile vomiting. My daughter whose diaper rash cleared up five months after she was potty trained. My daughter who had tubes put in at 14 months because we never went to the doctor without an ear infections after six months of trying. My daughter who got an ear infection within three weeks of having the tubes taken out at the end of November.

I was convinced that it was worth a try. I mentioned it to my parents, since they do a lot of childcare for me. They both scoffed at me. Told me how cruel it was to deprive her of dairy. Told me how she wouldn't get her calcium. Told me how unhealthy that would be.

To me, doing an eight week (my random should be long enough to figure it out timeframe) trial of no dairy was worth the possibility of not having to put her on a daily steroid.

Dairy free commenced on January 1.

On December 31 before everyone went to bed, I sat the wee ones down and talked abot Little Miss's allergy (or potential allergy). I explained that she couldn't have dairy and what that meant. I talked about what she couldn't eat anymore. And then I talked about what she could still eat. They both got it.

I had no idea that dairy was in so many foods. On Saturday, we stopped giving her vitamins when a friend asked if we'd found dairy free vitamins. I never thought to look there, but yep they have whey in them.

We went on a trip to Costco Friday so I could look at the labels for items we have in our house but that no longer have the original packaging. Wheat bread? Thankfully, it's ok. Waffles? Out. Ovaltine? Out. Taquitos? Chicken is out but beef is ok. Goldfish? Not surprisingly, out. Tuna? Phew, in. The list went on and on.

On Saturday, Little Miss had a birthday party. With pizza and cake. I brought along beef taquitos and Thanksalot Girl Scout cookies (one of two kinds that are dairy free by the way). The girl next to her was intrigued and wanted what we were having. Little Miss didn't object. Well, ok she objected, but only when someone put a piece of ice cream cake in front of her that she knew she couldn't have and was mad that someone tried to make her eat it.

And did you know that dairy isn't just milk? Whey is obvious. Casein isn't too hard a one to figure out. But then you start getting into the tricky ones: lactalbumin, nougat, ready sponge, zinc caseinate, hydrolysates, and more. Many foods label themselves with the Allergen information (corn, soy, wheat, eggs and/or milk), but not all. I'm getting really good at reading labels.

This is where enjoying cooking comes in handy. I can adjust some things to use soy milk for all of us instead of regular milk. The wee ones actually like (thanks, Mom) Kraft mac and cheese with soy milk and no butter. But caramel and caramel coloring, natural flavors, spices and the like may or may not contain milk or milk proteins. Let's just say that I'll be making a lot of phone calls checking things out before I give them to her. Unfortunately, when milk slips in, it doesn't matter if it's some teeny thing or a huge glass of milk.

Then I looked at the catering menu for daycare. I'm now going to be packing a lot of lunches, as many have milk in them like the chicken and beef meatballs they had on Monday. And possibly the breads (I haven't gotten an answer on caramel from the catering company). And the gravies. They're working with me to only give thumbs up snacks from their stock.

Preschool is more concerned about litigation apparently. If I want to be sure she doesn't get an allergenic food, I need to send in a snack. So she now chooses a snack each morning. Luckily, she's big into fruit.

My parents still think it's cruel and wrong to deprive her, but they sound like they're going to respect it. I found a natural foods store that has milk free vitamins.

And so far? Like I said, she gets it. And I have two positive signs. She has a ton more energy. She was never really lacking before, but she's literally bouncing off the walls with happiness and spark right now, and not in a bad way. I have to think that this means her body is happy, right? And today we had a checkup with our pediatrician -- who's willing to go along with this but not happy that I don't want to do the Pulmicort -- and she had "beautiful ears." Her ear infection from two weeks ago is gone and a new one didn't develop in the interim.

I'm still planning to see an allergist to have her tested specifically for a milk allergy (and gluten while we're at it), but I've heard that they're notorious for false negatives. I'll be interested to see what he has to say, too.

Knock on wood, this is it. And fingers crossed that we continue to figure this out. Do any of you have allergies like this? If so, how do you make accomodations and keep everyone happy and healthy?

Tasty Tuesday - The Best Guacamole Ever

As I've mentioned recently, I discovered some rocking guacamole recently. And I've made it a few times since. Like twice in less than a week few times. I may make it again before the weekend. It's not quite the original recipe from Boudro's, but rather my version of it and my husband thinks it tastes just as good as the original.

So.

Rockin' Guacamole

We start with four avocados. If you have decent sized ones, you can use two or three. The ones in our grocer right now are pretty skimpy.

The rest of our ingredients:
3 limes (mine were small, you can get away with two if they have a decent amount of juice)
4 T chopped red onion
1/2 large orange (or a whole smaller one)
1 t salt
4 tomatoes, roasted
1/2 poblano pepper
1/3 c chopped cilantro



So first. That roasting of the tomatoes. It's really not that hard. I cut them in half, drizzled some olive oil over them, added some dried Italian seasonings (ironic, I know) and put them in the oven at 300 degrees for twenty minutes. I put the seeded and halved poblano so it would get roasted at the same time.

Cut the avocados in half and remove the seed. Pull them out of the skin and dump them in a bowl. Juice the lime and orange over the avocado. Use a knife to cut the avocado into 1/2" pieces (or so).

Chop the tomatoes and poblano, and add them to the avocado mix. Add the salt and chopped cilantro. Stir the mixture gently, and you're done.

YUM. Y.U.M.



This is enough to serve about four for a large appetizer. Unless you're sneaking some while making it. Then it might only serve three. Or two.

Enjoy!