Thanks, Dear!

So I'm sure you've all been waiting with bated breath to see what my husband got me for Valentine's Day. I mean, c'mon, it's a special day, right? And he's learned.

He knows not to do flowers. The cats jump up on the counters and eat them. Every time. And I'm only into really good chocolate, but he doesn't know what that is, so he avoids pretty much all chocolate. I don't really do cards, so he no longer sends me cards. And thankfully, he never thought lingerie made for a good Valentine's Day gift.

Instead, here's what he got:



What, you don't think the basket full of plastic sticks is a good gift?

Oh. Yeah. Only the sticks are left. We ummm (and by "we" I mean my husband and the wee ones AND me but mostly the wee ones, in particular Mister Man) sorta ate it all already.

Originally it was a fruit bouquet. It had lots of chocolate dipped strawberries (yum yum yum yum!). And heart and flower shaped pineapples. And cute little grapes that look like ferns. Or something. Did I mention the chocolate dipped strawberries?

Yeah, sorry I didn't get a picture before it all disappeared, but I promise to try harder next year. Yeah, I know. I'm presumptuous, aren't I?

So what did you get?

Stupid Genetics

As parents, there are always traits we pass on to our children. Some we are grateful to pass on, while others we wish would end with us. I appreciate that my mom gave me her low blood pressure, but I'm even more grateful that she kept her mouth of cavities to herself. You know. That kind of thing.

This afternoon, I realized that a trait I'm grateful for in the wee ones is directly passed down through my husband's side of the family.

It was very quiet this afternoon. We had two birthday parties this morning (yes, two -- and I will post a couple of cute pics), and the wee ones were tired, especially after spending the previous night at Grandma and Grandpa's.

On the way home, Little Miss was happily chattering to me and singing away in the back seat. Until all of a sudden, she wasn't. I went from hearing "chim-chiminey chim-chim cheroo" to soft snores in about thirty seconds. She was out. I couldn't do anything to wake her up, not that I really wanted to. On the plus side, it made it easy to take off her shoes and coat and get her into her bed without her waking up.

Mister Man went into his bed and didn't come out until I went to wake him up almost four hours later. And by the way, he went straight to sleep before 7pm. My wee ones are good sleepers. They need a lot of sleep, and they typically fall asleep pretty easily.

I never really thought too much about it, but today I was tired. It was one of those days when I wish I could just lay down and take a nap. The wee ones were quietly sleeping, and I didn't have anything urgent I needed to do. The only problem is that I cannot nap. I'm just physically not capable of doing so.

Then there's my husband. He was sitting in an armchair across the room from me. He announced that he thought he might take a little nap. He closed his eyes, and snoring commenced. It took all my willpower to avoid throwing things at him. He didn't wake up until I was on my way to go wake up the wee ones.

He slept through my turning on the tv and watching something about two feet from his ears. He slept through me getting out the pots and pans and making the chicken noodle soup for dinner. He slept through my phone ringing - twice - and me carrying on (hoarse) conversations.

At least he never needs to worry that the wee ones are his. I'm grateful for their ability to sleep and sleep well, but ... couldn't it have been something that skipped my husband and came directly from the grandparents?

Mommy Has A Life, Too. Sometimes.

Yesterday, I talked about the fun day I had with my kids. And really, it was fun. After I posted, I went out and had more fun. Each quarter, three friends and I (all of whom live in the city except for me) go have dinner somewhere fun downtown. It's our seasonal get together -- to the point where our reservations are now under the name spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

It all started out pretty well. I made the train -- and I haven't always done that. Plus, I was reading. An actual, honest to God real book. A poorly written one, admittedly, but I was actually reading a real book like an adult. Ahhhhh.

When my phone rang and saw it was my husband, I debated not answering. Fortunately, I did. He wasn't having such a good time in the 13 minutes since I'd left the house. He went to wake up Little Miss, who was sleeping so soundly after our day out that ummm she kind of had an accident in her bed. And she was very upset about it. OH! And the reason my husband went to go wake her up was that well, long story.

He coaches. And today (Valentine's Day, thank you very much) he has a tournament in Bloomington. That's like three hours from here. And he drives a mini-bus with the kids to the tournament. Smart and efficient man that he is, he picked up the bus last night from the garage place and brought it home to save time this morning.

That's all well and good until he got the call from the high school asking if he'd taken bus number three. Yeah... the cheerleaders needed that bus last night. And he had to return it. Immediately. Thus, Little Miss was woken up from her nap. Needless to say, Mister Man and Little Miss loved the special bus ride last night. And I got to just giggle while I relaxed on the train down to the city.

When I arrived, I remembered yet again how much I miss it. As I walked down Madison, there was a guy singing his original composition "Oh Yeah, Don't Give Her No Peanut Butter" over and over again while accompanying himself on his makeshift drumset. There's nothing like it.

I met up with my friend at her office building and we headed over to the Gage Cafe. It's an upscale Irish gastropub. Basically everything from fish and chips to a saddle of elk. My friend and I walked in about ten minutes early, and my first comment to her was that they certainly weren't hurting for business.

The place is loud. REALLY loud. Loud enough that after we'd been waiting for a few moments, a couple approached me and asked if I were from around there. They wanted to know if I could recommend a place nearby that was quieter. Luckily, they asked (in my opinion, of course) the right person, and I directed them to a few places. I saw them leaving about three minutes later headed, I believe, to The Village. The third floor has a lovely quiet restaurant with suberb food and wonderful service.

When we sat down, we were in a loud area, but we were too hungry to wait the extra forty minutes for a table in the back section -- where presumably it was quieter. Our waiter appeared after we'd sat there for five or ten minutes. Just long enough to say he'd be back shortly to take our drink orders.

I will say that our waiter had a really great accent. And he had stories about everything -- including items on the menu to avoid, which you never hear. When we finally got our drinks about forty minutes after sitting down (Cucumber Cobbler for me, and yes it was a) as interesting as it sounds and b) as strong as the Irish like their alcohol), I realized that I wasn't going to make the train I usually do. And I was so totally ok with that -- gotta love hanging out with my girlfriends!

And the food? Ohhhh, the food. It was delicious. We started out sharing four appetizers. They chose fried chicken livers that I didn't partake in. We all enjoyed the other three -- house cured salmon with some delish caviar, the Gage fondue (and we so could have gone for another round of that), and caramelized lobster over quinoa. Funky, huh? I was really bummed that we weren't more hungry, as the trough of fries with curry gravy sounded really good, too. Granted, they didn't include "trough" in the description.

The entrees weren't as easy. There wasn't anything that jumped out at me, so I chose another appetizer as my entree. Have I mentioned that I love risotto? Yeah. The goat cheese risotto with crispy basil and escargot rocked. Everyone was jealous, although one of my friends had a fluke that looked really good.

Before our entrees arrived, we each ordered another round of drinks -- plain mojito for me this time. And yes, I know it doesn't go with risotto. Apparently the waiter did, too, as the second round didn't arrive until my risotto was gone. Needless to say, nice waiter comped them all. And he blamed my mojito for being the cause, as the bartenders hate to make them because they take work. Uh-huh.

Ohhhh, and did I mention dessert? Usually, we all check out the dessert menu before ordering so we know how much room to save. This menu didn't show desserts, so we had to wing it. Fortunately, we saved room. The creme brulee with mission figs was wonderful and not freezing cold for once. Our brown sugar souffle with the alcohol-y goo they poured in the middle -- di.vine. And the coffee and donuts? I can't even begin to describe them, but they're so not what you'd think coffee and donuts would be. They're orgasmically better. We were really glad we saved room -- me, especially since I had an appetizer for my entree.

When we finally left the restaurant way more than three and a half hours after we first walked in, it was no quieter. Outside, however, it was snowing. With the sort of -- for Chicago, anyway -- nice weather we've been having lately, I forgot that it was still only the middle of February and snow is kind of normal. But my very, very nice friend drove me back to Ogilvie so I could just barely make the 10:30 train and not having to wait until 11:30 to start my trek back to the boonies.

I swear, the late night and the alcohol and the very, very loud restaurant have nothing to do with the fact that I'm without a voice today. Nothing.

How many days until the spring equinox when we can start planning our next dinner out?

Oh yeah -- and Happy Valentine's Day!

Forget The Art, I'm All About The Kids!

I love museums. I love science museums and kid museums anyway. You know, the ones where you get to play. I know this makes me a bad an uncultured person, but for me art should be something you love that's on your walls. I just have no interest in looking at weird (or beautiful) thing after weird thing in hall after hall.

Before kids, science museums were my savior. They were so much fun to play in. And don't ask me about the toy and ummm stuffed animal (like taxidermy) museums I went to in Munich. I still enjoy them today, but luckily I now have children's museums that I can justify going to.

The Kohl's Children's Museum is one of our favorites. They have a ton of stuff to do and play with, and they change up some areas. We go every chance we get when we have a day off school. Like today.

And mmmm the pretzel cafe. I was so proud of myself for walking out of there having only a veggie sandwich pretzel and not getting one of their specialty stuffed pretzels or their chocolate chip cookies with pretzels on top. Ok ok ok. That's only because I'm headed out NOW for my quarterly girls' night out in the city where we're going to a fantabulous restauarant. And eating and drinking. A lot. I love Metra!

But without further ado -- my cute wee ones enjoy the museum! And remind me to renew when we go back in two weeks. Our membership expires March 1!

Little Miss loves to decorate the house they have there. The magnetic wallpaper may be tacky, but she's learning her home improvement skills early! Then again, I wouldn't wish the skill of wall papering on anyone. That stuff is such a pain!



Mister Man absolutely loved being a vet. He put that little lab coat on the second he walked into the vet area and never took it off -- including when we left. Oops. He was fascinated by the microscope that blew up images of everything from a tapeworm to a flea to a human hair. Watching him examine all those was... well, adorable.



As the vet, he got really into it. Not only was he taking care of the animals there, but he was getting into their kennels to help them out so they would feel more comfortable there. And it's possible that Little Miss closed the door on him and tried to lock him in. Possible....



Little Miss wasn't going to be left out of the action. She wouldn't wear the lab coat, but she walked around with the giant shot needle for a long time. Look at the expression on this poor girl's face as Little Miss gave her kitty a big shot!



This museum also has face painting available as an option. Generally, Little Miss prefers to do her own face painting. That means she dips the crayon thing into the sponge to get it wet and then draws all over her face and clothes. I have a picture of her on our calendar for this year where she's almost all magenta. Apparently she's maturing in that she wanted me to draw a butterfly. I have no artistic skills. Do the polka dots hide some of the bad job I did? That was the goal.



And then there's the car wash. This is another perennial favorite. The wee ones run one way through the car wash. Then they run the other way. They dance in the middle. They run back and forth and back and forth. I love it. This pretty much ensures a good nap by the time we get home from the museum.



The most fascinating part of the museum for the wee ones -- and many other kids -- is the dirt pusher. Basically you have a crank that moves little containers up and around a track. When the "dirt" bundles get to the top, they slide down the roof, and there are wheelbarrows to catch the "dirt" and bring it back to the beginning. We always spend about half our time at this one station. Then again, so do most of the boys that make it that far into the museum! It is pretty entrancing to watch, to be honest.



And as a "fundraiser" they offer the twirly coin collector. You put a coin in, and it goes around and around and around. At the bottom, it tells you how much the coin is worth. Ostensibly, this is educational as well as fascinating, right? Well, let's just say that I've caught my kids begging for coins (successfully) from strangers before, but never once have they looked up to see what the value of the coin was worth. We spent a good sixteen cents here today -- not counting what my friend plugged in.



Little Miss announced that she was Captain Hook driving her pirate ship to London to catch Peter Pan. Forget the fact that this boat is supposed to be in the midwest in a traditional pond with deer and geese and dragonflies and such. She's using her imagination, and you should have seen the fierce look Captain Hook gave me after she caught me taking her picture....



And really... I ummm didn't play with any of it. I was just ummmm helping them when they got stuck. Yeah. That's the ticket. And now? It's time for me to go out and act like an adult with my girls night!

Oh Those Glory Days!

When I was in the eighth grade, I had an interesting year. Prior to that point, I had attended Catholic school from kindergarten on. A couple weeks before the school year, I had told my mom I wasn't going back to the school again.

Apparently I made a pretty compelling argument for abandoning the small school with a Spanish teacher who didn't speak Spanish. We went to go register, at which point my mom realized that we didn't live in the district she thought we had. For four years. So we registered in the correct district about three days before school started.

I went from having 31 students in my grade and knowing every one of them to having three hundred in my grade, having a locker, going from classroom to classroom by myself, and making all new friends... with people who had gone to the same school together since they were in kindergarten themselves.

Luckily there was a new girl in my neighborhood (who recently found me on Facebook, yay!) that I clicked with. We didn't have the same lunch period, which meant that we ended up being friends with slightly different groups, but the two of us still hung out at my house every day after school watching tv, making nachos in the microwave and sometimes even doing homework.

When my birthday rolled around, she stopped by right after dinner. She had a present for me. I was so touched, as I don't think we did birthday parties in eighth grade so this giving a gift just because was all new to me.

I eagerly unwrapped the small square-shaped present to find a CD. My very first CD. It was INXS Kick. I had never heard of INXS before, nor had I ummm seen a CD. I was so stoked though, as my friend explained it to me. Keep in mind that my parents still had a record player in the great room at that point. We hadn't even moved on to tapes yet.

My face fell as I realized that I couldn't actually listen to it though. It's possible (knowing me -- not from memory) that I started to throw a bit of a fit. Just saying that I know myself at the age of 12.

My parents then brought out their gift to me. It was large. And heavy and rectangular. I ripped off the paper to discover my own personal CD player boombox! It rocked. It had two tape decks, a CD player, AND a radio.

I. Was. Cool.

My friend and I raced upstairs to my room and plugged it in. We put in the CD and turned it up loud. To this day, I can still tell you the songs and what order they are for that CD. I can sing every word of it. On the fourth track of the CD, I swore (quietly, of course) for the first time along with the music.

It's one of those things I can't quite give up. Even (OMG, I just calculated this and I don't like the answer) twenty-one years later.

The antenna doesn't stand up so well anymore, so you have to use the handle to help position it. Other than that, it works just fine. The batteries in the remote control -- yep, it even had a remote control -- need replacing, but other than that it's just like new. Minus the tape goo that's still stuck on it in a few places. And the dust. And the scratches from who knows what.

Right now, it's sitting in the garage, as it doesn't really fit anywhere. I'm thinking, though, that maybe it's time to pass this gift on to Mister Man. After all, his first CD player has already bitten the dust. They just don't make things the way they used to, do they?

Breaking The Bank!

We're still struggling just a little bit with Little Miss and potty training. For the most part she's got it, and we don't have streaking issues anymore. However, she also firmly believes that every time she goes poop in the potty and not in her pants, she gets an animal back.

For those of you who've missed the earlier saga, Little Miss could care less about having soiled pants. She's just too busy doing other things. I eventually found that the only way to motivate her -- or at least the only way I could motivate her! -- was to take away two of her precious stuffed animals each time she had streaks. She earns back one when using the potty correctly (thus a streak and a subsequent poop don't quite cancel each other out, and yes she is that sneaky).

Since we tend to use the earning and removal of animals as our general discipline system -- and it's back to working normally again, thankfully -- we tend to always have a supply of animals on hand. Gotta love having a daughter filled with ummmm personality.

Mister Man sees what we do, and he's really supportive of his little sister. He claps and cheers and tells her how proud of her he is. In some ways, he really tries to be a third parent, which we don't encourage but is part of his personality.

My mom called yesterday and told me that Little Miss announced to her -- after doing two large poops in Grandma's potty -- that she got an animal back and that Mister Man was going to give her money, too! My mom wanted to see if I was aware of this.

Well, yeah. I was. Mister Man has recently decided that since we give her animals back, he was going to give her something of his. The only thing he could come up with (and no, he wasn't going to give away his precious Thomas trains) was money from his piggy bank.

Each individual poop earns a coin, regardless of denomination. He runs up to his room as fast as he can, hands me the piggy bank to open, and hands over the coins to Little Miss who then needs me to lift her up to put them into her piggy bank. It's all quite sweet. Or so I thought.

My mom brought up a really good point. Mister Man really hates messes. And smells. And really, he's paying Little Miss to not poop in her pants. And apparently, she can be bought. I hadn't thought of it in quite so crude of terms, but ... I think my mom is right.

Then again, the wee ones' piggy banks are the divided banks with the momma pig and three baby pigs. One for spending, one for saving, one for investing, and one for giving. Each time Mister Man opens the piggy bank, he makes sure that he takes coins only from the giving portion of the bank.

So really, it's all for charity. And charity is good, right? Right?

Tasty Tuesday!

I like breakfast. I don't like to eat right away, but I do need to eat eventually. And I'm generally too tired or too busy or too something to really make breakfast, but I want something healthy and something that's going to fill me up for awhile.

I had forgotten that I used to love meusli. Mmmm granola-y cereal topped with yogurt. And since I don't like nuts and just about every granola you can buy has nuts in it, I decided to make my own. Plus, then I can add my personal favorite -- dried cherries. Yum!

I've been making my granola in batches for over a year now, and everyone in the family loves it. Little Miss loves to help, too -- always good to have a family friendly recipe around!

I typically make up a batch once every week or two and then store it in an airtight container. I eat it for breakfast with milk or yogurt. Little Miss likes her with soy milk. And my husband? Well, it's possible he uses it as a topping for ice cream. To each his own, right?

Anyway, this is my very own recipe for granola, healthy and without all the yuck you get commercially. Plus, it takes me less than forty-five minutes to make breakfast for a couple weeks, and most of that is easily the baking time where I can get other stuff done. You know, like blogging!

Enjoy this week's Tempt My Tummy Tuesday with Blessed With Grace for more fun recipes and kitchen tips!

Cherry Granola

Ingredients:



4 c. old fashioned oatmeal
1 c. wheat germ
1 c. cold milled flax
3/4 c. shredded coconut
2/3 c. pine nuts (toasted)
1 t. nutmeg
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/3 c. oil
3/4 c. honey
2 t. vanilla
1/2 c. dried cherries

(Yes, you can leave out the wheat germ and flax... just add a little extra oatmeal -- but it does make it that much more healthy!)

Mix all dry ingredients together in a bowl except the cherries.



Add the oil, honey and vanilla and stir until coated.



It won't be wet but be sure to continue stirring long enough to coat all the dry ingredients.



Turn out onto a greased baking sheet (silicone pads work great here). Bake at 350 for 30 minutes, stirring once two twice during cooking period - a large spatula works well for this.



Remove from oven and add the cherries. Stir to combine. Let cool then break up any large chunks and store in an airtight container up to a week.



Makes ~21 1/2 cup servings. Enjoy!