Tasty Tuesday!

It's that time of the week again, and last week, I brought you the Southwestern Tortilla Stacker, with promises of Spanish Rice to accompany it this week. Never let it be said that I don't keep my promises.

Again, I'm linking up with Blessed With Grace and Tempt My Tummy Tuesday. I found some really neat recipes there last week (Almond milk? SOOOO what I need for Little Miss and her no dairy diet! Ditto with the Whole Wheat Carrot Cranberry Muffins that I need to make!). I can't wait to see what's up this week.

But first... my recipe for Spanish rice. Sorry I don't have any pictures, but I wasn't planning to post it initially and so didn't take any during the creation of it.

This one tastes so much better than anything that comes out of a box. And it's much healthier, too. The best part is that it's pretty easy and low maintenance, so don't let anyone fool you into thinking this is harder than it is. You'll know better from now on!

Spanish Rice

Ingredients:

1 c low sodium chicken broth
1 c tomato sauce (ok, I usually cheat and use one can which doesn't quite have 1 c in it)
1 t olive oil
3 slices turkey bacon
1 1/4 c diced onion
1 c rice (uncooked)
1 tomato, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1/2 t chili powder
1/4 t salt
1/2 t pepper

Directions:
Makes 8 servings as a side, about 3/4 c each

Place the tomato sauce and broth into a pot and heat to a boil. Heat a large skillet (e.g., bouillabase pan), and add the olive oil once it's hot. Add the bacon and cook. Remove the bacon and reserve the remaining oil. Add the onion and cook about 4-5 minutes, until translucent.

While onion is cooking, chop bacon into small pieces. Add the rice, and cook 3-5 minutes while stirring occasionally. Add the broth/sauce mixture and remaining ingredients. Stir briefly, then cover. Simmer 30-40 minutes, then stir once. Serve hot.

This will reheat ok. Adding a small bit more broth when reheating keeps it from drying out.

Enjoy!

The Miracle Of The Opposing Thumb

We've all heard about how what separates man from the animals is his opposable thumb. That chimps are the only other animals (I'm going by memory now because I'm too lazy to look it up, so go with me here) with thumbs, and that's part of what makes them so special.

I'm here to back that up firsthand.

After my issue on Friday -- you know, where I fought an avocado and the avocado won? -- I havn't been able to use the thumb on my right hand at all. I can move it, but using it in any way that puts pressure on it is too painful. I never really realized how much I use my thumb, especially on my non-dominant hand, until now.

I've decided that I'm a total wimp after this incident. God forbid I ever break my arm where I'm out of commission for more than four or five days. My world as I know it would come to an end. That, or I'd learn to adapt.

And without further ado, my list of things that I'm surprised I can't do (or find quite difficult) without two hands... or at least without two thumbs:

Crack an egg. And so far, I've had to crack three of them. I'm starting to get the hang of it, but only because I know there's a trick to cracking them one handed and I'm determined to master it!

Style my hair. While I'm able to shower and wash my hair one handed sorta ok, actually styling my hair beyond combing it out is pretty much out of the question. I can't hold the blow dryer or a brush in my right hand, which means that I'd basically be creating a rat's nest if I were to try... and that's just not the look I'm going for right now.

Shift my car out of park. You've gotta love all the extra safety features like the button I have to push while shifting to ensure I don't accidentally shift. Of course, now that means I have to get creative and use two hands to shift. Thank God I don't have a manual transmission!

Buckle Little Miss into the carseat. Along the same lines, safety is great, but it's definitely meant for those with two hands. I can manage to undo her carseat -- which makes sense given the fact that I've heard of children undoing their restraints -- but putting it together just isn't happening right now. Fortunately, my husband has been home for the long weekend, so he's been able to do it. Fingers crossed that tomorrow I regain use of my hand. I'm not really comfortable putting her into a booster seat, as that's about the extent of the restraints I can handle at the moment.

Open a jar. I've turned into a total sissy. I've tried everything I can think of to steady the jar with my right hand while using my left to twist it off, but I can't get enough torque. So nowI just walk up to my husband with a sad look on my face and he knows just what to do.

Put on a glove. Yep, January in Chicago and I have a massive bandage on my right hand. I don't own a glove that fits over my thumb, but I have one pair where I can at least sorta get my hand into the glove, even if my thumb isn't in the thumb hole.

Shuffle cards. Because today, of course, was the first day in two months that the wee ones have wanted to play both Crazy 8s and Memory. And if you don't shuffle the cards, the game isn't so fun. So I taught them a new game. I may come to regret it, but they loved 52 card pickup!

Fasten my bra. Any boy worth his salt over the age of 13 and any woman of any age (I think it's genetic) can unfasten a bra with one hand. Have you ever tried to put on one one-handed though? Fortunately, I have managed to figure it out, but it takes a long time and usually involves redoing it a few times, as my bandage gets tangled up in the hooks.

Cook. Ok, I've found a few things that I can make myself, but I can't really open anything that's in a package or cut anything right now. And of course yesterday we headed over to a friend's house, where I was supposed to bring something appetizer-y. So I made a caramel dip (plain yogurt, neufchatel, brown sugar and vanilla blended -- I could do all but open the cream cheese!) and some marinated tomato mozzarella toothpick things. I could get the first tomato on, and I could get just a little of the cheese on, but then I was stuck. My lucky husband got to do all the fun work, with me supervising! That also included cutting up the pineapple for the dip. Watching someone cut up a pineapple for the first time is highly entertaining. At least I was smart enough to get strawberries and apples for the other dipping items, so those were easier to deal with!

Take off a watch. My heart rate monitor has a wristwatch component to it that I wore yesterday when I went to the gym (so, yes, I can run at least with stitches -- we'll see tonight how yoga goes!). I struggled but managed to get it on. However, there was nothing I could do to get it off. Nothing. I finally had to ask another woman in the locker room to help me. Of course, I later realized that had I put it on my right wrist instead of my left, I wouldn't have had any issues. Duh.

And the number one thing I can't do? Shovel. Yep, I'm currently unable to shovel since I can't grip the shovel with a second hand. Darn!

Fortunately... I can still type.

At Least We (They?) Have Fun

I joined a new church last summer. And really, we joined a new religion entirely. I was born and raised Catholic. I was married in a Catholic church, and the wee ones are baptized Catholic.

We left the Catholic church though for a number of reasons, the final straw being the unacceptable (and unavailability) of religious education for the wee ones. We landed in an Episcopal church that is very different from any church I've been a part of before, and not only because of its very small size and tight-knit community.

The Sunday School for this particular church happens between the morning services, wich is different from what I was used to. It occurs in the hour or so before the service that my husband and I would attend. And adults are urged to attend the adult formation classes that occur simultaneously. Yeah... I'm not really into that. Being such a small church though, it would be obvious if I weren't there.

Then I found out that the choir practices at the same time as Sunday School. I enjoy singing, although I'm not a great singer, and they were happy to have another member -- especially a soprano, since there were only one and a sometimes member at the time.

I didn't quite realize what I was signing up for, but I'm in now. Not only do we practice on Sunday mornings, but we have a weekly practice on Wednesday evenings for a couple hours. And once a month or so, we have a couple hour practice on a Saturday morning.

Yesterday is a good example of such a practice, as we have a multi-church choir concert that we're performing in next Sunday (yeah, apparently kids aren't the only ones with choir concerts -- who knew?). In fact, we're performing in Navajo, English and Latin. Memorized.

Shockingly, I actually have the songs down pat after yesterday's almost three hour rehearsal.

Yep, I said a three hour (straight) choir rehearsal. Needless to say, we were a bit slap happy near the end, and me being the new one to the religion, they started pulling out their Episcopal jokes to tell me.

How many Episcopals does it take to change a lightbulb?
Two and a fifth.

In most relgions, whenever two or three are gathered in His name, he is present. For the Episcopals, whenever two are gathered, there's always a fifth present.

Or, as another choir member pointed out, for every four Episcopalians, you find a fifth.

Why do Episcopals all sit in the back of the church?
Because there are no pews in the parking lot.

Episcopals believe they are the only people God trusts enough to take summers off from Church.
What's the best part about being an Episcopalian?
Being Episcopalin never interferes with your politics... or your religion.

Yeah... and apparently they refer to themselves as Whiskey-palians. I just can't quite see having this kind of a conversation in a Catholic church. Maybe it's the churches I ended up at, but this denomination is definitely more my speed!

I Don't Quite Get It...

I gotta vent. And this is going to come out really catty, but I just really don't get it.

As any of you who've read this blog for any period of time know, both the wee ones go to a special needs preschool. In Illinois, once you turn three you can be screened to see if you qualify to go to the Early Learning Center in your school district. As of this year, you need only one qualifying criteria, but you used to need two.

They range anything from being a multiple to low income to having been a part of the Early Intervention program to English not being your native language to having a sibling who attended and more. Of course, if you have a developmental delay, you automatically qualify and receive an IEP (an Individual Education Program) that has the goals your child is striving to meet that year.

Mister Man qualified to go because he was part of Early Intervention (which meant he had to be screened and evaluated as to whether or not he needed to attend before his third birthday) because he was a part of the EI program, as well as because he had gross and fine motor delays and some pragmatic language delays. He doesn't have an official diagnosis, and my sincere hope is that he never needs one. But this is the right place for him.

Do I love him any less because he attends this school? Am I embarrassed about the fact that he attendst his school when the majority of my friends have "normal" kids who go to private preschool? Absolutely not on either count.

Little Miss probably would be fine not at the school. She was part of EI but graduated just after turning two. She doesn't have an IEP but attends as an at-risk child. They are somewhat concerned about her balance, but I'm still waiting for that call saying they want to test her to possibly develop an IEP. Cynically, I think the principal wanted Little Miss at the preschool so that I would still be involved after this year.

Because this year, I'm the PTO president for the preschool, and I do a lot of work for it. I enjoy trying to make a difference there, and I recognize the importance of it. The woman who was president for the two years before me was quite possibly a better president. She's a stay at home mom and is involved in a ton of community organizations so has network connections everywhere. Hats off to her for doing a great job.

This year, her son moved to kindergarten, so she handed over the reins of the presidency. She didn't totally step away from her involvement in special needs causes, however. She co-founded a special needs organization for our area that focuses on all the support and advocacy you need outside school. She's currently the president of that organization.

I can't commit to any more meetings or organizations right now with my schedule, so I haven't seen her in action in this organization firsthand, but I can only imagine the effort she's putting forth and the bang-up job that she's doing. She's very vocal in her support or her child and all children with special needs. In fact, she was one of those spearheading the effort to get our board to approve building a new school.

So you can imagine the shock when she friended me on Facebook but then immediately sent me a note on my home account. "I want to be your friend on Facebook, but please don't say anything about Bart (her son). None of my friends from high school or college know anything about him, and I'd prefer it stay that way."

Really?

Her son doesn't stick out. He's much like Mister Man in many ways. In fact, they were in the same class last year and got along famously with another boy. I keep thinking about this. Mulling it over in my mind why she doesn't want anyone to know.

In a way, I'd totally understand if she were just someone that I'd met through Mister Man at school who wasn't involved and who just sort of stayed quiet. But she's not. She was the face and the voice of our program for two and a half years. She was an advocate. And now, I feel like she's a hypocrite.

It can't be that she's embarrassed by him, can it? I keep going back and forth between that and wanting to protect him from anyone saying something to him to hurt his feeling about not being "normal." But these are people from high school. From college. Who she's connected to only via Facebook and not people that she sees on a regular basis or who would really come into contact with her son where they'd say something to him.

It really feels like she's just trying to save face and create the illusion of a perfect life. And to me... that's truly disheartening. What kind of a message is she sending to all those people who think that being special needs doesn't affect them? What is she saying to all those people who should have their child tested for delays but don't because they're afraid of the labels they might receive?

Why wouldn't she tell these people that it's ok. That you can have a child with special needs and that there are so many flavors of it from things that are barely perceptible to very severe delays. That everyone needs a little help, and that it's better to get the help when they're young than to pretend it doesn't exist and just hope it goes away. That special needs doesn't just happen to someone else but that it impacts more people than you'd ever guess.

I really don't get it. And unfortunately, that single email caused me to lose a lot of respect for her. And that makes me sad.

Don't Use A Bigger Tool Than You Need

Have you noticed that today's post came out much later than a normal Friday post? Yeah... me, too. Wanna know why?

Basically, I'm a moron. And I'm ok with admitting that.

I was making some guacamole for lunch today (see, I told you I've been making it a lot), and for whatever reason, I was using a chef's knife. To remove the pit from the avocado, you ram the knife into the pit and twist. The pit pops out clean, and ta-da, you're done.

But if you use a chef's knife, it's really sharp. And it goes deeply enough into the pit and is still sharp enough that when you twist, frequently you just tear off part of the pit instead of popping it out. I know this from experience -- previous experience even.

Today though, I stuck the knife into the pit and twisted. It broke off the pit. Twice. The third time, I was talking to the wee ones explaining how to make guacamole when I slammed the knife into the pit for the third time. And "into" the pit might be a bit of a misnomer. I sorta sliced off a portion of the pit. And the knife kept going. Right into my thumb.

Regrettably, I don't have a picture of the injury. I wasn't thinking quite that clearly (and I hear that huge sigh of relief, people!).

I did, however, have the presence of mind to put down the knife, poke at the wound to see if it would bleed and then make a beeline for the kitchen sink and blood welled up in and around the wound. The drip, drip, drip of the blood into the sink convinced me that it wasn't a good idea to go upstairs on the light beige carpet myself in search of a Band-Aid, so I sent Mister Man instead.

My good helper! At first he couldn't find a Band-Aid, but he persevered. He was such a helper, that he insisted that he open the Band-Aid for me. Except that he doesn't know how to open it from the top, so he tried to open it by tearing little holes in the sides. As he was walking down the stairs. Slowly walking down the stairs.

Fortunately, I put the Band-Aid on and the bleeding stopped. I then finished the guacamole and ate it, put the wee ones to bed and went to a playdate. My thumb hurt some, but what do you expect?

At the playdate, I bumped my thumb on a car and blood started pouring out from under the Band-Aid. I replaced it and we went home. Where I then started googling "when to get stitches."

I headed to the ER. Because, you know, I haven't been there often enough lately.

Shockingly, in the four below zero weather, the ER was pretty quiet. I was seen almost immediately. And they agreed that I needed stitches.

Bummer! I haven't had stitches since I was two years old and sliced open my finger scraping tomato paste out of a can with my finger (don't ask). But I'm game. I have no fear of blood or needles, so sewing my hand should be easy!

The irrigation part confirmed my confidence level. It hurt just a little bit, but no biggie.

Then the doctor came in. He had a large needle. Apparently they needed to numb the area. I looked at my hand and tried to figure out where they were going to inject it. All my theories were dashed when he started injecting it right at my knuckle. I watched as a whole lotta numbing stuff started to make my thumb swell out unnaturally to where it looked like a second thumb was growing. Then he moved it to another spot and kept injecting. I had to look at away, as that was just creeping me out.

Then he used his little fishhook to start sewing me up. OUCH! As I started squirming, the doctor asked if I could still feel it. Ummm yeah! He reassured me that he'd hold off and we'd finish up in a few minutes when the numbing agent set in.

Then he proceeded to finish pushing his fishhook through my skin. He pulled the thread through. Then the started tying knots. Ow! Ouch! OWWWWW! When he finished that suture, he walked out until the numbing agent took effect.

When he came back,he poked me with the needle a few time before starting. Good to go! We got the last two sutures in with no issues, and I was ready to go home.

Except now I need to go to the doctor on Monday. Bummer. And I can't get my hand wet until after my wound check. I can't wait to see how I figured that out.

So the next time you try to pit an avocado, use a smaller knife. A chef's knife really isn't necessary. I promise.

I Was Always Such A Good Girl

As a mom, one of the most important things to teach my kids is to have a moral compass. In this day and age, we need a strong moral compass considering how many around us do wrong on a daily basis and think nothing of it -- and yes, I'm talking to you mommy at daycare who parks in the handicapped spot because you can't be bothered to park two spots away. Don't you think about what that's teaching your child?

But I digress....

I do my best to make sure the wee ones know right from wrong. To know that it's important for them to feel right about themselves, regardless of what others think or do. And to be content with that.

It's a big mission isn't it? And I really have no idea how to do it other than to show on a daily basis that I believe what I tell them and that it works.

My mom taught me well. In fact, she may have taught me a little too well. I told you before about the guilt I still feel about cheating (ok, I thought I did but I can't find that post so maybe I didn't). I haven't told you yet that I also once stole.

Shockingly, I still feel guilty about it.

But worse... I stole more than once.

Do you remember when we were younger (only those of us in my generation respond please -- I don't want any of that "What are you talking about" stuff from you young folk) and we had those plastic chain necklaces with the plastic charms that we clipped to them?

I had a blue chain. I remember that. And I had a ton of charms. One day, I was in a store that sold the charms. They stored them in bins and bins and bins throughout the middle of the store. There were tons of charms. I was probably in late elementary school, and I'm pretty sure my mom and sister were with me. I saw a rocket ship shaped much like Challenger that I wanted.

I have no idea why I wanted it. And my mom probably would have bought it for me -- eventually, if not that day. But I picked it up and slipped it in my pocket. And we all walked out of the store.

Until me, the good little girl, couldn't stand the guilt. I was maybe five feet out the store when I turned around and ran back into the store to put the little rocket back into its bin. My mom never knew.

I really should have known better.

I'd stolen before. This time, I was younger. I was in fourth grade, and Leslie Field was my best friend. She was an only child, adopted, and her parents truly doted on her. She had her bedroom filled with all sorts of cool toys and a spare bedroom that was her playroom.

By no means was I deprived of anything, but I didn't have quite as much... anything as Leslie did. And I was jealous of her. We were both new in school that year, but she seemed to have an easier time of it than I did, although we were definitely best friends. Apparently as a fourth grader I felt a bit inadequate.

She had one thing (besides the awesomely cool dollhouse) that I didn't have. She had the little gold tin that slid sideways to open to reveal fruit flavored lip balm. My mom would never buy that for me. And Leslie had the watermelon flavored kind.

The generous friend she was, she often shared it with me, and I coveted that lip balm. She kept it on the shelf of her desk in her bedroom. When we were in her playroom one day, I wandered into her bedroom and pocketed the lip balm. She had so much other stuff, she'd never miss it, right? We continued playing with her massively ornate dollhouse.

The next day, she told me that her lip balm was missing. I played the concerned friend and helped her look for it. Secretly, I was triumphant. She didn't suspect a thing.

But... that triumphant feeling didn't last long. Soon I felt guilty. That night, I put the lip balm back into my pocket to return to Leslie. I could admit to her that I'd taken it, but I was a coward. I waited until we were back at her house and then slipped it underneath her chair that converted to a bed. I later "found" it and showed her.

I didn't learn from the first experience, but I certainly did from the second. And in looking back at this, in a weird way, I hope that the wee ones do try to steal when they're young. And I hope that I've somehow managed to do a good enough job in cementing their moral compasses that they realize how icky that makes them feel so that they never steal again.

Hey. It worked for me!

It's Still January!

Indulge me here a moment. I'm a mom of a preschooler who will be going to kindergarten next year. And right now, it's so cold that school may be canceled tomorrow. I'm focused on making sure that our pipes don't freeze and that we keep the driveway and sidewalk passable from all the snow.

I'm not ready to start thinking about next year. After spring break. After the rest of the school year. After summer school. After the long, lazy days of playing in the pool and around the neighborhood and riding bikes. I'm not ready to think about the first week of September and what my baby is going to be doing!

But I don't really get that choice. I have friends who've already registered their children for kindergarten for next year. In fact, they'll find out this coming Friday whether they got into the full day kindergarten program or just the half day one.

In other words, I shouldn't really complain.

But tonight, I went to a meeting about transitioning from the early learning center to kindergarten. It was actually quite informative, and I'm glad I went. They had a whole panel of people from different kindergarten programs and therapists and teachers at our current school to describe what they do and answer questions.

Yeah. Let me ask questions. They regretted that, I think. I ask a lot of questions because I want to understand things. That and I have a husband who teaches in the district, so I get partial information on a lot of things that others may not have learned yet.

From listening to the presentation, I'm pretty sure that Mister Man will go to his home school. He won't need to go to one of the special programs throughout the district, and for that I'm grateful. I'm pretty sure that he'll receive services, but they really try to push them in the classroom versus making it a big thing where he is pulled from the classroom and made aware that he's so different. It really takes away some of the worry.

Plus, I found out that they have a great program that is open to residents across the district -- special education and not -- to get ready for kindergarten. And more importantly, that the slots fill up really fast. Now I know not to dither and to make sure I turn in that form as quickly as possible. I won't wonder whether or not he'll go to summer school via the early learning center like he has the past two summers and then end up not getting into the program. And best of all, if the ELC recommends that he attend the program, they provide bussing, so that's one less worry for me. Yay!

Interestingly, only three of the schools in our district do any sort of kindergarten screening. I'm not an expert, but I always thought they did assessments of kids before they went to kindergarten to get a sense of what they do and don't know. Fortunately, my home school is one of those, so Mister Man will head over to the school one day in March with another four or six kids for an hour and a half. They'll test his hearing and vision and see if he knows his letters, recognizes colors and shapes, can count to twenty and the like. Yeah. I'll have to make sure that he shows them what he actually knows so that ...

they can make sure to provide him with the differentiated education my district is so proud of. Apparently they really mean it when they say that the kids who know how to read are given extra work and higher level concepts to focus on rather than being bored. I'll believe it when I see it, but they really pushed it tonight. In fact, they said that if the level of acceleration is enough that they're doing completely different things from the rest of the class, they'll involve the gifted coordinator in the district from the get-go instead of waiting for the testing they ordinarily do in second grade. The last thing anyone wants -- whether they know it or not at this point -- is for Mister Man to be bored!

He has an IEP, and he'll continue to have an IEP. This fall he'll be re-evaluated because it's time for the three year evaluation (that I also learned about tonight). Who knows what this will show, but the schools are very willing to continue to provide consult services to keep an IEP open in case the progress made doesn't continue. That prevents having to go through all sorts of testing and other hoops if the need to reopen an IEP comes up. But fingers crossed, one day soon he will graduate from needing an IEP. I'd love to see him a totally "normal" kid, but if that doesn't happen this district provides great support, and it's the best place for him. As long as he's happy, that's all I ask.

And best of all, the principal agreed to my suggestion that we put together a voluntary list of parents in the school who have children moving on to kindergarten throughout the district who want to get together with other children from their anticipated schools prior to the school year. Yay! I'll actually know someone other than the few kids in our neighborhood who will be moving on with us. And more importantly, I'll have some more resources who will get my concerns and frustrations, having lived through them theirselves. I'm making up the form tonight, and we're starting to pull the list together at Dad's Night next month!

And soon. All too soon. In nine short months, I'll have a kindergartener on my hands!