Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Life Lessons from New York

When I was 16 years old, my parents allowed me to travel to New York for a summer to study art at Pratt University in Brooklyn. Looking back on it now, I honestly can't believe they let me loose in NYC for an entire summer. I think there were about 20 high school students enrolled in the program from all over the country. We were supervised in a very loose way by some college RA's who were living on campus attending summer school. They were just a few years older than us and trusted us to take care of ourselves (excuse me while I finish laughing a bit here).


Here I am outside of my apartment building in Brooklyn with my friend Myra. Why do I look so scary (I mean besides the braces and the bad hair)? Why am I so blotchy and what are those things all over my lips? Please see life lesson #6.



I attended art classes from 9-1 Monday through Wednesday. On Thursdays our professor took us into Manhattan on trips to museums and galleries. That left a lot of downtime for me to explore the city and get into trouble. The upside of this was that I learned a lot of valuable life lessons that summer which I feel compelled to share with you now:


1. If you leave your purse unattended in Brooklyn - it will most likely not be waiting for you when you return.

On the first day of class I left my new white and black vinyl Esprit purse chock full of traveler's checks and my only piece of identification in an unattended room while I wandered off to find something to sketch that "called to me". The purse was not there when I returned, much to my surprise (but to no one elses).




2. Even if you can't taste the grain alcohol in your Kool-aid, be advised consumption may cause numbness in your appendages.

The RA's who were "responsible" for us threw a party to welcome us to Pratt. Along with some salty snacks, they served us a giant vat of fruit punch spiked liberally with grain alcohol. Thankfully they warned us about the alcohol content in the juice & I only drank 1 glass. Unfortunately, since I was not a big drinker (as I was only 16 years old) the 1 glass I did have rendered my legs completely numb. You'll be glad to know that I was able to get myself back to my room under my own power. Once there I ate about 3 bananas under the impression that they would help my body neutralize the alcohol.


3. The appropriate response to the question "How do I look?" is NEVER "I think you kinda look like a hooker."

My friends decided that we should spend one night in Manhattan going to dance clubs. After we got dressed to go out on the town, my friend Kelly asked me what I thought about her dress and I gave her my honest opinion.
Strangely, she was offended to hear that I thought she resembled an underage street walker - go figure. As we went into the city that evening, I kept my eye out for the cops because I was sure she was going to be incarcerated. I learned later that you can't be arrested for bad fashion decisions (which is really a pity). Since I was deemed too young looking (and honestly I was just too plain chicken) I stayed behind in our room at the Marriott Marquis with another youngster while the rest of the gang went dancing. I am happy to say that despite my worst fears, my friend was not arrested for impersonating a prostitute that evening.

That's my friend Kelly on the left. Sadly, I have no photographic evidence of the "hooker" dress.





4. Subway doors do not always re-open when hitting an obstacle in their path. Sometimes they just stay closed and the train will start to move anyway.

In this instance the obstacle in the path of the doors was my body. One arm and leg were outside on the subway platform, the rest of my body including my head were still inside the train. One of the guys with me was a football player and happily he was really quick on his feet. He flagged down the conductor and got him to stop the train before any permanent damage was done. I still bear the scars of this experience. My minivan has automatic sliding doors and I have lost track of how many times a day I scream "Be careful! THE DOORS ARE CLOSING! Hurry. THE DOORS ARE CLOSING!"






5. Dan Fogelberg should have never dropped out of art school.


Oddly the man who taught me art that summer had been Dan's art teacher back when he was in college. To put it kindly, this professor was not a fan of Dan Fogelberg's music - at all. He often used Dan as an example of the tragedy that could befall us if we didn't continue with our pursuit of art. In his estimation, we were all just a small misstep away from becoming adult easy-listening recording artists. Only our devotion to our art would save us from this sad fate.

The only thing I have in common with Dan Fogelberg- a former art teacher.




6. They're not lying about that hole in the ozone layer.


I decided to test out the theory that the sunscreen is really a placebo by not wearing any for an entire day of fun at Jones Beach (sure this is a theory held by only a few people, but I felt the need to explore it anyway). If you don't know me, I will let you in on a little secret - I have virtually no pigment to my skin. My best friend's little brother used to refer to me as Snow White & Mr Crackers often refers to my skin tone as "fish belly white". I can tell you now that a day at the beach without sunscreen is a day where I will later be badly burned and have a heaping case of sun poisoning. Luckily for me, Pratt had an on call doctor who was able to help me out with a bunch of salves to alleviate some of the pain. Which reminds me...I probably need to make an appointment with my dermatologist for my annual skin check.

I'm sure I probably learned more that summer, but the lessons I listed above have stuck with me the longest. In all, that was probably one of the best summers of my teen years. I had a blast and learned a lot about myself that summer (I mean besides the fact that I was completely naive and should always wear sunscreen). To this day I am very thankful that my parents allowed me to go. I'm glad that my own two hooligans are both so young. Hopefully, that means I have at least 10 years before I have to start worrying about the crazy life lessons they'll be learning while out from under my watchful eye.


Friday, March 27, 2009

A secret boyfriend for Mrs. G

Mrs. G over at The Women's Colony regularly hosts a section in her blog where she lists all of her secret boyfriends - men she admires for their good looks animal magnetism charm and strong acting ability. She asked her readers today to nominate their own "secret boyfriend" for consideration.


I can't disagree with standard beefcake trilogy: George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp. But I find that once I get beyond these three obvious choices, I seem to go my own way when asked by friends to pick the actors I most enjoy watching on screen.


For instance, I just don't get all the fuss being made over Robert Pattinson. He does absolutely nothing for me at all - Nada. Zip. Zilch. In fact, while I enjoyed reading the books of the Twilight series, I have put off seeing the movie because I am quite frankly put off by Robert in all of the promotional posters. I'm not saying that the millions of teenage girls and women who drool at the sight of him are wrong. I merely point this out to illustrate my point - I seem to gravitate toward what might be the less obvious choice.




If I were a teenage girl today forced to identify my favorite mancake (or I guess I should probably call them boycake) I'd choose either Daniel Radcliffe of Harry Potter fame or Michael Cera over Robert Pattison any day.

Yessiree, I sure am excited to see the next installment of the Harry Potter series. My, oh my! Here is one actor who is definitely more handsome than the character I had in my mind's eye as I read the book. (Of course the fact that the character in the book was like 15 years old may have been a factor in this as well.)




And I just can't resist me some Michael Cera. I think I've seen all his movies since he left Arrested Development (which still reigns as my all-time favorite TV show). I know I could be this kid's mother, but I just seem to get enough Michael. He's just too damn cute.



I think that the pick that seemed to scare my friends the most was when I told them that I thought Bill Murray was a hottie extremely attractive. Although I think I made this declaration about 10 years ago, I still recall the scene clearly. Four of my friends and I were driving back to work after a lunch break on a sunny Friday afternoon. We were having fun - all four of us were talking at once about our favorite actors. But, you could have heard a pin drop when I pledged my love for Bill. Everyone in the car looked at me with a combination of horror and (what I can only imagine was) pity. "Bill Murray!?" my friend KK practically bellowed " I don't understand, are you saying that you think he's attractive?" Yep, I do. I can't explain it, but there you go.



There's just something about Bill Murray that does something for me. It may be wrong - but as Mr. Crackers likes to say, there is a lot about me that's just not right.





So, without further ado, I guess it's time for me to reveal my pick for "secret boyfriend".

(Drum roll, please....)






The man I picked in answer to Mrs. G's inquiry was none other than Jason Bateman.



My, oh my indeed! Jason grabbed my attention when he starred in Arrested Development (yes I am noticing a pattern here. And yes, I will admit that I find Will Arnet, who also starred in the series, very attractive as well.) His sarcastic sense of humor and seeming inability to take himself too seriously sealed the deal for me. I was a goner. He's my pick. While I haven't seen all his movies, I really enjoyed watching him in Hancock, Juno and The Kingdom. There is a rumor going around that they are planning to make an Arrested Development movie. By God, I'm telling you this: If they make that movie, I'm going to be the first person in line to buy those tickets baby. Oh yeah!



But while Secret Boyfriends are fun to watch on screen, having someone around in real life who's attractive and can make you laugh is even better.





So here's to you Mr. Crackers. I'm happy that we managed to find each other despite the fact that neither one of is quite right.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

The most important meal of the day


This is the face that awaits me every morning at 7:15 when I come downstairs from my shower. Typically this look is accompanied by a lot of whining and complaining. You see, there is not a food on the planet (except m&m's) that will satisfy K in the morning. In short, there is always an issue with whatever food is prepared for her. It doesn't matter how many mealtime options are presented to her or how accommodating Mr. Crackers & I are, there is always a problem with breakfast.

Here is how a typical morning goes in the Cracker household:


Mr. Crackers: Hey guys, what do you want for breakfast this morning?


K: What are our options?


Mr Crackers: Umm, let's see - you can have pancakes (straight from the freezer - thank you very much), cereal, or peanut butter toast.


C: I'll have pancakes please & a yogurt drink. (C's easy-going attitude toward food is the only reason I consent to eat meals with my children. He is happy to eat almost anything you give him. He can also get through an entire meal without bursting into tears or whining. The same cannot be said for my youngest child, who feels like a meal is not a meal unless served with a great deal of whine. )


K: silence...


Mr. Crackers: K, what do you want to eat?


K: more silence....


Mr. Crackers (more loudly this time): K, what do you want to eat?


K: What are my options?


Mr. Crackers tries to calmly repeat the options he already mentioned above and waits again for a response only to be faced once more with absolute silence...


Mr. Crackers: K, WHAT DO YOU WANT TO EAT???


K: Umm... cereal.


Mr. Crackers: Are you sure?


K: Yes, I want cereal Daddy.

Mr. Crackers then starts to prepare C's breakfast, but before putting the cereal in the bowl for K , he'll shout over to her again to verify what she wants.


Mr. Crackers: K, are you sure you want cereal?


K: Yes Daddy, cereal.


Mr. Crackers: With milk in it?


K: Yes, I want milk in it.


Mr. Crackers then finishes pulling everything together & puts breakfast on the table just as I am entering the kitchen. I call the kids to breakfast (at least twice -since I am usually ignored the first time). Our two hooligans then stumble into the kitchen and head for the table. At this point, the same thing always happens as K gets to her place at the table (no matter what choice she has made that morning).


K: I don't want cereal for breakfast!! (usually this statement is made in a high pitched whine that only dogs & parents can hear). You put milk in it!! I don't want milk! I WANT SOMETHING ELSE TO EAT!


I try to shoot a look over to Mr. Crackers that says "Holy Heck - here we go again", but he is too busy getting himself ready for work. You can sense the desperation as he tries to leave the house as quickly as possible before the whining can pierce both of his eardrums. Really, I can't blame him. If I could, I'd exit the house with him.


Me (as patiently as I can manage before caffeine hits my bloodstream): K, you are the one that picked cereal for breakfast. Please eat some of it.

K: I DON'T WANT CEREAL! I WANT SOMETHING ELSE!

Me (desperately wishing I was still upstairs): What do you want? What will you eat?


K: What are my options??


And so... the process starts again. Knowing that the whining will get exponentially worse the more hungry she becomes is really the only reason that Mr. Crackers & I participate in the daily ritual of torture known in many other households as breakfast.

Once we finally settle on something that she is willing to eat - she gulps down about 3 or 4 bites before declaring that she's full. We then head upstairs to get ready for the day & C heads out the door for school.

Without fail, 15 minutes after C is gone, K looks me in the eye & says. "Mommy, I'm hungry. What are my options?"

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Red Red Wine

Sunday evening we went to my parents house for dinner. Being close to our family was the whole reason we moved back to Ohio four years ago. I'm so glad we made the decision to come home.

There's nothing in the world my two hooligans love more than spending time with Grandma and Grandpa. I think Grandma & Grandpa feel the same way.


Of course, it's probably good we don't come over to visit every day.




I think a few days of rest in between our visits is probably a good thing.




We wouldn't want to wear out our welcome.



It looks like there is no help for Grandpa from the peanut gallery this evening. He's on his own.

That's OK though, Grandpa believes in the restorative powers of red wine. It looks like it's working for him.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

These cupcakes are da bomb!

This past Sunday we went over to my Mom & Dad's house for dinner. Since it was close to St. Patrick's Day, I made the Irish Car Bomb cupcake recipe that I found on the Smitten Kitchen website. Jeeesus, Mary & Joseph! (as my Irish Grandmother used to say) They were the best cupcakes I have ever tasted! Made with Guinness Beer and Bailey's Irish Creme, they seemed like the perfect sweet treat for this time of year.


(food photography is not my thing...sorry for the blurriness!)




If there is any part of you that loves chocolate and the taste of Bailey's Irish Creme, I urge you to make these cupcakes as soon as you possibly can. Although, I have to disclose that since the recipe makes 24 cupcakes, you may want to wait until there are people around so that you don't find yourself eating all 24 yourself (which I would have happily done if left to my own devices. Luckily I froze 6 of the cupcakes & gave the most of the rest away. Still, I have managed to eat 4 of them in the past 48 hours & it will be a miracle if the last cupcake survives until Mr. Crackers gets home tonight!)


Here's the recipe (from SmittenKitchen.com)

Makes 20 to 24 cupcakes

For the Guinness Chocolate Cupcakes:
1 cup stout (such as Guinness)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups all purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sour cream

Ganache Filling:
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter, room temperature

Baileys Frosting:
2 1/2 to 3 cups confections sugar
1 stick unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 tablespoons Baileys

Special equipment: 1-inch round cookie cutter or an apple corer and a piping bag (though a plastic bag with the corner snipped off will also work). I used an apple corer with great success!

Make the cupcakes: Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 24 cupcake cups with liners. Bring 1 cup stout and 1 cup butter to simmer in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until mixture is smooth. Cool slightly.
Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in large bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sour cream in another large bowl to blend. Add stout-chocolate mixture to egg mixture and beat just to combine. Add flour mixture and beat briefly on slow speed. Using rubber spatula, fold batter until completely combined. Divide batter among cupcake liners, filling them 2/3 to 3/4 of the way. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, rotating them once front to back if your oven bakes unevenly, about 17 minutes. Cool cupcakes on a rack completely.

Make the filling: Chop the chocolate and transfer it to a heatproof bowl. Heat the cream until simmering and pour it over the chocolate. Let it sit for one minute and then stir until smooth. (If this has not sufficiently melted the chocolate, you can return it to a double-boiler to gently melt what remains. 20 seconds in the microwave, watching carefully, will also work.) Add the butter and whiskey (if you’re using it) and stir until combined.

Fill the cupcakes: Let the ganache cool until thick but still soft enough to be piped (the fridge will speed this along but you must stir it every 10 minutes). Meanwhile, using your 1-inch round cookie cutter or an apple corer, cut the centers out of the cooled cupcakes. You want to go most of the way down the cupcake but not cut through the bottom — aim for 2/3 of the way. A slim spoon or grapefruit knife will help you get the center out. Put the ganache into a piping bag with a wide tip and fill the holes in each cupcake to the top.

Make the frosting: Whip the butter in a bowl with a hand mixer, for several minutes. You want to get it very light and fluffy. Slowly add the powdered sugar, a little bit at a time.

When the frosting looks thick enough to spread, drizzle in the Baileys (or milk) and whip it until combined. If this has made the frosting too thin (it shouldn’t, but just in case) beat in another spoonful or two of powdered sugar.

Ice and decorate the cupcakes.

As I said before, your final step will be quickly give as many of these away as possible, or you will find yourself barricaded in your own kitchen speed eating them until you are no longer able to button your pants.





And now, in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I will share with you one of my memories of my Irish Grandmother. (I should probably preface this story by saying my paternal grandparents had 12 children - and that is bound to do something to a person. I myself probably would have gone completely insane when faced with that many children to raise.) Although I don't think she was even five feet tall, my Grandma was a force to be reckoned with. To a child of 7 or 8, she was downright fearsome - not at all the prototypical warm and fuzzy grandma.

"Do ya want to play a game with me Karen?"(this in itself should have been a clue that something strange was coming. I think this was the only time she ever uttered that sentence.)


"Sure Grandma, what do you want to play?"

"It's a game I call 52 pick up. Do ya want to know how to play?"

"Yeah" (I swear I have always been incredibly gullible. I had no idea what was coming next.)

"OK. Here we go" she told me as she threw an entire deck of cards up into the air.


We both watched as all 52 cards fell down onto the floral carpeting in the living room.



"Now ya get pick 'em up." she said with a gleam in her eye as she turned and left the room.


I'll tell you something that I learned at an early age. Do not mess with the Irish.

Friday, March 13, 2009

A little spring can be a dangerous thing to a Cracker girl

Last week brought the first real taste of Spring weather to Ohio. Temperatures rose into the low 70's for a few days and we all enjoyed spending some time outdoors.

Something else arrived with those warm winds last week: my 3 year old daughter's thirst for Spring fashions. To K the higher temps meant one thing: new clothes! She went straight to her closet one afternoon & announced she wanted to wear something else. As soon as the closet doors opened, she made a bee-line for the drawer where we keep her summer stuff and began picking out a new outfit. She selected a pair of capri's and a short sleeve shirt. I have to admit we both had fun picking outfits for her to wear last week. All of those bright colors and floral patterns put an extra spring in our steps.


Unfortunately, the weather has been colder this week, but that has not stopped K's appetite for warm weather fashions. Because of this, our normal morning routine has been derailed. It now goes something like this... She looks at the winter clothes I pick out for her each morning and says, "No Mama, I want to wear something else."

She then immediately heads to the closet and picks out a tank top and a pair of shorts and announces "I'm gonna wear this today". I proceed to rip them out of her hands patiently explain the fact that the current temp is 22 degrees and she cannot go outside in what she has picked. Finally after 5 minutes of negotiations, she relents & lets me help her pick something else as long as it's "new". This means I have to use my creative juices (which flow at the speed of molasses at 7:20 in the morning) to pair up summer clothes with warmer items so I can appease her sense of style while allowing her to venture out of the house without getting frostbite. All of this has to be accomplished quickly since we need to be in the van on our way to school just a short time later.

It's bad enough that we do this every morning, but for the last 2 days she's decided to double the pain fun with something new: the mid-day wardrobe change. Now, as she heads into her room for her nap she announces "These clothes are too dirty. I need new ones!" She then completely strips and heads back to her stash of summer clothes in search of a new outfit. And the negotiations start all over again.





Here is today's "afternoon" outfit - stripe capri's paired with a short sleeve top layered over a white l/s tee-shirt.



She comes by this craving for "newness" honestly. I have a vivid memory of an outfit I wore for school pictures one day in late August while still in my early teens. It was a brand new teal and navy plaid flannel shirt with corduroy trim and a pair of matching blue corduroy pants. Sounds fetching n'est pas? I figured, for some reason, it was the perfect outfit for picture day (seriously don't all teenage girls love over sized flannel shirts and matching corduroy trousers?)

I remember my Mom commenting that it was really too warm to wear that particular outfit to school. But darn it all, I loved that strangely androgynous outfit to pieces & I couldn't imagine being photographed in anything else (I need to find that photo, it's got to be somewhere at my parent's house!). So being a typical teen, I completely ignored my Mom and wore it anyway.


I probably don't have to tell you how hot & humid late August can be in Ohio. I probably also don't have to tell you that the bus ride home was like a journey through Hell. I'd say 10 pounds is a conservative estimate on how much water weight I lost in sweat on that particular trip home. Well, what can I say? I was blinded by love. The irrational love of a new outfit.

This is why I don't hide those summer clothes now that she's found them. You see, despite my earlier complaints, secretly I'm having fun with the new clothes too.

Monday, March 9, 2009

I sense a disturbance in the force

I know I've mentioned my 6 year old son's obsession with Star Wars in previous posts. It began in the early Fall when he and Mr. Crackers started playing the Wii game Lego Star Wars. After just a couple of hours, he was hooked (so was Mr. Crackers).



Since then, we've allowed him to watch (our own slightly edited versions of ) most of the Star Wars movies. He's even seen a couple episodes of The Clone Wars. Of course we knew we were feeding his addiction, but since Mr. Crackers & I are also Star Wars fans it seemed like a fun thing to do as a family.



Of course, this has all come back to bite me in my ever expanding behind because now almost every conversation I have with C comes back to his favorite subject.



"Hey Mom, remember when Jabba the Hutt ate that frog in front of Luke Skywalker? That was so gross."

"Hey Mom, remember when Luke was fighting Darth Vader and that the Emperor shot blue lightning out of his fingers. That was so cool."

"Hey Mom, remember how R2D2 fell into the water when he and Luke were visiting Yoda? That was so funny."



I could go on and on. But I will spare you.



He's even infected his younger sister (or Princess Leia as she now likes to refer to herself) with his Star Wars mania. The two of them chase each other around the house reenacting scenes from the movies. I'm trying not to let it worry me that 9 times out of 10 C wants to be the bad guy and use the dark side of the force. Hopefully this is not foreshadowing something evil lurking beneath the surface of his psyche.



I've explained to both of my hooligans that the stories from Star Wars are make-believe and that they all came from the imagination of the enormously creative George Lucas. I'm not sure that C believes me though.



I've caught him trying to use "the force" on quite a few occasions. Just this afternoon he was standing alone in the yard with his right arm stretched out in front of him - the fingers of his hand were stretched forward like he was reaching for something. He seemed to be staring back into the woods behind our house. I had no idea what was going on. I was about to head out & ask him if something was wrong when I realized what he was doing. He was trying to use "the force" to retrieve his soccer ball from the back garden.



It was a riot. He just stood there, still as can be for about a minute, totally focused on his goal. Then he put the fingers of his left hand up to his forehead (I'm sure this was to help him better focus). After a few more minutes he moved a bit to the right then tried it again. He even tried one more time from a sitting position.



Finally, he gave up and ran over the ball. He then, in typical fashion, ran around the yard wildly kicking the ball until he saw me standing at the door.



"Hey buddy", I said "What are you up to?"



"Just playing soccer Ma."



"Anything else?"



"Nope", he replied.



We headed inside & I asked him. "Tried to use the force lately?"



He just grinned at me, rolled his eyes and said "M-o-m. Geez!" and then ran off to get a Capri Sun.



Mr. Crackers & C finally finished playing Lego Star Wars on Wii last weekend. I guess after about 5 months, they had explored everything the game had to offer. So this past Sunday, they broke out the new game that Mr. Crackers had gotten for Christmas - Lego Batman.



We have already told C he won't be watching those movies, but I know he'll pick up a lot from just playing the game. I'm a little nervous about what waits for me on the horizon. If he starts trying to sleep hanging upside down I'm pulling the plug (and calling a therapist.)

Friday, March 6, 2009

My latest fear - the food court ambush

I wanted to tell you about the strangest segment I saw yesterday on the Today show. The woman trainer from Biggest Loser (I have no idea what her name is) was ambushing people in a mall food court somewhere.

I watched her approach a group of 3 women in their mid-sixties who were enjoying a nice ice cream break. Judging by the trainer's reaction, you would have thought these women were speed eating sticks of butter. The food nazi trainer went nuts, berating them for eating ice cream, asking them "Are you aware how much fat you are consuming? Do you know how bad ice cream is for you? Shame on you, eating ice cream at 11:30 in the morning!"

The 3 women stared back at her blankly, hoping that she'd just go away. I kept wishing one of them would scream, "Step back beeyoch! I am over sixty & I can eat a damn ice cream cone whenever the hell I want to!" (Being over 60, they can probably curse on national TV without repercussions -although I may just be making that up.)


Sadly, none of the women did this, they just continued to stare at her until she left to harass other people who were eating "equally dangerous" foods. Now it's one thing to sign up for a show like Biggest Loser & open yourself up to criticism, but it's another thing entirely to have someone ambush you in the food court while you are eating a hot soft pretzel from Auntie Ann's (mmm... pretzels). Seriously, what is this world coming to when you can't make food choices as an adult without criticism from complete strangers?


The segment came to a close with the trainer saying that people eat things like pizza and ice cream because they have low self esteem. She commented that if they could only look ahead to a healthier future for themselves they'd see that salad was a better option and they would give up those other terrible food choices.

I was like - Hey there trainer chick, I've got a news bulletin for you: pizza and ice cream are delicious! I promise that I'm not eating them due to low self esteem. There is no guarantee that I am going to live a really long life just because I eat salad instead of pizza. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and I'm telling you now, if I have the choice I am choosing pizza over salad as my final meal.

I used to have this friend who was constantly criticising the food I would prepare for dinner. Here's a typical conversation:

Her: What are you making for dinner tonight? I think I'm out of ideas...

Me: It's Taco night at the House of Crackers!

Her: You're not making beef tacos are you? That's sooo bad for you. I hope you're making turkey tacos. Please tell me you're not using ground beef.

Me: Well, we do turkey tacos sometimes, but tonight it's ground beef for us.

Her: Seriously Karen, you shouldn't be eating beef - it's soooo bad for you. I feed my family ground turkey all the time & they love it. They say they can't taste any difference and I feel good because I am feeding them something that's really healthy for them. We never eat beef anymore. You should really stop making it too.

At this point my eyes would start to cross & I'd bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying, "Back off there sister!"

I'm telling you, no matter what I was cooking she always had a better, more healthful way to prepare it. As you can imagine I learned after awhile just to tell her that I had no idea what I was making for dinner. It was just easier that way. (Oddly, the woman put more sugary treats into her children than anyone else I know. Every time I talked to her the kids were eating candy or ice cream.)

Now I know that as a country we have a serious weight problem. I'm not advocating the pizza and ice cream diet. I'm just saying that I think it's all about balance. For heavens sakes, my Great Grandma lived to be 103 years old and she had a love affair with butter her whole life. I think that as long as you make the effort to put healthy foods in front of your family most nights, there is nothing wrong with a little ice cream or pizza.

Speaking of which, my mouth is watering - guess what we're having for dinner tonight?

I telling you this though, it may be a long time before I can eat at a food court again without looking over my shoulder. Stupid Today Show!

The winds of change


The first wave of warm weather hit us yesterday here at the House of Crackers and my hooligans wasted no time in getting outside to enjoy it. They were like 2 kids with severe cases of ADD - frantically bouncing from one activity to another. In the span of about 40 minutes they managed to swing, play golf, kick the soccer ball around, ride bikes, draw with chalk, play hopscotch, and take a break with liquid refreshments.

We headed outside again today for more of the same. It's been really windy but, with temperatures in the 60's, none of us are complaining.




I think we're all ready for a little spring...



...even if the back fence still thinks it's Christmas. Oh well, we'll get those lights down before Easter.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Secret places

This may look like an ordinary step stool, but let me assure you it is not.

Both of my hooligans have a stool just like this in their rooms. They got the stools to assist them getting into bed once Mr. Crackers & I cruelly ejected them from their cribs and made them sleep in "big kid" beds (Neither of my two hooligans wanted to stop sleeping in the crib. I think if we would've let them, they'd still be sleeping in it.)

While K still uses her stool for the intended purpose, C has long been able to get into bed without needing a boost.

And yet, I don't think we'll ever be able to get the darn thing out of his room. You see, the top platform of the stool opens up to reveal a place that's just perfect for storing all those small yet important treasures of childhood. Both hooligans call it their special place, I call it a giant crap magnet good place to hide all of the small junk so I don't step on it and hurt myself.


All sorts of things end up in their "secret place". Here's just a sampling.

Here we've got a McDonald's toy, favors from past birthday parties, chap stick, Ponies...

... and more ponies! My sister has a fear of My Pretty Pony. I can understand that fear & I need to warn her now not to EVER look inside K's secret place. She'll have nightmares about technicolor ponies for weeks. By the way, what is that thing with the red face lurking in the corner? Perhaps he is the evil warlord who rules over the land of My Pretty Ponies. He's probably planning some kind of invasion using the pastel colors of the ponies to lull the people of Earth into complacency. Whomever he is, he scares me!


C's secret place is actually a little less crowded - mostly because we made him clean it out recently when the top of the stool would no longer close. Is the tiny oddly proportioned fireman surrendering? Perhaps he's anticipating the impending attack by the army of pastel ponies in K's room.


Honestly, there are just a few things I can identify here: a Santa toy, his new Ugly Doll, a cable car I got as a child... The rest is just more crap stuff.

What's weird is that though the content of both stools is so different, they both have a pirate eye patch inside. I don't know what to say about that.

What I do know is that I'm going to go back into K's room once she's awake & I'm gonna get that guy with the red face out of her secret place. Seriously, no matter how bad things look right now in this country, I'm sure that none of us want to live in a world run by an evil red faced warlord and his battalion of pastel ponies! Just doing my part to keep the world a safer place for democracy.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Cupid's lisp

Every week, C's kindergarten teacher sends home a list of about 10 words that she'd like for us to review with our hooligans at home. Usually these words follow a theme that is sometimes tied to an event going on during that week. Case in point, the word Cupid appeared on the list of words that was sent home on February 9th.



Usually I'll take the list and we'll review it together over lunch, which is just what I did later that afternoon. I explained as best I could the idea of Cupid and how his arrows pierce the hearts of two people to help them fall in love. I told C that this was a myth, but that he'd hear people talk about Cupid especially as we got closer to Valentine's Day.



C looked at me and said, "You know Mom, Cupid has already shot 2 arrows into my heart."



" Really?" I said, " Who were they for?"



C (with a dreamy look in his eye) replied, "They were for both for Gracie. She's so pretty."



I should have guessed. Gracie is a very cute, rather quiet blond girl in C's class. He's had a thing for her ever since the first week of school when he declared, "Mom, I think I'm gonna marry Gracie some day. She's really pretty." I have been hearing about the wonder that is Gracie every week since. Oddly, C never plays with her at recess. But he must keep an eye out for her because he seems to always know what she's been doing on any given day. And he is sure that every white SUV we pass on the road is her car. "There she is Mom! There's Gracie's car!"



I can already tell, his teen years are going to be quite an adventure.


This past week, a note was sent home informing me that C was having difficulty pronouncing the S sound properly and that I would need to come for a meeting with the school's speech counselor. In short, my little C has a lisp. I got to the school Friday morning for the meeting only to discover that Gracie must be having the same problem. Her Mom and I attended the meeting together & learned that we would be spending the next 6 weeks teaching our children the proper techniques to correct this behavior from home. Yikes! You should have seen the packet she gave to us. No joke, it was about 90 pages long. Apparently we will need to get the behavior corrected before the first week of school in the fall or our children will have to go into speech therapy during first grade (no pressure!).



I would be lying if I said these exercises were fun. We've only done them a few times & C already rolls his eyes when I mention that we need to practice them again. "They are so BORING!" C insists. He's right, they are a little tedious. But, I am learning how to motivate my little Casanova. It just takes 8 little words. " I bet Gracie working on her S's too." Suddenly, C seems a little more willing to participate.



Hmm...I wonder what else Gracie can help me out with. The possibilities are intriguing.