We are so lucky to live here. I absolutely LOVE Lincoln, NE. We have made great family memories here, and even though the weather can turn inclement on a dime, there's not much that we don't like about Lincoln.
One of those things is traffic. There is no traffic. At least, not like the traffic I grew up dealing with. Concord at 6:30-8:30am? HORRIFIC.
Lincoln? None. Nein. Zilch. Zero.
Nada.
So, taking Drue to the bus stop on the way to dropping James off at school is not a problem.
Yesterday morning, we were in the car driving to the bus stop. As we were driving, I was making a mental list of the order of things to be done. And you know how sometimes in your distraction you mumble things aloud? That's what I was doing.
"Mom, what are you doing?", comes from the back seat.
"I'm just talking to myself", I answer.
"Can I talk to myself?", he asks so sweetly and innocently.
"Of course you can."
"Okay. Good morning, James.
Hi. How are you?
Good! Did you finnish your homework?
Yes! Did you eat your breakfast?
Yes! It was good. Are you ready to go to school?
Yes!
Okay. Let's go!
Mom, I'm all done!"
(At this point I'm struggling to keep my laughter in silent mode so I could listen to this personal little exchange)
He's so sweet. And also quite literal!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Mornings
We have only 2 kinds of mornings in my house: The ones that include me yelling, and the ones that don't.
I'll let you guess how often that second option happens.
Sometimes I'm yelling in a controlled way, more like speaking in large type. This is not the more common way I seem to communicate with my offspring.
Why is it that children do not ever seem to hear what you are saying until it's being said about 40 decibels louder than a jackhammer?
Example:
This morning, James woke up Oliver in some way that really made Oliver mad. MAD, mad.
So, imagine my glee when I was awakened to a shrill, impressively loud shriek being emitted from the floor on my side of the bed. (Why is it never on D's side?! Just answer me that.)
I immediately felt the urge to yell.
But I didn't.
Don't laugh. I honestly struggled with the thought of picking up both of my children by the scruff of their necks, hauling them to their room and depositing them in their beds for the mother of all time-outs.
But I didn't.
Instead, I calmly asked what happened. Score one for personal restraint.
But the fun didn't end there. Oh, no.
It truly seemed that every 5 minutes or so I would say the same phrase: "James, don't touch your brother".
"James, don't touch your brother."
"James! don't touch your brother."
"James. do. not. touch. your. bro-ther."
Jamesdon'ttouchyourbrother!
This can't be unique. I'm not that special.
I may just need a little assurance that
a. I am sane
b. my children are normal. Or as my sister-in-law says: It's age-appropriate crap-behavior.
c. I'm not permanently scarring my kids.
Now, if you'll excuse me, apparently, I need to go play trains.
I'll let you guess how often that second option happens.
Sometimes I'm yelling in a controlled way, more like speaking in large type. This is not the more common way I seem to communicate with my offspring.
Why is it that children do not ever seem to hear what you are saying until it's being said about 40 decibels louder than a jackhammer?
Example:
This morning, James woke up Oliver in some way that really made Oliver mad. MAD, mad.
So, imagine my glee when I was awakened to a shrill, impressively loud shriek being emitted from the floor on my side of the bed. (Why is it never on D's side?! Just answer me that.)
I immediately felt the urge to yell.
But I didn't.
Don't laugh. I honestly struggled with the thought of picking up both of my children by the scruff of their necks, hauling them to their room and depositing them in their beds for the mother of all time-outs.
But I didn't.
Instead, I calmly asked what happened. Score one for personal restraint.
But the fun didn't end there. Oh, no.
It truly seemed that every 5 minutes or so I would say the same phrase: "James, don't touch your brother".
"James, don't touch your brother."
"James! don't touch your brother."
"James. do. not. touch. your. bro-ther."
Jamesdon'ttouchyourbrother!
This can't be unique. I'm not that special.
I may just need a little assurance that
a. I am sane
b. my children are normal. Or as my sister-in-law says: It's age-appropriate crap-behavior.
c. I'm not permanently scarring my kids.
Now, if you'll excuse me, apparently, I need to go play trains.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Story
Here's why I wanted a frying pan for a present from my husband. Really, it could have come from anyone, but since D is the one who will be benefiting from my amazing culinary skills, I think he saw the need and strove to fill it. What a good husband.
Back to why I wanted a frying pan.
And not just any frying pan.
A Lodge Logic 12" cast iron pre-seasoned frying pan.
When I went to visit my parents in January, I did a bit of cooking.
"Bit" may be an understatement.
I did a WHOLE LOT of cooking.
But, why would I want to travel, 'literally' (said like Chris from Parks and Recreation) 1,800 miles in one direction.... to COOK?
Two words: no kids.
It was awesome. I got to cook and no one was fighting/hitting/playing-under-foot/talking incessantly etc...etc...etc...
Have you children? Do you cook? Then you know what I'm saying. It's almost impossible to do what you need to make GOOD food.
But it was wonderful. Sans kiddos I made:
2 full size Texas Sheet Cakes
Chili (Rick Bayless is my hero)
Chicken Tikka Masala (Pioneer Woman is my heroine)
Biscuits/eggs/fried potatoes/ Jimmy Dean Sausage (that I hauled all the way up from the states!- guess what you CAN'T get in Canada?) (Also, my Dad is my Hero)
Carrot Cake (Betty is the woman on this one) with the most amazing Mascarpone/Cream Cheese/Heavy Whipping Cream frosting. The calorie count on the frosting alone has to be over 1,000 calories!!!
3 pans of cinnamon rolls (and again, my Dad is the one to listen to. You were right dad. Don't be stingy with the brown sugar. Nor the butter. Nor the pecans. You know what- just be generous with everything)
And doubled my favorite Julia Child roast chicken recipe, plus sauce and asparagus.
Granted, the asparagus turned out significantly over-done. So, no score on that.
But everything else was, if I say so myself, GOOD.
So, take that naysayers from my youth. I CAN cook.
But while I was making all this food, I was introduced to the cast iron skillet.
Oh. my.
Lovely, easy to cook with, perfectly done everything, great sear, great flavor...
I could go on.
Perhaps I should write a sonnet:
Oh Skillet of my heart you cook so well
You brown and sear the beef, the chicken too
When hot and oil'd thy flavors blend to swell
The hearts of those who eat of food from you.
I could go on. There ARE another 10 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter for this particular work.
Should I publish? Just think of it- a whole tome of sonnets about cookware.
I'm thinking Pulitzer. You're probably thinking "round file".
But since I have returned from my Great White North adventure, I have been jones-ing for a cast iron skillet. It's the pan of choice. I may never have to buy another frying pan. Ever.
All-Clad can eat my shorts.
Cast iron just stole my heart.
Back to why I wanted a frying pan.
And not just any frying pan.
A Lodge Logic 12" cast iron pre-seasoned frying pan.
When I went to visit my parents in January, I did a bit of cooking.
"Bit" may be an understatement.
I did a WHOLE LOT of cooking.
But, why would I want to travel, 'literally' (said like Chris from Parks and Recreation) 1,800 miles in one direction.... to COOK?
Two words: no kids.
It was awesome. I got to cook and no one was fighting/hitting/playing-under-foot/talking incessantly etc...etc...etc...
Have you children? Do you cook? Then you know what I'm saying. It's almost impossible to do what you need to make GOOD food.
But it was wonderful. Sans kiddos I made:
2 full size Texas Sheet Cakes
Chili (Rick Bayless is my hero)
Chicken Tikka Masala (Pioneer Woman is my heroine)
Biscuits/eggs/fried potatoes/ Jimmy Dean Sausage (that I hauled all the way up from the states!- guess what you CAN'T get in Canada?) (Also, my Dad is my Hero)
Carrot Cake (Betty is the woman on this one) with the most amazing Mascarpone/Cream Cheese/Heavy Whipping Cream frosting. The calorie count on the frosting alone has to be over 1,000 calories!!!
3 pans of cinnamon rolls (and again, my Dad is the one to listen to. You were right dad. Don't be stingy with the brown sugar. Nor the butter. Nor the pecans. You know what- just be generous with everything)
And doubled my favorite Julia Child roast chicken recipe, plus sauce and asparagus.
Granted, the asparagus turned out significantly over-done. So, no score on that.
But everything else was, if I say so myself, GOOD.
So, take that naysayers from my youth. I CAN cook.
But while I was making all this food, I was introduced to the cast iron skillet.
Oh. my.
Lovely, easy to cook with, perfectly done everything, great sear, great flavor...
I could go on.
Perhaps I should write a sonnet:
Oh Skillet of my heart you cook so well
You brown and sear the beef, the chicken too
When hot and oil'd thy flavors blend to swell
The hearts of those who eat of food from you.
I could go on. There ARE another 10 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter for this particular work.
Should I publish? Just think of it- a whole tome of sonnets about cookware.
I'm thinking Pulitzer. You're probably thinking "round file".
But since I have returned from my Great White North adventure, I have been jones-ing for a cast iron skillet. It's the pan of choice. I may never have to buy another frying pan. Ever.
All-Clad can eat my shorts.
Cast iron just stole my heart.
Valentine's present
Frying Pans! Who knew, right?!
Happy V-day to me! Thanks lovey. It's perfect. And it will always fit.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Nap time
No longer exists.
I'm devastated.
No more afternoon naps for me.
I'm going to bed tonight at 9.
I'm devastated.
No more afternoon naps for me.
I'm going to bed tonight at 9.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Update
I just checked out this website: www.Sproost.com to take their personal style quiz.
They say I'm a 'Cottage Chic' gal. I guess that's true. I like light neutrals, a few fun-color pieces, and cozy spaces. At least, that's what they say I like.
They say I'm a 'Cottage Chic' gal. I guess that's true. I like light neutrals, a few fun-color pieces, and cozy spaces. At least, that's what they say I like.
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