tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56191392263948383192023-05-21T09:08:40.104-07:00Adventures In Twin ParentingA quick look at the trials & triumphs of raising twins.
(With some odds & ends thrown in for good measure.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-54803936597080685462015-03-25T14:59:00.001-07:002015-03-29T11:17:53.758-07:00Gluten Free/Low Carb Chocolate Almond CookiesThe digital age is really something, isn't it? I mean, information galore is always literally at your fingertips. Just a quick combination of taps and you have access to almost anything you could ever want. Keeping digital recipes is a life saver too. See a recipe on the web that you like? Just email it to yourself. Or better yet? Pin it.<br />
<br />
Ahh, the "Pin". Who among us does not love the joy of Pinterest? I swear that site is like the Target of the digital world; I can literally scroll away hours perusing pin after pin, when I only sat down for "just five minutes". It. Is. Awesome. My recipe boards overflow-eth with scrumptious options to break the daily monotony of "What's For Dinner". <br />
<br />
And it is all truly magical. Until you lose a Pin. Has this ever happened to you? Your favorite "Go To" recipe---the one you've learned to not be able to live without, but haven't exactly memorized yet, fails to open up when you need it. What? Where is it? Address Not Found. Cannot Display Page. What is that? What? Wait--NOOOOOOOOOO!!<br />
<br />
Gone. Forever. <br />
<br />
If you're lucky, another version of the recipe exists, but if you're not---you are out of luck, wandering in a desert of despair, trying to remember the collection of ingredients that once yielded such joy, but now simply refuse to be remembered. <br />
<br />
Such was the sad fate of our family's most favorite cookie recipe. Low carb. Chocolatey goodness. Perfect. (And suddenly, it seemed, deleted from all the web-kind.) It's taken some time, but I've finally recreated a version of the recipe that we like even a bit more. It's based on a mixture of flourless chocolate cake recipes, modified to hold up as a cookie. Decadent. Delicious. (And no longer missing). <br />
<br />
Best of all, there are choices to be had. You can make them as is, which will yield a sort of Mexican Hot Chocolate sort of heaven. Or you can sub out a few ingredients and make them into a minty dream. If you're feeling adventurous, I would imagine you could play around with the extracts and see what adding orange would do, although I haven't tried that out myself.<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Almond Meal Chocolate Cookies</u></strong> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(makes about 18 cookies, depending on size)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">3TBS butter or coconut oil</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">3TBS honey</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1/2 cup chopped dark chocolate (I sometimes use blocks that have almonds in them. Yum.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 egg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1/2 tsp cinnamon (you should omit this if you're going for a mint version)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">dash of cayenne (again, omit this for mint version)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1/4 tsp salt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1/4 tsp baking soda</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 cup of almond meal</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">***If making a mint version, you'll want to omit the cinnamon & cayenne, and add about 1/2 tsp of peppermint extract. If you like things really minty, you can push it up to 1 tsp.)***</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Preheat oven to 350. Line a baking sheet with a silicon mat or parchment paper. Place butter/oil, honey, and chocolate in a microwave safe bowl. Melt until smooth for 30 seconds. If mixture isn't fully melted (be sure to stir since chocolate will not lose its shape), microwave in increments of 10 seconds until you get a smooth consistency. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">In another bowl, lightly whisk the egg until pale and a little foamy. Add cinnamon & cayenne (if using....and add extract if going the minty route). Add in salt, baking soda, and almond meal. Stir until combined. Add chocolate mixture to egg mixture and stir well. Place bowl in fridge to chill for about 10 minutes. This will firm up the dough a bit more.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">After dough has chilled, drop by teaspoons (smaller cookies) or by tablespoons (larger cookies) about 2 inches apart on prepared sheet. Bake for about 10 minutes. Cookies should be soft on top, but firm when gently lifted with a spatula. Allow to rest on the sheet for 10-15 minutes. They will firm up more as they sit.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">***You can also add nuts to this, or for funsies, toss in some chocolate chips too. Yum.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DOjqqGxrKLA/VRMvmHlJwjI/AAAAAAAAAXs/KH4t2l8e3yQ/s1600/IMG_1772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DOjqqGxrKLA/VRMvmHlJwjI/AAAAAAAAAXs/KH4t2l8e3yQ/s1600/IMG_1772.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-42297616945034275922015-01-30T09:06:00.001-08:002015-01-30T09:06:30.907-08:00The Time Our Water Line FrozeOne year ago today our family went on a vacation. It was a lovely vacation to Florida, filled with days at Disney, and Universal; time spent along the shore in Bonita Springs; exploring in the Everglades; and creeping along the Keys. Outbound on the vacation we were skirting an ice storm in Atlanta. Our homecoming, some 19 days later, involved avoiding yet another southern ice storm. And there was an Ice Storm of epic proportions awaiting our return as well.<br />
<br />
This epic road trip created a plethora of memories for our family, many of which the girls still talk about today, one year later. <br />
<br />
The trip was also the beginning of a journey that we did not anticipate having to deal with: a frozen water line under the street that cut water to our house. That misadventure will be forever linked with our trip, for better or for worse. <br />
<br />
Imagine being a thousand miles away from home and getting a call that your house no longer has water. And there is nothing you can do about it other than place phone calls, line up appointments, and rely on the good graces of your neighbors for help.<br />
<br />
We had to make choices: Stay put or head home early? Who do we need to call about this? How much effort do we expend on "repair" when we're not even home??<br />
<br />
In the end we opted (wisely) to put a hold on trying to fix it. We started back on our originally planned time and arrived home on our anticipated day. Guess how exciting <em>that</em> 2 day drive home was, knowing we would be walking into a house with no water. Go ahead; guess.<br />
<br />
We spent the next 2 weeks dealing with finding the root cause of the problem. We found out, through a lot of exploration and multiple opinions, that the freeze wasn't on our line at all, but was under the street on the city's line. The next shock came when our fair city declined to help us get water restored, even when they found out it was their line frozen. <br />
<br />
The following 2 weeks were spent in daily battles with the city's "solution" to our problem: a hose connected from a neighbor's house to ours. The hose was supplying water which we were told not to use for cooking, drinking, bathing, or washing clothing, but which constituted a "Fix" for the problem. Two weeks of fighting below freezing temps that froze the hose as it was running. Two weeks of constant phone calls to the city for new hose lines to replace the frozen one; and jumping the hose from one neighbor's house to another one when their spigot froze solid. Two weeks of boiling water just to bath, brush teeth, and cook. <br />
<br />
Then came the ultimate low point in the midst of this iced-over nightmare. During yet another late night struggle to keep the hose line running, it froze up as we watched it. We called the city's off hours help line (a number they had given us to call in such an event) and told the on-duty worker that we needed to have the hose swapped out, could they please drop one off for us so we could attach it before the spigots froze and we had to deal with the arduous process of thawing those out (again). The worker informed us that the city had decided to cease assisting us. It was our problem. (Despite it being their frozen water line, mind you). <br />
<br />
Then she uttered the words that still raise the red flag of rage in me to this day: <em>"It's not that big of a deal. It's just until spring."</em> In the middle of the world's longest, frozen winter ever, she tells us the weeks we'd been without water weren't a big deal. Surely we wouldn't mind dealing with it for another 6 or 8 weeks. You know, just till spring.<br />
<br />
I will never know who she was, but there is a part of me that has to credit her with the final solution to our problem. Her callous words were the fuel that lit my drive to <strong>Get. This. Done.</strong> Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right? Well, it also hath no fury like a woman whose family has been brushed off casually by the people charged with providing and maintaining services, let me tell you. <br />
<br />
Empowered by a new sort of mission, I shouted our calamity across the city. Emails were sent. Phone calls were made. Within a week word made its way back to me that people were talking. A conversation with a store cashier led her ask if I'd heard about the family in town dealing with the Water Situation? Others asked my parents if "they knew the poor family that was dealing with that awful water situation in town?" By the time I was done, a larger circle was aware of our plight: the city's waterline had frozen, leaving us without water, and they had admittedly stopped helping us in favor of waiting for the spring thaw.<br />
<br />
A sudden changed happened when city council stepped in. <br />
<br />
On a snowy March morning, exactly one month to the day when water had stopped, the city came out and began to dig up the waterline in the street. They found the freeze almost at the main line. They also discovered that the entire problem had been caused by a waterline had been sunk too shallow under the street to begin with. It had been a frozen line waiting to happen. For years.<br />
<br />
Even as they dug, with all the machine power available, their process was made tediously slow by the incredibly deep frost line. Had we actually waited until it thawed naturally, there is no telling how far into spring we would have been waiting. Far into May, we found ourselves wondering if things would have been thawed enough yet. June? When?<br />
<br />
It seems fitting somehow, on this snowy morning a year later, to think about that entire adventure. I'm grateful that it's over, but I'm also grateful that it happened. We learned a lot from that struggle. We gained a new appreciation for the simple things that are so easy to overlook. I'd like to think we don't take them for granted as much as we did before too.<br />
<br />
It's true what they say; there is growth in struggle and challenges. Our Epic Florida Road Trip became something much bigger than it was ever intended to be. But I also think we became stronger from the experience. I wouldn't trade that gift for anything.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-79217901729085296002014-10-13T07:44:00.000-07:002014-10-13T07:44:04.048-07:00The Day Before.Today is brought to us by "a flutter". <br />
<br />
As in, today is the day before the girls' birthday and they are all "a flutter" with anticipation for The Big Day.<br />
<br />
Pulling out a much loved reference to Bambi, one of them told me they felt completely "twitterpated" about all the joy to come.<br />
<br />
They'll be 10 tomorrow. Ten. I keep trying that on for size. Wrapping my head around this really big idea that somehow, these two premature babies have become 10 years old. A decade. "Yes, my children are 10 years old." "Oh, they just turned 10." "The kids are the big 1-0". No matter how many times I say it, my brain can't quite seem to grasp it.<br />
<br />
I know that as a parent I'm supposed to hold golden dreams of my babies growing up, becoming productive members of society, and offering a real contribution to their fellow man that will make everyone realize that Dan and I were just pretty darn amazing as parents. And I do feel that way. <br />
<br />
But is it overly wrong of me to confess that I'm also just the teeniest bit---well---sad about the addition of another place value on their age chart? Maybe sad isn't the best word for it.....Maybe melancholy is better? It's just that they're growing so fast. (In my eyes.) No matter how much I try to keep my mental camera focused and snapping away pictures to cherish, there seems to be so much I'm missing. How is this going by so fast? (Slow down!)<br />
<br />
Naturally, they are absolutely convinced that they'll tuck away into bed tonight as mere babies, (<em>only</em> 9, after all), and wake up as genteel young ladies. Fully endorsed by the Sisterhood of Women. Ten years old.<br />
<br />
Today, I smile as they bounce around with excitement. I do remember the semantic importance of "I Was 9 and Now I'm 10". Tonight, while they dream about their upcoming "debut", I'm fairly sure I'll be trying to figure out just exactly where in the smack those 3,650 days have gone. And in the morning, when they jump out of bed with excitement, I'll be ready to embrace (with heartfelt gratitude) this new chapter in our life. Gone are the days of the single digits; we welcome the new era of double-digit birthdays. <br />
<br />
Let the adventure continue!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-17041872407090472592014-10-06T12:30:00.000-07:002014-10-06T12:30:08.076-07:00Birthday Months.We celebrate the girls' birthday month around here. Once the first of the October announces itself on the calendar, we are geared and ready to go. <br />
<br />
"It's here! It's here! It's finally here!" we collectively rejoice.<br />
<br />
I know it sounds simple, and maybe in some ways it is. But the truth of the matter is a lot deeper than you may realize. <br />
<br />
You see, around here, we have an awful lot to be thankful for. Not just on the actual anniversary of their grand arrival, but on the days leading up to it as well. Their presence in the Birthday Seat of Honor was not a guaranteed thing. <br />
<br />
When the first of the month arrives, my thoughts turn to my situation, some ten long years ago. (A decade. Goodness.) I was in the hospital, hoping against all hope that these two would try (Please!) to stay inside for a bit longer. (Just a few more weeks!) I was absolutely torn between two very pressing realities: <br />
One, at 31 weeks, they were only just ready to make their way in the world. (They needed more time on the inside. Please!) <br />
And two, their presence inside of me was becoming toxic to my system. Every day in which they remained in there, growing, was a day I grew sicker; my body (their incubator) shutting down. (Toxemia; nature's gigantic oxy-moron.)<br />
<br />
Those long, stressful (scary) days leading up to the birth were, perhaps, not the most horrendous of all birth stories ever told. But in my little solar system, the entire situation was an asteroid tossed in from the outer reaches of darkness, threatening to destroy everything orbiting therein.<br />
I cried. I prayed. I cried some more. I hurt. (A lot). <br />
<br />
And most of all, I waited. For whatever might happen. Whatever that might be.<br />
<br />
Memories from those hectic days, a decade ago, are just as precious me to as the moment of their individual births. I cherish them as a reminder not to take one single moment I have with them for granted. I might have lost one or both of them. I might not have survived to write this entry. Maudlin though it may be, I'm grateful for the simplicity of the message I was blessed with during those weeks, ten long (or short) years ago.<br />
<br />
So we celebrate the girls' birthday month around our house. It's kinda a big deal in our family. The entire month brings with it a reminder to be grateful; to live in the presence and learn from the past; and to always always always be thankful for each and every single thing along the way. It's all a journey. And it's all golden.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-8224315079595437652014-06-24T10:27:00.001-07:002014-06-24T10:27:47.115-07:00Circa 1980.Unlike the memories my children will ever have, I do remember a time without the Internet. I remember it as being neither good, nor bad; just different.<br />
<br />
A time when a research paper or unanswered (and plaguing) question had to be started in the hallowed halls of the public library. Few feelings compared with that frustration of making your way down the alphabetized spines of the encyclopedia collection only to find the singular volume you "had to have" was missing. I remember walking around the tables in the library, hoping against all hope that perhaps some other patron had ignored the "One Volume At A Workstation At A Time, Please" mandate, and had horded the one I sought. Of course sometimes the volume was simply "Missing", a designation that always perplexed me, seeing that research books weren't available to be checked out. (What kind of a person steals a stupid encyclopedia, anyway?) <br />
<br />
Then there were the occasions when you'd finally gotten the volume you needed, (whether by hook or crook), found the page indicated in the index, and turned to it only to find the page or part of the page was missing. (Wasn't that just a kick in the pants?)<br />
<br />
I don't necessarily miss those pre-Internet days, mind you. But I remember them.<br />
<br />
The other night a lightening strike, a little too close for comfort, blasted our family back to circa-1980's, knocking our address of the world wide web.(Gasp!) No Internet at our house means no television, other than DVDs and any pre-recorded shows. It means no weather updates. No telephone (except for cell service). It means no social networking sites. (NOOOOOOOOOO!)<br />
<br />
In the first few moments when The Television Went Blank, we stared at each other in awe. Where did it go? It was here; now it is not. What happened? I tried my laptop, but nothing happened. Where the signal strength indicator bars once gleamed in fullness, there was only a sad exclamation mark in a yellow triangle....along with the despised message: "No Internet Access". <br />
<br />
The children bounded off to watch a DVD upstairs now that we were back to, what they consider, "The Olden Days", and spent a happy hour enjoying the novelty of a movie that had been trapped on a shiny disk. <br />
<br />
My husband and I used the time to catch up on books we've been neglecting, and whose due dates were fast approaching. We, the perfect picture of domestic bliss; Ma & Pa huddled around the glow of the electric lamp, cozied up to our glowing devices, reading.<br />
<br />
The situation has since worked itself out. We're back online again and surfing the Internet at our usual intrepid speeds. But our forced re-visitation to the days of yore was a practical reminder of just exactly how far we've come, for the better and (just maybe) a bit for the worse.<br />
<br />
And how mightily we are dependent upon something that was, not that long ago, an imaginative piece of science fiction.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-42991628219317385042014-06-14T08:30:00.001-07:002014-06-14T08:30:59.787-07:00My Non-Scary ColonoscopyDue to a vengeful family history, I recently had my very first colonoscopy screening. This is a procedure that I'd been dreading since I found out I would need to get the scope done at the age of 36. <br />
<br />
If you're in the same boat, perhaps you've noticed that there is a lot of fear-mongering going on all over the Internet regarding the prep itself. I know I did. Holy cow, I didn't know which part to be more frightened of: the prep or the scope itself. People, in general, will say that the prep is the worst part, and I wondered what exactly that meant. Was the prep so bad that nothing could top it, or was it not a big deal. None of the stories I read did much to ease my mind, so I vowed to write my own version of my experience when I was done. <br />
<br />
I chronicled my prep in my post: <a href="http://caedanceandashlyn.blogspot.com/2014/06/family-history-is-ugly-guest-in-our.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+AdventuresInTwinParenting+%28Adventures+In+Twin+Parenting%29">The Non-Scary Colonoscopy Prep Story</a> . Now that I'm done with the scope too, I figured a conclusion is in order.<br />
<br />
The scope went perfectly. Truly. I was a bundle of nerves; I'm not going to lie about that. I had myself completely worked into a mess, after all. But the staff at the gastro clinic where I was going did an amazing job of talking me down from my self-incited worry. They were empathetic to my concerns. They were kind. They were patient. It was perfect.<br />
<br />
They told me I wouldn't feel a thing. And I didn't. (Seriously. Nada.) I zonked out as they were putting the meds into my IV and woke up in the recovery room. Just like that. I felt fine--a little bit groggy, but that passed in a few minutes. In fact, it seemed weird that I felt fine. I mean, think of what had just happened, after all. How can you feel fine? But I did--totally and completely normal. I was in and out of the clinic within about an hour and half, with most of that time being the admission part, honestly. <br />
<br />
Then I was on my way home---done with my first colonoscopy. My experience was NOT terrible. In fact, the entire thing was perfectly fine. Put another way, due to family history I have to have another scope done in 5 years and (are you ready for this?) I am okay with it. Completely. No worries. At all.<br />
<br />
So, if you're scheduled for a colonoscopy and worried, or if you're tired of hearing only scary stories about the whole thing, I tell you this: You can rest easy. The "hardest" part of the entire process is the prep...BUT (and please, please take this to heart), the prep is not bad. It's the hardest part because you are literally asleep for the other part, leaving the prep as the only part you actually do.<br />
<br />
Are you going to be skipping around smacking your lips while drinking the prep? No; but I have to think a natural aversion to liquid laxative is not a bad thing. Will you have to gag it down? No. Follow my tips and play music. Walk around while you drink it. Use a smoothie straw. Keep focused on just drinking. You will be fine.<br />
<br />
How does the prep make you feel? Honestly, I felt fine. I had split dose Suprep. I had no side effects other than the intended one. The biggest thing is being able to drink 48oz of water in a short period of time. I practiced that a week before my actual prep; I drank 48oz of water at 12:00, and 48oz at 8:00. I felt ready and I had no issues. You'll feel full after drinking the prep, but walking around will move it on through. The extra water hastens the process as well.<br />
<br />
Is it horrible when it starts "working"? Nope. Uneventful. I had gone on a soup/smoothie/yogurt/type diet about 4 days before my prep. The less you put in, the less you have to move out, after all. In any case, that part was easy. No cramping, accidents, or serious urgency. You'll spend some time on the toilet, but it wasn't hours or anything. The action started to fizzle for me about 3 hours after drinking the first dose of prep. I had a lull in bathroom trips, and I felt so good that my husband and I took a walk around town. I kept thinking, "Here I am, prepping for a colonoscopy, and I'm out of the house...walking." The second dose took effect more immediately because the first dose had done it's work so well. I was clear and done within 2 hours of it. I had a full night's sleep with no bathroom trips.<br />
<br />
Here's the one important thing I will stress, though: be sure to drink lots of fluids during the prep. I talked about my beverage buffet in <a href="http://caedanceandashlyn.blogspot.com/2014/06/family-history-is-ugly-guest-in-our.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+AdventuresInTwinParenting+%28Adventures+In+Twin+Parenting%29" target="_blank">the non scary colonoscopy prep story</a> and it turned out to be so important. If you're on a similar schedule, you won't be able to drink anything after midnight, and you've just guzzled lots of salt. You will be thirsty in the morning. I truly think that keeping myself hydrated during the prep (in addition to the water you drink with the prep) made this part so much easier. I didn't feel week or off balance or dizzy at all. No headaches or muscle aches either. Remember that your kidneys are going to be working overtime with this prep so keep your body hydrated and you'll feel fine through it all. Promise.<br />
<br />
Don't be afraid of the prep or the scope. If you are, I understand; I was right there with you on that. Sometimes it just takes going through it for yourself that first time to ease your mind. Please take comfort in knowing that the prep is not bad at all. You will be fine. The scope itself is a breeze and you'll be on your way out the door before you know it. <br />
<br />
This test is so incredibly important, and all the horror stories out there don't do much to get people to sign up for it. I'm hoping people will stumble on these posts and see that it's just not the scary experience some have made it out to be. If you've been in doubt about getting a colonoscopy, please don't let fears of the prep or test itself delay you anymore. <br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-38617418308969426452014-06-11T09:30:00.000-07:002014-06-12T12:20:24.969-07:00The Non-Scary Colonoscopy Prep Story. "Family History" is an ugly guest in our family when it comes to colon cancer. It's the loud, obnoxious, uninvited guest who is with us at every single family gathering, even though no one remembers inviting them. <br />
<br />
So following that old adage of "Better Safe Than Sorry" and, the somewhat less eloquent but equally fitting, "Let's Git 'Er Done", I'll be getting my first colonoscopy screening tomorrow. <br />
<br />
In my mind the whole colonoscopy thing is two distinct parts: The Prep and The Scope. Most people tend to say that the prep is the worst part. I just have to say that vague generalities like this tend to annoy me. That can be taken 2 very different ways, and for those (like me) who hang on words, we're stuck in an understanding gap. It could mean: "It doesn't matter what the heck happens during the colonoscopy; nothing comes close to be as horrible as the prep." Or, on the more gentle side, it could mean: "You would honestly think the worst part of a colonoscopy would be getting nooked in your cranny, but since that is not even slightly bad, the default "worst part" (if something MUST be classified as such) falls back to the only other part of the process--the prep."<br />
<br />
I've been hoping for the second meaning, but am pretty sure the one and only way to know for sure is to just do it for myself. So the following is my experience with the prep. The web is full of horror stories....this won't be one of them. I think I wasted hours of my life looking at forums with people in two categories: The No Big Deal folks and the For The Love Of Pete, The World Is Ending group. I figured the first group had it right, but the latter had one collectively louder voice; it was hard to drown them out. My goal in writing this is to help someone else. Let's face it, if they're being smart about health, everyone will do this at least once in their lifetime. Why be afraid of it? If you're in the Prep boat...don't be afraid. Remember that right at this minute, you are one of many people doing this. It's okay. You'll be okay. Repeat after me: This. Is. No. Big. Deal.<br />
<br />
Pre-Prep: I should mention that I started a pretty liquid diet about four days out of my actual prep day. Brothy soups and smoothies. It wasn't hard for me to follow that. I have no idea if it helps in the process, it was just something I felt like doing to give myself some control over a situation that made me feel kind of powerless.<br />
<br />
1. I was supposed to start the first dose of Suprep at 12:00. I started at 11:45---it made me feel like I was in control. Sounds like a silly thing, but I felt like a rebel. "Hey. No one's gonna tell me when to take the poop medicine."<br />
<br />
2. The taste isn't great---but it's not horrible. Get a smoothie straw and a really fun glass. Add a liberal amount of lime juice. The biggest issue with the flavor of the Suprep is the sweetness; cutting it with lime helps a lot. The smoothie straw means larger amounts per sip. Put it flat against your tongue, way in the back of your throat. Every sip will magically pass right over your taste buds. You'll still get a bit of the flavor, but it will be tolerable. I promise.<br />
<br />
3. Don't stand still!! While you're drinking the prep, walk around. It will take your mind off what you're doing. (Seriously, half of this game is a mental one....you can absolute overcome that.) <br />
<br />
4. Make a motivational play list and blast it while you're drinking. (You can apologize to the neighbors later.) My husband walked behind me with my play list at top volume. Music has a way of erasing the physical and transporting you to another place. Take advantage of that. I was so busy being mentally engaged in the songs playing that I didn't even notice when my glass of prep was gone. Seriously. (A watched pot will not boil and a watched glass of prep will not empty.)<br />
<br />
5. Don't be afraid of "The Go". One of the big worries that plagued me was: "What is it going to feel like when the magic starts happening??" I envisioned trauma and torrents and all manner of sad things. Here's the reality: It's okay. No worries. You'll just have to "go". Nothing major. Nothing traumatic. (Rather anticlimactic if you're like me and had worked yourself up into a tizzy.) Yes, you'll make it to the bathroom on time. No, you won't be on the toilet for hours. It's just...fine. Really. I stocked my bathroom with my laptop, video games, books, and even some crafting stuff. (Yep, that's me..I crafted during my prep.) Also, make sure you have some ointment and wet wipes on hand. And this is a time to splurge and get the really cushy toilet paper. Do you "need" it? Nah, but it makes you feel pretty darn special.<br />
<br />
6. Eventually the "going" will kind of fizzle out. I was on a split dose with 8 hours between doses. After about 2 hours, all the excitement had passed. In effect, you'll end up biding your time for round two. Spend your "down time" well---get caught up on TV shows (especially the guilty pleasure ones that you'd never actually admit to anyone that you like to watch). I found that having a variety of activities on hand was best for me--I tend to have a really short attention span in the very best of times and it's darn near non-existent at others. So I just sort of hopped around the house from here to there, doing whatever I wanted. Bliss.<br />
<br />
7. No matter what...KEEP DRINKING. You won't necessarily want to, but it's really a good idea to keep the liquid libations flowing. (Be kind to your kidneys). In an effort to promote actually wanting to take a sip of something, I gathered several of the prettiest glasses we had and set them out on the counter. I filled each with something different: tap water with fruit juices, sparkling water with a squirt of lemon, white grape juice, apple juice, Gatorade, Ginger Ale, etc. I put a straw in each glass. Every time I passed by the counter, it was easy to snag a glass and take a sip. If the contents didn't do anything for me at that moment, I had a plethora of others to choose from. It was like a beverage buffet. Stupid, I know, but it worked for me. <br />
<br />
8. And when you've drunk that last gulp of prep...CELEBRATE. It's a victory. You did it!!!! I celebrated by squashing and stomping on the box my prep came in; I crushed the cup into bits; I destroyed the 2 little bottles. All while listening to Katy Perry's Firework. Whatever works, right?<br />
<br />
Prep is not something to be afraid of. Remember that. It's one moment out of your life that could SAVE your life. It's worth it. I have lived for 7 years in dread of this first colonoscopy prep. Absolute dread. Finishing that last bit of the second dose literally was a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I did it. The prep drinking was over. <br />
<br />
You will be okay through it. Know that. Take deep breaths. Smile. Laugh. You will be fine. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-58449003510026354592014-06-06T13:46:00.001-07:002014-06-06T13:46:24.225-07:00The Time I Had Braces, Before This Time That I Have Braces.I had braces back in the day. Four long years of them, actually. In fact, I tend to think about this period of my life as "The Time I Had Brace For Four Long Years."<br />
<br />
It left an impression.<br />
<br />
I really thought I "remembered" the whole braces thing too. After four nearly unending years, it seemed like I would be some sort of bona-fide expert, surely.<br />
<br />
So when my daughters got their braces, about 2 years ago, I appointed myself to the esteemed position of Fount Of Orthodontic Wisdom.<br />
<br />
"Yes, you can still chew with your mouth closed, thank you muchly."<br />
"You absolutely CAN still eat those baby carrots. Chomp away, kiddo."<br />
"No, brushing your teeth has not gotten harder. You just need to do a better job."<br />
<br />
All of my wisdom was prefaced by snappy little anecdotes that generally began with the immortal phrase: "When I had braces." I truly thought I remembered what having braces was like. I did. Really.<br />
<br />
Well let me tell you, Karma is a fickle lady, my friends. She likes to poke us in our behinds when we get a little too high and mighty.<br />
(Or when we're just plain wrong.)<br />
<br />
I decided to jump on the orthodontic carousel of fun once again; this time by choice. I now sport a shiny row of brackets on my lower teeth. As they put the brackets on, I smiled to myself even as my teeth were being chained into a tightly locked cage complete with coils. <br />
"I've got this," I thought. "I remember all of this. This will be nothing."<br />
<br />
I smiled the whole way home. "See girls? Like I said: this is nothing."<br />
<br />
And I really thought that---<br />
<br />
until I tried to eat the first carrot.<br />
until I tried to chew with my mouth closed without ripping up my cheeks.<br />
until I tried to get away with just simply "brushing" my teeth the usual way. <br />
<br />
Turns out folks, some things just aren't as easy with braces. And apparently I had selectively forgotten some other little gems about having brackets in your mouth. (Did you know that you can brush your teeth for a full 5 minutes and still have crud tangled up on those things? Go figure.<br />
<br />
So now I'm relearning this thing that is braces. (And I am remembering some of the stuff I forgot.)<br />
<br />
Changes have been made around here too. <br />
Veggies are offered raw or cooked.<br />
Proximal brushes have been added to our brushing routine. (These things are nifty, by the by.)<br />
And we have instituted a "Chew With Your Mouth Open (as long as we're at home and no one else is with us)" policy at the table.<br />
<br />
I have also retired from my position of Fount Of Orthodontic Wisdom. That title is still open at our house. I think it will remain unfilled for quite a while. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-52450092460250960762014-05-02T18:13:00.001-07:002014-05-02T18:13:18.040-07:00Honestly Whole Wheat Sandwich Buns. <span style="font-size: large;">Back in January my husband and I decided to ring in the new year with some healthy diet changes at our house. One of the first things to go was white flour. For those of you who know me, making bread and eating bread are favorites of mine. Dumping that canister of white flour was incredibly hard. (So was getting rid of all the white pasta and white rice. But that's a story for another day.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nearly five months later, we're still going strong: no white flour (and very little of any type of flour, actually), no white starches, no cane sugar (and little of any sort of sugar), no high fructose, and little-to-no dairy. (A lady has got to have cheese every now and again, doesn't she?) We feel great and have incorporated the changes easily into our daily life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But sometimes, a girl has got to have a real-life bun. Just sometimes. I've been playing around with creating a recipe for whole wheat buns that works: it must use only whole wheat, and must, must, must have a texture that is edible. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I've finally figured it out. These use a blend of whole wheat flours. They are soft and not overly dense. Best of all, you can make the dough in your bread machine. Give them a try and see what you think.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ymNGGMO9P8/U2RBBvww7_I/AAAAAAAAAS0/Dx-8QyZBA4g/s1600/IMG_1299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ymNGGMO9P8/U2RBBvww7_I/AAAAAAAAAS0/Dx-8QyZBA4g/s1600/IMG_1299.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're not dense. Light and quite yummy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JrsKTYsFq3M/U2RBHFEdhSI/AAAAAAAAAS8/L4fKyGaG1Js/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JrsKTYsFq3M/U2RBHFEdhSI/AAAAAAAAAS8/L4fKyGaG1Js/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See that texture? No sawdust here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What you'll need:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup water</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3 TBS milk</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3 TBS honey</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 1/2 tsp salt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 egg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3 TBS butter</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup whole wheat pastry flour</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 cup white whole wheat flour</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1 1/3 cup whole wheat flour</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3 tsp vital wheat gluten</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2 1/2 tsp instant yeast</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What you'll do:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Add ingredients to your bread machine pan in the order recommended by the manufacturer. (For mine, it's the order listed above.) Choose the Dough Cycle and enjoy an hour and a half or so sitting and reading a book or something. Be sure to congratulate yourself; you are making healthy buns from scratch, after all. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After the dough cycle is complete, separate the dough into smaller pieces: 8 if you want really big buns; 10 if you want small-medium sized buns. (Be aware that the dough may be on the stickier side. Dip your hands in a little more flour and you'll have no problem shaping them, though.) Place them on a parchment lined (or greased) cookie sheet, leaving about 2 inches between each. Spray lightly with cooking spray and cover with plastic wrap or a light towel. Allow to rise until double--30 minutes to an hour, depending on humidity levels. </span><br />
**I like to use my oven to proof bread. If you don't have a proof setting on your oven, you can still make it work as a professional "proofer". Set a bowl of warm water on the floor of the oven. Pre-heat the oven to 170 degrees F. and then turn the oven off. Place covered bread in the oven and close the door. I find this usually knocks some time off the second rise time.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After buns are doubled in size, you can brush them with an egg wash and top them with sesame seeds, dried onion flakes, poppy seeds, herbs, or any combination thereof. (But you don't have to.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bake in a 400 degree oven for 12-15 minutes. Start watching for the dreaded over-browning at around the 10 minute mark. The smaller the buns are, the quicker they'll get done. When golden brown, remove from oven and let cool. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-73085179720537967912014-03-14T12:42:00.003-07:002014-03-14T12:42:39.293-07:00When The Water Came Back AgainIn the end we were without water for one month.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">{To recap, we'd had 2 separate people suggest that the frozen water line we were dealing with was not our own. Thus, we couldn't do anything to fix it. When made aware of the situation, our city's initial response was to take no action on our behalf. They hooked us up with a hose from our neighbor's house, so we had "running water", but were told not to use that water for anything other than toilets and laundry due to possible contamination. In addition to the restrictions with the hose, it kept freezing in the frigid temps, despite our keeping a steady flow of water going through it.}</span><br />
<br />
After being told to "wait until it thawed" and not to worry since it was, "just until spring", I took my plea to our city council members. Surely someone in our town must think our situation deserved a little concern. No sooner had my email reached their collective desktops than a flurry of activity followed. First, the city provided us with bottled water. (Finally we had a healthy supply of clean water available for kitchen use and cleaning. That was the first step towards feeling normal.) Next,they sent out 2 additional technicians to attempt to figure out where in the line (and on whose side) the freeze truly was. Both parties determined the freeze was not on our line.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday of this week the city sent a street crew to dig the pipeline in the road, hoping to get to the root of the problem once and for all. They arrived early, anticipating a quick find and easy fix; they stayed for the next 5 hours. It turned out the freeze was located right off the main, very much not anywhere near our line at all. Adding to the turmoil was the discovery that the last generation who'd worked this particular stretch of pipe had placed it just 2 feet under our brick street. It lay vulnerable and quite freezable ever since.<br />
<br />
When the street crew announced that they'd found and repaired the freeze, I was hesitant to believe them. When they told me to go check our faucets, I was weary of any hope that this had somehow worked. I tentatively turned on the kitchen faucet, wincing in anticipation of yet another failure. The torrent of water that I saw surpassed my wildest expectations. <br />
<br />
It was back. Water had found its way into our house again.<br />
<br />
The sight was beautiful. In a very strange way, we'd gotten used to what we called our "Situation". But here I was, looking at water flowing through my faucets, from our own pipes. It was amazing. Honestly.<br />
<br />
One month doesn't set any records. I know that. But what it did do was give me an appreciation for those faucets in our house. I have new understanding of just how much water I use to do simple things: wash produce, wash dishes, brush our teeth. That's what happens when you are doing all of that with gallon jugs of water; it's all highly measurable. <br />
<br />
In a way, I'm thankful for our little misadventure because I know we're taking something out of it. We've gained a little bit of gratitude for something we absolutely took for granted before. I'm not going to sign up for it again, mind you, but I am grateful for the chance to be made aware, just the same.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-60325056703640140812014-02-27T13:30:00.001-08:002014-02-27T13:30:42.926-08:00We Are Not Just An Address.I wish I could say we had the cool waters blissfully flowing in our house again. But we don't. <br />
<br />
In an interesting plot twist, we did find out that the frozen line isn't actually ours at all. It in fact belongs to The City. We can't touch it because it is their responsibility.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, in a sinister plot development, when told that they had a frozen water line that was negatively affecting households on our street, the response was "They will have to let it thaw". <br />
<br />
Does that sound right to you? Because it doesn't sound right to me. In my way of thinking, when you know that a service you are charged with doling out and are responsible for caring for is broken, you need to apply some method to fix it. Waiting for The Thaw is simply not acceptable in my mind's eye. And one only has to glance at a long range forecast for our area to see how truly disheartening that pronouncement really was. (It appears Spring is going to be very late to the party this year).<br />
<br />
Without intervention, we are looking at weeks or months before the frost line ebbs enough to loosen its grasp on whatever do-dad is frozen under the cement. Weeks and weeks of this constant interruption; in your face, always reminding you. "I'm still here."<br />
<br />
It's not just the "inconvenience" factor that has my feathers ruffled here. Running water in the house is, after all, a First World problem. But there is a bit of a safety issue as well. We have a garden hose supplying our water. A garden hose with no federal regulations behind its manufacturing. Lead? Chemicals? Microbes? All of the above? That's our water. <br />
<br />
Until "It Thaws."<br />
<br />
I don't even want to go into the amount of water gushing down our drain right now. In order to keep our "hose-lifeline" from freezing (which it's already done twice now in the 9 days we've been relying on it), we have to keep a strong stream of water flowing. 25-30 gallons of water per hour. Do the math on that and it's staggering. Thousands of gallons of water absolutely wasted. Down the drain. <br />
<br />
Until "It Thaws."<br />
<br />
My husband trekked down to City Hall today with one purpose in mind: to put a face to a situation. We are not an address. We are a family. This is very real to us and has consequences for our family. He was able to speak to the manager of city utilities, and although we don't know yet what (if any) impact his conversation will have on the situation, at least City Hall knows we exist. Whether they do anything about our problem, or sweep it under the rug (out of sight out of mind), we are here. And we deserve a whole lot better than being a forgotten casualty of an extreme winter freeze.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-40801347503974233622014-02-25T09:05:00.001-08:002014-02-25T09:05:15.564-08:00One Day This Will Be FunnyAnd still we continue with no water at our house.<br />
<br />
Memories of a tropical vacation are tanned into our skin; they clutter up the table as souvenirs not yet relocated to their new cold-weather housing; they are scattered on the floor of our van, millions of grains of a far away coastline transplanted to Ohio.<br />
<br />
The strange reality of frozen pipes and a waterless existence sits at pointy odds with the memories of that Utopian place we were in not that very long ago.<br />
<br />
In my last entry I spoke of how we were marching on, faces high, spirits soaring, thanks to the hose connecting us to our neighbor's house and supplying an adequate supply of water for everyday life. There was boiling, but at least there was water. Running water.<br />
<br />
Sadly, a new and cruel trick has taken even that little comfort away. The frosty fingers of our house have gotten ahold of not only the hose (which is easily thawed out of her icy clasp), but also all the valves between the two spigots. Our Ice Queen, spreading her Plague to others. Watch out, it's catching. No antibiotic for this one, kids. Sorry.<br />
<br />
So now we sit with no water. At all. Think about that for a moment and you'll understand the frustration. No water to cook or clean. No water for washing. A dry tap for showers and tooth brushing. And when "Nature Calls" (and she surely does; especially when she knows you have recently immigrated back to the 18th century), there becomes quite an issue. <br />
<br />
Still sitting. Still waiting. (Just not quite so patiently.)<br />
<br />
I am told that one day this whole thing will be very funny. That we will get a hearty chuckle out of it as we recall with laughter "That time when we were out of state and our pipes froze, so we had to get water through a hose from the neighbor's, only the hose froze followed quickly by the valves. And then we went 2 full days without a single drop of that molecular miracle in our house". <br />
<br />
What a hoot! A real riot!<br />
<br />
Yes, one day this will all be funny. It surely has the makings for a doozy of a tale. But not yet. Not nearly yet. <br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure all laughter must wait until there are flushing toilets in my house.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-90020826190048994932014-02-23T10:12:00.001-08:002014-02-23T10:12:17.883-08:00Just WaitOur house has no water. <br />
Well, that's not entirely true. We have water - courtesy of the hose from our neighbor's house set up by the water department. An umbilical cord of sustenance, linking us across the bridge of a cement driveway. (Aren't metaphors fun?)<br />
<br />
The beginning of this sordid tale of Water Woe dates back to over a week ago. We were on vacation. In Florida. (Where there was no snow or sub-zero temperatures, incidentally). In some strange mismatch of realities, I got a call letting me know that our little red house in Ohio suddenly had no water. Poof. Just like that. <br />
<br />
Let me tell you, nothing is quite so much fun as being 1,200 miles from home (in a sunny utopia) and finding out that your house sits frigid; the captive of a malicious Ice Queen. Frozen.<br />
<br />
The flurry of frantic calls to various "rescuers" that ensued did little to perk our spirits, nor did it entice us to hasten our return back to this Arctic plain of frozen frustration. But here I now sit, in a house still waiting for The Great Thaw, apparently. <br />
<br />
Not to sound ungrateful, but can I just put it on record that I'm tired of this? Never before did I realize how utterly (and Everyday-Life-Depends-On-It) important a tap streaming with clean water really is. Never before have I so hated a single piece of ice, such as the one lodged somewhere in our service line and wreaking sheer havoc and upheaval on our daily lives. <br />
<br />
It's been a week in this new reality of ours. Everyday has been brought to us by the word "Boil"; as in, "Boil water before drinking", "Boil water before washing dishes", "Boil water before rinsing the produce", and "Boil water used for brushing your teeth." Boil. Boil. Boil. My stock pots have never worked so hard in all their stainless steel lives.<br />
<br />
Probably I could have more of an adventurous spirit about this if it were the absolute only predicament in which we found ourselves. However, we are also dealing with the unnerving issue of a dishwasher that had been incorrectly installed (and year ago), and consequently broken (a year ago); and which has been leaking every single cycle ever since. For a year. It seeped under the kitchen floor, hiding the damage being done, until finally it started buckling the floor completely. Ruining it. The repairman who diagnosed the whole thing told us not to touch the dishwasher. Or use it. At all. It's been disloyal.<br />
<br />
Naturally the installation company is insured to cover the damages and replacement costs.<br />
And naturally we can't seem to get in contact with them.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it could also be said that everyday is brought to us by the word "Wait". As in, "Wait for the frost line to lessen", "Wait for the grip of winter to release its hold on us", "Wait for the stupid (possibly finger-nail width) piece of ice to finally melt", "Wait for the dishwasher/kitchen floor issue to be resolved". Just, wait.<br />
<br />
Most of the time I want to blow a gasket in frustration of all this stupid waiting. But maybe there is a lesson for me to learn as well. There is a lot of good to be had from Just Waiting, after all. I mean, look at the new found appreciation I'll have for modern conveniences like, oh say, clean running water? Hot water on demand? A spiffy machine that cleans your dishes while you go tra-la-ing about? A kitchen floor that doesn't make you trip as you make your way over its up heaved surface? Shiny stock pots, all hung up on pegs and not gurgling away non stop on the stove?<br />
<br />
A whole new appreciation for things erstwhile very much taken for granted and UN-appreciated. <br />
<br />
Just wait.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-72881933183154160452014-02-19T18:07:00.000-08:002014-02-19T18:07:08.687-08:00Our Walmart Has No Hand Baskets. Our local Walmart no longer has shopping baskets. It's been almost one full year since the ever dwindling pile of them that greeted me just inside the door has disappeared; apparently tapped out completely. <br />
Normally I prefer to go with the flow on little issues, but this one really bothers me. I've asked 4 separate people and have been given four completely different answers in regards to their disappearance and subsequent failure to reappear. They are "on order" was one response. (That is some really show shipping). The powers that be got tired of people walking out with them said yet another informative. (Because they <em>do</em> make the most stunning fashion accessory. I often find myself wondering which shopping basket best coordinates with my outfit. But Walmart-Blue just doesn't ever make the play list.) They were all broken was another possibility. (Nope. Broken would be the wobbly-wheeled cart I seem to get every single time I shop there. Or the other one I get that only turns left. And then there's the one on which 3 of 4 wheels don't turn. Or perhaps the one that leans strangely to the right like it has a flat tire.) The final suggestion from a helpful staff member was the "Truth" that upper management doesn't believe the staff when they tell them the baskets are gone. (Really? Because it is quite shocking. I'd probably be in denial too.)<br />
All I know is that it's really starting to annoy me. Enough to blog about it, actually. (Insert winking smiley face here, if you will.) Is it too much to ask for hand held shopping baskets? Where are the shopping baskets? Is it a conspiracy? Have some decency Walmart; give us back the stupid baskets. Really. Or whatever.<br />
And if the grand plan is to make me use a cart, ergo slyly forcing me to fill it up with cheese curls and soy sauce (just to fill up all the extra space), then the joke's on <em>you</em> Walmart. That's right. Because I throw all my groceries (cheese curls and all) in my reusable Target bags. So there. <br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-62147516333658614872013-11-19T14:11:00.001-08:002013-11-19T14:11:59.047-08:00What's The Point Of All This Fun?I have the honor to be a stay at home parent. Whenever and wherever I can, I make sure people understand what a complete blessing this occupation is. Daily are the gifts that make every single sacrifice and hardship worth it, ten times over.<br />
<br />
But oh, not for the faint of heart are the struggles that tag along (sometimes daily); unwanted passengers, freeloading along for the ride. Some are serious. Like the magic act that stretches a single income delicately (like a spider's web) across all areas of domestic domain; one penny spent out of place and the entire web collapses. <br />
<br />
Others are more light (thankfully), but (always) completely annoying. Like the daily woe of meal planning. Sure, every parent out there faces this dilemma. We've all got to eat. People are funny that way. It doesn't matter how crunched for time, hurried, or late we are, dinner in some shape or form must present itself on the table. Lunches must be tossed into bags or boxes and readied to be scuttled off to school. Even breakfast must appear, sugar coated and happy every morning.<br />
But the catch for me, and the stay at home parent is, I'm <em>home</em> all day (according to society at large), and doing "Nothing" of any "Real" consequence. Three square meals shouldn't make no never mind to me at all, given my apparent life of pure leisure. Right?<br />
<br />
Let me tell you this; the moment <em>that</em> idea becomes reality will be a truly beautiful thing indeed. I await it eagerly. Please let me know when it arrives.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I toil away smack dab in the middle of domestic bliss, often coming up devoid of ideas or the willpower to make "Yet Another Dinner". So I like to get creative with meal planning, meeting the dual requirements of Economical and Easy On Me. <br />
<br />
One favorite we've come to enjoy is the Scatter Picnic. A blanket is set up in another room, outside the normal eating area. We've held these in hallways, doorways, and upstairs. Scatter Picnic food can be best described as "Clean Out The Fridge" or "Empty The Freezer" cuisine, made more fun by the change in venue. And perhaps the occasional frozen pizza.<br />
<br />
Last night we plopped our Scatter Picnic blanket down in front of the fireplace in the living room. I reheated leftovers and baked an array of breaded "not good for you" delights: mozzarella sticks, chicken nuggets, corn dogs, egg rolls and onion rings. To up the health quotient, I added applesauce to the spread.<br />
<br />
We sat together around the blanket, our little family of 4, chatting and sharing ideas and thoughts back and forth. At one point, Dan and I were talking about how nice it was to just sit and talk together as a family. How much fun it was. <br />
<br />
Ashlyn looked up from her cheese stick and said, "But what is the <em>point</em> of all this fun?" <br />
<br />
Uncertain as how to answer, I said, "So we can get to know you better. While you still like us. And will sit still long enough to talk to us."<br />
<br />
She pondered this, glaring deep into the oozing depth of the cheese stick she'd been peeling. (She only eats the cheese part of a cheese stick.) "Oh. Okay. That is a good purpose."<br />
<br />
We passed the rest of dinner happily. We cleaned up. We went on our way with the evening. Another dinner down: easy on me, easy on the budget.<br />
<br />
And apparently, according the Ashlyn, with the added bonus of having great purpose.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-62699544449647021772013-11-13T13:16:00.002-08:002013-11-13T13:16:49.884-08:00This Year. A promise to myself.It's official. Christmas is on it's way---<br />
<br />
which also means the Angry People are out. In full force.<br />
<br />
Today I found myself at Target. As I was checking out after my leisurely (half hour) stroll through the entire store to buy a pack of cold cuts, I saw the first Angry Person in front of me. She was yelling at the cashier for giving her the wrong change. Apparently the cashier had dropped a dime and couldn't find it. The transaction was over, so she couldn't pull another dime out of the register. The customer was angry for being short by that dime. She yelled. She called the manager over. He was confused. (In all fairness, this was a lot of noise over a dime). He took the time to listen to her. (We all listened, as she was explaining it quite loudly and with anger.) <br />
He took a dime out of his pocket and handed it to her. She stared at him. <br />
<br />
"You think this makes it right?" she demanded.<br />
"It makes up for the dropped dime," he explained, "and the amount of change you'd be short."<br />
Unsatisfied, the customer looked at him narrowly, "SHE dropped it. Not me." She went on a tangent about how adding and subtracting isn't hard, holding money should be easy, and she should be given back more than a dime for her considerable trouble in losing the first one. <br />
<br />
Those of us uncomfortable enough to be near to this spectacle just stared. Silently suspended in unified disbelief.<br />
<br />
The lady left. The manager left. Suspended reality reactivated once more. It was my turn to check out. (Finally.)<br />
Only, now it was the cashier's turn to be Angry. <br />
<br />
"Can you believe her?" she asked me.<br />
"Um...." I began, reluctant to comment without knowing the lady in question or her situation. "This time of year can be stressful......" <br />
(Please just ring me out).<br />
"Whatever. I don't do the change--the register does." <br />
(Well, if we're going to put a fine point on it, the register calculates the change but it takes the hands of a human to dole it out. Just saying.)<br />
<br />
She mumbled through my time with her, tossing my items in a bag, and handing me a receipt with a gruff, "Whatever" by way of departing greeting.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile the lady in the lane next to me felt the 2-people-ahead-of-her line was too much. She shoved her full cart forward (blocking the lane) and left. <br />
<br />
"This is ridiculous!" she declared, storming out. 2 people ahead of her. Just two. Each of whom had a small handful of items. <br />
<br />
What the smack, people? Come on.<br />
<br />
Look, I know this can be a stressful time of year. November comes and suddenly, we're all certain we're in a hurry. And that no one else is. And they're all out to get us. <br />
<br />
I know.<br />
<br />
But wouldn't it be great if this year we all just calmed down a bit? Tamed that inner rage that tells us we cannot be patient when something doesn't go our way? Take a deep breath when we have to wait in line at a store? Smile and treat others with respect instead of spilling our own frustrations out on them?<br />
<br />
Wouldn't that just be dandy?<br />
<br />
Believe me, I'm not judging anyone, not even these three Angry People. I have enough inner grumbles going on of my own when I go into stores this time of year. We all do. <br />
<br />
But this year I'm going to try to put silver linings on it. All of it. The crowds, the busy-ness, the rudeness--I can't control any of that. I can, however, control me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will wait with patience.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will smile with grace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will slow down with peace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will open my eyes and really see others--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
with respect </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
with kindness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
with consideration.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(And I will repeat this mantra as necessary until it happens).</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="left" style="text-align: center;">
This year.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-83423293723888289812013-11-04T11:50:00.002-08:002013-11-04T11:50:07.481-08:00Pancake Shortcut.As I get older, I think I'm becoming more lazy in certain things about our daily routine. <br />
Maybe.<br />
It just seems so much easier to take little shortcuts here and there to make the day smoother, and make me feel less incredibly stressed out. <br />
Breakfast, in particular, has become a daily challenge at our address. My normally non-picky girls have taken it upon themselves to make this our trickiest meal of the day. They will not eat cereal (too crunchy); or oatmeal (weird texture); no toast for them (too much like cardboard); or scrambled eggs (though I haven't a clue why). The perennial fav is PopTarts and pancakes. Sometimes I make pancakes or waffles the night before and just reheat them in the morning. This is a fine solution...when I remember to do it. Most of the time I'm scrambling in the morning, desperately debating with them what will be for breakfast, and handing out toaster pastries in an act of too-tired-to-fight submission.<br />
<br />
But now I have a new shortcut. And this one is great. Genius, really.<br />
<br />
Did you know you can pour pancake batter into a pan and bake it all at once? (If you already know that then you are superior to me, who has only recently discovered this nifty little trick). It works with any batter, homemade or made from a mix. You simply pour the batter into the pan and bake it at 350 for about 10 minutes. It. Is. Awesome. (And now I know what's for breakfast).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nmAEbPuVfaA/Unf3fxTj6BI/AAAAAAAAAPY/aNn1wjOgSPk/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nmAEbPuVfaA/Unf3fxTj6BI/AAAAAAAAAPY/aNn1wjOgSPk/s320/IMG_0691.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Spray a 10 1/2 x 15 (Jelly Roll) pan with non stick spray.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1uTgvxJaC2c/Unf3fK8LrPI/AAAAAAAAAPU/f1GxZ2Vo6xw/s1600/IMG_0692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1uTgvxJaC2c/Unf3fK8LrPI/AAAAAAAAAPU/f1GxZ2Vo6xw/s320/IMG_0692.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pour the batter on in and spread. Doesn't matter what type of batter you use. I used a "regular sized" recipe; it made 12-14 pancakes. Larger batches may need a larger pan.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-drIzLiLtXHs/Unf3gU2PEhI/AAAAAAAAAPg/IMfxTPama78/s1600/IMG_0693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-drIzLiLtXHs/Unf3gU2PEhI/AAAAAAAAAPg/IMfxTPama78/s320/IMG_0693.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You can make different types of pancakes in the same pan! Yay! I made one side chocolate chip and the other side blueberry-lemon. Yum.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qnFQXgjYH4M/Unf3iZSaTEI/AAAAAAAAAPs/NdbtZBdbVkA/s1600/IMG_0694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qnFQXgjYH4M/Unf3iZSaTEI/AAAAAAAAAPs/NdbtZBdbVkA/s320/IMG_0694.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes. The pancake won't brown as much as it <span style="font-size: x-small;">might when you cook on a griddle, but our family isn't offended by it.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2rUoDGZzG_0/Unf3kyz3xpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/NcBE1OwXpKg/s1600/IMG_0695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2rUoDGZzG_0/Unf3kyz3xpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/NcBE1OwXpKg/s320/IMG_0695.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
You can cut the pancake into nifty little dipping sticks, or (and this is genius too), you can use a cookie cutter to cut out shapes. It's completely up to you.<br />
<br />
This is the only way I make pancakes now. It's quick and easy. And keeps me away from the griddle cooking endless batches of cakes. If you want to make a larger batch of pancakes, use more batter and a larger 1/2 sheet pan.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-17504561101116729252013-10-14T09:52:00.001-07:002013-10-14T09:52:43.880-07:00Certain in UncertaintyToday my little girls turn 9. <br />
<br />
Nine years. I have to stop and think about that number. Like, really think about it.<br />
<br />
So much has happened in these nine years, which have at once gone by in a blur and yet been slow. How is that possible?<br />
<br />
Today we celebrated with our traditional birthday breakfast of homemade cinnamon rolls. Lunch will be a treat of getting take out and having a picnic on the family room floor. Dinner will be a family affair with grandparents joining us.<br />
<br />
It's all set. All certain.<br />
<br />
But I cannot help but remember back to this day, 9 years ago, when things were not so certain.<br />
<br />
These two little crazies were meant to be Almost Thanksgiving Babies, but decided to make their arrival 6 weeks early. I had already been in the hospital for some time thanks to premature labor. I was toxic; sick in body and sick with worry. Our ears were filled daily with a long list of concerns for my health and concerns for the health of those two unborn lives. Our much awaited for "Family" was hanging dangerously on the precipice of ever becoming one.<br />
<br />
I remember feeling at a complete loss for direction on how to feel in that strange expanse of time during which I was pregnant, but that pregnancy was killing me. On the one hand, I was desperately sick and getting sicker with each passing moment--a danger to me. On the other hand, our little girls still had 6 weeks of growing to do--6 weeks of development yet undone. They were safer inside me, but I wasn't safe with them inside. It was the ultimate irony. <br />
<br />
They did arrive 6 weeks early, ushering in a new line up of concerns to be dealt with in turn. It's hard to see your long awaited infants being rushed away from you without being able to hold them in their first moments of life. Harder still for me to be wheeled away, unable to even see them due to my own health at that moment. My husband and I spent our first days bonding with our sweethearts in the Special Care Nursery: scrubbing in and donning gowns & hats to see them; only being able to hold them for a few minutes at time before having to put them back into their isolette; achingly watching a team of (amazing) nurses care for them more than we were able to due to these restrictions. Waiting with baited breath for that announcement that meant everything was going to be okay. Waiting for it all to be more.....certain. (You know, like we had hoped and planned for).<br />
<br />
We were lucky; the girls only stayed in the hospital for 5 days. We all went home together. Family of Four. Truth be told, I like falling into these little reveries. I'm nostalgic that way. It gives me a greater perspective on the journey we've traveled thus far, and a hope for the road yet unknown. <br />
<br />
It also gives me the ability to celebrate today, thankful for each and every precious moment. <br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-19098844140162128452013-09-11T12:38:00.000-07:002013-09-11T12:38:08.276-07:00They (Sleep)Walk Among Us.Identical twinning is a true marvel of science. <br />
<br />
It really is.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I find myself staring at them in wonderment at the completely random things about them that are exactly the same, or opposite since they are known as Mirror Twins. <br />
<br />
The list can be almost daunting to reflect on, seriously.<br />
<br />
Even though their shared genetic makeup is always and ever at the back of my mind, there are still times when some little quirk, multiplied from one to the other, will throw me for a loop.<br />
<br />
Like, sleepwalking, for example.<br />
<br />
I can honestly never say I thought we'd have to deal with times two. But apparently...I was mistaken in my ignorance.<br />
<br />
Last week Caedance had fitful nights of sleepwalking. Her first ever. The first time she ran out of her bedroom at midnight, heading for the stairwell and towards the stairs. <br />
<br />
For what? To where? Who knows. <br />
<br />
The second time she was in a sleeping bag, sound asleep. At 2am she bolted up, grabbed her sleeping bag, pillow, and blanket, and headed off upstairs.<br />
<br />
Each time, I gently shepherded my sleeping lamb back to her correct coral, tucking her back in once more. <br />
<br />
When she slept fully through the third night, I thought the cycle had been broken and we could rest well at last.<br />
<br />
Until the fifth night, when Ashlyn started to sleepwalk. <br />
<br />
Her foray into the world of nocturnal travelling also began with a midnight trip to the top of the stairs. Where she sat, for no apparent reason, and with little desire to be led back into her own bed.<br />
<br />
Her second journey brought her downstairs while Dan and I were finishing up a Prime Time show. (I'm only slightly ashamed to say that it was Pretty Little Liars; a guilty pleasure for us.) I heard a noise, looked over, and there she came, skipping (literally) into the family room. And towards the door leading to the garage. And outside. Alone.<br />
<br />
Another two nights spent gently ushering a sleeping child back into the safety of her bedroom and tucked back into her bed. Safe.<br />
<br />
Another two nights of what cannot be called restful sleep for the mama in our little family. How am I supposed to sleep when I know that one of them may be off exploring somewhere, completely unaware that she's even doing it? I challenge any parent to really sleep through that questionable thought.<br />
<br />
We've been Sleepwalk Free for several nights now, and I'm cautiously hopeful that their strange little cycle was just a short phase, and is over now. Passed through. Done.<br />
<br />
I hope.<br />
<br />
The inner workings of their minds remain very unknown to me, but this was one episode that I can most certainly do without. Adventures In Twin Parenting needs to take a rest at night, you know? Our days are filled with enough adventure; let's keep night-time a little more calm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-6643170811169973822013-08-23T12:46:00.000-07:002013-08-23T12:46:09.650-07:00Grandpa BillEarly this morning Dan's grandfather, Grandpa Bill, passed away. It was around this time last year that we lost his other grandfather, Grandpa Joe. Now I find myself sitting here, another turn around the sun and an August later, thinking once again of just how precious the people in our lives truly are. If we are lucky, we can be utterly blessed by them.<br />
<br />
The roles they play;<br />
<br />
The example they offer;<br />
<br />
The leadership they show;<br />
<br />
The virtues and qualities they fill our lives with;<br />
<br />
These are the gifts that they can bestow on those they leave behind.<br />
<br />
Grandpa Bill was without any doubt, the kindest and most gentle man I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I remember my first few meetings with him. I had been dating Dan for a little while and our relationship was deemed permanent enough to take it to the next level of appearing at Family Gatherings. From our first introduction, Grandpa Bill showed grace and kindness in welcoming into the family. That was his way: welcoming. Since the day Dan and I were married, 15 years ago, I always felt like I was Grandpa Bill's granddaughter. Not by the title of "in law", but just truly a member of his family.<br />
<br />
Whether the gathering was big or small, I knew that if I wanted, there was a chair next to him for me. We would sit and talk. About nothing, or everything. He was one of those rare people who was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say, and he listened attentively, and participated in the conversation eagerly. In his presence, you knew you were the center of his attention. I cannot tell you what a golden gift that is, his focus and consideration, and I will carry that memory in my heart forever. I will remember him recounting stories from his youth, his time serving our country, and the trips he and Grandma took over the years.<br />
<br />
Like many, his life traversed both good times and bad; adventures and misadventures; times of ease and times of burden. Yet no matter where the journey of his life had taken him, he remained steadfast and humble; his heart focused securely on the truth to life's happiness: family.<br />
<br />
He loved being surrounded by his family. Just last year we had the joy of spending time together as one large group. He and Grandma were surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It was loud. It was busy. It was (at times) chaotic with kids and an assortment of toys ever underfoot. And he adored every single minute of it. I observed him at one point just sitting in a chair and watching; taking in everything around him, and smiling. True to himself, he was completely in that moment, enjoying the precious gift of family.<br />
<br />
His absence leaves a hole, but in the space of that gap there is an abundance of memories--gifts--that he's left us. His gentle spirit, his kind words and humble attitude, his gracious demeanor, and his open and loving heart. He was more than words on any screen could ever encompass and will be missed more than any words could accurately convey. But I'm grateful for the legacy he leaves behind for his family; thankful for the millions of ways he touched and blessed us all.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Grandpa Bill, for being a shining example of family, love, kindness, gentleness, compassion, humility, and grace. Till we meet again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-24704941573593091612013-07-10T10:56:00.000-07:002013-07-10T10:56:05.762-07:00Little Women Maybe I missed something somewhere along the way, but when did it become okay for kids to be so downright rude and disrespectful to their parents and other adults? It seems like every time I go into a store I will see at least one example of this new Parent=Pal trend that seems so fashionable right now.<br />
<br />
Little kids, cute as buttons, calling their parents "Stupid" or responding to questions with "Duh" and "Whatever". One mother was discouraging her daughter's choice in shirts in what seemed like a reasonable manner, only to have the pre-teen answer back with, "Please. Like you know anything." Another time, a little boy was playing a video game in a waiting room. The mother asked him to please turn the video game's volume down. The little boy looked at her and said, "Be quiet. Can't you see I'm working here?"<br />
<br />
When did that become okay?<br />
<br />
I know many times, the parent is equally to blame, modeling the snarky attitude prominently at home. Children are mirrors that reflect some of our most blaring faults.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's the older siblings who teach the bad habits. And of course every Little wants to be just exactly like the Big in their life.<br />
<br />
We can also point the long finger of blame at schools, and media, and video games, television. <br />
<br />
But I wonder if it really helps to blame anyone or put the burden of fault on anything. Can't we just agree that it's wrong. Is it erroneous to assume that disrespectful children run the very high risk of becoming a very dangerous thing: disrespectful and possibly un-empathetic adults?<br />
<br />
I am the first to admit that my parenting style has flaws. I'm not perfect. But I will absolutely say that I speak to my daughters with respect and expect them to speak respectfully back to me. I <em>expect </em>them to. As in, I have expectations for them. In my opinion, encouraging children to reach expectations is a learning experience. Teaching. (As many of you know, I like teaching). When they hear a new phrase or learn a new behavior and want to try it out on me at home, we will discuss it if it doesn't meet our Expectations. There was a time, not so long ago, when it seemed every request I made of them was answered with a slightly sassy, "Oh, I Don't Think So"...complete with the eye rolling. I could have let that slide. Sure. But if it bothers me to have that said when they are 8, I really don't want to hear it when they're teenagers, full of raging hormones and battling every single thing I say. How tiring would that be? So we sat down and talked about it. How it made me feel. How it made them feel. What it meant. We talked about our Family Pact to keep our words respectful towards one another, and considered if that phrase fit into that plan; we decided that it really didn't mesh too well. And you know what? That was the end of it. Case closed. There was no yelling. No aggressive behaviors or stomping of feet. It wasn't needed. <br />
<br />
I consider it my daughters' job to "push the buttons"; that's how they grow and learn. The trial and error is how they become the unique individuals they are destined to be one day. My job, as a parent, is to give them the opportunities to thrive and learn from their mistakes, and to help them find their own voice in whether something fits in with our Family Expectations or not. It's also my job to model the behavior I expect from them to them. They are with me every day, seeing my own trials and triumphs on a daily basis. I'd like to hope my actions cast a glowing reflection. Like I said, I'm not perfect by any means, so it's as much an on-going lesson for me as it is for them.<br />
<br />
Maybe this seeming trend in kids being disrespectful will fade away. There is always that hope, after all. But in the mean time, I am aspiring to rear two respectful daughters who will be (I hope) tomorrow's respectful and empathetic women. It may seem that the morals and ethics of the world are spiraling out of control, but what I can do is be watchful of my own actions and attitudes, knowing that the two blessings entrusted to me are present, ever watchful, and (hopefully) picking up on them.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-37221266359627958072013-06-07T18:57:00.000-07:002013-06-07T18:57:17.525-07:00Dance RecitalThe girls have their ballet recital this weekend. Probably one of the most advertised, reminder-filled events in their young lives right now. <br />
<br />
And naturally, I'm completely off the mark on all of it.<br />
<br />
Yesterday evening, I was checking out my camera, making sure I was good to go on the settings I would need for the darkened theater where we'd be attending the rehearsal. Did you know that dropping a camera, even on accident, and even the night before you really-really-really need it, will still (absolutely) break the camera? It sure will. Okay, so it's not totally broken. Just the LCD screen. Picture a little TV screen in a 4-square layout. Now take 3 of those 4 squares and color them white, leaving just one little old square properly showing the picture. That's my screen right now. I can center everything on the right brilliantly; sorry for the poor subjects on the left or in the middle though.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like hours of despair over this bit of unluckiness, and woeing our pitiful lack of finances to deal with the stupid camera with the blocked out LCD screen, it occurred to us that we had 2 working cameras from our daughters. The girls have their own cameras, so it shall be one of theirs that captures all the magic moments this weekend. <br />
<br />
Camera catastrophes solved, it was on to the rehearsal. And getting ourselves in costume.<br />
<br />
We've had their costumes since before Spring Break. Sent home in carefully packaged plastic zip-bags, we were instructed to remove the costume and hang them upside down. Our bags made it as far as the entry way closet and they have hung ever since. Right side up. (Sigh)<br />
<br />
Today was the rehearsal for this grand event. Naturally, it took a moment for me to even remember where the bags had been stored, and another to allow for the momentary Freak Out I had whilst searching frantically for the bag of "essential" accessories that was included. That I lost. But then found again. And then quickly dumped all over the floor. (Sigh)<br />
<br />
Putting each young lady into her lovely costume,(and already running late), I came across a great many safety pins lining the outer sides of each. It was at this prestigious moment that I very vaguely recalled being told that I would need to do some hand stitching along the sides where each costume was just "this" much too big. Right. Yes. That. Lovely. <br />
<br />
I am very pleased to reassure you that neither child was in anyway injured (or needle-jabbed) as I so elegantly hand stitched her costume. As she wore it. Standing extremely still. And looking more nervous than I felt was warranted. Maybe.<br />
<br />
We pulled our act together and marched into the rehearsal a mere 10 minutes late, thank you very much. We sat down in our assigned seats, waiting for the girls' dance class to be called up to rehearse. And then I wondered......and then I knew.<br />
<br />
My little ballerinas had arrived at their rehearsal without their ballet slippers. Seriously, could I get any more "together" here? Was it even possible? We were saved by the other classes' rehearsals running over, and the fact that my Hero of a Hubby was at home (just 2 blocks away) and able to speed said footwear down to me, tossing the bag out the van's window as he cruised by the theater, thus extinguishing the need to park.<br />
<br />
Sitting in the darkened theater, watching all the dancers do their thing, I couldn't help but wonder at my own escapades of the last hour. I used to be more on top of things. Now I feel like I'm getting run over nearly every single day. I was the Planner. The Get-It-Done Gal who always got things done. Most days I feel like a winner if I manage to actually make it through the day without forgetting something or another. (Though it's hard to know when I should celebrate because I'm not entirely sure if I'd remember that I forgot something).<br />
<br />
There was a time when this new me would have sent the creepy crawlies up my spine. But now I just go with it. Eh, it's all good. Today for example, sure I broke my camera, but now I get to borrow my daughter's. That's okay. And yes, I may have momentarily lost their costumes and accessories, but I found them. Eventually. And had a jolly good time on the hunt, mind you. And so what we were 10 minutes late with no shoes; someone else is always later. And I got to play catch with my husband as he threw a bag out of a moving vehicle. AND I caught it! On the first try.<br />
<br />
The ability to achieve or to fail is absolutely in your perception. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DTCJSO-q0Yw/UbKNsMQhUBI/AAAAAAAAAOE/1aTazvl9Dws/s1600/IMG_0180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DTCJSO-q0Yw/UbKNsMQhUBI/AAAAAAAAAOE/1aTazvl9Dws/s320/IMG_0180.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
And they look entirely too cute to think of today as anything other than a complete success.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-36476094574433502002013-06-03T15:03:00.001-07:002013-06-03T15:03:53.699-07:00The Stay At Home Parent.You know, sometimes Stay At Home Moms are treated like second class citizens. Whether or not you personally agree with that, it's true. It really is.<br />
If I am told one more time that "I don't actually work", or "Imagine how hard your life would be if you had a real job!" I might have to pop someone in the nose. I just might.<br />
<br />
People, the time has come to stop thinking that just because a parent chooses to be at home raising their family, they are not, in fact, waving the white flag of surrender and retiring from the working class world. Note that I am saying Parent here because I know there are a lot of Stay At Home Fathers now too. And good for them, I might add.<br />
<br />
In a perfect world, when people find out that I have chosen to be at home with my kids they would say, "My goodness, you are wonderful. What a hard, thankless, tiresome task that is. You should be commended on your ability to sacrifice that extra money for what you feel is best for your family." In a perfect world, there would be a national Stay At Home Parent Celebratory Day wherein all Stay At Home Parents would get a day off. Completely to themselves. And free ice cream. All day.<br />
<br />
Yes dear nay-sayers, the Stay At Home Parent works. Very hard. Everyday. When my dear husband leaves for his job in the morning--away from chattering children and in a controlled, quiet environment (I might add), my day is only just picking up from yesterday. The To Do list from the day before never seems to be fully completed and my mornings are spent trying to magically merge that list with the list for the new day.<br />
<br />
I have kids to get up and get ready. I know what you're thinking. I do. You're thinking, "But Amanda, the girls are older now. They take care of themselves. You have no work here. Stop whining." I will concede that their getting older has certainly lessened some of the load. Now if only children would magically jump out of bed ready to bound into the bathroom and get ready for the day. And if only they managed to do this without getting half a tube of toothpaste all over the sink. And the counter soaking wet from their noble attempts at washing their face. And without leaving piles of clothing (more than I knew they were even wearing, apparently) all over the floor. It would be like absolutely no work at all. <br />
<br />
After feeding them breakfast (and I'll skip over the mess that is everyday; suffice it to say we go through multiple choices which they completely veto before landing on Pop Tarts), it's on to a day of school. Now here's where my day differs slightly from other Stay At Home Parents; I have elected to school my girls at home using an online e-academy. Having taught in an actual brick and mortar school in the past, I can say that the amount of work I put into my daily lessons for this e-school is very similar. There is daily planning to be done, and then prepping for lessons, and then preparing each lesson before teaching it, and then evaluating if they understood it or if I need to switch gears to try again. Looking at the week in advance and asking myself, "How can I make this better? What can I pull in to bring it off the page and make it more interactive? Library books? Experiments? Activities? Crafts? All the while looking ahead in the curriculum to find ways to link certain subjects to one another or to activities we happen to be doing. In short: I'm teaching. And teaching without the benefit of knowing next year will be "better" in that my lesson plans are set. Nope, next year will be a new grade level with new lessons. Back to square one. Again.<br />
<br />
After my time directly teaching the girls wraps up, I pull free to do that most pressing of all Stay At Home tasks: Clean. People who think you can't possibly need to clean everyday are very, very wrong. Either that or they haven't seen my house. When you are in your house all day everyday, messes are made. Lots of them. Everyday. So you do the best you can to keep things in check and caught up. But dang it, that laundry things throws a complete wrench in the plans. I have figured out (finally) that if I do two loads everyday, I will keep just ahead of the week. Now as soon as I put that sage advice into practice, we'll be golden. (And maybe it will be a lot like having "No Work" everyday).<br />
<br />
Of course, in between loads of laundry, picking up, cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, and checking in from time to time with the girls on their independent school work, I have to plan meals. Apparently, no matter how busy the day gets, the family still has to eat. Sometimes I feel like there is pressure on me to make grand and amazing lunches and dinners every single day. You know, because I'm home and I "don't work". Surely I must have time, right? Meals around here have to be fully planned in advance, so I can shop for the stuff and make sure it's in my house before I get stuck in the middle of a recipe without it. (That happens often.) And since we're on a budget (my non-paying, non-working job doesn't add much to the old bank account), what I make needs to be economical. In short, I am tasked with the daily challenge to prepare meals that are fabulously amazing and completely and utterly cheap. No last minute pizza runs here. Or Chinese. <br />
<br />
After dinner is in the books and a memory, I have to close up the day. What still needs done that can't wait until tomorrow? What does tomorrow look like? Can I even add to that list? Meanwhile, naturally, there are two girls to pull together for bed: baths and nightly reading first. Finally, an hour or two for just me and the dear husband. Day over. Sort of---there is that on-going list from today that rolls over into tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. And like most Stay At Home Parents, I have chosen to do this. But I feel like society should stop making me (making US) feel bad about it. Staying at home is not a cop out, people. It's a hard choice that means you're on the front line every single day. Rain or shine. Sick or healthy. It's you. All you. Only you. <br />
<br />
So please, when I say that I stay home with my kids, don't respond with, "So you don't work then?" Because I do work, thank you. It's also not comforting to hear, "My gosh, I would LOVE to stay home all day. But some of us have to work, you know." Again, I work. At home. For no pay. My day is not filled with bon-bons and books read on the couch, or catching up on My Stories on television. And even though you think it makes it better, asking "Do you work outside the home" isn't especially helpful either. I get it, you're implying I work...just not "outside" the house. But honestly, that makes me feel like I'm in a cage. <br />
<br />
It is, however, okay to say, "Thank you for your hard work." That's always nice to hear (and I've heard it a few times). It's also nice to hear, "I hope you're able to get time for yourself sometimes." It's pleasant when people keep in mind that some days are real sanity-busters. And it's always okay to say, "I wish I could have done that." I know what a privilege my being home is. It's a sacrifice on our family finances, but it's a blessing. I know many people who would love to stay home but can't.<br />
<br />
Staying at home isn't for everyone. And just like any job, there are lots of 'Bad Examples' out there that give it a bad name. But there are also the diligent among us. The daily laborers who toil tirelessly, (often thanklessly) away, for a greater good. So when I say "I'm a stay at home Mom", please try something encouraging rather than the cut downs. Thank you muchly.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-71289370223651915392013-05-27T12:20:00.001-07:002013-05-27T12:20:41.641-07:00It's Music Time. For now. The truth known to all parents is simple: every child comes complete with his or her own set of unique quirks. Each child is simply their own little self, just waiting to be fully discovered and realized.<br />
<br />
The really fun part of having identical twins is seeing where those quirks line up together. <br />
<br />
Our ladies are 8 years old, slowly beginning the turn into the big N-I-N-E. Their biggest shared "quirk" is that in all their years, they've never been fully committed to any particular hobby or interest. They'll love something for a brief time and then change suddenly into a new love. With little or no notice. Honestly, I was hoping that after a certain age, they'd cool it with that and start getting into some interest or another. But, alas.<br />
<br />
Ashlyn described it to me as an invisible Wheel inside their heads. The wheel turns, as most circular things are want to do. And much like the wheel on The Price Is Right, this one spins and then slowly clicks to a stop; each area marked out with a Interest or an Idea. Sometimes it's My Little Pony. Sometimes it's Littlest Pet Shop. It could be raccoons and squirrels. It may even be Coloring. One time, it was Running. Apparently the wheel is very large and split into very small wedges. Lots and lots of them. Specific and vague, alike.<br />
<br />
After several years, I confess, it was getting difficult to conceal my annoyance. Why can't they just pick something to work with. Let us nurture a growing interest and help become the leaders and talents of tomorrow. Right?? <br />
<br />
Recently the "Wheel" has spun around to a new wedge. (Apparently new ones get added, it would seem). Music. <br />
<br />
Now this one I can deal with. Yes, indeed. Being a music teacher in my former (pre-parent) life, my heart sang a little tune of joyous contentment. Digging through my Music Teacher gear, I resurrected my recorder and several score books. Thanks to the wonder of online buying, I was able to find 2 inexpensive recorders to begin with. The past week has been spent learning beginning notes and working on reading music. <br />
<br />
They've done well. They've been happy. I've been happy. Music will do that, you know. Today, as a matter of fact, they even "allowed" me to move their craft table up to their bedroom so that the full-size Casio keyboard can grace our family room. They're poking at the keys. "What note is this?" "Where is the A? The B?" <br />
<br />
And best of all: "Can you teach me?"<br />
<br />
Yes. Yes. Yes. I can. I will.<br />
<br />
I don't know how long the Wheel will stay on this particular interest, but I hope it's enough to at least spark some sort of hobby for them. Maybe.<br />
<br />
When I really think about it though, really look at how it all plays out, I'm glad they've got that mental Wheel thing going on. Because of that unique quirk, they've gotten an in depth look at astronomy, writing, history, cooking, nature, physics, and dance. All their interests have been built and studied on their own terms, in their own ways. Little Renaissance Ladies; bundles of talents that extend beyond the boundaries of "now" and "later". <br />
<br />
Yes, I think I can be proud of that. Indeed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619139226394838319.post-71922690036514557002013-03-12T21:06:00.000-07:002013-03-12T21:06:46.337-07:00Not Just A CatIt's been almost nearly forever since my last post. But I'm writing one tonight. Tonight I needed to put words to screen. To think.<br />
<br />
Today we said goodbye to our oldest cat, Anna. I know, I know. It's "just a cat". I know.<br />
<br />
Only, see..she wasn't. Not completely. Not really. Not to me. She was the first cat that my husband and I got together. She was really our first "child" in those early years when we didn't have any actual babies to fulfill that role. <br />
<br />
She did a splendid job, I might add. She was just the right amount "Lap Cat" and "Playful Cat"; she always knew when you needed to cuddle something soft and and purring, or when you were up to a round or two of "Throw The Mouse" or "Play With The Tinsel Ball". She knew. She was good like that. <br />
<br />
She had some annoying habits that my husband and I are realizing we're going to miss. She licked plastic constantly. We could never leave a bag on the floor, or line our bedroom trashcans with bags; she'd lick them. All night long. She was also disinclined to appreciate what she considered being ignored. If, say at 2:30am, she was ready for some attention and we were (annoyingly) sound asleep, she knew that pawing up our bedroom door, which then knocked loudly against the wall, would absolutely get the job done. Tonight, out of sheer habit, Dan put the 2 throw pillows on the floor, one behind the door, one in front. To stop the pawing. She also loved to climb into the bottom shelves of our armoire, dig through MY side, tossing out many of my folded pairs of pants so that she could make a nest and fall fast asleep. (She never bothered Dan's side. Just mine.) And we always had to double check our bottom cupboards in the kitchen. She was fond of spying an open one and sneaking right in. She would have a blast running back and forth behind the closed cabinet doors, and then fall asleep. <br />
<br />
She was also an absolute slob, I don't mind telling you; and she knew it. She insisted on chewing up her kibble to break it up into small pieces, which she then spit all over the floor around her bowl, and then proceed to eat some of those. We had to keep a stick vac near her bowl. She also had an army of "Babies" that she carried around nightly, making a mothering call. All through the night that call would echo. Upstairs and downstairs. And you knew, Anna was out and about somewhere with one of her babies. Some nights it was one of the absurdly large Rat-Babies (gray or white, she would pick one); other times it was Yanni (the small pound puppy she'd had since she was a kitten and stole it from me); or perhaps it would be one or both of the beanie-baby cats that she had (again) stolen from me. In any case, every morning we'd find her collection of babies in various locations around the house; here and there, wherever she'd put them during the night before wondering off to find another one. Anywhere and everywhere. These items too were evidence of her messiness. We used to have a toy basket for her, with everything gathered up and put away every evening. But by morning the basket would be tipped over and ransacked, whether she played with the toys or not. So we eventually gave up on the basket and just let her make her toy piles throughout the house. When our daughters grew old enough to think that pound puppies and bean-bag cats might be fun for them to play with too....Anna took to hiding them in more out-of-direct-sight sorts of places. <br />
<br />
I knew she couldn't be here forever. I knew it. And when she started to decline last fall, I began gearing myself up for the inevitable outcome to the long, slow crawl. I cherished every day with her, even through moving the litter box and her food and water bowls into my Neat Freak kitchen, so she wouldn't need to deal with steps. And when she could no longer double check that she was all the way inside the box before letting it all loose, I put training pads under the box. I gave up part of my laundry room to make a large, pillowed bed with soft blankets when it became clear that her arthritis made moving painful and, for whatever reason, she felt safest in that room. <br />
<br />
I spent the better part of today with her. She had sequestered herself in the basement, despite not being able to get down there for weeks. She wanted to be alone. But I had things to tell her. I wanted her to know what she was to me. I wanted to thank her for everything. She was our alpha cat every time a new kitten came into the family. She showed the newbie the ropes, keeping the newcomer in line and being mothering at the same time. She watched two of her closest feline siblings get very sick and leave us way too soon. But she was our constant. Our dear Anna. <br />
<br />
Perhaps this all amounts to "Just A Cat" to some. And I get that. But for me...she was oh-so-much more. And this night...this first night...when I'm surrounded by all those "Babies" she loved and cared for....I'm finding her absence to be almost its own physical presence. <br />
<br />
And so I have done what I always do in moments like these: I write. A written piece about an important (and furry) member of our family who has left us to join her cat family. Reading these words over is a sigh of relief for me; a statement that says "She was here. She was important. She still is important." <br />
<br />
Don't worry, my sweet Anna, your "Babies" have all been placed for tonight. We'll watch over for them for you, my sweet furry heart.<br />
<br />
Rest well. Rest easy. My dear.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JIjDqlqOgyM/UT_6KaRUzJI/AAAAAAAAAMI/JeaQmFrfeEQ/s1600/DSCN1685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JIjDqlqOgyM/UT_6KaRUzJI/AAAAAAAAAMI/JeaQmFrfeEQ/s320/DSCN1685.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6KV6-Ec8Rmo/UT_6b0lZUoI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/zd79b4Rd0Ow/s1600/AnnaCat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6KV6-Ec8Rmo/UT_6b0lZUoI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/zd79b4Rd0Ow/s320/AnnaCat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fdyx4kZwZcQ/UT_6oqStTII/AAAAAAAAAMY/i3RruyThnm0/s1600/Sweet+Anna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fdyx4kZwZcQ/UT_6oqStTII/AAAAAAAAAMY/i3RruyThnm0/s320/Sweet+Anna.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Rest well. Loved and never forgotten.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12408346907974342996noreply@blogger.com1