Walking through the aisles of the grocery store the other day, I saw a ghost.
Okay, not really a ghost; it was more of an image that hearkened to my not-so-long-ago past.
I saw a mother of twinfants walking down the aisle.
I recognized myself in her instantly:
Slightly shocked look (as if still in disbelief that it is possible to be this tired and still be semi-functional). Check.
Dazed expression and glassed over eyes. But don't let that seemingly vacant look throw you off. She's in survival mode. You might not think it, but behind that very tired visage enormous thoughts are taking place. She may not know exactly which store she's currently shopping in, or what that stain on her shirt is, or even when she last showered...but I promise you that complex math is being worked on in her head. She's in a near constant state of mental math, working out how long she has until the next feeding. Just how much time remains before one baby starts to fuss. And as most parents of multiples will tell you, once one starts fussing, you've already lost the game (if you're going for a perfect score, which would mean a feeding that does involve massive amounts of crying. In stereo.) Check.
"Shopping Mode" posture, which means she was pushing the giant double stroller in front of her while pulling the shopping cart behind her; managing somehow (miraculously) to avoid hitting the displays, running over toes, or bumping into the Curious Public who come out of the woodwork to look as soon as a double stroller is in view. Check.
I used to be her.
I watched her from a distance, remembering the time when I was her. When that was me. I glanced over at the girls who were standing beside me, quietly chatting about some new idea they've been mulling over; probably some plan they're hatching, no doubt. (I made a mental note to find out what all the secrecy was about).
Suddenly, I found myself fully confronted with how far we've come in their seven and half years. I was standing just 15 feet away from this young mother with her babies, but the distance between us was vast. The milestones between her children and my own were many and monumental. I hadn't completely seen it before this moment. We have come so far. Beyond far, really.
At that moment, one of her twins kicked a toy off of the stroller and to the ground without the mother noticing. The girls walked over to pick it up and I handed it back to the mother. She thanked me, in the automatic way of the truly, very tired, and then noticed my own set of twins beside me. She looked at me with the same look that I remember (oh-so-well) giving to the parents with older multiples that I used to encounter when we were in the thick of those early days of primal survival; the look that begs the unasked questions: So you can survive the desperate tiredness? Does it get easier? Can I do this? Can I do this? Can I do this?
I smiled at her and said the very words that were always soothing for my own frantic mind back at that time: "It gets easier. It really does. But the best part is that every step along the way is magic. You'll see."
She smiled at me. I smiled at her. One of the babies started to cry. One of my girls meowed. (God bless them, my two girls still like to be a cat when we're in public. If they don't turn out to be method actors, I will be surprised.)
So we bid our farewell and moved on.
I remember those days so well. How is it that I've traversed such a great distance from Twinfants to nearly 8 year olds, but still remember exactly the position I sat in while feeding them--that gentle jockeying to keep them both on the pillow at the same time. How does that not fade?
Time marches ever onward; but it's the memories that anchor us to our lives, I think.
There are things about those early days that I miss, sweet memories of softly sleeping babies that I cherish. But I wouldn't trade places for a moment.
But it's always nice to see just how far you've come, when you didn't realize exactly how big the journey really was.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
My Little Helpful
Today I have a bona fide parrot on my hands. And Polly's name is Ashlyn.
She is diligently repeating every blessed thing that falls out of my mouth. To be clear, she's not doing it in the way I used to do it growing up, in what I call the "I'm Not Touching You" mode of sisterly aggravation that one uses to embed one's self deeply beneath your oppressor's skin. (A perennial favorite, always in season).
Nope.
She's attempting to be informative. By taking everything I say and rewording it so that it comes out exactly the same as the way I just said it, only now apparently easier for her fellow 7 year old teammate to properly understand.
She says she's being helpful.
It was helpful of her to listen carefully as I said, "Today you need to take showers", and then turn to her sister and say, "Today we need to take showers."
It was also helpful of her to help Caedance understand the perplexities of the odd taste in her slice of banana bread by re-informing her (seconds after I had), that "it could be a bit of unmixed flour, or maybe baking powder".
And it was monumentally useful when she re-uttered, "sometimes coffee is the only way", solemnly and with deep intensity.
Helpful, right.
For her part, Caedance just smiles at her twin, patiently and with no ill will. Sure, she's capable of hearing everything the first time. In fact, she did hear it the first time. Perfectly. But that's the way with these two. One's "helpful" intentions are generally well received by the other; whether it be Ashlyn's parroting efforts or Caedance's Helpful Computer Tips, which usually end up closing out any program that Ashlyn happens to be in since her "tips" almost universally involve a step that says "Click The Red X". Every time.
As for me, I figure if Caedance can be okay with it, than I should be too. So I allow it, smiling at my little echo in (what I hope) is taken as appreciation. It is an art, after all, repeating everything exactly as it was said. Annoyance cannot diminish that feat.
Of course, this also means that I have to be on my best behavior language wise. No hasty, unplanned utterances of any expletives can be made. Not that I make a habit of uttering them, mind you.
But it wouldn't do to have my 7 year old parrot re-uttering them. Would not do at all.
Here's to a happy Friday, everyone!
(Here's to a happy Friday,everyone!)
She is diligently repeating every blessed thing that falls out of my mouth. To be clear, she's not doing it in the way I used to do it growing up, in what I call the "I'm Not Touching You" mode of sisterly aggravation that one uses to embed one's self deeply beneath your oppressor's skin. (A perennial favorite, always in season).
Nope.
She's attempting to be informative. By taking everything I say and rewording it so that it comes out exactly the same as the way I just said it, only now apparently easier for her fellow 7 year old teammate to properly understand.
She says she's being helpful.
It was helpful of her to listen carefully as I said, "Today you need to take showers", and then turn to her sister and say, "Today we need to take showers."
It was also helpful of her to help Caedance understand the perplexities of the odd taste in her slice of banana bread by re-informing her (seconds after I had), that "it could be a bit of unmixed flour, or maybe baking powder".
And it was monumentally useful when she re-uttered, "sometimes coffee is the only way", solemnly and with deep intensity.
Helpful, right.
For her part, Caedance just smiles at her twin, patiently and with no ill will. Sure, she's capable of hearing everything the first time. In fact, she did hear it the first time. Perfectly. But that's the way with these two. One's "helpful" intentions are generally well received by the other; whether it be Ashlyn's parroting efforts or Caedance's Helpful Computer Tips, which usually end up closing out any program that Ashlyn happens to be in since her "tips" almost universally involve a step that says "Click The Red X". Every time.
As for me, I figure if Caedance can be okay with it, than I should be too. So I allow it, smiling at my little echo in (what I hope) is taken as appreciation. It is an art, after all, repeating everything exactly as it was said. Annoyance cannot diminish that feat.
Of course, this also means that I have to be on my best behavior language wise. No hasty, unplanned utterances of any expletives can be made. Not that I make a habit of uttering them, mind you.
But it wouldn't do to have my 7 year old parrot re-uttering them. Would not do at all.
Here's to a happy Friday, everyone!
(Here's to a happy Friday,everyone!)
Friday, June 8, 2012
Zumba Zealots
Our dear little family has discovered a bonding point: Zumba for Kinect.
Oh the hilarity it must be for our neighbors to watch the four of us, clad in special Zumba clothing, bouncing about in the family room. I imagine that to the casual observer we must appear to be a motley crew consisting of two tall ones, each in various stages of Flail, and two small ones, whose moves all seem to morph into synonyms for hopping and jumping, and with wiggling arms added.
On most afternoons you will find us all thusly, progressing in our various ways through classes. I used to get worried about "keeping up appearances" when it came to the magical Zumba Hour. Before starting any class, I go around closing blinds and shutting windows so as to keep alive the mental image I have in my head of just how staggeringly amazing we all, in fact, look while doing Zoka Zumba. I have a distinct feeling that seeing our neighbors' laughing faces and pointing fingers will kill that image completely. I have since dropped the pretense and all windows and blinds stay open now. How bad can it honestly be, right? (Don't answer that. Let's keep the dream alive).
Besides all the great health benefits that go along with having an exercise program, I've also enjoyed watching the girls really get into it. Sure, getting them going was like asking paint to just dry faster, but they've really come around in the last few months. They each have their own little "Zumba Station"; an individual space meant just for her, to hop, and flail, and Zumba to her little heart's content. After we go through a whole class, with each girl taking breaks now and again, they'll step up and spend some time choosing their favorite songs and dancing to those. They're gaining a lot of coordination, balance, and timing that they didn't have before.
As they complete the challenging steps, they'll each start a chorus of "Mother! Come see us! Watch what we can do!" Each new step they "master" is a source of complete and utter pride for them; that they want to share their accomplishment with their mom is a source of joy for me. These two are sweethearts, through and through.
"Mama, look! I can do it. I keep practicing. Watch me---it's sooooo tricky. But see? I can do it anyway!" Gold star and a hug for my Caedance.
"Mom! Mom! This step is really hard. Really. But see, when I keep trying, it's easier now. I didnt' give up, and now I can do it!" Gold star and a hug for my Ashlyn.
They're not just mastering random dance moves; they're learning the value of not giving up, and trying until you succeed.
Would you look at that? Who would have thought Zumba came with Life Lessons? Smiles all around.
Oh the hilarity it must be for our neighbors to watch the four of us, clad in special Zumba clothing, bouncing about in the family room. I imagine that to the casual observer we must appear to be a motley crew consisting of two tall ones, each in various stages of Flail, and two small ones, whose moves all seem to morph into synonyms for hopping and jumping, and with wiggling arms added.
On most afternoons you will find us all thusly, progressing in our various ways through classes. I used to get worried about "keeping up appearances" when it came to the magical Zumba Hour. Before starting any class, I go around closing blinds and shutting windows so as to keep alive the mental image I have in my head of just how staggeringly amazing we all, in fact, look while doing Zoka Zumba. I have a distinct feeling that seeing our neighbors' laughing faces and pointing fingers will kill that image completely. I have since dropped the pretense and all windows and blinds stay open now. How bad can it honestly be, right? (Don't answer that. Let's keep the dream alive).
Besides all the great health benefits that go along with having an exercise program, I've also enjoyed watching the girls really get into it. Sure, getting them going was like asking paint to just dry faster, but they've really come around in the last few months. They each have their own little "Zumba Station"; an individual space meant just for her, to hop, and flail, and Zumba to her little heart's content. After we go through a whole class, with each girl taking breaks now and again, they'll step up and spend some time choosing their favorite songs and dancing to those. They're gaining a lot of coordination, balance, and timing that they didn't have before.
As they complete the challenging steps, they'll each start a chorus of "Mother! Come see us! Watch what we can do!" Each new step they "master" is a source of complete and utter pride for them; that they want to share their accomplishment with their mom is a source of joy for me. These two are sweethearts, through and through.
"Mama, look! I can do it. I keep practicing. Watch me---it's sooooo tricky. But see? I can do it anyway!" Gold star and a hug for my Caedance.
"Mom! Mom! This step is really hard. Really. But see, when I keep trying, it's easier now. I didnt' give up, and now I can do it!" Gold star and a hug for my Ashlyn.
They're not just mastering random dance moves; they're learning the value of not giving up, and trying until you succeed.
Would you look at that? Who would have thought Zumba came with Life Lessons? Smiles all around.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Little Mousie-Poo
There is something inherently gross about opening up a drawer and finding it covered in mouse offing. Many, many, many little offings, indeed.
"No, sweet children, those are not chocolate sprinkles."
Yesterday I opened the cupboard to (innocently) grab a packet of oatmeal, only to find that several furry little friends had not only visited that very packet before me, but had the audacity (and rudeness) to poo all over the box. And the cupboard. This made me annoyed. Truly. I was really in the mood for oatmeal.
Minor annoyance turned to anger when I found that the same little party had invaded my various packs of grain AND my bag of Chia. I was especially mad about the Chia because those of you who've tried it know it gives you a nice zap of energy. Having mice was one thing; completely energized-ready-for-the-long-haul-pepped-up-on-Chia Mice was quite another, thank you very much.
"No children, I did not gnaw a hole in all the bags, or dump all the barley out. But thanks for asking."
So began my impossibly dreary and irritating day of painstakingly pulling apart my kitchen, piece by piece; inspecting for evidence of Mouse Invasion; and then, if no evidence of visitors was found, warding them off with lots and lots of dryer sheets. I am told mice do not like the smell of dryer sheets. Let me tell you that after filling every available nook and cranny of my kitchen with them, I don't like them either.
I had accomplished what I thought was a feat of amazement in hauling out every piece of stored food, cleaning every shelf, and reorganizing my entire pantry in my dining room, when I pulled open a drawer to get out the masking tape. Ahh yes, the sprinkles. The little boogers had invaded not only my kitchen junk drawer, but also my flatware and utensil drawers as well. This means war, mice. War.
And did I mention that they pooped on my Le Creuset pans?? No one poops on my Le Creuset pans. No one. It's on, Mice. Bring it.
By late evening, my entire kitchen had been completely emptied, cleaned, inspected, and reassembled (in a transient fashion) in the dining room. Every little crack, no matter how inconsequential it might seem, was stuffed with steel wool, jammed in with a knife. 8 mouse traps were then baited, set, and positioned.
"No children, those are not toys. Not at all."
This morning not one, not two, but 3 little villains awaiting disposal. Part of me felt bad, I do like mice, after all. The other part of me (the one who did the 12 hour kitchen clean up and relocation stint) was not so sad at all.
3 down. How many more to go? Until the traps stay empty for a looonnnnggg time, we'll be enjoying a homey kitchen atmosphere in our dining room, and packing up whatever is needed to make every meal; making the 15 step journey into the kitchen.
I will not rest until this battle is won. (By us, not the mice). I will have my kitchen back again. I will. (I hope.)
"No, sweet children, those are not chocolate sprinkles."
Yesterday I opened the cupboard to (innocently) grab a packet of oatmeal, only to find that several furry little friends had not only visited that very packet before me, but had the audacity (and rudeness) to poo all over the box. And the cupboard. This made me annoyed. Truly. I was really in the mood for oatmeal.
Minor annoyance turned to anger when I found that the same little party had invaded my various packs of grain AND my bag of Chia. I was especially mad about the Chia because those of you who've tried it know it gives you a nice zap of energy. Having mice was one thing; completely energized-ready-for-the-long-haul-pepped-up-on-Chia Mice was quite another, thank you very much.
"No children, I did not gnaw a hole in all the bags, or dump all the barley out. But thanks for asking."
So began my impossibly dreary and irritating day of painstakingly pulling apart my kitchen, piece by piece; inspecting for evidence of Mouse Invasion; and then, if no evidence of visitors was found, warding them off with lots and lots of dryer sheets. I am told mice do not like the smell of dryer sheets. Let me tell you that after filling every available nook and cranny of my kitchen with them, I don't like them either.
I had accomplished what I thought was a feat of amazement in hauling out every piece of stored food, cleaning every shelf, and reorganizing my entire pantry in my dining room, when I pulled open a drawer to get out the masking tape. Ahh yes, the sprinkles. The little boogers had invaded not only my kitchen junk drawer, but also my flatware and utensil drawers as well. This means war, mice. War.
And did I mention that they pooped on my Le Creuset pans?? No one poops on my Le Creuset pans. No one. It's on, Mice. Bring it.
By late evening, my entire kitchen had been completely emptied, cleaned, inspected, and reassembled (in a transient fashion) in the dining room. Every little crack, no matter how inconsequential it might seem, was stuffed with steel wool, jammed in with a knife. 8 mouse traps were then baited, set, and positioned.
"No children, those are not toys. Not at all."
This morning not one, not two, but 3 little villains awaiting disposal. Part of me felt bad, I do like mice, after all. The other part of me (the one who did the 12 hour kitchen clean up and relocation stint) was not so sad at all.
3 down. How many more to go? Until the traps stay empty for a looonnnnggg time, we'll be enjoying a homey kitchen atmosphere in our dining room, and packing up whatever is needed to make every meal; making the 15 step journey into the kitchen.
I will not rest until this battle is won. (By us, not the mice). I will have my kitchen back again. I will. (I hope.)
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Just Another Tuesday
Yesterday I was busy doing The Mom thing-cleaning and otherwise occupying myself with the mundane tasks of making the household run seamlessly. You know, a Tuesday.
Just as I was piling up the socks to deposit in the drawer, my happy housewife routine was broken by a scream of epic proportions echoing up the stairs, preceding the quick thud of running feet.
In mere moments, Ashlyn stood before me, hand on neck, face arranged in a look of complete outrage. "Mom!" she began in dismay and shock, "Caedance just pinched me. Pinched me! MOM--it was really, really hard!"
Socks forgotten, I looked at my other daughter. The Instigator. Caedance.
"Caedance," I leveled my gaze at her pointedly, "is that true?"
(Side Note: I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting her to say. She is 7 after all and they are not always known for retelling things with the most accuracy. Whatever I had in my mind when I posed that question, I certainly was not looking for hearing the truth. Not at all.)
"Caedance, is that true?"
She looked straight at me, nonplussed, "Oh yes, Mother. I did. Right here," she lifted her mop of curls and pointed to the very spot where she planted the pinch on her twin. (A quick check on Ashlyn's neck confirmed the truth in that.)
"Why exactly did you do that, Caedance?" This was getting interesting.
"Well she was losing, Mother. She was playing her game (a ds game) and she was losing. I really don't like it when she loses, so I figured if I pinched her she would stop losing."
"Really?" (This was a lot more interesting than putting socks away.) "And Caedance, do you think that was the right thing to do?"
"Probably not, Mom. She kept losing." She stopped her, looking around and considering her next words. "But I'm okay and am ready to move on."
Oh. I see.
Honestly, part of me was on the verge of laughter, part of me appreciated her logic, and the other part (the parent part) figured I should probably do something "Parent-ish" about it.
Caedance was smiling at me. Ashlyn was furrowing her brow, waiting for whatever I was about to dole out to her sister. I still had piles of clothes to put away. A toilet to scrub.
I looked at my first born and said, "You don't need to worry about losing at DS games for a little while because when we pinch, we lose privileges." (Should I even need to say that?? At 7?)
She smiled sweetly, gave Ashlyn and quick kiss on the cheek (on her own accord), and skipped off to play.
Ashlyn shrugged off her dismay, apparently satisfied with the result, and followed her sister off into Playland and fun.
As for me, I picked up where I had left off, putting away all that lovely laundry, and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.
It was Tuesday, after all.
Just as I was piling up the socks to deposit in the drawer, my happy housewife routine was broken by a scream of epic proportions echoing up the stairs, preceding the quick thud of running feet.
In mere moments, Ashlyn stood before me, hand on neck, face arranged in a look of complete outrage. "Mom!" she began in dismay and shock, "Caedance just pinched me. Pinched me! MOM--it was really, really hard!"
Socks forgotten, I looked at my other daughter. The Instigator. Caedance.
"Caedance," I leveled my gaze at her pointedly, "is that true?"
(Side Note: I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting her to say. She is 7 after all and they are not always known for retelling things with the most accuracy. Whatever I had in my mind when I posed that question, I certainly was not looking for hearing the truth. Not at all.)
"Caedance, is that true?"
She looked straight at me, nonplussed, "Oh yes, Mother. I did. Right here," she lifted her mop of curls and pointed to the very spot where she planted the pinch on her twin. (A quick check on Ashlyn's neck confirmed the truth in that.)
"Why exactly did you do that, Caedance?" This was getting interesting.
"Well she was losing, Mother. She was playing her game (a ds game) and she was losing. I really don't like it when she loses, so I figured if I pinched her she would stop losing."
"Really?" (This was a lot more interesting than putting socks away.) "And Caedance, do you think that was the right thing to do?"
"Probably not, Mom. She kept losing." She stopped her, looking around and considering her next words. "But I'm okay and am ready to move on."
Oh. I see.
Honestly, part of me was on the verge of laughter, part of me appreciated her logic, and the other part (the parent part) figured I should probably do something "Parent-ish" about it.
Caedance was smiling at me. Ashlyn was furrowing her brow, waiting for whatever I was about to dole out to her sister. I still had piles of clothes to put away. A toilet to scrub.
I looked at my first born and said, "You don't need to worry about losing at DS games for a little while because when we pinch, we lose privileges." (Should I even need to say that?? At 7?)
She smiled sweetly, gave Ashlyn and quick kiss on the cheek (on her own accord), and skipped off to play.
Ashlyn shrugged off her dismay, apparently satisfied with the result, and followed her sister off into Playland and fun.
As for me, I picked up where I had left off, putting away all that lovely laundry, and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.
It was Tuesday, after all.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Overnight Cinnamon Rolls
Did I mention they're made with a bread machine dough? ('Cause, that's an awfully important part too, don't you think?)
How many times have you started your morning off by yearning for a sweet, gooey, ultimately horrible for you Cinnamon Roll? And how many of those misty mornings did you spend kicking yourself because, darn it, you want that Roll Of Goodness now, not 3 hours from now.
I know your pain. I truly do.
Those who know me know that I am a bakery buff. I heart all things baked. And one of my favorite things is to spend time seeking out recipes that can be crafted and tooled around with, and made yummier.
I came across a version of this recipe while on an online hunt for something to make for an upcoming brunch. I read through it and decided that this just happened to be an awesome basic dough recipe that could be used to make a huge assortment of rolls. Easily. (Maybe a little too easily). And the fact that it required almost no work on my part was a huge bonus. I made a few batches of it, playing with the filling as well. Turns out, this dough can play host to any number of delicious variations.
Here's the basic recipe for the dough.
How many times have you started your morning off by yearning for a sweet, gooey, ultimately horrible for you Cinnamon Roll? And how many of those misty mornings did you spend kicking yourself because, darn it, you want that Roll Of Goodness now, not 3 hours from now.
I know your pain. I truly do.
Those who know me know that I am a bakery buff. I heart all things baked. And one of my favorite things is to spend time seeking out recipes that can be crafted and tooled around with, and made yummier.
I came across a version of this recipe while on an online hunt for something to make for an upcoming brunch. I read through it and decided that this just happened to be an awesome basic dough recipe that could be used to make a huge assortment of rolls. Easily. (Maybe a little too easily). And the fact that it required almost no work on my part was a huge bonus. I made a few batches of it, playing with the filling as well. Turns out, this dough can play host to any number of delicious variations.
Here's the basic recipe for the dough.
Basic Overnight Sweet Roll Recipe
1 cup warm milk
(the higher the fat content, the tastier these will be, FYI)
2 eggs
1/3 cup butter,melted
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup white sugar
4 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 tsp yeast
Add all ingredients into the bread machine pan in the order listed. (Check your user manual to make sure your machine works this way, some have you adding dry ingredients first.)
Select Dough cycle and step back; you've got about an hour and a half to go do as you will. Sit for a moment (you ARE making cinnamon rolls, you know. You deserve a break. Go read a book. Take a walk. Resist the urge to fold that load of clothes. This is Cinnamon Roll making time; it's special).
When cycle completes (don't you feel rested?), leave it in the machine for another 10 minutes. Then punch it down and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface.
Roll it out into a large rectangle, getting it as wide as you can. You don't want paper thin here, maybe an 1/8- 1/4 of an inch thick? Once you've done that you are ready for your filling. I've made a few that I will share; what you use is up to you.
Fillings:
Classic Cinnamon Roll
1/3 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 TBS cinnamon
Brush prepared dough with butter. Combine cinnamon and sugar in a small bowl and sprinkle over dough.
Chocolate Hazelnut Cinnamon Rolls
1/2 cup (give or take) cup Nutella softened
2 tsp cinnamon
1 cup coarsely chopped chocolate (I've used semi-sweet & milk chocolate with great results. Chocolate chips are fine for this).
Spread softened Nutella over the dough. In a small bowl, combine chopped chocolate and cinnamon, tossing to coat well. Sprinkle chocolate/cinnamon mixture over the Nutella.
Orange Blossom Rolls
1/3 cup butter, melted
1 cup white butter
Rind from 2 large oranges (I've not tried it, but you could also try a lemon in this for a more citrus-y joy.)
Brush dough with butter. In a bowl, combine sugar with rind, mixing well.Sprinkle over dough.
(I've also made Potica Rolls with this when I was making Potica and irritated by how much filling didn't make it into the loaves of bread; that extra filling was just enough for one batch of these rolls. And it was yummy, rivaling the Potica itself).
Okay, your dough is rolled out, you've chosen your filling, and hopefully applied it. Now roll the dough, starting from the long side, jelly roll style. You should have a long log of dough sitting in front of you. Before moving on, get a baking sheet and spray it with non stick spray. Have it near your workspace.
Using a sharp knife, begin cutting 1 inch to 1 1/2 inch slices for each roll. Place them on the greased sheet.
(If you have any ends or straggling pieces left, put those in a greased mini loaf pan--they bake up well, right along side the larger pan of rolls).
Here's the great part. (Are you ready for it?) Cover the pan with plastic wrap and place the pan in the fridge. Let it sit overnight. (Goodnight, little rolls of joy).
In the morning, grab your cup of coffee, (there are priorities here, my friends), remove plastic wrap from pan, then put it into a COLD oven. No preheating here, people. Set your oven to 350 degrees, set the timer for 20 minutes.
Check for over browning around 15 minutes, and doneness around the 20 minute mark. I've had batches need foil covering and another 5 minutes of cook time. Crazy art, this Cinnamon Roll making thing.
When done, allow to cool for a moment. You can either glaze or frost them, your choice. If glazing, brusht it on right now, fresh out of the oven. They'll be shiny and look professionally made (impressive, huh?). If you want to frost them, wait till they cool a bit before applying. If you make the Orange Blossom version, try adding some lemon or orange juice to the powdered sugar for an extra punch of flavor. Need a recipe for it? I've included my "formula". I don't measure, I just toss it all in a bowl until I get something I'm happy with. Yeah, I'm a rebel that way.
Glaze/Frosting:
Put 1-2 cups powdered sugar in a bowl. I like to add a TBS or so of softened butter & a bit of vanilla for extra flavor. Add milk, 1 TBS at a time, stirring until it's as thick (or thin) as you want it. Too thick? Add more liquid. Too thin? Add more sugar. You can also add some Maple extract for a maple frosting or glaze.
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| Nutella Rolls |
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| Cinnamon Rolls with vanilla frosting and maple frosting |
The wonder and joy of this roll recipe is that you go to bed with them already made, waking up to the simple need to pop them into the oven. These are fantastic for large groups because you can make several batches--even different batches--and not want to pull your hair out with stress.
My inner baker grins with contentment with these oh-so-easy rolls. I hope yours will too.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
An Adventure Worth The Taking
Spring break has come and gone; we're closing the month of April and getting ready to dust off May for public consumption.
Where have these past 365 days gone?
What a year of wonder this has been for us. This first year of schooling at home has been a uniquely glorious experience for our family, most especially for my girls and I.
Picture this: going into a new situation, unsure of how it would work out. It's not exactly a "tried & true" method, and it has a lot of detractors, after all. People constantly asking, "How well will they do?" I spent hours asking myself if they would do well at all. Would they even like it? What if every day was a struggle? What if I couldn't do it? Or worse, what if I wasn't good enough to be the teacher they needed.
I might have all the right intentions, but it would boil down to nothing at all if I wasn't enough.
To say we were starting a grand adventure would be putting it mildly. I, the consummate classroom teacher, was switching up everything I knew and withdrawing my children from the brick and mortar brand of schooling and keeping them (gulp)- at home. With me. All day. (Gulp).
Believe me, that last thought brought on plenty of panic attacks. I adore my children more than words can proclaim. But even I need a break every now and again. I'm good, but I'm not that good.
After much inner reflection, I came to the simple conclusion that I was just going to have to deal with it. Good days and bad days alike; I'd put a smile on my face, and teach. In my mind's rosy picture, I'd teach and they'd sit and absorb every single word, demanding more. A standing ovation would ensue after particularly good lessons where much knowledge was imparted.
Then probably we'd fall into a heap of hugs in the afternoon, discussing our favorite works of fiction: me, the newest Philipa Gregory, they, the newest Fancy Nancy installment, while expanding our pallette eating rare and new foods we'd previously been afraid to try. Urchin, anyone?
Rose tinted glasses aside, this truly has been an amazing year. Maybe not every single lesson was an opus performance by me, but despite that, the girls have come so incredibly far. I am daily amazed. Things that they struggled with in the Fall are now second nature and not given a moment's hesitation. They're making rapid deductions and reasoning with logic that is based on understanding and comprehension. They're thinking outside the dreaded box, making leaps in the scaffolding of their knowledge, and I find myself envious. I know I sure didn't understand the process of the water cycle to that degree in first grade. And I certainly hadn't the foggiest notion of multiplication.
Perhaps the best gift of all, besides the return of their curiosity and interest, is my rare opportunity to get an educational Do Over. Remember how in Elementary School you were just there to have fun? I showed up, did some worksheets, some group work, played outside, and went home with a folder full of To Do stuff haunting me. I didn't really worry about what I was learning...it all seemed a by-product of my time at school. Consequently, I never really internalized a lot of what I was supposedly learning, and thusly, it fell out of my head and was quickly forgotten. But now I'm revisiting it all again, lesson by lesson, concept by concept. Maybe to some it sounds an inane and boring perk, but to an avid acquirer of knowledge like myself, it is a rare gem indeed.
We just re-enrolled for second grade. There is simply too much I still don't, I mean, they, still don't know. Much to be learned and to be explored. More connections to make and more understandings to gained. How could I not want to do this all again? And the best part is that, going into this next year, I'm not afraid. It's not some unseen thing on the horizon, off my road map; it's an experience that I cannot wait to have.
First grade is nearing its end. Second grade and beyond await just up around the bend. Bring it on. We're ready.
Where have these past 365 days gone?
What a year of wonder this has been for us. This first year of schooling at home has been a uniquely glorious experience for our family, most especially for my girls and I.
Picture this: going into a new situation, unsure of how it would work out. It's not exactly a "tried & true" method, and it has a lot of detractors, after all. People constantly asking, "How well will they do?" I spent hours asking myself if they would do well at all. Would they even like it? What if every day was a struggle? What if I couldn't do it? Or worse, what if I wasn't good enough to be the teacher they needed.
I might have all the right intentions, but it would boil down to nothing at all if I wasn't enough.
To say we were starting a grand adventure would be putting it mildly. I, the consummate classroom teacher, was switching up everything I knew and withdrawing my children from the brick and mortar brand of schooling and keeping them (gulp)- at home. With me. All day. (Gulp).
Believe me, that last thought brought on plenty of panic attacks. I adore my children more than words can proclaim. But even I need a break every now and again. I'm good, but I'm not that good.
After much inner reflection, I came to the simple conclusion that I was just going to have to deal with it. Good days and bad days alike; I'd put a smile on my face, and teach. In my mind's rosy picture, I'd teach and they'd sit and absorb every single word, demanding more. A standing ovation would ensue after particularly good lessons where much knowledge was imparted.
Then probably we'd fall into a heap of hugs in the afternoon, discussing our favorite works of fiction: me, the newest Philipa Gregory, they, the newest Fancy Nancy installment, while expanding our pallette eating rare and new foods we'd previously been afraid to try. Urchin, anyone?
Rose tinted glasses aside, this truly has been an amazing year. Maybe not every single lesson was an opus performance by me, but despite that, the girls have come so incredibly far. I am daily amazed. Things that they struggled with in the Fall are now second nature and not given a moment's hesitation. They're making rapid deductions and reasoning with logic that is based on understanding and comprehension. They're thinking outside the dreaded box, making leaps in the scaffolding of their knowledge, and I find myself envious. I know I sure didn't understand the process of the water cycle to that degree in first grade. And I certainly hadn't the foggiest notion of multiplication.
Perhaps the best gift of all, besides the return of their curiosity and interest, is my rare opportunity to get an educational Do Over. Remember how in Elementary School you were just there to have fun? I showed up, did some worksheets, some group work, played outside, and went home with a folder full of To Do stuff haunting me. I didn't really worry about what I was learning...it all seemed a by-product of my time at school. Consequently, I never really internalized a lot of what I was supposedly learning, and thusly, it fell out of my head and was quickly forgotten. But now I'm revisiting it all again, lesson by lesson, concept by concept. Maybe to some it sounds an inane and boring perk, but to an avid acquirer of knowledge like myself, it is a rare gem indeed.
We just re-enrolled for second grade. There is simply too much I still don't, I mean, they, still don't know. Much to be learned and to be explored. More connections to make and more understandings to gained. How could I not want to do this all again? And the best part is that, going into this next year, I'm not afraid. It's not some unseen thing on the horizon, off my road map; it's an experience that I cannot wait to have.
First grade is nearing its end. Second grade and beyond await just up around the bend. Bring it on. We're ready.
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