Kid Cuisine

I used to love to cook, but lately...I have to admit, cooking isn't my top priority. So I let my kids make dinner last night. But really, they insisted on helping and then took over. 

Amaya did the potatoes and Rio was in charge of the griddle.

"Mom! I'm bleeding!" Amaya panicked. "It stings! It stings, it stings, it stings." 

"Stop being so dramatic. Go get a band aid," I told her.

"Rio! Go get me a band aid," she ordered.

"No...you go get it!" he responded back. "You're not dying!"

The second Amaya left the sink, Rio was in her spot, peeling her potatoes. Amaya came back to the kitchen to find her little brother doing her job.

"Mom!  He's in my spot!"  she protested. "Fine, Rio...I'm going to do your job then."  She tried to control the situation. "Rio, where's the spatula?" she demanded, holding out her hand.

Rio didn't answer, he just kept quietly peeling the potatoes. This infuriated her.

"Rio, the hamburger patties are burning! I have to flip them! Mauuuuum..."

"Someone please flip the patties," I demanded.

"Rio, don't use that!" Amaya bossed. "Mom he hid the spatula on the floor, under the cabinets...gross."

"What?" Rio answered the look I shot him, while he wiped the spatula off on the front of his shirt.

"Wash it," I told him. "We don't use cooking utensils that have been on the ground."

The end result. Well done hamburger patties, unevenly cooked potatoes, burnt corn, and a gallon of lumpy gravy. 

"Why does my stomach hurt so bad?" My husband moaned after our chefs were in bed.

I cited the obvious. This could do wonders for our waistlines.

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Be More Specific

Friday is the worst day to have a problem.  So I was ecstatic when Rio chose today to inform me about the hole in his tooth. 

"Mom...it hurts to brush the hole in my tooth." He complained from the bathroom.

I inspected, and sure enough, half of his top back right molar was missing. 

To get an appointment last minute on a Friday, with the dentist, is next to impossible.  It's like pulling teeth.  I had to exaggerate, embellish, and plead with the receptionist.  Fortunately, negotiations went well and she squeezed him in. 

After the appointment was booked I pulled him out of school and drove him to the dentist.

"I don't know what I did with the baggy..."  Rio casually mentioned from the backseat.  "The dentist probably needs it,"  he added.

"What baggy?" I questioned.

"The one with my tooth in it,"  he explained.

"What tooth Rio?"

"The one that cracked at school,"  he said.  "I heard a crack when I was eating, then I pulled part of my tooth out of my mouth."

"When did this happen?"

"Ummm...a couple weeks ago,"  he continued, as I shook my head in disbelief.  "I put it in my sandwich baggy for you."

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" 

"You didn't ask."

Apparently, it's not enough to ask what happened at school today.

Now I know to be more specific.

This kid...unbelievable.
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Bowling Crusade

I have a secret passion for bowling.  In fact, I've been bowling since I was ten, it's one of my favorite things, so it's easy to bloviate about the striking skills I possess.

I thought my bowling ability would be passed down to my children through genetics.  I was wrong.  Instead they've adopted my bowling quirks and habits, like backing up on the approach while talking to the pins. 

Bowling is a sport that requires patience, focus and concentration.  These are my best traits.  But my kids are anxious and jumpy like rabbits.  They grab the ball and waddle quickly up to the lane like fuliguline.

"Bzzzzzzzz!"  The foul light turned on.

"What happened?"  Rio protested. "It didn't count my pins?"

"You fouled,"  I bluntly pointed out. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go over the line?!" I continued to nag.

He rolled his eyes and stomped back to his chair.  With crossed arms, he slumped down into his seat and stared blankly at the pins.  While he doesn't possess my bowling talent, he did inherit my attitude.

"A split!"  Amaya complained.  "I did exactly what you told me!" She threw her arms up in the air at the injustice.

"Obviously not!  Point your toe, look at your mark,"  I instructed her.  "The blade of your hand should come up over that third arrow." My hand motioned.

It was my turn.  I stood at the beginning of the approach, positioned my feet over the far right boards.  I took a deep breath, my right foot led, I took three steps, I kicked my left leg behind my right and with perfect form...gutter ball.

"Well it's easier said than done." 

True story!  Well not exactly...let's see if you can figure it out.

Marshmallows?

An old man recently flagged my husband down while driving.  The old man motioned for him to roll down his window and then asked him to pull over.  This man had no teeth.

"What is Raising Marshmallows?"  The old man asked slowly, pointing at the window decal on my husbands truck.  "I've been driving behind you and I just had to ask."

"My wife's blog,"  my husband answered.

"Does the white stuff spilling over the back of your tailgate have anything to do with the website?" The old man was still confused.

"No...that's taping mud."  My husband laughed, he explained it wasn't candy.

"What's the blog about then?"  The old man asked.

My husband handed him one of my business cards and suggested he check it out.

So my apologies to all who have stumbled across this blog thinking you would find marshmallows only to discover parental sarcasm. 

While the literal light, spongy, very sweet confection, made up of corn syrup, gelatin, sugar, and starch, then dusted with powdered sugar doesn't live in this blog...the proverbial kind does.
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♥ Valentine's not Valentime's ♥



It's that time of year, again.  Valentine's Day, not Valentime's Day, VALENTINE'S.  I know, it's a subtle difference, but there is a difference.

"Mom, I need my Valentime's by tomorrow!"  Amaya stated with urgency.  "My teacher said!"

"It's V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e,"  I corrected her.

"Okay, V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e..." she mocked me.  "I still need them."

At the store we stood in front of the impressive boxed card display and making a decision was impossible.  Amaya thought they were all so cute and wanted to buy her top three picks.  Obviously the answer was no. 

Rio quietly stared up at the shelves.  His eyes big with want.

"Which ones do you like?"  I asked him.  Not prepared for his answer.

"Um...I thinking...I want to get all of the girls...a bear, or a dog, or a frog, or something,"  he said.

"Well, how many girls are in your class?"  I asked.

"I don't know?" he answered. "A lot!"

"What?  He's in second grade!"  I said, leaning into my husband. 

"You know what...I was the same way."  My husband laughed into my ear.  He was proud of his little Casanova.

It was amusing.  But there are close to fifteen girls in his class.  The bears are five dollars each.  All I could see were dollar signs. 

So I had to break out my best negotiating skills, and I was able to persuade him with some pretty fantastic Sponge Bob Valentine's that came with lolly-pops.

"Can we do our Valentime's when we get home?" Amaya asked, as were leaving the store.

"It's V-a-l-e-n-t-i-n-e!  Gees, Amaya!"  Rio corrected her.

    

                                                           

Back to Normal

Everything is back to normal.  That is, if normal includes piles of laundry, a sink full of dishes, and playing referee to the game of  "he touched me...no, she touched me first."

Rio started the morning doing flips on his bed, kicking a soccer ball through the house, and terrorizing his sister.

Amaya took her sweet time eating her Cheerios...a solid 30 minutes.  Then decided she should kick her brother.

Surprisingly, we left for school on time and everything was peaceful in the car.  Until it wasn't.

"He's on my side!"  Amaya yelled.

"Stop pushing me!"  Rio yelled back.

"Really!"  I yelled at them through the rear view mirror.  "We're ten feet from the drop off, and you want to start this now?"

They got out of the car as I reminded them to have a nice day.

My day went by so quick without them.  Too quick.  I enjoyed the peace and quiet so much I forgot to pick them up from school.

That will teach them to fight in the car.
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Sick and Tired

February started just as pleasantly as January.  I'm being punished for skipping the flu shot. 

Today I woke up feeling better but exhausted.  The cough that has moved in is keeping me up all night so during the day all I want to do is sleep. 

Sleeping causes other problems.  I wake up to a puddle of wetness on my pillow and my sleeve with my hair plastered to the side of my face.  Even in sleep I'm aware of the torturous sore throat I have.  The drooling is completely involuntary.

It's Monday.  So imagine my excitement of sending the kids off to school.  First I drag Amaya out of bed by her ankles.

"Get up!"  I yell.  "You're going to be late."  This is due to me hitting  the snooze button repeatedly.

I go into Rio's room.  I try to shake him conscious.  He's burning up.

"Mom, my throat hurts,"  he complains.

I grab a flashlight to inspect his tonsils.  After all I am a throat expert.

"Uh-oh..."  I say.  "Looks like you're staying home." 

Then I remember.  What about my sleep?  I'm devastated. 

"You know if you stay home today, you're staying in bed?" 

"I know." 

"No video games, TV, or playing outside."

He was fine with that. So we slept all day.

The only thing worse than waking up on my own saturated pillowcase, is rolling over into his.  

♥

The Home Phone

I am down to one phone. 

Yes it's corded.

My other phones have all broke.  Apparently there is only a 14 year life span on a $12.00 phone.  Who knew?

"Go buy a phone," my husband pleads. "A decent one."

"Why?  This one still works,"  I tell him. "You have your cell phone."

"Babe, don't be so cheap," he tells me.

"Okay, I'll buy one tomorrow."  But I have no real intention.

I tell him to look on the bright side.

Aside from not having the patience to talk on a phone while tethered to the wall, missing calls because it stops ringing before we can answer it, not hearing it all together, or the calls that are dropped repeatedly while in the middle of conversations that has caused friends and family to give up.  It's not so bad.

It has cut down on phone calls placed and received in this house considerably.

Really, who needs the frustration!

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It's All About Balance

I proudly wear the titles wife and mother.  Still, I'd prefer to have the titles ruler and dictator.

I don't mind the cleaning, the laundry, the dishes, the mopping, the vacuuming, or the cooking.  I don't mind the carpooling, the scheduling, the budgeting, or the organizing.

Okay, I mind a little.  It's my job not my passion, and if I want these things done right, I have to do them. 

But it never fails, in the middle of my cleaning escapades, to look over and find my husband sitting on the couch.  Just sitting there, not doing anything.  It makes my blood boil.

I try making extra noise in the kitchen, I try turning on the vacuum behind him, I try dusting the television he can't pry his eyes off of.  All my subtle attempts fail to draw his attention.  Finally I can't stand it any longer.

"Are you just going to sit there?"  It's a demand more than a question.

He's oblivious to his three pairs of shoes scattered in the middle of the floor, the knocked over sunflower seed bowl spilling down the cushions, or the fact that he has tracked taping mud through the entire house.  I just finished sweeping!

I start thinking, "Men have it so easy!  I wish I were that blind."

Then I remember, that's why he has me in his life...to make his life harder. 

It's all about balance.
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No One Likes a Tattle Tale

Today Rio was sent home from school with a discipline slip.

"Mom look what Rio has for you,"  Amaya said, handing me a slip from Rio's teacher.

A discipline slip.  It states:  Grabbing clothes of others around the neck. 

This is the second discipline slip this year.  The first one was for not following the one set of rules that the school has in place for tether ball.

"Rio,"  I said. "Come here."

"Ya..."  He said with his head hanging low as he approached me.

"What happened?"  I asked.  "You grabbed someone by their shirt?"

"Yes,"  he answered.

"Why?"

"I don't know?"  he answered.

"Was it because you were mad?"  I asked.

"No, we were playing,"  he said.  "And grabbing is part of the game.  You have to catch the other person.  He grabbed me too."

"Okay, well it isn't okay to grab people by their shirt.  Especially around the neck, it's dangerous,"  I told him.

"I know.  We were just playing a game,"  he said. 

"Did you tell your teacher that the other boys were playing like that too?"

"No."

"Why not?"  I asked.

"Because they're my friends and I don't want to get them in trouble,"  he said.

And he's right. No one likes a tattle tale.

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The Limp

Last week Rio hurt his ankle.  He twisted it while my mom was picking him up from school.  He came into the house hopping on one foot.

"Mom, Rio's hurt!"  Amaya called out with panic in her voice, as they entered the front door.

Rio told me what happened, not leaving any detail out.  As I removed his shoe and sock the expressions on his face told me to be very gentle.

"Let me go get the ankle brace for you,"  I said.

"Do you think he really needs it?"  my mom asked.

"No.  But if he's okay after it's on, we'll know it's not serious."   

After the ankle brace was on he hopped around, limped, and still grunted with pain. 

"Maybe he's not faking,"  I thought.

A couple hours later it was time for soccer camp.  Guess who was miraculously healed.  Rio's limp was gone.  It didn't bother him on the field or inside the goal.  It didn't stop him from spinning or doing cartwheels when he was supposed to be paying attention.

At home after soccer the mysterious limp returned.  He hobbled down the hall to his room to put on his pajamas. 

"Rio, why are you limping?"  I asked.

"Remember..."  he drew out.  "I hurt it." 

The next day, same thing.  The following day after that, same thing.  The day of his soccer game, same thing.  So on and so on.  I thought he had forgotten about his ankle until last night, when I saw him hobble past the office. 

"Rio are you okay?"  I asked.

"Gese, what does it take to get some attention?"  he asked while limping towards me.

Apparently bleed.

Vaguely Defined

Vocabulary is important.  It's important for children to learn the correct meanings of words so that they can articulate those words in sentences properly. 

When the weeks vocabulary words come home with loose definitions provided by the school,  my mom gets irritated. 

"Don't these kids use a dictionary at school?"  She asks shaking her head.

"Amaya what does crossly mean?"  My mom quizzes her.

"To look angrily at something,"  she answers.

"What does elegant mean?" 

"To mark with good taste,"  she answers.

"What does godmother mean?" 

"Someone who acts like a mother,"  she answers.

"Wrong!"  my mom tells her.  "Nikki, do you ever read the definitions she brings home?"  she calls out from my kitchen.

"Well that's what our teacher told us to write Grandma,"  Amaya defends herself.

I grab the dictionary.  Before jumping to conclusions, we look up the words to see if by some chance the definitions are correct.  But mainly to prove that we were.

cross•ly: adv. in a cross or angry manner.
el·e·gant: adj. 1. Marked by elegance 2. A high grade of quality
god·moth·er: noun a woman who sponsors a person at a baptism

Our assumptions turn out to be correct.  The vocabulary words are vaguely defined.  Except the word godmother.  There's only one definition.  It makes me wonder if the definition was changed because of it's religious nature.

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Magic Sponges

I've had a box of Magic Eraser sponges for about a year.  I've used one.  I wondered where the magic was.  I could do the same job in half the time with a rag and some multi-purpose cleaner.

"Mom can I clean my door?"  Amaya asked.  "There's something on it."

"Of course you can, it's your door."  I was excited, it's not every day that she wants to clean.

"Can I use one of these sponges?"  She asked.  Her eyes getting big while emptying the box out on the table.

"Go for it!"  I tell her.

Twenty minutes past and I hadn't seen or heard from Amaya or Rio.  That's usually a dead give away that they're up to no good.  So imagine the shock on my face when I turn down the hall to see them scrubbing away all the dirt and grime from all the doors and baseboard.

I guess those sponges are magic after all!

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Healthy Choices

The school lunch menu approved by our School District and The Child Nutrition Department is lacking to say the least.  Where are the healthy choices?

I let my kids buy lunch for one week .  This was against my better judgement, but I wanted to see what they ate if the school was in charge of their nutrition.  Their lunch diet consisted of corn dogs, pizza bread, chili-cheese fries, chicken nuggets, mozzarella sticks, and grilled cheese with seasoned fries.  All foods that I deem part of the fast food group. 

Still schools take the nanny position and practice "do as I say, not as I do" with our children.  They ban food item fund raisers, they prohibit cupcakes for birthdays, and they eliminate P.E.  All while telling parents that the above lunch menu is healthy and approved.  Who are they kidding?

Better Safe Than Sorry

I've been busy. It all started with one tiny bug.

I was blow drying Rio's hair as I do every morning and I saw what looked like a tiny sliver of bark.  I picked it out and took a closer look.

"Amaya!  Hurry get me a baggy!"  I yelled down the hallway.

She brought me a baggy and I put the little creature inside.  I then took a comb and started inspecting Rio's head.  Then I checked Amaya's.  Nothing.  No bugs, no eggs...so okay, it wasn't lice.  Was it a bed bug? 

After I dropped my kids off at school I took my bagged goody to my moms house.

"Mom, do you know what a bed bug looks like?"  I asked as I held up the bag.

"No,"  she said as she put on her glasses.

"Is it lice?"  I questioned.

"I don't know?"  She answered.

I went to her computer and googled lice photos.  Pictures loaded onto the screen. 

"Take it to the pharmacy and ask them if they know,"  she suggested.

Then I put the baggy on the computer screen so the bug was side by side the googled images.

"I think we know what it is!"  I told her.

After purchasing $83.00 worth of RID, I went to pull my kids out of school.  The school gladly removed them from class to have them inspected before releasing them.  The office clerk checked them.  Again, nothing!  They probably thought I was crazy, but I had proof in a baggy.  They insisted it was okay for them to remain in school. 

"Maybe you were lucky and found the only one,"  they joked.

I wasn't so sure.  Where there's one , there's two, where there's two, there's four.  And that thought sent me on a cleaning rampage.

After vacuuming and spraying the couch, I removed all bedding, blankets , and stuffed animals from my house, in case there were any stragglers.  I felt much better, until 8pm.

"Do you trust your eyes to spot a bug that starts off the size of a pin head?"  I asked my husband as we sat on the couch.

"No, do you?"  He questioned back.

Immediately everyone was treated.  Better safe than sorry.