I’m All Out

Y’all.

I am ALL OUT of things to write about.  

Well, there are a couple of things brewing, but it’s not really the time to post them.  And nothing particularly funny has happened in the last few days.

So I’m going to take a couple of days and try to recharge.

Or nap.

You know… Whatever.

Have a lovely weekend!

This Parenting Thing is Hard

The 2 1/2-year-old who stole my heart the first minute I laid eyes on him is the same one who seems to be stealing my patience.

Today, I said, “No!” about 97 times.

Today, I put a little boy in time-out at least three times for the same “offense.”

Today, I was more stern than I care to be.

Today, I wiped the tears of a little one who’s having to learn how to behave.

Today, I cried more tears than that little boy, and I prayed for wisdom, patience, and guidance.

Because this parenting thing?  It’s harder than I ever imagined.

It’s also more wonderful than I ever dreamed.

Argh, Matey!

I’ve been running around all day trying to get things lined up for the luncheon I’m helping with at Tater Tot’s Parents’ Day Out.  Even though I haven’t had to do as much as I thought, thanks to the loads of people who signed up to bring stuff, I’m always nervous the day before the actual event.  I imagine that all 15 people who’ve volunteered to bring food will be struck down with some horrible illness and call to say they can’t bring their finger sandwiches and congealed salads.

While I was busy making my dish and going over lists and finding a tablecloth to use, Tater Tot decided to play Pirates.  He doesn’t have a real pirate’s hat.

So he improvised.

Like any good pirate, he has his trusty flashlight and his “telescope,” which also doubles as a tumbler when he’s not out to sea.

(Please excuse the mess in the background.  We’re repainting the master bedroom.  And by we, I mean Tater Daddy.  Since his back hasn’t gone completely out, he decided to take on a home improvement project while he’s on vacation this week and just push it right over the edge.)

Smooth sailing, mateys.

Welcome To the Home of the Sick and the Lame

On Friday I wrote a short little post saying that Tater Tot wasn’t feeling well but I didn’t think he had a fever.  Okay.  That’s like getting in the shower because you don’t think anyone is going to call as soon as you’re good and lathered up.  Or washing your car because the weatherman says there is 0% chance of rain for the next 10 days only to see the storm clouds coming as soon as you’ve put away the bucket and sponge.

We ran a couple of errands Friday morning, first to pick up dog food and look at ALL the fish at PetCo, and then to the grocery store.  We came home and the little man ate a couple of bites of lunch and settled himself on the sofa.  He begged to watch Cars, so we snuggled up together.  Within five minutes he’d turned completely away from the TV and put his head in my lap, eyes droopy and red-rimmed.

He didn’t even put up a fight when I told him it was naptime; a sure sign of things to come.

When he woke up from his nap, he was putting out heat like a…well…heater.  (My skill at using analogies is impressive, no?)   His Daddy and I managed to get some motrin in him and then he took turns sitting in our laps until the medicine kicked in.

He still had fever Saturday morning, but by the afternoon he was on the mend.  Other than a chest-rattling cough, he’s back to being every bit a 2 1/2 year old this morning.

That having been said, you’d think all is well around here, wouldn’t you?

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned the fact that my husband has a terrible back.  Five discs are out of whack due to something called degenerative disc disease.  Surgery, according to the docs in Memphis, is not an option for him, so he’s pretty much left to manage the pain with all kinds of pain medicine and what I consider to be the best attitude of just about anyone I know.

Occasionally, two or three of those discs get all worked up and his back goes out.  Such was the case yesterday morning.  This episode isn’t as bad as some, but it does make him walk kind of funny.

I’m off to reprise my role as nurse.

Cough, cough, limp, limp….

Time To Hit the Sauce

Whenever someone is sick around here, like the little man is right now, something comes over me and I get the urge to cook.  So yesterday morning, after a very long night of trying to get children’s motrin in Tater Tot to lower that fever, I got up and started cooking up a storm.

I put supper in the crockpot (Crockpot Chicken with Mushroom Sauce).  Then I made spaghetti with homemade sauce for tonight’s supper.  And then I went berserk and made lasagna for Monday or Tuesday.  I like to let those two dishes sit for a day or two so the pasta has time to soak up the flavor.  I know.  It’s a novel and brilliant concept….

Any-ole-hoo, I thought I’d share the recipe for the spaghetti sauce.  It’s from the Jackson (TN) Service League’s cookbook, No Place Like Home, and one of the ingredients is cinnamon.  It gives it a different but wonderful flavor.  Who’d-a-thunk-it?  (And the good thing about spaghetti sauce is that you can always tweak it by adding your favorite ingredients.)

SICILIAN SPAGHETTI SAUCE

2 TBSP olive oil                                    2 TBSP dried basil

1 large onion, finely chopped           2 TBSP dried oregano

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped          1 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 lb. ground pork, browned            Salt to taste

        and drained                                     1 lb. pasta noodles (spaghetti, vermicelli, etc.)

1/2 lb. ground beef, browned              Freshly grated Parmesan cheese to taste

        and drained

2 (28-oz) cans whole tomatoes

        with juice, mashed

2 (8-oz) cans tomato sauce

1 (6-oz) can tomato paste

 

In a stock pot, heat olive oil over medium heat.  Add onion and garlic and saute until transparent, about 5 minutes.

Add meats, tomatoes, sauce, paste, basil, oregano, cinnamon, and salt.

Simmer on low for at least 1 hour.

Serve over cooked and drained pasta with Parmesan cheese on top.

Yield:  8 servings.

Note:  Since I’m not a fan of pork, I use a little over a pound of ground beef or ground chuck.  If you like mushrooms, you can add 1 cup of sliced mushrooms and put them in with the tomatoes.  This sauce may also be used over eggplant, chicken, or veal as well.

Spring Is Near

The forsythia is blooming…

That’s a poor little scraggly forsythia bush that we transplanted several years ago.  It also serves as a leaf catcher.  But it reminds me that spring is on its way.

Ahhhhhhh…….

No Blog Friday

It’s about 8:30 and I’m snuggled up on the sofa with our little man and we’re watching Cars.  Bless his heart.  He coughed all night long, and this morning he’s sneezing like crazy.  I don’t think he has a fever, but he’s clingy and wants to snuggle.

So that’s what we’re going to do.

Y’all have a lovely Friday.

My Own Walk of Shame

Ever have one of those days?

You wake up and from the time your feet hit the floor nothing goes right.

Yeah.  Well I had a humdinger of a day yesterday.

I’ll spare you all of the details (you’re welcome) except the BIG one.

I went to pick up Tater Tot from Parents’ Day Out.  I got there a few minutes early and parked at the curb.  Parking at the curb saves me about 10 steps, and I’d rather clean than “exercise,” so there you go.

When I got to Tater Tot’s room, he was outside on the playground so I decided I would pack up his things before going outside and prying his little body off the slide.  I noticed that there was a plastic sack in his cubby, and you know that only means one thing.  He had to change his clothes at some point during the day.  The teacher told me the reason, which was no big deal other than the fact that at lunch he crammed so much food in his mouth that he gagged and a lot of it came back out.  Gross, I know.

When I went outside to set the inevitable fit in motion, I couldn’t spot the spare set of clothes that I’d packed.  There was a really good reason for that.  He wasn’t wearing his spare set of clothes.  He was wearing someone else’s spare set.  Apparently, the teacher who changed him grabbed the wrong backpack.  Oh well.  Could’ve been worse.

Since Tater Tot and one of his little friends had found a puddle outside to splash in, the bottom four inches of the  jeans he was wearing were soaked.  I coaxed him inside and put his spare set of clothes on him, wrapped the other set in a plastic bag and headed home to wash them.

I must have had some shortage of oxygen to my brain a few weeks ago, because when the PDO director called me and asked if I’d be in charge of one of the Teacher Appreciation functions I said, “OF COURSE I WILL AND THANK YOU SO MUCH OF THINKING OF ME!”  Teacher Appreciation Week is next week and I had nary an idea of who had signed up to bring food for “my” day, so I stopped by the director’s office on the way out to find out if she had a list.

She did, indeed, have a list but she needed to make a copy for me.  While she was off making a copy she had to take a phone call, so we waited about five minutes for her to come back.

Finally, a good 30 minutes after parking at the curb, Tater Tot and I left the building.

Guess whose car was THE ONLY ONE STILL PARKED AT THE CURB WHILE A 2-MILE LONG LINE OF TRAFFIC WENT AROUND IT?

Evidently, I missed the memo that told everyone NOT to park at the curb in the afternoon because that’s where the pre-school parents pick them up.

When we came out of the building, the traffic fellow, trying not to curse me into the ground, said, “Is that your Volvo?”

I turned 83 shades of red and said, “I’m so sorry,” about 18 times as I steered my toddler toward our car.  We had to pass all of the preschoolers and their teachers on the way to our car, and all the while Tater Tot was saying, “There’s Mama’s car!  There’s Mama’s car!”

I wanted to lie down in the stream of traffic and let a dozen or so cars just roll right over me.

I’m pretty sure that scene would’ve suited the last teacher in line just fine, because as I passed her she said to everyone around — and I’m not lying when I tell you that she shouted — “That’s the one who parked her car there!  And I’ll bet she NEVER DOES IT AGAIN.”  Then she turned and looked at me, as I was buckling Tater into his seat, and said, “WILL YOU?”  And she was not asking.  She was telling.

I didn’t want to have parking lot detention in HER room, so I said, “No, I’ll park across the street from now on.”

As I was pulling away from the curb, the teacher next to Miss Meanie waved a tiny little wave and mouthed, “It’s okay,” and I kept saying (out loud!) how sorry I was.  So much so that Tater Tot was back there waving and saying, “I sorry, too!”

I’m thinking of dying my hair and buying a new car before Tater Tot’s next day at PDO.

How do you think I’d look as a blonde?

I Hope I Remember

Sometimes I look a this two-and-a-half-year-old ball of energy and wonder where the last two-and-a-half years went.  The nine-pound baby we brought home from the hospital is now a little boy.  Oh, there are a couple of signs of babyhood left.  His little hands still have tiny dimples at the knuckles, and he still sucks his thumb when he’s tired or really concentrating.  But those will be gone all too soon.

And while I look forward to every stage, I can’t help but think that this age is absolutely wonderful.  There are so many things about him that I want to remember.

• the way he smells right after a bath.  Do you think I can make him use Johnson’s Baby/Toddler shampoo until he’s in his 30s?
• the way he laughs when he is completely tickled.  Surely heaven must sound like a child’s unbridled laughter.
• the way his little arms feel wrapped around my neck, whether he’s giving me a hug or he’s getting a piggyback ride.
• his excitement over being read to.  It doesn’t matter if he’s heard the story countless times or if the book is new.
• the way he says certain things:

   “Pock-Tark” for Pop-Tarts

   “Pockcorn” for popcorn

             “Sticky take” for sticky tape

             “I have to get a hug and kiss for him.”

             “I wuvs you.”

             “Sumping” for something.

             “Up teeth” and “down teeth” for top and bottom teeth.

 

• that he says “My pweasure,” after being told, “thank you.”  We have no idea where that one came from.  He started out saying, “You wehcom,” and then one day it changed.  It’ll melt your heart.
• that he wakes up with a smile on his face.
• that when he explores the flower beds against the back fence, he says he’s  “going on a venture in the jungle.”
• the look of pure joy when his Daddy comes home each evening.
• that when he sees a picture of my Daddy he says, “There’s Papa.”  I find it amazing that he remembers him.
• that splashing in puddles makes him giddy.
• that he’d rather be outside than anywhere else.
• the way he feels when he’s snuggled up in my lap,  so warm and soft.

Every day it seems like there’s something new to add to this list.  I hope I can remember them.

Because they are so worth remembering.

 

 

 

Advice Needed

I have all kinds of dilemmas these days, none of which I have been able to sort out myself.  Therefore, I am seeking advice from whomever might stumble across the blog.  Because y’all are way brighter than this “bear of little brain,” as my dear Pooh would say.

Dilemma #1

I STILL have the non-curling right set of eyelashes.  Is it my eyelash curler?  How long should I hold said lashes in the curler?  Shall I try to give my eyelashes a perm?  Or should I resign myself to wearing a patch?

Dilemma #2

More pressing than my wacko eyelashes is this item.  At what age do you move your toddler from his crib to a “big-boy” bed?  ’Cause I’ve gotten myself into somewhat of a pickle.  While Tater Daddy snores away in our bedroom, the Tot and I are sleeping in the guest room.  Ever since the last ear infection and all the crying and hearing, “Mama, make it better!” he’s been my little snuggle bug.  And as much as I LURVE snuggling with that sweet little fella, sleeping in the same bed with a toddler is not the way to get a peaceful night’s rest.

The times I’ve started him off in his crib haven’t gone well.  That’s my fault and I take full responsibility for it.  But even if he goes to sleep in his crib, he wakes up several times a night.  With as much wiggling around as he does, I wonder if he’s running out of room in his little jail cell crib.

What do y’all think?  Should we go ahead and put a real bed in his room?  Or should I bite the bullet and just make him cry it out until he’s back to sleeping all night in his crib, all the time apologizing for not being strict enough to have done this, oh, a month ago?

(Seriously, sometimes the very idea that I’m responsible for another human being is almost ridiculous.  No matter what I do, I’m pretty sure it’s wrong.  Anybody out there know what I mean?)

Dilemma #3

We renovated our kitchen about five years ago, and we opted to put in stainless steel appliances.  I will NEVER do that again.  I had no idea how hard they are to keep clean.  With four dogs and a toddler, it’s nearly impossible.  And let’s not forget how much I hate to clean.  Bleh.

If any of you have SS appliances, what do you use to clean them?  I’ve used a couple of products out there, including those wipes that are made just for that task, but I can’t really say that I’m crazy about any of them.

Besides hiring a maid or replacing the appliances —  neither of which is going to happen, and believe me, I’ve brought both ideas up numerous times — do you have any suggestions?

Until next time, Happy Tuesday from your sleep-deprived, droopy-eyelashed bloggy friend with spotty appliances!