Growing

I've been debating whether or not to have a garden this year.

I loved having one last year. It was a joy to have so much fresh produce all summer long. And, unexpectedly, I enjoy weeding. A lot. It was very relaxing for me. Maybe that's how some people feel about sewing and crafting. Huh.

There are a few reasons I haven't started seedlings in the office and staked out my garden plot yet. One is, I'm not sure if they've started assigning plots yet. Another is, we're still not sure how long we'll be living here. Our contract is up and we're just waiting to see if we get a notice of our rent going up. We could ask, but we really don't want to rock that particular boat. If they think we're swell renters and they want to keep us around, who are we to remind them that they wanted to raise our rent?

The other reason is that for the last eighteen weeks I've been working on growing something else. And, based on the fact that it has another twenty-two weeks to grow, I'm not sure how much digging around in the dirt I'll be able to do this summer.

That something else is due to arrive sometime on, around, or (if the two that came before it are any indication) after September 1st.

Electron to the Next One

Some families watch TV while they eat dinner. Others talk about their day.

Last Wednesday, we discussed cellular respiration.

Bryan had brought home some small bottles of juice for us from a function he had been to that day. We were enjoying them during dinner. As I sipped my 10 oz. bottle of 100% grape juice I glanced at the label. I was slightly shocked to see that that little bottle had 200 calories in it. (Hmm... I think I mentioned calories yesterday too. Just to put your minds at ease, I'm not trying to lose weight, I was just curious about what I was drinking. Thank you.)

I told Bryan what I had just read on the bottle. Peter asked what a calorie was. So we explained that calories are fuel for your body. Everybody needs a certain amount of calories everyday in order to have energy to work and play.

That's when Bryan remembered this video:



We watched it twice. The boys' eyes were glued to the computer screen. After the first viewing Peter informed us that the people in the movie weren't speaking English. Yeah, I couldn't understand them either, but I could read the subtitles, so I knew what they were saying.

Wow, I never thought I'd post a rap on here. But, in my defense, it is an educational rap.

Warning: Not for the Faint of Stomach

Guess what?! No one is throwing up at my house. Hurray!

Peter and I both had twelve-hour incarnations of the bug. I would have to say that we were the hardest hit. Cooper's version consisted of him emptying the contents of his stomach once and then being fine. Well, he whimpered in his sleep a lot that night (I stayed in the boy's room with Cooper and Peter stayed in our room with Bryan, we used the divide-and-conquer method), but no more of his food returned for an encore performance. Bryan has felt ill and dizzy and generally rotten, but has held-out on the ickier aspects of the disease.

On Friday I was so afraid I was still sick I didn't eat any food. At all. I drank about five glasses of apple juice cut with club soda (so much better than sipping diet Sprite all day) from the time I woke up to when I went to sleep. The next day I gingerly added saltines, white bread, applesauce, and a banana to the mix. By Saturday afternoon I was feeling better, but I was so weak. Out of curiosity I counted up how many calories I had consumed the last two days.

Friday: 590

Saturday: 450

Hmmm... that's not enough. No wonder I felt like I might fall over. It was then that Bryan and I did something undoubtedly foolish, but oh so good.

We ordered pizza.

We worried that our stomachs weren't ready for all that cheese and tomato sauce, but our brains were so severely lacking in vital fuel that we went ahead and did it anyway.

I slept much better on Saturday night than I did the night before. I didn't realize that hunger had been waking me up.

I'm not sure where we picked these germs up, but I have a theory. Peter had his four-year check-up on Monday (yes, his birthday was in December, and yes, I am absent-minded enough that I completely forgot that he needed his annual check-up until March), and I suspect there may have been some unsavory germs floating around the doctor's office.

Ugh

Stomach flu.

Yuck.

Peter had it yesterday. I got it at 10pm last night.

Peter seems fine today, lots of energy, able to eat solid food.

Maybe I'll be able to do that by tomorrow.

See you Monday.

I hope.

Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble

Have you ever looked into the backseat of your car to see tiny tendrils of smoke wafting up from your child's empty booster seat? Or have you ever wondered what it would be like to hear a horrible grinding/bubbling sound emanating from your truck?

I don't have to wonder.

Bryan worked from home yesterday afternoon and graciously offered to keep an eye on the boys while I drove the three minutes to the library to pick-up some items I had on hold. Sounds like a quick trip, right?

After driving into the slightly sloped parking lot I noticed that a car in front of me was trying to back-out of their parking spot. I engaged the brake and slowed to a stop. This was the moment that the horrible grinding/bubbling sound took place. It lasted between ten and fifteen seconds. I wondered if the speaker in the trunk had decided to turn itself on and play all the stations at once. Nope, I checked, the radio was definitely not on.

After waiting for the car in front of me to finish what they were doing, I pulled ahead to an empty space. Just before getting out of the car I glanced over my shoulder at the opposite corner of the car, wondering what had caused the noise. That's when I saw the smoke. It was coming up through Peter's booster seat and the floor in front of Peter's seat.

I was really glad Peter wasn't in the car.

I got out. Fast. I tried Bryan's phone. No answer. Sometimes his phone gets left on silent, I figured that's what had happened. I tried again. No answer.

Well, best not to be next to the car in case it exploded, so I quickly walked into the library and got my books. I didn't hear any blasts while I was inside, so I figured my car was still intact.

It was.

I checked again for smoke. I couldn't smell anything, but could still see it, although it was fainter. I tried Bryan two more times to no avail. I walked around the car a few times and couldn't see flames. I stood for a moment thinking about who else I could call. My thought process went like this: Who else is home? Or has a phone? Or would have any idea what might be going on with the car? Who would Bryan call?

That's when it hit me: I should call my father-in-law. Bryan always calls him when he has wacky car questions and this felt very wacky. So, after checking with my mother-in-law that it was okay to call his work cell (I didn't want to interrupt his day), I dialed.

He thought it was odd too. Smoke, but no smell. A bubbling sound, but no puddle under the car. He wondered if it was the brake, but suggested that I carefully drive it the short way home to listen for the sound again. (My front brakes would cover a malfunctioning back brake, if I drove slowly.) He asked me to call when I got home, just to make sure I didn't explode. (My words, not his.)

I made it home, no more crazy sound.

Bryan had his phone in his hand when I walked in, turning the sound up. I told him what had happened and he walked out to the garage to investigate, two curious little boys at his heels. I kept them inside the house and we watched from the doorway.

Bryan opened the garage, walked around the car investigating, then opened the rear passenger door and gingerly pulled Peter's booster seat out, expecting to find scorch marks. Nothing. I was beginning to doubt what I had seen when I mentioned to Bryan that I hadn't checked the trunk yet. He popped the trunk and pulled it open.

Cue aforementioned tendrils.

I gasped slightly when Bryan stepped back from the trunk and said, "Whoa. I know what it was." And, suddenly, I knew too.

You see we like being prepared for emergencies. We have a plastic milk crate full of supplies like a flashlight, a first aid kit, bottled water, jumper cables, and chains. This crate is kind of heavy.

Oh, and did I mention we keep a fire extinguisher in the back on the car?

Or rather, we did.

Behold, my trunk:

Note: The interior of the trunk is black and the stroller is dark gray with black accents. At least, they usually are.

Here's what we think happened. The fire extinguisher fell over in the trunk and the piece of plastic holding the pin in place broke, thus allowing the pin to fall out. My braking on a downward-slope caused the emergency supply crate to slide, which pushed the now de-pinned extinguisher into the wall of the trunk. That grinding/bubbling sound (which now seems like a perfect description) was the fire extinguisher emptying all of it's contents onto my double stroller and the rest of the trunk.

The culprit.

Bryan has offered to clean it. I believe I will let him.

Want vs. Needs

I have a bad habit of singing the same one or two phrases from a song over and over and over. I tend to indulge whatever music happens to get stuck in my head. This is probably why Peter was walking around singing this song from Glee yesterday. (What? You and your kids don't have dance parties to the Glee soundtrack? Huh.) Bryan and I overheard two different versions.

Version One:

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes
You just might find
You get what you need
Like vitamins
And fruits and vegetables

I think his list of what you need was longer, but I was trying too hard not to laugh to effectively remember the rest of it. And he's right, we do need those things.

Version Two:
You don't always want what you get
You don't always want what you get
You don't always want what you get

Too true, Peter. Too true.

Deceptively Delicious

Is it safe?

This is the question Peter asks when ever he's given a new food. What he means is are eggs or peanuts in what he's about to consume.

This question is getting hard to answer.

See, Peter's pediatrician recommended that we try giving him some eggs to test his allergy. We would never dream of testing the peanut allergy like this, not unless we wanted a trip to the ER and to finally use the Epi-Pen. But the egg allergy is different. Lots of kids grow out of egg allergies. We were told to give Peter eggs to see if he was one of the lucky ones.

Our dilemma is that we've trained Peter very well. So well that he won't go near eggs. We've been trying to test his allergy for months to no avail.

So we've gotten sneaky.

It started last month when I made brownies. I can use an egg substitute for most baked goods and have them come out just fine. Except for brownies. I have tried multiple varieties and brands of boxed brownie mixes and they all come out like weird, flat, extremely greasy, chocolate cookies. So, as a way to experiment, I made them with eggs.

And I didn't tell Peter.

He had no reaction whatsoever. No spots, no swelling, nothing that we could detect. I told him a week later that the brownies had had eggs. He was pleased that he hadn't had a reaction, but he still wouldn't knowingly eat eggs.

We have since given him pancakes, crepes, cupcakes, and waffles, all made with eggs. No reaction. When we ate crepes he had crepes with cheese while Bryan and I had egg crepes (cook an egg into a crepe, add shredded cheese and maybe some lunch meat, cook it like a quesadilla, it's my favorite way to eat crepes). Because he saw what Bryan and I were eating Peter asked multiple times if there were eggs in his crepe. My reply each time was that he did not have an egg crepe, he had a cheese crepe.

And this week I told him that I never lie to him.

I know, it wasn't an outright lie, but it certainly was a fancy way to disguise the truth.

Our boldest experiment was on Saturday. We had chicken burgers for dinner and as I was preparing the buns I discovered that Peter's special, no-egg mayo had gone bad. I told Bryan I was going to use some cucumber ranch instead, but he suggested we use the Miracle Whip he had just brought home from the store for us. I did. I never told Peter what I was doing. He ate his half-a-burger and finished Cooper's as well.

No spots.

Wait, let me convey that more accurately. NO SPOTS!!!

The reason this was more bold was that the only reactions Peter has ever had to eggs came from either eating cooked eggs (scrambled, fried, poached, etc) and mayonnaise type products. The fact that he has now eaten Miracle Whip twice with no reaction is major.

Bryan and I both love eggs and are excited about the prospect of returning them to our diet. Also, if he has grown out of the allergy, that means that restaurants like IHOP and Denny's become possible eateries.

I would like to do another official test to see if he reacts at all, but I think the lack of signs of an allergy is a very good sign for us.

Now, how to convince him to actually eat an egg?

Welcome Spring!

It's been a long winter. A looooooooong winter. Longer than any I can remember since becoming a mom.

And now it's Spring! Glorious, blessed Spring! On Saturday, Bryan played Vivaldi's Spring for me from his iPod. I thought it was fitting.



Or, go here. It's about three times longer, but the sound is much better. And, bonus, it's Itzhak Perlman with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. It's lovely.

Shave and a Haircut

There are definite perks that come with having a dad who loves sweets and enjoys sharing them. Cooper is a lucky boy, because his mom is a sugar nazi.

Do you like his new haircut? He looks awfully happy in spite of the fact that less than an hour earlier I nicked his ear with the clippers. Not my finest moment.

I guess ice cream and crushed Oreo cookies make pain disappear.

The Second

Cooper turned two last week. Peter helped wrap all his presents. When this arrived on our doorstep

Peter looked at it and said, "It's just what I've always wanted." Bryan reminded Peter that it was for Cooper. Peter looked again at the box and said, "It's just what I've always wanted... for Cooper."


I think he had a good day. He had fancy blueberry pancakes for breakfast, friends came over to play, and he had a solid nap. That last one may have been nicer for me than for him. He loved the streamers we put up while he was asleep, though he took a few minutes to warm-up to them.



While Cooper loved opening his presents, I think he liked his birthday dinner even more. I asked him multiple times in the days leading up to his birthday what he wanted for his special dinner. The only answer he gave me, "Ice cream." Instead, I went with homemade pizza (which was ridiculously good) and he got the requested ice cream with his birthday cupcake.


Cooper's favorite song is the traditional happy birthday song. He sang it repeatedly on his big day. He never sang it to himself though. He kept singing happy birthday to Bryan's dad. So, Papa Ron, I hope Cooper's birthday was especially nice for you.

A Day In the Life

Read this. I wasn't quite rolling on the floor with laughter. But almost.

With a Perfect Understanding

A few weeks ago I caught sight of Peter drawing on his arm with a pen. Now, I was that kid in high school that always had writing on their hand and arm because that's how I kept track of my assignments. I seem to recall that my Mom was never pleased with this habit. Having since realized that paper is a better receptacle for notes, I have stopped writing on myself. I figured I would try to stop Peter before he really got started.

I went with the tactic that came to my mind first. I explained to Peter that his body was a temple and just like we wouldn't write on the walls of the Temple, we don't want to write on our own temple. I figured I was laying the foundation for the future talk about why we don't get tattoos and why he and his brother shouldn't have any piercings.

At first he was incredulous. He looked at me like I was crazy and made it clear that he was not a building. I explained that his body was not a Temple that people get married in, but that it was the temple for his spirit. He accepted that more readily.

This exchange has led to a number of short conversations about his body being a temple. I even heard Peter explain to Cooper one day that his body was the temple for his spirit. It was a sweet conversation to overhear.

Last week I discovered that his understanding of the concept had grown beyond the things that we had discussed. He had asked if his spirit looked like him. I said yes. A few days later, this is what he told me.

Peter: Mom, my spirit looks like me.

Me: Yes it does.

Peter: My Spirit looks like me, because it is me. My body just holds my Spirit. But my spirit is who I really am.

Sweet Sweet Baby

Remember this? Well, now she's a big sister. And I have a nephew!

Meet Henry. I think he's beautiful. Or handsome, if my brother doesn't want me to call his little boy beautiful.


And this is my favorite picture of Henry and Clara together. Apparently she doesn't like to hear Henry cry. And she really wants to hold the baby.

Comfort Food

I was thinking about comfort food last night as we ate leftovers for dinner. I think the phrase 'comfort food' illicits a certain picture, at least it does for me. I see warm biscuits, mashed potatoes, corn-on-the-cob, and some sort of gravy-laden meat. This is what some restaurants advertise as comfort food.

But as I was scooping mac and cheese onto the boys' plates I realized something: that was part of my own version of comfort food.

When I'm sick (which I'm not right now, it's just an example) I only want certain things. Macaroni and cheese is one of them. I also crave the giant apple-struessel muffins from Costco. I certainly should not eat them, (the sugar content is much too high) but the thought of eating them makes me feel better.

I wonder, how do we associate food with feeling well and safe? Is it because that's what we ate growing up? If that's the case, then quesadillas, homemade bread, and oranges should make my list. And, now that I think about it, they do.

When Bryan is sick, all he wants is McDonald's. I don't think it has much to do with what he ate growing up. I could eat my comfort food items all the time. Not so much with Bryan. He does not usually like anything from the Golden Arches. He says that's what sounds good because it's so salty he might be able to taste it through illness-deadened taste buds. I guess that's another theory behind the adoption of specific comfort foods.

I wonder, what the boys will think of as comfort food when they're adults?

His Father's Son

Bryan is quite a master at changing the words to songs, on the spot, to fit whatever situation he's in. I'm not quite the pro he is, but after having been married to him for eight and a half years, I've started doing it too. My Eternal Family ( or I Am a Builder, as we usually refer to it) is Peter's favorite primary song right now. That's probably why it popped into my head while Cooper was refusing to help Peter pick up their toys yesterday.

Me: You are a helper,
helping your brother
cle-ean up your room.
You can help him
clean I know,
So please go do it soon.

Peter: (unexpectedly, from the other room as he's picking up his toys)
My Heavenly Father sent me here
to cle-ean up my room.

Where's Alfred?

My favorite Hitchcock film is "The Trouble with Harry." Harry's a dead guy.

It's a comedy.

What's your favorite Alfred Hitchcock movie?

Sleepyhead

I have passed a few things onto my boys that I meant to keep to myself. Peter's extreme fear of dogs is one. This weekend we discovered one that Cooper inherited.



Yup, it looks like my odd sleepy-time behavior has found it's way to Cooper. We went to check on the boys before I went to sleep on Saturday night and found him like this, just sitting up in bed. He didn't wake up at all. Bryan wondered if he had done this before. Perhaps this is part of the reason he cries out in the middle of the night so often.

I know he's not tall enough to unlock the doors yet, but this does make me glad that we have latches on our doors.

Stone Soup

Two weeks ago I used a new recipe for dinner. It had been recommended by three or four different people and I thought it looked good. I tossed the ingredients into my slow cooker and enjoyed the smell all day. I was excited to try it by the time dinner rolled around.

It was not good.

It was salty. It was so salty that Bryan and I both got heartburn within minutes of tasting it. None of us could eat it. I think my Crock-pot over-cooked it; the pictures I had seen were very different from the dry lump of chicken that we pulled out of the pot.

We ate cereal for dinner instead.

I was tempted to throw it out, but I have a hard time chucking food. So, the sodium-soaked fowl was put in the fridge.

I thought about that chicken every few days. What could I do with it? Was it salvageable?

After much deliberation, I decided that maybe we could make it into soup. On Friday afternoon I poured eight cups of water into a stockpot and dumped the chicken in with it. Bryan and I teamed up on this experiment. I added potatoes and celery, while Bryan added carrots, two kinds of onions and a handful a spices. By the end we had something that looked very much like soup. And it smelled good, but so had the original recipe salt-ridden chicken.

Thankfully, it was good. So, so, so good. If I closed my eyes while I ate I could pretend I was at a restaurant. I was shocked. The huge failure that we almost threw out had transformed into a major success.

The biggest thing I'm wondering now: can we recreate this incredible soup without having to make a batch of inedible chicken first?

Two of a Kind

Non Sequitor

While Bryan and I were making dinner last night:

Peter: Dad, one day I came in and the dishes were dirty. And then the next day I came in and the dishes were clean.

Bryan: Why is that?

Peter: (long pause) Well Dad, it's because I'm curious.

(Bryan and I laugh, because it's true.)

Bryan: No Peter, I mean, how are they clean one day and not the next?

Peter: You see Dad, when I was a baby...

Chain Reaction

Bryan sent this to me in an email titled "Blog Video." After watching it with Peter (which earned a "Wow, let's watch that again") I decided that yes, it could be a blog video. It's a bit lengthy, but watch the whole thing if you can, and pay attention. I would love to see something like this at a museum of art.

A Change in the Air

I had to wake up at 4:50 this morning so I could go to the Temple with the Stake Young Women's Presidency. So, instead of spending time last night writing today's post, I went to sleep. I think it was a good choice.

While walking into the Temple today I was thankful for my gloves and my heavy coat because it was cold. In spite of the chill, I smelled something in the air. It was a scent I haven't breathed-in in almost a year.

It was Spring.

I realize that we're a few weeks away from the Spring Equinox and that, at least where I am, the temperature for most of the week is supposed to be in the 40s. That doesn't exactly yell out "Warmer weather is on its way!" But, I definitely smelled a change in the air this morning.

And it was lovely.

(On an unrelated note, has anyone noticed today's date? 3/2/10. 3-2-1-0. I love number patterns like that.)

I Feel Pretty

Saturday was Peter's first Primary activity. He was so excited. During family prayers on Friday night he thanked Heavenly Father that the Primary Activity was the next day. He and I walked over to the church on Saturday morning. I had decided to stay, in part because we had walked and in part because he had had a sniffly nose. I wanted to be nearby in case he got worse and needed to be taken home early.

It turned out to be a good thing that I went. The kids were divided into four groups and some of the teachers hadn't come. I was put in charge of one of the groups (I had offered my help, they didn't just pull me in from the hall) which meant that I made sure nobody got lost and I helped them remember to be reverent. I was not with Peter's group, which was mildly traumatic, mostly for me. I got over it pretty quickly, but I am awfully attached to that little boy. Peter actually turned to me as his group was heading out the door and said, "Come on Mom, we're going." I told him I was going with a different group. He looked a little confused, but he went with it. And, bonus, he actually came back into the room when the groups came back together. I'm always worried that he's going to dash away from the adults in charge and take off down the hall. (He's done it to me before, I keep waiting for him to do it to someone else.)

The activity was all about the fourth Article of Faith. The groups traveled to four different rooms to learn about each aspect: faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. I asked Peter what his favorite part of the activity was. He said it was getting to see the baptismal font during the section on baptism. I think that was a highlight for a lot of the kids in my group too.

The highlight for me came during the class on the gift of the Holy Ghost. The teacher asked the kids what the Holy Ghost felt like. One boy said fiery-fire. Another girl said it felt warm. Then one sweet little Kindergarten-age girl raised her hand. After being called on she said, "It feels... it feels like I'm getting really pretty."

Not only did that description make me smile, but it's also one of the most accurate descriptions of the Holy Ghost I've ever heard. It's true, when you have the Holy Ghost with you, you are prettier. It makes your countenance shine. And, for many girls and women, 'getting pretty' makes them happy. The influence of the Holy Ghost can make us feel happy as well. When I am following the guidance of the Holy Ghost I'm kinder to those around me, and I believe that kindness is always beautiful.