Book Roll

I'm currently reading

and

and reading

to the boys.

What are you reading?

What Peter Is Thankful For

Peter: (as he was saying his personal prayers last night) Thank Thee that we had such a yummy dinner. And thank Thee that Mommy didn't need any help.

He had offered to help with dinner, and I thought I had given him a job, but apparently I didn't.

This was the "yummy dinner" we had. I think next time I'm going to try it with a less expensive sausage, like, maybe hot dogs. We ate it over rice with a spinach salad and a serving of applesauce. And it was delicious.

Aidells Chicken & Apple Minis In Marsala Cranberry Sauce

Description

The sweet and savory sauce is the perfect complement to our Chicken & Apple Minis.

Ingredients

2	T	unsalted butter
1		onion, finely chopped
1	c	(5 oz) dried cranberries, finely chopped
1	c	sweet marsala wine (I used red grape juice instead)
1	T	sweet and hot mustard (we like mendocino sweet & hot mustard) (I used honey mustard.)
1/3	c	(3 oz) brown sugar
2		12-ounce packages (64 mini links) aidells chicken & apple mini (We used the full sized sausages, I just sliced them up.)

Instructions

Melt the butter in a 10-inch sauté pan over medium high heat. Add the onion and sauté until translucent. Add the cranberries and sauté 2 minutes more. Add the wine, mustard and brown sugar and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until reduced and thickened, about 3 minutes.

Add the sausages and toss to coat. Cook until the sausages are heated through, about 5 minutes. Serve in a warmed bowl, crock-pot or chafing dish with cocktail picks.

Serves 14-16 as a part of an appetizer buffet.

---

Source URL: https://www.aidells.com/content/aidells-chicken-apple-minis-marsala-cranberry-sauce

To The Rescue!

Cooper has a vivid imagination. Both boys do, but Cooper has been more vocal about it lately. In fact his powers of mental creation are so good that it's hard to get him to finish a meal because instead of eating his carrots, he's busy sending them on an adventure around his plate.

On Sunday night he was too busy aiding his Superhero Fork in it's battle against the Super villain, Spinach Leaf. At one point he looked at me and said with a reassuring tone, "He saved the baby."

Well done Superhero Fork, well done.

Make 'Em Laugh

Quiet Time

I've been trying to have an hour of quiet time every afternoon. We each have something to keep our minds occupied and ours voices turned off during that time:

• I read my scriptures while feeding Phoebe
• Phoebe eats
• Peter sits on the couch and reads (in theory; in actuality he asks me every few minutes if quiet time is over yet, which is funny because he can tell time pretty well and doesn't need to ask, and also not so funny because I NEED him to be quiet during quiet time)
• Cooper kicks it in his bed with a stack of books. Of course, sometimes he falls asleep, and that's okay too...

Do You Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth?

The boys have discovered name calling. I don't mean things that could be considered affectionate like "silly goose" or "monkey". I'm talking naughty-sometimes-bathroom-humor-related name calling.

I do not love it.

The naughty word of choice at the moment is stupid, as in "Mommy, you're stupid." Yeah that earns a time-out. Cooper is the biggest offender. Whenever I ask him to do something he doesn't want to do he replies with the "S" word. We went and looked it up in the dictionary after he and Peter were both using it repeatedly. We read the definition and decided that no one in our family was actually stupid. Too bad that hasn't stopped them from saying it.

They are learning a way around the "stupid" ban. Both boys employ this ruse, but I'll use just one example from last night's dinner to illustrate:

Cooper: Mommy, you are stupid.

Me: (giving him a LOOK) What did you say Cooper?

Cooper: Ummmm... I said "Mommy, you are stupendous!"

Me: Yes, I am.

Like Sputnik, But Pointy In Parts

I've been mulling over my opening line for this post for the majority of the day. Should I go for an attention-grabbing, scary sounding hook? Or should I play it safe and just tell you what we did today? Perhaps I'll do both.

I saw Phoebe's brain this morning.

More accurately, I saw a picture of her brain on a screen. Her brain is still firmly encased in her un-flawed skull.

Last week at Phoebe's sixth-month check-up the nurses took the routine measurements: height, weight, head circumference. She put on less than a pound in the last month but added two inches to her stature. And her head grew, too much apparently.

When the size of Phoebe's head was brought up I pointed out that my children have enormous noggins. That might sound rude, I don't mean it to. It's simply a fact. Tonight at bedtime we discovered that Cooper's head was too big for the shirt he was wearing. (It's easier to get a too small shirt over a large head than it is to take one off. Just ask Cooper.) We have trouble finding hats that fit. And turtlenecks? Well, they're risky, I'll leave it at that. There are lots of brains in those ridiculously cute heads, so I'm not at all bothered by it.

But I guess Phoebe's head size sent up a red flag. See, her growth chart is supposed to make a nice curve. The line plotting her head size wasn't so much curving to the side as going up. So the problem wasn't that her head was so big, the problem was that it had jumped significantly in size in a short period of time.

This meant that today Phoebe, Cooper, and I (Bryan had kindly offered to work from home so Peter could stay and play, for which I am truly thankful) spent some time at the nearby Primary Children's Hospital. And by nearby, I mean an hour on the freeway away. We were already going to be up there to have Cooper tested for allergies to peanuts and cats (both were negative!) so I asked for an appointment close to his to avoid making the trip twice.

Here is what I learned:

1. The people who drive near the hospital are completely insane, at least the two or three that almost ran me off the road are.
2. Children's Hospitals have way more toys in their waiting rooms than regular hospitals.
3. They also have really cool ceilings and walls painted to look like the out-of-doors.
4. In spite of the awesome paint job, knowing that that hospital is full of sick children is still really sad.
5. Phoebe does not like to be restrained for any reason.
6. Phoebe also doesn't care for an ultrasound wand being rubbed all over the top of her head.
7. Phoebe is extremely loud. (Okay, I already knew that one, but now a large portion of the hospital staff knows it too.)
8. Cooper loves finding sinks that he can turn on and off all by himself.
9. If given the chance to play in a sink (say, while his mom is changing his baby sister's diaper), Cooper will go from dry to sopping wet in a surprisingly short period of time.

The most important thing we learned was that as far as the doctor could tell from the ultrasound, Phoebe's head is just fine. She didn't have any fluid on her brain, which was the concern that caused us to get the ultrasound. In fact, when the doctor saw her next to Cooper he said, "Wow, they do have big heads, don't they?"

Yes, yes they do.

Sleep, Glorious Sleep

My brother Jordan asked yesterday if I've been busy, probably because I've had some cop-out posts lately. The answer is yes. And no. I have been busy with normal everyday stuff. But the reason I haven't been writing anything in depth is that I don't have anything to talk about.

At least, nothing I've wanted to talk about.

I've mentioned (and by mentioned, I mean devoted many many blog posts to) the fact that Phoebe has a hard time sleeping. And that her sleeping habits have resulted in two very tired parents. There was a day last week when I finally fell into bed for the night at 2AM, only to have Phoebe wake up within minutes of me putting her down. I couldn't handle it. I just started to cry and shake because I couldn't imagine getting up with her again. Thankfully Bryan took over and held her for the next three hours while I slept.

I woke up at 5:20, Phoebe next to me on my bed, her eyes wide open and her voice reaching maximum levels of deaf-making. She wasn't crying, she just wanted to chat and I clearly was not cooperating. Turns out Bryan had brought her into me twenty minutes before and asked if I could feed her in bed. I was completely asleep but told him (in a coherent, awake-sounding voice) that I could, and I proceeded to feed Phoebe. In my sleep.

Three hours of sleep and a full day of child-wrangling do not make for witty writing in the evening hours, which is why my posts have been short on words as of late.

Phoebe had her six-month well-baby check-up (that's a lot of hyphens) on Thursday and I explained to the very capable PA about Phoebe's sleep issues. She told me that at this point most of that behavior was probably learned and to try to get Phoebe to sleep on her own.

I wrote about teaching Peter and Cooper to sleep when they were ten months old. We've never tried getting a baby to sleep unaided as young as six months. Maybe it's the curse of being the third child that we even considered it, but I don't think I can take another four months of sleeping three hours a night.

So, on Thursday night we began. I nursed Phoebe like usual, read her a short Dr. Seuss book, sang I Am a Child of God while I held her and swayed, then I swaddled her and put her in her bed. And she cried. But here's the crazy part: she only cried for twenty minutes. And she slept for six hours!

She's been holding pretty consistently to sleeping for six hours and waking up at 3AM to nurse, which I can handle. I think my body is actually getting used to the new routine (except for the part where I can't always fall asleep when I put her back down at 4, that's not so awesome).

It's amazing what a difference going from a piecemeal night of five hours of sleep to seven hours of sleep will do for your mood. And coherency.

Happy Spring!

Corn Pie and Cloclate Ice Cream

I figured this interview was a good follow-up to yesterday's birthday post. I repeat most of what he says, for those of you that aren't used to deciphering his particular dialect.

The Third

We have a three-year-old at our house.

His birthday was kind of low-key but I think he had a good day. He helped make the birthday breakfast he wanted (peach muffins), got to watch two movies

(Despicable Me and Toy Story), play with his awesome new duplo blocks (he got multiple sets), and eat his birthday treat (chocolate mini-cupcakes).

When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday dinner he paused thoughtfully for a moment, then answered, "Corned beef." I have no idea where he heard about corned beef. I asked again a few days later wondering if I was going to get the same answer. This time he said hamburgers. I liked that response and therefore did not ask again.

Actually, the first time I asked him he said he wanted chocolate cake. During the meal he ate fries and strawberries and popcorn shrimp and that chocolate cake he had wanted. He did not, however, eat any of his hamburger.

Each time he was wished a happy birthday he smiled and said "happy birthday" right back.

Cooper has embraced his new age by becoming a living embodiment of the word 'zany.' Most of the time it's cute. Occasionally it's overwhelming. Sometimes it earns him time-outs. It almost always elicits laughter from Peter and Phoebe.

Swallowing My Pride

I have some big news. Are you ready? Maybe you should sit down first. I'll wait.

Are you sitting?

A bought a shirt on Friday.

A pink shirt.

This pink shirt, in fact.

Aren't you glad you sat down?

I decided to take my brother Jordan's advice and not let a color control me.

I wore it to church on Sunday, feeling wildly conspicuous. And no one noticed. Maybe that's because I attended a different Ward in my Stake (for my calling), so I wasn't around all the people that know my feelings about the color pink. Or maybe it's because it wasn't that big of a deal to begin with.

I have to admit though, it took real guts for me to buy the shirt, and even more to actually wear it. After so much talk about my distaste for pink I couldn't decide if I was being brave or a traitor.

I'm going with brave.

Making Mountains Out Of...

I had mountain in my living room. It increased in height each day over the past week. The boys began scaling it, amused with each successful attempt, laughing more at the failed ones. Every morning I would excavate in search of needed items, rearranging the face of the mountain, but not really diminishing it in any way.

Last night I decided I needed to reclaim my house from this behemoth that was threatening to spill over into the dining room. After all three small people were in bed I began the painstakingly slow process of chipping away at the mountain's surface. I would have plowed on through the night if Bryan hadn't pointed out that sleep was more important than mountain removal.

I returned to my task when I woke up this morning. With sniffly, coughing, watery-eyed children parked on the couch (too tired to move, let alone try climbing the shrinking mountain), watching Disney Junior, I dug in. Phoebe even cooperated and played happily on the newly unearthed floor. By days end I had conquered! The floor was so clear I even vacuumed.

I definitely prefer the laundry put away in drawers and on hangers as opposed to all over my living room floor, I just wish someone else could clear that particular mountain for me.

3.14

Happy Pi Day! We celebrated by having our delicious chicken pot pie for dinner. I wanted to make a sweet pie too, but I didn't get my act together in time to come up with either a sugar-free recipe or to convert a sugar-full one. Maybe next year I'll plan ahead.

How did you celebrate Pi Day?

After All, March IS Frozen Food Month

I'm feeling the need to buy lots of ground beef. And tortillas. And maybe some frozen berries. Mostly, I want to fill up our newest toy.

Call me boring, I don't care. I am really excited to have this freezer!

Potato Peel Pie

Book club is tonight and I'm hosting. The book we're discussing? Only one of the best books I've read in recent memory:

Have you read this book? If so, what did you think? Do you have any great questions I could ask at book club to get a discussion going? Better yet, any ideas for a treat? I looked up recipes for Potato Peel Pie and... it does not look good. Maybe something with milk in honor of the Guernsey cow? Or perhaps a snack made from rationed food?

Oh, and if you haven't read it, you should. I highly recommend it.

Spelling Bee

I've been struggling with making up a song to teach Cooper how to spell his name. I got the idea from my mom. She made one up for my youngest brother (and possibly for the rest of us, but I don't know about that) and it still plays in my brain on occasion.

Peter has a song. When he was little I changed the words to Bingo and used his name instead:

I know a boy who is so sweet and Peter is his name-o

P-E-T-E-R

P-E-T-E-R

P-E-T-E-R

And Peter is his name-o!

I think this song is one reason Peter could spell his name at such a young age.

Cooper's name has proved more difficult. Who knew that one extra letter would throw such a wrench into my lyrical ambitions. Today though, I hit name-spelling gold. Think of a certain blue, furry monster with a serious cookie addiction:

C is for Cooper

C-O-O-P-E-R

C is for Cooper

C-O-O-P-E-R

C is for Cooper

C-O-O-P-E-R

Oh! C-O-O-P-E-R spells Cooper!

C-O-O-P-E-R spells Cooper!

I know, it's simple, but the timing of his name was perfect. And now maybe when we ask him how to spell Cooper he won't say "P-E-T-R."

Batman Begins

For the record, Cooper has never seen Batman. The only exposure he's had is from a library book Peter picked up from the children's section a week ago. That said, how does he have the Batman growl down so well?

Happiness Is

I am an optimist. I always have been. My smile is so big that it has actually caused my gums to recede to the point that I might need gum grafts. (Gross, huh?) I'm a glass-half-full, sunny-side-up person.

But lately, I haven't been feeling it. I'm sure the much blogged-about exhaustion has played a key role in my general shift to the dark side. I've been grumpy, easy to anger, moody. I've had to make a conscious effort to not scowl.

Have you ever been doing something that goes against your nature? Maybe you're uber organized and you've been hiding undercover as slovenly. Or perhaps you love the quiet company of a good book but you've been forcing yourself to be a social butterfly. Going against your personality is draining.

On Thursday night as I knelt by my bed saying my prayers I had the distinct impression that I should pray to be my normal happy self. Now, I've been praying for a while that I would have the patience and strength I needed to keep up with the small people. And I've been praying that I would be able to choose to be happy. But it had never before occurred to me to pray to be myself.

At first I thought of Mosiah 3:19. Isn't the natural man an enemy to God? Yes, however, my being happy is more of a gift than part of the natural man.

And so I included that in my prayer.

Friday morning dawned and I felt surprisingly calm. To paraphrase something Bryan said, I was so tired I didn't have any fight left. And you know what? Most of Friday I was pretty happy. I laughed quicker than I have in a while. I didn't have the energy to do much more than sit in the boys' room and read to them, but it was pleasant having all three kids snuggled around me, listening to the Land of Oz.

Friday night was rough again, which resulted in Friday's post. (We still need to find a way to get everyone sleeping.) But the rest of the weekend was much more relaxed than we've had in a long time. There were still bouts of naughtiness, but my reaction to them was different.

I feel more like myself.

Have you ever gotten a prompting during a prayer to ask for something specific?

Grumpy, Sleepy, and Dopey Have All Moved-In

This week has been... unreal. We're all tired. Exhausted. The boys have been consistently waking up at least an hour earlier than they usually do. Phoebe hasn't been sleeping well. (Does she ever sleep well?) I've been getting about five hours of sleep each night for the last few weeks and it's really starting to catch-up with me. I talked to a friend on the phone today and she said she'd never heard me sound so tired.

Exhaustion means different things to different people. For Peter it means increased zaniness and decreased impulse control. For Cooper it translates to naughty words, name calling, and face pinching. (Yeah, if he's mad at you he'll pinch your cheek, right under your eye. It's best not to anger him.) Phoebe gets extra clingy and weepy.

I get ornery.

So we've had a houseful of grumpy, yelling, disobedient people. All week.

Bryan and I are desperately trying to get everyone sleeping more and fighting less.

Any ideas?

Dancing Queen

* Warning: The camera dances a little too.

Infinite Possibilities

After the very rough day we had yesterday, I needed this.

Start the Bidding

This poem by Shel Silverstein should give you a pretty good idea as to how our day went.

For Sale

One brother for sale!
One brother for sale!
One crying and spying young brother for sale!
I'm really not kidding,
So who'll start the bidding?
Do I hear a dollar?
A nickel?
A penny?
Oh, isn't there, isn't there, isn't there any
One kid who will buy this old brother for sale,
This crying and spying young brother for sale?

I'll let you guess which brother it was.