He chooses a book for our evening ritual of night time reading.
The edges are chewed, there are creases, the cover is worn. This was his brother's beloved bed time book, now overlooked for books with paper pages and action figures.
I recline beside him on our bed and begin to read.
I read it twice and still he asks "again?"
He leans his head on my chest and my heart flops. And flips with contentedness.
He turns his head away halfway through the book and says in his 2 year old sweet way, "I sleepy."
He's starting to speak in sentences. At once it amazes me to notice how much, just over the holidays, his speech has improved.
And yet...a small part of me always whispers quietly at these stages...."Already?"
I ask him, "Time to go night-night in your crib buddy?"
He scoots away from me and climbs down the foot of the bed.
Toddles out the room.
Except.
He doesn't toddle anymore.
This child? He marches. With clear intent.
And those sturdy legs marched right into his room and over to the rocking chair that sits inches from his crib.
The blanket that once lay nicely folded there instantly becomes a colourful heap of material on the floor and up, up, up he ascends.
Hands on the edge of the crib, one foot placed on the seat of the chair, the other on the arm.
Then both of those feet on the arm of the rocking chair.
Ever so carefully.
I refrain from grabbing him, I stand mere inches away.
Instead I watch with breath held.
In awe, with amusement and admiration. Though my hands and arms stutter to hold him steady, I contain them and watch as he perfectly and adeptly places one foot on the edge of the crib as the other swings over and touches down.
Like a teenaged boy effortlessly hopping a fence.
He lands safely on his mattress, curls up on his side and snuggles right into his pillow, asking for some water.
And 'wibby'.
It took me a while to figure that one out.
What goes 'wibby'?
Why a frog of course.
Tad the Frog.
I place 'wibby' next to him, pull up his covers, turn on his Twilight Turtle and walk to leave his bedroom.
But not before telling him I love him with a kiss.
No.
Never before that.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Adrian and the Beanstalks
It was a mild December day and Adrian and I were out for a walk looking for the 'Shield Park.'
My son was determined to go to this particular park where apparently a shield or some shield-like structure exists.
I have no idea, and still have no idea what or where this shield park is, for we never did locate it.
But we did have a very enjoyable couple of hours together walking around the neighbourhood trying to find it.
And also some very interesting conversations.
Such as...
Adrian, "What a beautiful day!"
Me, "It is a beautiful day...even though the sun's not shining, it's nice and warm isn't it?"
Adrian, "Yeah. Except there's no beanstalks."
And I nod my head as we walk along hand in hand, thinking...
....those beanstalks could very well be growing at that mysterious shield park.
One just never knows.
My son was determined to go to this particular park where apparently a shield or some shield-like structure exists.
I have no idea, and still have no idea what or where this shield park is, for we never did locate it.
But we did have a very enjoyable couple of hours together walking around the neighbourhood trying to find it.
And also some very interesting conversations.
Such as...
Adrian, "What a beautiful day!"
Me, "It is a beautiful day...even though the sun's not shining, it's nice and warm isn't it?"
Adrian, "Yeah. Except there's no beanstalks."
And I nod my head as we walk along hand in hand, thinking...
....those beanstalks could very well be growing at that mysterious shield park.
One just never knows.
Monday, December 19, 2011
The Day I Trumped Santa
I settled myself on my side beside him on his bed, my right hand tucked under the pillow, my left under my chin. He flipped onto his side and faced me, the glow of colourful Christmas lights shining softly in through his bedroom window.
It had been a day full of activity and excitement.
We had a rare date at the mall that morning, just the two of us. We shopped til we dropped, rode the mall 'aldigator' (elevator) and had lunch. Later that afternoon, Nana and Poppa visited. We all went to our neighbour's Christmas party where Santa made an appearance. Adrian had advised Santa of his Christmas Day gift request - another Iron Man costume. His fourth one....he literally wears them out. He then ran around with his buddies on a sugar high for a few hours and then rode around on his bike with them outside while my Dad and my husband watched and chatted about whatever it is son-in-laws and father-in-laws chat about.
Sports.
As the sun died down and the air turned frigid, in they all trudged in smelling of the crisp outdoors towreak havoc continue their play in the basement. And talk more sports.
As the ladies (that would be me and my dad's wife) chatted about everything under the sun (because that's what women do) and prepared dinner.
Dinner was served, lovely conversation was had, hugs and kisses were given, good byes were said and then it was bed time for the boys.
Yes, a busy day indeed.
"What was your favourite part of the day bud?" I asked Adrian as he lay facing me, the kaleidoscopic gleam of lights shining on his cherubic cheeks.
I love asking this question and I am always sincerely interested in his answer. For my child is anything but predictable when it comes to the workings of his mind.
But this time I was so sure, entirely positive the highlight of the day would be Santa.
He answered without hesitation. No pause, no beat in between my question and his reply.
And his answer made me realize just how important time spent alone with each child means more to them than we could ever fully realize.
"Going to the mall with just you Mumma."
And I smiled at my sweet boy who didn't know how much those words affected me right then and there.
Words that I will never forget. Words that will live forever in my heart.
For today was the day I trumped Santa.
It had been a day full of activity and excitement.
We had a rare date at the mall that morning, just the two of us. We shopped til we dropped, rode the mall 'aldigator' (elevator) and had lunch. Later that afternoon, Nana and Poppa visited. We all went to our neighbour's Christmas party where Santa made an appearance. Adrian had advised Santa of his Christmas Day gift request - another Iron Man costume. His fourth one....he literally wears them out. He then ran around with his buddies on a sugar high for a few hours and then rode around on his bike with them outside while my Dad and my husband watched and chatted about whatever it is son-in-laws and father-in-laws chat about.
Sports.
As the sun died down and the air turned frigid, in they all trudged in smelling of the crisp outdoors to
As the ladies (that would be me and my dad's wife) chatted about everything under the sun (because that's what women do) and prepared dinner.
Dinner was served, lovely conversation was had, hugs and kisses were given, good byes were said and then it was bed time for the boys.
Yes, a busy day indeed.
"What was your favourite part of the day bud?" I asked Adrian as he lay facing me, the kaleidoscopic gleam of lights shining on his cherubic cheeks.
I love asking this question and I am always sincerely interested in his answer. For my child is anything but predictable when it comes to the workings of his mind.
But this time I was so sure, entirely positive the highlight of the day would be Santa.
He answered without hesitation. No pause, no beat in between my question and his reply.
And his answer made me realize just how important time spent alone with each child means more to them than we could ever fully realize.
"Going to the mall with just you Mumma."
And I smiled at my sweet boy who didn't know how much those words affected me right then and there.
Words that I will never forget. Words that will live forever in my heart.
For today was the day I trumped Santa.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Musings on Carolling
We were sitting in the food court at the mall when we I noticed about 30 regularly dressed men and women gathering together just outside the Old Navy.
Some with a thermos of coffee in hand, some looking like they just came in from out of doors.
They all stood together and burst into song, singing Santa Clause Is Coming to Town.
All in perfect, beautiful harmony.
I rushed Adrian over for a closer look and noted the audience growing quickly. Some holding up video cameras, some taking pictures.
But everyone, everyone was smiling.
The Christmas spirit was alive and well in the Food Court of Burlington Mall.
We all clapped in thanks, our souls buoyed with Christmas joy.
After they finished they simply dispersed amongst the mall crowd, chatting amongst themselves, perhaps moving onto their Christmas shopping.
Just like the singing never happened.
It was cool. Kind of like those You Tube videos where you see of hundreds of people coming together to dance in perfect choreography, completely out of the blue. Only that's way cooler of-course.
But still.
It got me thinking.
What about carolling?
We see it in the movies, we read about it books, there are Christmas cards and decorations with images of children and adults alike, carolling.
But does it actually still happen in this world?
Did it ever?
Quite honestly I'm not sure how I would feel if I opened up my front door on a cold winter's night to find random strangers staring at me, belting out Jingle Bells.
Would I have a goofy frozen smile plastered on my face for the entire time - that's a LOT of smiling to do and cheeks start to hurt after a while - but I would feel terrible if I didn't.
What if they were really bad singers? Like cats mating in the night bad? How does one smile through that?
What about after they're done singing their sweet blessed hearts out? Does one then invite them in from the cold for cookies and milk? I would feel obligated - and maybe a bit put out if they didn't come on in. It's not like I look like some sketchy, dangerous character and - I do, after all, make a darn delicious cookie.
Or does one just bid a "Thank you and Merry Christmas!" with a smile and close the door (gently) in their faces?
Is tipping required? This is the millenium where tipping seems to be a requirement for pretty much everything....(another reason moving to Europe is looking ever so desirable).
And, my husband isobsessive all about keeping the cold inside on the hot days and keeping the cold OUTSIDE on the cold days. So leaving the door open for the 2 or 3 minutes it takes to carol Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire (my fave) might give him major slight heart palpitations.
Is it weird that I think of these things? I can't be the only one that wonders if Christmas carolling ever really existed.
Am I?
Some with a thermos of coffee in hand, some looking like they just came in from out of doors.
They all stood together and burst into song, singing Santa Clause Is Coming to Town.
All in perfect, beautiful harmony.
I rushed Adrian over for a closer look and noted the audience growing quickly. Some holding up video cameras, some taking pictures.
But everyone, everyone was smiling.
The Christmas spirit was alive and well in the Food Court of Burlington Mall.
We all clapped in thanks, our souls buoyed with Christmas joy.
After they finished they simply dispersed amongst the mall crowd, chatting amongst themselves, perhaps moving onto their Christmas shopping.
Just like the singing never happened.
It was cool. Kind of like those You Tube videos where you see of hundreds of people coming together to dance in perfect choreography, completely out of the blue. Only that's way cooler of-course.
But still.
It got me thinking.
What about carolling?
We see it in the movies, we read about it books, there are Christmas cards and decorations with images of children and adults alike, carolling.
But does it actually still happen in this world?
Did it ever?
Quite honestly I'm not sure how I would feel if I opened up my front door on a cold winter's night to find random strangers staring at me, belting out Jingle Bells.
Would I have a goofy frozen smile plastered on my face for the entire time - that's a LOT of smiling to do and cheeks start to hurt after a while - but I would feel terrible if I didn't.
What if they were really bad singers? Like cats mating in the night bad? How does one smile through that?
What about after they're done singing their sweet blessed hearts out? Does one then invite them in from the cold for cookies and milk? I would feel obligated - and maybe a bit put out if they didn't come on in. It's not like I look like some sketchy, dangerous character and - I do, after all, make a darn delicious cookie.
Or does one just bid a "Thank you and Merry Christmas!" with a smile and close the door (gently) in their faces?
Is tipping required? This is the millenium where tipping seems to be a requirement for pretty much everything....(another reason moving to Europe is looking ever so desirable).
And, my husband is
Is it weird that I think of these things? I can't be the only one that wonders if Christmas carolling ever really existed.
Am I?
 |
| Now these are the people I think of when carolling comes to mind. Look how prepared they are with their carolling books! I'm sure I would enjoy their carolling. They look like really good singers. And I love that lady on the far left's muff. Whatever happened to those? |
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Oh. My. God! I'm, like, SO popular!
I got another award! My friend Ado, over at the very charming Momalog site, bestowed upon me this great honour. You know who else was on her list....The Bloggess! (I can't believe I was including along with the BLOGGESS).
Thank you Ado! And now I must reciprocate...this is the fun part!
The Tell Me About Yourself Award requires the recipient to:
- Thank the person who gave the award. (see above)
- List 7 things that people may not know about you.
- Pass the award to 15 other bloggers and notify them.
- Post the badge on your blog.
Seven things no one ever needed to know about me but I must tell you anyway (because of this award):
1) I have a slight ocd when it comes to peeling clementines. I must do it in one fell peel.
Otherwise someone might die.
2) I like my toilet paper roll to be placed so that the paper is pulled from underneath. Even though, technically speaking (if we want to get all weirdly technical, talking about toilet paper) it makes it much harder to tear. I know. This is all probably way too much information.
3. I have a secret (or not so secret anymore) love for 80's music. Specifically cheesy 80's love songs. A-ha - Take on Me? Patrick Swayze - She's like the wind? REO Speedwagon - Keep on Loving You? Foreigner - Waiting for a Girl like you? Peter Cetara - Glory of Love...I sang that song to my husband who was my boyfriend at the time while running up and down sand dunes
It was clear he had to marry me after that.
4. I cry every time I read "Love you Forever" by Robert Munsch to my boys. I simply cannot get through that book.
Even though it gets a bit creepy near the end.
5. I was addicted to nasal spray for a year. I had no idea why I was so stuffed up all the time. Apparently I was allergic to my cat. My husband weaned me off...one nostril at a time. He too had the same addiction at one point in his life.
Aaand. That is why we're meant to be.
6. I hate...I mean hate horror movies. I watched The Grudge and The Ring once and almost had a seizure just from sheer fear.
7. I remember reading this children's book as a child about a girl that shrinks and goes into her couch cushions and finds giant pieces of popcorn and coins and such. I loved that book but I can't find it and have no idea what it's called. Or maybe it was just a dream I had once. Anyway, if you know of a book like this (and it wasn't just a weird random dream that has been stuck in my head for decades)...please let me know what it's called.
Blogs worth reading on a regular basis
1. The Momalog - okay, so she gave me this award, does this mean I'm breaking rules? I'm such a rebel. But I do love her to bits...even if she did think I was Australian up until a couple of months ago. Read her Bio. It's what sucked me in.
2. I'm Living Proof God has a Sense of Humour - she has TWO SETS OF TWINS guys! Now that makes for some awesomely funny blog fodder. And she has a wonderful serious side too. Read about her journey here.
3. The Mommy Therapy - I love me some hilarious parenting blogs and Leslie delivers. She's bluntly honest without being cringeworthy. You can always relate and you will always laugh. Check out one of her recipe-ish posts here. They are a favourite of mine.
4. My 3 Little Birds - Mary Lauren writes straight from the heart. Every time I read her blog it's like I get a breath of fresh air...she inspires me to write better. Breath of Life is a perfect example.
5. House Unseen - Dwija's positivity radiates through everything she writes. Start here: I don't believe in Too Hard and be sure to continue on to all three parts. It's fascinating stuff.
6. An (un)Common Family - it's true Laura's family is special...yet ordinary. She's an adoptive parent of two beautiful children. She writes open and honest accounts of her everyday life...with loads of humour mixed in. Must read: Oh Hell No! I will Not Drive a Minivan!!!
7. Flux Capacitor - beautiful, heartaching, uplifting, raw, poetic, passionate. Love Maggie May's writing. Read this!
8. Enjoying the Small Things - the photography, the writing, the love Kelle pours out into everything she does on her hugely popular (rightly so) blog. Read (with lots of kleenex at your side - preferable a box) this. Please.
9. These Little Waves - Galit's writing is lyrical, right from the soul. This guest post at Shell's, caught my heart and stayed in my mind.
10. Things I Can't Say - I always enjoy what Shell writes and this post is one of my favourites. Shell is one of the kindest, entirely relatable, most supportive blogger's out there.
11. Mommy Nani Booboo - Jenni's writing and sense of humour is offbeat in the best way. And she just had her second baby not too long ago...that definitely makes for some good blogging material. You must read her 8 line poetry.
12. The Daily Doty - Though Amber is hysterical and I love her humour I also adore her more somber peices. Like this one.
13. Not Ever Still - I just found Robin's blog a few months ago and it quickly graduated to one of my favourites. Here's one of my favourites - Vespers...and read the following post after it for a good laugh.
14. Four Plus an Angel - Jessica comes across as super sweet yet she is an incredibly strong woman. This post in particular spoke to me. It's something I think about all the time as a Mother.
15. Momosyllabic - She's way to smart to follow my blog (I often have to google a reference or a word she throws in there) ... but she does. And, and I'm listed above The Bloggess on her Blogroll. Not that that means anything or...anything. Anyway. Erm. Her kids say the best things. Read these: What Winton Said and Clara and Un-Love
Now please visit lovelinks check out some awesome writing and return tomorrow to vote for 3 of your faves! And I'm not saying you HAVE to pick mine. (yesyoudo)
And thanks to Ado who
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Waffles....why do you hate me so?
While I know there are many children out there that require medications for reasons that I do believe are necessary, my children, thankfully are not one of them.
But this does not mean we wouldn't all benefit by popping a Valium or two.
Oh, alright....just one.
On occasion.
Okay, juuuust on the really bad days.
I'm kidding.
But seriously.
This is why I believe it may be necessary.
For when we have moment upon moments like this....
******************************************************************
The other day my husband brought my 3 (almost 4) year old son in from the cold.
"He might be hungry...and he might want an Eggo."
Okaaaayyy....
...and off he went...just like that! Back outside.
I breathe.
Check out the time. It's 5 pm.
And this is where my Type B personality comes in handy.
Instead of saying Oh Hell's to the NO...dinner is in a half hour!!!! I pop, not one but TWO waffles in the toaster.
'Cause my little guy might be feeling a little peckish too.
And who cares that I'm cooking dinner and it'll be ready in .5 hours?
Who needs proper protein and vegetables?
The waffles are whole wheat!
So there I went all toastin' up the waffles, slathering with butter and syrup - just like I always do almost every morning - and....
Voila! I slide the plates on the table in front of my boys eagerly awaiting little bodies.
Finley dove in with gusto as per usual. Child's got an appetite.
But.
Adrian looked like I just slid a heaping, steaming, stinky pile of dog crap in front of him.
The nose went all scrunchy....lip went all quivery.
The tears...OH THE TEARS.
I became entirely baffled as to what was going on with him.
And then I remembered.
Oh yeah. He's three.
Which means I'm basically dealing with a small human being with dramatic and manic tendencies.
"I wanted it wh-wholllle! With no butter and no syyyyrrrruuuuuup!
*Sob, sob. Hiccup, hiccup!*
Since when?!
I try reasoning with him...which...by the way...reasoning?...with a 3 year old....that's an oxymoronic statement if there ever was one.
But okay...because I'm an enabler in my child's dramatic and manic tendencies I throw another one in the toaster.
If only just to get him to stop whining! Dear God! Anything to stop the whinging and crying! My ears were practically bleeding!
I bring it over to him whole and plain. On his Spiderman plate.
I am confident.
Smug even.
No more tears now!
He looks closely...examines really.
He may have even sniffed it.
I watch him just as closely...holding my breath.
Anticipating.
And then....
It starts again...
"This line!!! I don't like this line!!!"
Are you motherloving kidding me right now!???
Apparently this specific 'line' on this particular waffle was too 'fiery' for his taste. A term he uses when things get a little 'too toasted'.
It was brown. Not black. A perfectly delicious dark golden brown.
And somehow, somewhere, something niggled inside me when I saw that dark golden brown spot as it popped out of the toaster.
I knew he wouldn't like it.
But a small part of me hoped he wouldn't notice it.
So I gave it to him anyway.
And just look where it got me.
When!!!??? When will I ever learn??!!
But this does not mean we wouldn't all benefit by popping a Valium or two.
Oh, alright....just one.
On occasion.
Okay, juuuust on the really bad days.
I'm kidding.
But seriously.
This is why I believe it may be necessary.
For when we have moment upon moments like this....
******************************************************************
The other day my husband brought my 3 (almost 4) year old son in from the cold.
"He might be hungry...and he might want an Eggo."
Okaaaayyy....
...and off he went...just like that! Back outside.
I breathe.
Check out the time. It's 5 pm.
And this is where my Type B personality comes in handy.
Instead of saying Oh Hell's to the NO...dinner is in a half hour!!!! I pop, not one but TWO waffles in the toaster.
'Cause my little guy might be feeling a little peckish too.
And who cares that I'm cooking dinner and it'll be ready in .5 hours?
Who needs proper protein and vegetables?
The waffles are whole wheat!
So there I went all toastin' up the waffles, slathering with butter and syrup - just like I always do almost every morning - and....
Voila! I slide the plates on the table in front of my boys eagerly awaiting little bodies.
Finley dove in with gusto as per usual. Child's got an appetite.
But.
Adrian looked like I just slid a heaping, steaming, stinky pile of dog crap in front of him.
The nose went all scrunchy....lip went all quivery.
The tears...OH THE TEARS.
I became entirely baffled as to what was going on with him.
And then I remembered.
Oh yeah. He's three.
Which means I'm basically dealing with a small human being with dramatic and manic tendencies.
"I wanted it wh-wholllle! With no butter and no syyyyrrrruuuuuup!
*Sob, sob. Hiccup, hiccup!*
Since when?!
I try reasoning with him...which...by the way...reasoning?...with a 3 year old....that's an oxymoronic statement if there ever was one.
But okay...because I'm an enabler in my child's dramatic and manic tendencies I throw another one in the toaster.
If only just to get him to stop whining! Dear God! Anything to stop the whinging and crying! My ears were practically bleeding!
I bring it over to him whole and plain. On his Spiderman plate.
I am confident.
Smug even.
No more tears now!
He looks closely...examines really.
He may have even sniffed it.
I watch him just as closely...holding my breath.
Anticipating.
And then....
It starts again...
"This line!!! I don't like this line!!!"
Are you motherloving kidding me right now!???
Apparently this specific 'line' on this particular waffle was too 'fiery' for his taste. A term he uses when things get a little 'too toasted'.
It was brown. Not black. A perfectly delicious dark golden brown.
And somehow, somewhere, something niggled inside me when I saw that dark golden brown spot as it popped out of the toaster.
I knew he wouldn't like it.
But a small part of me hoped he wouldn't notice it.
So I gave it to him anyway.
And just look where it got me.
When!!!??? When will I ever learn??!!
The Spirit has Returned
What is in the magic of Christmas? And what is it all about?
I believe it's different for everyone.
The magic, for some, may be in the dazzle of the diamond ring received from her new fiance who sits on bended knee.
Or the twinkle in the snow falling on the Eve of Christmas sitting fireside with your loved one, glass of wine in hand.
Or the sound of Christmas music playing softly in the background as you decorate your tree and hang the stockings, placing each decoration just so, sipping on eggnog.
It could be in the scent of pine, wood burning, apple cider or red and white peppermint candies.
Or in the night time strolls with your family, snow crunching underfoot taking in the beautiful lights and decorations that everyone has hung with care.
It can be found in the sparkle of your children's eyes upon the dawning of Christmas morning as they stand mussy haired yet bright eyed taking in their stocking full of goodies, the tree aglow and surrounded by Santa's gifts.
Assuring them that, indeed, they had been good boys and girls that year.
I remember the spirit, the magic, the anticipation so well as a child. That shine, the spark, the glow became placid, gray and more dull as the years passed.
Then I became a Mother.
The sparkle, the magic, the Spirit of Christmas has returned.
And now, it's brighter than ever.
Friday, December 9, 2011
FOODIE FRIDAY - Cookie Swap Time!
Well, it's December guys and gals....which means the holly jolly times are right around the corner. Or in the here and now! I've been attempting to be festive a little bit every day, baking and crafting up a storm with my boys. I also decided to join in on a Bloggers Cookie Swap. What does this mean? It means I'm sending and receiving delicious cookies to another blogger. Because I won't be ingesting enough calories in the next month, apparently I need more. (this is why I go to the gym) I just hope that they love my cookies as much as I love my cookies. And I hope that I love their cookies as much as my own cookies.
The thought has occurred to me..."what if the cookies taste terrible...or I get food poisoning...or what if they arrive in crumbs...?" Can you tell I'm a worrier? If they taste terrible or arrive in crumbs it just means less junk in my trunk if you know what I mean. And if I get food poisoning....again...looking at the positive - a few pounds lost is never a bad thing.
I'm sure it'll be fine. And I'm SURE they will LOVE my cookies. In fact I'm so sure they'll get addicted to them that I'll be sending the recipe along with them. Believe you me (I've always wanted to say this....but what does it mean???) they are scrumptious.
'Tis the season to eat cookies - so go on now! Get your bake on!
Happy Holidays!
The thought has occurred to me..."what if the cookies taste terrible...or I get food poisoning...or what if they arrive in crumbs...?" Can you tell I'm a worrier? If they taste terrible or arrive in crumbs it just means less junk in my trunk if you know what I mean. And if I get food poisoning....again...looking at the positive - a few pounds lost is never a bad thing.
I'm sure it'll be fine. And I'm SURE they will LOVE my cookies. In fact I'm so sure they'll get addicted to them that I'll be sending the recipe along with them. Believe you me (I've always wanted to say this....but what does it mean???) they are scrumptious.
'Tis the season to eat cookies - so go on now! Get your bake on!
Happy Holidays!
CHOCOLATEY, PEANUT BUTTERY OOEY GOOEY COOKIES
1 CUP butter, softened
1 CUP sugar
1/2 CUP brown sugar
2 large eggs
2 CUPS flour
2/3 cocoa powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 CUP milk chocolate chips
1 CUP Reese Peanut Butter chips
DIRECTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 350 F
2. With electric beater, cream butter, sugar and brown sugar together on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add eggs and beat until well mixed.
3. In a small bowl, combine flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt. Using a wooden spoon, stir flour mixture and chips into butter mixture until blended.
4. Drop the batter by rounded tablespoon onto an ungreased baking sheet (or a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper).
Bake 8-10 minutes.
Cool slightly on baking sheet before transferring to wire rack or plate.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Memories Captured
Two awesome bloggers, Galit from These Little Waves and Alison from Mama Wants This had this fabulous idea of putting words on a photograph that describes your life or your child(ren) at this very moment. How could I NOT participate?
This was FUN.
Here are my Memories Captured. My boys, right here, right now.
Things they say, favourite loveys, quirks and all. I love every bit of them.
A Sparkle of Happiness Amidst the Winter Blues
I believe I'm suffering from the winter blues. And so are my kids. I'm moody. So are they. (What else is new? I've come to the conclusion that all children under the age of 5 suffer from some sort of mood disorder).
We haven't seen sunshine in years, it's rainy, cold and miserable so going out of doors is not an option.
We live in Canada...and it's December! Where's the snow??!!
To boost my spirits I've been on a Christmas crafts kick.
That's right, me, the uncrafty Mutha of all Mutha's.
Basically I'm forcing my kids to do all the crafting for me.
To keep them busy...and to give myself a break.
Who am I kidding?
This is what happens: I cover the kitchen table with a massive black plastic table cloth, put all the paints out in old (clean!) plastic applesauce containers (good tip) and then I hand over the popsicle sticks and paper.
"Here, paint away! No, paint this here. Paint it green. No, that's purple. Here, hold the brush like this. No, like this. Mmmm. No, not like that....good try though!".........................................
.................."Okay, just give it to Mommy...I'll do it."....................
They've been humouring me.
They've also been driving me bananas. Fighting, bickering, crying, whining. From morning, to noon, to night.
It's the Christmas season...don't they know that? Everyone's supposed to be jolly and good.
I've tried explaining this to them...even threatening my eldest that Santa will leave lumps of coal in his stocking if he doesn't stop torturing his little brother and start listening to me. It works.
Sometimes.
Except when he says "I love coal!"
My youngest (who may look angelic, but gives as good as he gets from Adrian) does not grasp this concept at all.
Gah!
On the days that seem to go on and on. And on.
....and on....
There's nothing that makes me happier thana bottle of wine chocolate.
So that's why I decided topour myself a big glass make some brownies.
With my kids.
Oh the joy! We all know how I feel about baking with my boys.
But actually...it was pretty adorable.
And I've got proof.
**Note to my Cookie Swap pals...I promise this is not how I will be baking your cookies.
Things I Can't Say
We haven't seen sunshine in years, it's rainy, cold and miserable so going out of doors is not an option.
We live in Canada...and it's December! Where's the snow??!!
To boost my spirits I've been on a Christmas crafts kick.
That's right, me, the uncrafty Mutha of all Mutha's.
Basically I'm forcing my kids to do all the crafting for me.
To keep them busy...and to give myself a break.
Who am I kidding?
This is what happens: I cover the kitchen table with a massive black plastic table cloth, put all the paints out in old (clean!) plastic applesauce containers (good tip) and then I hand over the popsicle sticks and paper.
"Here, paint away! No, paint this here. Paint it green. No, that's purple. Here, hold the brush like this. No, like this. Mmmm. No, not like that....good try though!".........................................
.................."Okay, just give it to Mommy...I'll do it."....................
They've been humouring me.
They've also been driving me bananas. Fighting, bickering, crying, whining. From morning, to noon, to night.
It's the Christmas season...don't they know that? Everyone's supposed to be jolly and good.
I've tried explaining this to them...even threatening my eldest that Santa will leave lumps of coal in his stocking if he doesn't stop torturing his little brother and start listening to me. It works.
Sometimes.
Except when he says "I love coal!"
My youngest (who may look angelic, but gives as good as he gets from Adrian) does not grasp this concept at all.
Gah!
On the days that seem to go on and on. And on.
....and on....
There's nothing that makes me happier than
So that's why I decided to
With my kids.
Oh the joy! We all know how I feel about baking with my boys.
But actually...it was pretty adorable.
And I've got proof.
 |
| I did not put those hats on them. That was all on their own. |
 |
| They also did not try and eat the brownie batter. |
 |
| Okay. So he was simply just tasting for quality control purposes. |
 |
| Oh dear. Busted. |
 |
| Fin, "Have some more!....Just kidding!" |
 |
| Again...just making sure it's edible. |
 |
| I think we passed. |
 |
| Yep. We're good to go. |
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
I think they sound exactly the same...don't you?
My husband and my son were hanging out outside.
John was watching Adrian ride around on his bike.
Adrian stopped a few feet away and called out, "Hey Daddy, you want to see a guacamole?"
"A guacamole??"
"Yeah! A guacamole!" He proceeds to grab the handlebars of his bike and lift the front wheel of his bike off the ground.
"Oh, you mean a pop a wheelie!"
"Thanks what I said! A guacamole!"
John was watching Adrian ride around on his bike.
Adrian stopped a few feet away and called out, "Hey Daddy, you want to see a guacamole?"
"A guacamole??"
"Yeah! A guacamole!" He proceeds to grab the handlebars of his bike and lift the front wheel of his bike off the ground.
"Oh, you mean a pop a wheelie!"
"Thanks what I said! A guacamole!"
Friday, December 2, 2011
High Five!
In case you wanted to know even MORE about me and maybe realize that I'm a tad bit coo-coo for cocoa puffs, I linked up with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and compiled a list of 5's. Because I like lists. And I like the number 5....read more on that here.
The prompt: List 5 things we don’t know about you, 5 things you’re knowledgeable about, 5 things you know nothing about, and 5 things you believe. (inspired by LouLou’s Views)
The prompt: List 5 things we don’t know about you, 5 things you’re knowledgeable about, 5 things you know nothing about, and 5 things you believe. (inspired by LouLou’s Views)
5 things you don't know about me: (and don't really ever need to know about me but I'm sharing because I'm generous like that)
1. I hate when my bread isn't buttered right to the edges (my husband purposefully won't do this sometimes just to tick me off - funny the weird things you find out about your spouse when you've been together so long)
2. Chopping or cutting into ice burg lettuce makes my lip curl (I've barely ever told a soul about this so you should all feel very privileged)
3. I got kicked out of a St Patty's Day party at my college because they thought my friend and I were smoking pot in a stall in the boys bathroom. We were not. We simply had to go pee. Very badly, and the girls washroom had a line up of about 1000.
4. I have a weird compulsive disorder when numbers are involved. When it comes to volume, pace on the treadmill or things of that nature I must have it at an even number. Unless it's the number 5. I consider the number 5 to be even because it's right smack in between two even numbers. (ex: 25 is between 20 and 30) Iiii know. Call me crazy.
5. I biked over 50 km once. For fun.
2. Chopping or cutting into ice burg lettuce makes my lip curl (I've barely ever told a soul about this so you should all feel very privileged)
3. I got kicked out of a St Patty's Day party at my college because they thought my friend and I were smoking pot in a stall in the boys bathroom. We were not. We simply had to go pee. Very badly, and the girls washroom had a line up of about 1000.
4. I have a weird compulsive disorder when numbers are involved. When it comes to volume, pace on the treadmill or things of that nature I must have it at an even number. Unless it's the number 5. I consider the number 5 to be even because it's right smack in between two even numbers. (ex: 25 is between 20 and 30) Iiii know. Call me crazy.
5. I biked over 50 km once. For fun.
5 things I'm knowledgeable about:
1. Cooking
2. Astrology (I love guessing what signs people are - I'm weird like that)
3. Exercising and healthy eating
4. Wine
5. Cleaning (yes, I actually like to clean)
1. Cooking
2. Astrology (I love guessing what signs people are - I'm weird like that)
3. Exercising and healthy eating
4. Wine
5. Cleaning (yes, I actually like to clean)
5 things I know nothing about:
1. Gardening ( I wish I had a love for this...I joke that I have a black thumb - but I really think this is true)
2. Cars
3. Politics
4. Sewing (I'm terrified of sewing machines...fast stabby needles???? No thanks.)
5. Astrophysics
1. Gardening ( I wish I had a love for this...I joke that I have a black thumb - but I really think this is true)
2. Cars
3. Politics
4. Sewing (I'm terrified of sewing machines...fast stabby needles???? No thanks.)
5. Astrophysics
5 things I believe in:
1. The feeling you get from snuggling with your child(ren) must be what heaven feels like all the time
2. Karma
3. My ability as a Mother
4. Music fills up the soul
5. Laughter is the best medicine
That's it that's all folks! Thanks for coming by once again...hope you come back soon...if ever. Now that you know how truly loopy I am.
1. The feeling you get from snuggling with your child(ren) must be what heaven feels like all the time
2. Karma
3. My ability as a Mother
4. Music fills up the soul
5. Laughter is the best medicine
That's it that's all folks! Thanks for coming by once again...hope you come back soon...if ever. Now that you know how truly loopy I am.
A Letter to my Boys
Dear Adrian and Finley;
Since I've given birth to you both, the previous tough skin I had surrounding my sensitivity and emotional bearing has become thin...almost tissue like. Especially when it comes to news surrounding children.
Bad news.
About any children. Any child. Anywhere.
You might have noticed by now that I never watch the news (due to what I consider to be a heightened sensitive nature) but since you've both been blessed into my life, this sensitivity has grown tenfold. The empathy that I've always felt for people has become almost too immense for me to handle at times. Though I keep this part of me quiet, silent to others...it's there. Always.
Adrian and Finley, today I overheard a conversation that made my gut turn and brought tears to my eyes.
The words the woman said to her friend have stuck with me, haunting my mind, "He was 16 years old. He was speeding. You make one small mistake and then boom. He lived through the accident but died the next day in the hospital. I have to go the wake this afternoon."
As those words were spoken, I said a silent prayer with a huge lump in my throat for those parents of that 16 year old boy that I did not know.
I simply cannot, nor do I ever want to imagine the heartbreaking, unspeakable pain those parents are going through right now.
Sons of mine.
There are so many, many things I want to tell you.
What to do. What not to do.
I wish I could keep you with me, protected always, as I do right now.
But that's not real life.
And as much as I want to keep you with me, under the umbrella of my care and love always, I look forward to seeing you both grow into strong, smart, independent men with character.
It's also very important for me that you have autonomy. To know from right and wrong, to make good choices.
I hope that your father and I do a good enough job as parents that you understand this and let the things we advise you of be your guidance. I expect that you'll make mistakes, make decisions that we'll not always approve of. But I also hope you feel like you can come to us when you need to. Or even if you simply want to. Truly. I mean that. And I will do my very best to ensure that you always know this.
I also hope that when the day comes where keys are turned over to you, you will have our voices in your head loud and clear as you cruise down the road feeling that sweet taste of freedom that comes with getting your driver's license; "DRIVE SAFE. BE RESPONSIBLE. DO NOT SPEED."
Adrian.
Finley.
You are boys. Boys tend to be reckless. Boys do first, think later. I know this.
It doesn't mean I like this.
And I have trouble with this already, I know.
I just have one favour to ask of you as you grow into young adults.
Please. Please. Please.
Don't make me worry more than I already will be.
(Ha! I know. If only it were that easy...but just in case, I'll never know what sticks in your minds. Maybe this letter will.)
I love you both so much.
Mere words could never express and so I will say what I always do, every night, as I tuck you into bed...
To the moon and back forever and ever and always.
Don't you ever forget that.
Your Mumma xo
Since I've given birth to you both, the previous tough skin I had surrounding my sensitivity and emotional bearing has become thin...almost tissue like. Especially when it comes to news surrounding children.
Bad news.
About any children. Any child. Anywhere.
You might have noticed by now that I never watch the news (due to what I consider to be a heightened sensitive nature) but since you've both been blessed into my life, this sensitivity has grown tenfold. The empathy that I've always felt for people has become almost too immense for me to handle at times. Though I keep this part of me quiet, silent to others...it's there. Always.
Adrian and Finley, today I overheard a conversation that made my gut turn and brought tears to my eyes.
The words the woman said to her friend have stuck with me, haunting my mind, "He was 16 years old. He was speeding. You make one small mistake and then boom. He lived through the accident but died the next day in the hospital. I have to go the wake this afternoon."
As those words were spoken, I said a silent prayer with a huge lump in my throat for those parents of that 16 year old boy that I did not know.
I simply cannot, nor do I ever want to imagine the heartbreaking, unspeakable pain those parents are going through right now.
Sons of mine.
There are so many, many things I want to tell you.
What to do. What not to do.
I wish I could keep you with me, protected always, as I do right now.
But that's not real life.
And as much as I want to keep you with me, under the umbrella of my care and love always, I look forward to seeing you both grow into strong, smart, independent men with character.
It's also very important for me that you have autonomy. To know from right and wrong, to make good choices.
I hope that your father and I do a good enough job as parents that you understand this and let the things we advise you of be your guidance. I expect that you'll make mistakes, make decisions that we'll not always approve of. But I also hope you feel like you can come to us when you need to. Or even if you simply want to. Truly. I mean that. And I will do my very best to ensure that you always know this.
I also hope that when the day comes where keys are turned over to you, you will have our voices in your head loud and clear as you cruise down the road feeling that sweet taste of freedom that comes with getting your driver's license; "DRIVE SAFE. BE RESPONSIBLE. DO NOT SPEED."
Adrian.
Finley.
You are boys. Boys tend to be reckless. Boys do first, think later. I know this.
It doesn't mean I like this.
And I have trouble with this already, I know.
I just have one favour to ask of you as you grow into young adults.
Please. Please. Please.
Don't make me worry more than I already will be.
(Ha! I know. If only it were that easy...but just in case, I'll never know what sticks in your minds. Maybe this letter will.)
I love you both so much.
Mere words could never express and so I will say what I always do, every night, as I tuck you into bed...
To the moon and back forever and ever and always.
Don't you ever forget that.
Your Mumma xo
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Almost 4 ... or 14?
Remember this sweet story? (you will realize after reading it, that was said with 100% dripping sarcasm).
Apparently, there's the terrible twos, the trying threes and the f#(#!&@ fours.
Do you know this too?!!
Why was I not let in on this until now?
Here I am suffering through the age of three but on those really bad days when I all I want to do is lock myself in the bathroom and cry but stop short of a mental breakdown and chantinsanely calmly to myself..."just a few more months to go until four hits and it'll all get better."
It'll all get better soon.
It'll all get better soon.
What exactly did I think was going to happen?
On the night my child turns four a magical fairy sprinkles sane invisible glitter over my child and upon waking the next morning he's calm, logical, unwhiny and without exorcism requirements?
Why yes. Yes. I guess I did.
Well guys. The other day my friends just rained on my parade.
Spilled the beans.
And killed my soul.
There is no magical fairy that does such a thing on the night before the child's fourth birthday.
In fact...they get worse???!!!!
At four years old they develop an attitude with a capital A. This is what they told me!
I thought to myself...no! Can't be!
Yes, my boy has meltdowns and tantrums of epic proportions.
But he's so sweet! He loves his Mumma. Not my child. Nooo. Never!
Mere days after my friends crushed me with the bitter news I found myself uttering phrases to my son like:
"Don't you talk to me that way."
"Watch your tone Mister."
"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?"
These are all phrases I imagined myself saying to my 14 year old. Not my almost 4 year old.
And then this conversation happened at dinner the other night;
Me: "Adrian, turn around, sit down on your bum and eat your dinner please." Only for the fifth time in five minutes.
He turned around and repeated what I said to him with an attitude that would make a 14 year old look angelic.
He not only had attitude...he was mocking me!
Me, in my most authoritative voice, "Don't you talk to me like that!"
He pointed his finger in my face, stared at me straight in the eyes and said, "YOU!"
I have no idea what this was supposed to mean. Because though he's almost four and is giving attitude, he's still not quite four and doesn't make a whole lot of sense a lot of the time sometimes.
Me, indignant, "Pardon me?!"
He turned his head away, looking down at this dinner, shook his head profusely, his curls bouncing around on his head and muttered under his breath, "Just forget about it."
Oh wow.
Clearly, I have not.
Apparently, there's the terrible twos, the trying threes and the f#(#!&@ fours.
Do you know this too?!!
Why was I not let in on this until now?
Here I am suffering through the age of three but on those really bad days when I all I want to do is lock myself in the bathroom and cry but stop short of a mental breakdown and chant
It'll all get better soon.
It'll all get better soon.
What exactly did I think was going to happen?
On the night my child turns four a magical fairy sprinkles sane invisible glitter over my child and upon waking the next morning he's calm, logical, unwhiny and without exorcism requirements?
Why yes. Yes. I guess I did.
Well guys. The other day my friends just rained on my parade.
Spilled the beans.
And killed my soul.
There is no magical fairy that does such a thing on the night before the child's fourth birthday.
In fact...they get worse???!!!!
At four years old they develop an attitude with a capital A. This is what they told me!
I thought to myself...no! Can't be!
Yes, my boy has meltdowns and tantrums of epic proportions.
But he's so sweet! He loves his Mumma. Not my child. Nooo. Never!
Mere days after my friends crushed me with the bitter news I found myself uttering phrases to my son like:
"Don't you talk to me that way."
"Watch your tone Mister."
"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?"
These are all phrases I imagined myself saying to my 14 year old. Not my almost 4 year old.
And then this conversation happened at dinner the other night;
Me: "Adrian, turn around, sit down on your bum and eat your dinner please." Only for the fifth time in five minutes.
He turned around and repeated what I said to him with an attitude that would make a 14 year old look angelic.
He not only had attitude...he was mocking me!
Me, in my most authoritative voice, "Don't you talk to me like that!"
He pointed his finger in my face, stared at me straight in the eyes and said, "YOU!"
I have no idea what this was supposed to mean. Because though he's almost four and is giving attitude, he's still not quite four and doesn't make a whole lot of sense
Me, indignant, "Pardon me?!"
He turned his head away, looking down at this dinner, shook his head profusely, his curls bouncing around on his head and muttered under his breath, "Just forget about it."
Oh wow.
Clearly, I have not.
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