GUEST POST: The GO-gurt

For your reading pleasure today, I'm posting a story from my sister, Jennie, who also has three kids. I'm not sure if this convinces me that my family in its entirety is completely dysfunctional, or if simply everyone has as much "fun" as I. Either way, it's sure to leave you in stitches. If not, it'll at least make you feel better about your life. :D

•••••••••••••••••••••

I had been warned that raising 3 kids was kinda like a 3-ring circus.  Either that or you lose your mind after the 3rd one is born.  One is easy.  Two?  No problem!  Add a third child, and it's like a whole new ballgame.  Today was living evidence of that.

Living in GA has its perks.  It's relatively warm in the winter, and being only 10 miles from the Atlantic Ocean keeps it pretty nice in the summer, too.  Today, however, Old Man Winter made his one and only (I'm hoping) guest appearance.  It was COLD.  Well, cold for south Georgia.  It was all the way down to 35!  So when my alarm went off at 5:00 telling me it was time for my morning run, I decided that I could wait until tomorrow when the temperature is supposed to only be 49.  Hey!  Fifteen degrees is a big difference!  Especially when you are running in the pre-dawn stillness.  I rolled over and promptly overslept.  At 5:50, I leapt out of bed and began the mad dash to get myself and 3 kids ready for school.  In addition to the fact that I have 3 kids to get ready, I also live 45 minutes from the school where I teach.  However, to make my life simpler (*insert dry chuckle, sotto voce, here*) we've enrolled the kids the the school district where I teach instead of the very bad school system where we live.  So, although it makes my life simpler in the afternoons, it also requires that the kids are up and out the door no later than 6:45 a.m. because the elementary school my middle child attends starts at 7:30.

"Let's go, let's go, let's GO!"  I'm racing around, getting the kids dressed and trying to get the youngest, who is a very dedicated sleeper, up and out of the bed.  My oldest, Liz, is usually a really big helper.  Today, though, I'm thinking she had a bad case of "brain-freeze."  I can only hope it's because of the cold.  I'm more afraid it's hormones.  As I am about to get in the shower, she comes into my room and says, "What does David want for breakfast?"  Keep in mind, now, that my middle child, David, just turned 8 and suffers from mild hypoglycemia.  If he doesn't eat, we're talking about a major blood sugar crash including the shakes, crying, incomprehensible stuttering, the whole she-bang.  Remember that scene from Steel Magnolias when Julia Roberts' blood sugar crashes in the beauty shop?  Yeah, something like that, except it's with a little boy.  Not fun.  To help me out, for the last several weeks, Liz has been fixing breakfast for David and Caleb (the sleeper, who takes his breakfast to school and eats with his PreK class) while I take a shower.  "I don't know!  Ask David!" I reply.  She asked David and I hear him tell her he wants the leftover grits from yesterday that are in the fridge.  Easy enough.  Insert grits in microwave, zap! and bob's-your-uncle, you got breakfast, Georgia-style.  Granted, a little butter and brown sugar help, but whatever.  Simple breakfast, you'd think, right?  Little do you know....

All the schools around here are in uniform. The choices for pants are khaki, navy, or black, so you'd think that getting ready for school would be kinda simple, wouldn't you?  Wouldn't you?   After my shower, I dress, do my hair, and check on the boys.  Caleb is hiding under a blanket in front of the space heater and David is wearing a pair of size 6, torn and dirty khakis,  (remember he's 8).   Thus ensues the following conversation:
"David, you can NOT wear those pants.  They're dirty!"
"But I accidently dribbled pee on my other pants and I can't wear them!"
"Where are your navy pants?
"NOOOOO!  I'll look like a DORK!" [When, WHEN did 8-year old boys suddenly become aware of fashion???]
"You will not look like a dork.  Everybody wears blue pants."
"Yes I will.  I don't like those pants."
"Put the pants on.  I'm sorry.  They are all we have.  I'll wash the others tonight."  After a back-and-forth battle of wills, I finally force him to put on the pants.

I wrestle my very sturdy 5 year old, Caleb, into some of his own clothes and head to the kitchen.  In an effort to get David to stop sniffling about looking like a dork, I offer to heat up the leftover soup and put it in his soup container in his lunchbox.  This does the trick.  I order him to go make his bed and put on his shoes while I fix the soup.  I throw the soup in a pot and turn on the stove, turn around to find David back in the kitchen, sniffling again.
"Momma!?"
"WHAT?!"
"There's a great big hole in my pants."  I go to investigate, suspecting him of making a big deal out of nothing just to get out of wearing the pants.  But, no, there really is a rather large hole in his pants. Right at the crotch. Crap.  What do you expect from Wal-Mart?  High quality?
"Fine. Go take them off and I'll sew them up."  I take the pants and ask Lizzie to watch the soup.  By this time, it's 6:25.  We are running out of time and I'm getting frantic.  I don't have time to rethread the sewing machine and wind a new bobbin, so white thread will just have to do.  I fix the pants.  Whew!  Crisis averted.

I take over in the kitchen and Lizzie goes back to get her backpack and books out of her room.
"Momma?!"  I turn around to find Caleb shuffling into the kitchen wearing his pants and underwear around his ankles.
"WHAT are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, Momma!  I couldn't make it to the potty!"  Dear sweet baby Jesus.  If I leave the soup, it'll burn.  (The whole time this is happening, I'm really beginning to resent my husband who is still peacefully sleeping on the couch.  How do I know this?  Because his snores are rattling the windows.  *sigh*)
"LIZZIE?!  Help your brother find some clean underwear and pants.  He's peed in these!"  Caleb goes hopping down the hall, little white buttcheeks bouncing like the Easter Bunny.
I go back to stirring the soup.
I finish the damn soup and go to check on Caleb.  Lizzie has dressed him in black pants with a navy, yellow and red top.  ARGH!  "Put these jeans on him and LET"S GO!  We're going to be late!"

Finally set, I usher the kids into the car.  Lunches, backpacks, books, bags, purses, everyone buckled.....WAIT!  I'd forgotten my phone.  I go running back into the house to get my phone.  I come running out through the kitchen to find Lizzie slamming about looking for a spoon with a yogurt container in her hand.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! GET IN THE CAR!!!"
"David hasn't eaten any breakfast."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'DAVID HASN'T EATEN'?  DIDN'T YOU FIX HIM BREAKFAST?"
I kid you not.  She actually looked at me and said, "Well, I was fixing toast and David said he wanted grits."  Surely I misheard her.  Surely she didn't just tell me that she didn't fix her brother's breakfast because she was 'doing toast.'  But I didn't have time to dwell on that.  We were LATE.  "Fine!  Just get the damn yogurt and get in the frickin' car!"  I am truly beginning to lose it by this time.

Finally in the car, we're on our way.  David digs a spoon out of his lunchbox and opens the yogurt.  Granted, I should've told him to wait until he got to school.  But I wasn't thinking.  I was still seeing red from "I only do toast."  Driving like Cruella DeVille in 101 Dalmatians, I tear out of the drive, manage to get the green arrow at the end of the road and take off like a bat outta Hades.  We get one block down the road and David starts wailing, "The yogurt is spilling!"  [I'm sure it had nothing to do with my driving....and all over his favorite blue pants!]

Now, pause just a moment here.  It is 6:50 on a cloudy morning, headed northwest.  It is DARK.  I can't see anything except what the lights in front me show. Imagine the scene.  Lizzie's in the front seat.  David's in the middle of the back because the child gets so carsick that he must be able to see in front of him or he'll puke before we go 5 miles and Caleb is sitting in his booster seat behind Lizzie.  David reaches forward to hand his yogurt cup to Lizzie, unbeknownst to me.  And I, in a fit of temper, sweep my right hand back and across, catching the bottom of the yogurt cup in Lizzie's hand and knock the yogurt, topsy-turvy, all over the inside of the car.

There's yogurt everywhere.  There's yogurt across the inside of the windshield.  There's yogurt on the gearshift, the emergency brake, the seats, the windows.  It's on David, it's on the bookbag, it's on the floor.  Caleb starts screaming and crying, "You got yogurt in my hair!"  There's yogurt going down his back (I have no idea how it got BEHIND his head and down his back, but it did.).  "You got yogurt in my eye!  It's not nice for you to put yogurt in my LEFT EYE!" [As opposed to your RIGHT EYE?]

I honestly don't know whether I should've just called in sick or what. Instead, I do a u-turn in the middle of Victory Drive (ironic, huh?) and head back home.  All three have to change clothes and the yogurt has to be cleaned up and David STILL has not eaten.  Caleb cries all the way home, reminding me again how "NOT NICE" I am for putting yogurt in his LEFT eye!  We get home and order the kids inside while I start cleaning up the car.  I look up to see them standing there. "Daddy locked the door when we left."  GREAT!  PERFECT!  BRILLIANT!  I unlock the door, and start the cleaning process.

15 minutes later, we're back in the car.  Caleb's hair is washed out with a wet cloth and he's wearing yet another outfit, David is back to wearing the torn, dirty, size 6 pants, and Lizzie is completely in tears.  The inside of my car smells like a sour burpcloth and peaches and we are now a complete 30 minutes late getting off to school.  And I now have to stop by McDonald's (my absolute least favorite place) to buy David some breakfast.


I am seriously thinking about starting my day tomorrow with a shot of whiskey.

SMOOTHIE GODDESS: The RoxyLicious Moss Smoothie

I only made one New Year's resolution and that has long been flung out the window...

But I am making a conscious effort to get healthy, and I'm dragging my family along for the ride, kicking and screaming. Actually, so far, it hasn't been much of a fight, but it has been rather expensive. Why the crap are healthy foods more expensive? Less chemicals, whole, unprocessed, yada yada = outrageously expensive. Anyone else feel like they're getting the handful of sand on this one?

Enter, Magic Bullet. No, not "that kind." And NO, I'm not providing you a link for that, either.

I happen to have a wonderful friend who gave me a Magic Bullet for Christmas (and made me hand warmers and hobo mittens and I'm totally gonna buy her a small pony). I have been experimenting with various types of smoothies because the recipes I'm finding for "optimal health" totally call for things like hemp seed and crap and I haven't had any hemp seeds on hand in years. Also, I'm a pansy and stuff has to taste good for me to ingest it more than once. And that once would only happen because I hate wasting food.

So I invested an obscene amount of money into frozen fruits and Greek yogurt, flax seed and wheat germ. Totally worth it so far. I think I've inadvertently put myself on a detox program, but I suppose that's not exactly a bad thing... Anyhoo, the smoothies have been great so far; mostly a little juice or raw milk, yogurt, flax seed, and frozen fruits. I made a peaches and cream smoothie that was outstanding, but I'm not going to go into the recipe here because it's just like it sounds. Peaches.....and cream.

But all these blogs touting the "greatest smoothie ever" have superveggies in them. So I tried adding broccoli. Not bad, as long as you add some mega-flavorful berries and a strong juice like grape in, also. They've also been so thick that I had to eat them with a spoon.

But today I started an experiment for a super-healthy green smoothie that I can easily make every day for a meal.

Success!! You know you want the recipe so you can be green like me. Here goes.

All the recipes I looked at wanted me to add crap like celery (gag), and flax seed oil, and, of course, the notorious hemp seed oil, which I would totally do but I no longer have the hookups I once did. So I worked around it with just ground flax seed. I rather like the taste and it's full of Omega-3s. It tastes better than untoasted wheat germ, that's for sure.

So grab a blender and start grinding away!

The RoxyLicious Moss Smoothie 
(There's not really moss in it, but it's the same color; don't hate me because you're jealous of my wonderful name. You can call it the Roxy Mossy for short. My feelings won't be hurt.)

I'm sure it could all be healthier if this was all organic crap, but I'm reeeeeally cheap.

 2 c. baby spinach
1/4 c. milled flax seed
1 banana
2 c. apple juice
1/2 c. vanilla Greek yogurt
handful of frozen strawberries

I threw all but the strawberries in the Bullet and made short work of it. Btw, regular blenders work just fine. Magic Bullets are just a lot more fun. While it was going, I added the berries one by one and let them get all nice and mixed up. I wanted to add a whole apple but Bear ate all of 'em.

Aaaaaaand, you're done.

Ain't it purty?

I didn't have to add any sweetener at all and this time it was liquid enough to drink through a straw... without a brain freeze. This recipe made two large glasses for me because I wanted to have enough for later. But I'm a piglet and it tasted so damn good I drank it all in ten minutes. So you can either have 3 regular size glasses or 2 big-ass Roxy size glasses. Your choice. It was so filling and so healthy and I'm making another in the morning.

Oh, and stay tuned for the recipe for the Guinness beef brisket with mashed sweet potatoes. That's right.

I Have Nothing to Offer Except this Recipe: Barbecue Chicken and Black Beans

I know I haven't blogged in, like, a month. I have plenty to say. You all will be amazed at my wit and intelligence and amazing opinions. Eventually.

In the meantime, I'm totally sharing this recipe I accidentally created carefully planned out yesterday.

Three thirty in the afternoon and I realize I will have to feed my children and myself at some point in the evening. Pffft. Anyhoo. A quick survey of available ingredients told me that I could either put an insane amount of effort into supper, order pizza, or pull out my trusty cook-time love....THE CROCK POT. Option C [obviously] won out. But since I only had three hours to cook, it had to be in that pot fast.

So now you, too, can be an awesome afternoon chef, throw all this stuff in the pot and then sit on a cushion eating bon bons all day because that is totally what I did. If by sitting on a cushion, you mean carefully orchestrating two naptimes by playing human pacifier/human pillow, letting Bear win getting beaten in Chinese checkers, picking up the stupid Percy the train puzzle again.... Whatever, you get the idea.

I had frozen chicken breasts, black beans, barbecue sauce and some spices. So I used them. Combine the following in your crock pot.

Sweet Baby Ray's is by far my favorite BBQ sauce, and I consider mysel

f a connoisseur

1 pound chicken breasts
2 cans black beans
2 cups barbecue sauce
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon mexican seasoning ( you can make your own here.)
1-2 drops sweet hot sauce

Isn't that appetizing?? Mmmmm....

Okay, now listen carefully because this is where it gets really tricky: Turn your crock pot ON. Got that?

If you are looking to eat in 4 hours or less, put it on high; if you have, say six hours or so, turn that sucker on low and let the smell of barbecue make your mouth water all day.

About 30 minutes before I served it, I took the chicken out and shredded it, then put it back in. I also thickened the sauce with a little cornstarch.

I served the whole mess over rice with tortilla chips for scooping. The kids loved it and it's high in protein and fiber. Enjoy!

Is this not the picture of deliciousness? It was all I could do to stop and take a picture before I made a pig out of myself.

It's Not Really Christmas til Someone Gets Kicked in the Eye

Ahhhh. The sounds of Christmastime. The pitter-patter of little feet. The sound of a child's laughter floating through the hall. The sound of a slap followed by shrieks that would make a banshee envious. Yes, Christmas at our house is a joyous occasion. My kids act like, well, kids. They are not write-home-to-mom well-behaved. They are also not look-up-the-nearest-military-school little demons...all the time.

They have their ups and downs, first adoring and hugging each other, playing school or restaurant, then, five minutes later, Monkey pulls Bear's hair and she grabs the toy from his hand and he proceeds to poke her and she slaps his hand and they shove each other and within 30 seconds it either escalates to a screaming match or they are laughing hysterically. It's a toss up.

This was taken approximately 30 seconds before he hit Bear with that train.

They inevitably choose to begin these arguments while I'm trying to nurse Roo to sleep. Which usually results in whispered threats from the couch, someone running in crying, Roo waking up, me losing my temper and putting everyone in time out. Including myself. Do I take a bottle of wine to time out with me? Maybe.

But with Christmas quickly approaching, the "Santa Claus is watching you" threat is being used more and more. Insert Ray Stevens video here.

However, it is losing its effectiveness. That's right. Now when I say, "Santa is making his lists! Do you think you're gonna be on the nice list if he sees you writhing on the floor with pillows on your head, sobbing and kicking and flailing because your brother tried to sit on your dollhouse?" I merely get more tantrum. What are my options here? I can see the wheels turning in her head, reasoning out the possibilities of a stocking full of coal:
Well, I heard that last year and the year before and I still got presents... Oh, well. Better keep up the flailing....

I suppose I could follow through on the coal threat. But I just can't bring myself to do it. So, instead, I simply pick her up, put her on the bed, and walk away to wait until she (or he, as the case may be) is ready to be reasonable.

Unwanted affection. It's rather hard to hate on him when he's being so adorable.

I know it looks like they are getting along in this one. He was actually rearing back to spit at her.

And still, I can't complain about my children. They are Good Kids, they know Right from Wrong, and they know exactly where the Line is drawn. I realized this even more last night as I was watching Jimmy Kimmel's Christmas YouTube challenge. These parents "let" their kids open one present early. They were horrible. The presents, not the kids. Okay, some of the kids were. A few were really young and very honest, saying, "I don't like this!" A couple realized that their parents' feelings might be hurt and tried (very diplomatically, I might add) to express their dissatisfaction while allowing the 'rents to save face.

But a few of those kids...

I swear on everything holy, if my child ever throws a present in my face, rushes me and screams that he hates his "stupid parents".... Not only would I be too ashamed to upload that video for the entire world to see my offspring act like that, I'd immediately start looking up the aforementioned military schools. I would be appalled to realize that my son not only knows the term "suck my balls" but would say it to his mother.

Yes, readers, it happened, it happened on camera, and now it has been documented by the Jimmy Kimmel Show, YouTube, and all the world.

So I guess we've got it pretty good. My kids are normal, well-adjusted, thankful for what they get, and I haven't tried to sell them to the gypsies.

Yet.

I Made Nummies, and You Can, Too!

Oh, the yummy foods we make. I'd be lying if I said we plan our suppers each day. Usually, Wes or I come home with some kind of meat and then we make up some kind of creation. It's at the very least edible. At the most, it's worthy of me sharing the recipe here because we accidentally created something awesome.

This is one of the latter instances.

So we had some pork chops. And potatoes. And frozen veggies. Usually this will result in some kind of crazy casserole, but last night I was feeling rather inventive. I will now give credit to Pinterest. Completely responsible for the wonderful potatoes. You can see the recipe here. But the chops....

I did get inspiration for the pork from a loin recipe on Pinterest. (...this one...) But it took a sharp turn when Bear spilled half of the thyme on the kitchen floor. So we came up with our own variation. This was mostly due to her insistence that we have gingerbread pork chops. I thought that ginger would be a great addition. So. Here is what we ended up with:

4 bone in pork chops

Mix:
3 T thyme
2 T ginger
1/2-1/4 c honey
2 T butter

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Sear the pork chops in oil for 45ish seconds on each side.
Transfer to baking dish lined with foil and lightly coated with oil.
Rub the mixture on each side of the chops.
Bake for 30-40 minutes until done.
Voíla.

Yup. And it was incredible. All of it. Serve with a simple green veggie like broccoli because you don't want the tastes to compete.

Sorry about the lack of pictures. They were gone before I got a chance to take any....

"Parenthood" has Ticked Me OFF

I'm addicted to the show Parenthood on NBC. I know a lot of parents who are. Seriously, Bonnie Bedelia makes the whole show for me. I totally want to be her when I'm 60.

The show has been kind of mild as far as offensive content... I mean, considering how touchy I am about certain subjects. You know who usually grates my nerves, though? Kristina, played by Monica Potter. I understand that it's her character. I get that. I don't, like, dislike Monica as a person. The writers, on the other hand, have finally royally pissed me off.

Maybe it's because Kristina is the one I associate with the most. Thirties, three kids, just had a baby... About that baby... Kristina is usually a mess about everything and that irks me. Her pregnancy was remarkably fast and not completely unrealistic, but inasmuch as the rest of the show is not overly exaggerated, I fail to understand why her pregnancy had to be. Still, that's not what got me steaming.

The childbirth was more or less ridiculous, but what was to be expected from a network tv show? On her back, screaming her head off, stupid nurses milling about. Whatever. But still, I took it with a grain of salt.

I've been catching up on DVRed episodes, so I watched several in a row. I just watched the one titled "In Between." The one where Kristina spends her first night away from the baby (who grew reeeeally fast, btw). Since the "birth," the writers haven't made it clear whether Kristina is breastfeeding or not. Which, actually, I kind of respected; that way no one gets offended, as we all know moms are very prone to do. Very. Until this episode.

I was slightly annoyed when Kristina was trying on dresses and was complaining about her "huge boobs" from breastfeeding. Poor thing. I have news. My boobs are bigger than that when I'm not breastfeeding. It's a pain. I deal. She then goes on to whine that if she has "anything to drink" she'll have to pump and dump. I hardly think that's accurate. If she went out and got smashed and came home reeling, yes. But heading out to a cocktail party and having a few cocktails or glasses of champagne is fine, as long as you aren't falling down drunk when you are pumping or nursing. Seriously, I go by the rule that if I'm sober, so is my milk. It was subtle, but pregnant women watching that scene can be easily swayed in their decision to breastfeed. And the thought of never being able to enjoy a night out without the prospect of coming home to sit down with a cold plastic pump for 20 or 30 minutes kind of really sucks.

Still, I was only mildly irritated by the allusion to inconvenience. What really got me pissy (like it's really that hard) was the scene when she was at the party. Standing there looking gorgeous in a red dress, feeling uncomfortable ( I must give Monica Potter credit, when her character feels uncomfortable, so do I), because she's there next to sexy 21 year olds in miniskirts, and she starts........ LEAKING. Gasp!!! Yep. The party is ruined because she was mortified with a huge boob juice stain on the front of that red dress. She had to leave the party. No joke.

So if any pregnant mothers were watching this show, they may be impressed by the fact that a character was breastfeeding. Hell, I was. But they are more likely to be impressed upon by the downfalls presented. Yes, sometimes leaks happen. They can happen at the worst times. But seriously? This was simply the worst thing that could have ever happened to Kristina at that moment. And it pissed me off. The first time they make reference to breastfeeding and it was in three negative ways. They didn't show any bonding and snuggling. No health benefits or mention of reduced risk of SIDS. Nope. Leaks that ruin dates. THAT'S what they portrayed.

Thanks, NBC.

Mucus Monsters Roam the Halls

All three of my kids have been fighting off colds for weeks. I've tried homeopathic remedies and the like, but Monkey finally succumbed to all the mucus that had inundated his head. He started running a fever and I didn't give him anything for it because it wasn't that high and I figure the body is fighting something, better let it do its job.

Let me just say: he is sooooo sweet when he's sick. This is a red-headed three-year-old who is running at full-throttle 12 hours a day. So it was nice for him to just want to snugs and cuddle with mommy. But I ended up taking him to the doctor.

Is this not the most pitiful picture you have EVER seen??

I'd just like to know who made the rule that if kids are deathly ill at home, they will be just fine and dandy when they get to the doctor? I always look like that worry-wart mother that takes her kids in if they sneeze once. By the time we get there, he is playing and talking and not running a fever at all. I have been assured that it's not just my kids who do this.

But he was legitimately sick. Sinus and double ear infection. Gross. He had so much mucus in his head that it was literally coming out his eyes. Yeah. So they put him on antibiotics (I try to avoid them, but, man, when they are needed, by God, they are needed).

 So Monkey is on his way to recovery. Go team!

Naturally, I get sick. It had been coming on all week, but the cough turned into a lung shutdown. Gasping for breath is not high on my list of things to do while being clobbered by children. And when a 35 pound three-year-old wants to be held constantly, it starts to take its toll. By Friday night Monkey was feeling better and I had almost lost my voice. So while he is jumping off the coffee table over and over (and over and over and over...) I'm laying on the couch nursing Roo, so I can't get up, and I can't even make myself heard because my voice is almost gone.

stop, pleeeease *cough cough* stoooop

I have adorable brochitis. They said it's acute, but I think adorable sounds better. Apparently it was almost pneumonia. Sigh. Sometimes you just can't fight off the germs, no matter how hard you try. On the plus side, Monkey is back to his old self.

By the next morning...

Well, almost.

Crying for daddy. Can't win em all.