What a Difference a Day Makes.

Every blogger in the world is obligated to write a post today about the things that they are thankful for.  It's in the rules.  If you have a blog and you haven't written yours yet, I'm sorry to tell you that you are WAY behind.  Anyway, here's mine.

Today, I'm thankful to have a husband who, despite some sort of affliction that prevents him from closing a dresser drawer completely, really GETS me.  He understands that often the best way to help me is to keep the beer coming and to stay out of my way.

Today, I'm thankful that zj's new tattoo suits him perfectly.  And I'm thankful for neighbors who usually mind their own business but who get involved in my life when they need to, like today.  After the Thanksgiving festivities were over and zj was banished to his (upstairs) room for a nap, our neighbor across the street saw him OPEN THE WINDOW, REMOVE THE SCREEN, AND GO OUT ON THE ROOF.  The neighbor quickly got involved and a disaster was averted.

I am also thankful that no authorities were contacted regarding the aforementioned incident.

I am thankful for moments like this:

And I am thankful that the turkey was edible.

I'm thankful for my family who came to eat my un-burned turkey with me today, and I'm thankful that I have a job that helps keep my boys in Huggies and X-Men.  Tomorrow when I have to go to work at 5am to fend off caffeine-starved, coupon crazy shoppers looking for doorbuster deals, I will probably not be very thankful, so take this one while you can.

I'm thankful for good friends who make me laugh, and I'm thankful that I'm a creative cook because the fridge is FULL of leftovers.

Mostly though, I am thankful that I live in the life I live in, with the people I love.

And I get to do that every day of the year.

Thanksgiving Prep. Now with fresh lemon scent.

For the first time, I am hosting Thanksgiving for my family.  We aren't a large group, eleven in all, but this is quite an undertaking for me.  I tend to... overdo sometimes.  There were a lot of reasons that this came about which I won't bore you with, but it seemed like a good idea when it first came up.  But that was YEARS ago.  Ok, maybe MONTHS ago.  Really, just a few WEEKS ago.  But anyway, like a lot of things, it seemed like a good idea at the time.  So here it is, the day before Thanksgiving, and at 4pm, I have baked some cookies, asked my facebook friends for advice on how to cook a turkey, and cleaned my toilets.  Oh, and I made a cake, which zj ate a big hunk out of when I wasn't looking.  True story.  See?

Anyway, I have this ideal life in my head, and it's something out of a fifties sitcom.  I greet my family at the door with drinks, take their coats, whisk them to the hors d'oeuvres.  Holiday music is playing softly in the background.  I am impeccably dressed, no runs in my hose, high heels in place, not a hair astray.  The turkey is piping hot and golden brown on the platter that I present to everyone with a flourish, all the time murmuring "Oh, it was nothing."

That's the dream.

The reality will most likely involve a crying kid or two, a couple of spills, no one eating at exactly the same time, some things too hot, too cold, just right.  It will also probably involve some previously unnoticed dust and some cobwebs in the corner.  If my hair is combed and I'm dressed in something besides my pjs I'll consider it a blessing.

And I'll tell you why.

My children can sense when Mama is weak.  This is an inherited trait, and they get it from their father.  Today, with too many things to do and not enough time, I was weak, and they could smell it like a wolf can smell blood on a lamb.

Cj, who is the most laid back baby on the planet, wanted to be held ALL day.  He was perfectly content as long as Mama had him physically in hand.  But lay that sucker down, and the screaming would start.  Zj, never one to be outdone, did the following:

1. Clogged the toilet by putting an entire roll of toilet paper down it.
2. Made a "train" with his chocolate milk.
3. "Helped" me bake cookies.
4. "Helped" me vacuum.
5. "Helped" me fold and put away laundry.
6. Had a complete three-year-old meltdown over what to drink with his lunch.
7. Refused to nap.
8. Ate my cake (see above).

All pretty typical stuff, mind you, but good grief.  Mama's got a turkey to cook...

By this time tomorrow, everyone, myself included, will be in a food coma, and perfect or not, it will be over.

Zj's Letter to Santa, In It's Entirety.

Dear Santa,

I love you Santa Claus and everybody else and I want to have some more blocks and X-Mens so I can play with them all.

I wish I may I wish I might see some fireworks tonight.  Four fireworks please.

I wish Mama had a cool new vacuum cleaner.  I wish Daddy could have a great big hammer.

I wish Cooper could have a different Spike like mine.

Please come to my home and I wish I had a great new tv set with three screens, one up and two on the bottom.

I was a good boy.  I was only naughty one time.

Santa, do you like milk & cookies?  If you want any lunch come and get it at our house.

Goodbye Santa.

Come to our house when I go to sleep.  I will look at your reindeer out the window.

Authentic Vietnamese Spring Rolls. Made from authentic Vietnamese stuff.

For those of you who know me and my family, you may have heard that RJ's mother is Vietnamese.  This means, of course, that she makes delicious Vietnamese food.  Several years ago, at RJ's request, I spent the day with her to learn how to make spring rolls, and it was the second most stressful day of my life, second only to my faux-Vietnamese wedding, which I still have a difficult time talking about.  But anyway, the end result was that I now know how to make these delightful things.  Of course, if she ever finds out that I posted her secret family recipe on the internet for the entire world to see, the Vietnamese mafia will be waiting to roll me in a parking garage, but live dangerously, I always say.

First, make sure your children are occupied.  This whole process takes several hours.

WHAT YOU NEED:

3-4 large carrots, peeled

3 cups bean sprouts

1 bunch green onions

1 cup bean threads (also known as rice noodles), soaked in warm water for 15 minutes and drained

1/2 cup dried black mushrooms, saked in warm water for 15 minutes and drained

2 lbs. ground pork or chicken (pork is usually much cheaper, and honestly, it tastes about the same)

2 egg yolks

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. pepper

1 heaping tsp. sugar

1 tsp. garlic powder

1/2 tsp. sugar

50 spring roll wrappers

vegetable oil

(Note:  The spices are approximate.  After I have mixed everything, I take out a tablespoon of the mixture and cook it in a skillet like a bitty baby burger.  That way I can check and add to before I make 50 freakin' spring rolls that may need more salt.  Trust me, it's a good idea.)

WHAT YOU DO:

Chop the carrots, bean sprouts, green onions, noodles, and mushrooms in a food processor.  If you do not have a food processor, use a blender.  If you do not have a blender., get one.  It will look something like this:

Add in the meat, spices, and one egg yolk.  Now you've got this:

Next, take the other egg yolk and mix it with a little water.  This is what you'll use to seal the spring rolls.  

Lay a spring roll wrapper out flat (smooth side out)
, and put a heaping tablespoon full of the mixture on it.  Shape the filling like this: (Yes, Miss Priss, you will have to put your hands in it.  It's sticky.  Take off your diamonds.)

The rolling process looks like this:

At this point, dab your fingers in the egg yolk/water mixture and smear it around the corner of the wrapper.  Use this to seal it.

Repeat 49 times.  This is a good time to listen to music, drink beer, or drink beer.

The result:

Heat your oil in the biggest, deepest pot you've got.  Your oil should be at least 2-3 inches deep, and you should heat it over medium heat.  When you see the oil start moving around a bit, drop in some spring rolls.  I usually cook 6-8 at a time.  When you drop them in the oil, drop them in with the side sealed with the egg DOWN.  This ensures that they will not come apart as they are cooking.  Cook for approximately 5-6 minutes per batch.  Drain on paper towels.

Note:  your house is gonna smell like China One Buffet King, and it will smell like that for days.  This stuff gets all up in your pores.  I prefer to cook these in the summer when I can open the windows, but we have to eat in the winter time, too.  Just be prepared, and shower AFTER, not BEFORE, making these.

The result:

Delightful.

Tonight, I am serving these with Vietnamese Pho Ga.  I did not get this recipe from my mother-in-law.  My constitution was too weak.  Instead, I got this recipe from Nathan Lyon of A Lyon in the Kitchen, who is super hot a really good cook.

Enjoy!

As if pregnancy and childbirth weren't already bad enough, now all my hair is falling out. Thanks, hormones.

I am not one of those people who talks rapturously about the "beauty of pregnancy" or "the miracle of childbirth."  Honestly, I found the whole thing pretty unpleasant.  I mean, anything that keeps you from drinking for nine months CAN NOT be good, right?  Plus, almost five months later, my c-section star still itches like crazy.  Totally. Not. Beautiful.

Oh, and I threw up every day for nine months (times 2), and my feet and ankles were roughly the size of a baby elephant's, and I got real fat, and I walked with a limp, and I had terrible acne.  Yeah, I was glowing, huh?

When I was pregnant with zj, I was too busy Googling potential infant diseases, illnesses, and complications adjusting to impending motherhood that I wasn't much of a joiner, but when I found out I was pregnant with cj, I decided to sign up for one of those Mommy-to-Be websites that keeps you updated on the growth and status of your baby-to-be, and to keep you updated on what you are going through as well.

It's kind of creepy and stalker-ish.

It always knew EXACTLY what was going on with me, as soon as it happened.

Sometimes before.

An email would be sitting in my in-box, with a link to whatever was happening in my life THAT VERY MINUTE.

I was pleased that these emails kept arriving even after cj was born.  I was able to use this information to self-diagnose blood clots after my c-section.  (Don't worry, alcohol is a blood thinner.  I just stayed drunk and busted those pesky little suckers right up.)

So anyway, a month or so ago, I noticed that my hair seemed to be falling out.  Being from a hairy family, I didn't pay much attention at first, but it just kept coming out at an alarming, Sinead O'Connor-making rate.

Sure enough, as I was logging into my computer to check for wig stores, I get another stalker e-mail with a link to this page.  Apparently, many women experience this phenomenon after giving birth, and the following advice is offered:

"After you give birth, your estrogen levels take a tumble and a lot more hair follicles enter the resting stage. Soon you'll have more hair coming out in the shower or on the brush. This unusual shedding will taper off and your hair will be back to its pre-pregnancy thickness about six to 12 months after you give birth.

By the way, not all women notice dramatic changes in their hair during pregnancy or the postpartum period. Among those who do, it tends to be more obvious among women with longer hair.


Many moms, tired of scooping hair out of shower drains or sweeping strands off the bathroom floor, find that now is a good time to go for a short cut. Plus, a short, wash-and-go hairstyle can be easier to take care of when you have a new baby in the house and you're strapped for time."


Great advice, stalker e-mail people.


I think I will.

Annual Christmas Card Photos - The Outtakes.

Trying to get two kids to smile (or even glance at the direction of the camera) at the same time is sort of like herding cats.  I guess we'll try again tomorrow.

The Breakup.

I am breaking up with one of my favorite bloggers.

It's not her, it's me.  I've changed.  But I'm still heartbroken.

My friend Natalie at The Boddeker Blog introduced me to this blogger years ago, and I have been a faithful follower ever since.  Even when she moved from the really good blog, to the not quite as good blog.  Even when she took breaks from her blog that lasted WEEKS, I still checked in faithfully.  She was the blogger I wanted to BE (well, except for that weird third person stuff that I could never quite keep straight.  Hell, my facebook status is challenging enough to do in third person).

But anyway, as I was perusing this blog last week, I came across this post, and I felt a profound sense of betrayal.  It was like I just found porn downloaded onto my husband's computer or something.

I consider myself to be pretty forgiving and easygoing when it comes to differences in people.  I know many people who are Republicans have different opinions and lifestyles from me, and for the most part, I think that just keeps things interesting.  But I'm taking up  a new cause.  It's the plight of the retail clerk.  As someone who has chosen to be a retail clerk for most of my adult life, it's a cause near and dear to my heart.

Most days I like my job love my job like my job, but it is seldom to find anyone who hasn't lived in a retail clerk's life who knows a thing about what it is really like.  Most days, my job is a complex series of logistical, human resource, merchandising and strategic decisions that gets the customer exactly what they want, when they want it.

So here's what immediately comes to my mind when I hear someone say that holiday stuff shouldn't go out until the day after Thanksgiving.  Who's gonna spend the day in all the closed stores on Thanksgiving Day setting up these displays, changing out signs, arranging holiday displays, etc. etc. etc?  Why me, of course.  And all my minimum-wage making, hard-working staff members, too.  If holiday stuff couldn't go out until the day after Thanksgiving, that is exactly what would have to happen.  Forget spending the holiday with family.  We would have to be in the store all day to set up for the holiday because some people don't like it that Christmas stuff is out the week BEFORE Thanksgiving.

Not to mention the fact that in most retail stores I have been in in my lifetime that there is no place that is not on the selling floor to store a whole reset worth of merchandise.  One of the reasons stuff starts to go out so early is that THERE IS NO OTHER PLACE TO PUT IT.  Most stockrooms, even in big box retailers, are approximately the size of a bathroom.  If it can't go out, it's a logistical nightmare.

But that's not the customer's problem, it's mine.  And every year, I handle it, and handle it well, and when you come into my store two days before Christmas with a list of obscure wishes for crazy Aunt Myrtle, there's a good chance I have them in stock and ready for you.

You're welcome.

So anyway, Mrs. G, I am breaking up with you.  We've grown apart, and it's time for me to move on.  I wish you all the best.

Terror at 154 Hidden Court. Alternate Title: Invincible.

RJ is prone to buying things from guys who wander down Hidden Court with things to sell.  This past spring, he bought a driveway from a very polite man driving an asphalt truck.  It's a very nice driveway, and it's all black and asphalt-y, but he literally bought it off the back of a truck.  But that's a whole other story entirely.  This story has only marginal ties to this, but I promise I'll bring it all together in a minute.

So, anyway, when the same polite asphalt-y guys came back and offered to seal our nice new driveway (only $250!! what a deal!!), of course RJ took them up on it.  What that meant for us was that we had to park on the street, because you can't drive on a freshly sealed driveway (or walk on one, for that matter, but I didn't know that until it was too late and there were little asphalt-y footprints all over the garage floor).

Whatever.

The point of all that is that we were parked on the street, and it was cold.  Cold enough to frost the cars over.  Which means that I was outside at 6am scraping frost off the car before I went to work.  This is unusual, and it was unusually noisy, too.

Another important thing to note is that zj's bedroom faces the street, and he has windows that look out over said street, and said frosty cars that were being scraped of frost at 6am.  Which is before RJ gets up.

I'm bringing it home, I promise.

So...

I get a call on my cellphone a little after 6am from RJ.

He's calling to tell me that zj saw me out the window, then decided to CHASE MY CAR DOWN THE STREET, all the time yelling "Mama, don't go to work today!"

When RJ caught up with him, they were pretty far from our house.  Neither one had any shoes on.  Or pants.  It was 32 degrees.  It was 6am.  It would have been funny if it weren't so terrifying.

My stomach dropped all the way out of my body.  Then I threw up in my mouth.

The possibilities of what could have been ran through my mind all day.  When I picked zj up that afternoon from the sitter, I hugged him as hard and tight and long as he would let me.

On the drive home, I asked him questions about his early morning jaunt.  I told him how worried I was and how scared it made me when Daddy told me what had happened.  He had no concept about why, and said so.  I told him someone could have seen him and taken him.  His response: "W-w-w-w-well (he stutters a little bit when he's excited), I would have told them to stop and to Yeave Me Ayone (we have some "l" issues, too)."  Ok, I needed a different approach.  So I told him he could have been hit by a car.  His response?  "W-w-w-w-w-w-well, I would have just gone under it."

Of course he would have.

Never mind that I have made more ER visits with him than I have for myself, RJ and everyone else I know COMBINED.  Never mind that he managed to BREAK HIS LEG at age 2, which according to aforementioned ER is nearly impossible.  "Their little bones aren't hard enough to break" the doctor said to me.  Yeah, right.

He would have just told the bad guys to yeave him ayone and gone under the car.

And he probably would have, too.

This creature, this thing that is part of me, this firstborn child of mine, is so foreign to me it's hard to describe.  He is so not like me, and so like me in so many ways.  He's stubborn, maybe even my rival in that category.  He's fearless, something I admire, and am not, and it scares me to death that he's so much like that.  He's totally convinced that he's invincible.

Sometimes I think he might be.

  

Today's Score: To Do List - 137. MJ - 0.

I start every day I have off from work with super high expectations.  These are the affirmations I repeat over and over:  Today is the day I will get the entire house clean at the same time!  Today I will conquer the laundry! Today I will pressure wash the house, defrost the freezer, build a shelf, clean the gutters, etc. etc. etc.  Usually, by about 8:30 a.m., I start mentally crossing things off my list - maybe hanging those pictures can wait.  Maybe if I can just do the towels, whites, and kids' laundry, the darks can wait.  Maybe we can eat peanut butter straight out of the jar for dinner.

But usually, usually, I am at least able to accomplish SOMETHING.  ANYTHING.

And then there are days like today.

The photo above was taken at 4pm, and zj still has on his pjs.  In other news, he has begun randomly yelling "Booyah!" (you know, like the Marines, or Army,  or something) every few minutes.  I don't really know why, and neither does he.  Also, he requested a crabby patty for lunch.  When I told him I didn't know how to make crabby patties, he sighed and said in a voice that can only be described as pure disgust: "Well, SPONGEBOB does."  Apparently Spongebob is a better Mama than I am.

Cj has started solids, and he doesn't really seem too terribly impressed.   As a matter of fact, as I was shoveling the same bite into his mouth for the fourteenth time, he gave me a look that seemed to be asking "Mama, why are you betraying me this way?"  I predicted a picky eater with this one, and early indications are leaning in that direction.

I haven't had a shower today, and I have eaten my weight in Halloween candy.

Thanks for the update. I hadn't really noticed.

My family is known for making hairy babies.  We're not talking the sweet , nearly transparent peach-fuzz like hair most babies have.  No, these babies come out with hair of Chewbaca-like proportions.  This extends to nieces, cousins, etc.  But when you add in my pseudo-Asian husband with his pseudo-black hair, this hair is a sight to behold.

Both my boys were born with a head full of black hair.   Since I had a c-section with both, I was lying there, strapped to the table, no feeling whatsoever in my body, wondering if I had birthed puppies or perhaps Tribbles, because all the nurses were talking about was "all that hair."

My favorite part of this is the reaction I get from strangers, and from people who aren't aware of the werewolf curse of my family.  Everyone likes to look at cute babies, and a comment is always in order when you see one.  Some of my favorite lies lines to new parents are "Oh, what a cute hat!" and "Doesn't she look just like you!?!"  Both of these come across as a compliment, even if you can't tell butt from face, and are noncommittal enough, but still specific enough to qualify as new-Mommy crack.  However, the only thing anyone, and I do mean anyone, has ever said about my boys is, and I quote, "That baby sure does have a lot of hair."

I have heard this line, verbatim, from strangers in the grocery store, cashiers, servers, co-workers, doctors, lawyers and indian chiefs.  My response is usually a slightly embarrassed, self-conscious laugh, followed by a "Thanks?"  or a "Yeah."  However, in my head, my Dr. House-like, ever witty alter ego is thinking, "Thanks for the update.  In the past few months of round the clock feeding, changing diapers, bathing and clothing him, I hadn't really noticed.  But you, Captain Obvious, have made it all clear to me.  My baby has a lot of hair.  How could I have missed it?"

Of course, I never really say that.  Except that once.  But that's a story for another post, the one called "My Latest Black Eye."