Maybe if We Dropped a Megaton of Cheese

I've not been all that smooth myself. The first time we enjoyed a Greek Dinner at Mykonos, Brian's dad introduced me to their Sagnaki, or more specifically an appetizer of flaming, pan-seared cheese and tomato, doused with a squirt of lemon juice, to a cheer of  "oooooooooOO-PA!" While awaiting our snack, I started pondering aloud how insensitive it seemed to set a dish on fire and name it after a tragic piece of history,when Brian interrupted with, "No, Amy, that was Nagasaki." The last mix up like that I can remember was when I was about 8 and thought people were constantly saying rude things about the elderly, when mom corrected me that the word I was thinking of was retarded, not retired. I also recall having an interesting moment, thinking people dipped rodents in fudge when I saw a recipe for Chocolate Mousse.

We had Greek for lunch again the other day and ever since then, Ian has celebrated various daily activities with shouts of, "ooooOOO-BAY!"

Yesterday, we set out to go to Fernbank, the museum of natural history. It all actually starts the night before, when I ensured that we had chosen a place to go and that it would be open on Labor Day. So, Brian wakes me up in the morning, we eat breakfast, and Brian claims he can do a quick project for his dad in about 3 minutes. Brian's Dad had stated that the two places he wanted to go for food while he was here were Thumbs Up and Flying Biscuit, so I planned that we would go there for lunch and dinner, respectively. After all sorts of bumbling, we ended up at a Mediterranean place for lunch. It was after 3 and at the end of the nearby Dragoncon and they had no pita, so they had gone out to buy hamburger buns(?!?!). Yes, why not pita? It seems there weren't many places open. By the time we finished, there was no reasonable amount of time to visit Fernbank, so we bumbled some more and went on a short quest to find Indian candy. When that didn't work, we headed for the Perimeter Mall.

On our way out of Nordstrom, a lady working there commented on Ian's boots. They ended up sitting on the floor trying to trade shoes. I was too busy admiring the scene to snap a shot of the good part.

Ultimately, we all agreed we had a good time, and I tried to be chilled about the absolute plan fail. Brian's dad made a comment about how sometimes we can over-plan and I sarcastically replied something along the lines of, "Yeah, like picking ONE place to go." The Cheesecake Factory dinner made it all better.

I've started trying to be very anal about putting things where they belong, and our counter in particular. We have a tendency to pile up a mountain of objects on it. Every night, particularly if Brian works the next day, I try to do a last-minute pick-up on the way to bed. I passed the counter and saw a pile of quarters. As I was taking them to the change dish, I noticed there were some state design quarters I didn't have in my collection book. My bedraggled Brian comes in and sees me hunched over my collection and nearly has a Zebu. I don't know why, but around 8 or 9 p.m., no matter how tired I am, I get a house-cleaning, project-starting buzz. It drives him crazy.

I need to formulate a new workout plan. I get an awful, Pavlovian response to taking the kids to the gym, because I know Elijah cries in child care until he's hot and puffy, and I can't do that anymore. It takes twice as long for Brian and I to switch off with the kids, so maybe I can put my membership on vacation hold or something. Or maybe I'll try a few more times at a different time of day. Or maybe I'll see if I can earn another   Bad Parent Award and wear him in the Bjorn on the elliptical? Or maybe I'll simply keep trying to lug three bugs to the grocery store. Plenty of cardio there.

Veggie Table

I've been trying the participation method of garnering the boys' interest in veggies. I find them a job to do in hopes that they will want to eat what they helped make. It's been successful with at least the first bite.

I planned some steak and veggie skewers for the grill and thought up the perfect jobs for the boys. They helped wash a bowl full of peppers and mushrooms and then I set them at the table and assigned their next job. I gave Isaac a basting brush and a small bowl of seasoned olive oil and told him to "paint" the veggies. I gave Ian a pack of wooden skewers and demonstrated how to fill them with veggies. I figured they might have that done by the time I sliced and skewered the steak. As I assembled my last steak skewer, Ian proudly announced, "Look, Mom! I made a scarecrow!" Sure enough, he had made Tinker Toys of the sticks and veggies and had built a tall stick man. I wish my hands had not been all meaty and I had caught a picture of it.

Today I gave each of the boys a baggie of crackers to crush. I figured they'd love that destructive job. I showed them how they could squeeze them and pound them into small crumbles. I put some pecans in the food processor and turned to check their progress. I saw two little boys happily munching on crackers.

They left me speechless with our snack yesterday. I sliced up some red, yellow, and orange sweet chilis and set them on the table with a bowl of hummus. I called it a rainbow snack. They actually ate it. The peppers - multiple peppers - went into their mouths and were summarily chewed and swallowed. Miracles happen.

Ian has reached a new level of independence. For some reason, now it is OK to try new foods or previously snubbed foods. He even gets up and completely dresses himself. I'm loving this phase. Well, most of it. The other evening, after our nightly insistence that he try to pee before bed, he comes bouncing back into the bedroom, looking like Pooh Bear, with nothing more than a shirt and a permanently sticky face. I requested, "Ian? Can you get some undies?" He replied, "I can bark like a dog," and "woofed" on out of the room.

Mini Mama

What an amusing sight this was:  My 19-month-old, Isaac, chasing my almost-three-year-old, bare-bottomed Ian around and around the house, with little red toddler undies, gripped by the waistband in his chubby hands, insisting, "Wuh-wear! Wuh-wear! [translated: "underwear"]"

I need to figure out how to make a photo album of "I wish I got a picture of that" snapshots.