Hey! Hey! We're the Monkees...

Day 487 of this cold.

Ok, so it's really been about a week.  But it feels like a lifetime.  How is it that a cold can make the days feel like months?

I feel like I have an elephant sitting on my chest.

The thing about colds is that they linger forever.  You have the first day where your throat is a little sore and scratchy, so you pump yourself with vitamins and fluids and make sure every room in your house contains a box of Puffs with Lotion.  Then the constant nose-blowing begins  - I mean, really, where does all that stuff come from??  Then comes the coughing that keeps you up all night and makes your body feel like your insides are coming out.

I will be the first to admit that I probably don't take the best care of myself during a cold.  I try and take it easy and drink as much water as possible, but I don't load up on the vitamins, and I'm not much of a Nyquil person.  My husband, on the other hand, is the poster child for Vicks.

Whenever hubby's got a cold, he will take great care lathering himself up before coming to bed.  Then he'll put on a long sleeve shirt, pajama pants and socks (he is a firm believer in "sweating out sickness").  When he finally gets into bed, he has this less than sexy smell about him. 

I mean, it fills the room.

It's all I can do to kiss him on the cheek and let him roll over to sleep.

Every time I get a cold, etc., the hubster encourages me to join him on the dark side and lather up the Vicks.  Each time I scrunch my nose and tell him he's crazy.  Apparently, this particular cold has affected my brain.

I caved.

After a body-wrenching day of coughing up my left lung, I decided to smear Vicks VapoRub all over my aching chest.  I could not, however, bring myself to fully dressing before bed.  I had enough night sweats while I was pregnant - thank you very much!  The Vicks would have to do the work itself.

And it did.

I had the best night sleep I could remember in a long time.  Not a cough or sneeze or sniffle. Heck, I didn't even have to get up to pee.  I liked it so much, I did it the next night too, with the same results. 

My husband is elated.  Not so much that I got a couple good nights of sleep during a horrible cold, but that I joined him on the dark side.  I can no longer turn up my nose at him.  In the words of Davy Jones and the Monkees...

I'm a believer.

Thar She Blows

You know what happens if you don't post to your blog on a regular basis?

You get a cold.

I'm convinced that I'm being punished for not keeping up with my writing duties.  After all, I have a responsibility to all my loyal followers to provide them with witty tales about my struggles with life and raising a baby.  I don't have the luxury of taking time away from my keyboard and get caught up in housework and errand running.

Why are you looking at me like that?

Ok, fine, I'll tell the truth.

I went to Disneyland.

It was my birthday, after all.  And I hadn't been in almost 2 years!!  For normal people, that wouldn't be a big deal, but for me... Well, if you know me at all, you know I've been chomping at the bit to get there.  For me, it truly is the Happiest Place on Earth and I must go at least once a year.  I hadn't been able to go since I found out I was pregnant (amusement parks aren't really "fetus friendly").   Then once you have a baby, time flies and before you know it, it's 18 months before you've been to the land of the Mouse.

So my wonderful husband took me last Sunday for my birthday.  And what a fabulous present!  We got to ride all the fun rides - Indiana Jones is the best, eat junk food, and stay out late (the munchkin stayed home with Grandma).

That's probably why I now have a cold.

New(er) parents aren't used to such activity.  They stay close to home so the baby can take naps.  The only lines they stand in are at the grocery store or Babies R Us, and those lines never take 45 minutes.  They're used to bedtime by 9:00pm.  They're used to well-rounded meals, not corn dogs and churros.

Oh, the churros....

Of course, if I had a churro right now I wouldn't know it, as my head is so stuffed that I can't taste anything.  I'm limited to chicken soup and "Emergen-C".  Which, by the way, has the uncanny characteristic of being the only thing that can reach my taste buds.  And so not in a good way.

Despite the fact that my head feels like it's in a vice, I have to carry a box of Kleenex with me throughout the house, and everything I touch is covered in hand sanitizer, I have vowed to resume my blogging.  Besides, if I really am being punished for not writing, the sooner I get back to it, the sooner I can kiss my husband on the lips.

He'll only kiss my forehead when I'm sick.

Tres, romantique.

Baby Food Blues

I have hit a wall with my son.  My adorable, perfect, make-you-smile-all-the-time little munchkin.

He will not eat finger foods.

He's at the age where you're supposed to start introducing finger foods, so he can feed himself, become more independent, make a bigger mess.... It's not going the way I hoped. 

I admit, I have cried about it.

 Out of frustration, of course. 

I'm not some weepy chick.

Well, maybe a little.

Zach has never had a problem reaching any milestone.  In fact, many of them happened early.  Since he was born he's been an overacheiver, lifting his head, sitting up, getting teeth.  When it came time to start giving him solid food, he ate every pureed fruit, vegetable, and cereal with enthusiasm.  Now that it's time to foray into feeding himself with chunkier versions of his favorite foods, it's a "no go."

When we first started with the Stage 3 foods -- You parents know what I'm talking about.  The jarred stuff that has little chunks to help transition from pureed to big kid meals -- Zach gagged every time.

And I mean gagged.

It was horrible watching him get all watery-eyed with his tongue sticking out.  Not good at all for the nerves.  Or my heart, as I am sure it stopped several times at the beginning when I thought he was actually choking.  But after lots of trial and error (and more than a few days of running the food through a seive), Zach finally started eating without gagging.

Mostly.

Enough, at least, to venture into the exciting world of "Puffs"!  And perhaps pieces of banana.  Or even totally mushy peaches.  Arrowroot cookies?

Anything?

Nope.

Zach refuses to put any piece of anything in his mouth.  He'll push it around on his tray.  He'll pick it up with his fingers.  But he will not put it to his lips.  And when someone else tries to put it to his lips, he grits his teeth and turns his head.  On the rare (count them - two) occasions that I actually got a piece into his mouth.

He gagged.


Have any of you experienced the joy (and sorrow) of Stage 3 or Finger Foods?  Feel free to leave your advice - I'll try anything!

The Peanut Butter Ones

Saturday was my grandpa’s 85^th birthday!  To celebrate, I decided to make him his favorite Peanut Butter cookies.  Or, as he likes to refer to them, “The ones with the peanut butter in them.” 

I love my grandfather to absolute pieces.  He is truly a wonderful man.  Although, he has a vernacular all his own; calling many things by strange and unusual words.  He does tend to get close in terms of sounds.  And whenever he calls a family member by the wrong name (which is often), he at least uses the name of someone else in our family.

In honor of Grandpa’s Birthday, I’ve decided to share the cookie recipe with you!  The recipe is by no means my own, but I’ve been using it for years because it yields truly tasty cookies.

Here’s the step-by-step on making my classic Peanut Butter Cookies.

I apologize in advance as this is my first foray into food photography, and I have noticed the pictures I use here are sub-par (that’s being kind).  I promise they will improve over time.  Just not in the time it takes you to read this post.

First thing you always want to do when you are making any kind of recipe – whether it be baking or cooking – is lay out all your ingredients. You want to have everything on hand so you’re not scrambling when you need it.  In culinary school we called this "mis en place".

Next, sift your dry ingredients together in a bowl that is not the bowl that goes on your mixer.  You don't have to use a fancy sifter, a whisk works just fine.

This next step is going to take a little time.  You're going to cream together the fats and the sugars.  Get them mixed nice and good.  Scrape the bowl and beater a few times during the process.  Ultimately, you want the mixture a light beige color and the consistency of soft serve ice cream.

Now here's where I share my feelings on those "Jars of Cookies."  You know, the kind where the ingredients come all layered in a jar with a nice bow around it and you just add the butter and eggs?  I don't like them because you can't do what I just did with the butter and sugar.  And you need to do that to get air into your cookies - makes them light and fluffy.  So, while those might seem nice to give as a gift, please don't.  Just make cookies yourself.  Then you can taste test along the way.

Back to our lesson.

After the fats and sugars have gotten nice and lovely, you may add the eggs and vanilla, mixing until well blended. Then you add the flour mixture that's been waiting patiently over in that other bowl.  Mix only until just blended - it's while this is happening that I usually add the milk.

When your cookie dough is done mixing, it's time to get to scoopin'!

I like to use a scoop for all my cookie baking.  It makes for similar sized cookies and more even baking.  It's up to you what size scoop you prefer (I use a #30 from Smart & Final), you will need to adjust your baking time accordingly.

I use a very high-tech gadget to make that classic peanut butter cookie design. 

Then it's time for the oven!  For the size scoop I use, it's about a 10 minute wait time until the cookies are perfectly baked to a golden brown.  However, if you're distracted by your son knocking over the trash can, and you don't get the cookies out in time, they'll be a touch darker than desired.

Of course, in our house, there is no such thing as cookie discrimination - my husband will eat the ones I don't think are "pretty."

But hubby won't be getting any of these cookies, as they have a special purpose.  Fred isn't the only one who doesn't mind if they're overbaked.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

Here is the complete recipe for Classic Peanut Butter Cookies

Ingredients
3 1/2 cups  All Purpose Flour
2 teaspoons  Baking Soda
1 teaspoon  Salt
1 cup  Butter
1 cup  Peanut Butter (smooth or chunky)
1 cup  Granulated Sugar
1 cup  Brown Sugar
2 teaspoons  Vanilla Extract
2  Whole Large Eggs
4 tablespoons  Milk

Preparation Instructions
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Sift together dry ingredients (flour through salt), set aside.
Cream together on medium speed butter, peanut butter, and both sugars until light and fluffy.  Add in eggs and vanilla extract. Mix well.
Slowly add dry indredients and milk until just combined.
Scoop onto cookie sheets. Press down with fork.
Bake in preheated oven for 10 - 12 minutes or until golden brown.
Consume with tall glass of cold milk.

Remembering

I was going to post something different today.  In fact, I worked into the night to get it finished.  However, when I woke up this morning and turned on the television, I changed my mind.

Today is the 10th Anniversary of the day our world was changed forever.  The day that so many innocent people lost their lives in a horrible act of terrorism.  The day when ordinary people became heros and our heros went above and beyond the call of duty.

As with everyone else in America, I remember where I was when I heard the news of the World Trade Towers being hit.  I was living with my Aunt Vikki at the time and she came running into my room to turn on the tv saying something about a plane crash in New York.  We watched in disbelief as the news station was reporting about the first Tower being on fire.  Then, even more shockingly, we watched the second plane fly directly into the next tower.

At first we thought perhaps they were re-running footage.  We could quickly tell, by the confusion in the voices of the reporters, that this was new news.  We were watching it as it unfolded.  Our eyes were glued to the screen.  It was unbelievable.

Much of that day was a blur.  What I remember more than what was on the television, was what was happening in the house.  You see, my cousin (son of my Aunt Vikki), was in Manhattan.  At the time, he played for the Chicago White Sox and they were in town for a series against the Yankees.  We didn't know where he was staying, or how close it was to what was now the collapsed horror that were the two towers.  Obviously, no calls were going in or out of the city for what seemed an eternity.  I don't even remember how long it was before we heard from him.

But we did hear from him.  He was ok.  They were downtown, but not close enough to be in danger.  They were stuck at their hotel, with traffic out of the city halted.  He said watching it on television was nothing compared to being there.  Dust from the towers covered everything.  It was like night had fallen during the day.

I admit that in the time that has passed since September 11, 2001  I have not given the event as much thought as it deserves.  I, like many others, got caught up in the trivialities of life.  I focused on my own events - I started a business, I got married, I had a baby - rather than focus on the lives of the people lost that day.  But perhaps that is how it should be.  You cannot forever mourn.  Life goes on.

That, I think, is how they would prefer it.

How to Lose Your Mind in 30 Days

We are nearing the end of the construction/landscaping that has been going on in our front and back yards for the past several weeks.

At least I hope we are.

Crossing all my fingers.

And my toes.

Uncrossing my toes, because that actually is quite uncomfortable to do while wearing shoes.

The idea of redesigning the yard was an exciting one.  It meant that we would actually have a usable space outside - Instead of a pathetic strip of winding concrete that was passed off as a patio without so much as a cover.  A place we could wipe off dirty dogs before they came inside the house.  Someplace for the little munchkin to play that didn’t have giant boulders every ten feet.  An actual yard instead of what we usually just referred to as “outside.”

That’s what we’ll call The Before.  When ideas flow freely and excitement runs wild.  When we sit around and say “this can go here” and “that can go there.”  When we dream of all the parties we’ll have when it’s finished.  When we still don’t really have any idea what we’re in for.

Then we have The Beginning.  Sure you anticipate the noise.  And you worry about how it will affect your infant son who likes to sleep until almost 9:00am (thankfully, no issues there).  But, mostly you’re still excited about what’s happening with all that demolition.  You’re cheering the removal of concrete, and the sound of tractors.  You’re enjoying the progress.

It changes pretty quickly.

You don’t know it, but The Beginning really only lasts a couple days.  Then it immediately becomes The During.  And that’s when you realize you had no real plan way back at The Before. 

I’m not talking about a plan for the design.

Or about the baby.

I’m talking about the dogs.

Our two dogs, Jackson and Greta, who love to spend the mornings outside chasing squirrels, became prisoners in their own home.  They would have to be hustled out in the early morning to quickly do their “business” and then pushed back into the house where they would remain for hours.  They could be let out again during the workers’ lunch break, but then shuttled back inside for the remainder of the day.

They have become quite melancholy, our dogs.  Staring at me all day with those eyes.  You know the ones.  Where they hang their chin low so the eyes have to look up at you and they adjust their ears in just the right way.  The look that says, “We’re doing this again?” It makes me feel guilty.

On the days when I just couldn't take their pouty looks (or the relentless noise of the jackhammers) I would load everybody up in the car and take the short jaunt to Grandma's house.

Loading up the car was in itself a feat.  First, I would have to pack up any food/treats for the dogs, as well as the diaper bag for the baby in case I was going to be gone for a while.  That finished, I would take the supplies and go out and open up the car.  It's the hottest time of the year and the inside of my vehicle is roasting, you can't just throw pets and a baby in it.   Then it was back inside to leash the dogs (thankfully they got used to this process so it took less time as the construction schedule wore on).  Once I had the pups loaded in the back, it was inside again to round up the munchkin.  Then back to the car, load him in, get in myself, and off we went.

I'm tired just thinking about it. 

I need a nap.

We've been involved in this whole process for over four weeks.  I've heard that the end is coming in a few days.  Looking at my yard, I don't know how that's possible.  But, as I have been saying all this time, "Have patience, it will all be worth it."

I don't think the dogs are buying it.

I bathe. Honest.

Some days I’m in my pajamas until almost noon.  Ok, most days. 

It’s not due to laziness or anything like that.  I have a good excuse. 

His name is Zach.

Zach is my (very nearly, almost) 10-month old son.  And for those of you who have (or have had) a 10-month old, you know what I’m going through.  You can’t get anything done unless they’re unconscious.  They crawl everywhere.  They pull themselves up on everything.  They are the most adorable creatures imaginable.  And they’re exhausting.

I think I am more tired now than I was when we first brought Zach home from the hospital.  Sure, we had to get up in the wee hours of the morning to feed him, but otherwise he slept all the time (and I did sleep when he slept – mostly).  He was cute and cuddly and immobile.  When you put him somewhere, he stayed there.  

Now he’s pulling up on the coffee table.  And he’s taking all the DVDs off the shelves.  And he’s trying to dump the dog food on the floor.  And he’s rifling through the clothes hamper.  And he’s trying to push open the shower door when I’m in there. 

The other day he actually unplugged the alarm clock.  Now don’t get all crazy on me, our house is “baby proofed.”  But, seriously people, who thinks the kid is gonna crawl under the bed?!

I have come to the conclusion that I can no longer get adequately clean while my child runs (ok, crawls) amok in our bedroom.  Which is why I have to wait until Zach is taking his nap before I can shower.  So…

Most days I’m in my pajamas until noon.

And I’m good with that.