Food Issues

The fam and I went to Five Guys earlier this week and as Stinkerbell was ordering her burger, the cashier asked her what she would like on it. She replied "Ketchup, mustard, tomatoes, and a bit of lettuce, please."

"A bit of lettuce?" I jokingly asked her. "How much is that?"

And because we're a teasing family, Peanut Head piped in, "You know, they really don't have adjectives on the cash register keys."

We continued our banter as I asked Peanut Head to get my soda and to "please put a bit of ice in it,"  and "Stinkerbell, would you like a bit of ketchup for your fries?"

Quickly she grew tired of our joking and she spat "What?! I don't really see what the big deal is? So I said 'a bit' So what?"

"It's just funny, that's all." I answered.  "It's like when Zoe was in Kinderarten and she prefaced everything she said with  'Actually, . . '  It's just not the kind of thing that you normally hear kids say.

She rolled her eyes and continued eating her burger, fed up with the whacked out parents that she has to deal with every day. Poor girl.

Honestly, I feel her pain. I couldn't live with myself if I wasn't already me. Case in point, my dad is just like me and he annoys the crap out of me. Can't stand to be around him for more than a day. Love him. Can't live with him. Not even in the same state. He can't be around people without teasing them. That's how you know he likes you, he teases you.

When I was a kid he would come into my room in the mornings with all manner of noise makers to wake me up. After I shot out of bed he would screech "GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!"

Hate, hated that.

What's worse is that he still does it when I visit him. Every seven years or so, that's how often I can deal with my creator.

Anyway, this post was not intended to be about my dad and my resultant baggage, so change of subject. Sort of.

I've been collecting a few pictures to write a post about food issues. Not anything really helpful to anyone, mind you. Just meaningless reflection on my part.

This particular picture is an example of how Zoe eats personal pizzas when we go out to eat. She's been doing it for years. She pulls off a slice, eats everything but the crust, and puts the remaining crust neatly back into place. I have loads of pictures like this.

She's my neat eater, and she's serious about her food. Like her Mama.

When I was a kid I loved tomatoes, and I would eat cherry tomatoes right out of my grandparents' garden until I was about to burst. I loved tomatoes and I think I was encouraged by my grandparents' horror at seeing me eat so many tomatoes. I clearly remember them exclaiming to my mother, "That can't be good for her! How can she eat so much? You should stop her." I would giggle to myself and eat even more, relishing the feeling of tiny tomatoes bursting in my mouth, enjoying the look of horror on my grandparents' faces. I'm sure my mom was very proud.

This picture reminds me of the contrast in the way my kids eat. As a baby Stinkerbell ate with gusto, but she has never been a neat eater. Never ever. She leaves a trail that screams "Annika was here!" In this picture you can't see the trail of french fries that she has scattered around her because I cropped them out, but they're there. Zoe Bug, on the other hand, ate her first birthday cake with a fork, ever so delicately and tidy. Sure, I put the bib on her in this picture, but she let me. She's always been a neat eater. I just wish it translated to her bedroom. Gads, she's a hoarder when it comes to material objects.

Changing the subject again, but still on the larger umbrella topic of food, I've been making smoothies for breakfast lately and I love, love them. 

The Stink likes them too, so I've been sending her off to the bus stop with a smoothie in a travel cup, tucked into a baggie so it doesn't get all over her backpack when she's done with it, content in the knowledge that she's getting a nutritious breakfast that doesn't involve french toast sticks and Fruit Loops--what she gets at school when she doesn't eat at home.

What the Stink doesn't know, and you mustn't tell her, is that I sneak a handful of spinach into the concoction when she's off to feed the chickens. I have to be quick and hide the evidence before she gets back inside, as well as add enough fruit to the mix to bring the color back to a more palatable shade before she catches a glimpse. Wicked witch green is not palatable. The first time I did it she raised her eyebrows and asked me "What did you put in here? It's funny."

"The same thing as always, honey, except no cherries this time. Like you asked." I reply, smiling sweetly, that alone enough to put her on her guard. She walks off, suspicious, but sipping cautiously.

So the smoothies are going well, and I've dang near killed my blender in the process. We've had this same blender for at least fifteen years now. It's an Oster 12-speed, 400 watt deal, and it really does a great job at making smoothies. The pulse switch has been acting moody lately and I know my days with it are numbered. I'm hoping it hangs in there a few more weeks because I'm not ready to buy another blender yet.

I've been researching smoothie blenders and I think I'm leaning towards the Ninja, although not the one with a meellion accessories. Apparently the Vitamix is the Rolls Royce of blenders, but it is so not in my budget.

So, all you smoothie makers out there, what kind of blender do you recommend? And, do you have a favorite smoothie recipe that you'd like to share?

I'm a newbie here, and I've just been tossing things in, trying to keep the color a reasonably pleasant hue. Like I'd never want to add the cat. That would probably produce an unpalatable color.

Double Digits

Stinkerbell turned 10 today and I'm a little bit freaking out because my babies are growing up. Sniff, sniff.

It sure doesn't seem like it's been ten years since the Stink came into this world screaming and madder than a hornet on fire. In fact, she looked extremely angry for the first four months of her life. She had angry eyebrows and every time she cried they turned bright red.

Thankfully that didn't last and she began to look like a normal, pleasant baby.

From the get go, Stinkerbell was serious about her food. Just like her Mama.

She would have her mouth and both fists full of food and still she would be spray shouting "More! More!" It was alarming and impressive all at the same time.

Stinkerbell has always been her own person and she could care less what everyone else thought of her, a trait I tend to admire. I think she'll survive the trials of peer pressure.

The flip side of that is that she is extremely stubborn. She gets that from both her parents.

I don't know how Zoe Bug lives with the lot of us.

I put this picture in Annie's ABC album when she was a toddler, and it sits on the page for "A" is for artist. Little did I know when I snapped this picture that she would blossom into quite the little artist. She is happiest when she is spending hours drawing pictures, making cartoons, and writing stories.

Which is why we got her this for her birthday. She is over the moon happy about it.

I miss the days when I could dress Stinkerbell in girly things and she paid it no attention. These days I can't even hand her a pink shirt without her retching violently.

Which is why I so love this picture of her in her pink and yellow girly room. It's only purpose anymore is to serve as a juxtaposition to the person who sleeps in it.

Kinda like this. My sweet little princess.

This may very well be the last picture I have of her wearing something so girly. If ever I am successful in wrestling her into a girly outfit, she ruins the effect by walking around in it like a truck driver, belching and passing gas impressively.

That is to say not dainty and hopefully wearing underwear.

As much as I miss dressing her in girly things, I love that she has her own tastes and she won't be bullied by the likes of me.

Maddening as it is.

I love that Annie wears her glasses and she likes wearing them. So, parent of the year story. Another one. There are so many.

Annika's teacher has been telling us since parent-teacher conferences in November that we need to get her eyes checked and we just recently made that happen. Apparently it had been three years since her last eye exam and her eyes had changed considerably. My bad.

In our defense, I intended to get them checked last spring, but then we had that whole absorbed twin thing with Zoe and there went all our medical flex money for the year. In fact, we just got those medical bills paid off, finally.

Anyway, long story short, we're driving home from picking up her new prescription lenses and she's in the back seat, all dramatic and laying it on thick, or maybe it was real, who knows, but it felt like she was rubbing it in how much I suck.

I have guilt issues.

Anyway, how many times can I say anyway in one blog post? Anyway, she's looking out the window and exclaiming "Wow! I can actually see the bricks on the building and not just the color!"

I suck.

Yeah, I suck, but I love that my kid knows how to put me in my place when it's needed and deserved.

Most recently, I love watching Annika learn how to care for and ride a horse. For such a little thing, she has no problem getting the horses to do what she wants them to do. Although I still get nervous watching her pick a horse's rear hooves. I worry that she'll get kicked, but she worries she'll get pooped on.

Story of my life.

Anyway, Happy Birthday, Stinkerbell! Our family wouldn't be complete without you.

Negative Nelly Be Gone

That's right, kick that girl to the curb because I'm on Spring Break right now. Well, I've been on Spring Break. It's almost over. 

Before spring break, Karma kicked me in the butt and nailed me with the creeping crud that the girls and Peanut Head had. I was getting too cocky and boy did she show me.

That's okay, I'm passive aggressive and I'll exact my revenge. Never mind that she's a concept and not a person.

In spite of starting spring break still reeling from the creeping crud, I've had a fabulous, relaxing week, and I'm ready to face the last eight weeks of school leading up to summer vacation. I'd like to tell you that I've been super productive this week and cleaned my house from top to bottom, all the while decrapifying as I went. But I did not. In fact, I did zero spring cleaning and I'm okay with it.

I spent some much needed time in my kitchen cooking, and I finally learned how to make real chicken noodle soup, starting with making my own chicken stock.

I should be ashamed to admit that I always throw my turkey carcass away after Thanksgiving dinner, and this last Thanksgiving the Renaissance Woman gave me the hairy eyeball as she inquired "You're not going to throw away those bones are you? That will make a fine soup stock."

I told her that yes, I was going to throw it away but she was welcome to haul the gnarly carcass home herself if she would like. And she did. But not until she gave me a thorough tongue lashing for throwing away all the internal organs previously. My bad.

Check it out. Noodles. I made them. I know, so cool. First time making my own noodles without Peanut Head and the Pasta Maker.

Okay, weird association, but why does that make me think of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?

Well, maybe because Peanut Head is amazing. He has mad skillz in the kitchen when he applies himself. I would have enlisted his help this time, but alas, he is not on spring break this week. 

I did attempt to learn how to use the Pasta Maker attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer, and I even sat down with my Granny glasses to read the instructions thoroughly. Nevertheless, it was a train wreck. I finally resorted to the old fashioned method of rolling the dough out with a rolling pin and cutting my noodles old school.

Except that I had a brilliant idea and pulled out the pizza cutter to cut my noodles. It worked great, let me tell you. It was super fast. Way better than trying to keep up with the pasta extruder attachment, having to untangle noodles in love as they extruded.

I have nightmares.

I cut all my noodles long, and then when it was time to add them to the soup, I dangled five or six over the pot at a time and snipped off two-inch lengths with my kitchen shears. Best. Idea. Ever.

So now I know how to make real chicken noodle soup, no cream of chicken condensed soup necessary, and it really doesn't take that long. Well, hands on time anyway. There's lots of sitting and reading my book time while the carcass simmers and all that. That was super unpleasant, relaxing with my book. 

Besides cooking, I spent a lot of time with my sister-in-law, Marcia, who is visiting this week, and the girls. Today we dyed our Easter eggs.

This is our first Easter with egg producing chickens, and I couldn't bring myself to buy store bought eggs to dye when we have a me-e-e-ellion pretty tan eggs coming out our ears. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the tan eggs colored beautifully. This was like a double experiment for me because we didn't have our standard Paas egg coloring kit so we just used vinegar, liquid food coloring, and boiling water.

I love that they came out in these earthy jewel tones. The brown is my favorite because it reminds me of chocolate. 

Really, I think they look like Geologist's Easter eggs.

Which is why I couldn't resist posing them among some of Peanut Head's rocks.

This is Marcia. She hates us all now because we got her sick. 

I don't blame her. Peanut Head finally went to the doctor yesterday and his version of the germy gift has morphed into a sinus infection. Lucky guy he is.

Since sugar weakens the immune system, we thought this would be a fitting time to make Easter cookies.

Yay mess.

I mean Yay! Mess.

We'd deliver them to the neighbors except they'd probably throw away cookies made by Lepers.

Ah, the last bit of quality time spent with the offspring today. Mento bomb. Peanut Head and Stinkerbell were just a little too excited to set this baby off.

In the end it was a little anticlimactic because the soda had lost some of its fizz. That Stinkerbell, she lacks self control. Just like her Mama.