Here and Now Christmas

We had a very nice Christmas with family here in Kansas. There was a lovely layer of snow on the ground, making it quite festive. The kids got really spoiled this year, and I don’t even feel like I bought them all that much. Grandparents are great for spoiling.

As usual, we Millers are great at eating. For Christmas dinner, we served baked ham, homemade from scratch au gratin potatoes, garlic green beans, stuffed onions, and our traditional Christmas Jell-O. Scott really liked the Jell-O. Sasha really liked everything. I think she had 2nds on the ham. Scott ate peanut butter sandwiches.

I hope everyone had a nice holiday.

Here is a recipe I cooked at Christmas. My in-laws really seemed to enjoy it. We love it here at our house all year long. I usually add the chicken to it and make it the main dish.

Moroccan Tangine

1-cup chicken broth

1-tablespoon olive oil

1 can 14 oz diced tomatoes, undrained

2 onions chopped

2 carrots diced

1 zucchini sliced

2 stalks celery sliced

1 cup dried apricots, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 teaspoons ground cumin

1-teaspoon ground cinnamon

1-teaspoon ground ginger

½ teaspoon ground coriander

½ teaspoon ground red pepper

2 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro

1-tablespoon cornstarch

1-tablespoon water

½ cup silvered almonds, toasted

First, brown carrots in pan with tablespoon of olive oil. Then add onions, celery, zuccuni and garlic. Add cumin, cinnamon, ginger, coriander, red pepper, and cilantro. Cook until veggies are soft. Add diced tomatoes and chicken broth. Bring to simmer. Combine cornstarch and water in small bowl until smooth. Stir cornstarch mixture into pan. Simmer for 15 minutes or until sauce is thickened. Add toasted almonds. Serve over white or brown rice.

***Recipe note: To make this a true Moroccan Chicken Tangine, brown 2-4 chicken breasts in pan before you brown the carrots. Remove from pan before you start browning the carrots, then cut into cubes or slices. Add back into pan when you add the cornstarch mixture and allow to simmer with the veggies.

Horrible (Un)Happy Meal

My son got this horrible toy in his happy meal. What is that monstrosity you ask? Why it's Wally the Waterbug, from the new (soon to be) hit movie Bee Movie. Now, I know that you think it looks like a cockroach, because that's what I thought he looked like.
It is pretty disgusting to open up your kids lunch and find a HUGE cockroach laying on his back, or seeing his think black legs protruding from under the hamburger. I actually gasped, before I realized that this was his toy.
Maybe they should put rubber snakes, or big nasty fake poisonous spiders in their meals. Or we could have food allergy toys. The toys would be big giant plastic peanuts, fake slices of bread, Styrofoam hunks of cheese, and happy wind up shellfish that talk.
So as I stared at what is most possibly the worst kids meal toy ever shipped from the shores of China, I started laughing. Uncontrollably. Then I turned around, handed it back to my son, and said, "Here you go honey, have fun playing with this cockroach."
The funny thing, he looked at it and started laughing to. Maybe there was happiness in that bag of bugs!

Attack of the Hornets

Okay, I can't handle it anymore. We have hornets nesting in our walls somewhere, and they keep popping their little bodies out of the wall and dive bombing me while I'm trying to check my email.
I run screaming up the stairs, swatting and hyperventilating. One of my greatest fears is creepy crawly bugs.
I don't' want to be bit, and I don't want to touch one.
My husband is keeping his shoe handy so he can kill them. We now have a pile of the dead hornets bodies in the corner. I'm not touching them. I'm not even going to look at them.
We actually tried spraying hornet killer down the wall. That seemed to keep them at bay for a few days, but apparently the fatal kiss of death has worn off, because they have started to emerge again.
One came flying at my head last night. It then landed a few inches away from my computer keyboard. I went zooming up the stairs as fast as I could. My husband was just getting ready for bed, and he said he would kill it in the morning. So the hornet was locked in the room all night, and all day, because I wouldn't dare go into the basement where it lurked.
So tonight, I came downstairs cautiously, peaking around corners and into the dark spaces of the basement. I asked my husband if he had killed the little beastly, and he said he couldn't find it.
So I went to take a step towards my chair, and that's when I found it. I found it in the most horrific way possible. I stepped on it, in my socks. I felt and heard it's nasty little body scrunch under my foot.
So I'm going to have nightmares tonight, and if I don't answer your email for a few days, you know that I've spotted another one.

CELL BLOCK TWO

I was thinking today that sometimes it seems like being a parent of a two year old is like being in prison. Now, when I say this, don’t think that I hate my kids or something, because I don’t. It just struck me as a funny comparison.

For example, I am not allowed to sleep in. If my son is up, I have to be also. I’m not even allowed to lie down. He comes over, pats my arm, and says, “Mommy! Wake up!” In a very demanding manner. If I’m trying to dose off in the chair, he comes over, steals my blanket from me, pats me on the face, and says, “Mommy, are you okay?”

My husband is not allowed to wake up in the morning with the kids. If I even try to sleep in while he manages the kids, my son has a screaming fit on the door, kicking, screaming, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Needless to say, this is not conducive to sleeping.

Also, as a busy mom, I don’t tend to eat properly all the time. Sometimes it’s 1 or 2 in the afternoon before my stomach reminds me I haven’t had a proper meal. Usually, I eat whatever my son has refused or left on his plate. By the time I get it, its usually cold and dried up. Yum. Delicious. I'm sure prisoners eat more regularly than I do.

Also, like a prisoner, I’m rarely allowed a shower. I have to sneak off while he is watching “Little Einstein’s” and hurriedly shower before he notices I’ve disappeared. If I’m lucky, I can get soaped up before he notices. Then, he bangs on the bathroom door. “Mommy, Mommy! Almost done?” And then we spend the next five minutes having a conversation through the door. I have to give him constant updates on my showering status.

I’m not allowed to do chores without constant supervision. If I even think of turning the faucet on to do dishes, my son is there with his chair. He wants to help stir, help do the laundry, and help sweep the floor. Actually, he is quite the good helper; it’s just that I can’t seem to walk across the room without him attaching himself to my leg. The other day, he grabbed my hand, walked me into the kitchen, and demanded that I do the large pile of dishes that had accumulated that day. I told him that Mommy didn't feel like doing the dishes, and that he was more than welcome to do them himself.

Besides the constant interrogation let me describe the constant torture I endure as a mother of a two year old. In the morning, I sit down with my much needed cup of caffeine. Before you know it, it's be bumped or accidentally swatted out of my hands by the two year old. Thus keeping Mom away from her bad caffeine habit. Usually, I'm head butted at least twice a day. I've been bitten so many times I instantly move out of the way when I see the teeth emerge. If I lay or sit on the floor, this is an open invitation to stomp and climb all over my "old" bones.

Until recently, I was not allowed to leave the house without him. We have been working on this one. There are certainly times when I need to get away. Now, he just cries for about 10 minutes, and then realizes that he is just going to have to watch his movies with Daddy instead of Mommy.

I guess a two year old can be kind of demanding. However, being the prisoner of a two year old (and a 10 month old) is by FAR the best job I've ever had. I enjoy every day, even if I do compare it to being a "prisoner". I’m told that it doesn’t get any easier, but eventually one day I’ll get to catch up on my sleep. Until then, I don’t think I will qualify for early parole!

Bubbles and Art

I would like to take a moment to thank Crayola for making washable markers. While not perfect, they are a vast improvement over the markers of MY youth. As you can see, my daughter Sasha found one of her brothers markers. She crawled under his train table with it (that is her special hiding place). I saw her sitting under there, but I thought she was playing with her toys. When she crawled out with a cheeky green grin, I about had a heart attack. Luckily, after just a few swipes with a warm wash cloth, it was all gone. And yes, I did check, they are non-toxic.
Lately, my son has been obsessed with bubbles. Luckily, I discovered that I can pour water and copious amounts of apple scented dish soap into the bubble jar to refill. Then the bubbles are fresh AND anti-bacterial.
Like the yellow fish in the movie "Finding Nemo" my son shouts, "Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles!". Then he tries to pop them all!
Some new pictures of the kids have been posted HERE

Boxes Boxes Everywhere

If you had asked me last September where I thought I would be in a year, I would have never guessed Kansas. But sometimes life takes you where you never thought you would go.

That's where we are headed. Kansas. Land of Dorothy, Toto, and the Wizard of Oz. Flat rolling landscape of endless fields of golden wheat, and best of all, killer tornadoes.
But when I traveled the innumerable miles to Kansas, it didn't seem that bad. In fact, it just seemed like any other midwestern town. It fact, the small town suburb we are moving to is much like the one we are leaving.
For the forth time in as many years, I opened up the moving boxes. From Indy to Cinci and back again. Now farther west, towards the setting suns of my youth.
I'm absolutely positively sick of moving. I'm exhausted. In the entire 30 some years of my life, I've moved at least twenty three times. I'm not exaggerating. I just counted.
So you can understand how one would become weary of the whole thing.
At least I know how to move. From a young age, I learned how to pack dishes so they won't break, how to secure priceless family heirlooms between linen closet sheets and blankets, and how NOT to pack books. (HINT: smaller boxes are better!)
I was thinking the other day that I should become some kind of moving consultant, but then I decided I couldn't stand to look at another box.
I've become somewhat of a box snob in all my years of moving. Like most people, I started out begging for boxes from grocery stores or pulling boxes out of dumpster. I then moved up to procuring boxes from the company print room. (Still excellent boxes, if they can be had). Once, while in college, my roommates and I moved 1 block to a new apartment, so we just chucked everything into the back of my woody station wagon and cruised over with the mattresses on the roof. I had it especially easy, moving from one first floor apartment to another.
Oh, the good old days, when you didn't care if your desk got a few more dents. Now, my furniture costs considerably more than I paid for that woody station wagon!
Also, I've noticed that almost every time I move, I need a bigger moving truck. No amount of purging and yard sales seems to solve this problem. Of course, my packing is now for four people, instead of just one or two.
My first move, I started out with the wimpy 12 foot U-Haul. At some point, we moved up to the 28-foot Penske truck. I currently have reserved a 53-foot semi. The beauty of the semi is that we don't have to dive it.
My mom told me that I should get rid of everything. The problem is, I like my stuff. I like my comfortable old couch and well broken into bed. If I got rid of it, I would just have to get more stuff. That wouldn't be very cost effective, would it?

If you don't believe that I've moved at least 23 times in my life, here is a brief breakdown. I'm sure I'm missing a few moves in there when I was younger.

Indiana:
1. Lake house/apartment
2. Green house

New Mexico:
3. Albuquerque apartment
4. Bernalillo Apartment
5. Bernalillo Trailer
6. Bernalillo House
7. Madrid House

Back Home again in Indiana:
8. Fort Wayne apartment 1
9. Fort Wayne apartment 2
10. Fort Wayne apartment 3
11. Lafayette apartment
12. West Point House
13. West Lafayette Dorm
14. West Lafayette Apartment 1
15. West Lafayette Apartment 2
16. West Lafayette Apartment 3
17. West Lafayette Apartment 4
18. Indianapolis Apartment 1
19. Indianapolis Apartment 2
20. Indianapolis House

Ohio:
21. Cincinnati House

Back Home again in Indiana Revisited:
22. Brownsburg House

Off to visit Dorothy and Toto:
23. Granger Kansas House

The Replacement

New Mr. Bear (aka The Replacement) arrived today. With great haste, I opened the box. I was shocked at what I found. New Mr. Bear, in a pristine condition. His gleaming white countenance smiled up at me, his manufacturing tags standing crisp and at attention. I snapped this picture for prosperity. Old Mr. Bear, meet The Replacement.
Actually, Old Mr. Bear is resting comfortably at the old folks home. He is planning on taking up golfing in his old age, and maybe scaring hikers and panhandling for picnic baskets.
New Mr. Bear has begun work. He slipped in under the cover of darkness, and has not yet been identified as a covert agent.
I think New Mr. Bear will have an easier life. My son has pretty much stopped chewing on his toys. Maybe New Mr. Bear's legs will stay intact for a while.

The Saga of Mr. Bear Vol 2

The sad sad story of Mr. Bear continues. As many of you know, Mr. Bear is my son's lovely. He has had a traumatic existence. As soon as he was able, my son started chewing on Mr. Bear’s head and ears. He made a really great teeter. Unfortunately, he developed a nasty odor and an unpleasant brown appearance. I attributed it to the fact that Mr. Bear was becoming partially digested from all the slobber that covered his body. One could pick up Mr. Bear hours later, and he was still a sodden sloppy mess. Once those pearly whites came in, my son moved to the feet and arms.
I tried to solve this problem by soaking Mr. Bear in a variety of caustic baths. I tried using Oxy Clean, vinegar, Tide, and Shout. All these would work with varying degrees of success, but poor Mr. Bear would soon regain his lackluster appearance.
Mr. Bear (and my son) turned two recently. Mr. Bear has not aged well. His ears are threadbare and his legs are tattered. He is missing about 50% of his stuffing. It fell out of his legs.
I did try extreme measures to save Mr. Bear. I performed a rare and dangerous operation. With great care, I extracted the nasty hard stuffing and replaced it with nice soft stuffing. I then sewed up all his holes with precision. I think I took more care than a doctor in the ER.
However, Mr. Bear's fabric was so worn out and threadbare from constant chewing, that he soon ruptured again. His new stuffing became hard and flat again. As the days have gone on, I have watched with a heavy heart the rapid death of a much-loved bear.
Then I panicked. My son won't sleep without Mr. Bear. If he loses him in the middle of the night, I have to rush to the rescue and return Mr. Bear to his empty arms. If Mr. Bear simply disappeared into nothing, my son would be crushed.
I found out that a friend had purchased Mr. Bear from the hospital gift shop where my son was born. One day, I happened to be at the hospital for some minor tests, and decided to swing by the gift shop and see if I could pick up a spare. I looked high and low, and finally asked the volunteer. She informed me that they had stopped carrying that bear. She did tell me that it was made by Russ.
Upon further research, I found out that Mr. Bear was discontinued. I searched the Internet high and low, but all I could find was the same bear, but in pink. I nearly bought pink Mr. Bear, but decided against it at the last minute. I could just see my son throwing a fit because Mr. Bear was not the correct color.
So I thought about drastic measures. I figured I might be able to amputate Mr. Bear’s legs and then sew on new legs. I thought about going to the fabric shop and looking for some velour that matched. But each time, I didn't do it. I knew that if Mr. Bear wasn't exactly the same, my son might reject him.
Finally, many months later I searched the Internet again. Again, I found pink Mr. Bear, this time on Ebay. I was a little disappointed, and thought again of purchasing pink Mr. Bear. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the seller had a web site store. When I clicked over, I FOUND MR. BEAR in BLUE!! I made great haste to my Visa card, and immediately ordered the beloved bear.
Now, the challenge that faces me is this. I have to somehow sneak Old Mr. Bear into retirement. I'm thinking I’ll wash new Mr. Bear a few times and then when my son is sleeping gently place New Mr. Bear in his grubby little hands. Old Mr. Bear will be retired.
Will I shed a tear for Old Mr. Bear? Not at all. I'm retiring him to the quiet and peaceful memory box, where he can rest. Old Mr. Bear didn't need an amputation after all which I'm sure he is happy about. Anyway, he can always come out of retirement at a later date, if New Mr. Bear doesn't fulfill his job duties. I just hope New Mr. Bear doesn't mind being wet!

**NEW MR. BEAR ENJOYS A MOMENT OF REPRIEVE BEFORE BEGINNING HIS DANGEROUS WORK**

June Bug

The vicious and killer beetle called the June bug has attacked my roses. These distrusting creatures have a blue green caprice, and love to feast on the flowers. They are aggressive little buggers, flying with reckless abandon towards my head in a kamikaze attempt to keep me away from their prize.
I don't think June bugs bite, but there is something disconcerting about a wild swarm of June bugs descending on an unsuspecting person. I saw one on my sleeve, and did the hurky jerky pat pat dance to get it off.
I started out spraying them with a gentle mist of this product that is supposed to kill them. It just pissed them off. That's when they started swarming at my head. So I turned the nozzle to stream, and started blasting the little buggers. That seemed to take some of the pep away.
Apparently, I have June bugs because I have a terrible lawn. I'm sure it is grub infested. The person who lived here before us thought that weeds made an attractive flowerbed, so go figure. I need to get some more poison to spread around.
Unfortunately, with kids you have to be careful of the stuff. You don't want to apply some nasty poison and then send the kids out to play. It also can't be too hot, cold, dry, or wet. So trying to find the optimum time to do this is a trick.
Here is a picture of my little June bug. Isn’t she a cutie?

Don't CALL US!

My dad recently left on a trip to the UK. It's a trip that he has wanted to go on his entire life.
Unfortunately for him, he decided to fly with United.

I don't know if you know this, but United has been having a few little problems. They filed for Bankruptcy, pissed off the pilots and stewardesses by cutting their salaries, and laid off a bunch of people. Of course, they also outsourced everything to India.

My dad's luggage never made it to him. In fact, it is in some kind of bizarre luggage limbo. He flew United to the UK, and then finished out his trip on another airline. He can't even get a hold of a real person with United.

In desperation, he asked me to try and call them. Three times now, I've waited on PERMA hold. Once I was cut off, and the other two times I gave up. Their lovely electronic voice tells you to fill out a luggage claim form and MAIL! it to them. WTF!? In this day and age, I have to print something out and MAIL it to you? You don't have a system for taking this form over the INTERNET?

So I really haven't been able to help out my dad all too much. He has emailed me that he bought a few items at a discount store over there. I feel kind of bad. I'm sure when I go pick him up at the airport, he'll have all his stuff taped up in a garage bag. That is, of course, if United doesn't loose it again.

A few links about how terrible United is:

http://www.usatoday.com/money/industries/travel/2007-06-18-ual-service-usat_N.htm

and this web page:

http://www.untied.com/

Soups On

Home too early
the car parked askew
Home for lunch?

A silent no the answer
I didn't want to hear

I stare into the soup
The liquid depths a
mystery

Square carrots potatoes
and the occasional
pea mocking me

The empty Campbell's can
Red and White
Standing sentry
on the counter

Vegetarian Vegetable
forever burned
on the psyche

Jessica Miller 06/25/2007

Bohemian

The online dictionary defines a bohemian as: a person, as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices.

I've always had a tough time meeting new people because of my bohemian childhood. It's not that I'm shy; it's just that I don't feel like I have anything in common with most people. I've lead an interesting life. Once everyone who would be offended is gone, I promise I'll tell you all about it some day.

In the meantime, I'll give you just an innocuous glimpse:
In my teen years, we moved around a lot. We would just get to a place, and then we would move again. My shortest tenure at any school was Santa Fe Elementary, where I stayed just long enough to get a desk and my schoolbooks. I contend it was three days, my parental units say it was a week or longer. During that time, we lived in a house without running water. We got all our water from a pump outside. We were lucky, some people in that community had to haul their water from a well that was a good distance away in trucks. Because the lack of running water, we used outhouses and took baths in a barrel.

A short time later, we moved back to civilization. We returned to Indiana were my parents were originally from. My parents both enrolled in college, and attempted to make better lives for our family. In was weird to be the only kid in my class whose parents were college students. Invariability, someone would ask what my dad did, and I would have to stutter around for an answer. It wasn't that I was embarrassed; it was that he worked three jobs, AND was a college student. I really just didn't know how to answer. He was a night desk clerk, rented plant gardener, and green house dude. In his spare time he studied a lot.

It's the same thing when people ask me where I'm from. I usually just say Lafayette Indiana. But really, I didn't move to Lafayette until I was in 7th grade. The years before that are a blur. I really don't call anyplace "home". Although if pressed, I say that I "grew up" in New Mexico. I'm really jealous of my husband, who lived in the same house almost his ENTIRE life. He never changed schools EVER! His parents still live in the same house they built in 1976!

Another reason I have never really "fit in" is that I was probably the most well read kid in my school. I would snitch my parent’s novels from their bookshelves and take them with me to read during study hall. I became addicted to science fiction at an early age. I sure I freaked my teachers out when I came to school with Heinlein, Brooks, and Varley under my arm at the young age of 13. One teacher asked me if I thought "The World According to Garp" might be a little to mature for me. I just shook my head and kept walking. It wasn't until later that I found the sex scene between the mentally challenged man and the nurse. That was some interesting reading for a 13-year-old girl!

To this day, I'm an avid reader. My favorite classes in college were history classes, because I could read big thick books. Once for the fun of it, I took a speed-reading class. On the first day, I clocked 600 words a minute. Believe it or not, my dad reads faster than I do. We gave him a book for Christmas once, and he had it finished by noon.

So I think the reason I have a tough time meeting people is that I don't really feel like I have a lot in common with people. Now that I have kids, it's a little easier, because at least we have that common ground to talk about.

I still find myself cringing when someone tells me contradictory information about parenting. I want to yell, "Hey, I read the book!" When someone tells me to rub whiskey on my baby's gums. But usually I just smile, nod my head, and pretend to listen.

What can one say to a neighbor who thinks that the moon landing never happened, that's it's okay to eat fish out of a contaminated river, and that George Bush is the best thing that ever happened to this country (sorry if your a fan)? Maybe my problem is that Indiana is one of the most conservative states, and I really just can't relate sometimes. Maybe I'm not a bohemian in the traditional sense, I don't wear bedsheets or put flowers in my hair, but in some ways, my mind will always be tainted by a hint of bohemian.

I think I'll just take my liberal mind and go home. I have another book to read.

Oh, and don’t forget to look for my novel in bookstores in about twenty years!

The Midnight Gardener

The midnight gardener

Roams alone

Through the rustic wonder of night

The moon shines down as the world

Goes to sleep

Illuminating the world in soft grays

And muted colors

With rake shovel and hoe

Instruments of death

Weeds falling to the slaughter

Hiding behind shadows to escape

Solace surrounds me as I bring life

To this world

Create color out of brown mud

Sound fills the air,

An owl or a coyote in the distance

A cricket’s chirp, a friendly sigh in a welcoming ear.

I am a midnight gardener.

Jessica Miller Spring 2007

Smells Like New Car

Years ago, when I was still young and more in touch with my hip side, I vowed I would never ever drive a mini-van.

However, a decade and two kids later will make you change your mind real fast.

Yes, I know. I'm a married thirty something with two kids living in the suburbs. But really, once you have two kids, you need the mini van

My "new to me" mini van was delivered today, and I can't wait to drive it. It's a sleek sporty sliver color. My old car was "spruce green." I was really getting sick of that color. It seemed okay when I bought it, but three years later, the green really wears on you. It reminded me of a big green booger.

I thought the family size sedan was going to work. And it did, until we added the baby. Once the baby was added, and two car seats, the sedan became a little too cramped. With both myself and my husband near six feet tall, we ran out of legroom, and headroom, and moving room. Don't get me wrong; the kids had plenty of room in the back. But because the seats can't touch the back of the front seat, we were pushed uncomfortably close to the dash.

Now with the new wheels, we will all be able to have breathing room. Or at least room to sit without our knees being bashed against the dash. I'll also have plenty of room for the double stroller and groceries. I know, I know, I'm such a stereotype, but you know what? If nothing else, it's a comfortable life!

A real conversation Vol !

This conversation actually took place. This is not fiction. Names may have been changed to protect the innocent, or the really stupid.

Scene: Wendy's drive through.

Time: Noon

Starring:

Me: A harried mother of two on the go. Wearing a lovely new shirt, now covered with drool, spit up, and muddy spots.

Employee: A witless moron type, wearing the requisite Wendy’s attire, complete with moronic look on face.

Me: Hello. I would like to order a chicken nugget kids meal, with white milk and a fruit cup.

Employee: We don't have fruit cups.

Me: Oh, I thought you did. What do you have?

Employee: I don't know, let me check (Pause). We have orange slices.

Me: (confused) I think that will work.

My question is, isn't a fruit cup and a cup of orange pieces the same exact thing? And why did you have to check, don't you work there? Also, they forgot the kid’s toy in the meal. What a bunch of amateurs!

Mult-task

I am the soon to be annouced new Queen of the Multi-Task! Tiara please! Roses please!

Things I can do at the same time:

1. Feed a baby and Feed myself

2. Burp a baby and put together a toy for my two year old

3. Work and watch tv, write my blog, and pay bills, all at the same time.

4. Drive and eat, while singing crazy children's songs to calm down my kids.

5. Drive and feed my daughter a bottle, in the back seat (I have really long arms!)

6. Wait for doctor at the office and finish reading whatever book I'm into at the time.

7. Do dishes or cook, and talk on the phone to friends and family

8. Grocery shop and entertain kids at the same time

9. Vac the floor and dance with my two year old and the same time

10. Rock a baby and relax at the same time.

Notice all these involve kids. I've determined that if you have kids, you HAVE to mult-task. You can't survive if you don't. I think once you become a parent, that part of you kicks into high gear.

So I'm waiting for my diamond encrusted tiara to arrive. It should be here soon. In the meantime, I think I have something elese to do!

Dirty little boys

I've noticed that my little boy gets dirty in every way possible. He is a little dirt magnet. If it's not dirt, then it's whatever he happens to be eating.
He refuses to wear a bib. In fact, he hasn't worn one since he's been about a year old. One day, he just started savagely tearing them off and shouting, "NO"! If you even come near him with a bib, he starts flailing his arms wildly. He is a pretty neat eater, so this usually isn't a problem. If he eats something really messy, we just take his shirt off.
His being a neat eater actually has its downsides. He hates getting his hands dirty, so he will just poke at his food. He sometimes makes nasty faces at his dirty hands and holds them out to me to clean. If I'm not fast enough, he will wipe them on his clothes.
He loves the sand box. He hopped right in, and started getting dirty right away. I wasn't getting dirty enough for him, so he grabbed my hand and plunged it into the dirt.
He loves to "help" me wash dishes. If I even think of turning the water at the sink on, he starts scooting the chair over. He gets up on the chair and plays in the water, usually dumping large glasses of water all over him and the floor. Today, I gave him a dishrag and he helped me clean up the puddles on the floor. He thought it was great fun. Then he ran into the utility room and hauled out the broom. He started sweeping the floor.
That's when I decided that this kid thing was going to work out okay. Now, if I can only get him to clean bathrooms and vacuum, then I'll have it made!

The house of pestilance

My house is a house of pestilence. The kids are sick, and the parents are sick. Which is not a good combination.

My son started it all. He got the stomach bug last week. The first day he got it, I was picking up my mom. As she got into the car, I heard a retching sound from behind me. I said, "Please tell me that he just didn't throw up." My mom promptly told me that he was covered from head to toe. When we got home (a good 25 minute drive) we stripped the little boy down in the driveway and I literally hosed him and his car seat off. Luckily, it all stayed in the car seat. All I had to do was unlatch the seat from the anchors, manhandle it out of the car, and then figure out the puzzle of how it was all attached. Then I threw everything in the wash. Since that day, I have been running the washing machine constantly. My son seemed better, but then he started throwing up in his bed every night. That's fun to clean up. Then we had a whole day where it SEEMED like he was getting better. But then the next thing I knew, I was starting at him watching poo run down both legs onto my carpet. I grabbed a handy nearby blanket, wrapped him in it like a burrito, and threw him in the bath.

Just when things were getting calmed down with him, my husband and I both caught this pestilence. For us, it was just a 2-day thing. But we were down for the count. I could barely get out of bed on Saturday, and Jeff couldn't get out of bed on Sunday.

Then the baby caught the germs. She is throwing up like crazy. She just gave me a puke bath earlier. Mind you, I had just had my evening shower, and I had to get right back in again.

So today I bleached everything. Every spot that anyone could conceivably touch. Every countertop, tabletop, light switch, and doorknob. Hopefully, that chases the bugs away.

On a good note, sometimes kids really make the rain clouds go away. I was explaining thunder and rain to my son today as a storm system moved through our area. I told him that thunder and lighting let the rain come, and the rain makes the trees and grass green. You know what he looked at me and said . . .?
"Cool"

A (not so) far away land

There is a land, not so far away, that you don't need a passport to visit. You don't need air miles, or even an overnight bag to visit. Where is this exotic and foreign place?
I'll give you a tiny hint. The most prolific wild animal is the tame dust bunny. It shares its natural home with wheat bread and hamburger buns.
The land I'm referring to is the land of confiscated toys. My little piece of paradise happens to be found on the top of my Whirlpool refrigerator. Sometimes, in other places, this land can be found in drawers and closets. Remember, this magical place can be found in ANY home with children.
When I was a child, our land of confiscated toys was in my parent’s closet. Sometimes our Atari or later our Nintendo would disappear into it's depths for weeks at a time.
There are several toys in the land at the moment. They tend to fall into three categories. The first, and most important, are toys that are incredibly annoying to parental units. These toys are hidden in the hopes that the child will forget it ever existed. The second category is toy that your child has been grounded from. For example, my son likes to throw his trains across the room when he gets frustrated. Therefore, I have at times three complete trains on top of my refrigerator. Engine, freight cars, and caboose, it's all up there! It is a very colorful addition to my black appliance.
The third is possibility dangerous small toys that you child might grow into at a later date. As soon as my son opens a package, this mean mom is quickly hiding all the small accessories that come with it. Right now, I have several happy meal toys that are not quite appropriate for two years olds up there.
What's in your land of confiscated toys? Keep in mind you can also apply this theory to pets and clueless spouses!

Handy Manny

I did several things today that I'm really proud of. Just thought I would share . . .
The first thing I did was to figure out how to strip down my Kirby vacuum cleaner and attached the carpet cleaner that I have never used. I have never used it because it's pretty complicated to attach it all to the vacuum. I had to do this because my son puked all over the brand new carpet in the family room. Luckily, it came out and the solution left a pleasant scent. As I was stripping the carpet cleaner back down, cleaning out all the associated bits, and turning it back into my kick ass vacuum cleaner, my son threw up again on the carpet. That will teach me to get ahead of my self.
The second thing I did today that I am proud of is that I cleaned up all that puke without puking myself. Gross . . . But I think the ability to suppress the gag reflux is a mom thing.
The third thing I did today that I am proud of is that I stripped down my sewing machine, cleaned it all out, and oiled it using only the shoddy instructions from Singer.
Do I smell a career in small appliance repair in my future? Maybe. And I apparently don't even need to take a mail order course!

Sleep

Sleep seems to be in a short supply lately. Of course, with a new baby, you sort of expect not to get any.
Lyrics from a Barenaked Ladies song keep running through my mind, "Sleep - never gonna get it. Sleep - tell me what's that for? Sleep -- be happy with what you’re getting . . . "
My daughter has her days and night's mixed up. It started out with some wicked colic and gas. Now that we have her past that, she just doesn't want to sleep in her bed.
I've tried almost everything. Books about baby sleep line my room. I'm single-handedly contributing to the New York bestseller's list. My old standby, Ms. Gina Ford, English nanny and sleep expert hasn't even solved the problem.
The problem is that the baby just resists any type of schedule. My son is completely the opposite. He loved his schedule from the first day he came home. In fact, you attempt to deviate from it, and your going to hear about it.
My son is a champion sleeper. due in part to the above mentioned Ms. Gina Ford. Her book, "The New Contented Baby Book" is a wonderful thing. I'm just hoping that at some point, my daughter will be able to adjust to a better schedule, and Mommy will be able to get some much needed shut eye.

In other news, I'm going to be starting a new job. I will be working from home for a marketing company taking orders and handling customer service inquiries. It will be perfect for me, because I can set my own hours and dates I work. I can work just a few hours a week, and exercise my brain just a little bit. Plus, I'm going to be earning a little bit of mad mommy money. I've finished the training, and look forward to starting soon. They just have to do a background check, to make sure I'm not a credit card thief or a convicted felon. I probably won't be doing a lot of it at first (see above about sleep deprivation) but it's good to have something to do when I want to.

Joy

I have a poster that has some kitschy sayings on it. My favorite line on this poster has really reverberated in my life and has stuck with me a while.
The line is, "Don't postpone joy to clean the bathroom or scrub the kitchen sink."
For some reason, this line goes through my head a couple times a day. Even before I had children I held on to this saying.
I think the reason it means so much to me is that it is an easy way to say, "Hey, slow down, enjoy life, don't get worried about stupid sh*t."
I tend to get uptight and obsessive about things sometimes. I enjoy a clean, uncluttered home. However, the ideal picture of perfection is not always attainable.
Let's put it this way. When I was working, I could come home from work and stress about the unwashed laundry and dirty kitchen, or I could sit down and have a nice chat with my husband about his day.
On the weekend, I could spend all day scrubbing floors and toilets, or go for a nice walk and enjoy the sunshine.
Now that I have children, this is even more important. I can vacuum floors, or color with my son. I can dust cabinets, or snuggle with my newborn.
I always kid one of my good friends. It seems like she is always ironing or getting ready to iron her fresh laundry. I kid, "Ironing? What's that?" I retired my iron a long time ago. If it needs ironed on a daily basis, I don’t' buy it. My husbands work clothes go to the cleaners. It's just a few bucks a month, and the time I save by not ironing is invaluable to me. If I win the lottery, I'm having a cleaning person come four times a month, just to clean bathrooms.
It's a good thing we like to entertain friends and family. If we never had vistors, my house wouldn't get cleaned as often. In fact, I told my husband the other day to invite a co-worker to our house, just because I needed an excuse to clean.
Which is not to say that I never clean. My philosophy is just this, if you are in the moment enjoying shared time, it isn't necessary to jump up and do housework.
If I'm doing dishes, and my son brings me a book that he wants me to read, I usually put the dishrag down and cuddle in with him.
If I'm putting clothes in the laundry and my son wants my attention, we play a fun game of sock basketball.
It's all in how you spend your time. Remember not to postpone joy. We only live once. If you die tomorrow, does it really matter if the bathrooms are clean?

Tater Head

As all of my family knows, I have a love of potatoes. My dad used to say that I was probably Irish in a previous life.

As a child, I used to eat them raw, with just a little salt sprinkled over them. At an early age, I perfected the perfect hashbrown. Golden fried in butter, soft and white on the inside.
Strangely, it wasn't until I was older that I discovered other types of spuds. I now love parsley buttered red potatoes, crusty rosemary roasted Yukon’s, and baked sweet potatoes heaped with brown sugar and butter.

My brother-in-law loves my Hashbrown Casserole, made with hot sausage and frozen prepared hashbrowns, baked with a sour cream and cheese base. He paid me a dear complement when he declared, "You make the best hashbrowns."
My husband is a big fan of the Hot German Potato salad. It has about a pound of bacon in it, and it tastes better if you don't drain off all of the bacon fat. Not the healthiest dish, but very good. The German heritage in my blood approves. Now all you need is a good pilsner. Hey, that's what a German Fest is for, right?

If there were a potato recipe contest, I would enter it.

In fact, I think my mother-in-law thinks I'm a little odd. Every time she asks, "What's for breakfast?" I reply, "Hash browns, of course." Sometimes we do have potato pancakes.
As much as I love potatoes, I really hate peeling them. The drudgery of it all gets to me. I could never peel potatoes for a living.

Have you ever picked a potato from a garden? Actually, they grow underground. When you dig them up, they are unpleasantly dusty and dirty.

One potato I haven't tried is the purple potato. They look interesting. I bet they would make a garish potato salad. If I ever see one in the store, I'll buy one and let you know how they taste.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I had a craving for potatoes. At one point, it was all I could eat without getting sick. I kidded around that I would name him Tater. Funny enough, mashed potatoes are his favorite dinner. With my second, I craved Salt and Vinegar Potato chips, which my husband kept taking away from me. He didn't think they were very healthy for the baby or me.

One of my son's favorite toys is Mr. & Mrs. Potato head. Now, you can buy all sorts of alternative outfits for them. I just bought the safari outfit, which comes with a monkey, an elephant, and a bird costume. It's too cute. He learned his body parts that way. I would hand him Mr. Tater heads nose, and he would put it in the correct spot. They also have a princess outfit I'm considering buying for Mrs. Potato head. Every girl deserves to be treated like a princess by her Spud in shining armor.
So what's for lunch? I'm having potato soup!

How to freeze your butt off

It has been freezing cold here in Indianapolis. So cold in fact, that you can leave your drink in the car and it will freeze into a solid chunk of ice. I am very glad we moved and got a garage so I can keep my car from freezing into a giant green colored ice cube.
The thermometer has been hovering around 0. Today, with the wind chill, it was in the negatives. It was the kind of cold you can't outrun on your way inside.
So, braving the cold, I headed out for my bi-weekly shopping day. I go sans kids, which makes shopping day almost a treat for me. I decided to range a little farther from home today, forgoing my usual Wal-mart run in favor of a Meier run. Meier is farther away, but they have a lot more selection and some good deals.
The place was a madhouse. It seemed like every person in Indianapolis was out buying beer and Fritos for the big Super Bowl event tomorrow. In Indiana, you have to buy your beer on Saturday, because for some idiotic reason you can't buy any kind of alcohol on Sunday. Dodging around Colts fans dressed in blue, who were buying anything that was dyed blue, I managed to completely fill my cart with assorted household products. None of which were dyed any shade of blue.
So heading out of the parking lot, I about hit about 3 old ladies (dressed in blue), 5 men toting light beer in commemorative Colts packaging, and 10 women (in Peyton Manning jerseys) carting out tons of Super Bowl party supplies. I finally got my shopping wedged into the truck of my Taurus around my huge double stroller. I even managed to find space to tuck in my free commemorative Colts flag they gave me at the door.
As I turned onto the main road, I gave my sporty sport Taurus SES a little gas and chirped the tires, dreaming that I was headed to the airport to catch the next flight to warm and sunny Miami to watch the Super Bowl. But alas, I lack the proper massive fundage to actually buy tickets. Well, maybe if I took out a second mortgage on my house and drained my savings, we could afford to go instead of just going to a Super Bowl party.
A few miles into my daydream, I head an ominous thumping sound coming from the rear of my car. I glanced at the road, wondering if it needed repaved. Alas, the sound continued. I pulled off into a fancy subdivision, put my blinkers on, and popped out of my car.
The expletive that flew out of my mouth next can only be rivaled by my drug free pontification a few weeks ago at the birth of my daughter. I had a fricken FLAT! It was only negative who knows what outside, I had a trunkful of groceries, and I had left the cell phone home with my husband.
On a good note, I do know how to change a tire. Thanks again dad, for making me learn how to change a tire before you would let me get my license. It has come in handy now on two occasions in my life.
I buttoned up my heavy coat, pulled my hat over my head, and stared at my gloveless hands. (Sigh). I knew this was going to suck BIG TIME. First, I had to haul all the groceries out of the truck and place them inside my car. Then I had to haul the big double stroller out of my car. Next, I took out the false floor of my truck and prayed that my spare was in working condition and that I had a jack.
Luckily I did. After laying on the cold pavement trying to find the correct spot to place the jack, and then wrestling with the jack to slowly slowly slowly turn its frozen handle the correct way, I managed to use every bit of strength I had to break the lug nuts free. Then I had to man handle the old tire off and put the donut on. Finally, after loosing all feeling in my hands, legs, and butt, I managed to get everything done and everything back into the truck.
And it only took me 45 minutes of intense painful cold to get this done. Of course, I took just as long to warm up.
And that my friend, is a great way to freeze your butt off.

New Baby Girl Miller

Our new baby girl arrived on Saturday, Jan 5th. She is cute as a button. She came early, just like her brother, but she was a week older at 36 weeks.
Apparently, I have a problem with getting sick and having complications when I'm pregnant. With both, I had preclampsia, which is a bad thing. Basically, you can't control your blood pressure. It gets all out of wack. In the initial stages, it causes headaches; spotty vision then can progress to seizures and strokes. It can also develop into a condition called HELP, which I had with my son, which causes your liver and kidneys to shut down.
I was really sick with my son. They really didn't catch it very early, and I was working. I was kind of clueless. Finally, when they did catch it, I had full-blown preclampsia. It's a wonder I didn't have a stroke or seizure. I had to be on all these monitors at home on bed rest. When I finally had him, he was born at 35 weeks. He ended up having to spend a week in the NICU with some problems. I was a mess. A TOTAL mess. I was so worried and sick. However, almost two years later, he is a happy and healthy boy.
So when I found out I was expecting again, I was terrified. I took my butt to visit a very good local OB/GYN who told me that it was unlikely I would get the condition again. Apparently, it is more common to get it the first time, and then never again. He said that my chances were about 20% to have it again, but then he checked my chart and said that because I had it so severely, that I would have about a 36% chance.
So he said that really, there was nothing I could do to prevent it. Just try to be healthy, and not overdue it too much. I was told to "take it easy" at about 32 weeks.
When I moved, my new (well recommended) doctor told me the same thing. She began to monitor me closely. She got worried when I started showing some early signs, and then it seemed like I was there every day.
I was really worried I would have another sick baby. I behaved myself, and was on strict bed rest. Let me tell you, strict bed rest is really hard when you have a two year old who doesn’t understand why Mommy can't play and have fun.
Luckily, I had great help from family and friends. Without them, I don't know what I would have done. Special thanks to my Mom, who spent four days with us. She took excellent care of my son. He was really happy to have grandma, and I know she made the situation easier for him.
Thanks to my good friend Claire, who helped out watching my son when I had to make sudden trips to the doctors and for being such a good listener and friend.
Thanks to all my other friends (you know I love you all) who have been so supportive and have offered all their time and love to us.
Anyway, little girl Miller arrived at 36 weeks healthy and happy. She takes after her father. She loves to eat, and seems to be a happy and contented little thing. She got to come home with us, which was awesome, and I got to have all the newborn experiences that I missed out on with my son.

On a funny, ironic note, the new double stroller I ordered arrived on the same day as the new baby. It has been on backorder for six weeks!
Now I just have to get used too juggling two kids. It's going good so far, but my husband is going to be home with us this week. I'm dreading next week, but I'm sure we will get through it fine. Thanks to all!
New pictures are posted on our web site!