Funny things kids say . . .

I was measuring my son's feet for new shoes with a measuring tape. He was hesitant at first, but then I measured MY feet and he was okay. He started asking me to measure his head, his arm, his hand. We were talking about how big his feet were. He then looked down and said, "I have a big wee wee. Can I measure my wee wee?"

Hahahahahahaha HA!

Funny things kids say . . .

My son went to bed last night at 5:30. He fell asleep with his regular clothes on, and even missed dinner. Then, he slept in a half an hour this morning. Sleeping in is a big deal for him, he wakes up on the dot 6 am every morning. We call him "Our little alarm clock". When he woke up, I said, "You slept and slept and slept little sleepyhead".
He then looked at me with a big smile on his face and said, "Mommy, I slept around."
Ha hahahahahhaha HA!

Why is it?

Why is it that just when you sit down the doorbell rings?
Or when you the kids finally get to sleep the phone rings?
Or when your in the bathroom and your kids decide its a good time to beat on each other?
Or when your trying to do bills and your sensitive child has a melt down?
Or when you are on hold, finally get a person and call waiting beeps?
Or you sit down to watch a movie and your kid pukes on the floor?

I guess my point is that my world is filled with constant interruptions. It seems like I'm always spinning in place. While writing this, I've been interrupted a dozen times. Sometimes, a little peace and quiet would be nice.

I play a little game with my kids called Hide and Sleep. They count, and mommy hides under the covers. It works for about 30 seconds!

No . . . I don't want it!

So finally, I've heard the dreaded words from my three year old. "No Mommy, I don't want it.". Lately, being the mother of two preschoolers has been very trying. It seems like nothing I do makes them happy. They are being very contrary lately.
Along with the contrariness, my son has been popping out with some very funny things. He fell out of bed the other day, and when I rushed in to see what shrieking was about, he lifted his tear stained face and said, "Mommy, I broke my arm! I need to go to the doctor. I NEED some TAPE!" He exclaimed.
Of course, I thoroughly examined his arm, but in the process he told me that he broke his other arm, both his legs, and then his knees. I told him I would give him some Mommy medicine and then he was all better.
I just throw my hands up in the air and exclaim, "Preschoolers!"

Take me to Taco Hell

I haven't' blogged much lately, due to the fact that I don't have any interesting things to say lately. HOWEVER . . .

Last night, on my way home from work, I got the mean mad munchies for some Taco Bell.

I try to avoid Taco Hell at all costs, but every now and again I have to have one. I feel some sort of calling for a greasy pile of meat slapped in a deep fried taco shell.

I have found memories of Taco Bell, going all the way back to High School. After working at Burger King every night, I would stop at Taco Bell on the way home and have two bean burritos. because it was the only place open. After staring at the back end of the grill all night, loading frozen chunks of beef and chicken into the grill master 5000, and then scrapping out the grease coated insides, I had no desire to eat a burger. The warm beans, wrapped in a warm burrito, eaten while hunkering down in the old maroon Ford Escort (it didn't have heat) kept me going on the long drive back to my home in West Point.

In college, we lived right behind the Taco Bell, in a shabby 4 bedroom apartment a bunch of us shared. Usually, after a night of frivolity, we would shamble over to que up in the incredibly long line of drunken students all after a late night fix of hot Mexican goodness. One of my favourite memories of that place was standing behind a really huge guy with a toilet plunger stuck on the top of his bald head. As he was tottering through the line, I really thought he was going to face plant it into the floor.

Fresh out of college, with my degree in hand, I started working in a large office building for evil masters. Just around the corner was a Taco Bell. My co-workers and I would scurry like little mice around the corner for our lunch break, and gossip about our witch of a boss, THE MS. SMARTT!! I used to get so pissed off at the Taco Bell, because it would take them 10 minutes to make your taco. There would be a group of pissed off people waiting at the end of the counter, sipping on Pepsi products, anger building as they were denied Taco refreshment. This is when I developed my trademark phrase, "How long does it take to make a fricking TACO!"

Apparently about 10 minutes.

So last night, when I got the Taco Bell munchies, it wasn't' just about fulfilling my need for hot meat in a roll, it must have been about reconnecting with my past. I mean, why else would I want to eat mystery meat at 11 pm?


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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