Call It What You Want...

The other day -- with school canceled and all of us needing a few things out of the ordinary -- I piled on a few special activities (including paying a couple kids from who knows where ten bucks to clean my driveway). One of them was ZIPLOCK BAGGIE ICE CREAM.

Place in one sturdy quart-sized zipper bag:
1 c. milk
1 tsp. vanilla
3 tsp. sugar
Zip bag closed and set it aside.

Fill a gallon-sized zipper bag with ice (or, in our case, snow) and sprinkle in 6 Tbsp. salt (I used rock salt and just put in "some".) Place the quart bag with the milk mixture inside the ice bag and zip the ice bag shut.

Shake. It takes about 10-15 minutes of shaking, and your hands get cold, so put on mittens, and, mom, plan to do the shaking yourself if you have a 5-year-old and a 3-year-old.



Remove the inner bag and rinse it off with cold water so no salt gets in your ice cream.

Serve and enjoy.



(The boys are getting excited and Adam is even done crying.)



Here! You want some? He actually shared a bite of his with me. (I also had some of my own from what was still in the bag.)



You can look at mine too. Don't think you're going to get any, though...

This morning, in a drizzly haze, we went off to the strawberry patch to pick.

We were assigned a row, and we went down to the end as instructed and started working our way back toward the parking area. Mark picked about 15 strawberries; Adam may have picked three. But it was fun, there was straw on the rows so we didn’t get muddy, and when it started to rain a little harder than the drizzle in which we started, we packed it in and headed out.

We ended with about five pounds of locally grown farm strawberries, which are yummy.

I won’t be in a jam tizzy or anything like that, but I consider it a fun activity.

Since it was rainy, it wasn’t too hot, nor were there hoards of people… it was a fun thing for the boys and me to do on a school’s out sort of morning.

Want to go pick at our strawberry farm?

http://www.spencerberryfarm.com

Today I threw a little something in the crock pot, and out came something I think I want to eat all night. Midnight snack? Check! Three a.m. snack? Yup! Breakfast? Sure!

They called it Slow Cooker Brown Sugar Pork Loin.

I prefer to call it Candy Pork.

1 boneless pork loin 4 to 6 pounds (the fact that mine was smaller might have led to a little extra sweetness)
1 clove garlic, halved
salt and pepper (not the 80s band, as that would be salt n pepa)
1 1/3 cups brown sugar, divided
1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar
1/4 tsp. cinnamon

Wash pork roast, trim excess fat, pat dry, and rub with garlic halves. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then prick the roast all over with a fork.

In a cup or bowl, combine 1 cup of the brown sugar, the mustard, and vinegar. Rub all over the roast.

Cover and cook in your slow cooker on LOW for 7 to 9 nours. Pour off excess juices.

Combine the remaining 1/3 cup brown sugar with cinnamon; spread the mixture over the top of the roast. Cover and continue cooking on LOW for 1 hour longer.

Yum. I might make it again. Maybe tomorrow.

Today was a big day for Mark -- and for his mom.

I was cooking beef stew for supper, a meal I knew would not be a hit with my boys. I planned to give them a little bit and then let them have "something else" -- cottage cheese, some leftover mac & cheese, etc.

Mark was off to Fry's Electronic Heaven with his Dad and Grandpa, and when they got home, Mark informed me that he was going to eat all of his supper. Grandpa told me that out of the blue, in the van on the way back, Mark announced, "I am going to eat all of my soup tonight." He was already planning his good attitude. :)

As I served the beef stew (recipe from the geniuses at America's Test Kitchen), Mark announced that it was YUMMY and he would eat it ALL UP. He took a big bite. And chewed. And didn't complain, though the look on his face said it was NOT his favorite. He DID eat all he was given. S-L-O-W-L-Y. One bite at a time.

"This is soooo good!" he said.

"Will you take another bite?" I asked.

"I will!" Mark said as cheerfully as possible.

(He has learned plenty from the story of "Pig Will and Pig Won't"!)

I loved the happy attitude he had, even when it wasn't his favorite food.

 

Adam, at 27 months old, is, to my mind, getting old enough to not be using a sippy cup any longer. He drinks out of a regular "big boy" cup just fine. He holds the cup just fine. The problem? Every single meal in which he has a regular cup -- no lid -- he spills it. Usually it's inattentiveness -- he's only two, he drinks from his cup, puts it down next to his elbow, then reaches for something and BAM! Milk is everywhere. But often, it's willful disobedience -- he dumps it directly into his lap. Then laughs. Or pours it onto his placemat (and everything else) and draws in it. Then laughs. Or flails his arms and hands around and knocks it over. Then laughs. Or splatters it on the table, floor, chair and window. And, yes, then laughs.

Comparisons are odious. Mark took to drinking out of an open "big boy" cup just fine, and we didn't have this problem, so I have no previous experience on which to base this.

Do I:
* Go back to a sippy cup and pretend he's still a baby?
* Clean up spills every meal and watch the steam come out of my ears, nose and even eye sockets?
* Use the cups with the built-in straw (you can use the milk coming out of the straw to "color" on your placemat, too, it turns out)?
* Start giving him a bottle?

What suggstions do you have as "rewards" for times he doesn't spill his milk/water? Once again, this is mostly to deal with the intentional spills, not the accidents, which will get better as he gets older.

Suggestions that yield actual results might win you some kind of prize... stay tuned.

alternately: Mark's ACTUAL Fourth Birthday

We made it to the actual birthday, and in the midst of several exciting things -- one of my very long-time friends from way back in the golden years came for a visit, and Mark and Tim went to a tailgate at church, among other things -- we did celebrate a certain boy's real fourth birthday... though the present-opening will have to continue for more days as he did not finish.

Daddy got him a Bob the Builder DUPLO block set. This was wonderful. This is what contributed to the not-wanting-to-talk-on-the-phone-even-to-accept-birthday-wishes (he threw the phone down when Grandma Sarah called -- sorry BigMama) and the unwillingness to open any more presents.

In showing his true character, he let his brother play with even the best present he got. Serious good brother points here.

Another birthday cake -- and though *I* didn't break the bottom layer OR run out of frosting (ahem!), it pretty much looked the same as last week's (except it was a yellow cake and not chocolate)... and it ate the same, too!

"Mommy, you forgot to put ICE CREAM!" Mark told me. Gulp, I thought. I don't even know if we HAVE suitable ice cream. We did. Mark was pleased, though he still chose not to eat much cake (like last week). He had TOYS to play with.

Adam, however, DID choose to eat the cake again. He was quite pleased with the frosting and all the joy that comes with attempting to pick off all the little sprinkles.

Guess since we have more presents to open, we'll have birthday again tomorrow. Wonder how long he can stretch this out?

Mark desperately wanted Grandma and Grandpa to celebrate his birthday with him, and since they were here last weekend -- and since, as the givers of the most impressive pile of gifts known to man or small boy as my mother is a true gift-giving addict (which works well for me, the picture of greed) -- we decided to let Mark have an early birthday.

He and Grandma made his birthday cake while I was at sewing, commencing the frosting of said cake the next day and living through the disaster that apparently is BigMama putting together a layer cake -- so that's why we never had layer cakes -- and madly attempting to get the remaining frosting to cover the whole thing (which ended up turning out fine. Frosting covers a multitude of accidents, doesn't it).

Then, of course, it was time for Grandma's big pile o'presents. I mean Grandma and Grandpa, of course, as he is certainly along for the ride. :)

Adam didn't want to be more than a few inches away from the man with the presents, hoping and hoping he'd get to play with some.

Mark was very good about sharing his presents with his little brother. Really impressive, since he's just turning 4. (Four! I have a four-year-old, as of tomorrow!!! GLEEPS!)

He also made the appropriate happy faces as he opened the presents and discovered the wonders that were inside. Look at the face in this one!

(Bob the Builder is a can't-lose choice!)

Then it was off to the famous cake that Mark worked so hard on:

He hardly ate any of it, owing to the keen longing he had to get back to his toys and play with them. But his little brother didn't seem to have any trouble tackling the whole cake issue.

"Yommy, Yommy CAKE!" says Adam.

We'll have more birthday this weekend on his actual birthday (tomorrow). But I have heard from some of my loyal fans that they'd appreciate a new posting since the boys started school three weeks ago and I haven't written since. (Sorry.)

 

My visit to London began at David and Amanda's flat in north London, where the nearest Tube station is Turnpike Lane (on the Picadilly Line).

They recently purchased this flat, which includes the first floor (upstairs in our country), a piece of back garden, and the overhead balcony you can see over David's head.

This is the scene at the Victoria & Albert's "Village Fete Goes Pop!" on Friday night. There were people everywhere, and booths with goofy games. I had limited success with the games, but did win at one, and had fun with many.

On Friday I took a walking tour of St Paul's cathedral with the people who do the London Walks. It was nice to get to see the whole place and have things explained... I even went up the 200-something steps to the whispering gallery above the cathedral (inside) with a great view down. It was a good way to spend the afternoon and kept me up and moving when I might have been dragging some.

This medieval bridge is from Eltham Palace, where David and I went on Wednesday. Built by Henry (VIII?) and leading to a magnificent Great Hall, which is the old part of the palace. The Courtauld family bought the place and built a lavish home in the art deco style, but retained and restored the Great Hall and planted gardens... etc. Nice place you've got there, folks. (It's now an English Heritage site.)

The front of Buckingham Palace.

This is my memorable photo from Sutton House, one of the oldest houses in London. Don't I look great?

David and I, ready with our tickets to enter Hampton Court Palace. Tudor Kitchens, here we come!

One of SIX fireplaces for cooking in the Tudor Kitchens at Hampton Court Palace. This huge kitchen only had one serious fire going, so it wasn't crazy-hot.

My umbrella got stuck in the maze, but I got less wet...

Amanda, in the natural light through a window at Hampton Court.

The gardens, Hampton Court.

(Can you tell that the boys are getting antsy for me to finish writing?

All the chimneys and the flag flying at Hampton Court.

Time to go back to London and pack to go home.

What a great trip! (And I'm glad to be home)

I am officially home! It was a long and wonderful trip, but I must admit I am glad to sleep in my own bed (even if I did wake up at 4 a.m. ready to go, which is why I'm doing the blog thing right now).

I've added photos to most of my London blogs, so be sure to go back to them and check them out.

A few extra photos are here:

This is from the "Village Fete Goes POP!" at the V&A on Friday evening. Bear with me for the dark photo, but it was David and I racing these battery-powered chickens. You had to flap your arms (and legs) as hard as you could to make the chickens "run" down the racetrack. David won, but it was close!

I know, we looked ridiculous!

And, just for Mer (and all my other friends who love Cadbury Eggs), here is a new candy bar:

It's a chocolate bar with Cadbury Egg inside!

Someone in my family is laughing maniacally, and he knows who he is.

On the way down the highway, we passed what would be my childhood's favorite animal, which I pointed out to the boys (who like all animals).

"Yucky horses," Mark said.

"Horses aren't yucky!" I objected.

(Pause.)

"Mommy, can you eat horses?" Mark asked.

"No," I said.

"See? They're yucky."

Yeah. I see.

Turns out that the boy who doesn't like fruit is getting better:

No cut-up pieces for me, thank you very much. I'll have it "in the slice," as Mark calls it.

And today, "Bite!" he requested as he walked past the bananas on the counter. Yesterday at the store they had the first decent bananas in a long time. (Apparently there was a bad banana harvest in the places where they grow bananas.) He ate his whole banana, from the peel as well, like a big kid.

And Mark.

Apparently Mark can raise one eyebrow.

This calls for a little story. Back in high school, when I was keeping company with a young man who was employed at the local grocery store, I met a classmate who could raise one eyebrow most dramatically. I had always wanted to raise one eyebrow, and the classmate agreed to teach me to do it -- basically, he told me I needed to hold one eyebrow down and practice in the mirror, which was fine with me, because I was vain.

Now I can raise one eyebrow, though not very dramatically, and not as well if I'm not looking in the mirror. But Mark can! (This was his response to trying a new food.)

In fact, no one in our house is.

This is me, making sure the kids have clean spoons and plates for breakfast. (I had to heat the water on the stove, and we don't have as big kettles to heat it in as we do at the Zimmerman Farmhouse.) I'm even wearing a blue apron.

The water heater went out -- it's been limping along for a while, but since we already spent our home improvement budget for the year, we hoped it was just being finicky -- right as Tim was leaving for St. Louis for a couple days. Last night he and the boys went to Sears and bought

but he was short some of the necessary tools, so the actual installation has to wait until tonight.

Brrrrrr.

 

Today, after they finished lunch, Mark shouted to me from the living room, "Is it naptime?"

I wondered if he was already tired. "I don't know. Is it naptime?" I asked him.

"It's only noon," he replied, as if I was a fool.

I glanced at my watch. 12:01. Geez. Too bad he can't tell time.

----

We took a little walk before naptime (it was only noon, after all, and Adam was cranky) and stopped off at the house with the rocks by the sidewalk. The boys love to play with the "rock lady's" rocks. Today, the Rock Lady's daughter was leaving, and she stopped to say hello. Apparently, the boys met her already. Mark even asked what she was doing there. I mean, it's his rock lady, after all.

----

I have one dress finished but for the hem, a daycap finished but for the ties, an apron and petticoat finished, and a dress bodice in process. I have another dress and daycap "on deck", plans to start another friend's stuff once her life settles down a little bit (and I get some of this cleared up), request for a corset for a long-time corset wearer whose corset is falling apart, and a project for another museum (but they don't need it until fall).

I have peely and blistery fingers and a great sense of accomplishment when I get even a part of it done. Like "Wheee! I just attached piping!" Simple things make me happy.

----

Then there's Adam. We played "ou-si" this afternoon and he collected sticks and rocks and dumped sand on the ground and wandered around saying "yuck!" and wanting his hands wiped off. He practiced saying "wwwwww-wock!" as he showed me a rock. He stuck a stick in his mouth. He ate dirt and sand. It was a good time.

----

Mark and I planted sunflower seeds from Grandma Sarah. Hope they come up!

----

Eh. Yeah.

It's spring.

Last night I promised Mark he could do something special with Grandma this morning. The first thing he said when he ran into Grandma's room this morning was "We get to do something special today!"

Grandma had bought a "cookie house" at Kmart (on Easter clearance, of course) and thought that might be a fun thing to do with a boy or two. I wasn't sure, except that anything with Grandma is fun...

Mark even agreed to hold the hand mixer -- the sound wasn't too loud for him -- to mix up the icing. Unfortunately all of the pictures I tried to take of Grandma grimacing at the hassle of loading icing into bags and such didn't turn out so well, and ended up looking like she was smiling.

Mark liked helping squeeze the bag to put icing on the house. Then he got to apply candy!

 (Can you see the tongue out in concentration?)

Mark generously allowed Adam to share the beaters from making the icing. Adam was having a rough morning, so this was a very nice thing for him to do.

There were lots of details to add to the house.

  and

When he was finished, he had a delightful little bunny house. I think he had a nice time with Grandma. And I didn't have to clean up!

There's not a lot of interest around here in crafty projects, unless it involves a needle and a piece of fabulous fabric.

But, in honor of Easter, we tried coloring eggs. With Adam, it was not a success.

But Mark had a nice time and made some pretty, if normal-looking, eggs.

In other news, Adam would like to share with you the following information:

If you grab the end of the toilet paper and run -- but not too fast -- you make a really neat stream behind you! And if the phone rings at the precise moment that Mom discovers that you've done this, you don't really get into that much trouble.

 

After I got back from leaving the boys having their lunch while I answered the Medic Alert call for help for my next-door neighbor who'd fallen, we finished up lunch, and I cleaned a little syrup from the floor.

Next thing I know, Mark has pulled his stool over to the sink and is using the long-handled pot scrubber to "clean out the sink".

"Would you like to wash some dishes?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he said. So I put some soap and water and unbreakable dishes in the sink, and he went right to work.

Yup. He did up a sink full of plastics while I put my feet up and ate bon bons (or helped rinse).

Where did he learned to do this? Grandma.

[Editor's note: After supper he decided again that he wanted to do dishes. We put the plastic plates, cups, and bowls into the sink with nice warm soapy water and he got started... and then Daddy came home and interrupted him. The NERVE of some people.]

For those of you with weak stomachs, skip today's post. Read again when we feel better.

Yeah. for some reason Little Guy didn't have much of an appetite at supper. He ate about half of a piece of pizza, compared to the three full pieces he ate at the same establishment's buffet a couple weeks ago. I was holding him while Tim went to pay for the meal. Suddenly I had an armful of, um, warmth.

There were two tables, one on either side of us, with moms who came to the rescue (and one dad, too) with all of their extra napkins. The waitress brought more napkins, wiped up the mess from the table. I removed my sweatshirt. Adam seemed to feel fine.

We came home. Adam continued to act fine. Tim gave him some Pedialyte, then his bath and put him to bed. I was happily sorting outgrown clothes when the little boy started screaming from his bed. I went in to check on him. Oops. Guess he didn't feel so fine. As I picked him up, I got to experience projectile -- um, you guys might not want to rhyme with "comet" -- for the first time, too.

So he is cleaned up, all of his bedding is in the washing machine, has new pajamas on, and is back in bed. Somehow Blankey Bear missed the excitement, so he does have his favorite friend. And his wonderful Daddy (who was also working hard at cleaning up) borrowed Mark's Blankey Bear "just in case" need should arise later tonight.

And we can't even blame Jonathan and Andrew -- they stayed home.

(I guess after three years and three months of being a mother, having this be the first time of the true excitement and only the second vomiting-sick is pretty good.)

Perhaps you didn't even notice I was gone, but I was... and now I'm back.

We had an extended visit to Laryy's Chicking Wranch while the Tim was off galavanting around Europe, and we had a few adventures, which means I have a few pictures to share...

So. We went to The Children's Museum of Evansville (cMoe), which was okay but didn't really appeal to my boys a lot. There were a bunch of nice activities for rather older kids, and a few fun little kid activities. And the scoop you see here. There was also a terrifying water activity room and a climbing structure that the decision-making boy wouldn't even look at. Oops. Maybe in a few years.

Mark helped Grandma make special cookies to measure how many days until we would go home and until Daddy comes home. Apparently someone forgot to tell him that three-year-olds are lacking very fine motor skills as he is completely adept at removing the cap from a bottle of food coloring, squeezing the right number of drops into the dough, and then putting the cap back on and turning on the mixer.

Oh yeah. And washing dishes.

And rinsing. Clearly Grandma was in charge of this activity. Actually, Mark was. Grandma was just doing what she was told. :)

The other news of note (no pictures included) was that we only had ONE bathroom accident the whole time we were there, and he only slept in a Pull-Up one night (clean). The only accident was when we didn't put him on the toilet one night in time. But. Wow. He's wearing big boy underwear to bed right now as we speak, AND in the car all the way home. Wow. I hate to make definitive statements about success or failure, but I'm pretty sure he'll start junior high completely toilet-skilled.

The other boy had a blast having Grandpa (also known as "DUM-pa", not to be confused with "DUM-pa", dump truck) around to play with. He walked around talking up a storm, playing with everything, trying everything out, not eating well (mm, shocker...), sleeping better thanks to the crib Grandpa found at a garage sale and paid for with real money... He had a lot of fun, too, and even gave Grandma some cuddles. Adam is nowhere the cuddler that Mark has always been, but he found a few big hugs for everyone while we were there.

And just in case you thought you'd seen enough cuteness...

Hey Ma, look at ME!

It was getting too long, so this is Part II of the trip.

Saturday morning, Tim and I both were off to see the sights. First, we had breakfast at Lefty O'Doul's (just down from the hotel). Again, basic breakfast, better price. Then we walked and walked and walked and walked... I am not exaggerating the walking here... about three miles (not measuring changes in altitude, as we ended up near the top of Telegraph Hill) to the waterfront, meandering along the Embarcadero back to Pier 39 for some hot chocolate and snack, then over to that bus company to take the Golden Gate bus tour. Hey, at least I'd see it this way, since the fog had not cleared sufficiently to see it before.

Along the way we stopped off at the Palace of Funny Old Columns That Really Aren't Roman Ruins, where I auditioned for a part as a maiden holding up part of the column.  They say they'll get back to me when they get an opening.

Then it was on to the Golden Gate Bridge. I couldn't wait to see the cool red-orange structure, right up close.

Well.

That, my friends, is the best image we got of it.

Across the bridge in Marin County, we stopped at the beautiful scenic overlook for pictures our ourselves with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

Yup. By this time it was quite sunny. Except on the bridge. So. Pretend there's a bridge in the background and ooh and ahhh.

We saw pretty and expensive houses on the way back (sunny, again),  and, once back to the bus office, had a quick Inn-and-Out burger lunch, set off for Chinatown, getting a little lost once again (that darn hill makes streets end!).

We got there, and headed to a "tea tasting" at the Vital Tea Leaf on Grant. That was interesting. We were treated to a tea-tasting that would be like a wine-tasting by the proprietor of the store, "Uncle Gee", a 75-year-old retired structural engineer who operates on the same principle Grandpa Arnfinn used to -- "I'm old and crochety and can say what I want." (I didn't hear either of them say that, but...)
My Chinese friends would probably giggle at our tourist-ness, but, hey, it was fun. And we came away with a nice blue tea and enjoyed what ended up being over an hour with this kooky old guy and these two guys who were in town for the big game and just stuck their noses in to see what kinds of stuff they had in a tea shop and left a couple hours later with lots and lots of tea. Reviewers either go wild about Uncle Gee and the fun they had (isn't that what going to a tourist place is about?) or get all up-in-arms about them selling inferior teas. I don't care. It was fun and we had a nice time. So there.

Then supper in Chinatown, too, though I have to say it wasn't all that great. But we all know I'm not a huge fan of Chinese food anyhow... unless LEO is cooking it, Andrea!!!!! ... but, it was a nice view and we felt like we oughta. Just maybe we didn't pick the best place. Oh well.

Sunday morning was breakfast at Lori's Diner down the block from the hotel, then a cab ride down to pier 33 for our trip to Alcatraz. We ended up getting on the 9 a.m. instead of having to wait for 9:30, which was good because we had a flight to catch.

Hey. Did I mention it was foggy? Yeah. The views were not to die for, and we didn't get the audio Cellblock Tour because our time was limited, but wandered the place at our own pace -- okay, Tim seemed to want to read signs like always... and saw it all.

Tim was mad to be put in a cell, but

Being in "The Hole" made me s-s-c-c-a-a-r-r-r-ed.

Then a cab back to the hotel to pick up our stuff, and BART to the airport for a hugely crowded flight to Denver, and home to Indy before midnight, and tucked away into bed by 1 a.m.

Whew.

The End.

 

Tim and I are back from our trip to San Francisco (Tim for work, me coming later for some fun)... The boys stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and regaled them with fun and, oh, yeah, a little bit of under-the-weather, too.

But, In the meantime, WE were off having fun.

I arrived on Thursday and spent a little time wandering around the Union Square area (where the hotel was), finding, to my joy, this lovely sight. Eat your heart out, Mel, Mer, Laura, etc. Yeah. It was lovely. I ended up with some ribbon for a bonnet I'm working on. And I didn't even get back to the fourth floor. Sigh. Next time.

Tim got to the hotel and we went off for a walk north on Stockton to Pier 39, the tourist-heavy part of Fisherman's Wharf (about 2.5 miles). We found a seafood restaurant, which was what I wanted, ate there, and then took a cab home, enjoying some of the steeper hills of the route.

The next morning, Tim was off to work, and I was off to the Pinecrest Diner for some breakfast, not interested in what the hotel had to offer at horrifying prices.

The Pinecrest was just what I was after -- typical diner food, nothing near $25 (what a similar meal, except with more garnishes, I imagine, would have cost at the hotel). Yum. I love breakfast. Then a wander about and, yes, a ride on the cable car down to Fisherman's Wharf for my bus tour.

This is the same sort of open-top bus that we took in London; a nice way to see the city and not have super-sore feet (more on that later). And yes, I saw all the sights:

steep streets (that's Lombard Street), a fog-shrouded downtown, a fog-shrouded Bay Bridge, the city center... etc. You get the idea. Got off at Union Square Macy's, had a snack (that turned out to be lunch) and then hit the SF Museum of Modern Art. All I can say is "I don't get it."

There was a blue fluorescent light mounted at an angle on the wall. That was art. Looks to me like someone didn't have his level. There was a string of lightbulbs plugged into an outlet in the corner. That, too, was art. There was a three-panel piece, all three panels painted white, no texture, no nothing. Art? Sorry to be dense. I didn't get it. All I got from that was the blue glow from the art piece next to it (the first piece mentioned).

There was also an exhibit that featured a super-fancy BMW stripped down and encased in ice. This was kept in a gallery where the temperature was 12 degrees F. Yeah. My nose hairs froze. I wrapped myself in the provided blanket and went in and looked around...

And it looked like a prehistoric crustaceon. Weird. I left off my blanket and went on to see the works of Joseph Cornell, who put weird collections of random stuff together in little boxes. Thousands of them.

From the SFMOMA: "A self-taught artist, Joseph Cornell relied almost exclusively on found materials. He collected items from books, newspapers, second-hand stores, exploratory walks — even sweepings from his studio floor — to create intricate, elaborate box constructions and collages. These enchanting works of art transformed commonplace objects into extraordinary and magical dreamscapes, earning him immediate and enduring respect as a sort of artistic alchemist."

Okay. Enough. For more of that location, see their website.

Then it was back on the hop-on-hop-off bus, except it didn't make the SFMOMA stop, so I speed-walked back up to Macy's, where I knew they would stop. They did. Back on for the rest of the tour, except they'd left someone back at the City Center, so we had to take a short-cut detour to get them, and ended up back at Fisherman's Wharf, where I went to the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park. I had a walking tour of the pier with a ranger and saw the ships from the pier (I would go back later with Tim to board them. Didn't want to do all the fun without him.)

My favorite was

 

The Balclutha. To learn more about this cool ship, see here. After that, I talked with their volunteer who is in charge of the historical clothing for the few costumed interpretation events they do. Yeah. That took a while. She thinks my Prairie is wonderful and amazing and fabulous. (Don't think she's ever been there... but the fact that I do costumed historical interpretation was enough to make her excited enough to almost wet herself.)

Back to the hotel to meet Tim, off to a restaurant recommended by the SF co-worker he'd been around all week. Unfortunately, we missed the turn and ended up walking about an extra mile (total due to the error: 2 3/4 miles; total had we gone the right way: under 1 1/2) but found ourselves at the Tadich Grill.

(This is a photo from the internet. That table, there on the left, that's where we sat.)

Huh. funny what you find when you check the internet. There's even a BOOK!

Then back to the hotel to bed. This is the night -- well, early morning -- that I stubbed my toe on one of my shoes and ended up with a black toe for the rest of the weekend. And now.

Somebody had a birthday today! Here are a few pictures from the day, with more words when people aren't waiting for me to play a game...

Mark helps Adam unwrap some presents in the afternoon.

Yummy cake!

Fun presents, shared with fun friends.

Happy Birthday! We love you!

First of all, it's happened. I've threated for several years to do this in some form or another (at one point threatening to get it for Big Mama and then ask to use it a lot) but now it's happened...

Gertie has become a part of my home. A lady in town had a whim and bought her a couple years ago and hasn't used her. She's advertised her in the paper a few times; finally, today, I saw her in the classifieds. $30 beats regular prices of close to $200, I think. So if it's just a whim for me, well, I'm not out that much...

And. Just when you thought it was safe to ask questions...

The other night I called Mark in for supper. As he came in from the family room, where he'd been playing with trains, he said, "I need a new diaper." (sort of like Grandpa disappearing into the bathroom when Grandma called us all for supper when we were kids and they were "dad" and "mom".)
"You do?" I asked, surprised that he'd even mention it. Usually he doesn't care.

"I can't sit in my chair with a nasty ol' yucky diaper while I eat," he replied. Duh.

Oh. Yeah. And Adam can go up the stairs.

Yup. Up the stairs. All the way up. (I'm not that bad of a mom -- I was right behind him. After about three stairs.)

Pastor Mom tagged me on this a couple days ago. After the computer ate my first work-in-progress, I finally finished it.

Enjoy...

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

So… My random things…

1.      I love to write when my brain lets me. My novels, all hard to categorize except under the heading “Jenny’s”, will probably never be published, but I write them for my own amusement. And they’re all better than The Enigmatic Fugue, the grand piece of literary brilliance several of us started many years ago, inspired by, well, a "great" author. (I still have it, in case anyone wants to resurrect it.)

2.      I have a compulsion to finish books once I start reading them. I almost never put one down without finishing it. But this week I did. I found this book so dreary, depressing, and dull that I gave up. I didn’t care what happened to these down-on-their-luck characters. Sorry Oprah.

3.      When I can’t sleep, I organize my thoughts alphabetically… verses and sayings, songs and song lyrics, names and adjectives. Most of the time I don’t get past the middle of the alphabet.

4.      Anyone who knows me very well already knows this, but I have a serious mistrust of the telephone. I don’t call people. It doesn’t even cross my mind to call people. If I think of it, I might do it, but I don’t. Is it because Big Mama has always hated the phone? Is it because The Dad carefully itemized the phone bill and charged us for any calls (plus tax and fees), meaning we had to admit when we’d called someone, which was more embarrassing if it was a boy (egads!)? Is it just because I’m a freak? Only the phone knows, and it’s not telling. (And this is why the pay-as-you-go mobile is a good idea for me. Except for the weird text messaging issue.)

5.      Yes, it’s true, my favorite stuffed animal that I had to sleep with every night for many many years was named after my brother (the Thief). Baby Brian was actually a series of stuffed animals, originally dogs (sans plastic collars and ears, which I immediately ripped off), but ultimately a ratty bear-ish animal that lasted some eight years.

6.      My favorite ice cream is raspberry fudge cordial. It is yummy. The Thief can attest to that, too, as can Mrs. Thief, and now that Big Mama can eat ice cream again, I’ll take her to Alexander’s and get her some, too.

7.      My favorite sound is hearing Mark and Adam laughing in the car, usually when we’re driving on a hilly road. The benefit of one facing front in his carseat and the other facing the rear is that, in effect, they sort of face each other and egg each other on. Fortunately for now, that’s to laugh more. When they’re up to no good, they won’t be in baby seats anymore (I hope).

8.      No thanks to sandy beaches; I like shores strewn with boulders. Preferably with woods along them, too. And water that’s doing something, not just sitting there. (Sandy beaches just have sand that sticks to your feet – a nod to the Thief and his opinions – and creepy things living in them. Don’t tell me anything about rocks; I have already imagined the things living in the crevasses.)

Okay. Who do I tag? I don’t usually have eight people to send on these errands. Repressed Librarian is already doing this over at her place. I’m fake-tagging her because my list is short. J
Big Mama, of course, gives you a reason to gratuitously talk about yourself. 
Thief, if you have nothing better to do
Andrea, who is still in hiding – I mean, your 2-year-old is out of the country right now! Stop the partying and do this one! J
Baby J! Your mom tagged me!
(Add yourself to the list if you want to do this! Just leave me a comment so I know to keep an eye on you…)

Adam the mighty crawler has discovered that he can open the cabinet doors. This one is the one we let him get into.

Hmm. He reaches in.

and in...

and in.

He closes the door.

He opens it again, and then looks to make sure I'm still watching.

Pretty soon there's a nice array of Gladware spread across the floor. And the enameled bowls that Mrs. Dunce so wishes I had found again so she'd have some now.

and finally, he comes over to check in and make sure I'm still enthralled.

This afternoon when I went to get a certain Adam out of bed, this is what I found.

Yes, that is a happy boy!

And then there's the creative one...

After biting a hole in the lunchmeat and peeking through it (all that's missing is "Look what I got at the turkey farm!"), he built a boat. Hmm. Must be my kid. He was quite proud of it, I might add.

alternately titled "Just how nerdy am I?"

On Wednesday of our vacation week, Tara offered to watch the boys while Tim and I took a day off. We had a lot of choices of where to go and what to do, but we chose a trip over to Kelley's Island. (The nickname "An Island for all seaons" is a bit of an exaggeration, since the ferry stops at Thanksgiving and doesn't start again until April, so if you want to get there in *some* seasons, you have to fly.)

Why, you might ask, did we choose Kelley's Island?

Um. As I mentioned in the previous blog, it was because of a recipe in the Buckeye Cookery, a cookbook we use in our 1886 farm, the delectible Kelley Island Cake, written by Miss Greeley Grubbs: One cup butter, two of sugar, three of flour, four eggs, half cup milk, three tea-spoons baking-powder; bake in jelly-tins.
For filling stir together a grated lemon, a large grated apple, an egg, and a cup sugar, and boil four minutes. Did I mention how absolutely wonderful this cake is???

We caught the ferry at Marblehead, having purchased our tickets at 8:31:58 for a boat that leaves on the hour and half-hour. That was okay; we had a nice little wait and Tim took pictures of trucks and cranes at the conveyor for the quarry, an obvious marketing extension for the e-coal-conveyor business in western Kentucky. A 20-minute ferry ride with our bikes brought us to the island.

We arrived at 32 (just below the "downtown" square) and rode our bikes north on Division Street to 42, the Glacial Grooves. After our visit there (see the previous post for a photo), we continued up the road to a hiking trail that took us through the woods and around to the rocky shore on the north side of the island. NIIIIICE.

Then it was back onto the bikes and down Titus Road (just south of the Grooves) to Lakeshore Road to Kelley's Island Brewery for lunch (that's 34 on the map). The proprietor let us know it would be about 20 minutes for the fryer to be ready to make our walleye and perch (what's island dining without fish?), so we settled in with a glass of their Island Devil and a game of battleship and lake views. (Did I mention NIIIICE?) It was a bit of wait, so the nice lady solved the question of whether to order another of the handcrafted beers by giving "Tim" a refill.

After that, it was a ride back into downtown to check out the shops and Historical Society (43) then, later, a ride out to Kelley's Island Wine Co. (35). Back into downtown, we got our obligatory ice cream (mine was coconut cream pie, Tim's was... um, I don't remember. Mine was good enough to forget Tim's), a souvenir for the #1 fan of Kelley Island Cake Dave A., some fudge for Tara (to share with us, of course!)... and back to the ferry to head back to Lakeside for dinner.

We were as tired as could be, but it was a lot of fun and quite relaxing. Is it a place I go back to every time I go to Lakeside? Hmm, probably not, though the Kelley's Island Brewery was gooooood. And the weather, though hot, was perfect, as the lake breezes kept us nice and cool on our bikes.

Yep, that's me, all happy and looking at pretty water. :)

After getting up frightfully early starving and stuffed up, Adam went back to sleep yesterday until...well, blissfully late. I was getting laundry out of the dryer when Mark heard Adam start to make noise and announced, "Mark check on Adam!" and ran upstairs.

When I arrived upstairs, Mark was standing on the rail of Adam's bed, holding onto the top and peeking over, and Adam was chirping gleefully at his brother. Mark proudly told me that he had checked on Adam.

Fast-forward to breakfast time. Mark, having already eaten, had disappeared to the living room to play. Adam happily ate a good large portion of barley cereal, and then I let him sit in his high chair and gobble Cheerios while I dashed in to check my email.

Mark, ever the helper, returned. "Mark help!" he said. Then, "Need more!" (I should have been in there, then, but was dealing with an issue...) Then, "Uh-oh, 'pilled!" That was finally enough to get me to come in and check.

Mark had decided that Adam needed more food. He had climbed up on my chair at the table, gotten the barley cereal box, and dumped (as opposed to "poured") a great deal of cereal into the small bowl from which I'd fed Adam earlier. Then he'd taken the small cup of water we keep on hand to mix the cereal and poured what was left of it into the bowl. It didn't turn it into yumminess, as there wasn't enough (hence the "need more"). And more barley cereal didn't solve the problem, either, but made it a bit worse by spilling on the table (hence "'pilled").

"Oh NO!" I said as I discovered the situation. "Mark, Adam doesn't need to eat more! I already fed him."
Mark began to cry. "Bed!" he sobbed.
Then I stopped. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. I shouldn't have left these things out, and you just wanted to help. I can clean it up, and everything'll be just fine."

I apologized to him for having left things out and thanked him for wanting to help. I hugged and kissed him and sent him off to play while I cleaned up. The still-dry cereal flakes went into a plastic container to save for later (somewhere in the area of HALF THE BRAND-NEW BOX), while the little wet glob in the bottom, Adam got to have for lunch.

(I took the pictures to prove to him that he wasn't in trouble. It took some convincing.)

After a couple weeks of only liking cereals -- rice, barley, and oatmeal -- today Adam decided to try a change.

After a milk-lunch a little earlier (and a power nap on the way home) he ate 2 bowls of barley cereal, about a cup of Cheerios (one at a time), a third of a #2 container of sweet potatoes (previously greeted with a decided lack of enthusiasm), and about a third of a #2 jar of peas (previously rejected).

He would have continued eating Cheerios indefinitely had I not decided he'd had enough and washed face and hands and taken off the rather soiled bib.

Hey, Mom, why don't these Cheerios come off like the ones on the tray do?

Dear America's Test Kitchen (and all my friends, in case Christopher Kimball doesn't have my blog bookmarked yet):

On your suggestion, we asked for and received the Victorinox Chef's Knife for Christmas. Lately, I've been cooking more -- perhaps because I have a good knife -- and I even bought a bag of onions, more than half of which I have already used. Generally more than half rot before I get to them. But I've always hated cutting onions because my eyes water so dreadfully when I do. Except they don't anymore. Have I gotten tougher, or does having a good knife make cutting onions not only easier (you should have seen my fine dice today), but also less eye-watering?

Dear This Old House:

I love your show and your magazine. So does my 2-year-old. When we read your magazine, he looks for the spot where the stars of the show are pictured, then points to each one so I can identify each in turn: Norm Abram, Tom Silva, Kevin O'Conner, Rich Trethewey, Roger Cook, and then he repeats each name. Rich Trethewey, he doesn't do so well with. Norm, he has down pat. Anyway. Yesterday he pointed to the word "Healthy Care" imprinted on the front of his baby brother's high chair and said, "House. Old House." Not only did he announce the magazine name when I got my most recent issue (recognizing it from the show), but he picked out the "H" on the high chair. Now he knows that "H is for 'House'." He's quite proud. If only he could replace the kitchen floor and wire in some new outlets with what he's learned from you guys.

Dear Waste Management:

My son also loves your trucks. He only knows two letters right now (sometimes three), and the first that he learned was W. "Trash truck!" Unfortunately, he thinks that "Trash truck" starts with W, I think. So, while I'm enthusiastic about my kid's affection for your trucks and your WM logo, do you think you could change it to "TT" for Trash Truck or something?

Sincerely,
Your Friend Jenny

I made another 30-minute recipe last night, though this one was not out of Cook's Illustrated's book I used before but off the internet, and I have some observations about them and their relationship with me and my home.

1. Decent 30-minute recipes take that much hands-on time. Yes, it's done at the end of that time, but they require that time to be spent in front of the stove and prep counter, working. They work a lot better when someone else is around to look after the kids. Or PBS Kids, in a pinch. Mark is getting to think "Between the Lions" is pretty funny. Grandmas and Grandpas are entirely preferable. The time Tim's folks were here, it was easy to do the 30-minute recipes because no one bothered me, and the kids had someone to play with!

2. Decent 30-minute recipes need to be planned for ahead of time. How often do I have all of those ingredients around the house? Last night I just happened to have a can of artichoke hearts sitting around (purchased at Thanksmasgiving time and forgotten when we intended to use them). I balk at menu-planning (I HATE IT) but it would make it more likely that I would have the stuff on hand.

3. Decent 30-minute recipes need to be served when they're done. It sort of spoils the effect of a lovely Lemon-Artichoke chicken with fettuccini to sit around for an extra half an hour. But a 2-year-old (who liked the corn better -- yes, he ate more veggies) can't wait until 6:30 to eat (nor can his borderline hypoglycemic mommy), and his daddy can't teleport home from work.

For these reasons, you can be assured that, while rather more elaborate recipes will make appearances at my house, meals that involve ground beef and some tomato product and a decent amount of time ignored are not to be forgotten.

[In a completely unrelated side note, yesterday Mark showed off some great counting skills again:
"One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six...
Nine, Ten...
Elijah...
Fourteen!"
He was very proud of himself. I was amused...]

Or something. See below for the end of the day... :)

This morning saw me cleaning the dishwasher, though after a few scrubs with some Soft Scrub and a gentle scrubber, I decided I didn't want to be crawling around the kitchen all day and filled a coffee cup with white vinegar, set the empty dishwasher to wash itself, and voila! a clean dishwasher.

While the boys and I played downstairs, Roomba swept the upstairs hall and the boys' rooms, leaving that carpet clean and neat. We put Adam to bed and brought Roomba down and I spent the next 20 minutes or half an hour cutting all the gunk off Roomba's brush and roller, getting it all cleaned out. People with long (or long-ish) hair should not be allowed to live in houses, is all I have to say on that.

Now there are two boys in bed, a pot roast in the crock pot (with veggies, too, of course) and I am marveling in what turns out to be the way knives are supposed to work.

After a rather unfortunate experience at Thanksgiving time in which my Dunce and his wife (Mrs. Dunce) revealed to me that, no, knives aren't really supposed to be that hard to operate, we decided perhaps the ones we were using weren't the best. So when Tim's mom asked what we wanted for Christmas, he had the thought to suggest a new chef's knife.

Our friends at Cook's Illustrated and the ever-beloved (by me) America's Test Kitchen tell me that in their tests the only one that is "Highly Recommended" is the "$30 upstart", Forschner Victorinox Fibrox Chef’s Knife
$25.33
FROM THEIR WEBSITE: "Comments: One tester summed it up: “Premium-quality knife at a bargain price.” Knives costing four times as much would be hard pressed to match its performance. The blade is curved and sharp; the handle comfortable. Overall, “sturdy” and “well balanced.”"

And so, we now have a nice little -- um, not little. Very big and scary -- chef's knife, and I tried it out today to chop vegetables for my roast. I don't do much, to be honest. Just boring little me. Onions and potatoes, and toss in some already chopped and peeled baby carrots.

I was able to actually chop the onions the way they do on America's Test Kitchen, which seems to be an easy way to get small pieces. Cut the onion in half, trimming the top and cutting through the bottom. Then slice horizontally (parallel to the cut side) a couple of times, then chop from top to bottom, then slice parallel to the bottom. Lo and behold, nice chopped onion, no cut fingers.

But the potatoes were really impressive. Remember if you will the struggle with the old chef's knife (destined for the garbage, or maybe Goodwill, for someone with more strength than finesse). Slicing and chopping the potatoes was so easy it felt like I was cutting through butter. Really. I am a happy gal.

I wanna go chop more stuff now, please...

While I crow, I even studied the Bible Study lesson and journaled for next week's study, and Mark ate as much of the beef -- AND VEGETABLES, GOBBLED THEM DOWN, I TELL YOU, including the carrots that he has in the past avoided like Black Death -- as I did.

And Adam cried from somewhere about 2 p.m. until 5 something, stopping crying to eat, and while Mark watched some PBS Kids show while I finished the gravy. 20 minutes tops. He is now trying to take that nap he was supposed to have gotten earlier. And just whimpering, not full-out screaming. Just in case I get too big-headed and super-mom-ish...

One.

Yes, one.

We have an interesting relationship with a local (chain) pizza restaurant whose name will remain unrevealed to protect the innocent, incompetent, injured or inept. It's not uncommon to have bad service or bad food or both. We never (or almost never) think of it as it comes to mind to go there to enjoy dinner, but it's really best to 1. have low expectations and 2. not be in too much of a hurry when we go to eat there. Up until last summer we'd eaten there several times and never paid for the entire meal thanks to extremely slow service, wrong orders being brought to our table, or Tim's thin-crust pizza being disgustingly overcooked (more than once).

Then last summer we got Joshua as our waiter and our trend was broken. He was quick. He was not quite excruciatingly polite, but nearly. He put in, received, and brought us the correct order. He was appropriately dressed (no underwear showing) and clean (you think that's not that big of a deal???). And we paid full price. (And left a good tip.)

Reasonable service prevailed the next couple of visits. Perhaps things had changed.

We stopped over at our favorite pizza location Friday night for a little dinner. We waited what seemed like forever to even have a hostess appear so that we could be seated. Our waitress (pierced, lisp-y, but sweet and helpful) took our order. Tim chased down a booster seat for the boy. People fussed over our adorable children. We asked for and received silverware. Waitress arrived with our pizzas. Well, with mine, and an incorrectly made thin-crust for Tim (wrong toppings). Waitress was well aware of the wrong pizza having been made and apologized, telling us we could have this incorrect one (Mark wasn't one to argue) and that Tim's correct order had been put in, no charge, of course, and was there anything else she could get Tim to make up for it? Salad bar? Breadsticks? Tim asked about a dessert pizza. Really, Tim's not going to eat that much, and his pizza being late was probably the person's pizza being late that would be the least disruptive (that was an awkward construction, granted, but you get the idea). Mark was starving from never having eaten any food ever before in his life, and while there weren't being any hypoglycemic moments for me, yet, you just have to watch out. (I'd have taken the breadsticks AND the salad bar...) Sure, waitress agreed, she'd put in an order for a dessert pizza. And Tim's actual pizza would be on its way out soon.

Tim's pizza arrived shortly (incidentally, Mark ate three pieces of pizza to Tim's two). Then came the dessert pizza. Then came three boxes to take them all home in, and the check.

We paid for one medium pizza (mine) and two drinks (Tim's and Mark's).

And a tip for the waitress.

What a deal.

We had our last (probably) round of Christmas-present festivities today with Grandma AJ and Grandma Marv (no, they're really a traditional couple, but for some reason Mark keeps forgetting to call him "Grandpa"). Mark had to wait and wait and wait to open the presents that appeared under the tree during his nap; finally I could take it no longer and he helped me gather them into a basket so he didn't have to keep staring at them. Only then could he start playing with his cars and toys and such instead of worrying when Daddy and Grandma would be home from the store and we could open them.

Adam sat happily with Grandma for a while, and then with Grandpa, sucking on tags, his fist, his bib, other people's fingers... whatever he could get into his mouth. He missed his second afternoon nap, so intent he was on the goings-on.

I failed to keep a decent list of which of Grandma's friends which gift came from (bad me), but suffice it to say, cute CDs, cute coloring books, cute outfits for Adam... Tim's aunt Estee supplied a bear for the baby that's about as big as he is... Mark wanted to read every book as he got it and color with every crayon before moving on to the next item.

Then I was off to the kitchen for my first foray into The Best 30-minute Recipe from America's Test Kitchen: Quick Maple-Glazed Pork Chops. Yes, it took 30 minutes, and yes, it was reallllly yummy. I also really went all-out and opened a bagged salad, complete with sliced almonds and cranberries and its own dressing. But the focus was truly the pork. The glaze was sweet and tangy with just a hint of heat (1/8 tsp. cayenne), and the pork was cooked just the way it oughta be. Well, it should be; they've tested it so I don't have to, isn't that what they say???

Dessert was a berry pie that I made this afternoon. To bed early so I can look alert and happy and well-rested for Adam's big day tomorrow. (I also have two more recipes to try from the book while Grandpa and Grandma are here. More on those later...)