A Steel Cut Oats Day

I’ll admit it.

I’ve judged those moms. You know who I’m talking about. The ones that are wrinkled. The ones hauling 3.2 wailing kids around the store with their hair in a half-hearted ponytail trying desperately to keep order with her brood while choosing the ripest fruit.

How can I confess to judgment of these pitiful creatures? Because in a wicked twist of fate my put together young married life morphed into a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-sweatpants young mother’s life. It all hit home yesterday morning…

After reading an article about the lack of nutrition in quick cooking oats, I was so inspired to get as close to whole grain as possible I leapt from my chair, ran to the neighbor’s wheat field and began gnawing the stalks. Ok maybe in spirit this happened. Unfortunately for me, all my neighbor has in his yard are some lovely (but edibly questionable) flowers, and their consumption would surely drive a wedge into an otherwise congenial relationship while simultaneously causing major neighborhood gossip.

Where could I turn?

“Old Fashioned Oats that cook in five minutes,” you say.
“No! I might as well shovel sugar in their mouths and throw them in the sun with only 15 SPF!”
“What does the sun have to do with Old fashion-“
“DEVIL GET BEHIND ME!”

Ok, where was I? Oh yes, so I decide on what appeared to be the only nutritionally viable option available: steel cut oats (cue the horror music).

Now I have been burnt (figuratively) by these bad boys of the wheat world before, but, much like childbirth, all the painful parts mysteriously had disappeared from my memory. Two days ago, I placed my two cherubs in their breakfast positions and began to make what we will refer to as BATCH # 1. 1 ½ cup milk or water. Hmmm. Definitely going milk for the creaminess factor. Next, ¼ cup steel cut oats. Done. Third, bring to boil. Wait…a…second…Aren’t you not supposed to boil milk. By itself. Over high heat? Too late, I’ll push on to step four. Reduce to low and simmer for 25 minute. Ok, so I need to just..WHAT? 25 MINUTES! AS IN LIKE A HALF AN HOUR WHEN ROUNDING UP???? I have to BE somewhere in 25 minutes! Hence the end of BATCH #1 (sort of). I ended up revisiting BATCH #1 later when I had to scrub the scalded milk out of the bottom of the pan.

Hope springs eternal and yesterday morning I began what we will refer to as BATCH #2. There is a microwave option that consists of five minutes, stir, five more minutes. Easy peasy. I get a GIANT glass bowl (think 3qts+) with its coordinating lid. La de da, I’ll just go unload the dishwasher. When I look up, you can see what I did below.




Little did I know that the steel cut oats were only the beginning…



Stay tuned for “A Steel Cut Oats Day” Part II.

As My World Turns

Ok. You must believe me when I say I don’t watch soap operas. Like I have time. However, I flipped on the TV, was briefly distracted by my two-footed drooling machine, and when I zoned back in, the ensuing line was spoken by a tiny (yet buxom) blonde in scrubs who appeared distraught (yet lacked the ability to move her forehead).

“One of the nurses just told me Brad was shot, and Katie delivered her baby all by herself!”

Now, I just confessed my ignorance of all things soap opera, but I began to see what draws the viewers day after day…unanswered questions. Who is this Brad? Who is this Katie? Is Brad her baby daddy? Was he shot by the baby daddy thereby necessitating Katie’s solo delivery as the baby daddy fled the scene? Or are these just two mutually exclusive, random incidents whose only connection is the unfortunate blonde nurse having one heck of a day as her friends fall like dominoes around her while simultaneously experiencing upper-face paralysis?

Unfortunately for my questions, everyone on screen froze, breathed awkwardly for what seemed an eternity, and a commercial began.

I guess I'll never know.

Mis-adventures of the Disney Princesses

Britney Spears, Lindsey Lohan, and now this.






Just another young Disney ingenue succumbing to the pressures of growing up in the spotlight. They gave her the gift of song and the gift of beauty, unfortunately, not the gift of judgment. I mean, everyone knows Ariel is nothing but trouble. And the choice of wheels...

Thanks to Shelby, at least everyone was buckled in.

Note: Poor Prince Philip is always relegated to the back seat.

How the mighty have fallen.

Taming the Beast

Before...





After...

Call me Martha...

You are currently looking at my latest decorating endeavor. Who would have thought that plates hanging on a wall could bring such a sense of accomplishment?

Rocky I &II

You are looking at a very happy two year old. One whose father brought home a female baby squirrel dubbed "Rocky." (We do not observe gender specific names at our house as evident by the girl doll named "Colin").




See how she clings so tenaciously to the doctor's shirt...


...just not as tenaciously to life.

That's right Rocky did not make it. Feel free to dab away the tear. Mom and Dad's reaction, however, was "What to we tell the very happy two year old from the 1st photo?"



Our options left for a questioning two year old are as follows

A) explain that life is short and Rocky is chewing on the big acorn in the sky OR...

B) tell a leeeetle white lie









Meet Rocky II (the II is silent) who lives in a tree in our front yard.

Blackberry Season

Woo hoo! Look at me because I am on fire! Two posts within a week. Must be a record.

I was actually going back over my last post and realized it sounded a little down. Yes, motherhood can be full of burn out, lack of rest, whining (from you and the kids), but, then, there are those moments-the ones that sneak up on us unexpectedly - a soft brush of the face by your toddler's hand at bedtime, watching your little one bow their head for prayer, the unfiltered joy in your baby's face when you reach to pick them up...

These are the moments that mommies remember when their kids grow up and leave. It explains why any older mom in a ten mile radius always wants to hold my baby. One sniff of the baby smell and some sweet memory dimmed by time comes wafting back.

Memories are a precious gift. As I mentioned before, time does not stop, but it can in our mind like the first scene in "Father of the Bride" when Steve Martin is listening to his fully grown daughter tell him she is engaged, yet he only sees the young girl he raised. Will I see the same things?

All this rambling was brought on by a long forgotten poem I quickly sketched out after an afternoon spent with my sister and her son at my parent's farm. Our only kids at the time were both about 18 months, and blackberry season was in full swing. Their excitement over the little bitter berries as they popped them in their mouths was priceless. The day ended with all of us pleasantly squished on the porch swing singing songs ranging from "Jesus Loves Me" to "America the Beautiful."

There are times when experience surpasses the language to describe it. I'll just let the poem explain the afternoon.

Blackberry Season


dimpled hands
with plump fingers
eagerly reaching for more
dandelion explosions
beneath stained puckered lips
an afternoon
sprinkled with gold dust



An afternoon sprinkled with gold dust...

Half Full Coffee Mugs?

Perhaps the half drunk coffee mugs scattered over my house can now serve a purpose other than to embarrass me if someone comes over.

What purpose does cold, congealed coffee in a nondescript mug possess? you ask. (Don't act like you're not the one asking because I can feel your daggers of judgment across cyberspace.)

It simply serves as a highly accurate metaphor of my current life. No longer can I get through a peaceful cup of coffee nor do I have the brain cells left after two births to remember to go back and get the cup in question and put it in the sink. Oh, there it will sit-next to the computer, on the bathroom sink, in front of the coffee maker-as a silent beacon. How I long to return to you sweet java and drink your energy giving nectar. How I wish I had the time to drink my coffee.

But, in all the chaos that I call life, I recognize that time is eluding me even now. Soon potty training accidents will be funny stories of a time long ago. Permanent teeth will take the place of each hard-fought-for baby tooth. My children will no longer drool on me or require my help to bathe. They will know which shoe goes on which foot. Soon, the only hair and teeth I will have to brush will be my own.

So I will see the mug as half full.

A mute testament encapsulating this unique time in my life. Time that will be gone soon enough

...Unlike the last half of my coffee.

A New Voyage

And so it begins. An entire website dedicated to my brilliant musings and clever antics from my children. I wonder how the website will keep up with the onslaught of readers. Keep in touch for more later. The process of setting the blogspot up and choosing a template has left me drained for this evening of all creative juices.