"Mommy, I'm mad."

"That's ok, you're allowed to have feelings. Why are you mad?"

"Because you make me insane."

"But Mommy, I don't want maghetti."
"Too bad, bub - that's what's for dinner."
"Mommy, can I just starve?"

Aunt Connie's Taco Sauce

So, despite the evidence presented in my last post, I can occasionally get something right (even if it's just by dumb luck). In August I tried canning salsa for the first time, using my Aunt Connie's "Taco Sauce" recipe, with very pleasing results.

First, I worked with home-grown tomatoes - some from my own garden, and some from my grandparents.
I loved all the different colors.

The first step of the recipe is to peel the tomatoes, and left to my own devices this would have been a nightmare indeed. But my Aunt Connie is a crafty one, and seems to have a great sense of where the direction "peel tomatoes" would take me, so she provided this great little tip: slice an "x" into the skin of the tomatoes and then boil them until the skin softens. Pull them out of the water and when they cool the skin will slide off like magic. Awesome tomato magic.

After peeling the tomatoes it's a chop fest. I (very sloppily) sliced and diced the tomatoes, onion, and peppers.

I have no idea what kind of peppers I used. I put "hot peppers" on the grocery list, and the hubster came home with .... hot peppers. Our grocery store is pretty terrible about labeling produce, so even he doesn't know what I used. But they were kinda spicy and worked just fine.

With everything chopped and ready to go it was time for cooking. The produce went into the pot, followed by the tomato paste, salt, vinegar, sugar, and corn syrup.

When I first read the recipe that just seemed wrong. Really, Aunt Connie couldn't actually mean corn syrup, right?

Oh, it was right. And it was delicious.

With all the goods in the pot I simmered the salsa while preparing for waterbath canning, and from there it was your standard job: hot jars are filled with boiling salsa and capped, boiled for thirty minutes, and then left to sit for 24 hours on a towel.

And voila! Beautiful and slightly-sweet salsa that is perfect for munching. Yum.

On applesauce and the local fire department

Why the concerned look, Doc?

Because Mommy's in the kitchen.

Smart one, that baby.

Today, I tried to make applesauce. I started by washing and peeling and chopping 6.5 pounds of apples with a steak knife, which is my multi-purpose kitchen cutter-of-all-things.
When Victor started fussing about halfway through I stuck him in the mei tei, and my little quality control guy hung out while I finished the job.

I threw in some water and covered the pot, and started patting myself on the back for being so industrious and slightly crunchy-granola.

And while I was doing that the fire alarm went off.
I walked away at a crucial moment instead of stirring (and removing) the apples, and the ones on the bottom burned like the dickens. And smoked. Smoked so much that our fire alarm went off five separate times (never waking Victor). Max and B glared at me with their hands over their ears, the alarm company kept asking if I was sure everything was ok, and then a fire truck showed up anyway.

The look on the youngest fireman's face told me exactly what he thought about failing housewives like myself, but the one in charge laughed it all off with good grace. I met them outside so they didn't have to hike up our stairs, saying, "I'm so sorry! I tried to have the alarm canceled."
"That's ok, we come out anyway. Is everything ok?"
"Yes, I just burned apples."
"You ... burned apples?"
"Heh, yeah, I was trying to make applesauce, and I burned the apples."
*insert laughter from in-charge fireman, and eyerolls from the whipper snapper. I deserved both*
"Well, ... that's a good way to start apple pie!" He said. (Wasn't he nice?)

"So there were no flames?"
"Nope, just lots of smoke."
"Ok then! Have a good day!"

And they commenced the impossible task of turning a fire engine around in our very small dead-end parking lot.

I would have taken a picture of the big ones standing at the door impressed, but I was afraid it would make it look like I called the poor men out on purpose.

Big One: I want to be a silwy dragon, Mommy!
Me: Ok! What does a silly dragon do?
Big One: He doesn't eat caaars. And he does eat people. But silly dragon fights dinosaurs.

Goody! He then demonstrated by putting on his dinosaur slippers and roaring at Middle Child, who was trying on his dragon costume.

(Not a) Quilt-Master

Another makeup sewing post...

I love sewing, but I am by no stretch of the imagination a quilter. My projects of choice are largely frivolous, such as historical costuming, but maternity has inspired to take on more of the domestic, and I've found that I'll make toddler pajamas as frequently (if not more) than I used to make gowns and corsets. My passion for providing "Mommy-Made" for the Monsters, however, has taken me further out of my comfort zone than I would have predicted, and has actually inspired me to try .... quilting.

Previously, I made the kiddos toddler-sized (aka lap sized) quilts for their beds, but the impending arrival of Monster #3 is going to drastically impact sleeping arrangements, and the Big One ended up in a twin-sized bed before his toddler quilt was even warm. Like so many mommies, I found myself haunting shops like PBKids for the perfect bedding for my little men, but I had a really hard time justifying $130+ per quilt (on sale), especially when I was in the market for two. And because, you know, I have all of that sewing equipment sitting around my own room....

So I bit the bullet and dove into a quilting project. I started by researching standard quilting dimensions, and coming up with patterns for a number of different blocks. I wanted some more variety than a standard patchwork quilt, but I knew I wasn't going to tackle some of the really fabulous piecing designs that people like my grandmother can whip out at the drop of a hat. What I came up with was a series of geometric designs (various squares, triangles, and rectangles) that I thought would add some visual dimension, but could still be manageable for someone of my inexperience.

When I got into the project I found myself wishing I hadn't slept through geometry at 15, but that's neither here nor there.

For materials I went back to the fabric stash I'd been planning on ditching, and I pulled out anything remotely green for Big One's quilt, and a series of blues for Little One's. I had just enough of each to produce the blocks for twin-sized quilts, leaving me to purchase the batting and quilt backing ... for a whopping $60 total on Fabric.com. Oh yeah. I went from a potential $260+ to $60 for two twin quilts.

So far I've completed First-born's quilt (as of May 20-something), and I've blocked Middle-child's. Big One's isn't perfect, of course, but so far it's doing its job. Using natural cotton battling has produced a soft and manageable quilt, and Big One was delighted when he spotted some familiar fabrics harvested from the remains of outgrown mommy-jams and other familiar projects. I, for one, am glad I opted to go for the homemade every night when we curl up for story time in his new Big Boy Bed.

Now, if only I could actually convince the monster that people sleep under covers, and not just on them...

Kimono Tops

I have a number of sewing projects I keep meaning to share, and I just never get around to this blog it seems. However, I've found a moment of procrastination, so I'm popping in to share a little something.

So, I have a problem with the Good Doctor: I have no idea how to dress a summer baby. Big One was born in January, and Little One was born in October (in the middle of a swine flu outbreak, joy), so I'm used to bundling and swaddling and generally keeping itty bitties wrapped up. However, I have a feeling that just won't fly for our July Monster, and I've sought the help of friends with summer kiddos.

The general consensus is that parents don't usually dress summer babies in much of anything at all. One friend swore that her summer newborn wore a diaper alone for several months, and another said that they'd use only a shirt or a thin onsie. To give myself options I decided to keep the onsies and t-shirts handy ... and make a couple cute kimono shirts for a splash of color.

To make the "pattern" I used a purchased newborn kimono undershirt, and I used a few cottons I had sitting around. I didn't want to run out to the store for any supplies, because that's never good for my wallet, so I ended up using the ribbons and trims I had sitting around.




I knocked out the four shirts in a short afternoon - on my birthday, as a matter of fact, so Hubster watched the kiddos while I worked - and I'm generally pleased with the results. I have a hard time imagining such a small baby, so I'm hoping they'll fit once the Good Doctor actually arrives.

Time will tell, but into the hospital bag they go.

I really, seriously, have the sweetest boys in the world.

Time to clean up

I've always been very "strict" about picking up toys each night; our house is too small to accommodate a play room, so we end up with toys in all of our common areas. Well, when the Monsters go to bed it's time for the adults to reclaim our space, so everything gets tucked away.

I don't remember how old the Big One was when I started asking for his help in picking up, but at 3 he now picks up all of his own toys without assistance, and generally without complaint (although he is easily distracted if the TV is on...).

Tonight I asked him to pick up his toys and costumes, and he hopped to it lickity split; when I turned around to ask him again, like I'd usually have to do, I found that 95% of the toys were put away, and he was sitting on the couch happily. Then, while I was praising him for being such a good help, the Little One decided to pitch in with the remaining things. Without being asked the Little One slid off the couch and put the car he was holding in the toybox, picked a book off the floor and put it in the book basket, and then gathered two balls from under a table and put them away. Without one word of direction.

There was something singularly sweet about watching the little man pick up a few things - knowing where they were supposed to go - and the pride he took in helping out. When he was done he climbed back onto the couch to give me big hugs, and I smiled and laughed and told him what a good boy he is.

I'm sure to someone else these few minutes wouldn't mean much, but to me they show how quickly my boys learn, and how naturally sweet they really are.

I am thoroughly charmed by my own children.

Out of the Mouths of Monsters

I've come to realize that one of the reasons I find my children so hilarious is because they're always so earnest in what they have to say.

For example, I found the Big One standing outside my door after quiet time one afternoon. He apparently hadn't realized I was awake, because when I opened my bedroom door he looked at me with his big sweet eyes and said, "Are you ok, Mommy? I didn't scare you, did I? I didn't mean to scare you - it's ok, you're ok Mommy." There's something incredibly sweet about a 3-year-old trying to comfort you - especially when nothing's wrong.

He's also very found of my huge pregnant belly, and loves to talk about it. One day he placed his hand very gently on my belly and said very seriously, "That's a nice big belly, Mommy." He also asks me when he can play with the baby, and says he can't wait for his brother to come out. Me either, kid.

One of my favorite conversations with the Big One happened this week. We've recently had to gate-off the kitchen because the Little One insists on trying to climb into the oven, and neither of them likes it very much (but holy cow, has cooking become easier!). Both monsters were standing at one of the gates watching me, and the Big One and I were chatting. I responded to something he said with, "Ok, baby," and he just laughed at me.
"I'M not baby!"
"Yes you are," I smiled.
"I'm a BIG boy," he giggled.
"You'll always be my baby."
"Mommy. I'm the big boy." He then jerked a thumb at his little brother, standing at his side, "HE'S the baby."

Well, I guess you're right - but not for long, kiddos.


We're in for even more fun now that the Little One is starting to talk. His first full phrase? "Bacon, please." Another favorite is when we ask him where he's going or what he's doing; he never fails to respond with an innocent wide-eyed look, raised hands, and "I don't know!" in his sweet little voice.

I think they're working on their survival skills.

Baking Experiment: Oreos from Scratch

This morning I gave my last exam of the semester, and wanted to do something special to mark the afternoon.

So how does Professor Preggo celebrate the end of the spring semester? By trying out a recipe for homemade Oreos, of course.

It was the only logical course of action, I assure you.

I've been on a food-blog kick of late, and I've been downloading recipes like a fiend. This started as an attempt to vary our dinners and therefore eat in more often, but my sweet tooth soon took over, and despite my resolve to eat better this pregnancy all sorts of treats have been catching my eye.

And so today it was "oreos."

As I mixed the dough for these cookies I had my first doubts; the dough seemed very crumbly. However, I kept at it with the beater and it magically turned into the promised lump of goodness, so I guess it pays to keep at it.

In the original recipe Stef mentions that the dough wasn't sticky enough for her to roll the dough into balls, but I didn't have a problem. I used a regular kitchen teaspoon to scoop out the dough, rolled it into balls, and flattened them with my hands before placing them on a greased cookie sheet (these food blogs have me convinced I'm the only person in the world who doesn't keep parchment paper around). I managed to fit fifteen to a cookie sheet, and boy did they spread! The better for crunchiness, I suppose. I ended up with a total of thirty cookies.

I let the cookies cool for an hour while I fed the Little One, had a scrumptious tomato sandwich, and picked up the Big One from school. It was only a matter of minutes to whip the few remaining ingredients into the filling we all know and love so well, and spread a bit on half to make the sandwiches. By the time I got to the end I realized I could have used a bit more on the early ones, so I guess you could say that we ended up with a few regular and a few "double stuffed."

Mmm, chocolate sandwich cookies.

The verdict: The recipe was surprisingly easy, and all in all took no more work than whipping up a batch of chocolate chips, so it's certainly one to keep around for a sweet treat.

But I never thought I'd complain that cookies came out too large or too soft.

These cookies are rich - almost too rich for the size I ended up with - and not as crunchy as brand-name Oreos (but maybe the ones that have been left too long?). I think if I were to cut the size of the cookies in half I'd solve both problems, and end up with more traditional cookies.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you...

Another Potty Update

Oh, the potty training advice. I have heard everything from "Give them M&Ms!" to "OMG YOU CAN'T GIVE A KID SUGAR!" to "sweatpants with no underwear, seriously" to "completely bottomless." A quick list of FB comments really drives home the fact that there are as many potty training methods as there are kids, and people really just need to find the method that works for their family and their lifestyle.

I, for one, am so very glad that we waited until the Big One was three; I think his age made all the difference in the world in terms of his success. He got what we needed him to do, and although he had a couple rough afternoons, he generally rejoiced in his potty success. He was super excited to switch to his dinosaur big boy pants, and that alone motivated him to try to keep everything clean and dry.

We now have accident-free naps**, and we're starting to get the hang of #2; previously, all of his accidents were solid in nature, but over the last week he figured out on his own that something had to be done about this. He hasn't made it to the potty for a completely accident-free movement, but after going just the smallest bit in his pants he realizes what's going on, and rushes to his Cars potty insert, grabbing a book on the way. Sure, I'd love for him to get it completely, but he's well on his way, and the rabbit-sized bits are certainly better than a full diaper!

An interesting observation: the Big One can't tell when his pullup is wet. We are using pullups at night because he has never had a dry night, and I plan on tackling nighttime training when he's physically ready for it. Every single morning he wakes up and exclaims with glee, "Mommy! I'm dry!" ... and he's nowhere near dry. Now, he very obviously knows the difference between wet and dry, because when the odd accident happens he waddles and sniffs with embarrassment, "I'm wet/dirty. I need a shower? Please?" The difference in his response is, well, night and day, and confirms my personal choice to jump straight to underwear for training.

*Sigh* I really don't miss changing all of those diapers.


** Oh man, do I ever count my lucky stars that my three-year-old still takes 1-3 hour naps!

Five Days Later: Potty Progress

Well, here we are five days later, and I haven't once been tempted to go back to diapers. The progress the Big One made in just a couple days blew me away.

Monday held all sorts of new concerns for me, because it's a preschool day for the kiddo. I dropped him off at the crack of dawn (literally - not long after 7:15) with a backpack holding extra jeans and big boy pants and left with the promise that he'd keep his dinosaur pants dry for the three hours I'd be gone.

And much to my surprise ... he did. His teachers told me that he wouldn't pee for them, but he didn't have an accident, either. Actually, his only accident on Monday was a nap time wetting. That's right: no waking accidents.

The next day wasn't so bad, either. My fabulous SIL and nanny popped in at nine for me to start what would be an unusually long Tuesday, and I told the kiddo that he could watch a movie if he stayed dry for his Teetzie* and used the potty. When I got home about six hours later he was dry, and I got the report that he managed to go twice. He had refused a nap (a totally different issue), but he was dry. Of course, an hour after I got home he had a massive poop in his pants, but everyone has suggested that poop is the final potty-training frontier, so I feel good calling the day a success.

This afternoon we managed two more steps: peeing standing up and a dry nap! To encourage the big one to use the potty at preschool I wanted to try their technique, which is having the little guy stand and hold on to the back of the seat with his business angled over the toilet. The Big One thought it was hilarious, and had no problem with it pre-nap.

Then we all laid down for a bit (a mistake I made before, remember?), and nearly two hours later I hear a little voice in the hallways saying, "Mommy?" I made sure to leave both of our doors open for that very reason, and I'm so glad I did! Kiddo was actually dry after sleeping for an hour and a half, and once again enjoyed the bathroom novelty that belongs almost exclusively to boys (peeing standing up, of course).

Amazing.

I'm in for one more trial today: I'm going to take my Monsters out to dinner with my mom, and Big One's going in his big boy pants. As long as we can avoid a poop-trastrophe I think the evening is going to be good!

*The name he came up with for his aunt. I have no idea. My best guess is that it's his own way of saying "Auntie," since we always called her Auntie M.

Light at the end of the potty: Potty Training Day 3

I'm just going to say it: as occasionally gross and always exhausting as potty training can be, it's still better than changing the diapers of a 36-pound person saying, "Yeah, I'm really gross."

Two and a half days after my "set" date, and I'd say progress is certainly being made. The Big One had just three accidents today, and one is more my fault than his.

He kept his pants nice and dry all morning, but at 11:45 (ten minutes after using the potty) he ran up to me and said, "Mommy, use potty!" I told him to go for it, followed 20 seconds behind, and walked in just in time to see him carrying a pair of loaded poopy pants into his room. Whoops.

The second accident was my fault. I put the kids down for a nap, and decided to rest myself. Well, around 2:30 I heard something in the hall, but didn't give it much thought ... and fifteen minutes later I realized I should probably pay attention to small noises since I'm potty training a toddler. Sure enough, the Big One was hanging out in the hallway, completely wet. My guess is that he went not long after he went down, and just didn't know what to do with himself.


Three is certainly better than eight, which is itself better than the 20+ he had over the summer. I'm hoping things will only get better from here.

We did make a decision about night-training: it's going to wait. Both Saturday and Sunday morning the kiddo woke up completely soaked and miserable. He has yet to wake up dry in the morning, so despite being ready for daytime training I just don't think he's ready for night training. Tonight we're giving pull-ups a try, and hopefully he'll sleep better, and continue to make progress.

Oh The Exhaustion! Aka, Potty Training Day 2

Oh man, today was tough. After our inspiring start I thought for sure potty training was going to be a breeze, and today proved me wrong.

I will say this: Big One is definitely ready now, and he definitely was not ready at 2.5. Last time around he had no idea what I was trying to get him to do, and this time he seems to find that the basic concept makes sense.

All told, he woke up soaked, and had eight accidents throughout the day. Five of those accidents happened between 9:20am - 11:45 am, and I think our Saturday morning cartoon ritual had a helping hand in those accidents. Most of those accidents were very small, and he was able to use the potty when asked as I stripped off wet pants. If I didn't notice right away he'd even ask to use the potty after he started going, so the basic concept is there.

At noon he was dry and actually pooped in the potty for the first time, to our mutual delight. He appreciated mommy's cheering and dancing around, I think. Our one terrible mess also included poop - ten minutes after using the potty I caught him squatting while playing, and found really wet pants and poop. Awesome. We didn't get mad/raise voices/react strongly, but I made sure he knew that it was really gross, and that he should always use the potty.

The constant asking and running around and generally trying to get other work done as well (not optional, and not part of the original plan) has left me feeling completely exhausted.

THE BIG HIGHLIGHT of the evening: He is able to go through his potty ritual without any aid, and with complete confidence! The last two or three times he went he'd come to tell me he had to go, and I cheered and said, "Go for it! You know what to do." And he did. I stood in the doorway while he pushed his stool into place, pulled down his pants, sat down correctly, used the potty, pulled his pants up, flushed, and washed his hands. We were both very proud of him.

Now, if only we could get this timing thing down...

Potty training day 1

Potty Training Day 1/2, really.

I didn't intend to start potty training until after his nap on Friday, but he left me no choice: he popped in his last diaper after lunch, so I changed him into his big boy pants at 12:45.

By 1:15 he was down for a nap ... in underwear.

I'm keeping track of his accidents only, so I can identify what's harder for him.

I've also decided to encourage him to do as much as possible himself. I walk to the bathroom with him and stay with him, but I encourage him to pull his own pants up and down, and to sit on the potty himself. He loves flushing the potty and washing his hands, and only gets stuck with his underwear every once in awhile.

3:30 - Small accident when he first woke up from his nap. We went to the potty where he finished and pulled on a new pair of pants.

5:40 - Accident playing with his favorite toys after dinner.

6:00 - Stopped fluids, accident watching his daddy play games.

He took a shower at 7, used the potty, and then went to bed in his underwear! We'll see what the morning brings.

A Terrifying Adventure: Potty Training

About a week ago, as I hefted my 36-pound, 38-inch newly three-year-old onto his changing table to change yet another horrendous diaper I realized that I had had enough. It was time to potty train.

Six months before I had tried with absolutely no success; after a week of running through over twenty pairs of pants a day it dawned on methat my son just didn't have the bladder control for it to work. So, we shelved the idea, and the "big boy pants," and I figured I'd revisit the idea sometime around three.

Well, on January 19 "three" arrived, and a week before the event itself I set a day to start potty training: January 28. I told my partner what I had planned, and we agreed that we'd spend a quiet weekend at home to work things through. I'd handle the constant trips to the potty and the laundry, and he'd handle the fifteen-month-old.

In the week leading up to the 28th the Big One surprised us by showing a sudden interest in the potty; on the 26th I caught him peeing in the bathtub, and told him that he couldn't pee in the tub, but he could pee in the potty. "Ok," he said, "potty?" So we set him on the toilet and he successfully peed on the potty for the very first time. We were shocked and thrilled and rewarded him with plenty of praise and a few M&Ms. He thought it was a pretty sweet deal, so the next day he asked to use the potty three times, and did so successfully each time. He really was ready.

The Plan:

• Switch to the stash of toddler training pants, and never look back. No pullups, no sleeping diapers, just underwear - and the promise of cool dinosaur big boy pants if he learned to keep them dry.
  
• It's January, so we'd keep a space heater running in the living room to keep him warm without wearing jeans.
• Ask him every thirty minutes if he had to use the potty, and rush him with smiles and an excited voice when he said yes. I didn't want to make him try if he said no, because I'd rather he learn to listen to his urges than the clock.
  
• When he pees successfully we'll reward him with 2-3 M&Ms and plenty of praise. Eventually we'll switch to a treat only when he poops in the potty.
  
• No potty chair. Personal opinion only: I find them revolting, and I don't really want him to learn to pee anywhere but the "proper" place. In one bathroom we have this step-up seat insert, and in the upstairs bathroom we have this Cars seat insert. He uses both very comfortably, although he certainly favors his "Cars potty."

I'm going to keep a running journal throughout the day to help me keep track of when he has problems. Wish us luck!