Category Archives: family

Embarrassing moments with my kids

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We all have those moments you can’t prep the kids for, until they happen… THEN you can say “And remember not to tell Uncle Frank that his breath stinks”, or “remember not to poke the big pimples on Sally’s face”…. things you wouldn’t think to coach them about until it’s already been too late once….

So this week I’ve had a few moments like that.

First moment…. there is a mom on Sammy’s T-ball team. We’ve seen her several times in the last few days, and every time I see her she wears a purple T shirt. I noticed it as I pulled up to the game last week, I see her sitting there, in a purple shirt. I notice this to myself, in my head… and I hear Sammy in the back seat “Why does Billy’s mom always wear a purple shirt?”

After silently congratulating him for being so aware, I offer an explanation. “Probably she has a lot of purple shirts…..that seem to look exactly the same…..and just wears a lot of purple shirts. Because she likes purple.” Both kids seemed to understand. I even told Sammy, “but don’t say anything about her purple shirt because it might make her feel bad if you think she wears purple too much.”

So JENNA walks up to her…. “Why are you wearing a purple shirt?”

As I die over to the side…. the poor lady calmly answers that it was there, clean, so she just wore it. And Jenna looks very speculative…. “I have ONE purple shirt”. Then goes to play. And I am left….shaking my head and kind of laughing… don’t know what THAT was all about….kids these days….he he he……

Most recently, it was Sammy’s turn to embarrass me. We are driving with a woman who is about 20 years older than me….. she’s very skinny, definitely skinnier than me.

For some reason, the kids start to debate who is bigger, me or this lady. Sammy says I’m bigger, Jenna says the lady is bigger. I try to say they are both right. “Well, she’s big because she’s a grown up, but she’s a small grown up.”

And Sammy turns to Jenna and feels the need to educate her, “I’ve noticed that when people get old, they get smaller….for some reason…..”

 

Hangry Fatteh

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Hey, it’s Ramadan!

For the next month our lives revolve around sunset, when we can eat again. I’ll admit I sometimes cheat, but I do my best to share the experience with the husband. I think he appreciates having someone to starve fast with.

Image result for ramadan hungryunveiledthoughts.com

The usual dinner fare doesn’t quite cut it, I agree with him on this. During Ramadan we eat more of the traditional Syrian food my husband grew up with.

One dish we eat during Ramadan is Fatteh. It’s a layered dish, and generally consists of some sort of shredded or toasted bread pieces, layered with some broth or stock, and a mixture of yogurt and tahini. I depend on the husband to do all the calculating and mixing, but I’ve noticed we each like it a little different.

Here is a very loose interpretation of a recipe….should you choose to experience it for yourself.

1-2 large pieces of pita bread-toasted

1 lemon..or more

1 container plain yogurt. We get the home made kind at the Arabic store

Tahini paste

chickpeas/garbanzo beans… a big can. Or a small can. Whatever you like.

Crushed garlic….again, as much as you like.

Salt and pepper… however you like it.

slivered almonds and/or pine nuts

Butter

chopped fresh parsley

pomegranate seeds

How to Toast Pine Nuts in the Oven:

My method:

Assemble ingredients about an hour before sunset, ignoring the burning as your stomach tries to digest itself.

Empty can of large chickpeas into strainer, rinse, and place into saucepan. Cover with water and set to simmer

Look at the clock. Sigh.

Squeeze your lemon into a small container, set aside. grab a bowl to mix the tahini and yogurt together.

Chop the parsley, and peel the pomegranate if you didn’t buy the ready to eat seeds from trader joe’s.

Break the pita bread into small pieces into a glass dish, somewhat bigger than 8×8, and smaller than 9×13.

Look at everything. Look at the clock. Walk away for 20 minutes. (keep coming back to stir the chickpeas and add more water if it cooks off too fast)

Mix the yogurt and tahini…. a LOT more yogurt than tahini…. like maybe 16 oz yogurt to 3 oz tahini…. but honestly it’s not exact, just do what feels right.

Add crushed garlic. somewhere between 1-3 cloves…. or what you want.

Add lemon juice. Add salt and pepper.

Try to smell how it tastes because you can’t taste it yet. stir up really well, test consistency. should be thicker than gravy, thinner than mud. Set aside.

Melt butter in saucepan, 1-2T….or whatever you like. Add nuts. about 1/2 cup total….maybe more.  The goal is to brown the nuts and melt the butter without  burning anything, so try to time it perfectly as you finish putting the rest together……

Remove chickpeas from the stove… should be just enough water left so they aren’t fully covered. Pour over toasted pita bread, move bread around to get it all covered.

Then pour yogurt concoction on top. don’t mix fully…but move a spoon around so it can also get through the layers but stays mostly on top.

Pour the hot butter and nuts on top…. the husband likes to spread it all around so every bit is covered.

garnish with little mounds of parsley and pomegranate seeds.

This is what you might end up with

By the time we are putting together the fatteh, I am officially hangry. I have no patience for anything. I have no sense of humor. I don’t care what channel the Cavs game is on…. I just want to put this together and EAT IT.

After being exposed to my short temper, and absent sense of humor…. the husband suggested that maybe I shouldn’t fast……..

 

accidental profanity

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Took the kids to the playground the other day, it was packed.

As I follow the 3 year old, she continues her nonstop commentary about anything and everything, which I can usually just half-listen to…. but sometimes certain words will trigger my full and panicked attention.

“Mom! I SAID, can I play with that dick thing?”

“What?!!”

“That DICK thing…. can I play with it??”

I tried to do many things simultaneously…  ask her WHAT is she trying to say, while telling her NOT to say that word, and frantically looking around at all of the innocent children playing with parents nearby, hoping my daughter hasn’t corrupted anyone, or prompted a call to child services.

I had no idea what she was talking about, only sure about the fact that she was making a grave mispronunciation….

Event eventually forgotten, until yesterday. Sammy has this kit with fake dinosaur bones buried in this egg shaped concrete stuff, and you have to use the chisel and other tools to dig them out. DIG them out.

“Hey mommy, That’s the thing….. can I play with that digging thing??”

It all made sense. YES… you can play with that. The digging thing. Absolutely.

And she continues, with her 3 year old know it all smile…..

“See mom, I didn’t say Dick”.

“Jenna…. you just did say it… please, that’s not a nice word…. don’t say it again.”

“Ok…but I was just telling you that I won’t say Dick anymore….”

And then, the 6 year old comes in, as he is innocently rhyming random words….

As I walk out of the room I realize he caught the end of our conversation as I hear his sing song words now include:
“Dick…..Dyke….”

“Sammy!”

Startling him from his unknown use of offensive language. The 19 year old can’t stop laughing. Sammy looks confused. And I just give up.

It’s almost over

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savvyauntie.com

School, the school year, making lunches, early bed times, dropping off and picking up.

It’s almost over….two more days left of activities, not even real school.

Kindergarten graduation, face painting, celebrating…..here we come.

Then, staying up late, walks for ice cream, swimming and T-ball. The splash pad, lazy mornings, as time keeps creeping by….

Soon enough, we’re ignoring the school supplies, the racks of polo shirts and khaki pants, but still stocking up on lunch baggies and juice boxes.

Because it’s almost over again.

 

 

The taste of failure

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Still on my cooking kick, trying out new recipes, usually healthy-ish….

Today, to prepare for Ramadan, I tried to make something Arabic to impress the husband. It’s actually one of MY favorite things, not so much his…..but I’m pretty sure he likes it.

Maklube, or Maklouba, according to this recipe I found on Pinterest. There are a LOT of ways to make this dish. some with meat, some without. My favorite is with eggplant… It’s a layered dish, with your rice dividing layers of meat/veggies, whatever you put in it.

There is a degree of technical difficulty, as you have to flip the whole thing over onto a plate and end up with a beautiful stack of yummy layers.Garnish with nuts/parsley and I like to eat it with yogurt as well.

That’s pretty much all the information you can trust me for on this one, as I failed in this endeavor on many levels.

But, in the effort  be transparent, lest anyone think I really am as perfect as I seem……

I give you……my failure

eeewwww, oily eggplant

 

Things started out well enough, until I used about 6 cups of oil to fry up one eggplant because the oil just kept disappearing with each eggplant slice I added to the pan. I did salt the slices like instructed, and also rinsed off the salt (which I guess I shouldn’t have) . I patted dry, but didn’t squeeze it dry….apparently this matters.

I didn’t have cardamom, a key ingredient in the “spice mixture” used for the rice. I chose to plow ahead without.

I realized the recipe I used was complete, but probably I needed many more instructions….it was most likely geared to someone who had a clue about Arabic cooking and didn’t need hand holding.

At some point, I decided it must be done cooking…. so I turned off the burner and let it set about 15 minutes. Then I flipped it over onto a serving platter ever so carefully.

Major clue of failure: There is not supposed to be a big puddle of broth appearing around the base of my food tower

Clearly, it was not done….but it was too late to put it back in the pan. I chose to continue on my path of dinner destruction.

First, I drained the broth. Then I added fresh parsley and almonds with pine nuts to  mask the flavor garnish.

It doesn’t actually look too bad…..

How did it taste? Perhaps I needed to remember salt…. and less oil. Hmmm, did I burn the eggplant? Maybe a slice, or two…..

It wasn’t terrible…but it wasn’t great. Or even really good to be honest. The older kids got their dad to take them to dinner, and the poor little ones were stuck eating this with me. They made a valiant effort.

I did save some for the husband, the majority went into the garbage as there was no way anyone is going to be looking for leftovers of this stuff.

Here is what it looks like when made by someone with a clue:

chefosama.com

This is the actual photo from the recipe I used, from Chef Osama. He seems to know what he’s doing.

I’ll try it again, because I love it (when other people make it). I think next time I’ll just ask one of our relatives who not only cooks it well, but is aware of my deficiencies in the kitchen….. so they can give me all the little secret steps that might have saved me from feeding my family a brick of greasy eggplant tonight.

cupcankles

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Cankles, according to urbandictionary.com, are calves that become feet-without taking an ankle break.

This word has a negative connotation, right?  Imagine my distress when I see my little 16 month old nephew toddle across the kitchen today, supported by his own little set of cankles….

 

although these images from www.cafepress.com illustrate a movement to not only accept the cankle in our  young ones, but to support and embrace it….. the word cankle still sounds kind of harsh and judgy.

It doesn’t inspire the mental image we want to take away when thinking of our sweet, dimply, jolly little guy. You may call him Rubenesque…but you may never call him fat.

We tossed around some variations of the word…. baby + cankles = bankles????  No…….

Then the sister came up with a brilliant compromise to describe the transient phenomenon of baby cankles…

CUPcankles!!!

Doesn’t it sound adorable and kind of delicious?

One day, when the nephew is a strapping young man, complete with toned calves and visible ankles, we will remind him of his sweet little baby cupcankles. Until then, we will enjoy them 🙂

mother/sister confusion

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The other day, my sister and I went somewhere together. Sometimes, we do that.

We went into a building and passed by a security guard. He looked over and smiled at us. “You must be mother and daughter, huh?” He kept smiling and continued “You look just alike, you probably get that all the time, huh?”

I smiled, but my mind was racing….. did he just….?  did he just ask me if I was her MOTHER?

Looking at my sisters smiling face. No, she wasn’t just smiling. She was laughing.

We continue on, stepping into an elevator. I’m inspecting myself in the reflection. “It’s the sweater…. it’s a total mom sweater….”. I asked one of the people in the elevator, “do I look like I could be her mom?!”  He looked confused. “NO!”, I helped him with the correct answer. “I DON’T!”.

Then he smiled knowingly, “you’re sisters huh?”

Clearly….. the first guy may have been completely blind. I don’t even remember him having eyes to be honest.

I give you exhibit A. A recent photo of two SISTERS at a play together…..

And exhibit B: 4 kids in the train at the mall. They all look under 10 to me. No mom-looking people here……

And exhibit C:

Hmmmm, so maybe I do tend to look overall more subdued. More mature in a very young and not mom-ish way. Definitely don’t look like I gave birth to that lady with the chopsticks….

And finally, exhibit D:

Oh, well isn’t that precious. She was my little bitty baby sister….. and I doted on her and probably did pretend to be her mommy back then. Just look at that little face…..

You know what? It’s really ok. I do kind of feel like a mom to her sometimes, I practiced my parenting technique on her before trying it out on my own kids…. thanks to the mistakes I made with my sister, my oldest has turned out pretty awesome.

Oh, I love that little sister of mine. Even if I am going to have to ugly her up a bit before we hang out together next time…. 🙂

 

I’m a sucker

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Sometimes the three year old gets in trouble. Hard to believe, I know.

Recently, I’m lecturing her on, say, the best way to clean the windows. (Hint, NOT with her tongue…) She interrupts me, and says “But do you still love me?” In a completely pitiful and forlorn voice.

And so it began. She asks if I love her. I tell her of course I love her. I never STOP loving her. We do this several times a day sometimes.

And somehow it’s developed into…. “Jenna! stop *insert behavior*!  She looks over at me, and says “but mom, I still love you!” And continues what she was doing. Sometimes she actually puts her hand on my cheek, and turns my face towards her. Then she tells me, very seriously, “I still love you…. I’ll NEVER stop loving you!” And then does what she wants…

What she means is, OK, you caught me, but look….I’m saying the right words, so I get a free pass, right?? Right???

Um… yep. Pretty much.

free spirit ?? Yea, that’s it….

Babysitter secrets

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I was having a conversation with my sister the other day, about a mutual friend who seems to have such conflicted feelings toward her babysitter.

Seems like the sitter is very nice, happy, friendly, responsible, and loving toward her child. He loves going over there. He is treated like family. Yet….. the friend was reluctant to leave him with her. Found fault with the way she did things, and seemed very suspicious of her.

My sister doesn’t understand how in the world this is possible. Especially since the babysitter is also a close friend of hers…and she can vouch that the girl is in fact NOT torturing or neglecting this child during the time she is watching him.

I decided to fill her in on the whole mom/babysitter relationship. At least how it sometimes goes.

For example, if you look on any babysitting site, there are ads from parents looking for that perfect person to watch their baby. But what they are asking for and what they really want aren’t always the same. In these cases, you need to read between the lines and understand that we don’t REALLY want you to love our kids. Maybe just a little, but not enough to make them love you BACK. Because then you’re competition. And that makes us hate you.

This might be a more honest look into the heart of a mom who has to work, and needs a sitter, but also hates the idea of needing a sitter, and worries about being replaced emotionally.

“In search of a dependable, efficient, no-nonsense sitter for my kids. Please be very kind to them, but also sometimes indifferent so they don’t start to love you, but instead always remember to love me more. No more than 3 hugs per day, which must be initiated by the child and tolerated by you. Absolutely no cute nicknames for them. Please do make them healthy and yummy lunches, but don’t cut the sandwich the special way that I cut it… and no pancakes made to spell their names. Just circles for you. If you witness a “first” moment, ignore it. Pretend it didn’t happen… save it for me. If they tell you they love you, pretend you just stubbed your toe and jump around yelling to distract them from those dangerous thoughts. Must be kind of irritable at the end of the day so they run to me with smiles when I come home.”

Or if you need visuals:

NO

YES

 

I may have experienced this myself…. so it’s possible that I know what I’m talking about just a tiny bit. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing makes sense after having kids anyway… In my own experience, I did finally come to really appreciate that the kids and the sitter DID love each other, and time made me realize that nothing-so far-has been able to replace me in their affections.

I think our friend is going through the same issue. Which sucks, but I guess I’d rather hate my sitter for loving my kids and making me jealous, than for actually being a shitty sitter. Ha, try saying that five times fast, shitty sitter, shitty sitter, shitty sitter….. can’t do it can you??

 

Another pee story

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Because you can’t really hear enough about pee, right?

There was an accident in the dining room today, as the 3 year old was playing hide and seek with her brother. A pee accident. Because she couldn’t come out of her hiding spot, so what was a girl to do?

After a tearful (on her part) and somewhat angry (on my part) discussion on the merits of peeing when you need to go vs “holding it”…. we came to an agreement. We agreed to still love each other even when one of us decides to pee our pants, and even if the other person is not very happy about it. And also that we really should take time to stop playing and go pee before it decides to make a grand entrance on a very expensive rug that your father may have a stroke over if he ever found out. She missed the rug…but it was close. Too close.

But as my husband hears the story, he seems so shocked….why did she do it?

Oh, I know.

And now for my next pee story.

I was somewhere around 5 or 6 years old. Playing at the neighbors house, and at some point realized I needed to pee. I think I was in a battle with my bladder, not wanting to allow it any power over me. I would be the one to choose my place and time of elimination, thank you very much! Not some brainless, hollow organ that can’t even stretch enough to let me finish playing a summer afternoon game of hide and seek.

At some point the urge grew from nagging to alarming. I crouched down, begging my body to just HOLD IT IN! I was doing fine, until I lost my balance, fell over and released Hoover Dam.

flikrhivemind.net

I then stood, and took stock of what I had to work with. Warm sunny day, very wet pants. Can’t blame it on falling in a puddle….. but I COULD blame it on falling in a puddle of BUBBLES! Of course, I would tell my parents we were playing with a lake of bubbles and silly me fell in. Surely they would buy it!

I still remember crying, insisting it was BUBBLES and not pee!!!  Isn’t it funny how indignant we get when someone doesn’t believe our perfectly plausible lie?

So I get it. I get that I will have to expect these moments here and there, and remind the youngest to pee sometimes when she’s doing her best to avoid it. And I’ll tell her all the stuff, like I did today, about how it’s bad to hold it in, and not good for your body etc….

What I won’t tell her is that I’ve just gotten sooooo much better at holding it. That’s right, pee, I’m totally the boss of you.

freeimages.com