by mayberry on July 22, 2009
I haaaaaate cooking dinner. I also hate feeding my children too much take-out (or consuming it myself, or for that matter, paying for it). So I have found ways to cheat. Herewith, my favorite ways to slap together a meal that’s reasonably healthy. If you are a real cook (Maggie) you might want to look away. These all happen to be vegetarian, too.
- Pasta with jarred sauce and frozen vegetables. To boost the health quotient I get the pasta that has protein and omega-3s in it, or the kind with some vegetables cooked in. I buy sauce that doesn’t contain corn syrup. I throw frozen vegetables into the pasta water. Fifty percent of my children pick them out, but I continue to try. I give each child an individual portion of parmesan cheese (not from the green can) to control intake.
- Amy‘s frozen spinach pizza. If I make pizza myself (which is another one of my fake dinners–with storebought shells) my vegetable-averse child will not eat it. But Amy’s, with spinach no less, she will gobble right down.
- Breakfast for dinner. Scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, fruit smoothies–with lots of diner participation on that last item. For my own portion of eggs I chop in some broccoli if I have it around.
- Tofu and noodles. Cubed tofu, whatever leftover vegetables are available, and Thai Kitchen noodles with sauce. I used to have to set aside a sauce-free bowl of noodles for you-know-who, but we’ve managed to move beyond that now.
- Egg rolls (frozen) and edamame. Little miss “no thank you” loves edamame. She would eat an entire bag if I let her. She also can’t really tell the difference between vegetable egg rolls and chicken ones.
So, two food posts in a row. A little exercise in compare-n-contrast. What do you eat when you can’t be bothered to cook for real?
Also, on that glass of water: Remove pitcher of cold, filtered water from refrigerator. Pour into clean, ice-free pint glass. Enjoy.
by mayberry on June 29, 2009
If there is one thing you can do to really, really make me mad, that is interfere with my sleep. That includes you, offspring over the age of two (she says, generously). What I would like is some kind of complete sensory deprivation chamber to hide in between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m. nightly. It would be temperature controlled, soundproof, and dark, and would of course contain my beloved Tempur-pedic pillow. I suppose it would have to have some kind of override switch for emergencies, but woe betide the person who misused it.
After having my slumber disrupted for the past eight years by pregnancy, nursing, babies, kids, dogs, and spouses, I have a huge chip of entitlement on my shoulder. I feel that I am owed a good night’s sleep every single evening for the rest of my life. I don’t think that is unreasonable. Unfortunately, those who share my home and my bed don’t seem to understand this. Doors are left wide open; dog collar tags jingle mercilessly; clothes are retrieved, forgotten, retrieved again; children stop by to mention that they went for a walk and saw a “golden yellow” snake; floorboards squeak and creak. And I lay in bed seething (not very conducive to sleep either).
My birthday is next week. You know what to get me.
by mayberry on June 18, 2009
Sometimes I feel like the only mother in the world who really dislikes bedtime–the process, not the result (that part I like). Yes, I like snuggling and reading books (well, some books) and shampoo-scented hair. I even almost like ear-fondling. But I don’t like “put on your pajamas” nagging, “brush your teeth” nagging, “put your clothes in the hamper” nagging, “stop jumping on the bed” nagging, “did you use the potty?” nagging.
It is absolutely prime time for me losing my patience in a big bad way, even more so than the 5:00 arsenic hour. I don’t know if that’s because bedtime comes at the end of a long day and I need a break, or because I am jumping ahead to the sweet, sweet free time that’s almost in reach. But you will never catch me writing rhapsodic posts about cuddling with my darlings at bedtime.
Maybe when they’re teenagers and put themselves to bed and sleep until noon. That’ll be rhapsodic, right? And then I’ll blubber about how I miss those bedtime moments. For now, I’ll continue wishing for my instant-sleep superpower. I promise only to use it in good faith.
by mayberry on June 11, 2009
Tuesday’s Act III (everything after 5 p.m.) was a tragedy. Or a misery, or whatever theatrical term means “sucky.” We discovered I’d made a frustrating, and probably costly, mistake regarding some home repairs. Opie moped and whined; he’d had a minor, but uncomfortable medical procedure done earlier in the day and the pain was breaking through. Neither Jeff or I have the slightest interest in making dinner lately, so we’d done the usual stare into the fridge, sigh, feed kids “how about some canned soup.” Even absent all of this, my general frame of mind these days is snappish and cranky; I knew June would be hard and it is, very.
Wednesday, the sun came out after days of cold and rain. Our peonies bloomed. I spent the whole day alone with the kids and didn’t lose my temper. We caught some caterpillars. We ate frozen pizza (with spinach). I set my expectations low.
It still wasn’t exactly a comedy of a day (there was no wedding at the end, for starters), but I’ll take it.
by mayberry on February 19, 2009
For the record, the following do not motivate my son to use the toilet:
- Effusive praise
- Moderate praise
- Barely perceptible praise
- Threats of violence (no, of course not)
- Candy
- Stickers
- Toys
- Money
- A kid-sized potty
- A kid-sized potty seat insert
- Just a regular potty like we all use
- Choosing and buying his own underwear
- Being allowed to wear underwear
- Not being allowed to wear underwear
- Wearing soaking wet underwear
- Being one of the only kids in his class not in underwear
I started off very laidback. But the kid is going to be FOUR in six weeks. What the hell?
by mayberry on January 28, 2009
Someday, this child will wear underwear. I’m trying the Law of Attraction because I am out of other options.
by mayberry on November 8, 2008
What with all the appendecto-mania this summer I never recorded another big milestone: We are now a Nuk-free household. After all my hand-wringing, all it took was accidentally (we really didn’t do it on purpose, except maybe in the Freudian sense) leaving the Nuks behind on our Fourth of July weekend trip to Grammy’s house. That was four nights of “we left the Nuk in our car at the airport, remember?” and somehow Opie fell asleep each night without it. I don’t even remember it being that difficult.
When we came home, we stashed the car Nuk before it could be seen and never brought it out again. Done and done. Color me shocked, especially since we couldn’t have picked a worse time to break that habit–almost as soon as we returned from that particular trip, I left for a business trip on my own and then right after that we went to San Francisco, kicking off three weeks of hospitalization, disruption, and aggravation. And he was seriously fine the whole time. Once in a great while he’ll say “I miss my Nukkies” and we’ll agree and reminisce about the good times we all had. And then move on.
Now, the thumb is another story, especially now that Jo has lost her two top front teeth. Anticipating yet another stern lecture from the dentist, we ordered these thumb guards, which we’ve been using for about a week now with a fair amount of success (by which I mean she is able to fall asleep with them on; but the minute she wakes up she extricates herself and we find her on the couch slurping away).
So Monday we go to the dentist (aside: genius over here scheduled her kids’ dentists appointments for three days after Halloween) and I am already on the defensive. Instead, we get the best hygienist ever. She told me that yes, Jo has a cross-bite, but it’s not necessarily related to her thumb habit. And she said that she should go to the orthodontist after all 8 of her front teeth (4 top, 4 bottom) fall out and grow back in, which “may not be until she’s past 8 years old.” I wanted to kiss her on the spot for buying us two more years!
by mayberry on November 3, 2008
Forget Fridays–I love Mondays. Weekends are fun, they’re busy, they’re sometimes even productive, but they are in no way relaxing. This Saturday and Sunday I cooked, cleaned, laundered, and folded. I played Legos and assisted with a first-grade scrapbooking effort. I went to the ice rink (twice), church/Sunday school, the grocery store, and our local, poor man’s Target, all with at least one child in tow. (This is what’s exhausting about more than one kid, when they outgrow strollers: The shepherding. I say “Stay by me” until I am blue in the face, and yet one is always mysteriously missing.)
But Monday! Ahhh, Monday. On Monday morning everyone leaves. I finally get a little peace and quiet. Of course I have the laundry to finish and dishes to wash and work to do, lots and lots of it; but I can do it without being interrupted hundreds of times in a row. That right there is a luxury, one for which I am grateful every single week.
Edited to add: I am amused to note that Julie from a little pregnant posted similarly (although much more funnily) today.
by mayberry on October 30, 2008
As I have mentioned, Jo is a bit of a dilettante. Like most kids, she’s a sucker for anything new. Last Christmas, she got a finger loom which she loooooovvved for about two weeks (and even that was a very long run) and has since almost completely ignored. She’ll beg for a toy or a game or a book with the tenacity of an e-mail spam overlord and then blow it off almost as quickly as she receives it. She’s taken a incredible range of extracurricular classes, from music to art to tumbling to (most recently) ice skating, but the only one she’s stuck with consistently is swimming.
Her most recent prized possession was a toy sewing machine we picked up at TJ Maxx for $12. It’s pink and plastic but it really works. So for a few days Jo was a busy busy seamstress (mostly just making seams with no practical purpose). And after that, of course, the little machine sat and gathered dust.
What I wonder is how much of this is my own doing. See, the sewing machine–like many other hobbies she might try/stick with–requires intervention from me: helping her thread the needle, find fabrics to work with, follow instructions, etc. And you know, there is a reason why I don’t own a sewing machine myself. I am just not interested! So if Jo asks me to help her, I will; but I’m not going to go out of my way and say “Psst! Hey kid! Wanna sew?”
So I don’t think I am actually suppressing my child’s interests. The question is whether I am doing enough to encourage them. I like to think I am allowing her passions to shine through (she is only six, after all!). But as we’ve established, I’m pretty good at rationalizing.
by mayberry on July 27, 2008
It’s now been two full weeks since that offending little piece of tissue was removed and my little girl is still in the hospital. She had to have another surgical procedure on Friday, round two of ridding her body of the infectious gunk that is so firmly lodged in her gut. So far, she seems to be responding well, and we’ll know more tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe she’ll even get to come home.
When we got home from San Francisco last Sunday night, I stayed up until 2 a.m. completing a freelance job that had to be in by 8:30 that Monday morning. After I mailed it off, I stared at my bedroom ceiling for another hour fretting about everything on my long to-do list, from unpacking to catching up on work to Full Mommy reviews to weeding my overgrown flower beds.
Needless to say, another week has evaporated and I’ve done almost none of those things that were so important they kept me up that night. In the hospital, I have wireless but I don’t have any ability to concentrate. If it isn’t the worry (are 5 CT scans too many for a 40-pound, 6-year-old child? How much longer can this possibly go on?), it’s the endless Disney Channel loop, or the nurse coming in or out, or the entreaties to take just one more sip of Gatorade.
These days, more than ever, I feel like every minute spent doing one critical task is a minute stolen from some other equally critical task. Time playing with Opie (an absolute trouper during this whole ordeal, I must note) is time away from Jo’s bedside. Fifteen minutes answering work e-mail is 15 minutes not finding something nutritious for us all to eat. A half-hour sleeping is a half-hour not blogging (aka taking time for myself).
This has been the longest and shortest month of my life. Wake me when it’s over.
