Friday, March 6, 2015

In just a flash

As I changed Fuzzy's diaper, I thwacked his head on the faucet. Stellar. Turning around, Bennie has put an umbrella in the toilet. Awesome.

Not just any umbrella, mind you. No, this was Leenie's Thomas the Train umbrella that used to be Nephew's. It's a prized possession that stays in her closet.

Fuzzy can't stop crying, I lead Bennie out of the way with my foot and sit down with Fuzzy to let him cry out the tears I caused. He puked.

He puked all over my lovely new cashmere sweater that Husband gave me.

How do you clean cashmere? I've never owned cashmere and am starting to understand why.

Bennie is dripping all down the hallway with her opened umbrella, jumping in the puddles. Leenie sees her coveted treasure and screams. She grabs it from Bennie. Bennie screams. I scream that they are arguing over an umbrella that is soaked with toilet water.

Thank the Lord that Leenie flushed.

Fuzzy gets dropped in a bucket along the way. Not a real bucket, but a bassinet. The girls have dropped the umbrella and moved on to the kitchen. Bennie is standing on the table, jumping and clapping. I don't know where Leenie is. Another bucket (bassinet) is next to the table and I can see what Bennie has on her mind before she does it. I can do nothing to stop her from leaping from the table and landing in the middle of the bassinet on wheels, sending her skittering around the kitchen.

She claps. Leenie appears and laughs. Bennie tries to do it again. I stop her.

On the ground she goes, Leenie right behind her. I find Fuzzy and place him a little higher off the ground for his safety as much as for my sanity. A few minutes later, Leenie appears with a wet piece of construction paper. She proudly displays the whale she made from the water in the bathroom.

Not the toilet water, rather the sink water.

Bennie comes up front, too. She's not carrying a picture made from water on construction paper. Rather, she is carrying nail polish.

No lie- I had to tell her, "Bennie- don't eat nail polish."

As I sit and type, Bennie and Leenie are eating supper (it's 4:46). A supper of cheese pizza, fruit, and yogurt. Husband is on call this weekend. They are utter angels, with nary a reference to the flash of chaos we had but moments before. Sans the puddles, you'd never know.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Do you ever?

Do you ever think back to those treats of your youth and remember how good they were? Or do you remember that person being so tall when you were so short? Or that place that had the coolest things?

And you revisit that person who isn't quite so tall anymore and those cool things in that place? Not so cool. Not like Neverland and Michael Jackson kind of uncool, but just uncool. A Twinkee? It's just not so good anymore- they're oily, more oily than you remember, and the satisfaction does not last the way it once did. Don't get me started on Little Debbie Cakes. Tucked in the back of my mother's pantry, there might be a box still hidden and those perfect little cakes wrapped in their cellophane wrapper probably look like they did twenty five years ago. Fortunately, my mother stays on top of her pantry much better than my father does with his garage.

The garage has 32 hammers. I digress.
64 screwdrivers. 25 of which are flat head. Must... quit... digressing...

The other day, my mom and I were talking as she was cleaning out the pantry and I asked her about something I remember from my childhood.

My grandparents used to make a special Jell-O for the grandchildren. My grandparents were of the Jell-O mold generation and found fanciful ways to dress up the gelatin and make it picture perfect. My mother has old cookbooks with sections dedicated to Jell-O salads and gelatin-li-ness for the most elegant of dinners. In case you are curious, at the fanciest of dinners, Jell-O is served in a small bowl with a low lip and is eaten with a fork. Oh, and a mold isn't so pretty once a spoon comes into play.

This Jell-O is made from apricot Jell-O and involves hot orange juice and cold buttermilk. I kid you not. And we devoured it. They made it for us when we were sick or visiting. Not every time we were sick or every time we visited, but just enough to make us want it all the more.

Mom and I went to Publix to look for apricot Jell-O. Nothing. They have Black Cherry Jell-O and Pina Colada Jell-O, but no Apricot. Also, the flavors are alphabetized at Publix, in case you were curious.

I was at Fresh Market some time later and looked at all their Jell-Os. Arranged by color, there was no apricot.

Mom went to Target and thought to look at their selection. No apricot.

Kroger- the place where my grandmother used many a coupon- they would have to have it. Nope. Their Jell-O was arranged by someone smoking doobies.

It started to bother me. Did Jell-O cease to make apricot flavor? How will I rekindle this memory from being so small? Surely... Shirley apricot Jell-O is still in existence. A google search and a trip to the Jell-O website (because they have such) informed me that apricot Jell-O is still in production.

I am turning Hometown upside down looking for this ingredient out of mere curiosity as I am hesitant to concoct a recipe that involves hot orange juice and cold buttermilk. But, curiosity killed the cat and it will always get the best of me. Why turn a town upside down when Al gave us the Internet?

And God gave us Amazon?

Apricot Jell-O is sold on Amazon... but only by the case. Do you think I walked away without purchasing that which I have scoured the town for days looking for? You bet your sweet tail that I did not walk away empty handed. A case of apricot Jell-O arrived on my doorstep yesterday. Husband is going to flip when he sees it-- and not the good kind of flip. Mom promised me that she will make it for me tomorrow. I hope that it is as good as I remember.

A call to one of my Hanes-wearing aunts to tell her what I have purchased, I could tell it made her smile to hear the memory of this concoction that we all remember so fondly. She mentioned that her son still loves it.

"Wait- they have apricot Jell-O in Montana?!"

She did not know.

"Well, I can solve that. I'll send him some."

A label on a tiny Jell-O box and it gets weighed on the same scale we weigh Fuzzy. $1.61 worth of stamps later- it is in the mailbox. $1.61 worth of stamps do not fit on the front of the box without obscuring the addresses. Rather they ran along the side of the box. And the back. I wonder if it will get delivered.

I don't even like apricots.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Fuzzy at one month

Hair... still red.
Tears... often and regular.
Eating... a lot.
Gaining weight... proficiently.
Diaper rash... waxing and waning.

He's small- albeit his sister's best efforts to help him gain weight... neither he nor I were really impressed with Bennie the other day when she gave him eggs. In his mouth. As he cried. Good job, Bennie. Thanks for your help. Mental note: don't leave children alone. Ever.

On a good night- he wakes up twice, once about 1:30 and again about 5:30. On a bad night, it's 1:30, 2:15, 3:37, 4:10, 5:45, 6:30... and then he sleeps until noon. Those nights aren't my favorite.

Here he is... one month on the outside:

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Boxes of Wine

At this moment, this exact moment, I have a glass of red wine the size of Texas next to me. Leenie is back in Bennie's room throwing stuffed animals at her. Literally.

To make the odds a little more in Leenie's favor, Bennie is trapped in her crib. Leenie jumps on the twin bed across the room and slings whatever animal she can reach in the basket at her sister. Half of them have hit the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. The monkey with long arms has caught itself on the chandelier and precariously hangs by a velcro thread.

Bennie laughs.

I cringe.

Fuzzy screams from the bassinet in my bedroom.

Where was I when this debacle stared? Not sitting next to a glass red wine the size of Texas, I can say that much. One clue...


Strapped to the plastic cones, I let my head fall back against the chair as the BZZZZZt continues. Bennie laughs. Leenie screams. Fuzzy cries.

Husband is on call.

I have mastitis. How is the word "t*t" in mastitis and I never noticed it until now?

Whoops- Leenie cleared the chandelier and one landed on Bennie in the crib. Bennie is no longer the one laughing. I rip the plastic cones off, spilling everywhere and leaving a bruise. I know better than this- wait for the end of the BZZZZZt before the "suck back in" to pull off. Rookie mistake. That'll leave a mark.

I have sour cream in my hair.

Life's a comedy. I laugh at myself.

Milk is everywhere. Animals are everywhere. Bennie is naked. Lennie runs between my legs to "pat Fuzzy" and help him stop crying. She's carrying two more stuffed animals. Probably to throw at him in his bassinet. I collar her before she can turn the corner.

Into Bennie's room, it dawns on me that it took me exactly three weeks- practically to the hour- for me to admit defeat and realize that life will be different with three children.

There will be less structure.
There will be less discipline.
There will be more wine.

Lots more. Because I have realized that sometimes, in life, and especially motherhood-- they just don't make boxes of wine big enough.

Friday, February 13, 2015

Almost There

We have to get the tiny baby back up to his birth weight. I have mentioned this before. To track his progress, we put him on the kitchen scale:

He is really not a fan of this process. Can you blame him? He fits in a bowl, for Pete's sake.

And what am I doing? Ohhh... taking pictures of him crying.

A few moments of thought and I remember an acrylic tray in our pantry. He seems to like this much better:

I like that he is 6 pounds 12 ounces and is within shouting distance of those last two ounces he needs. Grow, Fuzzy, GROW!