I Did It, Night 2

Yesterday was Tuesday.  Which meant we had to eat dinner, again.  There really is no escaping it, my boys always want dinner. So, in my ongoing attempt to make at least 4 new meals this week for dinner, I've got another one.  I'm no quitter...yet.

Last night's dinner was Pork Chops with Plum-Grape Sauce.  To be honest, when I decided I was going to embark on this adventure, this was a recipe that I didn't give a second thought to and flipped right past it's page.  After going through 4 cookbooks, I came back to it.  This time, I didn't let the name scare me.  I went ahead and read the ingredients.  Oh yea, I'm that brave.

L.O.V.E. at first bite.   Dave took a bite, and immediately asked if there were more pork chops.  He never, very rarely asks this.  I can only think of one other thing he's ever asked for leftovers for.  SUCCESS.  After the first bite, he's already asking.  We've got a keeper!  Hooray for day 2!

Pork Chops with Plum-Grape Sauce

4 boneless pork loin chops, cut 1 inch thick

1/4 teaspoon salt--I skipped this part

1/4 teaspoon pepper--skipped this too!

2 teaspoons olive oil

1/3 cup water

1/4 cup plum jam

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

2 teaspoons Dijon-style mustard--I forgot to buy this, so I used the deli mustard we had in the fridge

1/2 teaspoon chicken bouillon granuals

1 clove garlic, minced

1 small plum, seeded and cut into thin wedges--Meijer didn't have any plums out for the season, so, you guessed it, I skipped this!

1/2 cup seedless red grapes, halved

Trim fat from the chops.  Sprinkl both sides of chops with salt and pepper (skipped).  In a large nonstick skillet cook cops in hot oil over medium heat for 8-12 minutes or until juices run clear, turning once.  Transfer chops to a serving platter.  Cover and keep warm.

Add the water, jam, balsamic vinegar, mustard, chicken bouillon granules, and garlic to the skillet.  Whisk over medium heat until bubbly.  Remove from heat.  Gently stir in plum wedges and grapes.  To serve, spoon plum-grape mixture over chops. 

A Few Notes:  Be careful if you have small kiddos like Rei, the oil really starts popping when you take out the chops and put in the other stuff.
Even without the plums, it was delicious!

This pretty much another fist pump in the air!  2 for 2!

I Did It

  When I was little, I was the baker--I loved to bake, it's what I did!  I think I would have baked some sort of yummy treat everyday if there would have been some magic fairy who showed up at the end to clean up the mess that I always made!

Sadly, time doesn't always allow me to bake anymore, and now I have to do grown up things like COOK DINNER MOST NIGHTS.  This was one of those things that I didn't think clearly about before I agreed to be a wife and a mom.  They were always going to want dinner.  Like, EVERY NIGHT.  Every stinkin' night.  And, since our budget doesn't allow for going out to eat often, it's up to me.  (We're not putting Dave in the equation here...we can't have hilly billy hotdogs or fried potatoes every night.)

So this week, while on Spring Break, I promised myself I would try at least 4 new recipes that I've heard, read, seen, or wanted to try.

This is my bragging blog. I tried one last night, Pizza Casserole and it was a huge success.  Both my boys liked it, and we have plenty of leftovers.  So many leftovers in fact, next time, I'll cut the recipe in half. 

Although making this very easy dinner doesn't seem like much, I did in fact do a fist pump in the air when it turned out!             

Hooray for night one!

Pizza Casserole

1 package egg noodles

Extra large jar of favorite spaghetti sauce

1.5 lbs. of hamburger

shredded mozzarella cheese

pepperoni

Cook and drain the noodles as directed.  Brown and drain the hamburger.

Preheat oven to 350

Put a thin layer of spaghetti sauce on the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan.  Put 1/2 the noodles on top.  Put 1/2 the meat on top.  Add as much cheese as desired next.

Continue layers--sauce, noodles, meat, cheese until all ingredients are gone.

Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes.  Uncover and bake for an additional 15.

YUM!

They Lied.

I've never been good with puke.  I've never enjoyed puking (although, come to think of it, I can't think of anyone that does enjoy that...), watching someone puke (again, no one pops into mind as having this favorite past time), seeing puke (I know there are some people it doesn't bother), or worst of all, the smell of puke.

For 10 years, my students have all heard the same thing on the first day of school.  I won't be mad if you get sick in my classroom, but I WILL knock your friends over as I am running at a high rate of speed outside the classroom for fresh air and scenery.  It's just a fact of life.  I can handle a lot.  Blood, loose teeth, broken bones, seizures, emergencies...everything BUT puke.

Once I had a baby, everyone said his puke would be different.  I mean really, Reilly puked for the first 9 months of his life.  Multiple times a day.  Everytime he ate.  All over me.  All over the floor.  All over his bed.  Everywhere.  But it was baby puke.  It didn't smell.  It wasn't chunky.  It was just baby puke.

Thankfully, Reilly hasn't puked big boy puke since his acid reflux relaxed so I haven't had to test the "It'll be different" theory everyone has always told me about.

Until Wednesday.  Wednesday was different.  It was on Wednesday that Reilly puked.  Big Boy Puke!

I went to get him out of bed like our normal routine and was immediately greeted with a smell in his room that wasn't fresh roses.  My first thought was, "Wow, Daddy forgot to throw out a dirty diaper."  Upon further investigation with my sniffer, I realized it wasn't poop.   It was something else.  Something not pleasant.  Something like PUKE.

I walked carefully.  Watching every step, looking right, left, right and left again.  I didn't see any evidence of last night's dinner.  (Which happened to be hot dogs, yogurt and applesauce.)  I figured my over-sensitive sniffer had led me astray and continued on with the process of getting Reilly to wake up and getting him to commit to being vertical for the day.

Our process usually goes like this.  Light on, back rubbing, talking softly, convince Reilly to stand up, grab Reilly and Dottie (his very favorite blue polka-dotted blanket that he never leaves bed without), snuggle for about 30 seconds, get dressed, discuss day, brush teeth and hair, get snack and head to Ms. Betsy's.  It's like a well-oiled machine.

After our routine back rubbing, saying good morning, talking about his dreamies and discussing our day, I was still noticing the smell and couldn't figure out what was going on.  I had started to mentally prepare and resigned myself to the fact that there was going to be a very nasty diaper to deal with and picked Reilly up.

That's when everything went wrong.  I mean EVERYTHING!  I picked up Reilly, flung Dottie over my shoulder and that's when it hit me.  LITERALLY.  It hit me.  THE PUKE.  Sometime during the night, my poor little man had gotten sick all over the beloved Dottie and I had just flung it over my shoulder.  Onto my shirt.  Brushing my face in the process.  Did I mention that he had hot dogs, yogurt and applesauce for dinner Tuesday?

Routine broken.  Time for a shower.  We don't normally budget our time for a morning shower.  Plans change.  We were in crisis mode.  I DON'T DO PUKE.

Thankfully, the events of Wednesday morning were an isolated event.  He's been fine ever since.  He was fine that morning.  I wasn't.

My lesson--Those people that told me it would be different when it was my son's puke...THEY LIED.

He Did WHAT????

When people ask how old Reilly is, my automatic response is, "Very TWO!"  Most people get it.  They get that he's all sorts of energy.  They get that he's full of mischief. They get that he challenges me.  They get that I'm exhausted.  They get that him smiling means he's probably done something he shouldn't have.  They get that HE'S TWO!  He's just TWO.

So, our normal pick up from the babysitter's consists of how many time outs (we've been on a roll here lately...none in the past couple of days), what he had for lunch, what he spent free time doing and so on. 

Ms. Betsy is amazing.  Simply amazing.  She has daycare down to a Science.  I don't control my 5th graders nearly as well as she controls her two year olds.  I realize more and more that I don't pay her nearly what she is worth.  She is also pretty rigid when it comes to some things.  One of those things is her rule of NO TOUCHING THE BABIES.

Welllllllllllll.....she just had a new baby start about 3 weeks ago.  And Reilly loves him some babies.  So the no touching thing is hard.  VERY hard.

The other day, they were having free time before nap, and Ms. Betsy was holding the baby.  Reilly walked over to her and wanted to see the new wiggly girl in pink.  He was reminded that they look with their eyes, not with their hands.  Twice he was reminded. 

Two reminders.  And my very TWO year old sticks out his skinny little pointer finger and touches the baby's knee.  Right in front of Ms. Betsy.  And if that's not bad enough, looks right at her and says, "Touch."  She reminded him again, "Reilly, no touching the babies."  He AGAIN, looks right at her, sticks out that little finger, touches the baby's knee and says, "Touch."  All while giggling.

Ms. Betsy again goes to say, "Reilly, no touching the babies" and what does my son do????

HE SHUSHED THE BABYSITTER.

Walked right up to her, put his fingers to his lips and said, "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

My son shushed the babysitter.

Oy!

And that was the day my son had to go to bed 5 minutes earlier than all his friends at Ms. Betsy's.

29

I wanted to do something fun and creative on my blog for the twenty ninth of February, but I couldn't think of anything to say...so this is it.



29 words.  That's all I have.

Chances Are...

  We like to share in our family.  We share laughs, good news, bad news, hugs, love, kisses, prayers, celebrations...we share everything.  Even birthdays.

If you're somehow linked to our family...chances are, you don't celebrate your birthday alone.  We have some C.R.A.Z.Y birthday connections.

Growing up, we used to think it was funny that we had several birthdays that fell in December, and several in March.  We thought it was cool that so many of us shared birthday months.  Now...many of us share birthday DAYS.  Crazy stuff.

All of the people below are somehow connected in my pretty immediate family.  Take a gander at these connections...


Jacob and Grandpa---Grandfather and grandson---My cousin and my grandpa
Rachel and Uncle Ron----Father and Daughter----My uncle and my cousin
Kim and Glenn----Husband and Wife----My sister and brother-in-law
Michaela and Tyler----Cousins to one another----Both my cousins
Samantha and Great Grandpa-Great Great Grandpa and Granddaughter-My Great Grandpa and cousin
Brady and Big Dave----(Not actually related to one another)----My nephew and my father in law
William and New Baby----Cousins to one another----My cousin and his cousin


All in one family.  (Mostly)  What are the chances?!?!?!?!

I told you we share everything.

Fear Of The Flush

Ok....not really a fear of the flush...just a fear.  As in a screaming, legs straight out, arms go rigid, real tears falling, whole body shaking, fear.
Of going potty on the big boy potty.

There has been no trauma.  There have been no mishaps.  There have been no splashes hitting the bum.  There has been nothing.  N.O.T.H.I.N.G.

We have slowly been building up to going potty on the big boy potty.  We talk about it.  We look at it.  We flush it.  We do everything but the deed. 

As mentioned before...Reilly's favorite topic is poop.  He announces when he has to go.  He announces as he's going.  He announces when he's done.  Everyone who sees it, has the same reply..."Oh, he'll be an easy one to potty train.  He's ready."

Nope.  Not ready.  Not at all.

Every time we try to go potty, it is a complete meltdown.  Real tears.  His whole little body shakes.  He screams.  It's awful and it's heartbreaking. We have the potty seat.  We've tried to just hold him.  We sing songs.  We count.  We distract using toys.  Nothing helps.  I think my poor child is traumatized by the toilet.

It's time to reach out to others.  What are the potty training tricks?  My poor boy can't be in diapers forever.