I just thought you'd all like to know

... that I had a Twinkie for dinner because my mouth still hurts. Then I had an ibuprofin chaser.

*pout*

Nitrites??!? Ewwwww!

Yeah I fed him a Luncheable. Lynch me.

"Mmmmmmmm" is a complete sentence

And in the morning, I'm makin' WAFFLES!

Because today I got this majorly awesome and totally retro waffle maker from a nice stranger on Freecycle. :)

So, who's coming for breakfast?

Nom nom nom...

Tonight I made homemade chili for the first time EVER. By myself. It was goooood. Mmmm, I love me some kidney beans. No anemia here tonight! The kids had a spaggetti dinner at their friend's house, but when they came home they asked for some chili anyway - and ate a whole serving each! The baby loved it so much he didn't even bother smearing any on himself.

I also made fresh rolls.

Oh yeah.

Caught strawberry-handed

He doesn't even have the decency to look guilty. He's rockin' the ambidexterous thing though.

I think we've solved the mystery of how the strawberry jam ended up under the table, upside down, with no lid.

Desperately seeking:

1. A really good recipe for white bread, from scratch.
2. A really good chocolate chip cookie recipe, no nuts.
3. A really good recipe for white cake, from scratch. I like my cake on the dense side.
4. A really good recipe for buttercream icing.

Anybody?

I'm not messy, I'm composting!

I'm new to the world of composting, and therefor I don't have any preconceived notions of how I'm "supposed to" do things. Meaning, I do things my way - which may not necessarily be the right way. I like the idea of recycling, but I don't actually want to have to go through all the trouble of setting up a composter, watching what I put in it so it stays healthy, blah blah blah. My solution - dump all organic matter in the forest! WOOHOO! I keep a big ol' bucket in the kitchen (formerly the "barf bucket" when the kids are sick - don't worry, I cleaned it) and I just dump all our little odds and ends when I'm doodling around in the kitchen into it. Egg shells, carrot tops, wilted lettuce, etc. and then after dinner, the kids take it out to the forest conveniently located just to the left of our house and dump it.



You know what's neat? The garbage doesn't stink anymore. No more rotting food hanging around. You know what else? The forest doesn't stink either. Something magical happens to the food you dump there. Animals eat the big stuff, worms and bugs eat the little stuff, and the rest (and the animals/bugs own "recycling") gets broken down for plant food. I was out there he other day poking around, I lifted up an old eggshell - and there was a flower growing underneath. How cool.



I know one thing - my flower beds are very appreciative of the top-notch soil I've been pulling out of there. Worms and all.

Mmm, birthday steak

So, in honour of my darling husband getting another year older - I made all his favorite foods. So what if he wasn't here to enjoy them? It's the thought that counts!

We had steak, marinated for a full day in balsamic vineagar, extra-virgin olive oil, red onions, red/orange/yellow bell peppers, fresh basil that I grew by my very own self, garlic, salt, and pepper:

That was BBQ'd with baked potatoes, corn on the cob, and a big ol' salad. Oh baby yeah! Soooo good.

I even made cupcakes last night, but somehow the didn't make it through the day. I'm not really sure what happened there...

Happy birthday sweetie, I love you!

How to make lunch:

1. Get hungry.
2. Go to kitchen.
3. Unearth counter from under piles of homework, fliers, permission slips, napkins, bills, scribbled shopping lists, children's art, recipies, and - for some reason - seed packets.
4. Take out bread, which has somehow gone stale since it was purchased yesterday - probably due to the fact that you are the only one who knows how to close the bag.
5. Remove old crumb-covered knife from butter, use new knife to apply butter to bread. Wash both knives and put away.
6. Open peanut butter.
7. Wonder why peanut butter is half full of PAM Cooking Spray.
8. Throw peanut butter in garbage.
9. Open honey instead.
10. Wonder why honey is half full of PAM Cooking Spray.
11. Throw honey in garbage.
12. Throw now-empty PAM cooking spray in garbage.
13. Add peanut butter, honey, and PAM Cooking Spray to current shopping list.
14. Take cold-cut bin out of fridge.
15. Attempt to find cold-cut with no pre-existing toddler-sized bite marks.
16. Throw cold-cuts in garbage.
17. Add cold-cuts to current shopping list.
18. Attempt to locate jam.
19. Find jam upside down under kitchen table, with no lid.
20. Throw jam in garbage.
21. Add jam to current shopping list.
22. Comb cupboards for anything else to put on sandwhich.
23. Give up, take money out of husbands change jar, and go to restaurant.

Because my brain is fried, that's why.

How do you forget milk? Seriously?

I went shopping for a few groceries with ALL kids in tow, that's how. I'm amazed I remembered all of them, let alone any grocery items.

Milk is very important though, in The Mommy's household. Milk is what makes the baby go down for his nap.

No milk = no nap.

No brain = no milk.

Furthermore,

No one to watch children = no nipping out to the store.

In summation,

No nap.

No break.

No hope.

No thank you.

At least I did the dishes

I'd just like to tell you all that tonight my wonderful hubby Andrew made dinner - ALL of it. He did all the grocery shopping for it, then made us a beautiful pork roast with carrots and potatoes, seasoned and cooked to perfection. He made gravy from the drippings. He served it all to us on clean plates.

He made apple pie. From SCRATCH. With REAL APPLES!

Oh yeah, luckiest woman alive. Y'all leave him some comment love, k?

Just thought I'd let you all know...

...that I have a big ol' roast slowcooking in my kitchen, with spices, garlic, jalapenos, celery, carrots, worstershire sauce, onions, and bacon.

My house smells DE.LIC.IOUS.

So, who's coming for dinner?

(Seriously, it's like a 5lb roast, and it's just the kids & I. Bring dessert.)

Methinks...

... that it is time to go grocery shopping:

Well, THAT lasted long...

I used to have clean floors. I even took a picture! Then Finn happened.

Notice how he even got it on the wall. Sigh.

Bread. At least I think that's what it's supposed to be...

I found a recipe on a blog I luuuuurrve - Itty Bitty Bistro

Well, it used to be a blog. I think it's a real live website now. I digress...

I attempted to make their "Boston Brown Bread" and I'm pretty sure I failed.

Lemme show you:

I assembled my fixin's.

(And yes, I always "arrange" them like that. Honest.)

Combine dry, combine wet:

Combine dry with wet:

Put in cans for steaming, add water, cover:

Steam:

Remove from pot, uncover:

Remove from cans. Please not that said removal was more than a little tricky because my can opener staunchly refused to open the wrong end of a can. It's all the can opener's fault!

See? I did it wrong. It's not bread. It's not pretty. It smells like bran muffins, which could be a good thing.

I'll make the kids eat it. Even if it does resemble poo. ;)

Eggsperiments with mommy's blood pressure

(Note: I'm posting this for posterity, as it happened before I started the blog but I think it's a story that bears telling. I just posted it in commiseration with a poster on my baby boards, and well, someone liked it. So here it is.)

Eggs.

Eggs were my cross to bear.

Three dozen eggs smashed into the carpets of TWO ROOMS, with shells scattered clear from the kitchen to the OTHER END OF THE HOUSE.

All was quiet in The Mommy's household. Children were happily Barbie-ing in their room, baby was nestled snugly in mommy's womb, and I had to pee. So I did. When I got out, not three minutes later, I heard it. Crunch. I though I'd stepped on a beetle. I wish I'd stepped on a beetle. It was an eggshell. How odd for an eggshell to be at the door to the bathroom. And in front of the washing machine. And another in front of my bedroom door. And another, and another, and... OH. NO.

An open fridge door. Three egg cartons, open and empty on the floor in front of it. Eggshells. Everywhere.

No children.

No sound.

WahWAHwah.

Bedroom one: mine. Clear.

Bedroom two: Rachel's. Clear.

Bedroom three: Lillians.

MASS CHICKEN-EMBRYO MASSACRE.

There were raw eggs EVERYWHERE. On toys. On clothes. On beds. In drawers. In doll beds. On tables. On the curtains. On both children. Big, gelatinous globs from the doorway through to kingdom come. I couldn't talk. I couldn't scream. I couldn't think of ANYTHING except for the fact that it was a bright sunny day, and if I didn't get this cleaned up soon I would have three dozen SCRAMBLED EGGS mashed into my LIFE. I went numb.

Honestly, I don't remember what happened next. I've blacked it out. I remember very calmly, very quietly putting them in Rachel's room and closing the door. I remember very calmly calling a friend and asking him to come watch them, because if I had to see their faces I would slit my own throat.

Then I cleaned.

God bless Bissel. I used my Little Green Machine to suck up all the egg-snot. I threw out EVERYTHING. The girls lost easily $1k of stuff that day. Later, I found an egg smeared into the carpet behind Rachel's door. It left a black mark that remains to this day.

I still can't see a raw egg without feeling a little panicky.

I'm pretty sure they're still grounded.

(Special thanks to Jenny for help with the title!)

It ain't bento'd, but it's beautiful

This is what I've packed my girls for their first day back at school. These things happen only when my kitchen is clean.

Lunch, day one:

• Single-serving sized carton of white milk.
• Bottle of water (in reusable waterbottle, thankyouverymuch).
• Celery and carrot sticks.
• "Champagne" (caviar) grapes.
• Vanilla-yogurt dipped granola bar.
• Sandwich: Ham and cheese on rye. One with tomato, one without.
• Dessert: Baked apple with cinnamon and sugar.

Take THAT Martha.

Baby LOVES dessert!

SUCH cuteness! Love that hearty baby belly laugh. :)

Good God he's adorable.

(Yes, I realize there's a baby screaming bloody murder all throughout the clip. No, I don't know where it's coming from. I promise you that Finnigan is the smallest one I've got.)

Dear Tim Horton:

Dear Mr. (late) Horton, or Business Consultant entrusted to act on behalf of Mr. (late) Horton:

Let me first say how very impressed I am by your continued dedication to the Canadian Underpriviledged. Your contributions to creating and maintaining summer camps for the less-fortunate children of the Great White North in an inspiration to corporations everywhere - truly, it is.

May I further commend you on your unequalled quality in the hot beverage/breakfast industry. Your sandwhiches are delicious, your bakery items second to none. Your signature coffee is well known for it's flavour and depth.

However, I do have one small request to make. Although I respect your apparent goals of creating an ethnically-diverse team at many of your locations, might I suggest you stress the importance of ensuring understanding of the following important industry-related terms:

Coffee.
Tea.
Milk.
Cream.
Sugar.
Bagel.
"Toasted".
Butter.
One.
Two.
Three.
Yes.
No.
Water.
In.
Out.
With.
Without.

Additionally, please accept the calculators I have donated to all Tim Horton's establishments within my general vicinity, because the next time your uncomprehending, uneducated, ill-trained, and all-around IDIOTIC excuse for an employee tries to charge me, via interac, $500.00 for a cardboard cup of hot-water-with-milk when I have CLEARLY ordered "Tea. Black" *SIX* times, I'm switching to Starbucks.

Sincerely,
The Mommy.