Today's blog post is brought to you courtesy of last night's mini cupcake run. We grocery shopped this morning, which means lots of cuteness and making friends in the dairy aisle coupled with a significant expenditure of energy on my part. And choruses of, "Let's stick together! Are you sticking with me? Stick with me!!" throughout the aisles of Walmart because otherwise we are cruising for a traumatic child-losing incident. Although currently Mikayla runs back to me (when we are NOT "sticking together") with wild-eyed excitement and happiness because "I was lost!!" Oh dear. Hopefully this can at least become a workable object lesson next time we sing "Amazing Grace".
ANYWAY.
What does that have to do with cupcakes? They are my coping mechanism, my survival technique. Don't judge. I have three under three, one of them hitching a ride around my midsection everywhere we go and causing lots of fun times in Momma's digestive and endocrine systems. This momma? Entitled. Along with, arguably, every other Momma out there - please, go enjoy three guilt-free mini-cupcakes. I would mail them to you because you deserve to have baked deliciousness arrive on your doorstep, except I don't remember the last time I mailed something in either a timely or well-packed manner.
The digression is amazing here, isn't it? In case you were wondering, my background music is the kids playing a whistle they apparently found in their room when they are supposed to be napping. It's good for the concentration.
Ok, right, the cupcakes - they allow me to enjoy naptime by providing a much-needed energy burst and activating the pleasure centers of my brain which have lain dormant since we stepped foot inside Walmart. Thus, I am blogging instead of lying in a puddle of liquid Momma brains on the couch.
Speaking of liquid Momma brains, yesterday I took little man to the doctor's office to rule out an ear infection, only to have him officially diagnosed with an incredibly rare and concerning illness called, "teething". His prognosis is good, as long as Momma re-engages her brain and gives Tylenol as needed. Is there any convincing explanation as to why you haven't looked inside your child's mouth long enough to spot FOUR canine teeth erupting simultaneously? Do you brush your child's teeth regularly? Ever? Do you spend time in the same room? Do you love him at all?
Of course I love him. I let him sleep with his favorite whistle.
And I treat all his worst teething symptoms with Vicks Baby Rub and homeopathic ear drops. Obviously. Veteran mom right here. Acetaminophen is for wimps. Give that baby some perfume on his chest and call it a night.
Please, tell me you've been here? Moms of the Year, stand and unite. I'm going to go ahead and decide this was the point of this post, since there clearly hasn't been one evident til now. YOU, Momma, are doing a great job, even when you are so tired/frazzled/hormonal that you miss the completely obvious soiled diaper/lake of milk on the floor/budding teeth and wonder why your child is wailing and the house stinks. (Aside: Little man had a blow-out when he woke up this morning. It still stunk in their room when I took them up for naps, and I literally almost cried. Because that's how my sanity is hanging these days. I told you, cupcakes.)
Praying the current wave of hormones passes quickly and allows me to settle smoothly into second trimester next week. I don't know how much longer I can, in good conscience, subject my family to Crazy Momma! Thank God, truly, for grace and strength sufficient to each day (often in the form of an understanding husband and/or chocolate). And thanks for stopping in for a glimpse of my crazy.
Showing posts with label Preggo Brain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Preggo Brain. Show all posts
Pretzel Pandemonium (or, Rachael Ray has absolutely nothing to worry about)
Today I googled, "Can I bake waxed paper?"
The answer is, "No, you moron, what is wrong with you?"
So I was making homemade pretzels today, solely because I had half a block of Velveeta in the fridge that was just begging to have yummy snacks dredged in its molten remains. I started enthusiastically, mixed up the yeast, sugar, salt, flour - all obviously before reading more carefully that these would have to rise, and then be rolled, boiled, and then finally baked. Legit pretzels take some work, yo. By the time I realized how involved the process would be, I was already in it to win it, so I pressed on. My dough was just about finished rising beautifully over a pan of hot water (new tip from my mom to accelerate rising!) when Mikayla woke up from her nap. No problem, she loves playing in the kitchen!
Unfortunately, as I started into the rolling/boiling/baking part of the game, my freshly-awake, full-of-kisses Mikayla was clearly struggling with the concept of allowing Momma to do anything other than hold her baby girl. The general atmosphere in the kitchen was chaotic, what with Mikayla crying and shaking the spices, and the water boiling on the stove, and me frantically rolling pretzels before the water all boiled away. I had the baking sheets all prepped with what was SUPPOSED to be lightly oiled parchment paper. Since I was out of parchment paper, I used waxed paper for this step, making a mental note to remove the waxed paper before popping the sheets into my 450 degree oven.
Ha. Ha ha. That last paragraph full of excuses might just make me feel ever so slightly better about what comes next. Because I really did think through every pretzel-related decision today.
I was feeling So. Good. about the beautiful pretzels, boiled for precisely 30 seconds each, brushed with egg yolk and lightly salted. Mikayla was reaching the end of her little rope so I popped the pretzels into the oven and scooped her up. Eight (out of twelve) minutes later I wondered what the funny smell was...kind of smoky, not quite like fresh pretzels...OH NO THE WAXED PAPER I FORGOT THE PRETZELS ARE GOING TO CATCH ON FIRE WHAT SHOULD I DO!
Enter Google. Just to make sure because, you know, smelling smoke is not at all confirmatory of a BAD IDEA.
Thankfully, as I transferred the pretzels onto fresh wax-free baking sheets, the bottom layer just peeled completely off instead of having waxed paper fused onto the bottom of each pretzel...
The end result? Well obviously I had to quality-control those suckers as soon as they were cool enough to touch. Auntie Anne, eat your heart out. (They came out SO much better than that one time when I totally forgot an ingredient.) I might not be on my way to having my own cooking show, but what I lack in culinary elegance, I more than make up for in carb-full deliciousness. Plus, if it had all gone smoothly, you wouldn't have had this neat opportunity to laugh at me.
And now that I am 31 weeks pregnant, and home alone on a Friday night while my hunny baconates (works. brings home the bacon. duh.), it would be naive of you to believe I did not just melt down a hunk of that sweet Velveeta goodness and chow down on the biggest homemade soft pretzel available to me. And the remaining seven are in grave danger...their salvation lies in the fact that I already told Joel that I made pretzels, so he will wonder tomorrow if they are all gone...
In other news, I look like this at 30.5 weeks prego (taken Sunday, January 15):
Come March 21, Mikayla will wonder what happened to that handy seat that holds her up when Momma carries her.
Next post: big firsts from Mikayla!!
The answer is, "No, you moron, what is wrong with you?"
So I was making homemade pretzels today, solely because I had half a block of Velveeta in the fridge that was just begging to have yummy snacks dredged in its molten remains. I started enthusiastically, mixed up the yeast, sugar, salt, flour - all obviously before reading more carefully that these would have to rise, and then be rolled, boiled, and then finally baked. Legit pretzels take some work, yo. By the time I realized how involved the process would be, I was already in it to win it, so I pressed on. My dough was just about finished rising beautifully over a pan of hot water (new tip from my mom to accelerate rising!) when Mikayla woke up from her nap. No problem, she loves playing in the kitchen!
Unfortunately, as I started into the rolling/boiling/baking part of the game, my freshly-awake, full-of-kisses Mikayla was clearly struggling with the concept of allowing Momma to do anything other than hold her baby girl. The general atmosphere in the kitchen was chaotic, what with Mikayla crying and shaking the spices, and the water boiling on the stove, and me frantically rolling pretzels before the water all boiled away. I had the baking sheets all prepped with what was SUPPOSED to be lightly oiled parchment paper. Since I was out of parchment paper, I used waxed paper for this step, making a mental note to remove the waxed paper before popping the sheets into my 450 degree oven.
Ha. Ha ha. That last paragraph full of excuses might just make me feel ever so slightly better about what comes next. Because I really did think through every pretzel-related decision today.
I was feeling So. Good. about the beautiful pretzels, boiled for precisely 30 seconds each, brushed with egg yolk and lightly salted. Mikayla was reaching the end of her little rope so I popped the pretzels into the oven and scooped her up. Eight (out of twelve) minutes later I wondered what the funny smell was...kind of smoky, not quite like fresh pretzels...OH NO THE WAXED PAPER I FORGOT THE PRETZELS ARE GOING TO CATCH ON FIRE WHAT SHOULD I DO!
Enter Google. Just to make sure because, you know, smelling smoke is not at all confirmatory of a BAD IDEA.
Thankfully, as I transferred the pretzels onto fresh wax-free baking sheets, the bottom layer just peeled completely off instead of having waxed paper fused onto the bottom of each pretzel...
The end result? Well obviously I had to quality-control those suckers as soon as they were cool enough to touch. Auntie Anne, eat your heart out. (They came out SO much better than that one time when I totally forgot an ingredient.) I might not be on my way to having my own cooking show, but what I lack in culinary elegance, I more than make up for in carb-full deliciousness. Plus, if it had all gone smoothly, you wouldn't have had this neat opportunity to laugh at me.
And now that I am 31 weeks pregnant, and home alone on a Friday night while my hunny baconates (works. brings home the bacon. duh.), it would be naive of you to believe I did not just melt down a hunk of that sweet Velveeta goodness and chow down on the biggest homemade soft pretzel available to me. And the remaining seven are in grave danger...their salvation lies in the fact that I already told Joel that I made pretzels, so he will wonder tomorrow if they are all gone...
In other news, I look like this at 30.5 weeks prego (taken Sunday, January 15):
Come March 21, Mikayla will wonder what happened to that handy seat that holds her up when Momma carries her.
Next post: big firsts from Mikayla!!
Preggo Brain Strikes Again! (And again...)
As I sit here licking the spoon after my recent foray into brownie-making, I simply must share with you the latest in a long series of pregnant-brain anecdotes. Truly, I am grateful to have something on which to blame these impressive lapses in intellect.
It started innocently enough, as I was gathering ingredients for brownies for tomorrow's chuch picnic. Vegetable oil, check. Brownie mix, check (don't judge, I'm making the crock pot beans from scratch!). Eggs....oh no! The bottom right refrigerator shelf is empty! My mental process went something like this: How can we be completely out of eggs? Surely Joel wouldn't have used the last of them knowing I had to make brownies today? I don't want to buy more, since we are getting a dozen tomorrow from our farm-fresh supplier (read: Laurie Troxell, fantastic friend!). Dang it! What am I going to do?
I went so far as to Google egg substitutions.
Having found an acceptable alternative, I went to the fridge for the applesauce and then to the mixing bowl....next to which I found a carton full of eleven eggs. Words cannot describe the gratitude I felt for being alone at that moment.
It kind of reminded me of that time (last night) when I wanted to mix up more cinnamon-sugar for some toast (at 11:30 p.m.) and went all over the apartment looking for my laptop to Google the right proportions of cinnamon to sugar (ever the perfectionist). I found Joel using a laptop in the bedroom and asked whether it was his or mine, to which he replied that my laptop was in the kitchen.
Yeah. You'll never guess where I found it. Right next to the sugar canister I had abandoned in order to find my laptop.
Dang it, I forgot to set the timer for the brownies! Gotta run!
(The fact that I have a doctorate is so ironic right now. What do you mean, you don't want me responsible for diagnosing and treating your mental health concerns?)
It started innocently enough, as I was gathering ingredients for brownies for tomorrow's chuch picnic. Vegetable oil, check. Brownie mix, check (don't judge, I'm making the crock pot beans from scratch!). Eggs....oh no! The bottom right refrigerator shelf is empty! My mental process went something like this: How can we be completely out of eggs? Surely Joel wouldn't have used the last of them knowing I had to make brownies today? I don't want to buy more, since we are getting a dozen tomorrow from our farm-fresh supplier (read: Laurie Troxell, fantastic friend!). Dang it! What am I going to do?
I went so far as to Google egg substitutions.
Having found an acceptable alternative, I went to the fridge for the applesauce and then to the mixing bowl....next to which I found a carton full of eleven eggs. Words cannot describe the gratitude I felt for being alone at that moment.
It kind of reminded me of that time (last night) when I wanted to mix up more cinnamon-sugar for some toast (at 11:30 p.m.) and went all over the apartment looking for my laptop to Google the right proportions of cinnamon to sugar (ever the perfectionist). I found Joel using a laptop in the bedroom and asked whether it was his or mine, to which he replied that my laptop was in the kitchen.
Yeah. You'll never guess where I found it. Right next to the sugar canister I had abandoned in order to find my laptop.
Dang it, I forgot to set the timer for the brownies! Gotta run!
(The fact that I have a doctorate is so ironic right now. What do you mean, you don't want me responsible for diagnosing and treating your mental health concerns?)
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