Thursday, October 21, 2010

hanging out with kids

I love that we're getting to the point that we can have intelligent conversations with our kids.  Not that I didn't enjoy the extremely entertaining younger stages (in which Super Q would not be persuaded that we all have "fingers" and not "thingers" and Flash's inexplicable nickname for me was "Sugary").

Last night we enjoyed an unexpected evening at home with dh.  I seized the opportunity and made some peppermint milkshakes and we all sat around in the living room.  dh and I mostly asked the boys about school:  fads (Silly Bandz), popular music (Usher, Katy Perry), books (Twilight [shudder]).  They loved the attention and didn't want to stop  ("Please can we keep on talking?").  Dare I hope for non-combative teenagers in a few years?  

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Seabiscuit and Belinda Carlisle

I would love love to embrace Nabokov's view of sleep as “the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals.”  How I wish I could truly function on the 4 hours of sleep my body is willing to dole out at a time and rush about saying things like, "Life is for living! I'll sleep when I'm dead!" Etcetera.  Instead I chase it like that shiny, transparent butterfly on the Lunesta commercials.  It might eventually light on my shoulder for a moment, but then off it flits to set up camp elsewhere (mostly likely on the immobile man next to me, blissfully unaware of his poor wife's midnight plight.) 

Since we moved I've had to find new doctors for everyone, which means I had to try to explain my Little Problem to my new doctor and endure the inevitable assumptions, which are, in no particular order:  1)  I'm depressed, 2) I never exercise, 3) I drink too much caffeine at night. 
(Some of those assumptions might actually apply far more often than I will admit.)  "So,"  the doctor said, "You must have some anxiety.  What do you worry about at night?" 

What do I worry about at night?  Seabiscuit and Belinda Carlisle, that's what I worry about.  And it's not exactly worrying.  In an all-hands-on-deck effort to stay awake, my brain finds a little task that MUST be accomplished immediately, such as remembering the name of the lead singer of the Go-Gos.  Or the name of that one famous racehorse, no, not Secretariat, the other one, also in a movie... what was his name?  Let's ponder this from 4:00 am to 5:30 am, shall we? 

There's only one solution here.  It's been obvious for about 6 months now.  I just need an iPad so I can easily look up the answer I need and join the moronic fraternity a little sooner.

potato pearl rolls

All that butter!  All that sugar!  You may actually perish while consuming one of these rolls, especially if you foolishly choose to make them into cinnamon rolls, as I did a few days ago.

1 1/4 c. milk

1 1/2 tsp. salt

1/4 c. potato pearls, dry (potato flakes will probably work as well)

1 pkg. active dry yeast or 2Tbsp. dry yeast

2/3 c. margarine or butter

2 eggs, well beaten

1/2 c. sugar

3/4 c. water

Bring 3/4 c. water and 1/4 c. milk to boil. Pour into large mixing bowl. Add potato pearls and beat with whisk or fork until blended. Heat remaining milk in same saucepan and pour over potato, margarine or butter, sugar and salt. Cool until lukewarm. Soften yeast in first mixture with eggs and 3 cups of flour. Beat with either wooden spoon or electric mixer until light and smooth. Stir in enough flour by hand to make a dough firm enough to knead. Turn out on floured board and knead 10 minutes or until elastic. Put in greased bowl and turn greased side up. Cover with plastic wrap and refirgerate until needed. When ready to bake, shape as many rolls as desired in preferred form. Brush with melted butter and let raise in warm place 1 hour or until light. Bake in hot oven (400) 15 -20 minutes. Make 3 1/2 dozen medium rolls. Rolls may be shaped without refrigerating, if preferred. Raising time may be slightly less.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

missing boy

In what seems like another life entirely, I took my 3 year old (now he's 8) to the park on a regular basis. We stopped first at the edge of a small plot of wilderness adjacent to the park to check for coyotes (actually saw one once) and then headed to the little window under the slide to play McDonald's. After our fill of pretend Happy Meals, we headed to the other side of the playground to play Missing Boy, a game invented by the 3 year old in which he is carried away by bad guys in a helicopter or plane. My job then was to miss him. I did so extravagantly, calling his name mournfully, asking Who, who will be my Super Q now? I wept, I begged for him to come back. And miraculously, the bad guys always brought him safely home for a happy reunion on a bed of mulch near the park bench.

Today that boy is worried about missing his dad. There were tears, which he blamed on a variety of other things. We finally faced our fears, though. We're afraid we're all going to miss the Daddy around here quite a bit in the next few years.

The past few months have been long ones in some ways, as dh has been working 60-65 hours a week. Today he was called to serve our ward (congregation) as the 2nd Counselor in the Bishopric (a sort of assistant pastor), a position that usually requires a lot of time and lasts for several years. I didn't see it coming at all and I'll admit that I cried about it. It's a difficult position to be in: wanting more time together as a family while knowing that in our church we all take our turn at heavy responsibility to serve each other. I have benefited from the service of others and now it's my turn to give back a bit. That said, when bedtime rolls around and it's just been the 3 of us since 7 am, we'll really be missing the Daddy around here.