The Crazy Mom Syndrome Part II

Tuesday nights = Chick-fil-a = no cooking for me! Yes, every Tuesday night we get together with some of our friends and attend Kids' Night at Chick-fil-a. It's been a tradition for nearly a year because the kids' meals are only $1.74. It's expensive, I know, but you are really paying for the ambiance. Nothing can beat people dressed up as cows and the romantic serenades with the kazoo. Yes, we all get kids' meals even though we don't have a single kid with us who eats a kids' meal. Oh well. Chick-fil-a hasn't kicked us out yet!

Well, tonight was quite eventful at Chick-fil-a. Graham started getting fussy, so I decided to forsake my delicious chicken nuggets and feed my baby. Graham was eating so contently when all of a sudden, his super suctioning powers sucked the nipple right out of the bottle, and he ended up with half of the bottle on his Covenant College Baby onesie. If it had been an MTSU onesie, I wouldn't have been so upset, but it was his one and only Covenant College onesie! I was trying to figure out how I was going to clean the two of us up and fix the nipple in the bottle when Graham suddenly struck my cup, spilling coke all over the table and on top of Daniel. While Daniel rushed to get napkins, Beth offered to hold Graham while I finished my nuggets. And while Beth was holding Graham, he again suddenly reached across the table sending Beth's ice cream flying into the air and all over the seat and floor. Brad then exclaimed, "Don't you know that baby has arms," as if we intentionally let Graham cause all the food disasters! :) If Graham was older, this would have been one of those "Let's go out to the car, son" instances where a spanking would be awaiting him in the back seat. But what are you going to do to an almost 7 month old? I couldn't think of any other option but to laugh. Maybe it was inappropriate laughter, but I think laughing is often the only thing that keeps a mother sane in a chaotic situation. It is now more clear than ever that I am suffering from the Crazy Mom Syndrome.

The Wheel of Responsibility

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. Jeff and I actually resorted to using the Wheel of Responsibility. We were having a debate as to who had to change the next poopy diaper. We had each changed one that day. I told Jeff that I knew how we could settle the dilemma. I then pulled out the Wheel of Responsibility and laid down the ground rules. No best out of 3. Just one spin. Plain and simple. And of course I won the battle. I have to say, the Wheel of Responsibility was quite a handy baby gift from my cousin. Changing a dirty diaper isn't really that big of a deal, but for some reason Jeff and I like to turn it into an ordeal. Oh well. That's fine with me as long as the arrow keeps landing on Dad!

The Electric Slide

So you may be wondering how baby food is going since I was totally stressing out about the whole thing. I guess you can say it's going pretty well, despite the fact that Graham is the messiest eater I have ever seen in my entire life. I mean, I knew it would be a little messy, but I didn't expect it to be THIS messy. I fed a baby in the nursery at church a few weeks ago, and he had baby food all around his mouth, but not on every other part of his body! Graham ends up with it on it his eyelashes, eyelids, hands, feet, chest, and even the back of his head. And he just loves to save his food in those adorable rolls! We like to say Graham takes after my dad, Tsunami Ronnie. Tsunami Ronnie got his nickname because he spilled soy sauce on himself every time he ate sushi. Unfortunately, the mess didn't stop at sushi, so now he pretty much gets food on his shirt every time he eats! I can't say that I am much better. When I was a kid, I was banned from getting a chocolate dipped cone when we went out for ice cream. No one else in my family was banned, just me. And it had to be my favorite ice cream treat! My mom said that I just ended up with chocolate all over my outfit every time I ate, so it became the forbidden food.

Okay, well back to the baby food. So far Graham has had avocados, sweat potatoes, carrots, squash, bananas, oatmeal, and rice cereal. He is usually a good eater, but when he needs a little persuasion, I have found a new trick. First, get the spoon ready with food on it. Then, begin doing the Electric Slide. Do the grapevine to the left and to the right, and as you are going forward, and just before making the turn, you make your move with the spoon. You just electric slide those carrots, squash, or peas right into your baby's mouth. I promise that your baby will be so fixated on your dance and how ridiculous you look, that he won't even know that he's eating something disgusting. I tried it again tonight, and Graham was dying laughing and never even knew he swallowed 5 more spoonfuls of carrots. If you don't know how to do the electric slide, it is pretty simple:

Do a right grapevine.( step right , behind, right step)
Do a left grapevine. (step left , behind left step)
Take 3 steps backwards.( back two three four)
Reach from back foot to front foot.(step on back foot, kick front knee up)
Reach from front foot to back foot. (step on front foot , tap back toe)
Take a step to the right and while doing so, turn to face the left.
Repeat all steps

And if you can figure out how to do the electric slide by these instructions, please, please, show me! I seriously found these instructions on the Internet. I do, however, think you might be able to learn it from this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAwpTva9ERk. If you live in the South, you have to know how to do the Electric Slide. I don't care if you hate country music....you just need to learn it. You can do it to almost any song. In fact, I was even sliding to Ice Ice Baby (which was playing in my head, not on the radio) while feeding Graham today. The Electric Slide is just a staple (If you can call a dance that) for wedding receptions, girls night out at The Wild Horse Saloon, and of course baby feeding!

"G" is for Graham, I think

I absolutely love appliqued clothing. A plain little onesie can look so adorable once you applique a cute design on it. Even though I have no experience sewing, I thought I would take on the project of appliqueing a onesie for G. This is my first one, and it is my first attempt at using a sewing machine all by myself, so please don't laugh. I think with a little bit of practice, I'm going to make some pretty cute clothes for Graham and for babies to come. I had a little bit of difficulty sewing with the zig zag stitch, but it came out okay, I guess. The other problem is that the G is huge, and it is sitting down on his stomach which makes it look like it stands more for gastrointestinal than for Graham. I've gotta work on positioning, I guess!

Would you be mine, could you be mine, won't you be my neighbor?

Since I've been at home with Graham, I've seen a lot more of my neighbors. I watch what they are doing through our big picture window. I run into them while I'm on walks with Graham. I see them when Graham and I run errands. So, I've just been contemplating our neighborhood and trying to decide how to characterize it. Quirky, I think, is the best word. We live in one of those neighborhoods that only has 5 trick -or -treaters every year because most people on the block are old. I'm not talking 60 old, I'm talking like 80 old. One of those old people is "The Mayor." Now let me assure you that she is not really the mayor of our small town. I got excited when someone first told me that the mayor lived on the street behind me. I know it's bad, I still don't know who the real mayor is, but this lady is the neighborhood mayor. She told me that some people call her The Mayor, and some people call her something else (I'll refrain from using the word). I told her I was going to stick with calling her The Mayor, but I do see where the others are coming from! She knows the "going ons" of just about everyone. One day I looked out the window and saw an old lady picking weeds in my flower bed. I was freaking out. I've had some crazy weeds in the flower bed, but nothing as scary as an unfamiliar elderly lady.Thankfully, after a few minutes of trying to figure out if I should hide or go talk to her, I saw Jeff standing next to her. It was The Mayor. Apparently she was giving him a quick lesson in Weeding 101. Are you serious? You are going to come and pull weeds in my yard? She stopped by again yesterday, and while Jeff was mowing, she said, "The yard looks good. You just need to trim back the crepe myrtles, or they will overtake your entire drive." Translation: "It's about dang time that you cut that grass, and if you don't trim those bushes, I'll level them in the morning." Oh well. We probably won't hear from her again until it's time to cut back the monkey grass. But I still like her even though she might not like our yard.

Yesterday, I looked out the window, and the neighbor across the street was brushing his teeth while watering his plants. I mean, really? Did you not have time to do it at the sink? It only takes like 2 minutes (or less) to brush your teeth, unless you have one of those timer tooth brushes. He brushes, spits, and then washes his tooth brush out with the water hose. You gotta love it.

And then there is the lady who stopped me at the park (which isn't exactly in my neighborhood)when Graham was a few months old. She pulled her car up to mine as I was loading up the stroller after a nice walk. "I saw you exercising out there with your baby. I thought you might be interested in this support lingerie I'm selling." No I wasn't interested, but I looked at her brochure anyway. She told me it could make me look like 20 pounds lighter. She was having a meeting to showcase her product in a few days, and she said, "You could even be one of the models to show the before and after." Hmmm....let me think about that one. You stalk me while I'm walking in the park, basically tell me that I'm fat and have a tummy that needs to be shrunken, you then invite me to a party where you want people to glare at my post-preggo belly and then let them stare at me in support lingerie. No thanks. I know you really built up my self esteem by asking me to "model," but I'm not feeling so confident sporting the pudgy belly these days. Whew....just had to vent for a minute!

But there are things I love about our town and little neighborhood. I love how Jeff and I watch people as they go on their evening walks and comment on their lives even though we don't know them. "We'll looks like he got a haircut today." "Have you ever seen him walking with that girl?" "Do you think they are sisters or partners?" I love how one day we saw a pregnant mom, a 2 year old girl in a stroller, and the dad walking down the street. And the next week we saw the mom, the dad, and two strollers. It's sweet to think how life goes on. And I do love how people are friendly and willing to help despite their inclination to pry. Our neighborhood is quirky at times, but it keeps life interesting and gives me something to blog about!

Why Cook?

I spent 3 1/2 years at an amazing church while I was at Covenant College. This was written by an amazing cook, but more importantly an honest, sincere, down to earth, godly woman. I miss my sweet church up on the mountain, and I miss dear Jane Henegar. This writing quite often leaves me speechless. I long to adopt this attitude towards cooking!

Why Cook?

I cook because I was cooked for by a woman, to the last days of her seventh decade propped her elbow on the kitchen counter and leaned into her craft--divinity, say, that was almost divine.

I cook because the kitchen table was the center of the house--the place where my friends solved their problems with my mother's help while enjoying her cooking, where the aroma of fried chicken and hot biscuits and mint tea and peach cobbler and, of course, Kool cigarettes, announced the woman who welcomed you within.

I cook because, for good or for ill, I learned by example that if you love somebody, you fill them up. I cook because I love somebody...many bodies. I cook some more because some of those I love say "that was delicious" often enough to spur me on.

I cook because I married a man whose mother had the same culinary stature as mine...a woman who loved to quote this familial proverb: "I have often regretted my economies, but never my extravagances," and who served halves of honeydew, bacon, eggs, and oatmeal with whipping cream every morning.

But I cook my own way because I wouldn't dare attempt their ways: only a magician attempts such magic.

If I had my 34 years of womanning a kitchen to do over again, I would serve more sandwiches and fewer food groups. There would be plenteous soup and real homemade bread--like our daughter Emily makes--and more salads and nuts and just plain fruit. There would be more shared dishwashing. There would me more salt and lemon juice--the non-negotiables that elevate any dish--and olive oil and garlic and meatless meals.

I would spend less time over the stove and more time sitting down, not talking but listening to those for whom I want to care. When company came, it would be oftener for small groups and simpler meals; I would not cook to startle or amaze them, but mainly to enjoy their company.

I would treat my family more like company and my company more like family.

I would continue to delight in counting the place mats and beholding the prepared table when homecomings were imminent. And when the place mats were sauced-spattered and the table was groaning, I would delight some more.

I would cook food that linked us to each of those we had loved and lost, and around the table we would talk about those people, and remember, and laugh, and give thanks.

I would long to be remembered, in days long past my own, by those who once ate at our table, for growing simpler and more generous...more Godward...as the days increased.

If I had to do it over again, I would remember that grace is the best part of every meal, that grace is the best part of every life, and that it is no accident that the followers of the risen Jesus finally recognized Him "in the breaking of the bread"...and that all of human history will be culminated with a marriage feast. I would look forward to being not the hostess, but the guest, and in never having to say good-bye to those with whom I shared the ultimate feast.

by Jane Henegar

Things You Just Might NOT Want To Say

Here are a few things a guy just might not want to do or say to his wife/lady friend (as Jeff likes to call them). I'm not speaking from experience, of course.
"You're so beautiful, you could be a part time model." Apparently this is from a song, but how was I supposed to know? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYcDhG3kNq8
"I love you just as much as I love Steve (the dog), just in different ways. I love you as much as I can love you, and I love Steve as much as I can love Steve."
Saying "you look cute" on a night that your wife is feeling drop dead gorgeous.
When you ask him if something is cute, he just says, "Sure."
"Why don't you make pancakes like your mom?"
"Maybe you could get some recipes from my mom?"
Because you forgot to get anything for your wife for Valentine's Day, you go and find a card she once gave you, cross out her name, and insert your own, and say "Happy Valentine's Day," as if everything is okay. It's really not funny until a few months down the road.
These are just a few. I'm sure I could add more if I thought really hard. Anyone else have some great lines? By the way, I'm not bashing men. I love my husband and in a sense, I even love his verbal mishaps!