Are Those Oven Fries?!

In an effort to Bring the After School Snack Back. I'm sharing ideas with you. This week has been a major baking fail, but that's ok. You don't have to bake or make amazing things for snack. The kids still love ya! This week I have been swamped. Yesterday's snack was grapes, licorice and cheeze its. HA!

Today? Oven Fries and kool-aid.

Need a recipe? Mmmkay...Cut some potatoes. Toss them on a baking sheet with some oil. Salt them. I throw some Creole seasoning on here. Bake at 375 for 30-45 minutes. Serve with dipping sauces. Back away from the table....





See? Culinary genius, I am not. Feeding the mass amount of neighborhood kids? I am. You don't have to do anything special - just throw out some food, yo.

Two Halves do not make a Whole

Me: Can you make Corban a sandwich? He hates the soup.

Corban: I want Peanut Butter with Butter and Sugar.

Rob: Do you let him eat that??

Me: No. Well, sometimes the PB and Butter but no sugar.

Rob: Hey Corbs, how about one of daddy's special PB & Honey sandwiches?!

Corban: yeah!

Rob: How big of a sandwich for Corban?

Me: Just give him half, that's all he ever really eats.

Brennan: Me too, Me too!!

Rob: You want a sandwich, buddy?

Brennan: Yeah, no Peanut Butter with Peanut Butter with no jelly.

Rob: Uh...how about what Corban's having?

Brennan: YEAH! That's what I SAID!

Rob: :shows me Corban's half sandwich: Make B's like Corbans?

Me: Yeah. Well, cut it in half for him.

Rob: Cut it in half? It's already a half.

Me: Right but cut it the half in half.

Rob: How am I cutting a half in half? So he'll only eat half?

Me: No, he'll eat both halves but you need to cut the half in half so he can eat it easier.

Rob: Wait, what?

Me: Make him a half sandwich and cut it in half.

Rob: So cut the half in half? Do I still make it like a sandwich?

Me: Holy HELL! Make the sandwich like Corban's then cut it in half!

Rob: Ok, Ok..you don't have to yell.

Me: :stomps up the stairs:

Rob: So...make him half a sandwich and cut it in half and he'll eat both halves?

Me: Isn't that what I SAID?!?

File this under: Seinfeld Moment

You Smelt It, You Dealt It

Surely I can't be the only person that's afraid of farting at the Dr? The worst would be the OB/Gyn while getting a full-on exam. Still, being adjusted by the Chiropractor, getting a massage, sitting in the dentists chair....who wants to let one rip at that point in time?

Just a passing thought.

I just need FIVE freaking Minutes!

So all day today I've been like, "Five minutes! I just need 5 minutes! Is that too much to ask for?!"

And the baby will start crying. Or fill his diaper. Or cry while he's filling his diaper.

Or the two year old will fill his diaper or want some juice or need a snuggle.

Or the 4 year old will have wiped but want me to check him (do you see a recurring theme?!) or want something to eat.

Or the 9 year old will want something or a snuggle or need medicine because she's running a fever. Boy am I glad she wasn't i n need of wiping, too.

Or the 11 (12 in 6 days) will want to paint my nails every freaking color of the rainbow. Seriously. I have 10 different colored nails on my hands right now. Yay me! SO pretty. Actually it's not terrible.

Unlike my eyebrows which have become Siamese twins. They've grown together. They're partners in crime. The crime being that I look like Bert.

So I just wanted 5 minutes and Rob took my dad to look at the University because he has interview there tomorrow. For, like, 4 hours they were gone. FOUR hours. When he left to take Sienna to Youth Group I said, I need you to take the baby with you because I am going to lose my mind. I just need 5 minutes. FIVE FREAKING MINUTES.

He took the baby. The (almost) 12 year old is at Youth Group with the other (already) 12 year old. The 9 year old is in a big ole bubble bath with a big ole mug of hot chocolate spiked with some french vanilla creamer (scared ya didn't I?) and the 2 and 4 year old are playing Scooby Doo with my dad.

I have my 5 minutes and all I can freaking talk about is 5 minutes.

Which are now up.

That was fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

* Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.

* Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.

* Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.

* Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.

* Link up your post.

* Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

I vlog in the bathroom...

...while you rest on top of the Sponge Bob toothpaste dispenser. Giddy-up.





Some days I'm all June Cleaver. Today I feel more like Roseanne.

Bringing Snack Back

If you were to stop by my house any Monday-Friday from 3:30-4pm you'd find a revolving door and a whoooole lotta kids. Well, I mean, yeah - I HAVE a whole lotta kids but there's always a whole bunch more here during that time. They come over after school, every day, for snack. Most of them have parents that work so they stop in here for a "debriefing" of sorts. They eat whatever I've made for the day and then they all tell me - loudly (except when they pull me in the 1/2 bath to tell me secrets and horrifying embarrassments) and over the top of each other. The littlest ones race in here first to see what's for snack and when the older kids arrive they shout out the good news - "It's cupcakes today!" "Homemade bread and hot chocolate!" whatever.

It's one of my most favorite times of the day.

This isn't a food blog - or a cooking blog (cause I'm barely a mediocre cook!) - but I'm gonna start sharing, once a week, the snacks I make. Because they really are easy - look, if *I* can make them - so can anyone else.

This week I made Potato Chip Cookies.

Yes, you read that right - the best of both worlds...AND there's chocolate involved! Well slap my butt and call me Betty!!! Don't be scared - they have almost a shortbread like texture with a bit of crunch. The kids all assured me they were delicious and I have ONE cookie that is left. I saved it to force Rob to try but he STILL hasn't eaten it. I may use it as a reward for one of the vulture children, today, instead.

I digress.

There's many recipes out there for these cookies but this is the one I used:

1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup white sugar
1 tsp Vanilla
1 3/4 cup flour (I always sift, you don't have to)
1 cup crushed plain potato chips
1 cup chocolate chips (I used milk chocolate chips)

Preheat oven to 350. In medium bowl, cream butter and sugar until fluffy. Add vanilla, mix. Add flour gradually while mixing and beat until blended. Stir in crushed potato chips (don't use your mixer/beaters!). Drop by teaspoonful onto a ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 for 13-15 minutes.

This recipe CLAIMED to make 3 dozen cookies but I only got 23 smallish sized cookies out of it all.

Oh, the chocolate? Put 1 cup of chocolate chips in the microwave and heat for 1 min. Stir. Put back in microwave for another 1 min to finish melting chips. Stir. Add to cooled cookies. You can drizzle, dip or frost - whatever works for you. I dipped half the cookies and "frosted" the other half. The kids had no preference as long as there was chocolate SOMEWHERE on the cookie. Then you can lick the bowl clean. You know it's the best part. Go on, I won't tell.

WTH?!?!

Wordless Wednesday Entry - with words, obviously.

Walked into the girls' room today to find THIS on the floor:



Uhm...huh...ok....




Yeah.

That's a bunch of barbies duct taped together wearing green nail polish bathing suits.


Which one of you girls is a serial killer?!?!

Turns out that Sienna would only play Barbies with Cara if the Barbies were all kidnapped and taped together and had to escape. Cara, to her credit, bent Ken over and had him carry the rest of the little waifs on his back, to safety.

Still?

WTH, man?!?!

Shut Up!

After we had our first child I tried to eradicate this phrase from our vocabulary. It was mean! It was horrible! We weren't going to say it! Especially to our precious child. How degrading and demeaning! Instead we used phrases like "Shhh!" "Hush" "Be quiet" - which, yk, MEAN Shut up but sound nicer and more socially acceptable. *nods sagely*

Our second child came and tested us to the very core of our patience. In fact, she may have been sent to TEACH me patience when she was a baby and toddler. The exact polar opposite of our quiet, reserved, shy first born - our second daughter did everything with gusto. Including cry all. the. time.

Still, we held out. I fared better than Rob who was known to throw out a shut up every now and then. When that happened I would be so upset and offended! How DARE he talk to our children that way!! Disrespectful and rude, that's what I considered it. Degrading & demeaning, too. Lots of 'D' words.

We've since added 3 kids to our clan and countless neighborhood children who have sort-of co-opted themselves into our family. And I have to tell you? There is something to be said for a well placed "Shut up!". In the midst of all the kids fighting and yelling and screaming - a Shut Up will quiet the masses. In the middle of a tween-hormone fueled rant/tantrum a Shut Up will buy your poor ears about 30 seconds of silence. 30 seconds might not seem like long, but your ears will beg to differ.

Over the years Shut Up has evolved in our house. There's 'Shut it!', referring to the offender's mouth, of course. 'Stop talking' - which is generally directed at our 9 year old daughter who will make a fabulous lawyer one day. 'That's Enough' for our 4 year old while he rages and spews out hatred at the person in his path (generally me). 'Stop' for Brennan, the two year old because simple commands are best when you're two. I still use 'Hush' for the baby - because it just seems morally wrong to tell the baby to shut up, ya know? I mean - I have boundaries and limits - I'm not a total monster.

Shut Up is no longer a swear word here. Unless you're a child and you pull that puppy out and throw it in MY direction. Then you can count on an unpleasant day filled with loneliness and penalty chores.

So there. Another entry for mom of the year, please. You don't like it?

Shut up.

Two Faced

I love this picture that Rob took of Corban at the park this weekend. After the few days before that I'd had with him, it just really spoke to me. On one side we've got light and on the other, a shadow. See? Even his hair is messier in the shadow side of the picture. The two side of Corban.

He can be the sweetest little boy, ever. Kisses and hugs and the politest little thing! Smart, funny and eager to please. Imaginative and playful with boundless energy. Happy! Light. Sunshine.

Sometimes he gets raging mad at the drop of a hat. He whines and cries and has trouble sleeping. He screams and yells and sometimes gets physical. He complains that his body actually physically hurts. He has trouble expressing himself and gets frustrated easily. He doesn't like people or change or to be touched. The shadow is hiding my sweet little man.

But I know that underneath the shadow is that sweet little boy with a sparkle in his eye. I just have to wait out the shadow.

How Rob Got His Swagger Back

We had to upgrade our ride, recently. We've all but exceeded capacity on the minivan (damn breeders) and it's about ready for a retirement home. Oh, sure, there are 8 passenger minivans out there - nice ones, too! But we wanted to pay cash and we had a definite budget. So, when this bad boy fell in our laps we couldn't look the other way.



Oh yeah, that's right - in a time when everyone is trying to reduce their carbon footprint and DOWNSIZE due to ever rising fuel prices? The Potters went the other direction. We. Are. Rebels.

I gotta tell ya? Being able to all fit comfortably in one car again is so nice! However, buying the Suburban has had a side effect I wasn't aware of, for Rob.

It's given him Swagger.

When he walks out the the car, nay...excuse me..he says it's a TRUCK not a car.

When Rob walks out the truck I can hear the music playing...it's a slow motion love scene with his hair being tousled by the breeze. "Ooh dream weaver ... I believe you can get me through the night. Ooh dream weaver ... I believe we can reach the morning light." He runs his hand lovingly along the side of the Suburban, like he's rubbing her ass and he gazes hungrily as her. When he gets in the drivers side you can feel the electricity - and then....he starts her up.

He turns all Tim 'The Tool Man' Taylor with his grunts of sheer pleasure and approval at the low rumble. "uh uh uh..me drive big truck".

That's right...Rob sits tall, ya'll. I had no idea the mini-van had robbed him of so much masculinity over the years. No idea. I'm sure it started when he had to give up the little red sports car because our family didn't fit. The beginning of the end as far as cars go.

No more. Now Rob is happy to take the kids wherever they need to go. He's happy to run to the store for me. I dare say that Rob is joyful.

He got his Swagger back.

"Uh Uh Uh...me drive big truck with low rumble"

Wordless (Nearly) Wednesday

If you fall asleep at our house when other people are awake, chances are good that someone will do something like this to you. Corban's new look is courtesy of Brennan. :-)

The Helpful Hint Collection

If you've read me for any amount of time, you know I'm prone to acts of complete lunacy. My brain just leaves the building. I've offered up helpful hints from time to time so that you people will not have to suffer the humiliation that I do. You can learn from MY mistakes. I give them to you one at a time, as they occur.

But that's all about to change.

In this ONE TIME ONLY special deal, you can get all fourteen Helpful Hints from heidi in one place. That's right - we have thoughtfully compiled the 14 hints previously posted on this blog into one package, just for you. No more searching by keyword or tag. No more wondering if it happened in April or September. It's all been combined for YOU, dear reader.

What do you think something like this might cost you? The invaluable insight? The chance to spare yourself public embarrassment? The opportunity to laugh at my expense? I assure you, it will cost you far less than it cost me.

We're offering this one-time deal for a mere comment. Shameless pandering, we know (again, I pluralize myself...very telling, no?) but it's for you. And if you call now we'll throw in a set of overused, dull knives from our very own kitchen! Watch out for these bad boys!

What do you get for this low, low price?

There's cooking hints involving hot burners and plastic things.

Parenting hints involving naughty limericks.

To help you in your "romantic life".

How to NOT spill urine all over yourself.

How about Hints for New Parents regarding projectile feces? Check.

Oh look...ANOTHER cooking hint - this one involves hot flying objects.

All of these and the rest of the Helpful Hint Collection, available for basically no charge.

Well, the only cost is apparently my dignity. Heh.

Seventy times seven

My relationship with my mother has changed a lot over the years since I became an adult. She's been my best friend, and my biggest adversary. She's been my champion and my nay-sayer. She's been someone I admired and someone that I felt sorry for.
But through it all we've always maintained a relationship of some kind.

It's becoming harder and harder for me to maintain this relationship. My mother has always had this habit of feeling slighted in some way and then lashing out. First she sits on it and lets it fester until it becomes this big, huge dragon in her mind. A fire breathing thing that threatens her very existence and, apparently, the only way to slay this dragon (a.k.a. me) is to slap it down with some well placed barbs to knock the wind out of it.

I used to fire right back - indignant and disbelieving that she would SAY such a thing to me! I didn't do or say anything to deserve this! I have learned, over the years, that in my mom's world 'Anything you do or say will be held against you' - tomorrow. It's exhausting.

Taking a step back has helped. Oh, I still write the initial email - I just don't send it. I tell my best friend Cyndi everything I WANT to say or I tell Rob, but I never send it. Because then THAT would be my fault, too. If I just wait her out then she will send a follow up email telling me she's sorry. Well, not sorry for what she SAID but sorry for the way she said it. But it's never her fault. It's always mine. I'm supposed to be apologetic and feel bad and take whatever I get dished out but the tables can never be turned unless she comes to it on her own.

My mother has become quite erratic lately. She has trouble holding down a job. She has trouble maintaining relationships. She finds fault with everyone, including her self, but can never see her part in the deterioration of her relationships and jobs. She self-medicates until we're worried about her, then she detoxes and decides to stop taking ALL of her meds until the cycle begins all over again.

My mother hurts me with her words. She wounds me very deeply. I can't walk away, though, because she is my mom and my kids adore their Nay-Nay. And I love her. I'm really trying to treat her how I want to be treated. What I keep saying in my head over and over after she emails me with my latest whipping is 'Seventy times seven'. 'Seventy times seven'.

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times. (Matthew 18:21-22)

I joke that I'm on number 400 so I only have 90 more to go but I don't know how much of a joke it really is. Some days I don't know how many more times I can do this. It doesn't hurt any less with each additional time.

Perhaps I should thank her, though, for helping me to learn how I do NOT want to make my own daughters feel. I never, ever want my daughters to feel this way about me. Or my sons - any of my children - ever. I never want to have to come back and say, 3 days later, that I'm sorry that I always hurt them while saying in a public arena, for everyone to see, how wonderful they are.

But mostly? I just want her to love me the way I love my kids.

If and Then

I recently read an article/blog post about how we shouldn't be rewarding our children for doing things. We shouldn't say to them, "If you clean up your room then we will go to the park." Or, "If you don't act like a complete monster while we are at mommy's friend's house then mommy will get you a donut on the way home."

Apparently it's called bribery (is that bad?) and we're not supposed to do it. If we do it then we are setting our kids up to only do things for rewards.

I guess I can see that. I can see what the write meant and all..but I hafta tell ya? Rewards and bribes have their place. WE operate on an 'If and Then' system of parenting here. For instance, the following things may or may not have been said in my house in the past week:

If you don't do your chores, then you will spend the rest of the evening alone in your bed.

If you clean up your trains then mommy will do a puzzle with you.

If you girls would clean up after dinner tonight then mom will be so happy and grateful.

If you don't stop kicking your brother in the face RIGHT NOW then I am going to put you in time out AND give you a penalty chore!

If you EVER spit on my kitchen floor again then I will make you lick it up. (What? Don't judge me.)

See? I don't see a whole lot of rewards or bribery in there. Hmm...I must be off my game this week. Honestly, though, I think that a well placed reward serves a purpose.

If you clean the kitchen, Rob, then I'll let you touch my boobs.

See??? Task=reward.

Shoot. Forgot to follow through on that one.

You're Grounded!

Dear Justin Beiber,

Hi there! How are you? Are you back yet? I only ask because in the song that I hear the most you say that you're gone. All gone. Mistreated at the tender age of 16. Brokenhearted. Gone. Sadness.

I don't dislike you, Justin, I really don't. In all of the interviews I've seen of you, you seem like a good kid. I like that your lyrics aren't overtly sexual and that you recognize that the majority of your fans are screaming pre-pubescent girls. You do seem a tad obsessed with your hair but, hey, might as well be obsessed now before you're staring down the barrel of a bottle of Rogaine and meeting hair plug doctors in back alleys.

My problem with you is that you've invaded my life. My 9 year old sings your songs all day. She's "in love" with you. I'm sure she's smooched that posted of you hanging in her room but I really don't wanna know if she's making out with the wall.

Her obsession was bad. Then my husband took her to see the movie and, well, I had to listen to BOTH of them tell me all about you, Justin Beiber. My four year old walks around singing Baby, Baby, Baby ooooooooh....

You're everywhere. EVERYWHERE. In fact, now you're in MY head. That damn song is lodged so far in my brain it's like a booger you can't pick. It won't come out. It just sits there and plays in my head over and over and over. No wonder I have a migraine.

So, Justin, You're Grounded. That's right. You are grounded from singing in my house. Grounded from fake making out with my daughter in her dreams. Grounded from smiling on my television and talking about your life story (uh - you're a CHILD - how is it that you've written an autobiography about your life story already? THAT annoys me.)

How long? For however long it takes for me to get this damned song out of my head, Justin Beiber. And if Hanson's MmmmBop is any indication - that'll be awhile.

"You know you want me, you know you do..."

I do Justin, I want you...

to go away.

With Love,

heidi