Yesterday we were all piling in the car to head out for a birthday breakfast of blueberry pancakes at Midtown Cafe. It is an old faithful for Josh and myself, we shared many pancake breakfasts when we were dating. Now we are +2 little boys and a trip to Midtown requires more than just a wallet. As Josh ventured back into the house to grab more diapers (mind you we already had pull ups, blankets, burp cloths, diaper cream, size 9 shoes spilling out of the doors and onto the driveway and lifesaving PFDs you know, just in case) Jonathan piped up with his invariable stream of questions.
Jonathan: Mama, where is Daddy going?
Hannah: Inside for more diapers.
Jonathan: Whaa-aat?
Hannah: Pañales. Más pañales. (translation: Diapers, more diapers.)
Now let me insert here that Jonathan does not like it when I speak Spanish. He usually retorts with, "Mama, talk words." I, however, am determined to give him the elaborate gift of a second language daggumit, and sometimes I slip it in almost without thinking about it. This was one of those times, and as I spoke I rifled through the piles of necessary items to make sure they were in order. As I rifled, Jonathan started to frown.
Jonathan: Mama, that is not very nice to me and to William.
I had no idea what I had done. How was fiddling with junk bothering them?? They are the reason for all this paraphernalia in the first place!
Hannah (whips around): Jonathan, WHAT is not nice? I have not done anything to you.
Jonathan: You are stressing. me. out.
At this point I could not help but laugh.
Hannah (through stifled giggles): Why am I stressing you out Jonathan?
Jonathan: Don't. speak. Spanish.
Ay caramba, honestly, ay caramba.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The silly little things in life
Last night we ate like royalty. Allow me to be clear: I have not made dinner but once (and maybe you can count the sandwiches I may have made) since William was born. We are blessed by friends bringing meals, parents cooking, and the existence of Chick'fil'A and Papa John's. It's not so much the cooking I am avoiding, but the making time for it, and for shopping, and for thinking at all. Thinking about something other than a nursing schedule for one child, a potty training schedule for another, and a red wine schedule for myself. With a brain monopolized by milk, underwear, and alcohol there is little room for anything else right now.
However, I am woman hear me roar. At least that is what seems to be the expected mantra of mothers (or any woman for that matter) and I was determined to rise above. I fished out frozen meat (a combination of chicken and tilapia) from the freezer and pumped myself up to make a trip to the grocery store for salad ingredients. Arriving at the grocery store, I was overwhelmed by the produce section (see notes of brain monopoly above) so instead settled for spindly asparagus. Not willing to make my second dinner as a mother of two an utterly bland and unplanned disaster, I snagged our favorite topping, blue cheese, from the expensive cheese section-- I was too stressed (see note again) by the size of the supermarket to traverse it for cheaper fromage.
Instead of cooking each meat and vegetable in its appropriate pan and therefore accruing a sinkful of sticky dishes, I announced that we would be throwing everything on the grill. I slapped bbq sauce and balsamic on the chicken and passed it off to Josh, threw the partially thawed fish on too, and tossed olive oil doused asparagus in with the mix. I mentally wiped my hands of the meal and sipped my red wine while Josh tended the Weber.
Soon I ventured out to see my delicacies being cooked to delicious perfection. What I saw was less than impressive. Skinny sticks of asparagus were roasting next to bite size portions of chicken, and we both had to laugh because my less-than-thawed fish was so mushy that the lion's share was falling through the cracks and leaving a doozy of a mess on the grill racks. I had been concerned that I was using up too much meat for one meal, but now it appeared we'd all be two bites in before dinner was over...
You know the crazy part? I couldn't have been happier. It was just all too fun. Dinner smelled good (who cares how it looked-- I was cooking, hot damn and hallelujah!) Instead of kicking myself for halfway thawing fish I was giggling uncontrollably with my husband, who hugged me and laughed too. I was drinking good red wine and you know what, that blue cheese afterthought sprinkled on top of everything made the whole meal taste like the finest gourmet.
However, I am woman hear me roar. At least that is what seems to be the expected mantra of mothers (or any woman for that matter) and I was determined to rise above. I fished out frozen meat (a combination of chicken and tilapia) from the freezer and pumped myself up to make a trip to the grocery store for salad ingredients. Arriving at the grocery store, I was overwhelmed by the produce section (see notes of brain monopoly above) so instead settled for spindly asparagus. Not willing to make my second dinner as a mother of two an utterly bland and unplanned disaster, I snagged our favorite topping, blue cheese, from the expensive cheese section-- I was too stressed (see note again) by the size of the supermarket to traverse it for cheaper fromage.
Instead of cooking each meat and vegetable in its appropriate pan and therefore accruing a sinkful of sticky dishes, I announced that we would be throwing everything on the grill. I slapped bbq sauce and balsamic on the chicken and passed it off to Josh, threw the partially thawed fish on too, and tossed olive oil doused asparagus in with the mix. I mentally wiped my hands of the meal and sipped my red wine while Josh tended the Weber.
Soon I ventured out to see my delicacies being cooked to delicious perfection. What I saw was less than impressive. Skinny sticks of asparagus were roasting next to bite size portions of chicken, and we both had to laugh because my less-than-thawed fish was so mushy that the lion's share was falling through the cracks and leaving a doozy of a mess on the grill racks. I had been concerned that I was using up too much meat for one meal, but now it appeared we'd all be two bites in before dinner was over...
You know the crazy part? I couldn't have been happier. It was just all too fun. Dinner smelled good (who cares how it looked-- I was cooking, hot damn and hallelujah!) Instead of kicking myself for halfway thawing fish I was giggling uncontrollably with my husband, who hugged me and laughed too. I was drinking good red wine and you know what, that blue cheese afterthought sprinkled on top of everything made the whole meal taste like the finest gourmet.
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