{ warning: 'homemaking' attempts in progress }

For legal purposes, there should be a loud siren, obnoxiously bright blinking lights, and a squadron of well-built men ready to aid the evacuation process every time I pull out the cook book. Although, I'll admit the latter of the three would be more for my viewing pleasure than actual necessity. {I'd be making more home-cooked meals- that's for sure.}

Okay, okay, I'm not terrible. I would say that I'm average. It's when I try to be amazing that things go wrong. I tried to make amazing pumpkin soup- threw the ENTIRE pot down the disposal. Tried to "spice" up tuna and macaroni salad- I was the only one that would come within 9.72 feet of it. And the meals I do make that taste good are a far cry from "pretty". Betty Crocker would not be bringing her photography crew over any time soon, that's for sure.

So let me tell you about my recent disaster escapade in the kitchen.

Once again, I was trying to get 'creative'. I kinda wish my track record had flashed in front of my eyes before I continued. My cousin {other than Camryn} and I were making caramel apples for Halloween. We were trying to be good mothers and have amazingly glorious traditions that our children will look back on and think that we are the most wonderful mothers ever to walk the earth. You know, those kind of traditions. We purchased our loot at two {yes, two- our first shopping adventure left us caramel-less} different stores and began the process.

My cousin began dipping her apples and made them super gorgeous and proceeded to add chocolate to them. See, she can be creative without it backfiring in her face, why can't I?! I was hoping her luck of creative culinary creations would rub off on me.

But I had to change mine up a bit. Mr. Smith HATES apple peels. They irritate his teeth, or rub funny on them, blah, blah, b...l... *snore*

So me, being The Most Amazing Wifey In The World, decided to peel the apples first. Cuz I'm Awesome that way. And then I decided to cut them up and do bite-sized caramel covered apple pieces. Sounds delightful, huh?

WARNING: CARAMEL INDEED DOES NOT STICK TO APPLE FLESH. AT ALL.

It sluffed off the apple like slime off a slug. So I dump all the pieces into the pan of melted caramel. Perhaps the caramel would cool and harden around it if the pieces were immersed in this confectionary goodness and left in the fridge for a while.

The Next Day . . .

Still sluffing.

I decide to get monstrously creative. {I know, the warning lights were going off in my brain too, but I couldn't waste this heavenly marriage of apples and caramel.} I made a pie crust.

I cooked the pie crust.

I reheated the caramel and apples.

I whipped up some heavy cream till light and fluffy, then folded into the caramel mixture.

Lo and behold . . . {insert heavenly choirs of angels singing here}, I have created the caramel apple chiffon pie.

H A L L E L U J A H!!!

Okay, I really don't know the calorie intake on a slice, nor do I want to know. This thing was so stinking sweet, yet so divine that I kept going back for another "bite". So even though I think I'll tweak it a bit more, here's the lovely 'turning lemons into lemonade' recipe:

The Mean Mommy Caramel Apple Chiffon Pie

So, even though it started out as a disaster, I'm kinda glad my sweetheart doesn't like apple peelings, otherwise I would not have discovered some truly divine-ness. Now we just have to work on him not liking pie crusts. The next morning I found this:

Do you notice something missing? Look closely. Around the edges. Oh wait! You don't see any edges? Maybe that's because Mr. Smith PULLED OFF THE FREAKING CRUST AND ATE IT!!

Which brings me to my next subject- This month I plan on paying tribute to the men in our lives who like to watch football, forget to take out the trash, make their wives peel their apples, come up with insane reasons for their behavior {i.e. crust harvesting}, etc. I am dedicating all of my posts this month to:

Husbands.

In particular, mine.

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Enjoy your weekend!

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{ps- are your Halloween decorations still up, too? And how many pieces of candy have you stolen borrowed eaten from your child's stash?}

{ bodily functions }

Does anyone else have problems getting their 6 year old to sleep? I didn't until last night. For some reason my son would not go to bed. So me, being the genius that I am, came up with a solution. He could 'fall asleep' on my bed, and then I would begin the process of moving him to the floor {yeah, right, like I'm going to carry that heavy mass of a body with all of my 5 feet of strength down a flight of stairs and onto his own bed}. This procedure is performed as such:

1 | roll the body until the subject is on his back, with the head pointing towards you.

{here is where you prepare yourself for some awesome visual aids. It's okay to be jealous of my mad doodling with a mouse skills. *snort*}

2 | place firm grip under armpits by making sure the crook of your arm is placed strategically under the armpits.

3 | pull.

4 | gently.

5 | as the feet are last to be pulled off the 4 feet tall bed, just let them fall onto the floor.

6 | your child should be slightly coherent at this point, so tell them to lay on the pillow on the floor. If not, just drag.

7 | cover child with warm blanket.

8 | grab a huge glass of water to rehydrate yourself after your amazing workout. And don't forget to grab you a piece of chocolate from your hidden stash to reward yourself as well. What. We all know you have one. ;)

{What do you mean you don't wear hair accessories that match your furniture?}

As I went upstairs {waaaayyyy later than I should have} to begin my 'workout', an all too familiar smell was in the air.

Are you kidding me? I thought as I ran to the bed and pulled back the covers. Sure enough, for the first time in years, my son lay fast asleep in a puddle of pee.

*Don't tell Mr. Smith it was his side.*

Major shaking and tapping ensued- to wake my son up. I told him he had to take a shower and go back to his bed.

"Why?"

"Because you peed on my bed."

"Who."

"You did."

"Me?!?!?"

"Yes you."

"How?"

" . . . . . . . . "

Needles to say, I got him showered {yes, I was the only responsible adult present I was the only legal adult present}, cleaned up, tucked in, got the sheets changed, and mattress Lysoled all before midnight. Holla! {But then I froze while sleeping because I left the window open and had only a sheet for protection- yes I was too tired to get up and close the dang window.}

And then there's my daughter. I love her. Desperately. And she loves her dairy products. Desperately. She has an addiction.

Do you KNOW what happens to people who have an addiction to dairy products???

That's right. They get clogged.

My daughter is addicted to dairy products.

This resulted in the need for Milk Rehab.

1 | No milk, yogurt or cheese.

2 | Only juice or water.

3 | And rice.

After hours of tears I am happy to report this was a success. We are clog free!

I KNOW you wanted to know that. And you're welcome.

Being a mother means doing things you never in your wildest dreams thought you would do. It means touching things that would have made you spew chunks when you were younger. It means smelling things that shouldn't be smelled by mere mortals. In fact here's a song for you, dear Mother Who Has Children . . .

*sniff* Beautiful isn't it?
So here's to us Moms! Cleaners of all things gross! Smellers of all things vile! Sacrificers of all things . . . um, well . . . All Things! {I was going to put dignified, but we sacrifice much more than dignity when it comes to motherhood.}
We Rock.
And don't you forget it . . .
---------------------Have a Great Weekend!---------------------

{ bees, gas chambers, bathrooms and forbidden fruit }

Mr. Smith tried to explain to my children where honey comes from. . . I should have intervened.

It all began with the simple correction that bees don't just like honey- they make it. My son was intrigued and Mr. Smith continued. His definition of the honey process went as follows:

Bees make the honey in their beehives, then grandpa smokes them to death and steals their honey so that we can eat it.

Do you see where I should have taken over?

After giving him quizzical looks, then a slight glare, he went on to compare this to the Indians. Like when we came over and stole the land from them.

Do you see why I am the one that helps with the homework?

There is truth to these statements {minus the smoking to death/gas chamber analogy} which is why I held my tongue. But now my son is a little weary of eating honey.

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In related news . . .

My daughter flooded the bathroom last night.

No, I didn't take pictures.

For some odd reason, I wasn't mad. My body kicked into Mommy Mode as I ripped off my socks and shoes, rolled the pants up and began soaking up the warm liquid that overflowed from the bathtub. My first thought was "Save The Carpet!" as the edges were turning a lovely shade of darker brown. The inch of water on the tiled bathroom and hallway was quickly soaked up, and then I turned my attention to the edges of the carpet in the rooms. Adrenaline completely took over as I grabbed all the fans we own and aimed them at the wet spots.

I thought I did pretty good.

And then I stepped on the carpet about a foot out from where I had soaked up the "spots". It squished.

Crap.

Water had soaked into the carpet pad.

I grabbed more towels.

We then had a "jumping party". I made my kids jump for forever on those towels. The last thing I want is moldy carpets.

I am happy to report that it was a success!

But here comes my {serious and insanely guilt-driven} Public Service Announcement:

Last night I lay awake in my bed, not praising myself for 'saving the carpet'. I felt a wave of nausea come over me as I realized how bad things could have ended up. I had put little M in the bathtub, filled it fairly full {does anyone else's kids beg to have the water 'really high'?} and and then let her play. I was laying on the couch, trying to get my sinus headache to subside, when I recognized the sound of running water. I don't know how long the water had been running. Long enough to overflow the bathtub and create an indoor swimming pool. But the part that made me sick was the knowledge that I wasn't watching my daughter closely around water. Yes, she is three and it was a bathtub not a swim pool {which I am overly paranoid of my kids being around}. But what if? WHAT IF?

Angels were working overtime. She is safe. I said a super long prayer of gratitude that night- I'm grateful that an 'real' accident didn't happen. I'm grateful that Angels exist during my 'poor parenting' episodes. So what if the carpet gets moldy? Who cares if the dirty clothes hamper was drenched? Who cares if a sinus headache is present? That's not what's important.

This is what's important:

Anyway, here's my soap box . . .

And now I'm off it. *sigh* Kids . . . the things they do to our nerves . . . {I realize that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but my mind has a way of freaking out on me. It's called: Obsessively Paranoid Mommy Syndrome or OPMS [not to be mistaken with the regular PMS]. I try not to be one of those moms that make my kids wear football gear and helmets every time they go outside. It's hard.}

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Sorry about the 'serious moment'. That's what happens when one gets rambling. So to lighten the mood, I would like to share a story.

Whenever your children are out of control, you can take comfort from the thought that even God's Omnipotence did not extend to His Own Children.

After creating Heaven and Earth, God created Adam and Eve.

And the first thing he said was DON'T!

Don't what? Adam replied.

Don't eat the forbidden fruit. God said.

Forbidden fruit? We have forbidden fruit? Hey Eve . . . we have forbidden fruit!

No way!

Yes way!

Do NOT eat the fruit! said God.

Why?

Because I am your Father and I said so! God replied, wondering why he hadn't stopped creation of making the elephants.

A few minutes later, God saw His Children having an apple break and He was ticked!

Didn't I tell you not to eat the fruit? God asked.

Uh huh, Adam replied.

Then why did you? said The Father.

I don't know, said Eve.

She started it! Adam said.

Did not!

Did too!

Did NOT!

Having had it with the two of them, God's punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own. Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.

If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give children wisdom and they haven't taken it, don't be hard on yourself.

If God had trouble raising children, what makes you think it would be easy for you?

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Things to Think About Today:

1 | You spend the first two years of their life teaching them to walk and talk. Then you spend the next sixteen telling them to sit down and be quiet.

2 | Mothers of teens now know why some animals eat their young.

3 | Children seldom misquote you. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.

4 | The main purpose to holding children's parties is to remind yourself that there are children more awful than your own.

5 | We childproof our homes, but they are still getting in.

6 | If you have a lot of tension and you get a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle: Take two aspirin and keep away from children!

Just make sure they aren't alone in the bathtub when you do! ;)

Have a Great Weekend!

{ side tracked }

This week I'm dealing with personal matters, so I wasn't going to post, but I didn't want to leave all ya'll hanging, so for your laughing pleasure, please check out:

The Cake Wrecks Blog

This is SUPER funny.  Here's one of my favorites:

"And lastly, this bakery wants you to send your graduate a really heartfelt message.

Specifically: "Your face looks like a butt."

Oh, and "your cap is ridiculous, with its teensy little robot arm." "

I can't even begin to tell you how hard I laughed at this.  This blog is about... well... here are some more posts that busted my gut:  

The Twins

Come on Barbie, Let's Go Party

The Problem with Phone Orders

Seasonal Non-Sequiturs 

The Great Cupcake Cake Debate

Naked Mohawk Baby Carrot Jockeys

And the list goes on...

I think it's Jen's commentary that makes it soo gosh darn amusing!

I HAD to bookmark this site.

ENJOY!

{ ...oh what a relief it is... }

The other day I had a very close call. But before I begin with MY story, I must preface it with this one:

Once upon a time, we were given a ball, not a cube, a solid BALL of cheese. Cheddar, to be exact. It was supposed to be Heavenly Beyond Belief. Okay, yes, it was good, but cheddar is cheddar to me. It ALL tastes good. As we opened the box, wondering how Amazing Tasting Cheese could have such simple packaging, we came across these words printed on the side:


Yes, EXPERIMENT STATION at Miss. University. How would you feel about eating cheese that was made by experimenting college students? So I decide to do some research of my own. And no, it doesn't include feeding it to my kids and watching for strange mutations, an extra limb, or discoloration of the skin. I just read the ingredients.

The last ingredient is natamycin. Having no clue what that meant, I googled. Apparently it's an anti-fungal agent. Oh, that's good. I don't want fungi in my cheese. But they also list some possible side effects. Problems that have a possible casual [that's the word they used] connection include: allergic reaction, change in vision, chest pain, corneal opacity, dyspnea [breathing problems], eye discomfort, eye edema, eye hyperemia, eye irritation, eye pain, foreign body sensation [this one lost me. How can I have a sensation in a foreign body?], paresthesia, and tearing [I don't know if this is the tearing pronounced as in 'my eyes are tearing because someone CUT the cheese', or the 'my kids are tearing the house apart'! Either way could be bad.].

So I guess it's okay to eat the cheese...

All day long my two-year-old begged for cheese, and all day long I gave it to her.


My husband warned me.

He suggested ever-so-nicely ['cuz he knows who's in charge of making final decisions around here] that I should stop the mass cheese-feedings, or else our precious toddler would become constipated. In my infinite wisdom I told him that she's used to this much cheese, that her body is IMMUNE to the constricting bowel movement effects cheese would have on normal, non-hording cheese eaters.

I tried everything- warm baths, lots of fluids, sit-ups... nothing helped relieve the blockage my poor daughter was experiencing. Crying all evening [her not me. Okay, me too], it dawned on me that I had some Stool Softener in the cupboard. Why, you ask? Well, any woman who has ever given birth understands the importance and blessing of Stool Softener when it comes to post-natal care. I just happened to have some left over from about, oh, two years ago.

Because my daughter was lacking in proper years to receive the full dosage [one liquid gel], I decided to cut it open and squeeze half of it into a glass of chocolate milk, hoping to disguise any foul taste that might be associated with ingredients used to soften stools. As I struggled to make a slit in the top with my scissors, a stream of liquid hits me in the face and an ugly guffaw/grunt-like noise exits my lips- the kind of noise one makes when hit in the gut. It is then that my husband proceeds to laugh hysterically. I'm not sure if he's laughing at the fact that I just shot Stool Softener in my eye, or the uglier-than-sin sound that came out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Get back here ugly noise!"

I wish I had a rewind button.

But other than having a "maker of ugly noises" blemish on my record, this story ends on a happy note, and my daughter finally had a bowel movement the next morning. I've NEVER been so excited to see poop.

Now for MY story:

A couple days ago I was having a hard time going to sleep. As I tossed and turned and worried that morning would come all too soon, I crept downstairs to grab a generic sleep aid. I turn on the dim hall light, so as not to wake the children [this is extremely important], and proceed to the almost-dark kitchen. I open the cupboard and find the almost-completely-white-small-bottle that I need. I open it up and pull a small liquid gel out. I grab a drink. As I am about to pop the thing in my mouth, I think to myself: "This feels different, yet strangely familiar." I decide to turn on the kitchen light. Lo and Behold- I find in my hands a red (NOT blue) liquid gel and the bottle I pulled from the cupboard says STOOL SOFTENER.


Here are the bottles side-by-side. Do you see how one could easily get them mixed up if there is only a small amount of light to work with?


I have now put them next to each other in the cupboard so that next time, I will be able to make a conscious effort to pay attention to the bottle I'm grabbing.


So that's my story. If I had not given my daughter gigantic amounts of cheese, which led to the need of stool softening rescue, I would not have recognized the different feeling between the two liquid gels, and therefore would be tired, cranky and.......

...oh what a relief it is...