Insane Pregnancy Moments

Don't let the title fool you, I'm not knocked up, and I don't plan to be in the next 3 years or so. My two crazy monkeys keep me busy enough!

No, my family and I were reminiscing tonight about when we were pregnant, and some of the silly things we did. My sister is 7 months pregnant and is a tiny bit emotional. When I say a tiny bit, I mean a tiny bit. She also reads this blog and I really don't want to tell you how emotional she is because I am afraid it might make her bawl hysterically, so we just won't go there, k? Love you sis!

As we were talking about how funny it is that we have cried over cheeseburgers, or threatened our husbands with divorce over a dirty sock left on the floor, I had to laugh at my best(worst) irrational pregnancy moment.

I think I was in the ninth month of my first pregnancy, very large and uncomfortable. I was spending my days napping, half-heartedly cleaning, talking to my sister for hours on the phone, napping again, and watching hours of terrible daytime TV. Then, ten minutes before The Hubs would be due home, I would scramble around throwing away the empty chip bags and candy wrappers. Yeah, it was a pretty sad sight. I still can't figure out why I gained sixty pounds in that pregnancy. Hmm...

One day I was sprawled on the couch watching Oprah, when the commercial break began (pre-TIVO days...how did we all survive???). And it hit me...I wanted muffins. I wanted muffins NOW. I jumped up (or rather..awkwardly twisted and turned my large body off of the couch) and waddled raced to the kitchen. I fumbled around in the cupboards, scrambled through drawers, and finally found what I so desperately needed. Two boxes of muffin mixes, one apple cinnamon, the other blueberry.

Now, the serious problems started. They both sounded equally delicious, but I knew I couldn't make them both. I also knew I needed to get them in the oven so I could have a fresh plate of hot muffins waiting for The Hubs when he got home. After spending an eternity changing and re changing my mind, I finally picked apple cinnamon and set to work whipping up a batch. The house was soon filled with the heavenly aroma of baked apples and sweet cinnamon. I sat cross legged on the floor watching the muffins sloooowwwlllly rise. The moment they were done I yanked them out of the oven and burned my hand slightly trying to get them out of the muffin pan and onto a plate. I was salivating, my eyes were glazed over, every bud on my tongue was screaming "I NEED A MUFFIN NOW!"

I can still feel the agony, the pain of having to wait five minutes for the muffins to cool. The first muffin was still steaming, but I couldn't wait. I think I went into a bit of trance, my memory is a little fuzzy, but one second I was delicately biting into a moist muffin, and the next second I was surrounded by a nearly empty pan and a large amount of crumbs.

I panicked and counted the last of the muffins. Four. Four? FOUR??? I ate 8 muffins in one sitting? Ok, this is not such a big deal, The Hubs will come home and enjoy the last four muffins, problem solved. But wait, he is going to see that there are only four muffins left, which means he will see that I ate eight of them.

If you have ever been pregnant, you might see where this led me. Obviously, I needed to either A) eat the last four muffins or B) throw the last four muffins away. This way The Hubs would never even know they existed, and therefore would not see that I was a total hog. The thought of throwing the four muffins away really pained me though, I just couldn't do it. So I ate them. The last few had to be nearly forced down, I was stuffed so full, but they were still soooo good.

Ok, great. The pan is washed and put away, the crumbs are swept up, everything is fine. I stepped outside to get some fresh air and walked back in to discover that baking smell I mentioned before? That wonderful sweet scent? Yeah, the house reeked of it. I could smell it from the door, it was very obvious someone had just baked something wonderful.

At this point I started crying. I just knew that The Hubs would walk in and say "Oh, you made muffins. Oh, they're gone. You ate twelve muffins. You ate TWELVE muffins?????" So I did what any irrational and emotional woman would do. I made the second batch.

And then I ate one out of that batch, just to make it look believable. Because I knew he would be suspicious if there was a fresh batch of muffins and I hadn't tried one yet.

When The Hubs came home, he gave me a quick kiss and headed for the muffin plate. I held my breath wondering if he would notice the scent of cinnamon that didn't match the blueberry muffins, or see a smudge of apple residue on my face. He grabbed a muffin, muttered "Thanks." then went to take a shower.

That night I cried myself to sleep. Partly because I was upset with DH for not praising me more for my muffin efforts, partly because I knew I was being silly. And partly because I was stuffed so full of muffins I thought I would explode.

Ay-yi-yi!!!!!!

Today I made our vegetarian meal of the week, and it was gooooooood!!!!

I made homemade Mexican pizzas, and it confirmed my decision to go vegetarian rather than vegan, as my pizzas were ooey gooey with cheese.

Cheese = Happy!

I made a version of these last year, but was not happy with them, so I just kind of winged (wung?) it with my own recipe. Very very delish!

Mexican Pizzas

8 Flour tortillas
2-3 TBSP oil (I use canola), divided
2 cans (or one large) fat free refried beans (I use Rosarita)
2 cups reduced fat cheddar cheese, grated
1 cup fat-free sour cream
1 cup salsa, any kind
1 red bell pepper, deseeded and finely chopped
1/2 head lettuce, shredded or chopped small
1 small onion, chopped (optional)
2 tomatoes, chopped (optional)

Ok, so first add refried beans to a small saucepan, heat on low and stir occasionally. They just need to be warmed. Next, heat your oil on high in a frying pan. You really only need enough to coat the bottom of the pan. Add your tortilla, fry on each side for 1-2 minutes. Stay close though, as these can burn easily. When tortilla is crispy and browned, remove from pan and put on cookie sheet, place in a 200 degree preheated oven. Fry additional tortillas (Add more oil if needed) and add to oven. This keeps them warm and prevents sogginess.

When tortillas are done, you can start building your pizza base. Pull the tortillas out of the oven and turn heat up to 350. Start with one tortilla on bottom, spread the warm refried beans on top, add a small handful of shredded cheese, then top with second tortilla. It's best to push them together so they are thin, but use a hot pad holder because they will be warm. Place the pizza base back on the cookie sheet (You can maybe fit three pizza bases on each sheet) and place back in oven. These take 5-10 minutes so while they are crisping up, prepare your toppings.

Chop the lettuce, tomato, onion, bell pepper, and grate your cheese. We skipped tomatoes because we weren't in the mood for salmonella, but next time tomatoes will add the perfect touch.

Ok, so once pizzas are out of the oven, spread the top with a spoonful of sour cream, then spoon salsa on top of that. Then add a small handful of onions, bell pepper, tomato, another small sprinkle of cheese, and lettuce on top. Feel free to mess around with the order, or omit/add anything you like. They are your pizzas, ya know?

Then I like to use a pizza cutter to split them, it makes the pizzas easier to eat. And ta da! Delicious, not all that bad for you, and sans meat...perfect meal. The only small criticism I have is that the pizzas got a little bit soggy while they were waiting for toppings, so I think next time I will fry them a little longer.

We served ours with fresh jicama. Now, I am not really a jicama person, in fact I have only had it once before, but The Hubs ate jicama as a child quite a bit. He peeled and sliced them, sprikled a little fresh lime juice over them, and added a small sprinkle of chili powder (not on the kids' plates, although both of them like spicy foods). Perfect combination of sweet, sour, and spicy.

My kids really enjoyed this, but I did omit salsa from theirs. I replaced it with ketchup, because both of them will eat anything they can dip. They both gobbled up their food and asked for more jicama, so I was happy.

Try this, and let me know what you think!!!!

Anger

Last night Chloe was REALLY pushing it with bedtime. She needed a drink, then she wanted another story, then she got up to tell me that her bed had a crumb in it and it was hurting her. This girl can stall like nobody's business.

So after about half an hour of catering to her every whim (I joke!) I firmly told her "If you get up again, or ask for something, you are going to lose your cartoons tomorrow." That really got her and she rolled over with her eyes closed.

I retreated to the living room where I spread out my notebook, Biology notes, textbook, and notecards and started studying. After a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the rustle of my papers, I was startled by Chloe at my side. I opened my mouth to tell her how upset I was and she put her little hand on my shoulder and said "Mommy, don't be angry. I want to say I love you and goodnight!"

I had to laugh though, hearing "don't be angry" out of her mouth was just too cute, she has never said that before. Then I walked her back to her room, gave her a kiss and a cuddle and tuck her back into bed where she went right to sleep. I am 99% sure that when she came out to the living room she was intending on using another stalling tactic, but changed her mind when she saw how "angry" I was.

After she went to bed I still had a little grin on my face. She is so witty and sweet. But the grin faded after a bit when I realized just how significant that emotion is. Anger. The word itself sounds harsh and mean. In her three year old mind, anger means Mom is upset that she won't go to bed. Or she is angry at her sister for taking her toy. Or angry at the pedal on her trike that she can't get to rotate fully. I've always tried to acknowledge her feelings, while also teaching that she needs to control herself. It's okay to be angry, but it is not okay to push Baby. It is okay to be mad, but you cannot yell at us. Etc. Etc.

So in the past year that the topic of anger has come up, I think we've done a good job in helping her express and control her emotions. And even though she feels mad several times a day, how wonderful that her anger is still innocent.

She hasn't yet experienced real fury. And she probably will, sooner than I imagine. But when is anger truly justifiable, when is it real?

In grade school when a classmate humiliates you?

In middle school when your best friend blabs your biggest secret?

In high school when that same best friend steals your boyfriend?

I can think of only two instances in which I have felt true fury, felt so completely out-of-control and filled with rage. Both times the intense emotion was a mask. A cover up for the grief.

In high school I was very close friends with a boy named Garry. Our friends all hung out together, he was the funniest guy. We partied together, we talked in the hallways, my close friend was his girl friend. Everyone in school knew him, just an all around cool guy and class clown. On January 9th, we were all shocked to hear that someone in our town had killed himself. He was a sibling of one of our friends, and quite a bit older than us. The news shocked our small town. That night I spoke with a friend on the phone and said "Can you imagine that happening to one of our friends? I don't think I would be able to handle it."

Five days later, on January 14th, I left school and went to my boyfriend's house. We called Garry to come hang out and when his father picked up the phone he was sobbing. When my boyfriend became alarmed and said "What happened????" Garry's father revealed that he had just walked in on Garry, he had killed himself.

It happened so quick. I was laughing and talking and then my world shattered and then the next moment I was walking out of the house, almost in a trance, to where Garry's girlfriend worked. I walked into the resteraunt and grabbed her hand. I was crying and couldn't choke out the words I just sobbed "Garry....Garry". It was one of the worst moments of my life.

It didn't happen that night, or the next. It was the day after his funeral that the anger hit. I was furious. Furious at some stupid boy who thought his problem couldn't be solved. Furious at a God who would allow so much suffering. Furious at myself and furious at everyone else who didn't see it. A fit of rage that left me exhausted and ragged, and feeling well beyond my 16 years, because no one on Earth could possibly feel that much pain and hurt.

The fury slowly subsided, the pain ebbed away, and the memories started to fade. Long periods went by and sometimes I thought I had forgotten what his face looked like. But I still feel a little ache, a tiny pull at a once angry heart.

Last night, after Chloe was back to sleep, and I got up to get a kleenex, my thoughts turned to the second time I felt true rage, just over two years ago. Two close friends had gone partying, they were driving too fast on too dark roads and they were too intoxicated. Even now, if I close my eyes I can hear the tires squeal and hear the screams and then hear the sickening crunch, even though I was nowhere near the horrible scene, or the lifestyle.

I worked with Bree, I partied with her, we confided in each other, we even raced our cars against each other. We went skinny dipping, we walked through the county fair laughing and joking, and we spent many sleepovers together giggling and whispering. When I decided to move away, get married and start a family, she stayed behind and continued the party life. Sometimes I envied how carefree she was (especially when I was spending my nights changing diapers). We still saw each other occasionally, and laughed over our days as crazy girls. She was so beautiful.

I knew Shanel for many years. We went to school together, hung out with mutual friends and laughed together. I still have a videotape that we made in fourth grade, so young and innocent. When I watch that tape I search her face for some clue, some hint that she wouldn't live past 18.

The fit of anger was similar, but so different. I was older, I was a little more distanced, and too familiar with grief. But I couldn't help feeling furious with Bree. What a stupid decision to make that cost her everything. It took a very long time for the anger to fade. Now I wonder if I spent too much time feeling furious, and not enough time remembering and loving.

Last night, after the second round of Kleenex's, I had to smile again at Chloe's words "Don't be angry Mommy." Her little grip on my shoulder and her half toothless smile, her bedhead and her nighttime stalling, her middle-of-the-night wakings, and naptime antics......they remind me that too much time is wasted in anger. Is it all sunshine and butterflies and rainbows? Of course not. But I cherish this time when three year old 'anger' still means a dropped popsicle or a stubbed toe.

Brooke's Best Bombshell Brownies

I discovered this recipe several months ago, and it is hands down the best thing I have ever made from scratch. I can whip up homemade noodles, I can bake a good cookie, and my cakes are light and moist......

But never before have I been able to make a really. great. brownie. I've made them all, really. Dense, fudgey, eggless, cake-like, burned around the edges, raw in the middle, flat, huge, you name it. Some have turned out good (usually the ones that originate from the box) and some have set my smoke detector off. But I really wanted a knock-your-socks-off brownie, one that was chocolatey and rich and had just the right amount of crust on the top-one that didn't require complicated methods to create. So when I googled "Best brownie recipe" at the beginning of this year, I was not let down. I discovered this recipe from All Recipes (with glowing reviews), then found that I had all of the ingredients in my cupboards.

After the brownies came out of the oven, I had an attack of the Can't-Wait-Syndrome. You know the one where you have a smoking hot dish of something that is supposed to be 'cooling' but is really wafting it's delicious aroma all over the house? And you know you shouldn't get close to it as it is about 5746 degrees hot, but you really, really want to sink your teeth into it? Even though it is about to burn off most of your taste buds? Yeah, I had that.

But these bad bombshells are worth waiting for. So dense, so fudgey, so so chocolatey. The best part is that they get better as they sit, so when you sneak out of bed at 3 AM to have a tiny snack, you will not be dissapointed. Your kids might be though, when they wake up in the morning to find you sitting on the kitchen floor, licking the crumbs out of the empty dish.

Here is the link to the recipe, you can also read the hundreds of five star reviews, some from expert chefs vowing to never try another recipe. My suggestions will follow the recipe.

INGREDIENTS
1 cup butter, melted
3 cups white sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

DIRECTIONS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly grease a 9x13 baking dish.

Combine the melted butter, sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each, until thoroughly blended.

Sift together the flour, cocoa powder, and salt. Gradually stir the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture until blended. Stir in the chocolate morsels. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared baking dish.

Bake in preheated oven until an inserted toothpick comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Remove, and cool pan on wire rack before cutting.

*Some of the reviewers have suggested substituting this insane amount of sugar with 1 1/2 cups brown, and 1 1/2 cups white sugar. Not sure what it does for the calorie factor, but it does cut the sweetness a tiny bit for those without a raging sweet tooth.

*Another suggestion is to add 1/2 cup of chopped walnuts. Adds just the right amount of crunch.

*If you don't like big chunks of chocolate in your brownies, you can also sub the chocolate chips for mini (also try peanut butter chips...yum!) or use your knife to chop up your chips before adding.

*And lastly, a brownie or five, goes great with a super tall glass of ice cold milk. Or a scoop of vanilla ice cream if you are feeling wild.

Ok, so there you have it. As I am writing this a batch of brownies is in my oven and I am just starting to smell that "Come eat me" scent.

One more thing, even though this recipe sounds incredibly fattening and heart-disease-causing, it only has about 250 calories per serving. Ok, that is a lot if you are dieting. But really, it is not *that* much. You probably shouldn't eat the entire pan, but it's okay to indulge a little. Brooke said so!

By the way, I totally picture Brooke as a beautiful, 105 pound woman who can eat whatever she wants. Or she could be a 460 pound man who parks his recliner in the kitchen next to the oven, I don't really know. All I know is you have to try these brownies. Really, you do.

Parade of Fools.

Our annual 'Western Days' parade was last weekend. The parade is meant to celebrate our Western heritage, and each entry in the parade is supposed to be Western themed, so lots of covered wagons and horses and cowboys.

The past few years the parade has slowly become a little more, well, parade-like. As in, more marching bands, cloggers, local business floats, and candy being hurled at young children.

It wasn't really cold, but it wasn't warm either. Jackets were definitely needed.

We arrived at the parade a little too early, so both kids were restless. Chloe threw a huge temper tantrum because she wanted to sit in baby's stroller. You can see that I am very tough and never give in to her whining.


Meanwhile my mom held Alivia, who did pretty well until 2 minutes before the parade began. Major meltdown time.



Because I live in Idaho, The-Hicksville-State, we saw a group that had entered their mud covered trucks in the parade. For the sole reason of umm...showing off how dirty they were? The group does a lot of 'muddin' and I guess they wanted to show the city how classy and cool they are. Don't believe me?


And I am not even joking, there were about 10 trucks in a row that would rev their engines and fling mud as they paraded down Main Street. 80% of the drivers had a mullet and no shirt, and I am pretty sure I saw several cans of beer nestled in their laps.

It was sad. Just sad. Even worse was the group of pot-bellied rednecks lining the street that cheered "HELL YEAAAAAHHHH" as the trucks passed.

Chloe loved the horses, but was completely shocked that they were allowed to poop in the middle of the street. Every other minute she would check to make sure the poop was there, and loudly proclaim "Ewww, that's nasty. There's poop in the road. Look at that! Poop there. The horse pooped, look, look. Ewwww!" But she was secretly delighted.

After the parade we walked across the street to the city park to enjoy the food booths (hush puppies, mini donuts, elephant ears), then we all laid down and nearly died from the overload of sugar and grease. It was great!

The best part of a busy parade?

Coming home with exhausted kids.

Why My 1 1/2 Year Old DOESN'T Rock!

First check out why Chloe rocks and doesn't rock the house.

And why Ali has some major rockage going on. Now here is why Miss CrazyGirl doesn't exactly rock my world.

-She has slept through the night four times in 16 months.

-She is on a MAJOR food strike.

-She hates milk.

-She tosses food all over the place.

-She throws blue-in-the-face, kicking-and-screaming tantrums several times a day.

-She jumps up in the middle of diaper changes and takes off running.

-She bites. HARD.

-She says "Baby..NO NO!" while she is doing something naughty (throwing her pacifier in the trash, pulling all the wipes out of the container, dumping out a basket of toys, etc).

Yeah, I should probably stop now, this could go on for a while.

But she is cute!

Baby.

Nearly two years ago, The Hubs and I were talking about names. He's never been the type to devour name books, make lists, or agonize over decisions, so he is darn lucky he married someone who takes care of the obsessive side of name-choosing.

We came down to three names; Alexia, Olivia, and Allison. I wanted a child that we could call "Allie" so the first and third choices were mine. He was standing firm on wanting Olivia. I wouldn't say we fought about it, but there were a few slammed doors, screaming fits, and divorce threats......so nothing major really (I joke).

Finally on November 19th, 2006, we made our decision. I remember the day so clearly because we were at my nephew's 6th birthday party. We were sitting around with our extended family, enjoying cake (well I was 7 months pregnant so I was shoveling cake in my mouth without pause) and we announced "We've decided to name the baby Alivia. You know, like Olivia with an A?" Everyone kind of smiled halfheartedly and said "Oh that's great." Although my mother made a bit of a face and asked "Really, are you sure???" My dad, the horrible speller, thought that was how it was spelled anyway. Even though we had mixed reactions, I felt good about our decision.

The thing with her name is that most people pronounce Olivia like "Uh-liv-ee-uh" and not "OH-liv-ee-uh". That is exactly how we say our daughter's name, with a soft A, so most people don't even know her name is spelled differently.

So, after she was born I settled down in my hospital bed to finalize paperwork. I poised my pen over the official sheet of paper (with one hand grasping the open front of my hospital gown so my boob wouldn't flop out) I asked The Hubs "Are you sure?" Without hesitation he said "Do it."

So she became Alivia Mae. Her middle name is mine, and it is also my paternal grandmother's (more about that later). So as I wrote the name down carefully, I felt a bit of apprehension. I was worried about her first day in school as the teacher stumbles over her name or calls her "ALIVE ee uh" or "A ummm liv ummm err ah umm" or telling strangers her nickname is Ali (like Allie, not like Muhammed) which doesn't make sense if they think her name is Olivia. Sigh.

So after all of the agonizing, worry, stress and explanations, I feel like we chose the right name.

As for what we call her on a daily basis....that's a whole 'nother post!