If the shoe fits, or doesn't . . . .

So one of the myriad of bizarre things that can happen when one births a child is that one's feet can grow up to a 1/2 size.  I can personally say that this le fact.  After two kids I have gifted shoes to close friends and donated some to charity.  The hardest ones to see leave were a pair Dansko mules (although my mom has them and I get to see her wear them, so there's that) and my glorious Frye boots that I gave to a friend but was so sad to see them go that I told her under no circumstances is she to wear them in my presence.  For a while I was mad because my shoe collection was depleted by half but now there is another problem that needs to be addressed.

Should your feet grow, for whatever reason, know that you can always get new shoes.  The one thing that takes a very, very, very, very long time to deal with is working with your "new" feet.  My feet were the same size from approximately high school until I was 37.  That is, what, over 20 years of working with the same size feet.  Now, add a few centimeters and trouble starts.  One day you are walking around not harming anyone, minding your own business then next you are jamming your toes on furniture and door jams, shoving your toenails up through your foot and into your knee and trying not to curse like an 80's stand-up comic because your three year old is always around and always, always listening.  Also, it suddenly becomes a pain in the ass to put on pants! And undies!  If I had a nickle for every time my frickin' toe got caught on/in pants . . . Also, my poor, poor doggies.  I have two quite large older dogs that lie around a lot and I am constantly walking over or around them.  Now with these extra centimeters I have accidentally nudged them, slipped on the golden's tail and tripped over them enough to look into some supplemental health insurance.  This has been going on for three years now and I am still having issues.  Oh, and for the love of all that is Holy, do not let me be near anything breakable or hot liquids if I have on socks THEN put on pants.  Those extra 2 millimeters are enough for me to need a spotter or a neck brace.  

Digging for gold . . .

So, the three year old's new thing is exploring his nostrils, extracting anything interesting he may find then commencing with a show-and-tell session.  We call them "bogies" because I love Harry Potter, think "troll bogies" are disgustingly hilarious and just plain prefer "bogies" to "boogers."  The other day he picked one, on the smallish size, at Target then proceeded to give the cart a nice bogie massage.  So those anti-bacterial wipes at the entrance?  Get one.  Actually, get four.  You know what, just buy your own cart.

Last night while watching "Olivia" he turns to me and says "Mommy, I have a bogie."
Me:  "Ok, let me get a tissue."
Him:  "I like this bogie."
Me:  "Um, ok, well here is a tissue."
Him:  "I like to eat the bogies."

Luckily I swooped in with the tissue and got the bogie and probably the top layer of skin off his index finger before he could eat it.  Tonight after doing extensive research (about 5 minutes) I found this article.  I knew there had to be some sort of "-xis," "-mania," or "-agy" associated with this ick but had NO idea it was this scientific.  Oh, and yes, I did start to throw up a little bit in my mouth while reading the article.  I bet the same people who buy into this and are over the age of 4 (at least I hope that is when most kids stop this mining) are the same people who drink their urine and use the natural grease from their hair as a moisturizer.

Today it was:  "Mommy, I have a bogie."
Me:  "Ok, let me get a tissue."  (note, every bogie conversation starts this way, every time.  Unless there are absolutely no tissues around and I have to do the repulsive mommy move of wiping it . . . never mind, I am not admitting to that.)
Him:  "I want to put it back."
Me:  "You want to put the bogie back in your nose."
Him:  "Yes."
Me:  "Why?"
Him:  "He has friends in there."
Me:  "Really?"
Him:  "Yes, they are resting."

So now we know that bogies have friends, can be active or sleeping, and act as an amuse bouche for the toddler/preschool set.

The Not-So-Young and the Dim

If my life was a soap opera that would be the title.

So have you ever been so tired that after you laid down on the floor to read your kid a book you did not get up and then realized that you ended up taking a seven minute power nap and you now have carpet marks on your face and drool all over your kid's Blue's Clues book so that Magenta ends up looking like a former Russian head of state? No? Oh, me either then.

And a little heads up for all you microwave chefs out there: if you buy Trader Joe's yummy BBQ pork, when the directions read to poke holes in the package they mean "take the little clear package out of the store packaging and poke holes in the clear one and not the store packaging you nimrod." Clearly I am one of those people who need directions like "Do not use hair dryer in the shower" and "Do Not Eat Toner." At least until I start getting more sleep.

You try to be nice to somebody

I try to be nice to people on a regular basis. Granted sometimes I am muttering under my breath while rolling my eyes or spewing obscenities in my mind, but on the outside I could be a runner-up for Miss Congeniality. So I decided I wanted to buy the coffee for the person behind me in the drive-thru. I have wanted to do this for a while but kept forgetting about it. A week or so ago I decided the time was right but I did not want to end up buying for the nice old lady behind me only to find out she was on a coffee run for half of Bank of America. I thought it might be awkward to ask the people at the window "So, I want to be nice and buy the coffee for the person behind me, but I am not made out of money and am raising up a couple of expensive kids so I'll do it only if they get coffee and maybe a muffin. How much is a muffin?" Then I was all "You know, I could just leave my window down and eavesdrop on the person ordering behind me then I would know what they are getting! I am a genius!"

The day of generosity arrives (last Friday). I actually did not feel like being nice but figured if that is the case, then I really should be nice. I am in the ridiculously long line but cannot go in because I have the toddler and baby in the baby carrier and there is no freakin' way I can tote them both in and carry a hot cup of joe. The getting-free-coffee car pulls up behind me. Great. A young-ish all styled up dude in a suit in a BMW. Like he needs a free cup of coffee. Then I thought, "well, maybe his girlfriend (or boyfriend?) broke up with him or he found out he was rejected to be the next Bachelor, you never know." After accepting this is the give-ee (is that right?), dude pulled around and went inside. Next up a woman in a Jetta who is putting make-up on. Now I am all "Well, she is probably late for work, although if she really is late she does not need to be in this long line and really should shimmy her butt inside, but whatever, this is it." I pull up, order, pull up more and leave the window down so I can hear her order. She starts off "What is in your blah, blah breakfast-item? Oh, well, hmmm....., I guess I'll have a blueberry thing." Now I am all "Ok, I really don't want to buy for a high-maintenance person, but I guess I will." Now the cars in front of me pull up so I have to as well. She is still ordering. The next car leaves so I have to pull up to the window to pay. She is still ordering. I pay for my order. She is still ordering. I was all prepared to be nice but as far as I know, she is still at the drive-thru.

Today I go back and try again. I get in line and the car behind me pulls up. Woman, chatting on a cell phone, SUV. Ok, I'll deal with that. I place my order then do the pull up, window down, eavesdropping thing. At this point I could have sworn she gave me a "Who you lookin' at" glare as I am partially leaning out the window to listen to her order. She ends up with some peppermint mocha concoction (props to her, although I think it was decaf so loss of points there). To sum up, and now it seems at bit anti-climatic, I buy her coffee and breakfast sandwich. Turns out if you tell the window people that you want to buy the order for the person behind you, they tell you exactly what the other person ordered.

**Follow up to my post on William Rast jeans at Target** They are currently on sale for $24.99. Sadly they did not have my size.

Why I Should Not Be Allowed Out After 6pm or Why I Need To Get Out More

So the other week I had a rare night out on the town. Maybe not rare, more medium-well. Ha! You get?!?!? Like steak?!? Nevermind. And not so much "out on the town" as over to a former co-worker's house for a Christmas party then to a nearby bar for the after-party. By after-party I mean we got there at 9pm and I was home by 11pm. Makes the days when I did not start getting ready to go out until 10pm then played pool until bars closed at 2am then it was off to Huddle House or the Awful Waffle for greasy grub seem so, so, so very far away. So at the Christmas party I was talking to some former library co-workers and one of them, we will call him Jack because that is his name, said he recently spoke to our former manager who has since gone back to graduate school to study ancient Greek something or other. Jack said how he remembered the manager talking about whether the early Greek economy was more free enterprise-esque with interconnected price-making markets or was more in line with the Weber-Hasebroek-Polanyi analysis. (Look it up.) For someone who has as much book-learnin' as I have, I felt rather thick. My days are a Groundhog Day of sippy cups, diapers, formula, carrot stains, laundry, well, you get the picture. I started this blog as a way to use my brain a bit but we are in the early stages so I am not sure it is working yet. And it probably will not work if I just talk about cookies, but that is over now. So I am on a quest to re-smart myself!!! Starting with that last sentence. Brush up on my smarts? Whatever. So now that I am done with my new Christmas tradition of reading this




I am going to read one Classic novel each month over the next year. And if I can manage it, one non-fiction book each month on a topic to be picked by something-I-have-not-thought-of-yet but will not have anything to do with babies or toddlers or kids of any sort.


Now from the department of Why-Staying-Home-Is-Not-So-Bad is this. We went to Mickey and Mooch after the Christmas party. I have never been there before and will not go back. Our first clue that this was a mistake was the wall of fish smell that punched us in the face as soon as we opened the door. Second should have been the 92.0 sanitation score. But we figured, we are just getting a drink and maybe an appetizer so how bad could it be? As soon as we walked into the bar, we noticed they had live music. Now normally I am one to give every artist their props because most have a lot of creativity and courage to get up and out there and show their work, which I probably will not get, or sing in front of people which I will never do not even if karaoke and bottles of wine are involved. That being said, the entertainment for the evening consisted of a Moby look-a-like in a Nordic sweater playing the keyboard and an Al Jarreau look-a-like in a reverse Sprockets turtleneck (tight but a light color) singing. Again, they were out there doing their thing and hopefully getting good money but it felt like we were at the Airport Ramada listening to an American version of The Flight of the Conchords. So there is your setting. Adding to the airport motel lounge experience was a group of about five women ranging in age from mid-20's to mid-40's dancing around in the middle of the bar (where no one was dancing previously) with a guy whose mullet puts the old Billy Ray Cyrus mullet to shame and a slightly over-weight younger Michael Keaton who jokingly tried to steal my friends purse. We did not laugh. Sadly my back was to the dancing but I did get a brief glimpse of mullet man doing the "white man's overbite" with a snap and a woman in her late 50's gently yet freakishly caressing her Cosby-sweater-with-medallion-wearing husband/boyfriend's ear for about 5 minutes. And our waitress sucked. But my company was awesome and I got a blog post that does not have anything to do with cookies out of it, so there's that.

Day 3 of 12 Days of Christmas Cookies - Chocolate Chip Shortbread

I have had this recipe for at least 12 years and love it. So easy, buttery and crispy yet slightly chewy. It also has a bit of salty sweet going for it which is always respectable in a cookie. They look at little something like this:

Chocolate Chip Shortbread

1/2 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 cup all purpose flour

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 cup mini chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with electric mixer at medium speed until light and fluffy. Beat in vanilla. Add flour and salt. Stir in chips. Easy peasy!

Divide dough in half. Press each half into ungreased 8 inch round cake pan (it can be thin in some places). Bake 12 minutes or until edges are light brown. Score (cut almost all the way thru) shortbread with sharp knife. Make 8 wedges per pan.

Let pans stand on wire racks for 10 minutes. Invert (I always think of "Top Gun" when I hear this word but you do not need to flip off your shortbread. Unless you are in a bad mood and it makes you feel better then please, by all means do so.) shortbread onto wire racks. Cool completely and break into wedges.

Now your healthy dinner.

Chicken Burgers with Feta Cheese on Mini Pitas

This is actually a Weight Watchers recipe and very tasty. You can use ground chicken or ground turkey. Personally I find the ground turkey a bit dry. You can use regular, low-fat or, if they make it, fat free feta. You can also use either white or wheat mini pitas. Put ground chicken in a bowl (I use a mixer for better feta distribution), add 1/4 to a whole container of feta cheese. Well, it is this kind of feta cheese, which I think is about 8 oz. Use plain, garlic, sun-dried tomato or whatever flavor you like.

You can also add any spices you like to the mixture. Make 4 patties and grill 'em up on the George Foreman. Toast up some mini pita, smack the burger in the middle and you are done! For some reason I like to put taco sauce on the burger. I think because I like the idea of Mexico and Greece hanging out together. Of course you can also add your regular burger toppings like lettuce, tomato, blah, blah, blah.

Today was a day of running around. Took the boy to the gym, dropped off stuff at Goodwill, ate some pizza and did some Christmas shopping. Along the way I encountered an awesome server at Mellow Mushroom, a lot of rude drivers around South Park Mall, free Godiva chocolate and had fun trading insults with a good friend. But what stands out the most is the lesson I learned at the My Gym. Don't judge a book (read: person) by its cover (or outside appearance). We went to a different class today so there were new kids and, of course, new moms. One lady stood out because she was about six feet tall, very thin and attractive in an old school Ralph Lauren sort of way. She also had a two-month old she was carrying around, feeding and getting to sleep while she was chasing and playing with her two year old! So of course I am thinking "of course she has a nanny at home, how can she look and act that together with a two year old and a baby?!?!" I end up talking to her and she also has a four year old at home! Three kids under four! Crikey! She was super nice and said that she barely sleeps and her days are "challenging." Just because someone looks like they have their act together does not mean that they do.

The other lady came in with her two year old girl wearing a really cute Christmas dress and fancy Christmas bow in her hair. The mom was wearing skinny jeans, flowing black shirt, tons of diamond and pearl jewelry and a headband that looked sort of like this but was in black and white:

My first reaction was "that headband is ridiculous." Especially since most moms at the My Gym look like me: jeans or sweatpants and a casual shirt with one or more of the following stains: spit-up, wet and smushed Goldfish, yogurt or crumbs of any variety cracker, bread or cookie. Hair styles range from ponytail to hidden-under-a-hat-and-therefore-greasy-because-there-has-been-no-time-to-wash-it-in-five-days (I am assuming). My second reaction was "I would have nothing in common with her." Ok so that one ended up probably true but I learned that she is very nice and sweet and she talked to a lot of the other kids and moms which is rare in my neck of the woods. She started by telling me that my Ellie is beautiful and should be in commercials. That in and of itself is a one-way ticket to awesome in my book. Then she made me feel like one of the mad elderly with the following anecdote. Her daughter's name is Perri (or Perry, whatever, doesn't matter) and Perri has a cousin named Mason. She said she has never heard of the tv show ("Is the guy's name Mason Perry?" Um, no, but thank you for playing) but the grandparents get a kick out it whenever the cousins are together. Ok, how old do you have to be to remember Perry Mason? So she made me feel as old as her grandparents but she was super nice and while the headband was a bit much for the gym, she carried it off with her outgoing personality. So the lesson: we moms have got to stick together regardless of fashion.