Friday, March 16, 2012

Score 1 for Magical Mama Abilities

I walked in the door last night a bit after 10pm. (That would be ten o'clock at night. After the sun went down. And the sky was dark.)

Big V was sitting in Cletus's bedroom, in the wing chair we affectionately have termed the Reading Chair, looking all verklempt. That is, if verklempt means that he looked like the walking dead, with his hair sticking out all over the place, exhausted, on the verge of tears and/or a complete nervous breakdown.

And there was Cletus. In his crib. Jumping as high as he could go singing, "AD DEE! AD DEE! AD DEE!" (which sounds just like Daddy without the beginning D. And also in a highly annoying pitch).

I looked over at V.

He looked at me.

I've been in here for two hours. He won't go to sleep.

Why are you just sitting here?

I'm making sure he goes to sleep.

Could you sleep if someone was sitting there, staring at you? Because I sure as hell couldn't. It's creepy.


And then I walked out. Because why the hell would I want to get involved in that nonsense?

But after another ten minutes of listening to jump! jump! jump! and AD DEE! AD DEE! AD DEE! and Go to bed. I told you it's time to go to bed. Stop jumping now and go to bed. I decided to help.

Hey, V, could you come here for a second?

(I heard the exasperated sigh from down the hall.)

And as Big V schlepped down the hall Cletus started with MOM! MOM! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOM! just. like. Stewie.

Standing against the counter I asked for an overall breakdown of what occurred during my absence that might have attributed to the scene I now found myself standing in.

I kept asking him if he wanted to go to sleep and he kept telling me no.

Uh... come again?

It kept getting later and later but every time I asked him if he wanted to go to bed he said no.

You do realize he's two. People who are two never want to go to bed. People who are two want to smash chocolate cake in their hair and lick the cat.

Well, what would you have wanted me to do?!

Might I suggest putting him in his bed at the same time and in the same was as every other night of his life. Feed him dinner, make him pick up his toys, give him a bath, put him in pajamas, read two books - no more; just two, or you'll be there all night - then put him in his bed and tell him to stay there. And ignore him when he kicks up a fuss - don't keep talking to him.

Oh, like that's going to work.

By the way, he's sleeping.

What?
He's sleeping now. Go ahead, go check on him.


And just like that the planets aligned and the kid magically fell asleep. I should have bought a lottery ticket.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Someone bring me my jello and my Geritol.

So, I've been cast in this play, and it's awesome and the people are awesome and I play this kinda younger-than-me person who has a boyfriend, which is always kind of awkward when you shake hands with a stranger and say nice to meet you, I'm looking forward to playing your love interest - what's your name again?

But what's really awkward is when you happen to be 38 years old and your love interest happens to have not graduated high school yet. Not because he's some sort of idiot miscreant incapable of passing a GED, but because he actually still reports to homeroom by 7:05am and has PE class third period and needs to remind his parents to put money on his lunch account.

And just like that I'm Mary Kay Letourneau. Except I'm not a teacher and I probably would never be one because I can't spell worth a darn and also I hate kids. Well, not hate hate, more like I just hate being surrounded by swarms of them for extended periods of time.

Anyway. This whole I'm almost 40 and you're not even 20 yet thing just makes me feel old. And weird. But mostly old. I've been out of school longer than you've been alive old. And so it's really important for me not to act old. Well, at least not act all codger-y, anyway, but rather be seen as hip and cool.

And so the other day, while waiting for rehearsal to begin, I was sitting there knitting - because nothing screams I'm hip and cool like sitting alone in the back of a theater putting knots in yarn with sticks - and my young buck of a boyfriend came up to me and said, "Whatcha fixin'?" and I said, "Oh. I'm making a scarf." And he looked at me and said, "No. Whatcha fixin'?" and he kind of smiled and pointed at my creation and looked at me expectantly and I stared at him and said, "...uhh... I'm knitting a scarf... for my daughter...." And then he just sort of looked blankly at me and walked away.

Fast forward three days later to where I'm taking a break. In the bathroom. Doing, well, bathroom stuff. And as I reached for the toilet paper - BAM! Like a freaking bolt of lightning it hit me: He was quoting the lines from the play. He was being funny. Facetious. Because that's his line. He looks over at the mother, who happens to be doing some sort of needlework and says "Whatcha fixin'?" and that's why he said that to me and he was being funny and I was being the old lady who didn't get the joke.

And now I want to run and play catch up: I get it now! I get it now! Let's have a do-over! Then I can respond appropriately with a spunky, witty comeback and he won't think of me as an elderly, out-of-touch grandmother type.

"Knitting IS my foreplay, honey."

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Nicole Hunn is about to save my taste buds. I hope.

I'm not going to lie. Gluten Free breads suck. Really bad. It sort of reminds me of gnawing on cow feed. Not that I would know what gnawing on cow feed actually tastes like but I'm pretty sure I'm close.

This weekend I attempted to make what sounded like a delicious cinnamon raison bread. I had to use yeast. I think that's what attributed to the cow feed taste. Anyway, it smelled warm and cozy and like a big yummy hug. Then it proceeded to sucker punch my taste buds. It was not good.

Then I made a gluten free chocolate cake and poured in an extra cup of semi-sweet chocolate morsels for good measure. It was heaven in a cake pan. Moist, gooey chocolate; except I'm having a hard time getting the lettuce and salami to stay on during lunch.

My point is I miss bread. I miss warm, soft, straight from the oven bread. I miss buttermilk biscuits and French loaves and garlic cheese bread and even that weirdly fascinating bread in a jar: I'm not kidding. It's bread. In a jar. Don't believe me? Check out THIS POST right here!

And so I have embarked on a quest to find the softest gluten free bread ever. No more dry, hard to chew bricks of nastiness. I want the bread from my gluten filled youth! (And by youth, I mean pre-October 2011.)

I typed in a quick Google search:  softest gluten free bread (because I am nothing if not obvious and logical) and 'lo and behold! a link to a post titled "Gluten-Free Japanese Milk Bread - the softest bread ever" written by Nicole Hunn over at Gluten Free on a Shoestring popped up. I don't know who Nicole is, but I'm hoping she is going to save my life and my taste buds.

No pressure, Nicole. No pressure at all. Except know that my entire happiness rests solely on the success of your recipe. (And whether or not I can whip up a Japanese Water Roux.)

* if anyone feels the desire to try this recipe out for themselves and then gleefully hand me a test loaf, I'd be more than happy to accept.