Rowan's new Freecycle Tricycle!

Rowan's new Freecycle Tricycle!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

A friend suggested joining Freecycle to look for a piano. I've just gotten started, but it's a really wonderful service. When a neighbor put a perfectly good mountain bike next to the trash, I listed it and it was taken hours later with a nice thank you. I just *hate* seeing perfectly good stuff go into the landfill, so this service is really fabulous.

The other day I was looking at trikes for her. She's ready. Her own little scooter is too small, and she's growing up fast. I thought it was worth asking, and lo and behold--look what we got! Less than a week later, a practically brand new trike--probably the one I would have bought anyway (it's still listed on Amazon) and in fantastic condition, not a scratch. For free. LOVE it. So thanks to Barb from Bellefonte--Rowan is thrilled with her new Big Girl Trike!

Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

Magnolias are starting to bloom!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

We had two gorgeous days this weekend--65-70F, sunny, neighbors out and chatting, and things were really looking up. Everyone was in a great mood. We ate on the patio, walked the dog without our jackets, and played in the sandbox. It was lovely.

Today was not gorgeous. Cool, cloudy, rainy, and one of those days where everything that could possibly be annoying just was. Rowan wanted to eat constantly all day long, except when I made actual food. Money is tighter than we'd like it and there are more zits on my chin than ever!!! Things that had been taken care of weren't, glitches happened, and someone forgot to refill the TP. Facebook was full of complaints about politics and THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT OMG, the yogurt soured, the projects I wanted to complete got waylaid and Dr. B didn't make it home in time for dinner that looked horrible but tasted good, even though Rowan wouldn't eat it although she wanted a PB&J and apples and applesauce and crackers. The laundry still isn't put away.

But, I'm trying really hard to look on the bright side. The magnolia tree on the next block is blooming, and Rowan thinks they "feel like socks!" God bless her, she was in a great mood even when her mother wasn't. I can look down and watch my stomach moving like dolphins surfacing. (Or sharks. Nope, looking on the bright side. Going with dolphins.) I have a lunch date with a friend after my doc appointment tomorrow, and am picking up a free tricycle from our local Freecycle. I goofed around with my template again and the new Draft Blogger tool thingee is much easier to use. Still not perfect, but more interesting, I hope. (Do you like it?)

Spring is coming, things are getting done, and progress is being made. Not always easy to see that through this flurry of hormones, but I'm trying.

French pj's are so cute, wear them as clothes!

French pj's are so cute, wear as clothes!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

When we were in Paris last May, Aimee got us into the Message group's annual brocante (tag sale) early by manning the snacks table, and they let me in on her say so. This allowed me to scope out the cute stuff and score several darling dresses, books, and this little outfit for Rowan to bring back to the US. It was too big last year, but when I heard 70 degrees predicted for today, I knew it was the perfect time to break it out. A Japanese print on a delicate cotton lawn, with tulip cuffs and contrasting borders, it's absolutely adorable.

As she "swam" in the bathtub, I read the tag. It's pajamas. No Dora the Explorer--French jammies are gorgeous.

Pbft. Who cares? It's darling, and it's her favorite color.

Sigh. I miss France.



*PS I am not sure what is up with the goofy faces whenever a camera is present. I hope this is just a phase.

UPDATE: on a walk, she tripped in the grass and tore a hole in the knee and grass stained them pretty badly. Really delicate fabric. Darn it.

I had a good idea.

S'mores are pretty good, but they're too messy and a tish too airy for me. I like something a bit more substantial with my sugar and fat. Years ago, I tried to perfect the perfect S'mores Brownie. I failed miserably. The graham cracker crust was never anything but dry, the browned top I wanted meant the brownie itself was too dry or else I overcompensated and it was undercooked, and I couldn't come up with a way to get everything I wanted all at the same time.

I went to this site the other day, and came upon a great method while reading the reviews. It totally worked and the brownies are awesome and were super easy.

Here's the method I used. It's not that site's version exactly, but it's pretty darn easy. You can adapt it to any size pan and you can use your own homemade brownies or cheat with a box like I did.  Excuse the photo--it's from my phone. As you can see, I've sampled them already.

S'mores Brownies

• your favorite brownie mix or recipe, prepared according to directions (with eggs, oil, water or coffee, etc.)
• mini marshmallows
• chocolate bars, broken, or chocolate chips
• graham crackers, crumbled

Preheat your oven and spray your pan with cooking spray or grease as you like. Pour in your batter and smooth. Bake as long as the box (or your recipe) tells you MINUS 5 minutes.

Remove the pan from the oven. Sprinkle with handfuls of marshmallows until it's mostly covered. Sprinkle with chocolate and graham cracker pieces. Return to oven for last 5 minutes until the marshmallows are puffed and gooey and the chocolate starts to melt a little.

Wait a while before cutting unless you like it a gooey mess. (It's good either way. The gooey mess version would be great with ice cream.) The marshmallows will stay fairly gooey even when it's cool. They aren't browned like the perfect campfire marshmallow, but you won't smell like woodsmoke all day either--it's a trade-off.

Yum.

I do not have the skills.

Bleh.

Hate this template. Super bored with my old one. No abilities to make a new one worth a darn. Not enough readership to justify plunking down a chunk of change for a pro to do one, either (as evidenced by my paltry ad checks that show up about twice a year).

I don't even have photoshop, much less know how to use it, and I am really quite lost. This is what I've done for tonight. I guess you could say it's a little bit of nesting. I want it to look fantastic, but really am stuck in 1998 when it comes to web design. Blogger doesn't make it exactly easy to make it look good (you can change it, but only within their parameters), and I don't have the energy to figure out switching everything to a different site at the moment. So there you go.

If the template fairy wants to show up, she'll be welcome. For now, I'm going to eat another S'mores Brownie and then go to bed.

I love this.

The arm swoop, the "actions", and especially the strut off stage at the end--it will be stuck in my head for months.

I think I'm going to download the ringtone.

Yes, I grew up in North Dakota. Loving the Lawrence Welk style is in my blood--even if it is Soviet Russian Cheez.

Girlie Girl

Shoe shopping partner, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

She loves to wear dresses while she plays trains and cars. She tromps through the mud in her pink tights. Rarely leaves the house without a necklace or bracelet, but runs faster than the boys and hasn't met a jungle gym she can't conquer, even at 2 3/4.

The day I snapped this shot with my phone, we spent quite a bit of time shoe shopping, just for fun. She loves red heels, just like I do. (I would have bought these, but they were too big for both of us.) We giggled and pranced in the isles of Ross, trying on silly shoes we didn't need just because it was fun and they were really inexpensive, anyway.

I am so proud of my little girl. She is her Grandma Judeen's granddaughter. I have no doubt that she, too, will be bailing hay in a miniskirt or stomping across the cow pasture without looking down, perfectly accessorized.

Hard Working Man

12/365, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

This is a normal sight at our house. My husband, at work. He's definitely not one to leave it at the office. Relaxing just isn't in his blood. He cannot do something halfway, and doesn't understand how anyone else can, either. When he doesn't have anything to do, he goes and learns something. Like one of 5 programming languages he taught himself in the 90's. How to repair his own bike. How to build a computer. How to speak French. Extensive reading on Buddhist philosophy. Sailing in the 1800's. Sci Fi. Or changing his career path entirely, from Art (Yes, Art!!!) to Geology and Mineralogy to Geomicrobiology to Environmental Chemistry and Technology to Nanotechnology to Thinfilms to Solar Technology to Materials Science to Architecture and Sustainability to who knows what.

And he doesn't stop there. He not only learned French, he worked to get us a position there so I would be able to realize my dream of living in France one day. And now, he wants to find a way to go back.

A vacation for him is not laying on a beach with a beer. (Though he'd happily walk through a museum with a beer.) On our honeymoon in New Orleans, he went to every museum there was. Thankfully, we're well matched. I love that, too.

He's kind of maxed out on the academics--though I guess he could get a second PhD (don't tell him, please!) As a professor, he's constantly busy teaching, recruiting, researching, mentoring, leading a solar decathlon team, and now heading up an entirely new degree program. He's not tenure-track, but even if he was and got it, he said he wouldn't change a thing. It's who he is. The idea of taking it easy just isn't a part of his DNA. He can't not do his best. I love that about him. I love how hard he works, both for his calling's sake and for his family's sake. I love that when he believes in something, it is with every fiber of his being. I love his devotion.

This week, he figured something out. For the first time in 36+ years, he's bored.

Heaven help us.

Budding Foodie

I rushed to prepare dinner while getting ready for my rehearsal afterward. Dr. B walked in just as I loaded the plates, and we sat down to eat. She refused to come to the table, but rather than be late for Choir, I ate and ignored her. "I'll take care of her," he said. "She'll eat. I think she's..." he began to whisper, "pooping." (The potty training is still hit or miss, and the misses are often the messy type.)

I ran upstairs to change my shirt, and heard her sitting down at the table and pick up her fork. As I searched for another top to wear, she exclaimed, "Wow! Yum! This is yummy!" Hmmm... I wonder if she likes the garlic mashed potatoes? I zipped up my boots, and headed down to grab my choir folder. Maybe it's the pork chops with Roasted Garlic Rub and Dijon mustard and brown sugar glaze?

"I never had this before!!!" she said, gleefully, as she leaned over her plate, shoveling food quickly into her mouth.

I walked into the kitchen, smiling and proud of my culinary triumph. She loved it! Something I made was a huge success with my darling daughter. I took a quick look at her sectioned, plastic plate to see what had been such a coup.

Corn and Peas, mixed and boiled. With some butter.

"Hello, Food Network? Yeah, cancel that Toddler Tidbits idea. She's definitely not ready for prime time quite yet."

Spammed

I got hit with some sort of stupid bot last night writing in some sort of Asian characters that I don't read and leaving a lot of links in the comments. PLEASE DON'T CLICK THEM. Of course, this happens on the morning when I don't have time to go in and fix it all right away.

When I get back from the Valentine's Party, I'll go fix it, but I have also had to turn on comment moderation. Ugh. Why this could not have happened after my first cup of coffee, I do not know. Stupid bots.

Happy Friday, nonetheless.

Treasure Box

Treasure Box Diptych, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

We spent an hour or so flipping through magazines, finding most of her "favorite FAVORITE!!!" things in Martha Stewart Living. She chose crayons, a cat, a dog, lots of roses (purple are her mom's favorite), oranges, pots and pans, ballet shoes, an Eiffel Tower, a Sophie La Giraffe, presents, "bling", a girl with a lollipop, a mommy and daddy, tomatoes, fruit, multigrain bread, glass cake stands (they were very pretty, I have to give her that), and even a cupcake. She was very particular with each choice, rejecting the white bread and raisin bread, saying no to the orange roses, and turning down the chocolates (I do NOT know why.) I trimmed all the pieces, and we sat down after supper to apply them to the sturdy box I'd saved from a gift. I finished it after she'd gone to bed with a few extra coats of Mod Podge to protect it for her.

She now has a special box, just for her special little things. Little does she know how much of a treasure the experience was for me.

5/365

5/365, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

I guess her growth spurt is over--she's no longer eating much, so I'm getting more creative with what I feed her. Today, I turned her blueberries and yogurt into a smoothie. She liked it. (But she still didn't eat much.)

Note: more 365 photos are on my flickr site.

iPhoto thinks it's smarter than me.

I went to clean up. Tons of extra folders were created when I uploaded pics to flickr and Facebook, so being a typical Norwegian, I went to throw out the folders I didn't need. After all, the photos are still there, right? Why have duplicates?

Well, apparently, iPhoto now has a special relationship with Flickr and Facebook, and when you do this, it deletes them off the sites you loaded them on.

Stupid. Argh!

So I am busy reloading everything, but all the comments are gone and the links are likely broken, so sorry. At least it's only a month's worth.

Sigh. I feel like yelling at someone to get off my lawn.

2/365*

2/365, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Every afternoon, Rowan and I walk Lucy. In the summer, we usually walk a mile and a half, but in the winter (and especially since she's insisted on walking rather than riding in the stroller), I cut it to a mile. Lucy needs it--she won't do her job near her house, and insists on 3 walks per day, every day. Our walk time varies, sometimes right after lunch, sometimes after Rowan's nap, but it's not skippable, no matter how bad the weather.

The last few days have been pretty cold, in the 20's F (-7C) with a brisk wind, so the walks haven't been as leisurely as usual. We've been sneaking back to take this shortcut behind some townhomes to get out of the wind on the way home.

The tree line that was here likely was part of an old farm, as the trees had barbed wire embedded in them. I guess they were rotten, and the city is cutting them down. It's hard to see them go, and it really changes the landscape. I'm really hoping the rot didn't spread further down the line to nearer our home. The trees are part of the reason I like the area so much.


*Craptastic photo today, I know. But it's what I saw.

1/365. Maybe.

Sadness, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

My friend challenged me to do the 365 project. She keeps bugging me about it.

So I'm not saying yes, and I'm not saying no. But I'll try. And it will get me blogging more, which is a side benefit, I guess.

This is day 1. I love it because the emotion on her face is so poignant. She didn't want me to take the picture, she asked politely, and I still did. She looks so sad and disappointed in me.

We were having a snack of raspberry sherbet and graham crackers to celebrate day 2 of demon child disappearing. I don't know if it was a developmental stage, being fed up with potty training, or a growth spurt (which was part of it, I'm pretty sure), but for a week or two my child had been replaced by a hellcat. I was ready to lose my marbles. Most days consisted of lots of frustration, yelling, and tears, from both of us. It was bizarre--almost like being in an abusive situation, because I never knew what was going to set her off. I walked on eggshells.

Then all of a sudden, she woke up and was back to her old self. I barely dared mention it in my constant updates on Facebook for fear it would end. But today, she was herself again. Kind, sweet, polite, happy, excited by little things like hot Vanilla Silk with a candy cane stirrer after a cold, blustery walk with Lucy.

The relief was overwhelming. I know I am lucky--some kids are that way all the time. But man, I am not cut out for dealing with that. If it's a job, you can quit. If it's a friend or partner, you can end the relationship. But if it's your 2 year old daughter? You have to deal. I don't know how to deal. I am so thankful that my prayers were answered.

A moment after this was shot, when I set down the camera, she was smiling again. Thank you.

Valentine's Centerpiece

I try to make it a Monday tradition to clean my table of everything except some sort of linen and a centerpiece, whether it's flowers, weeds we picked on our daily walks stuffed in a crystal vase, a bowl of apples, or even just a candle. It helps me start the week fresh, feeling ready, and if I didn't do it, my table would never be cleaned off. It's big enough to just push stuff out of the way and eat dinner, and my husband, though he'd like to be thought of as "spartan", is a clutter collector extraordinaire. I admit to contributing, but I try to keep organized. It goes in spurts.

These are Wonka SweetTarts, one of my favorite Valentine candies, along with Dove chocolate hearts. These are also great, because eating more than a few makes my mouth hurt with the acid, so I can't overindulge. I don't like the blue ones (fruit punch?), but I still eat them. The hurricane I got at Walmart for about 3 bucks after seeing a similar, larger one in Pottery Barn for 60 and thinking that was absolutely ridiculous. The candle is just an unscented pillar from Target.

And yes, it is possible to sneak a few candies while it's burning, but I'm pretty sure you burn off the calories with the whole "fear of burning off your arm hair" thing.

Trying to get over it.

I have an awesome new camera. And it has intimidated the heck out of me. Now, I have an awesome new laptop. So yeah, the problem is with me and taking the time to learn the new technology. But, I've bit the bullet and begun. It's not perfect or amazing yet, but at least I've started. I'm giving myself credit for taking the leap. (Yes, credit involves chocolate. Of course.)

So here's a little slideshow of some of my favorite Christmas photos. In this set, you'll see lots of Rowan, both sets of grandparents, and very little of me. One may not be available, because it's an absolutely adorable bath photo, but if you're a friend I've approved on flickr, you can go see it there. Trying to keep her nakedness private, just in case. (But it is a darn cute little bathtub smile.)

Enjoy!

22.5 weeks

Unfortunately, the new camera doesn't have a "no zits and make my arm skinny" button.

So this is the bump. Unfortunately, what I can feel of Bootsie only takes up about 1/4 of the bottom. Hopefully the rest of it isn't peanut butter M&M's, but I make no guarantees. We had a doctor appointment about an hour after this was taken, and he described her as a "very active baby!" 156 heart beats per minute for our little girl, growing at the expected rate. (As am I. I am up about 6 lbs.). No problems with her, none with me. Everything is going swimmingly, and despite all the warnings about being pregnant while chasing a toddler, this time I've found it much easier. I'm no longer a substitute teacher running all over town, and I have 2 good legs. Having a torn ACL and meniscus and undergoing surgery while pregnant is not something I'd recommend to anyone.

Bootsie apparently is going to be a woodwind player. During rehearsal, she goes bananas during sax or clarinet solos. We might just have a jazzer on our hands. And when I contract my abs to support my tone, she relaxes, just like her sister did. I've given notice that I won't be at the May concert, but plan to make it through February. After that, we'll see. Unless he wants me to conduct, of course.*




*After plenty of nagging from me, our director allowed me to conduct the band. Then he and the band saw that I can really do it well. I was the first woman to conduct the State College Area Municipal Band in concert, ever. I don't plan on that being a one-time thing.

OK, this time it's for real.

I've been trying. Really. For months. Hoping, praying, begging. Cajoling, rewarding, enticing, encouraging.

Yelling.

Of course, it wasn't working. She didn't want to be potty trained. And she screamed whenever we had to wipe her poopy areas, screamed like we were killing her. Boy, that feels great, let me tell you. And diapers. Cloth, paper, pee, poop--I know there's more coming, but frankly, I'd love a little break before that happens.

So.

Christmas is over, the family has left. She's gotten the concept that she's going to be a big sister (though sometimes she seems to think the baby will come out and be older than her. We are working on this.) She's excited.

She finally wants to be A Big Girl.

Yesterday, I did what I always do. "Rowan, do you want to try sitting on the potty?"

"NOOOOOOO!!!!!" (If she could breathe fire, this would be one instance where you'd have seen it.)

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel's back.

"I don't care. It's time. Get in here. NOW!"

Of course, she ignored me.

So I pulled out the big guns.

"I'm counting to 5. If you aren't in here by 5, I am turning off Sesame Street."

She was in there. Crying, yes, but there.

So, we did the training pants all day, with rubber pants over (for no apparent reason, because when she has an accident, she's pretty much soaked anyway. But whatever. I keep using them.) She did pretty well. 2 accidents, a small turd (first on the potty.) Many gummi bears.

Today, again, 3 accidents, but a massive poop on the potty to offset that (resulting in a big strawberry marshmallow. I'm all about the corn syrup-laden rewards). She's going, but only when I take her, never on her own before the fact. (Note, the accidents were within about 10 minutes of an attempt each time, so don't say I'm not taking her often enough. I'm really really trying here.) We ran some errands and I put her in a diaper, which she filled with pee, but at least let me know when it was happening (and all the other shoppers around us, too, natch.) She was also very polite to the lady who let us in the bathroom to clean up.

Tonight, I found some more ammo in the closet.

A green fairy costume, with wings, I'd found on sale at the craft store years ago for a few bucks--the perfect carrot. 3 days with no accidents AND remembering to tell Mommy before she pees and not just relying on me to take her.

Wish us luck.

Rest in Peace, Ethel, the Medieval Laptop

I have a hard time buying things.

Ha haha hahahahahahahah.

OK, well. Not shoes.

But some things, yes. Big things. Expensive things, for me, especially. If it's a pair of cute jeans on sale for $30, yeah, no hesitation. But anything more than about 50 bucks and I get nervous.

Thus, I was still happily (somewhat) typing away on my old laptop (a birthday gift back in the early days of the last decade). It had a newer hard drive, but was pretty slow for a Mac. I was on keyboard #3 (thanks to Miss Sticky Fingers) and it sounded vaguely like a jet plane taking off when you opened it. Either that or one of those toilets that flushes so loud you're pretty sure you will lose a kidney if you don't stand up when you hit the lever. You know the ones.

And I was still using my little point-and-shoot camera with the sand stuck in the controls from our time at the beach (I could go up, but not down). And editing the living daylights out of the photos in iPhoto, a slow process on my Gothic computer.

I had fear. Fear of certain websites with lots of flash animation and videos. Fear of loading yet more photos on, because I already had over 4GB on it worth of snaps of Rowan. Fear of taking and saving too many photos, for the lack of room and the time it took to upload them. Much time was spent deleting photos after scrutinizing them on the tiny screen of my little brown camera. More time was spent waiting for the screen or the internet to catch up with my fingers as I surfed and scrolled.

But I am a lucky, lucky woman.

For Christmas, I opened a box with a new Nikon D90. I'm still learning to use it. But I can already tell, the photos are beautiful. Gorgeous. Amazing. Even with little ability or skill applied yet.

Dr. B asked last night why I hadn't uploaded the photos I've taken at Christmas. I answered with tales of trepidation as to how much Ethel could handle. Maybe we should buy a little extra hard drive to save photos? USB drives? Something? Because I was afraid of deleting photos, but even more afraid of loading more on to an old lady whose back was nearly broken already.

Today, he came home from work and tossed a small neoprene sleeve on the sofa.

A new laptop, for me.

His custom bike's purchase (which is really his Christmas gift) will be put off a month or two. Thanks to a bit of a pay bump due to his new position at work, there's more breathing room. (And lucky for my own guilt, it's a bit chilly and snowy for biking anyway.)

And he says I deserve it.

Wow.

I am so spoiled. Blessed. And very, very lucky. I would have been happy with flowers.

And now, so is Rowan. She's currently cuddled up next to me, watching T'choupi videos on YouTube on my old laptop as I type this on my new one.

Happy New Year, indeed.

La Formule de Noël

It was going to be A Perfect Christmas.

I was going to get everything done and be relaxed and make lots of memories and take lots of pictures. My house would be spotless. Every dish would work out perfectly. No one would fight. It would be so special.

Yeah.

My biscotti (Grandma Mitzi's recipe) failed utterly because my oven decided to throw a tantrum and not hold or come up to the heat it should. It's only a few years old, so it shouldn't do this. (I'm calling the repair people soon.) As I sliced it to toast the slices, my knife came away sticky. Not exactly salvageable. My "Ultimate Spritz" were too floury and not buttery enough and didn't brown like I wanted and didn't puff up like Grandma's do. So next year, it's back to her perfect recipe (which blends butter and *shock!!!* shortening.) My krumkake were sort of soggy and kind of too brown. They were NOT PERFECT (but they didn't suck.)

Then, my deep freezer decided it didn't like working any more. ARGH!

The night the in-laws were supposed to arrive, I'd finished cleaning the house, except I didn't have time to shampoo the carpets and it was NASTY. I decided to plan to let Rowan leave toys everywhere so no one could see the stains. At 10 PM, we started rolling the lefse. Yeah, great planning, huh? Making a big floury mess late at night. Brilliant.

But the lefse actually turned out gloriously. Super thin, soft, tender, great flavor, though a little too big because I couldn't find the right measuring cup to make the "buns". I didn't mess with Grandma's recipe, except for my usual tweak (which is an improvement) and the fact we let it sit 2 days in the fridge because I was tired and my muscles were still sore from ricing the potatoes for it and Dr. B was unwilling to help until then. So, small success. (BTW, my friend Nikkibird had a great idea that I'm going to try next year because ricing potatoes is hard and it kind of sucks. Reminder to myself: KitchenAid attachment.)

The in-laws called, there were mechanical problems with the plane, and they were stuck in Detroit overnight. They were safe, but I didn't really have an excuse to make Monkey Bread in the AM. OH NO MY PLANS!!! FOILED AGAIN!!! (I really love Monkey Bread.)

I was a tish stressed.

They got here around noon, and I cobbled together a nice brunch and had it ready for them, with my standard Egg Bake (ham, cheese, and mushrooms), baguette, green salad, and juice. It was good. I felt a little better. I didn't plan afternoon snacks, and Dr. B yelled at me because he was bored and so therefore he should be eating more even though he wasn't hungry. I tried to ignore him. We had an early supper of pulled pork sandwiches, went to church, opened presents and had hors d'oeuvres and munchies. Which of course then he wasn't hungry for. (Grr.)

Then that night, after everyone else went to bed, Dr. B yelled at me for being stressed and trying to make things perfect and actually having a plan to follow (it's too regimented! too strict!) and always wanting a *SHOCK* clean house. Oh, the horror! It was my own fault I was on night 3 of an insomnia streak. I cried. It was bad. (He later apologized for being a jerk and said he used to do the same thing to his mom when she would get holiday stressed. You know, because yelling at me helps SO MUCH. I felt a little better then. But I still couldn't sleep that night or the next night.)

So anyway. Christmas morning, Rowan had her Santa gifts (which she loved) and then we got dressed and went to friends' for brunch. It was nice. Dr. B missed the fact that we'd all had coffee and he didn't get any until we got there at like noon, so I guess that was his payback. Heh. I drove because it was freezing rain (just in town, luckily, by the time we got to the country it was just rain) and he knew I'd freak if I rode, and he said he wanted me in a seatbelt (our car is dinky and with 4 adults and a carseat, the back is too packed for seatbelts.) But it was fine. She made spiced apple waffles and left out the cinnamon for me and made a really yummy quiche that had butternut squash and prosciutto in it. (We gave her Jewish husband a naugahyde bacon wallet and he got really excited. She's pregnant for the first time, so I gave her a Be-Band.)

On the way home, Dr. B suggested that he, Rowan and his folks go out for breakfast the next day and I stay home and sleep in. I took this as part good idea and part insult. His dad said it perfectly, "yeah, we just don't like you very much." Dick and I laughed. Dr. B sputtered. I let him.

I tried to take a nap. I had such a headache, and my nose was stuffed. Rowan decided to crawl in with me. Then she petted my hair. And hugged me. And kissed me. And "face mushed" me. And talked. I told her to be quiet. She said, "I am being quiet!" Then she laid there going, "Choo choo choo choo choo choo!!!" I told her she wasn't being quiet. "I'm not talking! I'm just going 'choo choo choo choo!'" UGH. I took 2 tylenol and a Benadryl and got up to cook.

But supper was great, if I do say so myself. Our friends came over (the ones we'd brunched with) and my in-laws (who are awesome) vacuumed and set the table with French linens and china and crystal and quickie-mopped the floor while I cooked. And everything turned out yummy and we ate by candlelight.

Here's what we had, all made from, as Rowan says, "scritch" (except the Tim Tams) and all delicious.

• Velouté de Courge Butternut à la crème (squash soup! It was really good.)
• Beef Tenderloin à point with a red wine reduction (even with a failing oven and a misfunctioning thermometer, I didn't overcook it. That was awesome.)
  
• Vivi's Fat Potatoes Fat Fat (Garlic mashed potatoes with whipped cream cheese, butter and sour cream. Made au pif because I make stuff like this a lot. They were so luxurious I got sick later. But worth it.)
• Haricots Verts à la vapeur (steamed green beans, left plain because the rest was so rich.)
• Spiced Pomegranate, Clementine and Lingonberry Relish (Au pif encore, and delicious. I should really write that one down.)
• Norwegian Lefse, with butter and sugar
• Red wine, vanilla Silk (for the kiddo), Apple-Pomegranate Sparklers (for the preggos. Bought that at Wegman's. It wasn't horridly sweet, so we liked it.)

• Venezuelan Flan (brought by my friend)
• Spritz, Krumkake, Chippers, Caramel Tim Tams
• Decaf Coffee

And my great plans for after Christmas? Eat the leftovers and make no plans. Take some naps. Rent some movies. Maybe go out to eat. It worked perfectly.

Hope you had a Merry Christmas. We did.

Christmas Child

This has nothing to do with my kid.

I'm referring to Julia. THE Child.

My New Year's Resolution this year is to watch more movies. Like eat more fish, wear more skirts, and eat more salads, it will be one I'll enjoy keeping. I may even spend less time on Facebook! (No promises.)

Since my in-laws were here, it wasn't hard to start. I married into a movie family. Last night was Angels and Demons (meh, not bad, not great), then today The Tales of Despereaux (I only caught the end, but that was really good.) Tonight, Julie and Julia.

I liked it! I was a little bit jealous, though. My expat blog still has not been picked up for a movie, and I'm pretty sure Nora Ephron would do a nice job directing. Some of my expat blogger friends had already discussed casting, too. (They liked Reese for me.)

Anyway.

Back to Julie/Julia. Love Merryl, of course. And the food, oh the food. I am craving duck as I type.

But the thing that got me the most?

Paris.

I miss it, so much. And not just the Paris you visit. The Paris you live. Because it's different, it just is. The banter with the guys at the marché. Finding "the good butter". Impressing the lady that sells the good butter by admonishing her husband when he tried to pawn second-best off on me, enough so she always had it at the ready and saved some for me, because she knew I'd show up late. So she offered to mail it to me when I tearfully told her we were leaving for the US, for good. The amazing bread, the happy homeless guy who loved our dog, evening walks up la rue Mouffetard and the beauty everywhere you looked.

When I was there, I missed the US. Here, I miss France. My heart isn't sure where home is, perhaps somewhere suspended above the Atlantic.

Gift

We talk a lot about preferences.

She likes pink, I like red. She likes cherry tomatoes, pickles are my favorite. My favorite number is 13. She's decided hers is 12.

"Mommy, you don't like that!" she says, when a "The Fresh Beat Band!!!" commercial comes on Nick, Jr. "You're right, I don't!" I answer. She doesn't like watching the local news. "I don't like that. I want my show!"

She eats the hot dog, I order Target's personal pizza. "I'm tired of this music," she says as a Couperin harpsichord piece plays in the car. "I'm not, and the driver gets to choose," I answer.

We both like string cheese.

Today, we ran out in the morning to do some errands before a promised lunch out. I was hopeful for a long nap* after so I could cross several things off my to-do list before her grandparents arrive late tomorrow night.

It's Christmas, I thought. It won't kill me, just once.

"OK, Honey. You were such a good girl at the store, I'll let you pick where you want to eat for lunch. Wendy's or (big mental shudder) McDonald's?"

"Wendy's!"

"Are you sure? You love McDonald's. I thought it would be a special treat. You really want Wendy's?"

"Wendy's, Mommy. You don't like Donulz. I like Donulz, but you don't like Donulz. It's OK, I like Wendy's!"

We went to Wendy's. And I ordered a Frosty to split. A special treat for my very special, thoughtful, sweet little girl.


*Unfortunately, she didn't make good on the nap promise. I crossed some things off my list, but in quite a foul mood, and one got crossed off and dumped in the garbage. Total biscotti fail. Ah well, if I were Martha Stewart, I'd have a staff to hide my mistakes, a personal trainer to keep my tushie toned, and a bazillion gazillion dollars to bathe in whenever I wanted.

18 1/2 Weeks: The Stats

I had a doc/LPN visit today, with Dr. B out of town in Philly. Rowan was better behaved with just me than she usually is when he's around to help--not sure what that means.

Did the usual, weigh in, pee in a cup (which Rowan was very confused by), ask if everything was OK, measure, listen to the baby's heart, check my ears for infection (Rowan's cold gave her one, I just wanted to be sure.) She suggested Sudafed or Tylenol Cold for my über-snot problems, and I got blood drawn for some tests.

Here's the good news: baby sounds fine, strong heart beat. The gentler movements may just be due to placenta placement (Rowan was rough, this one is noticeable but not nearly as easily.) I've gained all of 3 pounds, despite all the Rolos and Dove Promises Candy Cane bonbons I've been polishing off. My belly's at 18 cm. and the test results will be sent as soon as they get them.

And here's the day we've been waiting for: New Year's Eve, Jan. 31, we'll find out if Bootsie is a sister or a brother. What a Bonne Année, indeed!

Thoughtful

In first grade, our teacher at Kindred Public School, Miss Sorlie, gave awards to every child in class. A yellow construction paper ribbon, pinned to the bulletin board at the back of the class, highlighted a positive aspect of each of us.

I didn't really understand mine.

"Most Thoughtful." That was nice, I guess, but I was 6. I didn't really get it.

Sunday night, as I tucked my wiggly worm in, I promised her I would stay upstairs and read in our room. "I have a headache, Honey. I'm going to take some Tylenol and finish my book. I've got a new one to start, too. You just go to sleep," I said, knowing she was keyed up and wouldn't stay in her bed without some serious intervention.

After one more, "I just need another hug from you," she went to sleep.

Monday morning, I woke at 9 AM* to my little girl standing at the side of my bed.

"Mommy?" she said, stroking my hair. "Your head still hurt?" She leaned over and kissed my forehead.

Yeah, now I get it. She deserves a thousand construction paper ribbons.


*(Yes, 9 AM!!!! NINE!!!! And she did it again on Tuesday! I'm liking this.)

Letter of Apology to Martha Stewart and My Father-in-Law

Dear Martha and Dick,

I am sorry. I just can't do it anymore.

We did, every year, after Dr. B expressed how important it was to him, too.

We went to the tree farm or tree lot, hunted for the perfect one (read: small enough and cheap enough and not ugly), and brought it home. We fought over when to bring it in, when it was straight, and when to decorate it.

I strung lights, covered it in ribbons, beads and ornaments, took photos.

I watered faithfully, with a combination of water and 7up. I vacuumed up the extra needles. I peeled sap out of my hair. Some presents got wet and damaged, no matter how hard I tried to not be klutzy when watering (impossible). I put gloves on every time I had to put a fallen ornament back on, because I am allergic to the damn things and it's only getting worse. I took Benadryl to soothe my red, hot, itchy hands.

Then, 2 years ago (Rowan's first Christmas), we left town for a few days. We turned the heat down, made sure it was well watered, unplugged and nowhere near a heat source so it wouldn't burn our house down.

We came home to a house full of mildew.

I'm sorry. That was the last straw for both of us. Or should I say, the last needle?

"But I thought it was important to you, too?"

"It used to be. But you're really allergic. And that mildew... Ew! I'm trying to be a better Buddhist when it comes to Christmas trees and just let it go."

We've gone over the edge: Plastic Pre-lit. Please forgive us.

Love,

La Rêveuse and Dr. B.

Helper

Best of the Day, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Car conversation, returning from grocery shopping, Tuesday night.

"Mommy, I'm going to help God."

"Really?!? Well, I am sure He'll appreciate the help."

"Yeah."

"So, how are you going to do that?"

"Stirring."

Lorfa heefer

I was in the bathroom when the door opened abruptly. She came in, shut it, and climbed on top of her potty chair, mumbling.

"What was that, honey?"

"Loofah hoopah."

"What?"

"Loafah hayfa."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Can you look at me and say it really clearly?"

"Loffie Hoofar!" she shouted.

This went on for a while. Eventually, she settled on a pronunciation.

"Lorfa Heefer! Yeah. Lorfa Heefer."

"OK, Lorfa Heefer*. What does it mean?"

She stopped spinning in a circle, hand on the wall, and looked at me, rather exasperated, and shook her head.

"Mommy, It's complicated."

Next week, she'll begin my Astrophysics lessons.





*We eventually worked out that "Lorfa Heefer" means La Tour Eiffel, the Eiffel Tower.

Unprocrastination

People love my Christmas cards. I think the reason is I always overthink them, and by the time I actually get them out, it's usually Valentine's Day. By then, the winter boredom has set in and they have nothing better to do than read a long photocopied letter of me blathering and bragging about my brilliant child and all the hilarious things she did this year. (Hey, you're reading my blog. You don't even need the long, boring letter!)

But this year is going to be different. It's November, and I'VE ALREADY ORDERED THE PICTURE PART.

And the best thing? I got them for free. 100 of them. You can, too. Go here, read it, and do it. One of the codes expires on Saturday the 21st (tomorrow) but the other one doesn't, so you could at least get 50 free. No shipping, even.

I really liked their interface. The backgrounds were fine, I found one I liked, but the best part was that I could add as many photos as I wanted, wherever I wanted, in my choice of sizes, and could add captions and clip art and the whole works, so you can take something plain and really tweak it to your own liking. On the card I made, each photo is labeled with the month, some with the place, some with who the heck she was supposed to be (Halloween). The software was easy to use, and after giving it the OK, I was able to browse all my own photos on my computer very easily, which frankly kind of shocked me (no waiting for long individual uploads.)

So now, all I have to do is return the paper ones I bought, write a letter, copy it on the cute candy cane paper I got, stuff them, address them, put the return address on them, stamp them and mail them.

Yeah, OK, so I'm still thinking February.

Smells like...

Though the temperature rose into the 60's this weekend, we're definitely into the chillier months of the year. The leaves are pretty much all down, the air is cooler, and I always shove a warm jacket in the back seat when we go somewhere, just in case the temp drops by 30 degrees (which it does, as soon as the sun is as low as the housetops.) There's been little rain, and the air is dry. Rowan and I have limited baths to every other day, the true sign of Winter Approaching.

I pulled her out of the bathtub and dried her with a towel, and then reached for the lotion. She usually doesn't need it, but has recently begun scratching herself and announcing it to the world every time--"I scratch! I scratch my leg!", so the moisture is necessary. This time, I tried a new brand.

"Mmmm!!!!" she said, "Smells good, Mommy!"

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? It smells so clean and fresh," I said, rubbing the lotion on her kneecaps.

"Yeah!" she answered. "Smells like..." She looked at the bottle, then back at me.

"Clock. It smells like CLOCK!!!"

Apparently, that's how clocks smell. Perfectly logical, if you ask me. I wonder if oatmeal smells like Quakers?

We're renaming the dog "Clearblue Easy"

She knew, before we did.

One day, she attacked Rudy. Our neighbor's dog, a little black poodle who should really be called a puddle because he just loves everyone and everything and he's all about the love and happiness. He got chomped, blood and everything. I was mortified.

The Fed Ex guy dropped a package at our door, and had it not been for the glass, he would have lost some of his own package.

She won't leave me, for a second. Even in the bathroom. She forces the door open with her head, and if it won't budge, she leans agains the door and whines.

Even when the tests said no, she knew. And she was right.

The baby's due May 15. Rowan is very excited. And Lucy? She's on guard.

The Crying Game

She had a good morning. A friend came to play, we had lunch, and her friend's mom came to get her friend around 12:30. Though it was a little late for Rowan, who normally naps around 12, I figured she could make it.

We headed up for the nap. She was crying already. Cried while we put toys away. Cried as we climbed the stairs. Cried, asking for Advil and water and to have her fingernails and toenails clipped. She climbed into bed, still crying.

"You've had your Advil, you've got your water. Here are your babies, here's your blanket. Lucy gave you kisses, I gave you hugs. Why are you crying? Is there anything else you need, Honey?"

"Moooooommmmmyyyyy!!!" she wailed, "I just need to crrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy!!!!"

Sometimes, she's just so wise.

Halloween 2009

Angelina Ballerina, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

More pictures are to come, but after finally finding my camera cord I was able to find one photo where she wasn't a blur of pirouettes and jetés (which, admittedly, looked more like karate kicks.) Rowan went as a favorite book character, Angelina Ballerina. This was the first book her daddy read to her after she was born, and is loved by the whole family.

Her costume was put together with various things we had around the house--a tutu from the hand-me-down box, white shirt and tights, white mittens (not seen here, and the kazoo isn't part of it, either), her Easter shoes, and ears and a tail made by me the day before. We ribboned and rosed her up and drew a nose and whiskers with washable markers. She really did look adorable, and had a blast trick or treating with her friends at one of the dorms on the Penn State campus.

And she shared her candy. Bonus.

Victory Farts

This is a post about potty training. If you're the squeamish sort, bye bye.

After a few tinkles months ago, the magic stopped. She was no longer interested, and would answer queries with a quick and final "No!" and walk away, to color in her Kai-Lan coloring book or make another little pink play-doh ball with matching play-doh crumbs.

During her visit with her maternal grandparents in DC, I heard the expected, "She's so smart! She knows her ABC's, can count to 20 in English and 10 in French* and she's only 2? She should be potty trained by now. So'n'so's kid was trained by 18 months! Why isn't she trained yet?"

Yeah, like I haven't tried. Sigh.

So they tried, the questions, the incentives, the promises. And her response?

"No!"

Then this week, she refused to let me change her diaper. I was kicked, screamed at, cried on, hit, and just generally abused. Not fun. Even so, she'd begin crying suddenly, with an "I peed my big girl bed!" or "I peed my booster chair!" (while wearing a diaper, still.) Since her dad finally had a weekend where he didn't have to really do much (this is exceedingly rare--he never takes any time off, but he needed it), it became his job to deal with diapers and the like. Rowan needed Mom to take some distance.

She didn't fight him, but still had no interest in the potty. However, she did have an interest in the Hello, Kitty! panties.

So he tried it. She wet through a couple of times, but he said it seemed to make sense to her. She insisted on the panties over her diaper at bed time.

Today? No requests, and many refusals. (All the panties were dirty.) But tonight before bed, she acquiesced. She sat on the potty, happy, with Mom in the room, for a good 5 minutes.

And?

She FARTED. At least 5 times.

I call that a win.












*That would be Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Close enough.

This was totally her idea.

She teaches me every day!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

You go to Washington to visit the monuments. We go to hang spoons from our noses in public.

Heard, on a Fall Walk

"I'm running, on my tap toes!"

"Your tiptoes?"

"No, Mommy! My TAP toes!"

Stopping for every surviving dandelion and remaining patch of snow, downed branch or frozen berry, we made our way up the hill. She ran to the top, turned around, grinned as she caught my eye, and raised her arms up in the air.

"Ta-DAH!!! Ladies and Gem-men!!!"

She threw herself down on the still green grass, brown, red and yellow leaves, and rolled to the bottom of the hill.

She stood, smiling as she brushed the leaves from her sleeves, and ran to me, grabbing my finger tightly. "Come on, Lucy!" she called, as we headed for home.




*Note: I hope to have new photos soon. We've returned from DC, and I am awaiting the return of our camera, which the team was borrowing for use with the competition. I'm going through withdrawl. The phone camera just doesn't cut it. Updates on the trip soon, too.

Force feeding fruit

My kid likes veggies. I know, crazy, right? I guess no one told her not to. I do, her dad does, maybe it's genetic. Whatever. Her favorite food is "tomaaaaadoes", and she prefers the fancy heirloom tiny ones from the CSA basket, turning up her nose at store-bought. Begging for a treat usually means a little cup of frozen peas, or perhaps "cold bread" (frozen french bread chunks.) Yeah, she's kind of weird.

Usually fruit is fine, too, and she likes just about everything we give her, except for some reason squash and carrots (an orange thing?), and anything too spicy, though her dad is working on that. So I shopped for our week together while her dad was in DC, buying fruit for us to eat together. Apples, oranges, grapes, and bananas.

And of course, the bananas are not getting eaten in a timely manner. Before, when I had none in the house, I'd be begged for them. But of course when I do, she doesn't want them.

So today, I whipped up a special delight, and it worked. "Bananas à la Ronica!!!"

They were a big hit.

My secret?

Rainbow Sprinkles.

I think I'm going to try them on carrots next.

DC Dreaming

The Solar Decathlon is nearly here. Yesterday, the house was wrapped and loaded on a truck, on its way to Washington, DC. The students are heading down to begin the massive amount of work it will take to get it operational and camera-ready. Ed Bagley, Jr. was here to speak, and joined us at the house. He said he was very impressed with the home, and worked hard to make Rowan laugh (though unfortunately he failed--she was in no mood and we ended up skipping his speech when she announced, "It's bedtime. I'm tired. I want a nap!") He was a very nice man, quiet and reserved, but friendly and kind as well. It was nice to hear that he thought the work the students were doing was so valuable, and that he had chosen to visit them from a host of other requests. They were so proud to share their work with him. (PS: the new season of Living with Ed begins soon!)

So now, we're trying to figure things out. As head Team Mom, I've got quite a job keeping 25 people healthy and fed, though I won't be able to be in DC the whole time due to obligations here in Academicsburg. Luckily for me, the team decided to fend for themselves the first week. The other parents who are visiting will help out when they arrive, so it won't be just me cooking for 25+ people (some of whom are vegetarians), and now I'm rocking Google Docs and Survey Monkey to figure out how to best "get 'er done". My dad and his wife are coming for a week, so we will plan to be there then, but otherwise I'll be driving back and forth in order to maintain attendance at my rehearsals (I'm in 3 music groups in town) and to take care of our furry family member, too. We are staying in a rented home in the DC area, which should make it easier as I'll have a gourmet kitchen at my disposal. We're heading down over the weekend to drop off Dr. B and to give me an idea of the lay of the land.

So, I've got a question for you. Do you have a favorite meal that's easy and serves a LOT of people? If so, please commment or link in the comments! I need all the help I can get.

And if you know a grocery store that delivers in the DC area, please let me know.

Strange Conversation

"I smell like Mommy!" Sniff sniff.

I looked at her quizzically. "You smell like mommy (loud fake sniff) or you smell like Mommy?" (pretends to loudly sniff own armpit.)

"I smell like Mommy!", she says, sniffing her armpit and grinning.

"Really, what does Mommy smell like?"

"Rowan!!!" she squeals, and collapses on the couch in a burst of giggles.

"OK, then, what do we smell like?"

"A candle! A green candle!"

There you have it. Apparently, Eau de la Mère is "Green Candle". I'm thinking of selling the idea to Chanel.

Labor Day

Like Mrs. Chicken said recently, I've been feeling rather blogstipated. Not much going on, and what is bugging me I can't necessarily blog about because I don't know if those people read me, and I think you're probably getting rather tired of the "what I did with the random crazy veggies in my CSA basket this week!" posts. (I know I am.)

This weekend was Labor Day, and we had no plans. As a kid, I always dreaded Labor Day. We'd be at the lake, it would rain, we'd have to turn on the space heaters and light a fire, wearing jeans and tennies with our big, thick, hooded sweatshirts. It was so dark, we'd have to turn on lamps to read, Jerry Lewis would be on the little black-and-white TV, and the next day was always the beginning of school. I would wake up with an ooky feeling in the pit of my stomach, and honestly, I can feel it right now just remembering. It was the end. The end of the summer, the end of the good weather at the lake, the end of the freedom to pack up and just go whenever we wanted. We were back to responsibility and tests and deadlines, school and rehearsals. Mom always looked so sad on Labor Day.

Being an at-home mom, I figured it would be different. No schedules, no set in stone plans, no school tomorrow. Of course, it would be sunny and we'd go to the pool and grill burgers.

Our grill broke. It was cold. It rained. I had to put on socks and turn on the lamp.

But, I did have Dr. B home for the day. So I made a plan. And we had fun.

We took Rowan to her first in-theater movie. "Up!" was playing at our cheap theater, so even if she got "skeered", we'd only be out 3 bucks. But she did fine. She spent much of the movie hugging me facing the back, but by the end she was loving it, and only cried when I told her she couldn't lick the seat backs as the final credits rolled.

We came out of the theater, and she smiled up at us and said, "I loved my first movie!" We decided to make a night of it, and had dinner out at Damon's, followed by tag-team book browsing at Barnes and Noble while Rowan played trains at the Thomas the Tank Engine train table. We bought nothing, but got ideas for library requests, and enjoyed the smells of new paper and coffee, bright colors and fresh pages.

We made our stab at defeating the Labor Day Blues. Can't do anything about the weather, but a movie, buffalo chicken pizza, and some retail therapy did help lift our spirits a bit. Sometimes, that's all it takes.

Holy Summer Squash, Batman!

We joined a CSA recently--got lucky. They didn't have a space until about 3 weeks ago, but now we are getting weekly deliveries right to our door, and we didn't have to pony up ahead. We pay each week, and can cancel, postpone, etc. at our will. It's the perfect solution for non-committal types like us. This CSA, the Fallywalker Farm, is known for the unusual varieties they grow, like black zucchini, blue potatoes, rat-tailed radishes, snake beans, flying saucer squash (patty pan), pink carrots, lemon cucumbers, Transylvanian Brain Tomatoes, etc. Everything has been fresh, delicious, and wonderful, and we've even received fresh flowers in each delivery. Awesome. As a result, Rowan's new favorite food is tomatoes, and we're eating more veggies than ever. Plus, I'm cooking a lot--when it's there and would spoil, you gotta use it up!

So, we're stuffing a lot of squash, making a lot of ratatouille, and eating loads of cucumber salad. But a woman cannot live by stuffed zucchini alone.

So I've been trying to come up with new ideas, and the other day I came up with one that was a hit. Full of zucchini or patty pan squash, but even a purist (I'm hoping) would appreciate it. Rowan, Dr. B and I sure did. Oh, and Lucy was way ticked off that she couldn't have any (dogs can't have onions or garlic.)

Shrimp Creole with Summer Squash
(amounts are approximate)

*1 medium onion, chopped
*3 cloves garlic, minced (to taste)
*1 small green pepper, seeded and chopped (ours was black, but whatever.)
*2 cups chopped tomatoes (or 1 can diced)
*1-2 cups of sliced (bite sized pieces) zucchini or patty pan squash. Peel if the skin is bitter, leave on if it's not (FWF squash skin has not been bitter at all)
*1 small can tomato paste
*2 cups water
*1 TB flour (I use Wondra. It mixes great, and the can is handy dandy. But regular is fine.)
*2 TB butter (or more, depends)
*14-16 oz. shrimp (fresh, shelled and deveined or frozen--doesn't matter. I used a bag of frozen.)
*Creole Seasoning, to taste. (I use this one--it is non-negotiable in my house. I even brought it to France and got more sent when I ran out.)
*Hot cooked rice to serve (we used brown, but it doesn't matter. You could even serve it over barley, I have and it's great.)

Heat butter and add onions and peppers. Cook until fragrant, add garlic. Cook another minute or so, then push the veggies to the side and add the flour in the hole in the middle. If it doesn't completely mix in with the liquid, (partially dry and powdery) add a bit more butter. Cook a minute or two until it smells toasty. It will begin to coat the veggies, that's fine--it will blend in and thicken the sauce later. Add the tomatoes, zucchini, tomato paste, water, and season well with Tony's Creole seasoning. Simmer until veggies are cooked, about 20 minutes or so. Add shrimp, and let cook just until shrimp are thawed or turn pink, a couple of minutes. If they get overcooked, they'll curl tight and be tough, so less is best.

Serve over fluffy rice and say "Y'all" and "Chère" a lot while you eat it.

Monkey Birthday

monkey bread, originally uploaded by LDHNY.

It was my birthday yesterday. The night before, I planned to make Monkey Bread for breakfast, my favorite. But, Dr. B had other plans. "If you can get yourself up and dressed, I will take you all for breakfast before work." It's a his-family tradition. Though I'm not one for clothing before coffee, I love these special treats, so we went for it. French toast with fresh strawberries and no dirty dishes? Yeah, I'll take it.

But I still made the bread. We had it for dessert. I'd rather this than cake any day.

If you google "Monkey Bread", you'll find a million recipes, all pretty much the same. This isn't any different either, but I thought I'd share for those of you who haven't had it before (Hi Lisa!) I don't think it's necessarily a Midwestern thing--but I remember having it for the first time at my Aunt Carol's in Racine, WI, and the fact that my mom wouldn't make it. (I think she was afraid I'd eat the entire thing every time. Which I probably would have.) Basically, it's a cake made of caramel rolls. AWESOME caramel rolls, and it's super easy. Lots of people make it for Christmas morning. I make it whenever I've got a hankering for it. It's too good to save for special. It's called monkey bread because you sit around the plate and pick off bits to eat, and lick your fingers a lot. There are no bananas involved.


Monkey Bread
serves 18, 9, 3 or 1. Heh.

*18 frozen Rhodes bread rolls

(you can use a loaf of their bread dough, but waiting for it to thaw and cutting it in pieces is kind of a pain. This is way easier. Resist the urge to add more--there won't be enough caramel and the rolls will start creeping out of the pan like The Blob.)

*1 box NOT INSTANT butterscotch pudding mix

(the instant just turns the whole thing into a crusty, not caramelly mess. Don't do it.)

*3/4 cup brown sugar
*1 t. cinnamon

(if you're not allergic. I can't, but no one misses it. Dr. B doesn't really like cinnamon that much anyway, so it works out.)

*1/2 cup or so of chopped nuts, if desired
*1 stick butter, melted.

The night before, or at least 8 hours before (I have pushed this by warming my oven on low and letting it rise in there with the oven off), grease a Bundt or tube cake pan. Add the nuts, if using, and the frozen rolls. Mix the pudding mix, sugar and cinnamon together, and dump fairly evenly over the rolls. Drizzle the melted butter over the whole mess. Cover with a bit of greased foil or waxed paper or something like that. Set aside in a warm place to thaw and rise. (Overnight is ideal--do this just before you go to bed.)

Preheat the oven to 350.

Bake rolls about 25 minutes or until golden. Remove from oven, and turn out onto a large plate with high sides to contain any caramel overload. Try not to burn your fingers and mouth grabbing hot rolls (waiting a few minutes would be preferable, but good luck with that. I never manage to.)

Variations: some people use canned biscuits if they don't have the overnight time to wait, others dip each roll in butter and then dredge in the powder, some people like to mix the butter with the powders and then dredge. I'm lazy, and it still works just fine. The whole mess melts down and makes caramel in the bottom of the pan, and when you turn it over, coats the bits it missed.


Thanks to Lori D. Stone (LDSNY) for allowing use of this photo under Creative Commons licensure. I ate too much of mine before I thought about getting my camera out.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/loridstone/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

Dear John

I don't often do this, but this is one post I have to share. If you've ever seen a John Hughes movie and liked it (in other words, if you're over 30 and have a pulse), go. Click now.

Endorsed

Yes, this is part of an ad. But it's a true story, and I doubt you'll make it through it dry eyed. I sure didn't.

I have one for Rowan, and have never questioned the price I paid because I know this to be the safest option for my little girl. I, too, did the research, and I am glad I stuck to my gut on this one. She is worth it.

Please watch.

I'm working on it.

Pigtails in the sun, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Photos are coming from our OBX trip, and perhaps a nugget or two of happenings as well. Things are finally slowing down, thank goodness. Our heads never went below, though we are a bit worse for wear. But we'll make it. And in the meantime, I'm a wild blackberry picking/ jam making machine.

After the last few weeks, I'm scratched up, but I'm healing.

(And who could resist a little girl in pigtails?)

Swimmer

We're home! Our week at the Outer Banks was a little too eventful for our taste (thanks to a wild horse that took a swat at Lucy), but we've survived and have made it back to PA in one piece (well, most of us, anyway). More photos will come, but I've got a lot of work to do to make that happen, so here's a teaser. I brought my camera, but one of the other women had a better one and was snap-happy, so I just let her go and read my book on the beach. She's given me free reign to download, so I will be doing that over the next few days, but since she took about 700 photos, it might take a while.

Rowan was a hoot to watch at the shore. She was terrified of the water, but determined to overcome her fear. The first day, she would go in kicking and screaming, clinging to us for dear life. As she'd come out of the pool or ocean, she'd turn around and go right back, scared but not willing to let that keep her from it. By the end, she was swimming alone in the pool (with water wings) and begging to go back into the ocean. The undertow and waves were strong, so walking was all she could do, and only with two adults holding on tight. I am so proud of her. It took me until I was in my thirties to get to the place she's at at age 2.

AND!!!

She had 3 dry nights! Woot! (I guess it all went in the pool.)

See you in a week...

Rowan and Daddy, July 2009, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

We're off to vacation on the beach at the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week. Though now it's nearly 4 AM and I have insomnia, we leave tomorrow. I hope I can sleep on the beach.

Les Soldes Américaines

Today, the big "sales" start in Paris. I say big with my tongue firmly in cheek--French sales are rien compared to the clearance racks at Target and Kohl's, as Chloé quickly found out. Despite her foot issues (one example of French Health Care that does NOT come close to American!), this girl can shop. Even jet lagged, she could go, but now that the jet lag is gone--the girl's got stamina.

Every day, after the kid I'm babysitting goes home, she smiles and says, "Ronica, can we go shopping?" Even me, who loves shopping (though the hunt is even more fun than the kill for me), is getting a bit worn out. But it's her only chance, so I've said "yes", every time.

Today, she finally got her trophy. After finding small gifts for her best girl friend and her sister, and part of her gift for her boyfriend, she had a few more things on her list. A bracelet for him (he requested--and finding man jewelry in the US is not an easy task), and jeans and a black hobo bag for her. She'd already found a cute black top at Target, as well as some strappy black sandals, but the jeans and bag eluded her.

Mais bien sûr, she is Parisian, she is rather particular. The jeans had to be dark, no little white lines, and skinny. They couldn't gap at the waist, and must not be too wide at the ankle. Oh, and cheap. The bag? Black, hobo style, not too square, with straps not attached by rings, and inexpensive. And the bracelet--steel or silver, adjustable (he's skinny), and masculine. And, of course, pas trop cher.

So today after Rowan finally woke up from her nap, we headed out to TJ Maxx. She hit. Jeans for $20, and a bracelet for him, with gift box. But the only bag she liked was again $100.

"We are going to Walmart?" she asked. "I could look for a bag there..."

"Uh, no. No, honey. Walmart is fine for grapes and pork ribs, but you won't find what you want there."

So we drove. All the way across town, to Ross. It happens to be next to the other Walmart, so it worked out fine.

And she hit again. The coup de coeur, the bag. "I am in love with it!" she cried.

"My porte-feuille is ..." she held it aloft, shaking it up and down, and gave me a quizzical look.

"Your wallet is light," I said.

"Yes!" she grinned back. "But I am so happy! I love American shopping. I will take a plane to America when I need to go shopping!!!" she laughed. "I now have a whole American..." she looked to me. "Outfit," I answered. "Ensemble."

"Yes! An American outfit. Shirt, jeans, shoes, bag. Everything from America!"

We arrived home, and she checked her email.

"Mom wants rassure-moi that I haven't spent all my money!" She grinned at the screen. "I have ten dollars left..."

A girl after my own heart.

French Invasion

We have a guest chez nous, Chloé, one of the young girls I babysat in Paris when we lived there. She's now 14 1/2 and is here to practice her English. We have been having a great time introducing her to America and how we do things here. It is very interesting to see it from the other side and hear her observations. It reminds me so of the first days we spent in France, though she is without all the stress we had of setting up our own lives there. But still, the jet lag and immersion in a new language and culture are enough to tire her out. She has been enjoying it, however, and is adjusting quickly and well.

Here are a few of her observations so far:

"Everyone is very nice! Very friendly!"

"American pizza is HUGE! Everything here is so big!"

"It smells so good here! Paris smells bad. Here it is green everywhere!"

"Everything looks different. The streets, the houses, the cars, the mailboxes."

"I love Target! I could live in here! I want to buy everything!"

Upon finding a pair of black dress sandals for $19.99 in her size (11!) after hunting for 2 1/2 months in Paris and coming up empty--we found them in one trip to Target:

(shouted) "I *LOVE* America!!!"

and

"Can we go back to Target again? Please?"

On American food:

"I LOVE Pancakes!" "This hot chocolate is the size of 4 in Paris!" (She did drink it all.) "I love American breakfast!" "This sandwich is delicious!"

and when I said, "take as much as you like!"

"REALLY???" (Big Grin)

Yeah, I think we're winning her over.


Ronica's "Delicious" Santa Fe Chicken Sandwiches

(Really just dressed up nuggets, but they are tasty and super fast.)

Prepare chicken nuggets or breaded tenderloins according to package directions.
On a flour tortilla, spread some sour cream. Top with ChiChi's salsa and shredded Mexican cheese, then add chicken. You can also add in shredded lettuce, sliced black olives, etc. Roll up and serve with extra sour cream and salsa as well as your favorite additions. (We did tortilla chips, corn, and carrot sticks and cucumber slices with ranch.) Enjoy!

Happy Birthday, to my love.

On a journey with Daddy
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

He's 36 today, and I can't think of anyone who could even come close to everything he gives to me.

I love you, honey. Happy Birthday.

I'll never get tired of this face.

Swinging!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Dance Party: Yippee!!!

Our Hips Don't Lie from Ronica on Vimeo.

Please ignore the tall, bloated dork who appears occasionally in the frame, and focus on the cute kid with the smokin' moves. My favorite part is after I spin her around, when she nearly falls over but keeps on groovin'.

My daughter is so awesome.

PS: Lucy? Not much of a dancer.

The Recession Stick

They say it affects everyone. They're not kidding.

Yep, here we go. His summer funding? Lots of "Oh, we'd like to..." and "We'll keep you in mind" but no actual dollars. Which means? Our paychecks this year go down about 20%.

Twenty percent.

That's a big freakin' chunk.

It's a hit we can't afford. And of course, we found out just after our trip to France, in which we spent more than we planned, though we were able to go on the cheap due to the generosity of our dear friends and his paid tickets via his class at the University.

Now, we're caught, like many Americans, between a rock and a really, really hard place.

I hate this place.

When you're already buying generic, how do you cut down?

Right now, we're working on some solutions. Some freelance, doing the best we can, shh don't tell anyone, cash and thank you very much solutions. I could go back to teaching, but that would require a bunch of tests and license fees I can't swing right now, and finding daycare for Rowan and all sorts of other stuff, and I just, well, I'm just not ready yet. I'm a glutton for my little girl. She is my Kryptonite.

So anyway.

There will be stuff happening that I can't talk about on here, things I can't share, and it's not because I don't love you, my faithful readers. I do, I really do.

I'm just trying really, really hard to keep 4 heads above water.

Distraction

Rowan is a surprisingly strong little girl. She always has been. I felt my first kick at 14 weeks of pregnancy, and it was nothing like those flutters they tell you about--it hurt! Physically, she's got a lot more stamina than most of her friends, so I'm able to push her in ways you might not expect of a 2-year old.

The other night, her dad was not coming home for dinner, so we were on our own. She took an extra long nap and woke after 5 PM, and I wanted to help tire her out so I could get her to bed at the right time. We went to take Lucy on our usual walk, but this time I offered to let her walk the whole way instead of riding in the stroller for 3/4 of the walk.

Our walk is 1.4 miles. She's done a mile before without a problem, so I decided to give it a try.

I leashed Lucy, and then grabbed Rowan's Elmo walking harness handle thing.

Yeah, I leashed her. I LEASH MY CHILD. Cruel, whatever. We live on a 35 mph road, and at 5 PM I am not taking any chances.

So we took off walking, and she was doing great. Down the hill we went, the two of them criss-crossing in front and behind me. Lucy would stop to smell a tree or clump of grass, and Rowan would do the same. We walked past the park, up the hill, and around the corner. We met neighborhood dogs and talked to people we see on our daily walks. Rowan was doing fine--she was going strong! This was wonderful. No problem! I envisioned days without wrangling with the second-hand Peg stroller, without the "Rowan walk? Rowan walk?" arguments, free as a breeze as we walked together as a family.

As we were heading back up the hill, Rowan started to get a little fussy. I gave her a lift on my back for a few blocks, and she giggled and held on tight as Mom took on the steepest part of the hike. As we reached the corner where I normally allow her out of the stroller, she begged to walk again. Lucy took this chance to finally do her business, and I dutifully bagged and sealed it as we headed home. It was supper time, we were hungry, hot and sweaty and both in need of a cool drink.

Just then, Rowan tripped.

And then it started. The lip squared, the jaw jutted forward, the waterworks commenced. And then she wailed as her knee developed a dime-sized pink scrape.

My only thought? DISTRACT HER. Distract the kid. Give her something so she stops. STOPS. Anything! QUICK!!!

"Here, Honey! Can you carry this for Mommy?"

And I found myself handing her the only thing I had.

The bag of poop.

Yes, I leash my precious child and make her carry sacks of dog shit.

Someone call Child Protective Services.

Quick.

Rowrie?

*Note: more info and photos re: our France trip soon, but I had to post this before I forget it.


Rowan's language is developing rapidly. She knows when to say please, thank you, Bon Appétit, Cheers, and many other niceties (though "excuse me" is always followed and preceded by lots and lots of giggling and usually some attempt at reproducing whichever sound she just needed to ask to be excused for.) She asks questions, some two or three words, and tells us all about things she's done or things she's seen. Every night, there's a play-by-play of the day, and during prayers she thanks God for things that are important to her, like Lucy's haircut which currently appears to be the most wonderful thing she must give thanks for.

The one thing she can't say is, "I don't know." For that, she developed her own word, "Rowrie." (Rhymes with "Cow Pee.") No clue where that one came from.

We look through a book, identifying objects on the page, in English or in French. When one comes that she doesn't know or has forgotten: "Rowrie?"

I ask her the color of objects in a room. She gets to the undefinable puce, beige or olive, and... "Rowrie?"

Planning for her second birthday dinner tomorrow, I ask her what she'd like to have. "Rowrie?" (Eventually it came out that she wanted sandwiches. Fish ones, but we had fish tonight, so we settled on chicken.)

Before bed, we started cleaning up her play area, our living room. She had taken every single book out of the basket, so as we put them back in, I encouraged her to count. She made it up through ten with no problem. Then came eleven and twelve, which needed a little help to come out correctly. She took the book from my hand, plopped it in the basket, and said just after I did, "Thirteen!"

I handed her one more book. She put it in the basket. I said, "which one is that, Honey?"

She looked at me and smiled.

"Rowrie-teen???"