After scooting our two beautiful children out the door to school this morning, Steve and I sat down to watch the news. The world is rotating around the Obama family today. This is obvious because on all channels except Cartoon Network, the picture is focused on the door to Blair House. As we watched Secret Service agents enter and exit while talking to their wrists, Steve and I figured out verbatim what was being said behind the door.
Secret Service Agent: "Mr. and Mrs. Obama, it is 7:00 a.m. The limo will be ready for you at 7:30."
Barack: "Thank you."
Michelle: "Do you know what time Malia came to bed with us last night?"
Barack: "Malia was in bed with us? Wow. How did I miss that?"
Michelle: "Hmm. I wonder. It was 3:30! She had an earache and was awake until 5:45. First I gave her Tylenol. Then she wanted a drink. Then she wanted another drink. Then she had to go potty. Then she started telling me a story that went on and on. I am exhausted."
Barack: "Do you think she'll be o.k. out in the cold air?"
Michelle: "I hope so. What on earth are those girls doing out there?"
Barack: "Sasha! Malia! Go get dressed. Now!"
Barack: "Michelle, will you please tie this for me? I can't get it straight."
Michelle: "Yes, honey. Come over here where there is more light."
Barack: "OW! What the hell did I just step on? Malia! Why are there Barbie shoes on the floor? Damn, those things hurt!"
Michelle: "Girls... are you ready? We have to leave soon. Get moving!"
Secret Service Agent: "Sir, Madam, it is 7:29. The cars are waiting to take you to the church."
Barack: "Thank you. We're almost ready."
Michelle: "Girls... get in here, please! We have to go!"
Sasha: "Mom, I hate this dress. It itches."
Malia: "Mine, too. I want to wear something else."
Michelle: "Girls, we don't have time for a wardrobe change. Put your shoes on and get your coats."
Malia: "I don't know where my shoes are."
Barack: "Here, try this one. I stepped on it a few seconds ago."
Malia: "Very funny Daddy. That's a Barbie shoe."
Barack: "I am well aware of that. It doesn't belong on the floor."
Michelle: "Malia, dear, go find your shoes now."
Barack: "Put that Nintendo down, Sasha!"
Sasha: "I want to take it in the car with me."
Barack: "No. No Nintendos in the Limo. This is an important day, and I want you to pay attention and learn from the experience."
Sasha: "But Daaaaa-aaad! This is so boring! Can't I sit in the audience with my friends?"
Barack: "No you can't sit with your friends. Today is a special day, and you will sit with your family. And leave your cell phone here. There will be no texting during the inauguration."
Sasha: "Daddy! I can't believe this! You're so unfair!"
Michelle: "Sasha, don't talk to your father that way. Go get your coat."
Barack: "What are you looking at?"
Malia: "You. There is shaving cream on your ear."
Barack: "Oh. Thank you for telling me, sweetie."
Malia: "No problem."
Barack: "Why are you still standing there?"
Malia: "I don't know."
Barack: "Didn't your mother tell you to put your shoes on?"
Malia: "I forgot."
Barack: "Well, go do it!"
Malia: "I don't know where they are."
Secret Service Agent: "Sir, it is 7:36."
Barack: "Shit! We're already late!"
Malia: "I'll just wear my Nike's."
Michelle: "Oh no you won't. Go get the new shoes I bought you last week. They are in your closet."
Malia: "I don't think they are in there."
Michelle: "Well, where are they then?"
Malia: "I don't know."
Michelle: "Then how do you know they aren't in your closet?"
Malia: "I don't know."
Michelle: "Go look! Hurry!"
Malia: "I don't want to go by myself."
Secret Service Agent: "Sir, Madam, it's 7:45."
And this is why the Obama family will never be on time to any event for the next four years. They have children.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Has the Smoke Cleared Yet?
No, I didn't burn the kitchen down. I am referring to the billowing clouds of furiosity that were the result of my trip to the grocery store on Sunday ... WITH MY CHILDREN!
You will recall I mentioned in my previous post that Steve has a cold. In an effort to be a loving, caring, nurturing wife, I took Ian and Ainsley with me to the store so Steve could rest. Let me just set the record straight now before I forget - When I returned home, the man who could barely open his eyes before I left, was sitting up in bed, eating a sandwich, and watching a football game! It's a freaking miracle!
Now, back to the grocery store trip. The kids have never done well at the grocery store. It is complete sensory overload for them. Too many lights, sounds, people, and choices. It's a nightmare. To get to the produce aisle, where I normally begin my shopping, we had to go through the florist and the bakery. Alone, this takes me about 7 seconds. With my offspring in tow, it takes 53 minutes.
Ainsley: "Mommy, I want to give my teacher some flowers. Can I get some flowers. Oh, I like these red ones. Mrs. E will really like these. Here I'll put them in the cart."
Me: "No, honey. Not this time."
Ainsley: "Oh, please Mommy? I really want to give her some flowers."
Ian: "I want to give my teacher some flowers too. I'll take these roses."
Me: "Stop, both of you, and listen. We are not buying flowers today. It's a really sweet thought, but we're here to buy what is on my list. If it isn't on my list, it won't be going in the basket."
Ian: "Can we have these?" He pointed to some small cakes.
Me: "No."
Ian: "What about these?" He pointed to some cookies.
Me: "No."
Ainsley: "Ooooooo... what about this?" She started to pick up a huge chocolate cake.
Me: "No."
Ian: "Awwwwwww. C'mon. You're always saying, 'no'. We never get anything."
Me: "And this is why the two of you do not have the privilege of shopping with me very often. We will buy what is on my list and only what is on my list. No discussion, no whining. Got it?"
Ian: "Hmmmmmmph."
Me: "Let's get some apples. Ian what kind would you like this week."
Ian: "Red Delicious, of course. I'll get five for me and an extra one for my teacher."
Me: "How about getting two for you and one for your teacher. The last time we bought Red Delicious apples you decided you didn't like them so much after the first couple."
Ian: "How about four for me and one for my teacher. I'll get one for Ainsley's teacher too."
Me: "Let's let Ainsley pick an apple for her teacher. What kind of apples do you want to eat this week Ainsley?"
Ainsley: "I want the yellow ones. And I want a yellow one for my teacher."
Ian: "Ainsley, you have to give her a red one. Teachers don't like yellow apples."
Ainsley [whining]: "I don't want to give her a red apple. I like yellow ones."
Me: "Ian, it's nice of you to help, but let Ainsley choose which one she will give to Mrs. E."
Ian glared at me over the top of his glasses while Ainsley began counting every apple in the bin. After some redirection, we finished with the apples. That little stop alone took ten minutes.
The can-I-have-this maneuver appeared again but was thwarted when we headed for the vegetables. Ian began feeling everything within reach and was fascinated when he found non-produce items conveniently located near fruits or vegetables that could be paired with them. Several times I had to call him away from the bananas. He was trying to hide a box of Nilla Wafers behind his coat.
Me: "Guys, one of the rules at the grocery store is 'If you're not buying it, don't touch it.' Ian, hold on to the cart and don't touch anything else. And put those Nilla Wafers back. Ainsley. . .Ainsley? Where the hell is Ainsley? Shit! Where'd that child go?"
Ian: "Mom, you're not supposed to say 'shit.'"
Me: "Don't be a smart-mouth. Help me find your sister."
We found her feeling up the kiwis. So began our two-hour trip through Tom Thumb, a ritual that normally would have taken me forty-five minutes if I were moving slowly with a raging hangover, and was talking on my cellphone - on a good day, thirty minutes. In the midst of our lengthy journey down the aisles came the time that I should have given the kids their afternoon meds for ADHD. That's when things really got ugly.
I must have blacked out from the baking aisle through the chip aisle, because it is difficult to recall the details or the words I said. At some point, a bag of marshmallows was tossed cleverly into the basket by small hands and removed by mine before a scuffle ensued. Said bag of marshmallows became mushy-mellows and had to be hidden behind some canned green beans. My apologies to whichever store employee finds them.
I do recall believing that I was thinking some things to myself that actually became audible. One of them was, "I know you are not intentionally trying to piss me off, BUT YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF!!!!" The rest of the excursion is a blur.
Poor Steve still hasn't figured out why seeing him watching a football game and eating a sandwich put me over the edge, or why his sudden winter illness has not automatically made him the recipient of my undivided concern and attention. At one point I wanted to say, "You'll have my complete sympathy for your pathetic little cold when I see you pass two watermelons with ADHD from your (insert name of any orifice in the male body) without an epidural!" But I didn't. He knows I win the toughest babe on the planet contest, and he doesn't even come close to qualifying for the competition.
I do care how sick he is. It sucks, really. That being said, however, Steve could be in a coma next Sunday; but I will be leaving the children in his care. They have a much better chance at surviving the day under those circumstances than if I have to take them with me to the grocery store again.
This is why margaritas garnished with jalepeno-stuffed olives are now my breakfast of champions.
You will recall I mentioned in my previous post that Steve has a cold. In an effort to be a loving, caring, nurturing wife, I took Ian and Ainsley with me to the store so Steve could rest. Let me just set the record straight now before I forget - When I returned home, the man who could barely open his eyes before I left, was sitting up in bed, eating a sandwich, and watching a football game! It's a freaking miracle!
Now, back to the grocery store trip. The kids have never done well at the grocery store. It is complete sensory overload for them. Too many lights, sounds, people, and choices. It's a nightmare. To get to the produce aisle, where I normally begin my shopping, we had to go through the florist and the bakery. Alone, this takes me about 7 seconds. With my offspring in tow, it takes 53 minutes.
Ainsley: "Mommy, I want to give my teacher some flowers. Can I get some flowers. Oh, I like these red ones. Mrs. E will really like these. Here I'll put them in the cart."
Me: "No, honey. Not this time."
Ainsley: "Oh, please Mommy? I really want to give her some flowers."
Ian: "I want to give my teacher some flowers too. I'll take these roses."
Me: "Stop, both of you, and listen. We are not buying flowers today. It's a really sweet thought, but we're here to buy what is on my list. If it isn't on my list, it won't be going in the basket."
Ian: "Can we have these?" He pointed to some small cakes.
Me: "No."
Ian: "What about these?" He pointed to some cookies.
Me: "No."
Ainsley: "Ooooooo... what about this?" She started to pick up a huge chocolate cake.
Me: "No."
Ian: "Awwwwwww. C'mon. You're always saying, 'no'. We never get anything."
Me: "And this is why the two of you do not have the privilege of shopping with me very often. We will buy what is on my list and only what is on my list. No discussion, no whining. Got it?"
Ian: "Hmmmmmmph."
Me: "Let's get some apples. Ian what kind would you like this week."
Ian: "Red Delicious, of course. I'll get five for me and an extra one for my teacher."
Me: "How about getting two for you and one for your teacher. The last time we bought Red Delicious apples you decided you didn't like them so much after the first couple."
Ian: "How about four for me and one for my teacher. I'll get one for Ainsley's teacher too."
Me: "Let's let Ainsley pick an apple for her teacher. What kind of apples do you want to eat this week Ainsley?"
Ainsley: "I want the yellow ones. And I want a yellow one for my teacher."
Ian: "Ainsley, you have to give her a red one. Teachers don't like yellow apples."
Ainsley [whining]: "I don't want to give her a red apple. I like yellow ones."
Me: "Ian, it's nice of you to help, but let Ainsley choose which one she will give to Mrs. E."
Ian glared at me over the top of his glasses while Ainsley began counting every apple in the bin. After some redirection, we finished with the apples. That little stop alone took ten minutes.
The can-I-have-this maneuver appeared again but was thwarted when we headed for the vegetables. Ian began feeling everything within reach and was fascinated when he found non-produce items conveniently located near fruits or vegetables that could be paired with them. Several times I had to call him away from the bananas. He was trying to hide a box of Nilla Wafers behind his coat.
Me: "Guys, one of the rules at the grocery store is 'If you're not buying it, don't touch it.' Ian, hold on to the cart and don't touch anything else. And put those Nilla Wafers back. Ainsley. . .Ainsley? Where the hell is Ainsley? Shit! Where'd that child go?"
Ian: "Mom, you're not supposed to say 'shit.'"
Me: "Don't be a smart-mouth. Help me find your sister."
We found her feeling up the kiwis. So began our two-hour trip through Tom Thumb, a ritual that normally would have taken me forty-five minutes if I were moving slowly with a raging hangover, and was talking on my cellphone - on a good day, thirty minutes. In the midst of our lengthy journey down the aisles came the time that I should have given the kids their afternoon meds for ADHD. That's when things really got ugly.
I must have blacked out from the baking aisle through the chip aisle, because it is difficult to recall the details or the words I said. At some point, a bag of marshmallows was tossed cleverly into the basket by small hands and removed by mine before a scuffle ensued. Said bag of marshmallows became mushy-mellows and had to be hidden behind some canned green beans. My apologies to whichever store employee finds them.
I do recall believing that I was thinking some things to myself that actually became audible. One of them was, "I know you are not intentionally trying to piss me off, BUT YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF!!!!" The rest of the excursion is a blur.
Poor Steve still hasn't figured out why seeing him watching a football game and eating a sandwich put me over the edge, or why his sudden winter illness has not automatically made him the recipient of my undivided concern and attention. At one point I wanted to say, "You'll have my complete sympathy for your pathetic little cold when I see you pass two watermelons with ADHD from your (insert name of any orifice in the male body) without an epidural!" But I didn't. He knows I win the toughest babe on the planet contest, and he doesn't even come close to qualifying for the competition.
I do care how sick he is. It sucks, really. That being said, however, Steve could be in a coma next Sunday; but I will be leaving the children in his care. They have a much better chance at surviving the day under those circumstances than if I have to take them with me to the grocery store again.
This is why margaritas garnished with jalepeno-stuffed olives are now my breakfast of champions.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Cooking For an Army of Four
When I was growing up, we ate dinner at 5:00 every day. Everyone was present, no excuses. Once in a while Dad would teach a night class, which meant we ate Lean Cuisine and salad instead of the usual meat and potatoes. Or rabbit (that's a story for another time). We had a delicious, home made, balanced meal. We discussed the happenings of the day and bonded as a family. That was then.
The last several months found me frazzled when it came to preparing dinner. Ian is getting pickier by the day. Ainsley just gets an attitude once in a while that sends me through the roof. Steve is rarely home at dinner time, except on the weekends. And after school activities during the week prevent us from having regular sit-down meals. This goes completely against my grain.
I am learning to adjust.
No longer do I expect us all to be seated at the table at 6:00 with napkin in lap and a hearty appetite. I am grateful if I can get three-fourths of our family to sit for thirty seconds at a time throughout the meal. Napkins? HA! My kids use their sleeves, shirt fronts, and pant legs for cleaning up, if they wipe their hands and faces at all. Using silverware is NOT optional, even though fingers are easier to manipulate. It's a constant battle to teach and reteach the same mealtime manners every evening. And it's exhausting.
There is no wonder why, over the last several years, I have given up on gourmet cooking. Oh, there was once a time when Steve and I would never eat the same dinner twice in a month. Every meal was an experiment in tantalizing flavors, scrumptious textures and colors and glorious aromas.
Now I try to limit chicken nuggets to no more than three meals per week with sandwiches ... sandwiched ... in between. That is all about to change.
My girlfriends get together once every few weeks and make entrees in bulk, then take them home and freeze them. I envy that their children will eat just about anything that is put before them. While I have yearned to join their group, it just didn't make sense to prepare huge casseroles that my children will not consume (no two foods are allowed to be combined or touch on their plates, or all hell breaks loose).
Today, in a stroke of pure genius, I came up with an alternate plan. I am going to prepare as much of the weeks VARIETY of menus as I can in the next twenty-four hours, freeze some of it, and relax the rest of the week. No more McDonald's drive-through in an emergency. No more mac-n-cheese from a box. No more friggin' chicken nuggets!
My mother-in-law bought me a new programmable crock pot for Christmas, and I plan to use it as much as possible. The bread maker that I so dearly love, will become its best friend as they sit side-by-side on my counter humming and rumbling and baking delicious meals for my family. Ian and Ainsley will surely give each appliance a special name. They believe all inanimate objects can talk and should have names. They will probably be very unique ... like "Bready" and "Crocky". Their first task: to make chicken soup and corn bread for Steve, who has been knocked out by a winter cold.
Did I mention it was 81 degrees yesterday? Just thought I'd throw that in.
The weekly menu is planned. The grocery list has been made. Now all that's left is to get my butt to the store and start shopping, chopping, stirring, and savoring.
If later today you see fire trucks outside my house, you'll know I overloaded the circuits in the kitchen. Wish me luck!
The last several months found me frazzled when it came to preparing dinner. Ian is getting pickier by the day. Ainsley just gets an attitude once in a while that sends me through the roof. Steve is rarely home at dinner time, except on the weekends. And after school activities during the week prevent us from having regular sit-down meals. This goes completely against my grain.
I am learning to adjust.
No longer do I expect us all to be seated at the table at 6:00 with napkin in lap and a hearty appetite. I am grateful if I can get three-fourths of our family to sit for thirty seconds at a time throughout the meal. Napkins? HA! My kids use their sleeves, shirt fronts, and pant legs for cleaning up, if they wipe their hands and faces at all. Using silverware is NOT optional, even though fingers are easier to manipulate. It's a constant battle to teach and reteach the same mealtime manners every evening. And it's exhausting.
There is no wonder why, over the last several years, I have given up on gourmet cooking. Oh, there was once a time when Steve and I would never eat the same dinner twice in a month. Every meal was an experiment in tantalizing flavors, scrumptious textures and colors and glorious aromas.
Now I try to limit chicken nuggets to no more than three meals per week with sandwiches ... sandwiched ... in between. That is all about to change.
My girlfriends get together once every few weeks and make entrees in bulk, then take them home and freeze them. I envy that their children will eat just about anything that is put before them. While I have yearned to join their group, it just didn't make sense to prepare huge casseroles that my children will not consume (no two foods are allowed to be combined or touch on their plates, or all hell breaks loose).
Today, in a stroke of pure genius, I came up with an alternate plan. I am going to prepare as much of the weeks VARIETY of menus as I can in the next twenty-four hours, freeze some of it, and relax the rest of the week. No more McDonald's drive-through in an emergency. No more mac-n-cheese from a box. No more friggin' chicken nuggets!
My mother-in-law bought me a new programmable crock pot for Christmas, and I plan to use it as much as possible. The bread maker that I so dearly love, will become its best friend as they sit side-by-side on my counter humming and rumbling and baking delicious meals for my family. Ian and Ainsley will surely give each appliance a special name. They believe all inanimate objects can talk and should have names. They will probably be very unique ... like "Bready" and "Crocky". Their first task: to make chicken soup and corn bread for Steve, who has been knocked out by a winter cold.
Did I mention it was 81 degrees yesterday? Just thought I'd throw that in.
The weekly menu is planned. The grocery list has been made. Now all that's left is to get my butt to the store and start shopping, chopping, stirring, and savoring.
If later today you see fire trucks outside my house, you'll know I overloaded the circuits in the kitchen. Wish me luck!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
What Dreams May Come
I don't like to make New Year's resolutions because I know my incentive to do anything for 365 days only lasts about 72 hours. It could be ADD, I don't know. Being resolved to something seems so concrete and final. I prefer for things to stay fluid and full of possibilities. Life changes every day. Clinging to expectations made months or years past prevents us from taking chances.
Now I shall call them "potentialities" instead of "resolutions". They are my dreams for what may happen in the new year ... but who knows?
1. I hope to paint more and play Spider Solitaire less.
2. I wish to hear, see, and feel more love demonstrated in my home.
3. May my family show the world random acts of brilliance and kindness that will change someone's opinion of what it means to have autism.
4. I aspire to move my body more ... ten more minutes a day of yoga, 30 more minutes a week of heart thumping exercise, 6 more hours a month of not sitting on my ass.
5. I would like to travel to a different country.
6. I want to discover something new in the familiar.
7. I believe I can be stronger for my children and because of them.
8. I promise myself I will try to be forgiving.
9. I will look at the bright side.
10. I will laugh as often as possible.
Happy New Year! May your "potentialities" find you.
Now I shall call them "potentialities" instead of "resolutions". They are my dreams for what may happen in the new year ... but who knows?
1. I hope to paint more and play Spider Solitaire less.
2. I wish to hear, see, and feel more love demonstrated in my home.
3. May my family show the world random acts of brilliance and kindness that will change someone's opinion of what it means to have autism.
4. I aspire to move my body more ... ten more minutes a day of yoga, 30 more minutes a week of heart thumping exercise, 6 more hours a month of not sitting on my ass.
5. I would like to travel to a different country.
6. I want to discover something new in the familiar.
7. I believe I can be stronger for my children and because of them.
8. I promise myself I will try to be forgiving.
9. I will look at the bright side.
10. I will laugh as often as possible.
Happy New Year! May your "potentialities" find you.
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