I am so tricky. Both boys ate carrots two days in a row. I steamed a handful of baby carrots and blended some up in vanilla yogurt and some up in apple sauce. (Although I am totally impressed with myself, you should not be. In all honesty I burned the bottom of the pot when I was steaming the carrots and that burnt smell lingered in them even when mixed with the other food). But my boys still ate them up. At lunch today Jett asked me how I turned the applesauce orange. I told him that I put some orange stuff in there and mixed it up. He said, "Carrots are orange. Did you put carrots in there?" But I told him to just think of how many orange foods there are. "Like apple juice!" he exclaimed.
Exactly. Like apple juice.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
They can't eat grilled cheese every night
I haven't written about Christmas because my camera's batteries are currently in the Hullabaloo game which is currently living with the family I am babysitting for every day, and for some reason I can't imagine writing a post about the holidays without including holiday photos. But for the sake of this post I need to mention one story.
While we were at my parents Charlie and I tried to cook dinner for them one night. We made beef burgundy in the crock pot, and it was a total disaster. First of all, I'm not a very good cook and I don't know how to trim the excess fat off a hunk of meat. So the meal was fatty - fat enough so that all of the fat congealed on my mom's plate before she ever started eating. But that wasn't really the disaster.
When Charlie and I were serving up the plates, we saw a small rectangle of plastic floating in the broth. It had a symbol on it. I considered throwing it away and not mentioning it, but instead I showed it to everyone in bewilderment.
We all became detectives. My dad got out his magnifying class so we could better see the symbol (which appeared to be a hand getting sprinkled with water. I know - weird). My dad got on Google. My mom looked up the phone number for Krogers, handed the phone to Charlie, and peered over my dad's shoulder, out-google-ing him. I sat at the table with the magnifying glass, watched the fat congeal on my mom's plate, and gave everyone advice. I told Charlie to talk to the produce guy and the meat guy. I told my dad how to open a link in a new tab. I agreed with my mom that we could just stir-fry some vegetables and eat them with the mashed potatoes. I complained that I was hungry.
After much guessing and google-searching we learned that it was an anti-theft device that is usually imbedded in the absorbent pad that is under the meat, on the styrofoam try. Funny, I thought. There was no absorbent pad in this package of meat. Three of us decide not to eat the beef. My dad forges ahead, says it tastes great.
Later we're cleaning up and my mom is emptying the crock pot when she finds the absorbent pad, black now, and stringy, and nasty, soaking in the broth. See, in my effort to not have to actually touch the meat, I just slid it from the package in to the crock pot, packaging and all. And my dad ate it.
Anyway, so now you know, I'm not a very careful cook. Which means that the dinners that Charlie and I cooked these last two weeks are something to brag about, just because they happened. I mean, they were edible and didn't contain one speck of styrofoam. They smelled good and contained ingredients that the kids like. We thought it would be a great time to start insisting that the boys eat what we eat. No more cooking a kid's meal and an adult meal. One meal. One.
We didn't think it would happen over night. I thought they might eat a "side" portion of what we were eating. I thought they'd try a bite, and then another and another.
Instead, neither of them tried any bite of anything we cooked. We made mac-n-cheese, beef stew, vegetable and pasta soup, butternut squash gnocchi, chicken casserole, bavarian stew, and curly coconut pasta. All home made. They ate none of it.
Twice we told Jett that he had to try one bite, just one bite, or he couldn't watch any TV after dinner. Tonight all he had to try was one small bite of one baked apple. An apple that was on it's way to becoming applesauce, which he loves. No way. He chose no TV, and he didn't even complain.
Tomorrow night we are having home-made pea soup. The remote is up for grabs.
While we were at my parents Charlie and I tried to cook dinner for them one night. We made beef burgundy in the crock pot, and it was a total disaster. First of all, I'm not a very good cook and I don't know how to trim the excess fat off a hunk of meat. So the meal was fatty - fat enough so that all of the fat congealed on my mom's plate before she ever started eating. But that wasn't really the disaster.
When Charlie and I were serving up the plates, we saw a small rectangle of plastic floating in the broth. It had a symbol on it. I considered throwing it away and not mentioning it, but instead I showed it to everyone in bewilderment.
We all became detectives. My dad got out his magnifying class so we could better see the symbol (which appeared to be a hand getting sprinkled with water. I know - weird). My dad got on Google. My mom looked up the phone number for Krogers, handed the phone to Charlie, and peered over my dad's shoulder, out-google-ing him. I sat at the table with the magnifying glass, watched the fat congeal on my mom's plate, and gave everyone advice. I told Charlie to talk to the produce guy and the meat guy. I told my dad how to open a link in a new tab. I agreed with my mom that we could just stir-fry some vegetables and eat them with the mashed potatoes. I complained that I was hungry.
After much guessing and google-searching we learned that it was an anti-theft device that is usually imbedded in the absorbent pad that is under the meat, on the styrofoam try. Funny, I thought. There was no absorbent pad in this package of meat. Three of us decide not to eat the beef. My dad forges ahead, says it tastes great.
Later we're cleaning up and my mom is emptying the crock pot when she finds the absorbent pad, black now, and stringy, and nasty, soaking in the broth. See, in my effort to not have to actually touch the meat, I just slid it from the package in to the crock pot, packaging and all. And my dad ate it.
Anyway, so now you know, I'm not a very careful cook. Which means that the dinners that Charlie and I cooked these last two weeks are something to brag about, just because they happened. I mean, they were edible and didn't contain one speck of styrofoam. They smelled good and contained ingredients that the kids like. We thought it would be a great time to start insisting that the boys eat what we eat. No more cooking a kid's meal and an adult meal. One meal. One.
We didn't think it would happen over night. I thought they might eat a "side" portion of what we were eating. I thought they'd try a bite, and then another and another.
Instead, neither of them tried any bite of anything we cooked. We made mac-n-cheese, beef stew, vegetable and pasta soup, butternut squash gnocchi, chicken casserole, bavarian stew, and curly coconut pasta. All home made. They ate none of it.
Twice we told Jett that he had to try one bite, just one bite, or he couldn't watch any TV after dinner. Tonight all he had to try was one small bite of one baked apple. An apple that was on it's way to becoming applesauce, which he loves. No way. He chose no TV, and he didn't even complain.
Tomorrow night we are having home-made pea soup. The remote is up for grabs.
Monday, January 18, 2010
What I Learned Today
Or more specifically, what I learned about three year olds while babysitting two of them today:
1. There will be tantrums. It doesn't matter that a three year old just won Candy Land four times in a row, he will still have a meltdown when he loses game number five.
2. And more tantrums. A three year old might act like he's ok with losing Candy Land four times in a row, but he is not. He really needs to go first the next time, and just let him be the red gingerbread man for once, alright? Geesh. Give the kid a break.
3. You will also want to fling yourself to the floor. If he is in the middle of an intense game of the Toy Story Alien Game, a three year old will not stop playing to pee. Instead he will pee while playing. In fact, he will pee while playing and yelling, "I'm peeing in my pants! I'm peeing in my pants!" Furthermore, when you run in to the room and tell him to "Stop peeing! Stop!" he will stare at you blankly as if you are the one being ridiculous. (By the way, Jett, if this blog somehow still exists when you are old enough to read it, I am stating here for the record that you were not the one peeing your pants. It was your friend, who shall remain nameless).
4. But you will have to act like the adult. If you ask him to wash his hands, but he starts to put on his socks, and you gently ask him to please wash his hands first (seriously, he just used those hands to take off his pee-covered clothes!) he might say, "like I've told you a million times already, I have to put on my socks first." It will not matter that he actually has not told you that a million times before, has has not told you that even once before. It will not matter. Just keep your mouth shut and let it go.
5. You will have to think on your feet. It takes approximately fifteen minutes to dry a wet pair of child-size pants and underwear under the hand dryers in the men's bathroom at the Garfield Park Conservatory. (This time the clothes were wet from a fall in a puddle, not pee).
6. And be diplomatic. Never acknowledge which child is taller, faster, bigger, or older. Don't let them run a race, and above all, do not be the judge of any race they run.
7. It's all just a matter of luck. No matter how much energy they seem to have, put them down for a nap. You never know, they might just fall asleep. Relief!
1. There will be tantrums. It doesn't matter that a three year old just won Candy Land four times in a row, he will still have a meltdown when he loses game number five.
2. And more tantrums. A three year old might act like he's ok with losing Candy Land four times in a row, but he is not. He really needs to go first the next time, and just let him be the red gingerbread man for once, alright? Geesh. Give the kid a break.
3. You will also want to fling yourself to the floor. If he is in the middle of an intense game of the Toy Story Alien Game, a three year old will not stop playing to pee. Instead he will pee while playing. In fact, he will pee while playing and yelling, "I'm peeing in my pants! I'm peeing in my pants!" Furthermore, when you run in to the room and tell him to "Stop peeing! Stop!" he will stare at you blankly as if you are the one being ridiculous. (By the way, Jett, if this blog somehow still exists when you are old enough to read it, I am stating here for the record that you were not the one peeing your pants. It was your friend, who shall remain nameless).
4. But you will have to act like the adult. If you ask him to wash his hands, but he starts to put on his socks, and you gently ask him to please wash his hands first (seriously, he just used those hands to take off his pee-covered clothes!) he might say, "like I've told you a million times already, I have to put on my socks first." It will not matter that he actually has not told you that a million times before, has has not told you that even once before. It will not matter. Just keep your mouth shut and let it go.
5. You will have to think on your feet. It takes approximately fifteen minutes to dry a wet pair of child-size pants and underwear under the hand dryers in the men's bathroom at the Garfield Park Conservatory. (This time the clothes were wet from a fall in a puddle, not pee).
6. And be diplomatic. Never acknowledge which child is taller, faster, bigger, or older. Don't let them run a race, and above all, do not be the judge of any race they run.
7. It's all just a matter of luck. No matter how much energy they seem to have, put them down for a nap. You never know, they might just fall asleep. Relief!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Gangsta Babysittas
Charlie and I have been babysitting our friends' kids this week. It's been fun because way back in the days before Kai, Jett and their son Will were together every day, under the care of a lovely, quiet polish woman. Once their baby and our baby were born I stopped working, and the nanny we shared started watching their two boys. Sadly and suddenly last month she had to hasten back to Poland for a family emergency and they were left scrambling for child care. Enter The Johnsons.
It's been fun. The kids are exhuasted at the end of the day from all of their playing, fighting, and playing some more. Ironically Will goes to preschool in the morning and Jett goes in the afternoon, so these two old friends rarely cross paths. But Kai plays all day with whichever boys are home, and he's loving it. We go to their house every day, where they have a carpeted but furniture-free basement and a backyard, plus the novelty of different toys.
Every morning Charlie drops the boys and me off at our friends' house, then heads back home to do stuff. I spend the morning negotiating peace treaties with the greediest lobbiests on the planet: toddlers. It's just Jett, me, and two 20-month olds. Some mornings are better than others, in that sometimes Jett has 5 time outs, and sometimes he has 3. The little boys are easy to manage for the most part.
Today Will didn't go to school, so Charlie stayed and helped me with all four boys all day. Good thing too, because the first hour was not pretty. Jett started hitting and Will started tattling and pretty soon they were pointing their hands at each other and shooting imaginary bullets out of their index fingers. I tried to stop them from shooting their finger-guns at each other, but unfortunately I can not put their own fingers out of their reach.
Later we decided to take the boys outside to play in the snow. Getting dressed for outside burned about 30 minutes of daylight, which was a bonus. We made the mistake of bundling all four boys into their coats and snowpants before putting any of their boots on, so they were all stuck inside, puffy and sweaty and covered in nylon, none of them able to go outside until one of them was completely dressed. But of course none of them would sit down or sit still long enough to put their boots on. They just kept running around in big puffy circles, rebounding off of the walls and wrestling with each other in the hallway like a bunch of sweaty sumo-wrestlers.
Then it happened. Charlie told Will that he could go outside as soon as he put his freaking boots on. "Yeah,"three-year-old Will agreed, "I have to get my freaking boots on."
On Monday we started with four happy little boys and by Friday we've got a house full of gun-toting, smack-talking toddlers. Anybody else need a babysitter? The kids love us.
It's been fun. The kids are exhuasted at the end of the day from all of their playing, fighting, and playing some more. Ironically Will goes to preschool in the morning and Jett goes in the afternoon, so these two old friends rarely cross paths. But Kai plays all day with whichever boys are home, and he's loving it. We go to their house every day, where they have a carpeted but furniture-free basement and a backyard, plus the novelty of different toys.
Every morning Charlie drops the boys and me off at our friends' house, then heads back home to do stuff. I spend the morning negotiating peace treaties with the greediest lobbiests on the planet: toddlers. It's just Jett, me, and two 20-month olds. Some mornings are better than others, in that sometimes Jett has 5 time outs, and sometimes he has 3. The little boys are easy to manage for the most part.
Today Will didn't go to school, so Charlie stayed and helped me with all four boys all day. Good thing too, because the first hour was not pretty. Jett started hitting and Will started tattling and pretty soon they were pointing their hands at each other and shooting imaginary bullets out of their index fingers. I tried to stop them from shooting their finger-guns at each other, but unfortunately I can not put their own fingers out of their reach.
Later we decided to take the boys outside to play in the snow. Getting dressed for outside burned about 30 minutes of daylight, which was a bonus. We made the mistake of bundling all four boys into their coats and snowpants before putting any of their boots on, so they were all stuck inside, puffy and sweaty and covered in nylon, none of them able to go outside until one of them was completely dressed. But of course none of them would sit down or sit still long enough to put their boots on. They just kept running around in big puffy circles, rebounding off of the walls and wrestling with each other in the hallway like a bunch of sweaty sumo-wrestlers.
Then it happened. Charlie told Will that he could go outside as soon as he put his freaking boots on. "Yeah,"three-year-old Will agreed, "I have to get my freaking boots on."
On Monday we started with four happy little boys and by Friday we've got a house full of gun-toting, smack-talking toddlers. Anybody else need a babysitter? The kids love us.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Blowing Caution to the Wind
Oh, hello. What are you doing here? What? Reading my blog? I have a blog? When did I last write a blog post? Before Christmas AND New Years? I missed two holidays? Oh so THAT'S what was happening last week. I was WONDERING why my kids were so...so...energized...and happy....and covered in cookie crumbs. Whew, that was fun!
So the New Year has started and I am optimistic. I just don't believe that we are going to go two full years without employment. I mean, that is just impossible, right? Sixteen months, sure, but twenty-four? That would be ridiculous. Unheard of.
Ohmygodsomebodystopme. Remember three years ago when I bragged about Jett sleeping through the night? That was classic, because I think I was awake for another two months after that. You would think that I would have learned my lesson.
But I'm not superstitious.
Like today, for example. Today I don't take it as a symbol of things to come that the interview Charlie had lined up for Thursday got cancelled. Got cancelled because they decided not to fill the position - for now. Nahhhhhhh. Not superstitious. Caution to the wind, I say! Blow! Blow!
But I'll tell you what I do take as an omen - a good omen. Today we bucked tradition and skipped Jett's nap. We didn't even give him "quiet time". We just let him play and play and take three time-outs and then play some more and not eat his lunch and then I took him to school, thank god. THEN at home this evening I put both boys to bed at the same time - in the same room - and they fell right asleep. We read books on Jett's bed, then I lifted Kai in to his crib, tucked Jett under his blankets, sweetly threatened Jett that if he got out of bed I would turn off his nightlight - and then I simply left the room and they simply stayed in their beds. Without giggling or fighting or throwing their sippy cups across the room. It was 7:55 pm.
I walked out of that room feeling like I deserved a gold-medal in parenting. I did not feel guilty at all about my turn-off-the-night-light-threat. Until just now, when I wrote that, a little bit. But it worked! Something worked.
Until tonight I've been sitting and nursing Kai in his dark room and then putting him in his crib to sleep. Then half an hour later we'd start the torture of putting Jett to bed. We'd let him fall asleep in our bed, and then move him to his own bed when we went to bed. It was a good arrangement for a while, but I started getting annoyed. I wanted to go through the dreaded bedtime routine once, not once with each kid. I wanted Jett to be tired at bedtime. I wanted him to fall asleep in his own bed, not mine. I wanted them both asleep before 8pm.
Tonight something worked. We did it. I'm optimistic. Happy new year.
So the New Year has started and I am optimistic. I just don't believe that we are going to go two full years without employment. I mean, that is just impossible, right? Sixteen months, sure, but twenty-four? That would be ridiculous. Unheard of.
Ohmygodsomebodystopme. Remember three years ago when I bragged about Jett sleeping through the night? That was classic, because I think I was awake for another two months after that. You would think that I would have learned my lesson.
But I'm not superstitious.
Like today, for example. Today I don't take it as a symbol of things to come that the interview Charlie had lined up for Thursday got cancelled. Got cancelled because they decided not to fill the position - for now. Nahhhhhhh. Not superstitious. Caution to the wind, I say! Blow! Blow!
But I'll tell you what I do take as an omen - a good omen. Today we bucked tradition and skipped Jett's nap. We didn't even give him "quiet time". We just let him play and play and take three time-outs and then play some more and not eat his lunch and then I took him to school, thank god. THEN at home this evening I put both boys to bed at the same time - in the same room - and they fell right asleep. We read books on Jett's bed, then I lifted Kai in to his crib, tucked Jett under his blankets, sweetly threatened Jett that if he got out of bed I would turn off his nightlight - and then I simply left the room and they simply stayed in their beds. Without giggling or fighting or throwing their sippy cups across the room. It was 7:55 pm.
I walked out of that room feeling like I deserved a gold-medal in parenting. I did not feel guilty at all about my turn-off-the-night-light-threat. Until just now, when I wrote that, a little bit. But it worked! Something worked.
Until tonight I've been sitting and nursing Kai in his dark room and then putting him in his crib to sleep. Then half an hour later we'd start the torture of putting Jett to bed. We'd let him fall asleep in our bed, and then move him to his own bed when we went to bed. It was a good arrangement for a while, but I started getting annoyed. I wanted to go through the dreaded bedtime routine once, not once with each kid. I wanted Jett to be tired at bedtime. I wanted him to fall asleep in his own bed, not mine. I wanted them both asleep before 8pm.
Tonight something worked. We did it. I'm optimistic. Happy new year.
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