I Need to Work on My Exorcism Skills

Remember on Thursday when I posted about declaring our house germ free?

This is kind of how it played out...

Me: Germs be gone! Scram! We're done!

Universe: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Suck it.

No sooner than I hit "publish", Anna was complaining that her ear was hurting. If there's one area of parenting that I feel like maybe I need to step up my game (one area? ha ha. more like 100 areas, but let's not even start with that today.) it's in the part where I react to injuries and sickness. I'm pretty laid back when it comes to that stuff and I usually brush most things off with a "oh, you're fine, let me kiss it". I think a lot of that attitude comes from teaching and coaching - seventh graders are reaalllly good at faking illness (or think they are, at least) to get out of doing things like take tests or run laps. So when Anna said her ear hurt, we gave her some Tylenol and went about our day. On Friday she never mentioned it, so I figured it had been a headache and forgot about it. By Saturday afternoon, however, she was saying it hurt again, and this time it was clear to see she was feeling miserable. No appetite, glassy eyes, just generally out of it, so Mike and I decided to swing by the pediatric urgent care on our way home from swim lessons. (See? My kid complains of her ear hurting and I'm all, "shake it off! get in the pool!" Mother of the Year, for sure.) And then I started feeling really bad because in both the waiting room and in the examination room she laid her head in my lap and fell asleep - which never happens. And then I started feeling horrible when the nurse asks me if she's been running a temperature, and just when I'm like, "No, not that I know of," she slides the thermometer across Anna's forehead and shows me the reading: 103.4. Raging fever and ear infection. Like I said, Mother of the Year.

Antibiotics and Tylenol began working their magic right away, enough that Anna could go to a birthday party that evening, but just to be sure we didn't get any slick ideas about getting healthy again, the Universe threw another wrench in our get well plans. And that is how our St. Patrick's Day was spent like many more before it - cleaning up vomit. Except instead of our drunk selves drunk college kids, it was our sweet girl, having a bad reaction to the taste of the Tylenol. (I need to give a major shout out to Mike here. I was all, "Ahh! Puke! She's puking! Ahh!" while he's just calmly holding Anna's hair out of her face and rubbing her back as she spews all over him. He was awesome and it was reason number 4,378 why he's a great dad.) We did manage to make the trip to see my parents, although in hindsight we probably should have just stayed home.

Sacked out at Mema and Grandpa's.

So I guess I learned a few things this weekend. First, don't tempt the health gods with declarations of sickness-free households. Second, I chose well in my husband, particularly when it comes to dealing with the bodily fluids of our children. And last, and probably the most important, I need to do a better job of listening to my kid when she tells me something is wrong.

A Valentine's Day With No Pie

I had every intention of a post today filled with adorable pictures of my girls in cute Valentine's Day garb and gleeful pictures of me scarfing delicious pie.

Alas, Cupid had different plans.

Back story: For the last two years, Alexia and I have taken our girls to a local pie shop for bakery treats, yummy pie, and Valentine's Day celebrating. It's such a sweet tradition, and this year was going to be even sweeter because there are now four little girls to join in on the fun instead of two.

That's where that sneaky Cupid comes in. He came a little early this year, and instead of shooting us with arrows filled with love, he got us with a nasty virus - RSV to be exact. Apparently this virus is pretty common, but when babies get it, things can get scary if it gets into their lungs. After a three-hour trip to Urgent Care (three hours! the irony!) with Mia on Tuesday night, it quickly became obvious our Valentine's tradition was going to be coming to a screeching halt.

And then I got sick, too. If being sick sucks, being sick when your kids are also sick might be the worst torture I can think of. Props to Mike for taking over for a day or two, because I was miserable, complainy, and not feeling romantical in the least. (And despite all that he still bought me roses! He's a keeper I do believe.)

Luckily, I was still able to bribe with candy persuade Anna to put on some of her Valentine's Day gear so I could get a few pictures. Despite having a crusty eye (is my child the only one whose eye starts oozing green crud when she gets any sort of cold?) I think she pulls the look off well.

Here's one of my little patient. RSV or not, she's cute.

Fingers crossed we're all on the mend. Poor Mia has been sick more times in her short life than I can remember Anna being her first two years. Her cough is getting better, and she's slowly returning to the smiley, relaxed baby we're used to. Mike and Anna, other than her eye, seem to have avoided this round of yuckiness so far, knock on wood.

And we're hoping for a rain check for next week. Because after this week, Mama needs some pie.

On Pink Sparkly Nail Polish

Back in the days when I was footloose and fancy free (ahem, childless), one of my favorite evening activities was to give myself manicures and pedicures. I think it started the summer Mike was working in Puerto Rico - I rented every season of "Sex and the City" and spent all those cold, lonely nights re-watching my favorite show and soaking my feet in a big tub of warm, soapy water and filing my nails. Yes, yes, I'm aware that there are nail salons available for this very thing, but for some reason I just sort of like doing it myself. (Also, I always seem to get cut by the poor nail technicians. I've determined I must have thin skin, but nonetheless I'm kind of terrified of contracting a horrible, flesh-eating disease.)

As you can imagine, this sort of activity is kind of difficult when there is a toddler running around. But on Friday night, with a baby shower to attend the next day and the weather heating up (also, maybe some gentle nudging from my sister), I decided a pedicure was in order totally and completely necessary if I ever wanted to show my feet in public again. And so it was that our little family (Mike included!) found ourselves huddled on the couch with our feet soaking while we watched "March of the Penguins" and Anna and I poured over the polish colors in my stash. Fun family times, right?

While trying to paint Anna's toes proved to be one of the most infuriating tasks I've taken on as a mother, it really had me thinking a lot about having a daughter. Before I ever had kids, and even up until the moment Anna was born and Mike declared, "It's a girl!", I was pretty convinced I was destined to be the mother to boys. I'm not really sure why, but for some reason it was all I could picture, even though I grew up with only one sister. I can remember getting a package from my mom in the mail for my birthday when I was pregnant with Anna and it was filled with knitting needles and yarn and other fun sewing and crafting goodies and it was the first time I thought to myself that I might be a little sad if I never had a daughter, because then who would I send crafty care packages to? And now I'm pretty convinced that I'm destined to be the mother to all girls - which is basically me confessing that now that I have a daughter, the idea of a baby with little boy parts scares the crap out of me.

I know, without a doubt, that Mike never expected to be spending a Friday night up to his shins in bubbles and shouting, "Pedicure Party!" while his daughter and wife debated the merits of pink sparkles. But I also know that Mike and Anna share one of the most amazing and natural relationships I've ever witnessed, even though sparkly things are high on her list and not-so-high on his. I suppose being a parent is like many things in life - you have no idea what to expect, and then you just learn as you go, even if it's not what you planned or imagined.

But watching the man you love throw his idea of a good time out the window to appease the little girl you adore, you can sure feel a lot better about knowing that no matter what, it's going to be amazing.

Especially if you have a fresh pedicure.

Mike took this picture one evening out in the yard.

What was going on while I was at the aforementioned baby shower.

Playing ball with Dada.

Her Soul Crawled Out From Its Hiding Place

One of my favorite books is Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. Janie, the main character, goes through a couple of rough marriages and relationships before she finally meets the man she is meant to be with - Tea Cake. Janie starts wearing blue, because for the first time in her life, someone she loves has expressed a preference for what she wears: "Tea Cake love me in blue, so Ah wears it."

I have a point, I promise.

I never was too interested in experimenting in the kitchen. My mind is definitely filled with awesome memories of decorating cookies at the holidays with my mom and sister, and I certainly always enjoyed eating the delicious food my mom put on the table, but I wasn't ever that inspired to whip something up myself.

That all changed when I met Mike.

The old saying about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach? Yeah, you can say that again.

I quickly learned that the surest way to bring a smile to Mike's face was to present him with food. And I don't know about you, but when I discover I have the ability to bring joy to someone I love - well, I'm gonna bring it. It started off simple, usually involving fifteen phone calls to my mom from the aisles in the grocery store to make sure I was buying the right ingredients. And sandwiches. Lots and lots of sandwiches.

One day, I stumbled across the Food Network and happened to catch an episode of Rachael Ray's "Thirty Minute Meals". That, my friends, is what I like to call a game changer. Because I found her website, and then my mom bought me a few of her cookbooks (perhaps to avoid all the annoying phone calls?), and I subscribed to her magazine, and before I knew it Rach had me exploring the worlds of Italian parsley and EVOO and all things Yum-o! Full disclosure here - while I love her cookbooks and her magazine and often look recipes up on her website, I have a really, really hard time watching her on television. I know she has lots of haters, but the girl expanded my cooking horizons by about a million, so I give her props, even if I can't stand the sound of her voice.


And then she published a recipe for a beef and cheddar pie in her magazine, and the angels sang and Mike's stomach did a happy dance and the circle was complete.

This recipe, for what we now call "meat pie", probably gets requested the most when I ask Mike what he would like for dinner - if anything, it's a close second to BLTs (see - back to the sandwiches!). When I first invited our friends the Mansours over for dinner, this was on the menu. And, no joke, Mike said to me, "Wait. I have to share my meat pie with strangers?" And the last time I made this, again no joke, he told me that when he dies he would like to be buried in meat pie.

So now, I would like to share the recipe with you. It's definitely not healthy, although I suppose you could reduce the amount of cheese and use ground turkey or chicken instead of beef. It is delicious, though. If you don't believe me, just ask Mike.

Meat Pie


Ingredients:
2 pounds ground beef
2 carrots, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1 large onion, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
2 stalks celery, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1 large clove garlic, finely chopped
1 large baking potato, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1/2 cup dark beer - I've used Newcastle and Bell's Best Brown, anything in your fridge will work
8 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
Salt and pepper
2 sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed but cold
1 large egg yolk, beaten with 1 tablespoon water


1. Preheat the oven to 375. Once you have all the veggies chopped up (for me, this is the longest/most annoying part), throw them into a big skillet with the meat. Over medium-high heat, break up the meat with a wooden spoon and stir everything up until the meat is no longer pink and some of the liquid has evaporated, probably about 15 minutes.

Lower the heat to medium, and then add your beer. Let that cook for about 10 minutes.

Throw in the cheese, 2 teaspoons of salt, and 1/2 teaspoon of pepper. Give it a good stir, and then remove from heat and let cool. 

2. On a floured surface, roll out one of the puff pastry sheets so it's about 12 inches round. Place it on a deep-dish pie plate or a 10-inch oven-proof skillet. I use a skillet - I tried the first time to use just a regular pie dish (not deep) and it didn't all fit. I've also used a 9x9 Pyrex, but for me the skillet is the way to go.

Roll the second piece of pastry into an 11-inch round. Using a slotted spoon, scoop the meat mixture into the skillet. 

Lightly brush the edge of the crust with some of the egg wash, then put the second sheet on top. Crimp the edges together, and trim them if you need to.

3. Put the whole pie on a baking sheet. Brush the top with more of the egg wash, and cut an "x" in the middle. You can also get a little fancy here and cut out some shapes with your leftover pastry. Sprinkle it liberally with more salt and pepper. 

Bake for 45 minutes. I usually check it about halfway and throw some foil on top if it's starting to get too dark. Let it rest for about 15 minutes, and you are ready to enjoy!

I try to serve this with a salad, but Mike usually laughs it off as he's asking for seconds. It's also really good heated up as leftovers the next day - if you have any!

Even Anna gives her seal of approval.

Oh yeah - the original recipe can be found here.

I hope you enjoy!

Happy Friday!

What recipes do you make to bring it? Please share!

Boo!

Happy Halloween!

For as long as I can remember, Halloween has been one of my favorite holidays. Probably mostly due to the facts that my birthday is so close, and my mom always created amazing costumes for me to wear - even when I was in college and the holiday became less about collecting copious amounts of candy, and more about drinking copious amounts of beer. Oh, college.

Lucky for Anna (and me), my mom is still willing to whip out her sewing machine when I get an idea, and this year's costume may be the cutest yet. I'll let you be the judge of that...

We met up with some friends Thursday evening to take the little ones to downtown East Lansing for the Pumpkin Walk. I know I was way more excited that Anna was, at least this year, since she had no clue what was coming her way. A wagon ride, hanging out with Elmo and the White Swan, and unlimited candy, popcorn, and donut holes just might have convinced her that Halloween is where it's at.

I did mention my birthday, didn't I? So I guess there's no denying that I am now officially thirty. It's funny, because when you are eighteen, the prospect of turning thirty can be scary and daunting - it just seems so darn old. Now that I'm here, though, it's almost the opposite. Yes, yes, being a teenager is fun, what with its carefree days and late nights and endless possibilities. But I'd trade all that freedom for what I have right now, in a heart beat.

My day was lovely, filled with insanely delicious French toast, phone calls, cards, and emails from my loved ones, and this:


And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Mike threw me a surprise party, and it got much, much better. It was the perfect ending to my day - a small gathering of some of the most important and loved people in my life, and I don't think the smile left my face all night.

Photos once again brought to you by my good totally awesome, pretty-much-like-a-brother, friend Steven.

I am a lucky girl.


Trick or Treat!
Happy Monday!

Wooden Shoes & Raisin Buns

Since Tuesday was our anniversary, my sweet sister offered to babysit Anna while Mike and I went off on a little adventure to celebrate. Our initial plan was to go canoeing, an activity we loved in our child-free days. Since I'm not Pocahontas, paddling down a river with a baby strapped to my back just hasn't been an option the last 18 months.

With no real destination in mind, we settled on Holland. It's only about an hour from our house, is right on Lake Michigan, and is the town where Mike was born. Plus, with the exception of a wedding I attended with Kristin a few nights before, I had never been. And did I mention that there are lots of Dutch people there?

Maybe it's because my heritage is a mish-mash of a whole bunch of different things, but I think it's really cool that Mike is 100% Dutch - he's the first American born in his family. I love that he calls his grandma "Oma" (and that Anna has an Oma and Opa, too!) and that he loves the color orange and I even love the fact that he devours these disgusting Dutch candies called Double Salts (extra salty black licorice - gross!).

So a whole town of people just like Mike? Awesome. We sat out on a patio and drank beer. We watched fireworks. We scarfed treats from the Dutch bakery. We walked along Lake Michigan. We found the house Mike's Oma and Opa used to live in. We even went to a wooden shoe factory.

We had such a good time just wandering around and laughing and reminiscing about our wedding, know what we forgot to do? Go canoeing. Maybe my inner Pocahontas will be making an appearance this summer after all...

Mike was really happy to be, as he put it, "amongst his people".

This is what I like to call "Mama Juice". As in, "No, Anna, you can't drink that. It's Mama Juice."

Dutch Treats! Aforementioned Gross Candies, Raisin Buns, Windmill Cookies, Wilhelmina Peppermints

I love it here!

How awesome are these slippers we got for Anna??

Happy Thursday!