Root Canals, Jesus in a Box, and on and on

What a week (and a couple of days). Allow me to recap...

Thursday (January 10th): The beginning. Ben was up all night (Wednesday into Thursday) crying. It was a BAD flashback to early babyhood. If our baby had been possessed by the devil. Thursday 8:30 AM: Heather goes in to the dentist for a filling and ends up having a ROOT CANAL. Later the same day, Ben goes into the pediatrician and we find out he is not the devil, but has a nasty ear infection. Drugs for everyone. (Heather's: anti-anxiety for the dentist visit, pain meds for after the ROOT CANAL. Ben: good old "orange" antibiotic).

Friday/Saturday: Hang out days. We all recover. Ben and Heather go to the gym with Ben's girlfriend Olivia and her mom.

Sunday: Ben feels better. We know this because Ben talks non-stop for 3 hours and demands his parents pretend to be Daphne, Velma, Donatello, Leonardo, a random knight, a hippo, and that they play with him and pay attention to him ALL THE TIME. By 3:00, Don and Heather are looking online and in the phone book for sleep away boarding preschools.

Monday/Tuesday: Beginning of a new Kindermusik semester. Ben goes to school, we settle back into a "real" routine.

Wednesday: Heather wins "Parent of the Year" award and is happy to announce that her only competition for "Parent of the Decade" is Brittney Spears. Heather spent the day in bed or on the couch contemplating death by sinus infection while she prompted her child to drag a step stool to the pantry and to help himself (Costco bag of Cheetos, anyone?). She then buys the Ninja Turtle movie (PG rating) off the On Demand feature on the cable box and tells him to close his door to watch so the dogs don't eat all the Cheetos. MORE DRUGS: Heather-- Z-pack for a sinus infection, Tylenol Cold & Sinus to sleep, etc.. (hence the good parenting).

Thursday: Freaking snow day. You've gotta be kidding me. Thursday was supposed to be "Heather takes Ben to school and sleeps all day... you know a "sick day". 6:00 AM? No school. So, Thursday was a slightly less inappropriate version of Wednesday. Ben became quite proficient at bringing EVERY TOY HE OWNS into the bedroom and piling them up so we could play without me leaving my pillow. If only he could learn to open the fridge and bring me a Diet Coke.

Friday: PRAISE THE Z-PACK. With the exception of a head cold, I have been healed. I'm gonna start calling Zythromax "Jesus in a Box", 'cause its healing powers are miraculous. With Baby Linus in tow, we made it to open gym and Ben had a haircut. We even went out to dinner like real people last night.

One funny from the week:

Wednesday, we had to go to Target to pick up the Jesus in a Box. When we got there, I realized the pharmacy was closed for lunch, so we had to kill 30 minutes in Target. Normally, that is easy, but when you feel like your face is going to explode, it's more complicated. We went to the toy aisle and I told Ben he could play. Then, I told him he could choose ANY toy he wanted and we'd take it home. This immense toy power, coupled with the Cheetos freedom, mixed with being allowed to do whatever he wanted because no one was really paying attention led him to the following sweet comment:

B: (climbs into bed with me and pats my head) Mommy, you know what, Mommy?
H: what?
B: (kisses my forehead) Well, Mommy.... (gets very close to my face... kisses my forehead again).... I just LOVE your sick days.

ValPac Value of the week

While thumbing through the ValPac Coupons that arrived in the mail today, one particular coupon really caught my eye.


Do you see that magical green box? Guess where I'll be on Wednesday at 9:00AM... (it does say, "All Day.")

Wife, Mother, Cranio-Facial Surgeon

Ah, the fine print in a job description. I thought I had pretty much figured out the day to day duties in my job as "Mom to Ben." Then my tyrant of a boss (he's 3) decided to dump a bunch of new responsibilities on me for the new year. I am NOT getting the salary I deserve. I mean, I spend a portion of my week having conversations with someone else's poop.

My new responsibilities include but are not limited to:

Master Storyteller/ Plot Enhancer: Ben's new favorite thing to do in the car is to make up stories. Non-stop. We were in the car for 25 minutes and he talked without stopping. If you don't hang on his every word and respond with the proper phrases, there is hell to pay.
B: Mom, you start.
H: Once upon a time...
B: There was a girl, a girl, and a boy. Their names-es were Daphne, Velma, and Ben. WHAT'S NEXT, MOMMY.
H: It was cold outside, so they decided...
B: to go to Starbuck's in the Mystery Machine.
H: So they started to drive...
B: No, Mom. They didn't. Listen to me.
H: Sorry.
B: They went inside... the good one... on Metcalf... they ordered their drinks. Daphne had a latte. Velma and Ben had cheeseburgers.
H: I don't think they have cheeseburgers at Starbuck's.
B: Well, Mommy. It's my story. They had cheeseburgers.

SUCKER!!!: In grocery stores, at Target, Costco, Borders, the gas station... I must cave to any request quickly, no matter how reasonable/unreasonable. It is the reason we have a new pop up Dinosaur book (see cranio-facial surgeon below), Scooby Doo push up pop frozen treats, and a horde of plastic "toys" (crap) in various toy bins and baskets around the house. It might also explain the 4 identical Lightning McQueen matchbox cars.

Telepathic Butler: I feel like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada. In my house, the Devil wears Baby Gap. I should know which Scooby Doo he wants (from helpful descriptions like, "the one where Daphne falls down..), when he might want a snack, exactly how many Goldfish crackers to put in the Cars bowl, and on, and on, and on. He's not demanding, he knows what he wants. Right.

Omniscient Professor of the following (it is unacceptable for me to not know everything about any of the categories below. If I don't know them, I better make them up quickly--- and then remember what I made up so I can give the same answer when he requests it again later the same day):
--Scooby Doo (including, but not limited to: Scooby Doo, Where Are You, What's New Scooby Doo?, A Pup Named Scooby Doo, any/all Scooby Doo full-length movie features, all Scooby characters-- including ages, parents' names, hobbies)

--Dinosaurs

--Perfect Strangers: Why random people at stoplights are driving the cars they are driving, where they are going, their names, their kids' names, their pets, when we'll see them again, etc. It also includes knowing the details about people around us in stores (why are they buying that, Mommy?), at restaurants, and on and on and on.


Cranio-Facial Surgeon/ Archaeologist: Tonight, my most pressing task was to repair the pop up head off a Tyrannosaurus Rex from a Dinosaur book he chose from Border's earlier in the evening. It took scrapbooking paper glue, 5 paper clips, a fair amount of swearing, and about 15 minutes. That's when I realized that the top of his head was no longer aligned to his lower jaw and had to tear it all apart and start over. I am pleased to report that after another surgery, the patient is resting comfortably and will be ready to terrorize one and all by morning.

Maybe if I work really hard, I'll get a nice mid-year bonus.... or a few vacation days.

And some of you people wonder why I haven't had a second?

Jinkies! You're crazy.

It turns out that another genetic trait Ben may have gotten from me is the crazy gene. While probably not severe enough for any formal diagnosis, I'm sure that we both are a little right of normal when it comes to certain obsessive behaviors. You know, like me wanting to sleep with a piece of cookware (see that post here). Ben's obsession has been going on for quite awhile. He is completely consumed by all things Scooby Doo.

He knows all their names, facts about the Mystery Machine, and random details about the mysteries solved in every episode he's watched. Their lingo has found its way into his daily vocabulary--- "Zoinks!" "Jinkies, Mommy." "Rut-roh."

For some reason, he is particularly attached to Velma. (Note: ANY comments about boys liking girls who are like their mothers will result in severe consequences.) Not pretty, stylish Daphne, but dumpy, smart Velma. Hmmm....

We've been living with the running conversation surrounding Scooby Doo:
B: Mom, do you know what I'm going to say to Velma, Mom?
H: What, Ben?
B: Well, one question. I'm going to tell her a question.
H: What question are you going to ASK her?
B: Well. I'm gonna say, "Velma, I love you."
(re-read this 10 or 15 times in a row. Occasionally, you can replace "Velma, I love you." with "Wanna go to Starbuck's with the gang?" That's what it's like to ride in the car with us these days.)

Last night, I realized the obsession may have gone over the line. You know, like those strung out heroin junkies on "Real Life" on MTV or the people confronted with an A&E camera crew on "Intervention" who have hit rock bottom and suddenly realize they need help? Here's how it went...

Before I go into the story, I should warn you. It's bathroom humor. Literally. It's a poop story.

While doing his evening business, Ben was telling me a story about "The Gang" and how they were going to ride snow mobiles. Just then, the child deposited two huge turds into the toilet. Now, this is always a proud moment in our house... he has to check them out, determine which is bigger, discuss if they float or sink (I'm not making this up).
B: Wow! That's some BIIIIIIIIIIIIIG poop.
H: Yep.
B: (sounding as excited as Christmas morning) Mommy, look, it's Daphne and Velma. Hi, Daphne! Hi, Velma! (suddenly concerned) Are you guys going away forever?
H: (flushes)
B: (looking in the toilet) Bye, girls. I will miss you. (sad face) Mommy, they're gone forever. Flushed away.

Maybe "Promises" has a rehab wing for obsessed fans. In a joint New Year's Resolution, maybe Ben and I can work on dialing down the crazy.

What's for Dinner: Beer Braised BBQ Chicken

For quite some time, I have been coveting a specific piece of cookware, but have been much too cheap to buy it. Imagine my delight when it arrived in a box from my Aunt Nancy! Don was pretty sure I had completely lost it because I sat on the couch hugging it for a long time after opening the box. He drew the line when I wondered aloud if it would be wrong to put it next to my pillow when I went to bed that night. After tonight's dinner, he may want it on his nightstand!


Below is the recipe for Beer Braised BBQ Chicken. Aunt Nancy made it for dinner one night when we were in Florida and inadvertently began my Le Creuset obsession. Now, I'm not saying you HAVE to own the 5 1/2Qt. Round Oven to successfully make this dish, but.... I did make it once before and it was WAY better tonight. (I usually remember to take a picture of my version, but we were so excited to dig in that I forgot until we had already finished eating.)


Beer-Braised Barbecued Chicken from Williams Sonoma
In our version of barbecued chicken, the chicken is first braised on the stove top until tender in a flavorful combination of beer and barbecue sauce, then quickly grilled just before serving. Use only thighs, drumsticks and wings for this recipe; chicken breasts will turn out dry when braised and grilled.
4 lb. chicken thighs, drumsticks and wings
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
4 Tbs. canola oil
2 yellow onions, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1 1/4 cups ale or lager-style beer
2 1/2 cups barbecue sauce

Season the chicken with salt and pepper. In a Dutch oven over medium-high heat, warm 3 Tbs. of the oil until almost smoking. Working in batches, brown the chicken on all sides, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer to a platter.

Add the remaining 1 Tbs. oil to the pan along with the onions. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 5 to 7 minutes.

Stir in the beer and barbecue sauce and bring to a boil. Add the chicken, reduce the heat to low, cover and cook until tender, about 1 hour.

Using tongs, transfer the chicken to a baking sheet and let cool to room temperature. Meanwhile, bring the sauce to a simmer over medium-high heat and simmer until thickened, about 30 minutes. Pour the sauce into a shallow bowl and let cool to lukewarm, about 30 minutes.

Preheat an indoor electric grill on medium-high heat. Brush the chicken on both sides with some of the sauce. Grill the chicken, turning once and brushing occasionally with more sauce, until nicely grill-marked, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer the chicken to a platter and brush with more sauce.
Serves 4.

Holiday Hangover

Boy, do we have a case of Holiday Hangover at this house. I don't think kids who spend Spring Break in Mexico have this level of difficulty, pain, and suffering returning to normal. The harsh reality of day-to-day living (even with a plethora of new toys) has been full of grouchiness, unreasonable demands, and tantrums. It goes something like this...

As soon as he wakes up (since December 19):
B: When do I open presents today, Mommy?
Since December 25th:
H: We're all done opening presents.
B: What? (wails loudly) No presents? I don't get ANY presents? Oh, I'm am SO SAD. (cries uncontrollably for 5-15 minutes)

After recovering from not opening presents:
B: I want chocolate.
H: Chocolate milk? Sure.
B: NO. I want kisses or candy presents. I want CANDY.

Today at Target:
B: WAAAAAAHHHHHHH (serious crying, tears, sobbing, choking, more crying)
H: What's wrong?
B: Harper and Abby don't have any presents. They have no toys.

Yes, the holiday season has left us with a candy-seeking, on-the-road-to-juvenile-diabetes, crying, blubbering, tired child. Where is that darn Santa when I need him most?

Since Thanksgiving, I've been using the "Santa camera" (Santa Cam) as a way to encourage good behavior. As in, "Oh my gosh, Ben. You better follow directions... the Santa Cams are on." --or-- "Do you see that white thing in the ceiling (at Target... it's totally a fire sprinkler)? That's a Santa Cam. He's watching here, too."

I sure hope those Santa Cams have been disconnected or Santa is going to become the "Re-po" man and take back the cool stuff he brought. And, I hope that doesn't happen because I think Don and I are having more fun with Ben's crash car race track than Ben is.

In an effort to return some "normal" to our house, I took down all the Christmas stuff today. Ok, it's also because I can't stand to look at that stuff even a day after Christmas and the fact that it's the 27th and it was still up was making my eye twitch.

As I pulled the garland off the entertainment center, Ben looked up and said, "Well, down with Christmas."

I couldn't agree more.

Christmas Morning 2007