Giving Thanks,... Canadian style

I'm loving this Canadian Thanksgiving - It gets the Holiday Season set in full swing. No waiting for the end of October to start being festive! And we get to eat Thanksgiving dinner twice in one year without making up some silly reason to do so.

The only weird thing is the decorating. It's Thanksgiving, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving again, then Christmas. Not that I'm a big decorator, but at least the grape vine wreath on the door will be sporting leaves, spiders, leaves and then some sort of green and red thing - hopefully in the correct order.

I'm usually a healthy eater - even with five athletic kids to feed who seem to only need calories, calories, calories. Case in point? I made 10 cinnamon rolls and 2 lbs of bacon yesterday. I didn't eat a bite of any of it. Only because I was the slowest to the table.

Thanksgiving is another story. We are hosting 20 people at the homestead and this is the time for comfort food, people!

The menu: (so I can remember for American Thanksgiving in another monthe:)

Turkey

Ham

Mashed potatoes

Roasted Potatoes

Gingered carrots

Roasted brocolli, cauliflower and brussel sprouts

Spinach salad with oranges, almonds feta and basalmic vinagrette

Cornbread stuffing

Fig and walnut spread (because it's easy and I love figs.)

Sweet Potato Casserole (Never mind it has over 100% of your daily allotment of sugar. Zoiks! I cut out the butter and halved the sugar, still tastes great)

Onion Poppy Seed Bread (but I broke my jar of poppy seeds, so I used sesame seeds...)

Rice Krispie Treats

Fudgy Brownies

Someone is bringing a homemade pumpkin pie - cooked down from a real live pumpkin -

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

See?! Dairy Cows ARE Extinct

As reported by MSN Moneyblog in Canada - I'm not the only one smuggling stuff across the border. It looks like Canadians are smuggling cheese!

Funny, because I am thinking of smuggling cheese curds to my displaced Michigan family who is now residing in Washington.

Watch out for the mozarella mafia!

Burned By My Babies

I’ve been getting a lot of grief – intentional and unintentional – from my kids lately.

The latest run started about a couple weeks ago when I was dropping my kindergartner off at school. I’m new here to Canada, so even though the sun was shining and it’s a balmy 18 degrees (Celsius), I’m usually wearing a couple of long sleeve layers.

I decided to be brave this time and shed my comfort clothes. All the way down to a tank top. To which my four year old exclaimed, “Wow Mom! You have big muscles!”

Which is pretty cool.

Then she added, “You look just like daddy.”

Not quite so cool.

Not the look I’m going for, Fifi.

The next one I remember was in the car. I have an older model BMW – which I honestly wish someone would steal so my hubby would buy me a new one. Like me, the car is a bit grumpy and has a few quirks. The old grey mare just ain’t what she used to be, if you know what I mean.

I was holding the visor up because the stupid screws holding the visor smack up against the ceiling had popped out while I was driving the kids. My 10 year old couldn’t believe I wasn’t able to just screw the screws right back in while driving. I told him I wasn’t that skilled. Fifi the feisty four-year-old wanted to make me feel better since I can’t really accomplish much of anything. So she told me, “But mommy, you are good at putting batteries in things.”

Well, thanks Fifi. I’m so glad my mad skills have not gone unnoticed.

The most recent one lately happened as my kids were getting ready for the Terry Fox Run during the Terry Fox National School Run Day here in Canada. Terry Fox was an amazing athlete who lost a leg to cancer but decided to begin something called a Marathon of Hope in 1980 to raise money for cancer research. The man ran an entire marathon every single day, running across Canada. He only stopped when his cancer spread to his lungs and he couldn’t go anymore.

Gosh, I think about this and how hard it is for me to motivate myself to even work out for 30 minutes every day and I feel very ashamed.

Anyway, the Foundation that puts on this run has so much cool teaching stuff – my kids learned so much about humanitarianism, science and research and diseases like cancer.

We had to color pictures of flowers to place in a ‘Garden of Hope’ on the school wall as one of the activities. I was helping Fifi write the names of people she knows who have been touched by cancer. We wrote Grandma Richardson’s name. Grandpa Richardson’s name, and Uncle Thad. I talked to them about my brave friend Susie. I thought of my friend from work, Ben Brown, who lost his battle.

It was touching to see the kids make the connection between this esoteric man they never knew and people they love – having the same kind of disease.

So Fifi asks who else had cancer. I say me.

The 10 year old pipes up – “Yours doesn’t count, it was just head cancer!”

Well, true. It wasn’t breast or colon or liver or gall bladder cancer. Mine was the wanna be cancer – skin cancer.

I hope I always seem so invincible to them.

I’m off to find my cape and put more batteries in things.

Edmonton: A Primer for Displaced Californians

Every area you move to will have its own local quirks.  This is why I love to travel.

When you travel to the Pacific Northwest, be sure to ask for a geoduck at the market. You won’t be disappointed. Southern California? Being dressed up means putting on a clean Hawaiian shirt or sequined flip flops.

Journeying to a foreign locale just intensifies the feeling of everything being not quite as you expect it. I always have that same feeling you get when waking up from a deep nap in the middle of the afternoon – not quite with it and everything just seems a bit,.. not right.

Egypt? Don’t wander around with wet hair if you are a woman, for fear that you will be judged as having a loose character. Indonesia? Only always offer your right hand to people. Singapore? Offer both.

While Edmonton, Alberta feels so familiar, there are just a few words people say, or activities they do, that make you remember you aren’t in Kansas anymore.  Here’s a couple of helpful hints for any other Californians getting the great idea to escape 100 degree weather and dive into 40 below.

Learn Celsius already. Because everyone else knows it. You can only ask Siri so many times to convert the daily temperature before she starts to get agitated with you. And Fahrenheit really isn’t very easy to understand, honestly. This point came out when I was chatting with my hair dresser. She was explaining to me the ease of Celsius and how confusing Fahrenheit was. “Zero is the point of freezing,” she explained. To which I acknowledged, “Yes, 32 degrees,..”

Once I said it, it sounded ridiculous. How arbitrary. Zero for freezing does sound so much more logical. Try and forget Fahrenheit. Because, really, once you get to about twenty below, they both converge and it’s called “yes, hell has frozen over.”

A runner is not an unpaid intern in the legislature. It’s a tennis shoe, a sneaker. And you’ll need lots of them, which brings me to the next point

Take your shoes off! Everyone takes off their shoes before entering into a private space For schools you will have to invest in new shoes for both inside AND outside.

I had no idea how rude I was stomping around friends’ houses. Which brings me to my next point –

Canadians are really, really nice. I’m just not used to it. Let’s take last week, for example. The girls had ice skating lessons. Since I consider myself from SoCal now. (I've lived there for so long - the longest I've lived any place, any where actiually - that I have taken up citizenship), I had really no idea how to dress them. I had them in jeans. I forgot Fifi’s gloves. I did bring them coats. After 30 very long minutes of terrified girls freezing their butts off on the ice (yes, screaming, crying and nashing of teeth), the instructor came over to chat.

She acknowledged how hard it is to figure all this stuff out and gave me pointers. She didn’t sneer and correct me like the lady in Idaho when I said ‘BoiZZZZeeee’ instead of ‘Boise.’ She didn’t roll her eyes and turn away like the mommy I asked for directions to the nearest bathroom in the local California school. She didn’t sigh loudly and stomp her feet when I was on line in a Washington store, and had to talk to my credit card company on the phone during check out because someone was purchasing fancy dinners and jewelry in France, while I was  buying a pair of school uniform pants on sale at Kohls.

She didn’t make me feel like an idiot for not knowing anything.  And for that Canada, I would give you a big, huge kiss. Because I don’t know much, and I always let people in on that secret.  Thanks for being so kind.

Loonie is not how you feel when you can’t remember for the life of you where you decided to store all your tank tops when you unpacked them. It’s a one dollar coin. And a toonie is a two dollar coin. How cute is that?

So, when the back to school sale circulars came out, their tag line ‘Only loose a few loonies’ they were referring to the money I’d save, and not the fact that my kids would be gone for a majority of my day.

It’s a washroom. Not a rest room. I’ve left plenty of store employees scratching their heads trying to figure out why I want to take a nap in the bathroom. Gross American,….

And it’s not soda, it’s pop. I don’t care what argument you have with anyone over this, pop rules up north. And for heaven’s sake, if you are from Georgia, don’t call it Coke. If anything, refer to it as Canada Dry.

Beer is expensive.  A twelve pack of Corona? More than 30 dollars. So, either drink your fill while south of the border, or take advantage of the allowable quantity of high quality, cheap beer beverages you can bring through customs.  I may break out my carboy,…

Dairy cows are extinct. Because dairy products will cost you a pretty penny as well.               

Misery loves company. To help you get over the price of beer and Greek yogurt, work it out at your community league or rec center. These are the bomb. Each neighborhood has a community association, and for a small fee, you can take part in amazing activities for free, like skiing, swimming and skating. Most communities – ours included – have an outdoor ice rink that is maintained by a community rink keeper who basically goes out with a garden hose and makes ice on the rink after the first freeze. Booyah!  

The rec centers are scattered all over the city and offer ice rinks, pools, work out rooms and drop in classes, indoor playgrounds. Check out free sessions for the public to skate. Everywhere, every week. So go buy some used skates and get out there.

So, yes, it’s time to pack up the flip flops and break out the Sorrels. You’ll find me in the -30 coat rack, weeping. 

How to run Edmonton

Okay, so I feel like a shill because I think I’ve actually gone running only 3.5 times in Alberta (and one of those times was actually in British Columbia), but in those few times I have some observations:

1. Skeeters. Mosquitoes are a pest. But running gives you at least a little respite from the horrible little bugs because they can’t fly as fast as I can run (finally! I’m not the slowest creature on the street!) or if they land on you, they drowned instantly in a pool of sweat.

2. Edmonton is nice and flat. Such a nice change from Yucaipa, California – my recent home - which I think was Native American for ‘uphill both ways.’

3. I can run whenever I want. No more hurrying out the door before 7am or waiting until after 5pm for fear of my thighs rubbing together and creating a spark that bursts my body into flames in the intense of heat of the southern California sun. I can argue with myself for hours before I finally suck it up and head out the door with my iPod.

4. Using “unpacking” as my excuse will only work for so long. And while there are calories to be burned in schlepping 24,000 lbs of personal belongings up and down stairs, it’s an effort that gets old quick. Even quicker than running.

5. The running season – outdoors anyway – is awfully short. Unless I buy crampons for my Nikes. Perhaps I’ll take up cross country skiing. Maybe this is why I rescued a Husky – I knew deep down inside that someday I would need a sled dog to commute to the grocery store.

Where are you from?

This is a question I’ve never been able to answer. I remember hanging out with friends in my school’s library when I was a teenager and feeling like I had to pick somewhere. In some visceral manner, being from somewhere is important.

At the time I was living in Monrovia, Liberia. My family was moving to Olympia, Washington in a few months. This place was where I would complete high school. I had lived there before when I attended kindergarten and first grade. I was returning somewhere, something I’d never done before. I was always going: Alaska, Michigan, Virginia, Saudi Arabia, Tennessee, and Liberia. Returning was something new. I thought this must be what it feels like to go home.

As an adult I’ve put a few more miles underneath my feet. Like my parents did with me, I too have packed up my belongings and guided my family to various locales. California, Egypt, the Philippines, Washington, Idaho, Indonesia, and now Canada. And my answer to where I’m from has changed.

Southern California is where I’ve actually lived the longest. Seven whole years in small little Yucaipa, nestled in the foothills of the dessert. I had a commercial break during that time, - moving to Indonesia so my husband could work for an NGO (Catholic Relief Services) -  but that year spent in Indonesia was always something I knew would be temporary; our entire household was packed in a local storage facility. We had to come home simply to get our stuff.

You plant roots through your children. And with five children who have attended seven different schools in Yucaipa and are very active in sports, we’ve planted some very solid roots.

Besides my college friends (Hi Super Pod!), the friends I have here in Yucaipa I have known for a longest. The wonderful thing about traveling means that you have friends spread throughout the world. But these friends in Yucaipa I have worked with, dined with, commiserated over babies with, and feel like they are the ones I go to when I need help.

And these friends I met through my workplace, in some form or fashion. I think it’s kind of Freudian that I have a yearning to call a location my home, and I work at a company that specializes in geography.

My work is a giant tether to this sunny place. I’ve been at this company for 20 years. I love what I do and the incredible independence I have. I don’t take it for granted. It took me about five resumes before someone picked up a phone and called me. Then, a whole lot of persuading until I was actually hired.

The company is a proving ground to find your inner guts. You need to find the perfect balance of collaboration and Survivor Island techniques to stay afloat and relevant. I think all high tech companies have a little bit of that in them – they are full of bright people trying to think of the next big thing. It’s an environment I relish. My favorite joke is that every time I step on campus, the collective I.Q. level goes down.

And while this company has employees all over the world, and has allowed me to work in some pretty interesting places, it is headquartered here in Southern California. You basically roll down the hill from Yucaipa and you’re there.

So, this is home. This is where I’m from.

I don’t know why it matters so much to me right now. The need to be able to answer the question “Where are you from?” It could be the fact that at work we are working on a big campaign and this was one of the questions we asked the people being interviewed. We had a long discussion on which answer was most appropriate to ask – where are from, where do you live, or where do you work? We decided that ‘where are you from?’ was the question with the most meaning. And I’d have to agree.

So, it is with some serious sadness that I dust off this blog and say good bye – for a while – to the place that I’m from. And I want to thank the people who helped us out in the transition. The hubster was gone for the most part from April until we met again in Canada at the end of July. Let me tell you, there is no natural act that would have gotten my five kids and me to Canada without some serious intervention. It takes a big village, people.

So,..an enormous thank you to:

My amazing friends.

Especially Wendy for driving my boys to and from summer camp early – with 2 year old twins in tow. And housing us for a week.

Gab for hosting my girls so they wouldn’t mistakenly get packed in a big box.

Beth for driving an hour round trip from work just to deliver a six pack of beer to keep me sane.

Amazing teachers and coaches.

To Coach Price at Yucaipa High School for mentoring my 15 year old and taking the time to let us and him know what a great kid he is, and for creating one of the BEST football progams in Southern California. Not that I'm biased.

All the teachers at Ridgeview who expressed their sadness at losing our family

To Mrs. Geusen for the Barnes and Noble gift card – what teacher gives a parent a thank you present?

Awesome colleagues at work.

Especially my boss Robin and my team lead Emily for not judging me as I cried like a baby when I explained I was moving and felt terrified I might lose something that had defined me for two decades.

And of course, the owners of my company,Jack and Laura for trusting me once again, as I trek to a new location.

And a HUGE thank you to family who hosted hormonal me, five kids and two large dogs for a month. Whether you liked it (or knew it) or not!

So,.. here is to the next journey – Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. I guess I still have children and will travel.

Fire

Welcome to the Sports Center,.. Proceed with Caution

There are all sorts of news stories and public service announcements talking about getting outside and playing with your children. With childhood obesity on the rise –the CDC reports that since 1980, obesity prevalence among children and adolescents has almost tripled – it is important to make moving and exercising fun. But I am here to provide an important PSA directed specifically toward you: you are no longer the spring chicken you think you are.

I am all for putting down that electronic device you are addicted to (and you know you are) and playing with your kids. But let me offer you the 10 rules for playing with your children:

10. If your child is the quarterback of his football team and he asks you to play catch; don’t. The work lost by jamming all your fingers as you attempt to grab that little rocket is too expensive at your age. You need all those productive work days in order to pay for that little cherub’s college.

9. When playing Twister, if the move to put your ‘left hand on yellow’ requires you to contort in such a way that you can’t tell your hands from your feet, gracefully bow out. Believe me, between all the vegetables and ground sirloin in your freezer, you don’t have room for those big ice packs your physical therapist is going to require you to use at home in between sessions.

8. Monkey bars? This is a perfect opportunity for ‘do as I say, not as I do,’ unless you want to have double jointed shoulders for the remainder of your adult life.

7. If you think that ‘double under’ refers to your chin and not a jump rope; please don’t attempt any rope jumping at home alone. You will require a spotter.

6. If your youngster is calling you a ‘wuss’ for not trying to balance on a floatable board on a swell of water on anything other than your belly, smile politely and sit your butt right back down on that towel.

5. Same thing goes for boards that move on concrete. Do I need to say concrete one more time?

4. Do you know when a diamond is not a girl’s best friend? When the girl is pushing forty, they are black and they come in multiples. This is a time when more is not necessarily better.

3. Trying to return any sort of ball with your head is not encouraged. Children’s brains do not fully develop until they are well out of their teens. I think this began with the prevalence of soccer.

2. If the last time you went roller skating it was referred to as er,.. roller skating and you needed a key, take it slow.

1. Proceed with caution when taking your high schooler to the gym. Exercises don’t always match their names. For example, cutely named ‘jumpies’ and ‘burpies’ aren’t quite so cute after you’ve survived 50 of them. However, other exercises, like ‘suicides’ are exactly as they sound.

Other than that, tie up those shoes, put on those knee pads, pop some Advil and have fun!

Full of Thanks

November is the month many people take time to think of what they are grateful for in their lives. The latest phenomenon is updating Facebook statuses every day with something that has made the person posting full of gratitude.

I’m not that organized. My first post of the month was something about giving a shout out to the employees at Home Depot for not pretending I was invisible. This is what usually happens when I venture into the cavernous maw of that store. Honestly, I can’t think of anything more boring to shop for than home improvement items, so I spend as little time as I can in those kinds of establishments. Probably because while I always knew I didn’t have a green thumb, in my maturity (okay, old age), I also realize I do not have a home improvement thumb, either.

However, for this trip I was looking for seeds for a kindergarten science lesson. Not only did the friendly employee help me find some big seeds that little five year old fingers could deftly plant in a paper cup, he pointed out an easy care shrub. I made a pact with myself that if I could keep the shrub alive for a month, it was a sign that my aptitude for homecare was changing and I might venture on to a flowering plant, vegetables, or even a home project.

Well, it’s almost a month later and the shrub is still alive! I am considering this my Grandma Moses moment – she didn’t start painting until she was in her 90’s. I even have a few decades on her for my personal revelation. So, shout out to you Home Depot.

The next day, I believe I posted that I was thankful it was no longer October. That is because after a month of scary movies, scary pumpkin patches, and scary decorations everywhere, I had reached my scary limit. I realized this after I spent a half hour trying to prod a Barbie car into the bathroom with an extended light saber. You see, there was a long, dark leg peeking out from behind the console in the car. My mind extrapolated how big the body would have to be of whatever mutant spider was attached to that leg, and I tell you, it was as big as my German Shepherd.

Once I had maneuvered the car into the bathroom, I had to muster up the courage to actually touch the Barbie car in order to put it into the bathtub. Then, I had to muster up more courage to turn on the shower water – but I had visions of the very large spider leaping out and attacking me.

After five more minutes of deep breathing and trying to look cool, calm and collected in front of my three year old, I turned on the water. I waited for the Barbie car to fill and flood, killing the mutant spider. You know that saying – you learn something new every day? Well, it’s true. I learned that Barbie cars don’t hold water. After about five minutes of soaking that car in a boiling hot shower, the water level never got above the white plastic seats.

Even though the Barbie car didn’t flood, about five more minutes passed and I was sure the spider was dead. The beast’s leg bobbed up and down, but didn’t move. I must have scalded the thing to death. Now was the time for me to meet it face to face, but I didn’t even want to see its lifeless form. Until this moment, I thought I only had an irrational fear of dentists and heights. Now I know I am also deathly afraid of spiders.

Taking the light saber, I removed the dripping car from the bathtub. Carefully, slowly I lifted the front end of the car up, so the drowned spider would tumble forward into my view. Do you know what came sliding out onto the bathmat? It was a spider alright - a plastic Halloween spider ring. I had wasted 45 minutes and given myself heart palpitations from stress – all from doing battle with a plastic Halloween spider ring. So, once I finally disposed of the ring, I gave thanks that I could put my frazzled nerves to rest until the next year’s Halloween activities.

The third day of November, I think I gave thanks that I could react quickly to parenting situations. Like when I decided against leaving my five- and three- year olds girls unattended for a few minutes in their room while I did laundry, after hearing a conversation that required them to say the words “dog” and “makeup” in the same sentence.

On the fourth day of giving thanks, I gave a silent high five to the universe for being a safety net to my own stupidity as I try to raise five kids. Our family was gathered– all seven of us – in the T.V. room. I had a glow about me as I surveyed my brood – together and cozy. My husband was reading a book to the little girls. My oldest two sons were glued to a football game. My middle boy was watching a Netflix movie on my iPad. I was updating my Facebook status.

Then my middle son ripped out his earbuds and exclaimed,” That was the best movie EVER!”
It was at this moment I realized that even though I was no more than eight feet away from my kid, I had no idea what he had been watching.

Afraid to ask, but knowing I should, I posed him the question: “What movie were you watching?”

He responded, very excited, “Beavers!”

I think I was a little ashen when I asked, “Uhm, was it about animals?”

Thankfully it was and I vowed never again to not flex my full parental rights before a person under the age of 18 used any device in my house again.

Those four days about ended my stamina for being thankful. Thirty days of thankfulness? I think I’ll stick to just the twelve days of Christmas, thank you very much.

Earthquake,.. on the East Coast?!

Yes, it's true. We Californians like to share, I guess. Did you know that one of North America's biggest earthquakes actually occurred on the Mississippi River in the early 1800's? So this is not unprecedented, although unexpected.

I love this map, which includes what we call 'authoritative' data sources (from USGS data feeds and others - agencies that are responsible for tracking this type of information and we know we can rely on) and then data from the general public - you really get a sense of how strong the liquifaction of this quake was (so much soil on the East coast! Not as much rock as we Californians have) and how far away it was felt. Seeing information in geographic space can give you a better sense of an event, a deeper understanding of what happened.

Monday already?

Father Robert Joerger, Debbie Philips, Father Edward Beck. Picture taken from Philips' blog.

Seems so, so I'll just send you directly over here to read a nice blog post to get you through today and many days to come - inspiring words from Father Edward Beck, a Passionist Priest in New York from a retreat he gave on Martha's Vineyard. Rob and I first met Father Edward at a retreat he gave at our Church. We are able to visit him periodically, primarily when he comes to the West Coast, but this past summer we bugged both him and Father Robert over in New York.

River Rats

Our awesome home away from home! Yep, we had the double wide and we wore it well!

Seriously, the only thing I can focus on in this picture is that Froshy is really getting close to being even with me. Yipes.

Yeah, they look ready for bed, right? I don't think they can get any blonder without being dayglo colored.

I actually look... relaxed! Could it be because of no wifi or cell phone towers anywhere? Brown beast is peering over my shoulder.

Parker Dam, where we'd zoom to, cut the engine and fling small, life jacketed bodies out of the boat and into the river. I flund myself in as well, to keep the small ones from drifting far, far away.

Collecting river shells on the shore.

This is what summer time is all about! We had such a great time! Besides the sand bar incident. And the bouy incident. I didn't mind falling off the seadoos a few times. And I survived Froshy driving me into every wake imaginable when it was his turn on the 'watery-vehicle-of-death.'

Of dog poop and chicken lips

So, the eldest, who is entering his freshman year of highschool and shall from here on out be known as Froshy, is taking summer school. Because he takes after his nutty parents, he is an overachiever. It helps that his best friend is also an overachiever, so I can pass the blame later on.

His summer school class is health. Which he told me today that wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. I don't think anything is easy when you have tests each week that have more than 80 questions on them.

He watched the movie Food, Inc. which I love, because a lot of the foodie authors I read are in the film. People like Michael Pollan who created the great Omnivore's Dilemma. I own the young reader edition (I know my own intellectual limits. Actually, it was the only version available when I had the urge to read it) I fail horribly, but I know how important good food is and I have five kids, so I really can't afford to be a delinquent in the nutrition department. I do my best.

Froshy and I are having a bit of a fencing match in the kitchen these days -

"Mom, which is better for you - ketchup or mustard?"

"Is there high fructose corn syrup in that?"

"Guess how many grams of sugar are in this serving!"

I'm loving it!

Tonight was a cafeteria style dinner with everyone eating a different time, between football and cheer practices and pick ups at friend's houses. Froshy told me he didn't want to eat red meat, since he'd eaten carne asada four times this week, and even he has his limits, I guess. So, I offered him my dinner - chicken and brown rice, sans the Trader Joe's Red Thai Curry sauce.

I fed the dogs some of the raw chicken that had too much fat on it for me to handle. He asked if we would get sick if we ate raw chicken. Then he asked why dogs don't get sick. "Well, they eat their own poop, Froshy, they have stomachs of steel."

Don't bring poop up to a kid taking a health class. I had to listen to a diatribe on how poop won't make you sick since it comes from your own body. Yes, I know that, but I'm not going to eat poop any time soon.

Anyway, we got through the poop discussion. I added some watermelon to his dinner of chicken breast and brown rice. He actually told me thank you for dinner. We have crossed a huge chasm people. I simply can not wait for the other kids to come to the mother ship so I don't have to make mac and cheese or mickey mouse shaped chicken nuggets anymore. Patience, grasshopper.

The three year old, who hadn't eaten four meals of carne asada in the last few days, was eating left over tri tip. She had a question. "Why don't chickens talk?" (I'm assuming because we were talking about eating raw chicken.)

I've learned to keep quiet as long as possible, because I have become very uncreative in my 14 years of having to answer these types of questions. Froshy as a preschooler would drive me to tears with questions and insisting I read every street signs as we flew down the Interstate.

I waited for hubby to answer. "Because chickens don't have vocal chords," he responds.

To which Froshy responded, "Actually chickens do have vocal chords. They don't have lips." (don't you love teenagers?)

And then hubby, being very mature asked,"Then where did the term chicken lips come from?"

At this point it really went downhill, so I fed them all ice cream.

"

Thanks Washington!

I've spent a great few weeks with the kids on vacation up in Washington. I spent enough time there that I feel like I'm going back to my chameleon ways - you know, the lizard that is known for blending in with it's environment. I adapted to the great northwest again, tossing my Southern California ways aside. I had given up my sequins and high heels for plaid and comfort shoes. I was starting to feel the urge to trade in my BMW for a gas friendly hybrid.

Sequins and bright colors just announce to the public that you aren't actually from the area anyway - natives come equipped with skin so white from lack of sunshine, who needs to compete with clothes that also glitter and glow? My teenager actually commented that he'd never seen so many pale people in his life. Nothing wrong with that - as we become preternaturally wrinkled from extended sun exposure where we live, Seattlites will be popping their vitamin D tablets and having the last laugh.

I did find that my urge to wear plaid was kind of like the same feeling you get when you go on holiday somewhere like Disneyland. You walk into a gift shop and think the Mickey Mouse emblazoned outfits are cute. Only do you realize when you put on that tuxedo jacket with the tiny Mickey heads all over the fabric does it not work anywhere outside of the Happiest Place on Earth.

I have to say it's tough to pack for three weeks away from home when you have five kids. You think that the Chevy Suburban has a vast amount of space until you load up suitcases, scooters, hockey gear, coolers and snack food. Then you realize that clothing options have to be restricted. And as the kids get older, their clothes get bigger and less outfits can be packed. I'm limited to four of each item, even for me - shirts, pants, sweaters and shoes. That means I need to be smart about my clothing choices for extended wearabilty - I'm limited to grey and brown - the colors of dirt and grubby fingers.

It's been so nice to hang out with family and friends - go to the local lake and catch tadpoles, visit playground's and eat meals together. Fill our gullets with as much great roadside lattes and copper river salmon as possible before making the trek back to the sunny, but dusty brown inland area where we live in SoCal. Thanks Washington, for being incredibly green, amazingly only cloudy with a very few showers and full of tasty food and beverages.

Brussels

That's what this post is about. Okay, the sprout. Nothing as amazingly romantic as the city in Belgium. There are a couple of vegetables I haven't made friends with - brussel sprouts and beets. I hate anything that comes out of a can, unless it's refried or baked with brown sugar. That kind of limits the veggies I like that I was introduced to back in the days of my youth when canned veggies were a cool thing to do. Now, my mom is an amazing gardner - she had an amazing garden when I was a kid and I loved to eat sugar snap peas, anything salady, carrots, rhubarb and strawberries. So, why the hell she decided to feed us beets out of a can, and I think maybe brussel sprouts, I do not know. Now, as an adult, I've tried to be an adult about beets, but I don't like them fresh either. I just think that veggies should not be sweet. I don't really like sweet potatoes unless they are baked in a pie, fried as a fry, or mixed with so much brown sugar and pecans, you'd think you had dipped into a casserole dish of praline heaven. So beets, unless I find a way to wedge them on a popsicle stick, well, we aren't friends. I thought the same of brussel sprouts. Now, they aren't sweet, I know that. But the brussel sprouts of my youth were slimy, glutenous masses of green that could pass for snot. (love you mom!) So, when my five year old told me she wanted to eat brussel sprouts, I did the "Mmmmhhmmmm, that's nice honey." thing I do when I'm working at home and not really listening to what the kids are saying. Which happens maybe more than I'd like to admit. Well, I had to go to the local veggie stand in search of a green strawberry basket, since I just realized a few minutes ago that Easter is indeed this Sunday, which means I have to get party stuff ready for two preschool girls. Which includes ferreting out green strawberry baskets. Since I'm also in charge of the veggie tray at one of the school parties, we stroll in and pack our basket full of goodies. Lo and behold - I find brussel sprouts! I point them out to the five year old, who is extremely excited. Bringing them home means googling recipes. I find some that sound intriguing, but I can't get past the guilt of taking something so fresh and good for you and roasting it with bacon or slathering it with shredded cheese. So, I opt for the boil a bit, then pan fry in a scant bit of butter (for color) and salt and pepper. Delish! How could I not like brussel sprouts? I like spinach, cabbage and broccoli - now I've encountered their long lost friend. The five year old is beside herself and has thirds of her brussel sprouts. I finally confess that the reason the kid wants to eat brussel sprouts is becuase her beloved cartoon character on Nick Jr. eats them. Shout out to Nick Jr. ! How exciting that my kid came away from the tellie not wanting to go purchase Froot Loops or a Zhuzhu pet, but brussel sprouts! My gosh - watch more TV, kids! The boys at my homestead, I must say, were not quite as enamoured with the new vegetable. When the 11 year Z-man found out it was a cartoon pig who was to blame for the green stuff on his plate, he announced "Well, guess what's for dinner tomorrow? Pork chops!" Not such a good sport, that one.

Tsunami

Praying for everyone affected by the earthquake off Japan and resulting tsunami.

Cavemanbistro - Helping you eat the paleo way!

My good buddy from college, Craig, who married another good buddy of mine from college, Alisa, has a new Website featuring some of his most awesome dishes.

Craig has worked at a variety of restaurants, as you'll see in the about the chef section.

He uses simple ingredients, relying mostly on fruits, veggies and meats. This is great for gluten free eating (take note, in-law sibs).

Check it out here.

Eat Healthy for Free! (Kinda,..)

I just found out that NBC is creating a cool new show about opening 'America's Next Great Restaurant.' Aptly named 'America's Next Great Restaurant' one of the judges on the show is the founder of Chipotle Restaurant. I love Chipotle. Why? Because they are YUMMY. They are FAST. They serve BEER. And they are healthy - trying to serve organic food as much as they can - someday the market will actually support their endeavors so you don't have to be faced with a placard apologizing that their chicken that day isn't free range because they ran out. We'll get there, folks.

As an advertising campaign (this is genius, in my mind) they are offering a buy one get one if you watch their 90 minute promo. I'm a big lover of the Food Network and all their crazy food shows because I could never be that creative. And I am a big lover of the Food Truck culture - bringing eclectic, yummy food to the masses. Our only food truck where we live is the Kool Kactus, but I can deal with that. They are great. Not only do they have the best fish tacos ever, but yummy spinach enchiladas. I know, sounds gross, eh? But don't knock it til you've tried it.

Okay, I'm running out of time, gotta get ready for a full day of preschool fun that involves sushi, ballet, tap, and tumble bus, all before noon.

Go here to learn more about the offer.

You are Where Live

I posted here about a great new app my company created that can be used by - yes ADULTS and children alike - (ask your child to help you out, it is 21st century technology,..)

Okay, even if you haven't honed your skills on that app, here is an even simpler one and one that you can play with and fret about for hours on end,...

Because, just like we are what we eat (and today I am a stack of Thin Mint cookies, thanks a lot evil girl scouts,..) we are also where we live.

Did you know that where you live has an effect on whether or not you have a heart attack? Just listen to Bill Davenhall, one of the people I get to work with, as he addressed a TED conference (cool innovative conferences that have people like THE NAKED CHEF and last only a few minutes each, for those with Adult onset ADD, like myself.):




And it is perhaps not the fault of childhood innoculations, but instead where you live, that is attributable to autism. Here is one of many articles,.. and another,...

And while you should weigh every opinion and fact, it is always best to be equipped with the most information possible, right?

That's where this fun little app comes in handy - it's free and can help you find out what toxic chemicals and other risk factors are knocking at your door. Then, it goes a step further and helps you save and keep track fo this information so you can bring it up at your next doctor's visit. I use this as frequently as my iPhone migraine headache and blood pressure logs.

Let's see what wonderfulness I am harboring due to my place history. And I am the perfect person for this, since I have lived in a lot of places in my 40-ish years. This map is not including outside of the U.S.



So, go here and map out your place history.

Fun blog from a friend

Who says kids can't help your social life? And who says that social media doesn't keep the friend fires burning? I feel so much richer being connected, even in a technology sort of way - to many people I have no time to bond with in reality. Perhaps that sounds lonely, or condescending, or robotic - but with five kids, a job, a house, a husband, and the need to sleep and perhaps work out every now and then, I rarely even call my mother on a regular basis. (sorry Mom!)

Any hoo - I met this fun lady when our now 11 year olds were in a preschool together - it was a 'teach the parent' school that was wonderful and the expectation was that we would attend, learn with our child, and help teach the class as the year went on. We attended required parent seminars every Wednesday - which as sooo nice because it meant you got to sit down for an hour without your kid (God knows I love every one of 'em - kids I mean!) and eat yummy snacks, because our instructor had heard that if people eat while learning, they retain that information for a longer time. I have applied this in my work life, and while I don't know if this is scientifically true, it has helped me win friends and influence people - do not belittle the power of a home baked chocolate chip cookie!

Here is the link to her blog - I am constantly learning from her - and I hope you will too!
http://shuttfamilysimplelife.blogspot.com/