We’ve been out of baby cereal for a couple of days, and this morning I crushed Crisp Rice cereal (a/k/a generic Rice Krispies®) with a fork, and mixed it with homemade stewed prunes (a/k/a undehydrated fruit leather.) Hazel loved it. And I had always thought Dean was the creative cook in this family. Not that he isn’t. And, come to think of it, Ike’s the one who’s been known to dip raw carrots in ketchup–or eat corn chips with ketchup.
Speaking of Isaac and food, he doesn’t like ice cream or pizza–he has a moderate milk allergy, but can sometimes eat those things now, but he’s never acquired a taste for them–but he LOVES smoked oysters. We used to get them in our Christmas stockings in my family when we were kids (what? you didn’t get smoked oysters in your Christmas stocking? More proof that your parents didn’t love you,) so I’ve started giving them to my kids in their stockings, and now I almost regret it because Ike asks me for a tin every day. (I make him share it with me since I tend to have low iron and oysters have lots of iron.) I was happy to discover, the other day, that a local discount store has them for $1 a tin, which is half the price at the grocery store. After we eat them, I make Ike put the empty tin in a plastic bag and put it in the dumpster in the garage, because Dean can’t stand even the faintest whiff of them.
Tarnish on my Mothering Record:
My friend had to ask me to make sure her kindergartner gets in the door before I drive off when I bring her home from school on my carpool turn. I’ve meant to do that, but apparently have been forgetting. Oops!
Last week I was late TWICE picking S. and Rose up from kindergarten. The first time I thought I was ready to leave on time, and then at the last minute Hazel and Henry both needed diaper changes, so I was five minutes late. The second time I was ready to leave 20 minutes early, so decided to get one more thing done and lost track of time–and was fifteen minutes late.
Today I decided to leave fifteen minutes before I needed to be there and just expect to wait in the car for a while. This meant I actually arrived about four minutes early. No other cars were there, and I thought, “I’m not that early, am I?” My cell phone rang and it was my carpool friend telling me that the school had just called her to remind her that it’s “early out” day on Monday. So I was almost half an hour late. I’m going to go write EARLY OUT DAY on every Monday in my calendar for the rest of the year in red pen before I finish typing this post–I’ll be right back.
Okay, I hope that helps. (I don’t always look at my calendar on Monday mornings.) At least Rose and S. said they had fun reading picture books in the office while they waited for me.
Tarnish on my car:
For most of my life I’ve been almost completely oblivious to cars’ appearances, and only cared about safety, reliability, and comfort. Just recently, suddenly I’m embarrassed to drive my white minivan. It’s just looking really battered. (What are all those black scuff marks? Is it from the kids’ bike tires when they park next to the van in the garage?) We’re also at max capacity now, so I’ve told Dean that, in case we’re eventually able to have another baby, maybe we should get a minivan with one more seat now, to plan ahead. He fails to see the logic in this. Of course, generally Dean is all about cutting things as close as possible, while I’m more of a leave-myself-the-largest-margin-possible kind of person. (Except when it comes to picking kids up from school, apparently. Or arriving anywhere early, except for airports.) When I drove carpool today, S. told me, “You need to get van doors that close by themselves,” so I guess she’s in my camp on the newer-minivan campaign.