Beef with Aunt Bea

One of my primary childcare philosophies is that when the kids are going nuts, and no amount of redirection or "hey, stop that" is helping to calm their hyperactivity, then the project you'd like to bring into the equation the LEAST is the one you should do.

As warped as that sounds, it really and truly has worked.

This philosophy has produced Jello Wars, Pudding Painting, fingerpainting, and various cooking projects on rainy days when the kids and I are BOTH gazing longingly out the windows at the outdoor playset. And its turned otherwise-insane days into fun, memorable ones where each of the kids are completely plugged in to a group project. You know what Mama says about idle hands, after all...

However, this fail-proof theory blew up rather spectacularly in my face today, thanks to Aunt Bea. Some may remember this woman as the kind-faced mother figure from Mayberry, who doles out sage wisdom and homemade goodies as often as she draws breath on The Andy Griffith Show. However, I will remember her as being a lady to regard with distrust in the kitchen when she offers up an "easy as pie" rainy-day fudge recipe.

The rain was falling today, the kids were doing aimless laps around the house leaving chaos in their wake, no show nor movie would hold their attention, and they seemed determined to injure each other with whatever was in their hand at the moment. Going back to my afore-mentioned philosophy, I grabbed a few cookbooks and began searching for an easy recipe the kids and I could make together. In a Mayberry-themed edition, I found a seemingly-simple fudge recipe containing 6 ingredients we had on hand, 4 steps, and a smiling picture of Aunt Bea.

"C'mon Buddy!" I called, arranging chairs around the kitchen island for the kids to stand on, "Cooking project!"

"Don't wanna!" He called back, eyes glued to a Hulk show that had just started on tv.

So I went ahead with the twins, being enthusiastic, and teaching them each of the ingredients as we added them to the bowl.

Step 1: Mix sugar, milk, and cocoa.

"Sugar." I demonstrated, adding in the ridiculous amount Bea called for.

"Doogah!" They echoed, each sampling some.

"Milk." I went on, measuring some out.

"Mew!" Sissy repeated.

"Doogah!" Brother insisted.

"Cocoa..."

Each baby stuck their finger excitedly in this new ingredient, sampled it, and made a face.

"No!" Sissy admonished me, getting off her chair and leaving.

"Doogah!" Brother demanded.

Step 2: Cook until soft ball stage. Then add in final 3 ingredients.

Figuring the "soft ball stage" would become apparent as I cooked (why would Bea give an instruction that was not as black-and-white as she was?), I pulled Brother away from the stove and began cooking, stirring constantly so the milk-based mixture wouldn't scald. Losing interest quickly, Brother toddled off.

Stir.

Stir some more.

And more.

CRASH!!!!

"Buddy, was that you or the babies??" I called over my shoulder.

"The babies." He answered dully.

Knowing the fudge would surely scald if I stepped away, I put tons of excitement in my voice and gasped with enthusiasm, "Oh my gosh, Buddy, I have the best idea! Do you want to be my extra-special-all-star helper right now?!? And get to earn a treat??" (I planned on using him as a living-room spy, while I was stuck at the stove.)

"Nope. I'm comfortable." He said lazily from the couch.

Sighing, I turned off the stove, and went to extricate the babies from the midst of a toy avalanche they had joyfully created. Once the mess was picked back up, I went back to my post at the stove.

"Do you want to help yet with the fudge, Buddy?"

"Nah..."

Step 2: Cook until soft ball stage. Then add in the final 3 ingredients.

Mmmkay, Bea. I still don't know what you're talking about with the soft ball stage... And I've been stirring for a while...

Stir.

Stir.

Stir some more.

Shake off arm cramp.

Stir.

Darn it, Bea. This was supposed to be a fun project. Now I'm cookin' it alone, the kids aren't even interested anymore, and apparently, I don't speak Mayberry. Come through for me, here!

Stir.

Stir.

She lied.

Stir some more.

"Want to come see what's going on with our fudge?!"

"No. I'm gonna go to the bathroom." Buddy responded.

I can't believe Aunt Bea lied to me.

Stir.

And more stirring.

Nothing ball-like happening.

At this point, I called someone more domestically-inclined, who informed me that the "soft ball stage test" is where you drop a bit of your mixture into water, and if it forms a ball in the water, its done.

HOW IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WOULD ANY NOVICE FUDGE-MAKER KNOW THAT, BEATRICE?!? What kind of "simple" recipe is this??

Dutifully, I dropped a little into a cup of water.

No, "soft ball", Bea. I think you make things up for kicks.

I gave up, added the final ingredients, and a few marshmallows for giggles (half of which melted) and went to the final step.

Step 3: Pour onto greased cookie sheet and allow to harden.

As I scraped the last bit onto the cookie sheet I was muttering darkly to myself.

"Stupid soft ball trick.... making things up... never made a ball... followed instructions perfectly... Whatever, Aunt Bea, you can kiss my butt...."

"WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!?" Demanded a voice behind me suddenly.

After I disentangled myself from the ceiling fan, I answered Buddy's question.

"They shouldn't. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have said that out loud, but I was being quiet and I thought you went to the bathroom, dude."

"I just finished, and I wanted a snack, and I heard you." He cut his eyes at me.

"I'm sorry, Buddy. That wasn't a nice thing for me to say, even by myself. I'll say sorry next time I see her, ok?"

Satisfied, he walked off smiling, snack in hand.

Here it is now, 4 hours later. The kids are long-since napping. My fudge is still gooey. And I've made a promise to a 4-year-old to apologize to a fictional character.

One who LIES!

Not bitter. Oh no. Not one bit.

The finished product.

Speaking Toddlerese. Lesson One.

Watching toddlers who are still navigating the murky waters of speaking correct English can be cute, fun, sometimes frustrating (for both parties), and oftentimes ends with a small child's version of Catchphrase/charades.

Complete with the awkward gesturing, impatient jumping around, and over-the-top excitement when true communication is achieved.

The following Toddlerese words are ones which are used regularly by The Kids, and will be included in my forthcoming dictionary "How to Speak Toddlerese and Finally be Able to Decipher What the Heck They're Trying to Tell You".

Coming to a bookstore near you.

GUGACK- cupcake. Usually used to inform the caregiver that the child is feeling faint with lack of sugar and needs sweet sustenance poste haste.

GOOGEE- cookie. See above.

GIBAK- give back. Used in a variety of situations, such as when a sibling or caregiver has mistakenly taken something the child previously had, or when the child just wants it, period, regardless of who had it first.

MEW- milk. As in, give me some. Now.

MIMOW- Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Usually used as an all-encompassing way to convey "the show you're watching sucks, dude. Change it immediately to one I like. Preferably one with an animated talking rodent. Kthanks."

NAK- snack. Please see the general definition of "mew".

HUH- hot. Used ceremoniously as a chant while a child dances at least 6 inches away from a cup of coffee or oven or hair straightener. Conveys that the child knows not to touch said object, and wants to be sure you remember as well.

Lesson one, complete.

Valentines and Copyrights

For Valentine's Day, I had all these Hallmark-esque plans of sitting around the table with The Kids as they happily and neatly create the types of Valentine cards that parents tear up over.

As I gathered the art supplies from the far reaches of the house, I shared my plan excitedly with Buddy.

His response?

"Devyn. I'm not doing that. That's stupid. I won't make a Valentine. I think I'll just go to the store and buy stuff for Mom and Dad instead."

And with that, my Hallmark-esque vision crumbled into a pink and red glittery pile before my eyes.

No matter how much I talked about how fun it would be, and how much I bribed him (hey, this blog is a no-judgment zone) he refused.

Instead, I gathered everyone in the backyard so that the mess wouldn't be inside, and so that 2 of The Kids could frolic in the sunshine while I art-ed with 1 child at a time. Before I knew it, the twins were having their first true encounter with finger-painting (not 1 at a time), and were having a ball, while I was scurrying around trying (and failing) to keep everything fairly neat and organized.

The following is my conversation a few hours later with my darling New Yawkah. I love her.

"Man. I am so purple and exhausted."

"Tripped down stairs or marker fight with your nannees (my new made up word for the kids you nanny)?"

"Finger painting with twin 17-month-olds..."

"I was close! Pictures on blog?"

"Oh no no. If I had introduced a camera to the mix, the fit would have hit the shan."

"Not even to capture the aftermath? Haha, sounds fun though!"

"The aftermath was 2 nekkid (but colorful) babies, a dripping water hose, purple clothing scattered over the lawn, and a deep puddle of water on the back porch."

"That's the PERFECT opening line for a movie! Copyright that shiz!"

"I'm on it."

You heard it here first, folks!

Oh! And happy belated Valentine's Day!

Because I Am So Hopelessly Behind...

I had a good long break from this blog from October to late January. Non-intentional, of course. I just suddenly found myself with less time on my hands to actually type things out as they come. And so now I am very behind on sharing some major developments.

Beware of my bullet notes.

• I BOUGHT MY FIRST CAR!!!!!!!!!!!! The first one that's totally and completely mine, anyway. Before December, I had been driving my Dad's little pickup exclusively since 2003 (though he never would let me refer to it as mine). But anyway, I started getting really serious about car shopping as soon as I got back from Australia. Each time I had a free moment I was scouring dealerships' webpages looking for good deals. I found it was safer that way, being in the safety of my own home, protected by internet anonymity. A young woman, new to car-buying, not mechanically-inclined, alone, going into used car dealerships on evenings and weekends? The target on my backside could NOT have been any bigger. But, being on the internet and speaking with sales reps through email (primarily), being able to check their sales info against car websites, call them out on any gimmicks they tried to sneak past me, and then bid them against each other for a great price all led me to get a GREAT DEAL on a GREAT CAR!! I'm a little bit proud. ;)
• The Kids are all so much bigger and different that they were in their nannylogs debut. Man. Let's start with Buddy: almost five years old (whoa). Still runs around constantly in his Hulk pjs. He recently lamented to his mother "But Moooommm, I only ever feel tough and strong when I wear my Hulk pajamas! Don't make me take them off!" On the plus side though, the foam Hulk fists? Its been quite some time since they have bashed me off-guard in the face. I don't know yet if that has genuinely passed, or if he is merely lulling me into a false sense of security.... I've been spending quite some time trying to get him excited for school in the fall, but to be honest, he's not too thrilled about it. I'm sure there will be more on that later. BUT. Ah man. THE KID HAS STARTED READING!!! I am so ridiculously excited! Now, he's not reciting Chaucer or anything, but he's got the basics down, and is starting to connect the dots on letter sounds and putting all the sounds together to form a word. From his booster seat in the car the other day, he confidently spelled out the word "bag" to his mother and I, with absolutely no assistance. It was a proud moment.
• Brother is getting quite ornery with age. But he's so darn funny, with a mischievious little twinkle in his eye and impish grin. He spends a majority of his day chasing Buddy around the house, wanting to do absolutely everything that Buddy gets to do. Naturally, this has led to a few sticky moments, and I'm formulating a theory that little boys' bodies must contain some form of naturally-occuring rubber (with all the accidents that make me gasp and cringe, which they seem unfazed by). He is also constantly talking. While mostly sounding like an adorable minion, he's also got some definite English going on too. And he LOVES to parrot. And giggle. Its pretty stinkin' cute.
• Sissy loves to be held. Not so much for the attention, but just to be able to see what you're doing. She's not one to lose composure over being set down, but given the choice she prefers to be up on a hip (has to be the left one too... she has her preferences) sucking on her fingers, observing. She is the only child I have ever seen who can be bribed with clothing. It doesn't even have to be hers. Just hold up a random shirt and say "Sis, what have I got here?" And she comes running, eyes shining, as fast as her adorably chubby legs will carry her. Such a smiley little sweetie. And she absolutely LIVES for getting dressed in the morning. As far as talking, she's started to parrot a bit more, and will say a few words, but is truthfully perfectly content to let Brother handle most requests and negotiations. She and I stick together in the house full of rough-housing little boys.
• I have my feelers out to move this summer. Probably much more to be said about that as the time gets closer!
• Multiple trips planned for this spring/summer! One MAJOR one to a big city, one RELAXING one to horse country... Both involving sweet friends who I don't get to see nearly enough for my liking. Pretty pumped!

I think that is about all for the bullets... Actual posts to come!! Thanks for indulging my Reader's Digest-esque catch-up session!

Don't Go Into the Woods...

The Kids house backs up to a beautiful and serene green belt, which is arguably one of the best things about the backyard. The small trees and frequent bunny visitors create an idyllic view when gazing out across the yard from the back porch. Its one of my secret daydreams to imagine the day when my "job" is to sit on that back porch chair, looking across the beautiful yard and beyond, a glass of sweet tea at my side as the kids all laugh and play peacefully together.

And since my vision does not include anyone eating small rocks or bugs, bopping each other with sticks or toys, or attempting to run each other over with Power Wheels vehicles, I'd say I'm not quite there yet.

But its a nice vision anyway.

Buddy is also quite fond of the backyard greenbelt, but for an entirely different reason. He loves it for the possibility of endless "eventures".

I have long held the belief that Buddy is a country boy mistakenly living in the city. He enjoys all things guns, sticks, knives, and Bear Grylls. So it is a favorite pasttime of his to hop the small back fence with his dad and tromp around "in the woods" as he calls the small area, exploring, finding big sticks, and stomping in any interesting mud puddles he comes across.

So today, since it was a gorgeous, warm, and sunny afternoon, its too early in the year for snakes, and the children were energized and ready for something a little different, I elected to throw caution to the wind and take all three ankle-biters on a short jaunt over the fence. I figured since Buddy does it a lot with his Dad, there wasn't an issue.

Are you laughing at me yet? Because you probably should be.

I had been promising Buddy just such an outting for almost a year now, but we never could leave the safety of a sidewalk with the giant stroller. And each time before the babies weren't strong enough walkers to do much traipsing. So naturally, when I began lifting the kids over the fence, their excitement was palpable, and their thrilled grins could not have been bigger.

Everyone was having a blast crunching through the leaves, tripping over the odd hidden bunny hole, and inspecting every inch of the area right by the fence. Buddy at first tried to lead the crew straight into the thickest part of the "woods", but I quickly convinced him it'd be better to stay by the fence for the babies' first "eventure".

Buddy, electing himself leader, set off immediately at a relaxed pace, pointing a few things out to his siblings. Brother, a little adorably timid in this new leaf-strewn world, reached up and took my hand before following. And as for Sissy, it was all I could do to keep her hand in mine. She clearly had her own agenda and route.

We barely had gotten a few yards away when I stepped down and suddenly had that dreaded, pushing feeling of something piercing right through your shoe (which is no small feat, given that my boots are almost an inch thick at the soles) and scratched the bottom of my foot. I briefly let go of Sissy's hand, brushed away the leaves from where I had just been scratched, and sure enough: there was an old small piece of wood under the leaves with a orangish, rusted nail sticking up about an inch high.

"EVENTURE OVER, BUDDY! We're going back right now!"

"Awww why?" He whined from ahead of me, "We just started."

"There are dangerous things back here, I didn't know or I wouldn't have let us do this." I said as I scooped up the twins, Sissy struggling mightily against me.

As I hurriedly lifted each of the loudly-protesting kids back over the fence into the safety of the yard, it hit me how much God had REALLY been looking out for us on that brief trip over the fence. It creeps me out to think back now at what else could have been hidden under the leaves for our unsuspecting selves to step on. OF COURSE, I would rather myself step on a thousand rusty nails before Buddy, Brother, or Sister would step on one, so I was blessed that I was the one that stepped on that nail rather than them (with the twins on either side of me... SCARY!)while I just-so-happened to be wearing the only shoes I own that have soles thick enough to take the brunt of the nail's length for me. Really now, what are the chances?

And while yes, everyone WAS having a ball "in the woods", I doubt I'll ever be brave enough to take the kids back there again. I'll let Buddy get his "eventures" in with his Dad.

And Bear Grylls.

A Lesson in Theology

Buddy has been going through the typical small-child coming-of-age fear of dying. Neither I nor his parents are prone to randomly bringing the subject up to the kids, so we have figured this is just a natural thing for him to worry about as he gets older and first comes into contact with the idea that no one is immortal.

His parents and I have been easing these random fits of worry by assuring him that he doesn't need to be concerned about things like that; That he and his family will all be together for a long, long time.

And, taking a cue from his mom and dad, we've also taken this opportunity to get him excited for heaven, and to tell him just how awesome of a place it is. SO awesome that he doesn't need to even be concerned about death. We may have stretched some of the theology in the process (such as telling him about all the candy and video games he'll get to have in his mansion in the sky), but we figure as he gets older and his faith grows his vision of heaven will evolve as well.

Anyhoo. All that brings me to the events of lunchtime today.
Buddy, Brother, Sister and I were all sitting around the table eating and tossing around the usual mealtime banter (actually, Brother and Sister were spending their time tossing around the actual MEAL, as toddlers are apt to do...) when Buddy suddenly sighed dramatically and exclaimed "Devyn... I just can't WAIT for heaven!"

Smiling, I agreed.

Buddy continued, "I can't wait for my big comfy bed that will be made out of a cloud that Jesus will give me."

"Oh yeah, dude. I bet that will be the comfy-est bed ever!" I encouraged. "Your big comfy cloud-bed will look so cool in your big mansion that Jesus will give you!"

"Yeah. And outside I'll ask Jesus for a big grill for Dad. He likes grills."

"That's a good idea!"

He turned to me, "How big will your grill be, Devyn?"

"Well. I'm sure I'll have a grill too, but I bet ya'lls grill will be bigger than mine, since your Dad loves grills more than I do. Because Jesus puts all of the things we love the very most in our houses in heaven."

Buddy thought a moment. "I'm gonna have so much candy and video games then!"

"Mmm."

After a few minutes of thoughtful chewing, he continued "Devyn, what color is Jesus?"

"Hmm, that's a good question, Buddy. What color do you think he is?"

"He's red."

Allrightythen.

"That's a pretty interesting color to be. We'll have to see if you're right when we get there." At this point, I sat back and just watched the little cogs turning in his head as he dreamed up what his heaven would be like.

"Devyn, why don't you know what Jesus looks like?" He asked. "Did you forget or something?"

"I haven't seen Him yet. We don't get to see Him until we go to heaven."

"But what about before you were born?" Buddy challenged, "you saw Him in heaven before He sent you to earth!"

"You're right, Buddy, I did. But after you get sent to earth, you forget exactly what He looked like, and you just have to trust and remember in your heart that He's there, waiting for you to come back. That's called having faith."

He chewed his fishstick thoughtfully while mulling this over in his 4 year old mind. Suddenly he dropped the fishstick, eyes wide, and stood up in his chair.

"THAT'S WHAT IT SAYS IN DAD'S BLACK OPS GAME TOO!!! When things are dangerous and there's scary music playing, the guy yells 'HAVE FAITH'!!"

"Exactly."

A lesson in theology over fish sticks and green beans, with Black Ops references.

Whatever works, man. ;)

Open Letter to the Neighbors

Dear Neighbors of The Kids--

I would like to begin this apology note by explaining how the event in question began: with a "flawless" plan. I was simply trying to get all three kids tired and ready for their nap by taking them on a nice walk around the neighborhood right before naptime. They had been running around "like hooligans" (as their mother would say) with not a trace of sleepiness in their eyes in the 30 minutes leading up to nap. So. This is where my plan was concocted.

It sounded simple. Put Brother and Sister in their wagon that they adore, and let Buddy lead the way around the neighborhood, looking at all the Halloween decorations.

Let me assure you, dear neighbors, that that IS how the walk innocently began. Or else I would have turned that caravan around and sprinted back here. You neighbors who live closest to the house can attest to that. (Not the 'sprinting back here' part, the 'innocent begin to the walk' part...)

When we got to the other side of the neighborhood, that's when it all went south.

It is at this point in my story that I begin my apologies.

I am sorry to any neighbors that were disrupted by the intermittent sounds of our caravan starting and stopping multiple times in order to make sure the babies kept arms, legs, and water cups in the wagon.

A few houses further down the street, I must apologize to any neighbors who were disrupted by various calls of "Buddy! Not so far ahead! Stop and wait for us to catch up!", "Buddy! Speed up, dude! You're getting left behind!", "No, Buddy, those decorations aren't ours! Don't take them!". And also for the frequent stops to make sure the babies kept arms, legs, and water cups in the wagon.

A few houses further down the street, I must apologize to any of you neighbors who were dismayed or disrupted by Buddy's sudden feet-dragging, and I'm-about-to-die charade. I assure you he was quite fine. He had merely just realized he left his water bottle at the house and was discouraged when I told him I had no way of Superman-flying back home to get it and bring it to him. He did not, in fact, die, and drank instead from his siblings' cups. Don't worry. I also apologize for the afore-mentioned frequent stops to make sure the babies kept arms, legs, and water cups in the wagon, which were still in full swing. And also for the indignant whimpering from the escape artists babies.

When we rounded the corner, I apologize to any neighbors who were surprised to see me stop the caravan quickly, once again sit the babies down, and invite the still-irked-about-the-water-bottle Buddy to ride in the wagon. Since he had been forced to share cups with his brother and sister, he had taken to walking even slower, and I figured if I could get him in the wagon, not only could I walk faster, but he could help me to make sure the babies kept arms, legs, torsos, and water cups in the wagon. I must also apologize for the louder indignant whimpering from the foiled escape artists babies.

Upon rounding the final corner, my apologies must expand: I am sorry to any neighbors affected in any way as I trudged my way up the hill after that final corner. I suddenly had a good deal more weight in the wagon than before (with the addition of Buddy) and hadn't anticipated the energy required to get all three kiddos up the darn hill. I also apologize for the loud wails a bit later from the wagon of "DENNNAAAAA!!! (sob, wail, sob, hiccup) NENNNAAAA!!!" coming from Sister. As near as I can tell, this is her way of saying my name, and she was trying to complain to me about her older brother sitting her back on her butt everytime she attempted to make a bid for freedom out of the now-rapidly-moving wagon. Never fear, she was not in any way hurt, just frustrated. To these same neighbors I also want to assure you that Brother was absolutely fine. He had just quickly grown tired of watching his siblings' battle of the wills and was resting his head on his hands, looking blissfully tired and ready for nap.

At this point, I hope you can understand my take-no-prisoners stance and facial expression, and my increased acceleration. I had just spotted The Kids house in the not-so-far-off distance.

To any of the next-door neighbors who wondered why the babies and I stood in the driveway for so long after getting home while Buddy was nowhere in sight, there is a great explanation for this as well. Buddy wanted to test his independence and go through the back door on his own and unlock the front door for myself and the babies. Wanting to encourage the helpful attitude and controlled-independence (I had the house key in my pocket, just in case), I allowed him to go ahead, and I would count to see how fast he could do it. You may have noticed how slowly I was counting as he raced into the backyard. You may have also noticed that I stopped counting, reached for the key in my pocket, and began to look slightly perturbed when I got to the mid-forties and he still hadn't opened the door. But, I do hope you noticed that right after this, Buddy opened the door with a grin and announced he had been inside for a while, watching me from the front window and feeling sneaky that he was inside the cool house while everyone else was still outside counting loudly.

So. It was all under control. And I apologize to any neighbors who thought otherwise.

Ya know what? Actually I DON'T apologize. For any of it. Because you were all probably laughing at me the whole time anyway. ;)

Love, Devyn.

PS: For those interested in if the walk did serve its original purpose of making everyone tired, it did. Me included. So there.