Go For Crackers

Remember that time the world shut down and we were all stuck at home? Target started selling clothes that looked like we were all heading back in time, to start our own homesteads. The memories of that random time you and your buddies decided to toilet paper someone’s house brought you an actual anxiety attack at the thought of the wastefulness of that precious toilet paper? Facebook was a platform for all of your friends and acquaintances that had quickly acquired a medical degree. And suddenly everyone was a home chef and baker? Yah I’m trying to forget too.

One day while I was scrolling Facebook, trying to forget my bought of rage over my potty training toddler using a half a roll of toilet paper, clogging my toilet and putting our extremely limited supply in the critical category, I came across a nice neighbor that I had never met saying she had lots of sourdough starter to give away. This was a hard moment for me. One, ew. I don’t know who this is, where she’s been, if she had been exposed. Two, I’ve never made bread in my life. Three, I messaged her anyway.

It felt like a drug deal. Not that I have ever engaged in such depravity. So I guess I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I showed up to her home, my engine still running. I’m standing back from her door in a mask and hoodie and pajama pants because it’s cold and I haven’t been in public in ages. She gently sets the glass pickle jar down filled with the precious starter and some instructions taped to the side. She gives me a nod and shuts the door. Long story short I named my starter Amy Farrah Flour… wait for it… I know right?! And we’ve made lots of magic over the past couple years.

Which takes us to the present. One of the drawbacks of keeping this starter alive is you have to feed it like all the time. It’s like another person moved in. At least she doesn’t complain about my cooking and doesn’t require any extra laundry. And it feels so wasteful because I have to discard a bunch of it before I feed her. So I’ve been on the hunt for good recipes to use for the discard. Which leads us to today and this hysterical encounter with my daughter. This morning I found a great recipe to make crackers. My five year old daughter M is my little buddy in the kitchen. She loves to cook and especially likes to bake.

“Hey M, wanna make some crackers with me today?”, I ask.

“What?! That sounds like so much fun Mama! Are these going to be like graham crackers?”, she asks excitedly.

“Well no..”, I interject.

“We can make a house like we did at Christmas!”, she shouts excitedly.

“Baby, these are going to be sourdough crackers. So not sweet, more savory.”, I say with a grin.

She contemplates this for a moment. “Mommy we can still make a house out of the crackers! A cracker house! But we can call it a crack house for short!! This is gonna be the best crack house ever!”, she says with a crazy big smile.

Holding back fits of laughter, I agree with her. “It will be the best crack house in Texas babe!”

The Dingaling

I love little kids. I love it when they say absurd things. Their curiosity and enthusiasm for the now mundane things is refreshing. I’m jealous that they get to have tantrums and say what they want. People frown upon that as you get older. Let’s face it watching a 40 year old woman screaming and kicking on the floor because her ice cream is too “melty” is apparently not ok…. sorry again Baskin Robbins….

I love and hate their uncensored honesty. And I especially love watching their personalities come to fruition. When my now 4 year old M was 1, my husband and I were scared that she had no personality. Which if you know her, you know how laughable that thought was. We would play peek a boo, act super silly and nothing. Nothing! And we are pretty funny people, well we like to think so anyway. It was kind of a blow to our self esteem. She just seemed unimpressed with us most of the time. Fast forward a few years and she is probably one of the funniest kids I know. And that says a lot. I like to think she was just studying us back then. I have to give her credit, this girl has the quickest wit and the best one liners.

Like most sleep deprived beings, I like to start my morning with a cup of hot coffee. However, I never get to enjoy it hot. I swear the moment the coffee is done brewing my children can sense that I am excited about something. Maybe it’s the rich aroma of happiness wafting through the air that awakens them, who knows. This particular morning my sweet M comes down and crawls into my lap and burrows her tiny self into my body. I give her a big hug and kiss and say “Good morning love!”

“Good morning mommy.”, she replies with a big yawn and her sweet stinky morning breath. We sit a rock back and forth for a moment before she pops up and grabs my face.

“Mommy?”, she asks.

“Yes M?”, I reply as I take a sip of cold coffee.

“Can I see your dingaling?”, she asks inquisitively.

I start choking. I set my cup down, trying to swallow back my coffee as best I can without it seeping out the corners of my mouth. I finally catch my breath. “What did you say?”, I ask mortified and praying that I misheard her.

“Mommy, I want to see your dingaling!”, she asks again with an air of annoyance.

Now something told me not to react how I wanted to react. Because I’m assuming your mind is where mine was right then. Before I could form a coherent sentence M gives up on me and turns to her father.

“Daddy, let me see your dingaling!” she demands.

My husband’s face fell and froze. I could see the range of thoughts going through his head like mine.

“M, why don’t you show us your dingaling?”, I ask calmly. Trying to suppress my own horror.

“Okay!”, she says gleefully. She then proceeds to open her mouth and points laughing really hard. “See?”, she squeals. “See, it dingalings!!”

Oh my good gracious, thank you Jesus. M had discovered her uvula. So naturally my husband and I obliged and showed her our dingalings as well. She was thrilled. We are still working with her to use the proper name. And don’t worry her school has been notified as well.

Lent Me Ask You a Question

I don’t know about you, but I feel like Ash Wednesday always creeps up on us. I mean, I seriously just watched my neighbors take down their Christmas tree a couple days ago. Now in their defense I think they may be snow birds to somewhere like, I don’t know.. Florida. I guess our harsh Texas winters can be too much.. (Insert Scarlett O’Hara eyebrow raise). No judgement here. I love Christmas just as much as the next person, but it is March. They were past that awkward point of you still haven’t taken it down? To wow, aren’t you a little early?

Wednesday morning as I was making my bed with O “helping” me, my mom FaceTimed. O answered the phone excitedly, “Hi Nana!”

“Good morning O!” Nana said.

“Nana, what happened to your head? Are you alright?” asked O concerned.

“Oh yes honey, I’m fine I just went to church early this morning. I’m sure you’ll go tonight.” said Nana.

O looked at me with big eyes. Now mind you, she has an overactive imagination like her mama. I could just see all the questions formulating in her little mind getting ready to cascade out of her mouth. Sometimes I wish I was a day drinker. Do you know the average toddler asks 288 questions a day? That means I probably tell about 200 lies a day.

I took the phone from O so my poor mother wouldn’t pass out from motion sickness trying to talk to my daughter. Most of the time when you try and FaceTime my children, it looks like you are watching the Blair Witch Project. You get great shots of their noses, sometimes with a lovely booger dangling around. You will see my ceiling or their feet as they run off with you. You may even hear a toilet flush as they try to go potty and talk to you, talk about multitasking! And if you are super lucky they will spin around in a circle with you so you can feel like you are at an amusement park for free!

I love my morning check in’s with my mom. I’m almost 40 and I think I talk to her about 9 times a day. After we hung up, O turned to me and began the interrogation.

“Her head is dirty mom! Why isn’t she washing her face? Why did church do that to her? Does she know?” asked O sternly.

“Yes love she knows, I’m not just letting Nana walk around with dirt on her face.” I said. “On Ash Wednesday Christians put ashes on our heads to help us remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return.” By the horrified look on her face I realized that was way too deep. Before we could start a theological debate I continued. “Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent, which is when we practice self-restraint and abstention until Easter.”

She just stared at me with confused eyes. “Okay sister, basically you pick out something you want to give up. Food, a bad habit, or you can do something kind. Basically you’re doing something intentional for Jesus. What would you like to do?”

She sat thoughtful for a moment and said “How about cookies and candy?!”

Cookies and candy, huh? Well at this moment I can come clean and explain to her what she is doing or I could do to her what my father did to me at her age, which I still hold a grudge dad. I could let her think that we are having a party a church. I loved parties and one for Jesus had to be super special, so naturally I suggested cookies, cupcakes, candy, juice and pop! When we got home that evening I asked for a cookie, but instead I had a harsh “come to Jesus” moment with my dad. So do I come clean or not? To avoid long periods of screaming and crying later, because that’s frowned upon for a 37 year old, I tell her the truth.

“That’s fine, but you do realize that you are giving these things up? Meaning, no more cookies and candy until Easter.” I said.

She sat thoughtfully for a moment and had a look of regret. This look totally reminded me of the time we had lunch with my mother at Applebee’s. O loves vegetables and one particular day she decided that she wanted a side of broccoli with her meal. I had a proud mama moment, so I let her go ahead and order it. When the food came out, O looked from her plate to my mothers. My mother had a nice side of fries that caused O great remorse. O hung her head and whispered, “What have I done??!” I think I spit out my Diet Coke.

“What? Wait!! Okay.. then you can take all the fruit. I don’t want it.” Said O.

“Such a sacrifice O.” I said sarcastically

O’s smile widened and she ran out of the room. You remember that moment when your mom told you she hoped you’d have one just like you someday? Well that day is here for me, times three. I guess I can stop buying fruit and throwing it away now.