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!”

Noodle Nose

This morning over coffee I asked my husband who his favorite kid was. He looked at me all disgusted. “C’mon we all have one.” I coaxed. He paused.

Pointing my finger in the air, “Ha! I knew it!”, I smiled and took a long sip of my 2 hour old cold coffee.

“Well, I don’t have a favorite. They all have their moments.” he retorted.

“Way to play it safe.” I smiled and winked at his uncomfortable handsome face.

“Okay, who is your favorite?”, he asked, trying to be sly.

“Excuse me, I’m not a monster that’s just mean. Anyway they all cause me about the same amount of grief.” I said.

All joking aside, I agree with him. I don’t have a favorite, but they each have their own moments that are super fun. It’s an understatement when I say it’s been an adventure watching them grow. Seeing how each of their extremely different personalities are developing and witnessing which fighting style they prefer right before bed is humorous. Or as my husband and I lovingly refer to bedtime as the longest, most insane, worst 4 weeks of our day.

Speaking on how they each have their moments, this is all about our 4 year old M. She is straight up hilarious. Like seriously one of the funniest and happiest people I know. I want to be like her when I grow up. She is also very intelligent, but she does have more than a few “bless your heart” moments in a day. Hey I’m not being mean, I have those a lot too… bless my heart.

The other night at dinner, surprise surprise, it was spaghetti. Okay, it was really just egg noodles with butter and cheese, because my children are weird and only eat like three things. My husband and I were discussing the next school year and weighing the pros and cons of sending M to Kindergarten. Out of the blue M says in her sweet little voice, “The seven continents of the world are: North America, South America, Europe, Australia, Asia, Africa and Antarctica.” Rick and I just sat there with our mouths agape. I’m pretty sure a noodle slide out. Stunned, words finally found their way to my lips, “Yes. Yes, those are the seven continents M. Great job!”

She giggled and slurped up some more noodles. As she was basking in the admiration of good job cheers from her sisters, Rick and I looked at each other in shock.

“Wow, I mean I’ve always known she is really smart, but..” I said.

“I know, wow that is a good preschool. Maybe she really is ready for kindergarten. This is great!” my husband said.

“I know, it is a great preschool. I think that..” and before I could finish my thought or statement M interjects, “There’s a noodle in my nose!”

“Excuse me, a what?” I said.

“A noodle mommy!” M said excitedly.

I go over and look at her nose and I see literally nothing. Her nostril is as plain as this dinner. She keeps insisting there is a noodle up there. I keep insisting there isn’t. Trying to distract her from this noodle thing, I tell her to finish eating so we can go clean the bathroom, or I guess other people might call it bath time. My children splash around in the tub like deranged sea lions, so my bathroom floors are like, seriously immaculate.

Also I am comparing this noodle in the nose moment to this past Super Bowl Sunday. What happened on that day? Oh let me share. We made lots of yummy appetizers, because that’s what you do on that particular Sunday in the States. There is also a football game on tv I think. Anyway back on point, my husband gave M a little smokie on a toothpick. M ate the smokie, but magically didn’t have the toothpick. My husband then asks her where it is and she said she didn’t know. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged into the kitchen by my panicked 6 year old because M ate the toothpick and we have to go to the hospital now! M also provided theatrics by holding her throat sobbing, swaying and saying, “It hurts! It hurts!”, I still picture the Wicked Witch of the West melting and collapsing to the ground. Long story short, she didn’t eat the toothpick… it was on the table.

So now you can see why I am a little skeptical that she shoved a noodle up there.

All through dinner she keeps fiddling with her nose. I ignore it, because gross and I’m hungry. I give in and after dinner I take her to my room where I find one of those blue baby nose sucker things, that magically made it through my great baby items purge. I had her lay down and I used that sucker. I really did give it some effort and sure enough out came.. nothing. Nothing comes out! She is still upset, but I calm her down by promising her a bath with all 18 of her Barbie’s. As I’m drawing the water I hear M give the biggest sneeze. Like Texas big. Startled birds flew off the house and everything big. And sure enough this egg noodle about two inches long shoots out of her nose and lands on my super clean bathroom floor, all gooey and slimy. M with the biggest smile, squats down and holds it up to my mortified and shocked face. “See Mama! I told you there was a noodle in my nose!” she says proudly.

Well shit, there sure was.

After some debate, we have decided that we are still sending our little “Noodle Nose” to Kindergarten this fall. I’m just going to pack her lunch.

Oh and what is our bedtime fighting style you ask? Mostly Passive aggressive comments and empty threats of desperation. Then hugs and kisses of course.

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.