Sacrifice

Last Wednesday marked the beginning of Lent, a time when many people choose to "give something up"; to abstain from something or some habit or some vice in our lives, until Easter arrives. The hope is that rather than turn to these things or habits or vices, we turn to prayer, mediation, acts of kindness/charity instead, and embrace these small "sufferings" and await the inevitable transformations that become of it. Honestly, I've not always been a big fan of the "giving something up"- I don't usually feel convicted one way or another, and I feel like a decision to truly sacrifice something ought to be done with strong conviction and should be heartfelt and meaningful. Truthfully, I wanted to avoid committing a personal "Lenten tokenism".

As a kid growing up, we were forced EVERY YEAR to give up TV watching. Which was okay for the most part, except that wouldn't you know it- EVERY YEAR the Oscars would happen during Lent season, and I'm pretty sure I was the only girl in the whole world who didn't get to see the glamor unfold on the red carpet, or see acceptance speeches, or swoon over live footage of Tom Cruise and Kevin Costner in tuxedos. I might still be carrying around a little bitterness over it. I promise never to do this to my children unless they're in a phase of severe misbehavior and I need a decent bribe to get me through til Christmas time.

And then I got the bright idea (and conviction! and excitement! and passion!) to give up my two favorite past-times: eating sweets and drinking wine. That's right. I am now on a heavily restricted no-sugar diet (because I still eat fruit and I sometimes use a little honey to sweeten my sad, plain yogurt) and a complete lock-down no-alcohol diet (because I'm crazy). I was really excited about this because it's a win-win no matter how you look at it. Anything I can do to supplement the hard work I've been doing in the gym over the last 3 months is only going to encourage me further, and I've given something up that has truly been a sacrifice. I wanted to choose something meaningful, and by golly- sugar & alcohol have always held a special place in my heart. It's made me aware of all the other things I can be doing with my time, my body, my mind in lieu of ingesting sugar or alcohol. It's also made me aware of how much I adore unwinding with a glass (or two) of wine.

I won't lie, it's been...difficult.

Day 1, I had one of the worst headaches of my life. I'd like to think it was an unrelated headache, because it's not like I eat doughnuts and drink shots of vodka from sunrise to sunset or anything. How the heck could I be "withdrawing" so quickly? Was this a head game (pun intended)? The headache lingered all day long, tempting me to just call the whole thing off, throw in the towel, run down to the closest 7-11 and buy myself some M&M's and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. But I'm actually quite fond of this challenge because I know that I can do it. When I think of how many more instances I'm going to have a craving for one or both things, and how many instances I'm going to have to resist the temptation and find something else to do, I cringe. But when I look at it one day, one hour at a time, I feel strengthened and even more passionate about this commitment.

43 days to go. If I don't blog for a few days, it means I cracked under pressure, gave up on the commitment and I'm too ashamed to say so.

Pop Culture, 101

Ever since Ella started walking, her relationship with Ben has been taken to a whole new level. I've waited for this stage for 15 months, and I knew with her sassy little 'tude, she'd be able to stand up to his almost-four-year-old zaniness. No longer is she the delicate baby who can't do much but fuss and potentially get in the way of his boyish playtime. In his eyes, now she is fair game, and he isn't interested in wasting any more time. By golly, there are months' worth of games he needs to educate her about! He's tried teaching her about the game of Tag which, so far, seems to be their most successful game. In our house, a game is successful if the quantity of laughs outnumber the quantity of tears. Yesterday they both willingly participated in a somewhat organized match of wrestling. Half the time I couldn't even see them but about every 5 seconds yelled out "BE GENTLE WITH HER!" for good measure. I like to refer to this method as "Halfway Parenting". In a pinch, it works wonders.

And then today a new game was born. I think this game is called Intro to Pop Culture, and it has me deeply afraid. As I was cleaning up breakfast this morning, Ben & Ella were playing together quietly in the living room. And I overheard a very frustrated Ben say this to my sweet & innocent baby girl:

"NO, SISSY! (his affectionate nickname for Ella) You can't walk away from me because I'm being Super Man, and you have to be Lady Gaga! Okay? OKAAAAAAY, SISSY? BE LADY GAGA! Mama, sissy's not being Lady Gaga!"

 Ella, sweetheart, Mommy is begging you: please don't be Lady Gaga.

How or when or where he heard of Lady Gaga, I'm not really sure. I tried to inquire about how he knew her name, but he was still hyper-focused on being Super Man, who had a universe to save and a pop star to charm. And so it begins; he already doesn't have enough time in his day for his poor mother.

What can I do? Nothing. We already went almost four whole years without the words "kill" or "gun" entering his vocabulary, and I regard that as hugely successful considering how it was just a matter of time before he'd create a gun out of a toy screwdriver and pretend to kill me with it. So for now I'm perplexed, playing it cool, and putting all TV viewing on heightened security. But trust me, if either of my kids so much as hum the tune to "Poker Face", I am SO calling a shrink. 

Date Night

Image by Martha★ via Flickr

Saturday night was our Valentine's Day Date Night, and we thought we had bamboozled the entire public by going out and celebrating a whole day early. What a couple of CRAZY kids we are! Here was the recipe for our date night beat-the-crowd success (in case you want to take notes and plan better for next year):

1) I went to Ross and found one very adorable/ridiculously comfortable/very affordable dress to wear approximately one hour before Date departure time. In this instance, $10 was a small price to pay for the level of cuteness I brought to the table. And when Dan saw this level of cuteness, he knew it was time to bring the big guns.
2) Dan bringing the big guns = Dan got super cute himself and applied Marc Jacobs cologne (which Ben passionately praised Dan for before we left the house, claiming that he smelled quite "fresh"). Dan also wore his new fedora which made him even taller and sexier and further affirming my decision to marry him 5 years and 3 months ago. I haven't always made the best decisions, but that one stays at the top of my "way to go" list.
3) Went to dinner ridiculously early (because this sneaky tactic will always yield many table possibilities AND increase your chances of arriving upon some sort of "happy hour" special).
4) Went to see a movie that has been out for 2 months (in our case, the very "romantic" Avatar) and consequently the dust had settled around the hype of said movie. Therefore, we were able to claim two decent seats. And honestly, half the fun of it all was smuggling in 3 bags of M&M's that we purchased from the gas station just minutes before. Because when you're paying $11 for a movie ticket (can you believe they charge $2 whole extra dollars for the 3-D!) buying M&M's for a decent price feels like a small victory. For the record, and for those curious, I did enjoy Avatar. It was visually incredible and really quite beautiful. But I'm sure anyone reading this already knows the reasons to see Avatar because Dan & I were most likely the last people on earth to see it.
5) Drove home holding hands, arrived home relaxed, paid the babysitter, received one angry voicemail from our grumpy neighbor who complains about our dog (we're going with the "kill them with kindness" approach), cuddled up and fell asleep within 3.5 seconds of hitting my pillow.

I hope I always get excited to put on a dress for Dan, and I hope he always gets excited to put cologne on for me. Because in our crazy day-to-day lives, both gestures are rare.  But I cherish having such a simple way to let him know that I love him with all of my heart.

Really, it was quite the perfect evening.

Sassypants

So during my time of being MIA from this blog, my baby girl officially (and FINALLY) became a walking girl. I know! Very. Big. News. And although this is what I've been yearning for quite some time now (no offense Ella, but 25 pounds is a bit much to lug around all day, and these hips of mine aren't what they used to be since birthing two babies), I find I'm the slightest bit...sad. Because, let's face it: it's official. Ella totally doesn't need me for anything anymore. I mean, aside from the whole feeding her/protecting her thing. Ohhhh, the emotional conflict that is parenting.

Anyway, I've discovered over these last 15 months of her life that she is gifted in many areas, but perhaps the two areas she continues to excel in are 1) being ridiculously cute and 2) being ridiculously sassy. She is doing things that shock me on a daily basis that seem FAR TOO EARLY for her to have mastered. Like, quality Academy Award Winning Performances such as arching her back when I'm trying to buckle her in the carseat. Or throwing herself on the floor (face down) and crying bitter tears when I use that painful word, "NO". There is a very strong shoe fetish that has already developed. She sometimes appears to intentionally soil her outfit of the day, JUST SO I CAN CHANGE HER INTO A NEW ONE. She's crazy for anything that resembles a baby doll. And I'm fairly certain the other day she attempted to roll her eyes at me out of pure disgust and annoyance. Ever since then, I've been expecting her any day now to say something like, "Uh, Mom, can you, like, drop me off at the park, like, a few blocks away so, like, not all my friends see you? And why can't we have a cooler car? Honda's are SOOOOO last year. By the way, can I like, borrow $20? And your mascara?"

And we haven't even scratched the surface of the impending PMS/raging hormone years. I'm pretty sure I have NO IDEA what I'm in for down the road. Lord, have mercy.

Which is precisely why I force myself to take little videos, such as this one, so that I can look back 15 years from now and say, see? Isn't she wonderful? Isn't she the most darling, precious thing you ever did see? Don't wring her neck! Instead grab her and make her watch these sweet home videos that show just how crazy I was for that baby girl, and how one look with those chocolate brown eyes of hers, and I am putty in her chubby little hands.

On Where I've Been

I am not good at using my time to its utmost efficiency. Or maybe it's just that I grossly underestimate how long most things will take. Example: I've always been pretty convinced that driving anywhere in the county will take me about 15 minutes. And then in those RARE instances when I actually trek out on a Costco run (one of my top 5 most dreaded outings because who can stand the chaotic parking lots and terrible lighting and the lines and the ridiculously heavy carts), clear on the other side of the county, it becomes very obvious that "15 minutes" was a major underestimation. More examples: a few years ago, I saw no reason why we couldn't paint three bedrooms in the span of one morning, even if we had a curious crawling baby at the bottom of our ladders, playing in the tray of wet paint. I honestly thought it would take an hour. SINGULAR. One hour. Really, it took 5 days. In this case, gross underestimation of about 39 hours.

My husband still laughs (and yes, there's a slight mocking tone to his laugh) at my constant state of over-optimism. I'm the type of person who wakes up thinking how wonderful it would be to make a lunch for my husband before he leaves for work, begin a load of laundry, prepare individual 3 egg omelets from scratch (but not before I begin making delicious morning muffins) for the entire family, clean the kitchen, get everyone showered, dressed and pressed before 8 am. But in reality, the truth is SOMEthing always gives, something falls to the bottom of the priority list, and the something is usually my shower or personal grooming time that suffers. So instead, my reality is Dan leaves the house in the morning making his own sad little lunches, laundry only gets done when everyone is out of clean underwear, I've still never actually made an omelet in my life, the kitchen accumulates dishes all day long, I often face the world without makeup or appropriate clothing (I feel a nomination for What Not To Wear coming on...), and sometimes the dog doesn't get fed until dinner. Jealous?

So what's with all the true confessions and where have I been, you ask (well at least 3 of you have asked)? Why have I abandoned my blog for almost a month?

I'm not really sure. All I know is, the kids both got sick at the same time, and then I underwent what was the two most challenging weeks of my life. This wasn't the first time they've both been sick simultaneously, but it was definitely the most exhausting. A few doctor visits, sleepless nights and SEVERAL prescriptions later, they have been restored to health, but I honestly think the experience took a huge toll on me. The backlash of it all sent me into an almost month-long state of writer's block. There were lots of tears. There were days where it took every ounce of energy just to get out of bed and do it all over again. I was like a 90 year old woman, and would fall asleep within an hour of eating my dinner. I could hardly even muster the energy to watch The Bachelor! I was behind on EVERYTHING for weeks. Bills. Phone calls. Emails. Showering. Working out. Grocery shopping. Showering. Quilting (!). Reading. Showering. And truthfully, it's hard to sit and blog when you feel unclean and hungry and completely out of sorts. So....I just didn't blog. I just didn't do a lot of things.

And, I'm a creature of habit. So once I got out of the routine of blogging (and showering and paying bills and working out and quilting) it was extremely hard for me to get back in it. It's just the type of person I am- regardless of the wonderful intentions I may have, I have a tendency to over-promise and under-deliver. I mean, for heaven's sakes, when I was growing up I had my younger siblings convinced that if we just put a little elbow grease into it, surely we could dig a tunnel to China. TEAMWORK! KEEP DIGGING!!! See? Classic case of over-promise, under-deliver (or as I affectionately refer to it, OPUD).

Also, for the record (and somewhat in my defense): there haven't been many inspirational "bloggable moments" lately that I felt were of any interest to write about. But then again, I've been asleep or in a haze lately, so maybe I missed a few things.

But, regardless, I'm back, baby. Sooooooooo back.

And I killed it at the gym yesterday and celebrated my success with a homemade milkshake.

Cream Cheese Pie

I cannot deny that I love a good slice of cheesecake, but when it comes down to it, I actually much prefer this "spin-off" alternative-- the cheesecake's cousin, shall we say? It's called Cream Cheese Pie, and I've been eating this version since I was in diapers. Literally. There's a picture of me SOMEwhere in my half-naked glory, sporting nothing but a diaper, cream cheese pie crumbs, and a giant smile. It's been in my family as long as I can remember (the recipe, not the picture), and although I'm sure we weren't the ones who created the recipe, I've yet to find one person who has tasted it for the first time in my presence and then commented, "Oh yeah. I've totally had that before." I've loved this pie for so long that I can remember requesting it for almost EVERY birthday when I was a young girl. And I think my mom was always secretly thrilled because she may be the only person who loves it even more than I do.

There's so much to love about this pie (though I've been known to lick my plate anytime there's a graham cracker crust involved....) and I think the reason I prefer it over Cousin Cheesecake is that it's a little less dense, and therefore a little less rich. It's creamy and a bit tart (thanks to the sour cream top layer...which reminds me, did I mention the two layers?) and buttery and even better when you throw some berries on it. Also, I don't know of a SIMPLER recipe that produces such an amazing final product. Time to get baking! (Alicia, that means you!)

Cream Cheese Pie
Crust:
16-18 graham crackers
1/3 c. sugar
1/2 stick melted butter (+ more if needed)

Preheat oven to 350. Combine graham crackers & sugar in food processor and mix until crackers are crumbly (or alternatively, you could put them in a large ziploc bag and use a rolling pin to crush). Then slowly add in melted butter. If crust is too dry, add more melted butter, about 1 T. at a time. Crust consistency should be fine, sticky crumbs.  Press crust into bottom & sides of a 9 inch pie dish. Bake at 350 for about 8 min. and allow crust to cool. Turn oven down to 300.

While graham crust is cooling, mix together the ingredients for the bottom layer:
Bottom layer:
8 oz. package of cream cheese, room temperature
2 eggs
1/2 c. sugar
1 t. vanilla
Beat until lumps are gone and batter is smooth. Pour into graham pie shell. Bake at 300 for about 20 minutes or until pie is slightly jiggly (NOT soupy). Cool completely, then place in fridge to chill for at least 1 hour.

Top layer:
8 oz. sour cream
2 T. sugar
1 t. vanilla
Mix together, pour on top of chilled pie and spread evenly. Bake at 350 for about 15-20 min., or until set. Cool once again, and refrigerate until set (at least a couple hours). ENJOY!

Leading Me On

Image via Wikipedia

Lately we've had a unique little situation unfold outside our house. Sometimes a UPS or Fed Ex truck will pull into our driveway, and without fail I sit there watching and waiting by the window, completely engrossed in finding out what unexpected delivery could possibly be arriving to our home. Because unfortunately, Lord knows it wasn't me that ordered something. And then, after a good 2 minutes of this thrilling little waiting period, they drive away and I am left in an anti-climactic emotional heap. 


Since this has happened more than a handful of times, it can really only mean one thing in my book: there must have been some sort of memo (unbeknown to us) distributed to courier companies near and far, alerting them that our driveway has been nominated for the perfect little pit-stop destination. Come one, come all! The Dewig Driveway is THE PLACE to sit around and twiddle your thumbs, Fellow Couriers! Sure, there's a creepy stay-at-home mom inside who is ALWAYS in her sweats and tries to unsuccessfully spy on us in secret, but it's a small price to pay for an opportunity to sleep/eat/waste time on the job! 



How did I not see this coming? 


So here's what I have to say to my local UPS & Fed Ex Drivers: You are all a big tease. AND, it is my strong opinion that if you are going to have the audacity to use my driveway for pit-stopping or making personal phone calls or just taking a brief nap, then the least you could do is give me some sort of signal indicating there is no intention of bringing a fun surprise to my doorstep. Perhaps you could put on your hazard lights. I'll get the message loud & clear, even yell a "ROGER THAT" out my door if you'd like. Or maybe just make a sign that reads, "Don't Get Your Hopes Up" and mount it to your dashboard. You do whatever way works for you, but please, implement some sort of system ASAP. Otherwise one of these days I'm going to be forced to greet you in my driveway with my overly-hyper dog that you all seem to be SO scared of, and demand that you give me one of your boxes. The prettiest or heaviest one. Don't say you were not warned. Deal?

Ouch.

The other day I got an email notification that I had received a comment on my blog from a name I did not recognize. And I was all, Oh super! I see what's happening here! Obviously strangers are reading my blog and love it so much, they feel compelled to leave me comments! So in the midst of my giddiness, I logged onto my account and realized that the Mystery Fan's comment was in some sort of foreign Chinese-ish language. Maybe it was Japanese? Mandarin? Vietnamese? Forgive me, I really don't know. But it was the sort of language that uses those crazy symbols for letters. At first I was really disappointed, because there was no way of my translating a word here and there (as I could have with Spanish. Or Pig Latin), and NOW how in the world was I supposed to know what my Secret Admirer loved the most about my blog? How can I connect with my sweet little International Reader if I can't understand his/her feedback? This was a quandary.

And then I made the discovery that their comment was clickable! Hooray! A link that would surely bring me to a whole new world-- theirs! Perhaps it would even lead me to their blog? And I could learn a little bit more about my Secret Admirer? I could see what we have in common, what our common interests were, what led them to my own blog?

Or, Just Kidding.

Turns out it was just spam. The pornographic kind. Good old Chinese/Japanese/Vietnamese porno spam.  Getting that smut in English is annoying enough, but in another crazy language? Ten times worse. So thanks for that, International Secret Admirer.

Bottom line: no one from China (or Japan or Vietnam) reads my blog. And for the record, it appears I'll be having a slice of Humble Pie for dinner. Delish.

My Very First W.I.P.

(That's Work In Progress for those of you who aren't familiar with production-type lingo).

Did I mention to y'all that I started making a quilt? Or maybe I'm already getting ahead of myself. Did I mention to y'all that my very loving and generous (and incredibly gifted) mother-in-law gave me a beautiful Bernina sewing machine for my birthday a few years ago? She did. It was probably the most exciting thing I've ever received in the mail. It's beautiful and has been very forgiving and patient with me. I've done lots of little projects over the years, but I've been so busy birthing and nursing babies that I've never really had the time or energy level to do something on a grander scale.

But 2010 is going to be my year, baby! Break out the thread and bobbins!

So, as I was saying, I'm in the process of making a quilt. My very first one, and I'm very emotionally involved and attached to it. It's not going to be the most amazing quilt you've ever seen, but I'm pouring lots of love and honest effort into it. Did you ever see that movie Like Water for Chocolate? It's a pretty weird little movie so I'm not exactly recommending it. But what I remember and loved the most is that the main character does a whole lot of cooking fabulous Mexican food, and all of her desires and wishes are translated into her medium- her cooking. So, when she's sad, her tears inevitably drop into the food she's preparing, leaving those who ingest the food weepy and full of sorrow. When she is feeling full of love and passion, those who ingest her food are hit with an overwhelming desire for love and uncontrollable happiness. I'm kind of hoping for the same thing here- that whoever uses the quilt feels all warm and fuzzy inside because of the love I poured into making it. Either that, or I'm hoping they won't notice what's sure to be dozens of novice-like errors.

If you're wondering if I'm tackling this project with a plan, YOU BET I AM! For the most part, I'm taking an ample amount of naivety and combining it with my very hopeful recipe for success:

Take the support and encouragement I've received from this woman, my mother-in-law (the quilting QUEEN!)

ADD the inspiration from some of her most beautiful pieces of work:

 

Plus my choice of fabrics

 

All sewn into a billion rows

Will hopefully yield SOMETHING like this in the end (thank you, Amy Butler, for making such pretty fabric):

 

Pretty cute, right? I'm staying positive. I'll keep you posted. Unless something goes terribly wrong, then I'll probably deny ever having started this project in the first place....

Strangers

The other day I was unloading my kids in the Trader Joe's parking lot in a hurry, getting ready for a major grocery trip. I was anticipating the chaos that is a grocery store full of busy moms & crying children all trying to squeeze down narrow aisles simultaneously, and already beginning to feel stressed without even stepping a foot in the door. Which reminds me, Attention All Store Managers: Here's a tip.You should probably offer moms a Mimosa when they walk in your door. If you do, I predict these moms will relax, smile more, yell at their kids less, and probably inadvertently buy more stuff. Irish coffee would also do the trick as well. Or sake. Oh, how I love me a glass of hot sake....
But I digress.

So I had just put Ella in the stroller, Ben was beside me, when a cute little old lady who had parked next to us came and approached us. I always make an effort to be extra sweet to little old ladies like this because most of the time they just want to fawn over my children and enjoy the undeniable (what? I'm not biased!) cuteness they posses. Many of these women proudly share with me sweet little anecdotes about their own children/grandchildren, or some just miss their own grandchildren so desperately that they simply can't resist doting on every child in sight. My children are creatures of habit, so when we're approached in this manner, they've learned over time to flash a smile and wave hi or shake these ladies' hands or blow kisses, etc. And this inevitably brightens these ladies' day, so they walk away happy and I walk away happy and proud of my cute kids who smiled at the nice stranger. Everyone wins.

This was not the case with this particular woman.

At first, everything started as per usual. She made comments about my "fancy" stroller and how she never had anything like it when she was a young mom herself. She touched a couple of my things as she was admiring my stroller but it didn't really bother me because after all, she was just a sweet old woman. She began talking to my kids and commented how cute they were when suddenly she had to ruin everything and ask what was on Ella's face. Is it some sort of rash, she wanted to know, looking at us as if she'd just been exposed to a leper. Then I had to delve into my rehearsed monologue about how Ella simply has a bad case of eczema which is nothing more than severely dry skin, and how she gets flare-ups on her chubby little cheeks depending on the season, what she eats, etc.

In hindsight, sharing this innocent tidbit of information was a mistake of giant proportions.

Suddenly, this woman- let's call her "Sue", shall we?-- begins sharing with me her own skin ailments. And by sharing, I mean slowly (EVER SO PAINFULLY SLOOOOOOWLY) bending over to show me her swollen ankles that have suffered from various rashes for years and oh my heavens she must have a strong case of eczema as well. Then there was the large part of her mid-brow that is constantly dry and itchy. And flaking. Look?! Do I see the flakes? I might need to get closer so I can REALLY see her dry flakes. Such a shame to have such flake-prone skin, Sue claimed. And this is when I realized two things: 1) I've never heard anyone use variations of the word "flake" so many time in one sentence, and 2) Maybe Sue isn't totally....."with it", shall we say? I'm smiling on the outside, but internally I just want to get inside that store and get this stressful shopping trip overwith already. This is when she hits me with: (brace yourself because apparantly not all 72 year old women speak as tactfully as I had always assumed)

"You know, skin issues are just a BITCH! [Cue Ben's wide-eyed curious wonderment] I mean, I can handle my body getting older because if something hurts, if I get a headache, I just pop a pill and BOOM! All better! But these skin problems!? A BITCH! Oh, and don't even get me started on the yeast infections underneath my breasts that I used to constantly have. [OH.MY.GOSH. Is this some sort of sick prank???? Am I being punked?] Those breast yeast infections are the worst! I mean, can you imagine how miserable a perpetual yeast infection underneath your breasts would be? You know, all you hear about in today's culture is how great it is to have large breasts* [*this is not the actual word she used, but sometimes family reads this blog of mine, and I'm so embarrassed and disappointed by "Sue's" potty mouth that I felt it necessary to censor her. But call me anytime and I'll tell you what she really said....] but I say, who needs those big breasts? They're nothing but trouble! If I had much smaller breasts, I probably never would have suffered from such terrible yeast infections. My daughter, she has small breasts, and I used to tell her all the time how very lucky she was for being blessed with such small little breasts....."

For those of you who may have forgotten, keep in mind that I AM STILL IN THE PARKING LOT, for heaven's sakes! Trying to get inside the store! With my two very patient and innocent children! And somehow we fell target to this woman's unfortunate skin & breast complications. And the entire time, all I'm really thinking is....WOW. Nothing motivates me to grocery shop for food more than stories of skin flakes and yeast problems.

Eventually, I simply had to walk away from "Sue" but not before she delved into a very juicy Chapter 2 of her ailing woes, entitled "Having My Tubes Tied 34 Years Ago". I did a lot of smiling and nodding at her, grabbed Ben's hand and started walking as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Needless to say, the whole experience was downright awful. I've never had a stranger over-share such an abundance of repelling personal information in a 5 minute time span.

Once inside the store, an understandably confused Ben turned to me and asked, "Mommy who was that lady?" And I said, "Buddy, that was a crazy woman who spoke too much about herself and didn't know how to keep things private. And so when we get home, I want to talk to you about something called 'strangers', and why it's not okay to talk to them."

From now on, if I get approached by an older person, I'm going to pretend to be mute. Tough stuff, lesson learned.

Ode To The Pork

Oh, my people. HAVE I GOT A DINNER FOR YOU!

Those of you who know me are probably aware of my deep seeded passion for pork tenderloin.  In fact, in our household, 2009 was really the Year of the Tenderloin. Not even an entire country contaminated with swine flu can keep me away from my swine loin (and yes, I know, before I start getting comments about that statement, I'm aware that the two are actually unrelated). I'm slightly embarrassed by my strong feelings for it, because I realize after all, it's just pork. But if I'm going to be honest with you, then you should know that just writing this blog posting on this subject matter, I'm finding myself literally salivating and experiencing intense stomach hunger pangs. And I'm racking my brain, trying to manipulate a plan to have Dan swing by the grocery store on his way home and pick me up a nice juicy tenderloin and throw all current dinner plans out the window. Fortunately for me and my swine addiction, over the course of this year I've found many, many fantastic ways to sneak yet another pork tenderloin onto the dinner table. My family has graciously humored me and chowed it down each and every time. But because of this, I was nervous whether or not my family would once again embrace this new little recipe I found. And then I realized, HECK!- who can resist a slice of juicy tenderloin that's been cooked in BUTTER AND HONEY? The answer is either "no one" or "a crazy person", that's who.

I think one of the reasons I love pork tenderloin so much is that it's such a quick-cooking cut of pork, not to mention lean. So I'm able to prepare a deliciously healthy meal in a very short amount of time. Browning the meat in butter and honey before roasting is the key here...and with only a few ingredients required, it's a recipe from heaven. Ladies & Gentlemen, it is my great honor and pleasure to introduce you to:
 
Pork Tenderloin With Honey Butter
 
Ingredients:

Serves 4

• 4 tablespoons butter
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 1/2 pounds pork tenderloin
  
• Salt and pepper
• 1/4 cup water

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a Dutch oven or ovenproof skillet, heat butter and honey over medium heat, stirring to melt butter. Season pork with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper, and place in pan. Cook until underside is lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Turn pork, and cook until other side is browned, about 5 minutes more. Lower the heat if the honey begins to burn.
2. Put pan in the oven, and roast until pork is just cooked through, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer pork to a plate.
3. Add water to the pan, and stir over medium heat to scrape up all the browned bits. Add any accumulated pork juices from the plate, and simmer until sauce is reduced to about 1/2 cup. Slice pork on the diagonal, and serve drizzled with butter sauce.

On Why Curious George is Now Banned From This House

Welcome, Tuesday morning. Here's what just unfolded 10 minutes ago:

Me: "Ben, I was just in your closet putting things away and I noticed the carpet in your closet is all damp. Do you know why?"
Ben: "Because I peed in there."
Me: "WHAT?????!!!!!!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU PEED IN THERE?"
Ben: "Moooom, it's okay! I was just really curious about that."
Me: "First of all, it's NOT OKAY. It's DISGUSTING. We are not animals. Secondly, the next time you get curious about something, you come talk to Mama first. Thirdly, we never EVER EVER EVER pee in our closet. I can't believe you did that, Ben."
Ben: "Okay, Mama. But I didn't pee once. I did it two times."
Me: "Super. Thanks for the full disclosure."

For the record, it's situations like these that dominate my daytime and prohibit me from doing things like, say, putting on makeup. Blow drying my hair. Responding to emails. Cleaning my bathroom. Thank you, God, for the institutional sized bottle of carpet cleaner waiting for me in the cupboard. I wonder how many calories one burns while cleaning pee-saturated carpet?