Some things never change.

When he was small, he knew how to wear me down to get what he wanted.
"Cookie?"
"No. No cookie."
"Cookie?"
"No. You're not getting a cookie."
"Cookie?"
"Nope. No cookie."
"Cookie? Cookie coookie coookie? Coooooooooooooooookie!!?? Cooookie?!?? Cookie cookie cookie?"
Three hours later, I'd hand him a cookie just to shut him up.

Recently, I realized he hasn't stopped employing the tactic that works so well for him. He's only become more subtle at it, even if his level of desperation determines his level of patience. A few weeks ago we drove past a Subway, a sandwich shop chain restaurant. "I haven't had a chicken bacon ranch in a long time."
"That's nice," I said.
The next day he said, "You know what I could go for? A chicken bacon ranch."
"And I could go for a million dollars." I said.
A few days later, "I am SO craving a chicken bacon ranch."
"And I am SO craving chocolate," I said.
After a bit he started chanting rhythmically, of course, "Chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, chicken bacon ranch, ranch, chicken bacon ranch, bacon bacon, chicken. Chicken chicken bacon. Bacon chicken ranch. Chicken bacon ranch..."

On the way to musical practice, I bought him a chicken bacon ranch sandwich. Hey, the kid needed to eat dinner, right?

Having learned his lesson so well (mom is a huge softy), Joshua pushed his advantage yet again tonight. Because Joshua and my father have a drum lesson on Monday nights, the two of them usually go together. They also usually get a milkshake after their lesson at one of the many places near the music store. This week, however, I had to take The Boy to his lesson because my father is soaking in the sun in Florida. As expected the begging commenced the minute we stepped out onto the porch of the music store.
"You know," he said. "Pop and I always get a milkshake."
"That's nice," I said. I was fully anticipating I would stop somewhere for a milkshake. I knew there was no way I could really win against his charm, but I was not about to give the kid the satisfaction of knowing right away. I decided to play with him a little more. He decided the game was on.
"Yeah. We could stop for a milkshake."
"In case you haven't noticed? I'm not your grandfather."
"But you could still get me a milkshake."
"Notice how I do not have gray hair, yet. Nor do I sport a beard."
"So what you're trying to say is, you're not Pop."
"Exactly."
"What does that have to do with getting me a milkshake?"
"Everything. It has everything to do with getting a milkshake," I said as we happened to pass a Sheetz, a gas station/mini-mart/sandwich shop.
"I'd even settle for a milkshake from Sheetz," he said looking out the window.
"How about Carpet Mart. Would you settle for Carpet Mart?" I said as we passed the store.
"Sure. I'd settle for that..." he paused, "If they had milkshakes. Hey, where are we going anyway?"
"The Mega-Monster-Super-Duper-Craft-Store," I said. "Your sister has oil based paint all over her. I have to go pick up some non-toxic paint remover."

We pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of the car, while Joshua said, "Milkshake. I bet this store has something like a milkshake. Or candy. I'd settle for candy."
"You're not getting candy."
"Oh look," He said reading a sign on the front of the craft store, "Framing. That's one letter switch away from 'farming' and farms have cows. Cows make milk. You use milk to make a milkshake. Can I have a milkshake?"
"Interesting logic," I said chasing him into the store while attempting to give him a noogie. "I'll have to ponder that one for a moment.

We wandered to the art department to find the paint remover/thinner and thus commenced the milkshake chanting. "Milkshake. Milkshake. Milkshake...Hey, you could get a milkshake. I could get a milk shake. Look frames. Remember? frames are just a few letters away from farms...farms...milk? Milk...Milkshake? Remember?" I ignored the chatter all the way to the checkout counter.

Thirty seconds into standing in line to pay for my purchase, he realized he was holding the trump card all along. He whipped out his wallet and said, "Oh hey. I have my own money. I can get candy!"
"No. No. No. I'll buy you your milkshake. Put it back." Dang. I wanted the element of surprised as I pulled into the ice cream shop. However, he had forced my hand, rather cleverly, I might add, so I was forced to give it up.
"Yay!" he cheered.
"Brat," I said.
He beamed so bright, I'm pretty sure he blinded the clerk.

So call me a softy, a wimp, or a pushover. I can't deny that it's just so hard to resist those big brown eyes. I melt every. single. time. Just like that triple scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough he opted for, instead of his milkshake...

Who spilled the beans?

Because I find it difficult to find things I like to pack for lunch, I always come home half-starved after work. So, the minute I walk in the door, I set my things down and look for the nearest snack at hand. Yesterday, it was the can of cashews still sitting out from breakfast. I figured Hannah probably had had a handful along with whatever else she had scrounged up to eat before school. Since she is the master of unique breakfast cuisine, it didn't strike me as unusual. If anything, I was annoyed that the cashews had been sitting out all day.

So I opened the can of generic cashews, and noticed these small red beans mixed in with the "nuts."
"What on earth are those?" I said to myself as I shook the can around to see if it was just on the top. "They look like dried kidney beans."
"I don't know," Hannah said. I noticed her expression shone bright with curiosity. "Let me see!" I was still holding the can when she pulled the can downward to get a better view.
"Yeah, Me too," said Ruth, coming over to us to have a peek at the mysterious cashews and beans.
We all looked into the can and dug around a bit. "Maybe the manufacturing lines got crossed? But what an odd thing to get mixed in. I would think they'd accidentally mix in peanuts or something. Not dried beans."
"Yeah, that's weird," Hannah said. I looked at her again, suspicious, but her face was still a picture of innocence.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" I asked
"I don't know how that could have happened," Hannah said. We played the staring game for a few seconds, while I looked for any signs of deception. Seeing none, not even her cute but ornery expression, I tucked my misgivings into the back of my mind, and picked around the beans to eat a few cashews.

Jeremy arrived home a few hours later and I showed him the can of cashews. "Weird," he said. "Maybe we should take a picture, and send it to the manufacturer."
"Nah. It's generic. It wasn't as if this was an expensive can of nuts." I said.
"True." He picked around the beans, digging around to see how thoroughly mixed they were, stopping every so often to pick up a nut and pop it into his mouth.
"I dunno. I ate a few, but wondering if I should have just tossed the can," I said, mildly worried.
"Eh, it's probably alright." Jeremy ate a few more nuts.
"I'm sure it's fine," Hannah added.

Putting the can aside both physically and mentally, we began our hectic evening routine, and didn't contemplate the kidney beans at all until later last night. We're in the last week of the school musical which means more hustle and bustle than usual. Joshua came home from dress rehearsal, walked in the door, and noticed his father holding the cashews. Inspecting the contents once more, Jeremy said, "Yanno, I really think someone tampered with this." He subtly gestured with his head at the jar of dried kidney beans sitting on the piano, completely out of place.

I glanced surreptitiously over at the piano. "You think?" I said, feigning stupidity. "I don't know. Where on earth would they have gotten the beans? I don't think we have any dried beans laying around here..."
Losing his composure, Joshua began howling with laughter.
"You just gave yourself away," Jeremy pointed out matter of fact.
"I know!" Josh said between spurts of laughter. "I'm the worst liar in the world. I cannot lie at all! Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!"
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" I asked.
"It wasn't just me!" Josh said, indignantly. "Hannah was there too!"
"Well, your little sister is a little bit scary how easily she can lie to us. She didn't give anything away at all this afternoon when you weren't here."
He laughed even harder.

This morning as we sat around the breakfast table, I made eye contact with Hannah. Picking up the cashews, I shook them a few times, looking at her expectantly. She countered with a confused expression. I shook them again, and she said, "What?"
"The gig is up," I said. "Your brother gave you away last night."
Joshua started laughing again, as Hannah glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "I'm sorry!" he told her, "I couldn't help myself!"
"It wasn't really me," she protested. "Joshua is the one who put the beans into the can and shook it up."
"But you were his accomplice," I said. "Guilt by association. Oh, and here's a tip: I would highly recommend not getting into mischief with your brother. He'll always give you away."

Baking 101

Once upon a time, I baked everyday of the week. It seemed I always had a recipe I was tweaking, baking without recipes, just tossing stuff together, and whipping out things that were pretty well received. I heard enough complements to be able to say with all modesty, I was, back in the day, a half-decent baker. No doubt, I inherited the genes from the grandmother and great-grandmother whose baked goods were to die for, and whose recipes were sketchy at best, because neither had measured when they baked. 

A few years ago, I developed a sensitivity to wheat. At first it was thought I had Celiac Disease, a not-so rare disorder where gluten sensitivity causes damage to small intestine, making absorption of nutrients next to impossible. There's a bit more to it than this, but that's the basic premise of the disease, as it was told to me at the time. I lost thirty pounds in about a six week span. Oddly enough, tests remained inconclusive until the genetic test was done. I don't carry the gene. I can't have the disease. However, during that time, I switched to gluten free baking, and boy, was that a challenge. I made my own flour mixes, tweaked recipes to suit my tastes, and in the end, discovered I could create foods better than I could buy. But it was twice as much work, the flours three times as expensive, and I needed four times the space to store some of my flours.

Many might argue with me on that last point, but I found that I preferred to use a large variety of gluten free flours to make my baked goods taste as close to the real thing as possible. And since I bought bulk to save money and to make my own baking mixes, I needed space to store the flours. Over time, I became really burned out with baking, and didn't even touch a mixer until my daughters began expressing interest. There was one problem. I didn't even own a bag of all-purpose flour anymore.

So I began teaching Ruth how to bake using pre-made, store-bought mixes: cookie mixes, muffin mixes, cake mixes...if there was a mix, we bought it, and she made it. It was easier for me, at the time, to buy her a mix when I grocery shopped, than to start building up my much depleted baking supplies. And out of necessity, I discovered a really good stepping stool for teaching a child how to bake for real. Mixes taught Ruth how to follow step by step directions. And they ensured that the final product came out edible, so there was a measure of success Ruth always achieved from her labors. The positive reinforcement for a her, in my mind, out-weighed the negatives of a baking mix a purist might have.

Over time, I began purchasing the necessary ingredients needed so I could teach my child "How to bake from scratch." And over time, Ruth has become rather adept at following a recipe, for the most part. I have spent hours standing over her, teaching her how to crack and egg, cream butter, knead dough for bread... She's grown to love the process as much as the end results. As she's matured, she has developed the patience to see the project through to the end, rather than leaving me to finish what she started. For a child with inattentive type ADHD, whose brain has developed differently and has been maturing more slowly (in some ways), using a mix as an intermediate step has been a wonderful way to build up to more serious baking.

At this point in her childhood, Ruth most certainly has the baking mixes down to a science. She even baked her father's birthday cake from a mix last month when I wasn't even there to supervise. Jeremy was home, but didn't even have a clue that Ruth had started his cake. To say the least, I was impressed that she was able to manage all the steps on her own, and pay attention to the cake in the oven.

Joshua turned the plate, while Ruth decorated her cake for Daddy.

On Thursday, Hannah decided it was her turn to learn how to bake. There was one small problem. I was still not up to speed on Thursday. I was still channel surfing from my prone position on the couch. No longer wishing for death, I was still not real enthusiastic about being upright and productive.

"I want to make my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies," Hannah said.

"I'd like to have a million dollars," I said.

"Aww." She looked at me with the biggest saddest eyes should could muster, and said, "I just really want to make cookies."

"Look," I said. "I'm not up to making cookies today. But your sister is really good at it, and if you promise not to fight with her, I'll let you make cookies IF and ONLY IF you listen to her as she teaches you how to use a baking mix."

"Ok," Hannah promised quickly. "I won't fight."

"I'll be sitting right here listening to you. I'm holding you to your word." I knew her word wasn't worth a hill of beans, and braced myself for the inevitable fight.

"Ok," Ruth said. "Now you have to read all the directions through at least once. I like to read them twice."

Good girl, I thought.
"I did read them," Hannah said.

"Really?" Ruth asked.

"Yeessss," Hannah said, exasperated.

"Ok. Now you're going to pre-heat the oven, did you do that?"

"I can't even reach the buttons."

"Fine. I'll pre-heat the oven," Ruth said. "Now, when you crack the egg, make sure you don't get the shells in there. Hannah WAIT. The mix says the butter and egg have to be blended FIRST!"

"BUT I WANT TO PUT THE MIX IN NOW!"

"BUT YOU'RE NOT FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS!"

"I DON'T NEED TO FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS!!!"

I stopped the fight before it went too far, and called Hannah into the living room. "Hannah," I said, "What did I say about fighting?"

"But she's being bossy."

"I know what bossy sounds like. I've heard Ruth be bossy. She is NOT being bossy. Ruth is being instructive, and you are not listening."

"But I want to do it MY way."

"Listen, Hannah," I said, soothingly, "I love and appreciate your strong sense of individuality and your need to go against the flow. But not all things in life work that way, and baking is one of them. You must must must follow the directions, whether it be a box mix, or a real recipe. If you cannot find it in your little unique and original soul to be conventional for this one short moment in time, I'm afraid Ruth will have to finish baking your cookies."

She looked at me, blinked a few times, and said, "O.K."

"Ok?" I asked to make sure.

"Yeah, O.K."

"Trust me, baby. You'll like your cookies much better if you follow the directions. I know how hard it is to do what the package tells you, but you have to, at least when you're learning. One day when you're good at this? You can mess up the recipe any way you like. But I have to tell you a secret...even when you change up recipe, you still have to follow a basic set of rules, or it won't turn out."

She nodded, and turned back into the kitchen looking a little bit defeated.

Until we ate the cookies. Hopefully, Hannah learned something from all of this: sometimes going with the flow is o.k. too. Especially when there's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the line.

Dinner with the Mels

They say family dinners are important time to bond with your kids and spouse. I wouldn't argue the point, because when family dinner is summarily taken away, one begins to realize what one has missed. Last Wednesday I had minor surgery that became a much more major ordeal. Because of various factors, I've not been healing as fast as the doctor expected, or I would have liked, and pain management has been a real problem. In other words, I hurt. I hurt bad. And to combat that pain, I've been on gooood stuff. The kind of stuff that melts my brain, makes peach fuzz of my memory, and mince meat of my hand-eye coordination. Maybe someone else wouldn't blink to be put on a pain pill, but I'm a lightweight. It doesn't take much to turn me into a marshmallow.

I've not left my perch on the couch for much more than transitioning from the bedroom in the morning to the living room, back to the bedroom at night. As a result, the house has been in a state of continuous chaos as Jeremy worked sixty hours or more over the last few weeks and at the same time attempted to take over all the chores I normally do. Meanwhile I laid on the couch in a drug induced state, covered in ice bags, or heating pads, and basically whined my little heart out. The children are resentful that they now have more chores (gasp) to help pick up the slack. And they have realized (smart children that they are) I'm in too bad of shape to really be of any threat. It's not as if I'm suddenly going to get up and chase them around the house with a wooden spoon, right? One easy dodge, the child goes right, I swerve left, and there I am, sprawled indecorously on the floor. I know this, and they know this, so I've been dealing with 'tude, and emotional meltdowns, and well, pretty much everything children do when Mom is out of commission. (And this is a joke to illustrate a point in an outrageous manner. One can never be too sure these days...always better to have a disclaimer).

Today was the first day in a week and a half, I was up,  sort-of about, and off the  heavy-duty pain pills. So I decided to go one step further and have a much needed family dinner to help instill a much needed sense of normalcy. Jeremy had prepared baked chicken the night before, so it was a simple matter of reheating, and cooking up some side dishes. Thank you birds-eye for your steam-in-bag veggies and potatoes. We might all die from cancer some day from microwaving our food in plastic bags, but it sure saved us some much needed time tonight.

We barely sat down to our food on our plates when the conversation started up.

"I'm eating chicken. You know what? I need my chicken suit to eat chicken," Hannah said.

"You'd be a cannibal," Jeremy replied.

"OH! Then, I really really need my suit!" She started to get out of her chair when her spoilsport father told her to sit back down.

In his usual non-sequitur manner, Joshua decided to add to the budding conversation, "Man my lips are chapped, and I have this crack in the corner of my..."

"Then you shouldn't be kissing your girlfriend," I interrupted without skipping a beat.

"WHAT?!? I...Not...I'M NOT...WHAT?!" He stuttered, indignantly.

"AW aw aw aw!! He's guiiiilty. He's been kissing his girlfriend," Ruth and Hannah sung.

"I have NOT," Joshua said, while crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his chair.

"Don't worry, Josh," Jeremy said. "When they get bigger you can embarrass them in front of their boyfriends."

"Yeah, I can tell him how Hannah..."

"I'd stop right there, Sir," I said. "Because you were worse than she was..." I left the sentence dangling and looked over at the girls whose expressions could only be described as containing gleeful sibling malice.

"Yeah Josh..." Ruth added, rubbing her hands together. "Go ahead and tell stories. See what we come up with for you. Muhahahahahaha."

Joshua turned his lips in towards his teeth as he always does when thwarted but considering other strategies. "Hmm," He said as he poked a green bean with his fork, "You're right. I don't think that would be so smart."

"You know," Jeremy said changing the subject. "We need to pop a huge batch of popcorn, and take videos of us while we see who can stick the most pieces of popcorn on our tongues." He laughed when he saw my expression.

"YEAH!" Joshua said enthusiastically. "Then we can run it on repeat on the dvd player and Mom will have to watch it over and over and over because SHE'S STUCK ON THE COUCH!!!"

If that isn't motivation to get better...I'm not sure what is.