It is with a heavy heart that I come to you, to tell you that we are sick, AGAIN.
I know what you’re thinking. “Is this beeyotch for real? There’s no way. At this point, I can’t even feign sympathy.”
Well fret not, my friends, I don’t want your sympathy, or your pity. I just want your understanding in that it took me forever to write this post. (I realize no one was waiting for this with bated breath, but a girl can hope.) Also, we had a snow day yesterday, today, and are already set for one tomorrow. So, OBVIOUSLY, this took me a little extra time to write. Instead of working diligently on a new post, we were playing educational games and fun things like ring-around-the-rosey (we were definitely NOT watching T.V. or playing on iPads or playing video games-I’m a GOOD mother.)
This week, in the life of a diseased family, Harrison and I decided that we were going to make a recipe from his new cookbook. The other day, my Bacci (Grandma) bought Harrison “Grandpa’s Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs Cookbook”. Both he and Delaney have been enjoying looking through it, but I thought it was time we actually tried it out.
Cooking with a toddler is exactly how you imagine it. Well, it’s exactly how you imagine it, if you’ve been a parent of a toddler for any length of time. Its messy, and, depending on your mood, either frustrating or super fun. Today, it was super fun.
I wish I could lie to you and tell you it was super fun because I was relaxed and carefree and a “cool” mom. However, it was actually because, instead of following the recipe in the cookbook, I lied to my son. He wanted to make pancakes for dinner, and I am nothing if not flexible (and also tired) so I was like, “Hell YES, we can have pancakes for dinner.” (I didn’t actually say Hell. Or DID I? I’m such a mystery.) However, when I looked at the pancake recipe he was referring to in the cookbook, I realized that that freaking thing was LONG and UNNECESSARY. Like, it called for nutmeg, or something like that. So, like the excellent mother I am, I lied and pretended to make the recipe. What I ACTUALLY did, was pull out the box of pre-made pancake mix, and poured it into a bowl. I then gave Harrison the EXTREME privilege of stirring the mix with the Agua. We had to adjust the moisture level, so I, of course, asked him for his opinion on whether or not I should add water. He concurred that I should add the water.
After the mix was well stirred, I asked Harrison if he wanted to, VERY CAREFULLY, pour some of the mix into the frying pan. He, very excitedly, told me “yes, I would love to do that.” So, after expressing how much caution needed to be used around the stove, I helped him pour the mix into the pan. At this point, I expected some frustration on his part, wanting to pour more mix. I was, instead, pleasantly surprised to find out, that he was over it. He asked to get down and went on his merry way. I don’t know if some of that was due to his illness, or if it was because he actually took an afternoon nap, but I will take my victories where I can get them. I don’t question miracles, I just bask in their glory.
I fried up the rest of the ‘cakes and expected them to be enough food for our dinner. (It was a small, late dinner because I (stupidly) let them snack beforehand.) However, they were still hungry. So I, not thinking they had had enough carbs, let them eat macaroni and cheese. (Listen people, I know they need more protein and less carbs, but they cannot eat chicken nuggets or burgers for every meal and that is all the protein they will ever eat.) Luckily, the mac and cheese did the trick and the children went on to playing in their rooms.
So that was it. That was our first cookbook experience. Stay tuned, because next time we’re going to try the English muffin pizzas. Wish us luck!
Post Script: I would LOVE some new meal ideas. Seriously, I’m running out of food options over here and I just want them to eat healthy. Please leave a comment below with a healthy idea, or, like, point me in the right direction. Our diets need work. Help usssss. <(Read that like a desperate plea, not like my usual whine that I know my husband *loves* hearing.)