Fashion maven

My son makes the most interesting sartorial choices. This doesn’t include earlier this week when he unzipped his pajamas and pulled his legs out of them—quite a sight to see the boy jumping in his crib, pajamas flying, when I walked in his room that day!

Hayden is convinced that this is a hat:
oh, is that a hat now?
They could double as swim trunks. No comment on which is their intended purpose. But Hayden’s expression there reminds me of this guy:
commander keen slug

And today, when he woke up from his nap, Ryan called out for me to see him like this:
hooray for dressing myself
That would be his shirt around his waist.

The argument I’ll be having for the rest of my life

I realized last week that I’ve been having the same argument for the last twenty years. I have three younger sisters, and you’d think we were all here, reliving our Barbie-and-clean-up-time-induced blow outs. Seems like every other sentence out of my mouth could be a direct quote from our childhood.

Stop that.

Don’t touch that.

Stop, you’ll break it.

Don’t touch it.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Please don’t do that.

Ouch—you’re hurting me.

Stop—you’re stepping on me.

Please don’t mess with that.

Leave it alone.

Leave me alone!

I imagine that by the time Hayden’s old enough to not need these constant injunctions, he’ll be giving them (and receiving them) from his siblings.

Not-so-Amish Friendship Bread Instructions

My sister-in-law brought by an Amish friendship bread starter the other day. Reading over the instructions, I decided to tweak the instructions just a little. Enjoy!

Amish Friendship Bread

Don’t use metal spoons or bowls for mixing. Don’t refrigerate the starter unless you’re lazy or forgetful. Then you can refrigerate it. Just mush it when you remember it. It’s supposed to bubble and ferment, but be sure to let the air out of the bag; it might pop.

Day 1: Accept the starter. Say thank you. Put it on the counter. Glance at the instructions, pretending to be interested. Begin plotting who you’ll foist this on next week.

Day 2: Mush the bag.

Day 3: Squish the bag. Think about who would actually accept this.

Day 4: Let your toddler mush the bag.

Day 5: Add 1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar and 1 cup milk. Oh and guess what? Mush the bag.

Day 6: If you forgot to add that stuff yesterday, do it today. And mush the bag.

Day 7: Squeeze the bag repeatedly.

Day 8: Remember that you only have two days to figure out who to give the starters to. Panic. Beat the bag to vent your aggressions.

Day 9: Mash the bag. Make a list of all your friends within driving distance. Call two of them to ask if they’d like friendship bread. Sense their hesitation. Decide not to call anyone else and just drop in bearing ‘gifts.’ Go get gallon zipper bags if you’re running low and photocopy the instructions.

Day 10: Mix and divide the starter. Pour the contents of the bag into a bowl (remember non metal) adding 1.5 c flour, 1.5 c sugar and 1.5 c milk. Mix (though, if you’re on a roll, you could certainly try pouring all these into the bag and . . . you know, mushing it). Measure out 4 separate batters of 1 cup each into 4 gallon zipper bags. Write the date on the bags. Look at your list of friends again. Pick the three or four you can afford to lose if necessary. Give them the bags later. Heck, you could even ease their ‘burden’ by giving them the bags on day four. Or five. Or nine. Don’t forget to include the instructions.

With the remaining batter in the bowl, make bread. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Add
3 eggs
1 c oil (or 0.5 c oil and 0.5 c applesauce)
0.5 c milk
1 c sugar
2 tsp cinnamon
0.5 tsp vanilla
1.5 tsp baking powder
0.5 tsp baking soda
1.75 to 2 c flour
1 large box instant pudding mix (any flavor. Very Amish, yes?)

Grease 2 large loaf pans and divide mixture. Bake 55-60 minutes. Sprinkle cinnamon/sugar over the top before or after baking.

If you keep a starter bag for yourself, you must be a glutton for punishment. Or you need the stress relief of four seconds of squishing a somewhat viscous liquid. Maybe you should get a bag of honey instead. But, hey, you could have fresh Amish bread every 10 days. And continue forcing the starters on your friends. Until you run out of friends.

Only the Amish know how to create a starter bag, but apparently they got on Allrecipes. If you give away all your starters, you’ll have to wait until someone gives you one back. But I’m sure your friends would be eager to return the favor if you’d like one.

Experiment with bananas, raisins, nuts and other mix-ins (I saw a comment on Allrecipes that said they added crushed pineapple and coconut) and other flavors of pudding mix.

After the stress of baking and probably losing your daily four seconds of stress relief, it’s probably time to sit down with your loaves of Amish bread and eat them both in a single sitting.

It can’t be fattening if it’s Amish, right?

The naked truth

I was hanging out with two of my sisters a few weeks ago and we walked into Borders books. One of the greeting card displays near the front had the classic (cliché) card with a picture of a nakey baby’s bottom (oh, I can’t wait to see the Google traffic for typing that one).

One of my sisters said something about how cute that was.

I muttered, “I see enough of that already.”

Love kisses

Hayden has been kissing just about any stuffed animal he can get his hands on lately. (I’ve got some cute video of him kissing Marty the Monkey that I’ll have to upload.)

At least I think it’s kissing… He hasn’t quite learned the puckering portion of kissing and instead just presses the stuffed animal’s muzzle (sometimes its mouth, but more often its nose) against his lips over and over again.

Unfortunately, he’s not much of a one for kissing people. At least not me, anyway. I have even asked outright for kisses. Sometimes he smiles at me coyly; most of the time he makes the stuffed animal kiss me. (Once, completely without prompting, he gave his dad a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, so I’m doubly jealous!)

Today, I let him play with a fur mouse that really belongs to Whiskers. Don’t worry, she’s never used it; it was still in its packaging when he found it and demanded it. As soon as I gave it to him, he began to press it to his lips. I was sitting with my face inches from him anyway, so I took this opportunity to ask for kisses.

He offered me the mouse.

I stole a kiss.

He went back to kissing the mouse. The next time I looked over at him, he still had the mouse against his mouth. Well, more accurately, between his teeth.

Guess I don’t need kisses that bad.

The wrong impression

Yesterday some nice missionaries came by my house. I’ve never had missionaries from another faith talk to me (I know, shocking), and it was a good first experience. We talked about the Bible and Satan’s influence in the world. I could have gone on and on about my beliefs, but I respectfully listened instead and ended up politely declining their offered book about the Bible. (I hardly have enough time to read the Bible, let alone read about why I should be reading the Bible.)

They thanked me for coming to the door (which might have been a rarity in my neighborhood, though I’m sure many people were legitimately not home, despite having cars parked in their driveways) and bade me a good day.

As soon as I shut the door, I bowed my head pensively—and noticed my shirt. I bet they must have thought they hit paydirt when they read what it said:

My shirt