I’d Like to Buy One of Those Machines That Stops Time, Please
I’m gonna try to get through this without crying, but no guarantees. Please indulge me a little sappy sentimentality.
Today, my big kids turn 13. THIRTEEN! Where has the time gone? I know, it’s so cliche to say that, but it’s a cliche that is true. Thirteen years ago, our quadruplets were born–almost three months early. The biggest (DS1) was two and a half pounds, the smallest (DD4) was exactly two pounds. They sounded like little mewing kittens when they first made their appearance.
We went through a lot of medical crises with them in those first months. They all came home on monitors so that we could sleep at night knowing an alarm would wake us if one of them “forgot” to breathe. They were tiny, precious, fragile, and they pooped a lot.
At three months old and all home together for the first time. (Side note: I'm so low-tech, I don't have a scanner. Had to take a picture of this picture to put it up. Laugh if you must.)
Their first few years were so busy and they were so cute and wonderful. I always tell people that the Lord figured if He was going to give me the gift of four kids at once, he’d make sure they were good kids so I didn’t wind up in the nuthouse. They are all so sweet (well, maybe not with their siblings, but with everyone else) and sensitive and helpful and responsible. I may not have always been the mom that they deserved, but they have always been so much more than I ever deserved!
With our commander-in-chief. He didn't say much. (We were able to get close because security was so lax at Madame Tussauds.)
Happy birthday, Dolan babies! I love you and am so proud of you!
Even More Proof That The Baby Is Trying To Kill Me
Wait. You need to read this first:
OK, now you are properly prepared for my second installment of how BabyGirl is gunning for me. I’ve suspected for a while that the relative quiet on the stairs was just a period of planning. Today was the big offensive.
First, there was the seemingly innocent Japanese dinner party. Shoes left at the door and the royal table and chairs.
This tableau was only left on the bottom two stairs. Not deadly enough.
Shortly after that, every plastic food in the Fisher Price arsenal was added. A few steps higher to increase chance of death from a fall.
The Nintendo SP's on the lower step were an afterthought, but found to be effective and used again.
A few minutes later, with the addition of a headband, DVD box, and the formerly favored cones, the lower obstacle was complete.
Note how there seem to be empty spots to place your feet, but they are on opposing sides, thus throwing subject off-balance. Clever.
BabyGirl then turned her attention to the upper tactical area. Yes! A Lincoln Log castle would be the crowning touch! Those suckers HURT when you step on them, resulting in a stumble into the already-prepared lower threat.
"Let's see . . .castle here, teepee over here, canoe dead center. Perfect!"
Maybe, in the interest of my own safety, I need to get one of those chairs that will ride me up the stairs. Bet she’d learn the electrical skills needed to kill me that way, too. Can you call me in the morning to make sure I’m OK?
UPDATE: Seriously, y’all, I can’t make this stuff up. Within minutes of publishing this post, I walked past the stairs to see this:
Danger! Detour through the dining room! (Maybe she's going soft--the pile of unmatched socks might be to cushion my fall.)
Does Size Matter? (I Thought It Would Be Bigger)
SPRING BREAK, PART 2 (Finally, right?)
We arrived at the Canadian border in late afternoon. I had sort of expected the usual border experience. In all of my travels, the customs attitude was pretty much the same: bored irritation. We pulled up for our turn at the window and the border agent took our passports. A couple of seconds passed and he suddenly exclaimed, “Four quads and a fifth?!” When he started asking the expected questions about where we were going, we got so much more than we had bargained for. He wanted to tell us which roads to take to get to the Falls (“so you get to drive along the river and see all the big ‘hoses’”–that’s “houses” with a Canadian accent), what to see while we were there (“you should tour the tunnels behind the falls”), and where to shop for souvenirs (“the Dollarama will have the same stuff for half the price.”) We really appreciated having the inside information, but I’m not sure the drivers behind us in line (you know, the ones honking impatiently?) cared if we got the Grand Welcoming or not.
We had seen snow flurries the whole drive to Canada, but as we crossed the border, the flurries got thicker. The river we drove along had baby icebergs floating all over it–something we had never seen! We spent some time debating which river that was. Turns out: Niagara River. Who knew? Glad that wasn’t our Final Jeopardy question answer.
We drove into Niagara Falls just as it was starting to get dark. Our reservation was at the Embassy Suites and when we got to our room, this was our view:
Glad I stopped to buy that coat.
It was a gorgeous view, but you can see that the snow was not making it easy to see or get around. We ordered pizza and decided to stay in. So, I stood looking at Niagara Falls. Hunh. It’s pretty and all. But it’s really not that big. It was like my match.com date shows up and is really hot, but six inches shorter than he claims in his profile. I was picturing the Angel Falls in South America, or Tugela Falls in South Africa. (Google ‘em, I already have enough pictures in this post.) But I guess you can’t really compare height to width. It’s the motion of the ocean, right? After that, I had to suck up to the Falls the rest of the trip so it wouldn’t think my interest was waning.
We decided to make the most of our night in and sent the big kids swimming. BabyGirl wanted to swim, too, so Sugar Daddy arranged a compromise:
Filling up the private pool in our room.
Our pool is better because it has bubbles.
Our pool is better because Daddy gets to drink wine.
The next morning, we had freezing mist. Freezing mist. On Spring Break. (I hear all of you Northerners laughing. You can stop mocking now, Connie.) But we braved the weather to go see the main attraction. As with the dinosaurs in Pittsburgh, we had really talked up Niagara to BabyGirl. For weeks we had been telling her she’d get to see a BIG waterfall! As we stood there watching the millions of gallons of water rushing past us, other people passed us taking pictures, checking out the view, etc. BabyGirl would look pointedly at each person near us and adamantly declare, “MY WATERFALL!”
We took the border agent’s advice and toured the tunnels behind the falls and the kids did an IMAX-y type thing called The Fury with video, fog, and water. IMAX tends to make me nauseous, so BabyGirl and I wandered and found a candy store and we were both happy.
Even with the cloudy, freezing-mist-y weather, we were able to see most of the big sites there. This is a picture of the American side of Niagara. Why do we get the sucky falls?
See that platform to the left? The Canadians have rudely put the big falls where they can't be seen from the US side. So in the US, you have to go out on the viewing platform to see anything. Those Canadians are all kinds of trouble.
Aaaaand, the reason we came:
Can you believe this was the view from our hotel room?!
Luckily, the rain mist frozen crap falling from the sky disappeared our second day there. We were able to do some other stuff around the town. Next up, Sugar Daddy and I get our gambling on.
Plaid Is My Favorite Color!
Dear Jen Lancaster, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways . . .
Dear Jen Lancaster, I giggled, snorted and guffawed while reading your first book:
Dear Jen Lancaster, I had a similar reaction to your second book:
Dear Jen Lancaster, I laughed AND cheered you on in your third book that chronicled your weight-loss battle:
Dear Jen Lancaster, I can’t wait to read your newest memoir that celebrates the 80’s:
Dear Jen Lancaster, I hope you have a huge turn-out for your Pretty in Plaid book tour. (Dates here.) I’ll be there in my miniskirt with rubber belt, jelly shoes, and Swatch, and I’ll be rockin’ my claw-shaped bangs. Everybody Wang Chung tonight . . .
(Dear Paul Rudd, I’ll get back to you in a minute. Jen needs me right now.)
Black Bean Hummus Recipe (Yet Another Reason I Usually Reek of Garlic)
This is not a recipe blog, but sometimes I find something that is so eyes-rolling-back-in-the-head good that I feel the need to share. And, yes, I know, I know . . .I promised part two of our Spring Break adventure. It is coming soon!
Black Bean Hummus
1 clove garlic (I used 3-4)
1 (15 oz) can black beans, drain and reserve liquid
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
1 1/2 Tablespoons tahini
3/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (I used 1/8 tsp and it was just spicy enough)
1/4 tsp paprika
10 Greek olives
Mince garlic in the bowl of a food processor. (I used my garlic press first and then put it into my 3 cup food chopper.) Add black beans, 2 Tablespoons reserved liquid, lemon juice, tahini, cumin, salt, and cayenne pepper; process until smooth, scraping down the sides as needed. Add additional seasoning and liquid to taste. Garnish with paprika and Greek olives. (I didn’t use the olives and I accidentally mixed the paprika in with the other spices.)
With such a small amount of tahini, this recipe is not very fat- or calorie-laden. Of course, the two bags of pita chips I used to scoop it up might have negated any healthy benefits of the hummus. This recipe was from allrecipes.com. In the original, they had you start with only part of the cumin and cayenne, and then add the rest to taste. I’m lazy, so I just dumped and mixed. Still really delicious! Several comments on this recipe suggested using lime instead of lemon juice, or half lime, half lemon. Might try that next time.
I think this would be awesome with my margarita recipe. Guess my next Saturday night is all planned!
