Drumroll, please

After much deliberation, much cooking, and many exclamations of joy, surprise, and delight from my family, we have chosen a winner in the little recipe contest.

I must tell you what a difficult decision it was. EVERYTHING you all sent me was so good. There was diet pepsi chicken (awesome!); Brittney's chicken with rosemary, lemon, and bacon; chicken and dumplings; lasagna; chicken picatta; and Jessica's flank steak, to name a few. My family has been in heaven for the last two months. And I have had an ever-ready stack of recipes from which to feed them.

I cannot tell you how happy you have made the Husband. He thanks you from the very bottom of his heart.

But, a winner there must be, and so, without further adieu, the winner is --

Lisa-Marie and her salsa chicken burritos

Email me your address and I will send you a $25 gift certificate to Amazon.com. This recipe was hands-down the favorite. My children ate them cheerfully, even though onions, tomatoes, and green chilies were clearly visible. That, my friend, is no easy task. Plus, they were super easy and so, so good.

To everyone who played along - many thanks.

My most embarrassing moment

When we moved to Boston in September of 2001, my boys were very young. McKay was two-and-a-half, and Chase had just turned one. With the husband already there working, I needed some extra help with the cross-country flight and solicited the ever-willing and long-suffering Marta for the job.

Other than a karma-destroying incident on the airplane (which I won't speak of here), the flight was pretty uneventful. When we arrived in Boston, we found out that our moving truck would be several days late. We had nothing to do. And two active boys that had already watched "The Fishy Show" [A.K.A. The Little Mermaid] about 9,654 times. So we decided to go sightseeing.

I had always wanted to go to Salem and see the sights, especially Nathanial Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables. It was about a 20-minute tour, and seemed doable with two adults to handle the boys.

Oh. If ONLY I had known.

Our tour began in the small, cramped living room of the House. While the tour guide was giving a background on the illustrious Nathanial Hawthorne, I noticed a peculiar stench. No, it was not the musky, moldy scent of a 400 year old house. That would have been pleasant in comparison.

The smell was coming from Chase's diaper.

I panicked, but knew that if I took him out to change it, we would lose our spot on the tour and not be able to get back. I figured it was only 20 minutes. He'd be okay, right? Sure, it's embarrassing, but what are you going to do?

Colossal mistake of huge proportions.

Right about that time, the tour guide was letting us know that all the artifacts in the home are original and so delicate that flash photography was not allowed, in order to preserve the authenticity of the historic house. I glanced down and noticed McKay pulling the curtains over his head.

Oh, this probably isn't good. I ought to pick him up and just carry him, I thought.

As I reached down to scoop him up into my arms, he gave those curtains a mighty tug, and snapped the built-in curtain rod RIGHT OFF THE WALL. You know, the one Nathanial probably BUILT HIMSELF.

So I'm trying to hold this wiggly child, and at the same time, I've got Nathanial Hawthorne's curtains on top of my head. I'm pulling the curtains off and I hear the tour guide yell, "STOP EVERYTHING! NOBODY MOVE. STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"

I lift the curtains up sheepishly to face the angry and annoyed looks from the other people on our tour. By now, Chase's stench is stifling any and all remaining life out of the room.

The tour guide returns with the head of the museum and they begin to study the broken curtain rod to determine any restitution I would have to make. Poor Marta is holding the toxic-smelling Chase. McKay is wiggling and squirming to try and get out of my arms. My cheeks are hot and flushed, and the tears are threatening to spill over at any moment. Every eye in the room is glaring at me.

They finally decide that they will not make me pay for the damages and suggest in a less-than-friendly tone that we leave the tour.

Which we did.

Running and crying as fast as we could.

So the House of Seven Gables now has blinds where curtains once stood. My son has the lifelong honor of knowing he defaced a National Historic Landmark. I was shamed beyond anything I have ever known - before or since.

And I will fully understand if Marta never, ever wants to have children.

Top that, if you can.

My Disease, part two

This post is for Crystal who posed a question on her blog about how to organize your kids' routines.

Well. Don't even get me started.

But since I am already started, here is a little peek at what has worked for us. It may not work for you or your kids, but seems to have struck a cord with mine. We've been doing a variation of these same job charts for about three years and the kids still diligently follow them.

I made these job charts out of foam board -I got two posters and cut each one in half, then drew the lines on with a Sharpie. Don't those straight lines just bring a little bit of pleasure into your heart? No?

Okay, then. Just me.

I used stickers for the kids' names and days of the week (covering with a large strip of packing tape to protect them). Each child has a chart of their very own:

And for my child who is just learning to read, her jobs also have wooden cutout pictures next to them so she knows what to do. I got all the cutouts and pieces in the little wooden aisle at Michaels. Very cheap. Very cute. Very easy.

Everyone has the same jobs (which I typed out, laminated, and adhered with velcro), except one "extra" job rotates each week between the children. One week, someone does the breakfast dishes. Another one empties all the bathroom trash cans. And another one cleans the kids' bathroom. Then they trade at the end of each week.

Now, before we go on, I must pause and explain something. BY NO MEANS do they clean the bathroom to my standard. But if they wipe the toothpaste out of the sink and off the mirror, then I can function until I clean the bathroom myself, which is about once a week. All of the jobs are simple and easily accomplished by even the youngest member of the family. I feel good because it teaches them responsibility, and helps me out a lot.

I used Velcro on the back of all the wooden pieces. Make sure to not put the same type of Velcro on both the wooden piece and your poster. They won't stick that way. Not that I'd know anything about that. Ahem.

I keep the job charts on the inside doors of our pantry in the kitchen (also attached with Velcro in case I want to change them out or bring them with us on an upcoming move - which in our case, seems to have been about every year. [Hopefully not anymore]).

Here is a full view. Thank you in advance for not commenting on the disorganized and cluttered pantry. Don't worry - it's on my to-do list.

But, when the doors are closed, nobody need know of the OCD that plagues my life. See? How pretty. Two doors. Nothing to see here. Move along.

So what do you do that works?

Getting my sexy on at the store

Yesterday morning while browsing the toilet paper aisle at Sam's Club, I was hit on.

By a man. Yes, really.

No, I was not wearing a ski mask.

No, he was not obviously mentally challenged, unlike this time.

A man approached me and we started talking. He was tall, fit, in his 40s, had a full head of hair, and was pretty attractive. He told me his name was Mike. Asked me all kinds of questions about myself - where I was from, what I do for work, where I work out, what religion I am, how many kids I have. The conversation veered around all sorts of strange and wandering topics.

It was an annoyingly lengthy conversation. I kept looking around, thinking we'd part ways soon, but he kept at it with the questions. Finally, all topics exhausted, he asked for my phone number.

Now, mind you, I had told him of my three beautiful children, and my strong, virile husband (okay, maybe didn't mention the strong, virile part) but he was fully aware of my current marital status. I laughed, told him thanks, but no thanks.

He persisted.

"But are you REALLY happily married? REALLY?"

Even when he told me how he wished I was single because I was GORGEOUS (I'm really not making this up, he actually said that), I was not the least bit tempted. I only have eyes for one man, and that's Colin Firth The Husband.

So I smiled, wished him good luck on his lady-finding quest, and walked away.

There were several obvious red flags with this man, even if I was single. First, what is he doing at the grocery store in the middle of the day instead of being at work? And not only was he at the grocery store, but he was hitting on women at the grocery store. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't the least bit bothered by trying to seduce me out of my marriage. Clearly, this would not be a good guy to hook up with.

But the point of this is that SOMEONE HIT ON ME. Maybe it happens to you all the time, but it never happens to me.

It made my whole day.

And I ran right out to the car, called the husband at work, and bragged and laughed through the story that could have begun my wild affair.

So now for a few weeks, when I go out shopping, I will feel a little less like this:

And more like this:

Yay me.

Why we can't have a dog

A few years ago, we got a dog and named her Casey. We had her for a grand total of three days and had to send her back. You see, McKay is extremely allergic to dogs, and within an hour of the dog being in our home, he had hives all over his face, and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. We were told by the "breeder" that she was a goldendoodle. Come to find out, she was only about a quarter poodle, which was just not nearly enough to make her hypoallergenic.

I remember the morning that I told the kids we had to give her back. Simultaneously, they all three broke out into tears. I didn't want McKay to shoulder the burden of our not being able to keep the puppy, so I told the kids that I was allergic to Casey, and that she was making me sick. Chase looked at me for a minute and then said, "Well, couldn't you just sleep out on the porch?"

Nice.

Through his red, weepy eyes, McKay scratched a hive, sniffed, and said, "I think I might be allergic, too."

Ya think?

We spent the morning crying, hugging our beloved Casey, then drove two hours to Maine to return her to the excellent "breeder". It was horrible. Probably one of the worst days I've ever had as a mother. I mean, who gives their kids a puppy and then takes it away?

Well, I've had the tug on my heartstrings for a dog ever since our Thanksgiving weekend with Tango and Little Dog. For some unknown reason, I just ache for a puppy. I know they're a lot of work. I know they pee and poo all over everything. I know they eat shoes.

But still.

I. CAN'T. HELP. MYSELF. I love them.

So I get it all in my head that if we had a "real" goldendoodle, maybe McKay would be all right. After five hours on the internet (that resulted in my not showering until after the husband came home from work - gross!), and discussions with several reputable breeders, I have come to one simple conclusion:

We just can't have a dog.

The goldendoodles and labradoodles go through about 12 to 15 coat changes in the first year alone. There is no guarantee when they get their permanent coat that it will be hypoallergenic. McKay could react two days into it, two months into it, or a year into it. The hypoallergenic-ness really only has been effective for people with mild allergies. Which he is not.

I cannot bear the thought of sending another dog back, and so I am trying really hard to make peace with our fate.

But honestly, is this not a face you just want to hug and kiss, all day long?

Sniff. Me, too.

Goals for today

1. Shower before seven p.m.
2. NOT spend five hours browsing the internet in search of a dog we can't have.
3. Finish the laundry I started yesterday (but didn't finish because I spent five hours browsing the internet for a dog we can't have. WHY do I want one so bad?).
4. Find really good excuse to not hang out with the elderly woman from next door who keeps inviting me on outings. Ideas, anyone?
5. Help in Hannah's class today and not get stuck by the boy who tells me each week how much he loves her and how pretty he thinks she is.
6. NOT make or eat cookie dough.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.