Family Campout

Last weekend Ben had the idea of a family campout in our front room. It was big fun and a much-needed little break from feeling sick and moping around.

E was pretty nervous about the tent at first, but then we gave him his own flashlight and his bear and he was good. He even went to sleep with us sleeping right next to him (we were able to shove his pack 'n' play in there next to our queen-size air mattress.) I wish I could tell you that the air mattress was comfy, but I cannot. It's much better than sleeping on rocks when you're really camping, but I'm afraid it doesn't cut it when there's a real bed just up the stairs.

Oh well, the sore back subsided throughout the rest of the next day and we had fun. E enjoyed reading train books with Dad by flashlight and thought it was pretty cool to have breakfast in the tent.

Deep Thoughts

As I was whipping up a chocolate cake today (don't judge me...the baby wanted it, wanted it badly) I realized one of life's mysteries:

As you get older, your egg cracking skillz decline.

It's like a bell curve, really. When you're really little and ask to crack eggs you kind of crush them and your mom has to pick out all the shells. And maybe you even fight with your brother and they kind of end up all in your hair while wearing a ballet costume and you both get sent to your room to "Wait until Dad gets home" (shudder). Not that I know what that's like...

But then you get a little older and you start doing tricky things like cracking them crisply with one hand and brag to your mom (who is now hopeless at cracking eggs) that there are zero shells in whatever you're making.

So sadly, at my young age, I'm again at the bottom of the bell curve. I tried to crack 3 eggs and got bits of shell in the batter from each one. Don't you worry though, I picked them out. Do you think it's possible I just bought a bad dozen of eggs with shells that are a little challenged? I hope so.

Also, another thought/pet peeve of mine lately:

Why do so many recipes lately declare that you must serve the dish with a "crusty french bread and salad" for a really nice dish? I mean, what if I want a moist soft bread? With maybe steamed vegetables on the side? I guess it negates whatever effort I've gone to for the main dish and it is no longer nice--but thrown together, sloppy, and incomplete. If I ever state in a recipe on my blog or at ward cooking club that it must be served with a crusty french bread, you have permission to at least roll your eyes at me. Serve it with whatever the heck you want. I won't judge you. And if you've stated this before, just know that I love you still and don't hold it in any way against you. It's just those annoying cookbook writers that I'm talking about.

I Can Do Stuff

Here are the cookies I made for Joni's baby shower that I told my mom and sisters so much about...they kind of resemble onesies, don't they? I used my beloved Cookie Craft book once again. I may not be crafty or creative, but darn it, I can bake.

Recipe Blog

I made some delicious lemon scones today and I posted the recipe on my family cooking blog. Yes, I actually updated it. Gasp! I also put the recipe up for the parfaits from Joni's baby shower. No, that wasn't yogurt, but I wish it was as healthy. :) Click here to go to the cooking blog.

Snow!

We've gotten dumped on here lately. Ben really wanted Emerson to come play in the snow, so we got him all dressed up and he looked thrilled. I know he was inside though, because he hearts his boots.
We tried to find a shovel-like tool for him to copy Daddy, but all we had was this sand sifter. Plus, his mittens don't have any thumbs so I had to teach him how to hold it between his two paws. I was giggling the whole time, trust me.

Momentarily clamping his "shovel"

Then we did some serious sledding down our friends' hill.

E was terrified, but it was fun!

Winter, I Hate You

Winter, I hate you. Release us from your cold, snow, and sickness! I don't know what all this talk about global warming is, but maybe you should catch on. You've caused us to have a trip to the ER, multiple doctor visits, a car accident, and insanity from being stuck inside every day while we try to conquer disease with our sorry immune systems. Please go away. We've had enough. We want to go and play at the park and see other people without feeling guilty we've passed something on. And, I admit, it would even be nice to be able to send E back to nursery even though there are countless germs. He just needs to be reasonably healthy and not coughing his lungs up to go back. I don't ask much. Please?

Supeh Beah

The title of this post translated is "Super Bear". We were going a bit crazy inside yesterday, so luckily Super Bear paid us a visit. Plus he brought Emerson a neat-o cape too.

This is how the two of them bond; Emerson chews on Bear's nose, and Bear smiles happily while he does it. This endearing, self-comfort bonding strategy results in Mommy washing Bear often.

This is my favorite picture.
I have no words for this face.
Daddy was really good at helping bear fly around.
And then, all of a sudden, Super Beah and Super E morphed into puppies and hid under the table.

Wow, it WAS a fun day.

Tower of Terror

If you can't tell from this post and a few previous posts, the most exciting thing we do around here lately is go to the grocery store. Emerson loves to unload the groceries. When I turned around after putting things away in the fridge I found this:

I really wanted to get a picture, so I told him to not touch while I went to get the camera. I had visions of broken glass and chili sauce all over the floor.

He was a good boy though and didn't touch until Mommy was back downstairs and then he insisted on stacking the peanut butter (also termed "dip" for apples) on top of everything else.

He wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, so I rearranged a little and helped him stack it on top. And here he is clapping for himself and saying "Yay dip! Yay dip!" (I'm pretty sure he thought the chili sauce was ketchup...and who could blame him?)

And here he is inspecting the foundation of his ingenious tower.

He was extremely offended when I had to dismantle his tower to finish putting the groceries away. But don't worry, the choo-choo trains (read= trens), namely Thomas (read=Tabos) were close at hand to console him and toot his worries away.

Love This Book

Every year around Valentine's Day my mom would read us this book, Somebody Loves You, Mr. Hatch by Eileen Spinelli. When I got married, I bought a copy for myself and I got to read it to Emerson last night. I love this book. It sounds cheesy, but it makes me teary at the end every time. You should check it out!

Choo-Choo Train Track

Oh, have I mentioned that Emerson loves trains? Like, loves them so much that he refuses to eat lunch or dinner? Even with trains watching him eat? Even with Mom pretending the trains are eating too?

I love this picture because it's obvious that the piano keys are supposed to be train tracks. I thought it was quite clever.

If you look closely you can see his little lips pursed saying "choo-choo!" And if you can't see it, well then I'm sure you can imagine it.

Proof That I'm Fun

In these horrid winter months I end up feeling like a bad mom because we hardly ever go anywhere or do anything and Emerson is constantly sick. But here is proof that I did, at one time, build a fort for E and his choo-choo trains.

He also enjoyed pretending he was a dog.

See, I'm fun sometimes. You'd just never know it to look at me. :)