Snowflakes and Lanterns

(no I did not make this particular snowflake but it is a part of our deco)

I don't care what anyone says, making your own decorations is magical.

It's nice to buy them because it's easier.  But taking the time to scout around for family friendly crafts is so rewarding.  Last night, I pulled out the construction paper, scissors, tacks, glue and ribbon in hopes of making as many lanterns as possible for the playroom.  Skyler, my brother, was reluctant at first but when he saw how cool it looked he was all smiles.  And of course, Cylas is right handed while I am a lefty, so helping him cut the lantern was a little difficult, if not awkward.  In the end, we had a lot of fun snipping and gluing to the tunes of "Silver Bells", "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and so on.

If we're being honest, and I am, I bought some decorations this year.  It's necessary to have a base to work from and good ol' Target never fails.  (Also, taking into consideration we gave away EVERYTHING when we moved back East.)  As I've mentioned before, my creativity is undeveloped.  So, I tend to find nifty things and grab everything cute only to have missed the whole point of a theme.  Uhg.  Why are themes so hard?  Don't ask.  A theme is a theme, right?  Nope, not to me.  A theme is something complicated and I like a lot of different themes!  Can't I just do them all?  The color palette, shapes, sizes, animals or candy, people or towns.  It's so confusing to me.  So, that's why I have lanterns and snowflakes.  I'm doing it again.  The whole 'underdeveloped creativity' thing.  My flakes and lights go together, right?

I think they do.  It reminds me of Christmas time in an old town with only lanterns hanging from the posts for light.  And Cylas thought his lanterns were pretty cool, too.  He was jumping and staring at everything.  But his delight turned into a challenge -- and here is where I groan.  Who thinks of trying to throw plastic fish at the decorations in your room?  Cylas does.  So now I'm on snowflake and lantern duty.  If those things fall or rip, I'm going to bust my capillaries. 
They were hard work!

Thank you gods of imaginitiveness for gifting me with the most confused version of creativity -- ever. Amen.

A Three Year Old's Logic

For us big humans, when coming in contact with a little human, it's hard to shift gears and see all things so innocently and creatively.  Being a stay home mom, I tend to stay in the low gear, mentally, and I have to turn it up a notch when coming in contact with other big humans.  God forbid my sentences come out garbled and toddler-ish.  But they do.  And it's mortifying.  The instance I could share would make my ears turn red all over again, so we'll skip that part.  Just know that it happened.

But on to creativity and innocence. 

My son has got the mind of an imaginative genius.  And I know that there has to be certain criteria to enter his world.  Sometimes, I'm allowed and other times I'm put on probation because I've violated the rules of "no holds barred" imagination.  Yes, he gets angry at me because I stepped in his "water" and messed up his "houses" and killed his "guys".  And should I EVER dare to step into his "dark, dark wood" I would be banished from his world immediately or get my leg hacked off with a plastic knife.  Shoot, who would make him breakfast? 

 Papa has already survived a near hacking.  Thank God for mommies who know how to take care of men who have been in a fight with a pirate...

Even when it comes to eating, my little mind traveler has a particular way of doing things.  In my last blog, I posted a picture of our unfortunate stick of butter.  (For those of you who didn't read that blog, go take a look)  My son is obsessed with butter.  Literally.  First thing in the morning he will chatter off a list of food that he wants to eat.  And 100% of the time bread with butter is on that list.  At the restaurants he finds the little butter packages and greedily digs into it, ruining his shirt and whoever else happens to come into contact with his greasy paws.  This morning was no exception.  He insisted on the usual.  So I gave it to him.  But then he starts this horrible smacking.  I stared at him about to tell him to stop, but then I felt really bad because he was really enjoying himself.  He was eating his bread with such gusto and making sure to eat every piece that was smothered in butter.  The end result was almost like the remains of a watermelon.  The juicy parts gone and the rind discarded.

   

 Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore and asked him to please close his mouth when he eats.  He tried and didn't like it. 

Me:  Cylas, please close your mouth!  Like this (demonstrating)

Cylas:  (closes his mouth and then it smacks wide open again)  But mom I haaavvvee teeyyeeww.

No, Cylas you don't HAVE to smack while you eat your bread with butter.  Its disgusting and sounds akin to a small calf eating its oats.  Is this when I sigh, admit defeat and decide that I should choose my battles wisely?  Maybe I should worry about his other obsession.  Ladybugs.  Yes, he likes ladybugs and eating them.  *gag*  He thinks it's really cool and I don't.  I think Roma has copied him a couple of times.  The evidence on her lips.  A poor little wing all wet and soppy. 

*sigh*  Or maybe I should just loosen up a bit and fall into the snow and make snow angels in my church clothes.  Yes, that's what Cylas did before church yesterday morning.  He ran outside, flopped himself into the snow and made an angel.  I was appalled and delighted.  Appalled because he was soaking himself through and delighted because he wanted me to lay down with him and flail my arms and legs wildly.  Maybe next time...

Pleasant Surprises and a Thanksgiving Hangover...

And by 'hangover' I mean the potential for my girth to expand its horizons over the Thanksgiving Holiday.  But don't worry.  I made sure to exercise, keeping that nasty 'hangover' at bay.  Everyone breathe.

Thanksgiving was great.  As D and I have our own little family now, we are trying to create new traditions as well as keeping the old.  I made a feast.  My mom's help was invaluable and D's mom pitched in, too.  Honestly, I think I would have bust a gasket if it were left up to me to make everything I put on my list.  What was I thinking, anyway?  Either way, it turned out great.  Except for the fact some of the food was forgotten and sat uneaten until the end of the night when we were cleaning up.    How, you ask, could food have been forgotten?  Well, let's just put it this way, when you want something done right, you do it yourself.  I asked some of my helpers around the house to pull in all the food from the porch (we have an enclosed sun porch) and well, they didn't.  So, Thanksgiving feast was huge but it could have been huge-r.
Cylas helped me with the cooking.  Actually, he made is own dish!

But, I think this particular dish was under the "Don't ask because I won't tell" policy.  Who knows what he was making.  I should have taken a picture of the banana bread he dug into to get the ingredients for this particular recipe...

My dad was here to celebrate with us which is always nice.

   

D's mom and dad, a man and his son from our church and Ana! 

This girl and I know how to party.  No sleep.  Literally, for three days.  We got up at 4am to hit the stores on Black Friday.  I convinced my very sweet neighbor girl that coming along with us was a great idea.  heheh. 

                    (us at 5am)

Later on that night Ana and I left for the Big Apple.  And took a big bite out of it, too.  We left the Middle of Nowhere, PA around 5pm-ish and got there around 8.  Stuffed out little faces and zonked only to wake up at 6:30 the next morning and head off to shop.  We shopped and shopped and then zoomed back to change clothes for that evenings festivities.   Phantom of the Opera!!  Oh. my. word.  It was grand-ific!  We dined at a Cuban restaurant.  Ahhh, the sounds of Cuba as you're spooning that delicious food into your mouth.  We just missed the live band but the Phantom was calling...

Thankfully, the weather was bearable and allowed us to walk around Times Square without freezing to our deaths.  Our night ended the next day around 2am.  Uhg.  TI-erd.  Church that next evening and then Ana was off.  Back to Cali *sniffle*.  Good times.

Now, it's a new week and I'm still catching up on sleep.  Since when was my bedtime 8:30??  Yeah, two nights ago I found myself drifting off and it was only 8:30.  I slept well.  Actually, I slept well until 3:30 in the morning and then stayed up until 5...grrrr.

Oh, can anyone tell me what this is?

I can.  It's Cy's fingerprints in our butter.  Nice.  That's what I found this morning on the counter as  I was trying to make breakfast.  Yack.

Pleasant Surprise.

Thanksgiving Eve and I've got something for you all...already!

If I could describe the way my house smells right now, I would.  But I can't.  The aroma is delish-ous and cozy.  It really is.  Thanksgiving smells like no other holiday I know.  Even Christmas can't compare.  For whatever reason, Thanksgiving is the King of all foodie holidays and I love it.  The list of food I'm making is truly the size of a small book.  I won't bore you with all of the deets (details) but I will share one recipe that is a definite hit.

Bacon Spinach Quiche

6 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 cups milk
Salt and Pepper
2 cups chopped fresh baby spinach, packed
1lb cooked bacon, crumbled
1 1/2 cups shredded Swiss cheese
One 9-inch refrigerated piecrust, fitted into a
9-inch glass pie plate

1.)  Preheat oven to 375 deg F

2.)  Combine the eggs, milk, and salt and pepper to taste in a food processor or blender.  Layer the spinach, bacon and cheese in the bottom of the piecrust, then our the egg mixture on top.

Tip:  I usually chop the bacon before I cook it so I don't have to get all mess with grease trying to crumble it.

3.) Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, until the egg mixture is set.  Cut into 8 wedges.

 Your little beauty should like the photo above. O. My.  Taste and see that the food is good!


Please enjoy this INSANELY easy recipe; it's a delish dish to add to your Thanksgiving feast.

A full 365 days...

Well, I don't know exactly how many days but I can tell you it's been one year since Romalise Kelbatyrov was born.  I still remember how cold it was.  It was FREEZING.  And due to hospital regulations, I was required to sit next to her in the back.  Unfortunately, the back seat of our truck was such that I ended up CLIMBING over the front seat to get to the back.  Yes, I climbed and it was only a mere 24 hours earlier that I had just had a baby.  Anyway, the whole point of this short anecdote being...Roma is ONE!!  One...unbelievable.  Recently, I peeked back into my blogging archives and read about my first 72 hours as a new mother.  Good lord.  I do not want to revisit that.  But I can tell you that her little birthday party was so heart warming and very rewarding.  My mom worked very hard to help me make this party everything I had envisioned it to be.  THANKS MOM!  She sewed and sewed and I directed.  Hahah.  We made a great team.  David, too.  He drew the templates for the flowers.  What would I do without my very creative husband?  As a rule, I'm not that creative.  Well, I take that back, I am, but not in the ways that are fully developed, have any rhyme or reason or are conventional.   Two words -- Watch Out

(What?  Who has ever heard of undeveloped creativity?  ...now you have)

So, I got this little tickle in my brain and I decided to go with it.  Felt!  Felt -- I want a felt party.  So, I started looking around and BAM saw a few great ideas that were WAYYY beyond my ability and budget.  So, this is where my undeveloped creativity kicked in.  Flowers and dolls.  Originally, I had wanted to make a felt house, have bird cages with pretty little decorative birds and big felt flowers hanging from the ceiling.  My wallet gave up even before I started on that idea and I ended up with flowers, one sparkly, felt crown and a doll.   I'm in love with the doll my mom made for our little Roma.

 

I really wanted her first birthday to be memorable and it definitely was.  From the birthday banner, which had pictures of her from one, three, six, nine and twelve months, to the felt cutouts of flowers even to the sprinkles on the cupcakes.  It was all special and unique.

By the end of the day,  I was exhausted and not at all interested in cleaning anything up.  My mom helped with that, too.  Where would I be without such love and help?

However, what really made this party special was my dad.  He was able to come and that made me really, really happy.  When Cylas turned one, he was unable to fly out to California, but since we are back East, now, he took the three hour trip to join us.  Very nice to have both of my parents here to share the moment.

And for all of our friends, who are actually considered family, we miss you all and wish that every one of you could have been here to help us celebrate. 

My day

You know, it varies. Some days I'm inside from dawn until dusk. Other days I'm out and about running errands with my two munchers. And then, my favorite days...the ones where I'm outside with my babies playing. Or, I'm inside with my babies building things. Today was one of my favorite days. I had a grand plan of cleaning, in preparation for Roma's birthday party this Saturday but only half of my plans were finished. Half? I'm being generous. I'd say a third. I started off around 6:30 this morning, my eyes were still sleeping but my body some how found itself in the kitchen conversing with my husband. Over oatmeal, eggs and toast I collected myself mentally.
I figured it would be best to start with the kitchen, but I got distracted and decided to throw in a load of laundry so there would be two things, that desperately needed to be done, going at once. Roma, in all her almost one year old cuteness, hopped into my basket of unfolded laundry. It made laundry time more interesting...


Then she got tired and I laid her down for a nap. But that was when Cylas came home from playing next door and begged me to go outside and play baseball with him. I obliged. How can you say no to such a creative little mind. I mean, who thinks of using a STRAINER as a baseball mitt?? Cylas does. And that's what was used during the world's shortest baseball game, ever. It lasted ten minutes. But that's only because he got distracted with rolling down the hill instead of hitting the ball.

Here are the tools we used. Notice that only one part of a whole tee-ball set is being used(later he found some of the other pieces)...I think we played more of a golf/baseball/lacrosse hybrid of games. Either way, it was jolly fun and I never heard such giggles in my life.

Then, after we went back in and I finished mopping the kitchen, we built forts. Really cool ones that only mommies and their babies can build. So, it took me all of three minutes but it brought them about an hour worth of fun and laughter. Roma got tired and for some strange reason Cylas decided that he was due for a bath!? Yeah, the kid has his own bathing schedule. But we have fun and boy did it feel good to smile today. I smiled and let the joy of motherhood seep into my bones.

Give me Thirty...

Minutes and I'll give you a scrumptious dinner. I'll give you two loads of laundry folded and put away. I'll give you a quick-clean and a little sparkle around the house. And my. God. If I could just use those thirty minutes for mySELF, I could probably give myself a face lift, a pedicure, a deep conditioning for my hair, take a nap to rejuvenate, clean out my bottom drawer(don't ask) and maybe even snuggle down and read a good book. (I've been hankerin' to read the latest biography on Ayn Rand...). But those thirty minutes are vapors. Just like the kind the air freshener leaves when you spritz to cover up the damage...it's there and then it's gone. I can't seem to nail down those thirty minutes for myself. My thirty minutes are usually divied up between Cylas' appetite and Roma's poop. Yes, poop. She's healthy, what can I say? Or between reading books to Cy and crawling through tunnels with Roma. I've even spent my thirty minutes building a train track and in the next breath rocking my little girl to sleep. As I sit and type, however, I can tell you that I do, in fact, get my thirty minutes. For ten minutes in the morning I shower and quickly dress before the children get up, or if they are up, or before I find Roma inconveniently tied to the railing. My second set of ten minutes I find briefly during nap times. I will sit for a few and start creating a shopping list and menu plan for the coming weeks. My last set of minutes comes at the end of the day when I'm washing my face and getting ready for bed. Then I tuck my babies in, pray for them and kiss my sweet husband good night. These are all my thirty minutes. And I love them.