My Version of "Seven Up!"

Here is a picture of EB's latest masterpiece, descriptively titled: "My Favorites Wheel." In it, she documents her absolute favorite items in several categories.

As you can see, her handwriting skills are still a work in progress. To translate the scribbles, here are her favorite items as of January 2013.

• Favorite book: Captain Underpants
• Favorite animal: Lion
• Favorite food at McDonald’s (kind of a narrow, specific category): Chicken nuggets and chocolate milk
• Favorite food: Spinach (NOTE: For those keeping score at home, spinach has been displaced as of mid-March for a food to be named later.)
• Favorite color: Blue and black
• Favorite game: Angry Birds
• Favorite jewelry (not sure where this one stemmed from): Diamonds and silver
• Favorite funniest thing that happened: "When I put the 'hit me' sign on Daddy's back and I hit his back."

I think it would be interesting to have her update this every year so that I can track her changes—kind of like an annual version of the “Seven Up!” documentary series that has been tracking the development of a group of British people every seven years. Except, of course, my documentary would not really be a documentary—just a short little blog post on one girl's interests. And while my subject (singular, not plural) is infinitely interesting to me and K, it is just mildly amusing to our friends, and about as interesting as an ant on the sidewalk for strangers.

Binky in the Bottle

In the past few years, I have become more and more lax about list-making and "control" in general. The reason for this regression is that I've wizened to the fact that the concept of control is mostly an illusion. Sure, I can drive myself crazy and be all sorts of control freak--making lists, fretting, obsessing--but in the end, it really makes not an ounce of difference.

Besides, for the most part, K and I are pretty good at improvising when things go awry. As a case in point, we recently took the kids to Branson, MO for a weekend getaway. A few hours before we left, we ran around collecting various toiletries and last minute items. We were pretty proud at how quickly we were able to round up all of our things (and with two kids, we certainly had lots and lots of things), until we realized, upon reaching our destination, that we forgot to bring B's pack-n-play. And of course, this particular hotel did not lend out any sleep furniture for the kids-- no cribs, no pack-n-plays, no cages. We were left to fend for ourselves.

K and I scratched our heads, but figured we'd make do. We surveyed the room, and decided to surround the bottom of the kids' bunk bed with three chairs and a couple of suitcases. The effort earned us A+ in efforts but D- in safety. B was ecstatic; he thought that we had built him his personal jungle gym. Instead of sleeping, he climbed around the chairs, laughing like a drunken little troll. After an hour of cajoling and a near-nose dive from his bunk bed, K ended up driving to the nearest Walmart, where he become the proud owner of yet another pack-n-play.


Despite our minor memory lapse, we did remember to bring this:

...along with a couple of bottles of this: (it's the important stuff, right?)

Later that night, we realized that we forgot to bring a cork stop to keep our remaining bottle of wine fresh. But fear not, as K managed to improvise with this:

Gives a whole new meaning to the concept of nightcap.

Disney Delayed

OK, so this posting is, like, four months late, but there's no way I am going to let the kids' first Disney trip slide without documenting it for posterity. After all, if we are going to spend all that money traveling to the Happiest Place on Earth (TM), we need to be able to brag write about it.

Let me preface this posting by stating that having kids who are five years apart has both distinct advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, we have quite easily adjusted to a life with two kids since EB was already somewhat self-sufficient by the time B came along. On the down side, it's nearly impossible to find activities that are compatible for both. That's why when EB expressed an interest in going to the Disney World early last year, my first thought was: Hell, no. I imagined having to simultaneously deal with EB's whining AND B's multiple meltdowns/diaper explosions. And what's worse, we would be surrounded by a sea of whining, germ-y kids with their cranky parents who had financially overextended themselves by wanting to make their precious ones' dream come true. But you can only hold out for so long, so when my parents offered to meet us in Orlando so that they could watch B while we took EB to Disney, we knew that it was finally time for EB and Mickey to meet.

We rented a condo near the theme park and for three days, B got exclusive rights to grandpa/grandma doting sessions while the rest of us--K, EB, me and my brother (he decided to tag along at the last minute)--zipped around the theme parks. We were determined to get most out of our Disney investment, so our moves were plotted with military precision: "OK-- I'm going to run ahead after this log flume ride and get the Fast Pass tickets for Magic Mountain. You guys go to Hall of Presidents to see the talking wax figures and I will meet you back there. If the show starts before I get back, text me and I'll go to the nearest gift shop to wait until the show is over. Now let's fan out--GO, GO, GO!!"

A bit stressful some would say, but I say, given the cost of the tickets, a queuing strategery was a requirement. Yes, we were that family at the park, and we had a blast, so there. We were able to get on most of the rides with very little waiting, which is important because on an 85+ degrees day, waiting and happiness very much have an inverse relationship .

Smile! You're at the Happiest Place on Earth (TM)!

"Hi. I'm five years old."

Ten-hut!

EB had an absolute blast, and managed to keep her whining down to a minimum. The only times that she got grumpy was when a Disney staff called her a "princess," as in:   
   "Well, hi there, Princess!"
   "Is this your first trip to Disney, Princess?"
   "See you later, Princess!"

In fact, every time a Disney staff used the dreaded "P" word on my little tomboy, she would go all teenage on me and give me this sullen, indignant look:

Don't call her a "Princess." Ever.

On day four, B got a chance to join us at the MGM Studio (read: grandparents had to fly down to Miami to catch their cruise). It was definitely more challenging to tote around a one-year old, but by then we had had worked most of the Type-A Disney impulses out of our systems. Meaning, we were pretty exhausted, so we were relatively content just strolling around the park at a leisurely pace.

Look Mom, I'm at Disney World!

Hands on experience at "Honey I Shrunk the Kids"

The little dude had no idea what was going on.

Having a blast on "A Toy Story" ride

Overall, it was a great trip: quality time with family, lots of sun and a zip-a-dee-doo-dah of a good time at Disney World. Who could ask for anything more?

A Way With Words Year 3 + Season Premiere

This is my third annual installment of capturing funny little EB-isms. She's growing up so fast, I'm hoping that I have another few years before these funny little EB-isms become full-on bratty, ungrateful EB-isms (did I tell you that I'm a bit fearful of the tween/teenage years?)

While I'm at it, I thought I'd start throwing in some B-Boy-isms for a good measure.

The Latest EB-isms

"Jesus of God"
EB is in awe of the mightiness of God and the all-loving figure, Jesus. So much so that she goes around calling Jesus: "Jesus of God." Technically speaking, his name is Jesus. And he is the son of God. So by deductive reasoning, it probably is not inaccurate to refer to him as "Jesus of God."

"Georgia Washington"
If EB were a historian, we would all think that one of our Founding Fathers was actually a Founding Mother.


"I will wear it when we go to church"
Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been...uh, never since I've had my last confession. And it's been over a year since I last went to church. My little tomboy knows this all too well, so whenever I try to buy her a twirly, girly skirt, she looks up at me, smiles and says: "Looks great, Mom! I'll wear it when we go to church." Translation: at the rate we are going, it'll be another year or so.

"Cheese grill sandwich"
Like the French, EB sometimes puts her adjectives behind the described noun. For example, instead of saying: "blue sky," the French refers to it as "le ciel bleu" (direct translation: sky blue). So instead of "grilled cheese sandwich," the girl is going all Francophone on me by calling it "cheese grill sandwich."




Season Premier of B-Boy-isms

"Go!" (pronounced "Gah!")
He likes to repeat this over and over as he climbs up our stairs, as if he were a Little Engine that could.

"Uh-oh!"
Uttered when he purposely throws his sippy cup, bottle and food onto the floor.

"Na-na" (banana)
Self-explanatory

"Geh?"
When uttered while pointing to grapes, it means: can I have some grapes? Otherwise I will scream my head off. When uttered while pointing to my iPhone, it means: can I hold it? Otherwise I will scream my head off. And when you give it to me, I will test gravity and drop it on the floor.

"Ma-ma!"
Uttered when he is in a cuddly mood. This one always melts my heart:

Six-Years Old!

My baby girl turns six today. Six! At six years old, am I still allowed to call her my baby??

Happy birthday to a little girl...

...Whose imagination and ingenuity always brings a smile to my face. Here is her solution to battling the wind on a particularly blustery day: a mask fashioned out of an old colander and a pair of work goggles. A bit Friday the 13th-ish, but my little Jason is adorable all the same.
 

  
...Who has a strong (read: stubborn) sense of style. Did you notice that in the above two photos she is wearing the same sort of outfit? I assure you that we buy her plenty of clothes, most of which she will have none of. Here's a rundown of her daily "uniform":

• T-shirt. It's always a t-shirt. If it's cold, she will wear a long sleeve shirt with a t-shirt on top. If she wants to shake things up a bit, she will wear a zip up fleece over her t-shirt. But, it's always a t-shirt.
• Jeans. This girl is forever in blue jeans. ("Because they look cool")
• No buttons, ever. Unless it's on a pair of jeans. She has a serious fear of buttons. Kinda odd.

   ....Who is turning out to be quite the little artist.

  

...Who doesn't quite get the art of a good punchline yet.

Her most recent joke went something like this:
 EB: "What did the cat say to the mouse?"
 Me: "Not sure. What?"
 EB: "I'm going to chase you!  And then, the mouse says, 'No, please don't chase me!' And he runs away from him, across the street!" Uproarious laughter ensues.


 Happy Birthday, EB! I love you!

Beans, beans, the magical fruit...

...the more you eat, the more you toot. Tooting aside, they say black beans provide a wealth of health benefits, including cancer prevention and cardiovascular health. So you'll be happy to know that now, you can enjoy them not only in savory dishes, but in your cake, too! Say what? Yes, you heard me right. And not just in any old cake, but chocolate cake.

I got this black bean chocolate cake recipe from a book club acquaintance. Those of you who know me well can attest to the fact that I'm not much of a cake fan, but the idea of chocolate cake made out of black beans was so intriguing that I just had to give this recipe a whirl. That's what happens when you grow up in an Asian family--your taste buds are conditioned to accept red bean cake and sesame paste as delectable treats. Picture me as a five year old, running around and beaming that I get to have a red bean pastry for dessert. So, given a choice between chocolate cake and red bean cake, for me the red bean cake wins hands down. But with this recipe, I don't need to choose; I get two yummy flavors into one. And, did I mention that this is far healthier than the flour version?

I was a bit nervous about how it would taste. But after just one bite, I knew that this one was a winner. It was moist, slightly sweet, and most of all, I did not have to feel guilty about eating it, because beans are good for you, y'all! This picture doesn't do the recipe much justice since the beautiful sprinkling of confectioner's sugar kind of melted away, but it was especially good with a dollop of home-made whipped cream. Even K, who is more of a traditionalist when it comes to desserts, asked for seconds and thirds. EB gobbled it up as well.

Here is the recipe, in case you are interested. For all of you calorie counters, I also put together nutritional content as well.

I will most likely try a version sweetened with stevia or Splenda. Let me know if you end up trying the recipe, and how you like it!

*****
1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
5 large eggs
1 tbs vanilla extract
1/2 tsp salt
6 tbs butter
3/4 cup demerera sugar
6 tbs cocoa powder
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tbs water

Preheat the oven to 350º and grease a 9″ cake pan.
Mix together the cocoa, baking powder and baking soda in a small bowl.
In a larger bowl, beat the butter until it’s soft and fluffy. Add 2 of the eggs and beat well after each one. Put the beans, 3 of the eggs, vanilla, sugar and salt into a blender or food processor and blend/process until the mixture is smooth. Add this mixture to the butter/egg mixture, further mix to combine. Stir in the remaining dry ingredients and the water and beat on high for 1 minute until smooth. Pour the batter into the cake pan and bake for 30-35 mins. The top of the cake should be rounded and firm to the touch, and the cake should be pulling away from the sides of the pan.

Total number of calories per serving (assuming you feed 8 people): 232 calories

Foot Fetish

Warning: this posting may be a bit TMI about my feet. Feel free to read or not read. But if you do, be prepared. Nighmares may ensue.

..................

I have decided to train for the Little Rock half-marathon. But before I subject my feet to another round of pavement-pounding punishment, I decided to go see a podiatrist to help mitigate my foot problems. And a whole lot of problems there are--my feet are flat as pancakes and wide as a Winnebago. Worst of all, I've got bunions so large that K is convinced that they've got heartbeats of their own.

So, there I was at the podiatrist's office, sitting with my shoes and socks off when the doctor walked in. After he shook my hand and introduced himself, he looked over my feet and promptly exclaimed, "WOW! Look at these bunions! Goodness, they're huge! Do they hurt?"

Me: "Umm...not really."
Doc: "Well those are really something else. They look like they should hurt."

Jeeze, thanks, Doc. Without bunions, you wouldn't be in business, buddy.

As the doctor started pulling my feet this way and that,  I noticed that he was not wearing any gloves. How gross. I can't imagine having to touch other people's sweaty, stinky feet all day long. And that's when I remembered that I had just shaken his hand, which meant that unless he had washed his hands before seeing me, I probably now had a half-a-dozen sets of foot funk doing the happy dance on my right palm.

And then the good doctor does something unimaginable. He gets an itch, and the fingers that had moments before kneaded my feet started inching towards his left eye.

Holy crap. Don't do it, man.

Yet his hand continued to move up, until it reached under his glasses and there he was, scratching and rubbing his foot-funked fingers across his eyelids.

Sweet Baby Jesus. I am simultaneously fascinated and skeeved out.

The rest of the visit was uneventful. After I was measured for my orthotics, I went off on my merry little way to the nearby bathroom, where I fervently scrubbed the funk off of my hands.