The Suburban Life

Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t been posting quite as often as of late. 

Wait.

You haven’ t noticed?

Well, that’s embarassing.

I used to post five days a week, without fail.  And this was no problem for me because I’ve always been a bit…wordy.  Yes, that’s what I’d call it.  Wordy.

But for the last few weeks I’ve had quite a time even managing a post every few days.  Rest assured, I’m still as wordy as always, I just haven’t had the ‘oomph’ to write.  (Yes, that’s a very technical word for those of you who aren’t bloggers.) 

I’ve been bogged down with sick kids and a sick husband.   And everyone knows the impact a ’sick husband’ can have on the household.  Enough said on that one.

I’ve been saddled with a depressed dog with half a haircut that currently resembles a potato bug (thanks a lot for your lack of follow-through there, Jer).   I had no idea until now that Lewis had such pride in his appearance.  I can tell you he does not appreciate the tiny head/huge body look.  Well, for that matter, neither do I.  I feel ya brother.  

I’ve been dealing with a bout of plantar fasciitis (self-diagnosed, thank you very much Web MD…there’s also a slight chance it could be a rare East Indian disorder.  Web MD can be a little vague).  Either diagnosis certainly puts a hamper on any possible go-go dancing career I might have in the near future.

So, as you can see, things have been a little chaotic around here and have certainly managed to divert my attention from my blog.  My plan is to gradually get back into more frequent posting thereby purging my mind of the random thoughts building up in there.  Trust me.  A little purging can be healthy for the soul (as long as it’s of the written variety and does not include vast amounts of ice cream and Cheetos.)

Bear with me, folks. 

Happy Thursday,

Mindy

While I fully recognize that some parts of this country are still bedded down with snow, here in the Pacific Northwest we’re getting teased mercilessly with Spring-like sunshine and budding plants.  We’ve been blessed with a couple of gorgeous days and the neighborhood has been all abuzz with lawnmowers, pungent bark-a-mulch and the onset of hyper kids.

I’m not quite sure I’m ready for this.  The kids that is. (I have no problem with lawnmowers, or bark-a-mulch, as long as I’m not pushing it or spreading it.)

You see, there is a certain standard set with dark days and rainfall.  The kids typically stay close to home and are resigned yet satisifed with indoor play.  There are little to no expectations for exciting activities and visiting neighbor kids are limited to once or twice a week between bouts of rain showers.

This is not such the case with Spring.

As soon as the sun begins shining my doorbell starts ringing.

“Can Avery play?”

“Is Avery here?”

“What’s Avery doing?”

While there are definite advantages to having social kids there is also a bit of baggage that comes along with the barrage of little neighbor friends.  Over the last couple of years I’ve pinpointed a few key points of the most bothersome baggage. 

1) Jack has yet to earn his freedom.  Jack is certainly on his way to gaining a little independance but given his inability to detect oncoming traffic, failure to recognize friend from foe and general lack of any sense of direction Jack is still resigned to homebound play.  He doesn’t understand this fact and harbors a whole lot of resentment watching his sister flock freely down the street.  And a resentful three-year old = a whole lotta work.

2) I will be losing my privacy.  Have you ever tried to make a quick run to the coffee maker in your underpants only to be met by the freckled-face neighbor girl coming back from her foray in your refrigerator?  Well, I have.  And they were not my best underpants. 

3) Long gone is my quest for a clean floor.  Although I do try and employ the “take your shoes off at the door” rule with my kids I can’t stand constant guard at the door.  We have wood flooring and it takes but one pair of crusty-bottomed shoes to ruin an entire mop job.  Springtime brings many a pair of these shoes running through my house and unfortunately also brings many an emergency clean-up.  *Sigh* 

4) Snacks become a hot commodity.  More kids means higher snacking demands.  The phrase, “Can we have a snack?” becomes as common as “You kids are driving me nuts” around here.  There is something about the sun shining that incites a gnawing hunger in even the smallest of child.  Failure to provide snacks can bring out the ‘ugly’ in a kid.  No one needs to see that. 

5) Decibels reach unhealthy levels.  Any mother (particularly those with toddlers who nap…or those with a certain unapologetic propensity for napping themselves) understands the frustration involved with the sudden onset of “noise.”  Don’t misunderstand…both of my children have their own special gift of audible chaos but increasing the number of kids increases the volume of noise almost exponentially.  Ah, how I will miss the silence.  (Well, as silent as a house could be with a three-year old who runs around counting his moms boobs on a daily basis.)

So, as you can see, I anxiously await Spring and all it brings.  But, I will have to begrudgingly admit that I secretly love the chaos.  There’s a distinct sense of purpose which accompanies more active kids and I do thrive a bit on purpose.  Life definitely get a little crazier around here but along with it comes a shining sun, growing Vitamin D levels and that delicious smell of grass (well, delicous until about the end of May when I start sneezing out my lungs on an hourly basis.) 

And I’m looking forward to it (Spring, not the sneezing.)

Mindy

So I’ve hit a bit of a weight loss plateau.  The ‘Mohave Desert’ of plateaus, really.  And naturally, my hubby the weightloss/fitness pro (so not) decided to impart on me his infinite wisdom.

“Mindy, you should totally mix things up a little bit.  You need to try a different workout,” Jer explained.

“Jer, I always do different stuff.  In fact, last night I did a Salsa dance workout.  Do you know how hard that was?  I had to have been dripping off the calories,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s all great and stuff but I think you should try something completely different, totally out of your comfort zone.” 

Sigh.  “Like what, Jer?  Bull fighting?  Fencing?  Maybe barrel racing?”

“Um, no.  I’m thinking you should try bike riding.  Do the bark path at the park.  I know it’s sure helped me up my fitness level,” Jer said, nodding his head.

Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Jer…you’ve ridden your bike, like, twice in the last three weeks.  How can you honestly tell me that you’ve improved your fitness with bike riding?”

“Because I just feel better, in general.  Plus, I plan on riding again really soon.  Just, trust me.  Try it.  You’ll be shocked at how good it feels.  Seriously,” Jer said.  “You’ll love it.”

Okay, maybe he’s right.  I should give this a try.  Just possibly this is the shock my body needs to get going. 

“Alright, Jer.  You win.  I’ll give it a whirl.  I used to love riding my bike.”  When I was seven.  But, given my propensity for getting bored really quickly, I was excited with the idea of something new and different.  I threw on some Lycra/Spandex pants, a sweatshirt and my tennis shoes. 

Saying goodbye to Jer, I set out for the garage where my bicycle was awaiting me.   I hopped on and rode out of the garage, narrowly escaping a   side swipe with the Expedition but also exhilarated by the feel of the cool wind on my face and the warmth of the sun on my back.  This was going to be really good.  Really, really good.

I pedaled towards the bark path in the neighborhood park with a renewed spirit for fitness.  I turned onto the path with verve and vigor and an energetic readiness to commune with nature.

And there is where the romance ended.

With each piece of bark my wheels rolled over my nether regions suffered a physical assault.  My butt cheeks were screaming in protest at the sudden agony I had placed on them.  I would shift a little to the left, shift a little to the right, attempting to ease the literal butt-slapping occuring with each bump of the road and rotation of the tire.  I attempted to stop but that was even worse.  Getting off the bike was harder than getting on.  Each cheek was seizing into cramps, one right after the other, with every step I took.  So, I jumped right back on, determined to finish this torture so I could go home and have a nice little chat with my hubby.   

I can only imagine what I must have looked like rolling down that path towards home, hunched over the handlebars, sweat dripping from my determined face. 

I managed to squeak out 30 minutes in agony before limping home.  Gone was the exhilaration.  Gone was the renewed spirit.  Very much present was the bruised butt bone.

Folks, what I experienced was a new level of pain.  Years of various exercises has gotten me sore feet, knees, quads, chest and arms.  Thirty minutes on a bicycle got me a sore butt. 

Rest assured, my butt has not been ultimately defeated.  I’m not quite ready to give up this idea of bike riding.  As much as I hate to admit when Jer is right, in this case he kind of knew what he was talking about.  Bruised buttocks aside, the bike ride most certainly did offer a new way to reach my desired fitness level.  I will face this demon again but next time will do so wearing padded underpants and loaded with Ibuprofren.  And maybe a bigger bike seat.

Mindy

When I gave birth to my little guy I knew he would be a “binkie” baby.  How did I know this?  Because, I have absolutely no problem with a little bit of ‘forced’ attachment.  From the get-go, I stuck that plug in Jack’s mouth at the first sign of trouble.  He’d barely manage to squeak out a “Wa-” before that artificial nipple snuffed it out.  And, fortunately, my persistance won out because I managed to turn my child into a full-on addict.  Sure, I felt a little bit of guilt at being his “pusher” but mealtimes at the local Mexican restaurant were much more peaceful for everyone. 

But, really the joke was on me.  Unbeknownst to me, while that binkie was still firmly placed in his mouth, he was also forming an attachment to an entirely different inanimate object as if he knew the binkie would be short-lived and was preparing a replacement vice.  One in which I really had no vested interest at all.

His blanket.

I had been putting Jack to bed with this particular blanket because it was, quite frankly, a sweet little white cable-knit and it matched his room.  That was it.  And little did I know that he was cuddling up to this little blanket, building a relationship that would become first and foremost the most important part of his little life.

This blanket would one day be dubbed “Baby” and would be as present in his company as a box of Cheezits are in mine.  (I’m not proud of that but thought it would put things into perspective.)

Cute, yes (the blanket, not the Cheezits, obviously).  But I’d be remiss if I left out one important fact…”Baby” has not aged very well.  What was once a gleaming white cotton has now evolved into a dingy gray.  Her tight cable-knit now a much looser version of her former self (I can so relate with this.)  Granted, she’s been through some trials and tribulations.  She’s wiped many a snotty nose, soaked up remnants of dinner on dirty little hands and has been drug through the house at times carrying an 8-pound shih-tzu on her back.   Yes, “Baby” has seen better days.  But with the love of a hopelessly devoted romantic, Jack doesn’t notice.  She’s still as beautiful to him now as she was the day they met.

Much like a lover nuzzles his beloved’s neck, Jack sniffs his “Baby” with as much unabandon.  And here’s the thing about that…”Baby” has taken on a bit of a smell over the years.  Again, Jack doesn’t notice.

“Baby” lulls Jack to sleep and eases his anxiety.  She comforts him when he’s ill and stays by his side until he’s well.  And thank goodness for that.

Jack has been sick for the past few days and has been as-of-late hunkered down in our bedroom watching Spongebob Squarepants, his “Baby” placed under his arm like a pair of sweethearts at a drive-in movie. 

I checked on him periodically to make sure that he was still, in fact, sick and hadn’t decided to take an ample opportunity to pillage my bathroom cabinets. ( Need a reminder of that fiasco?  Here.)  Most of the time he was laying down, looking at the TV with that Spongebob Squarepants-induced open-mouthed stare.

On one of my rounds I walked into the bedroom expecting to find Jack in his familiar position staring at the television and was surprised to find him gazing lovingly at “Baby” and whispering what sounded to be “sweet nothings” in her ear.

“You know what, Baby?  I wuv you.  I do.  You know how much?”

Baby looked at him expectantly.

“I wuv you very much.  My favorite Baby.”

Awww…Baby is happy.

“And guess what, Baby?  You don’t stink.  I fink you smell real good.”  And then Jack proceeded to dive in for what must have been the 472nd sniff of the day.

What I witnessed here folks was an intimate moment between Jack and his First Love.  I should have guessed that his relationship with “Baby” would lead up to this moment but I don’t think a mother is ever truly ready to accept that she has some worthy competition.   It’s obvious that Jack prefers the bedraggled look and slightly funky smell and I am just too clean and Dove fresh for his taste.

Do I begrudge Jack his “special” relationship?  Nah.  That blanket has worked wonders at easing a fit and lulling an active child to sleep.  But, do I worry about that inevitable day when “Baby” goes missing and Jack loses the love of his life?  God, yes.

Happy Monday,

Mindy

Raise your hand if you believe pound cake is a gift straight out of Heaven?

Raise your hand if you believe pound cake can brighten even the dreariest of days?

Raise your hand if you believe pound cake causes cellulite?

I would have to answer with a resounding “Yes!” to all of the above (unfortunately, I answer the last question from experience.) 

In my early twenties, after a particularly difficult day at the office, I discovered a product at the grocery store which, over time, became a little bit of a guilty obsession.  It was sold in this tidy little white box, its buttery aroma evident even through its packaging and well, it completed me.  Okay, that might be a slight over-exaggeration but if this product unclogged toilets and killed bees I could possibly see myself marrying it.

The object of my adoration?

Entenmann’s Pound Cake.  The dirty devil.

My unhealthy obsession with this dessert not only increased my grocery budget but also increased my waist size.  Once my ’fat’ jeans began evolving into ‘everyday’ jeans I knew that my love affair with this delectable dessert would have to end.   I had to strike pound cake from every future grocery list and try to forget it ever existed.

And then I found this recipe.  And the monkey on my back reared its ugly little monkey head.  And I slapped the monkey upside the head and said, “Down boy.  It uses cake mix!  I’ll be fine.”  I mean, how good could it possibly be?  The recipe doesn’t even call for butter.

Oh, Lordy. 

It’s good.  Really good.  Yes, it has the Trifecta of sugar, oil and *ahem* cream cheese, but…it also has blueberries.  Did you know they are considered a “Super Food?”  So, I’m actually doing your heart a favor.  Yep.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So, go ahead and give this recipe a try.   And, please do not neglect the Vanilla Glaze.  Forgoing it’s sugary sweetness would be like reading an amazing book and stopping just short of the last chapter, or patronizing the Thunder from Down Under and leaving before the encore.  It just wouldn’t make sense.

Enjoy!

Blueberry Pound Cake with Vanilla Glaze

• 1 (18.25 oz) Butter Yellow or French Vanilla cake mix
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 (8 oz) package cream cheese, room temperature
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1 pint blueberries, fresh or frozen (tossed in a little bit of flour to keep them from sinking)

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.  Spray 10 inch bundt pan liberally with Pam Baking Spray (or be all Betty Crocker and do the grease and flour bit.)
2. In a large bowl, stir together cake mix and sugar.  Form a well in the center of mixture and pour in eggs, oil and vanilla.  Begin beating on low speed, adding in cream cheese.  Scrape sides of bowl and continue beating at medium speed for 4 additional minutes.  Fold in blueberries.  Pour into bundt pan.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 45-55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center of cake comes out clean.  Let cool in pan before turning out onto plate.
4. Pour glaze over cooled cake, recipe below.

Vanilla Glaze

• 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
• 2 1/2 Tbs. milk
• 1/8 tsp of salt
• 1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1 tsp. butter

1. Melt butter over medium-low heat and add the rest of the ingredients.  Whisk until smooth and cook until reaches desired consistency.