Feliz Mommy Hot

It doesn’t matter how prepared you are, going from Starbucks and stilettos to Sippy cups and strollers can take a hit on anyone’s ego. Okay, I’m more of a kitten heel kind of girl, but I haven’t seen a pair of those since that plus sign appeared more than five years ago.

Along with my job and my wardrobe, my life changed when we started our family. So, it’s not surprising that my emotions followed suit.

The other day while my daughter and I were trimming the tree, I got choked up listening to ‘Feliz Navidad.’ If you’ve heard it, you know it’s a cheerful tune. Why get emotional over this song? Well, it started when my daughter was two.

I’m toting around the cutest tot on the planet, but I look like one hot mess. I’d heard that’s what happens when you have kids, but vowed never to go more than two days without a shower and to never, I mean never ever, resort to a three-day ponytail and stretchy pants. Yet, there I was hair pulled back rockin’ the loungewear wondering if I’d ever shave again.

We’d been listening to holiday tunes on every media device we could since the day after Thanksgiving and ‘Feliz Navidad’ was playing.

All of a sudden my daughter squeals, “Mommy Hot!”

Not sure whether she said what I think she said, I ask her, “What’s that honey?”

And this adorable kid, bouncing around beams at me, “Mommy Hot is on.”

I know my daughter misunderstood the words and changed ‘Navi-dad’ to ‘Mommy Hot.’ I also know that to her, hot is a temperature, not a word describing one’s appearance, but I feel complimented all the same. Not since being relegated to the easy on, easy off driving moc category had I felt anywhere close to ‘hot.’ Thinking of myself as ‘Mommy Hot’ made me feel good on a day that I really needed to feel good. So I turned the music up and sang along.

It was the cutest thing, every time we heard the song she’d get excited and I’d get a confidence boost just hearing her say, “Mommy Hot.” I loved it. I clung to the moments as long as I could and figured she’d soon forget all about our special version.

Fast-forward two years. We’re in the thick of it with two kids – an independent wants-to-do-everything herself 4-year-old girl and a teething makes-his-own-schedule baby boy. I’m stuck in some kind of post-baby reconstruction phase and all I want for Christmas is eight consecutive hours of sleep. But, it’s the holiday season, one of my favorite times of the year, and darn it, sleep or not, the hall decking must go on!

We had our favorite holiday classics from Ella to Elvis on while we trimmed the tree. I heard a guitar intro and then a chorus of, “Feliz Navidad.” My girl did a “twirl-jump” as she likes to call them and shouted, “Feliz Mommy Hot!”

So focused on getting the umpteenth box of decorations emptied and out of the way, I almost missed it. I stopped and stared at my daughter. Her red dress twirled as she sang, “Feliz Mommy Hot.” She was two again and I wondered when did she get so big?

This peppy song is playing, our daughter’s dancing and I’m devastated that my baby girl is not a baby anymore. Such emotion is expected when something holds such great meaning. I just never thought it would be ‘Feliz Navidad’ that brought on the waterworks.

The scene reminded me of how desperately impossible parenthood is at times. Struggling to keep your identity, and sanity, while pouring every bit of goodness, confidence and smarts you can into your children. Sure, it’s wonderful to see them grow, but bittersweet that many precious moments are over so quickly, like snowflakes melting on your skin. 

I stop thinking about how much has changed and focus solely on this moment, for I know it will pass just as quickly. I hit rewind and grasp my daughter’s hands. Then I grab our son and we all dance together for a while. When it's over, I squeeze them and tell them how much I love them. So, to José, Celine and the many artists who’ve covered this song I say, “Thank you, and Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart.”

Does Anyone Sign Holiday Cards Anymore?

If you read my previous post then you know how I feel about empty Christmas cards. I heave a heavy sigh when we receive cards that aren’t even signed. Hey, I get that life’s busy, but can you at least write in your name every couple years or so?

We’ve come close several times to stuffing envelopes and shipping them off, but I’ve fought hard against it. Printing companies are making it even more tempting when they offer to design, print and mail your announcements or greetings sight unseen. But, I can’t bring myself to it just yet. Sure, it’s easy, but is it impersonal? I’m not sure.

We still sign ours, and let me tell you it’s fun for about the first five cards. After that, our daughter’s had it and struggling to get her to write more makes it worse. So, like any good (desperate) parents, we stop and take the next few days to bribe her with games and treats until they’re finished.

Ours are done, except I still have to fill out the envelopes and mail them, but they’re close.

As I prepare to spend the evening with some eggnog, a sharpie and my next stack of Christmas cards, I raise my glass to those of you who still sign your holiday greetings. Cheers!    

Need Gift Ideas for Book Lovers?

Books make a great gift. Take the stress out of selecting the right one by following two simple rules. 


1. Give what you like, like what you give. If you find a topic interesting, share it with a friend or relative who recognizes this is something you enjoy. If you love jokes, perhaps a humorous take on parenting is the perfect gift for a new mom or dad. If finance, cooking or another subject is your favorite, try to find something that relates that subject to the person you're gifting it to. 


2. Give what they like and you can't go wrong. Say you know someone who loves biographies, search sites like Goodreads, Indiebound or Barnes & Noble for ideas. You can search by genre or see what's new and recommended. 


Happy Holidays and Happy Reading!

Tips for Bouncing Back From Disappointment

Thought this was worth sharing...Bouncing Back From Disappointment: Christina Katz Weighs In (and GIVEAWAY!) over at Ask Allison's blog.

Praline Cream Wishes and Pâte à Choux Dreams…

I like challenges. Hey, I’ve got two kids, right? Even more, I like challenges that involve butter, cream, sugar and, well, you get the idea. Enter the Paris-Brest Cake.

Named for the famous Paris to Brest bicycle race, the Paris-Brest Cake is a showstopper. It’s everything you want in a dessert and then some – be warned though, it’s not for the faint of heart.

You can find photos of the decadent pastry here. I’ll post the test recipe as soon as I find my electronic copy. In the meantime, look and drool, look and drool.  :)

You can find the Cook’s Illustrated recipe and more in the December issue. I’m not a paid endorser, unless you count the helpings of praline cream I enjoyed while testing this one. 

A Prime To Remember

When this recipe hit my inbox, I was excited and a little intimidated. Normally, I enjoy testing recipes and can handle new techniques, but this was different. If I screwed this up, roughly 7 pounds of Prime Rib were going to get hacked up, charred or wasted. Plus, what was I to do with all that meat? 

I debated taking a pass on the recipe until I realized one of our sisters would be in town. If I did mess it up, we could always get takeout, which is the house rule. Plus, it might, in the company of loved ones, make an interesting story. But, there was still a lot of meat to go around. Enter good friend who lives nearby.

I sent a quick e-mail that basically said, I’ve got some extra meat and it may turn out good or not, wanna stop by and find out? Read: please be my guinea pig and don’t laugh too hard if this fails miserably.

Why so much fuss? Well, it’s not a cheap cut and anything that involves bones, a knife and me is risky. After a couple days of waffling, I gave in and bought the Prime Rib.

Boy, am I glad I did. The Cook’s Illustrated recipe outlined all the steps needed to make a delicious Prime Rib, which they call The Best-Ever Prime Rib in the December issue.

It was melt in your mouth tender and had a browned and deliciously seasoned crust. I didn’t find anything too complicated about the instructions. Thank goodness it worked.

Everyone at our table was in good spirits and loved dinner. We had a great visit that turned into a feast.

Here’s the recipe, enjoy your own feast!

Best Prime Rib

From Cook's Illustrated.

Serves 6 to 8

Look for a roast with an untrimmed fat cap (at least 1/2-inch thick); roasts that have been trimmed of their fat cap tend to overcook at the surface. We prefer the flavor and texture of prime grade beef, but choice grade will work as well. To remove the roast from the bones, use a sharp knife and run it down the length of the bones, following the contours as closely as possible until the meat is separated from the bones. Open the oven door as little as possible and remove the roast from the oven while taking its temperature. If the roast has not reached the correct temperature in the range specified in step 3, heat the oven to 200 degrees for 5 minutes, shut it off, and continue to cook the roast until it registers 126 to 128 degrees. The roast can be served plain or with one of the following sauces.

1 (7-pound) first-cut beef standing rib roast (3 bones), meat removed from bones, bones reserved

Kosher salt and pepper

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1. Using sharp knife, cut slits in surface layer of fat, spaced 1 inch apart, in crosshatch pattern, being careful to cut down to, but not into, meat. Rub 2 tablespoons salt over entire roast and into slits. Tie meat back onto bones exactly from where it was cut, passing length of twine between each set of bones and one lengthwise around widest part of roast underneath ribs. Place roast on large plate and refrigerate, uncovered, at least 24 hours and up to 72 hours.

2. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 200 degrees. Heat oil in 12-inch skillet over high heat until just smoking. Sear meat-side of roast on all sides until browned, 6 to 8 minutes, spending more time on sections with thick fat cap. Flip and sear bone-side of roast for 1 minute. Transfer roast, fat-side up, to wire rack set in rimmed baking sheet and season with pepper. Roast until meat-probe thermometer or instant-read thermometer inserted into center of roast registers 110 degrees, 3 ½ to 4 ½ hours.

3. Turn off oven; leave roast in oven, opening door as little as possible, until meat-probe thermometer or instant-read thermometer inserted into center of roast registers 126 to 128 degrees, 60 to 90 minutes longer. 

4. Remove roast from oven (leave roast on baking sheet), tent loosely with aluminum foil, and rest for at least 30 minutes and up to 75 minutes.

5. Adjust oven rack about 8 inches from broiler element and heat broiler. Remove foil from roast, form into 3-inch ball, and place under ribs to elevate fat cap. Broil until top of roast is well-browned and crisp, 2 to 8 minutes.   

6. Transfer roast to carving board; cut twine and remove ribs. Slice meat into 3/4-inch-thick slices. Season interior of slices with salt and serve.

Cabin Fever and How I Egged My Own Car

Just about everyone knows what it’s like to have cabin fever. If you’ve ever been forced to stay indoors during hurricanes, blizzards or bouts with the flu, you know that it’s tolerable for about the first fifty minutes and then all you can think about is everything you could be doing outside. Yet, there you are stuck doing absolutely nothing, because you can’t get your mind off of how closed in the place feels and how much you just want to get out.

Well that’s us. That’s been us since day three of our kids being sick, which was about the time we noticed our first child sneezing on our second. So nice when they share, isn’t it?

We’re in the second week of limited activities and instead of watching our 4yo bouncing off the walls, and going without bananas and milk yet again, I decided to take the kids on a quick run to the store. Go ahead and laugh, as most parents know, there is no such thing as a “quick” run to the store when you have kids in tow.

As soon as we got there I struggled to fit our infant’s car seat in the shopping cart. They tempt you with an abundance of food and goodies, yet they give you carts just large enough for a loaf of bread and some butter. How am I supposed to shop? Deep breath, and go.

So we make it inside and my oldest goes for the mini shopping carts. Okay, we can manage this. Maybe she gets the task of helping cart the groceries around, it seems harmless enough. That is until we make it halfway through the store and she starts running around doing her impression of Tokyo Drift.

Another deep breath and I get her to drive within 5 feet of me while urging her to stop taking everything off the shelves and putting it in said cart, “No sweetie, we don’t need soy cheese slices.”

Two more minutes go by as we’re waiting at the deli and she’s got her hands on the glass. This lasts 30 seconds before she starts drumming on the glass and pointing to all the stuff we should get. I patiently work with her and ask her to take her hands off the glass. I turn away to order some food, and she’s got her hands up on the glass again. “You need to stop playing on the glass,” I say. Momentary pause while I get our next item ordered and she’s at it again. “If you don’t take your hands off the glass you won’t get a cookie” I say feeling confident since this is what she’s waited the whole trip to get.

It takes less than a minute for her to go from absolutely perfect to sprawled out on the floor in protest. That’s it, “Let’s go.” She refuses to move and I am forced to hoist her over my shoulder. As she begins wailing, I realize I can’t drive the “big” cart and the kid’s cart while carrying her carcass over my shoulder. I try to set her down and she collapses onto the floor again. All I’ve got left is to lift her up and plop her down on a pile of uncured ham and soy cheese. At least she’s mobile now, sort of.

Next dilemma, there’s two kids and two carts. No way can I leave either one of them. So I’m hunched over at an angle pushing a crying toddler in the dinky kid’s cart, every third wail she’s belting out, and my higher hand is guiding the baby’s seat wedged in the “big” cart, which really isn’t big at all.

We make it past all the wine bottle displays and a nice lady ahead of us in line offers help to guide the “big” cart across the finish line, which is the register. I think we’ve made it, and we have until I unload enough groceries from the “big” cart’s kid seat and try to lift my now calm toddler into it. “Ouch! Something’s rubbing,” she says. Still lifting her above my head with her feet dangling chest high, I struggle to fit her in the seat, but after a few moments I have her secured. Two kids, one cart. Why didn’t I just do that from the beginning?

Feeling I’d accomplished something and not wanting to miss out on sweet goodness myself, I eye some cookies at the checkout and sneak them in with the food moving down the beltway. I heave a sigh of relief and we’re out the door.

It only takes us fifteen instead of the normal twenty to get everyone and the groceries in the van and we head home.

Things were uneventful until I started unloading the kids and groceries. It’s lunchtime, so I had to do it in stages. Kids out, check. Food on table for oldest and toys to distract baby, check. I unpacked food from the front and headed back to get the rest, clicked open the lift gate, and that’s when it happened. I watched in slow motion as a carton of eggs spilled over and the viscous insides of one slid out of the van, crept over our back bumper and jiggled into a pool on our new garage floor.

Sigh.

My thoughts: Karma, never should have touched those cookies. If my daughter didn’t get any, I shouldn’t either. And, I’m so done with grocery shopping. (See also, Disaster on aisle...)