Just desserts.

After dinner tonight, James started loading a game of Peggle. I informed him that I would not be interested in Peggling until we had some kind of dessert. He was amenable at first, until he saw me looking up the hours for Biscotti's. "You aren't going all the way to Biscotti's, are you?!" He informed me that what I think is a ten minute drive is really 20 minutes one way, plus 20 minutes of me gawking at desserts, and if i leave now I will be wanting to go to bed by the time I get home. I sighed and split the last slice of Carvel ice cream cake (I get the top half, he gets the bottom half), and we commenced in our Peggling adventures.

Hours later, someone commented on my buddy's wall that they have been filming Hell's Kitchen at Dinosaur BBQ today. Of course there was nothing along these lines on any Google search (I should have checked Twitter), and he persuaded me to go check it out. I was 400 feet away when James called to say that it is actually Man V. Food that has been filming all day. Not that either of us really thought Gordon Ramsay would really be in Syracuse, but it would have been cool.

"Should I still go in?"

James says I totally should, and please bring home some macaroni and cheese.

In my haste, I had taken James' cell phone instead of mine, and left my ipod charging at the computer desk. I wasn't really sure what to do with myself for 20 minutes while they prepared our food, so I made up an excuse to call James. "Hey, are you interested in a Boylan's soda?" Yeah, that was a dumb question.

He asks me a question of equal value, however. "Hey, did you get me some kind of meat too?"

"What are we, newlyweds? Would I seriously come home from Dinosaur with just a styrofoam cup of macaroni and cheeses?"

I also treated myself to a Dinosaur brownie. Total win. Even if I didn't get to share it with the most amazing British Chef ever.

Date Night!

A couple of weeks ago, my aunt and uncle offered to watch the boys one night while James and I went out for the evening. We thought they were just being polite, and figured it would never come to fruition. Then my aunt actually pulled out her planner and started talking about a day. I was floored. I pulled out my planner, we chatted and when Thursday night came, so did they. It was an almost surreal experience, made more real by Ethan's screaming, which we heard almost the entire to drive to Scotch & Sirloin.

We were shocked when we arrived home, and Aunt Sue already had her planner in hand. "What day works for next week?"

So, tonight was date night number 2. We finally settled on a restaurant (Bonefish Grill), and ordered salads. James opted for the anchovies on his caesar salad. I tried not to make a face. "Honey, you need to try one. They are delicious."

"No thanks."

"Have you ever tried one before?"

"Not yet. I decided my first anchovy experience will be when I make homemade caesar dressing."

"Here you go."

A moment later James informed me that he saw me move the anchovy under my plate. He placed it back on my salad. I grudgingly moved the anchovy to my fork, and a moment later was holding my most sour face. "Nice try, Danielle." He shifted my plate a little to the left. "Oh look, an anchovy." James put the anchovy on his bread plate as the waitress cleared it.

"You didn't have to do that, James, I was going to eat it."

"No, you weren't."

"I would have."

I should have known better. After 4 years of marriage, I KNOW he will always call my bluff. He offered a replacement, I was cornered. It turns out they are not so bad as I expected.

After dinner, and as we were leaving Kohl's, James spotted their version of the reusable bag. It is a perfect design, and even snaps up into a little square. It accompanied me this evening to Wegmans. I felt pretty cool, eco friendly bag carrying my organic berries, until I couldn't fit into my car--- my shopping basket was still slung over my arm. Trendy FAIL.

Adventures of Preggers Past

Two falls ago, James and I had a pretty perfect Tuesday/ Thursday routine. He got done with class at 2:15, I would meet him at LeMoyne with Jonathan, and the 3 1/2 of us would have lunch together before I left to go for my 3 o'clock shift. One such beautiful day, I took the Monkey outside, loaded him in the car, and turned the key in the ignition. Now, let's dial it back about 16 hours.

Jessica and I went to go on an evening of adventures (I think we exchanged something at the body shop and possibly bought socks-- something that is only fun because you are with an awesome friend), and I remember on my way home, I drove right past the gas station thinking, "I just don't wanna."

So, now as I am turning my key in the ignition, nothing happens. I quickly went through options in my head. (1) Hyundai roadside assistance (2) ask Jessica to drop what she is doing and help me out, or (3) toss Monkey in the umbrella stroller and book it for the nearest gas station. I decided, for some reason, that #3 was the easiest. I tried to guess which of the two nearby gas stations was the closest, and away we went. I can't imagine what I must have looked like, on the way there-- a pregger in scrubs racing with a scared kid in an umbrella stroller, or on the way back, with an added gas can. Anyway, after I reached home, having had some pretty intense activity-related contractions and feeling like a real winner, I decided I would never again cruise by a gas station on E.

Personal Growth.

When James came home from his mission, he talked a lot about setting and reaching goals. He taught me that if you aren't trying to accomplish a task or stretch yourself in some way, you just will not be fully satisfied with your life. After some time, I decided to take violin lessons again. I pick my violin up every year around Christmas, so James and I can play O Holy Night, and possibly a few other random times throughout the year. It's not exactly like riding a bike. Anyway, I finally decided it would be worth the effort and money to go back to being a student. A woman at our church teaches lessons, and I somehow got over the mortification of having "tapes" put back on my violin. Congratulations, Danielle, you are officially back in 4th grade. Over the next several weeks, she began re-molding my bow grip, adjusting my finger positioning, and teaching me 14 syncopations for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I somehow found time to practice, and we got just to the point of learning more advanced things. I'm not sure what advanced things they would have been, but I'm thinking it might have possibly even been "Mary had a Little Lamb." About this time, she went on a month long vacation for Christmas. I was supposed to be practicing bowing my thigh to some special rhythm (I'm not sure why she wanted me to practice without the violin, except possibly to give my family a break of some sort), but never found the motivation the whole month long. I had just enough time for one hobby, and I decided I would rather bake than pretend my leg was a violin. As long as I make goals for myself (this week, a chocolate chocolate chip muffin that rivals Wegmans), I don't feel like a total slacker for giving up violin lessons. Again.

Adventures in Buying a Couch

When James and I were first married, we had a floral print couch that had been passed down from oldlyweds to newlyweds for several generations. We didn't want to spring for a slip cover, mostly because it seemed wrong when the couch was worth so much less than the cover. We did, however, have a huge white blanket that served almost as well for the year we lived in that apartment. When we moved, we decided there was no way the couch would accompany us. Some things just are not better than having nothing.

Luckily, James' great aunt and uncle had a couch they wanted to give us. It was a big improvement to the 70's style one we didn't miss at all. This "new" couch came to us well loved, and since then has become even more loved. There is a bar where the sectional/recliner part detaches, and if you lay across the couch the bar settles nicely into your shoulder blades. The other end of the couch is all but flat from missing fluff (Jonathan has spent the better part of his life ruining this section) and is hopelessly misshapen. Anyway, as I said before, some things just are not better than having nothing. This couch is almost to the point of being a perfect example. Every Monday night day James and I exchange knowing looks and try to talk each other out of bringing it out to the curb.

One morning we decided to go to the Scratch and Dent furniture store in Liverpool. We don't want to spend a lot on a couch right now, mostly because we don't want to take it with us when we eventually move, so it seemed like the perfect solution. We decided to leave first thing in the morning to capitalize on the small window of time when the boys are not hungry or tired. We arrived at the store 2 minutes after it opened. Great. Now we not only look desperate and poor, we also will be the ONLY people in the store, and look like we plan our lives around the exciting trip to a FURNITURE STORE! Like we sat all morning looking at the clock. "Is it open, is it open? Time to go yet? Please, please?" We sighed and piled our little guys into the double stroller. The boys looked pretty cute, minus the frizzy head of Ethan Spencer No-Haircut Gage (that will be a separate post) and Jonathan's sour expression at being confined to a stroller. Said stroller only lasted a couple of minutes, and we had to ask the man at the service desk if we could leave it there for a little while. I wish I could have captured his expression.

We wandered into the back room and went up and down aisles of couches, losing little boys and little boy shoes. In the course of our adventure, James and I discovered that we have entirely different tastes in living room furniture. I do remember that James stopped at one of the nicer couches, and turned to look at me. "What about this one?" "Really, James?! I love it!" His face soured. "How could you love it? It's hideous!"

It was about this time that Ethan decided to dive head first off the couch, just as the salesperson walked through the door to see how we were doing. He left just as a little stream began running down Jonathan's leg and onto the floor (Wegman's be thanked for the wet wipes I had in my purse). The boys were all but crying, mom and dad were trying not to scream, and when we finally piled into our warm car, the power windows stopped working. What a day for a daydream.

Which is why I probably should have entitled this post "Adventures in NOT buying a couch."

Bebbies.

During a quiet moment at work today, I commented to one of my co-workers that every time I see a stranger leaving St. Joe's with a newborn baby, my first thought is "ooh, how adorable!," and my second thought is "I'm glad it isn't mine." Not that I don't love babies. They are wonderful. Also, not that I don't plan on having another some day. It's just that they are so consuming. Time consuming, emotion consuming, sleep consuming, life consuming. The other nurse I was with commented that she always hopes the new mom or dad doesn't plan on sleeping for the next two years. I thought of how I still can't get through most nights without my big guy waking me up, and he is almost three.
It's a completely different experience waking up with him now, though. Referring to the experience in my previous blog post, Jonathan woke up one night and came out for a drink. I heard his little feet patter over to the heater vent (he loves to cuddle up there when it is on), but instead he climbed up on a chair and looked out the window. He noticed James' bumper on the lawn, and was very distraught. With furrowed eyebrows, he pushed his face to the glass. "Oh nos, car! Uh-oh Spaghettios, car! Mama, it's BROKEN!" He repeated this story several times. No words could calm him. My main goal became to control his volume, which continually escalated, and allow the rest of the neighborhood the joy of staying asleep. When I finally convinced him it would be OK to lay down, it took 2 rounds of the Hungry Hungry Caterpillar and one Baby Einstein Animal book adventure to calm him back to sleep.
Ethan also enjoys night-time adventures. He woke up early one morning (I know it was too early to let him up, but I was going to be at work all day and couldn't resist capitalizing on his awake time) and greeted me with "Hi! Hiii! Hiii!!!" He giggled and kissed my smiling face when I picked him up for a cuddle hug. I took him out to the kitchen with me, and held him while I unloaded the dishwasher. Being the helper that he is, Ethan grabbed out his whale plate and Jonathan's Cars fork, and used them to "feed me" while I put away the bowls and cups. He giggled with every pretend bite. Finally it was time to lay him back down, and all I could think of is how my cherished sleep took the backseat when I had my boys. I never thought I would be so OK with watching it go, but now that I have, I wouldn't change a thing.

Survival.

In my quest to prepare a week's worth of meal ideas, I came across a recipe for triple-dipped fried chicken. As always, I read through several reviews before deciding if it was save-worthy. One cook in particular had prepared this meal in anticipation of an approaching hurricane. They spoke of how good it was, even after sitting on the counter for several hours. They said the recipe would become one of their hurricane survival items, along with bottled water and flashlights. I saw that several others (and of course I followed their lead) had marked this review as "helpful." I doubt that many of us were truly looking for a chicken recipe that could be enjoyed at room temperature and by flashlight-light. I wonder if the other reviewers were just trying to give this person a high five for being so nonchalant and adaptable when discussing matters of hurricanes.

I thought back to last Friday, when 3 feet of snow in Syracuse side roads (not to mention driveways) sent many of us into a frenzy. I thought of the devastation I had felt when I got stuck half a block from home, and the entire neighborhood watched my front bumper get yanked off (no, I didn't hit a hydrant, or a person, or anything. I didn't run over a small tree, it was the SNOW) in my ultimately successful, but very frustrating 20 minute fight with the white stuff. As I put my bumper in the trunk (what else do you do with it?) I thought of how winter drifts to a distant memory during the summertime, when all we see is the gorgeous splendor of the NY scenery. The lakes, trees, and pristine state parks.

I grumbled to myself that this would not be the last day of winter this year, or even my last year of NY winter. However, for all of my struggles and frustrations related to our current locale, not once have I been forced to plan for hurricanes. Pre-planned meals, for me, have always been more out of convenience than necessity. I guess ideas of perfection had better be left to recipes, like triple dipped fried heart attack, and less sought after in living accommodations. After all, every place has its version of winter. And in the worst of it, there is always that feeling that you aren't alone. After all, I am sure I wasn't the only one doggy-digging the snow from behind my wheels. I'm also fairly certain I'm not the only person who has had a front bumper sticking out of their trunk. After all, the man in the little Ford, at the intersection of James and Teall, chiding that he "couldn't tell if [I] was coming or going" sounded as though he had used that joke before.