My kids love crepes. My husband loves them, too. It’s one of the favorites in his family. On the weekends when we’re feeling ambitious, we’ll often make them. (And by we, I mean Jon, with the help of one or more of our kids.) But this morning, Jon asked the kids to make crepes while he mowed the yard… a request that they took very seriously. So seriously that there were no adults allowed in the kitchen. It was a Kid Only Zone. They got down the blue recipe book and got to work.
Crepes:
1 C. milk, 2 eggs, 1 tsp. salt, 1 C. flour, 1 Tbs melted butter
Mix in that order:
Next, use a measuring cup to pour batter into pan. “Swirl” batter to make crepes thin:
Flip after 1 minute. Don’t overcook.
Mix secret sauce:
My kids were totally ticked off that I disclosed the ingredients in the secret sauce, but I assured them that it’s still very much a secret, since I’m not giving you the recipe for our homemade jam. (Incidentally, you can experiment with different flavor jams. My personal favorite is blackberry.)
Finally, roll, drizzle with maple syrup, and sprinkle with powdered sugar:
Video was captured of events earlier this week illustrating an apparent attack by a ferocious infant boy on his older brother. For the entire duration of the attack, the sister of both boys laughed hysterically and offered no help to the older boy. In fact, at one point the sister actually spit on the older boy (though this may have been accidental, as the girl has a huge hole in the front of her mouth from missing front teeth). Meanwhile, the careless mother of all of the children sat behind the safety of the camera, also laughing and offering no assistance. The infant kicked the ten year old repeatedly in the head and face, and did so effortlessly; the infant almost seemed unaware of his own actions, though at one point he seemed to try to cover the camera lens to hide his identity.
Deacon turned six months yesterday. Sadly, he had a check-up on his half birthday. I say sadly because a baby’s check-up always means a few pokes to legs with needles containing various illness preventing/cry inducing medication. And cry he did. But he tried to be tough, you could see it in his tiny face as his little lips quivered and fat tears rolled down his cheeks.
But before all the crying there was the basic “check up” part, where our sweet pediatrician comes in with a “Hi guys, how are we doing and stuff?” spoken in a tone sugary friendly and completely disarming. (I seriously love that guy.) Deacon — who was buck nekkid after being weighed on the little baby scale — responded by peeing on the examination table. I was a nano second too slow with the new diaper. “That’s okay,” the doctor assured me, “that happens sometimes and stuff.” But for the smallest of moments, I thought I saw irritation bubbling below his cool surface as he wiped up my kid’s pee and changed the ABC/Dancing Bears sani-paper on the exam table. But then the look was gone, and he sweetness returned.
He gently poked and prodded as he asked general questions… and the awesome thing about summertime is that my kids are home from school and get to accompany me to these visits and are very helpful at truthfully answering the doctor’s questions.
“So guys, how is Deacon eating?” And although the doctor uses the word guys in the superfluous way I use the word dude, my kids believe that the doctor is actually addressing them.
“Deacon likes Cool Ranch Doritos,” Jachin says.
The doctor chuckles, checking Deac’s ears. “I don’t think he can eat Doritos yet,” the doctor says.
“No, he really does,” Jachin assures him. “I gave him some at my birthday party and he grabbed it and wouldn’t stop licking it. It was crazy!”
“Yeah,” Zoe piped in, “and Dad gave him Cool Whip for breakfast yesterday morning.”
The doctor looks at me and smiles. “Oh yeah?” he says.
“Just a little bit,” I said. “He just licked the spoon.”
“Well,” the doctor chuckled, “Cool Whip is yummy and stuff, but it’s not healthy to eat Cool Whip for breakfast every morning.”
“I didn’t have any breakfast today,” Zoe says matter-of-factly. “Or lunch.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be having lunch soon…” the doctor says, holding up Deacon and probably wondering if it’s a good idea to give him to me.
“And plus,” Zoe continues, “Mom sometimes gives Deaky Pull-n-Peels.”
“Oh yeah,” Jachin says, “he loves those things.”
And there is was: in less than a minute my kids had spilled everything that I’d never planned on telling the doctor.
I thought briefly of how to play it, and then figured I’d just play it straight.
“Dude,” I said to my kids, “you aren’t supposed to tell the doctor that stuff.”
And the doctor just said, “Kids are good at spilling all of your secrets.”
No kidding, guys. And stuff.
Here is a video of Deac yesterday, doing what he loves best: his jumper.
Nevermind the little bit of Hershey’s syrup there on his upper lip… he just had a tiny bite of my ice cream.
Deac loves the bath tub. Like, he would kick and splash around all day if you let him. As it is, I let him stay in until the water turns chilly and his toes turn all wrinkly.
Why hello there. I’m back. No need to cheer or applaud or throw a ticker-tape parade… well, okay, a parade would be cool. Especially if I got my own bagpipe marching band…
As you may have noticed, I took a short, unscheduled hiatus from the blog. It wasn’t a planned thing. One day of no posting turned into a week of no posting which turned into a month of no posting and… well, you get the idea. My usual penchant for running off at the mouth and making stupid jokes that few people get just didn’t seem fun for a while. It lost its shimmer. I blame it on a late onset of postpartum depression, exacerbated by writer’s block (or perhaps vice versa). And while writer’s block is not a new thing for me, this time it came accompanied by “blogger’s block”. The depression, on the other hand, hit me real stealthy like. Sort of like getting a roundhouse kick to the head by Chuck Norris… only Chuck Norris sneaks up behind you dressed like a ninja. And he moves in slow motion, his extended foot taking weeks and weeks to make the full arc before crushing your skull. And before you had any idea of what was going on, there you are: on your arse, holding your roundhouse-kicked head, wondering how you never noticed Chuck Norris following you around for weeks and weeks, dressed like a ninja. (Also, your house is a wreck and your reflection in the mirror leaves much to be desired.)
Yeah, depression is like that.
But life goes one, even with writer’s block and being shadowed by a Chuck Norris analogy. Check out flickr for pictures. Summer is in full swing. Pool passes and kid movies tickets have been purchased. We have all gotten our first bout of sunburn out of the way. Deacon is rolling around and laughing. Jachin turned 10 and had a water party (if you have some spare time, feel free to drop by and help me pick up pieces of broken water balloons out of the grass). Zoe lost her two front teeth and is so cute that part of me hopes new ones will never grow in.
And now I’m back. Without the pomp and circumstance. But feel free to throw together a quick parade… if you know any bagpipe players.
