Feeling a bit whisked

It happens when you least expect it.  It's like when you look in the mirror to see if you have any pieces of black beans stuck in your teeth and instead find a gray nose hair sticking an inch and a half out of your left nostril.  

Where the EFF is a referee when you need one?!?

When did this happen?  Why didn't I catch this at a third or even three quarters of an inch?  Am I so blind to my aging process that I somehow missed an inch and a half?  Where are my priorities in life?

Fortunately this happened to me two some odd years ago and I had completely recovered from this traumatic event until tonight.

Tonight I felt myself aging again.  So a big 'Thank You!' to kickball for snapping me out my youthful reverie (read: denial... Duh!) long enough to realize that I am not as young as I think I am.  Now, don't get me wrong, denial can be an incredible ally in life and in some instances an absolute necessity tantamount to water but not when it comes to your knees.

Not when it comes to your knees.

I felt young on the ground, young in the air, not quite as young mid air as the bright red kickball sailed well over my outstretched fingers, and really really effing old as I landed back to earth.  My last tour jeté was eighteen thousand times more graceful than the way in which my knees ceased to function and my feet begrudgingly accepted the gift of gravity.  

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

True, but I gotta tell you, there is a gift in looking into an empty refrigerator and seeing possibility instead of seeing abso-effing-lutely NOTHING to feed your boys for breakfast.  I had a bottle of TJ's Midnight Moo, some chocolate chunks, one egg, and a small amount of whipping cream that didn't smell as bad as it should have.

Always stop to smell the cream.

But if it stinks, you should open up the other end and smell it again (it might just be the spout that's bad).  

Then again, when it doubt, throw it out.  Words to stitch on a taupe colored throw pillow and live by.  This only applies to food, and not family members.  Or future family members (unless you want them to elope just so they can 'stick it to you').

Are you even allowed to have that kind of punctuation all lumped together?  Unless it's part of your Facebook password, but of course!

My powers of denial enabled me to see those three ingredients for what they could be--a sugar high filled better do it while your mom is away chocolate chocolate chip monster pancake with whipped cream binge!!!

You don't need my super power of denial to make these at home, just make sure you have plausible deniability when the kiddos ask for this again!  I add 1/4 cup of frozen semi-sweet chocolate chunks (frozen) to the finished batter for every cup of flour used.  You then can set about the task of making the face--start with the eyes and nose,

or throwing in a fanged mouth in lieu of a nose.  Wait until the air bubbles remain open and then ladle in some more batter all around it.

You can throw in some horns up top too if you'd like.  Wait for the bubbles to pop and remain open before you flip it.  Unfortunately I forgot to take the next picture, the boys had discovered the whisk with whipped cream, and they helped remind me that you're only as old as the amount of ice cubes and minutes it takes to ice down your knee/shoulder/all over after playing kickball...

Sharing some whipped cream helps too.

Stop and smell the flour!

Yes, it's a difficult thing to do every now and then, especially when you're allergic to it... but these weeks turn into months and before I know it, our youngest is looking like W in my profile picture--though I don't think G has ever actually been that small.

EVER.

G is my excuse for exercise when I go the doctor's office and get the "Do you exercise" routine.  "I have a 45 pound solid as a rock three year old does that count?"
Judging by his reaction, I guess not--but it sure feels like it counts.
He's three...
So is this blog, ugh.

Don't worry, I know I know, I promise I have paid way more attention to him than this blog, so put down the phone.

It's not like I let my boys fight with waffle 'swords' and wear masks at the breakfast table... 

...while their mother is a way at a work conference. 

  

Put down the phone, she'll be back soon. But not too soon because I must clean--but after. After I put this all together in a nice little package.  This entry could be as long as the pile of clean laundry staring me down is high. I am thoroughly tempted to just make them prospect for underwear and shorts each morning and then just throw the unworn items in the dirty laundry basket. A technique that I have never used.

EVER.

I have been known to take my boys grocery shopping at 7 am on a school day with their lunch boxes in hand, it's like a this is your lunch meets let's make a deal meets shop till you drop, and the best part is they think they're making their lunch all by their lonesome! I have taken to applying this to other aspects when I am single dadding it (How the EFF do you single parents out there do it?!?!?)

You can use any waffle mix, and this could totally work with pancakes, but waffles have that sturdiness to them and seem to not mold as quickly when you've forgotten to remove them from the back seat of your car. I use Pamela's all purpose gluten-free baking mix and shockingly follow the recipe to a T--unless you count adding in a little brown sugar and cinnamon not really following the directions at all...
I really do beat the egg whites and all. 

 
Once you have the batter ready and the waffle iron hot, ask your kids to throw in other breakfasty items, we have done well with chopped cooked bacon, maple syrup, and sprinkles. Put down the phone, I don't always use bacon, and then cook it until its golden brown.

I have started to teach W about ratios and that sometimes you cook by ratio instead of by recipe. He loves figuring out the other items based upon how much of the first item he has. The maple butter is plain and simple and uses a 1:1 ratio unlike our family which is A 1 amazing wife:3 boys who never act their age ratio. So the maple butter is equal parts salted butter and maple syrup. You'll soften the butter in the microwave for about 7-10 seconds per tablespoon (35 seconds max but if you're making that much at once you've got bigger issues) and then stir in a tablespoon of maple syrup for every tablespoon of butter that you used. If the butter is a bit too melted put it in the freezer and let it set up a bit. Sometimes W goes a little crazy and puts a shake or 8 of cinnamon into it, but I think the cinnamon is better in the batter.

It'll make you stop and smell...

All I smell is the friggin dryer sheet in this heap of clean clothes--gotta go. 

Stop and smell the flour.

Yes, it's a difficult thing to do every now and then, especially when you're allergic to it... but these weeks turn into months and before I know it, our youngest is looking like W in my profile picture--though I don't think G has ever actually been that small. EVER. G is my excuse for exercise when I go the doctor's office and get the "Do you exercise" routine. "I have a 45 pound solid as a rock three year old does that count?" Judging by his reaction, I guess not--but it sure feels like it counts. He's three... So is this blog, ugh. Don't worry, I know I know, I promise I have paid way more attention to him than this blog, so put down the phone. It's not like I let my boys fight with waffle 'swords' and wear masks at the breakfast table... The moment has passed, as I cannot for the life of me how to insert a friggin' picture of my two boys waffle sword fighting in masks at their breakfast table while their mother is a way at a work conference. Put down the phone, she'll be back soon. But not too soon because I must clean--but after. After I put this all together in a nice little package. This entry could be as long as the pile of clean laundry staring me down is high. I am thoroughly tempted to just make them prospect for underwear and shorts each morning and then just throw the unworn items in the dirty laundry basket. A technique that I have never used. EVER. I have been known to take my boys grocery shopping at 7 am on a school day with their lunch boxes in hand, it's like a this is your lunch meets let's make a deal meets shop till you drop, and the best part is they think they're making their lunch all by their lonesome! I have taken to applying this to other aspects when I am single dadding it (How the EFF do you single parents out there do it?!?!?) You can use any waffle mix, and this could totally work with pancakes, but waffles have that sturdiness to them and seem to not mold as quickly when you've forgotten to remove them from the back seat of your car. I use Pamela's all purpose gluten-free baking mix and shockingly follow the recipe to a T--unless you count adding in a little brown sugar and cinnamon not really following the directions at all... I really do beat the egg whites and all. Once you have the batter ready and the waffle iron hot, ask your kids to throw in other breakfasty items, we have done well with chopped cooked bacon, maple syrup, and sprinkles. Put down the phone, I don't always use bacon, and then cook it until its golden brown. I have started to teach W about ratios and that sometimes you cook by ratio instead of by recipe. He loves figuring out the other items based upon how much of the first item he has. The maple butter is plain and simple and uses a 1:1 ratio unlike our family which is A 1 amazing wife:3 boys who never act their age ratio. So the maple butter is equal parts salted butter and maple syrup. You'll soften the butter in the microwave for about 7-10 seconds per tablespoon (35 seconds max but if you're making that much at once you've got bigger issues) and then stir in a tablespoon of maple syrup for every tablespoon of butter that you used. If the butter is a bit too melted put it in the freezer and let it sit up a bit. Sometimes W goes a little crazy and puts a shake or 8 of cinnamon into it, but I think the cinnamon is better in the batter. It'll make you stop and smell... All I smell is the friggin dryer sheet in this heap of clean clothes. Gotta go.