Sprite's Keeper

Treasure Hunting at 45 MPH

"Chirro!" Munch.

John navigated through rush hour traffic. Stealing a glance in the rear-view mirror, he spied Sprite sitting happily in her car seat, her mouth moving in mid-chew.

"Sprite wants a snack?"

"Eat," she crowed enthusiastically.

"Mommy has a snack for you. We'll see her in a few minutes."

"Mommy snack."

John turned his attention back to the road then heard it again.

"Chirro!" Munch munch.

What the-? John looked in the mirror again and saw Sprite's mouth moving.

"What are you eating?"

Her right hand stole down into the inside corner of the car seat and he watched as she groped around until she came up with.... a cheerio.

She held up her prize in triumph. "Chirro!" she exclaimed, and popped it into her mouth.

I stood in front of my office building, spotting John's car as it pulled into the lot and to a stop.

The right rear window immediately rolled down revealing an almost crying Sprite who was anticipating her snack for the ride home. Not one to tease the impatient toddler, I promptly handed over her booty and then settled myself in the front passenger seat.

"When was the last time we gave Sprite cheerios in the car?" John asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"Cheerios? Wow, it's been a while. I've been bringing animal cookies and bunny snacks for a snack the last couple of weeks."

John started snickering. "Your kid has been digging up lost cheerio pieces from the cockles of her carseat."

"Cockles, huh?"

"Yeah, cockles. She's been pulling food from the corners and announcing her treasure and then eating it."

"How long has that stuff been there?"

"Long enough to forget the last time you gave her cheerios in the car."

"Yeesh."

We moved on to other subjects as Sprite enjoyed her animal cookies.

I turned my head to check on the backseat and noticed Sprite happily enjoying her cookies. Her eyes met mine and she smiled, a big beige mash around her teeth. Picking up another treat out of her baggie, she showed it to me almost as if she were offering some of her snack.

"Cookie?" she asked, and before I could respond, immediately retracted her offer and bit the head off the sweet in finality.

"Meanie," I responded before turning my attention back to the front seat.

We continued our conversation until we heard, "All done! All done!"

I checked on Sprite yet again, who held her empty baggie out for me to take. Once done, she looked out the window.

We rode a couple of miles in silence. ...  "Chirro!" Munch.

"Those must be stale by now," John commented.

"I don't even want to know," I shook my head. I couldn't stop her. She had free reign over her carseat while the car was in motion.

"Wabbit!" Munch munch.

"She found a bunny," I mentioned.

"It's like a Toddler's Trail Mix back there."

"Hey, Sprite," I called back, "can you find a raisin to round it out?"

I glanced at John who gave me "the look".

"I'll clean her seat out this weekend."

"Banana!" Sprite exclaimed.

WHAT?!

I looked back to John. "Maybe tonight?"

"Good idea."

Recipe (Mess)ipe

Attention, world! I have an announcement! I am not a cook. That is all.

It's well known in my family that I am not the greatest of cooks. There are a couple of things I can make, only one thing I can make well, (at least that's what I've been told) (they could have been lying..) and the rest of the cooking I leave to John.

However, I watched my father-in-law make a pot roast one day and it just involved a lot of dumping things into a pot and letting it sit on the stove top. Huh. Okay, so you drop the roast in, add a can of diced tomatoes, a can of tomato paste, sauce, water, and seasonings and then just leave it there for a couple of hours. And it cooks itself? With minimal involvement on my behalf? Really. I must try this.

So I did. And John liked it! And Sprite ate it! No one died! And it was good. I started making this meal every weekend and got a little more adventurous. I made mashed potatoes, from scratch! That's right, this "from a box"ed in kitchen wrecking ball who believed in the God of Freeze Dried Potato Flakes actually diverted from tradition and went the extra step. Why? Eh, I wanted lumps. But it worked! And it was good.

John became inspired by my increased interest in the culinary world and vowed to get us a good set of pots and pans. The ones we had were awful. Food stuck to them incessantly. We tried olive oil, butter spray, prayer, nothing worked. So, John came home one day with a brand spanking new set of pots and pans, the same day that I was making a pot roast for dinner, for my parents, who were in town visiting, and had heard about how I could rock a roast. Sense the foreboding? No? FOREBODING! (Just looking out for you.)

My dad and I had stayed home working on the baseboards in our family room since John and I would like to look at a color on the wall. (Primer does not constitute a color. It's true. I checked.) John and my mother took Sprite out for the day and around 3:30, I took a break from helping my dad (Oh, he took the lead in this one. I had to let him. We're so alike, we would have been butting heads. And the baseboards would never have gotten done. Mom, please don't comment on this.) (Ah! Fingers off the comment link! I see you!) and prepped the pot roast where it then sat on the stove basking in the heat of it's own sauna.

Some time around 4:30, John and Mom and the kid arrived home and John was just SO EXCITED about the new pots he had bought. I ooh'ed and ah'ed appropriately and then meandered off to find Sprite who was trying to corner Harry. (Poor dog. But that's another post entirely.)

While I was gone, (FOREBODING!) John decided he just HAD to try out one of the new pots. He dumped the contents of the pot roast from the old pot to the new pot and settled it back into the same spot it had occupied earlier. I would have been none the wiser about his shenanigans if I hadn't come back to the kitchen and seen red spots all over my just cleaned counter. (I'm anal. You know.)

I looked at the mess and then at the stove. The new pot? He transferred dinner from the old pot which I would not have had to clean after dinner and just toss out into the new pot which I was now going to HAVE to clean after dinner? I won't lie to you. (You look great today, by the way. Honest!) I was upset.

I took a deep breath, let it go, and started preparing the rest of the meal. When the timer sounded, (FOREBODING!) I lifted the lid on the pot and looked inside. Um, no, it wasn't supposed to look like a gloppy greasy mess. I took one of the flanks out of the pot and propped it on a plate where I promptly began slicing. Stringy, slimy pieces came off one by one.

Dinner was ruined. And for once, it wasn't my fault.

We had a blow out, right there in the kitchen in front of my parents, whom I had to send out for a rotisserie chicken while I sat and stewed in my own juices the rest of the night. (I imagine I would have been very tender.)

Since that disastrous day, I have been reluctant to cook. Especially since last night, when John brought home a fire extinguisher and made a big deal about where to stow it, "just in case". (Okay, now he's just being a schmuck.) (I understand that every kitchen should have a fire extinguisher and even Julia Child could have caused a couple of 3 alarm blazes in her day, but John's timing? Very schmucky.)

Now, of course, due to the economy being what it is (Um, quick tangent, can we send the economy to Time Out? Cuz it's been a BAD BAD BOY!), we are eating more meals at home and trying to stay away from the restaurant circuit. So, I am on the look out for some recipes, hopefully healthy ones, that are easy to make, and don't require much, you know, involvement. From me. In fact, let's assume that John will make the meals. All the meals.

I'm asking for your easiest time saving recipes. What is your go-to for when you come home and need to get something on the table in under 30 minutes? I'm not looking for Rachael Ray, I know where she is. (In syndication, duh.) I'm not looking for fillet mignon either. I'm looking for a reliable (somewhat healthy) alternative to canned soup. Which is probably what we're eating tonight since I forgot to bring down the chicken from the freezer.

Whatcha got?

Blessed are the ignorant..

Dear couple with the baby we saw at Fireshouse Subs on Sunday,

Hi. We're the family who was sitting at the table next to yours. Ma'am, I saw you looking over at our table with a mixture of pity and apprehension. I know. I can admit it. We looked a little pathetic, didn't we?

Mom and Dad shoveling food in faster than we could swallow while trying to convince the cranky toddler to try a couple of bites and throwing pieces of sandwich from one tray to another, playing a sort of mealtime hopscotch. And while we're doing this, we're arguing with each other over whether or not to give the tot a sip of soda while the tot, obviously strung out on preservatives and all sorts of bad food, is reaching for the forbidden soda and whining for it. And then Mom snarls at Dad to go get the girl a "cookie, dammit!" Sorry sight, right?

I heard you telling your parents (at least I assume they are your parents considering you called them Mom and Dad, but I could be mistaken) about the great lengths you had gone to find the organic Cheerios you were feeding your son and how, since he is beginning to chew harder foods, you are being careful to read the ingredients on every product you bring into your home. 

I saw you give the boy, who is probably about 10 months right now, a toy to play with and he occupied himself with it quietly, giving you all a chance to enjoy a leisurely meal while the toddler (and bad influence) at the table next to you was building a complicated looking structure with her pieces of bread and meat and then going all Godzilla on it with one swipe of her hand. (If I could compare the two tables, I'd say your table had the perfect weather with sunny skies while our table was experiencing hurricane warnings with a high chance of scattering debris.)

It's okay. I'm not taking it personally, because I know something you don't. You will be us. Soon.

Your day will come. When your son begins to walk, and talk, and decides he's not on the same page with the decisions you've been making, your day will be here.

You will have that day when your perfectly clean child decides to take the entire plate of food and hold it over his head, showering sodden bits of bread and lettuce all over his pristine curls.

You will have that day when you are throwing food from one parent's tray to the other because your obedient son all of the sudden decides he only wants food from Daddy's tray and even though Mommy is the one supplying the food, you will do everything you can to make sure it looks like the food is in fact coming from Daddy's side of the table to avoid the tantrum that he will initiate anyway when he catches you in the act with the turkey arcing through the air.

Your day is on the horizon when your golden child, always contentedly sipping from his sippy cup filled with exactly one part nursery water and one part 100% apple juice, will look up and realize his entire life is now hinging on one sip from the soda you are enjoying yourself, and you will be forced to have a battle of wills with yourself and your husband over whether or not you should give in and let him have a sip, thinking on one hand that you may be providing the gateway junk which will in turn pave the way for more bad food to be allowed entrance into his unsullied temple and then the other hand will slap at you with "It's just a sip. It will shut him up." And you will cave.

You will wonder where your good eater's appetite has gone as you make quick calculations in your head over how much turkey and bread and lettuce made it into his mouth versus the floor and whether or not a cookie, while not a substantial source of vitamins and protein, will hopefully fill him up and then order your hapless husband to get the freaking kid a cookie, the same husband who is tired by now of playing hoagie hockey and defending his own meal from marauding tiny hands, and he will look up blankly at your request making you repeat the demand with a "dammit!" and the child, upon hearing the word "cookie", will cry for the cookie while not taking the time to understand that the timespan between hearing the word "cookie" and the cookie's actual appearance is not instantaneous and the volume level will rise until not even the appearance of the sweet merciful tantrum ending cookie will calm him down.

Yes, mark my words. You will be here.

So, no, I'm not taking your pitying looks to heart. Every dog has its day and every toddler has his tantrum. And yours will have his.

In the meantime, soak up all his cuteness and obedience for this is his way of letting you rest up before the real fun begins.

Cheers,

The mom at the next table

Sampler Plate

(Editor's Note: The following four events happened within the span of 24 hours and while they made up interesting little snippets, they were clearly not filling enough to shape a full post, more like appetizers. So I combined all the appetizers together and no matter the mixed flavors, you'll still leave my site feeling full. Bon appetit!)

Sitting at the dinner table last night, I was trying to persuade Sprite to stop shopping from my plate and start sampling her own, yet every bite I put to my mouth earned an "Um?" from my audience.

"Sprite, eat your food. It's the same thing I have." I lifted a grape to my lips and she quickly scanned her offerings and determined that grapes were not on her plate. Her eyes locked on mine. Liar!

"Pease?" she asked, looking at the grape intently. I begrudgingly bit the grape in half and shared it with her.

Again, this happened, her wanting the food on its way to my mouth,  to the extent that I would pop 2 grapes into my mouth for every half one she would beg from me so I could, well, half my grapes and eat them 2. (Get it?) (Not even a snicker? What, weekdays mean you can't be silly?)

We were getting down to the last couple of grapes in the bowl while John was sitting back, watching the two of us wrestle over the fruit and he made a comment about how cute and beautiful our daughter was and how much she's speaking these days and whoa, isn't she just amazing and smart, and I'm paraphrasing here since I was concentrating more on grape negotiations than the adjectives John was using to describe our daughter and therefore not using any quotations to capture his words and permanently affix them to him and do you think I should finally put a period on the end of this run-on and let you get on with the story? (Ooh, used a question mark! I'm sneaky like that.)

As he was extolling on her virtues, she asked again for another grape. "Pease?" she asked, her eyes on the prize.

Well, I must have been moving too slowly for her because the next word out of her mouth was "Now?"

I gaped at her and John gaped at me. Dude, she didn't!

We couldn't correct her, we were laughing too hard. (Is that bad?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This morning, John taught Sprite a new word. "Sup."

As in: "Hey! Sup?" (In case you're not clued in, sup is just shortening "What's up?". I'm pretty sure mostly everyone knew this, but there may be some lurkers who have just woken up and realized it was the 21st century, and they just HAD to check on my blog, so I'm trying to make everyone feel welcome here.) (Keep your shoes on, though. You're not THAT welcome.)

She picked this up right away, of course.

"Sup?" she asked her banana slices one by one, as she picked them up from the plate and devoured them.

"Sup?" she asked me when I extracted her from the torture device car seat after we pulled into daycare.

Her teachers found this hysterical when her greeting to them was "Sup?". I'm pretty sure they'll be shooting daggers by the end of the day when twenty-something toddlers are all racing around the one year old room shouting "Sup!" at random intervals.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat with Sprite at daycare, getting her comfortable with her surroundings, and one of her favorite teachers entered the room. Sprite made a beeline for this teacher and proceeded to shove into her lap while my lap was still warm from her tushy. (Yes, a little sliver of me died right then and there, but I smiled through it.)

I used this as an opportunity to escape with few tears from her Spriteness and made my way to the door. The teacher, seeing me, said, "See ya! Have a great day!"

Sprite looked over to me while sitting court in this teacher's lap. "See ya!" she parroted, then went right back to worshipping her teacher.

(Another attack, this time a parting shot.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I came back to pick up Sprite this afternoon and a toddler ran over to her and yelled "Sup!".

I guess "Sup" has now taken on "good bye" as a possible meaning, kind of like "Aloha" and "Shalom."

Sprite has started a new trend in the one year old room. She's trendy like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fin.

(Tums, anyone?)

It's in the salad bar, it MUST be healthy!

Cheat Night! I want Italian.

I am a good girl for most of the week, eating the right foods, walking the treadmill, etc. But, one night a week, I get to be bad. And this bad girl wants bad Italian and the bad heartburn that comes right after.

John and I loaded the toddler into her carseat and arrived at our favorite Italian restaurant in our area. The sign on the door didn't bode well as it advised the restaurant was closed for a fire and wouldn't be open for a good week. (Burnt garlic rolls, anyone?)

So, while meandering from there, we found ourselves at another Italian place, a geniune "Hole in the Wall" joint, family run, in fact, the owner seated us herself.

We ordered from the menu and I got up to make a trip to the salad bar. It was very small, with a sneeze guard that probably wouldn't hold up during a sniffle covering the scant offerings. I saw lettuce, tomato, onions, some pasta salad, and, huh, what is that? Is that what I think it is? It looks like...

"Ma'am?" I asked the owner who happened by at that moment. "May I ask what that is?" I pointed to the round brown things sitting in a tray right next to the ranch dressing.

The owner looked at where I was pointing and then back at me. "You don't know what that is?"

I smiled. "I think I do, but I wasn't sure."

The grandmotherly owner smiled back. "It's donuts. Please, help yourself." She turned and walked away.

Dude, where's my camera? Little bite size, brand name bag'o'donuts, chocolate of course, sitting right next to the salad! I've seen pudding in a salad bar, I've seen fruit salad, but donuts?

I could barely contain my laughter as I brought my plate of salad minus the donuts (Ya know, they just don't go with italian dressing. Well, maybe they do, but try it yourself and get back to me. My stomach thanks you.) back to the table. John asked me what was wrong as I was doubled over in silent hysterics. I mean, I was CRYING.

"You won't believe what's in the salad bar!"

John, of course, did not believe what I was telling him and went to see for himself. He came back smiling and said, "You MUST blog about this!"

Given the fact that the donuts seemed so out of place in the salad bar, we looked around and noted that pretty much everything else was out of place. It seemed a little dingy, had me wondering if the health inspector has ever seen the inside of it, and had me comtemplating possible cures for food poisoning, but I have to tell you, the food was actually very good. The dinner itself (not the salad, hells no..) tasted even better than the major Italian chain restaurants. I shared Baked Ziti with Sprite and John had a sampler plate which we raved about on the way home in between jokes about the donuts.

We even thanked the owner as we paid, promising her we would return.

And yes, we will come back. (Once we're sure there is no food poisoning.)

And I think we'll save room for dessert too.

Confessions of a Veggie Pusher

Beth Hering over at Momformation wrote a post on weight issues for children in which a majority of the parents studied didn't recognize the excess weight on their children. This hit me a bit hard.

You see, I have a weight issue. I have been up and down on the scale since puberty, recently losing weight in a healthy way, pushing the excercise, limiting the carbs, limiting the sweet stuff. The bathroom scale is half friend (Woo hoo! I'm down!) and half foe (Can I blame this on PMS bloating? Last night's raid on the cashew stash?).

John also has the same issues. He has also battled his food demons and sometimes won, sometimes lost. Right now, he is winning, but not as ardently as I am. (Ooh, can I blame this on World of Warcraft?) (Please?)

John and I made a pact to ourselves a while ago that we would not bring junk food into the house to keep the temptation away. This was actually well before Sprite was a twinkle (Twinkie?) in my eye. This pact is still iron-clad and if you look in our pantry (no, it's okay, I'm allowing it) and fridge, the worst thing you'll find is Smart Ones Desserts (my little reward for making it through a workout and you simply HAVE TO TRY the mint chocolate chip sundaes. You'll thank me.) (You're welcome.)

Reading this post had me thinking about what we feed Sprite. If you read the article (and please link to it and read it because there is some sobering information in it), you'll see that parents often turn a blind eye to how big or overweight their kids really are. I think a lot of it is in what we feed our kids and the amount of sedentary entertainment they enjoy. McDonalds makes little Katie happy? Well, then give her the fries! And Super-size it! Little Bobby wants pizza for dinner and nothing else will do? Well, one slice shouldn't hurt him. And I guess, since he's eating pizza, I should too. Little Debbie (Get it?) (Sorry.) wants to play her video game? Well, she's happy and I can work in piece, so be it.

I did not want to fall into this cycle. I promised myself back when Sprite started solids that I would be the soldier defending her system against the junk. I remember how appalled I was when I discovered orange stains on her onesie as I picked her up from daycare one day and discovered the stains were actually cheesy dust from cheese balls the kids had been eating for snack. (At first, I thought, "Hello? Choking hazard?" Then I thought, "Why are they feeding an 11 month old cheese balls?")

I also promised myself that I would only give her 100% juice. When I discovered the juice in her daycare was actually "juice drink" and had no actual juice in it, I quickly cut off her access to it, asking them to give her milk or water instead. (This was right around the time she started having issues with her Huggies. Little did we know this was actually a precursor of things to come for Sprite and her issues with acidic foods.)

I have realized (and begrudgingly accepted) that we do not have total control over what she eats in daycare, so I have learned to turn the cheek when I hear about the chocolate chip cookies and the chips Sprite has eaten that day. I have also looked the other way when Sprite is there for Parents Night Out and her dinner consists of pizza and more pizza. 

But as soon as her feet step off Daycare soil, she's mine. (Mwa ha ha ha!....Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you could hear that...could you?)

At home, her menu is more simple. Okay, a lot simple. People in prison have better access to junk than my 1.5 year old has. During meals, Sprite eats what we eat. If we're having broiled chicken and spinach for dinner, guess what's on her plate? And yes, she eats the spinach. She even eats the notorious broccoli and LIKES IT. (We're total veggie pushers.) We keep her diet very healthy and focused on proteins, fruits, and vegetables. Don't get me wrong. The animal crackers and Goldfish are staples in her snacking diet, but yogurt and cut up grapes make the rounds on a regular basis as well. And she does get a sugar cookie at the grocery store to keep her happy (and quiet, yes, that too..) so we're not completely banning the bad stuff.

All good, right? Well, for the most part, sure, but I sometimes feel like I'm taking things too far. Let me explain:

This past Saturday, we were at Story Time with other kids and their parents. A friend of ours offered all the kids some chocolate chip cookies, each about the size of a toddler's spread out hand. I declined for Sprite, choosing instead to give her the organic animal crackers I had already packed for her.

This same friend is also a teacher at Sprite's daycare and offered Sprite a munchkin one morning when we walked in. I, again, declined for Sprite, saying she had just eaten and refused most of her own meal, although it was plainly obvious Sprite was studying that piece of donut as if it was the key to the universe, and she wanted in on its secrets.

Recently, John accompanied Sprite and me on a shopping trip and offered her a sip of my (watered down) diet cola. I flipped out. I had been warding off the sodas when everyone else had been allowing little sips here and there and my OWN HUSBAND betrayed me! Her innocent palate had been marred by COLA! (See? I'm a little out there..)

In fact, now that I'm thinking this through, I'm remembering several occasions in which I have not let Sprite have the junk, steering her instead to something else, something less fattening. And this is where my fear takes over. Am I programming her to lead a life filled with "Eat this, not that" and planting the seeds of worry over her self image?

I find myself studying her sometimes and wondering, hmm, is her tummy supposed to be that big? Are her legs too chubby? When will she lose the cankles? Then I mentally shake myself and remember, oh, yeah, she's a toddler! Toddlers are supposed to have baby fat! They're supposed to have chubby cheeks! ( The better to nibble them... )...But does she have too much? (Ugh, I'm shaking my head in disbelief at MYSELF here.)

I just worry that she may be predisposed to the same weight issues John and I have struggled with. It may be in her genetics to gain weight more easily than others and she may have to struggle with her own self body image while looking at images of emaciated models and asking why she wasn't "blessed" with their body types.

When she steps on the scale in our bathroom (she likes to activate the display and giggles when it comes up), I have a momentary flash of the (hopefully fictionous) future when she's stepping on the scale in her teens and not emitting a giggle when she sees the numbers come up for her scrutiny.

Right now, she is exactly where she needs to be, her weight and height are proportionate to each other. According to the charts, she's perfect. (well, her head is a little big, but that's neither here nor there..)

I, of course, want her healthy above all else. I do not think a couple of pounds above the recommended weight will hurt her. I do think I am being too strict with her diet, but I also don't want to be too lax as in, she sees the Golden Arches and immediately is begging me for Mickey D's.

It's a fine line to walk, harder to walk it when you yourself have struggled with the issue at hand. Looking around at the kids I see, I agree that most parents do not realize what they're encouraging or enabling when they turn a blind eye to their child's growing girth. However, I do think, in my own aspect, I may need to take the glasses off once in a while and just let her be.

(Did you know you just burned 12 calories reading this? 22 calories if you clicked on the links and read those too! )

(Yes, I agree. I'm way out there. Can someone reel me in please?)

(Please?)