Sprite's Keeper

Speak No Evil

Her mouth quirked upward and her hands shot to position to cover the smile before I could see it.

Apple. Tree. Dejavous.

My anger faltered, because my knee-jerk reaction is to smile in response when my personality's twin brings me a sunny-side up, but she knows this by now. She knows I'll crack and the lesson will be left unlearned.

No. I bucked up and remembered the cause.

"You need to brush your teeth NOW." Of course, this was the fifth now in the fifth minute, but the only one counting is the one who has to repeat it.

"No."

My eyes swung back to hers.

She had been waiting for me to do this, for the felonious smile didn't even have a chance to see the light of day, her hands stayed in position.

"I told you to brush your teeth." My voice was quieter this time, more intense.

"NO." Her voice was quieter too, muffled by her logic that if I couldn't see the smile, it ain't happening.

I reached behind her and swatted her on the butt. Not hard. Never hard. (Let's not get into the entire "Hitting or not hitting" debate. I'm just telling it like it is.) (Or was.)

She danced away and brought her hands down to sing out, "That didn't hurt!"

Welcome to my evening routine.

 Not the bum swatting part. We're more of a words oriented discipline style in this family, but the defiance, the laziness, the unwillingness to get up off her duff and do the most minute task, be it washing her face, brushing her teeth, dressing up or down, the sheer brazenness accompanying her rejection of the rules, this has become an established commercial break in an otherwise formerly enjoyable program.

As John's work hours extend beyond seven or even eight depending on his tasks, dinner, bath, and bedtime reading typically fall to me, and I do look forward to our time together, just Sprite and me.

Or, I did.

I've tried many techniques all promoted by leading parenting magazines, Super Moms, and the nosy busy bodies who think my disciplining Sprite in a public setting needs some tweaking.

"Quietly assert your authority."

And then watch, almost helplessly as she loudly asserts her newly found, still in its packaging, independence.

"Repeat yourself only once. Then quietly take action."

I'm still very convinced that Dora the Explorer is behind all this repetition necessity with every child in America. I'm almost sure the next time I do repeat myself, she'll come back at me with "SAY IT LOUDER POR FAVOR!" Also, quietly taking action? How do you quietly take action when trying to get them to brush their teeth? Not only do they turn to dead weight, but trying to wield the toothbrush without gagging them accidentally is a task I'm not about to take on.

"Take away something important."

She's lost out on story time three times in the past week. And I'm losing out too, because this makes bedtime tense and strained as she is crying out of anger in losing something she and I both love, and I'm pulling my hair out in a bid to stay standing in the turbulent ocean of parental righteousness. The buoy of giving in is so close and I'm feeling seasick.

"Tell your child you don't like what they're doing."

Can I tell the author I don't like what they're writing? Welcome to the society of "every child is super special, everyone's a winner in their own way, and the word 'no' does not exist in our Utopian world, here's your Kool-Aid". Kids these days are so used to hearing the negatives being tossed gently, underhand, of course, it's like a slap on the wind passing over the hand because you're berating the actions, not the perpetrators.

"Tell her how you're feeling."

She's not even listening. So bite me. Oh, wait, the static rebounding from the clomping of your imperial high horse probably means you're not listening either.

Last night, I crossed a threshold I never thought I would, hadn't even considered. I told her I didn't like her. Point blank. In your face.

Fuming over her giggles and ignorance, I sat down on her bed. "Can I be honest with you?"

She peaked out at me from underneath the fall of hair, her hand still perched over her mouth. "Yes."

"Right now, you are NOT a nice girl. You're not being a nice daughter, and you are not respecting me."

She laughed a little more, partly from embarrassment, partly because my words were just washing right over her.

"I love you very much, but right now? The way you're acting? I don't like you."

The smile dropped immediately. Her mouth turned upside down as the hand disappeared and her eyes filled with shocked tears. "That's not nice!" she cried.

I maintained my stoic face, not bending to her emotion. "That's how I feel."

"You're not SUPPOSED to not like me!"

My brows arched in response. "I am completely allowed to not like you sometimes."

"No you're not."

I had her attention. "Sprite, when I send you to time out, do you like me?"

"...No."

"You still love me though, right?"

"...Yes."

"Like and love are two completely different things. I'll never stop loving you, but I don't have to like you all the time."

Her sobs calmed a bit, she ducked her head shyly as I opened my arms to her. Falling into my embrace, our Cosby moment crescendo-ed and I whispered another love promise into her hair, her feathery answer cementing our bond. A flower blossomed in the dew of the departed storm as she promised to listen better next time.

Then John came into the room.

Sprite saw her opportunity as she pulled away from me. "Daddy, Mommy said not nice things to me!"

John looked from me to her and back again. "What did she say?"

Sprite glanced at me, the smile hinted back. "I dunno."

Taking her cue, I outed myself. "I told her she wasn't nice, she wasn't respecting me and right now, I don't like her."

John opened and closed his mouth in shock as he processed my words. Sprite, taking this silence as an opportunity, dissolved into a fresh set of loud tears and burrowed her head into her sheets.

"You said what?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Oh, we would definitely talk about it later..

He left the room, Sprite's head poking up and watching his retreat before the crying stopped completely and the hands came up once more to cover the smile that immediately popped in.

All show. For her dad. Which would land me in a thirty minute conversation about how I should probably choose better words for discipline's sake.

End point: I felt like absolute shit, even though I stood by what I had said. After I left her room, and explained myself to John, who finally understood where I was coming from, I slipped back into her room and cuddled a semi-conscious five year old, who had no idea that my verbal slap had rebounded and left the stinging mark in my own mind.

As a friend mentioned on Facebook when I posted my status about it, "Girls are HARD."

Oops.

I can't believe I didn't remember my own anniversary.

I am so bad at that.

On January 23rd, Sprite's Keeper celebrated its fourth year, albeit very quietly.

This site, one started out of desperation in an effort to find my voice again, which had been lost in a sea of motherhood, has been neglected more often than not lately, lost in its own sea of sorts.

I'm sure other bloggers will agree with me that it's much easier to forget about posting when life's to do list has so many other items in front of it, the guilt over not adding your voice to the others in the blogosphere a momentary blip on the radar, "oh yeah, oops."

A routine that had begun as a salvation is now a semi-regular hobby, but still a soothing cup of relief when I need to escape the day.

There are so many things going on right now, and I do want to catch you up on it, not just you, the readers and friends I have made through this portal, but also Sprite's Keeper as well, for when the writing does end, if it ever does, (please don't let it ever end) I will keep this site alive if only to pull every favorite post of mine, a living history of our life together as husband and wife, mother and father, daughter, family. This site is a two dimensional representation of us, and a damn good one at that, at least from 2008 on.

Thinking back to the morning when I clicked on to Typepad and wrote my first post, a topic so mundane and ordinary, about nothing in general, I can still remember how effortlessly the words flowed through, almost like a waterfall I couldn't find the pressure valve to. I smiled as I quickly turned one post into two then three. At one point, I had my posts lined up for two weeks out, I couldn't publish them as quickly as my brain spit them out.

Then life happened. Sprite grew, and as she grew, her demands changed. Now, evenings are flooded more with homework than with inspirational play. John's evening job also became more demanding. Time is now siphoned even more.

It's easier to turn Facebook into a microblogging catch all then take the time to write it out more eloquently, add pictures, edit, re-edit, and so on.

The house is in a constant state of change, as we find time and a little bit of money to invest into our home that we don't intend to ever sell. Our setbacks in adding to an already pretty nice family have also been cause for investment of time and money.

Life was so much simpler then, four years ago.

So, let me take a moment to celebrate Sprite's Keeper, apologize for completely spazzing out on something that still is so important to me, and promise to make it up to you on your fifth anniversary.

OUR fifth anniversary.

Cheers to this year,

Sprite's Keeper

The Wanking Room

"I can do it at home, right? Then just bring it in?"

"No. It's best to take care of it there."

"But the directions say I have forty-five minutes to get it there. I can make it in time."

"John. Just do it there."

"Let me do it my way."

"UGH! Don't make me remind you about rush hour and trying to beat the clock...Huh, get it? Beat?"

"Not a good time, Jen."

"Really, I'm going to have nightmares of your car filled with screams as they die one by one on their way to the clinic."

"FINE! I'll take care of it."

Infertility does have its funny points..

*****************

We had promised ourselves back in the summer months that if no pregnancy occurred by the time we came back from our cruise in November, we would buckle down and submit ourselves for the extensive testing to figure out why, this being almost three years after starting the auditions for a new family member, we still hadn't cast the role. (And I was so convinced that the days of sun and fun and Sprite in the Kids Club would result in our own little souvineir without the crappy logo covering 50% of him or her. Never mind that the honorary middle name "Dream" would totally give it away.)

Well, two weeks after we had put away our suitcases and realized the pixie dust hadn't fixed our issues, the time came for me to call my doctor, a new doctor, one who would look more into why we weren't conceiving rather than hand me some Clomid and wish me luck with the quintuplets.

Meeting this new doctor was awkward as it came right in the middle of an annual appointment, so while she was "getting to know me", I was laying it all on the line. (Considering that I was laying on her table with a paper gown being the only virtue of my modesty, I was going for ultimate transparency.) (I was wearing my own socks too, since I figured letting her in on my secret of semi-annual pedicures would have been overkill.) At the end of the exam, we sat down and she drew up plans for me to have some bloodwork done, undergo a test in which my level of tolerance would be sorely tested, and a bonus test (buy three, get one?) for John to test his, um, endurance.

We also set boundaries: we were going to actively pursue a successful pregnancy for this year, and we were willing to go as far as Clomid (the doses, I've learned, can be changed to lessen the chance of multiples) and working towards fixing what was possibly broken, but we were not willing to cross the threshold of invetro.

(People are people, and everyone's beliefs differ on the subject, but John and I both feel that if there's nothing wrong, and a second child never comes, God is obviously telling us it's not going to happen.)

This was back in December. I dutifully went about my first two blood tests, both to be taken in the early stages of my cycle.

John begrudgingly signed on for a December 30th appointment so he could, you know, ring in the New Year.

Now, since we both had the day off, we arranged to meet each other afterward so he could drop his car off for some maintenance and catch a ride.

I pulled up to the dealership and he quickly hopped into the passenger side.

"How did it go?" I asked, pulling away from the Service Department.

"The Wanking Room?"

"The WHAT?"

"Hey, it's written right there on their website. The clinic calls it the Wanking Room. Wanna know why?" he drawled, giving me a leery grin.

"I know WHY, I'm just surprised they advertise it. So?"

"I'm done."

"Okay..."

He didn't grab my hint and run with it.

"Tell me what happened!"

"It's embarassing. You're sitting there with other men in the waiting room and you all know what the other is going to do. When they called my name, I could feel them staring at me."

"Go on."

"The nurse was HOT. I think they hired her just to get things started."

"Nice. Thanks."

"I'm kidding. No hotness at all. Very business like. Just handed me my cup, showed me to the room, pointed to the directions and closed the door behind her on the way out. Very quickly."

"Directions? The Wanking Room has directions?"

"You know, the prep, the aftermath, what to do when you're done."

"Awesome."

"Hey, I'm doing this for you, all right?"

"Okay, tell me about the room."

"Small. Almost like a closet. The TV was mounted on the wall, and there was an armchair."

Watching the road, I gasped in response. "Did you sit in the armchair?"

"God, no! I just took one look at the floor and thought they didn't get around to cleaning THAT much, I wasn't about to take my chances in the chair."

"Good man."

"Oh, and the walls were paper thin. Those nurses must be able to hear everything."

"Ha, they're probably sitting out there in the common area, listening for which movie you pick, taking bets on the titles. 'Hey, he chose Ass Me When. I thought he would be a Busted man."

"I wouldn't be surprised. But what did surprise me was their selection of movies."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. It was an Apple TV, and everything was in categories, really easy to find what you're looking for. A LOT of movies."

"I think I want to work there just for the sheer humor of it all."

"The worst part is when you're finished. You have to press a button which emits a loud bell in the office."

"So they know you're done."

"Yup."

"And they know exactly what you did."

"Yup."

I remained silent, trying to picture the embarrasment of it all. "Thank you for taking one for the team, John."

"If you need me to do it again, I'll do it."

"Really?"

"I didn't get to finish the movie."

Like I said, even infertitility can be labeled a dramedy once in a while..

Increments of Five, Part II

"Sprite, what are you thankful for?"
"You, Daddy, my grandparents, my cousins, my friends, pirates, and Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Captain Jack Sparrow?"
"He sailed with the Pilgrims."

(Part I here.)

"Gone was the fever, gone was the fright, it all disappeared o'er the course of one night."

Friday dawned clear and sunny, mirroring the chatty little girl who lost no time in reminding us that her birthday was almost here. And it was up to us to remind her that our Friday afternoon party plans had been axed.

John and I had both taken the day off to run errands and prepare for the cruise which would be bookended by a night's stay at Disney World, first on Saturday and then on Thursday, (Yeah, we were pretty impressed with ourselves for thinking of it too, imagining Sprite's face at the end of the cruise when we dropped the "Oh, how about ONE MORE NIGHT at Disney?" bomb on her. Score for parents of the year!) (Forewarning..) only the plans had changed since Sprite was now on the 24 hour list at school which meant running errands with an almost five year old interrogating everyone from the pharmacist to the cashier at every store with questions like "Excuse me, did you know I'm a little five?" or "Guess what my pony's name is!"

Not everyone won that game. (But credit to the bakery clerk at Publix for coming up with "Sparklehorn Spankypants". Not correct, but awesome answer without delay? Bump that woman up to management.)

Every stop on our way through town included a status check on her health. "I feel better! My tummy is okay! No headache, I think we can go to school for my birthday party please!" (We're still working on verbally punctuating our questions with exclamation points.) Every stop on our way through town included an answer of "Sorry, kid. It's not happening."

Now, an idea did whiz through my thoughts around lunch time when I remembered that she still had dance class scheduled for that evening. Another mother, about a month or so earlier, had brought cupakes to class for her daughter, something the other students had loved, and something I privately loathed since it's a weekly battle between Sprite and me every Friday evening when the teacher hands out candy at the end of class and putting on our street shoes is accompanied with:

"Look what I got!"
"Please wait until after dinner."
"But I want it NOW-HOW-HOW-HOOOOOOW!"
(Crying face, stomping feet, grand jete, one more foot stop, then crumple to the floor like a shot swan. End scene.)

They don't just teach dance in dance class.

So that cupcake had been an epic meltdown when I staunchly refused her even one finger swipe across the frosting until after she finished her meal. (No, this is not the forewarning I mentioned earlier, but it does hamper the parent of the year award. Meh, I'll deal. It was an honor just being nominated.)

Now, thinking of this prior issue, I decided to pay that mother back and earn some nasty looks myself from the other mothers who would have to deny their little ones sweet treats by bringing in some mini-cupcakes myself.

Thank goodness for nice dance teachers, Sprite was promised some singing, a birthday honor choo-choo, and special treatment, which the class delivered in grand style, accompanied by a thoughtful gift brought to class by her good friends Lilli and Elizabeth.

Birthday party saved!

I was still a little worried about her stomach issues, considering the doctor had diagnosed her on Thursday with a gastro bug, warning me that diarhhea would be soon behind. (Ba dum bum.) But food stayed down. Potty breaks yielded no issues. The kid stayed chipper, so John and I considered this to be a lucky turn of events and packed with gusto for our early Saturday morning departure.

And yes, I did pack a thermometer, fever reducer, and plenty of band-aids. (We were lucky, not stupid.)

********************

I've mentioned before that we're not your average family when it comes to Disney World. We like to spend time there, meander through attractions, let our attention get stolen by the shows and parades. Sometimes, we don't even make it to the parks, which happened on Saturday. Getting a delayed start out the door, checking in at the hotel, and a late lunch meant ignoring Cinderella's castle and heading straight to Downtown Disney for some Saturday evening fun with our favorite Orlando family, the Katz's.

 We made it through dinner with nary a hiccup or upset stomach. Sprite bounded and played and acted out like normal. It looked as if we were in the clear for a cruise of epic porportions.

*********************

"Happy birthday, Sprite!"
"Am I all five now?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Now I can't wait til my next birthday."
"You just reached five. Six is still a whole nother year away."
"Not six. Five and a half."
"...."
"That party will be SO COOL."

Part Next: Ship Shape... Or are we?

The fisheye lens is to a nondrinker what a... um, okay, I have a few Kahlua's under my belt, so this title only emphasizes my haziness.

I think John is trying to get me drunk.

I KNOW John is trying to get me drunk.

This entire vacation has been peppered with "Want a drink with that?" No, not water, which is my usual answer. He's pushing the spirits. He has this theory about Drunk Jenny. Drunk Jenny on vacation is a lot more fun than regular Jenny on vacation. Regular Jenny comes with a side of schedules and a special supersized dessert of "Everything must be organized!" (You should have seen our cabin.) (Even our hostess was impressed with the daily evidence of our stay and I even apologized for THAT.) Drunk Jenny comes with no sides, just a "Whatever the hell you want to do, I'm game" devil may care attitude that seems to be more fun than "Where's Sprite?" "Sprite! Get off that chair!" "John, get off that chair!" he usually gets plied with.

Sure, once I'm under the influence, things are good and merry as long as he watches the imbibery. Too much and I'm no good to him. Too little and it's just as if Regular Jenny came to the party alone and didn't bring the dip.

But getting me under the influence? That's a trick in itself. I'm not one to drink as it stands, and once this weekend is over, two hours and counting until Monday claims its next victim, I'll be back on the wagon and declining all alcoholic fancies that should come my way, but for some reason, the second we stepped aboard the ship, there was a glass of champagne in my hand and I was sipping at random.

Did you know it's okay to bring your own alcohol aboard a cruise ship? (Check your cruise line's rules. It may be different for everyone.) We smuggled (quite openly) several small travel containers of Kahlua, rum, vodka, tequila, amaretto, and whatever else caught John's eye during a last minute stop at a liquor store the night before we boarded. One thing I don't quite understand is a cruise liner's kind of lax strictness on this rule. One would think they would discourage it quite sternly considering this takes away from their own sale of overpriced mixed cocktails (I had to write cocktails several different ways because the spelling didn't look right to me. This is what drinking does to me. It makes me forget the English language.)

John had bought me a smoothie on the pool deck and we yanked out a small bottle of rum (I giggled like an idiot while trying to be discreet about it, but John smirked and just emptied the container right there in the adult pool area where cast members and other guests could see us. That's right. When I think I'm breaking the rules, I giggle like a moron. If you're ever with me and I start snickering with no apparent reason, check my pockets.) and made my smoothie a little more smooth. He basically took a $3.99 drink and turned it into an $8.99 drink. And it was delicious.

This entire tangent has been sponsored by Bailey's.

But anyway, the trick to making me drink is to trick my taste buds into thinking I'm not drinking any liquor at all. Then the only way I'll be able to tell is when it's too late to discreetly pour the usually horrid airiness of the spirits down whichever drain is closest. (Some plants have taken a beating for me in the past when a sink wasn't readily available. And thrived as a result. Who knew?) So John knows to keep my appertif's light and shaken, not stirred. (Seriously, is there a difference?)

So, when he learned that I can drink champagne without making the face of death that usually follows a sip of wine, he ordered a few glasses of it for our anniversary dinner. The milk that Sprite didn't finish from dinner was brought back to our room where he sneakily added an ounce or two of Kahlua and gave me what likened to a White Russian (or just the best tasting chocolate milk EVER) to accompany us to that evening's show.  

Sigh. There's still quite a few bottles of the stuff left over from what we DIDN'T drink during our vacation, but they'll keep until New Year's, the only other holiday I usually let my hair down and let my BAL up.

(I just read what I wrote and it seems this post needs a sponsor.)

(Don't drink and write, folks. You won't respect yourself in the morning.)

(Pictures and more stories to come once John edits them and sends back the damn rented fisheye lens. Seriously, who likes looking at those pictures where you feel like you need to be inebriated to enjoy them?)

(And now the title makes sense. I knew I would come around..)

Five and dime.

I am so excited.

No, really! Never mind the lack of proper punctuation to truly convey the level of exitement I feel. Let's just say that I am so excited, I'm almost zen about it.

On Sunday, Sprite turns five, but that's not what I'm SOOOO excited about. Oh, sure, I'm proud of her for making it to the fifth birthday, the last few months were a bit sketchy since the attitude got a promotion and the gratitude got a demotion if we're being honest, so yes, let's color me partially excited over that.

On Wednesday, John and I will have completed ten years of Marriage 101. (Now we get to take our graduate courses!) And that lifts my skirts too, but still not enough to hit that "OHM" level of tranquility I feel when thinking about this upcoming week.

To mark our five year old daughter/ ten year old marriage, we are doing this:

And this:

And maybe even some of this:

(images courtesy of Google)

Now can you see why I'm so excited?

I have never been a guest on a cruise ship before. I've sailed almost a hundred cruises, but always as a little worker bee, seeing to it that the guests were happy, that the Karaoke machine was well stocked with ABBA songs, always making it look like I was having a blast and loving what I did, but honestly? Long work days (Cruise staff had it easy at 12 hours on, 12 hours off. You may want to thank your waiters and cabin attendants a little more profusely next time you cruise for 18 hour schedules are considered a cake walk to them.) and little room for the crew to blow off steam except in designated areas (Sure, the bow of the ship lends for some amazing star gazing since it's so dark, but when you can't see the deck below your feet, you do tend to worry that the water will soon be replacing the planks.) made for a lot of time re-reading the few books I brought, thinking I'd have no time to just be and every day would be full of swimming and sunning.

They weren't.

But I did get to meet thousands of guests, a whole roster of forgettable faces with the same unforgettable look of enjoyment on every one. They were having a great time.

I wanted that.

Now, thanks to the stars aligning, major money saving, and a wonderful dual anniversary to be shared between the three of us, we are going to enjoy complete and reckless abandonment of time. That's right. No watch, no cell phone, no BLOG, no cares for four whole nights as the kid, who has already threatened to spend all her time in the Kid's Club, we've negotiated down to afternoons, yes, I've had to pull her back a little so we could have SOME family time together, I mean, who else is going to watch over our deck chairs while John and I take our tenth turn on the AquaDuck?, gets to celebrate her birthday sailing the high seas and we get to celebrate our anniversary dining in complete opulence at Palo, thanks to some babysitting perks the Disney geniuses thought of beforehand, (Some of those Imagineers must be parents.), and even an anniversary couple's massage, gauranteed to get the kinks out or at least relax you to the point of no longer caring that you had kinks to begin with.

My Nook is full of new reading material. My sunscreen is waiting to be packed. I have fully memorized Mamma Mia and am ready to hit that Karaoke room. John and Sprite are jumping at the bit, as I am. In my own mellow way.

We're going to have a fabulous time. And why shouldn't we? We're a happy family. We genuinely love each other, even when we don't like each other.

Damn straight we're going to celebrate this:

Getting some take out from the Sushi Bar

3 posts in a row? Did I get my blogging mojo back? Do you even read this site anymore?

Moving on.

Jan posted a recipe yesterday for savory almond flour muffins on her site, and being the ardent follower I am, I HAD to make them that very evening and review them.

You see, in our new lifestyle, there's not a lot of bread going on. (I'm sure I'll go more into this on a later post.) Anytime I see something that looks even like a distant cousin of a baked good and promises to be "safe", I want it.

For instance, our local health food store makes organic carrot cake, which John had gotten me for my birthday. (The kid was insistent on me having cake for my birthday.) The first ingredient in it was garbanzo bean flour. Can I just say it was absolutely delicious?

It was absolutely delicious.

Moving on.

Jan posts tons of recipes on her site, most of them these days related to healthier eating, and by that I mean coconut oil, tallow, all kinds of meats, etc. That's right, folks. Her cooking brings us back to basics. (Butter, y'all. Maybe Ms. Paula Deen isn't really trying to kill us?) (Although Jan doesn't use butter herself since she banned cow's dairy from her diet.) (Sorry, Jan, but I'm a bitch without the cream in my coffee, I did wean myself off the sweeteners so there's that.)

Wow, I'm really working myself into multiple tangents here. (So THIS is why I can't post more than twice a week anymore..)

On with the review!

 

Excuse the photos. John wasn't home and I couldn't find the memory card for his "nice" camera, so I used my trusty point-n-shoot. If you want nice pictures that actually make you want to eat the screen, go visit Jan.

Now, I didn't take any pictures of the mixing process, which was so easy, I had to constantly double check myself to make sure nothing had been skipped.

20 minutes later, we had muffins.

They complimented our meal of brown rice pasta (gluten free) and grass fed ground beef with organic marinara sauce. Oh, and spinach. ("Something green on your plate!") (Oh, God. My transformation of becoming my mother is almost complete.)

(I'm writing this post three hours after eating and I'm still full.)

 

Like my teeth marks? No braces. Look how even those dental grooves are.

Oh, yeah. It should be noted that Jan's recipe calls for unblanched almond flour and I only had the blanched kind, which probably affected the color. I had considered taking out the Ninja and trying to make myself some unblanched almond flour, but time was of the essence and I wasn't in the mood to waste perfectly good almonds should I do it wrong. (And Sprite hates the sound of the Ninja doing its thing. You know, for a "ninja", stealth is one of its weaknesses.)

They were better than cornbread. Seriously! Okay, don't just take my word for it. What did you think, John?

 

(I had to put the rest into the freezer before he could grab another. So, Jan, look for another word from me about how these thaw or reheat.) Yes, he loved them.

Hm, he's an easy sell. We need to go after someone harder, a tougher nut to crack, someone who must not be told that what she's about to consume actually has no processed flour in it.

 

"What do you think, Sprite?"

 

"Mmmph."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, kid."

Bottom line, the almond flour muffin was all she would eat for dinner. I even layered some cheddar on top of her pasta, she wouldn't touch it, but did ask for another muffin.

So there you go, three thumbs up, and something to look forward to for the weekend. (This recipe gave me eight good sized muffins although Jan's recipe calls for nine.)

Most of you who are still reading this site, all three of you, probably already frequent Jan's Sushi Bar, and if you don't, what are you waiting for? Get over there now before she releases her cookbook and becomes too busy and famous to post anything anymore!

(And maybe this review will net me an autograph for my copy..)

(Yes, that was blatant begging.)

Oh, by the way, Jan had no idea I'm doing this. She probably saw the title of this post and thought, "Oh, shit, what did that girl DO?"

I did muffins. That's what I did.

An afternoon quickie..

"This is Jennifer."

"Hey!"

"Oh, hi. What's up?"

"Were you on your other phone?"

"Yes, but it was dragging so I used you as an excuse. Thanks for getting me off."

"...."

"The phone!"

"Ha-"

"Shut up."

"-ha ha!"

"Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!"

"Too late. You're welcome."

Reclaiming Date Night

I was out on Saturday for a girl's night out, leaving John and Sprite to continue with their tradition of "Daddy/Daughter Date Night", even though Sprite is leery (understandably) of the phrase right now.

Since I was going to be out all night, and I was out ALL night, yeah, that would be best preserved (or pickled) for another post, I kept Sprite with me for the majority of the day since John had his own share of chores to take care of. So, I took her with me to the nail salon and let her experience her first manicure and pedicure since she was so interested in doing big girl things. (John heard about her wishes and immediately told me not to worry about the money, just do it, since he's concerned with her worries of all things dark and automotive these days, so he figured she needed a day of pampering to just have fun.) (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that man?)

 

The nail salon even had its own girl sized pedicure chair, complete with butterfly wings. Sprite felt honored to sit in it. I felt relieved when they only charged me fifteen bucks for both her hands and feet. But, oh, they took care of her. She had her first foot bath, ("Look, Mommy! The color's purple!") followed by her first sea salt scrub, and then the nail tech obliged her wish of "pink" and followed it up with little flowers on some of the nails and glitter.

While they were doing this, and the nail tech working on my feet was trying to start up his sandblaster for my own sorely neglected toes, I told her about her impending date with her father.

She wanted nothing to do with it. "I don't want to go to Date Night."

"Sweets, it's not going to happen like last time. Date Night doesn't mean you're going to have an accident. It was just that, an accident. Daddy will make sure nothing bad happens to you."

She looked down at her toes and smiled as the tech tickled the bottom of her feet with a loofah. "Remember when Daddy got in a accident and his chest was hurt? The doctor fixed him. And now he's better."

"Yes, he's-"

"And the blue car is fixed too."

"Yes, we have a new and better blue car."

She said nothing else, choosing instead to focus on the new experience of having her feet massaged. She didn't say much either as I got ready to leave for my own event, leaving John and Sprite to get ready for theirs.

I texted John later into the evening, asking how it all went. He told me to check Facebook as he had posted a play by play of their date:

 
"I'm out on a date with a special little lady. First, we start with some drinks.."

 
"She too was excited for tonight. Went out and even got her nails done. They look very nice.."

 
"...any good date holds his girl's hand..."

 
"Finish up the date with a nice movie, of course!"

I came home around 2 AM to find John in his office, waiting up for me, and Sprite, long asleep, with her sheets kicked off. Tucking her back in, she opened her eyes and gazed at me.

"I'm home," I whispered.

"Mommy, can I have a date with Daddy tomorrow?" she yawned.

Date Night is saved.

Impact

Susan and I brought our tickets for the Harry Potter finale to the front of the line, starting our hour long wait for the next showing of the movie we had been talking about for months.

"John's calling." Susan took the call. Most likely, as it always happens, my cell was turned down too low so John turned to my companion to get in touch with me. "Wait, what? John? I can't understand what you're-" She checked the display. The call had dropped. "I have no idea what he said."

Pulling out my own cell, I dialed his number. "He's probably telling us he's in the area or something." Sprite and John were on their date night, their tradition whenever I had friends in town or had a girls' night. The line picked up. "John? Where are you?"

The line was alive with noise, John's voice raising up a decibel more to be heard. "We're at the McDonald's entrance in front of the town center. We had an accident. The van is totaled. I need your help."

My stomach dropped. "We're on our way."

******************

Running across a crowded parking lot to Susan's car, manuevering through heavy mall traffic to get to the scene, not even a half mile away, seeing the strobing red and blue halos light up the sky behind the McDonald's. Knowing that John and Sprite were at the center of it.

*****************

"Hi, baby, are you okay?" My voice took on a falsetto as I tried to control my own emotions, not wanting to stress her out further, but desperate to hold all of her, verify each movement with a mental checklist.

"Mommy, look at my dolphin! His name is Mater." She shoved the stuffed pillow pet under my nose. "We got in a accident."

"I know," I murmured, reaching out to hug John to me. "Are you okay?" I directed my next question at him.

"My chest hurts from the airbag," he answered. "Jen, I didn't have a chance."

*************************

Walking to the front of the van to take in the severity of the impact, feeling Sprite stiffen in my arms as she howls a cry of shock at seeing her beloved blue car in ruins. Cursing my own stupidity at enforcing the exposure and turning her over to my best friend so I can help John with the paramedics.

  

************************

"That's a sexy look on you."

John looked up into my eyes, obviously uncomfortable from the back board, but the answering smirk told me he appreciated my attempt to alleviate the heavy urgency of the situation. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

The officer walked over to us. "What does your shirt say?" he asked John.

"Meh." We both tried to explain the slogan plastered across a Facebook blue background.

The officer smiled. "For a second there, I thought it said 'meth'."

*****************************

Collecting details from witnesses, dragging Sprite's carseat and any valuable insurance paperwork out of the van, still caught in the glow of emergency lights, sneaking glances of my husband, still prone in the street, being hovered over by men he had never met before.

****************************

"Why are they putting a seatbelt on Daddy?"

I paused in my answer, not sure how exact I should be. Life lessons under pressure are not my forte. "They're putting him in a bed to take him to the hospital and be checked out. The seatbelts just keep him on the bed, that's all. Daddy's fine."

"Can I go with him?"

"Sorry, sweets, there's only room for Daddy. We moved your car seat to Aunt Susan's car. We'll follow them to the hospital so we can bring Daddy home."

"What about the blue car?"

I sighed. John was right. The blue car was totaled. "We'll have to find another blue car."

****************************

Driving through the night, updating concerned parents, arriving at the hospital only to be told the other county hospital has him, even though that hospital is a farther drive. Loading an exhausted child back into the car, her pleas to go home a reminder of the weirdness of the situation. Leaning on one of my closest allies through it all as I navigate the directions to the next stop of the evening.

************************

My cell rang with an unfamiliar number.

"This is Lieutenant Kinicky." (Spelling has been changed.)

"Yes, sir."

"I've met your husband at the hospital and provided him with the other driver's information. The other guy is getting charged with 'failure to yield right of way'.... Are you on your way?"

"Yes, we thought it was another hospital. Healthpark says hello, by the way."

"Are you sure you're okay to drive? You haven't been drinking?"

"No, sir. My best friend is driving and I'm not drunk."

"Okay, then. I'm leaving the hospital now. And tell your husband to lay off the meth."

A voice raises in the background.

"I DON'T DO METH!"

***************************

Reaching the right hospital, leaving Susan and Sprite in the car so I can find out where exactly John is. Standing in line for the triage nurse. Watching as a young man walks out of the back rooms and into the waiting area.

**************************

"Is she okay? We heard the machines are breathing for her," the woman in front of me addressed him.

His eyes looked vacant. "It's worse than that."

He walked past, the other four following him to the double doors and collapsing against each other in cries of despair.

My eyes wide, I turned back to the triage window and spotted the nurse watching me with a bored expression.

"Next?"

****************************

"Can you tell me the nature of the accident?" the desk representative clacked his way across the keyboard, inputting our insurance information into the system.

"Um, my husband was Southbound on Ben C. Griffin and another vehicle blew a stop sign into his lane causing him to impact the other car."

"Did airbags deploy?"

"Yes."

"Any other- hey!"

I turned my head to follow his gaze and viewed a man's body facedown on the floor. Security, closest to the man, didn't move as the same bearer of bad news from earlier walked over and helped him up, rousing him from his faint. They walked towards the outside area.

Looking back at the rep, I noticed his sardonic smile. "Happens all the time," he remarked, then caught himself back up to speed. "Do you have an attorney?"

"An attorney?"

"Yes, for this accident."

The same accident that had just happened two hours ago?

"Um, no."

"Well, let me give you the number of a great one. Helped me out a lot." He snatched the digits from thin air and pushed the paper to my side of the desk.

******************************

Being led to John's "room". Walking past half-opened curtains of other tales gone wrong. Hearing laughter to my left, observing police officers guarding a room to my right. Watching me as much as I'm watching them. Finally seeing John's face and hearing the doctor tell him to expect a few days of soreness, but otherwise fine. Being reminded over and over just how lucky John and Sprite were to walk away from the wreck.

****************************

"Sorry we ruined Harry Potter for you," he murmured, walking out with me to meet up with Susan and our sleeping daughter.

I grasped his hand tightly, holding myself back from giving a snarky answer, saving my anger for the next morning when the impact of tonight would hit us once more.

*************************

John and Sprite are both okay. Despite some complaints of a hurting back which was immediately checked out by her pediatrician, and some regressive fears such as driving in the dark still rearing its head, we're finding our way back to normal. And Sprite has a new blue car that she loves, even if this one doesn't have DVD.