86 More Tortillas to Go & Why You Should Never Use Your Husband's Underwear As A Potholder

Edie. I mean, Kahlia.

Still no sign of the CSFB (Sexy but Competent Finnish Babysitter), who I'm sure is living it up on the beach or something and barely even remembering that I exist or that work is piling up or that I need a shower. Badly.

How do you Mom's without sitters ever get to take a shower? Are you that smelly? Seriously, do you just over-perfume to mask the smell? Tips, people. I need tips. My pits are like rotting cabbages.

First, let me tell you something interesting that happened today while I played the role of dutiful mother. Lucy re-named her sister. Her name is no longer Edie.

It's Kahlia.

Lucy spent the whole day bestowing Kahlia with gifts, like a Betty Boop necklace she found at the bottom of the toy box, and walking her around the house, holding her hand, stroking her hair and speaking to her in a wispy baby voice as if she were fragile china and might break at the slightest elevation in volume.

Kahlia actually gets better treatment than Edie, so Edie went with it. Later, Edie sticks a form in front of me, hands me a pen and asks me to make it legal. Okay, that last part wasn't true, but she relished being Kahlia and followed Lucy around the house letting her pet her head like a dog and put little presents in her pockets.

The best part was when Lucy decided to help Khalia board a plane for Croatia. There was a protracted discussion about seat belts. Some snacks. And a flight attendant named Phyllis, who had a limp and required an imaginary Diego band aid to get through her service.

Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up.

So that, in a nutshell, was my day.

Oh! I am writing a food/humor/parenting column over at Imperfect Parent. The folks at Perfect Parent.com wouldn't hire me.

Strange.

So, check it out because I tell the story of this morning's breakfast where I make Breakfast Burritos, but I lose the pot holder and so I grab the nearest cloth, which happens to be David's boxer briefs, out of the laundry basket and I use them as a pot holder/dish towel and actually make breakfast using his underwear to keep the skin from being singed off my hand and I eat breakfast with them draped over my shoulder, but not only do I not notice, no one else does either.

Really, not having a shower today is not the biggest problem I have.

Anyway, if you are thinking, Breakfast Burrito because your husband purchased $70 worth of carb free, fat free, dry as communion wafers tortillas and had them shipped across the country, burning countless gallons of fossil fuels and endangering the environment...

...Right, that was my husband. Well, then this is the recipe for you.

xxoo YM

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The Yummy Mummy's "We Gotta Eat $70 Worth of Tortillas" Breakfast Burrito

Make an omelet. Or even a frittata will work. Not too thick, since you'll have to cut a slice and roll it in a tortilla. You can do your favorite omelet here but it should complement the guacamole. I made a tomato, green onion and cream cheese one. It rocked.



Make the guacamole. Avocados, a little garlic, a pinch or two of salt, a healthy squeeze of lemon juice and a little finely chopped cilantro, if you have it. Tomatoes are optional depending on whether you have them in your eggs.


Get out one or two of the 300 tortillas you have stacked in your freezer. (No idea what I'm talking about? Read my June 3rd post.)




Slather a warm tortilla with guacamole. Add some baby spinach, onion strings, a dab of salsa, whatever floats your boat. Add a slice of omelet. Roll gently in wax or parchment paper. Cut through the middle for easy eating.

These burritos are also great for a breakfast "make your own" where you simply put out the components and let the troops assemble their own.

But use a pot holder...

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This Stay at Home Mom Stuff is Pretty Easy

Just joking. Wanted to see if you were paying attention.

The CSFB (Competent But Sexy Finnish Babysitter) took a week off and it’s just me and the children. All week.

Did I mention it was just us?

Right.

So, yesterday, I dropped a whole pint of blueberries all over the floor of Pathmark in the check-out line when there were like a hundred people in back of me and Lucy was trying to climb up the stroller and ride it like "Thunder the Horse" and then I stepped on the blueberries and smushed a whole bunch of them into the floor.

And then, getting on my hands and knees, I tried to pick up a few berries in my reach, but there were so many and the mess so huge, I did that thing where you pretend what just happened never really happened and Lucy, now on the roof of the stroller, is madly punching the keys on the credit card machine and Edie is grabbing candy off the shelf and stuffing it into her shirt. So, I get Lucy off the stroller and get all the packages of candy back in the candy bin and I'm trying to load the groceries into the bottom of the stroller and some woman in back of me tells me that one of my kids could get hurt - thank you Mistress of the Freakin' Obvious.

I have to resist the urge to slap her smartly about the ears.

And then I realize my credit card is missing. It's not in the wallet where it should be, so I do what any self-respecting crazy woman would do and I dump the whole bag of toys, diapers, cell phone, keys and extra underpants onto the conveyor and sift through it as if I were sifting through sand looking for gold. The hundred people behind me start to shift anxiously back and forth. And there is sighing. You know, what I mean, people are sighing deeply, so that I can hear them. They want me to know they are pissed. I look up and one lady has turned to another lady next to her and is shaking her head in disgust. The second lady purses her lips and says, "uh- huh".

Great. Strangers are bonding over their intense hatred for me.

So, I say, "Crap! My card is missing!" because I think they may like me more if they know this terrible thing has happened to me, but this statement just brings on it's own repercussions - Lucy starts saying "Crap!" really loud over and over again. "Crap. Crap. Crap. Crappety Crap..."

Then, she starts singing it in a song. "There was a crapper had a crappy, ee-i-ee-i-o...with a Crap Crap here and a Crap Crap there..."

This just really pisses off the masses.

Then, I see something. On the floor under the smooshed blueberries. My card. Good freakin' lord hallelujah, my card. I apologize profusely, put all my junk back in the bag and pay for the groceries. We start to leave. I let Lucy ride askew on the front of the stroller. I know it's dangerous but frankly, I'll do anything to get us out of this store. People are happy to see us go.

We get through the first set of doors and as I turn back, I see that we have left two neat blueberry wheel marks through the store, documenting our presence and leaving a lasting marker of our departure. I don't care.

I should have. And maybe on a different day I would've grabbed a mop and cleaned up after us, but this wasn't that day. I keep walking. I pretend it isn't happening.

Keep your head high. Just keep walking.

Safely outside, I hear something coming from the lower compartment of the stroller where Edie is sitting. A crinkling paper sound. She is weirdly quite and content. I'm suspicious. Then, I see it. Edie has stolen a bag of Skittles, has torn open the package with her teeth and is now sitting with her bare feet propped up an hanging out of the stroller, throwing back Skittles like a bulimic, with her orange-tinged tongue and green lips.

Lucy sees it too. "Hey! Edie stole the Skittles."

She's not pissed so much as envious that she didn't steal the Skittles herself. I think, "I should use this as a moment to teach our values, about how we don't take things that aren't ours."

This is a nice thought. Then, the real me kicks in.

I resolve myself: Today the universe provided us with some freakin' Skittles. Hurray for us. It's like winning the lottery, only it's a Skittles lottery. And that's something. I made the Skittle Queen share them with her sister and be generous - there's the lesson - and then, we went and got Ice Cream from the Mr Frosty truck. What the hell.



Then, after we ate ice cream, I made dinner - fried chicken. That's right, dessert before dinner, folks. And Skittles. Someone give me a culinary award. Or better yet, Parent of the Year.

And then, Edie pooped in the potty for the first time ever and we sang the "Proud of You" song and then, we read books in the big bean bag, all laying on top of one another and packed a picnic and took our cold chicken to the playground and ran around with friends with our drumsticks in our hands.




It was a good day. This stay at home mom stuff is pretty nice after all. Not easy. But definitely nice.

xxoo YM

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The Yummy Mummy's "Ain't Got No Babysitter" Fried Chicken

• 6 C vegetable oil
• 2/3 C all-purpose flour
• 1 T. salt
• 1 tsp. cayenne pepper (optional)
• 2 tsp. paprika (optional)
• 3 eggs (or in a pinch, water will do)
• A couple pounds of Chicken pieces (drumsticks are a favorite)
  

Preparation

1. Par-boil the chicken. This means you don't have to worry about pink chicken. You can do this step ahead and store the chicken in the fridge until dinner.

2. Heat oil over medium heat in a deep fryer, a deep cast-iron skillet on the stove or even better a wok.

Kitchen Note: The boiling oil gives me all kinds of heart palpitations with little kids around. Keep them out of the kitchen. You can do this recipe right before dinner when your lurver gets home and can keep the kids busy.

3. Combine the flour and the peppers and paprika in a bowl. (If you don't have these, it'll still taste fine. Don't sweat it) . Leave the salt out of the flour. I add the salt at the end.

4. In another bowl, break eggs and beat until well-blended. (If you run out of eggs, just wet the chicken with water. Both are fine.)

5. Check temperature of oil by dropping a pinch of flour mixture in pan. If the oil bubbles rapidly around the flour, it will be the right temperature.

6. Dip each piece of chicken into eggs; then coat generously with the flour mixture. Drop each piece into the hot oil and fry for about 10 minutes or until the chicken is a dark golden brown.

7. Drain chicken on paper towels and salt the pieces while they are still hot and glistening with oil. Serve warm or stick them in the fridge and bring a few drum sticks to the playground for a fun, portable summer snack.

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I’m Flying Solo Without a Babysitter

The CSFB (the Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter) is off on a long weekend in Miami where she will:

(a) Drink large quantities of alcohol with her friends (b) Tan her stunning 25 year old body on the beach (c) Pick up strange frat boys who will slur their words and say ridiculous, cringe-inducing things like, “Just call me milk, I’ll do your body good” and (d) Jump up on the table when “I Will Survive” comes on, strip off her bikini and sing at the top of her lungs while a crowd of gay cabana boys surround her and tell her how fabulous she is...

Oh right. That last one was me.

Here’s what I’m going to be doing today:

I’ll be pushing a humongous double stroller packed to the brim with wipes, diapers, toys, coats, hats, mittens, snacks and water bottles from playground to playground through Harlem and we still will have forgotten something seriously important, like Lucy’s pink sunglasses, which we always must have whenever there is even a tiny ray of sun peeking through the clouds. And no matter where we are, we’ll have to turn the whole Mack truck around and come back to get the pink sunglasses, lest the child have a severe meltdown on the street and embarrass her mother with her piercing screams and flailing body parts.

And all this is fine except it originally took us two hours to leave the house in the first place because there was dressing, brushing teeth and hair, two separate sessions of pony tail–making, a long lecture on nose-picking and several changes of clothing that lasted until we found just the right skirt to wear and the dress to wear OVER the skirt and the stripey socks and the appropriate matching shirt and perhaps, to do all this we had to rummage through the dryer and find stray pieces of clothes since what we want to wear always seems to be in the dryer when we need it.

And someone will remove their shoes after I’ve put them on and the one that came off will mysteriously disappear and a search will ensue for the missing one. So I’ll be on my hands and knees, looking under beds and couches for the offending shoe and then, someone will poke someone else very lightly with a finger or a baseball bat or a princess wand or a frying pan or whatever is handy and there will be accusations, rebuffs, tears, hurt feelings and like a super-therapist is at work, a resolution will be hammered out in minutes and kisses will be doled out in apology. And that’s why I am bummed we have to return home because I know we’ll get stuck there like we’re in quicksand, flailing about unflatteringly and trying to extricate ourselves…But pink sunglasses are essential, like the air we breathe and the water we drink and so who am I to question this and we head back.

By time we get home, some of us are still sniffling and recovering from our near tantrum. We’ll get in the door and someone will have to go to the bathroom, which means coats will come off and hats will be thrown aside and pants will come down and little people will get naked and distracted and start playing.

The quicksand is at our necks.

I start rummaging through things to get the pink sunglasses. It’s our only chance. The pink sun glasses are not where they are supposed to be, of course, and I have to clear out several drawers and a couple of toy bins to find them, only to discover they are broken, which is when the tears start. And this will take some time because hugging, kissing and consoling must be done just so and it is always time-consuming, but well worth it for all the obvious reasons.

And so you can understand that it’s now lunch time and even though we’ve accomplished nothing really, the quicksand is covering our ears and devouring us slowly. We’ll never get out of the house again. It’s over. Plans aborted. Hopes dashed. And I resign myself to poaching "pink fish" in butter with one hand (see how I worked food into this post?) and breastfeeding Edie with the other (and drink), while Lucy colors on the floor.

I hum a few bars of "I Will Survive".

And think, this is soooooo much better than being 25 and single on Spring Break in Miami. Thank the freakin’ lord that’s not me…

Xxxooo YM

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I Wanted to Take a Shower Yesterday. By Myself.

This is not so much to ask. This is one of those rights that should be written into the Constitution. It is fundamental.

Here’s what I think: You deserve to take a shower all by yourself in all your naked splendor without little eyes staring up at you through the glass. And you deserve to take a peaceful shower without your kids pulling out the tampons from the cabinet and whipping them at each other, so that when you get out of the shower, there is a blizzard of half-opened tampons and tampon wrappers covering every square foot of the bathroom and your little baby is wearing a maxi pad as a hat.

And you should be able to take a shower without your oldest asking you in a loud grating voice, over and over, each time just a little bit louder, “Do bumblebees have beaks, Mommy?...Do they?...Do bees have beaks…and wings…Do they, Mommy?...I SAID…Do they have beaks…Mommy!...Mommy!...MOMMY! “ until you are forced to open the shower door and inform her that bumble bees do not, in fact, have beaks, but ducks and chickens and pelicans do, which prompts a whole new loud discussion about pelican beaks and somehow elephants get in there and the shampoo is dripping down your back and you’re cold as hell and you wish you didn’t take a shower in the first place.

So, I slipped off for a quick shower yesterday. Two adults were here: The CSFB (Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter) and the girls’ Godmother, Bubba. That’s 3 adults and 2 kids. We outnumbered them. Which is surprising since mid-shower I hear wailing and the wailing sounds like it’s in the same room, but I think how could that be? There are two other trusted and beloved a dults here and I’ve only been out of the room for 3 minutes.

So, I keep showering, kind of oblivious, and the shower is very hot and the glass doors are all steamed up and the water is roaring and frankly, I’m as deaf as an 80 year old man and I barely notice that the wailing has gotten louder, kind of in stereo. But I figure the adults are on it and if anyone has set themselves on fire, someone will come and get me. I keep showering. I even shave my legs. It was down right luxurious.

But the wailing persists and it is getting stronger. Like it’s in the same room. Weird. So, I wipe off the shower door with my hand and look down and see two near-hysterical children, tears streaming down their faces, staring up at me. Edie has her arms out desperate for a hug, Lucy has a long stream of snot hanging out of her nose. They are red-faced and freaked out. They look like two sad little orphans lost in the forest without their parents. They look broken and abandoned and my heart sags looking at their pathetic little faces, until I remember what started this whole dramatic affair…I’m taking a SHOWER!

So, I talk them through rinsing the conditioner out of my hair and I do this while propping the door open with one foot, so Edie feels closer to me and then, I throw a towel around me and get down on the floor next to them, dripping wet and hug them both and Edie pops her head down low and sticks her face in under the towel and grabs onto a boob and Lucy sniffles and wipes her nose on my towel and buries her head in my shoulder and we are all recovering from the trauma of Mommmy actually leaving the room and...TAKING A SHOWER!!

I’m sitting her now thinking about taking a shower, but it’s easier to be stinky…

xxxooo YM

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Kim & David Go Out Without the Kids (for the first time in 2 and 3/4 years): A Recap

The Wilde's from Sydney (Mark, Cathy, Georgia and Stella) & David carrying Lucy & Edie. David and Mark went to school together "back in the day"

Okay, I’ve been trying to write a post about our evening out without kids and I’m laboring over it because frankly, it was terrific. No drama. No weirdness. No phone calls home…okay, that’s a lie.

There was one measly little call home right between the appetizers and the entrée. And the CSFB (that’s the Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter, for those of you not paying attention) answered the phone and told me that cookies had been baked and children had been wrestled into pajamas and teeth had been brushed and there was not one kid screaming in the background or yelling for “Mooooooommmy!” at the top of her lungs and it seemed the thought of Mommy and Daddy had been discarded like yesterdays full diaper.

My children barely remembered they had parents.

I was excited about this and…well, you know…sad as hell, because this was the milestone I dreaded – the first time they realized we are completely replaceable. That any leggy, 25 year old Finn with hair like corn silk and perfectly round, perky breasts could waltz in to our home and do the job as well as us. From that vantage point (the one where I have been discarded and harshly abandoned by my children) it was heart crushing...but the rest of me adjusted pretty well.

David and I walked through The Village on this very lovely and warm October night. I wore a very short Variazoni suede dress and knee high boots, and David kept gawking at my legs and finally said, "I feel like they're glaring at me...I haven't seen your legs in years!"

Okay, I need to get out of sweats more often...

I admit, I felt young, sexy and completely head over heels in love with my husband that night - the kind of heady love that you feel when you first start dating and the whole world seems filled with the promise of new adventures. Well, this was our new adventure and as I saw the twenty-somethings in The Village drinking their apple martinis at tables on the sidewalks, I realized that I missed this care-free part of our lives.

And yes, to all of you out there muttering “I told you so, Kim" - I'll say it. You were all right. We should have done this AGES ago!

I can say this safely now because when we left, there were no tears or tantrums. That helped a lot. In fact, the scene as we left kind of went like this:

Kim: (On my knees, looking into their eyes, holding their hands. I was talking to them like their puppy just died) Daddy and I are going to go out soon, okay?

Lucy: Susanna (that’s the CSFB’s name) make cookies…something unintelligible…have dance party (She is clutching the Pillsbury cookie dough, jumping up and down and obviously thrilled )

Kim: That’s right, love. You guys are gonna have a great dance party and those cookies are gonna taste yummy!

Lucy: Cookies here, Mommy (She is waving the cookies in the air and pretending it can fly)…cookies fly like butterfly!

(Edie has picked a piece of lint off the floor and is attempting to eat it. My children have the attention span of nats. I’m losing them. Must make my point quickly)

Kim: Okay, you know we love you guys, right. Now, Susanna is going to be here all night and she loves you guys so much. You’re going to have a great time.

Lucy: Bye Mommy (She gives us a quick dismissive wave and flies the cookie dough around the room. Edie is examining the lint intently.)

I turn to David, with my "concerned we might mess up the kids" face and whisper, "I think she's in denial...". He ignores me.

Kim: (I try again) We’re gonna miss you guys…Now, we'll be home super-quick, okay?

Lucy: Bye! (She turns to the CSFB and loops her hand into hers and pulls her toward the kitchen.) Susanna, come with me…put cookies in oven! (Edie tags along behind carrying her lint. The girls have forgotten we are in the room)

David: (Whispers to me) Okay, let’s get out of here. (He tugs on my coat and nudges me toward the door. The cookie dough is being unwrapped. Kids barely remember they have parents.)

Kim: (to the CSFB) Don't forget to turn off the oven. I don't want to burn the house...

(David's glaring at me and silently threatening to carry me out of the house. No small feat since I'm still carrying some baby weight.)

Kim: (To David) Maybe I should breastfed Edie a little before we leave…

David: Look, at her!…She has lint. She’ll be fine. (He pulls me out of the house, while I madly blow kisses at children who don’t even bother to look up).

Door closes. We are in the hallway. I listen at the door and expect to hear wailing. I hear laughter, but just as I think I might cry, I realize I have no children around me and I feel unexpectedly light. Free. I go with that feeling for the rest of the night.

We had a lovely night. We started at the piano bar Marie's Crisis, where some very drunk gay men sang several selections from the Sound of Music and met up with Mark and Cathy and went to Rosa Mexicano (It was supposed to be Babbo but apparently there are no Mexicans in Australia - makes sense, I'm mean how would they get there? - so Australians seem to find good Mexican food a bit exotic, so we went this route and it was excellent.)

Mark and Cathy are so much fun - they are starting out on a three month adventure around the world - really, they were the perfect couple to venture out with...fun, smart, adventurous and great cooks and eaters (I watched their oldest daughter, Georgia, wolf down a stack of pickled onions. How cool is that?) Love them and can't wait to see them next year in Sydney.

It felt so good, we are taking the next big step - David is a Tony voter so we get tickets to every eligible Broadway show, so we're going to go to dinner and a show every week or so. Just to re-connect and enjoy each other and for me to be in the world a little bit more.

I'll keep you posted.

xxxooo YM

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