Jelly Rolls - the food, not the results

My husband is not a dessert man. We’ve had fights over pieces of cake because he asked me to save one for him and it molded before he got in the mood to eat it. And please don’t remind me of the time I gave up sweets for Lent and then ordered a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts for a fundraiser and watched THREE OF THEM GO STALE!!!!! Let’s just say I take my sweets pretty seriously. If I’m gonna walk by and smell a tempting treat for a week and not eat it, somebody better, moldy or not! I can’t bake unless I have somewhere to take the goodies. Otherwise, I’ll end up eating three dozen cookies in less than three days. Ryan might eat a couple. So tonight, I was totally shocked when he said, “You know what would be good? Those pizza things you made for supper only with jelly in them.” I agreed and then he added, “But you probably don’t want to make them now.”  It was 10:00 at night. The can of biscuits was already in my hand. I squished the dough and rolled a blob of jelly in each one, popped them in the oven, then came back to the couch to wait. A few minutes later, Ryan added, “They oughtta have some kinda frosting on them.” Now if he’d finagled me into making nachos at bedtime and then waited until I sat down to request sour cream, he’d have probably gotten the extra ingredient up the nose. But… since his request involved sugar, I was up like a rocket, whipping up some almond icing. We both finished our entire helping. I licked both of our plates when he wasn’t looking. The problem is, he’ll be satisfied with that sugar fix for a month or longer. I just learned a new recipe with ingredients that are usually on hand. I’m doomed!

Jelly rolls

Canned biscuits

Jelly (I used the cherry almond zucchini jam I made last week - sounds nasty, I know, but we are all addicted!)

-          Divide each biscuit in half and squish into a flat circle

-          Drop a spoonful of jelly on each one

-          Fold dough up around jelly to make a ball

-          Place ball seam side down on a cooking sheet

-          Bake according to biscuit package directions

Almond glaze

2 T Melted butter

1/3 c powdered sugar

Glub milk

1 t almond extract (you could use vanilla, but I'm pretty much obsessed with almond lately!)

-          Stir together and adjust amounts until you’re happy with the consistency and flavor

-          Drizzle over jelly rolls. (Actually, soak them. Drizzle sounds so dainty!)

“Those Pizza Things you Made For Supper”

This recipe actually comes to  me via my sister via her blog via Pinterest via someone else’s blog via whoever they probably knocked it off from originally. Teachers and bloggers are the best thieves! I made mine a little differently, but they were still good enough to inspire a dessert idea from the hubs, so I'd say they were a success!

Canned biscuits

Cheese

Pizza

Vegetable oil

Seasonings (oregano, basil, garlic powder, etc.)

Parmesan cheese

Pizza sauce

-          Half each biscuit and squish flat

-          Put a pepperoni or two and a chunk of cheese on the biscuits

-          Fold up into a ball and place seam down on  a baking sheet.

-          Brush with seasoned vegetable oil and sprinkle with parmesan cheese

-          Bake according to biscuit package directions.

-          Dip in pizza sauce

An Open Apology to SAHMs

An Apology to SAHMs

I always dreamed I’d be a stay at home mommy. I pictured myself doing cute activities with my cute kids in our cute house while wearing cute, yet casual clothes. Then my cute husband would come home and I’d tell him all the cute stories about our day. Well, I got the cute husband, but with our career choices, we decided it would be best for us both to work (it’s hard enough to make it on two teachers’ salaries, let alone one!) I didn’t really sweat it. I can pick the kids up at 3:30 most days and we have AMAZING day care (I think she’s a better mom to my boys than I am. Seriously.) Still, there will probably always be a little part of me that’s jealous of women who don’t have to juggle career and family. I will admit that I have, on occasion, said or thought the following things:

-          Oh! I’ll have plenty of time in the summer. I don’t work for three months!

-          Finally, I’ll be able to get on top of the house cleaning and get a couple of projects done!

-          You’re so lucky to be able to stay home with your kids!

-          If I stayed home all year, I’d have so much more time for (insert thing I wish I had more time for here)

-          Well, she’s a stay at home mom! Of course she has time to (insert thing I wish I did here)

-          It sure would be nice never to have to worry about work

For three months out of every year, I get to forget about the career (mostly) and live out my childhood dream of being nothing more than a Mommy and wife.  You’d think after five brief SAH stints, I’d have it figured out. It ain’t easy! But my first summer home with Reed he was a new baby. The next I was pregnant and lazy. Then I had two munchkins under age three to chase. Then I was pregnant again. Slept that ENTIRE summer. The next I had a newborn. Every summer there was an excuse for why my hair was in a permanent pony tail, my boys wore pajamas more often than clothes, and my house was a wreck. But this summer was to be different. The littlest is starting to cut the cord a little and the bigs are pretty self sufficient. So THIS was gonna be the summer that I FINALLY got to:

-          Keep my house spotless   (Raging tornado. All the time.)

-          Get my pre-babies body back    (Ha!)

-          Keep a current, riveting blog, maybe even pick up a ton of readers and get sponsors to buy me junk to make crafts for free    (Hi, Mom!)

-          Do daily devotions    

-          Make my boys geniuses by doing “school at home” every day    (We’ve learned more potty humor than phonics)

-          Go on nature walks, cook with the boys, and do other super-mommy stuff   

-          Keep a semi-structured schedule  

-          Complete all three boys’ baby books   

-          Finally paint over the butt-ugly mint green hallway

-          Make all the things I’ve pinned, plus create masterpieces of my own (1 down, 734 to go)

-          Plan and prep for an entire school year so I don’t have to bring ANY work home

OK, a little ambitious, I realize, but I thought I’d least get one or two items checked off the list. Nope. Not a one. And we’re down to T minus 2 weeks here, so it’s not looking promising, people. Worse, I’ve got no excuses this year.

I figured out the problem, though. I was banking on 6-8 hours a day to accomplish the list. I mean, that’s how much time I spend at work during the school year, right? I just forgot about one small factor – well, three factors, actually. Make that four. The hubs has summers off too. And while he’s helpful, he also eats and makes messes uses the house all day. I have such a total respect for Mrs. Pam, the boys’ mom away from mom. How she manages to keep 8-10 turds ranging in age from 0 to 5 entertained, fed, happy, and learning without turning on the TV and/or pulling out all of her hair, I do not know. I love my three little biscuits, but WOW their care and keeping can suck up a day’s time pretty fast! And it’s not like we’re sleeping the day away or anything. Those suckers have me rolling outta bed around 7 every morning. Then it’s pretty much feed, clean up after, break up fights, and entertain or supervise until bed time. Sure, I sneak in a few minutes here and there, but I usually end up staying up until midnight or one just to get a little “me” time. And by then, I just wanna veg out on educational sites, like craft blogs or Pinterest or facebook.

So, to all the SAHMs out there: You are amazing. I am not worthy. And I get to drop my kids off at daycare in two weeks. Nanny nanny boo boo!

Fine Form

Well,apparantly the bruised foot had no effect on Calvin’s spirits. Today he was bustin’ out all kinda jokes and bad behavior. I finally had to jot them down, there were too many:

-          Ran around the house chasing Max, saying, “You’re Carrie Underpants! You’re Carrie Underpants!” When we told him 1) Enough is enough, 2) It’s only funny the first time, and 3) Quit talking about underpants, he improvised and renamed Max Carrie Underwear, Carrie Underbutt, and Carrie Underpeepee.

-          On a walk at a wildlife refuge, I read something about a toothed elm leaf off of a sign. He interrupted, “Like a butt toot?” When I didn’t answer, “You mean a toot like this?” then bent over, grabbed his britches, and ripped one. (Ryan walked on, but I couldn’t even try to disguise my laugh.)

-          When we drove up to a lily pad, cypress tree, and great blue heron-filled pond, “Heaven will be even more supriser than this… This is my favorite place in the whole world! Actually, Six Flags, then this…”

-          When he was the only one in the whole truck who didn’t see the two fawns peeking from the woods, “This was one of your bad ideas. We had to be in the truck!”

-          When I was singing everything opera-style and claiming to be an angel (don’t all moms antagonize their kids this way?) he ran up, bent over, ripped one, then scooted right up to me and wiggled his butt around. I asked him (in mezzo soprano) why he was doing that and he answered, “To get the toot permanent on you.”

No lie, these are all from one 12 hour period. I pretty much gave up on potty patrol after the walk. Guffawing kinda makes you lose your credibility as a potty police. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. It’ll bring a trip to day care if it gets much worse…

...The Rest of the Story

Well, I’m not the world’s worst mother, but I’m still pretty bad. A little bit after sarcastically posting about Calvin’s dramatic cannonball injury, I heard a bump in the boys’ room. Calvin was awake. At midnight. Calvin does not wake for ANYTHING (not to respond to Mommy alarm clocks, not to get out of car after a late drive home, not to pee in the potty) He was awake and his foot hurt. He was even coherent enough to ask for that “icthe sthingy” (we’re still working on the s factor). I got him an ice pack and set it up, fully expecting it to be kicked off by the time I returned. Nope. Sign #2 that his foot really did hurt. Sign #3 was when he was still limping the next morning. Well, limping, crawling, and hopping on his hands and good foot. I know those are all signs that would make most parents immediately call the doctor. We aren’t most parents. We’re both of the “rub some dirt in it” stock. Ryan frequently diagnoses our boys with Wussitus when they share their ailments. I believe that taking medicine or using band-aids are signs of weakness. And, we’re technically self-paid (found a little way around Obama Care called a health-sharing ministry. Stick it to the man!). And we’re cheap. And but for the strange methods of locomotion, Calvin was acting totally fine. We teetered between calling the doctor as soon as the office opened and waiting it out. Calvin asked for an ice pack at breakfast. I’ll call at 8:00. Calvin tricked Reed into stepping away from his rodeo set and made a mad “dash” to play with it (“You left!”) No doctor. Calvin munched it halfway to the rodeo. I’ll get the phone book. Calvin decides that he wants a cast because, “then I’ll get a sucker and a sticker!” Never mind.

But by 9 we could tell he was definitely hurting. I think it was his protest that he was fine and could walk normally that finally convinced us. His "normal walk" resembled that of Peg Leg Pete. Ryan insisted we have it checked out. I guess we know who’s the soft one. (Although later, he made comments that make me wonder if he was more worried about his future athletic career than his actual foot health…) In the hours before our appointment, we found out a bit more about the infamous incident. It turns out that it was the blue carpet that inspired the whole swimming pool idea (yet another reason why we need to replace Grover). Also, Calvin wasn’t swimming alone. Reed admitted to doing a few tricks himself. “I did a pretend dive.” I guess we’re lucky it’s Calvin who does everything full-throttle. Of course we gave numerous lectures about the appropriateness of jumping on (and off) the bed and the absorbent properties of water compared to those of ugly blue carpet. But even though the boys nodded their heads and agreed, I still won’t trust them in our bedroom anywhere unattended for a while.

As soon as we arrived at the doctor, the nurse said to Calvin, “I heard you did a cannonball off the bed!” He made a typical Calvin face (Sorry, they can’t be described. If you know him, you know the face…) Otherwise, the doctor’s visit was uneventful. A little “does this hurt?,” a couple X-rays, good news and we were on our way. Honestly, it made me regret taking him to the doctor. We paid $179 to have someone tell us he had a bruised foot?! Well, to be fair he did also give the boys stickers. And suckers. And a lecture on cannonball protocol. On second thought, it was worth every penny.

Rough Night for Cal Cal

Poor Calvin. He’s had a rough night. First I made him pick up toys, cruel woman that I am. Then, when he staged a not-so-peaceful protest, I issued the “one spankin’ for every toy left when the timer dings” threat. If he could have seen the toys, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But would I point them out to him? No, I would not. And so he was unable to find them without much searching and crying. Fortunately, right before the timer went off, several of the toys must have made their whereabouts known or something, because he managed to find most of them at the last minute and escape with only two swats. I heard him sobbing and talking to the mirror in the bathroom (brings back memories of my own childhood…), so I eavesdropped.

“…I can never figure out where the toys ARE, because Mommy never SHOWS me where they are, because she’s MEAN! I don’t want her to be mean, but she doesn’t do it! That’s why, because she hates me! (sob)”

When he came to find me casually sitting on the couch, (where I had been the whole time, because I certainly wasn’t outside the bathroom door laughing at him), he walked with a severe limp. Each drag of the foot was accompanied by some type of whine or cry. I ignored the limp, of course. That’s protocol for injuries around here. Especially severe ones. But he was still limping after tooth-brushing and story time. So, I asked him about his ailment. He sniffled that he and Reed were playing in our bedroom and Reed said that the bed was a swimming pool, “And I did a cannonball, and now it hurts right here.”  Is it bad that I had a hard time not laughing out loud?  I’m gonna feel like the world’s worst mother when I find out he has a stress fracture tomorrow. I just hope he doesn’t have anything that requires a cast. Calvin and crutches? New worst nightmare.