The Pumpkin Patch

Having a kid means my husband and I have the perfect excuse to be kids ourselves. For example, when this movie trailer came out I am pretty sure we were both kicking ourselves, wishing that Lyla was a year older so that we could use her as our perfect excuse for two twenty-somethings to go to a children's movie.

But alas, we will just have to wait until it comes out on DVD and then as any reasonable adult would do, make it seem as if we are buying it for the little one. Seriously, who doesn't love Winnie the Pooh though?

Having a child of our own really does mean we get to to be kids again in a way. We get to relive all of our childhood memories with Lyla and watch her little face light up as she discovers the wonders of the world for herself. It tugs at my heart when I see her make a new discovery or realize something for the first time. She is so pleased with herself and her eyes fill with amazement. And yet I know, at 4 months old, she still has so much to learn and so much to discover.

Last weekend we drove out to Cedarburg to explore a pumpkin patch. We were all excited, especially the grown-up kids. I was a little nervous though, not sure if Lyla would have any idea of what was going on, afraid that she would be overwhelmed or bored and perhaps even decide that taking a nap would be the better option for her Sunday afternoon. But to my amazement she took it all in. She became alert as ever, looking around and reaching out to touch the pumpkins. I can only imagine that her little brain was rapidly firing off neurons trying desperately to figure it all out.

She smelled apples for the first time, although she was a little apprehensive.

She saw every sized pumpkin, both small and large, and was mesmerized by their bright orange appearance.

She made her way through the corn maze and didn't get lost, not even once.

She even flew through the sky.

After picking her pumpkin, stocking up on apples, visiting the little store at the far end of the patch and showing off her "Cutest in the Patch" pumpkin onesie, it was time to go. As we drove away, the car filled with freshly picked apples and the perfect carving pumpkins, Adam and I both agreed that the pumpkin patch seemed smaller then the ones we had been to as kids. We remembered fields beyond fields filled with bright orange pumpkins. Endless trees sagging from the weight of their fruit. Tractors and trailers and corn mazes that no one could find their way out of. And then mid-sentence we both realized it. This pumpkin patch was no smaller, we were just bigger. And I could only smile knowing that Lyla was creating her own memories, ones that included the world's largest and greatest pumpkin patch.

Dreaming of pumpkins.

Once we got home though, we had quite a few apples to work our way through. So When Lyla's Aunt Kathryn came to visit all the way from Minneapolis we thought what better to do than whip up some homemade applesauce and pumpkin cookies for our upcoming trip to Notre Dame.

We sliced and cored all the apples and placed them in a large pot with just enough water to cover the bottom of the pan.

We let the apples come to the slightest boil, before turing it down to simmer. We added just a touch of sugar and cinnamon before leaving the pot to work it's magic.

Every 30 minutes or so we would return, stir the apples, add a touch of cinnamon, brown sugar and white sugar, then cover it up again.

As the apples got softer, we began to mash them.

We then began our taste testing process. We would take a spoonful of the sauce and leave it on the counter to cool. This allowed the true taste to come through. Once we had tasted, we added cinnamon and sugar as needed.

Finally, after several hours of slow cooking, the applesauce was done! The only thing left to do was bake up a batch of pumpkin cookies with cinnamon chips and pack it all up for our trip to the Bend.

I am already looking forward to next fall, when we will take Lyla to pumpkin patch yet again. Hopefully by then she'll be running around or wobbling around herself and building on her memories of the world's biggest and greatest patch. And someday soon Lyla, you better believe, we will be watching Winnie the Pooh.

P.S. - Last night with the remaining apples, we made chili rubbed pork chops over cinnamon baked apples. If you'd like the recipe, just let me know!

I am Legendary

It was about four years ago that I was called legendary. Now some would take pride in being called such a name, but me, I was not pleased. We were at my in-laws house preparing for my now sister-in-law's wedding when this comment, which to this day still irks me, was made. Even today I still have no idea where this comment came from, why it was made or what previous comment made by an unknown third party brought it about. My husband sometimes still calls me legendary just to get a reaction out of me and it works; every time. It was my sister-in-law's soon to be mother-in-law who said it, and she is by far one of the sweetest, most generous people that I have met, so I cast no blame. But still this comment hit me like a bucket of cold water to the face. It was quick, simple and intended to be harmless.

"I hear you are a legendary sleeper."

I remember standing there, looking back at her, forcing a smile to my face, allowing a simple laugh to pass my lips, begging my cheeks not to turn red and forcing the annoyance which was exploding up through my body to go back down. My mind raced. I am a legendary sleeper? What? Why? Where in the hell did that come? Even if I am, how in the hell would she know? WHAT?

Again, I am positive that her intention was harmless, nothing more than smalltalk. Most people probably would not have even thought twice about it if the comment had been directed at them. But for some unknown reason it stuck with me. It bothered me. I hated it.

The day I was called Legendary.

I won't lie, like any other normal person, I do enjoy my sleep. I need a solid eight hours otherwise I drag all day and just do not feel like myself. Without eight hours I don't perform as well in work or play. But I am pretty sure eight hours does not make me legendary. Perhaps it was because at that time I was more of a night owl, staying up way too late, sleeping in later. Perhaps that gave off the impression that I was sleeping many more hours than just the simple eight. I do not know. I will probably never know, but I still hate that I was called legendary.

Fast forward to now. Sleep to me is like a drop of water to a lost man wandering the desert. I never get it, my body begs for it, I can barely remember what it feels like. Before Lyla was born people always said how babies sleep all of the time, for hours on end, how they look so peaceful when they are sleeping, just like little angels. My older sister Kelly even told me that her daughter slept so much at night that they would have to wake her to feed her. Well let me tell you, Lyla is not one of these babies. My husband and I joke that she actually hates to sleep. And even when she is sleeping, she doesn't look peaceful. She looks pissed. Her mouth scrunches together forming the most heart wrenching frown. Her fist stay locked in tight grips as if to say 'these mean parents of mine, they are making me do that sleep thing again.'  She is in no way legendary when it comes to sleeping. Apparently, and according to some, she does not take after her mother in this respect.

Lyla is more of a take a nice little nap then lets all get up and play kind of girl. At night when I put her to bed she fights, but I always win or so I think. Then about two hours later (give or take half an hour) she's up. I feed her, I change her, I rock her, but she doesn't want to sleep. Finally she goes back down and then as if she has an alarm inside her body, two hours later, she's up again. It wouldn't be so bad if I could fall back asleep immediately after putting her down, but no, my mind races and I lay in bed exhausted but awake. Sleep to me is a distant memory that I hope to one day know again.

"haha it's past my bedtime, but I get to stay up because my grandparents are here!"

A few weeks back after another sleepless night in which Lyla woke five times, I turned to my husband and told him that I am pretty sure my legendary status has been revoked.

I know that it will get better and eventually Lyla will learn to sleep through the night. After hearing from my sister Erica about an adorable little baby boy she knows named Oakes who is suffering from many health problems and still in the NICU, I can only count my blessing and thank God that our biggest challenge is a lack of sleep. I could not be more thankful for my beautiful baby girl who is healthy, growing leaps and bounds and learning with each new day. I am beyond blessed, and I am beyond grateful. And some day soon enough (I've said those words before) I hope to earn back my legendary status and when that happens, this time, I'll be proud.

For other sleepy parents out there, here is yet another slow cooker meal for when you are running low on energy.

Turkey Chili
In a saute pan, add one chopped onion and 1 1/4 lbs of ground turkey. Cook until browned.

Drain the meat mixture and add to the slower cooker. Add in one can of corn, drained. You can also use frozen corn if you prefer.

Next, add in one chopped red bell pepper, one chopped green bell pepper and two chopped jalapenos (seeds included, unless you prefer a milder chili.)

Following the peppers, add one can of crushed tomatoes and one can of whole tomatoes.

Add one can of black beans, drained and rinsed and about a cup of tomato sauce.

Now the fun part! Add in your seasonings. You can honestly add as little or as much of the seasoning as you want. Add in a little extra chili powder if you like a kick to your chili, a little less if you don't. I used a mixture of chili powder, coriander, cumin, oregano, cayenne pepper, salt and pepper. If you make the mixture before hand you can taste test and adjust to your likings. Finally mix all of the ingredients together and cook on low for 8 hours.

Serve with cheese and enjoy! As I am sure you have noticed, I am still loving my slow cooker!

Up next, our trip to the pumpkin patch and the delicious applesauce that resulted.

The Birthday Request

I had a conversation with my husband earlier last week that went a little something like this:

Me: What would you like for your birthday dinner?
Husband: Chicken Parmesan and mashed potatoes.
Me: Chicken Parmesan and mashed potatoes? Together? In one meal?
Husband: My dad always used to make mashed potatoes with Chicken Parmesan.
Me: Your family has the most bizarre eating habits.
Husband: How about Chicken Parmesan, mashed potatoes, and pasta?
Picture me rolling my eyes.

I did feel bad after this conversation, because later he recanted on his mashed potatoes request and went with broccolini instead. I would have made mashed potatoes. I believe in birthday dinners and the birthday boy should get whatever meal he desires. But it was too late, he said he didn't really want them and yes, I felt horrible. I stole the fun out of the birthday dinner. I didn't play by my own birthday rules. But, I do have to stand by my words, his family does have some bizarre eating habits. I believe there have been stories that involve sandwiches made up of peanut butter, lettuce and mayonnaise. Enough said.

But my guilt stayed with me and so Lyla and I set out to make it the best possible birthday celebration ever, even if it did not involve mashed potatoes. We picked the birthday boy up from work and took him out to lunch. Happily fed and after a few squeezes from Lyla we dropped him back off and then hurried home to wrapped all of his presents. Lyla wanted to make sure he had something special to get him through the rest of his work day, so she posed pretty and gave her best birthday smile for a picture.

And with her picture, she even sent a little note that said:

"Dear Daddy,

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Lyla

P.S. Hurry home, we  have Apple Pie."

Lyla provide her own little birthday present, by taking a nice little nap so that I was able to prepare the birthday meal. To get started I butterflied, cut and pounded out all my chicken breasts, so that they were as thin and tender as possible. Next I prepared my parmesan coatings. In one bowl I combined flour and oregano. In another, one egg, beaten. And finally in the third bowl, I added bread crumbs seasoned with basil, oregano, salt and pepper.

I coated each piece of chicken first in the flour, then in the egg and finally in the breadcrumbs.

Next, I heated up a tablespoon or so of olive oil in a saute pan. Once hot, I added the chicken and browned it on each side. Before flipping the chicken over, I added additional olive oil to ensure that it would brown on both sides. I repeated this with each piece of chicken.

Normally I would finish off the chicken in the saute pan by placing the entire pan in the oven. However, I had so much chicken that I decided to transfer all of them to a large baking pan.

Next, I began to add my toppings. First the tomato sauce (homemade or jarred, whichever you prefer). Then the freshly grated cheeses (mozzarella, followed by parmesan.)

I finished cooking the chicken in a 450 degree oven. I let them bake for roughly 5-7 minutes, until the chicken was completely cooked through (keep in mind I pounded out the chicken making it very thin, if  you use whole chicken breasts you will need to increase the cooking time.)

While the chicken was baking I focused on the broccolini by first cutting and cleaning it.

I then placed it in a steaming pan over a pot of water and simply seasoned it with a little bit of salt and pepper.

After the water began to boil and had begun to steam the broccolini for a few minutes, I squeezed the juice of half a lemon over top of the pan.

I let it finish steaming for a few more minutes and then removed it from the heat. You do not want to over cook the broccolini. You only want to let it steam until it is bright green and tender. If you steam it for too long it will begin to brown. Once removed from the meat, I sprinkled it with a bit of parmesan cheese and covered it so that the cheese would melt.

By this point, the chicken was finished cooking and ready to come out of the oven.

I plated the chicken along side of the lemon broccolini and a nice glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and let the birthday boy dig in.

After the birthday dinner was complete, Lyla happily helped her Daddy open a few of his presents (although she refused to smile for the camera).

She was excited, she just hid it well.

Someone was a little tired by the end.

Hopefully the birthday boy enjoyed his meal, even minus the mashed potatoes. Next time I make Chicken Parmesan, you better believe there will be a side of mashed potatoes to go along with it. Oh, and just as Lyla promised, there was apple pie and ice cream.

The birthday boy finished his pie before a picture could be taken!

Happy Birthday Adam and I promise not to question your birthday meal next year, that is, as long as you do not request peanut butter, lettuce and mayonnaise sandwiches.