A Day In The Life

Last week, I was at the indoor play space with the Big Yam and the Wonder Twins and started chatting with another mum of multiples, whose twins were 20 months old.  She was a wreck and had the classic, dazed/crazed eyes of the stereotypical new mom.  She goes to the play space EVERY DAY.  Anyway, she asked me what kind of help I had when I first had the babies and I told her: my mum coming maybe once a week, my outlaw mom helping out here and there, my partner home the first two months.  Then I asked her what her situation was.

SO GET THIS: her mother moved in with them for the first TWO months.  Then she had a "mother's helper" coming in 3 days a week for the next TWO months after that.  THEN SHE AND HER PARTNER AND THE TWINS MOVED TO GERMANY TO LIVE WITH HER IN-LAWS FOR FOUR MONTHS AFTER THAT.

Imma give you a minute to read that last paragraph over one more time and let it sink in.  I was like, "YOU IS SOFT, LADY" (in my head; outwardly, I was in full sympathetic, mum-to-mum support zone mode).  I get that everyone has it tough in their own way etc., etc., but I was still a SEETHING, ROILING BALL OF RESENTMENT after hearing about her cushy situation.  CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT I WOULD BE ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH IF I HAD LIVE-IN HELP FOR EIGHT MONTHS?!?

I've been feeling under pressure lately.  Quincess has his helmet and doing the upkeep on that, in conjunction with the both of them eating solid food has been robbing me of even more of my precious, precious minutes in the day.  This is how a 24 hour typical day goes:

10:30pm - go to bed
11:00pm - pump for the Wonder Twins' night time "mega-bottle"
11:30pm - go to sleep after reading and winding down for half an hour (note: one of the only times I have completely to myself, ALL DAY)
2:00am  - the Big Yam wakes up, walks into our bedroom, stands beside my side of the bed dramatically whimpering until I get up, and go lie down with him in his bed
4:00am - the Wonder Twins wake up for their night time feed.  Stay up with them nursing, burping, and putting them back to bed until they're for sure asleep (this takes about an hour, on a good night)
7:00am - up for the day (note: this means I've had about 5-6 hours of INTERRUPTED sleep a night).  Feed the Wonder Twins, change them, clean out the Quincess' helmet, wash his head, put the helmet back on, get the Big Yam ready for the day - tooth brushing, changing, face-washing, packing for daycare).  This is a solid 1-1.5 hours of activity until we get out the door.
8:30am - drop off the Big Yam at daycare
8:30-10:00am - either doing a stupid errand (doctor's appointment, grocery shopping, etc.) or at home, feeding the Wonder Twins solids, cleaning up, changing them, cleaning out the helmet, doing some tummy time, doing the Quincess' stretches, prepping their food for the day, washing bottles, dishes, general tidying
10:00-11:30am - Wonder Twins napping, when I'm doing stupid admin stuff like: passport applications, kindergarten registration, banking, claiming insurance stuff, coordinating the cars being serviced, putting away laundry (maybe), putting on a load of laundry, cleaning the house, shovelling, tidying, dentist appointments, more doctor's appointments, etc.  Hopefully eating some breakfast (finally).
11:30-1:30pm - either having a visit/outing with a friend or in the 'hood or more of the above.  Nurse the babies, then solid food for the babies, then more play time where I dump them in the exersaucers or leave them to wrestle on the floor while I try to get a handle on life some more.
2-4pm - Wonder Twins afternoon nap.  Dinner prep, responding to emails, making more arrangements, organizing, etc.
5:00pm - Big Yam and Dotytron home.  Pass off the Wonder Twins so I can get dinner ready
6:00-7pm - dinner and clean-up and bottle prep and more bottle washing
7-8pm - games with the Big Yam or bath for one to three of the kids.  Babies' night time bottles (Dotytron responsibility)
8-9pm - Bedtime for the Big Yam
9-10:30pm - "free time" (which is basically more tidying, maybe folding laundry, passing out in front of the TV, talking to my partner).

Rinse, repeat.  Each nursing session lasts about 30 minutes, minimum.  That happens 5-6 times a day.  Each solid feed lasts about 30-45 minutes, and that's 3 times a day.  That doesn't count the time it takes to prep, cook, and warm their food, whatever they're eating.  Each diaper change is about 15-20 minutes and that includes lotioning up their eczema, powdering their little butts, etc.  That happens about 8 times a day.  The Great Gazoo's helmet has to be wiped out every 3 hours, washed with baby soap once a day, and then disinfected with rubbing alcohol every 3 days (but I think I'm going to do every other, because it already stinks and it's only been a week).  Each helmet session takes about 15-20 minutes.  Then we're supposed to do the Great Gazoo's stretches, every 3-4 hours, which takes about 15-20 minutes.

It's a f**king s**tload of work, guys.  I'm not gonna lie.

And honestly, I can't believe how well we're doing.  We know so many people who are getting OWNED by their ONE kid, let alone 3 under 3, let alone 2 of those 3 being twins.  But just because we CAN, doesn't mean we SHOULD.  I would effing LOVE to be able to really SPEND TIME with my kids instead of having to turn down a Big Yam request for a game of Thomas-themed Uno, so that I can do something a million times less fun like folding laundry or wiping down the kitchen counter or making sure our bathroom isn't one giant ball of hair and urine.  I would love to be on the floor PLAYING with the Wonder Twins instead of hoping against hope that they will keep themselves entertained long enough to allow me to eke out one stupid administrative task.  What I mean to say is, holding the babies is the last step in a long process of work that is invisible.  That's the GOAL.

At Ladies Night I was talking to my neighbours, some of whom are, like me, lucky to have partners who are hands-on and great, nuturing, capable parents in their own rights, and some of whom are kind of slackers.  My one neighbour was talking about this documentary that aired on the CBC called The Motherload, which is about women, mothering, work-life balance, etc.  Apparently (haven't had a chance to watch it yet, for reasons listed above!), the filmmakers talk to Anne Marie Slaughter and Sheryl Sandberg, etc.  One of my neighbours, who has a very hands-on partner, was still complaining about how her partner sometimes asks if he can "help" her give their daughter a bath, and she's like, "why are you 'helping' ME? Just give her a G-D bath!"  One of the women with a less hands-on dad was like, "So and so can get my daughter dressed, but he doesn't realize that getting her dressed is the last step in a 10 step process, of which he's oblivious - like, buying the clothes, making sure she has enough in every size for the right season, making sure she has back-ups, knowing that she's only wearing purple and making sure there's enough purple stuff and then doing the laundry when we're running out, etc."

This was all pretty relevant because the Dotytron and I got into a minor disagreement about how I disproportionately shoulder the majority of the household administration.  Some of this is just me being a Type A Little Dynamo multitasking, administrative, ubermensch.  Like, a lot of the stuff that stereotypically falls on the "man" in a relationship (insurance, mortgages, bills, budgeting, cars, home improvement, etc.) I take on 100%.  In addition to that though, I also take on a lot of the domestic stuff - meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, now that I'm home on maternity leave - the cleaning.  My big beef is that I'm responsible for the administration of four people's lives: mine and the kids.  The Dotytron is only responsible for his own, and very often, I do the majority share of his administration, too.  So, when I'm back at work, I'm working effectively at minimum, 3 different jobs (simultaneously), whereas the Dotytron only focuses on his one.  The other galling thing is that the Dotytron likes to position his job as more demanding or challenging than mine.  Which is patently false.  We're both public servants - I'm just helping the province to run, NO BIGGIE.  Anyway, we had an in-depth, not entirely adversarial conversation about it and we're working through some of those issues.  At the end of the day, I can't reiterate enough how I can leave the Dotytron in charge of all the kids and be totally secure that he's got stuff handled.  He can take the Big Yam to the doctor's and whathaveyou.  That's a biggie. But, as my neighbour mentioned, physically bringing the kid to the appointment is the last step in a long chain of events, of which the Dotytron tends to be oblivious.   However, I don't think that changes things that the bar is set much lower for "dads" traditionally, and that with the amount of work women take on in the home and work spheres, simultaneously, it makes it even more galling that such gross income and professional advancement inequities continue to exist.

Anyway, enough belly aching.  I'm not going to get s**t-all done if I continue on like this.  That being said, GIVE ME SOME DAPS, DAMMIT!  Haha.  At the end of the day, someone telling me that I'm rocking this whole situation goes a long way to soothing or smoothing over my raw edges.  Also: please don't ever, ever tell me how to parent, if you haven't had multiples or 3 under 3.  What went well for you 10 years ago, doesn't apply, and so please keep your comments to yourself.  If you're not going to say something supportive, or, better yet, offer PHYSICAL support, then please take your tips and tricks to, like, Yahoo Answers, where they belong.

In other news: the Great Gazoo got his Great Gazoo helmet and somewhat predictably, is the CUTEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN:

This is how chill my kids are: they don't cry when they get needles and you can plop a helmet on their head and they don't cry or complain at all.  He's been so good about it!  We were supposed to gradually wean him up to the 22-23 hours a day in 3 hour increments but we basically fast-tracked it because he was so fine.  That being said: he's a stink-head.  I wash it out every three hours or so with water, wipe it dry, baby powder his head, wash it with soap and water twice a day, wash his head with soap and water twice a day, and disinfect with rubbing alcohol every 3 days, and he's still a Schweatz McGillicuddy.  I don't think there's anything to be done about it.  You wear anything for 22 hours a day, especially something that traps the heat and makes you sweat, and you're going to be a stink head.  Luckily for him: an adorable one.

We spent the weekend in Port Stanley.  Our friends S & P moved out there and bought what would be a million dollar house in the Beaches for a song.  I'm in LOOOOVE with their house.  Look at where we got to be holed up through a storm:

Our friends B & G came up as well and we ate and hung out in our pyjamas and played board games and snacked, and hung with the babies and talked and went for a long walk.  It was so nice.  They're about a 5 minute walk from the beach at Lake Eerie so I'm pretty pumped to visit in the summer.  I miss having them in town terribly, but am grateful for the opportunity for extended hangs.  You know how much I loves me a friend sleepover and a cottage getaway vacation.

Also, these things happened:

This outfit will forever be the funniest thing in the whole world

For people who think the Big Yam and Lenny the Lighthouse look identical, here's a chance to play, NAME THAT BABY: 

The Quincess rocking some mad cleavage

Freezer bolognese with slow-cooker polenta, topped with a fried egg.  Steamed cauliflower with browned butter and toasted thyme breadcrumbs.  Steamed green beans.

Slow-cooker "Asian" style ribs, root vegetable mash, and more steamed green beans.

Phew, it feels nice and cathartic to get all my "YOU THINK YOU KNOW, BUT YOU HAVE NO IDEA, THIS IS THE DIARY OF KARL LAGERFELD" griping out of my system.  Now I can sign off and proceed to the task of doing 10 billion things!  Huzzah!  

Fin.

Recipe

for a perfect Sunday:

- having a friend sleep over and then hanging out in the morning in our pajamas, eating breakfast
- clean house
- going braless all day
- no outdoor activities planned
- two noise machines, 3 kids sleeping
- freezer bolognese on the menu
- smell of roasted garlic

You know how people talk about life hacks?  I find those compendiums very idiosyncratic.  A life hack for me is to roast garlic cloves in oil in bulk and then have a jar of them sitting in my fridge, ready to be milled into mash, or turned in my award-winning (self-adjudicated) garlic bread at a moment's notice.  Garlic roasting days are days when I'm pretty happy that we don't have a working hood vent in the kitchen.

Lovely weekend winding down, gone too soon.  I skipped Book Club on Thursday night because my neighbour had my car.  It was for the best.  We were discussing Alice Munro's Dear Life and I think for the first time in Academic Book Club history, I didn't finish the book.  Alice Munro is terrible (sample size: this one collection of short stories).  So not my bag.  Stories about small-town Ontario white women dealing with not-so-very trying small domestic issues that are given the weight of REALLY BIG DEAL, stuff?  NO THANKS.  I can't relate to that level of repressed passivity and layered, repressed introspection.  It's just not the stuff I'm made of.  I found the stories went nowhere and I didn't see the point or where the meat of the story was and I was by and large not interested in the characters.  They don't speak to me.  It was a snoozer of epic proportions, in my humble opinion.  But I have a feeling my Book Club would have loved it, which probably means I made the sound decision to bow out.  This way, feathers would remain unruffled by my blunt dismissiveness.

Friday night was Ladies Night.  We went to a newish restaurant in the neighbourhood, the Brooklyn Tavern (before you write off the name, it's at the end of a street named Brooklyn).  The menu is a right hodgepodge of stuff but what they do there is done decently, I guess.  I had the pork flautas which came with purchased green salsa and were decent.  More of an appetizer size but I had eaten my weight in doughnuts earlier in the day.  I was tipped off by my neighbour about Von Doughnuts, and he claimed they were as good as NYC's esteemed Doughnut Plant.  I made the mistake of listening to my neighbour, even though we rarely see eye to eye on food (let's just say that he went to Guu and ordered 3 dishes.  'NUFF SAID.  Ordering 3 dishes at Guu basically means that you and I are diametrically opposed from a culinary standpoint).

From left to right, top row then bottom row: chocolate mint, lemon meringue, peanut butter and jelly, salt and pepper caramel, and bacon banana.

I was so excited by the size of the doughnuts and the appearance and the relatively tasty creme brulee one I housed immediately upon returning home that I prematurely posted a favourable capsule review on Instagram.  After sampling the rest (you can see why I didn't have much of an appetite for dinner after), I revised my opinion.  The good: doughnut size.  All the yeasted doughnuts have the same base, which is okay, but a little dense and chewy for my liking.  They are skimpy on the flavourings.  Whereas at Doughnut Plant, your creme brulee doughnut comes impregnated with a squishy, pillowy ring of fluffy custard, the creme brulee doughnut here was a yeasted doughnut cut in half, smeared with a rather pedestrian pastry cream.  The lemon meringue had a paucity of lemon curd (I can't reiterate enough that at Doughnut Plant, EACH BITE features lemon curd!) and the salt and pepper caramel was okay.  Peanut butter jelly was an afterthought: same yeasted doughnut base with a topping of peanut butter American-style buttercream and some jelly piped on top.  The cake doughnuts were ATROCIOUS.  The mint one used fresh mint in the glaze but it had been over infused and so tasted acrid and bitter.  It was disgusting.  The chocolate cake base was dry as f**k, tough as Bette Midler in Gypsy, and flavourless as an Alice Munro short story.  The bacon one featured a similarly egregious banana cake doughnut base.  I won't be going back.

Yesterday we walked the Big Yam to his dance class, this time with our neighbour's hand-me-down ballet slippers in tow.  It was a substitute teacher and while her ballet program was okay, her hip hop program was terrible.  She didn't even play hip hop music!  The Dotytron watched her start the class and said aloud, "What the - ?! Highly unorthodox hip hop."  I can't even describe it.  It was like a half-time ballet class taught by someone with a severe iron deficiency.  The Big Yam loved it though, so I can't complain.  It was so cute watching him.  We had SMckay and Lolly over later and he was so proud showing them what he learned.  We spent the night Youtubing videos of Steven Sondheim and Les Miserables numbers and singing along, which basically means: BEST NIGHT EVER.  The Dotytron, SMckay, and Lolly have basically decided that they're going to take advantage of the lack of an age limit enforcement at Kiwanis Music Festival and enter in the musical theatre category.  If they actually pull this together it's going to be hilarious.  They will be competing against kids.  People half their age!  This all started when the Dotytron enquired about whether they were strict on the age limit and was told that while, if he did take the highly unorthodox route of competing as a grown man, he wouldn't be able to progress to provinicials, they would still allow him to enter.  The thought of 3 adults competing against teenagers in a music competition, with the fervour that I know these three will bring to the table, is the stuff that lesser comedies are made of.

The cookie recipes promised last post are at the end of this one.

Now I'm off to lose myself in The Interestings.  Omnibus post of recent films/books to come this week, I hope.

Fin.

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Nutella Chocolate Chip Cookies

pulled from a blog that took them from a Giada recipe, apparently

1/2 c. butter, softened

1/2 c. nutella
1/2 c. brown sugar, packed
1/2 c. white sugar
1 egg
1 t. vanilla
1 1/3 c. flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. kosher salt, plus more for sprinkling on top
1 c. semi-sweet chocolate chips (but preferably bittersweet if you can find them - it cuts the sweetness of the cookie)

-  cream the butter and nutella together with the sugars until light and fluffy
- add the egg and vanilla, mix well
- stir in the dry ingredients, then the chocolate chips
- bake in a preheated 350F oven for about 10 minutes (based on tablespoon sized balls), sprinkling the dough balls with additional kosher salt before baking.  You want these cookies to be very chewy, so underdone is better than overdone.

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Chewy Malted Milk Chocolate Cookies

1 c. unsalted butter, melted
1 c. packed light brown sugar
2/3 c. malted milk powder
1 T. vanilla extract
3/4 t. salt
2 c. plus 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 t. baking soda
1 c. milk chocolate chips

- stir together the melted butter and the sugars and malted milk powder.
- add the remaining ingredients, stirring well
- bake at 350F for 10 minutes.

Random Ephemera

I am feeling STRESSED, sons.  Which manifested in a painful, blocked, engorged boob on Monday which is probably a sign from the milk gods that I should relax a bit.  EXCEPT THAT I CAN'T.  I've got a million things on the go - this week alone has doctor's appointments every day Monday to Wednesday, then the Big Yam home with me on Thursday, and hopefully Friday I can get a breather except I have Book Club Thursday night and Ladies night on Friday night and no time to do anything or research kindergarten or fill out a million passport renewals, or stay on top of laundry, or keep the house clean, or tidy or put things away from Christmas...you get the drift.

When the Dotytron was asked to MC the Yeti's Memorial on Saturday, at one point he turned to me and observed that if there's one thing we have learned from this experience of three under three and newborn twins, it's that people generally have a VERY high opinion of us.  The things we are asked to do on the regular is INSANE.  Like, people wouldn't ask that of people with one newborn kid, let alone two at once!  People would hesitate to ask the same from like, people who just work one regular 9-5 job!  Also: the offers of help dry up faster than the need for help does.  That's just the way it goes, I suppose.  On the one hand I'm proud of how well we're managing, all things considered.  On the other hand, IT'S OKAY TO OFFER HELP TO PEOPLE WITH TWINS AND A PRE-SCHOOLER, FOLKS.  THEY WON'T BE MAD AT YOU, I SWEAR.

That being said, I want to give shout outs to my brother, Bruce Wayne, and his gf, and Dr. Rei and Hanbo who came and managed the kids while we went to the memorial on Saturday.  My brother took the Big Yam to the first of his winter parks and rec classes - I signed him up for a half hour of hip hop followed by a half hour of ballet.  As it turns out, he's the only boy in both classes, but he was so into it - it was so cute.  We asked him what he learned and he showed us and was so proud, which is a million times more engaged than he was for the sports classes.  Bruce Wayne took some photo and videos and we basically died watching them.  I'm on the hunt for some ballet slippers for him now.  Some of the other girls were mad tricked out in full dance apparel, but thankfully the Big Yam was oblivious.

My mum was amazing and came with me to Sick Kid's Orthotics Clinic last week to manage Lindsay Lou-Lou while the Quincess was having his first appointment for his helmet.  They took a 3D scan of his head and will base the helmet off of that, so there won't be a need for any plaster casting of his head.  In order to do the 3D scan they put this stocking cap on his head and well, I'll let the picture speak for itself:

I mean, COME ON.  How cute is that?!  

He looked so friggin' cute in the stocking cap that any lingering fears I had about the helmet were washed away.  If anything, it's just going to put more emphasis on his little sweetums face.  So yes, he will have to wear it 22-23 hours a day, but I have a feeling it's just going to be the most adorable thing, ever.

When my mum showed up she tossed me one of my Poh Poh's fur coats.  So now I own a black fur, which is kind of boss.  I should raid my Poh Poh's closet for her vintage Christian Dior purses.  This is how much of a baller my mum is.  I asked her, innocently, "Do you know what kind of fur it is?" and she gave me a look of withering disdain and was like, "It's mink, OBVIOUSLY."  LOL.  EXCUSE ME!

After the appointment I took her to Santouka Ramen for lunch.  The menu hyped up this special, limited (until they run out) ramen that was $15/bowl so I ordered the shio version and my mum ordered the spicy version.  We also split an order of gyoza.  Here are my notes: 1) ramen for 2 people with gyoza should not be a $50 meal (which this was).  2) I gotta learn and stop ordering gyoza out.  It's always a less satisfying, less meaty, more delicate (read, wimpily flavoured) corollary to a Chinese potsticker and those are way more up my alley.  I always want more of everything - more filling, a chewier, doughier wrapper, more of a stomach-filler.  3) The special ramen wasn't so special.  The broth was nice and clean tasting, the ramen were really bouncy and had a great chew and the pork neck was perfect, but overall, I still prefer Sansotei.  At least I now know that I've tried all the heavy-hitting Toronto ramen contenders now and can come to my own preferences with a clear conscious.  PHEW.

I also went crazy and decided to install a runner on my stairs.  I got sidetracked by a busy week but I'm slowly gathering my supplies.  I will do a full blog reveal when this shiz gets done (which should be in the next two weekends), but it did require me putting out an APB to the neighbours for a pneumatic stapler and having one dropped off to my house within minutes of pushing send on the email.  Way to go, street!  Killin' it!  My quest for the runner led me to Target which also led me to impulse-buying a Dyson vacuum, on super-sale (only $299!).  I put it together and gave it a test run and once again, I am in awe of Mr. Dyson's industrial design sensibilities.  The thing just makes sense, you know?  Like, how does one become a Mr. Dyson?  I'm going to start crowd sourcing funding to make a documentary on that guy.  He's one of those people that I'm just in awe of.  How do you dial yourself in to that extent?  

Over the holiday I took the Dotytron out for his birthday dinner.  We went with our Discerning Coyote friend and his gf to this high end Italian place called Buca.  It's one of those King West places that oozes money.  I wasn't a huge fan, to be honest.  The space is kind of impersonal and ill-designed, in that it's such a throwaway room - lots of exposed brick and a giant ceiling in the service of a disjointed design aesthetic.  Our server was basically Wario.  By that I mean he couldn't have been more the embodiment of a deplorable stereotype.  He was also a terrible, terrible server.  He seemed vaguely patronizing and I've never had a fine dining experience with as many awkward exchanges.  I'M NOT NEW AT EATING OUT.  I've been around the horn a time or two, you know?  Yet, he would come to the table and ask, "Do you-ah, know-ah, what-a, you-ah, would-ah, like, to order?" and we'd nod and then there would be nothing.  Like, beat after beat of awkward silence as my tablemates and I exchanged glances because we weren't being cued as to who was to speak first, or when.  So we'd be looking at him to see who he was talking to and he'd be staring blandly back at us and it would go on until finally one of us would break the silence with a hesitant, "Uh, I guess I'll go first?"  It was so awkward.  He also dropped a cheese plate with NO EXPLANATION and I know I sound all, "it's MINK, obviously" about it, but really, you're supposed to describe the cheeses on the cheese board!  I want their pedigree!  It was very untoward.

The food was pretty high concept and fussy.  The presentation of some dishes was needlessly conceptual.  We ordered a whipped boar lardo which came on a giant wooden board, but was composed of drips and drops and dabs of dots of the components.  We were told that the idea is that you're supposed to "smear" everything together and scoop it up with this toast/frico type thing, but here's the thing with serving stuff on a wooden board - THE BOARD ABSORBS STUFF.  So we smeared it as instructed but some of it got mashed into the wood grain and wouldn't come up onto the toast.  A lot of the dishes lacked a balance of flavour.  I had this ravioli doppi, a double stuffed ravioli with braised goose and foie and squash, with a parmesan foam and some orange.  It's pictured below:

Me so hungee.

That is five bite-sized ravioli for $26.  Why are the portions so small?  I know you're paying mad luche on rent, but c'mon, guys!  Give a gal something to eat!

My dessert was a torrone (nougat) semifreddo with pistachio blobs.  It was delicious but I could have used 3.75x the portion.  In the end, I think the restaurant is out of step with how I want to eat, and how restaurants are positioning themselves.  I can get similar flavour profiles at a place like Porzia, for half the cost, and emerge, stuffed (which is my preferred state of being!)  I just don't want to be taken for a ride to subsidize your King West rent, ya know?  Especially if the service doesn't make me feel, "it's mink, OBVIOUSLY."

We also ended the holiday by getting takeout from the bricks and mortar outpost of a popular foodtruck, Hogtown Smoke.  We got a dinner for 2 sampler and chose the ribs, the brisket, the wings, and beans and coleslaw for our two sides.  The standout was the brisket - it was so fatty and juicy.  Not a tonne of smoke flavour in anything, but the wings were snappy and burnished and tasty.  The ribs were pretty forgettable.  The sides were on the tiny side, with the coleslaw being an afterthought and the baked beans tasty, but nothing extraordinary.  There's another barbecue joint opening up soon in the 'hood and of course, I could always get off my butt and smoke 'em myself.

Prof. Gantok is a giant, hungry, hungry hippo right now.  He doesn't chew his solids, but swallows whole bites like they're shooters.  He also shotguns his night time bottle and then gets SUPER-MAD that the Quincess is leisurely drinking his and tries to bat it out of Quincess' hands.  It's hilarious.  He's such a Chris Farley.  He's like Belushi in Animal House.  He's been babbling up a storm - lots of "bababa" and "mama" whereas the Quincess just seems content to stare dreamily off into the ether.  The other night as we were heading home from dinner at our friend's place, the Dotytron was putting Quincess in the car and out of nowhere, we both swear he said, "Eyeeelooooovveeeeuuuu" and Dotytron was like, "Did you just say 'I love you'?" and when we pulled his car seat out of the car he had fallen asleep.  That basically sums up his sweet little daydream believer personality to a T.

Here are some random kid pics:

Dinner solidarity.  They stayed like this for the entire 30 minutes we all spent eating dinner.

   

Scoping the scene from the command centre

Lindsay Lou-Lou has been jail-breaking his swaddle lately, just to get that one arm out.

Had a visit with an old friend and her cute little wolf cub.  Look at that baby scrum!  Lindsay Lou-Lou's expression is totally, "Who is that man?" Also: the little cub is so chubby that Lindsay outright tried to nurse his turkey drumstick thigh.  Mouth open and everything.

7 months old!  What!

All the boys together.

Seared rib-eye.  Mushrooms sauteéd in butter and brandy.  I've been all about the cauliflower-potato mash lately and added pureed kale to this batch.

Butter chicken, peas paneer, and amazing garlic naan from (one of) the Pakistani joints around the corner.  For some reason the garlic naan is cheaper than the regular naan, but 10x as good.

Last night's cabbage rolls & broccoli

Chicken stew & biscuits.

Fin.

Laid Low

Yesterday was the memorial for Cousin Al.  A room packed with more than 300 friends, family, loved ones.  We should all be so lucky.

I am laid low with grief.  In the moments when I'm not tending to my boys, I oscillate between disbelief and shock, still - I can't believe that we're never going to see Cousin Al again, that he is really and truly gone.  That a life and spirit that was so big, and touched so many people (seriously, how many people would come to my memorial?) could be taken so quickly.  I can almost convince myself that it's not true, and then I replay that phone call from Momma D and I'm taken back to that moment, a moment I'm still reeling from.

I still feel with every atom of my being that this is profoundly unfair.  I know the purpose of a memorial is to focus on that person's life, and the many, many ways that he touched other people and their lives were made better for knowing him.  But I am raw with the injustice of this, and the memorial and the many speeches that were a testament to what a great spirit Al was and is still, only served to flay me anew, to lay bare the great, raw wound that is living with the knowledge that my kids will never be able to have their, giant, tattooed Uncle Al show them how to take things apart, the finer points of metal and punk, where to get good barbecue in Nashville, and how to siphon gas and be a bada**.

He was so sweet.  A faithful commenter on my pathetic Instagram feed consisting of pictures of my kids and food.  So interesting, well-read, learned, and accepting.  I'm going to miss him so much.

Fin.

New Year, New 'Tude

And just like that, we are into the second (!) week of January.

How the eff did that happen?  I know from my end, the holidays were a bit of a blur.  It went a little something like this: the Big Yam garfing, me sick with food poisoning, the Dotytron's cousin passing away, ICE STORM, xmas with Dotytron's family, then xmas with my family.  I don't think we got anything remotely resembling a breather until New Year's Day and even then we basically entertained or visited or had a big outing every day until this past Saturday.

A lot of good things happened, though.  We saw friends from near and far, we hosted a rocking New Year's Eve gathering of games and food and friends, we saw movies, we went out to eat, we played insane amounts of Wii U (an xmas present from my brother to my niece and nephew, that easily eclipsed the hockey socks and garters that we dutifully got for them at the behest of my sister), we ate cookies and cake, went tobogganing, and found moments of pleasure amidst the sadness of losing a loved one.

There were also moments that I wasn't proud of.  Invariably, no matter how on the ball I am, each year, by the time Christmas Eve rolls around it's a mad dash to the finish with heightened anxiety, snappishness, and simmering anger (all mine).  It all came to a head on Monday morning, the day before Christmas Eve when I was dropping off the Big Yam at daycare for the day.  I was sad, I was raw, I was in shock from cousin Al's passing, and I was stressed.  I couldn't get into the van and had to spend a million hours chipping away the ice just to open the door.  Then the Big Yam started up with that particular, keening, 3 year old whine that sounds like an air raid siren but a million times more grating, "I WANT MY CHEEERIOS, YOU SAID! I WANT CHEERIOS!  CHEEEEEERRRRRIIIIOOOOS!"  and I snapped.  I had tears of grief and frustration streaming down my face as I was driving, trying to dodge post-ice storm felled tree branches and navigate the slippery streets and I screamed at the Big Yam like I've never screamed before.  Something to the effect of: "I. DON'T. HAVE. ANY. CHEERIOS!!!" You could see the startled shock flash across the Big Yam's face and then he looked me square in the eye and screamed right back, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

It was the worst.  Then I burst into tears at J's house and she gave me a big hug and patted me on the back and told me everything was going to be fine.  Then I drove home and promptly burst into tears again and was wracked with guilt for most of the remaining morning.  Then SMckay came over with her can-do attitude and baby-holding abilities and I sorted myself out.  I came across this opinion piece that someone on my Facebook posted recently, So, You Would Like to Have Three Children, and usually I don't read that stuff or re-post it but there are two things that stood out for me.  One is how the author talks about the commentary you get whenever you leave the house with all three.  It's usually either: "You're so brave!" or "You've got your hands full" and both are accompanied by pitying, "better you than me" looks.  As the author notes: this is so helpful.  LOL.  Either take a baby or keep your comments to yourself!  Then you have to add the twins variable into the equation.  We're basically a travelling freak show to the world at large.  The more prescient observation from the article is that you are never, ever, ever alone any more.  You have to deal with three individuals who are ALWAYS pestering you to fulfil their needs and wants (which for EACH ONE, are different things), in combination with trying to find a nanosecond to deal with your own needs and wants, like, once every three months.

The Dotytron always tells me that my tension levels unnecessarily ratchet up the anxiety, but when you're the mom, it's at a whole different level than what dad experiences.  They don't want Baba, they want YOU.  Dad is such a distant second it's not even in the same hemisphere.  You have three individuals constantly clamouring for your attention or that you have to keep tabs on and it is under the best of circumstances, exhausting and trying.  Add the holidays and trying to grieve and deal with the colossal, capricious, unfairness of life and death on top of it?  NO KIDDING YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO WAIT FOR YOUR F**KING CHEERIOS, KID!

So basically, I vowed that next year, I will either be on a beach far, far away, or holed up in a winter cabin with a fireplace and will catch all y'all in the New Year.  The morning we left to spend the weekend at my parent's place for Xmas, I told the Dotytron straight up: "It's going to take us 3 hours to leave the house" and he, bless his optimistic heart, laughed at me.  Three hours and 15 minutes later, we were all packed in the car and ready to head up to Markham.  My life is no joke, people.

Except, of course, when it's ALL jokes.  Like it was when we got to visit with SMckay, and MHui and her family, and my crazy siblings, and Dr. Rei and a heap of people of people on New Year's (when we debated how painful getting hit with a sock full of quarters would be, and also, when Dr. Rei revealed her love of Yazz and unveiled an accompanying dance to a song that is, and I quote, "the epitome of Jeanne Beker getting ready to go to work in the morning" [the dance featured a lot of stuffing stuff into your suit shoulders and slapping Moses Znaimer]), and when we saw our friend I from Montréal and the Roomie and baby T.  There were a lot of laughs and love this holiday interspersed with all the yelling and shouting and sadness and that is the crazy cocktail that makes up life, I now know.

Some notable Big Yam moments from the past two weeks:

The Big Yam, lying next to me in the dark as I was putting him to bed, faltering: "Mama? H-ha-ha-happy holidays" (UGH. So cute.)

The Big Yam, finishing up a birthday card for a friend with the Dotytron, upon putting the final sticker on: 

*contented sigh* "FAGulous!"

The Big Yam, trying to negotiate a "sleepover" last night (a school night): "Well, Mama.  Tomorrow is a school day but today is still the weekend so Baba said maybe, maybe we can, can have a sleepover."  Pauses.  Spreads his hands out palms up towards me.  Another long pause.  "What do you think?"

The Big Yam, in the back of the van when I suggested that maybe he would be able to go skating later on in the afternoon with Baba.  "No. I don't want to go skating. Baba is going to be so sad."  (This is true.  The Dotytron has put a lot of stock into teaching the Big Yam how to skate.)

I went with the Roomie and baby T and our friend I to the indoor play space with the Big Yam and the Wonder Twins.  Other parents gave me the de rigeur looks of awe/horror.  While there, the Big Yam went and played in this little playhouse for a good 15-20 minutes.  Later, one of the moms there asked me if the Big Yam was my son.  I said yes, and she proceeded to tell me what a good, sweet, kind boy he was and how gentle he had been playing with her 18 month old son inside the playhouse.  She was so impressed and so complimentary.  It was nice. I mean, neither the Dotytron nor I can take any credit for it.  He gets it from his Poppa.  He really is such a kind, gentle soul.  When the Wonder Twins are crying, he'll go over unprompted and give them kisses and say stuff like, "Don't worry, you'll get some food soon," or "It's okay, Goh-Go [Cantonese for older brothers] is here."  It's the most heart-enriching thing you've ever seen. 

In Wonder Twins news:

Saturday, December 14th - the Wonder Twins rolled from back to front
Saturday, December 21st - the Wonder Twins started solid food

(Can you tell that I'm using this blog as a holding place for baby-book items until such time as I can actually get my act together and write it down somewhere with all their other baby milestones?)  Lindsay, in keeping with his Chris Farley nature is currently all about making the screechiest, screamiest, joygasm sounds when he's happy:

Meanwhile, the Quincess is a Quincess, as you can tell from the videos above.  He is the master of the raised eyebrow.

Finally, here's a tiny fraction of what I've been eating lately:

I didn't think a Christmas Cookie plate would happen this year, but during the week I'd do a batch or two of cookies a few times and then before I knew it, I had like, 10 different varieties balled up in the freezer.  From left to right, starting at the top row: brown butter financiers, buckeyes with fleur de sel, chocolate brownie cookies, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, gingersnaps, nutella bittersweet chocolate cookies, malted milk chocolate cookies, shortbread, toffee espresso cookies.  I'll have to post the recipe for the nutella and the malted milk chocolate ones soon.

Rainbow trout with horseradish mayonnaise, cauliflower-potato mash, a Korean-beet salad from Yummy Market, and quick-pickled cucumber dill salad

Sour cream apple pie.  One of my all-time favorites, from this recipe, in my own butter-lard crust.  This is an almost-perfect pie.  I double the crisp topping and it is craggy, not too sweet, silky, chock full of tart apples, all bound up in a flaky crust.  It's exactly what you want to be eating on a cold winter's night.

My new favorite low-carb breakfast: sliced avocado, pinch of crunchy kosher salt, topped with this rainbow trout spread-type thing (poached rainbow trout, crumbled with diced apple, diced cucumber, lemon zest, olive oil, and more kosher salt and pepper - served on fresh baguette slices, it's a nice, light, fresh tasting appetizer), and soft boiled eggs (overcooked in the photo above).

Tonight's dinner was a retreat to Eastern Europe from the record cold snap we're facing: Yummy Market Siberian perogies (pork and veal), pinehedge organic sour cream (the best sour cream I've ever had), roasted Brussels sprouts with lemon zest, pickled beets.

I have a slew of book/movie/restaurant reviews that I'll save for a post tomorrow.

Fin.

Not Right.

The Dotytron's cousin passed away yesterday.

There are no words.

Of all the cousins on the Dotytron's paternal and maternal side of the family, Cousin Al was the one whose spirit most aligned with mine.  It doesn't make sense - I mean, look at the guy: a giant, bearded, tattooed, drummer (who went by the nickname "Yeti").  Where does all that overlap with a practically straight-edge, 5 foot 4, Asian, public servant nerdlinger?  And yet...spirits are funny things.  One of my first appearances at a family Thanksgiving dinner I remember getting daps from Cousin Al because I was the only person who could go plate-for-plate with him and his equally giant younger brother.  He knew the value in dirty dives for good dutty eats.  He was a faithful commenter on my pitiable Instagram feed, a copacetic audience for my pictures of ribs and rotis.  He was one of the few people in my world (and certainly the only one in the Dotytron extended clan) who could appreciate or understand a good Ted Nugent or Buckethead joke.  I could be as off-colour, unfiltered, and candid as I wanted.  Before his diabetes sidelined him, he was in a band that I genuinely liked (the Diemonds), and I remember going to one of their shows with the Dotytron and Dr. Rei and loving the whole glammed up, tight-jeanned, second-coming-of-Guns'n'Roses-ness of it all.  Like seriously, if you're going to make new music that I'm going to be into, thrashy, fun, trashy hard rock is kind of the way to go.

And he was kind.  So, so kind.  And gentle.  And just a good, decent person, and really, that's such a rarity (I'm not nearly so good and decent as he), that the "just" in this sentence does that goodness and decency a fundamental disservice.  

My shock is punctuated with disbelief and the overwhelming feeling that this isn't right.  Since we found out yesterday, betwixt and between recovering from food poisoning, dealing with three kids, having a blocked milk duct, and the chaotic nature of Christmas around the corner - above all the noise of my life, I will hear my heart insisting: "No."  No parent should have to outlive their child.  No person that good should have to go so young and so sudden.  I'm not a good and decent person.  I'm selfish.  When I think of all those years of family dinners stretching out before us, without anyone to at least chuckle at a one-note Buckethead joke? No.

We've had a hard few years with people being taken from us.  Poppa, Poppa D, my Kung Kung, and now this.  There has been joy, of course, but I read recently that life is sadness and despair punctuated with moments of respite from all that and in those breaks you savour.  Last night, after Ehmdo and Momma D had gone home, after we had all gathered to cry and hug and be together, an ice storm blanketed the city.  Some people are without power.  Our cars are immobilized by ice.  Downed tree limbs are blocking streets.  We are being forced to abandon plans, stay inside, put our lives on pause, take a breath.  I will try to savour.  I will hold my loved ones close, feel warmed by voices offering words of comfort and solace, and I will try to remember that as selfish as I am for always wanting more, that I was lucky to cross paths with the Yeti.

Fin.

In the Still of the Night

This was the scene outside the window at 4am on Sunday.  The city was blanketed with 5-10cm this past weekend and as a result, plans were put on hold, excursions curtailed, and we got down to the serious business of consecutive weekend snow days.  This meant a weekend of baking, eating, Christmas movie watching, listening to Ella Fitzgerald's "Jingle Bells" (the Big Yam's favorite tune) on repeat, gingerbread house making, skating, and tobogganing.  Not for the first winter was I grateful for Lil' Ugmo's prime positioning at the side of a well-rounded park.  It makes it tremendously effortless to fulfil Norman Rockwell-winter fantasies.  I saw people pulling up on our street to park with their skates and sleds and all we had to do was tow the Big Yam to the end of the street:

The Dotytron got it into his head that he wanted to make gingerbread houses with the Big Yam and so prep for that occupied a big chunk of our Saturday evening.  Making the dough, rolling, cutting, and baking wasn't the most fun I've ever had, but I'm a gingerbread house denier (it's all part and parcel of my candy blaspheming ways), and to be honest, the Dotytron did most of the work.  At the end of the day, our Sunday morning looked like this:

so I can't really complain.  It was worth it.  Despite my protestations to the contrary, home made gingerbread and royal icing is way better than the store bought stuff.  In this way, the gingerbread houses are reflective of my general relationship to Christmas and the holiday season.  I know I swim against the tide in this, but I favor the experiential, the hand made, the time investment over all the disposable, bought crap with which we clutter our holidays.  Why are the holidays generally considered stressful by most?  It's because you spend time fretting over what to get for GROWN ADULTS who already have everything, with a deadline, no less!  How enjoyable is that?  I would almost always rather have a dinner out with friends and family, or get together and order pizza, or hang, than stuff.  Really, the one thing the Dotytron and I desperately want is babysitting vouchers.  Those are GOLD to parents.  Overnight ones are even better.  The memory of the Big Yam being scared of the Grinch, swinging to Ella Fitzgerald, and haphazardly plonking hot lips onto his gingerbread house is so much more valuable than getting him a bunch of crap.  

We made some pretty fun donations this year and I encourage you to do the same.  Thinking of how we can give in a way that meaningfully reflects on our year is pretty fun.  We bought an infant blood oxygen monitor for the hospital we delivered the Wonder Twins at.  We donated once again to Applegrove Community Complex, which provides an awesome drop-in space and parent resource centre for the Big Yam, in addition to serving seniors and teens in the community.  We also donated to Oxfam to help with the Philippine relief efforts, during the time frame when the federal government was matching donations.  

Another favorite moment from this holiday season - the advent calendar told us last night to "Read a Holiday Story" so I read How the Grinch Stole Christmas and then, because I am trying to fight against the forces that would have us believe that there is a "war on Christmas" I pulled out The Story of Hanukkah, which I bought this year so that the Big Yam would be a well-rounded individual.  I'm reading it and it's pretty grim.  Then I get to page 3: "For a long time the Jews lived in peace, although they did not rule their land.  Then a Greek, Antiochus IV, became king. He tore down the walls of Jerusalem.  Thousands were killed.  Anyone who lit Sabbath candles, studied Jewish law, or refused to bow to Greek idols was put to death."  At which point the Big Yam utters: "UGGGGGGHHHH" *exasperated sigh*  LOL!  So good!  He was so put out!  I ended up cutting the story short because he wasn't having it.  

On Sunday we had Dr. Rei and Hanbo over for an ultra fun visit that featured excess in the form of pizza delivery from two different places.  BEST IDEA EVER.  I made us the cheesecake that JJ & S always make which is the best cheesecake in the world.  Hands down.  I've never had better.  It's the creamiest, smoothest, richest thing balanced with the slight tang of sour cream and lemon.  The key is to under bake the s**t out of it so that it's all gooey still and not dry.  Dryness is the enemy of deliciousness, which is why I've never really loved New York style cheesecake.  Too dry!  I'll post the recipe below, so that I never, ever, ever lose it.  

This weekend is similarly light.  The Dotytron family Christmas party got cancelled, so we're hoping that one of us can take him to the Studio Ghibli retrospective showing at the Bell Lightbox theatre and then we're having lunch with Nany and that's it.  The Dotytron is off for the holidays as of Friday and I for one can't wait for more of everything we had this past weekend:  more couching, movie watching, quilting, knitting, skating, tobogganing, shovelling, present wrapping, cookie baking, and hot chocolate drinking with my family.  

Fin.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Ultimate Cheesecake 

serves 12-16 (or 1 person if you're me)

Crust:

2 c. graham cracker crumbs

1/4 c. sugar

6 T. unsalted butter, melted

Cheesecake:

4 8oz packages cream cheese, room temperature (I left mine out basically all morning)

1 1/3 c. sugar

1 T. flour

4 eggs, room temperature

3/4 c. sour cream, room temperature

2 T. lemon juice

1/2 t. salt

- mix all the crust ingredients together until the crumbs are thoroughly moistened.  Press on the bottom and halfway up sides of a 9" springform pan with at least 2" sides

- bake in a preheated 350F oven for about 10 minutes.  Set aside to cool.  Wrap the outside of the springform pan in two cross layers of foil (I use the extra-long barbecue foil to ensure that no water from the water bath seeps in).  

- in the bowl of a stand mixer beat the cream cheese with the sugar until the mixture is smooth and a bit fluffy, about 2-4 minutes.  On low speed, beat in flour.

- add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition and scraping down sides of mixing bowl.  Be careful not to over beat the mixture though, you don't want to aerate it.

- mix in the sour cream, lemon juice, and salt on low speed.  

- pour the cheesecake batter in to the prepared crust.  Put the springform pan inside of a larger roasting pan and pour water around the springform pan until it comes approximately 1" up the side.  

- bake the cheesecake in the 350F oven for about 45 minutes - 1 hour, 10 minutes MAX.  You don't want any browning on top, and you want the centre to be just barely, barely set.  Even better, if the whole thing jiggles as one when you gently shake it (instead of the centre being really soupy and jiggly and the outsides set) that's the best.  Or like, a 2" radius in the centre being extra jiggly is fine.  

- take the cheesecake out of the roasting pan and cool on a rack.  Chill in the fridge for about 8 hours or overnight.  

- unmold the cheesecake by running a thin knife around the outside and releasing the pan sides.

Frankie Says Relax

Soooooooo, I scraped up Eddie VAN Halen on Monday.  With the babies in the car.  No one got hurt, thankfully, and it was entirely my own stupid spatial-relations-challenged fault.  I was parked (illegally) just ahead of a curb and behind a big excavator/commerical construction vehicle on the main thoroughfare in my 'hood.  I usually back up to get around things (usually too much) but I was nervous about not being able to see cars coming north on the cross street behind me and I was also nervous about getting plowed by an oncoming streetcar, so I came out without enough room to get around the excavator and basically scraped the passenger side of the van pretty bad.  It looks ghetto.  Then I promptly pulled over, burst into tears, and left a sad, scared message on the Dotytron's phone because I thought he was going to kill me.

I then took it to an auto body shop close by and got a quote on the repairs and he said no less than $2500, maybe $2000 and then I nearly threw up.  Cue another sad, scared, teary message on the Dotytron's phone apprising him of this latest development.

In a testament to what a good person he is, the Dotytron, when he finally called me back, wasn't mad at all (or at least, I don't think he was, I couldn't quite hear him over the sound of my own, hiccuping wailing, "YOU'RE MAD AT MEEEEEEEE!!!" and because he is a better person than I, was more concerned that we weren't hurt.  Because he is more concerned about appearances than I, he is insisting that we get it fixed, ASAP.  I took it to another body shop today and he said we were looking at $1300, and I'm hoping I can negotiate a cash deal.  I'm going to ask around a few more places though.  So we're out $1300, worst case scenario, because I am a horrible driver.

SLEEP DEPRIVATION IS REAL, FOLKS.

I joined the Facebook page for our neighbourhood, hoping that I'd find out about nannies and the like or get some tips on stuff there.  It's pandemonium on that page.  Basically a bunch of people who barely know how to be online going buck.  This one guy posted this thing about how his brother saw people from one of the Pakistani restaurants in Little India luring pigeons into the kitchen and how he was calling the Toronto Board of Health.  Now to me, that smacks of racism, so I posted this little gem:

which obviously got me mad props from people who aren't neurotic gentrification-obsessed weirdos.  Then I  had second thoughts and told the Dotytron that if I actually have School Board Trustee ambitions (which I kinda do?) that maybe it wasn't a good idea to troll the neighbourhood Facebook page.  But then he said that I could probably campaign on a "Frankie Says Relax" platform, and when I gave it a thought I realized he was absolutely right.  LOL!  Karl Lagerfeld: Frankie Says Relax in 2020.  So good.

Last weekend ended up being surprisingly chill.  We had all of Saturday completely off, which was so, so, so nice.  I don't know why I don't do that more often.  We got our Xmas tree and decorated it on Friday night, we watched some Xmas movies on Saturday, and then had a visit with a friend and her kid at Sprouts on Sunday, followed by a lasagna dinner care of Momma D in the evening.  It was nice to just putter and do house stuff.  

Now we're on the heels of a new weekend and it's Thursday night and I am spent.  Done.  Tapped out.  All out of love, patience, everything.  Yesterday almost broke me.  It started all regular-like.  Loaded up the boys in the bitter cold, dropped the Big Yam at daycare, took the Wonder Twins to the grocery store.  Came inside the house, and our Christmas tree had fallen over.  I had a 1:45pm massage scheduled that I already knew I was going have to cut short to get the Wonder Twins to their 3:00pm 6 month doctor's appointment on time.  To top it all off, I had to pick up the Big Yam from daycare, get dinner on the table, bath all 3 boys, and get them to bed while the Dotytron was attending to winter concert duties that evening.   Dr. Rei was coming over to help, but wasn't going to be at our place until 6:30pm or so.  I took one look at the tree, sighed, girded my loins, picked up the tree and repositioned it, packed up the boys, and went to Canadian Tire, AFTER stopping at yet another auto body place to get another quote.  Yesterday was a rough go.  It doesn't help that every time I show up at a medical office with the Wonder Twins I get a pitying/surprised, "Oh, you're here by yourself?"  Because apparently it's not normal to be a beast and handle EVERY medical appointment on your own, with two infants in tow.

I try to stay positive and upbeat and can-do, but tonight I reached my limit.  Ehmdo and I went with the kids to the new aquarium downtown.  The good news is that the aquarium is amazing.  Beautiful, clean, well designed, and expensive, but what the hell.  It was worth it for the look of wonder on all the boys' faces, but after my Wednesday, by the time we got home and I had to wrassle with an over-stimulated, under-napped Big Yam and two babies whose general routine had been upended, it was too much.  My patience reserves were spent and I could feel myself getting snappy and short-tempered.  We've been having such positive results with the Big Yam now that we've backed off from being reactionary in our discipline methods that I had to tell the Dotytron to basically take care of everything tonight, or else I was going to lose my s**t.  I've said it before, but three under three (or thereabouts) is no joke.  Those looks of sympathy I get from mums of singletons when I'm out and about (and this is before they find out that I have another preschooler), is warranted.  Momma knows, child!  

 Wonder Twins at 6 months

The Great Gazoo's been all about playing with his little tongue lately.

Look at this little daydream believer.

Our crooked tree when it was still standing and therefore still in my good graces.  The Dotytron always likes to under-light the tree so I strung about 500 lights myself and I still think we could have more.  

What I've been eating lately:

Leftover brisket from JJ & S's Hanukkah, warmed and served on buttered challah with roasted garlic mayo and caramelized onions, with baked cauliflower casserole with cheddar-broccoli sauce, and slaw

Low carb hell: shrimp, chickpeas with feta, and leftover cauliflower

Beef kofta, fried haloumi, tomato cucumber salad

Taco salad

Osso buco, polenta, roasted Brussels sprouts, gremolata, and extra marrow bones

Salted caramel apple pie

Fin.