Happy Thanksgiving

Twisted Turkey Trail Tussle

"Stop running," is a phrase that frequently comes off my lips.

Olivia runs in the library. She runs in the mall. She runs in the house. She runs in the grocery store. She runs in our neighbor's house. She runs at the park. She loves to run.

The only time she doesn't want to run is (apparently) during a sanctioned run in which her parents had high hopes and were excited to write about her first race. I was ready to write about how well she did and what a big moment this race would be in her 2-year-old life.

The race was the Twisted Turkey Trail Tussle at a nature preserve near Gettysburg. Benny signed up for the 10-mile race. Olivia and I signed up for the 1-mile family fun run.

I was confident that she would be able to complete the race without any problems. I was wrong.

As soon as Benny left us to run his race, Olivia started crying about how she wanted to run with Dadda. I bought a hot chocolate to coax her into running happiness. She drank the warm drink with a smile and then returned to whining.

When our race started, Olivia walked, holding my hand, at a snail's pace. It was the slowest Olivia has moved since the day she learned to walk. She cried for me to carry her despite my pleas of "just keep moving," sounding like Dory from Finding Nemo.

After one hour with an unhappy toddler and worried that Benny would finish running 10 miles in the same time it took Olivia and I to walk 1 mile, I spotted a shortcut. We walked down that hill and finished without an official time.

Olivia smiled when we saw Benny cross the finish line. I forgot to snap a family photo of us at our first turkey trot.

We'll try again next November. Maybe by then, Olivia will be ready to run.

Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly



Follow the arrow to find Olivia.

 She is growing up.

Our Little O is becoming more independent daily.

Recently Little O and I were watching the monthly puppet show at our local library. This month's show was titled "Mother Goose is Thankful for Books." The puppeteer asked for volunteers to act out the nursery rhyme "There was an old lady."

Olivia turned to me and said "I want to do that." I showed her how to raise her hand. She promptly raised her hand and was chosen to stand in the front of the room. She stood in line patiently. She listened to the librarian's instructions. She asked the puppet if she was OK when she swallowed a fly, spider, bird, cat, dog, goat, and horse. "Are you OK?" she said concerned.

Waiting for her turn.

In the end, Little O returned to me with a smile on her face. I had a smile too. I'm proud of my Little O.

Never Bake With The Three Lieutenants

Cooking blogs. There are some really great ones out in the blogsphere. The ones written by regular people who love to cook and love to share their baking advice, so they write about their friendly relationship with their oven. Every ingredient looking edible. Every recipe is explained in detail. Every meal is photographed in the perfect light.

If I wrote a cooking blog, it would NOT be this type of blog. The featured attraction would be my many tragedies (and few triumphs) in the kitchen. I would joke about how Benny will never get fat on my cooking. Even though I don't write a cooking blog, I'm going to write about my latest blunder, tonight's meal: grilled Alaskan salmon and butternut souffle.

The salmon wasn't the issue. The butternut souffle was the problem child. I found the recipe in the CEC/Seabee Can Do Cookbook. This cookbook is a compilation of recipes submitted by military husbands, wives, retired military and active duty officers.

I adore my Can Do cookbook. There are more international recipes than your typical Iowa church cookbook. It's fun to see the names of friends and attempt to create a cheesecake that you ate at a Navy potluck five years ago. In short, I had faith in this Butternut Souffle recipe.

Doubt entered my brain when Benny, Olivia and I were assembling the souffle. The recipe seemed to be missing key information (for example, the size of the baking dish) and specific directions (it never said when to add the baked squash to sugar, milk, egg, butter, and vanilla mixture.)

But the author of this recipe wasn't just one person. It was three people. It said "Three Lieutenants" and then listed the ladies by name. Ha, ha. Three Lieutenants. It's like the Three Amigos. Hilarious.

Then Benny notices the names. He knows one of the ladies. He sends her a Facebook message giving her a hard time about the recipe. The next thing I hear is laughing from the living room. A baker (even a bad baker like myself) doesn't want to hear laughing when waiting for recipe hints.

The woman told Benny she doesn't know anything about that recipe. She doesn't even know if it's good or not. She tells Benny that Olivia should NOT eat it, in case it's bad. Apparently this Three Lieutenant thing is some kind of joke that was submitted by not three, not two, but only one of the lieutenants.

It's funny for them. Not funny for a starving pregnant woman and a hungry toddler.

This is how the souffle turned out.

Would you eat this?

Does this look good? Benny picked it apart with his fork. We decided to pass on this recipe. I reheated broccoli spears and leftover Stovetop stuffing to accompany the fish.

It was a disappointing dinner. I had high hopes for this souffle. Benny says I only wanted to make it because souffle sounds fancy. There is a bit of truth in that joke. But I really thought it would turn out good. I'm putting my Can Do cookbook back on the shelf. I need some time to recoup, so I'm eating chocolate fudge that Superbaker Becky made with me on Wednesday. Drowning my baking disaster in chocolate.

I'm also avoiding a dessert recipe submitted by The "Three" Lieutenants.

Is that a baby bump?

Why, yes it is.

Taken on October 30.

That's right. Benny and I decided to roll the dice and try our luck on a second child. This pregnancy is completely different than the first one. When I was pregnant with Olivia, I seemed to be consumed by documenting every moment. I kept close records journaling my feelings about growing too large to wear my normal close, taking photos of the growing belly and measuring it every week.

This pregnancy, Olivia continues to have center stage. The terrible twos have set in and her demands seem to suck all my brain energy. This is why we have neglected to tell many people that I'm pregnant waiting instead for the belly to announce the news.

Taken October 10. Halloween Bunco. My neighbors find out the news.

The good news is this pint-sized distraction has helped the pregnancy go quickly. I can't believe that I'm already 25 weeks. More than halfway there. And looking pretty much the same size as when I was prego with Olivia. Compare for yourself.

Our due date is February 14. Again, we aren't finding our the baby's sex, so it will be a surprise all over again. I'm feeling good. No problems to report, but I'm starting to slow down as my belly gets bigger and bigger. I have trouble squeezing into small spaces and picking up things that fell on the floor. Most importantly, because of the due date and its association to a certain romantic holiday we have decided to call the baby Valentino/a until its birth date.

First baby bump photo. Taken September 12.

While in Kentucky, my belly pops out.

Taken the first week in October.

Look who is also prego. My cousin, Kel! We are due only two weeks apart.

Taken October 24. Olivia has started to notice that something is growing in my belly.

Which is bigger? The pumpkin or the belly?