I am reading on my bed. Audrey is sitting next to me, brushing my hair and applying number 13 or so alligator clip.

"Mom, you are almost pretty. There is just one thing missing. You need more hair."

Audrey has a hyperactive imagination. Everything we do has a story or a plot. I am pleased that she is bringing Colin in on her make-believe scenarios both for his own development and because it means they play together for longer stretches of time (and therefore I get the laundry folded faster).

Colin has played with trains for nearly a year now but it wasn't until Audrey received a couple trains of her own for Christmas that Colin was introduced to the idea that his trains could "talk" to each other to get work done around the tracks. I was able to watch the light bulb illuminate on this concept one morning this week when Colin was watching Audrey speak through her trains. It was a delightful experience for all of us. I wish I had a picture of the smile on Colin's face after this "ah haa" moment.

Audrey is potty trained. Mostly. This was a long road for me as a mother and I felt like Audrey fought nearly every step of the way. I am pleased that she manages her toilet issues on her own now. Well, maybe not on her own, but without my help. From her white thrown I hear her call, "Caaahlinnn!" And, obedient (or curious) brother that he is, he comes running.

"Colin, will you get me my doll?" He runs, hunts for the doll and then delivers baby to Audrey.

"Colin, can I have some hot tea?" He locates the pink teapot and a purple plastic teacup and hurries back to the bathroom.

"Colin can I have a muffin?" He rushes back to their kitchen, rummages through a pile of hard shiny foods and returns to Audrey with a brown "chocolate" muffin.

Drawing pad, books, baby bottle. This continues for fifteen minutes sometimes. There are days when the two of them carry out an entire tea party around the toilet. Sanitary? Healthy to sit on a toilet for that long? Abuse of little brother? How long with this go on for? I don't know. I don't know. But they are happy and I am happy. How bad can it be?

Christmas with Jesus AND Santa is very overwhelming for me. I feel like every time I mention Santa or elves or the behavior "list" said creatures keep that I also need to put in a plug for Jesus.

"Yes, Santa's watching...and Jesus is sad when you hit Colin."

It's because I want Audrey and Colin to grow up with the understanding that Christ's birth is the what we are really celebrating at Christmas and this Santa stuff is just another fun thing about the holiday. But obviously the toys are the most important part to a toddler - right? To any kid really? Because of my adding Jesus to every Christmas discussion I worry that Audrey may have the impression that Jesus and Santa are both in on this North Pole, night flight, baby doll chimney delivery thing. How on earth are you supposed to separate the two? Maybe it's not possible with kids this small?


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We are all sick. I didn't want the kids to have cereal with milk this morning because it aggravates the runny nose situation (myth?). So I made raisin toast and cut up bananas and oranges. Audrey ate all this and then requested cereal. I explained that she could have cereal but without milk. After placing the bowl of dry Rice Krispies in front of her I hear her mumble,

"Mom, Santa's watching you not giving me milk."

I don't ever want to have lots of money. I'm not sure when I decided that but I still believe it. I'm happy living in suburbia with an old house and a library card. I'm okay with taking walks instead of having a gym membership. I have no gripes with Toasted-o's instead of Cheerios. But now that I'm shopping for the kids Christmas presents I am increasingly frustrated with my options for inexpensive toys.

I want to find a baby doll crib for Audrey. No problem - there are hundreds out there! Plastic, plastic, plastic and poorly constructed wood/fiber board. I don't think I'm a snob for wooden toys but there is something about plastic that drives me crazy. Of course plastic has it's place in the world of toys. Legos and dump trucks and baby dolls and FP little people - many great and even quality toys are made with plastic. However, I feel like a baby doll bed is a traditional toy that needs to be built to last. I don't want it to play music, it shouldn't be hot pink, and fiber board doesn't count as wood in my book. Why do I have to be rich in order to buy quality toys?Above 8$ vs. 109$ below

And then there's the shopping cart for Colin.

Above 19$ vs. 89$ below


I understand that there are toys in between these low and high ends. That is probably exactly what I'll end up buying. But they seem like a big compromise when there is such nice quality out there. If only Greg and I were up for four more kids. Then I could absolutely justify high-end toys with the reason "it has to last through six kids!"

Greg is at church teaching his five-year-old Sunday school class. I am home with Audrey and Colin. The three of us developed a cold in the last 24 hours. Audrey is coloring at a desk wearing a pink princess dress, crown and ballet shoes (she sleeps in ballet shoes). Colin is playing with a noisy dump truck. Greg wouldn't like me spreading the word about this but Colin is wearing a pink tutu. He loves Audrey and feels the need to imitate everything she does. If Audrey eats it, Colin will eat it. If Audrey says it, Colin will say it. And when Audrey spins and twirls to Christmas tunes, Colin proudly (though not as gracefully) follows after her. I'm unsure when or if I will ever need to help him see a more manly side of things but for now I am confident it's doing him no harm.

We had a great Thanksgiving week. Greg had a job interview with a small local CPA firm on Tuesday. He met one of the firm's partners this summer through a family friend and now that they are hiring Greg got a call. It sounds like things went well. Greg completed a few tax returns on their office software and was told they'd call him by Wednesday this week. The office is only ten minutes away. I'd love to have Greg working that close to home. Greg had a phone interview with Clifton Gunderson, a national CPA firm on Wednesday. They are looking for a tax intern for the upcoming season. They said they'd call him this week too. This internship would mean a big commute to a west Chicago suburb.

Audrey gave herself a hair cut on Wednesday. She now has bangs. Two self-cuts in three years? I'd be doing okay if I didn't know that she's only been able to operate a pair of scissors for about six months...

Alan and Kristin brought their family down here for Thanksgiving day. Audrey and I spent a few hours earlier in the week making our table decorations - they were cute. We played games and ate a beautiful dinner, listened to the Thanksgiving story (thank you Anna :), and the kids showed of their many diverse talents in a variety show. It was a good day, a perfect Thanksgiving. Greg made "Awesome Sausage, Apple, and Cranberry Stuffing" with our turkey. It was my favorite part of the meal.

1 1/2 cups cubed whole wheat bread

3 3/4 cups cubed white bread

1 pound ground sausage

1 cup chopped onion

3/4 cup chopped celery

2 1/2 teaspoons dried sage

1 1/2 teaspoons dried rosemary

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

1 Golden Delicious apple, cored and chopped

3/4 cup dried cranberries

1/3 cup minced fresh parsley

3/4 cup turkey stock

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1. Preheat oven to 350 degree F (175 degree C). Spread the white and whole wheat bread cubes in a single layer on a large baking sheet. Bake for 5 to 7 minutes in the preheated oven, or until evenly toasted. Transfer toasted bread cubes to a large bowl.
2. In a large skillet, cook the sausage and onions over medium heat, stirring and breaking up the lumps until evenly browned. Add the celery, sage, rosemary, and thyme; cook, stirring, for 2 minutes to blend flavors.
3. Pour sausage mixture over bread in bowl. Mix in chopped apples, dried cranberries, parsley, and liver. Drizzle with turkey stock and melted butter, and mix lightly. Spoon into turkey to loosely fill.

This year I braved my first Black Friday ever. I left Thursday night at 11pm and didn't get home until 7am Friday! It was crazy and cold (19 degrees) but there are definitely good buys out there for a dedicated deal-finder! Unfortunately, that night threw my sleep schedule off for the entire weekend and may have been the precursor to our colds :( I'll plan better next year! We cracked open the box of Christmas decorations yesterday. Audrey and Colin decorated little trees for their room. I made spritz cookies (in my newly purchased, hot-deal cookie press). We ate pizza to break up the turkey left-overs. It has been a festive, true holiday week! Love to you all, Jill

Quote of the week: Colin has a terrible rash. In an effort to air his bum (but prevent puddles on our carpet) I put some of Audrey's cotton potty-training unders on him instead of a fitted diaper. Audrey sees Colin and immediately decides she'll teach Colin everything he needs to know about using the potty. Showing him where it is, how it works, etc. I am listening from the other room when she gets to "Everyone does peeps on the potty, Colin. Mom goes on the potty, Dad goes on the potty, Jesus goes on the potty..." The list continued without pause but I can't remember anything past Jesus.

We've had a rough start to our day at my house. Audrey woke up in a mood and has been in time out for much of the morning. When Colin decided to join in the fray and refuse to cooperate with a diaper change I tossed him in his bed and said, "TIME OUT!" Returning a couple minutes later I said angrily, "When mom says, 'It's time to change your diaper,' you MARCH." And to seal the deal before taking him out of his bed I said in a calmer voice, "Now, it's time to change your diaper." And then my obedient little man began marching (seriously, high knees and all) in circles around his crib!

I was on the phone with my Mom last week and I mentioned I was disappointed that I did not know any of my neighbors. This summer when my family moved-in no one came with cookies or even to say "Hello." I live in a town home community so there is not maintenance or yard work to do outside our homes. With the exception of a few families with small children, who need time outdoors in order to survive, I don't see people outside of their homes or cars. It often feels like when people pull into their garage at the end of the day they close the door as quickly as possible to avoid contact with the apron-sporting mom playing soccer with her two boogery toddlers. My mother said something like "things aren't the way they used to be." It's a phrase I hear all the time but I was bothered by her words because she didn't say them in a wistful way like my Grandmother, Mom said it as a statement of fact, as though I should know better. I don't know what the difference is but it made me sad, as if that was it; my 55 year-old angel mother had given up, humanity had turned a corner and there was no going back.

I'm not trying to save my Mom or prove all the 55 plus-ers wrong. I'm not sticking it to my anti-social neighbors. I don't believe that everything in 1950 (or 1850) was better than 2010 but I am going to try and find a few things that were.

Maybe I'll start with a no-brainer; 2010 bread vs. real bread. Can anyone other than the carb-obsessed say no to fresh, warm bread? I've experimented with homemade bread before and it is not nearly as difficult as I imagined. The downside is that it takes a lot of flour to make a loaf of bread. When I buy nice bread flour or expensive wheat flour I end up frustrated if my loaf turns out too dense or crumbly or otherwise less-than-perfect because, while my family still eats it, I feel like those quality ingredients were wasted on an inferior product. I've used recipes from my cookbooks and learned that cookbooks should definitely remain a thing of the past. Unless you inherit your mother's cookbooks with notes penciled in every margin annotating proper adaptations, using a cookbook recipe is more like conducting a kitchen experiment than having a culinary experience. With two energetic, attention-hungry children and a mountain of laundry, I don't have time for experiments. The internet - which did not exist in 1950 - is an excellent source for recipes. In under five minutes I can search for a recipe based on ingredients I have at home, narrow my selection based on a rating system and select the perfect recipe after reading reviews submitted by hundreds of amateur cooks like myself. Who needs Julia Child?

Proven recipe in-hand, sipping my daily Coke, and serenaded by some of my favorite music; I start work while the kids are napping. This basic loaf is beefed up with some oatmeal and whole wheat and sweetened with honey and brown sugar. As the ingredients mix I can tell that this is going to be a good one. The dough has to rise twice but I can get a lot done during that time. By the time the loaves hit the oven dinner is on the table. Sweet smells fill the house while we eat and then enjoy some family time in our living room.

I timed the loaves so they could be delivered and enjoyed hot when my neighbors arrive home from work. I haven't heard or seen them come home yet but the kids are anxious to get outside so we put on shoes and head for the neighbor's front door. No answer. Okay, next neighbor. No answer. The kids kick a ball around as dusk sets in. It's getting close to bed time when our closest neighbors pull into their garage. Having little children is great because it takes the awkwardness out of introductions. With no restraint they charge over, nearly but not quite into the neighbor's garage. All I have to do is play the motherly role of gathering my chicks. They aren't close enough to be rude but too close for us all to avoid talking. Introductions are made. My daughter hands over the still-warm bread. I learn that my neighbor is a single, working mom with four older kids who all play after-school sports. She is happy and radiant through all this chaos. I realize that we probably haven't met because I am in my robe watching TV and my children are asleep by the time she arrives home at night. I'm glad we met. I find myself thinking of ways I can be a friend to this Mom who's pulled in many directions each day. Maybe she's pleased we met too and will think of me next time she needs some eggs or a break.

At ten o'clock I finally brake down and slice into the second, undelivered loaf. Maybe my other neighbor is a traveling salesman. The bread is soft and elastic. I spread on a thick layer of apple butter and as bite into it I wonder if I will have to make bread all week before I meet the salesman. Maybe the whole street will get fresh bread. Yum. That would be okay.