Chubby Bunny Cookies

When I was a 17 year old punk I once went to a Young Men's activity where we played a wonderful little game called "Chubby Bunnies". We had two large bags of giant marshmallows, and the object of the game was to put a marshmallow in your mouth and say the sentence "I am a chubby bunny". Whoever could say the sentence coherently with the most marshmallows stuffed in his pie hole was the winner. After about 5 a piece, things started to get....slobbery. The Young Men's leader had a wife who had a thing about teenagers drooling on her carpet (there's no accounting for taste), and provided us with a cookie sheet to catch drippings and expectorated marshmallow goo.

When we got done we had this incredibly disgusting tray of ooze. Someone (It wasn't me) got the brilliant idea of turning it into Marshmallow Crispy Treats. This was the extent of our baking prowess at the time, most of us having spent the semester of home-ec that is required to learn to make Orange Julius and Marshmallow Crispy Treats.

Once we got started, though, it was (as all church related youth activities tend to be) all downhill from there. The inevitable dare, double dare and triple dog dare insult matches took place until someone (I'm not going to say it wasn't me) got the clever and amusing idea of taking them to the church where the Young Women were meeting. "They'll never expect it, 'cause they aren't brownies!" said an anonymous moron (who may or may not have been me). No youth in Utah would eat a brownie back in the ancient days of my youth as someone had discovered you could make them with chocolate ExLax. We were a little meaner back in the pre-political correctness days.

Now this wasn't entirely as mean spirited as it sounds. Looking back, I think it was a really pathetic attempt at flirtation. You know, show them how clever we could be, demonstrate our domestic skills, (good thing I practiced those, huh?), let them see our thoughtfulness, that sort of thing. Come to think of it, it now makes sense why none of the ward girls wanted much to do with us.

Our wet blanket leader heard our devious plot and put the immediate kaibosh to it. He threw them away, making them at the same time both more unavailable and more desirable to give as "gifts". I still wonder if we'd have gotten away with it if we'd just....

Never mind. The reason I retell this saga of lost youth is that today is baking day! We made peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses smashed into 'em. Now Bub has a peanut allergy. It gives him what the Chinese call "hot stomach". And the last thing in the universe that I need right now is to be potty training a child with "hot stomach". So Bub was not allowed anywhere in the vicinity of the dough. Instead I put him to work "peeling" the Kisses of their foil wrappers. After a moment of supervision to make sure he had it down, I went back to mixing dough.

When I checked up on him a minute later, I caught him popping a kiss into his mouth.

"Don't eat that!" I hollered. "Those are for the cookies!"

Being a diligent and obedient tot he pulled it back out of his mouth and attempted to drop it back into the bowl of peeled kisses.

"Argghh!" I said, eloquently stating my feelings as I snatched the bowl away. I checked the bowl for soggy Kisses and found none; but the point is (and I know I have disappointed my favorite Auntie) that I can't be entirely certain that these cookies have not been "Chubby Bunnied".

I'm sorry. Bub is sorry too. But we will make it up to you soon. I'll start right now by not writing a joke that is both really funny and really gross, even though I want to and that way I won't ruin your appreciation of these delicious cookies.

Now I've got to go, the boys just found a bag of large marshmallows. I'm not kidding. I wish I were.

Fatdaddy's Guide to Potty Training

Since Beak refused to chicken out and wait, Bub started potty training over the holiday. The diaper bag has been transformed into a mobile Bub wardrobe. It's hilarious. I think Beak just dumped the contents of his dresser drawers into a bag.

And I love it. I don't have to worry about clothes, just making sure he doesn't have an accident. Yesterday was not so good as its been a few years since we did this with Peff, and I forgot several important rules. For ease of reference, I have compiled my ages of wisdom here in a little piece I like to call "Fatdaddy's Guide to Potty Training.

First, all toddlers are LIARS!!!!!!
Ask one if they have to go, and the little monkey will look you dead in the eyes and shake their little head as fast as they can. "No!", they will say, firmly and with conviction. And it's true, they don't have to go. Because you got your verb tenses wrong. They don't need to go, they already went. In between the time you confirmed they were dry and when you asked the question.

Remedy: Don't ask. Just take them every half hour and sit them down until they go. Don't take no for an answer, but do take a book. As long as there are no other runts destroying the house behind your back, you can usually get a chapter in before they go or you are sure they don't have to.

No sooner than I finish writing this than Bub tells me he has had an accident. "Oh, Come on!" I said to him. "We just went!" So I check him and he has not, in fact had an accident. He looks up at me, laughs and runs away. LIARS!!!!!!

Second,when you move, move fast.
I have seen with my own bad eyes, children who wet their pants while I was putting the seat down. Peff was the worst. He'd stand there looking at the bowl and pee down his leg. You can't yell at 'em, they don't get it, but wow! All you can do is pull your hair out, which once again explains why I am bald.

Remedy: Don't bother putting pants on 'em, just let 'em run around in their drawers. It saves time, reminds them constantly of what is going on, and frankly, it gets the boys a head start on their Man Cards. This is because one of the initiation requirements for Manhood is to spend an entire week hanging out (pun intended?) in their underpants. Mothers, of course do not understand this requirement. Particularly those mothers who were raised with only sisters, but there is no clepping out of this step. Fathers are also required to take a refresher course on this requirement on those rare occasions when tact and public decency laws allow.

Third, remind them often.
Keep it on their minds, so they don't lose track of what they are doing. FOCUS!!! Ask every 10 minutes, and take them every half hour (see rule 1). Frequency and consistency are the keys to the potty training engine.

Remedy: the best tool in your kit is a motivated sibling.
This is a new tip, courtesy of Beak's ingenuity. Most parents are familiar with the old, "go in the potty, win a prize" game. B.F. Skinner was right, who isn't motivated by treats? I know for a fact that this little gimmick worked wonders for one of Uncle K's kids, though it cost my brother about a third of his yearly wages in Hot Wheels cars.

But Beak, she took it to a different level. If Bub goes, Reaggers gets a treat too. This has resulted in not only motivating an indifferent subject, but also a bossy and demanding older sister (She is too bossy and demanding. All sisters are bossy and demanding. It is their nature; as it is our nature to run around in our drawers. We learn this in Man School). There is nothing as consistent as Reaggers when she wants something. "Bub! Go potty! now!" It's the "My way or the highway" method. Reaggers is going to get her treat, come hell or high water. The kid is right out of Max and Ruby.


And there you have it; Fatdaddy's Guide to Potty Training. If you follow these simple rules, you will find success, and find it quickly.

Yesterday, under the tutelage of an out of practice, out of patience uncle, Bub went (again, pun intended) 0 for 2 with one of the accidents being the dreaded #2 (for tips on this, see the section titled "Mothers, Their Responsibility").

Today, under the experienced watch of an assured and repentant uncle, we are 4 for 4 with no accidents. That's a Hall of Fame average for any boy!

Well, that's all for now. I have to go see why Bub is standing in a puddle of lemonade.....Oh, damnit!

Thanksgiving Pictures

PIctures: Pumpkin Cookies

Just realized I never posted about the pumpkin cookies last Wednesday. They are really easy. Mix one big can of pumpkin with two packages of spice cake mix, add chocolate chips and spoon it onto a greased cookie sheet. So simple even we couldn't screw it up. There's a bonus pick of my mashed potato assembly line. Fifty pounds of spuds mashed into 4 crock pots. How Irish can I possibly get?

So Much to Write, So Little Time...

Well, after an excellent long holiday weekend, I'm recharged and ready to go.

First, a little business. It would appear that thanks to a less than enthusiastic response to my "Pick the treat, win the prize" competition, My Aunt will be getting a plate of peanut butter kiss cookies and I won't bother to put it in a poll. How we get them to Kamas this week is something we may need to work out still. The rest of the December treats have been planned and I'll release the information as necessary.

Next, a report on Thanksgiving weekend. Wow. Mom and Dad had over thirty people over for dinner. Since we were all at a loss as to where to put them, Dad got the excellent idea of dinner in the garage. He left the turkey fryer on and that bad boy heated up the whole room in only a few minutes (Quick safety note, don't try this at home without your own personal safety professional to supervise).

I got some pretty good pictures of everyone lining up and with the unpainted walls in the garage (though it is the cleanest garage, ever; much cleaner than my house)it did sort of look like a line at a soup kitchen. Everybody was responsible for bringing part of the meal. Mom and Dad had 50 pounds of bird cooked and because Aunt M and Puzilla do not care for turkey, they added a ham. Puzey was really excited about that until she decided that it would be bad manners for her not to eat the whole thing and she didn't seem to think she was up to eating that much meat. Grandma assured her that it was okay for her to only eat as much as she wanted, but by that time the poor little bug had worked herself into a pretty hefty migraine and wasn't very hungry. Aunt L was a real helper as she understands the pain involved with migraines and she was very kind to poor Puzilla.

Beak did an excellent job with the rolls, and I got to make 50 pounds of mashed potatoes. It was brutal. I woke up at 8 and started peeling, dicing and boiling spuds. I started to feel like Beetle Bailey. Seriously, there was nearly 10 pounds of peels in the trash when I got done. I wasn't sure if I should toss 'em or call my neighborhood bootleggers.

I added butter and milk and hit 'em with the ol mixmaster. I made two textures. "Whipped like a Circus Monkey", and "Bumpy as a Good Looking Girl". I personally prefer the Bumpy variety, but that might be because I just got my Man Card back.

Perhaps the most interesting discussion over dinner was when we all began teasing Uncle R's friend Tony about putting on weight. It was a little like Irishmen calling a Russian a drunk. Tony said he wanted to loosen his belt and Uncle K offered to lend him a pair of sweatpants. Uncle T said that you knew you were getting fat when you just gave up and wore sweats to dinner. I said you were getting really fat when you had to take the drawstring out of the sweats so they'd fit. Then Grandpa mentioned that you'd reach the top when you wore suspenders with your sweats. Very funny stuff and it was good to get everyone together to be thankful for the many blessings we have all had this year. It has sure beat the last couple for me!


I'll get the camera set back up and unload a few pics when I get the chance.

Cougar Sightings, Mexican Cinderellas, and Monopoly

Saturday was a pretty cool day, but thanks to the um....fun and games?...the kids and I have been playing, now is the first time I've been able to report them.

The Boss took some things that had been cluttering up the garage and put them on KSL classifieds to see if we could get any cash out of them, and right off the bat we sold the old bouncy horse. We should have asked for ten times as much, because we got at least 10 more calls before we could take the add down. Anyway, the lady said she'd pay extra if we'd meet her half way in Provo. The Boss had the day off, so we decided we'd take the kids for a ride. When we got to the meeting place, we saw a hotel next to the store parking lot. In the lot was the BYU football team, stretching and warming up. I snapped a few paparazzi photos and would have hollered "Beat Air Force!" out the window, but the electric motor that rolls the window up on the passenger side is iffy at best so I am not allowed to roll it down. And the Boss wouldn't slow down enough for me to open the door. Oh well.


We stopped at Krispy Kreme in Orem for breakfast and then came home to finish cleaning the garage and watch the game. It was not a rough way to spend a Saturday.

Monday was Puzey's school play, "Domatila", a Mexican version of Cinderella. We shot a two minute video of her lines, but the Blog doesn't seem to want to upload it so still pics will have to do. She played the Maid and was very excellent, but this is no surprise as all my daughters are drama queens. It was high theatre at its finest.

Lastly, I have to share some of the truly spectacular lines I heard while the kids were "Playing Monopoly" yesterday. Remember in Calvin and Hobbes when they would play Calvin Ball and make up the rules as they went? Yeah, pretty much like that.

Some excellent fodder from the Tongue of Angels

Reaggers: You can't take my piece!
Peff: Yes I can, I'm the Banker. I can do what I want.
(You listening, Mr. President?)

or

Peff: This card means you get fifty thousand bucks. And you get to be the banker now.

Or

Reaggers as the Banker: You have to go to the dance but you can't go 'cause you don't have a ticket.
Peff: where are the tickets?
Reaggers: I have them. They're ten dollars. You can't have one.

or this gem (don't ask me where he got it from)
Peff about to roll the dice: Come on, dice! Peff needs a new pair of pajamas!!!!

38...39, Whatever It Takes

'Bout Seven last night, I finally hit the saturation point on the messes and got mad enough to do a thorough scrub down of the joint. I put on my grey sweat pants, grabbed a flannel shirt from the closet, and went all Mr. Mom on the place. You could almost hear the theme from Rocky playing in the background.

It dawned on me that I have even let my beard grow out, just like the movie. I thought for half a second about shaving, but decided that if Peff didn't have to toss his Fringe blanket into the fireplace, I wasn't going to cut the last bits of hair remaining on my head. Since I needed a short term poll question until I can get the results from the treat contest, I put up an option to vote on the status of my facial hair.

Don't laugh, this is a very important issue! I watched enough football and MMA this weekend for the Man Card committee to agree to return my Card in time for Rivalry Week. I need that back!! Of all the weekends to need a Man Card, BYU-Utah is about the most important. You gotta be on your macho game, 'cause win or lose, the weak get eaten alive!! And if I make the wrong beard choice, Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan will be back on the porch with rubber hoses.

Anyway, It's Baking Day today, so as soon as Motor gets here, we'll be making cookies!

Next Week's Treat Poll (And a Possible Prize!!)

Once that we have finished with the spectacular Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookies tomorrow, it will be time to figure out something else for next week. Since I have no preference at this point, I think it might be interesting (Is that the right word?) to turn the options over to the readers. I'll give you all until Friday to submit an idea in the comment section, and we'll use suggestions for the poll options.

Then, we'll cough up a plate of the winning goodies to whoever suggested them (*New York, Georgia and Virginia residents may want to defer the prize, some things don't mail very well).

We are an adventurous batch, we'll try baking anything, but I am not coughing up cash money for caviar stuffed, saffron coated, shark fin. I'll cook it if you want, but you will have to provide your own ingredients if it wins.


So pick your favorite treat recipe and put it in the comments. But hurry, Friday at 10 pm Mtn will be the deadline.

Worst Poll Question, Ever

I thought that at least the choices were funny, but I should have known that anyone with the taste and style to read this blog would also have the intelligence to know there is a time for all seasons.

I, of course am a firm believer in waiting until after Thanksgiving to put up decorations. I also don't let the kids watch Christmas movies until then. This is learned behavior from my sainted mother, who in deference to Beak's birthday, would not allow Christmas decorations until after the 9th of December, so that Beak wouldn't feel gypped. I say it serves her right for being born in December. But habbits are habbits, and what was that saw about "teach a child the way they should go when they are young.....something, something."

But I do like the idea of making the kids wait for fun things. Patience is a forgotten virtue in the world and I think it is exhibit A for why the earth is headed to Hell in a FedEx envelope. Hurry to do this, hurry to get to that, never learn to wait for anything. Stores open on Thanksgiving Day? Sad. It says something about us if we want to skip a day of Thanksgiving in order to faster start a festival of Thanks,Gimme. (Hey, that's a good one. I might have to use it some more!)

It does me good to see that question end up unanimous, though it makes me wonder who the morons are that are blowing it for the rest of us.

After Beak left, I couldn't bring myself to finish cleaning the joint, and when the Boss got home, we went to the store (No, I did not buy Bungee cords. Shame on you for thinking it....Oh, alright, I admit it. I wanted to, but the Boss wouldn't give me the money for them. She said it was "child abuse" or something).


After three hours at the store, (we count it as a Date), we got home and I piled two weeks worth of groceries for seven people next to a full days worth of dirty dishes and said, "Forget it, I'll do it tomorrow. So I put away the frozen stuff and the fridge goods, and left the cans and stuff where it was. Except the 10 lb bag of flour, which I decided I would pour into my canister before giving up.

Naturally, the bag slipped out of my fat fingers and hit the floor, sending a poofy white cloud of disaster all over the floor. The Boss looked at me getting dusted with flour and just started to laugh. I don't blame her, it WAS kind of funny. But I had had enough so I walked out of the kitchen and left the sweeping for this morning with the dishes (Guess where this is going!).

What I didn't notice was that I had taken a ziplock of frozen peaches out of the freezer when I put the ice cream away, and forgot to put it back. Of course there was a hole in the bag, and of course it dripped onto the counter and of course it just happened to be right above my little flour pile, and so I woke up this morning to the start of a very excellent floor cobbler.

Eeep!

All my life, people who love me have told me...no, BEGGED me to stop procrastinating, and I do mean to; I really do. I just haven't gotten around to it yet.

And once again it bites me on the big ol' keester.

Yesterday was such a great day for material that I failed to post about several other good stories. We went to Provo on Saturday morning for a grand adventure, Puzzey had her school play and Oh, look! Peff, Reaggers and Bub are playing Monopoly! That won't end in a mess, will it?

I gotta go mop a floor.

Round Two

Even if no one is bothering to read this crap, it's at least allowing me to practice putting a positive spin on the disaster that is my life. After a few calls to the Boss for venting purposes, I was ready to admit that while I wasn't tickled about our budding Picassos, I could at least turn it into some decent blog material.

So after Uncle C came to get Reaggers for preschool(and deliver a straighten up and fly right speech to Bub), I felt safe in sitting them down in the living room with a cheese sandwich and a cartoon. I came into post the "fun" while the details were still fresh in my mind. What I should have done is remember that this stuff usually snowballs and that bungee cording them to a chair was the only safe option.

Just as I hit POST on the "press release" entry, I hear Beak knocking at the door. Peff and Bub raced down the steps to open the door and I got up from my chair in the kitchen and went into the living room.....

.....to find that the cheese sandwiches were strewn across the floor and the 500 piece puzzle the girls were wanting to do was now spread from one end of the universe to the other.

"Oh, SON OF A......"

Mid profanity, Beak comes up the stairs laughing.

"Sounds like Round 2", she says, looking at the convergence of Hurricane Peff and Tropical Depression Bub. "I think you lost again."

"Yep" I said. "I hope the Boss gets home soon, I've gotta get to the store today."

"What for?" asked Beak

"Bungee cords."