When Life Gives You Quinoa, Eat Chicken Wings

Disclaimer:
This is Superbowl related, only because the chicken wings were left over from Superbowl Sunday.

I made this yummy oatmeal-quinoa-strawberry bake for breakfast this morning: Shout out to @YummySpoonfuls on Instagram, she has the best recipes for a family with young kids that is trying to eat organic and as healthy as possible, without compromising the 'yum-factor'.

Numero Uno and Monkey boy have no problem with this dish; the while house smells like an oatmeal cookie - whats not to like? But Numero Uno keeps insisting that somewhere in there, he smells rice. {I was short on time and I did not grind my quinoa. Don't be like PP, grind your quinoa). Principessa however, was not having it. Not for breakfast. Not ever.

We had ten minutes on the clock and so I made my power play as QB of the household. One minute zap in the microwave, chicken wings done.  Orange juice while putting on jacket. Banana in the car. Breakfast was served.

I'm guessing I have the Superbowl to thank for this blog post. First since January 2015. Thank you Peyton Manning. 😁

Ain't no thang, pp

The Recipe

1 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup coconut sugar
1/2 cup ground quinoa (I didn't grind mine- refer to post)
1 cup coconut milk
3 eggs
salt, nutmeg, cinnamon
blueberries - I substituted strawberries cos I was out of blueberries

Mix together and bake for 40 mins at 300 degrees. I baked for 30 minutes at 400 degrees. I know - It was almost like I was determined NOT to follow @yummyspoonfuls great recipe.  She didn't say grease the pan, but I took the initiative.

Sunday was not a good day...

Why, you ask?

Church things.

Life things.

But then you have faces like these:






And this:

And sneakers like these:  'I see your chuck taylors, and I raise you a unicorn.'  Dontcha just die?? Too cute, I say!




And moments like these:


Disclaimer: Not me in the photo (since I was taking it), but that is the one and only Principessa.

Caveat: Technically, the lego tower thingy didn't happen on sunday. But it could have. :)

And you just know. It ain't all that bad.

Sunday was a good day.

Grateful, pp

Re-entry into blogging.

I started blogging because I needed a creative outlet during my maternity hiatus from the working world. I stayed with it - through dry spells and periods of artistic gushes - because I loved the idea of documenting my growing family for posterity.

And I am glad I did.  Because they grow up way too fast.  When I started blogging, my second ( Monkey Boy) was still in my belly.  By my last post, my third (La Principessa) was barely a year old.  Today, I have the six and a half year old Numero Uno, a four and a half year old and an almost two year old. Wow.

So I've decided not to wait until I have something profound to say, because let's face it, that moment hardly ever comes around.  And I'll just celebrate my family, my life and those little moments that are uniquely mine - that I would not trade for anything. Like this, right here. Curl power. Girl power. Pout power. Loves her.

Still got 'it", pp :)

Not to brag but...

... How did we get SO lucky?


Blessed, more like it. I thank God for these three every day. Nevermind the recession, or the fact that I have not slept past 6am for the last six years. Or the stretch marks. Or the crayon and pencil marks on the sofa and walls. The 2am emergency room huddles are a distant memory when I look at these three.


Ah, how do I love thee (Numero Uno, Monkey boy and La Principessa?)

Let me count the ways.

You are all so alike, yet so different. You feed off each other and make the puzzle complete and perfect. The Trifecta.



You blow my mind (and my eardrums at times). Never mind that, though - hearing is overrated.

Thank you Lord, for these ones! I cannot believe that I got to do this thrice!

loving my 3 musketeers, pp

Public (Enemy) ahem - School

I am not a snob - far from it, actually. Except for this one thing - a quality education. We can debate this all day long, about if more tuition equals better education and yada yada yada. Of course I realize that it doesn't, but I do know that the test scores and statistics do not lie. And private schools appear to have the upper hand on that one.

Sigh. It is happening to Prada. Numero Uno son is leaving his cocoon of Spanish/yoga/Montessori privateschoolism and entering the big harsh world of public school, riding the bus and lunch rooms. Oh Brother. Now, I wouldn't have that much of problem if this school was highly rated, but on the other hand, I am not freaking out as much because their First grade program and teacher has received best teacher/best program state-wide recognition consistently for years now. So much so that a roll out for First grade in the county is being adopted based on the one this Elementary school already has in place. (This pep-talk is more for me than it is for you, so bear with, please.) Second grade and beyond? Well, keep a-prayin' folks! :)

Ach. The choices we have to make as adults. The guilt that comes with it. Judgments from 'friends' (there is a post in the works on this - watch this space). The emotions - pride at the fact that your baby is growing up, trepidation that he is 'leaving the nest' venturing into this world of six year olds - (they all look so big in comparison!). New faces, new teachers, new parents. New experiences are a cakewalk for me. But I detest the unfamiliar for my baby. Good luck, Numero Uno. It will be well with you. And we're in this together, Prada and her boy.

Le etudiant publique, himself (Disclaimer: Of course this may or may not be real french, i have no idea, quote me at your own risk:))
smooches, PP

I'm baaaaaack!

After a one year hiatus. Well, a little over a year, if you want to get all technical with it. What happened to me? Well, let's just say that life conspired against my blog. First computer issues, then camera issues, then monkey-boy and Numero uno son issues (remember them?). Yeah, well just life. But I am back. For real. And to start things off on an upbeat note, I will give myself an award. Cause it's all about moi. The award for 'the crappiest mom' goes to... yours truly! Why? Read on, please.
I am always impeccably dressed. Always. As in my hubby has been known to tease me about it. 'in life there are two certainties, death and Prada Principal having the perfect outfit to wear.' And I extend the same ferocious attention to detail to my boys dressing as well. But like I intimated, life had been 'happening' and I delegated this to Nanny dearest since she seemed to know how to throw things together. Seemed to. Uh huh. Why do I get to Numero Uno's school last week Friday and see him rocking this G.I Joe pajama top, blue jeans and sneakers? I mean, I just about died. As if it wasn't bad enough, the top was slightly snug from being left in the dryer too long, you know what I mean. Just. Not. Right.
Suffice it to say we were out of there in a flash, and I am not sure I can ever show my face there again. Make me feel better, share your 'bad mommy' moments. Pleeeeaaaasssseee!
Yours in 'fashion faux pasdom'

It ain't over till the stuffed sheep 'baas'...

...Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! I have been on a hiatus and I have missed you. but I have been enjoying the holiday season with my little men, and I tell you what, Christmas from their wee perspectives is all too special. The highlight of the season for Monkey Boy was the Christmas tree lights and for Numero Uno son - the plugging in the lights into the socket - which of course, he was forbidden to do, but did with aplomb, anyway.

But both of them just adored the singing (or rather 'baaing') stuffed sheep ornament I bought from Target years ago, for Numero Uno son's first Christmas. You press his stomach and he baas 'We wish you a merry Christmas.' So of course we would sojourn to the tree at least twice a day and listen to him, baaing encore after encore while the boys rocked out. And I do mean MAJOR dancing - until weary, I was able to drag them away. And after it all - get this- Monkey Boy would actually say 'Yay!' and clap his chubby little hands. A standing ovation for the singing sheep! I can take it, the cuteness of those boys. Now those are the memories holidays are made of.

Mazeltov! pp

Life Does Not Stop...

...Just because you are having a bad day. It does not pause to give you a moment to grieve or to be sad - hey, you're lucky to find time to breathe, you know? This is especially true if you are a wife and mom. There are noses to be cleaned, bums to be wiped, (I know, ew) husbands to be loved. Life does not care.

It's raining in your world today? Oh, what a pity - but are you done with that client file I asked you to work on two minutes ago? More important, is it PERFECT? It's raining, you say? Well don the wellies and keep sloshing through. You know Life is. You have killer cramps and a terrible migraine? I'm so sorr- hey, can you emcee at this gala tonight? Nordstrom is having a SALE, girl!

You don't get it, do you? Life 'don't play.' So put on your big girl drawers and deal.

But when I look at those two, I am still grateful that even if my world is rocked, theirs is Rock Solid. Thank you Jesus.

Ever grateful, pp

Wuss, much?

I have been busy with work and life in general. But I am back and fiercer than ever, so fear not. :-)

Now to the business at hand. Numero Uno son, just turned three - pride and joy of my heart and possible, WUSS? Sigh. He is immensely popular in school, loved by every teacher and pupil it seems, but he just appears to be extremely socially anxious - at three! Isn't three the age when you're supposed to be equal parts rambunctious and carefree and totally oblivious to people and what they think? I mean I noticed he seemed a little sensitive for a rough and tumble little boy, talking about 'hurt feelings' and 'feeling sad', but I just chalked it down to his being expressive. Then there was that time at a birthday party at 'My Gym', when they were all supposed to say their name and run around the circle by way of introduction and I literally held my breath for at least one minute, so anxious was my son, this wonderful little sweet boy. He was literally in tears, nervous - nay petrified- he so wanted to do this intro thingy - I mean, which young boy doesn't just love running around and being the center of attention? I watched him battle within himself, biting his nails as his turn reached closer and closer, and when he turned around and his eyes met mine, I almost cried with him. I had a smile plastered firmly on my lips, but inside I was yelling 'Go on Numero Uno Son! Mama's right here with you!' And I half stood up, ready to grab his hand and do the lap with him, should his resolve fail. Yes, this Mama goes all out for hers. But he did it! And I have never been so proud, because I knew what he was feeling, and I felt it right along with him. So my husband and I discussed it that night - was Numero Uno a wuss or was it because he wasn't familiar with the surroundings, the parents there, the kids?

Fast forward to our vacay at Dreams (which I highly recommend by the way) in Punta Cana over Thanksgiving. They had the most awesome kids program EVER. With a sunken pirate ship, tons of activities, excursions etc. So great - I would have gladly been a kid for a day just to participate. Numero Uno Son lasted 5 minutes. Literally. I watched him hidden from his view, after I dropped him off, contentedly building a sandcastle, when all of a sudden he flung down his shovel and little pail and threw himself wailing into Ms. Malinda's arms. No clue as to what set him off. But he would not set foot in the club again for the duration of our vacation. He did agree after much pleading to take a picture in front of the club - that was his concession. So yes, he is a wuss. The daughter I never had maybe? :-)

Earth Mother, pp

Tea parties

It's not just for little girls. At least not at our house, since those -little girls, that is- seem to be in short supply. Dear Hubby took us for a lovely 'spot o' tea' at Tea on the Tiber in historic Ellicott City. It's so weird how when you live so close to something, you never really bother to check it out, you know? I was so glad we did go here though. They usually cater to the 7 years and older crowd, but Hubby convinced them to make an exception for Numero Uno son. Of course he proceeded to charm all the staff and behaved quite well, considering. Who says 'soaking up culture' always has to be about museums? I am a firm believer in allowing my kids to travel as I travel and experience what I experience, as long as it is not inappropriate.

It was actually quite charming - everything from the old mansion, our own personal space in the library, fine china place settings for all three of us, the petit fours, fruit, scones and clotted cream, incredibly tiny yet yummy crustless sandwiches, oolong pomegranate tea, chai cream tea, etc etc. We totally pigged out and still could not finish all three tiers. But we came close. And at $25 a person, it was a steal.

In case you didn't know...

...tis in vogue to vote. And be smart about it. Just like shopping around for the best bargains on your most fabulous purchases. except much more important. Much, much more. So get out and exercise your right to choose - with your fabulous self.

Watch this space for a picture that sums up exactly how Numero Uno son feels about the whole process. Sigh. If only it were that simple.

Baracking da vote, pp

I don't want no trouble with the Law, Officer...

A picture is worth a thousand words. Ah, how I love these boys...

All Grown...

We are all grown up. Numero Uno turned three last weekend, Monkey boy turned 9 months that same week and I, mother of these two am well, maturing. Finally. I stuck to my guns and had a luau themed low-key production at our gym with just ten invited guests. I completely ignored the list of 18 (yes 18) kids that his teacher proffered and invited (discreetly) just his closest pals. Bad momma, I know. Nothing personal, but there is a recession, you know? And I did those parents a favor. Because who really wants to drag their child at the most inconvenient time (nap time) to yet another 3 year old bash? Exactly. Plus it was raining and hailing outside. My just styled hair went limp immediately and I did not even have a minute to apply lip gloss or change my shirt before the event. I arrived there 5 minutes after my first guests (darn those super-punctual parents) and the guest of honor arrived at least ten minutes after with his Daddy and Monkey boy. Half of our balloon arrangements got missing (it's a long story), the 'party coordinators' (Ha!) acted like they had never thrown a party for anyone before and it was each parent for themselves and their children. Hey, don't look at me lady, I paid to just show up, so there. It was a chaotic mix of scooter riding, bowling pin throwing, duckduckgoose playing three year old mess. My dear husband acted like the last place he wanted to be was at his son's party because -get this - he was tired. Well, bite me. The cake was pushed on its face by Numero Uno son and he blew out his candle before we even started singing happy birthday. But guess what? I did not freak out. I was not suicidal. I will even throw a big birthday party for Monkey Boys first. A really big, tacky, over the top one, with face painting and entertainers. See, we are all 'growed' up. :)

Like fine wine, pp

Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Monkey Boy?

I am. Very much so. In a' pee in my pants', immature kind of way. The phenomenon known as MB crawls at the speed of light now - in this bizarre, sitting yet crawling, crab-like manner. So weird that I am fascinated by it and I sit there staring and bam! he's tugging at my pants leg or hair (depending on if I'm sitting on the floor or standing) or necklace, or earrings (ouch) and with a vise like grip hoisting himself up. Yes, the MB doth stand. On bow legged but sturdy legs. I actually thought he would be one of those babies that didn't crawl and just got up and walked. Cause from like four months, he would try to 'stand' and yell bloody murder if you dared try to sit him down. The result is that we might have a very bow legged little boy (it's true, not just an old wife's tale - a doctor confirmed this, so there) . And/or some kind of gymnast on our hands. He does these perfect little (unintentional) splits when he's been standing for too long and cannot for the life of him figure out how to sit down. Sometimes I just watch him. Just out of pure malice. Gotcha Monkeylicious. That'll teach you to be so freakishly strong. Which he is. His bites (with just two of the most impossibly teeny teeth you have ever seen in your life) actually bring tears to his Daddy's eyes. Numero Uno son is already telling on MB for wresting a lollipop from him. {Side note: How does an eight month old best a three year old in a 'snatch and grab' fight? I say MB won it fair and square. Go ahead then, boy.} I pride myself on training my babies to sleep in their cribs by three/four months of age. With MB? You guessed it - he has broken me. You can hear his bellows through closed doors and without a monitor. And our rooms are not that close. But gosh darn it, how I love that MB. (In spite of all the abuse.) But I am totally scared of the child.

Jes' like Bisquick...

Numero Uno Son turns three later next month. Yay on the one hand, as it means good bye to the terrible twos (right?) and hello to three year old 'maturity'. Ha. On the other hand, I have been stressed out trying to plan the 'perfect three year old party', because from what I understand, three is when they actually get it. Everyone knows the all out one year old bash, is for the parents, and since Numero Uno's second birthday was nothing more than a balloon, cupcakes and pizza in school, I figured that this year I'd do something a little special - especially since he has been badgering me about getting him the purple 'mustache' (mustang) car we saw in B.J's for his birthday present. Never mind that he barely drives the one he has now. But it is my fault, in a way. Everything he asks for, "I'll get it for him on his birthday." The trouble here is that I have a toddler with the memory of an elephant. So come his birthday, I might have to take out a loan or something.

I was thinking a fire engine theme - an ode to his love of all things 'auto' with flashing lights and I found out that the Fire museum actually hosts parties - how cool would that be for three year old boys? For the girls, maybe not so much. Or you could have the party at home and have the fire truck swing by your house! Even cooler! But I am determined not to be stuck with three year old debris/ after party fall out, so outsourcing it is. Luckily in 2008, there are more options than ever. 'My Gym' (to which he belongs) - is like 'Gymboree' only better, IMHO, complete with games and everything. All you have to do is bring Pizza, juice boxes and presto - Par-tay! Or our gym - which totally rocks (check it out http://www.lifetimefitness.com/ - you will love it, if you actually like, go.) Same deal as 'My Gym', but even better - with swimming, obstacle courses, scooters - even rock climbing for older kids. And they provide the pizza and juice boxes! I tell ya, 'jes like Bisquick, them parties.'

But when I was googling 'birthday parties for three year old boys' I came across this site 'birthayswithoutpressure' and I was like ' How sad that anyone would need this', until I realised that um.. okay, that 'anyone' included me. Why am I putting pressure on myself to throw NU son this party that he could probably care less about? How about just having a simple party at home with three or four of his pals, a cake pizza, sun chips and ice cream and call it a day? Then of course buy him his beloved mustang. End of story. Me and all moms of his buddies would breathe a sigh of relief - cause really, who needs to attend yet another scintillating toddler party? Not me, not after this summer. So why inflict his on others? a) Because I am a glutton for punishment and masochistic at the same time, b) Because I want to show people and my son that I really truly love him, c) Cause I have 'working moms guilt' and this is in part, penance, d) I am lazy and do not want to move a muscle or use a brain cell. I think a bit of all of the above actually, but if I had to choose one, then (d) would be it. Oh and I would pay a fortune just to get out of small talk with some of those Moms. Mm hmm, you know the ones, right? Shudder.

So I have purged myself and I am suitably ashamed and chastised. But I can't promise you I will be baking a cake and making my own pinata just yet though. Not this year. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

the party planning, pp

Chatterbox

My Numero Uno son talks up a storm. He started speaking early, and not just baby babble, but good (though far from perfect) adult English. This is probably due to the fact that we kept the 'baby talk' to a minimum once we realised he understood what we were saying. So his speech is very 'proper' as one of my friends puts it. Even though he has been talking for a while now, once in a while I still look at him in wonder. Is that you, baby? With all those tiny little teeth, and a point of view and everything. Sample question: "Why did you cry in school today?" Answer: "Because I need my Mommy. (accusingly) You leave me, that's why." How cute is that? The fact that he always adds the "that's why" to end of his explanation kills me every time, I tell ya. Or, "Why won't you go to bed?" "because there's a dragon in my room, that's why." Don't you just die? Or is it a personal Mommy thing? Whatever it is, I am determined to nourish it. And with him in the "what's this? why?" oh so cute but undeniably tiring phase, this book by Jamie Lee Curtis seems like it would be perfect - and something he would undoubtedly grow into. It's called 'Big Words for little People' and it explains words that we adults use (without thinking, most times) in a way that kids can relate to. Too, too adorable. And with purpose too. Can't beat it - will be buying it for sure.

Books rule, pp

Paris.

view of Eiffel from hotel room

Yes, we are back from the fabulous city. Food in Paris was a bust. I just had to get that off my chest. The one meal I enjoyed cost an ungodly amount of money that I just don't feel comfortable 'fessing up to spending. Ye gods! I have honestly never, ever, had food that bad. And it's not like I don't like French food. Au Contraire, I actually adore it. Well, when it's seasoned and cooked right. So I deducted mucho points from Paris, as everyone that knows me has to know that I take my 'manger', tres serious. I had never been so happy to see a McDonalds in my entire life (we came across one near the hotel) I was this close to kissing the floor. For real.

But food aside, Paris was great. And everything was just a little bit nicer than I thought it would be. Parisians are less rude and snobbish than in the yesteryear, not everyone (in fact very few) were decked out in head to toe haute couture(lol) and everyone wears jeans now. It was a laid back, nice fab vacation. Well, not really laid back for us, obviously, with two little boys - one of whom had decided he was potty trained days before the trip and so would NOT under any circumstances pee in his 'pull ups' on the plane or anywhere else for that matter (even though I begged him to at one point) to this mothers' consternation and extreme annoyance. I mean, picture me- exhausted, bleary eyed at some ungodly hour, running down the narrow plane aisle to get Numero Uno to the stinky, cramped plane loo, while he's crying hysterically that "Poo-poo's coming, Mama!". Of course we get there, and nada. Just a few miserable drops of pee. All this after almost dislocating my arm to prevent him from falling down the cavernous, stinky toilet bowl. Now rewind and picture this twenty or so more times during the same flight. Exactement. I am grateful the boy is (finally) potty trained, don't get me wrong, but dear Lord, where is a nanny when you need one? I know, I'm a bad Momma. :-)

The boys (en Paris), having a laugh at our expense

But this picture of Numero Uno staring out his hotel room window, soaking up the culture, made all his hassling almost seem worth it. Almost.

Mom of the Year, pp

All Purses Go to Heaven

Do I love my children more than anyone (or thing) in the world? Yes. Do I love my awesome collection of purses as well? Yes Ma'am. I have always loved pocket books. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones, patent ones, leather ones, canvas ones, woven ones, All purses go to heaven in my world, except imitation/fake ones, which I simply detest. I just think they cheapen your whole outfit as they are never well made anyway. But I digress.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away when I was a lowly program coordinator in an NGO, I got laid off and decided to invest part of my severance in something that I would always have. Enter my white gorgeous limited edition coach purse. Before the days when every teeny bopper was sporting a coach wristlet, Coach was actually a well respected pocketbook to have. Besides, the leather ones last forever.

So I treasured my bag and cleaned it lovingly with my special leather cleaner after each stint and pacedk it away in its dust bag every time. I used this pocket book for 5 years without incident until - you guessed it - the 'Numero Uno 'monster got a hold of it. "Butterfly" He says, gesturing for me to see his latest work of art. Only one problem, it's ALL OVER MY COACH BAG!!!! In blue ink that I will never get off. Front and back. Oh. I. Have.No.Words. Just, Oh no.
distraught, pp

Room mates

Growing up in a house with five siblings has left me with an undeniable respect for privacy and personal space. Don't get me wrong - we were never on top of each other or anything like that, but there were long stretches of time where I invariably shared a room and thus could never really do with my space what I wanted. Thus, it has been somewhat of a priority for me, to give our little tenants as much space as they each can handle. But just here and now, with a live-in nanny and a guestroom that might as well have a revolving door, it ain't happening. So Monkeyboy and 'Numero Uno' Son are sharing a room {:-(}, albeit a large one. But with a Thomas the tank toddler bed, sleigh crib, armoire, dresser/changing table and rocking chair, not to mention architecturally impossible angles, it's a bit of a squeeze. I was at a loss as to how to decorate their room without each losing their own little personality. thank God they're both boys. I just went with allocation a side of the room to each, with the rocking chair area being a central spot and making MB's stuff a pale shade of green that wouldn't look too bad with NU's soft blue. And that has worked for us, until I got my latest issue of 'Cookie'. It is filled with so many tidbits about 'shared space' that I have been dreaming about headboards and beanbags. But alas MB is only 6 months old, so i will embrace patience as a virtue. :(

the decorating, pp

Stuntin' like My Daddy...

They start so young, don't they? So Numero Uno goes out for a drive/walk (he's driving, Hubby's walking) with his favorite person in the world - Daddy. And let me tell you, that Ford truck of his is the best gift we ever got for our car crazy young'un, with its REAL battery and speeds, up to (watch out now!) 3 MPH. He looks for a car in every book, magazine or commercial he watches. He makes pretend cars from Lego and playdoh. He eats, sleeps with
and collects little die-cast cars. So you can see why this his own real life car that he got for his second birthday, is definitely one of his favorite things. Like in life.
So why did my heart just about break when I heard he said to his daddy, after their drive/walk, "I'm gonna park my car now." And he promptly executed a perfect parking maneuver, in between our two cars? Oh, my son, my heart doth burst with love for thee. Just don't grow up to fast please - I mean, what's next? Potty training? {Gasp}

Mom of a diaper wearing driver, pp