Outgrowing the High Chair

Matthew is outgrowing the high chair. Not in the literal way, of course. His feet just barely reach the foot rest. No, he is outgrowing the high chair in the "I want to be a big boy" way. At lunch time today, he had a full-on shrieking, kicking, flailing temper tantrum when I tried to put him in the high chair and put his bib on him. After he screamed in the chair for a while, I got him out. He was definitely hungry, continually asking for "Rice? Rice?" But I told him he couldn't have spaghetti unless he was in his chair. More screaming ensued. When Nathan got home, he got out the tortillas for his lunch. Matthew seemed to think this was a great idea and quickly got out his own tortilla and his milk. And then he used the stool like a little table and very happily ate his lunch.

I'm afraid we're going to have to find a way to let him sit at the table sooner than I wanted to.

Everything's Better On A Stick

So I don't really believe that everything's better on a stick. After all, I've known people to eat scorpions on a stick and I've got to tell you, I don't care how dead they are, eating something that can kill you with one tiny prick just doesn't seem all that smart. But a couple of skewers can be a fabulous tool in the never ending fight to get children to eat something other than cold cereal and crackers.

I can't really complain all that much because in general Daniel and Nathan are great eaters. When his teacher asked him to draw a picture of his favorite food, Nathan drew carrots and broccoli. And although we had a rough start, nowadays Daniel will eat most things we feed him. But a common dinner time question at our house is: "Do I have to eat my chicken?" And of course the answer is yes, which is not what they want to hear.

But several weeks ago I happened to come across a recipe in a magazine that was labeled "kid friendly." Since it also happened to be Matthew friendly, I figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. So I tweeked it a bit to fit our tastes (kids may like things basted in plain ketchup, but adults generally like a bit more flavor) and tried it out. And to my amazement, there were no arguments about trying it, no complaints that it looked funny or smelled gross. The fact that it was chicken on a stick got everyone's attention right away. And Daniel and Nathan both loved it. They asked for more. When it is barbeque chicken kabob night, I never have to tell them to eat their chicken.

I wonder if they would eat squash if I put it on a stick? Or maybe even brussel sprouts?

Barbeque Chicken Kabobs

2 chicken breasts
1/4 cup ketchup
1/4 cup Catalina salad dressing
1 TBL. brown sugar
1 tsp. cider vinegar
1/2 tsp. worcestershire sauce or soy sauce

Slice chicken breast into thin strips and thread onto skewers. (If using wooden skewers, soak them first to reduce scorching.) Place on a lightly greased cookie sheet or broiling rack. Blend remaining ingredients and baste chicken liberally. Cook under broiler for 3 minutes. Turn and baste other side with remaining sauce. Broil three minutes longer.

Serves 4 (if two of them are little people)

Mmmm! Rice!

One of Matthew's newer words is rice. However, his definition of rice is much broader than the norm. Sure, when I slap a plate of rice down in front of him he'll respond with, "Mmmm! Riiice!" But pretty much any food that isn't a popsicle ("pop"), a treat, juice, or milk falls under his definition of rice. With that knowledge in mind, I'll proceed with today's story.

Today was bread making day. On bread making day, I make two batches: one using the quick rise method and one using the traditional rise method. That way I can make two batches in the same amount of time it usually takes to make one. Then I stick the bread in the freezer and it lasts us a couple of weeks. I had taken the first batch out of the oven, set the loaves aside to cool, and was putting the second batch into the pans when Matthew brought the stool into the kitchen and stood right beside me. He was watching very quietly as I formed the loaves. Then all of a sudden I heard, "Mmmm! Riiice!" I glanced down just in time to see him pick his second mouthful of bread dough from my recently formed loaves with his little fingers. As my hands were completely dough covered, I didn't want to grab him up just then. So I finished the last two loaves as Matthew kept picking and commenting on his snack. Then I moved the loaves onto the stove where he couldn't reach them. And he complained, of course. I then turned to wash my hands and turned back just in time to see this:

He had discovered the newly baked loaves and again proclaimed, "Mmmm! Riiice!" as he picked and nibbled. When I asked him to show me his snack, he did.



Poor sad loaves. At least I know he appreciates my culinary skills. And when I handed him a slice of his very own, he didn't call it rice, he just giggled and said, "Whoa!" That's the best kind of gratitude.

We're In Big Trouble

Matthew just figured out how to open doors.

Movin' On Up

Today was Nathan's first official day as occupant of the top bunk. He was so excited that he had trouble sleeping last night. Daniel was much more amenable to the switch than I expected him to be. He is looking forward to sleeping on the bottom because it means he can have no guard rail on his bed. Both boys are pleased because the arrangement makes each one feel just a little bit more grown up.

Chick Flick

The Secret Life of Bees+
Four crying women+
Large amounts of ice cream=
Great fun

First Snowfall

Matthew's initial reaction . . .


gradually changed into glee.


Then there was great wailing when it was time to go in.

Little Linguist

When Matthew woke up this morning, the first thing I heard was not the typical, “Mama, are you?” It wasn’t even, “Daddy?” No, when Matthew woke up this morning, the first thing I heard was, “Woohoo!” Woohoo is one of his newest words. Matthew is at the stage where he is picking up new words every day. Some of his other acquisitions are ball, bus, mess, hot, phone, Woody, home, milk, rice, whee (which he only says when we are driving up or down a hill in the car) and die. And no, I did not teach my one-year-old to say, “Die! Die!” But his five-year-old brother sure did.