October 27, 2012

Lannis: No one has to know... unless you blog about it. (Whoops?)

So this week, I pretended to be a Food Blogger.

I say “pretended” because let’s face it, if one of either Sandi or I were going for the title of “Food Blogger,” it wouldn’t be me who wins...

But let’s pretend, because this week I tried.

I bought big ol’ hunks of pork loin centre at Costco, and decided I’d try my hand at some experimenting.

I sprinkled some kosher salt on the pan. I sliced apples. I laid that shit out and doctored that shit up sprinkled brown sugar on top like I knew what I was doing. My reasoning being that at one time my grandmother probably just did whatever in the kitchen and her brood ate it gratefully, so why can’t my experience be the same?

Okay, so my grandmother didn’t have the entire internet on hand for crowd-sourcing recipes, and more likely than not was cooking up wild game, but whatever...

Tiny steps.

Evidenced here:


And here:


Mr Lannis looked on doubtfully.

And when Mr Lannis finally opened his mouth to ask what the hell I was doing where my inspiration had come from, I mumbled something about Pinterest.

Pinterest being, of course, the place where all the new ideas come from in our household. And sure, I may have run my eyes over a recipe that included pork and apples. In fact, I’m sure of it. Did I refer to it at this juncture?

Nope.

Heh.

Lucky for my family, after forty minutes in the oven, our potential pork fiasco meal turned out like this:


And it was tender and delicious.

So yeah, if anyone asks, I totally knew what I was doing... just don’t tell Mr Lannis otherwise...


Occasional poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.

  If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.

October 25, 2012

Life's Profound Questions

So I've had a week and a bit to think very deeply about some profound questions I've been grappling with recently, and I think in at least one case I've found the answer:


My kids have such delicious round chubby cheeks as babies because my shoulder is their head rest of choice and - physiologically speaking - most closely resembles a coat hanger with skin. Comfy.

Related: Lucy is not a mommy's girl. She only cries when I leave the room because I have such an ugly back.

---

On a completely unrelated note, yesterday I had a meeting that was so important that I wore a girdle for it. It was a super-duper top secret meeting about something that I'm more than a little excited about but for reasons of national security lame secrecy cannot talk about yet.

But I will. Bet on it.

---

Also, this?


This has become a serious problem.

Help. Me.

October 20, 2012

Lannis: Enough is Enough...

Okay. So. Today, while folding laundry, I had an epiphany...


Sometimes you have to wave the white flag and call it quits.

Really. I mean, look at this:


While looking at the above monster, I thought, “geez, I need to get that grass stain out...”

And then I realized it’s a freaking double knee-patched pair of play jeans!

Does a grass stain really matter anymore?!

I mean, they’re cute and all, but these jeans are no longer heading into the hand-me-down bag when they’re done. They’ll be into the rag bag, to use the denim to patch other things down the road.


Sometimes you just need to give up the ghost... or monster... heh.


Occasional poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.

If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.

October 15, 2012

Weird Or Not Weird?

In honour of the fact that I've just finished The Hunger Games (DIS-satisfied), I give you the "real or not real" game, except it's totally different and completely unrelated.

If you looked out your window this afternoon and saw this or any possible variation of it would it be weird or not weird?


And for you smartasses that are saying to yourselves (and those around you, because - let's face it - you are crazy): "that's the same thing she was blathering on about on Friday", then you, my friend, are wrong. Because this was on Friday, this was on Sunday, and what you see today is an entirely different group of people.

I've faithfully recreated the shot for you, and although I am aware of how fabulously wonderful and unicorns and stuff my house is, I still kind of have to wonder about the kinds of things these people have to photograph regularly, because seriously.

Here is me, creating an exact reproduction of the shot they were taking (not at all):


And here is the (digitally enhanced because I'm awesome like that) shot I hope ends up as a poster on every wall wherever these folks are from:


You'd totally stop the bus to take a picture of this house, real or not real?

p.s. Don't get off the warm cozy bus to take a picture of this mess in the rain. Buy one from me instead.

October 13, 2012

Lannis: Sanity in small squares

You know what has saved my melty brain this week?

This square:


(Yes. Everyone marvel at my inability to figure out how to draw a circle in Picasa—I still am.)

I sewed that square. Now the boys can no longer pull the ties out of their housecoats in order to strangle each other lose them, and it means a world of difference in the Lannis household.

Suddenly there’s no more whining of, “But I can’t wear my housecoat, the tie is missing!”

And with the chilly weather coming, this is a blessing. I caved and turned on the heat last night, because my kidlets were chilling in their PJs. Literally.

Occasional poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.

If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.

October 11, 2012

This Boy...


He's the first to wake up every morning. When we tell him to whisper so he doesn't wake up his sisters, he says "Okay!" in a clear, piping, little boy voice that is not a whisper.

He climbs in with us (with much effort) and digs his way to the middle of the bed, where he lays still for about forty-five seconds. Then he starts playing with our ears. Sometimes our noses. His feet are always cold and he pushes them up into my stomach to warm them up.

When I'm in the shower, he'll slap his palm against the glass from outside (really hard), and say "Play dis game, Mommy", by which he means "put your hand on the glass on your side, and I'll put my hand on the glass on my side". When I play, he is delighted.

His smile when I come downstairs (unless he's fighting with his sister) crinkles his eyes into little slits. His hair sticks up all over his head, and when the sun hits him from behind, he looks like a blond porcupine took up residence on his head.

When he prays at meals, he somehow inserts an "L" in every word (including "Daddy"), and has to stick his tongue out the entire time. He likes to reach over to Lucy in the high chair and hold her hand, even when (especially when) his hand is covered in food. Or general stickiness.

Every day before we head out to walk Norah to school, he asks if he can bring his monkey. Every day I say yes. Every day he asks Seth, too, who also says yes.

He only has two speeds: Hobbit or Fast. He prefers Hobbit, but can sustain Fast for a surprisingly long time, and usually the only way to stop him is to yell something like "COOKIE!" or "WATERMELON!" He hasn't caught on yet.

When he waves to Norah as she walks into school he shouts "Goodbye, sweetie" at her. She mostly ignores him, but he doesn't notice.

He can't take his own shoes off, but he'll sit down on the front step and wait patiently for you to take them off for him, and as soon as we walk in the door he asks if it's time to have a snack and a drink of water and to put our babies to bed. When I inevitably tell him we have to wait for another half hour or so while I do my chores, he races off to the living room and does something else...for five minutes. Then it's back to me to announce "It's time to put our babies to bed!"

Lucy and Oscar's monkey go down for a morning nap at the same time. She gets tucked in; he gets tucked in. She gets a kiss and a "good night", he gets a kiss and a "good night". And a "don't get out of bed" for good measure.

Once Sesame Street is over, and before it's time to wake our babies up, he usually wanders over to the computer and asks to be picked up. He has a hard time not pushing buttons.

The meanest thing you can possibly say to him is "Go away."

He can fall down if he's running, walking, or jumping, but he mostly falls down when he's standing still. When he jumps, he crouches down so low that I'm sure he's actually just going to sit on the ground, but then he springs up and smiles like he just stuck an Olympic vault landing.

When he wakes up from his nap, he stands behind the baby gate at the top of the stairs and announces "Oscar's awake!" I picture him doing it at thirty.

It's always his turn first to have a tubby. When I pour water on his head, he gasps and splutters and stands up. Always.

When I hug him, he wheezes like the breath is being squeezed out of him. When he hugs me, he wheezes like the breath is being squeezed out of him. At no time is the breath being squeezed out of him.

This boy is pretty awesome.

October 6, 2012

Lannis: Our garden... grows...?

Last fall we moved the playhouse inside, and we were left with this:


So I put this in its place:


Yep. I built it myself this past spring. Okay, Mr Lannis made a few cuts, but I used that deathtrap sorry excuse for a drill to put it together (I only screamed a little bit, I promise). I also screwed strapping to the fence in one corner of our yard to create another glorified dirt box mini garden bed.

Our inventory of seeds planted (yes, only seeds — I purchased one tomato plant that has stubbornly decided 2012 is the year of the apocalypse and has clearly given up hope for survival) included carrots, two varieties of lettuce, green onions, cauliflower, peas, beans, pumpkin, zucchini, butternut squash, corn, cucumber, sunflowers, and watermelon.

Doesn’t it look quaint?


Yes, I’m being saucy. For while we had a decent go of it, harvesting peas here and there, plenty of beans (still!), but our four cobs of corn were recently stolen by local assholes squirrels, my vines have mostly dissolved into pulpy mush thanks to mid-summer storms, and our watermelon vines are clearly late to the party — seeing how they’ve just decided to start blooming now.

And now for a visual take on our veggie garden over the summer (please excuse the quality of the pics — some were from the cell).


Yes, those are some schizophrenic carrots. And since then we’ve had plenty more, too... the boys think they’ll give them superpowers. Sure, whatever. Just eat ‘em kids.


Moghedien lamenting the stolen corn cobs — I know, buddy, I know. It makes me sad, too.


Yes, that’s a dinky car next to the pumpkin — the pumpkin I originally thought was an oddly shaped zucchini. Clearly I win at gardening.

As for next year’s plans, they’re already in place...


Sure, we’ve a long way to go still, but a girl can dream...


Occasional poster at The Mrs, I'm Lannis - or Leslie, depending on which circles you're swimming. A while ago I decided that I don't care anymore, hence my general standards for life are lower than The Mrs' (but she still loves me.) [Editor: I do]

I live in a small town with my favourite people: my husband, Mr Lannis, and our two boys, along with two cats and one hamster.

If you follow me on Twitter, you might witness my issues with linear thought, road rage, spending more money on food than books, and potty mouth. Be warned.

October 5, 2012

Dear Man In The Red Shirt

Dear man in the red shirt working out* at the Y tonight,

What's with the jeans?

Yours truly,
Sandi

*as in, running full out on the elliptical. So full out that I'm pretty sure you died on the way home.

October 3, 2012

Can Canning

I'm hip deep in produce here, people, and I'm canning like there's no such thing as supermarkets.

This time of year makes me want to cut stuff up, season it, boil it, mush it into glass jars, boil it again, and then leave it on the counter to cool, coo over, and count like a Hoardy McMiserson.


So far there's beet jam, tomato jam, roasted tomatoes, and tomato sauce. In the works are two kinds of carrot jam. I'm thinking one with grapefruit and...something, and one with lime and cilantro.

I know.

The tomato jam is my all time favourite. It's spicy. It's sweet. It's delicious. It's to blame for that entire round of brie I ate yesterday since it was slathered with it.


Today I made a (small) dent in the apples by making a batch of applesauce. Except apples are like improperly hydrated Red River cereal....


...in that they expand to fill any vacant space left by removing other apples.

My arm hurts.

October 2, 2012

Y Not?

Yeah, I exercise.

(She said offhandedly. Like it's not the worst thing she could imagine to do with her time. Running? Blech.)

Except:

Some nights (or afternoons) I eat an entire wheel of Brie. Or three bowls of popcorn. Or a quarter of an apple pie.

Some nights, I replace the "or" with "and".

I'm also pretty sure we're done having kids, so the past four years of being either pregnant (so not worried) or breastfeeding (so not worried) are soon to be a thing of the distant past, and I will have to stop wearing pants.

And then there's the sad fact that my twice daily walks to school involve all three of my children (two ambulating; one perambulating), and while Norah's eagerness to get to school or away from school can be depended on for a fairly brisk pace on one leg of each trip, the other leg is all Oscar. Which can best be described by asking you to close your eyes and imagine a blue-eyed,blond hobbit stumping along the sidewalk with no promise of a second breakfast. Coming to a full stop to put his hand in his pocket, or watch a car go by, or pick up a stick and "sword" me with it.

Sometimes he even goes backwards.

Delightful? Yes. Exercise? No.

But - let's be honest - none of these things are the reason that I've started exercising at the Y. I started because we joined in April, and we've paid one hundred dollars a month since then for some swimming lessons and a couple of visits to the pool for fun.

I have to get my money's worth.

October 1, 2012

M.I.F.C.

Yes. Missing In A Food Coma. The new text acronym that all the cool kids are using these days.

If you were observing me surreptitiously last week, the week following our weekend trip to Stratford (for those that missed the update: alone. As in: childless), you'd see me periodically stopping and moving my mouth a little.

(Also: You'd be creepy.)

I was remembering the food. The glorious food.

The Spicy S.O.B. Burger at Boomers. The bread, the duck ceviche, the crispy duck leg, and the beet sorbet at Bijou. The steak tartare at Mercer Hall.

Oh. I just want to go back.

And don't think we just ate. We napped too. At three in the afternoon.

...

It was heaven. Worth saving up for. Worth waiting eleven years for.

But you can bet we're not waiting eleven more.