PSA: Marshmallow Warnings

1. Do not attempt to make rice crispy treats in between making pancakes.  Yes, it feels like you are wasting a lot of time standing by the stove, spatula in hand.  Yes, your eyes might come to rest on the box of crispies while you are waiting for bubbles to form and edges to dry.  Yes, it might feel like a particularly inspired idea to multitask two very simple tasks.  But don't.  Just don't.
2. If you ignore the above and forge ahead with this reckless combination of projects, then consider the microwave instructions for crispy making very carefully.  If you dump the entire bowl of marshmallows into the 1.5 quart bowl and wonder to yourself, "Wow, that bowl looks really full." then STOP.  Get a bigger bowl.  Instructions are not always correct.
3. If you ignore your inner voice and use the small bowl, then stop the microwave the instant you smell sugar.  Don't stand there pouring pancakes wondering what could be burning.
4. If you do not stop the microwave in time, use the silicone potholders to remove the smoldering mass from the microwave.  Melted marshmallow tends to embed itself into terrycloth.
5. If calling for help, make sure to specify that you need adult help.  Otherwise, an eager junior pancake flipper (seriously, he makes terrific pancakes) will show up to rescue you.  The only problem is that junior pancake flippers are afraid of the oven.  Since you stowed the pancake platter in the warm oven, the junior pancake flipper will likely stand in your way waving the spatula around while requesting that you just open up the oven already so that he can assist. 
6. If you manage to save the pancakes, give up on the ill-conceived idea to make the crispies.  I repeat, CAPITULATE!  Do not under any circumstances return the mass of marshmallow goo to the microwave.
7. If still forging ahead, stop the microwave as soon as you smell burning.  Again.
8. If somehow you manage to scrape a fair amount of melted marshmallow from the microwave interior, be sure to reduce the rice crispy measurement by a suitable amount.  Calculate the amount of marshmallow left on the potholders, the microwave, the counter, and quite possibly in your hair, then reduce the cereal measurement by the same proportion.
9. If you fail to adjust the recipe, make a rule that the resulting treats be eaten only in the kitchen over the trashcan so that you don't have to spend the rest of the evening clearing up crispy cereal bits from all over the house.

When is the solstice again?

It's dark.  It's dark when I get up.  It is so dark that I am a little afraid to take a shower.  Our shower has a window in it.  Of course, the glass is that odd blurred stuff appropriate for showers.  And also of course, the window faces the brick wall of my neighbor's house across the 5 foot strip of weeds and air conditioners.  Yet still I feel on display, showering in front of the pitch black window.  I freak myself out with vague ideas of Watchers skulking around outside. 

 

It is dark the rest of the day too.  Not the pitch black of night, but the gloomy gray dark of yet another rainy day after what feels like a month of rainy days.  I know we've had sunshine recently, but for some reason that is harder to remember than the gray days.  I huddle in my cubicle and avoid looking out the window.  It is just too depressing.  So instead, I daydream about new projects in bright colors.  I'll embroider kitchen towels!  I'll make crazy fluorescent paper snowflakes!  I'll craft gigantic felt flowers in obscenely bright colors to wear in my hair!  I'll make a Christmas tree skirt out of the glitteriest gaudiest red liquid lame that will sparkle and gleam!

 

Then, when I leave work, it's dark again.  All my cheerful projects flit right out of my head.  I trudge home in the dark, moping all the way.  It's odd for me.  I usually love winter despite the short days.  I like the tingling ache that comes from breathing cold air - although it hasn't been that cold yet.  I like sitting under a cozy blanket while the darkness presses on the window.  I like the holidays lined up like dominoes - my Birthday!  Thanksgiving!  Claire's Birthday!  Christmas!  New Years!  Super Bowl!  - followed by the long slow yawn of early spring.  But this year?  Not so much.

 

Tonight?  I'm going to finish some Christmas sewing come hell or high water.  I am trusting that some cheerful snowmen will shake me out of of these doldrums.  And if not, then at least I can feel virtuous about having accomplished something, right?

On the Cusp of Readerhood

A month or so ago, Claire's preschool teacher told me that they'll be working on sight words this year.  My eyebrows shot right up over my head as I struggled to make a coherent response.  "But...four!  Early!  Really?  Four!"

 

"I know," she said.  "But the new kindergarten entry standards..." yada yada yada, "but don't worry.  If they get it they get it.  If not, no stress."  I was unsure about the standards and also unsure about speaking up with curriculum concerns before I knew there was a problem.  So I satisfied myself with a vaguely negative countenance, gathered my children, and went home to stew.

 

Several weeks later, Claire was recognizing words all over the place.  "Look, Mom!  It says 'the' right there."  I looked at the box and saw the word "mother."  I blinked, looked again, and saw the word "moTHEr."  During bedtime stories, she pointed out first one word, then two, then three or four on a page.  I wondered if maybe she was a little more ready for reading than I originally thought.

 

Then, a few days ago, Claire proved that she is not only ready to read, she is already on the cusp of readerhood.  I was in the bathroom attending to, erm, business.  Claire piped up from the hallway, "P! O! P!  Does that spell poop?" 

 

"Very close, baby!  P-O-O-P is poop.  Oooooo has two ohs."

 

She thought about it briefly, and replied, "Oh, like boo.  B-O-O."  She might just be reading by her birthday next month.  She'll definitely be reading before kindergarten.