Archive for the 'Eating' Category


Dear Baby Eirinn,

You are two.  My God, you’re two.  Two years ago today, I gave birth to you with Daddy by my side, all your grandparents in the waiting room, and Ellen DeGeneres on the tv.  Not that I was watching, the choice of programming was all your father and the doctor’s idea.  I was too busy, you know, doing the required birthing activities.  Two years may sound like a long time, but I can still smell the hospital smell, hear the hospital sounds, and envision the hospital room perfectly.  Especially the fold out instrument of torture chair your Daddy had to sleep in while I laboured away all night.  Kind of a fair trade, if you ask me.

One was an unbelievable year for you.  When I think of all you have learned and how much you’ve grown and who you now are, I can barely recognize that One and Two are the same Eirinn.  One year old you still toddled cautiously, spoke only a few English words but babbled on in bab-ese, and was as bald as a jaybird (nearly).  Two year old you runs as much as humanly possible, is fluent in English (there are just some words you haven’t tried yet) but with a strong toddler accent (which sounds like a mix of Irish and Brooklyn), and you are currently working on a full head of hair (“working on” being the operative phrase).  You know the alphabet (the song, not the letters), can count from 1 to 16 (with the exception of 13, 14, and 15, which are all 14 to you), can dress yourself in your outerwear, and can throw a temper tantrum like nobody’s business.

Leading up to two, you mastered sentences and are now telling us stories and relaying them in paragraph form.  You are learning about cause and effect, action and consequence, crime and punishment.  You are learning about these things but you have yet to allow such concepts to stick.

Skills we are working on, in a very non-boot camp type way:

  • Colours.  Some days you know them, some days you don’t.  I think you know them perfectly and are just messing with Mommy and Daddy.  Maintain control by allowing the adults to believe they are still smarter than the kid.  Smart.  I like it.
  • Potty training.  We’re still hoping against hope that you’ll show some sort of interest in the going diaper-free soon.  You’ll sit on the potty just long enough to warm your bum then it’s off to see how much toilet paper you can fire off the roll onto the floor before Mommy loses her cool.

And that’s about it.  I have taken a new laid back approach to my parenting philosophy (not that I’m laid back, I can throw my own temper tantrums too you know, but my philosophy is laid back).  We’re not pushing much onto you right now.  You are ahead of the pack developmentally and you are still above average physically, so we’re not worried about how you learn and how much you are willing to learn.  We also know that when you are ready to move forward with certain skills (*cough* peeing and pooping the proper receptacle *cough*), you’ll let us know.  We just hope you’re ready before June when the number of daily dirty diapers will increase exponentially.  We’re just saying, if you’re looking for the perfect Mother’s Day present, that would be it.

Two has a ‘tude.  Because you know everything, of course.  You know everything and you should be able to do everything and who are we to try to tell you otherwise.  This is mostly frustrating, but occasionally amusing.  Especially when you try to assert yourself but mispronounce just enough of the words to sound adorable instead of mean.  For example.  One of your most frequently used phrases is ‘I don’t like it anymore’ except you pronounce it ‘My don’t yike it neny-MORE.’  I’m sorry for laughing.  I know you were trying to be authoritative.

You don’t like it anymore because you don’t like anything anymore.  Well, anything that involves consuming any sort of mineral or nutrient.  Food can be rather offensive to you.  Unless it can be tagged “snack.”  Then it’s cool.  But if it’s only label is “meal”, then it’s a non-starter.  Even if you were perfectly content eating it, say, a week ago.  Or even ten minutes ago.  If it’s offered to you under the guise of “meal” then “my don’t yike it neny-MORE.”  Except for breakfast.  Like me, you eat 90% of your daily recommended caloric intake before noon. 

Two is also unbearably sweet.  Cavity-causing.  You often tell us you love us (‘My lawb Daddy!’) without prompting.  And your hugs have improved tremendously.  They used to be a simple lean in with your head and the accompanying ‘aw’.  Now they are a simple lean in with your head and the accompanying ‘aw’, but they last much longer.  You greet us enthusiastically, with hugs and kisses and lawb, making us feel like we’ve done something right in this parenting biz and also letting us forget the aforementioned ‘tude.

I’ll miss One.  You were still a baby for One.  But Two will be fun (please God, let Two be fun) with your better grasp on language and proper behaviour (better, not perfect).  Because now you are officially a Big Girl, growing and learning everyday.  We’re about to get your Big Girl Room ready with a Big Girl Bed and your own mirror and everything. 

But when we sneak into your nursery at night, to make sure you’re all tucked in safe and snug in your crib with your soother where it belongs and your two ah-lankies by your side, you’re still our little baby.  Our Pumpkin.  And that, that won’t change no matter how Big a Girl you are.

Love Mommy and Daddy

ps — Sorry about the length.  I know Two instantly transforms your attention span to that of a gnat.  If I lost you somewhere around Ellen DeGeneres, skip down to the ‘Love Mommy and Daddy’ part.  It’s the only part that matters anyway.


Tidbits and Timbits

Driving in the car with my mom and sister.  Dead silent.  Eirinn, out of nowhere:

“Everybody has a head.”

This is so true, it blows my mind.


Sitting down, presented with a special treat dessert of two Timbits.  Carefully examining one.

“Bubba?  This is perfect.”

a) Where did she learn the word ‘perfect’?  b) I am choked up with brilliance of this child.  Yes, Baby Eirinn, doughnuts are perfect.


Eirinn is now taking Flinstone vitamins.  Did you know they have a whole line of vitamins based on the category of fussiness your child fits into?  I did not but I think it’s genius!  Eirinn is in the Doesn’t Consume Dairy category.  She also fell into the other categories, but not as consistently as she fell into Kids Who Don’t Drink Milk Good.

She’s (mostly) off the bottle now, although she teeters on the edge of the wagon at Bubba’s house for nap time (but that’s ok ’cause sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to get the kid to sleep).  And because she is who she is, milk in a cup or a sippy cup is remarkably offensive and, when it’s offered, she immediately wants us to ‘clean it’.  As in ‘You’ve soiled my precious, pure water with a vile white liquid, you inconsiderate, disrespectful moron’.  Shame on us and shame on those who allowed this to happen.

She likes yogurt but we would need to feed her 7 a day in order for her to get her recommended daily calcium intake.  The vitamins have 1/4 of what she needs.  Which is great.  I was worried she would grow up to be a toothless shrimp with bendy, brittle bones. 

So now, every morning, she takes her “medicine”, the same as Mommy and Daddy.  She doesn’t mind them.  In fact, she kind of likes them.  The only problem so far is keeping her from overdosing.  (Back off trolls; we’ve only ever given her one a day.  She just wants more, more, more.)


Have I ever mentioned how little hair Eirinn has?  I mean, it’s really quite sad.  She just recently can brag about technically having a full head of hair, but only in the most liberal sense.  Yes, there are hair follicles sprouting nearly everywhere they should be.  But, wow.  She’ll be two next Friday and I would guesstimate that the majority of 6 month olds have a great deal more than her.  The stuff at the sides, right at her temples, is still just newborn fluff.  And that’s because it is newborn hair.

The hair coming in looks like it has the potential to be very pretty.  It is a nice medium to dark blonde with natural subtle highlights.  It’s curly at the back but I think that will relax over time and settle on slightly wavy (like her Mommy).  And it’s also very shiny, which makes me want to shave off what little she has and crazy glue it on top of my own head.

On one hand I’m anxious for her to grow her hair so I can put it in a pony tail or, as my dad calls them, Zeep-Zorps (pig tails).  On the other more dominant and strongly opinionated hand (probably my right; my left is useless for anything other than balance), I’m glad she’s still a bit of a baldy.  It means some days we can get away without brushing because who would notice?  Also she still looks like my little Baby Eirinn, even though she’ll be two next week and already knows that everyone has a head and that doughnuts are natures perfect fruit.

On a sweeter note…

When I reach 10,000 hits, I’m treating myself to a donut.  A sprinkle donut.  Or maybe two.  I am eating for two, afterall.  But what if I want two donuts all to myself?  Then what is fetupus going to eat?  Well, that would just be rude of me.  Maybe I’ll get a whole box and then there will be plenty for both of us.  Yes, that’s what I’ll do.  When I reach 10,000 hits, I’m treating myself and fetupus to a box of donuts.

That day will be sweet.  Hopefully it’s today.  If not, than I’ll treat myself us to a box of donuts to console our disappointed stomachs hearts.

* Update – Yay!   Looks like it’s donuts for dinner tonight!

Don’t believe the hype

So that Totally Awesome post about the weekend?  Riiiight.  Our weekend was a lot of this:


And a little bit of this:


While watching this:


Yes, the Grinch Who Stole Christmas was played on Sunday.  I’ve found it’s hard to explain to a not quite 2 year old that watching a Christmas movie in February may not be the most appropriate way to spend an afternoon.  But she’s stubborn and she wanted to watch it.  And when you’re pregnant and sick and lazy (mostly lazy), you don’t argue too hard.  You just put in the DVD, flop on the couch surrounded by balled-up used Kleenex and your own stink, and shut up about the durn movie.

Other highlights of the weekend:

a) I made twice-baked potatoes and cobbler, thanks to the inspiration and my fascination with The Pioneer Woman and her Cooks!blog.  Love her.  Like in-love with her.  But totally hetero girl love.  Like if she didn’t have all that other stuff of being a wife and a mother and a world famous blogista, I would totally ask her to come live with us and cook all our meals.  But only if she kept a hilarious, sarcastic running commentary.  With drool-inducing pictures.

Anyway, the fact that I cooked is amazing in and of itself because I am not a cooker (is that right?).  I mean cook.  Just cook.  I bake.  I do not cook.  Not that I can’t cook.  I just choose to channel my talents elsewhere.  Like eating.  But the potatoes and the cobbler turned out incredible.  And I’m not just patting my own back, I had plenty of other people patting it for me.  The potatoes were, and I quote, “better than the Keg’s” and the cobbler is now my “new signature dessert”.  Sure does make one want to do this cooking thing more often.  “One”.  Not me.  But maybe I’ll do it once in a while, to make everyone else happy.

b)  Mommy and Daddy vs. Eirinn.  Sunday night.  We had a half an hour stand-off over whether or not she should have to clean up the blocks she dumped, then kicked, all over the living room floor.  We said she probably should.  She said most certainly not.  We said oh yes, you are.  She said AHHHHHH!!!!  NOOOOO!!!!  We said y’are so, or these blocks are going straight into the garbage.  She dragged her feet.  Well, kind of stomped her feet. 

Let’s just say Team Mommy and Daddy finally won in a long, hard-fought, bloody battle ’til the death.  Or at least until all the blocks were back in their bag. 

The funny thing is she normally is pretty good at cleaning up.  She knows she has to put one thing away before playing with another and she does so happily, singing her clean up song.  I guess we just caught her at a bad time.

So, anyway, sorry about all the hype about this post.  I was being facetious.  I just learned how to spell that word today, so I had to give myself a reason to use it.  You were the victim.

Follow the leader (with my recipe)

After weeks of eating completely healthy 100% of the timemostly healthy 85% of the time, something was bound to give.  I had turned myself into a regular Betty Crocker in months previous, after all, so a stick of pure butter, several cups of sugar, and a couple of egg yolks were bound to find their own way into a bowl, mix themselves together, fload their way into the oven and bake themselves into cookies.  And wouldn’t it be rude if I didn’t eat them all after they went to so much trouble?  I think it would be terribly ungrateful of me not to eat them all.

Ok, so no magic cookies, but after reading this, I felt compelled by the power of Jesus to whip up a batch of my World’s Greatest Chocolate Chip Cookies.  By the way, how much do you have to change a recipe before you can officially call them  your own?  ‘Cause I’ve done quite a bit of tweaking to this recipe and I feel rightful in calling them “my” cookies.  Especially when they are so darn delicious and irresistable.  Just ask Carly’s husband.

Carly called them Devil Cookies, which I completely disagree with.  Not only are they not Devil Cookies, but I think they were sent down by a higher power, in a gift basket, with a card signed “Enjoy – G.”  I’m just saying…they are that good.  In fact, I’ll be right back…


In an attempt to escape doing puzzles for the entire morning on Saturday, Eirinn and I decided to make these together.  It went much better than I expected.  Nothing “accidentally” broke.  “No one” had a fit.  And I think she enjoyed herself.  Mostly she watched me while asking “You need this?” of every measuring spoon, mixing utensil, and ingredient.  She helped me pour in the chocolate chips, receiving a handful of chips as a reward.

picture-357.jpg  She was an excellent chocolate chip pourer.  She didn’t spill one.  Or at least she ate up her mess before I saw it.

picture-362.jpg  Then we waited the long, torturous 15 minutes of baking time.  That heavenly smell was enough to send Eirinn into madness.

picture-363.jpg  See?  This is what she was driven to do while we waited.  Soccer in oven mitts.  Not an act of a sane person.  Is anyone else mesmerized by the Doras on her pants?  They are hypnotizing me into eating more cookies…

picture-365.jpg  And the prize for waiting?  Yummy cookies.  Well, at least yummy, melty chocolate chips.  She ate the cookie part about two hours later.

Vampires beware

Do you know what you shouldn’t feed a toddler?  Croutons.  Extra garlic croutons.  Unless you like that brand of stink.

Monday at lunch Eirinn spied the bag of croutons on the counter at my mom’s.  They were unopened because no one wanted to eat them.  No one, that is, except Eirinn.  Those croutons were all she wanted to eat for lunch.  And, being spoiled rotten, she got them and ate them all.

That was Monday and today is Wednesday and she still reeks.  The garlic spreads throughout her body and seeps out of her pores like sweat.  Stinky, pungent sweat.  Sweat that makes me want to heave my non-crouton lunch all over the floor.  Which is really sad because when Eirinn wants a kiss, I distract her with something else (Is that Dora at the door?) so I don’t have to bring my nose that close to her mouth.

This can’t last forever.  I’m sure it will dissipate soon.  Please, Lordy, make it dissipate soon.

This is one of those stories I’m going to tell when we meet her first boyfriend.

Lunch, redux

Eirinn’s eating habits have been easily less than stellar since we started introducing solids at 6 months old.  She has been varying degrees of Superbly Picky, Hog-at-a-Trough, and anorexic.  And these phases are unpredictable at best.  Literally one day she’ll eat everything and anything faster than you can refill said trough and the very next day she won’t want to even smell food and the sight of it offends her deeply.  Some days she’ll try anything you offer her; others she only wants Goldfish crackers and Cheerios.  She only drinks water from a strawed sippy cup and milk from a bottle at sleep times and NO OTHER COMBINATION IS ACCEPTABLE.  No water in a spouted sippy, no milk in any kind of cup, no juice at all.

All of this makes it very difficult to prepare a nutritious lunch or dinner for her.  If she eats vegetables and meat one day, there’s no guarantee that she’ll eat them the next.  The best I can do is make something for her and hope that she’s in an eating sort of mood.

Carbs are usually a good bet.  She’ll eat most kinds of carbohydrates, especially if they can be topped with syrup.  Complex carbohydrates and refined sugar don’t make a very well rounded diet, but what choice do I have when my options are feeding her waffles for the third day in a row or let her go with no lunch? 

I’ll often stand my ground at dinner time.  She’s been served the same food we eat since she was a year old.  If she doesn’t want what she’s offered, she isn’t given a second choice.  As my mom always said to us, this isn’t a restaurant.  And if children are offered food that they honestly like (I would never force her to eat something I know she doesn’t like), they’ll eat it if they’re hungry.

We’ve had a good couple of days, eating-wise (knock on wood, cross my fingers, hold my breath).  Last night she ate a whole baby plate of baked french fries, two real chicken nuggets and two sausage rolls.  With ketchup, of course.  And today she quote “ate her way through the morning” end quote, according to my mom.  Then, for lunch, she had one and a half sandwiches.  It would have been two sandwiches, but Murphy The Murph-man Murph swiped a half for his own lunch.

I just hope she grows out of this unpredictable eating behaviour.  I hope she isn’t picky forever.  I’d like her to be able to enjoy things like shellfish and vegetables and pasta with me.  Her father won’t eat them and if she doesn’t either, I’ll be alone.  Forever.  Sitting in a corner eating my crab and mushroom alfredo wishing I had someone to share it with.

Tornado Eirinn

The life and times, trials and tribulations, crimes and punishments, lessons learned and scores settled by my daughter, Eirinn, AKA The Tornado.

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When I Wrote

July 2018
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