Blueberry Syrup

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

When I was growing up, my parents went through a phase where we'd eat pancakes constantly. Because of that, I hated pancakes for years. I couldn't stand the smell of them, and I would have rather starved than eat one.

Maybe they didn't serve them with the right kind of syrup? Maybe they bought the cheap mix? Well the whole reason that we ate them, was because we couldn't afford to eat anything else, so I'm sure it was the cheap mix.

The very best pancake that I ever ate in my life, was in Medford Oregon, at my Mom's best friends house. She had made pancakes during one of our visits, and even the scent of them cooking- was just so different from all of the other pancakes that I had ever had in my life. And when I bit into them, it was like being reborn.

Reborn into the amazing world of pancakes.

But of course from then on, I expected all pancakes to taste as good as Suzette's did (I can't believe I just typed her name, this means I'm getting closer to writing about how much I miss her- but not today). So when they didn't, I went back to hating the dry boring pancakes that landed on my plate, and vowed to never eat another one again.

Until a few years ago, when I learned how to make my own.



Now we have pancakes once a week. Sometimes twice. And its usually for dinner, rather than breakfast. I make homemade blueberry syrup every time. Dump a bag of frozen blueberries into a sauce pan with a splash of water, spin them around in the vita mix after they've bubbled for awhile, add a splash of lemon and a sprinkle of stevia, and then pour it over our fluffy piles.

This is what we're having for dinner tonight, by the way. From-scratch gluten free pancakes, smothered in mock butter and berries.

It'll turn our mouths purple, and leave the kitchen smelling like a Saturday morning cafe.

And of course, I'll think of Suzette, and the pancakes that she made for me, that gave me hope in a world where there otherwise was none.

Laundry & Baby Toys

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

I don't know that I'll ever be used to the weather here. How winter called it quits the second his shift was up, and the temperatures jumped into the 90s during the first week of spring.

West Texas isn't growing on me. Not one bit.

Its nice, being able to open up the back door, push the kids out while they're barefoot and shirtless and say "go play!", but- sometimes (a lot of times), I just miss the clouds.

We get clouds here, but they often move by so quickly, that stepping out underneath them is like running out onto a battlefield. The rays of the sun are so harsh, that the moment they peek through the thin layers of moisture in the sky, your skin starts to sizzle, and you curse yourself, and the sweater that you thought was a good idea to wear, and you run back to the place that you came from twice as quickly as you did to get where you were going in the first place.

I know that in other parts of the country, people are begging the raindrops that hit their umbrella tops to go away, school children are sick of having to wear their rain boots to the bus stop, and ladies are tired of having to use bronzer in order to fake that sun kissed look that faded last September. But here in Abilene, we welcome the dismal skies. We pray for them, some days.

Because on those blessed days that a cold front does roll into town, we get a break.

We don't have to feel guilty about being lazy. I can ignore the babies need for vitamin D, spend all day doing 10 loads of laundry, and we can movie after movie after movie.



Or, we can dump out the forbidden basket of baby toys, and really go crazy.

For some reason I have a problem with the older two playing with the baby toys. I guess because they have a seemingly endless supply of bigger and better toys, why do they need their baby sisters rattle to fight over? Go play, dangit!

But on this particular day, since the wind was blowing and the temperatures maxed out at 55 as opposed to the usual 89, I considered it acceptable to break the rules.

Play with the baby toys. Go nuts.



I don't know what it is about Evelyn's singing penguin toy, but- Charlie loves it.

Nana and Gpa sent it to Miss Evelyn for Valentines Day. She doesn't have the coordination yet to really play with it, so it kinda hangs out in her toy basket most of the time, but if Charlie can get his hands on it, he'll have it dance along the window sill for hours.



I think part of his love for it maybe stems from a little song that we made up and sang when we played with a certain bath toy. Something like "hey I'm a penguin, and I walk like this" ...not that you could hear the tune through my type, but- trust me, it was equal parts adorable and annoying. He loved it, and thats all that matters.

So maybe thats why he loves this penguin?
And maybe he loves all penguins?



...Evelyn apparently didn't find that story very amusing. Its her penguin, and she wants it back right now. Mean ol' big brother always trying to take all the good toys.



Eleanore dumped out the whole basket, and was making an entire village. Something about a castle, and cloud cars. I think it was maybe a mix of care bears and princesses. ...and transformers, because I heard her mention something about decepticons at one point.

She bossed Charlie around, told him what toy to put where, and like a good zombie two year old, he obeyed her. He doesn't know any better. Yet.

Someday he'll be old enough to fight back, and boyyy things are sure going to get interesting around here. Right now him and Evelyn only have vocal chords to defend themselves. I can't wait to see what happens when they discover and realize the magic of physical abuse.

I'm an only child, so these are the things I daydream/wonder about.



And while Brother and Sister raided her wonderland of stuffed bears, lights and sounds- the baby found herself perfectly content on her plush blanket, chewing on and warping her favorite set of flashcards.

So even though it was gloomy outside, and too cold for our usual walk down to the lake or the park- it was perfect inside the 4 walls of our comfortable home.

Because nothing says fun like laundry and baby toys.