A Not Very Merry Story (but with a happy ending)

The flight to London, though delayed by an hour, was quite good, right up until the landing, at which point Spencer vomited all over both of us.  A lot.  This was the first time he has ever thrown up and, luckily for us, happened to coincide with the first flight for which I have ever forgotten to include a change of clothes for all travelers in my carry on (usually done in case of delayed baggage).  

We had the distinkt pleasure of running through one of the busiest (and hugest!) airports in the world looking like I had just drunk a Big Gulp and then peed my pants and smelling like I had just climbed out of a dumpster full of rotten everything, while racing to catch our connecting flight.  It was 2am California time and Spencer was in no mood to run alongside me so I had the other privilege of carrying him in one arm while dragging my carryon with the other, stopping every few minutes to switch arms, and then, after awhile, every 10 seconds or so because my arms were done and let me know by offering me approximately zero strength.

When we finally arrived at our gate I was sticky, sweaty, sleepy, smelly and physically exhausted--in its true sense, not just the "very tired" we often mean when we use the word-- only to find that the plane (departing at 12:15) had already departed (before 12:10), even though they knew to expect us.  The heavily made-up woman who gave me this news told me to head back to the ticket counter where I should make new flight plans, whereupon I said, "You're kidding.", dropped into the nearest seat and began to cry. So, after a minor breakdown (I've always loved me a good cry in public) we went all the way back to the customer service desk and waited in line to make new plans.  Our new flight would leave six hours later.  Six glorious hours of hanging out with a cranky, sleepy toddler in, again, one of the busiest airports, trying to keep as far as possible away from anything with a sense of smell. 

We did meet another family in the exact same situation (minus the throw up and the single parent and the sleepy toddler -- well, mostly they were on our previous flight and missed the connection to Warsaw, too) who helped us out and walked with us part of the way (and their five year old only mentioned our smell like twice).  Also, Spencer wasn't at all sick, it had just been a motion/air pressure thing.  Trust me, I counted every blessing I could.

In our last flight (2 1/2 hours) I requested seats situated as far as possible from other passengers, but learned that the flight was booked.  I prepared to apologize profusely for the odor to everyone who glanced in our general direction.  As it happened, nobody did.  And even the young lady sitting right next to us didn't say anything and I just hope she heard me when I hurriedly mentioned and apologized for it half under my breath early on in the flight.

But what joy to finally arrive in Warsaw!  Only one of our two checked bags didn't show up, and seeing Greg, Evie, David and Aaron was pure bliss.  

I can't imagine anything making me happier than I was to see them, but I have to say, putting on clean clothes was a really close second.

For the reconrd, this was the least offensive vomit I have ever smelled.  But it was still stomach contents and wasn't very fantastic.

Two Happy Years

Two years ago today our family was given the best early Christmas present ever.  We will never be the same and are so grateful for all the joy Spencer has brought into our home.

This isn't our home, but it is our family after a long day of District Conference, which is kind of the same thing.

 The following picture shows how Spencer approaches the world

With a smile that says, "I bet we could be friends, you and me!"  With an implied "especially if you like to follow me around wherever I go and do just as I say!"

In airports he waved and gave a cheery, "Hello!" to every single person we passed.  While we waited he counted people's feet (one guy had 5, apparently) and pointed out every person who was using a cell phone.

The most exciting thing he experienced in America was seeing cars.  We would drive while he gazed out the window for long periods of time and then he would suddenly proclaim, pointing with great excitement, "AUTO!!"  A car!  He spotted a car!!  That's another thing about him.  He can find a car where you'd least expect to, like on the freeway in southern California, or in a parking lot.  And he told us every time he did (fortunately he seemed to miss most of them and just randomly caught one here or there).  Which is probably why his super cute cousin once gave him a bossy little push and said, "Don't say 'auto' anymore!!"  (I was glad someone was brave enough to finally say it!)

William has the shiniest red hair and he and Spence looked so cute bouncing around the park together, while Spencer pointed out all the cars in the distant parking lot.

I'm so glad I got to share him with my family.  And that he saved about 95% of his fits for the last two days (and even then it could have been worse).  He was a sweet little traveling cousin/nephew/grandson and even the events of the way home couldn't turn me against him!!  :)  (Just kidding.  And that story really is coming...)

And the best part of coming home was his reunion with his best friend.

Aaron and Spence

We all love our boy and are so grateful that he IS ours!  

So They All Rolled Over And One Fell Out

The first day of school was approaching and we had done precious little to make summer vacation fun for the boys (Evie's was the best of her life, of course) so I decided to pitch the tent in the backyard.



We have two 4-man tents that connect with a little tunnel. Perfect. A tent for me, Greg and Spencer, and one for David, Aaron and Ev. The kids "helped" me set them up and after spending only about one hour and 45 trips in and out of the house, we each had a place set up to sleep (which is the only thing I wanted to do after that ordeal).



We had a party, laughed hysterically and ate candy. We joked about where the starburst that got lost among the bedding would wind up in the morning. With stomachs aching from giggling and sugar overdose, we settled in for the night.



I knew from the beginning that it might be tricky with Spencer. At 20 months old he really just needs a crib. But he was excited about sleeping in the tent and drifted to sleep after only crawling away (usually to the kids' tent) 2 or 3 times.



Before bed I told the kids to make sure they were comfortable and to please, please wake me up if they got cold during the night. (remember, I'm a sleep nazi, meaning I fight for quality sleep for everyone. :)



At about 2:30 am Evie crawls into our tent and says she needs another blanket. I get up and spread one over her. I crawl further in and make sure the boys are warm, feeling in the dark under their blankets to make sure their legs feel toasty. They're cuddled close together and I check one leg, Aaron's, I think. It's warm but there is another leg outside of the blankets. It's a little cold, but not too bad, and I can tell I can't get the leg out from under the blanket and tucked away without a lot of effort and possibly waking kids up, so I leave David to cover himself up when he needs to and go back to my bed, revelling in the thought of spending another 10 minutes finding a position that doesn't KILL my hips.



But first I peek over at Spence. I can make out that there's no head on his pillow and his blanket is pushed down. I don't see him. He must have gotten turned around. I pat around. I don't feel him. Huh. I lift his blanket, and feel around the corner of the tent. He's not there. What on Earth?



I check all around my "bed". Oh! He must have ended up with Greg. Maybe he was fussing and Greg took him? (fussing that wakes Greg and not me? Yeah, right). He's not there. He's nowhere. Greg wakes up from me feeling around him and I tell him the deal and crawl into the other tent to search there. I do a thorough search. He's not there.



A tiny bit of panic starts up as I keep searching, but then I laugh. A tent is a place you can lose a Starburst, but not a child. Still, flashes of scenes from news coverage of children taken from under their parent's noses in the night flash through my mind.



But no way. I'm shocked that Spence could even have moved in the night without me waking to make sure he stayed covered, so the thought of someone unzipping the tent without waking me? Impossible.



The ONLY other possibility is if he was atomized and taken through the wall of the tent. While this could certainly have happened, I feel that we are (almost, but) not quite white trash interesting enough to be singled out by alien life forms for investigation.



Just as I'm assuring myself that it couldn't have been an intergalactic kidnapping Evie whispers, "Here he is!" I go rushing into her tent and she's pointing to the boys. But I already checked there.



I get closer and feel around a little and then I can just make out that Spencer is lying there in between and on top of David and Aaron. He's lying out straight, flat on his stomach (and on Dave and Aaron's arms and legs) with his face under Aaron's pillow. He is fast asleep, just like his brothers.



What a relief. And I couldn't have hoped to find him in a better place. I tucked Spence back in his own bed and made sure everyone was covered one last time before turning to my own bed, where it took 45 minutes, not 10, to get comfortable, but I had plenty to think of after that mini adventure and its happy ending.



Like, for example, that the not-warm leg I'd felt belonged to Spencer, not David, and I couldn't tell the difference. And also, that occasionally a mom's idea of quality sleep: in your own bed with proper covering and a parent nearby to keep an eye on you, might differ greatly from a baby's idea: to sleep squeezed on top of two brothers with no covering at all. Quality. It's so relative.

Sometimes

Sometimes moms forget to buckle their little boys into their strollers. The reason for this might sometimes be that the mom knows in the back of her mind that the child won't try to climb out and is too old to slip out. However, because the mother might normally buckle the child in anyway, it might also be partly due to forgetfulness.

In cases when this happens (or rather doesn't happen--the buckling, I mean), there are few surprises less welcome than, when the child has been peacefully sleeping in said stroller for some time, the stroller suddenly begins to slow, there are dragging sounds and then, unexpectedly, the sandal of the sleeping child appears near the mother's feet, coming out from under the back of the stroller. And however much the mother might hope he isn't, the child might still actually be wearing that sandal.

Yes, sometimes mothers run over their own children with their strollers, and the little ones sometimes get scratched up noses and chins.

But sometimes small children are far more traumatized by the sound of water popping in hot oil on the stove all the way across the kitchen of an evening than they were earlier in the day when their mother ran over them with with the stroller.

I will leave you to think about what an amazing imagination I have to come up with such a hypothetical.

Seriously, despite his VERY rude awakening, he needed only a good hug and some gentle wiping of his face and he was happy as ever. I, however, needed to hug him a little longer, and again every time I looked at his face for the next few hours. And he was hysterical over the sound of the oil popping.

Life is not Fair AT ALL

Being one is hard.

Things that frustrate Spencer almost to tears (over and over):

* When he goes to the effort to bring two pairs of his shoes to me, back and forth, back and forth from the hall, and I only put one pair on him (at a time. He wants four shoes on his two feet, please.)

* When he gives us his sippy cup because he's thirsty and we take it and walk away with it. Sure, we may be walking toward the kitchen and saying things like, "You want a drink? Come on, I'll get you some water." but obviously we're actually just stealing the cup (which he just handed us) and not only NOT going to get him a drink but will probably never give the cup back at all. (hence the flopping on the floor and the accompanying wails of devastation)

* Wooden toys that will NOT stick to the heater (radiator), no matter how many times he puts them against it. Such stubborn, stubborn blocks. If the refrigerator magnets can do it, why can't they?

I hope he makes it through these trials okay, poor thing.
p.s. I'm in the running for most tacky/obnoxious blog background. Think I'll win? What? You're already gone and not coming back after being bombarded with hearts. Oh. Sorry. But Happy Valentines Day!

The Last Shall Be First

Or maybe I should say: "[Our] Last Shall [Have His] First (birthday)" or "The Last Shall Be [One]".

Because Spencer's turning one year old.

I cannot believe it. I almost DO not believe it, but then I sometimes see this little boy in my house crawling around, babbling, and dumping olive oil all over the kitchen floor and I think, "Wait. Do newborns do this? Who is this child?" and, after some internal deliberation, I am forced to believe.

I guess it all makes sense when you actually total up all the minutes he's spent doing things. I mean, he spent:

314,521 minutes sleeping

and about that long hanging out in his carseat
115,306 minutes spending quality time with siblings

3,238 minutes disregarding clearly defined rules such as no fingers in the VCR
and no draining out all the drinking water
5,645 minutes having his cheeks squished, kissed, patted or wiped
40 minutes being mistaken for a doll
216,357 minutes figuring things out
like a mirror
or a glove
and 156,284 minutes shocking his mom with the blueness of his eyes and sweetness of his features

So I guess when you add that all up, and account for (a lot of) overlap you have a total of 525,600 minutes, which is. . . one year. And numbers don't lie. Or so I hear.

There is nothing I could say about this past year that wouldn't sound completely cliche. My heart can hardly hold the love I have for this boy or the joy I feel when I see the happiness he brings to his siblings.

I love how he drops what he's doing at the first sound of laughter so he can stare, smile and then squeal at the laugher. I love how he has just started to give hugs spontaneously. I love, love love the sound of his "da da da", the "d" sound of which I am completely unable to reproduce myself, and the way he sways back and forth at the knees and twists at the waist when he dances.

On his birthday we brought him along as we attended a Christmas party in the mission home, partly because it was his birthday and he deserved a party and partly because he is still nursing and I couldn't leave him with the other kids at their grandparent's house. This picture was taken by the mission president and shows Spencer's handsomeness rather well:
The next day we had a party at the grandparents' house where Greg's sister coached Spence in the blowing out of the candle.
So basically this is all pretty much just to say that after a year we've decided: We'll keep him.

Randomly Speaking

I had one of those heart stopping experiences recently. I was bringing a pizza from the downstairs oven (it's better than the one in the upstairs kitchen. What a weird house.) and before I got to the kitchen where Spencer had been playing I heard a loud thud. One of the chairs had fallen backward.

I rushed into the kitchen and Spencer was lying on his back with one arm under the chair. And he was doing the silent scream that only comes out vocally after awhile. His arm was fine, but after a minute or so we could see where the metal bar of the chair had landed on his head. Ugh. I hate that. Very, very much. He was crying hard, but cried even harder when I put a bag of frozen Brussels sprouts on the spot.

For the rest of the evening he had a goose egg of Tom and Jerry proportions but was okay. He slept fine, too. The next morning you could only see that there was a tiny bruise if you knew exactly where on his temple to look. Weird. But good-weird.

***

I bet you wish your blog could look like mine. We're under construction over here, obviously. "We" refers to my blog.

***

In order to dispel the potential notion some may get that I have a glamorous job (freelance writer does sound good, I admit) I thought about sharing what my articles would look like. But when I turn them over to my client and am paid, I lose all rights to them (no real tragedy, I assure you). I'm not saying I wrote those that I linked to, because I can't claim that. And frankly, I'm not sure I would want to. (Holy mistakes! And silly writing! That's what happens when you try to write 20 articles in 2 days from home.)

So anyway, not glamorous.

(edited out link to a site I wrote for)

***

Our friends who brought us to Poland are awesome people. Paweł was a Pole with an American wife at BYU. Same situation we were in. He got the job here and three months after he started he got Greg hired, too.

Once I traveled to an orphanage an hour away with Sheri, his wife, on one of her visits to her baby boy in the weeks before the adoption was finalized. That baby was so obviously hers.

Now they are back in the States. They have three children, all adopted. They have their share of stress and trials, for example Paweł is looking for a job, but they are happy, good people and have always been very generous and kind to us.

I could end the story there, but because they have been good to us I thought I would ask anyone with about 2 minutes who wants to do them a favor to do this. Their middle child is a darling girl, Jaylianna who is in the running (final round!) to model for a line of children's clothing. The voting is done by the number of people who "like" a photo on facebook. All you have to do is "like" the page of the clothing line and then go and "like" her picture.

If you are up for doing that kind of favor they have a blog to make it even easier. Just click on that link and follow the directions in the sidebar. Super easy. (if you decide to do it, thanks!)

***

I hope everyone is enjoying the feeling of fall as much as I am. It is excessively awesome. Way better than the feeling of falling (unintentionally) or, worse yet, hearing or seeing a dining chair fall on your baby's head.

Cold Turkey

I just scraped out a pumpkin and it's baking in the oven to be pureed (no canned stuff in Poland) and made into delicious fall food so, under the circumstances, just writing that title makes me think of delicious turkey and cranberry sandwiches on dinner rolls the day after Thanksgiving. But that's not the kind of cold turkey I'm talking about.

I'm talking about a muuuuuuuch less pleasant cold turkey, but one that brings significantly longer-lasting satisfaction. Tonight we're letting Spencer cry it out.

Now I know I probably-too-often get on my soapbox about sleep, but it's something I love and need. I know my kids need it, too and I want them to love it. That's why our philosophy and evening/night time routine is what it is. It works for us so we do it.

Spencer has been a good little sleeper. He was waking twice for feedings around 1 and 5 a.m. from the time he was six weeks old. Since he turned maybe two or three months old he only wakes around 5. Until recently.

Lately he wakes up at 10ish, 1ish, 3ish and 5ish. I end up feeding him two or three of those times. He is nine months old. He does not need to eat two or three times during the night. So instead of letting him outgrow his 5 a.m. feeding I'm sort of forced to force him to learn to fall back to sleep when he wakes at night. By force.

Just kidding. I'm just trying to make it sound as evil as possible for those reading who already think it is terrible and torturous. I want this to be a controversial post. I need to be much more controversial on this here blog of mine.

But I guess that's pretty much what it is (cry-it-out is force, not blog is controversial). Still, I've done it enough to know that it's a quick and easy thing that allows us both to get better quality sleep. And also that he won't think I don't love him because of it. I'm pretty sure jumping out of bed to nurse him whenever he called for nine months showed clearly enough that I love him. Letting him cry for two or three nights shouldn't overshadow that.

Still, it's sort of hard on me (us). So I'm asking for sympathetic vibes sent our direction tonight. And if you only have outrage, don't send those vibes, please (just leave them in a comment).

Anyway, I could go on (and on) about sleep and why we train our kids in that area etc. but instead I'll just leave you with an anecdote that illustrates how ingrained it all is in the heads of our children:

Aaron loves The Aristocats and watches it regularly. A lot happens in that movie, sad, happy, funny, crazy etc. Still, the one part of the show that moves Aaron more than any others is not any of these.

After the "Ev'rybody Wants to Be a Cat" scene, Duchess tucks her kittens sweetly into bed. During this part Aaron starts getting noticeably worried. When mama cat walks away the kittens get up out of bed one by one. As soon as Marie, the first one, gets up Aaron starts calling to me, "Oh NO! Mommy! She can't get out of bed! She has to go night-night!" And watches the darling scene that follows with a look of disappointment directed at those kittens.

See? He knows we need sleep. (And he also loves to enforce rules.) And I'm pretty sure he knows I love him, even though I taught him to sleep through the night when he was Spencer's age.

The Poor, Lonely Only Child

I have not poured apple juice for anyone but myself for a week. I have brushed only my own teeth. I have broken up exactly zero arguments and have not lost my temper once.

***

With each successive child after Ewelina I have felt tinges of guilt or hints of sadness that the poor second, third or fourth child never gets as much of my attention or has such a charmed life as the first did.

Now the oldest three have been at their grandparent's house for almost a week and instead of being grateful that Spencer can finally experience having me and Greg all to himself, I keep thinking how poor he is that he doesn't have all his built-in best friends who love him so much around.

We've been traveling like crazy during this week, but on the rare occasions Spencer wasn't strapped into his car seat he certainly showed that he can rise above only-child boredom by: cutting his first tooth, learning to clap and almost starting to crawl.

I guess technically you can learn to clap and cut a tooth while buckled into a car seat, but whatever.

***

The stairs have not been mopped for over a week* and the dust is building up. All the snacks I bought two weeks ago are still sitting in the cupboard. The silence is ringing in my ears and giving me a headache.

This has been extremely good for me in so many ways, but I am excited to have my noisy house, emptying cupboards and dust-free stairs back on Tuesday. And I admit I've spent some time staring at this picture this week.
*Ev and Dave mop (or dust, really) floors of the entire house every day.

Positive

"I very like it when you happy," Aaron says, after we play goofy for a few minutes.

Hello, Guilt! What are you doing here? Please go away.

It's not like he said, "Wow, mom, you sure aren't happy very often. What a treat!"
Even if that's what you heard.

After some reflection I remember what an excellent big brother Aaron is becoming. After a family prayer through which Spencer squealed and gurgled Aaron went straight to him, took him by the hand and said, "No-no, Spencer. You have to be quiet in prayer because Jesus say you have to be quiet." Then a few nights later after a quieter prayer Aaron came to Spencer again, took him by the hand again and said, "Thank you Spencer being quiet! Jesus is happy because you quiet in the prayer!"

And tonight he congratulated me for doing such a good job eating my salad. Go me!

I have successfully convinced myself that it's his positive reinforcement thing. He just notices good behavior and rewards it with praise. He's not being sarcastic and pointing out what a break these things are from the norm. He's not me.

Still, I'm going to work harder at being happy more often. And at being quiet during prayers. And eating all my salad. And at being more positive, like Aaron.

How to Keep from Melting

Pardon my language, but it is freaking hot. Instead of complaining (Too late. Make that after complaining. Or while complaining.) I'm looking to my boys for tips on how to beat the heat.

Hmmmm. . .

ice cream,

water,
naps

and sitting mostly naked looking out the front door with the cool(er) early morning air coming in while eating toast.

They all work well.

And yes, that is a three year old sitting next to a not yet seven month old (who sits, making my life many times easier). Big boy.

Getting Shot In Poland

Okay, fine: Getting Shots In Poland.

We took Spencer to get poked in 3/4 of his appendages today (the head isn't considered an appendage, is it?). Poor little guy. It looked something like this, only this was a month ago when he was also getting poked in three of his four (five?) appendages.


His dear father decided to document it so that when he's older we can look back on the pleasant memories of his carefree childhood.

While we were there I thought, "Hey. I don't even know if they have a computer here." Peeking into the office we found that no, they don't. There is a phone though. That makes it nice as far as setting appointments goes. Just don't ask me how they keep track of who's coming in when.

Another thing they have is a shelf for files. This is a view into the office from the "healthy" waiting room (there's a separate one for sick, is it like that in the States? Weird that I don't know that)


You can see the painted metal furniture on the left, very clinical and just like the hospital beds. Floor, door, doorknob, stuff hanging on the wall, it's all very Polish Doctor's Office.

There are no cushioned chairs in the waiting room. No carpet, no soothing shades of paint on the walls or parenting magazines or neat toys for your kids to play with while they wait.

There is a doctor who smiles and talks to your baby and performs a perfect check up.(although she closes the door "so there won't be a draft"). There is an accurate scale for weighing the baby and experienced nurses to administer immunizations.

As long as they have those things, who cares that you sit on a wooden bench which has back support at a right angle to the seat while you read posters on the wall about which kind of tea your infant should be drinking? The things we need, we have.

And on a completely unrelated note, someone needs to hire Aaron for product naming. While the kids were roasting marshmallows over candles Aaron kept coming in and asking me if he could have one more marshpillow. I think he got it right. What's a mallow? They obviously hired the wrong person for naming those things.

Hands

Spencer is learning to do a lot of things with his hands.

There's the all-time favorite: tasting them

And newer discoveries: feeling nature

grabbing tags, like this little one on his collar

and making sure his toes don't go anywhere while he naps.

But there are some things we discourage.
Another favorite from day one (or so) has been face scratching;
way too much face scratching.
So we're big on gloves.

He's also not allowed to attack our dinner.
Look at him eying that farmer's breakfast, which is why he had to be restrained

at night we don't want him doing any of the above so he gets bundled
and sleeps eight or nine hours straight.

But the best thing to do with hands, and something we never discourage, is holding sibling's.

(Five) Thousand Word Thursday: Brothers (phone shots)

Whenever Spencer is doing this:

Aaron is doing this:

The (Practically) Unsolvable

*Caution: This post may remind you of things you would rather keep forgotten*

I don't have a problem with solving problems. I just try to think of the logical way to fix whatever is broken and then get to work. However, there is one certain type of problem I really am no good with.

Every time one of my babies has a blowout I first get a tiny bit mad (just a teeny tiny bit, like of low growling severity) and after a second I think, "Now what? Where do I begin? I have no idea what to do with this." Every single time.

You would think this would be something a mother of four would get used to. I have not. Especially when the baby is still quite floppy, it is just tricky and unpleasant to deal with this problem.

And if it happens more than once in a day I feel I have been very poorly done by. (Sheesh, who's the baby here!)

I try not to hold it against him. He's just a kid. And when he does this


all is quickly forgiven.

You Might Too

This postpartum period has been the best one for me, ever. It has also been the worst. I have had the most support from Greg this time, taking shifts every night for the first 6 weeks (I wouldn't allow him to with the first three kids since he had to go to work and all) meaning more sleep than ever and he's given some good help around the house, too.

On the other hand, I have visited the hospital no less than three times (I think I know all the doctors there now) and visited my OB/GYN once, and still haven't been for my regular 6 week check-up (though I'm two weeks late). I've only thought "it was something serious" about 14 times, but I never died even once.

Spencer took a few hours to get the hang of nursing but has done very well since then, unlike most of the others. However, I have had other nursing related problems which are what have had me in the hospital (nothing serious, just urgent-ish after hour visits to the doctor, with plenty of physical pain and emotional stress for me).

Despite the (sometimes serious) stress and worry I've had off and on, the depression I feared would envelope me after the birth has never made an appearance. I am so grateful.

I have spent the weeks since the birth doing as little as possible. Feeding people has been my main activity and cooking and baking and nursing (when I'm not crying in pain) are things I love/don't mind doing. Besides that I have only been keeping the house tolerably clean with Greg and the kid's help, and having good food and a clean-ish house has made me very happy. Oh, that and having a SUPER sweet newborn around.

***********

So I wanted to share two recipes that I absolutely love and have made waaaay too many times in the last two months since just before the baby came. This first is a pasta dish that is so easy to make it's unbelievable. My family cannot get enough of it and I have made it once a week since I got it in a recipe exchange (these weeks super fast and easy AND delicious is EXACTLY what I need). It might not be your cup of tea but I would feel terrible if I didn't share it just in case you love it as much as we do and you never had it to resort to for those last minute meals we all sometimes have to throw together. It's made of foods that I personally have on hand at all times (pretty much). I've changed it from the original recipe but here's how I make it:

Thai Peanut Noodles

1/4 cup peanut butter (crunchy or not)

1/3 cup soy sauce

3 tablespoons water (I take it from the water the chicken boiled in)

1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar

1/4 cup sesame oil

2 garlic cloves pressed (or minced)

1 teaspoon ginger powder

1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (I leave this out since I can't handle heat)

1 lb chicken (I only use one small breast since we eat very small amounts of meat around here)

3/4 lb. spaghetti noodles

Bring water to boil and boil chicken (I first cut into even sized pieces, otherwise my chicken is tough on the thinner parts). Remove to cool and cook noodles in the water. In a separate small pan whisk soy sauce and peanut butter together. Stir in remaining ingredients until smooth. Shred chicken and add to sauce. Keep on low to warm sauce while noodles cook. Drain noodles and toss with sauce.

***

Then there's this dessert which is lower fat so I think I've convinced myself it's good for you. Also, there's no eggs so it's great for snacking on the dough. I tweaked this one, too by melting in chocolate, which you don't have to do. The original recipe only uses cocoa, just add a couple extra tablespoons if you omit the dark chocolate for melting.

Cocoa Fudge Cookies

1/4 c butter
5 T cocoa
25-50g dark chocolate (maybe 1/4 c chips?)
1 c sugar
1/3 c plain yogurt
1 t vanilla
1 c flour
1/4 t baking soda
1/8 t salt
milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 cup? less?)

Melt butter and cocoa. Stir in dark chocolate to melt. Stir in sugar then add plain yogurt and vanilla and stir. Mix in dry ingredients and chocolate chips. Bake in the usual way (350 for 8-10 minutes)

These cookies are much better quite undercooked (as are all chocolate cookies, IMO) and pretty much not worth eating, or at least not worth the calories, if cooked through (as are all chocolate cookies IMO).

*****

Maybe you don't care about recipes, but maybe you're like me and you try almost any recipe that's recommended to you. I just wanted to share because I reeeeally like these recipes and I thought You Might Too.