Little Miss and the Mother Bird

One morning I came downstairs from brushing my teeth and for a half a minute I could not find Little Miss.  Something passed by outside the north window, and through the rain I could see a little white hand pulling the gate shut.

She came in the back door, wearing her long, hot pink raincoat and running shoes, and was soaking wet.  Before I could give her a lecture on going outside without telling me, she said, "I needed to check on the bird's nest in the tree out front and make sure the eggs were okay in the rain.  I covered it with leaves to keep the eggs dry.  That mother bird is NEVER THERE!"  She shook her clothes off as she gave her own little lecture on taking care of babies, and I hid a smile.

A few days later, I stepped out on the front porch and found two backpacks on the lawn.  I looked up and found the kids they belonged to (mine).  There they were, climbing up a pine tree (Mrs. Google still can't believe it was a pine tree), peering into a bird's nest.  My son says there are two bright blue eggs inside, so Little Miss's leaf protection plan must've done the trick.

But I am amused by how much "mothering" is ingrained in her.  She fusses over her little cousins, carries toy babies with her everywhere, and even marries off her brother's hot wheels cars.  Family is important to Little Miss.

Perhaps that is why she is so inherently bossy.  She wants to be in charge.  She wants to be the "mom".    Or maybe she doesn't think the rest of us are doing it right!  I remember as a girl "trading places" with my mom.  It was a game we played where I would be the mom and she would be the daughter.  I got to boss her around for a time, and she would whine and complain and throw her things on the floor.  When evening came, however, I couldn't get mom to go to bed and let me stay up to watch TV.  That was when the game ended (or when it was time for the "adults" to do dishes).  But I, too, had that desire to be in charge.

Little Miss keeps asking me where the mother bird has gone.  Perhaps she's gone for food, I say, or digging for worms?  She scrunched up her face a bit, trying to imagine where the bird might have gone, but despite what she thinks, I am sure the mother is out there working hard for her babies.  Just like the rest of us.

*****

I was supposed to post this on Mother's Day but was having too much of a good time.  I hope you all had a wonderful day, and I wish you many blessings in raising your children - especially the red-headed ones!

Peanuts are Back!

I've got peanuts on the brain these days as I read over some papers on allergies I'd written in the past, so I honestly thought I was seeing things when I read "Peanuts are Back!" on a local restaurant.

I can only assume it is not a joke.

This restaurant that had removed all shelled peanuts from their tables years ago, has now reintroduced them.  It was an odd feeling reading that sign.  I had, personally, never eaten there, but have enjoyed eating at another previously peanut-filled restaurant on numerous occasions.  Was their business failing without the shelled peanuts?  Will others follow?  Perhaps they feel we allergic people can go somewhere else to eat.  I will NOW.  


But sure, why not go back?  Nobody said they had to take the little killers away.  Seafood restaurants still serve seafood even though some of us are allergic.  Cows still give milk...


It didn’t bother me so much that they made this pro-peanut choice, but that they went back to it.  Has the battle come full circle?  Have food companies and restaurants tired of taking care of the allergic?  


Quaker Oats has come out with a new line of Cheerios.  You guessed it - Peanut Butter Cheerios.  Why would you possibly consider contaminating the first finger-food for toddlers?  And it looks very much like multigrain cheerios, so don't doubt that mistakes will be made in the shopping aisle.  


So, we’ll see what happens.  I grew up without any "peanut-free" foods.  Allergic-kids are, at present, living in a fairly safe world in comparison.  But if food agencies, schools and restaurants decide they don't care about going the peanut-free route anymore, these kids are in for a real dose of reality.  


They're going to have to do what we did.  Pray.real.hard & don't.eat.anything!

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn's Sister

There are days when Mr. and I relate Little Miss to a street urchin.  Just yesterday the idea of "Huck Finn" entered my mind.  At least one loved by everyone in the village.

There is a new jewelry store in town.  And although Little Miss is hardly dressed to match the sparkly, "do not touch" beauties in the glass display cases, her eyes glaze over as she looks over them.  But what is the ultimate reason for going in?

Her big blues and red freckles peeking out from under her stained sunhat has charmed the shop owner, and she often receives an enormous sucker for her and her brother because of it.

Charming shop owners and business people in our village is not a new endeavour.  Years ago as an unruly two-year old, the local librarians would laugh at the screaming redhead running up and down the aisles of books while her red-faced mother called for her from the children's section (which was one floor down).  Once she even jumped onto the elevator by herself and rode up to the adult section.  I could hear her gasp during the split second it took for the doors to open as she arrived at her destination.  It was one of the rare moments of fear in her I have witnessed.

And of course she charmed them into oodles of stickers for her and her brother.

She loves to stop in at the book store everyday after school.  She picks items off the shelves, and confidently asks the owner to "hold" it for her until she has money. She flips through all of the books, and unfortunately sets them on the floor to delve into the pictures.  She "straightens up" the books and when a page gets ripped she receives a compassionate pat on the head and a big box of toys to entertain her.

And of course, dutch crackers and candies for her and her brother.

Earlier this week, a friendly gentleman was gracious enough to gather the plastic baby, hat and bottle which had been strung along the sidewalk where Little Miss had previously been.  He looked down at her with a smile.  He was happy to oblige.

I won't bother writing about the Insurance Office, the Dog Groomers, or the Carpet Store (that, she says, needs another goldfish), because you get the idea.  She's even charmed the crossing guard to let her cross the road by herself (which is SO not allowed).

Huck Finn's sister perhaps.

She dresses in bright, girly colours which are stained with lunch, both down her front and wiped on the back of her sleeves.  Her mane of red, curly hair has a life of it's own, and busts out of any elastic or barrette that struggles to contain it.  I have walked home after dropping her off at kindergarten and found several things along our route that had been in her hair.  Crazy hair day involved a quarter bottle of gel to straighten and braid it.  The local ice cream shop opened yesterday, and I had to teach her to face into the wind so the bright blue bubble gum dessert (the same flavour her brother had) would stop getting into her hair.  It got on her forehead, eyebrows, Mr. Man's shorts, and the ends of her hair, but miraculously not around her mouth or chin.

And, as she climbs the backyard crabapple tree, toad in hand, I think, somebody should write a story about her and her brother (who is not so Huck Finn-ish) that she looks after.

*****

For Holly, who reminded me of my favourite Stella and Sam books.


Above painting found at http://s75owzo.edu.glogster.com/zac-and-ashleys-huck/

My First Cake

When I was a kid living at home, I got it into my head to make my mom a birthday cake.  Cake mix?  Easy.  Icing? Not so much.  I remember searching through her books for a recipe on icing or frosting.  I had no idea how to make it, no concept as to what made it thick and fluffy.  I’m pretty sure I closed my eyes and pointed to a random recipe in the dessert section.

I went to work and combined all of the ingredients in a pot and cooked it on the stove.  I stirred and stirred and it cooked and cooked.  Stirred and cooked.  Stirred and cooked.

Eventually, I lifted the pot off of the heat and let it cool.  It was a brown colour (maybe from too much vanilla) so I decided I needed to change the colour.  I looked into Mom’s pantry and found blue food colouring.  Unfortunately, blue mixed with that particular shade of brown makes puke green.

Once cooled, I poured it onto the round cake that was already placed on a cake plate.  As I started, I realized it really wasn’t thick and fluffy at all, but had the consistency of pea soup.  It ran off the cake, onto the plate and onto the table.  Green sticky pea soup everywhere.

Just then my dad walks in the house and senses anxiety.  He steps into the kitchen, and in his “saving the day” dad-vest, scoops up the plate of seeping mess and whisks it out to the back porch which was directly connected to the kitchen.

He masterly scrapes the icing from around the cake sides and plate with the side of a butter knife (experienced from years of mudding and taping walls in our houses) and makes it look semi-okay.  Whew!  I can breath again as he helps contain the disaster it could have been if mom had seen it!

Throughout the five years I have owned my cake business, when he sees one of my new creations, Dad will chuckle, “You’ve come along way from the drippy green icing I helped you scoop up on the back porch!”


And although there have been MANY disasters in the Cakes by Erin kitchen, and some have been witness to it, I have forever mastered the art of buttercream, and will never, ever close my eyes and point to pick a new recipe!