In the middle of the night; episode 11 or "Meow"?!

OK, we've finally broken Aeron of the habit of waking up her parents in the middle of the night. It's been a marvelous improvement!

So you can imagine my annoyance at being woken by the cat last night. There I was, at 2am, sleeping peacefully, when I hear the cat plaintively meowing in the living room. We have a vaulted ceiling, so the meows were echoing throughout the house.

I snarl under my breath and throw back the covers, intending to stomp downstairs and figure out what Mitzi's damage is. Then I hear the soft trill from the kitten sleeping at the foot of the bed, in her usual spot. What the heck?! Our cat is asleep....so who is meowing downstairs?!?

I head downstairs, flipping on some lights as I go and, in the living room, I find a skittish, plump, tiger tabby yelling to get out the front door. I've seen this kitty before; he belongs to the new neighbors across the cul-de-sac.

"What are you doing in here?" I whisper to the cat. I'm not sure why. I open the front door and the cat makes a top-speed run for it.

"Huh." I climbed the stairs, shaking my head, and fell back into bed.

An amusing coda to my tale: Kayla gets up this morning and tells me about the weird dream she had last night. There was a cat in her room, meowing at her, and it wasn't Mitzi. She open her door to let the cat out and went back to bed. Next she dreamed she was Charles Manson, being sentenced to death.

"The first part wasn't a dream, kid. The neighbors cat got in our house somehow." I told her. "But the Manson part, that was weird."

Small triumphs

It's the little things, you know?

Last night for dinner, I made pasta e fagioli, a bean and pasta soup. Complete with buttery, garlic croûtons made from home-made bread. Where's the triumph in that, you ask?

First, one of Cameron's buddies was over, and he didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay and eat with us.

Next, I had to threaten Cameron with a frying pan to keep him out of the kitchen 'till dinner time. He kept snitching croûtons and was drooling in my soup. (he is in a growth spurt and eating a lot!)

The best part was Aeron. She begged me, with big blue eyes tearing up, for plain pasta. It had been a while since I'd made this and like any other kid, she views new kinds of food with deep suspicion. I didn't have any patience to deal with her issues, so I served her what everyone else was eating, soup with pasta garnished with croûtons. Aeron shlumped over to the table, whining all the way. But with Cameron giving enthusiastic encouragement, she tried her soup. Then, she ate it, every last bit. And then declared dinner "scrum-dum-delicious!"

Miles & I told her how very proud we were of her for trying something new, and then gave her ice cream for dessert.

You parents out there will understand; this is a big deal!

Claire wouldn't touch her soup. Luckily, she was sitting next to Cameron, who manfully volunteered to eat it for her. The rule in our house is: you eat what's offered or you don't eat; your choice. To her credit, Claire went to bed having eaten zero dinner without complaining. This is another win for the parents!

4 years old, and she's got it figured out

Claire has a thing for this boy at preschool. His name is Miles and he's actually a kindergartner, who then comes to preschool the other half of the day. Miles hasn't responded well to Claire's declarations of love. She asked him to marry her a couple of months back, and she was shot down in flames.

Last Friday after school, she told me it was Miles' birthday. "He brought cupcakes!" she said.

"Did you all sing happy birthday?" I asked.

"Yup. But I didn't kiss him."

"You didn't? Why not?" I inquired.

She looked at me, and said in a disgusted tone, "He doesn't want to marry me! He doesn't get kisses!"

Words to live by, kid.

Rose junkie

I think I have a problem. It seems I'm addicted to roses. I'm apparently completely unable to stop buying bare root roses for my garden. Just yesterday, I bought 6! Which brings me to a total of 12 new roses this spring.

Where am I planting all these flowers, I hear you ask? Well, I had to rip out a hedge to make space. I now have a total of 25 rose bushes in my front garden.

My husband goes through this every year. He smiles and tolerates my addiction, for a limited time. When I came home from a trip to Home Depot, ostensibly to purchase mulch, with 4 more roses, he put his foot down.

"OK, enough!"

That fine, I was running out of room anyway. Well, until I rip out some more of the lawn.

Snow trip

Our wee lassies hadn't ever seen real, live, snow up close, tiny little Californians that they are. Which is pretty shameful when you consider their mama is a Michigander and their father is from a family of Ulster Scots.

It became very clear, Something Needed to Be Done!

Miles and I took the kids to play in the snow last weekend. We got a room in the John Muir Lodge, geared up and went to frolic in the white stuff. Even me!

Jonathan and Emmanuel joined us and a splendid time was had by all.

My most favorite time of the year

My nails are broken & dirty, my jeans are muddy, I have a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my backside, and I have wood chips in my hair. Today, I have used a keyboard, a Kitchen Aid, a shovel and a hatchet.

I'm so happy.

It's bare root season!

Early spring is the time of year when I'm just giddy with anticipation. Ah, the joy of cruising the rose bins at the nurseries, selecting new bushes for my collection. The sheer pleasure of perusing the glossy seed catalogues (a.k.a. "garden porn") The gratification of a well-pruned fruit tree. The thrill of imagining the front garden as a riot of flowers and fruit and sweet scents. The delightful chore of deciding what will be included in our organic veggie garden.

I gotta go plant something....

What a difference a plate makes

So, regular readers will remember the bet I have going with Miles. If I can get into my vintage cocktail dress by our anniversary (May 11), he'll take me to House of Prime Rib in San Francisco for dinner.

Now, I need to lose some serious tonnage before I can get into the peacock dress. Losing weight always seems such a battle doomed to fail for me. But I have discovered a very useful technique in the battle of the bulge!

Small plates.

Yup. Just by using a small plate, you eat less.

I will confess right now; I LOVE to eat. And I love to cook. Often, I have excused my less-than-trim figure by saying, "Never trust a skinny cook!" But let's cut through the bullshit. I'm over- weight. I'm at risk for diabetes. I have young children. I need to take care of myself, so I can take care of my family.

Having hear about this diet trick, I've been keeping my eye out for small plates on the cheap. I found 'em last weekend at Target. 8 salad plates for 7 bucks. The first time the whole family used them was t'other night when I made baked macaroni-n-cheese. A little back story: whenever I make this, we all eat like pigs. Everyone has seconds, and even thirds. It's (pardon my ego) really good stuff. Usually, we eat 90% of the casserole and the kids almost come to blows over the small amount of leftovers.

This time, on the small plates, the family only ate half of the casserole.

I'm just amazed. Without thinking about it, we all ate noticeably less, merely by using a smaller plates.

I think I'm on to something....