Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Oil and Water Don't Mix

No, there's no profound life-lesson hidden in that title, just the scientific fact that oil and water don't - well - mix.

After sharing a flavored water with Bailey on our trip home from the grocery store, Mommy had an inspired moment; a flashback, really, to days spent in the First Baptist Church of Upland children's area where there was an ancient bottle of blue oil and clear water that kept me fascinated week after week.  

It was time to pass the "tradition" on to Bailey. 

After nap time, and a swim outside with sis, we gathered the necessary ingredients and got to work.


First we filled the bottle half-way with oil and Bailey elected to dye it red. When we first put the red food coloring into the bottle, it beaded up on the oil and I thought the experiment was going to fall apart on step one, but we gave the bottle a good shake and the oil took on a ruby hue.  


Next came the water.  I filled up a measuring cup with some of the good ol' tap water and Bailey squeezed the last of our blue food coloring into the glass.


After that, the fun part!  I gently poured the water into the bottle as Bailey watched.  I couldn't see her face - I was trying not to spill blue dyed water all over the kitchen - but she was rather quiet, leading me to believe she was at least somewhat intrigued by what was happening.  The blue water "sank" to the bottom and the two colors didn't mix.  No purple!!!


Then the extras...we took some beads (original bought for some lessons on stringing, but the holes turned out to be too small for the string...and for Bailey) and Bailey got to pick ten to add to the bottle.  And of course we practiced counting to ten: once as she selected the beads and laid them on the counter, and again as she plopped them into the red and blue solution.


Mommy glued the lid on, taped it up for good measure, and let Bailey go at it. Shaking the colors together and trying to find the ten beads.


If I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn't dye the water/oil such deep colors.  It makes the beads extra hard to find and the purple is so dark that it's hard for a preschooler to identify the color as purple. But aside from that, it was a success.

And, since Daddy came home with an empty Coke bottle after work, I guess we'll take another stab at it soon!

Monday, September 17, 2012

I've Learned to Cook

Tacos. Spaghetti. Enchiladas. Pulled Pork. Fajitas.

And that's about it.

Before moving to Paraguay over two years ago, those were our meals.  Week and and week out, that's what we ate.

Over and over again.

I can't believe we still like those things.

In all likely-hood there are probably other meals that could be added to that list, but those were my go-to's.  And with one of us being in school one night a week, throw in a date night, a dinner out with friends, school event . . . that got us through the week.

Needless to say I had to pick it up a bit when we got here.

What do you mean there isn't Rice-a-Roni? No Hamburger helper either? And no cream-of-anything soups?

The first meal I cooked in our apartment at ACA was bad. Plain white rice (and not even the "good" rice...I didn't know there was a difference) and some chicken with generic "chicken seasoning" sprinkled on top.  Not make-you-want-to-order-out bad, but the rice just tasted dirty and I definitely should have used more seasoning on the chicken.

Flash forward two years.

I have learned SO much.

I can make my own enchilada sauce (yes, we still eat them from time to time).

When a recipe calls for pre-packaged biscuits, I just make my own from scratch and go from there.

Fried chicken? Got it.

I can identify herbs by the shape of their leaves (and their aroma).

I know which spices are stronger (or weaker) here in Paraguay and adjust the amounts accordingly.

1 cup brown sugar = 1 cup white sugar + 1 Tablespoon molasses

If I don't have all the ingredients called for, I know which ones are necessary and which ones are "just" for flavor (and how to compensate).

Melted butter = oil (how did I not know that?)

I'm not a gourmet cook by any means and I still have to refer to my recipe cards for 95% of the meals that I make, but even then, I've gone from copying down full fledged sentence instructions to simple lists of ingredients with brackets and numbers indicating what order in which to combine which ingredients.

More than anything, I'm not afraid.   I know what we like and I have the confidence to try new things.  Thank you, Paraguay, for expanding my cooking repertoire and giving more variety to our weekly menus!

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Six O'Clock


Oh how I hate the hastening of that hour.

Six O'clock.

P.M., that is.

Six A.M., I can handle.  We're all still cuddled up in bed, waiting for our day to start at 7 A.M.

But six P.M.? That's a whole 'nother story.

Bailey's daily movie is over. Toy Story. Max and Ruby. Toy Story 2. Max and Ruby. Toy Story 3.

Brandon's leaving school, starting his walk home after another exhausting day.

Boston's trying desperately trying to power through the afternoon without a nap.

I'm starting to prep dinner, due on the table at seven, lest the rest of the night fall completely to shreds.

6:15

Bailey's starting her room time (a blissful 45 minutes where she plays in her room alone)

Brandon's about half-way home, on a good day.

Boston's melting down quickly and I have a choice - hold her and delay dinner prep or endure her cries while chopping a few veggies and starting a pot of rice.

6:18

I hate hearing her cry.

6:20

Narrating my actions helps, a little.

6:30

Bailey's either sitting in bed reading to her toys, putting together puzzles, or scribbling furiously on her dry-erase Crayola white board.

Brandon's home. Maybe. And desperate for a shower.

Boston's content as long as she's held, so again the choice between a few cries or prepping dinner.

6:45

Bailey's screaming "POTTY!" and it's anyone's guess if she really has to go, or she's just anxious to be done in her room and knows that the word "potty" is her get-out-of-"jail"-free card.

Brandon's home, pacing the house talking about how he needs to take a shower.

Boston's a mess. Again. Still.

7:00

Bailey's done in her room, begging for help to clean up her room.

Brandon's in the shower.

Boston's done with the bouncey chair, the walker, the Jenny Jump Up, and the play gym. She's done, period.

Let's eat!

7:05

Bailey's pushing food around her plate, scarfing down the carbs, tolerating the veggies, refusing to touch the meat.

Brandon's diving in.

Boston's cries are pressuring me to either scarf down my food at record pace, or leave my plate. I hate eating cold food.

And so it goes. Round and round. Grumpy and hungry Boston. Tired and stubborn Bailey.  Brandon and I trying to hold it all together.

And then there's 8 P.M.

THAT'S a glorious time.

Bedtime.

For BOTH girls.

Oh, how I love 8 P.M.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Body Paint

I was working on another post, another TWO posts, actually, but today's fun just can't wait.  I feel compelled to post the pictures now.

It started as a simple finger paint session.  Things were going well and Bailey painted a picture of Nala (can't you tell?) on orange paper because orange is the color of the week. Then the bomb dropped: no Bible study.  I was expecting three other gals to come over for a Beth Moore study (on the book of Daniel) and the plan was to stash Bailey in Mommy's room with a DVD while we ladies did our thing.  Hummmm...now what are we going to do all afternoon?


Body paint! We took our tray of paint outside and continued the finger-paint fun, using our legs and feet as the "paper." Bailey had a blast!


And let's not kid ourselves. I had fun, too; maybe even more fun than Bailey. C'mon, when was the last time that YOU covered yourself in washable paint and DIDN'T have a grin from ear to ear?


Since this impromptu activity came on the heels of our "learning time" portion of the day, we of course reviewed shape names and (some) letters as we drew on each other. But she's two and my legs aren't that long, so we didn't have room for all the capital letters A through T (yes, I'm bragging; Bailey know's her capital letters A-T).


We painted until the tray was empty, and even then, Bailey insisted on swirling her finger around and around, hoping to get a few more drops of fun out of it.


The best part of the whole debacle, though, came when Bailey stood up proudly and declared that she was going to paint a bra.

Wait...what?!?

"A'ma paint a bra!"

Don't worry, I video taped it, too, for future blackmail - er, I mean, for posterity's sake.


Ta-Da! The finished products!



Had Brandon been around, there would be pictures of the clean-up, too, which involved lots of scrubbing and one squirreley little toddler racing around the grass trying to escape the reach of the hose. Not a chance, toots!  In the end she was soaked from head to toe - and laughing all the while.