I love my kids. I say it a million times a day. Sometimes – when things are rough going in mommyland — it’s like a mantra: I love my kids; I love my kids; I love my kids.

I’m chanting right now.

I just found half a spit out marshmallow. In my living room. In the carpet.

I love my kids.

I know exactly who is to blame: Ryan, my 3 ½ year old. He loves marshmallows – any food frankly. He has an insatiable appetite, and an overwhelming desire to completely control when, where and what he eats. He gets into the pantry at all hours, and scavenges all *kinds* of foods: pretzels, peanuts, raisins, the aforementioned marshmallow — you name it.

Don’t get me wrong, I feed him. All the time, so that’s not the issue. But I need to know when he gets something to eat, because he has a tendency to wander about with it, and then leave the remainder in the oddest places. Which, as you can see, has an astronomical gross-out factor.

I’ve tried all kinds of solutions to keep him from grazing and wandering. I’ve implemented systems – and enforced them all consistently — to no avail. I’ve told him – time and time again – that all he needs to do is ASK, and he can have food. Then at least I know he has something, what it is and where he went with it.

But this marshmallow is the last straw. It’s time for some serious motivation to behave; some consequences with teeth. Pumpkin teeth, specifically.

Last Halloween we got a battery-operated light-up ceramic pumpkin from a relative. It’s cute—ceramic with tinfoily orange covering and a goofy, gap-toothed grin. Ryan took an immediate dislike to it. Called it “The Scary Pumpkin” and ran in the opposite direction whenever he saw it.

The Scary Pumpkin is going in the pantry. I’ve tried to be nice about it, but it’s time for the big guns. I’m pretty sure I’m in for some tears when he sees it the next time he opens the pantry when he’s trying to sneak in.

But I’m also pretty sure I won’t see any half eaten marshmallows on the carpet anymore, either.

—————–
Post Script: Curses! Foiled Again!

So it’s been two days since I initially wrote about the scary pumpkin. Things were going swimmingly. Ryan was asking me every time he wanted food, and I was able to keep some semblance of order of where and what he was eating. Then I went to the basement to say hello to the treadmill while the kids were playing upstairs. Emma came down, proud as can be.

“Momma!” she said, “You’re going to be so happy. I helped my brother!”

“That’s great, sweetheart! What did you do?”

“I just taught Ryan that the Scary Pumpkin isn’t scary! He’s not scared of it anymore! Isn’t that great??”

Ryan wandered in, cradling the pumpkin like it was a stuffed animal, calling it “Silly Pumpkin,” just as Emma taught him.

Love that girl. Heart as big as Texas. But really?!?!?

“Yes,” I sighed. “That’s great.”

Price: Under $10

Sweet to Dry Scale: 6*

I decided to go with a white this week because it’s been so hot that it’s nice to have something refreshing and cold! This wine is a bit on the tart side, as well as very sweet. It’s a little like liquid honey, so if you’re a dry wine drinker, beware. It would probably overpower most foods if you tried to pair it, so you might want to just use this one for sipping. All in all, not the best white wine I’ve ever had, but I’ve had much worse. If you need a cheap white, this is a decent option!

Bang for your Buck: Not bad.

*The Sweet to Dry Scale tells you just how dry the wine is, based on a number that my husband and I agree on. The higher the number, the dryer the wine. (0=sweet, 10=dry) My husband likes wines that are a 9 or 10. I like wines that are a 7 or 8.

Want non wine related deals? Check out The Budget Mommy’s Facebook Page!

I’m not a big shopper. I only like very particular shopping experiences. Namely those found at drugstores. And Target. And places like Loehman’s and Filene’s Basement. And Marshalls. And DSW. Oh, and BJs. You know, places where you can get a deal on stuff you don’t need. Or stuff you need alot of. Or stuff that you give as presents. Or on stupid stuff that you never have enough of, like wrapping paper or writing utensils other than that one burnt sienna crayon in my kitchen junk drawer.

Lately though, I’ve revisited this habit – it’s almost compulsive, come to think of it – where, when I have some spare time by myself, and don’t have any absolutely necessary oh-my-God-the-world-will-come-to-a-end-if-I-don’t-pick-up-X errands to run, I’ll miraculously find myself at a store, such as one of those mentioned above, and shop. For this or that. Cool t’s for my boys, jeans for my husband, colorful spatulas, what have you. I’ll go in, grab a cart, and dive in. Whole-heartedly. And without much thought to cost.

Man, I uncover treasures.

Back when I was pregnant with kid 2, I did this more frequently. Once a week, kid 1 had a later daycare pick-up time, so between working and mommimg, I’d slip in some shopping time. Because sometimes I like the feeling of spending money on stuff. Okay. You got me. I am a consumer culture capitalist. Market it to me, people.

But, the bizarre twist on this whole thing is that, after my cart is full and my treasures are many, I’ll get to the check out line, dump the loot, and head back to my car empty-handed. Yup. I’m the woman who creates more work for the store employees. I’m the woman who deliberates and deliberates forever over which thing to get in which size and then ultimately gets nothing. I’m the woman who fosters a false sense of security in the stuff industry. I shop up and than I ship out. With no more than I sauntered in with. It’s a most incongruous habit for a person who is crazy about being as time efficient as possible.

It’s really sick.

So, here it is. Recently, I hit my rock bottom. In the middle of my workday, driving across town from one meeting to another, I saw something. A Dollar Store. Don’t judge me! I pulled over and parked at a meter. I told myself I was just gonna run in for a second. I grabbed a basket. I filled it with gift wrap, bouncy balls, Halloween candy, razors, and crackers. I browsed quickly, and with great focus, making my way through all the aisles like I was Speed Racer. Then I suddenly found myself at the register. No one was there to scan my crap. I looked around the store. I looked at my basket of crap. I gingerly placed it on the floor and took off.

It was the middle of my workday. I’d wasted 15 minutes shopping for nothing in the stupid Dollar Store.

And I was greeted by an angry, red $25 parking ticket on my windshield. ‘Cause in all the excitement, I’d forgotten to feed the meter. Please don’t tell my husband. Or my boss. And remind me that shoving the parking ticket into my purse won’t make it go away. You’d think in front of The Dollar Store parking tickets would be discounted.

Wouldn’t you?

Well, it’s not like he can support it himself – he’ll need to learn to walk and talk before he can score his own smack.

At some point in my pregnancy I must have been exposed to gamma rays or toxic waste or something, because instead of a baby I gave birth to a barracuda. One afternoon a few months ago I collected C at daycare and had a hard time recognising him: I’d left a toothless baby in the morning, and now they were giving me a boy with two perfect lower teeth. Just like that, no warning. Pop! Teeth!

He’s been teething nonstop since; I think he’s on his third row of teeth now.

I’ve said this before: he is an angel, but he is only human. Teething makes him cranky; he groans and whines, he drools like a German Shepherd at the beach, and his expression changes from “smiling cherub” to “Winston Churchill having a bad day.”

First, I tried the natural remedies: German chamomile (known here as matricaria,) fancy teething rings, letting him chew my knuckles into a pulp. No luck. Wet washcloth, chilled in the freezer? Nope. Cotton balls soaked in chamomile infusion? Blech.

I was almost used to his surly new expression, when daycare shocked me again by giving me back a sweet, smiling boy. How did they do this? I had to know! “Oh, we just spritzed some of this on his gums, we have used it on all the babies here when they are teething and it works like a charm.”

I tried some on myself, and woo-hoo, it numbed my gums instantly, just like… you know, something else that numbs your gums instantly (ahem).

It was lidocaine.

*Choir of angels singing*

Now whenever he gets tetchy and looks ready to start bombing Dresden, I whip out the magic bottle and give him a few spritzes of the good stuff. Oooh yeah.

(Curious fact: this is one of very few things I do that actually have my mother’s approval and endorsement. Go figure.)

For more reasons I’m a bad Mom, visit my blog at: http://1000reasonsimabadmom.com/

Alcohol content:  A flammable 15.5%

Price: $9.99

Description per label:  Bitch 42x (seriously).
 
Review:
I’d been having quite a week when I stumbled upon this sweet treat at my local wine mart. Between the stifling heat of a Florida summer, the devastating news that school starts a week later than anticipated, and the fact that my roster of babysitters were all headed off to college within days, I was in need of a wine that matched my mood. This Bitch beckoned and I answered by grabbing a bottle, okay, two and headed to the checkout with an extra spring in my step.

A Grenache, for those not in the know, is a dessert wine known for it’s medium-bodied flavor and potent alcohol content. If not consumed with copious amounts of food, a Grenache can easily burn the belly. Because of this fact, I pulled out my son’s leftover birthday cake and got down to the task at hand – drinking. This ruby-colored wine did not disappoint. It boasts an alluring bouquet of smoke, cherries and strawberries with a smooth and mildly sweet finish. On the SMS scale (1-10) I rate this Bitch a 6.

On a side note, it makes a great gift. I am planning on giving a bottle to my mother-in-law.

Suggested pairings: Chocolate cake and an Ambien.

For more from Lea, visit her at HotandHealthyMom.com

A light & citrusy take on an old favorite. About 20 minutes from start to finish.

Ingredients:

4 skinless boneless chicken breast halves
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/3 cup Italian-seasoned breadcrumbs
cooking spreay
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/3 cup white wine (dry or sweet, as is your preference)
4 tsp capers
1 tablespoon butter

Directions:

1. Take out daily frustration by pounding chicken breasts with mallet (in plastic wrap) until 1/4 inch thick. Brush chicken with lemon juice, sprinkle with salt & pepper. Dredge in breadcrumbs.

2. Coat non stick skillet with cooking spray and heat over medium high heat. Add chicken & cook 3 minutes on each side. Remove from pan & keep warm.

3. Add chicken broth and wine to pan (don’t forget to ‘test’ the wine as you cook. But not too much, or dinner will be late and burned). Cook 30 seconds, stirring. Remove from heat, stir in capers and butter. Serve with veggie orzo or light basil pasta.