From Gordon Ramsay...to Gordon's Fish Sticks

Untold truth about parenthood (at least in my house): its killed my ability to cook well.

Actually, its more accurate to say its killed my desire to cook well.

When Jim and I were dating and in the first year or two after we got married, gourmet cooking was a hobby - dare I say - a passion of ours. We were foodies and proudly wore the mantel.

Michelin star restaurants? Tried em. Culinary food fests? Always attended.

Eight course wine pairing dinners at the top rated eateries in New York, London and Edinburgh? Yes, yes and yes please.

On vacation and 2/3 of the way through an eight-course wine-pairing and tasting lunch at The Kitchin restaurant in Scotland. Probably the best meal we ever had.

We celebrated Jim's 35th birthday at the exclusive Chef's Table at Gordon Ramsay's restaurant in London. We taped Bobby Flay cooking shows, Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations, and made a habit of trying new recipes every week out of our vast litany of celebrity chef cookbooks.

Jim plating food in Gordon Ramsay's London restaurant on his 35th birthday,

Me, prepping freshly caught (as in Jim...reeling it in out of the ocean that afternoon) Mahi-Mahi in our hotel room in southern Florida.

Things are a LITTLE different now.

Jim will sometimes tease me. "How come you don't cook anymore?" he'll say. Or, "Remember when we used to actually eat good food?"

Tonight, I was reminded why things have changed so drastically.

I do try to make an effort - albeit only once or twice a week, to make something a bit more involved. This evening was one of those nights.

The menu wasn't overly ambitious -- or at least it wouldn't have been -- in those days before we had a kid.  Rock cornish game hens with an orange-maple glaze, and steamed artichokes.

Everything started out well enough - I prepped the hens before I picked up Scott from daycare, put the artichokes on the stove, and prepared the glaze. All I had to when I got home was baste the hens a few times, reduce the glaze, pull the artichokes out of the steamer and plate dinner.

It was, essentially, an unmitigated disaster. Oh, the food turned out fine - yummy even. But I had to stop mid-basting on three separate occasions to find Scott's squishy baseball, re-assemble a Thomas train track and pick the kid up off the floor after he somehow managed to trip and cut his knee on some unseen piece of glass from an earlier broken bowl.

Each of these events was preceded by either whining or a full-on crying jag/temper tantrum.

Once we sat down to eat, Scott took exactly TWO bites of his dinner and then proceeded to whine/cry for the duration of the meal. Jim and I ate, in between repeated calls to "stop whining" and "take your fingers out of your mouth."

Jim had eaten about a quarter of his hen when Scott announced, "all-DONE!!" and started crying to get down.

A relaxing meal it was not. And at the end of our 20 minute inhale session, all I had to show for my 70-plus minutes of work was a pile of pots and pans that needed scrubbing. Scott later ate grapes.

Post dinner, post grape eating and about to embark on another temper tantrum.

So is it any wonder that our typical dinner menus now consist of takeout 2-3 times a week, and a stash of go-to-kid-friendly faves like fish sticks, macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets?

Some days I do feel bad about it - I always said I didn't want a fussy eater. I envisioned raising this kid who would eat sushi, lamb, risotto and whatever else I served with equal relish. Maybe I still will. But for now, he's freakin' two. It simply ain't gonna happen.

Scott has, in recent weeks, rejected my homemade clam chowder, my lasagna, and my steak quesadillas. I work hard at not taking it personally. Can I blame him for wanting In N Out burgers, fries and shakes? I admit it...they are truly yummy.

Burger, shake? Fries? Scott asks for this almost every day.

Don't get me wrong: I don't encourage pickiness - I won't serve him something else if he doesn't eat, but I have modified our menus to try to make kid-friendly meals on a regular basis.

It's just one of the many things that's changed around here since we've had Scott -- like the dishes that get stacked in the sink after breakfast and typically stay there until I finish cleaning dinner up at 8 p.m., or the basket of clean laundry that's been sitting next to my bed, unfolded, for at least a week. I'll get to it eventually.

And you know what? Shake and Bake Pork Chops, bananas, applesauce, frozen waffles, edamame, vanilla yogurt, chicken nuggets, string cheese and Gordon's Fish Sticks actually combine to make some interesting meals.

The birthday. Version 2.0

The birthday boy. Can't believe how big he looks here.

This is also known as "the weekend my house turned into a makeshift Sesame Street set."

Jim likes to joke that I started planning Scott's 2nd birthday the day after he turned one. This isn't true. I actually got a super late start this year (so much so that I had to email invitations to many folks via a jpeg/PDF.)

Oops.

The invitation...party brought to you by the Letter S and the Number 2.

But it is true that I've known for quite some time that Scott would have an Elmo-themed party. We debated choo-choo's and Mickey Mouse for a bit, but the truth is, there is nothing else that has captured his imagination this year quite like the little red muppet.

He won't go to bed without his Elmo stuffed animal, he carries it to the breakfast table, reads about him in books and watches him on TV. Next year, he'll probably be SO OVER Elmo...but for right now, he loves the guy, and I wanted to capture that with his party.

In true Richardson-Rough fashion, Scott's birthday celebration lasted four days. We don't do single-day parties in hour household. Oh no...we throw "events" that span weeks.

So it began on Friday, September 7 with a little soiree at daycare. Daddy, mommy and Grandma Kathy (who flew into town for Party 2.0) surprised Scott at school with a big batch of custom-baked Elmo cupcakes.

Seriously, how cute are these?

Scott, of course, was dressed in his custom-made Elmo 2nd birthday T-shirt. He didn't touch the cupcake, but enjoyed eating the Oreo and every bit of frosting off the top.

Going straight for the frosting. Mommy also makes a mental note at this moment that Scott needs a haircut before his birthday.

In four days of celebration, this is the ONLY picture of the three of us that was taken. Nice.

Saturday morning was the actual party day. Grandma Kathy and Daddy took Scott and got him out of the house for the morning, while my mom (aka Grandma Holly) and I decorated the place.

The party was part store-bought Sesame Street, part custom- theme that I um "borrowed" from another birthday party/blog I read about online. It was much work. But I love the way it turned out. Decorations were mostly simple - balloons galore and this awesome six-foot-high Elmo mural, which we have yet to take down.

Some of the 25 balloons that adorned our living room.

The mural/wall hanging. Scott loves it. It's still on display.

Scott came running into the house before his nap and saw it and the other decorations and stopped so suddenly with a "whoaaah!" that you could practically hear the skid marks on the floor. Priceless.

Once the party started, we had games and activities for the kids (12 total - all but one under the age of 5 - yikes!) that included Elmo's most favorite Sesame Street friends. There was Big Bird's Bubble Station, Oscar's Trash Can Toss and Ernie's Rubber Ducky Pond, where kids got to pick a duckie out of a bowl.

Said Duckie either had a 1, 2 or 3 emblazoned on the bottom. Each number corresponded to a little prize - a crazy straw, a Sesame Street blow out, or a Sesame Street tattoo. As luck would have it, both Scott and his cousin, Miss Peyton, drew number 3, so they each got to pick a tattoo. Scott chose Elmo (shocking) and Peyton Abby Cadaby. Not sure how long Peyton's lasted, but Scott was still sporting the remnants of that red Elmo tattoo a week later.

Ernie's Rubber Ducky pond...with stuffed Ernie.

Peyton emptying Oscar's Trash Can. 

Bubbles, bubbles and more bubbles!

Scott mesmerized by his new Elmo tattoo.

Because the kids were so little, we only played one "official" game - Pin the Nose on Elmo. Most of the little ones were excited to play, and Scott's little friend Mateo won by default after our two oldest participants (who nailed Elmo's nose perfectly within half a second) were disqualified by their mother.

Scott refused to wear the blindfold, but proudly stuck his Elmo nose on the board mid-way on the muppet's stomach. (We clearly still have some work to do on the location of "body parts.")

Logan plays Pin the Nose on Elmo.

Peyton's turn!

Scott's turn. He refused to use the blindfold.

No matter. He's proud of himself!

Food for the party was simple - Elmo's favorite food is pizza, so that was the main course. Anyone who has ever heard the Elmo theme song knows the "Elmo loves his goldfish" line, so I played off that with little snack cups filled with goldfish crackers. We wanted to have something healthy, so we also threw in "Eat Your Veggie" snack containers with ranch dip for the guests.

Goldfish snacks.

Elmo loves pizza...my mom made the crayon card holders.

Happy Birthday Elmo (in hat) says, "Eat your veggies!"

Dessert was a custom made Elmo cup-cake cake with vanilla and chocolate cupcakes.

C isn't just for cookies. It's also for Scott's 2nd birthday cake!

The cupcake cake. The kids all requested "chocolate cupcakes...and part of Elmo's face."

Scott was so out of his mind excited and overwhelmed with all the activity that we weren't able to get him to eat a single thing during the party. He just kept running in circles....though he apparently did sit down long enough to take a very important phone call. (He's in demand that way.)

"Hello? Yes, its my birthday. I am very busy and important."

Truth is, what he really wanted to do was get to the gifts. Tank has been OB-SESSED with baseball lately and Mateo and his mommy and daddy bought him a blue MLB bat that was sticking out of one of the gift bags. He couldn't wait to open it.

Check out the loot!

Clutching the bat, and giving a new, giant stuffed Elmo a big kiss.

I have no idea what gift we were opening here, but the expression on Scott's face is just too perfect.

He also got a Little Tikes T-ball set from cousin Peyton, Aunt Kristy and Uncle Martin, and he now insists on whacking white plastic balls through the middle of our living room every afternoon when he comes home from daycare.

Scott's friends and family were seriously generous: other prized presents included a metal/steel Tonka truck from his Uncle Robbie and the entire Thomas the Train Take 'N Play collection from Grandma and Grandpa.

He also got an enormous Little Tikes tool bench from his Nahnee, his great-grandma.

Scott has spent hours playing with each of these items in the days after his party.

Baseball!

What every kid needs for a perfect birthday party...a Tonka truck and a beer.

Daddy stayed up late to set up the tool bench, then showed Scott how to use it.

Jedi tool master!

Playing with one of our many choo-choo sets.

Oh - and have I mentioned that this extravaganza of an event was TWO days before his actual birthday?

On Sunday -- still not his birthday, mind you -- he got to go to grandma and grandpa's for dinner and open MORE presents. And then, on Monday (finally, his actually birthday) grandma picked him up early from daycare and took him to Imagination Avenue, an indoor play venue in Phoenix.

Then, that night, Mommy and Daddy took him out for a birthday dinner and sundae at Applebees.

It wasn't until Tuesday, September 11 that we actually declared an end to the "Scott Rough 2nd Birthday Celebration," at which point mommy collapsed and has only just now recovered enough to write this blog.

As cousin Peyton told my sister last weekend when they came over to watch football, "Mommy, it is NOT Scott's birthday anymore."

"Happy Birthday Scott...now let's move on."

Until next year, kiddos.

My "baby" is two!! Two!!

Twenty-four months ago (that's 730 days), my little Tank was born.

September 10, 2010

It sounds silly and trite to say, "I can't believe its been two years already! Where does the time go?"

After all, that's what I said last year, and that's probably -- if I am honest -- what I'll say every year on his birthday until he's 65 and I am too old and senile to actually remember that it's his birthday.

So instead of rehashing the obvious, I am going to focus on all the things Scott has accomplished in the past 12 months, the things I am so proud of, and all the little details I am noticing about him now. So here's your annual birthday letter, son.

Dear Scott:

Today you are two! Happy Birthday! Hopefully the actual day won't feel like too much of a letdown. It's a Monday after all, and I am dropping you at school (aka daycare) because Mommy has a really busy day at work.

We've been partying all weekend. We had cupcakes with your daycare class on Friday, a huge Elmo party for you on Saturday with 30-some people and 10 or 12 of your little friends. You opened presents for 45 minutes straight. Then, after conking out for 11 hours, you woke up Sunday morning and played with EVERYTHING again for four hours non-stop.

Sunday morning, and checking out your new tool set.

Choo-choo trains!

Sunday night we went to Grandma and Grandpa's house and opened more presents. And you ran around and ate cupcakes again.

It's now 8:42 on Sunday evening, and you are asleep and mommy is utterly exhausted. So again, I hope the "lack of activity" today - your actual birthday - isn't a bit of a letdown.

It's hard to believe that at this time last year, you weren't even walking. Truth be told, you weren't even taking your first tentative steps. You stood up and cruised the furniture, but you much preferred crawling.

Post cake-smash, birthday #1!

Twelve months later, and you don't really walk now either. You run everywhere. You LOVE baseball - and you throw your bat with glee whenever you make contact with the ball and dash around the couches and the kitchen in the house -- circling your own make-shift bases.

Mommy and Daddy can talk to you now, and that is so cool. You understand us (even though sometimes you ignore what we say) and we understand you. You know hundreds of words, and can ask for milk, juice, snacks, books, and "one more" of almost anything. You tell us when the water is too hot in the bath and when you want to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

We are so happy that you are finally using your words because we went through a major issue with you misbehaving at daycare - kicking, pushing, hitting, throwing - your teachers and the other kids (and yes, your mommy too!) whenever you got frustrated and didn't know what to say.

You amaze us with how much you've learned and how much you know. You know which sounds are associated with which animals; you can say "ABC" (though not the rest of the song yet), identify fruits and vegetables, match shapes and recognize colors. You love tools and puzzles, and are already adept at putting things together.

What else have I discovered about you this year? You absolutely HATE getting your fingernails and toenails trimmed/clipped. The only way I can get you to sit still long enough to do a handful at a time is to put you in my lap, let you watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and give you a lollipop to suck on (you call them pops.) All of this must occur simultaneously, and typically gives me a 3-5 minute window to work, before you've had enough.

Your favorite meal is In N Out burger - one cheeseburger, cut in half, sauce only (you eat almost the whole thing), plus half a chocolate shake, and, of course, fries. If I had to pick your second favorite food, I'd say its fish sticks. You are good about eating fruit, but are a horrible (utterly horrible!) vegetable eater.

You've already learned the fine art and pure joy that comes with dunking an Oreo in a cold glass of milk. It's your go-to dessert, and you take one bite off the cookie, then hold the rest in the milk until it gets nice and mushy and then shove the entire thing in your mouth.

You are very much a little boy -- and less and less a baby -- with each passing day. You are independent and funny, willful and stubborn, and a big kid in so many ways. In fact, that is how mommy is already thinking of you as the "big kid"...especially with your baby sister scheduled to arrive in three short months.

I already know you are going to be the best big brother ever. You are sweet and gentle with the little girls in your class - you even helped one get out of her chair last week when she got stuck - you share your toys with your cousin Peyton, and give kisses freely to friends Chloe and Addison.

We are working to "transition" you to big boy things. There's a toddler bed in your room now, although you've so far shown no interest in sleeping in it, choosing your crib, instead, every night and at naptime.  You occasionally ask to sit on the potty in the bathroom before bath-time -- an indication that it may be time to start potty training soon.

But as big as you are, sometimes you still give me flashes of the baby boy who is rapidly disappearing. You still sometimes curl your fingers around my hand while I am reading you a story, you fold yourself onto my chest and want to be rocked when your sick or have had a bad dream, you lay your head on my shoulder to give me a hug when you need an extra bit of comfort.

I cherish these moments, even as I look ahead with great anticipation to everything you are going to accomplish in the next year.

And I know big things await you. You are naturally observant and curious, and everything excites you. You are constantly seeking out new things, trying to figure stuff out.

Stay curious, my little man. Enjoy your day. Enjoy your year. Enjoy being two and enjoy being you. Happy 2nd Birthday. Mommy and Daddy love you always!

Getting in touch with his feminine side?

My whole family has long joked that Scott is "all boy."

He already hands me bugs with glee. He loves digging in the dirt with his daddy, seeks (and finds) mud puddles with something akin to a built-in GPS, and is obsessed with all things trucks, trains and planes.

His favorite toys are his "tools," which include a play drill, hammer, plastic screws and nails.

But lately, he seems equally willing to embrace "girl stuff." He routinely mimics me - grabbing my hairdryer and roller brush and pretends to brush his hair. And last night, he pulled out a princess tea set and poured mommy and grandma several cups of tea.

I personally think he's prepping himself for the arrival of his little sister. And he's got a great instructor//mentor//coach - big cousin Peyton, who is more than willing to school him on all things important to the fairer sex.

Exhibit A:

Scott knows that girls love their accessories. Only he could rock a "Chicks Dig Me" shirt and pink polka dot sunglasses. The pink stroller? The perfect final detail.

Exhibit B:

Scott decided to help Mommy select shoes this morning. The wisdom of pairing pink satin bows with red-robots aside, I think this will be a fantastic blackmail photo in about 13 years.

Isn't he going to be the best big brother ever??

I am a master interpreter

Scott is babbling non-stop now (I think he gets it from his mama.)

And most of the time, I actually know what the hell he's talking about. Note: I said most. As in, sometimes he still stumps me and then gives me a look like I am a ginormous idiot when I stare at him blankly.

I am very proud of myself, actually. Used to be, when I was around my friends' small kids, they'd say something in their garbled tongue and I'd look at them like they were speaking Mandarin.

And I'd be amazed when their mother would immediately translate, "Oh, she wants you to play tea party with her." Or, "He's offering you some of his crackers."

I wondered how the hell they knew what their kids were saying. Now I know. Its a skill. A skill acquired from long hours of faking it -- nodding like you know what your toddler is talking about -- until you actually figure out what your toddler is talking about.

So for anyone who might have an encounter with my son, here's a guide to what I like to refer to as "Scott-speak."

Toose:
This one is critical. It refers to one of two things - his shoes, or his ever-present, always running, Fisher-Price mechanical drill, hammer and tool set. (He has a tendency to leave these items all over the house and patio, which means a lot of treasure hunting for mommy and daddy.)
The good news is, you've got a 50-50 shot of getting which one he wants right. And if you hand him the wrong one, he'll shove your hand away and say, "NO! and repeat "Toose!"
Immediately go fetch the other.

"Where Daddy go?" 
This is pretty obvious. Problem is, he never understands the answer. No matter what you say (Daddy's at the store, Daddy's at work), he'll still wander from room to room, arms up at his side, repeating it...over and over and over.
Sometimes, Daddy is actually at home, but say, in the bathroom. Doesn't matter. Scott will find him. There is no such thing as privacy when he asks, "Where Daddy go?"

"Daddy Toose." 
This refers to any and all items that belong to Jim that are inherently dangerous, should be out of reach, and that Tank has an incredible knack for finding. The kid is constantly handing me nails, screwdrivers, staplers, foil cutters and drills. When Jim is working in the yard, Scott always wants to be by his side...and he immediately heads straight for the shovel, rake or the very large shearing thing that could easily cut off one of his fingers in about 2.6 seconds. Without fail. Every time.

"Mouse."
This refers to his stuffed Mickey Mouse, which he insists on carrying with him to breakfast every morning, along with his stuffed Elmo and his stuffed "fishie," (which is really a stuffed Nemo -- like from the movie) that he sometimes calls "Elmo." Just you know, to really confuse you.

"Mote Mouse." 
This means "I want to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" (like NOW. STAT.) so I can laugh and drive you crazy as I listen to that stupid "Hot Dog Dance" song over and over and over again.

"Nack."
At first I thought this was neck. I was wrong. It means snack. Usually of the goldfish or teddy graham variety. And you better find it fast.

"Cheers." 
Scott likes to clink glasses at every meal time and snack time. Typically we must do this at least three or four times during a sitting. And it does not count unless every person participates. Fine if there's 3 of us. At family dinners with 8 or more people, you watch your food grow cold while you knock glasses back and forth.
Scott also thinks its funny to hit the glasses really hard now, and to try to make Daddy's wine slosh on the table.

"Morh"
This means more. That's pretty obvious. But he never tells you more of what. Have fun guessing.

"Pees."
Nope, we aren't talking about the green round vegetable here. Scott prefers to pretend those don't exist. This is please, and he is saying it consistently -- albeit with prompting. Yay!

"Tu-Tu."
 Scott's version of thank you, which I somehow find utterly hilarious and adorable.  He says it with prompting, though he sometimes gets confused and says "Pees" after you give him something. (As a side note, Scott now says "Bless you" whenever I sneeze. I did not teach him this, but I love the person who did, because its the most endearing thing ever.)

"Fu**"
The first time he said this, I was deeply concerned. Then I realized he was pointing proudly at a cute green frog in one of his pop-up books. This word is now used interchangeably to also mean "Fork." Needless to say, we don't bring any stuffed frogs with us when we are out and about and try to make sure there's always multiple utensils handy so Scott never actually has to ask for a fork in public.

A couple other random tidbits of news:

Scott scored his first swimming "ribbon" this month, after mastering the ever-so-complicated (and competitive) skill known as "monkey crawling." In this activity, our hero, shimmies along the wall of the pool, hand over hand, until he reaches the stairs, then climbs his way out.

Doesn't he look proud?

Also: Jim and I got BIG NEWS this week. Scott is going to be a big brother...to a LITTLE SISTER! That's right, Rough-baby-to-be is a girl.Scott hasn't quite yet gotten the concept of a new sibling, but he does know there is a baby in my tummy and he will give his sister a kiss when asked.

My kid is a pint-sized terror

Payback is a bitch.

I am just wondering what I did in my previous life/childhood that was so egregious to deserve what I am now getting in spades.

You can call it what you want - a phase, the terrible two's, typical toddler behavior. I prefer to refer to it much more simply: HELL.

Tank is a non-stop, whiny, emotional, temper-tantrum throwing, shall we say, pain in the rear?

We had glimpses of it earlier this year, and then it was like a switch flipped in daycare.  Now its his basic M.O.

He pushes the other kids in his class, throws Legos at their heads, doesn't listen, routinely whacks his classmates in the ear with trucks, and hits his teachers.

Now its a rare day where he ISN'T put in timeout for some transgression. Usually he's in the doghouse at least twice. And he's acting out at home too - he swats (read: hits) me on the arm every time I make him do something he doesn't like.

He's clingy...grabbing my legs and following me -- literally attached to my body -- from room to room. If he doesn't get what he wants, he whines. And its not a normal whine.

Its one of those high pitched, never ending sounds that only dogs are meant to hear, at a decibel that makes the brain matter start to ooze out your ears.

We've tried time outs. Ignoring him. Being firm. Yelling. You name it. We've bought books with fantastic titles like "No Hitting" and "Sharing Time" and "Don't Kick the Dog." We've talked to his pediatrician, had "conferences" with his daycare teachers.

The general consensus is that we better buckle up, strap in, and buy some earplugs and body pads, because this "phase" could last a while.

To you, it may look like breakfast. But really he's plotting against me. 

I have to admit...I am not just frustrated. I am a little worried. Have we turned Scott into a juvenile delinquent already? If he can cause this much trouble at 22 months, what the hell am I going to do when he's 8? 13? 17?

All of a sudden I am having all these flashbacks to every rotten thing I did as a kid - destroying my parents coffee table with nail polish remover, mouthing off to my mom, backing the family car through the garage door. (That was, yes, one of my finer moments.)

None of these were fatal mistakes, to be sure. But surely somewhere there is a cosmic scorecard and that's why my child has turned into a white-haired, cherubic-faced demon, right? (For those of you who just conjured up an image of "Children of the Corn"...well, you wouldn't be far off.)

I had someone tell me I should be grateful - at least he's not biting. Somehow, that is of small comfort. I mean, can you imagine how that conversation would go on the playground?

Parent #1: You're kid isn't the biter, is he?

Me: NO! He knows better than that. He's the blond one over there who likes hitting other kids in the face with plastic and metal toys when he's upset.

Yeah, I don't see that helping me set up a lot of playdates.

I am sure in 15 years, I'll laugh about this. In 20, I'll embarrass Scott by sharing these stories with his friends and girlfriends, and I'll gleefully exact some measure of revenge in doing so.

But in the meantime, does anyone know if the  Marine Corps offers some sort of boot camp for toddlers?