Guess What I Just Realized?!?

If you go on Google and type in "kidney beans smell" without the quotes around it, my blog is the 3rd entry to come up!

I'm not sure if I should be excited, or really, really sad about that being the search that's driving people to my blog.

But if you're some poor soul who found my page by accident because your kitchen now smells funky, welcome!  Go open a couple of windows and then check things out here.

Also, as my public service announcement of the week:  If you're going to be cooking kidney beans this holiday season and using dried kidney beans out of a bag, make sure you boil them well before eating or throwing them in your slow cooker, because otherwise you'll end up with food poisoning.  This is probably really only an issue for my fellow slow cooker fanatics, because apparently slow cookers do not always get the beans hot enough to kill the evil toxin inside the beans.  Simmering them for 8 hours is not enough - they have to actually be boiled for a good 10 minutes.  (If you're cooking them on the stove, presumably you'll be boiling them long enough trying to soften them that whatever toxin is there will be killed.)  You don't even need to eat a lot of them to get sick - just 3 beans is enough to do it.  Scary, huh?  Personally, I think there should be more warning about this sort of thing - I mean, everyone knows that eating undercooked meat can cause problems, but I never heard anything about kidney beans until I started looking up recipes online.  Even then, a lot of recipes assume you're using canned beans, and don't warn you about the dried ones.

Alternatively, you could take the general stench and toxins as a sign that kidney beans are evil and to be avoided like the plague.

Anyway, my point is, if you're using dried beans in a recipe, do a quick search online to make sure you are cooking them correctly.  You don't want to end up fighting 15 people for bathroom rights because your chili recipe just poisoned them at your cousin's Christmas party.

R.I.P. Little Crock-Pot

Allright, so a 7qt slow cooker isn't exactly little, but it made for a better title.

Anyways, my slow cooker died a few weeks back.  I was washing the ceramic insert and noticed that there was a hairline crack running straight across the bottom.  After doing some research online, it appears to be a common problem with the model I had purchased, and once you notice a crack it's basically a ticking time bomb.  It might last you another couple of weeks, or tomorrow you could find it's shattered and your beef stew has leaked everywhere.  In other words, it's really not worth risking it.

Fortunately, this is the time of year to get a deal on slow cookers.  I'm steering clear of Crock-Pot this time, not only because it cracked, but because the lid tended to rattle and the last couple of times moisture was getting trapped between the insert and the actual metal pot, leaving a layer of funkiness I could never quite clean off.  Eventually I found a cheerful looking red one from Hamilton Beach which had surprisingly good reviews and only cost $15.  It's a 5 qt instead of 7, but I think that's really all I need - it's not like I'm cooking a Thanksgiving turkey in there.  I've been debating whether to hold off on buying it until after Cyber Monday in case someone has an amazing sale on it, but I use it pretty often during the fall/winter, and $15 really isn't a bad price.  So if I do end up just going ahead and ordering it tonight, I will post pictures of it later in the week.

I Guess We're Not Doing Such A Bad Job After All

Sometimes, on days where WeeBee ignores everything I say, I start to freak out.  On days that I'm incredibly sleep deprived, I start thinking that he will never listen to anything I tell him, and I will end up as the mother of a chainsaw wielding serial killer.  (Yes, when I'm sleep deprived, chainsaw massacres are a natural progression from throwing sippy cups and bouncing on the bed.)  Not to diminish the responsibility that serial killers have for their crimes, but let's face it, if your kid ends up being a serial killer, you screwed up somewhere.

Anyway, yesterday we were heading home after a very long afternoon.  Our gps had malfunctioned, we ended up driving around in circles for an hour, stuck on a detour, and ended up stopping at Ikea for ice cream out of frustration.  When we finally got back to our town, we couldn't turn onto our street because the telephone pole that had fallen six hours ago still hadn't been removed.  We were driving along our latest detour when out of nowhere WeeBee said, "Thank you, Daddy.  Thank you for taking us to the store and for ice cream."

I guess he pays more attention than I thought.

How Do You Scold A Toddler

That tunes out whatever you just said, instead hugging your kneecaps and saying, "Oh, Mommy, come have cup of tea.  Is all right, Mommy.  You need cup of tea?"

Never mind that he's the one throwing blocks or hanging upside down off rocking chairs.  Clearly, Mommy is the one who's over reacting.

Stop Eating the Pumpkins!

Today, WeeBee and Lowly went to the pumpkin farm for the first time.  Lowly slept the entire time.  WeeBee, however, had an awesome trip.  I think the highlight was going on the hayride - he got to see a tractor up close and even did a little "IT'S A TRACTOR!  IT'S A TRACTOR!" happy dance.  He wandered around the pumpkin patch organizing the pumpkins.  (Apparently he's inherited Daddy's OCD-ness.)  We had apple cider donuts that were literally fresh out of the frier.  He had a great time running through a hay bale tunnel and climbing to the top of the hay bale pyramid with Paka.  He even got a little pumpkin painted on his hand.  (We weren't sure how he'd react to getting his face painted, so that seemed safer.)

Somewhere along the line, he got it in his head that you could eat pumpkins raw.  He was puttering around organizing them in the field, and then I noticed he was leaning over and licking them.  Naturally, we tried to stop him, but everyone had their hands full and it was difficult to tell when he was simply bending over to pick up another pumpkin, and when he was trying to eat it.  The one we ended up taking home actually has a few little teeth marks on it.  I don't know if he thought they were mutant apples or what, but he got a kick out of it.  (He calls potatoes "apples in the ground," so who knows.)

WeeBee's questionable hygiene habits aside, it was a great day.  :)

Fearless

WeeBee has not learned a thing from his E.R. trip.  Today as I was looking for my pocketbook on our way out the door, I heard the following.

"Look, Mommy!  Bump!  Bump!  Bump!  Hi, Mommy!  Bump!  Bump!"

I looked up, and there he was, sliding down our staircase, on his rear, yelling "Bump!" every time he hit the next step.  He's going to give me an ulcer.  Apparently the other day I was such a nervous wreck that he finally grabbed my hand and dragged me into the kitchen, saying, "Come, Mommy.  You make cup of tea.  Have cup of tea."

He's lucky he's such a sweetheart.  ;)

What Goes Up Must Come Down

And sometimes that involves hitting numerous pieces of furniture along the way.

Well, it finally happened - WeeBee's insistence on living life on the edge landed him in the E.R.  Considering how much of my day is spent dragging him off chairs, counters, and other not so inanimate objects that he shouldn't be surfing on, I guess it was only a matter of time before he did some actual damage.

One minute he was throwing a hissy fit because I would only let him eat four crackers right before dinner, and the next he had either lost his balance or thrown himself backwards and was on the floor.  On the way down he hit the table and the chair next to him, neither of which had particularly sharp edges.  He jumped up right away, shaking his head and screaming bloody murder.  I picked him up and was rocking him back and forth when I realized there actually was blood running down my hand...and all over the lower back of his head.

Thankfully Daddy was home.  He was able to clean WeeBee up a bit while I pinned his arms down - at least to the point where we could see where the blood was actually coming from.  There was a nice 1/2 inch gash to the back of his head.  It was still sort of difficult to see how deep it was (curly blood matted hair and thrashing toddler don't exactly lend themselves to precise measurements) so we decided not to risk it and headed over to the E.R.

We were in and out of there in 3 hours, which really wasn't bad considering how many football and soccer players were sitting around us with broken arms and legs in the waiting room.  Apparently it was a pretty bad night for sports on the Jersey Shore.  WeeBee alternated between talking to the fish in the giant fish tank, and climbing on chairs.  (Clearly he learned nothing from his adventure.)  In the end, he needed 2 staples to close the gash.  The worst part of the day was hearing him cry "I'm sorry Mommy!  I'm sorry Mommy!" while I pinned him down on the table.  I couldn't see his face, but I knew he had that, "Why are you letting them do this to me?" look.

Afterwards, covered in blood and toddler snots, we hit the McDonald's drive-thru and got ice cream, which WeeBee proceeded to get all over himself and his car seat.  By the time we got home, we looked like extras in a low budget horror movie.

His first words when we got in the house?  "Mommy, can I have a cracker?"