How Chickpeas Made Me a Better Parent

Parenting in the summer is way harder than parenting during the school year. The kids are spending just a *little* too much time at home, if you know what I mean.

When it comes to parenting,  my default instinct is to punish. “If you don’t get your pajamas on, you’ll lose your story!” “You’re going to miss your chance for breakfast!” “If you don’t get in the car right now vacation is CANCELLED!” Not only does this not work very well, but you run the serious risk of losing all of your parental power. Most threats are completely idle bluffs and don’t stand up well to being called. The more your bluffs are called, the more the kids realize that you actually have no power in the first place. The whole parental authority thing has less basis in reality than the U.S. economy. Aside from that, who wants to be that guy who’s yelling all the time?

Instead, Sara came up with a strict chickpea policy. Every time the kids do something “good”, a dried chickpea is moved from the chickpea supply over to the “ice cream” jar. Once they get 100 chickpeas, they get ice cream.

As far as motivation goes, this works okay for Ollie, but works really well for Evie. She reaaaally wants that ice cream, and tries very hard to be helpful. I wish she wanted to be helpful for its own sake, rather than for external validation, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.

I put “good” in quotes up there, because it is very loosely defined. On the theory that success breeds success, we’ve just been trying to give them chickpeas for ANYTHING. I really think this is the key. I mean, why not, right? It’s not costing you anything, and you do want to encourage ALL good behaviors, right? Said thank you without being prompted? Chickpea. Let your sister pick first when you really, really wanted to pick first? Chickpea. Cleaned your room, helped fold laundry, and went 5 minutes without a fight? Chickpea, chickpea and chickpea. It really does seem like there is a snowball effect: the more chickpeas they earn, the more they want to earn them. (Along those lines, henceforth ice cream will be obtained at only 50 chickpeas. Success breeds success, right?)

The thing is, it’s more than just motivating the kids. This chickpea thing actually puts me in a better mood. It makes me think more positively; I find myself searching for good things to give chickpeas for instead of focusing on the bad things. This just naturally puts me in a better mood, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it makes me a better parent.

When I was a kid, my mom had a complicated system of marbles. There was a list of tasks which could earn you marbles, and a list of rewards you could “buy” with marbles. 5 marbles to pick from the prize bucket, 10 marbles to skip out on your “job” (i.e. mom would wash the dishes that night), 20 to spend the night at a friend’s house, etc. I remember this very fondly. Perhaps as time goes on we can elaborate on our system a little.

For now, though, we’re keeping it simple. And yes, the kids have earned their first ice cream!

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Quote Monday survived birthday weekend

Me: “…she had a lot of specific plans for her birthday. We have to keep reminding her it’s her birthday not her coronation.”
Aunt Rachael: “Ha! Every time you tell me a story about her, she reminds me more of myself.”

::Evie, pushing a friend in a stroller::
Evie, with an exasperated look: “Now I understand how hard it is to have kids!”

Truly, pushing them in the stroller is the hardest part.

Evie, addressing a room full of adults on their phones: “Hey adults! How about we talk to each other!”

And finally, Evie’s last word on her birthday weekend:

Me: “That was a pretty perfect birthday weekend.”
Evie, ambivalently: “Yeah.”
Me: “Was there something you would have changed?”
Evie: “I wish I could have been more bossy.”
Me, trying to keep a straight face: “More bossy?”
Evie: “Yup.”

Too bad she was constrained by things like the number of hours in a day.

Hooray for Birthdays!

Today is Evie’s birthday, and, I don’t know, it just seems like a big one.

I think it’s because she’s getting ready to start 1st grade. That just seems so old. She really isn’t a baby anymore.

Sometimes it is very difficult to distinguish Evie from a teenager. However, she can be so helpful when she wants to be, and it’s so nice to be able to give her a bit of a longer leash. I can trust her to be out of my eyesight. She’s almost TOO helpful when it comes to her brother, jumping to do anything for him that he doesn’t want to do, to the point that he’s quite used to getting her to do his chores for him. (Don’t worry, they still fight plenty too!)

Evie has *big* plans for her birthday. The closer we got, the more elaborate they became. Every single detail of her day is planned out, from what we will eat, to what presents she’s going to receive from whom, to what we will do and when. It started relatively simple: “…and then I will come upstairs in my pajamas, and you guys will give me a present which will be an outfit for me to wear…”, but it’s gotten more elaborate from there. The last I heard was that she wanted me to wake her up by playing happy birthday on the accordion, after which she would take the keyboard into each guest’s bedroom to awaken them in turn by playing happy birthday.

We have to keep reminding her it’s going to be her birthday, not her coronation.

I have to admit that I’m so thrilled that Evie has turned into quite the bookworm. It just reminds me so much of myself when I was a kid, that I can’t help but feel a little…proud? Honored? Excited on her behalf for all of the wonderful books she’s yet to discover? I don’t know. But when she stays up reading late into the night, I can’t help but get a smile on my face.

Happy birthday sweetheart. I love you more than the whole, wide world.

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Homemade Pizza

The first Friday of the month is reserved for recipes. You can see additional First Friday Food posts here.

The Reason:

When I started doing First Friday Food posts, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do with them. I think I had a vague notion of maybe using it to try out new recipes? However, they’ve very quickly turned into a repository for all our best recipes, and I mainly use it to look up all the stuff I need to cook.

So, that being said, I can’t believe I haven’t put this recipe up before! I don’t think we go a single week without making pizza.

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The Journey:

I know a lot of pizza is consumed in America. What do people do? Is it all takeout? Please tell me it isn’t all frozen pizza.

Pizza from a restaurant is so different than homemade pizza that, to me, they’re like separate food items. There’s pizza, and then there’s homemade pizza. Entirely different animals. I could have homemade one night and store-bought the next and it wouldn’t seem weird.

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When I was a kid, we always made our own pizza. It was kind of “our thing” as a family. I remember having friends come over to stay the night and they would be so excited to make pizza. They had honestly never heard of making your own pizza.

I remember one year we made personal pizzas for my birthday party. I suppose these days that’s not that unusual, but back then it was a big deal. Kids went nuts. My mom let us put whatever we wanted on our pizzas. For all my friends who thought pizza could only come pre-made, it was like leaving prison for the first time in 20 years and being handed a million bucks. A little too much freedom. I remember some kids putting ketchup instead of sauce, I think maybe even someone put mustard on one, a couple of people went with gummy worms…it was getting out of control.

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It’s fun to carry on the tradition with my own kids. They love it. We had to buy an extra rolling pin to avoid fights.

There’s just something liberating about tossing anything and everything on the pizza. It’s great, because you can use up whatever you have in the fridge, different people can have different toppings and make it just how they want it (Evie has just crust and sauce, that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less (unless there’s bacon)), and it’s never the same thing twice!

Some of our regular toppings include:

  • Onion (white or red)
  • Peppers (of a variety of colors)
  • Tomatoes
  • Fresh mozzarella
  • Parmesan
  • Pesto (instead of tomato sauce)
  • Assorted spices (e.g. black pepper, oregano, crushed red pepper, garlic powder, dill)
  • Bacon or crumbed sausage
  • Sundried tomatoes
  • Sliced garlic
  • Artichokes
  • Radishes

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The Verdict:

I mean, what’s there to say? It’s homemade pizza.

It’s amazing. Everybody loves it. It’s relatively healthy. It’s pretty easy to throw together. It’s fun. It’s both a food an activity.

Enjoy!

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The Recipe:

  • 1 1/8 cup water
  • 1 Tablespoon sugar
  • 1 1/2 Tablespoons oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
  • 2 Tablespoons wheat gluten
  • 2 Tablespoons flax (ground)
  • 2 1/2 teaspoons yeast
  1. Add everything to your bread machine and run the “pizza” cycle, if you have one. Ours takes 45 minutes and kneads periodically.
  2. Allow the dough to rise for about 30 minutes.
  3. Preheat the oven to 550 degrees.
  4. Roll the dough flat and place it on a pizza pan or cookie sheet. We make two pizzas with this recipe.
  5. Add whatever toppings your heart desires.
  6. Cook for 8 minutes.
  7. Turn off the smoke detector which absolutely always goes off during this time.
  8. Rotate the pizzas and cook for no more than 5 minutes more.

Evie and the “Bee”

Evie and I were swimming in the pool (or rather I was swimming and she was receiving a “dolphin-back ride”), when I heard something large buzzing around my head.

“Is there something buzzing around us?” I asked Evie. “I can’t see it.” “Yeah,” she said, “A big bee.”

I started swimming away from the corner of the pool, but it’s hard to move very fast with a kid hugging your windpipe like it’s her favorite teddy.

“Is it still around us?” I asked, not hearing it anymore. With Spock-like calmness she replied, “It’s on my head. It’s stinging me.”

Just about then I reached a shallow enough part of the pool where I could stand up. I took her off my back and she was as calm and still as could be. Later she told me, “I was thinking, it’s stinging me. Is this what stinging feels like? Why does everybody make such a fuss about it?”

Fortunately for her, I discovered it was not actually a bee on her head. Unfortunately for her, it was a horsefly the size of a silver dollar, and it was positively burrowing into her skull.

I’m sure that a bee sting would have been worse, but there is something absolutely, revoltingly, primally, abhorrent about seeing a giant insect burrowing into your daughter. I shudder even to remember it now. My first reaction was just to pull her under water (which I luckily didn’t do, because I’m quite sure she would take giant biting insects over a surprise dunk in the pool any day of the week), or just get her away from that thing as fast as humanly possible. I actually don’t even remember what I did, maybe flicked it off? And then ran in the other direction? I don’t know.

By the time I got her safely to the shallow end, there was a lot of blood. I quite brilliantly said, “Ohmygoshthere’salotofblood!” It was only at this point that she started to cry.

Now obviously, at the end of the day, all was well. However, as I reflected back on the whole thing I was completely floored by how brave she had been. Thinking that a bee was stinging her repeatedly in the head, she absolutely did what we’ve always told her to do: she stayed still and calm, trusting that startling it would only make things worse. She didn’t panic, she kept her head, and if only it *had* been a bee, she probably would have been fine. Keeping your head in a crisis is a fine trait to have, it’s just unfortunate that it was a horsefly intent on FEASTING ON THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT.

Someone wise once said, “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Clearly, this one’s jedi training is coming along smashingly.