Ew. Ew. Ewwww!!
October 24, 2007
Today’s preschool field trip (yes, they do those, who knew?) proved enlightening on a very interesting front.
First let me diverge by saying I’m pretty carnivorous. Yep. Loooove meat. I’m not ashamed of it in the least. While many of my friends are vegetarian – I’m the gal that thinks that vegetables are what food eats. Oh, alright, I’ll eat broccoli and a host of other veggies too, but if the choice is between animal protein and plants? I’ll take mine medium-rare, thanks. I have no issue with the fact that something on my plate may have once wandered around on two or four feet – the only issue in that vein I’ve ever had is leaving the fish-head on – I want to eat my dead animal, not have a staring contest with it.
Meanwhile, my darling Buttercup is pretty much a self-imposed vegetarian. The closest she comes to eating meat is the chicken soup broth that surrounds the noodles at Sweet Tomatoes. If it weren’t for Boca Burgers, edamame and dairy, I don’t know how we’d get protein into that child.
So now that I’ve thrown in a seemingly irrelevant tangent, let me get back to the gist, shall I?
Today’s field-trip to the Wildlife Center was interesting. We carpooled with Buttercup’s best friend (ooh, she needs a name… hm… let’s call her Blondie – because that kiddo is a serious towhead and I can remember it) and her Mom. We arrived at the center to a handful of preschool classmates and their assorted adult-escorts (parents, grandparents, what-have-you) bipping about playing with the “hands-on exhibits.”
One of which was a coyote skin. Well, I guess you’d call it a pelt, since there wasn’t any coyote in it… just the fur, the preserved head, paws, and tail. But it was draped over a 4 year old crawling on the ground pretending to stalk another 4 year old… Buttercup’s first reaction was not unlike mine. Ew. Why is she wearing that?
It got better of course when the grandmother of said pelt-covered-child grabbed the unstuffed-but-preserved carcass of a skunk and threw it on the floor for coyote-girl to pounce on with an encouraging “get it! Kill that skunk!”
There was an entire basket of pelts and other dead furry bits for the kids to play with. That should’ve been my first clue as to what we were in for, but I must be more of an optimist than I realize.
Shortly after we arrived, the aging-goth-chick nature-guide-lady (let’s call her Nature-chick for short) circled the kids on the floor in the other room and told us parents to make ourselves comfortable in the chairs behind them. I’ll spare you most of the details, but the next 30-40 minutes was a lecture involving hand-puppets such as deer, owl, coyote, beaver and prairie dogs, that would then be compared to their preserved skulls and bits and pieces of the dead things – a deer’s antler, coyote skin, etc. brought out for the children to see and ostensibly touch.
It was like a parade of bizarre taxidermy. I wasn’t exactly expecting a disembodied owl’s wing, a detached beaver tail, or a preserved owl’s claw, talons spread. I’m fairly certain the kids weren’t either. Buttercup was the first girl to voice her objections loudly… when Nature-chick said “you can touch it” about the first item up for grabs (a deer skull) she didn’t even hesitate to belt out “I’m not going to touch that!” and was echoed by a handful of the girls who were clearly trying to back away.
I convinced her to touch the deer skin by saying “it feels soft like a kitty, honey” and that emboldened all of the girls to try it – but once the detached beaver tail came out, they were done.
It didn’t help much that Nature-chick’s explanation of why the coyote had such long canines and the owl had such a sharp beak were variants of “that’s so he can go outside, pounce on a squirrel, shake it to death and rip its throat out and eat it…” and “that’s so he can swoop down silently from the sky and seize a bunny with his sharp talons and kill it and rip into it with his sharp beak to shred it and eat it.”
Seriously?
Did you seriously just repeatedly tell my child that nice old Mister Owl and Mister Coyote like to pounce on the fuzzy woodland creatures that Snow White adores so and rip them to shreds and eat them? Because I was thinking I’d like to have your phone number, Nature-chick, so that when she wakes up at 3 a.m. with the “Mommy! There’s an owl in my room and it’s trying to kill me and eat me!” nightmare I can call you and ’share’ the experience with you.
Don’t get me wrong – I think rabbit tastes delicious. I’m just fairly certain that it does me little good to censor what she sees on T.V. when you’ve decided that it’s appropriate to talk about predators and bunny killing with my child before I do…
Oh – and don’t even get me started on telling the kids that a male deer’s antlers are there to attract the ‘lay-dees’ and demonstrating to them how he ’struts’ to show off and trying to get them all to emulate you by wiggling your hips with a horn on your head and telling them “strut!! Strut with me!!” At least none of them went along with you on that, Nature-chick… so you were the only one looking silly.
So now the likelihood that my daughter is going to be eating meat any time in the near future? Slimmer than it was before, if that’s possible. Seriously, couldn’t we have at least pretended that hamburger comes from the store for a few more years?
Ah well. Live and learn I guess. It just makes me all the more leery about the next field trip. I mean, I know we go to Home Depot at some point later in the school year. Do I have to worry about someone showing my daughter how to use a Sawzall to dismember something? Yikes.
Now that I think about it, I wonder if Nature-chick did the taxidermy herself? Hmmm…
Butter – who knew?
October 22, 2007
I was just looking over the referrer traffic – which surprised the heck out of me by existing in the first place. Not many blogs get traffic with only four entries… heck, I didn’t expect any at this point except one or two friends dropping by.
But it turns out that the world is rather interested in butter. Or at least interested in making butter out of heavy cream using baby food jars!
Before last week, I didn’t even know you could do that.
I think it’s rather cool that there are other folks out there who want to teach their kids how to do this. It tells me there are other parents and teachers out there who think that stuff like this is important to do with kids. It’s a happy thing.
For those who got here looking for the howto on that here ya go:
Supplies
Baby food jars – the standard 4 oz. size
Heavy Whipping Cream
Salt
Strainer
Directions
Pour cream into jar(s) about 4/5 full – leave room for shaking – add 1 pinch salt (about 1/8 tsp), reseal jar with lid securely – shake! Shake, shake, shake!! The mixture will get thick first, after much shaking, you will see small holes in the liquid starting to appear as the butter starts to form. You’re almost there! Shake more and you will see within a couple more minutes that the butter separates out from the buttermilk. When the butter has formed a little clump/ball in the bottom, remove the lid and use strainer or just carefully pour off the milk – you can save it if you want, or just pour it off. Then rinse the butter with water to make sure you get the layer of milk off, so that it doesn’t turn the butter sour. Refrigerate.
And by the way? Yeah, it’s really good butter!
Slow Down
October 20, 2007
There I was, checking my email this afternoon, for the first time in 4 hours… which, if you’re like me is an inordinately long period of time without at least scanning the inbox.
*heaaaavy sigh from the kidlet*
“What’s up, Buttercup?” (where her nickname comes from, by the way…)
“I’m sad. There’s no mommies around to play with me…” she said in that heartbreakingly forlorn way.
“No mommies? What am I?”
“Well, you could play with me I guess.”
“You just said there were no mommies to play with — and I’m pretty sure I’m a mommy. Does that mean I can’t play with you?”
“No… it means you’re more than my Mommy — you’re my friend. Let’s play!” she said, as she launched herself in my general direction.
I suppose it’s a sign of security that she had such blind faith that I would and could stop her 33lb self from plummeting to the floor at gravity’s insistent beckoning — especially given that jumping isn’t her strong suit and she was a good 2 feet short of getting there on her own.
Ahhh parabolic trajectories and analytical calculus — not the native domain of preschoolers.
I grabbed my girl and managed to keep her from *ker-thumping* face first into the floor by means of the Mommy bear-hug… and we collapsed into the easy chair laughing.
“Hey,” I said, “I know… would you like to help me bake some pink cupcakes?”
Like she’d say no.
So we adjourned to the kitchen, where there was measuring, pouring, mixing, etc.
Baking. It’s just a sneaky way of getting science in early, you know.
Fast-forward to the part where the cupcakes come out of the oven, but the 9″ round cake needs a few more minutes. I remove the perfectly brown (yet somehow still pink) cupcakes from the oven and put them on top of the stove. I rest the oven-mitts on the side nearest the sides little hands might get to and admonish my child to ’stay away from there until they cool.’
This isn’t the first time we’ve done this. She knows the routine. Cupcakes come out — cool on the stove-top — then the messy frosting application commences.
As Alton Brown says, cake is simply a frosting delivery system. Buttercup subscribes whole-heartedly to this theory as well.
So I took a minute, since I figured I had about 8 before the remaining cake had to come out… and I ducked into the bathroom, thinking my child busily occupied with her toys. (You do know which direction this is headed, don’t you?)
Just moments after I had entered the ‘Room of Rest’ but had yet to complete my entire errand there… the door swung open suddenly to reveal my dog and my daughter — both very excited — and said daughter had upon her hands (and most of her arms) the very same oven-mitts I had left upon the oven ‘guarding’ the still scalding hot muffin pan.
“Look Mommy! Now I will bake for you! What do you want? Purple cupcakes?”
At this point, both Buttercup’s first and middle names came out of my mouth in the most shocked, disappointed, concerned, and yeah, pissed off of GeekMommy tones.
That’s all it took.
You could see the gears turning as her little brain calculated the use of two names, the tone of voice, the realization that on her hands were the tell-tale signs that she had really messed up… Her face fell. Her hands fell. Her voice quivered with the beginnings of some attempt to temporize her way out of this…
But c’mon – what 4 1/2 year old can temporize her way out of anything? 4 1/2 year olds are only really good at rationalizing themselves into something.
I cut her off — I said “please go put the oven mitts back where you found them. Now.”
She headed to the kitchen as fast as her little feet could carry her and put them right back — and then, as I was coming around the corner into the kitchen (having washed up and all) she looked up, saw me, and burst into tears.
Now, if this were most kids, I would assume that this was the ‘hmmm… how am I going to get out of punishment here’ ploy of crying for sympathy. But not my kiddo, that’s not how she’s wired and I already know that.
She was heartbroken. She was devastated. She wasn’t thinking about being in trouble or getting out of it. She was wrapped up in something else entirely and it started her little body shaking and heaving with heart-wrenching sobs.
I swooped my girl up and cuddled her over to the sofa… trying to bring her back down enough to get words out of her.
“What’s up with the tears Buttercup? Why are you crying? I know you didn’t burn yourself or you would’ve yelled first, so what’s the cause of all these tears?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be little any more — I want to be an a-a-aaa-dult just like you-hoo-oooo-oo! *sob* I want to bake for you all by myself. I don’t wanna not touch the oven-mitts. I wanna be grown up NOOOOooowwwwWW!”
See? Told you it wasn’t about getting in trouble.
I cuddled her closer.
“Oh honey… please don’t grow up yet!! I want you to be little for a little while longer…”
“Noooooooooo!!! I wanna be big now!!” she wailed.
“Sweetie, if you were bigger, I couldn’t cuddle you close like this. Someday, you will be grown up – and you will be able to do all the things you want to do now then, but you won’t be able to do all the things then that you do now. You won’t be able sit in my lap and let me kiss your tears away… You’ll get big enough soon enough, but for now, be my little girl?”
Three deep breaths. And then the sobbing resumed — at twice the volume and insistency.
“Mommy!!! I don’t wanna grow up. I wanna cuddle with you foreh-eh-everrrrr! Don’t let me grow up! Please? Please??!!”
More hugs and more kisses later, we agreed that she could wait a bit, and we’d both be okay with that.
Geek Moms Like Science, Honey…
October 19, 2007
I didn’t mention that the other day when I was “helping” out in Preschool, there was an activity going on that the teachers were thrilled to have my assistance with.
See, being ambitious sorts, they had come up with a baking project for the kids – whereby neat little hedgehog shaped rolls with raisin eyes were created and baked by the kids.
Sure, sure, that part’s normal enough. It was the part where they said to me “oh we’re so glad you’re here to help with the shaking… see the kids are going to make their own butter to go on the rolls using heavy whipping cream and jars… and our arms are tired from doing most of the work this morning.”
Now, in grade school, I was the kid paying attention during “Prairie Week” when the strange adult outsiders came in with their nifty “How the Pioneers Did It” exhibitions… so I can tell you exactly how a lead musket ball is made by melting down scrap lead in a crucible and pouring it into a bullet mold (despite not having seen it in 30+ years, it’s still vivid) and I can tell you how freaking sore your arms get trying to churn butter the old fashioned way. Because I was one of the 2 kids who didn’t lose interest in that in oh, 30 seconds, after seeing that it mostly consisted of slamming a pole up and down inside a thin upright barrel-thingy.
So I was a bit dubious of this “preschoolers making their own butter” experiment, but more than excited to be allowed to help out.
Here’s what happened…
Ms. M took four well-washed baby food jars. She poured cold Heavy Whipping Cream into each one… about 4/5 full. She poured a tiny amount of salt in her hand – roughly 1/8th of a tsp I’d guess – and dumped it in. She sealed the jars. She handed one to me, kept one for herself, and handed two girls (one of them Buttercup) the other two jars and said “okay, now we shake!!”
For the first couple of minutes there was me shaking furiously, Ms. M shaking half-heartedly, and two girls shaking like preschoolers do – with great enthusiasm but not much rhythm or effectiveness. Then the girls started getting bored, so the jars got passed on to the next victims helpers and we moved on. Ms. M tried valiantly to make it interesting by singing little “shake shake shake your butter” songs that she had made up for the morning class.
I sat there trying not to burst into either “Shake shake shake, shake your booooooty, shake your boooooteeeeh” or “Shake, shake, shake Senora, shake your body line…” neither of which is appropriate for a Catholic preschool room, nor something I want to have to explain to another parent where their child learned that song, thank you.
After much less time that you’d think, it devolved down to me and the three boys at the table. Fortunately, the boys were having a bit of a competition to see who could “turn it into butter first.” The answer of course was – me… I could. Because I’m the adult with the actual ability to shake the crap out of the silly baby food jar in the hopes that it might suddenly decide to do what abused cream does and chunk up.
However, I also know that the best method to keep the boys “helping” me was to suddenly shout “annnnnnd TRADE!!” every few moments so that I would be able to slide further progressed jars to each one. In the end, it took us maybe 10 minutes? I’d get the jars to the point of “a few more shakes and it’s butter with skim milk on top” and pass it off to a boy… then when it clumped up, tell him to run give it to Ms. M for draining and processing.
I really wanted to grab the jars and poke and prod them to see the consistency and taste the fruit of my GeekMommy labor… but you know, trying to provide a good example and all… So I waited.
You know what? It’s pretty cool. I got to eat a hedgehog roll (note: fun for the kids to make, not so much on the eating part) with butter that came from my own sweaty, hyperactive labor. I kept telling myself that since I ‘churned’ it, surely I burned off a comparable amount of fat and calories to what I was eating. (I know, I know, but I wanted to fool myself, thanks.)
I figure this will be fun if and when Buttercup ever hits that Girl Scout phase… so I’m storing it away in my brain for future “what to do that will either make your daughter roll her eyes at you OR say ooooh cool!! how do you know how to make butter?” reference.
I will say that I wonder what they’re making Catholic Preschool teachers out of these days though… both Ms. M and Ms. L were astonished that we had 1/2 the number of kids in the afternoon class but it took us less than 1/3 the time to make the butter. I guess one determined GeekMommy is worth two ‘why did we think it was a good idea to shake butter?’ preschool teachers any day.
Now, in the event of a butter shortage at the store – I am fully prepared. As long as there is Heavy Whipping Cream and baby food in jars.
