Tough Bananas

Oreo in Review

Did you know that there are all kinds of Special Edition flavours of Oreos? And not just Double Stuff and Mint. There is a seemingly endless list of these limited engagement cookies.

Hold on there, friend. Before you pour yourself a tall glass of milk to go with these sandwiches of sweet tastiness, be warned: there’s a catch. You can only get them in the US. Apparently, Nabisco wasn’t happy with how the War of 1812 ended and included some sort of no-sharing-Oreos clause in The Treaty of Ghent (I’m 95% certain that’s true).

But have no fear! I have American connections and have procured a small sampling of SPECIAL EDITION OREOS. And being the kind and generous mom that I am (okay, I couldn’t hide them before the boys saw the packages) our family has been enjoying them and rating them.

Now I present to you the Limited Selection of Special Edition Oreos, In Review.

It's like a small disk of "dream come true" — It’s like a small disk of “dream come true”

Peanut Butter

I doubt you could pair chocolate with peanut butter and have it be anything other than delicious. Nabisco did not let us down. It was just the right blend of two of my favourite things. Bonus is that you cannot send them to school due to the nuts, so it means more for you to eat at home once the kids are in bed.

Rating: 4 out of 5 Cups of Coffee (that’s the Moyer Official Rating System).

Raspberry Fudge Cremes

These almost didn’t make the cut since they are not the traditional “sandwich cookie” but since they say “Oreo” on the package, I loosened the entry requirements. They did sit on the shelf a little longer than usual as a bit of an Oreo-purist demonstration (I forgot they were there).

Wow. I got them out for the boys and almost immediately wished I hadn’t announced they were for everyone. So good. We snarfed down one row in record time and the second almost as quickly. In order to maintain my standing with the neighbour kids, I sent the remaining row along on a playdate. I have never regretted anything more. Curse you, generosity.

Rating: 4 1/2 Cups of Coffee

Cool Mint

Mint, with attitude. In Canada it's called "Mint, if that's okay with you" — Mint, with attitude. In Canada it’s called “Mint, if that’s okay with you”

Come on. The only thing that I might love more than chocolate and peanut butter is chocolate mint. These are the only specialty flavours that are occasionally available in Canada, but having the American version was still a special treat.

We didn’t get a chance to fully review these since my parents ate half the package before they delivered it. Something I can understand, but will not forget, Mom and Dad.

Rating: 4 out of 5 Cups of Coffee

Birthday Cake

I don’t know what kind of chemists or wizards Mr. Christie employs, but these really do taste like birthday cake. Bonus points are applied since I received these tasty goodies as part of a birthday gift.

The *kid appeal for this edition is high. So high, there was no way my little darlings were going to forget we had some in the closet, so I was ~~forced~~ thrilled to share.

Bravo, Nabisco, bra – vo.

Rating: 4 out of 5 Cups of Coffee

Cookie Dough

Oh, man did this flavour deliver. I first learned of this new edition on Twitter and knew we had to try it. Hands down, this is the favourite. There was just a hint of mocha which reminded me of the Dutch spritz cookies we used to eat with Sunday morning coffee growing up. Delicious. Once this package was opened, all other special selections were second-class cookies

Rating: 5 out of 5 Cups of Coffee

Honourable Mentions

Berry Burst Ice Cream: an acceptable alternative if Cookie Dough is sold out.

Triple Double: yummy, but tough to justify eating more than 2 or 7 of these since they are pretty big.

Unrated Flavours

I have not eaten these editions, but that won’t stop me from reviewing them.

Lemon: No.

Watermelon: Why? WHY?

Gingerbread: Please don’t.

Candy Corn: Offer these to guests who have overstayed their welcome.

*Investment opportunity: I’d like to develop a camouflage sleeve with pictures of lentils on it to slip right over any package of Oreos you don’t want to share. Just email me your credit card info and we’ll get this started.

———

Which flavour would you like to see Mr. Christie try next?

My Five Rules for Beach Day

There’s a tradition in many Canadian schools to have Spirit Days. One particular favourite is Beach Day which typically occurs immediately before March Break. The logic is that Canadian winters are long and dreary and the best way to snap out of a “lots of snow, but not enough to cancel school” funk is to dress up in your beach attire and pretend not to notice that your eyes are frozen open.

Guys, I’m part of the group that decided to do this. Again.

How do I forget every time that I really don’t like Beach Day?

Oh, sure, Spirit Days are great and even better when the staff participates. The smiles and cute comments from the students are always fun. I love dressing up for Halloween or a good old Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest. These days build a sense of community and it’s worth being silly to accomplish that.

But Beach Day. What were we thinking?

Let’s have a theme day that accentuates our pale, pasty skin and lack of muscle tone from weeks of being indoors. I’m in!

And so, I present to you, My Five Rules for Beach Day.

1. Moisturize. And preferably not just the night before.

2. Commit. Did the nail polish you started to paint minutes before leaving for school turn clumpy and hard to apply? Oh, well. You’re slapping that varnish on all ten of your little piggies because the only thing more noticeable than clumpy nail polish is having only one toe painted.

How can your toes look anything but amazing in "Gloppy Magenta"? — How can your toes look anything but fabulous in “Gloppy Magenta”?

3. Layer. It’s winter in Canada. Even if the heat is turned up, it’s going to be cold. And socks will help cover up your botched pedicure.

The socks really tie the whole outfit together

4. Layer. No, for real. You better be dressed for the weather. It’s only summer in your imagination.

Not everyone can pull off shorts and winter boots.

5. Hydrate. Pretending to be at the beach can be hard work. Trying to appear that you’re confident wearing clothes that may or may not feel snug due to your winter consumption of M&Ms and chips (we all need a little extra insulation) can really bring on a thirst.

Bearded Husband thoughtfully dropped this off, making it extra refreshing

*Special thanks for the guest appearance by Amanda, modelling the always popular Socks with Sandals.

__________________

Theme Days: Love them or hate them? Would you wear your beach attire or pretend you “forgot”?

Stamppot Survivor

The signs were all there: the large stock pot was on the stove, my mom was busy peeling potatoes, and I could see the chopped onions ready to take the plunge into the soon-to-be-boiling water. I spied some carrots still in the bag and I knew they would be joining the onions all in good time. And yes, there was the head of cabbage, too.

Without a doubt, it was happening.

Mom was making Stamppot.

This Dutch *mainstay has many variations, some involving kale, others include bacon, some both. But all versions rely on boiling root vegetables together and mashing them up beyond recognition.

Use a really big pot so you have enough to make EVERYONE cry

This was the worst possible dinnertime scenario I could conceive. Stamppot. Why, Mom? Why? I already apologized for the Tupperware Avalanche and the toenails behind the couch.

There was no escaping the smell of Stamppot cooking. That odour of onions with just a hint of smelly socks was a constant reminder of my dinnertime fate. It was too late to feign an illness or get an invitation to dine at my friend’s house. That meal was coming and I had nowhere to hide.

Once I realized the inevitability of me consuming this “meal”, I quickly went through the five stages of Stamppot eating:

1. Denial: Noooooooooooooooo.

2. Anger: Why? Why? WHY? WHO ASKED HER TO MAKE THIS ABOMINATION?

3. Bargaining: I’ll never complain about another meal if you will just let me have Cup-a-Soup tonight.

4. More Bargaining: Just name your price, woman – it’s yours.

5. Acceptance: Fine. I’ll eat it. But it’s not going to be pretty.

Stamppot is often served with sausage. My mom would claim it was to “balance out the meal” but I knew it was really to bribe savvy children into eating it. Nice try, Mom. No amount of salty meat deliciousness could convince this kid that Stamppot is edible.

Reduce your family's cholesterol, if not their tears — Reduce your family’s cholesterol, if not their tears

I had to develop some strategies to get through a Stamppot meal. First, I would ask for the smallest portion possible, often trying to serve myself. Then I would casually move the mash around my plate, giving the illusion of consumption. Next, I would plead at my brother with my eyes to please, please eat some of mine.

Let’s talk about my brother for a moment. I don’t know what happened to him as a young child, but he ate Stamppot with gusto. He would pile it on the platter, not a dinner plate, the platter, then top it with a sausage link, stick his elbows out and proceed to shovel it into his mouth. There would be no polite conversation with him when Stamppot was served. I’m quite certain one of us was switched at birth.

After much threatening and cajoling by my mom, I would finally take a bite. Well, that wasn’t too bad, got myself a nice forkful of potato. Then a bratwurst chaser. A second bite followed – okay, I can handle this. This pattern continued for a few more bites. And then – I just bit into some cabbage! Take this away! Stamppot was my first experience with a “Bait and Switch” scenario. It’s like internet dating on a plate.

I admit that I was a picky eater as a child, and for that I apologize profusely to my mom. But can we all please just end the conspiracy? Let’s have no future generations go through any unnecessary mealtime suffering.

Just say “no” to Stamppot.

*Stamppot has been described by some reliable sources as “punishment in a pan” and tasting like “anger”. There are others who claim it is “delicious” and “the best”, but they are liars.

Bast & Moyer Eat Chips

Chips.

So delicious you can’t eat just one – even if the flavour is questionable.

Bast and I decided to try out a very Canadian flavour. Much giggling ensued. You can see it all for yourself here, in our third vlog.

What is the strangest/best/surprisingly good flavour of chip you’ve tried? Which one filled you with regret?

Mine turn?

Moms tend to claim that we get Mother’s Day because labour is the worst. It’s pretty bad, but I’ll tell you the real reason: bath time.

I quietly tiptoe upstairs on a Saturday for a little relaxation in the tub. My expectations are not high, just 15 minutes or so to soak and unwind in the calm ambiance of the bathtub.

Alone.

I clear out the hodge podge of bath toys and turn on the water. No need for bubbles, I know this won’t be a long soak (see how ~~resigned~~ realistic I am?).

Just as I get in a little face peeks through the door (how did I forget to lock it?) and chirps sweetly: “I, too?”

I tell Little that it’s just Mommy’s turn.

“I soon?”

Sure, you’re next. Close the door.

He pulls the door shut and I presume he goes off to play. That is until I turn on the hot water and hear a muffled tiny voice ask, “mine turn now?”

No, not yet.

I now realize he is standing right outside the door. Any time I make any noise he inquires: “mine turn?”

No, just rinsing my hair.

“I turn now?”

Nope, just dropped my razor.

“I go now?”

No, soon. Still bathing.

“Mommy, me go? Now?”

Pretty soon.

“I go?”

That was just your brother flushing a toilet somewhere else in the house.

“Mine turn? Mommy?”

Nope, toilet again.

“I come in?”

I think a brother just got a drink.

I keep my head under water hoping for the illusion of isolation, but fun fact: you can still hear someone opening and closing all the dresser drawers. Repeatedly. With vigor.

I pretend not to hear the slamming and convince myself I won’t discover my underwear strewn around the room. Or on his head. Or both. I’m pretty sure I hear him nosing around in my jewellery box, but those macaroni necklaces will just have to sacrifice themselves for my inner peace.

The sound of the water draining from the tub is like a rally cry. He scurries back to the door to ask one more time: “Mine turn? Now?”

Yes, Little, your turn.

Thrilled, he strips himself down (something he has vowed to be unable to do, I won’t forget that slip-up, you’re on your own now with your coat, buddy) and clamours into the tub.

That lobster looks suspicious — No bath is complete without a lobster

“I no need soap, Mommy. No wash my hair.”

Apparently, Little has learned that sometimes tub time is not about the bath itself.

——

Bath time – is it a family affair at your house or a peaceful oasis?

Releasing Your Inner Toddler

Toddlers are smart.

They can bring a top negotiator to their knees with stubborn persistence alone. They can hold adults hostage merely by refusing to pee on the potty. They can bring a grown woman to tears by simply insisting that their socks feel “funny”.

Recently I decided to test some of their better known tactics out for myself. After all, despite repeated redirection, our toddler keeps trying. There must be some sort of payoff.

Our Little regularly flops to the floor in a sad heap if he’s been told not to dip his cheese in his juice cup. When he insists he can put his boot on himself and you comply by backing off, he’ll toss himself to the ground because you listened to him.

What if grown-ups handled their frustration that way?

My internet connection went down before I could update my status.

Someone forgot to flush the toilet. Again.

He would't stop playing with the light switch. — He wouldn’t stop playing with the light switch.

My coffee cooled off before I could finish it.

Our toddler has many super powers – check out his other tactics here.

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Your turn – what frustrates you most? Have you tried the toddler approach yet? It doesn’t solve anything, but surprisingly does make you feel better.

Broken

I am wrecked.

Emotionally.

Wrecked and drained and weary.

I am okay. I can go upstairs this very moment and pick up my Little and tell him that I love him and smell his sweet little boy smell.

But my heart is aching for another’s unspeakable loss.

My heart cannot contain these two opposing realities. I am grateful to be able to tuck in my boys and listen to them tell me about their days. Yet parents I know are saying good-bye to their cherished Little and I am broken.

How dare I feel sad? This is not my tragedy. This is not my loss. But here I am, wrecked and drained and weary.

We have the comfort that she is in heaven, I know. But in the meantime…

In the meantime, her room sits empty, her toys are still. Her parents miss her. They miss her and they ache and that will never subside.

All I have to do is walk upstairs. I feel incredibly sad and grateful.

It’s not about me, but I am broken.

Dear Mr. Christie

These are nice, but not a novel flavour.

Mr. Christie, you make good cookies.

Oreo® and Chips Ahoy®, Fudgee-O® and Teddy Grahams® are all so delicious. They taste so good we’ll forgive you for your lapse in judgement when you came up with Belvita®. But Mr. Christie, you don’t seem to like to share. Or you play favourites, I’m not sure which. I do know that the USA has many, many more delectable editions of your famous cookies than we do up here in Canada.

Sure, you’ve given us Double Stuff Oreos and soft bake Chips Ahoy and we thank you (even though we got them much later than our southern neighbours). I’d also like to say thanks for passing along the recipe for mint Oreos and double Fudgee-Os. Halloween Oreos are a nice token you toss our way, so there’s that.

Recently, through the power of the internet, I discovered that we are missing out in the Great White North. What’s up, Mr. C.? Raspberry Oreos, Chocolate Covered Oreos, Peanut Butter Oreos, must I go on? Okay, I will. Cookie Dough Oreos? What has Canada done to be left out of these special treats?

Did you date a Canadian and it ended badly?

Have you not heard about the Fair Trade Agreement? We signed that thing back in 1987.

You know we can see your commercials up here, right? We know about these cookies, Mr. Christie. We know.

Are you afraid of maple of syrup?

Does poutine make you anxious?

Are we not worthy of cookie dough bundled between chocolate wafers? If you cut us, do we not bleed?

Who hurt you, Mr. Christie?

My kind (and favourite) sister sent me some of these novel cookies and now that we’ve tried them, there is no going back. Please, Mr. Christie, in the name of all that’s Nabisco®, send them to Canada. Or the very least, send them to me.

My passion is real.

The joy the Venezuelan Olympian had carrying the flag is how I'd feel if cookie dough #Oreos came to Canada.

— Jan Moyer (@moyermama) February 7, 2014

The Matter of Pants

When people learn that I have four boys they usually respond with a shocked look and some sort of astonished reply about how I appear mostly sane. Life with four boys is busy and full of toilet humour, but in so many ways I am grateful. I am not sure I would be cut out to raise a girl. The clothing and hair options paralyze me with fear. When I change my baby niece I am overwhelmed with the decisions involved: Are these tights? Is this considered a dress or a top? Should I be combing her hair? What’s the protocol here?

Boys are simple, at least so far. There aren’t nearly as many choices – pretty much everything matches jeans. Usually our biggest controversy is whether or not you can wear a navy shirt with black pants (no, you cannot). However, even within this simple state, complications and issues arise. Socks can feel “too socky”. Pants can be “bunchy”. A shirt cannot be worn because it just isn’t a favourite. Currently it is our four-year-old who is struggling with these apparel horrors. These deal-breakers have caused us to be late for school, church, even the toboggan hill. So I sat the boy down and said that sometimes you just have to tough it out and wear something that isn’t your favourite because that’s what people do.

They aren't jeans, but I can tolerate them for a trip to the park. — They aren’t jeans, but I can tolerate them for a trip to the park, I **guess.**

Our morning routine had improved immensely since this chat. He was managing his clothing options quite well and I kept my expectations for matching and rotating shirts low. Then Sunday morning hit. He only had two pairs of clean pants that he could tolerate. When he asked me if he matched I discovered a giant hole in the knee. I explained that those pants were goners and “you need to be a big boy and wear the jeans you don’t like as much without crying. Later you can change and we can see what we can do about your pants.” Off he went to change. As I passed by his door a moment later he was getting dressed and I could hear his little voice saying, “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

It broke my heart.

It broke my heart just that little bit. I didn’t go and sob quietly in the washroom, but I was proud and sad at the same time. I was smiling as my eyes welled up. I finally understood that all of his upsets about pants this fall weren’t really a power struggle or an attempt to get my attention. As ridiculous as it sounds, pants really matter to him. He doesn’t care about brand or how they look, but some pants are favourites and some are not. He cannot even explain it, he just knows. And now I do.

That afternoon I took my sweet boy to the store, just the two of us and he sat in the cart and we giggled and talked and I could just listen to him. He sat in the cart. As I wheeled my third-born around the store it occurred to me that even though he can print his name and dress himself and is learning to read, he is still little and likes to ride in the cart. And pants matter to him.

I don’t want to forget this: that even though I might not understand why something is important, the person matters. Taking the time to value what’s important says, “you count, I care about you, you are loved.”

If pants matter that much to you, then they matter to me.

Lydia & Elizabeth & Bast & Moyer

Vlogging is fun. Vlogging with Lydia and Elizabeth is more fun. Vlogging with Lydia and Elizabeth AND Bast is the most fun of all. I’m a lucky girl.

We posed some Canadian trivia questions to L&E. They answered (bless their hearts) and we replied with the corrects answers. You can see it all here over at Amanda’s site.

If I ever have a girl, I think I’ll name her Lydia Elizabeth Bast Moyer. It has a nice ring to it.