I feel like I have so much to "catch up" on recording with Crab! So let me just talk about cheeks.
His cheeks are so chunky! For a bit of time when he was about a month old, Munch called him "Cheekers." We sang. "What is wrong with the Cheekers, the Cheekers?"
He smushes his cheeks out and I think he's clenching his gums--possibly teething? So cute though.
Not so cute--the streak of red, dry eczema that extends in front of his ear. It's like painful looking sideburns.
But really when I think of cheeks right now, I think of how, when I bring him close to my face, he puts his hands very softly on both sides of my face and touches my cheeks. He's in a "grab and clench" phase, so I expect to feel nails scratching my skin, but no--his touch remains soft. And it's like he's cherishing me as much as I'm cherishing him.
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Back (?)
I've been feeling the blogging "pull" for a while now, mostly since about the beginning of the year. I think this is linked to several different things. The birth of our second son. The need for a place to reflect so I can really grab onto something for weight loss. The lack of a "record" of the little one's first years. I read back to posts about Munch and I love how I recorded so much of his life here. I want that for the "new one." I think I will call him Crab here. That may not seem endearing, but for those who know him, it will make sense. It's a good name.
I feel tentative. There are reasons I stopped blogging. I got sick of analyzing every small piece of my life. I wanted to "just live." I sometimes felt like I didn't have anything "worth writing." I got annoyed with some of my readership and was keenly aware of my audience, so I didn't feel like I could write everything I wanted to write for fear of others' judgments and thoughts. For instance, there was a large fight with a family member based on something I wrote and then I remembered later that the post was an assignment from therapy. I didn't tell the person that because it seemed dumb to bring up an old wound, but I still think about that and feel annoyed.
So, there are some things I can do and keep in mind.
1) I won't "promote" this blog among people who know me. If someone happens upon it, fine, but otherwise it will truly just be for me. I got very concerned with "eyeballs" last time and I think wanted to be "seen." I wanted to be part of the cool "mommy bloggers club." Whereas so many people I read back then now no longer write. Now, with more therapy and personal growth, I'm not so concerned with other people seeing what I write and being "accepted."
2) I will write what I feel like, when I feel like it. I won't feel like a failure if I don't write regularly and I won't feel pressured to write "certain types of things."
3) It will be for the joy of writing. I miss writing! I don't know that I truly have time for it, but hey, ya gotta start somewhere.
I feel tentative. There are reasons I stopped blogging. I got sick of analyzing every small piece of my life. I wanted to "just live." I sometimes felt like I didn't have anything "worth writing." I got annoyed with some of my readership and was keenly aware of my audience, so I didn't feel like I could write everything I wanted to write for fear of others' judgments and thoughts. For instance, there was a large fight with a family member based on something I wrote and then I remembered later that the post was an assignment from therapy. I didn't tell the person that because it seemed dumb to bring up an old wound, but I still think about that and feel annoyed.
So, there are some things I can do and keep in mind.
1) I won't "promote" this blog among people who know me. If someone happens upon it, fine, but otherwise it will truly just be for me. I got very concerned with "eyeballs" last time and I think wanted to be "seen." I wanted to be part of the cool "mommy bloggers club." Whereas so many people I read back then now no longer write. Now, with more therapy and personal growth, I'm not so concerned with other people seeing what I write and being "accepted."
2) I will write what I feel like, when I feel like it. I won't feel like a failure if I don't write regularly and I won't feel pressured to write "certain types of things."
3) It will be for the joy of writing. I miss writing! I don't know that I truly have time for it, but hey, ya gotta start somewhere.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
The Long Good-Bye
As I head into daycare to pick up Munch, I make sure that I have my phone, my keys, and that I don't need to pee--because this will not be a run-in, run-out situation.
Over the past several weeks, Munch has wanted more and more to "hang out" when I arrive at school. I wonder what other parents think of me as I sit on the rug in his room as Munch puts me in Circle Time and points at the ABCs poster and sings.
Most kids, when their parents arrive, run to them and then head for the door.
When I arrive, Munch smiles and hugs me, then tells me to go sit on the bench in the hallway, while he goes into "teacher mode," playing in his room and periodically sticking his head out of the door to make sure I'm still there. Eventually, I'll be invited in and we hang out in his room, sometimes for as long as 45 minutes, until it's time for his teacher to go home.
Most parents, when they arrive, swoop their kids into winter coats and hats and skedaddle with nary a look back, hardly a wave at the teacher. In and out. Gone. Places to be and things to do.
And I get that. Some nights, I too have places to be and things to do, not least of them being getting dinner done.
But more often the not, the place I'm whisking us off to be is home, and what does it matter if we get there a bit later than normal? Hubs usually doesn't get home until about 2 hours after I do. Thus, those 2 hours can seem like we're "on pause" waiting for Daddy and for the night to really begin (when, really, the night is nearly over, poor Daddy).
I don't mind the extended pickup. In fact, I'm grateful for it. I am not "offended" that Munch seems content to stay at daycare. I'm so relieved that he's comfortable and happy there. Putting him in daycare was an extremely difficult decision and transition for me, and the fact that he likes it is a blessing.
And, I see it as a way for Munchkin to share his day with me. He's bringing me into the world he inhabits for 8 hours a day. He's showing me how he spends his time and he's also "pretend playing" teacher. This is one of the most joyous aspects. He's "playing school " at school. He takes over his teacher's chair and she gives him the pointer she uses and he "teaches" us. The teacher even joins me on the floor as a "student."
I see this as "showing up" for him. It's a simple thing we do, but I think it fulfills something in him. And it definitely fulfills something in me as I get to hear him say "A is for apple, V is for violin" and sing the daily songs. He's growing up! And I'm getting a peak at all the things he's learning.
Over the past several weeks, Munch has wanted more and more to "hang out" when I arrive at school. I wonder what other parents think of me as I sit on the rug in his room as Munch puts me in Circle Time and points at the ABCs poster and sings.
Most kids, when their parents arrive, run to them and then head for the door.
When I arrive, Munch smiles and hugs me, then tells me to go sit on the bench in the hallway, while he goes into "teacher mode," playing in his room and periodically sticking his head out of the door to make sure I'm still there. Eventually, I'll be invited in and we hang out in his room, sometimes for as long as 45 minutes, until it's time for his teacher to go home.
Most parents, when they arrive, swoop their kids into winter coats and hats and skedaddle with nary a look back, hardly a wave at the teacher. In and out. Gone. Places to be and things to do.
And I get that. Some nights, I too have places to be and things to do, not least of them being getting dinner done.
But more often the not, the place I'm whisking us off to be is home, and what does it matter if we get there a bit later than normal? Hubs usually doesn't get home until about 2 hours after I do. Thus, those 2 hours can seem like we're "on pause" waiting for Daddy and for the night to really begin (when, really, the night is nearly over, poor Daddy).
I don't mind the extended pickup. In fact, I'm grateful for it. I am not "offended" that Munch seems content to stay at daycare. I'm so relieved that he's comfortable and happy there. Putting him in daycare was an extremely difficult decision and transition for me, and the fact that he likes it is a blessing.
And, I see it as a way for Munchkin to share his day with me. He's bringing me into the world he inhabits for 8 hours a day. He's showing me how he spends his time and he's also "pretend playing" teacher. This is one of the most joyous aspects. He's "playing school " at school. He takes over his teacher's chair and she gives him the pointer she uses and he "teaches" us. The teacher even joins me on the floor as a "student."
I see this as "showing up" for him. It's a simple thing we do, but I think it fulfills something in him. And it definitely fulfills something in me as I get to hear him say "A is for apple, V is for violin" and sing the daily songs. He's growing up! And I'm getting a peak at all the things he's learning.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Consequences and Coping
Lately, I've been thinking about the consequences of our actions and words, taking responsibility for those consequences, and sitting with negative emotion rather than fighting against it.
My son is at the age when he's beginning to be able to understand consequences. This is hard for me. It's about him pushing limits and as parents being strong enough to follow through on a consequence. For instance, when Munch repeatedly pokes a balloon with something sharp (I mean, not like scissors for God's sake) or lays on top of it and we say he will pop it if he continues, then he continues and pops it, I cannot run out to get him another balloon to stop the ensuing devastation. Actions have consequences.
My mother-in-law has told the story of when Hubs, in a bit of a rage, threw his favorite Garfield toy across the room and the plastic eyes split down the center. Hubs was devastated. He learned, actions have consequences.
Shit happens. And sometimes, we cause the shit to happen. It is hard for many people, myself included, to accept the consequences of our actions, and to "force" others to face the consequences of theirs.
As a mother, as the type of person I am, my instinct is to soothe soothe soothe. And of course when Munch does something dumb and REGRETS it, of course I can soothe him and hug him. But I can't always--and shouldn't always--fix it for him.
When something happens TO him, it will likely be even harder for me. When he doesn't make a team or a friend hurts him, I'm not going to be able to fix that either. I won't be able to remove the negative emotion.
I have an incredibly hard time sitting with feeling bad or angry or anything negative. In my brain, negative = bad = no love. If a family member is angry at me, it used to be, I would roil with anxiety and wring my hands and figure out how to "fix it," even if it wasn't truly my problem to "fix." Now, I'm working on it, trying to be better at COPING.
The ability to cope is one of the biggest gifts I can give my child. The ability to process a problem ON HIS OWN and come up with a resolution or at least lay those bad feelings to rest without pushing them away. This is what leads to a well-rounded adult with a healthy emotional range.
Smoothing out his life will not lead to him being able to cope. Life is hard, life sucks sometimes. He will have to learn that, FEEL THAT, experience that. And know that some problems will be his to figure out on his own, with Hubs and me as a constant soft place to fall when his efforts are not enough and his burdens grow too large. We will be the place to refuel and regroup, so he can dive back in again. This is what I want for my child, what I'm working to give him.
My son is at the age when he's beginning to be able to understand consequences. This is hard for me. It's about him pushing limits and as parents being strong enough to follow through on a consequence. For instance, when Munch repeatedly pokes a balloon with something sharp (I mean, not like scissors for God's sake) or lays on top of it and we say he will pop it if he continues, then he continues and pops it, I cannot run out to get him another balloon to stop the ensuing devastation. Actions have consequences.
My mother-in-law has told the story of when Hubs, in a bit of a rage, threw his favorite Garfield toy across the room and the plastic eyes split down the center. Hubs was devastated. He learned, actions have consequences.
Shit happens. And sometimes, we cause the shit to happen. It is hard for many people, myself included, to accept the consequences of our actions, and to "force" others to face the consequences of theirs.
As a mother, as the type of person I am, my instinct is to soothe soothe soothe. And of course when Munch does something dumb and REGRETS it, of course I can soothe him and hug him. But I can't always--and shouldn't always--fix it for him.
When something happens TO him, it will likely be even harder for me. When he doesn't make a team or a friend hurts him, I'm not going to be able to fix that either. I won't be able to remove the negative emotion.
I have an incredibly hard time sitting with feeling bad or angry or anything negative. In my brain, negative = bad = no love. If a family member is angry at me, it used to be, I would roil with anxiety and wring my hands and figure out how to "fix it," even if it wasn't truly my problem to "fix." Now, I'm working on it, trying to be better at COPING.
The ability to cope is one of the biggest gifts I can give my child. The ability to process a problem ON HIS OWN and come up with a resolution or at least lay those bad feelings to rest without pushing them away. This is what leads to a well-rounded adult with a healthy emotional range.
Smoothing out his life will not lead to him being able to cope. Life is hard, life sucks sometimes. He will have to learn that, FEEL THAT, experience that. And know that some problems will be his to figure out on his own, with Hubs and me as a constant soft place to fall when his efforts are not enough and his burdens grow too large. We will be the place to refuel and regroup, so he can dive back in again. This is what I want for my child, what I'm working to give him.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
The World Closes In
Yesterday, when I picked Munch up from daycare, he was cowering behind his favorite teacher because he was scared that another boy was screaming.
Munch is in a big "scary" phase right now. Over the weekend, we removed a lamp from his room because it cast a shadow he didn't like. Last night, he wanted a Mickey-head-shaped bottle of bubbles out. And right before bed, a book was banished because it was on his nightstand, which is usually clear, and was "scary." All these items were banished to "Mommy Daddy's" room.
And, admittedly, a severed Mickey head sitting on your shelf may not be the most comforting thing.
So when I got to daycare and found him scared, I wasn't surprised. His teacher, whom I really enjoy and who truly cares for Munch, said, "I told him, 'Be a man, don't be scared.' "
And I smiled a frozen smile, bent over, ran my hand over Munch's head, and said, "It's okay to be scared, everything is okay." My standard line.
And his teacher immediately said, "Oh yes honey, it's okay to be scared."
So many people are going to tell Munch so many things. And I can't stop that. So many people are going to influence his outlook. I know that as his parents, Hubs and I will have a huge role in how he sees the world, but others' views will get in there too.
In this teacher's household or worldview, men may not show fear.
In my household, men feel fear and are free to show it because that's what makes them strong men. Not being afraid to show fear or sadness or loneliness or hope.
There will be other things: Right now, Munch loves pink. He invariably picks the pink ball. He gets whatever ball he wants. And I feel myself bracing inwardly because I know, someday, someone will say, "Boys don't like pink. Get a blue ball."
And will Munch brush this off and say, well, I like pink so I'm getting the pink ball? Or, will he tuck something fundamental down inside himself and stick with blue or green or brown?
He will learn things that "society" believes. Skinny is good and fat is bad. Only weak men cry. If you're not first, you're last. Only dorks read. Coloring is for girls. Don't laugh too loud.
And I will run to sweep up the dregs of these bullshit statements, counter them as best I can by modeling strong beliefs and having open conversations and reassuring Munch that if he likes Sophia the First or Cinderella, then BY GOD WATCH IT.
But the world is many and I am one. And Munch will be who he will be.
Munch is in a big "scary" phase right now. Over the weekend, we removed a lamp from his room because it cast a shadow he didn't like. Last night, he wanted a Mickey-head-shaped bottle of bubbles out. And right before bed, a book was banished because it was on his nightstand, which is usually clear, and was "scary." All these items were banished to "Mommy Daddy's" room.
And, admittedly, a severed Mickey head sitting on your shelf may not be the most comforting thing.
So when I got to daycare and found him scared, I wasn't surprised. His teacher, whom I really enjoy and who truly cares for Munch, said, "I told him, 'Be a man, don't be scared.' "
And I smiled a frozen smile, bent over, ran my hand over Munch's head, and said, "It's okay to be scared, everything is okay." My standard line.
And his teacher immediately said, "Oh yes honey, it's okay to be scared."
So many people are going to tell Munch so many things. And I can't stop that. So many people are going to influence his outlook. I know that as his parents, Hubs and I will have a huge role in how he sees the world, but others' views will get in there too.
In this teacher's household or worldview, men may not show fear.
In my household, men feel fear and are free to show it because that's what makes them strong men. Not being afraid to show fear or sadness or loneliness or hope.
There will be other things: Right now, Munch loves pink. He invariably picks the pink ball. He gets whatever ball he wants. And I feel myself bracing inwardly because I know, someday, someone will say, "Boys don't like pink. Get a blue ball."
And will Munch brush this off and say, well, I like pink so I'm getting the pink ball? Or, will he tuck something fundamental down inside himself and stick with blue or green or brown?
He will learn things that "society" believes. Skinny is good and fat is bad. Only weak men cry. If you're not first, you're last. Only dorks read. Coloring is for girls. Don't laugh too loud.
And I will run to sweep up the dregs of these bullshit statements, counter them as best I can by modeling strong beliefs and having open conversations and reassuring Munch that if he likes Sophia the First or Cinderella, then BY GOD WATCH IT.
But the world is many and I am one. And Munch will be who he will be.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
There and Back Again
About a week ago, I sat next to my sunscreened husband on a catamaran boat, our legs swinging over the side as we watched the sun set over the Caribbean Sea. The air was warm and breezy, the drinks refreshing, the sea clear and blue.
Hubs and I just spent 7--but really 9 because of travel times--days and nights away from our little Munch. It was our 12th anniversary on February 1, and it was a perfect way to spend it.
Not to sound ungrateful, (bear with me) but this is not a trip I asked for. In fact, when Hubs called me a year ago and said he'd won the trip in a drawing at work, I immediately began to cry.
Because I knew. I knew I would "have" to go. And I knew Munch would not be.
Winning a trip as a mother is not the same as winning a trip as a free-wheeling single lady (disclaimer: I have never been this person, but I imagine it's not the same). First thoughts were not of snorkeling and excursions and how many bathing suits to bring but OH MY GOD I CAN NEVER SPEND THAT MUCH TIME AWAY FROM MUNCH. I felt panicky and scared and sad.
There was a lot of motherly guilt thrown in at the beginning of trip planning: A mother "shouldn't" "abandon" her child to go off on a vacation. A mother "shouldn't" be able to spend 9 nights away while her son was in the capable hands of another. A mother "shouldn't" "want" to do these things.
And I always get a bit of a twinge when I hear statements from mothers like, "In 15 years, I've never spent a night away from my children." It's a bit of a badge of honor but also sacrifice. To not be in that club, well, frankly it makes me sometimes feel like I'm selfish or I must not care about my kid as much. I know these are false feelings, but they are the ones I hear whispering at night.
But. I've talked before about how I am desperately in love with my husband. We want to believe that this is a "given" and a "duh" in marriage, but I've seen enough marriages that prove this is not the case. But I do love Hubs, like love him, and it's always been extremely important to me for our children to witness this love. We love to be together. And while we love to parent together, this is different from "being" together. Relaxing together.
Hubs and I had not been on a Caribbean vacation where we didn't know another person since our honeymoon, 7 years ago.
Through good, hard work and a lot of support from my family (and, of course, my counselor), I put those "motherly guilt" statements aside. I worked to replace them with statements about how important it is for a husband and a wife to spend one-on-one time together, especially when both are working parents. How important it is for our son to see us enjoy spending time together. How important for our son to know he can spend time away from us, have a great time away from us in fact, and learn how that is okay and normal and good. How important for Munch to know that we can go away and come back.
And so we went. My biggest hurdles were the plane trips. I was terrified, despite all my logic-thinking. "Turbulence is normal." "Flying is a safe mode of travel." I was a mess both travel days, until wheels down in our final destination cities. My panic only heightened as we got closer to seeing Munch again--I wanted it so much, I was sure I wouldn't get to. But, of course, we did.
And it was wonderful seeing our Munch again. He was excited, we were excited. He had such fun at gramma and grampa's, and I thank my in-laws to high heaven for taking such amazing care of him--I never once worried about how he was doing, and that in itself is a blessing. We've had some transition bumps the past few days, like at night when he holds my hand and whispers over and over "Mommy, no go leave." Some meltdowns ("Mommy say no to me."). But, mostly all is back to normal. This is good for him to see, but also good for me to see.
I did it! I made it. It may seem strange to feel a sense of accomplishment after merely going on vacation, which I know we were truly blessed to do, but I do feel proud. Now, with a snowstorm bearing down, St. Lucia is a distant memory, almost as if it was a dream. Did I really lie on the beach for 7 straight hours a day? Did I wear my bathing suit and flip flops? Does the resort really exist?
They are memories Hubs and I will cherish, and we're committed to making vacations like these priorities in the coming years. And, similar to how I feel as a working mom, being away from and subsequently back with Munch has made me appreciate him all the more. The way he smiles and jumps 11 times in a row and plays with my hair and kisses our cats. I am thankful and grateful for the time away, and for coming back to my normal routine.
Hubs and I just spent 7--but really 9 because of travel times--days and nights away from our little Munch. It was our 12th anniversary on February 1, and it was a perfect way to spend it.
Not to sound ungrateful, (bear with me) but this is not a trip I asked for. In fact, when Hubs called me a year ago and said he'd won the trip in a drawing at work, I immediately began to cry.
Because I knew. I knew I would "have" to go. And I knew Munch would not be.
Winning a trip as a mother is not the same as winning a trip as a free-wheeling single lady (disclaimer: I have never been this person, but I imagine it's not the same). First thoughts were not of snorkeling and excursions and how many bathing suits to bring but OH MY GOD I CAN NEVER SPEND THAT MUCH TIME AWAY FROM MUNCH. I felt panicky and scared and sad.
There was a lot of motherly guilt thrown in at the beginning of trip planning: A mother "shouldn't" "abandon" her child to go off on a vacation. A mother "shouldn't" be able to spend 9 nights away while her son was in the capable hands of another. A mother "shouldn't" "want" to do these things.
And I always get a bit of a twinge when I hear statements from mothers like, "In 15 years, I've never spent a night away from my children." It's a bit of a badge of honor but also sacrifice. To not be in that club, well, frankly it makes me sometimes feel like I'm selfish or I must not care about my kid as much. I know these are false feelings, but they are the ones I hear whispering at night.
But. I've talked before about how I am desperately in love with my husband. We want to believe that this is a "given" and a "duh" in marriage, but I've seen enough marriages that prove this is not the case. But I do love Hubs, like love him, and it's always been extremely important to me for our children to witness this love. We love to be together. And while we love to parent together, this is different from "being" together. Relaxing together.
Through good, hard work and a lot of support from my family (and, of course, my counselor), I put those "motherly guilt" statements aside. I worked to replace them with statements about how important it is for a husband and a wife to spend one-on-one time together, especially when both are working parents. How important it is for our son to see us enjoy spending time together. How important for our son to know he can spend time away from us, have a great time away from us in fact, and learn how that is okay and normal and good. How important for Munch to know that we can go away and come back.
And so we went. My biggest hurdles were the plane trips. I was terrified, despite all my logic-thinking. "Turbulence is normal." "Flying is a safe mode of travel." I was a mess both travel days, until wheels down in our final destination cities. My panic only heightened as we got closer to seeing Munch again--I wanted it so much, I was sure I wouldn't get to. But, of course, we did.
And it was wonderful seeing our Munch again. He was excited, we were excited. He had such fun at gramma and grampa's, and I thank my in-laws to high heaven for taking such amazing care of him--I never once worried about how he was doing, and that in itself is a blessing. We've had some transition bumps the past few days, like at night when he holds my hand and whispers over and over "Mommy, no go leave." Some meltdowns ("Mommy say no to me."). But, mostly all is back to normal. This is good for him to see, but also good for me to see.
They are memories Hubs and I will cherish, and we're committed to making vacations like these priorities in the coming years. And, similar to how I feel as a working mom, being away from and subsequently back with Munch has made me appreciate him all the more. The way he smiles and jumps 11 times in a row and plays with my hair and kisses our cats. I am thankful and grateful for the time away, and for coming back to my normal routine.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Introducing, the Slop Dog
Sometimes, memories live in tastes.
A couple years ago, I asked for family members to share with me some of their "iconic" recipes (shoutout to my sister for gathering them all for a very thoughtful Christmas present!). In my paternal grandma's batch was something called "Ham and Cheese Rolls." This did not ring a bell for me, and I found it odd she'd included it with her lemon squares and lasagna.
This past Christmas, I connected the dots.
At one family gathering, my mom was concocting what appeared to be the weirdest amalgamation of ingredients into one huge bowl. I saw chopped ham, mayo, chili sauce, cubed cheese, and hard boiled eggs. It was all mixed together and then put into hot dog buns, wrapped in foil, and baked.
I was like, where did these come from?
My mom said, "Grandma used to make them all the time. She called them ham and cheese rolls, but your dad always called them slop dogs."
The latter seemed very apt. Looking at the now-melted mush of ingredients, I can see why my 6-year-old self didn't go crazy over these things. I mean, hard boiled egg??
I took a bite. And there it was. I knew this taste, vaguely, but there it was. My older sister said my grandma used to make them on New Year's Eve, and I remember them now, their smell and texture. I have a feeling I only tasted them once or twice as a kid, but it's not a taste you forget.
It is unique. It is odd. It is good. Over the course of my time at my mom's for Christmas, I polished off many a slop dog. Try them for your next picnic.
Ingredients
1/2 pound cubed ham
1/2 pound cubed sharp cheese
1/3 cup sliced green onion
2 hard cooked eggs
1/2 cup sliced stuffed olives (we may have skipped these)
3 Tbs mayonnaise
1/2 cup chili sauce
Directions
Combine all ingredients. Pile mixture into split hot dog rolls.
Wrap in foil - Twist ends securely.
Place on grill over medium coals, turning frequently. OR Bake in hot oven 20-30 minutes, 350 degrees.
-----
A couple years ago, I asked for family members to share with me some of their "iconic" recipes (shoutout to my sister for gathering them all for a very thoughtful Christmas present!). In my paternal grandma's batch was something called "Ham and Cheese Rolls." This did not ring a bell for me, and I found it odd she'd included it with her lemon squares and lasagna.
This past Christmas, I connected the dots.
At one family gathering, my mom was concocting what appeared to be the weirdest amalgamation of ingredients into one huge bowl. I saw chopped ham, mayo, chili sauce, cubed cheese, and hard boiled eggs. It was all mixed together and then put into hot dog buns, wrapped in foil, and baked.
I was like, where did these come from?
My mom said, "Grandma used to make them all the time. She called them ham and cheese rolls, but your dad always called them slop dogs."
The latter seemed very apt. Looking at the now-melted mush of ingredients, I can see why my 6-year-old self didn't go crazy over these things. I mean, hard boiled egg??
I took a bite. And there it was. I knew this taste, vaguely, but there it was. My older sister said my grandma used to make them on New Year's Eve, and I remember them now, their smell and texture. I have a feeling I only tasted them once or twice as a kid, but it's not a taste you forget.
It is unique. It is odd. It is good. Over the course of my time at my mom's for Christmas, I polished off many a slop dog. Try them for your next picnic.
Ingredients
1/2 pound cubed ham
1/2 pound cubed sharp cheese
1/3 cup sliced green onion
2 hard cooked eggs
1/2 cup sliced stuffed olives (we may have skipped these)
3 Tbs mayonnaise
1/2 cup chili sauce
Directions
Combine all ingredients. Pile mixture into split hot dog rolls.
Wrap in foil - Twist ends securely.
Place on grill over medium coals, turning frequently. OR Bake in hot oven 20-30 minutes, 350 degrees.
-----
Inspired by the prompt, "Share a recipe that everyone in your family loves" in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.
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