Oma Pets

Ashley, when she was just a pup.

The beast is coming out in all of us.

Chloe (8) has a lot of dolphin in her. She's smart. With her nose in a book, even during dinner, it's hard to pull her out of the trance she goes into when she's learning. She corrects my spelling, my French pronunciation, and my button pushing.

The collection of remotes has me bamboozled. When I asked for help clicking over to the regular TV, Jess (6) informed me, "We don't have regular TV. Just recorded." Chloe said she'd fix me up before she went to bed.

They put on a DVD. After one segment of Animaniacs, they b-e-g-g-e-d for another. And then another. I put my foot down and said, "Bedtime." OK. I'm weak. One more. Then it started: "We're not tired . . ." "We can stay up later . . ." "Our mom lets us . . ."

"Nope. Time for bed. Now! Oh, and Chloe, can you fix the TV for me?"

Her shoulders sagged, her arm drooped, and she dropped the remote on the couch. "I can't right now, Oma," she said. "I'm just too tired." Dolphins aren't even that smart.

The Jess beast has a tattle tale. It was morning rush hour—gobble breakfast, pack lunch, sharpen pencils; brushes, headbands and barrettes at the ready. I was emptying the dishwasher when one of the glasses slipped out of my hand and shattered on the counter top. "Oh no!" shrieked Jess, and disappeared downstairs. Chloe found a roll of paper towels and Ashley pointed out silver shards. Jess eventually returned and said, "I just had to email mom that you broke one of her favorite glasses."

Ashley (5) is part kitty—purring softly, gliding in silence, but screeching when she's mistreated. Her fur goes up and her claws come out, ready for a cat-fight, but she can be calmed right down with a little loving attention. And she meows until she gets what she wants.

Her Barbie guitar mercifully stopped playing after an hour or so. "It needs new batteries," she said. "Hmmm," I said, looking it over, "I think we need to wait for your dad to fix it." Too bad. So sad.

"I know where his tool kit is . . . he lets me . . ." she was already out in the garage searching through screwdriver heads. She leaped up to the cupboard shelf and immediately had batteries of all sizes "I'll find the matching ones." Now she's doing her Elvis impression of "Polly-Wolly-Doodle" with a lot of twang.

Oma is an old dog learning new tricks.

I had a couple of requests for this recipe.
(The quick and easy version is to pick it up at the deli.)

Frog Eye Salad

This recipe uses a tiny round pasta called Acine di' Pepe (like orzo, but round) which gives it an interesting texture similar to tapioca.

1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 (8-ounce) can crushed pineapple, undrained
1 (20-ounce) can pineapple chunks in its own juice, undrained
2 (11-ounce) cans mandarin orange segments, drained
1 large egg, beaten
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 1/3 cups (8 ounces) Acine di Pepe Pasta, uncooked
3 1/2 cups (8 ounces) frozen non-dairy whipped topping, thawed and divided
3 cups miniature marshmallows
1/2 cup flaked coconut
Maraschino cherries (optional)

In medium saucepan, stir together sugar, flour and salt.

Drain pineapple, reserving juice to equal 1 cup. With whisk, gradually stir juice and egg into sugar mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until mixture comes to a boil. Stir in lemon juice. Cool mixture to room temperature.

Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions; drain. Rinse with cold water to cool quickly; drain well.

In large bowl, stir together pineapple juice mixture and pasta. Cover; refrigerate several hours or overnight.

Add crushed pineapple and chunks, oranges, 2 cups whipped topping, marshmallows and coconut; mix gently and thoroughly. Cover; refrigerate until cold.

Top with remaining whipped topping; garnish with cherries, if desired.

Makes 12 servings.