Best Christmas Present

Best Christmas present this year= a bookmark from Naomi

Not even one she'd bought.  No, no.  One she'd gotten for free at the checkout desk at the library. 

I read.  A lot.  One hundred and three books in 2013, according to my Goodreads account.  She knows this.

She told me she thought I probably could use a bookmark.

Not expensive, not terribly exciting, but something thoughtful and useful, not a present to give just for the sake of having something to give.

Definitely the best present this year.

A Happy Heart is a Thankful Heart

I know- the Veggies think it's the other way around.  I'm pretty sure it goes both ways.

After the yearly facebook lets-be-thankful-for-a-whole-month bandwagon that I initially boycotted, I decided I'd join in for a few days, but with *real* things to be thankful for, not 'I'm thankful for socks' posts.

And even though I'm done with those posts, I still find myself being thankful for things I wouldn't have thought twice about before.

The other day I got an anniversary card in the mail from grandma, and I thought- I'm so thankful for a grandmother who sends cards for every holiday known to man, because these cards will not come for very many more years.

Thursday when I pulled into the driveway after taking Hope to choir and our 80-year-old neighbor was just finishing plowing our driveway with his tractor.  For the second time that week.  Thankful for sweet little old men who are willing to bundle up in subzero weather and plow the whole neighborhood, mainly for something to do.

Today when David got called in to work, since he took call for someone today.  And next Monday.  And next weekend.  Simply because I said we could use the money.  Don't need it- can survive without it, but he knows I feel more comfortable not taking money out of savings every month to make ends meet.  So although he doesn't like to take call and likes going to work on Saturdays even less, he takes it whenever any of the hospital techs offer.  Thankful.

Thankful, thankful, thankful.

Life Lessons

A few weeks ago at BSF, someone mentioned taking bags of food whenever she went into the city to give to homeless people.  She said a friend of hers had asked how she found homeless people to give them to.  Um, walk down the sidewalk?  She was shocked that someone could be so blind to what is all around us.

So yesterday we went into Chicago to the Christkindlmarket.  By the time we got in there, it was lunchtime, so we found the closest McD's and had lunch.  We were on the second story by the window, and Hope was looking at all the people on the sidewalk.  She asked David why "that man is just sitting there". That was the only homeless person that I know she noticed; she may have noticed others- I saw several just in the three or four hours we were there.

Rather than driving all the way in and paying all the tolls and parking fees, we drove to the closest L line and took the train.  More adventurous for the kids, cheaper, and easier than trying to find parking downtown.  It was about a half-hour trip on the train, and it was pretty busy both ways.

On the way back, Hope and David ended up standing behind my seat at the back of our car.  During the trip, a man walked into the car from the one behind us, and walked up to the middle of the car.  He started talking and said he was licensed and bonded in something- I wasn't really paying attention since he started talking about 30 seconds after the recorded message that soliciting isn't allowed on the train.  He said he was having a tough time finding work, and asked for help finding work, for any fare cards, extra food, spare change.  I had packed several granola bars for the kids to snack on and we still had a few, so I dug 'em out and gave them to David to take up to the guy.  Hope was in the aisle, so David had her take them over to him.  He said thank you and that was it.  He sat down for a few minutes, and when an older lady got on the train, I noticed that he immediately stood up and asked her if she wanted his seat.

When we got off the train, he was walking past us.  As Hope passed him, he looked straight at her and said "bless you" and smiled at her.  As we were leaving the terminal, she asked me if I'd heard all that the guy had said.  She'd just heard him say if you have any extra food, but wanted to know what else he was talking about in the beginning of his plea. 

As I thought about it later, it struck me how, when we care about a person or a cause, we want to help.  Grandma would never dream of helping the mexicans, until she knew a family who needed help who happened to be hispanic.  Then she bought a bunch of groceries for them and got the kids signed up for toys from the church. When we know the need of someone or something we care about, then the desire to help is usually there.

But sometimes, if we help first, then we start to care.  Hope didn't care what this guy was talking about at first.  But once she helped him, however minimally, then she was interested.  Then she cared how he got to that point.  Then she wanted to know what he had to say.  Maybe that's the key.  Maybe we don't need to educate society on the perils of poverty.  Maybe we just need to start helping.  After that, society might educate itself.

See that lovely little spot above my eyebrow?

No big deal, right?  Just a scratch, or maybe something gouged my forehead right there.

Except that it's been there since we lived in Marysville.

Last spring, when it had scabbed over and then reopened enough for me to notice it and be aware that something was off, I already had an appointment with a doctor for a checkup, so I mentioned it to her.

I already knew I needed to see a dermatologist for a mole check so I added the spot to my list of complaints. I called for a consult and discovered that getting an appointment with a dermatologist takes roughly as long as human gestation.

Besides, I was pretty sure I already knew what it was.  A bit of medical knowledge and access to Google makes me an expert, you see.

Skin cancer.  Basal cell carcinoma.

Not melanoma, not life-threatening unless I choose to leave it alone for the next decade and see what happens, and yet...

When I used to tan, mom would get so mad at me and I'd tell her with our family history I was going to get some sort of cancer; I was just picking the type. 

Perhaps not my best-thought-out plan.

The ironic part is that I always kept my face covered when I tanned.  This spot is your general, run-of-the-mill, too-much-cumulative-sun-exposure skin cancer.

Makes me wonder about the other parts of my body that have had non-routine exposure.


Now that I know it's there, I just want it gone.  Who wants to willingly leave cancer cells in their body?  Who would knowingly ignore something so harmful?

Revelation time: SO many things can have deeper meanings!

Can the word 'cancer' mean more than just abnormal, destructive cells? 

Could it mean destructive behaviors?

Could there be many more things in my body that are a type of cancer?

Things I don't notice at first, or don't realize their destructive potential?

Like yelling.  Mom did it.  Dad did it.  I do it.

But, just like cancer, it spreads.

It starts as yelling to alert a child to danger.

Slowly, it progresses to yelling any time you need to get a person's attention.

And before you know it, your response to any situation is rage.

Not only is it your response, it becomes your child's automatic response too.

If you know it's cancer, you can cut it out before it has a change to damage and destroy.  But can you always tell what cancer looks like?

Obviously not.  It doesn't wave a red flag and say "here I am, come weed me out of your life!"

It- the cancerous, sinful behaviours that so easily invade- starts out so innocuous, so benign, and by the time you recognize the behaviors for what they are, they've grown into the very fiber of you, and become nearly impossible to remove.

Oh, that I would have the wisdom and insight to recognize the cancers in me as easily as the cancer on me.

Daniel Wayne you are a pain...

But it's only because you're 3.  You'll get better.

He is such a sassypants lately!

Whenever David tells him no, he says "No to you, daddy!"

If he gets in trouble and I start counting, as soon as I say One, he'll say "No, two!"  Occasionally he'll count himself right into the corner.

And lately whenever anyone says no or can't or won't, he says "Oh yes I can" with a sassy little voice.

Sas. See. Pants.

A few months ago I started getting him to attempt to use the toilet; it didn't last long and he didn't really care, so I stopped.

He still doesn't care.

But I'm sick of buying diapers.

And I'm sick of changing the poopy diapers.

And he's three and a half.

It's time.

So, this last week has been potty-training week.

He's almost there.  By the weekend, he'll be done with diapers except maybe at night.

Ten years and six months.  That's how long I've spent with someone continuously in diapers, except for two weeks between Hope being trained and Naomi being born.

It's almost over.

And I know some day I'll wish it wasn't over.

*Sigh*

Joel. 

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

Why did God give him to me?

Of all the children in the world, all the options, all the genetic possibilities, why is this child mine?

There must be a purpose, something I'm supposed to learn, from him.  The only lesson I can imagine is humility.  And perhaps self-loathing.  And despair.  And hopelessness.

I can't see God wanting me to learn most of those lessons.

He truly does go in spurts of being wonderful and being monstrous.  For weeks things will be great.  He'll love me, obey me, snuggle me, try desperately to please me.

And then the moon changes phases, and he's back to the monster-child.

The other day at the store he was mad at me about something, and he said, "I wish you weren't my mom".

I replied, "I wish I weren't your mom either, but God gave you to me, so we both have to deal with it."

That sounds horrible to say to a little boy, and I suppose it is, but it's the truth.  If I got to choose, I would not choose a little person with whatever is different about Joel.

I am not equipped to be an adequate parent to him.  I'm not.  I feel like I have the ability to be a good parent to the other three.  I can handle their issues, understand their moods, figure out how to discipline and direct them.

Joel- not a clue.  Just when I think maybe I understand, or maybe we've found help, or maybe something is working, everything goes wrong.

I have honestly wondered if I could voluntarily put him in the foster care system or something but still be able to see him whenever I wanted and take him back whenever I wanted, just so he'd have access to people, professionals, caregivers who have more experience with kids like him and might be able to do a decent job with him.

Because I am not doing a decent job. 

He can be SUCH a sweet little boy.  He loves to sit by me.  He begs me to snuggle him at bedtime, although that's more of a delay tactic than true desire to spend time with me.  He kisses me for no reason.  He tells me several times a day that he loves me.  Yesterday he wouldn't play a draw-two card on me when we were playing Uno, but had no problem slapping it down once someone reversed the direction.  He thanks me for making meals for him.  He sits and watches me cross-stitch and asks if I can get sewing things for him too so we can sew together.  He loves to read books to his little brother, and stands next to the toilet and encourages Daniel by telling him what a great job he's doing potty training and how proud he is of him.

And at the same time, he disobeys me as if he doesn't even hear my voice.  He argues with almost everything I tell him.  He refuses to help with chores that he's happily done in the past.  He torments his sisters horribly.  He looks for ways to hurt Naomi.  He yells -no, screams- at Daniel when Daniel gets upset or angry.  He gets irate when I can't understand him, can't answer his questions to his satisfaction, when his schedule is interrupted or things don't go in the exact sequence he expects. He's physically destructive as a way to retaliate.

I am not equipped to raise this little soul.  And I wish I were, because he's so precious and he deserves more.

One Year

One year ago, I drove out of my driveway in Marysville one last time. 

I cannot believe it's been a year!  It seems like four or five months, maybe.

And I still love being here.

I did not love being in Marysville.  As I drove away from that house, I thought about how different that moment was from the moments when I left my other houses.

My house in Spokane- I spent several moments gazing around the living room, thinking about how much my life had changed in that house. 

I went from being recently-brokenhearted but realizing I would be just fine and should move on with my life, to being vivacious, quasi-orphan, fiancée, wife, mother, mostly-single parent....

When I bought that house, Terry had just instituted one of his month-long breaks from each other that he was so fond of.  After a week, I realized I did not need him in my life. When the month was over, I took almost perverse pleasure when I saw the shock in his eyes as he realized what my buying my own house meant. 

I remember the first time I saw the house in a real-estate magazine; I thought there were too many angles to the roofline.  But I loved that house; I imagine if we'd been able to stay in Spokane we might've still been there, although it would mean some room-sharing.

David was in a hurry to leave, so I didn't get as many moments as I wanted, alone for the last time in my house, but I spun slowly in a circle,  thinking about how life can change so much and so quickly, thinking about the first moments Bryn and I walked into that room, just remembering.

 Our last moments at our house in Rockford, we were in a hurry again, but this time David made me turn around and look at the house one more time.  I was sobbing - -SOB.BING. If I'd gone with my heart instead of with what I thought my husband wanted, I would've called the moving truck and told them to just come back.  Even though I hadn't loved Rockford in the beginning, I was not the one who decided to leave in the end.

The first time I saw that house online, I loved it, although the location wasn't ideal.  We actually made an offer on another house near Amy, and I agonized and cried over that one too.  Thankfully, we didn't get that house, because this was definitely the right one for us.

And leaving it was no fun at all.  In fact, I'm not sure my heart ever did leave.  Part of it still resides in that house.

And then the Marysville house.  Given what we had to choose from, it was one of the better choices.  But I never loved it, and once they built the houses behind it, my feelings about it went downhill fast. 

And when it was time to leave, I didn't even look back.  Didn't take one last look around the house, didn't glance in the rearview mirror, nothing.

Really, I'm not at all sorry about that.  No love lost there.


I wonder what the circumstances will be when I leave this house for the last time.  I like it.  I don't love it like I loved our Rockford house (except the 500 square feet of white tile floor.  That was the bane of my existence, and the reason I hired a maid), although it fits our needs well and we could easily live here until all the kids are gone.  I don't foresee moving anywhere else in the near- or semi-distant future.  I love our town, I like Rockford, I see no reason to leave.  Unless some dream job became available in Spokane, but that isn't going to happen.  And even then.....would I want to move back?  I really don't know. 

But.....time flies.  I still cannot fathom that we've been here for a year.

Ways to Help Others When Their Life Stinks

I've been thinking today about poor Kristen and her family.  Although I'm nowhere near close enough, nor have I spoken to her since Julia was a baby, my mind has been going through things that people could do for her to help.  Whenever something bad happens, the first reaction seems to be to bring food.  Helpful-only maybe; gut reaction- definitely.  So I decided to start a list of things that I would've appreciated after mom died, and maybe someday I'll have a chance to do unto others what I would've liked done unto me.

1. Meals- use disposable dishes.  Nobody wants to feel guilty for not bringing back your dishes soon enough or forgetting what belongs to whom. Also, bring something frozen, with directions and the recipe taped to it.  We had more food than any family could reasonably have eaten.  But something to put in the freezer and pull out in a few weeks when the shock wore off and even transferring a dish from the fridge to the oven felt like an accomplishment would've been Heaven-sent. 

2. Housecleaning- I suppose if someone close to Lucy dies, this one won't apply, but  most people don't love housework.  I know there are many people who thrive on doing routine, mundane chores just so they feel like there is some semblance of normality, but if someone told me they were going to come over on this day to dust and vacuum for me, I wouldn't have said no.  Bring them a latte and tell the person to go somewhere that you won't bother them, unless they want your company, and clean a bathroom, make the beds, or mop the kitchen floor.  Take a nice basket and put anything out of place in it, so they can go through later and put things where they go. 
This would probably be even better if a pair of people went, so the bereaved didn't feel obligated to keep anyone company.

3. Laundry- I'm one of the oddballs who enjoys laundry.  I accept that most people don't.  Same principle as #2- tell them you'll be over to do a few loads of laundry.  Change the sheets, wash some towels, allow them to not have to worry about having clean underwear when their life is crashing down around them.

4.  Do not say "let me know if I can do anything" or "I'm here if you need me".
No one is going to take you up on that.  Say "tell me how I can help" or "what can I do to help you?"

5.  Talk is cheap.  Anyone who's been through a death can list 17 different platitudes that they'd rather punch someone in the face than hear again.  A simple "I'm so sorry" is sufficient.  Some people really want to talk after a tragedy, others are more private and won't talk.  If it's someone you're close to, just say "when you're ready, I'm here".  If it's an acquaintance, don't bother.  "I'm sorry for what you're going through" is all they need to hear.  Add an I'mprayingforyou if you'd like- definitely pray, but they don't need to hear it and, again, talk is cheap.  They won't care yet.

6. Go to Starbucks, buy 'em a coffee and a scone, and take it to them.  Do not go in the house.  Say "I'm thinking of you" and leave.  Unless you're really good friends and the person wants you to stay.  But usually, that's not the case.

7. Send a card.  You don't have to say anything profound.  "I'm sorry, I'm thinking of you in this difficult time".  I still appreciate many people who sent cards- not because it was any great help, but because it's the thought that counts and they thought of me.

8.  Send another card.  Life goes on for the rest of us, but not for the person who's experienced the loss.  Remember that they're still grieving.  The whole world shows up to help initially, but very few remain after a few weeks.  Let them know you still care, you recognize they're still hurting, and again ask how you can help.

9.  Run errands.  Ask if it would be helpful if you went grocery shopping for them.  Pick up their prescriptions. Tell them you're going to Target and ask if there's anything they need while you're there. Little things can cause a cascade of tears, and being in public where the tears might start is a risky thing at first. 

10. Seems like there should be 10 things, so I'll come up with one more.  Flowers- they're nice, they really are.  But after a death when everyone sends flowers to the funeral home, someone has to deal with those flowers.  Take 'em home, watch 'em die, throw them out.  Lately the trend seems to be buying plants instead.  Usually, those eventually die too, and then you feel bad because you couldn't keep a stupid plant alive and it reminds you that you got the plant because someone died and now the plant died too and why does everything in this life die? Except spiders.  They seem to live forever no matter how much bug spray I use.  Send a nice, non-funeral-y bouquet of flowers, but do it later.  Like with the Just-thinking-of-you card you're going to send a month or two after things quiet down. 

I'm sure there's more.  People much more imaginative and helpful and caring than I am could probably come up with a whole 'nother list that would put mine to shame.  I think there's only two things you can do that aren't helpful: do nothing, and open your big mouth.  Keep your mouth shut (except for a few short, limited phrases that don't involve death being God's will or deceased person being in a better place) and your hands busy.

It Could Always Be Worse

Mom and Dad had a crappy marriage. 

Big shock, I know.

I don't remember, even when I was little, ever thinking that they liked each other. I don't remember any loud fighting until I was older, but I'm sure there was some.  I remember a few things being thrown, by both of them.  I remember sullen attitudes and silent treatments.

But compared to what David and Amy grew up with, mom and dad were peaceful.

Amy, Andre, David, and I went out to dinner a few nights ago, and during the drive home we somehow started talking about their mom's marriage to the stepdad they grew up with.

David and Amy had lots of "remember when"'s, none of them being anything you'd much want to remember.  Remember when you had to ask each morning who the person in mom's bed was, remember when you walked in on ____...., remember when mom threw something at dad and split his head open and left and we had to go get the neighbor to take him to the hospital.

Andre piped up with "I remember one time my mom and dad got in a big fight and they......yelled at each other really loud!"

Life isn't fair for kids.  They have to put up with living in the middle of a very fragile relationship.  We got to witness some of the many wrong ways to handle a marriage.  But it certainly could've been a whole lot worse.

BSF

Last spring, I contacted the class administrator for the BSF class here.  I'd missed the welcome class by one week. 

Not that I probably would've been able to find someone to babysit three kids during the day.

So, if I wanted to do BSF again this year, I had to go to the fall welcome class.

Taylor agreed to babysit the boys, since there's no childcare the first week.

I made sure, after she didn't show up to babysit the last time she said she would, that I texted her two days before to remind her.

So I drove off to BSF, Bible and address in hand. 

And as I drove, I decided I'd just turn around and not go.

"You don't need one more day during the week that you have to go somewhere"
"You'll feel like a dork coming into a group after they've all had a week to meet each other, do introductions, get to know each other a bit"
"There won't be room in the kid's program"
"If you do get into a group, it'll be all young moms that you won't learn anything from"
"Joel will just cause problems"
"It'll just be old women there anyway"
"The kid's program is nothing more than playtime; the boys can play at home"
"You won't make any friends; why bother?"
"Did you really learn that much from Genesis?  You don't need to study Matthew"

How well Satan knows me. 

He knows just what words to say, just where to poke, exactly what sour-little-nothings will make me chicken out, change my mind, decide not to.

But, being me, I thought those were all valid reasons.  I hadn't yet discerned that I was not the speaker of those words.

The only reason I didn't turn around was because I figured Taylor would be mad that I made her drag her rump out of bed so early to babysit, and then have me show up thirty minutes later saying I'd changed my mind.

All the greeters were Linda-P.-friendly.  Ok, maybe not quite that friendly.

There was a huge group of newbies in the welcome class.

There were a lot of old women, but plenty of younger people too.

During the welcome class, I sat next to a lady with a three-month-old, and I got to hold him while she filled out her paperwork.

(I don't want another baby.  I don't want another baby.  I don't....yes I do.  But I don't want another kid.  Just some babies)

My new leader called me the next day.

Even though they said the kid's program was pretty full, there was room for both boys.

My group had three other people who couldn't be there the first day, so I won't be the only one feeling like an outsider because I wasn't there the first week.

The group has both younger moms and women who have high-school-aged and older kids, so I won't be the "old" one in a group of 20-somethings who just happen to have the same-aged kids as me.

So even if some of the other thoughts and doubts are valid, who cares?  If I don't make friends, so what?  If all I get out of the year is a better understanding of Matthew, a chance to sing a few hymns, and a few leads on a new church, that's an improvement, and, I guess, a good reason to have one more thing to do each week.

Cookies for Breakfast

Daniel is not the world's best eater.  He enjoys a very short list of foods, and just because he liked it yesterday does not mean he will eat it today.

Breakfast, for example: he likes cereal.  Rice Krispies mixed with Kix is the current meal of choice. 

With school starting, I've started making breakfast instead of just letting the kids have cereal.

On that topic, I'll add in some other thoughts: for several months- like, 9- I've done a dinner menu plan.  Otherwise, how the heck are you supposed to know what's for dinner??  And now that school has started and I have lunches to pack, snacks to pack, dinners and preschool and soccer practice and psychologist appointments and book club to juggle, I've switched to planning every meal.  I have a week-at-a-time menu that includes all three meals and snacks.  The other day I said something about checking the menu to see what was for dinner, and I was told I was altogether too organized.  Seriously?  Because I plan what to eat instead of paying $2.00 a meal for the girls to have hot lunch every day and looking in the fridge at 5:00 to see if anything inspiring appears for dinner?  Or, as was this person's plan, ask all my facebook friends what they're having and just copy one of their meals, assuming I have all of the ingredients on hand.  How else would I have a clue what to buy at the grocery store if I didn't have some idea of what was for dinner; buying a cartload of groceries and winging it would ensure that 1) I keep Subway and McDonalds in business, and 2) my menu would be full of frozen, chemical-laden foods.  But whatevs.

So, making breakfast.  We've had lots of oatmeal, eggs and toast, and smoothies.  Cereal is reserved for weekends.  But Daniel has not been enjoying my newfound Martha-ness.

I've tried making him a serving of whatever the rest of the clan is having, setting it at his place, and, when he yells for his krispy kix, telling him I'll get it in a minute and then leaving the kitchen.  For a couple of days, he'd eat whatever I'd made while he was waiting for me to make his cereal. 

But he quickly caught on.

So the other day when I made smoothies that had chocolate protein powder in them,  I told him it was a chocolate milkshake.  The smoothie disappeared quickly.

EUREKA!!  Simply call things something dessert-sounding!

Yesterday I made Honey Baked Oatmeal.  It smelled amazing; didn't taste as great to me, but the kids all loved it. 

When Daniel got up, I asked him if he wanted an oatmeal cookie for breakfast.  He gobbled it up and asked for more cookies.

This morning, he wanted more oatmeal; luckily, there were leftovers.  He again ate his bowl and got more.

The problem: he will at some point tell people I feed him cookies for breakfast.  Or milkshakes. 

Parenting dilemma #571- lie to your children about what you're feeding them so they eat it, or call it by the actual name knowing they'll turn up their nose.

The Smell of Memories

I had another sleep study last night.  After I was hooked up to all 687 wires, the tech left the room to make sure they were all reading correctly, and as I sat there, I caught a whiff of something familiar.

I don't know what the smell was, but it took me instantly back to mom's hospital room- the first neuro room she was in, not the second or, worse yet, the third room upstairs. 

I've spent my fair share of time in hospitals: one angiogram, four children, multitudes of weekly nonstress tests, one opened incision, one hysterectomy.  Plenty of hours to smell plenty of hospital scents, but not once have I had anything evoke such a sense of being right back there with her.

Could've been a disinfectant in the bathroom.  Might've been the adhesive from the EKG leads.  Or perhaps it was just the plethora of hospital tubing and wires.

And, of course, the more I sniffed to try to smell it again, the more I got used to it and couldn't smell it any more.

I only caught the scent two or three times, but that was enough.

Supposedly, smell is the sense most closely linked to memory.  It certainly didn't take more than a slight hint of that scent for me to be right back in that chair, sitting by her bed.

And the strangest part of all, to me, was that when I realized what the smell reminded me of, I smiled.

Six weeks.  It seemed like a lifetime then.  So many nights of sleeping on couches, chairs, floors.  Wakeful hours in the middle of the night when Bryn would wander into the waiting room to switch places when she was falling asleep.  Hours sitting in an uncomfortable chair by the side of mom's bed, thinking, reading, praying, pondering, hoping, crying.

I'd like to go back and actually smile at her when she opened her eyes and asked what day it was.  I'd like to not sigh when she asked how long she'd been there and what happened.  I wish I could simply smile at her and hold her hand and answer her questions, not wondering if she was ever going to get better or if, when she woke up the next hour, she'd ask anything other than the same set of questions she asked every hour upon waking.

The waiting room couch wouldn't seem so hard, the boredom of sitting in the same room hour after hour wouldn't seem as tedious, knowing that I should be enjoying the last few moments we would have together as "all of us". 

It has taken a decade to get to the point of smiling, but I can think about that time and wish I could go back and just smile.

Chicken & Fruit Salad

Oooooh, chicken salad.  I've eaten this more times than I can count, and every time I think, "I should make this more often!"  This recipe was courtesy of Ginger, a patient of mine.  She started selling Pampered Chef for a bit, and I had a party for her.  This was one of the recipes she suggested; apparently it's an old Pampered Chef recipe that is sort of passed from consultant to consultant because it's so tasty! (It also highlights several of their products; a chopper and an apple corer/slicer make this recipe a whole lot easier).

Even though the ingredients sound really odd together, I've had requests for the recipe every time I've taken this dish anywhere, which has been often because it's a great potluck recipe. Arby's even had a similar sandwich recently- theirs was on bread, although this would also be great in a tortilla, in a bread bowl, served with crackers, or- as I eat it- just with a fork!  Thankfully there are leftovers in my fridge because now I'm really craving this, and I may just go have a bite or two.

I've always added more pecans when I make this; can you add too many nuts to recipes?  When I made this yesterday, I used the KitchenAid trick to shred the chicken- not the best choice for this recipe; it really should be chopped, not shredded.  Although it still tasted delish, it just didn't seem to me to have the right texture.  Personal preference, I suppose. 


Chicken & Fruit Salad

1&1/2 lbs cooked, cubed chicken breast
4 ribs celery, chopped
1/2 red onion, chopped
1&1/2C mayonnaise
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1&1/2C red seedless grapes, cut in half
1/2C pecans, chopped
2 Granny Smith apples, cored and chopped
2t dill weed
1 small wedge Parmesan, grated

Combine all ingredients, and refrigerate several hours before serving

Joel starts preschool today.  Oh good Lord....    ..............does his teacher have ANY idea what she's in for?  The medicine is helping, but not enough, in my opinion.  He still doesn't want to do anything anyone else's way, and he's even more emotional on the meds.  He'll cry and get upset when they tell him it's time to stop playing with the toys.  I think there's a chance, though, that he'll sit still and work if he's told to.  He's SO excited; I hope he's good and doesn't out himself as the problem kid on the first day.

Last night he got up around midnight to go to the bathroom.  He came in and told me that he didn't have anything to get to preschool on and asked if I could take him in my car.  As always, I would really love to know what goes on in that little brain of his.

Pistachio-crusted Chicken

I love this recipe.  It's amazingly good and super easy! I'm quite sure I found it in a magazine as an ad.  You know how Campbells has those full-page ads of recipes using their soups- I'm pretty sure it was something like that.  Although what would they be advertising?  Pistachios, I guess.  Hmm.  I found it shortly after David and I got married, and it's always been a favorite.

4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
1/3C shelled pistachio nuts, finely ground
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1 Tbs olive oil

Preheat oven to 400.  In shallow dish, combine nuts, salt, and pepper.  Press smooth side of chicken into nut mixture.  Heat oil in nonstick skillet. Add chicken, nut-side down, and cook over med-high heat until golden, 2 minutes per side.  Transfer chicken to baking dish.  Bake 12-15 minutes.

And now for the tweaks, because- rest assured- if I'm making it, there's probably a change or two.  I use way more nuts than called for.  I put pistachios on both sides of the chicken.  And I put any leftover pistachios in the skillet so they get a little crunchy and toasted, and then I add them to the top of the chicken when I bake it.  In my opinion, the more pistachios, the better!  And the obvious shreds of parmesan in the picture- they're just from the parmesan roasted potatoes we had with the chicken.  No cheese is involved to mess up the scrumptious pistachios.

Little Miss Grownup

Last week David discovered a little nest of baby rabbits in the yard.

Monday, Hank had one of the rabbits in his mouth.  It was already dead; I saw him pick it up and it never moved.

There was one bunny left in the nest, and Hope and Naomi took spinach out to feed it.  We warned them that if the mom smelled human on the bunny, she might not go back to it.  So they were careful to not get too close and just throw spinach leaves in the grass.  Hope checked on it every day to make sure it was still there.

Today, thanks to the ComEd meter reader who never closes our gate and now has a complaint being forwarded to his supervisor, Hank got out of the back yard, and Hope happened to see him just as he was tearing the leg off the bunny.  On the sidewalk.  In view of the front door.

She came running into the house, sobbing and shrieking.  Of course, the other kids ran to the door to see what the issue was, so they got to see the dismembered baby rabbit on the sidewalk.

Good times, good times.

But as Joel and Naomi were telling Hank he was the worst dog ever, Hope came to Hank's rescue and said he wasn't a bad dog, it was just his instinct to go after animals.  He was only doing what he was bred to do.

I've heard that speech a hundred times with the cats and the birds they'd bring home, but it was her sobbing and petting her dog as she tried to explain to her siblings it wasn't his fault that did me in.

I asked her if she thought she could pick it up or if that would be too much, and she said she'd do it.  She put on a pair of my latex gloves and got a bag, picked up the pieces, and held the rabbit and petted it for a few minutes and cried some more.  Then she came in and wiped off Hank's face to get rid of any blood.

Pretty mature for a 2-year-old.  Oh wait, she's 10.  Still pretty mature.  But how the heck did she get to be 10...

Oven Barbecued Chicken and Cheesy Biscuits

Another "only so I can pin it" recipe!  This is one of the only recipes I still use from my Once-A-Month Cookbook.  Even though I love the idea of freezer cooking, I just didn't like enough of the recipes to stick to one of their plans; maybe someday I'll make a freezer cooking plan out of my own faves- except I always forget to thaw things early enough:(

2 1/2 lb chicken pieces
1/2C grated cheese
1C BBQ sauce
1 12-oz pkg buttermilk biscuits

Preheat oven to 400.  Coat 12x9 baking dish with nonstick spray.  Dip chicken pieces in bbq sauce.  Place them in pan; bake for 40-45 minutes.  Pile chicken pieces at one end of pan, separate dough into 10 biscuits.  Place them in the pan to drippings next to chicken.  Sprinkle cheese over biscuits.  Bake for 15-20 minutes until biscuits are golden brown.


Freezer version: the only thing that makes this "freezer" is that they freeze the chicken and cheese already portioned out in Ziploc bags.  Pretty darn easy!

Mimi at 7

I'd been asking Naomi for a few weeks what she thought she might want for her birthday.  She didn't have any ideas.

Until two days before her birthday.  Then she told me she wanted her ears pierced.

Hope and Chloe got their ears pierced together; I wanted Naomi and Lucy to get theirs done together too.  But since Mandy isn't visiting anytime soon, and David has vetoed my plans to go to Spokane at Thanksgiving, having the girls get their ears pierced together didn't seem very plausible.

So her birthday started out at Claire's.

She was pretty scared that it was going to hurt.  She's a bit of a baby, and when I pinched her earlobe to show her what it felt like, she cried.  A lot. 

After the first ear was done, she was going to start crying.

But she got herself under control and didn't even tear up.  With the second ear, she didn't even seem to care.  She was too excited looking at her ears!

After we left the mall, we went back to Byron for the ByronFest carnival!  It was hot and sunny, so I stuck to the shaded spots while the kids rode their rides.

 

 

There was a parade we were going to go to, but the kids were having so much fun on the rides that they didn't want to leave.

After the carnival, we went home to rest for a bit.  Naomi decided she wanted to open her presents and have cake.  She had requested Filled Cupcakes instead of a cake.  They were yummy, and they're already gone.  Apparently I'm not the only one who loves them!

Most little people took naps for a bit, and then we went to the river to go for a swim and a boat ride.  Joel even got to drive the boat.  I'm not sure we ever went straight, and a couple of times he turned the boat completely around; he thought it was fun to drive back over the wake.

Naomi said it was her best birthday yet!

Ideas to Help a Distractable Child with Schoolwork

I tear things out of magazines.  Articles, recipes, pictures, whatever catches my eye.

I'm trying to pare down my pile of ripped-out pieces of paper.

Hence, this post. 

Do we think Joel defines the word distractible?  He couldn't even stand still long enough for me to take this picture. 

From the time I said "say cheese" until the shutter engaged, he'd already decided he didn't want to bother remaining stationary.

Distractible

So that I can keep track of these fabulous ideas, I'm putting them here and Pinning them, rather than trying to keep track of one sheet of paper.

These are copied verbatim from an insightful author, Carol Barnier, in an article in Homeschool Magazine; because I can't find the article online anywhere, this is how I'm going to save it.

• Hand out math one problem at a time.  While you're working in the kitchen, take a small  piece of scrap paper and write a single math problem on it.  When he has done it correctly, he wads it up and shoots it into the basketball hoop (made from a hanger that you've hung in the kitchen)
• Go to the park.  Have him climb to the top of the slide, but before he can slide down, he has to spell five words correctly.
• Put the answers to math problems on 3x5 cards and spread them out on the floor. Read a problem to him and let him jump on the answers.  If you're doing multiplication, call out the answer and let him jump on the two cards that multiplied together create the answer.
• Do it on the whiteboard.  For reasons not fully explainable, problems of any sort done on a whiteboard are far less taxing than sitting at a table and working on paper.
• Instead of writing on paper, write spelling words in a tray of wet sand or across a nearly flattened bag filled with a bit of shaving cream.
• If you need for him to sit still and listen, you must give his hands something repetitive and mindless to do.  Taking corn off of a cob, one at a time with tweezers, separating puff balls by size and color using chop sticks, putting a large bowl of pennies into the small slot of a bank one at a time.  Mindless and repetitive. 
• Cake Walk your learning.  Put cards down on the floor in a way that creates a trail that circles back onto itself.  Start playing a fun song on your CD player while your student walks along the trail.  When you hit the pause button, to reveal his task he stops and flips over the card he's stepping on.  Maybe it's a math problem, a vocabulary word, a science question.  If he gets it right, the card is kept facing up.  But if it's incorrect, it goes back into play for review.  Keep playing till all the cards are up.  Remember, this is called "Cake Walk".  There's supposed to be a prize at the end.  Cake works, but so does a stick of gum.
• Toss a beanbag back and forth.  Any information that is linear in nature can be learned this way.  How about books of the Bible.  You say "Genesis" and toss the bag to your child.  She says "Exodus" and tosses it back.  This works for ABCs, skip counting, spelling of individual words, poems, pretty much any information with a beginning and an end.

Oh, I can see Joel enjoying each and every one of these activities.  Time to find some tweezers and chop sticks!

Alarm

Whenever my phone rings, whichever small person is closest grabs it and runs to me, yelling, "Mom, your phone!"

So this morning when my alarm on my phone went off, I heard Daniel, whose bedroom shares a wall with our room, yell, "Tisha, your phone is ringing!  Tisha! Your phone!!"  I would've pushed snooze a time or two, but laughing at Daniel was enough to wake me up.

Parmesan Chicken

This is another recipe that I memorized while I made it at Dinners Ready/Dream Dinners.  For a couple of years, we went there regularly enough that I saw the same recipes a few times and memorized my faves!

8 chicken breasts (I never use this many.  I usually use 4 or 5)
2 eggs
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/4 tsp pepper
2C panko breadcrumbs
2C shredded parmesan cheese, divided
1C shredded mozzarella
1/2C pizza sauce
1/2C alfredo sauce

Preheat oven to 350.  Mix eggs with garlic powder and pepper.  Roll chicken breasts in egg mixture, then in breadcrumbs combined with 1C shredded parmesan.  Place in greased pan and bake for 20-25 minutes.  Meanwhile, mix pizza sauce and alfredo sauce together; mix remaining parmesan and mozzarella cheeses; set both aside.  Remove chicken from oven, spoon sauces over chicken.  Sprinkle cheese over chicken.  Bake another 10-15 minutes


The freezer version of this is pretty easy and guarantees you have all the ingredients: put breaded chicken in a pan and cover, mix sauces and put in ziplock, mix 1C of the parmesan with the mozzarella cheese and put in a ziplock, Place all items together in the freezer.

Picture Walls

I remember when David and I moved into our house in Rockford.  We hung up every picture we owned within the first week we lived there.  I'd carry a picture around the house holding it up to all the walls until I found just where I thought something fit.

I did basically the same thing in our Marysville house.  After several months, I decided I wanted a picture wall at the top of the stairs.  We had lots of pictures of the kids, but not displayed anywhere, so I figured that would be a good way to put them up.

When we moved into this house, I hung up a few wall hangings, but really no pictures because I knew I wanted to do another picture wall up the stairs. 

But I procrastinate.

And I second-guess everything I do. 

Except painting handprints on my walls.  Apparently I can do that without a moment's hesitation.  But I'm getting ahead of myself...

It took me until March to do anything on the wall in our kitchen.  Once I had the vinyl letters, I still had to paint a canvas and then deal with non-sticking letters.  Then I had to find frames for mom's and oma's and grandma's recipes.  And then I had to steal decorations from other places in the house because they sort of fit.

David complains that the pictures of the kids are too matchy, but once we have summer pictures or next year's Christmas pictures or pictures when Zachy is here, I can change them.

Then, when I finally got my growth ruler ordered, because they only get restocked twice a month and they're always sold out five minutes after they go on sale, I again walked around the house holding it up to every wall to see where it would look good.  We have really pretty chair rails in most of the main floor, which, unfortunately, get in the way of the ruler.  So, I decided I'd incorporate it into a picture wall, and put it up on the wall at the landing.

And there is stayed, with only a few random pictures, for two months. 

Did I mention I procrastinate?

Until the other day when I was walking up the stairs with Daniel.  He braces himself on the wall as he steps up each stair.  And there, on the wall, was a little handprint.  He obviously had dirty hands one day and I just now noticed.  I didn't even consider washing the wall; those precious little handprints needed to be preserved!  So I did what any logical person would do; I got out some paint, painted his hand, and stamped handprints on my wall.

Ok, maybe that's just what any sentimental person would do.

But it provided the needed stimulus to get the picture wall done.  Random handprints on the walls didn't look cute, but as part of a wall of pictures of those little people, it would make sense.

So again, off to Hobby Lobby for inspiration.  It took a couple of trips there, and some scary moments on a ladder propped on a stepstool on a stair with a child bracing the stepstool so I didn't do a nosedive over the railing.  I need one of those bendy ladders with adjustable legs.

With the exception of changing out pictures as we get new ones, this wall is staying like this for a very long time!

Hallelu-

Naomi is a crybaby.

She always has been, although it certainly isn't constant like it was when she was 2.

But if she gets hurt, you can count on a bunch of tears.  She gets scratched- the waterworks start.  Can't sleep at night- she thinks crying about it helps.  Yesterday she was having a disobedient day, and she started crying when I told David about it on the phone.  She'd already been punished, but she knew he'd tell her he was disappointed, so it was tear-worthy. 

The other day she came into the room in tears.  She'd noticed a scratch on her foot.

She didn't actually just get scratched; she just saw it and started crying.

Her question was if there was anything that would make it feel better.

I said "Yep" and said she had to sing the.....

And before I could start singing the song, Hope started in with "Hallelu, hallelu, hallelu, hallelujah, praise ye the Lord!"

I didn't even know Hope knew that song, and I certainly didn't think she remembered it, even if she'd ever known it!

When I said "How did you know that song?!?"  she told me I taught it to her making her sing it when she got hurt. 

I'm not planning on starting sing-a-longs in the car.  But maybe we need to sing a bit more around here, if Hope is the only one who knows the hallelu song.

Church-hunting Attempt #3

We've been going to a church for a couple of months that I really like.  It was my "safety" church- the one I knew we could go to if we didn't find anything else that fit.  It's smaller than I thought it would be and it's a forty minute drive, which I don't mind but it does make it difficult to be real involved.  VBS is in two weeks and I'd love to take the kids, but that's a long way to drive every night.  I like it, I'm fine if we continue to go there, but I'm open to trying other churches to see if we can find a better fit.  So since the main pastor was gone this week, we decided we'd try another church.

We picked a church that is pretty close to us.  We'd considered this church before because David's previous boss goes there, but it seemed too small.  David commented that it looked as big as the church we've been attending, and it certainly would be close, so we figured we'd give it a try.

I should point out that it is a Presbyterian church.  Evangelical Pres, though, so I thought maybe it would be a bit more lively.  I thought wrong.

Typical southern I'm-a-Christian-because-that's-how-I-was-raised-but-I-don't-have-any-real-personal-convictions type of church.  Very similar to the UCC in Quincy.

I felt like I was 10 again when I heard everyone start singing "Glory be to the Father....".

Nice pastor, nice enough sermon although totally void of any real teaching -  it was your basic little country church.

We won't be going back.

The one really nice thing, though, was they had HYMNALS!!!  In every pew!!  And we sang How Great Thou Art at the end of the service!  I was going to steal one of their hymnals, but it didn't have Living by Faith.  Otherwise, I'd have a memento of that church-hunting attempt.

Self-filling Cupcakes

I love these cupcakes!  The recipe came out of a cookbook from Oma's church, and I had the actual page for years; I don't know what happened to it but all I have now is a recipe card.  I made these yesterday for Daniel's birthday and I couldn't keep everyone out of them!

Self-filling Cupcakes

1pkg German Chocolate cake mix
1  8oz pkg cream cheese
1/2C sugar
1  6oz pkg chocolate chips
1 egg

Preheat oven to 350.  Prepare cake mix according to directions.  Fill paper-lined muffin tins 2/3 full with cake batter; set aside.  Mix cream cheese and sugar, add egg, beat until light and fluffy; stir in chocolate chips.  Drop mixture by teaspoon onto each cupcake.  Bake 25-30 minutes.  Yield: 36 cupcakes.

Disobedience

This morning I came across a verse I don't think I'd ever seen.  At least, if I'd seen it, I never paid attention to it.

Blew. My. Mind.

It's gonna blow Joel's rear end, too.

The verse is at the end of Romans 1, after the verse about they exchanged the truth of God for a lie.  Paul is listing the ways they disregard the truth: they have become filled with greed, envy, murder, malice.  They are God-haters, they invent ways of doing evil, they disobey their parents, they are senseless, faithless, heartless....

Seriously?  I know Paul was great at throwing those little phrases in there.  They cheat, murder, lie, {drive five miles over the speed limit}, slander, {skip church one too many Sundays}, gossip, {use bad language when they're mad}.....yeah, he's good at slipping a few of my favorite sins into the list of "oh, I'm not so bad, look at all those sins".

But I'd never noticed that disobeying your parents is listed along with God-haters and inventors of evil.

Hope has already gotten this lecture; Itchy and Scratchy will be hearing it at family devotions tonight.  If God is going to lump disobedience in with murder and malice, it's going to be taken a bit more seriously in this household.

Now I'm sure that, in actuality, Paul was probably talking about adult children who disregard their parents' teaching and go along with the depravities listed.  This probably isn't talking about small children who can't seem to obey when mom says be quiet or don't fight with your sister.  But still....

Add another verse to the Memory Verse list!

Eating Less

Yesterday I made peanut butter cupcakes for Hope's birthday.  I used two muffin pans and had a little left over, so I made a pan of mini muffins.  I had two of the mini ones, but once the big ones were out of the oven and frosted, I didn't really want one.  Odd, huh?

I've quit buying a lot of junk food, for the most part, but the other day there were some chips in the pantry because they were on sale.  I took the bag out and realized I didn't want them.  So I put them back. 

I must be sick.

Chips, people!  I passed up an opportunity to eat one of my main food groups!

Last night I saw something on tv that I though sounded good.  I thought about it for a minute, and I could almost taste it, and then I just didn't want it anymore.

One might think eating less would lead to losing weight, but they'd be wrong, because in passing up those cupcakes, I also had two servings of Mizithra and Browned Butter.  I've lost 5 pounds in the last six weeks- certainly not worth getting too excited about when David lost 15 pounds in four weeks. 

But maybe- just maybe- I'm getting to the point of not eating food simply because it's there.  There's a novel concept.

Sour Cream Chicken Enchiladas

This is my favorite recipe from Dinners Ready or Dream Dinners or whatever place it was I got this recipe.  I thought it was Dinners Ready.  My recipe says Dream Dinners.  Who knows.  But this actually seems to work better once it's frozen.  I usually make two pans- one to bake right then and one to freeze for later.  The same-day pan often seems soupy- I don't know why freezing and thawing it would make a difference but it seems to. 

Sour Cream Chicken Enchiladas:
16 oz cream of chicken soup
8 oz sour cream
1 tsp cumin
4 oz diced onion
2oz diced green chilies
1 lb cooked chicken, cubed
8-16 oz cheddar cheese, shredded
8-16 oz enchilada sauce
8 tortillas

Mix soup, sour cream, and cumin in a large bowl.  Spread a thin layer over bottom of a 9x13 baking pan; set aside.  Mix 3/4 of the soup/cream sauce with onions, chilies, chicken, and 6-8 oz cheese.  Fill tortillas and place in pan seam side down.  Spread remaining soup/cream sauce over tortillas.  Drizzle enchilada sauce over tortillas, top with shredded cheese.  Cover with foil and freeze.

To bake: Thaw enchiladas.  Preheat oven to 350.  With foil still in place, bake for 25 minutes.  Remove cover and bake for another 15-20 minutes.

This is one dish that I never make according to the recipe. I don't add the onion or chilies because, ya know, I'm weird and I have texture issues. I use way more cheese and enchilada sauce than called for; I use less than a pound of chicken; I don't spread the mixture in the pan or on the enchiladas. Basically, you can do just about whatever you want because it's tough to screw this one up!

Just for Girls

Amy and I got pedicures on Mother's Day.  I chose a lovely springy shade of green, and of course they upsold me on the flowers.  (and the mint scrub, and the manicure....)

Joel has told me several times how much he likes my toenails.

Yesterday when he said my toes were pretty, I asked if he wanted his toes painted too.

"Thuhr, but not with flouwuth.  Thothe awe just fowah gulth."

Just so we're clear:  Painted toenails for boys- ok.  Painted toenails with flowers for boys- not ok.

Mother's Day

Some years Mother's Day is hard. 

Some years I don't even remember to think about mom.

This year was one that I didn't think about her.  I had enough going on lately, and I was more concerned with making sure everyone knew I did NOT want 10,000 calories worth of chocolate or $20 worth of cards for Mother's Day. 

Handmade cards, with gift certificates for bouquets of flowers.  That's what I wanted.  And the pedicure that Amy had already planned for us:)

That's pretty much what they gave me, as instructed.  Joel got a bit creative and gave me a gift certificate for a head rub.  It sounds lovely, except that I know how his head rubs work.  He'll give you about 15 seconds of attention, and then you're outta luck.

But I like the way he thinks.  In a few years, that gift certificate will be a winner.

We were at lunch, and I was fine.  Still hadn't thought about mom.

Until the family at the table next to us walked in.

The elderly female who was obviously the matriarch of the family walked through my line of sight, with her lovely pink corsage pinned to her chest.

And I lost it.

I remembered how every year mom made sure to order a corsage for Oma.  I don't know why that was the one silly thing that did it, but it was.

Of course, I couldn't have picked a moment when everyone else was up getting food to get all emotional.  Or even the 15 minutes when it was just us and McKenna there; I had to wait until everyone was sitting down eating. 

And my sweet dollies were so concerned that I was crying, they made it worse by coming over to ask if I was ok.

Why does someone crying seem to draw all eyes?  Since I do so enjoy being the center of attention...

So stupid, how the sight of a corsage can bring on the cascade of tears so quickly.

For the love of Pinterest

I'm so pathetic. 

I know that.

It really is not that hard to go get my recipe box.  Or a cookbook.

But how much easier is it to click a picture and not have to go get those things?!?

Since I do my meal planning from Pinterest and a file on my computer, having all my recipes, well....ON my computer is a heck of a lot easier.

So, when I lower myself to making a recipe I didn't obtain online, I'm going to post said recipe and take a pic or two.

And then I'm going to add them to Pinterest so I can be lazy enough to not get out my recipe box whenever one of those recipes comes up on the menu for the week:)

Recipe #1:

Grandma's Chicken and Rice Casserole.

Does this just scream 'Grandma' to you or what???

When I knew I wanted to frame a recipe from Oma and Grandma, it took a long time to decide which recipe of Oma's to use. 

Grandma's?  Two seconds.  Maybe less.

So easy and so tasty.

I've used brown rice instead of white rice.  I've used regular rice instead of instant rice. 

It just isn't as good.  Gotta be good 'ole nutritionally-void instant white rice.

And although it calls for a cut-up chicken, I use boneless, skinless chicken breasts because, well, they're boneless.  I'm not into bones in my meat.  At all.  Ever.  I don't think I have a single recipe pinned that requires bone-in meat.  And if I do, I'll modify it to use boneless:)

Grandma's Chicken and Rice Casserole
1 cut-up fryer
1C instant rice
1 can Cream of Chicken soup
2 cans water
1 pkg dry onion soup mix

Wash and trim chicken; place in a 9x13 baking dish

Mix together other ingredients and pour over chicken.

Bake at 350 for 1 & 1/2 hours.

Cover with foil the last 1/2 hour if it seems soupy.  Cut down cooking time if using boneless chicken.  (I made this last night and it took 70 minutes)

An experiment of sorts that started this last week has me spending lots more time with my husband.  Yesterday he said, "you know, sometimes it's nice to just hug or kiss and not expect anything else".  Ya think?!?  That's what I've been telling him for 11 years- that I appreciate signs of affection with no insinuation or expectations.  Maybe he'll remember that once the experiment is over;)

Random Musings While Peoplewatching at Disneyland...

1. Stilettos aren't appropriate footwear for theme parks.
2. Women over a certain weight shouldn't wear stretch pants with short t-shirts.
3. Women over a certain weight, if they're going to wear stretch pants, should wear underwear.
4. "Exit" is not code for "secret entrance to ride with really long line".
5. Your 150-lb 7-year-old does not need a stroller.
6. I understand Asian cultures are more formal; sport coats and slacks are not required for entrance into American theme parks
7. Groups of teenaged boys all wearing Minnie ears isn't as cute as they think it is.
8. There are many more gay men in southern california than gay women.  At least there are many more gay men at Disneyland.
9.  There are lots of people at Disneyland with various shades of red hair.  As far as I could tell, four of us were natural.
10. Lots of people have Lucy's hair. Most of them are not Lucy.  (this one is from Joel)

Good and Bad

I've said for 4.5 years that there was something wrong with him. 

Other people saw it.  Those were the people who made any attempt to discipline him.  They were the ones who knew what he could be like.

I talked to doctors about it. No one much cared; they'd say 'oh, maybe' and said he needed more sleep.  But I knew they were wrong. 

Today at the pediatrician, the doctor hadn't been in the room more than five minutes when he knew too.

Good because I was right and finally a medical professional can see the issue as well.

Bad because I'm not going to medicate the kid, which means we might be in for even more fun than the past 5 years have been.

Double bad because David is going to flip his lid when I tell him that the doctor instantly sided with me in the should-we-hold-him-back-and-start-kindergarten-a-year-late debate.

But good because maybe having someone believe me will give him a year to mature and develop and not get a label he doesn't deserve.  Or maybe it will give him a year to mature and develop and make it obvious that he needs help.

We'll see.

It'th Vewy Exthenthive

I made some cookies the other day that were muy delicioso.  I doubled the recipe, not realizing that the original recipe made 6 dozen cookies, so we had a plethora of cookies to put somewhere. 

I've been putting the things I bake on a covered cake pedestal so the kids remember to eat them, but there were too many cookies for that, so I got out mom's old cookie jar.

I've left it out on the counter as a subliminal message that maybe I should make cookies more often.

With the wicked awesome Sam's Club deal last month, we got two free boxes of cookies, so I got those last night and put them in the cookie jar.

Itchy and Scratchy really wanted one, so I told them they could have one at snack time.  Naomi was reaching for the cookie jar lid, and I told her to be careful.  Joel chimed in with "Yeah, becauth that cookie jaw ith vewy exthenthive!"

Well, that's debatable.  I'm betting that cookie jar was NOT very expensive.  But I remember when mom used to bake and cook.  I remember when dinner didn't consist of frozen pizza and canned corn.  (Unfortunately, those were the times it consisted of meatloaf and sloppy joes.  Blech!)  I remember the cookie jar when it used to sit on the counter at all times, and most times it contained cookies.

So while it may not have cost very much money, it's priceless.

Pinterest

I decided at the beginning of the year that I needed to actually try some of the recipes I had pinned on Pinterest.

Profound thought, yes?

I had all these yummy pictures of food, but all I did was stare at them longingly. I needed to see if they tasted as good as they looked.

And so began my quest to try all my pins.

Every week this year, we've tried at least one Pinterest recipe. Some have been good, some not so much.

When I encounter a bad one, or even a just ok one, I delete it. I'm not bothering with a file for Pinterest fails. I'm just not letting it clutter up my space.

The winners are commented on so I know what we liked about them or if they needed a bit of a tweak.

The kids are even helping with menu planning now that they can just look at pictures.  They go through the pins to decide what looks good, help me shop for groceries, and help make 'their' meal.

One nice side effect of all this experimenting is that I'm becoming a decent cook. We're also eating a lot less processed foods. Yesterday I made a cake for Mr. Ravioli's birthday instead of buying one. Granted, it was from a box, because I wasn't sure I could tackle making one from scratch. But I seriously considered it. Six months ago- heck, last month- I wouldn't have even considered making a cake myself.

One bad side effect though: tasty, good food may equal weight gain. A few weeks ago we had bacon green beans. Yum- veggies cooked in bacon grease:) Last week it was roasted parmesan broccoli. I had three helpings. I don't like broccoli. But roasted in olive oil and mixed with cheese and pine nuts- tis quite tasty! This weekend I discovered the most savory soup I've ever tasted. It has approximately five thousand calories per bite. Ok, maybe not quite that much. But lots. And lots.

And I still would be content to eat it for almost every meal for the rest of my life.

It will probably take me until the end of the year to get through all my recipes. And I haven't even started with my breakfast and dessert pins.  And I sort of want to figure out a way to put all my other favorite recipes on Pinterest so I don't have recipes in cookbooks, a recipe box, files on my computer, etc. 

By the time the year is up, I should have a well-weeded-though set of favorite recipes that will provide two months of easy meal planning so that I don't groan when someone says, "what's for dinner", and I don't have to listen to the complaints of small people every evening at dinnertime.

Contrite

Daniel and I were sitting on the couch playing. He got started yelling to the point where he wasn't playing anymore.  I said, "No yelling, Daniel."  He looked at me like he was going to just scream at me again.  Then he dropped his head, looked back up with sad little eyes, and said "Ok, mom".  Oh, how I wish that contrite little heart that chooses to obey would stick around for one or two or sixteen more years.

First shake of the season

Sam's opened last week.

We went there for lunch last weekend, but the line just to get the kids' ice cream took forever; I didn't want to wait in line to order a milkshake too.

But peanut butter milkshakes- oh how I love thee.

I've always loved P.B. milkshakes.  They're one of my favorite comfort foods.  In high school I ordered them every chance I got at Zips.  Anytime I find a place that makes peanut butter milkshakes, I get one.  But it wasn't until just recently that I remembered why.

Oma.  That's why I love them.

I don't know why I never put it together.

When I'd go stay with Oma in the summer, we'd have popcorn almost every night.  Popcorn made in that old oil popper of hers, with added butter and oil on top.

No wonder I weigh more than a SmartCar.

And most nights, she'd make me a peanut butter milkshake.

I've tried- I cannot make them like she did.  I don't know what I do wrong, but they don't taste nearly as good as Oma's did.

Last fall when we got here, David would go visit Amy at her work, which is across the street from Sams.  He'd usually come home with a shake for me.

It was a long winter while they were closed:)

And tonight's milkshake was awfully yummy.

Random thoughts for the day

How is it that three children can eat two pounds of strawberries and a pint of blueberries in under four hours?  I think Hope ate one pound of the strawberries by herself.

It's a nice experience when I know where my loupes are, so that when a small child has a splinter, I can put 'em on and actually see what I'm doing.

Diarrhea.  When I got Daniel up, it was up to his armpits.  Shower time for one little boy.

And again two hours later; only got a bit on the clothes this time.

And again after nap- by now there wasn't much left expect liquid.

Poor guy- he must not feel good.

Joel has told me he loves me today more times that I can count.  And he even gave me a kiss because "you sat there and didn't hit me and were nice to me".  I'm not sure if I want to understand what goes on in his brain or not.

More Joel

That kid is really funny.  And it's- hmm- rewarding, encouraging, heartening, I don't know quite the word I want- but I know he actually listens to what I say.  Not that he always obeys or does what I want or seems to pay attention, but he hears. 

After the other day when he told me he didn't appreciate my attitude when I sent him to his room.....

Yesterday he wanted me to take a nap with him.  I was making him draw on my back and couldn't guess any of the things he was drawing.   He told me, "mom, it's ok if you're a bad guesser because I still love you and I think you are a smart girl."

He hears me.  He absorbs what I say.  Eventually my words will make it from just hearing to doing.  Maybe that's enough for now.

Church Hunting attempt #2

After David's play ended, we could go back to trying churches.  I will be honest and admit that I do have two ulterior motives:

  #1- if we find a church in Rockford rather than Byron or Stillman, then I can do my CVS and Walgreens shopping after church, since we'll already be in town.  Otherwise, I get the eyeroll and a comment about if I saved enough money to pay for the gallon of gas I used to drive into town and back.

#2- if church gets out by a certain time, we can still make the breakfast buffet at Golden Corral.  They have really yummy biscuits and gravy, and the hashbrowns aren't bad.  Not great, but with gravy on 'em, they're ok.  But breakfast ends at 11, so church starting at 10 wouldn't be my ideal:)

Ok, next church.  I'd watched one sermon online and I was pretty concerned that it was a baby church.  Actually, I don't think I made it through the whole sermon because it was too baby to even listen to all the way through.  But maybe I just picked a bad week, so we'll try it.  Big- check.  It's sorta like Calvary in Spokane- they renovated an old shopping mall.  Good music- check.  A bit more concert-y than I'd prefer, but good.  The kids absolutely LOVED the kids program!  Hope's class was awesome- there's a cafe part where they can sit in half-round booths and order hot chocolate or pop and little snacks.  She told me more times than I can count how much she hoped we liked that church because she really wanted to go there.  However, when I asked if there was anyone there she knew, she said yes.  One of them is a boy who rides her bus.  One of the boys she complains about because he swears all the time, and the bus driver has talked to him and he still does it.  The swearing bothers Hope enough that she asked me if I could drive her to school every day.  We talked about being in the world but not of the world- there's always going to be stuff like that to deal with.  But he goes to church and still has a mouth that even the bus driver doesn't approve of?  I don't know how much that makes me want her involved in the youth group.

While we were dropping off the kids, we saw one of David's old coworkers.  Said coworker was a good friend of another coworker that I was friends with.  Make sense?  Said coworker's morals never impressed me.  Three kids by at least two people; got pregnant with #4 right about the time we left by someone else. Maybe it was only three kids total. My memory may not be right about that one. Dated, never married, lived together.  Maybe I'm judgemental.  Not impressive morals.  Maybe she's changed a bunch in the past five years.  I don't know how much  you can judge a church by the people who go there.  So far, this one isn't faring well.

So, sermon was a pre-taped series from another church.  Had I known that, we wouldn't have chosen that week to attend.  Good enough sermon, although I did have issues with a few comments the pastor made.  But again, he's not in any way related to this church.  The sermon was part of a series on dating and marriage; this week was a biblical view of women.  The main verse was Eph 5:25- the verse after 'wives submit to your husband'.  Now I had figured out in high school that verse 25 was the great qualifier to verse 24.  That shouldn't be revolutionary.  I will admit that he focused more on that God sees all women through this verse, so men should treat all women as Christ treated the church.  That, I guess, was somewhat new for me to think about.  But when someone says "that wasn't at all baby christian; that was sound, good teaching"- if I had it figured out by the time I was 17, I don't think it's all that deep.

We'll definitely go back; I want to hear the actual pastor and see if they have other worship teams.  But I still think if I want any sort of real teaching, I may need to look elsewhere.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

There is always some small body in my bed when I decide to turn in for the night.  Usually Naomi, sometimes Joel, hardly ever Hope anymore.

Before I go to sleep, I turn off whatever light they left on and kiss their cheek.

Sometimes they don't even notice.  But sometimes they do: they squirm, they open their bleary, sleepy eyes, and they look at me to see who has disturbed their slumber.

And they smile.

Those mostly-asleep, hardly-conscious half-smiles are a few of my favorite things.

I Have a Secret

A secret stash, that is.

In the back of one of my cupboards are two cases of Nalley's chili.

Shhh, don't tell anyone.

See, one of the drawbacks of moving to Timbuktu is that you give up certain foods.  Sold-in-the-northwest-only type foods. 

And one of those is Nalley's.  Anything Nalley's.  Their wonderful hamburger chip pickles.  Even just a basic Nalley's dill pickle.  And, of course, their chili.  That yummy con carne concoction of beans, meat, and special spices.

But this time, I came prepared!  After checking out Amazon to see if I could just buy some yummy Nalley's chili from them, I decided I didn't want to pay two dollars a can. So before we moved, I hurried off to Costco and bought some. 

When we moved in, I put my chili in the farthest reaches of my pantry, where no one would see it and decide it looked like a good snack.  Or worse yet, dinner.  To feed our whole family chili, you'd have to use three or four of my preciously hoarded cans! 

So I kept it out of sight and out of mind.

Until today.  Today is a gray, rainy, Seattle kind of day.  A day that needs a good hot bowl of soup.

Or chili. 

And so I caved and had one can.

It took three months before I just had to have some.  That's not bad- that's only four cans a year.  At that rate, my stash should certainly last until someone comes to visit and can bring more Nalley's.  (And Tillamook.  That's one thing I couldn't figure out how to bring a stash of.  So whoever visits needs to save room for a cooler full of medium cheddar scrumptiousness too.)