My 100th Post! aka Beware Long Rambling Post Ahead

In honor of my 100th post, and in following with the great blogging tradition, I am listing 100 random things...some about me, some about my family, and I sincerely hope it doesn't turn into the most rambling and inexplicably boring post ever. So here goes nuthin'...

1. I was a 9lb baby with chubby cheeks and a full head of black hair.
2. My mom had a best friend who was a hairdresser, so my mom's hair color changed on an almost weekly basis. Sometimes she was a platinum blonde, sometimes a bright redhead, sometimes a brunette, she always kept us guessing!

3. My mom's hairdressing friend used to try out new techniques on my mom before she used them on the paying customers. My mom remembers having her pulled through a frosting cap, and commenting, "Ouch, this will NEVER catch on!"
4.Fast forward 25 years to her and I frosting each other's hair at our dining room table. Mom never really got the hang of going into the holes at an angle with the crochet hook, and I swear she pulled half my scalp through the cap in the process. Ouch indeed!
5. My sister got stuck with the "pixie" hair cut as a child. Again, I think this had to do with mom's friend and the popularity of Mia Farrow and Twiggy.

6. My uncle committed suicide when I was 6. I still remember being in our living room when I was told about it. I don't think my dad was ever the same after that.
7. My favorite number has always been 7.
8. When I was little I thought the perfect age to be would be 17. I figured you were grown up, but not yet "old". My thoughts changed when I actually experienced being 17.
9. My parents took us on wonderful family vacations when we were growing up, such as:
10. Banff, Canada
11. Jackson Hole Wyoming, and the Grand Tetons
12. Yellowstone
13. Glacier National Park
14. Zion and Bryce Canyon
15. The Grand Canyon
16. Disneyland!

17. One of the highlights of our trips would be when mom and dad would let my sister and I go to a souvenir store to buy a memento.
18. I was horse crazy. I could take or leave the boys, but dreamed of horses all the time.
19. My parents probably spent the equivalent of a decent college education on giving me horseback rides at riding stables.
20. I say it was money well spent!
21. I wanted to be a boy when I was little, and enjoyed playing with the neighbor boys more than I did their sister.
22. We almost always played cowboys, and when the sun would go behind a cloud, we would pretend that it was nighttime.
23. I had a ratty old cowboy hat that I would tuck my long hair under.
24. When I was 6 my mom let me get my hair cut short like a boy's.
25. It was not attractive.
26. I didn't care.

27. My sister and I had to share a room until I was 13 and she was 17.
28. She was always neat and tidy, I was, shall we say, NOT.
29. It's a wonder she didn't kill me and hide my body under the disaster area that was my half of our room.
30. My dad worked the swing shift as a railroad engineer, so during the week it was just mom, my sister and I together in the evenings.
31. We would often have "catch as catch can" for dinner, as my mom would call it. Sometimes this meant baking a batch of blueberry muffins and eating the entire dozen, or fixing soup and a sandwich or even a just bagels and cream cheese. I liked these low-key nights.
32. We would often go out for soup and half a sandwich at our favorite pie place. The soup and sandwich was just a formality and the sooner we got that out of the way the sooner we could do what we were really there for -- eating pie!
33. My dad lived to embarrass the heck out of us.
34. When we would go to the mall, he would hang back, so we wouldn't have to be seen walking with our parents, but then would kick off his shoe and send it flying by us. Oh, the horror!
35. He would also stop in front of the Hammond Organ store and dance to the goofy music that the salesmen would play. Oh, the horror, part II!
36. I think it's hilarious now, and following his example, enjoy embarrassing the heck out of my own kids!
37. I am deathly afraid of water. Especially deep water and fast flowing water.
38. I really don't even like taking a bath. It's completely irrational.
39. I am not afraid of snakes however, and think they are one of the coolest creatures ever.
40.100 is a lot of things to think up.
41. I was a painfully shy child.
42. I finally broke out of my shell a bit after the birth of my first child, when it became easy to make small talk with people about my baby boy.
43. Shyness held me back and because of that I missed out on a lot of fun things and was quite lonely as well.
44. I quit playing the saxophone in 6th grade when I found out that we would have to perform a short piece on stage.
45. I never went to a school dance (with the exception of my 8th grade graduation dance where I actually shared a slow dance with my crush, and then returned to the wall where I stayed firmly planted the rest of the evening).
48. I avoided teen parties at all costs, even going so far as to choose sitting in my boyfriend's truck for 2 hours rather than go in and attend the party with him.
49. I've made great strides since then and done things I thought I never would like:
50. I became a La Leche League leader and conducted meetings.
51. Danced in public!
52. Taught dance classes.
53. Said the opening and closing prayer at church (though not without some difficulty!)
54. I had a serious boyfriend at the age of 14.
55. He lived two houses down, my sister's future husband was our direct next door neighbor. Tracy and I met them within a couple months of moving into our new house.  
56. I dated my boyfriend from age 14-20, and he was 3 years older than I was. We were both transplanted from the mountains to the city and instantly bonded over that and spent all our time camping, 4 wheeling and dirt biking.
57. I considered him my best friend, and preferred hanging out with him and his buddies working on cars and doing guy things rather than hanging out with girls and dealing with their cattiness and drama.
58. I was WAY too young to have a serious relationship, and my mom said much later, that she didn't really want to allow it, but he seemed to be the only one that could make me happy at the time. I was a troubled teen before I met him and definitely not headed in a good direction. My parents adored him and he never failed to get me home on time (despite any misadventures, truck stuck in the mud, broken down vehicle issues we had).
59. When we first got together we had to bump start his pickup, so I would happily get out and push that thing any time so we could get on with our adventures!
60. I gave up alcohol at the ripe old age of 17.
61. After trying to fit in and drink with the others in our group for a couple years, I decided that I really didn't like the taste of alcohol, and I really didn't want to be in an altered state of consciousness--ever.
62. I celebrated my 21st birthday completely sober and I have no interest in drinking alcohol whatsoever.
63. My grandma Lou had a saying, "You're meaner than cat crap under a bed!"
64. My mom's housekeeping advice to me when I moved out was, "If you keep your dishes done and your beds made, everyone will think you're a good housekeeper."
65. My dad's housekeeping advice to me when I moved out was, "Clean the pee out of the bathroom, and cook the snot out the eggs."
66. I'm better at following my dad's housekeeping advice.
67. The first and last time I went to Yosemite I was 5 years old.
68. I live 2 hours from Yosemite and am beginning to feel guilty for not visiting it, since people travel from all over the world to do so.
69. I hate scary books and movies.
70. As a teenager I read Steven King's Salem's Lot, and have not picked up one of his books since.
71. I wanted to be a forest ranger when I grew up.
72. If I could start my career path over I would pursue midwifery.
73. We had a big orange tabby named Poopsie when we were growing up. I think my mom named him.
74. We also had cats named Marshmallow, Weebs and Bussy. I'm at fault for naming the last one.
75. Twenty-five more to go...who's still with me?
76. Poopsie would actually play hide-and-seek with me. I would put him in the laundry room, then run off to hide, and then call him. He would then come find me, usually by attacking me.
77. During my afore-mentioned angst-ridden teen years I became a habitual truant.
78. When my parents found out, they told me to just stay home, because they'd rather have me home and know where I was, than to have me cutting school and doing who-knows-what.
79. I took the proficiency exam at 17 and got my diploma.

80. After I received my diploma my parents told me, "Now go get a job".
81. The first job I got was washing dogs at a dog groomer. This is when reality set in.
82. I then decided to go to Beauty College and got my cosmetology license when I was 18.
83. I never worked in a salon, but I would go to people's homes and do their hair, and I had a fairly large clientèle of customers.
84. I put myself through junior college by working as a printer and getting scholarships.
85. Even though I got married and had a baby during my 2 years at college, I still graduated with my class.
86. ...and I graduated with honors, which is still one of my proudest accomplishments.
87. I began belly dance classes at the ripe old age of 38.
88. I was so lame and uncoordinated, that the instructor kindly suggested that maybe I should take a few private classes with her before continuing with the beginner's class.
89. For some reason I didn't get discouraged, and I followed her advice.
90. Part of it was that I was intrigued by the dance and really wanted to learn, the other part was that it was an hour and a half (including driving time) all to myself.
91. Almost 6 years later, I am a confident dancer, and more importantly, a confident person.

92. I refuse to go on roller coasters and thrill rides. They're in the same classification as scary books and movies, which I deem unnecessary torture.
93. My most overused phrase is, "For the love of Pete!"
94. One of the only good things to come out of losing my mom was that my sister and I are now much closer. My mom used to be our unintentional "go-between" by relaying to me what my sister was doing and vice versa so that we rarely talked to each other.

95. A long phone call with my sister is now one of my favorite things.
96. One of my favorite quotes is from Eleanor Roosevelt, "Women are like teabags. We don't know our true strength until we are in hot water!" I liken this quote to childbirth. I didn't know how strong I was until I went through the birth of my children.
97. I definitely felt empowered and proud after childbirth. I have had all 4 without any medical interventions or drugs, and 2 without the so-called "luxury" of a hospital.
98. Another quote I love, that I just recently discovered on another blog, Cairnsliving, is from CS Lewis, "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one." Truer words were never spoken.
99. I love to ride motorcycles, but am refraining because I need to stay in one piece for my children.
100. My kids are my greatest inspiration, my greatest blessing, and have been my greatest teachers. How lucky I am to be their mom!

And now a hearty pat on the back if you made it to the end of this post!

A Lemon of a Cake

On Christmas day we were invited to attend dinner with my friend's family. She has quite a large family and they take turns hosting the event. She rented a local lodge and gave us our assignment: bring a couple desserts. Hah! No problem. Desserts are my specialty. I love to bake. Yay!

I had recently found a lemon cake recipe online that sounded delicious. It was to be made in a bundt pan, so I thought it would be festive and a bit different, figuring folks would probably have had a belly full of sugar cookies and chocolates by now.

Christmas Eve I set into making the cake. Well, it called for cake flour which I didn't have, but that's no big deal...but then I ran out of regular flour with a 1/2 cup to go so I substituted whole wheat flour. Oh, and I didn't really have buttermilk, so I soured regular milk instead, and I didn't really have lemon zest, but who's going to miss that?

Into the bundt pan it went. Out of the bundt pan was a bit more difficult.

After much coaxing with a butter knife it finally came out...well most of it anyway. The chunks left in the pan I carefully removed and fit back into their places like lemony pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I figured that once it was frosted no one would be the wiser.

The next day I made the icing. It was very uncooperative and runny. Hmmm. I put it in the fridge for a while hoping it would thicken up somehow. In the meantime I made a nice easy gingerbread cake from a mix. It was smelling delicious. I took the gingerbread out of the oven and set it on a burner to cool. Unfortunately, Sis decided to make some Top Ramen and accidentally turned on the wrong burner. I took the icing from the fridge, and as I was trying to convince it to pull itself together, I heard a loud crack and the sound of glass flying around behind me. Pyrex pans are only so tolerant of intense heat, and my gingerbread cake was now lying in a lovely bed of shattered glass. Festive yes, safe for consumption, no.

I frosted the lemon cake and well, basically the frosting just ran off onto the counter. The powdered sugar never really blended with the butter so it was all lumpy. This was not looking good-literally. I consulted with Sis and she confirmed that we in no way could bring that cake to the party.

So I went to plan B...which involved a bag of sugar cookie mix, and a box of chocolates I had received as a gift. So much for my incredible baking skills!

As a side note, later that night Sis decided to try the lemon cake. After all, the frosting that we licked off the counter tasted great, and looks aren't everything, right? Wrong. It tasted as bad as it looked and had the texture of a stale brick. Ewww.

Sleeping In Your Clothes is Not a Good Sign

Last night I read to the girls on my bed, their daddy shuttled them off to their room and then after some tv, I pulled the covers up over my fully-clothed body and went to sleep. I had on socks, jeans, a belt, a long sleeved shirt, and a light jacket. When I woke up I realized that sleeping in your clothes is not a good sign, although it's very convenient to be fully dressed already! (Just kidding people!)

So, I began to think of what might have triggered my lapse in bed etiquette. What I came up with is that I have been feeling completely overwhelmed lately. I narrowed it down to Christmas and daycare taking a toll on my sanity.

I've had my boxes of Christmas decorations sitting in my dining room for 6 days. I did finally manage to finish decorating the tree---yesterday. I counted 15 boxes of stuff. Sis has her snow globe collection, and Cam has his lighted Christmas villages, and then there's umpteen other decorations. I usually do the whole village scene and do 3 mini trees (in addition to the regular one), one of mini ornaments, one of husband's fishing Santas ornaments and one of Cam's Star Wars ornaments. Even though the kids have lots of their own ornaments and decorations, the bulk of decorating and all of the putting away falls on me.

I kept looking at the boxes, and looking at my messy house, and thinking about all the work of decorating, and then anticipating the undecorating and decided, "I ain't gonna do it this year!" I got the kids' special ornaments on the tree, the decorations that they love to play with out, the nativity scenes out, and called it good. I felt so much better after I made that decision!

It seems with daycare my house is in a constant state of chaos, and is always, always a mess. Even when I have the kids pick up and put away, they only do it half-heartedly and someone is always coming right behind them messing things up again. Again the bulk of putting away and keeping stuff organized falls on me.

It is driving me out of my mind, and apparently making me feel so overwhelmed that even changing into pajamas was just too much more to do in a day. I can take a hint. Time to slow down, and re-evaluate.

Cutting back on the Christmas stress has helped, and I am starting to look for another job. I am looking into working at the Indian casino in the next county. Even part-timers get full benefits, but right now the hour long commute each way sounds like a daily 2-hour vacation to me! Where do I sign up? Yeah, I definitely need a change!

Snow on the Mountain

I'm making soup tonight. Soup Dinner soup. Our little co-op preschool has had a Soup Dinner for the kids and families every year for the past 25 or so years. Since all 4 of my kids have attended this preschool we have enjoyed quite a few Soup Dinner nights. The preschoolers cut the veggies for the soup and help get it in the pot and they decorate paper place mats for their family members, then that evening the soup, with its awkwardly butchered vegetables, is enjoyed by all.

Well, Sis remembered that this year, since we're fresh out of preschoolers, we aren't going to Soup Dinner. So she used the "Mommy" on me (see previous post) and today I'm making the Soup Dinner soup. I'm a little frustrated by the recipe as I am to add 1 can of tomato juice, 1 can of water, and 1 can of stewed tomatoes. No sizes. I'm guessing maybe 25+ years ago tomato products only came in one size?

Well I decided I would put in a big can of tomato juice because that seems to be the most common size, then I went to stewed tomatoes, and they seem to come in one size, but of course it's a different size than the juice. What about the water? Do I now use the big can or the little can? I chose the little one figuring I could always add more. This is not the first time I've made the soup, but it's been so long that I don't remember what I've done in years past. Today I'm going to make notes on the recipe--providing I don't completely mess it up.

This all reminds me of my family pastie recipe. That's PAST-EE, not PASTE-EE. Pasties (past-ees) are a Cornish meat and potato pie, pasties (paste-ees) are nipple covers. It's important to note the difference. Especially if you're having guests for dinner.

The recipe I have for pasties has been handed down on my dad's side of the family. His mom's family was Cornish miners who would take these pastry covered meat pies into the mines with them for lunch. Legend goes that the men would tuck their fresh from the oven pasties into their shirts on their way to work in the morning to keep themselves warm. Traditionally the pasties were made individually in a half-circle shape, but later they were made in a rectangular dish and called pastie pie which is an easier and faster way to make them, and works just as well unless you're in the habit of shoving it into your clothing.

I've been attempting to make pasties for years now. My mom was an expert at it. She took lessons from my dad's mother and grandmother, plus she had good cooking skills to begin with. My mom gave me the written recipe and I took lessons from her, but I still struggle with my pasties.

As with the soup recipe the pastie recipe is also a bit vague. I can handle grating the potatoes and carrots but here's a sample of when it gets a bit more difficult, "Cut meat and pile into a heap. Sprinkle the heap with pepper, and then enough salt so that it looks like a mountain with snow on top. Ok, I live in snow country, so I know what a mountain with snow on it looks like, but the first time I made pasties by myself they turned out so salty we couldn't even eat them. Apparently I was thinking more of a winter blizzard and the recipe was implying more of a spring flurry.

At least on my pastie recipe I make notes each time so that I learn from my weather interpreting mistakes. Even with my sorry pastie making skills (I won't even go into the challenge of making the pastry) they still turn out pretty darned delicious. Let's hope the soup fares as well tonight!

A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Waste

All last week I was bracing myself for this week: minimum days all week and teacher conferences plus a dental appointment for the girls to work my schedule around. I have been kind of dreading the minimum days with all the daycare kids arriving at 12:30 instead of 2:30, plus it's supposed to be raining on and off all week, so I was envisioning long days inside with a house full of bored kids.

I got Nat prepared last night to anticipate catching the bus in the morning all week and being on the early bird schedule, instead of her usual late owl schedule which involves me dropping her off to class at 9:30.

I even posted a reminder for my daycare parents about the fee change of minimum day rates vs the usual after school rates.

I got the girls on the bus first thing this morning and reminded Mike to be home at 12:15 so I could go to the teacher conference. Everything was in order.

There is a little girl that comes to my house on Monday mornings and I take her to school along with Nat as she too is a late owl. When I saw her dad pull up in the driveway, I rolled my eyes a bit. Her family is new to our area and apparently they didn't get the memo about the minimum days this week. I was happy to let him know that he should just take her to school, as it had already started. All this was news to him, but that's ok, it takes those new people a while to catch onto things.

I went back to enjoying my quiet morning. I thought to myself that I had better enjoy it now as the clock was ticking and those kids would be here before I knew it. I still couldn't get over that dad thinking this week was regular schedule, I certainly couldn't be wrong...let's just check the school calendar, just for laughs, you know...yep there it is...teacher conferences...minimum days...starting November 5th! Dang it!

Well, then I had to call the school and tell them I sent two kindergartners to school at the wrong time, plus I had to call the little girl's mom and tell her what a complete dolt I was to her husband and child. The school told me it wasn't a problem and they would just keep the girls there, the mom told me it wasn't a problem and that she understood. I'm sure those conversations were followed by much head shaking and snickering though.

I wish I had a good excuse for being so off base, like I'd been on a 3-day bender, or I had had a serious blow to the head over the weekend, but no, I had to fess up to just being absent-minded and rather daft.

Yes, I still don't know where my brain went. It apparently went on vacation sometime last week and neglected to let me know it's itinerary. Just another self-inflicted embarrassing moment to add to my very long list!

One Wrong Turn Deserves Another

This weekend Sis and I went down to the City to celebrate Bub's birthday. Gosh, what a gorgeous day it was. The weather was sunny and warm, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. We went to the beach, then into the city to the wharf for a tour of the wax museum and a sourdough bread bowl of clam chowder. It was a busy and terrific day with my two eldest kids!

Every time I drive to San Francisco, I'm reminded of the trip I took earlier this year where one wrong turn led to an epic adventure (soon to be a major motion picture).

First of all, I don't do a lot of freeway driving so it makes me a bit nervous. I do a lot of 2 lane windy highway driving which rarely involves going even 60mph, so when I get on I-5 and the speed limit is 70, it freaks me out a bit. Add to that all the crazy bay area drivers who believe that the safe following distance is somewhere between your bumper and your back seat, and the fact that I have no idea where I'm going, and you've got a recipe for driving hilarity.

Well, my friend and I are on our way to Marin, which in theory, is north of San Francisco, to see the famous Bellydance Superstars. I have my Yahoo map in hand and away we go. As we get closer to the bay, my friend B is reading the directions while I am trying to find the corresponding sign, and then try to figure out which lane to be in. It's kind of like some cruel real-time strategy game. Well, suffice it to say, when the 580 split, I missed it and headed to San Francisco rather than north and around it. B realizes that we're headed to the Bay Bridge, and traffic is getting thicker by the minute. She tells me to take the next right and get turned around, otherwise we're going to go way out of our way to reach our destination. Somehow I manage to convince the other drivers that I'm worthy of moving into their lane, and I finally reach the farthest right lane with an exit in sight. We will be back on track in no time.

As I exit I notice how there is no traffic on the ramp I'm now driving. What a rare and convenient occurrence in the bay area! I drive further and realize there is not another vehicle even in SIGHT on this ramp, and the ramp seems to be going parallel and over the lanes we just left. Hmmmm....Next I notice signs saying Bus Lane Only violators will be prosecuted. So that's why there are no other cars around; I'm on the bus ramp to go over the Bay Bridge! I have to laugh as we head back down the ramp towards the line of cars waiting to pay their toll. Red faced, I maneuver my car through some pylons that separate the bus lane from the law abiding citizens' lane and cut in front of someone who is shaking their head at my obvious hillbilly stupidity. B and I have a good laugh at this, and pay our toll. Whew! I'm glad I got away with that! Thankfully the bus ramp doesn't have cameras to send idiots tickets after the fact, and thankfully none of the other drivers I cut off were packing their guns that day.

B assures me that all we have to do now is go over the Golden Gate Bridge, and we'll be right on track. The exit for the Golden Gate comes up, and off I go. To get to the Golden Gate you have to go through the city for just a bit. I'm looking for signs to follow that are either too small, or hidden, or non existent, because I miss the turn and go straight. No problem, we'll just make a left, then another left and be right back on track. Easy enough, but strangely all the left turns are blocked off. We drive on and notice groups of people dressed in colorful costumes, then we notice floats parked on the side of the road, and realize that they are all getting ready for the Chinese New Year parade. Of all the days to be driving through the city, this is NOT the one. On the bright side we get a kind of drive-by view of the parade.

Traffic is stop and go, and really heavy and we are headed for the Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39 tourist trap with no escape in sight. I have to go against all my instincts and start driving aggressively, running through lights at the last second, tailgating, and pushing my car into the lane I want. My nerves are shot, but the views of the city and the Golden Gate are incredible so I try to enjoy what I can. We really have no idea how to get to the Golden Gate from where we are. We can see it, but getting there may prove a bit more difficult especially with the luck I'm having today. I decide the best thing to do is follow a car that seems to know where it's going. I first pick a black Suburban. I have to abandon it after if parks. Then I see a blue BMW. It is driving with an air of authority, so I follow it like it's my mother duck. The BMW is a good bet and we are soon out of the crazy tourist area and headed to the bridge! Hooray!

Somehow we still manage to get to the show on time even after our hour and a half tour of the city. My only regret is that we didn't have time to stop at Ghiradelli Square on our impromptu detour through San Fran, because some chocolate would've done wonders to soothe my frazzled nerves.

Thufferin' Thuccotash!

Disclaimer: Yes, I'm LDS, No, it's not a cult, and Yes, we are Christians.

So when Sis volunteered to give the opening prayer at Moo's baptism, she wanted to make sure she did it in the proper "Mormon form" (Sis does not attend the LDS church). So I told her the order prayers are usually said, and she promptly wrote a cheat sheet on her hand. Like Mother, Like Daughter.

You see, the first time I was called to do a prayer at church in front of the congregation, I was a nervous wreck. First of all, public speaking is not my strong suit, and secondly I feel a bit inferior to most of the other people who attend my ward. My worst fear was that I would get up there to the mic and develop a sudden case of Tourette's Syndrome. I had a terrible vision of myself trying desperately to invoke the Spirit, but instead spouting obscenities, at which point the Bishop and the Missionaries would hog tie me and drag my still-cursing body from the Chapel. Ok, so I can be a bit overdramatic.

To prevent this calamity, I wrote out an entire prayer ON MY HAND, and when the time came I completely cheated and read from my palm. This was not a proud day, but I haven't been struck by lightning yet.

Two Sundays ago I was again asked to do a prayer at church. I was feeling a bit more confident this time though. I was still really nervous, but it had been over a year since the "palm reading" incident, and I had faith that I could get through it on my own this time. I pretty much knew what I was going to say and had rehearsed it in my head few times, though it was bound to be a short-but-sweet benediction.

So up I go, feeling ok, just a bit shaky, and start the prayer. So far, so good. Then right in the middle, I develop a speech impediment. I kid you not. There are several words that my mouth cannot seem to form. I have to keep repeating myself, and it's pretty embarrassing. It seriously sounded like I had had several shots of whiskey prior to approaching the podium. Somehow, I managed to get through it, and was even able to laugh at myself afterwards. I just kept thinking: at least I only sounded drunk and not like a Tourette's patient.

I don't think anyone's going to be clamoring to ask me to lead the congregation in prayer again anytime soon though, and there may even be a conspiracy forming to send me to rehab!