Weekend Update-Define Normal Style

We had an eventful and fun weekend. It started by seeing Bang Bang You're Dead a drama production that Sis was in. It was about a school shooting. Sis played one of the victims who comes back to haunt the shooter and ask, "Why me?" It was incredibly powerful and well done. I don't think I ever want to see my daughter on stage listing the things she'll never accomplish because she died too young ever again though. It made my throat want to close up. It was weird, but good, in a weird way...

Sis and her boyfriend after their performance in BANG BANG YOU'RE DEAD Creepy, no?

Saturday I attended a hafla (that's what we bellydance folks call a party) where we were challenged to perform to a non-bellydance song. I returned to my country roots and chose John Anderson's Straight Tequila Night to dance to. What a great time.

Dancing to Straight Tequila Night

Playing with a pair of Isis Wings

Moo convinced me to lop off her hair. This child has always had the most gorgeous head of hair. I kept it super long for quite a while, well until it got tangled up the wheels of a scooter board when she was in kindergarten and the teacher had to cut a chunk out to free her. We cut it to her shoulders around Christmas, but she's been bugging since then to have it up to her chin. So I did it. The kid has enough hair for 3 people, so it took a couple days to get it just right. A bob this short is not very forgiving. Of course it looks really cute on her. She's an adorable kid, and she loves it which is the main thing.

Sis had a bunch of friends over on Saturday for a BBQ and party and sleep over. I made my famous Dirty Snow Cake, which is white cake with crushed up Oreos in it, filled with cream with more crushed Oreos, and then frosted with whipped cream. It's sooooo good!

Yesterday I told Sis I wanted to take her to the movies for her birthday. She's been so busy with play rehearsals and friends and I've been busy with kids and dance, that we really haven't spent much time together. We saw Made of Honor. It was really enjoyable. Of course it was predictable, but who cares since it was full of Patrick Dempsey goodness, and the guy who played Colin was no slouch either.

We then went to Applebee's and had salads. I had the Chinese chicken and Sis had the shrimp. I had their strawberry limeade which was so darned good. We finished by sharing a Triple Chocolate Meltdown dessert--a chocolate lava cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Soooooo incredibly yummy!

Triple Chocolate Meltdown in all it's glory

BUT to top it all off, this is what Sis posted on her myspace:
my mom treated me to a girl's day out today.


we went to the movies
and then shopping
and then applebees.


it's always nice to have a day out with just me and my mom, it's rare that i ever get her all to myself.


and when i do i soak up every minute of it and we usually end up laughing our faces off and i wouldn't want it any other way.


she wrote about me on her blog for my birthday and i just read it and it made me cry.


im pretty much a sobbing mess right now.


but it's the good kind of crying.


she is my role model, my best friend, my comic relief, and above all my mother.


i love her and appreciate her more than anything.


Wow, just wow, what else is a mom to say? You can all say "awwwww" now. Thankyouverymuch.

Happy Birthday to Sis

My eldest daughter is 17 today as of 6:47 this morning. She was 12, I repeat, TWELVE long days overdue, but when she finally decided to arrive, she did so in a record 1 hour and 15 minutes with her dad making a call to 9-1-1.

The local volunteer fire department arrived to deliver her, and then we were transported to the birth center by ambulance. Sis was 8 lb 14 oz chubby baby who was a little bruised and swollen from being delivered so swiftly. I enjoyed her birth because I felt I was in control, much to the annoyance of the 9-1-1 dispatcher and the paramedics who tried to persuade me to lie flat on my back. They told me, "We have to see if the baby is crowning." And I told them I would let them know exactly when that happened as I would be the first to know! A cooperative patient I'm not.

Sis was an extremely high energy baby who didn't really like to take the time to sit still to nurse, so she was on the scrawny side. She began walking at 9 months, and began running at 9 months and 1 day. I'm pretty sure she gave me my first gray hair.

She is the most opposite in personality to me than any of my other children. She's extremely outgoing, rambunctious, confident, emotional, expressive, adventurous and a born leader. The only trait we share is stubbornness.

Sis enjoys anything where she is on stage and at the center of attention. I love seeing her in the high school productions she's been in. She's not afraid to be in a musical even if she doesn't have a show stopping voice. She's not afraid to MC an event and ad lib introductions. Best of all she's not afraid to make a fool of herself.

All my children have had my cursed horrible teeth and Sis I think had the most traumatic dental experience as a small child and because of that going to the dentist is very stressful for her. We had found a dentist she was comfortable with and had an agreement with the office that she would see the young dentist at her appointments and not his father as she had had a bad experience when the father had done work on her (she told him he was hurting her, but he didn't believe her and in the end left her with bruising visible on the outside of her cheek!)

Well at one appointment when she was 13, she went in and not 5 minutes later she was back out. I asked what happened and she told me that the older dentist sat down on the stool next to her and she asked him if he was going to work on her. When he said yes she told him, "No you're not. You hurt me last time!" She then proceeded to remove the bib and walk out. I was really impressed that she stuck up for herself in that situation. I know I would've never been that brave at that age. It was nice to know that she has it in her not to just go along with something and that she's not afraid to speak up.

Sis has always loved the water. She taught herself to swim and is usually the first one in and the very last to get out whenever swimming is involved. When we lived a bit further up the mountain, we had a small stream-fed lake near us. On the very first warm day of the season she would pester to go swimming. She would be the only one in what amounted to melted snow water, sometimes with snow drifts still in the shady spots around the lake. The rest of us would watch from the beach and marvel at her determination.

Sis has been an excellent helper with her younger sisters. She was 8 1/2 when Shelby came along and 11 with Nat. She has a natural ability with infants, and I trusted her early on to comfort them. She always wanted me to have twins, and was always disappointed to only get one baby at a time. I told her that I don't have the energy for twins, but I know that she does and it won't surprise me at all if she gets blessed with twins when she has children!

Well, I guess I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that I'm the luckiest mom around to have Sis as my daughter. She's taught me a lot about taking chances and having fun. I know that she has a wonderful future ahead of her and that anything she sets her mind to achieving will become a reality.

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!

Wait For My Signal...

A while back Sis and I had a mother-daughter shopping trip to the valley. When it came to have lunch, Sis wanted strawberry waffles from IHOP. Who am I to refuse her that? OK, I admit, they also happen to be one of my favorite things in the world.

When our plates finally arrived both our jaws dropped when we looked at her waffle, because sitting right in the middle was by far the biggest strawberry either of us had ever laid eyes on. The thing was the size of an apple. By strawberry standards it was a mutant freak of nature.

Well, just the sight of it set us off into a fit of laughter, and we joked about how they must've waited for just the right customer to give this special berry to.

I start eating my delicious waffle while Sis contemplates how to go about eating her mammoth berry. Her timing is always impeccable when it comes to making me laugh and this day was no exception.

So with my mouth full of waffle, she says, "I wish I worked here and got to be in charge of who to give the berry to. I would watch carefully, and the other workers would ask, 'Is it time?' And I would say, 'No, not yet.' I would tell them, 'Wait for my signal!'"

I'm starting to chuckle, and trying desperately to chew fast and get it down.

Then she continues, "When I saw just the right person to give the precious berry to, I would yell, 'RELEASE THE BERRY!'"

Oh no! I didn't eat fast enough and she got me! Now I'm going to release the berries in my mouth because I'm laughing and choking at the same time. Somehow I manage to swallow, and commence to laugh so hard that I snort. Sis is pleased. Anytime she can make me snort, especially in public, is a good day.

A Tooth Necklace and A French Fry Hole

The Gross Out Trifecta is now officially over, thankfully. The dog has been de-ticked, the daycare boy lost his tooth last week, and Nat finally lost her snaggle tooth yesterday. Huzzah!

Nat made sure to keep her tooth as long as possible. On Sunday it was hanging by a thread and giving her a lisping speech impediment. I was happy to send her back to school on Monday to give myself a break from having to look at the nasty thing.

When she got off the bus after school she made a bee line into the house, and there around her neck, was (drum roll please...) The Coveted Tooth Necklace.

Yes indeed, her very first tooth fell out during library time apparently, and she got to take it to the office and receive the plastic tooth-holding tooth-shaped necklace that is the envy of one and all. She wore it proudly the rest of the day.

I remember when Shelby had a loose tooth in first grade, she said, "I hope my tooth falls out at school." I asked why and her response was "So I can get a tooth necklace!" Ever since then I've been hip to the prestige of this small white treasure.

Nat, being the OCD child she is, had to wash and dry her tooth and enclose it in a ziplock baggie before it was allowed to go under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy. I swear, the Tooth Fairy was quite surprised how much noise a little plastic baggie can make when trying to surreptitiously remove it from under a pillow. Luckily the Sand Man had done his job well (might as well include as many mythical people as possible), and the Fairy made off with the disgusting incisor leaving a crisp dollar bill in its place. Oh the joy!

Oh, and the other cool thing about losing a tooth (this was a top front one) is that it makes a hole that's just the right size to put a French fry through without having to open one's mouth. Daddy made french fries last night for dinner for just this occasion. (We have strange traditions in our family, what can I say).

So not only does Nat have a coveted tooth necklace as a keepsake, she also has a fantastic French fry hole to enjoy until the permanent tooth comes along and ruins it.

My Favorite Ornament

This is my favorite ornament. My mom gave it to me on what would be her last Christmas.



Of course we didn't know then that would be the case, and that in 4 short months pancreatic cancer would rob her of knowing her last grandchild, or seeing her grandson graduate from high school, or from watching her eldest granddaughter grow into a young woman, or seeing little Shelby be baptized into the church that she held in her heart.

So on that first Christmas without her, as I was trying to make it one day at a time through the holiday that she always brought so much life to, I came across this ornament she had given to me the year before, and that I had completely forgotten about. I remember just feeling so blessed to have this last gift from her.

Holding this in my hand it was like she was giving it to me all over again. I could see her holding me on her lap and it was as though she were looking right at me through the picture. I am touched every time I look at this ornament, and it means so much to me that she thought to give me something so meaningful.

I don't pack this ornament away with the rest of the Christmas ornaments and decorations, I keep it in the top drawer of my dresser along with other things that remind me of my mom: a score sheet from one of our Scrabble games, a children's book, and a birthday card.

Ode To The Fake Tree

Sung to the tune of "Oh Christmas Tree"

Oh fakey tree, Oh fakey tree
Oh tree of green unfading.

Oh plastic tree, oh plastic tree,
your pre-lit branches please me.

You're waiting in your cardboard box,
convenient and no trunk to chop.

Oh artificial loveliness,
You never leak your sap out.

There was a tree that was so dry
no needles left and I did sigh,

"The hardware store sells trees half-price,
on Christmas Eve, lets buy one!"

That's how you came to be our tree
Oh I do love you dearly

Don't have to wait on husband now,
when your time to shine comes yearly.

This will be our third year with an artificial tree. We would usually go into "the back 40" and cut our own, but what looks good outside doesn't always look (or fit) so well inside. Then there was the year that the tree decided to leak it's sap onto everything--from the ornaments to the carpet. What a mess---happy flippin' holidays!

For a few years we bought a tree at the local tree lot. First to find a time when husband could fit it into his busy schedule to come with us with the pick-up truck to transport the thing, then forking out the 50-60 bucks, then the waiting for husband to trim the bottom of the trunk off so that it would drink it's water, put it in the stand, and bring it in. This sometimes took days. And lets not even talk about getting rid of the thing once Christmas was over...

I found that the trees from the lot would dry out quickly and 3 years ago we had the tree that broke the camel's back. This tree was so dry and losing needles so quickly that by Christmas we were going to wake up to a festive brown twig and a carpet of needles. I had been looking at the artificial ones and noticed that all Christmas items went on sale at Ace Hardware on Christmas Eve.

On the 24th of December, I drove to the hardware store, got my pre-lit, easy to put up fake tree, brought it home, completely undecorated the real tree, threw it out the door, spent 20 minutes cleaning up needles, put up my new tree and redecorated. I've never looked back. Yay for fake!

Thankfulness for Warm Memories

I think Thanksgiving is when I miss my mom the most. She's been gone 5 1/2 years now. She always made the holidays so special. She would go all out decorating. She had boxes of rabbits and chicks for Easter, ghosts and pumpkins for Halloween, pilgrims and turkeys for Thanksgiving and Christmas was in a class of it's own. Every inch of her small house was tastefully decorated with lighted villages, Anna Lee dolls, heirloom ornaments and every Hallmark keepsake ornament you could imagine.

There was just something about Thanksgiving that was extra special. I think it was the coming together of family without the pressure of shopping and gift giving. Mom was a good old fashioned homey-type cook. She could seemingly effortlessly fill the house with warm delicious smells. My husband loves to cook too, and she gladly let him help her with all the Thanksgiving trimmings. The two of them would be out in the kitchen sipping wine, taste testing the meal, and giggling with each other. She did enjoy her wine when she cooked and I think she enjoyed having my husband as her wine-and-cooking buddy.

Gosh, when the meal was finally served it was incredible! After having smelled it cooking all day and being tortured by the mashing and slicing and buttering that took place in the last 30 minutes, it was such joy to take that first mouthful. There was always happy banter around the table as we filled ourselves to bursting with the delicious food. And always the last minute warning, "Save room for pie!"

Homemade pie and hot tea...that's a whole blog post in itself...

This year we had a wonderful meal that my husband cooked. We had a beautiful, perfectly done turkey and we had lots of laughs. My dad ate almost the entire apple pie I made--by himself--in one night! I'm glad I had a slice when I did after dinner, because by the time he had a couple midnight snacks and breakfast of it there wasn't any left!

So it's still the coming together of family, and the eating of wonderful traditional foods, but there is an emptiness that no one can fill that belongs to my mom. And after 5 1/2 years it's still there. I guess it always will be. I'm so thankful that she was my mom, but I miss her like crazy, especially during the holidays.

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!

Cream of Wheat and Coconuts

I love teenagers. Some people say how difficult teenagers are but I personally have really enjoyed mine. Of course I think two-year-olds are great too, so what do I know?

Sis and I have a good relationship and we enjoy doing things together and joking around. I don't cross the line of parent vs friend, but we are able to have a good time together nonetheless.

Sis likes to revert sometimes and have me do stuff for her still (and I secretly kind of enjoy still being needed by her). I know it's going to be one of those times when she calls me "Mommy" instead of Mother or Mom.

Lately she's been having difficulty knowing which end of the knife to use to cut cheese when she's making a sandwich.

"Mommy can you come cut the cheese?"

Now, who's going to resist a set-up like that, so I replied, "No, I really think that's Mike's area of expertise." ba-dum-bump

Yeah, I love it when I can show off my comic genius to my child and get her eyes to roll back into her head.

A lot of times on the weekends when we actually see each other in the morning, she wants me to make her something for breakfast. "Mommy I'm hungry. Will you make me breakfast?" How am I going to resist my poor starving child? So gathering up all my culinary knowledge I often offer, "Do you want cereal or a granola bar?" If I'm feeling particularly domestic I offer to make toast.

This last Saturday she requested Cream of Wheat. Of course this is the 2 1/2 minute kind of Cream of Wheat which involves a pot on the stove, boiling water and stirring. It is serious stuff and I wasn't sure I was awake enough or cheerful enough for this task.

"Mommy will you make me Cream of Wheat?"

"You can't make it yourself?"

Adding a bit of a little girl whine, "I don't know howwwww."

"Sheesh, it's not brain surgery!" as I grab for the pot and measuring cup.

In a little girl voice, "Thanks Mommy."

Me, with lots of sarcasm, "Yeah, I'm glad I have a college degree so I know how to make Cream of Wheat!"
(Luckily Cream of Wheat only requires a 2-year degree.)

At this point I go through the motions like this is expending all my energy for the day. (It's got to look like a sacrifice otherwise these teens just don't appreciate it.) She happily eats her hot cereal and looks very smug at still being able to make her mommy do what she requests.

Last night I was reading one of her little survey things that teens love to post and one of the questions was, "What people would you like with you if you were stranded on an island?" It made my heart warm to see that I was listed along with her 2 best friends and her brother. As I was gloating about how special I was I began to think a bit more logically. Of course she would want me on the island with her. Who else is going to make fire and crack coconuts open!

Yes, the relationship of a mother and her teen is a tender, beautiful thing that involves much sacrifice (on the part of the mother) and many rewards (on the part of the teen).

Give Me Something Good To Eat

Well, Halloween was a success. And contrary to the previous post, I didn't take my kids out on the wrong night and insist that they be given candy by confused door openers. At least I got Halloween right. Wish me luck with this upcoming time change though!

Our whole county is pretty rural and hilly, with a lot of vacation homes, so the one little neighborhood that's pretty much normal as far as flat terrain and full time residents, gets the brunt of candy seeking kids from the 3 towns surrounding it. It is quite a sight. As this event has grown, the fire department and sheriffs come out and block off the streets and direct traffic, and a local business runs a candy drive to help out the residents who see somewhere around 900 trick-or-treaters show up at their doors.

This particular neighborhood is very welcoming with almost all of the inhabitants decorating their yards to the hilt and others turning their yards into spectacular haunted houses. They even hand out free cups of hot cocoa. It really is something to experience. We always have a great time and we always see everyone we know. It makes me glad I live in this crazy little county.

The day after Halloween the teachers take an "inservice" day. Yeah, right. I realize they don't want to deal with over tired kids hopped up on sugar, but don't they consider where all those kids go on a Thursday when their parents are at work? Yep, about 50 of them come to my house. Ok, not 50, but it sure seemed like it. Those teachers have no consideration I tell you.

I'm not even convinced the teachers are working. I bet they show up to school, celebrate with Irish coffees and Krispy Kremes, give high 5's all around, call it a day and go shopping for those day after Halloween bargains. It's a conspiracy, I can smell it! Now I'm off to go dig through the candy buckets to find a little morsel (or two) to make me feel better...

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.

A Snake Charmer

My sister and I have always been snake lovers. Well actually we're just all around critter lovers. From the cute and cuddly to the big and slimy, we both are crazy about "all creatures great and small".

When we were young we would often catch little blue belly lizards, frogs, toads and water snakes. Our poor dad is one of those people who cannot stand the sight of a snake. It just really gives him the heebie-jeebies, and here he was blessed with two little girls who thought bringing a slithering reptile in a coffee can into the house was more fun than Barbies any day. I can only imagine how many times he must've jumped out of his skin coming across one our precious pets.

Mom, on the other hand was more like us. In fact she had a couple toads who lived under our house that she was quite fond of. One day some neighbor boys were playing in the yard and took one of these toads. Well, Mom caught wind of it and she was pissed! She was especially upset to think of what these boys might do to her toad. She immediately got on the phone and called the boys' mother. As Mom told it, the poor woman on the other end of the phone got an earful from her, as Mom demanded, "Your boys took my toad and I want them to bring it back right now!" We lived in a very small town, so the crazy toad lady episode was probably the scuttlebutt for some time afterwards.

Well, I can be a bit anal about the reptiles in my yard too, and it's good to know I come by it honestly. I do not let the kids play with my little frogs that live in the flower beds unless they are just going to handle them gently and put them back. I am also on the alert when I see one of the cats messing with something, and have saved quite a few snakes from a torturous death. I always get a thrill from holding a snake and feeling it slither through my hands--yes, I have the crazy toad lady's genes.

A few weeks ago the kids came running into the house all excited to tell me there was a rattlesnake in the yard. I figured that it probably wasn't, and that I would be saving a garter snake from the cat again. However, when I reached the front steps and saw Mike poised with his shovel, I had a feeling the kids knew what they were talking about.

As I got closer I could see the little guy trying to hide under the wooden border that separates the lawn from the driveway. He was obviously a rattler, though he wasn't rattling at the moment and I couldn't help being completely fascinated by him, and crouched down to observe him a bit closer. He was the coolest snake ever, and to think I was lucky enough to have him right in my front yard! I was apparently the only one who felt this way because about this time Mike lifted his shovel up and said, "Now everybody step back." This caught me off guard. What? He can't be serious. He wants to kill it? I tell him, "You can't kill it!" And now he was the one caught off guard. As he processed this bit of information, I could see the realization hit him that he should've just killed the dang thing and shown me the beheaded body.

I tell him he needs to find a bucket, get the snake into it and take it out to the forest and set it free. He is beyond thrilled to hear this bit of news, but reluctantly heads to the garage to find an empty garbage can. Isn't it amazing what a guy will do for a woman? He is able to get the bucket and a long stick and he very carefully starts jabbing at my sweet little snaky friend. My little friend is not happy about this and starts rattling like crazy. I've never seen a rattler this close up. Wow, it's so cool!

It only takes Mike about 3 tries to get him in the bucket. He has a look of relief on his face and is ready to take my little serpent for a walk. I tell him, "Wait! I have to get a picture of him!" and I rush to the house to get my camera. I'm pretty sure I saw Mike's eyes roll back into his head at this point. After a couple photos and a few more admiring glances I let Mike take him across the street and out in the woods where he can be safe from shovel-wielding maniacs.

I think this is a great lesson for the kids. They got to see what a rattle snake looks and sounds like and they also learned that just because you're afraid of something that you don't need to kill it. I tell the kids that they need to be careful around animals that can harm them, but if it's possible to save the animal, you should. After all, these creatures have a place in nature too.

Mike also learned a lesson that day. I think it goes something like this: Act first and tell the crazy lady later, or be prepared to spend your afternoon pretending to be Steve Irwin.

Good Night Nurse!

So I was out helping take care of Dad this weekend who is recovering from bladder cancer surgery. They took his bladder out so now he has an ostomy bag. Apparently they took out his sense of modesty as well, which must be housed near the bladder in the human body.

I'm sure giving Dad a modestectomy was a minor mistake they made during the surgery and they thought we wouldn't notice that his modesty was now gone. But we did. Dad doesn't care who sees his stuff now. He just wanders around in an open robe and nothing else. He also has the habit of dragging along a big bag of urine with him. Eventually he could use his ostomy pouch which can be hidden under clothing, but for now he likes the heavy duty, industrial sized bag, because it doesn't need to be emptied but once a day. You've heard of people who seem to have a bladder the size of a watermelon and never have to pee? Well this bag is the medical version of that. It's very convenient for those who don't want the hassle of using the restroom, but for the rest of us it can be a bit distracting during meals and polite conversation.

It was my intention to go out and be of help; do laundry, fix meals, clean house, and keep an eye on Dad, giving my sister a much needed break. The first thing Dad wants to do is take a shower. Mind you this is his first shower in 6 weeks. He's pretty determined about it, and Tracy and Dave have already installed the needed equipment in the shower for him. I ask if he needs help, as it is clear to me now that I've already seen everything so I might as well help him wash it too. He declines, and on one hand I'm thinking that's good, because he needs to become independent. On the other hand it scares me to death that with the combination of soap, water, and his unstable physical condition at the moment, he'll hurt himself. He heads for the bathroom and I listen to every sound coming from behind the door. For the next 11 1/2 minutes I'm a nervous wreck. If he slips I'll feel terrible for not insisting on helping him. Finally I hear the water shut off and hear him shuttle off to his bedroom. All is well. Thank you Lord.

Then he calls out for me. So I rush back to the bedroom and he tells me not to go in the bathroom. What kind of doom awaits I can only imagine, but then he explains that he had forgotten to put the shower curtain inside the tub and got water on the floor and didn't want me to go in there for fear I would slip. He'd just as soon wait for the water to evaporate rather than put me out, but I tell him it's no problem and go start the clean up.

Well, he got quite a bit of water on the floor. A good 1/2 inch or so over the entire floor, plus the counter, the mirror, the toilet paper and the unsuspecting box of Kleenex also saw what a hand held shower head is capable of when it's not being restrained behind a curtain. It was quite a sight, and how he made it out of the shower and waded through the wetness on the linoleum without killing himself will be one of life's perpetual mysteries.

Oh, and I think your modesty regenerates. It must, because women lose theirs all the time during childbirth, but somehow it comes back. Here's hoping Dad's modesty is on the return. Soon.

A Banner Day For A Mom

So my son calls me on Friday. I am quite thrilled because when he first moved away to college I thought that maybe his phone was broken and he couldn't dial out, as I didn't hear from him unless I did the calling. So on Friday this would be the second time IN A WEEK that he has called. I'm not sure whether to worry or to mark it on the calendar as a banner day.

Before I go on, keep in mind that my kid is in college studying computer animation, that he works for some sort of server company where he monitors computer networks, AND his cell phone gets the internet, so that he can "work" (and play) wherever he happens to be (yeah, he has it pretty good for a college kid).

Well, Cam has always been a man of few words, and this particular call was no different. It went something like this.

Bub: "Hey"
Me: "Hi, how's it going? What's up?" (I'm thinking please don't tell me anything that involves the words 'bail', 'out' or 'jail').
Bub: "Nothin'"
Me: "Oh. So what's new?"
Bub: "Not Much."

And so it goes for a few more rounds. Me playing 20 Questions, him playing Can I Answer In One Word Or Less. He's winning.

Finally I have to get to the point, "Are you in Jail?!"

No, I'm kidding, I didn't say that. I was just blunt, "So what do you want?"

His answer, "How much are stamps?"

Turns out he's mailing out bills and remembered that stamps had gone up but couldn't remember how much.

So I tell him, and then I ask Mr. I-Live-Eat-and-Breathe-Computers, "Why didn't you just Google it?" Oh course he's very succinct, "Eh."

I also tell him there's this thing called "internet banking" he might want to check into.

I know my kid is smart and computer savvy so maybe he knows that moms always have the need to be needed and that calling to ask me how much stamps are would make my day.

OMG! Where Are Your Pants?

I'm a very sentimental person which is why I have a drawer full of random notes and such, mostly from the kids, that I keep.

One of these treasures is a simple note from Sis, written when she was in middle school. Every time I read it, it makes me chuckle. Here's the background:

I had purchased a long-sleeved Roxy brand shirt that was popular at that time, and Sis was after me to let her wear it to school the next day, but since the weather was quite warm, I told her no, that she would be too warm in long sleeves.

Mike used to let me sleep in since I was up during the night with Baby Nat at the time, and he would take the kids to the bus stop in the mornings. So on this particular morning I woke up to a note on my dresser that read (and I resisted correcting the spelling):

"Mom, I borrowed your roxy shirt. Don't worry I'm not wearing pants. P.S. Cameron is wear all long sleeves today."

I had to laugh at the mental picture this brought to my mind, and my first thought was, "Well now I AM worried because you're not wearing any pants!" Even though I knew what she meant--she was wearing shorts to make up for the fact that she was wearing a shirt that was too warm for the outside temperature. I also appreciated that she tried to shift the focus from the fact that she had snuck into my bedroom while I was asleep and swiped my shirt that I told her she couldn't wear, to her brother who went out the door in long pants AND long sleeves. In her mind that was the true crime committed that morning! Gotta love that kid.

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!

The Baptism

So Shelby had her baptism on Sunday. In the LDS tradition, kids are baptized when they are 8. It is the age of "accountability". It is thought that they are unable to commit sin before this age. Eight is the age when kids should be able to distinguish between right and wrong and be "accountable" for their actions.

Anyhoo...Shelby got to choose the songs for her baptism, and we had 2 women from our ward that she's close to give talks, Sis even said the opening prayer (as a side note, Sis can sure project-as in speak loudly enough for all to hear. I really admire her. I have the wimpiest voice ever. I'm glad Sis loves drama. I really think it's a calling for her. Plus she doesn't get nervous about speaking in front of a group---darn her self confidence anyway!) Oh, and the current Miss Calaveras County sang a solo at the baptism which was very cool too.

Shelby had to be in a white jumpsuit for the occasion, which the church provided, and my friend made sure to tell me to find some white underwear--she emphasized to be sure that Moo was in white from head to toe. The day before we were lucky enough to find completely white undies at Sears. Not as easy as it sounds. Nearly every pair of girls' underwear has either Dora or Bratz or Disney Princesses on them, and if not that, they at least have pink elastic on the waist band. So I was very proud of my find, and feeling pretty confident.
So right before Shelby goes in to get dressed in her jumpsuit I realize she has blue pony tail holders in her French braids. (One of my friends suggested French braids so we wouldn't have to hassle with drying her hair afterward, plus it insures that everything goes completely under during the baptism preventing the dreaded "do-over"). Yikes, my heart sunk. This was going to mess up the whole plan. But, someone was looking out for us because as luck would have it, Nat wanted her hair braided that morning too, and in an uncharacteristic move, wanted two braids (she usually insists on one and only one!) and in an equally uncharacteristic move wanted white pony tail holders instead of her standard issue pink ones. When I looked down and realized that Nat had white pony tail holders, it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down and the angels started singing! Halllelujah! (Maybe you have to be a mom to get that excited about pony tail holders) And to prove that it was truly a religious experience I didn't even have to bribe, threaten or cajole Nat to lend them to her sister for the baptism. Yay!
Shelby was a little nervous about the baptism, and a little uncomfortable being the center of attention, but it all went well, and she was happy afterwards.