Love Thursday & Photo Friday: The Combined Post Edition

I am a slacker. There. I said it. I am not ill, nor is anyone in my family. I didn't work on Thursday. I had no big appointments. So why didn't I post? I just told you--I am a slacker! Sheesh, did you forget already?!

Also, I had nothing to post about. Unless, you know, you want to talk about the tumbleweeds of dog hair that are accumulating under my kitchen table. You don't want to talk about that do you? Good, because that's a pretty boring thing to post about. Not to mention kinda gross.

You know what's not gross? Besides George Clooney or Hugh Jackman or my sweet, darling, absolutely hawt husband? The food I made yesterday! It's actually the complete and utter opposite of gross. I believe the food I made yesterday falls under the category of It's So Awesome It Must Be Inhaled While Making Nummy Noises.

You see, this whole back to work thing has thrown me off a little bit. My schedule is wack, yo. I simply cannot get everything done. I mean, I had that trouble before I went back to work, it's just now there's less time for me not to get everything done. If the laundry gets done, the cleaning suffers. If the cleaning gets done, the laundry suffers. If I live in this completely crapified and messy house much longer EVERYONE will suffer! But I digress... My point is, that my family hasn't been feeling much love from me lately.

And so in order to get back into their good graces I stooped to bribery. Bribery of the very best kind--I made them goodies! And, because I love you all, (Yes, even you, stranger/lurker. Yep, that's right. I love you even though you might be reading this in your p.j.'s and have a fabulous case of pillow perm. I love you and want you to keep coming back!) I am going to do what they taught me in kindergarten. I am going to share!

Well, I'm not going to share the actual food, because that could get tricky what with the shipping and the possible food allergy problems. But I am going to do the next best thing: I'll give you the recipes. I know. Generosity is my middle name. (Not really, because that would be weird. Unless I was a Puritan.)

The first little goodie I have to share is one of my all-time favorite things to eat--cucumber sandwiches. And the fact that I used the cucumbers that I grew in my very first garden makes them that much tastier. But if you don't have a garden, your basic grocery store cuke will still taste awesome. See? Don't they look delicious? THEY ARE!!! My son Sean is one happy boy right now, because he loves these almost as much as I do. And here's how you make them:

1 loaf of French bread, sliced. (I try to use a smaller loaf so the cucumber slice doesn't look like a little island in the middle of the bread.)
1 (8oz.) package cream cheese
1/3 c. mayonnaise
1 envelope of Good Season's Italian dressing mix
1 cucumber, washed, peeled and sliced
Dill (optional)

Mix the cream cheese, mayo and dressing mix together until well blended and smooth. Spread on the bread slices. Top with a slice of yummy cucumber. Sprinkle with dill. Place on a platter and guard the plate so that you may hoard them all for yourself share with the ones you love.

Next up is a tasty little treat involving marshmallows and caramel. Okay, now. Wipe off your keyboard. Do you need a bib to catch that drool? I found this on One Pretty Thing who has a link to The Big Red Kitchen. And because I haven't asked her permission to copy the recipe, if you click that there link, it will take you to the page on her blog where the recipe is. Instead, I'll just taunt you with some more pictures of their delicious caramel-marshmallowy goodness. Mmmmm...don't they look yummy?

They are. I know because I made some and then sampled a dozen a couple. I used Coco Krispies and chocolate chips to roll them in as well as regular Rice Krispies. Can I just say the addition of chocolate to the mix makes them a little S'more-like? And that my friends, is a very good thing to be like. My children declared them good, and lo there was peace and forgiveness throughout the land.

So now, my sweetlings, don't say I never gave you anything! To paraphrase The Good Book, go forth, enter thy kitchen with thanksgiving in your heart, enter thy pantry with praise. Your family will thank you for it.

They might even go as far as rescinding the Meanest Mom Ever title--but don't hold your breath. That might require more than mere finger foods have to offer.

***While this probably doesn't sound like my usual Love Thursday post, I am placing it in that category because I made these things for mah preshus family because I lurrve them! Also, it's my blog and I'll tag how I want to, so there.

Say What? Part Deux

While visiting my parents' church on Sunday, my three older children were sitting in the pew with us. After a portion of the service, the time came where children in kindergarten through 5th grade could be dismissed for Children's Church. I looked over at Sean and asked him if he wanted to go. He shook his head no. Then my mom leaned over and whispered something to him. Sean whispered something back and then my mother had to smother her laughter. She told me later that she asked him again if he wanted to go. She said that Sean whispered to her, "I've been to Children's Church before. It's worse than being in here!"

Yes, I think that sound you hear is the sound of Baby Jesus crying...

********************
After church, we were in the narthex visiting. There was a fully dressed, female mannequin standing in the narthex. I couldn't begin to understand what she was doing there. My dad explained that there had been a sermon or a series of sermons where she was a visual aid of sorts. He said her name was Anita.

Then, the punner in me came out. "Anita Man? Anita Heart? Anita Brain?" I queried. "Or maybe Anita Bodydatworks?"

I was about to spew forth more wonderful plays on dear Anita's last name when Mary said, "Anita GO!!! Can we go home now???"

She is my child. There is no denying it.

Goodbye, Old Friend

I spent the past weekend in my hometown in the house I grew up in. My parents have lived in that house for 40 years. They moved in when I was 18 months old. It is the only house that I remember. Lots of living has happened in that house. And now, it is about to become another family's home.

I shed tears several times over the weekend, thinking about how I wouldn't be coming "home" to that house again. In fact, sleeping in my old bedroom on Friday night, I cried myself to sleep. I haven't done that since high school--but then the tears were most likely over a boy.

All I could think about as I was willing sleep to come was all of the "lasts" I would experience in my final weekend there: the last time I would sit at my parents' dining room table, the last time I would see our names carved in the insulation on the attic door, the last time I would see my father's basement workshop where he has crafted so many beautiful pieces of furniture, the last time I would sit on the front porch and watch the cars go by, the last time I would sit in my mom's cheery kitchen and chat as she prepared a meal, the last time I would sleep in "my" bedroom.

My parents moved to this house in it's "million dollar location" (as one of their friends always put it--but somehow, they didn't get a million dollars for it when it sold...) in 1969. They had three children (my older brothers and me) and years of work on that old house ahead of them. They stripped tons and tons of woodwork, scraped paint, tore up floors and turned the house into a home.

We laughed over the weekend recalling some of the decorating changes the house has been through: green carpet in the 70's, rust carpet (called "epitome" that the salesman pronounced wrong--rhyming 'tome' with 'home') in the 80's, and finally hardwoods throughout in the last decade and a half; those fabulous brown appliances in the 70's, wallpaper EVERYWHERE, then borders in many places, and after removing most of that, my mother swearing that she will never apply wallpaper or a border in her new home.

The house started out as a four bedroom, one and a half bath home and evolved over the years to become a three bedroom, two and a half bath home with a family room addition. Because of my mom's vision and my dad's carpentry skills, the house has been updated and is beautiful. Beautiful enough that another family wants to live there and make it their home.

As we packed away pictures and photos, I watched the house lose it's "personality." It was morphing from our home into a house--four walls and a roof--that would soon hold another family's possessions and mementos. I was grieving over this old house like a family member. And I guess in some ways, it was.

That old house was our place to come to, our place to be, our place to be together. It was our shelter in the storm, the base for our adventures, the site of our parties. It was as welcoming and warm as an old friend. We knew every nook and cranny, every creak and crack. And it knew us as well--every joy, every grief, and all of our laughter and tears. It encircled our family and was one of the things that molded us into the people we are. If we had lived somewhere else, we would have become different people.

I know that my old house is an inanimate object, but I'd like to thank it all the same. So if you'd just indulge me a bit, I'd be grateful.

Dear Old House,
Thank you for being such a great place to grow up. Your closets and cubbies were fabulous places to play hide'n'seek and to curl up with pillows and a book on a rainy day. Your basement, while nothing fancy, was a good place to play with toys, shoot a basketball in winter, and it provided endless occasions for my brothers to terrorize me with the creepy back room and threats of the "Flushman."

Your kitchen was one of the best places to hang out. Even when it was crowded with a table, five chairs and five (or more) human beings, it was the heart of the house and it was wonderful. We might have groused and jostled a bit and called your kitchen a "one butt kitchen," but it was the place we gathered to decorate Easter eggs, Christmas cookies, and Halloween pumpkins. It's close dimensions drew us closer together.

Your attic was spacious. While it didn't ever get finished like that lucky Greg Brady got to finish his, it held our suitcases and ballet tutus and old furniture and toys safely. It's horrible fiery heat in the summer also caused us to appreciate the fans in our bedrooms and realize that even though we didn't have air conditioning and it was hot in our rooms, it was nothing compared to the attic!

House, you were sturdy and well-built. You withstood rousing games of "Mishy-mishy Moe Toe," jumping off the stairs, wrestling matches, wild dancing and several different sets of dog feet. You creaked, but that was just as well, since it kept us from sneaking out at night. (I guess I should only speak for myself here. My brothers may well have figured out a way to avoid the creaks that I never knew about...) You were solid and reliable, two traits that are valuable in just about anything.

Thank you, House, for being a comforting presence while walking wakeful babies in the middle of the night, crying over stupid boys, or studying for a monstrous exam. Thank you, House, for offering your space for birthday parties, wedding showers, Christmas Eve gatherings and Easter egg hunts. Thank you, House, for being the backdrop for so many of our family's memories. Thank you, House, for being a silent player in so many of our days, a quiet presence throughout our years.

You will soon belong to someone else, Dear House, but you will always be mine. Please treat the new family as well as you have treated mine. You've been a wonderful home.
Peace,
Sara

I know that my parents' new home will be a good home for them. I know that we will make new memories in that new house. My head knows that ultimately this is a very good thing. My heart is going to take a little convincing. It may take a little while to grieve the loss of my old friend, but I am still looking forward to all the good things that the new house will bring.

And if I don't like the new house, do you think the new owner's of my old house would mind if I camped out in the back yard?

Photo Friday: Are You Ready For Some Football?

When you line up against him you should remember this: stay out of his way and try not to get hurt.

Also? If he knocks you down, chances are really good that he'll give you a hand up and crack a joke as well.



He's tough, but he's pretty darn nice, too.

Love Thursday: I Love Them Because They Don't Make Me Play

I love my children. I do. I love to do things with them. I can sometimes even be sweet-talked into playing a game or two. I love Mancala, Blink, Slap Jack, War, "Goldfish", and of course Scat. I can be cajoled into Nutty Elephant, Pretty, Pretty Princess, Buckaroo, Guess Who, and Perfection. But my children will tell you that I would rather gouge my eyeballs out with a rusty fork than play Candyland. They will also tell you that I would rather slice my fingers with a dirty knife and pour lemon juice over the open cuts than play Chutes and Ladders. Usually if I am approached by one of my beloved offspring to play one of those games, much whining ensues. And I am the whiner. My point is, I don't like those games so much.

What they won't tell you is that I have been known to cheat at both of those games. They won't tell you this, because they don't know. I don't cheat to win. And, being older and therefore much more subtle about my cheating, I have never been caught by a fellow player. I cheat, my friends, to finish the game. I don't care if I win--after all, it's Candyland, for crying out loud.

There! I have spilled one of my deep, dark, shameful parenting secrets. I am not hanging my head over this one, though. I am a Candyland and Chutes and Ladders hater and I don't care who knows it!

My children are growing up, however, and so my days of being asked to play these horrific, never-ending games are numbered. (Boo hoo...) The upside of their aging, is that they are able to play with each other. (Oh the bliss!)

The last few days when Sean has come home from school, he and Mary have either played with action figures or games from the game cabinet. Watching my offspring cooperate and enjoy each other's company has warmed the cockles of my shriveled black cinder of a heart. Sean helps Mary with counting the pips on the dice and moving the correct spaces. Mary lets him boss her. It's a naturally symbiotic relationship. Heh.




My prayer is that these games of superheroes and Candyland will strengthen their sibling bond and be the stuff of memories that they can look back on when they're strolling memory lane while they spoon applesauce into my toothless mouth. I'm hoping that the afternoons spent rolling a die and sliding a game piece over a board will lead to close relationships when they're older. I know this isn't the only ingredient to a healthy and successful adult sibling relationship, but it's a good start.

In the meantime, it's keeping me from searching my silverware drawer for a tetanus covered fork.

Happy Love Thursday! May your day involve many rounds of your favorite game with your favorite people.

A Little Crafty: Umbrella Holder

So it turns out that working has cut into my Goodwill hunting considerably. It has also kept me from starting and finishing some of the projects currently waiting for me in my basement, because as I might have mentioned before, it's kinda hard to work on a project when you have about 8 random minutes a day that belong only to you. (Got your little violins out? Play me a pretty little tune and cry me some wee tears of sympathy. Woe is me, my life is soooo hard!)

Last week I threw caution to the wind, shut the door on the mountain of dirty clothes that were multiplying in my laundry room, and headed out to GW. I know! I live on the edge, y'all. Whilst strolling the aisles in search of some specific things (things, by the way, that I have yet to encounter and for which I am still looking) there were a few things that caught my eye and got my creative juices flowing. One of them was a galvanized metal flower pot. If you spend any time at all in a thrift store, you know of which I speak--they are tall, skinny, and easily found. In fact, this is the second one I've purchased. The first I spray painted white and put in my (still unfinished) mudroom. I had different ideas for this one. It still involved paint of the spray variety, but a bit different. Are you ready?




I used spray chalkboard paint! And you know what? I am a little in love with this thing. Sad, but true. I have changed the message a couple of times already and my 5 year old has doodled on it as well. (heh--just made it sound like she's not potty trained...) I have written "Rain, rain, go away," "Raindrops keep fallin' on my head," "Rain showers bring pretty flowers," (since it's not April) and I've drawn various umbrellas, clouds, and raindrops on it. I love it!

And also, I am apparently easily entertained.

Can you read this? It says: Put your umbrella here or face the wrath of the CRAZY WOMAN.
She may or may not be me. Perhaps she is, like on so many soap operas, my evil twin.

I may have to be on the lookout for some more of these, because they would make an awesome housewarming, wedding, or shower gift. I think they would be a well-received gift. And if the recipient is as easily entertained as I am? Bonus points!

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Please? I mean really, won't you be my neighbor? Pretty please? I make great cookies and I'll share!

*Le Sigh* It has come to this. I am asking complete strangers on the innernets to please come live by me. Kinda seems like a random roll of the dice would give me a better shot at finding people who might like me and my family and MY DOG. Again I say: *Le sigh*

I don't think that some of my neighbors have enough to do. Because they seem to have an AWFUL lot of time to keep track of how I'm raising my family, how I'm maintaining my home, and just exactly what I'm doing or not doing to keep my dog under control. And they are quite happy to share their views with me. Lucky me!

I am so done listening! If I hear anymore, I am going to give them the name and number of homeless shelters and let them know that I'm sure their help could be used there, but as for me and my house, we're just fine, thankyouverymuch.

I don't think any of my neighbors even know about my blog, much less read it. But! If you are my neighbor and you should stumble upon my blog, please know that I am happy to be in this neighborhood. I will be pleasant and polite to you even if you aren't to me, because my mother raised me that way. You should also know that I will parent my family, maintain my home, and manage my dog the way I see fit. Chances are pretty good that it is not the way that you parent your family, maintain your home or manage your dog--and that is okay! Vive le difference! Live and let live! It takes all kinds! And other trite, but often true adages! I won't comment on how you do things. Won't you grant me the same courtesy?

And if you aren't my neighbor and you read my blog and I haven't scared you away, wanna move in next door? I promise to be nice, randomly give you plates of baked goods, and always say "hello."

Also? If you are moving into our neighborhood, my family will make your family look AWESOME by comparison...

Okay. Rant over. We will now return to your regularly scheduled blog.