N is for Neglect

All six of my children have double crowns (or cowlicks for my redneck readers) on the backs of their heads.  They range in severity, but all do have them.

Giant is fortunate to have thin, straight hair that lies nicely when longer.

Star is fortunate to have relatively small crowns that don't cause too much trouble.

Buttercup is fortunate to be a girl, as she can grow her hair long and pretend she doesn't have them.

Phoenix and Turken have almost identical, thick straight hair.  Their crowns are ridiculously problematic if their hair isn't kept really short.  Which, in Phoenix's case, it rarely is.  Phoenix hasn't quite hit that low point of embarrassment in which he realizes he cannot have long hair.  He has left the house with hair practically spraying off the back of his head, but he doesn't care.  It's almost painful to watch.  Thankfully, Turken is quite happy when I cut his.

And then there's Cuckoo.  He has hit the jackpot trifecta of bad luck hair. 

1.  Curly, thick hair.

2.  Huge crowns.

3.  A mother who never remembers to comb it.

I have reached a new low.

I should be ashamed of myself. 

I kinda am, but the fact that I'm writing it here shows I don't feel too badly about it.

Before church on Sunday, I only saw the lad from the front while I was getting his breakfast.  Normal Cuckoo, with a touch of curly, messy bedhead.  I didn't see him again until we were getting ready to leave the house.  He puts his own jacket on by first putting the hood on, then sliding his arms into place, so I only saw him with the hood on.

We got to Mass, all in our Sunday finery, and confidently walked aaaaall the way to the 2nd pew where we always sit.  (Those with little kids, take note.  Sit up front.  I know it's scary at first, but the kids behave much better when they can see something besides the rear ends of the old people in front of them.) 

We all took our jackets off, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something jump, like a spring had been unleashed.

I turned, and there, in the SECOND PEW, was the worst case of horrendous bedhead I have ever seen.  Our entire family was laughing, being completely irreverent, in the SECOND PEW! 

It takes a lot for me to be embarrassed.

I was embarrassed.

Obviously, being as publicly unholy as we already were, I couldn't just whip out my phone and take a photo of the debacle.  I had to wait until we got home.

Before I get to the big reveal, I must tell you that this photo was taken TWO HOURS after we first saw it.  His hair had TWO HOURS of flattening. 

By flattening I mean my "Come sit on Mommy's lap so we can cuddle" then once I have him rub his head like I'm soothing him but am really trying to hold his hair down.

I was thiiiiis close to licking my fingers, but realized a little spit wouldn't work on the out of control fluff that was the back of his head.

I was thiiis close to just hocking a loogie to wet it and weigh it down at the same time.

It had TWO HOURS of gravity and hand-flattening working on it, and it still looked like this:

Hello.  My name is Christine, and I neglect my children.

Have a lovely day!

Meatloaf

Not the singer Meatloaf.  I never met him.  Though I did like that one song.

I made meatloaf for dinner a few nights ago.  I ate with the kids who had soccer that night, while Hubby ate with the rest of them.

The next day, Turken and I had this conversation:

Me:  Would you like some leftover meatloaf for lunch?

Turken:  No.  I didn't like it.

Me:  I'm guessing you didn't even try it. 

Turken:  Yes, I did.  I liked the meat but not the loaf.

Me: 

I couldn't breathe, let alone talk, with all of the uncontrollable laughter I was doing.

Once calm, I called Hubby.

He had some 'splainin' to do.

The rest of the story:

At dinner, Turken continued to pepper Hubby with the typical questions a preschooler asks when he is presented something new, or not new but not offered all that often.  Things like, "Is that cheese on top?" and "What is that white stuff?"

Hubby became exasperated with the last "What is in meatloaf?" (mostly because he himself has no idea what is in a meatloaf) and answered, "There's meat and there's loaf.  Just eat it."

Aaaaaaand we have our answer.

While on the subject of meatloaf, if you ever make it, I have a tip for you.  While I love a good meatloaf, I rarely made it, seeing as how I didn't have an hour and a half to let it cook.  This time, I had the brilliant idea of cooking it in a different pan.

Introducing, the mini-loaf pan.  Delicious meatloaf takes only 35 minutes or so to cook.

You're welcome.

For Considerer, the recipe. 

2 pounds ground meat (This time I used a pound pork from our pigs and one pound of beef from my brother's cattle.)
2 eggs
bread crumbs- maybe a cup-I don't measure
1 pkg of dried onion/mushroom (I think) Lipton soup mix
ketchup - once again, I don't measure-maybe a cup

Use your hands to mix it all together and put it in the pan.

And that is why I don't have a food blog.

Have a lovely day!

Lies. They're All Lies!

Awhile ago, I told you about an experience in which my mom and grandma lied to us.   I wish I could say it is the only time my siblings and I were lied to.

A long, long time ago, when I was around 10 years old, my dad gave us a little duckling for Easter.  (My parents were divorced by this time.)  It was the cutest little thing, and (because we are soooo creative) we named it Donald.  (Honestly, we don't even know if it was a boy or girl.) For a while, he lived in our (unfinished) basement.  (Holy parentheses, Batman! That's a lot for one paragraph.  (Even for me!))

One day, we were painting, and my brother dropped the duck beak-first into the black paint.  Instant, permanent mustache for little Donald.

Before

After

OK, so that's not exactly how the 'stache looked.  This isn't even Donald.  But it is does have a strong resemblance.  And this mustache part is important to the story. 

Eventually, though, Donald and his poo got too big.  He got booted to the out-of-doors.  It wasn't too big of a deal, though, because of where we lived.  There was a little creek along our property line, and lots of wild ducks would hang out near the water.  Donald had plenty of feathered friends.

There came a day when I went out to say good morning to Donald, and he wasn't in the yard.  I looked everywhere for that bird, but he was gone.   I ran in, crying to my mom, and she told me,  "I'm sorry, Honey.  The wild birds left to fly south, and Donald went with them."

I was heart-broken.  I cried.  I pouted.  Every single time we went to a park that had ducks (and for some reason, there were several parks with ducks) I looked and looked for one that had a black mustache.  I actually envisioned our reunion.  I'd see him with his 'stache, I'd call for him, he'd recognize me, and we'd be together again.  No joking.  I was that heartbroken.  And lame.

Skip ahead many years.  A Christmas celebration with lots and lots of people.  (Are you seeing a pattern here?  If not, you really need to go read the other post about the other lie revealed.)  Somehow the topic of Dear Donald came up.  Of course.  And once again, my mom stopped the conversation cold.

Laughing hysterically, she said, "I was horrified when I got up that morning and found Donald feathers all over the backyard!"

My reaction (in my head, because I was a respectful daughter, even in the face of deceipt) Son of a &^*^!  You have got to be kidding me!  Did you lie to us just so you could have the chance to embarrass us many years into the future?!?!?!

Had it never occurred to you that Donald never flew one time before he "flew south"?

Shut up.

And that it wasn't even fall yet?

I said shut up.  You are a horrible mother.

Here is...the rest of the story.

Donald most certainly did not fly south.

My mom always woke up really early in the morning.  That particular morning was no different.  Coffee in hand, she looked out the window and saw a big pile of feathers in the backyard.  She immediately called my dad.  The conversation went something like this:

Mom:  That %^$& duck you bought the kids is now a pile of feathers in the backyard.  Get your #$% over here immediately so you can get rid of the *&^% thing before the kids wake up!!"

Dad: 

He got to our house, and the two of them put the remains in a box.  They combed the yard, searching for every last feather, knowing just one would give the whole thing away.  Dad left to dispose of it.

We lived in a newish neighborhood out in the middle of almost nowhere.  There was a pond right outside our neighborhood, and this is where my dad decided to dump Donald.  As he was walking away, a man came running out of the nearby house.  Apparently, the owner of the pond saw my dad and was furious.  My dad made some defense of "It's biodegradable!" but the guy didn't care.  He made my dad put Donald back in the box and take it with him.

Serves him right.

My dad found another field, made sure no house nor human was anywhere around, and finally availed himself of the remains.

In the meantime, we woke up.  My mom told the lie about flying south.  It was never spoken of again, until that Christmas when Mom "forgot" that she had never told us the truth.

Did your parents ever lie to you?  Do you lie to your kids?

Have a lovely day!

photo source here

Kindle

The days when the kids bring home Scholastic Book orders make me so very happy.  I love going through the pamphlets, circling the books I'm going to purchase.  I always stock up on the $1 books, buying extras to give to a friend who works in an inner-city school.   I pick out books to give as gifts to my many nieces and nephews and godchildren.  I study the blurbs and covers, looking for items my own kids might like.  I'm happy because I don't have to pay shipping or tax.

The days when the books arrive, I am thrilled.  New book smell is one of my favorites in the whole world.  The feel of a new book in my hands calms me.  The thoughts of the smiles these books will put on kids' faces makes me smile, too.

Books make me happy.

For a long time, I swore I would never buy an ereader.  An ereader doesn't have a special smell.  It doesn't have pages for me to turn.  It doesn't have fun covers to admire.

It's a screen.  With no character whatsoever.

I didn't want one, and I certainly didn't ask for one, but Hubby bought one for me anyway.  His heart was in the right place, as always.  He knows how much I love to read, so he thought I would love this little gadget.

Amazingly enough, I do.

I love it.

While I still love the smell and feel of a good, new book, I no longer want to read a real, physical book.

For one, I don't have to worry about kids taking my bookmark out of my book.  I NEVER lose my page.

Secondly, I can read without any hands.  I like to read while I eat my breakfast.  With a real book, I need to use one hand to hold the book open.  That's not exactly handy when I'm trying to peel my hard boiled egg and read at the same time.

Thirdly, I can read for longer periods of time.  With this Lupus thing I have going on, my wrists give out pretty quickly.  Holding books, especially hard backs, hurt like the dickens.  My Kindle is so light, I never have trouble holding it through 10 chapters. 

I love my Kindle.

Today, I thought I'd list my most recent purchases for the Kindle and what I thought of them.

1. 

OK, this is harder than I thought.  I have so much to keep track of around here my brain can't retain all of it.  I rarely remember a book after I've finished it.  I'm actually going through my Kindle, looking at the titles and saying, "Did I read this?"  So I open it, and lo and behold, it's at the end of the book.  I must have read it.  So I go to the beginning and start rereading it to see what it was.  I just did that to one of them, and had to get to the second chapter before I recognized the book.  I won't tell you which one, because this does not in any way tell you whether I liked a book.  It just tells you that we were really busy when I read it.

Let's try this again.

1.  The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom.
Our book club pick for the month.  I loved it.  Even stayed up until 2:00am to finish it. 

2.  Out of Time by Deborah Truscott
One of the $3 and under books.  It's a time travel story that I actually liked.

3.  The Governess Affair by Courtney Milan
I didn't realize it was a novella prequel until now, when I went to find the author.  I was just going to say it was a short story.  It's a pretty predictable love story.  Doubt I'll sign up for the book it was supposed to prequel.

4.  Whipped, Not Beaten by Melissa Westemeier
This is a book written by a blog friend (Green Girl in Wisconsin).  I was a bit nervous to buy it, seeing as how if I didn't like it I'd feel a bit awkward.  Fortunately, I did like it.  And even laughed aloud a few times.

5.  Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
Don't be impressed, I only made it 9% of the way through it.  (The ONE thing I don't love about my Kindle.  For the love, just give me a page number!!!!)  While I did like the bit I read, it just required too much concentration.  I never get to read more than 2 paragraphs before I'm interrupted, so concentration I don't have.  There is a lot of unfamiliar language and unnecessary details to wade through.  But of course, I don't know what's necessary and what's not, except I've heard you can pretty much skip all of Waterloo.  Whatever that means. 

6.  The Death of Bees by Lisa O'Donnell
My pick for book club, and I really liked it.  It's dark, but has some funny, ridiculous parts.

7.  Ruby Lake by Sherrill Willie
It's supposed to be a comedic love story.  She over thought the comedic part.  Perhaps they all seem too predictable?  I only made it through 47% of the book.

8.  The Boy Who Harnassed The Wind by William Kamkwamba
The true story of a boy who figured out how to build a windmill by himself to save his family and his village in Malawi.  Great book.

9.  The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
I was wary about this when it was picked for book club, seeing as how it is narrated by a dog, but I ended up loving the book.  I'm not even a "dog lover".  More of a dog tolerater.

10.  Amazing Grace by Eric Metaxas
A biography about William Wilberforce.  He was British, an abolitionist, and a man of Parliament who basically managed to end slavery.  I'm only 32% through it, but I will finish it.  Soon.  It's very interesting. 

11.  Special Deliveries: Life Changing Moments By D.J. Kirby
Short stories from the life of a midwife and the women she helped.  It's next on my reading list.  I love a good baby story. 

So, what books do you have on your shelf?  Or your ereader?

Have a lovely day!

Jealousy

The green-eyed monster.

What a pointless, toxic emotion.

I don't usually let myself fall into the jealousy pit.  For one, I have been blessed beyond measure and have no business belittling those blessings by wishing for something "better".  (Really, what is it about alliteration that grips me so?)  Secondly, I have been around this world long enough to know that everyone has a story.  For all I know, the one thing I see that I want could have come at a very high price for that person.

As much as I know this, and as much as I fight it, I have been feeling mighty jealous these days. 

Everywhere I turn, people are having babies.  Pregnant women and newborns are practically (not literally) flinging themselves at me.  I'm praying.  I'm making dinners.  I'm buying groceries.  I'm buying cute little outfits.  All with a smile, because I really am happy for every single couple welcoming a new member to their family.  But as I hold that infant, I'm aching. 

And then I feel guilty.  For Pete's sake (I don't even know who Pete is, but I enjoy the phrase.), I've given birth six times!  I know so many people who have been unable to give birth even once.  What kind of person am I to want more?

Jealous.  And ungrateful.  And greedy.  Not pretty.

Then I start thinking, "Really, of what am I jealous?"

Do I want to go back to sleepless nights?

Absolutely not.

Do I want to go back to nursing?

Not really.

Do I want to listen to the crying and the tantrums?

Nope.

We all know I don't want to have to go through potty training again.

So what do I want?

To be pregnant.  I love the feel of a baby growing in my belly.  I hardly notice the discomfort or the nausea. 

Those days at the end of pregnancy.  The "is today the day?" feeling.  The knowledge that at any moment that little person I see rolling around inside will be doing those newborn jerky "what was that?" jumps on the outside.

Cuddles.  Nothing like a tiny little person curled up on my chest or in the crook of my neck.

I also thoroughly enjoy watching a little one grow.  The first smiles and the multitude of other expressions.  The eyes lighting up when he sees someone he recognizes.  The way my older kids treasure the littlest one.  The rocks when he's learning how to crawl.  The unsteadiness of those first steps.  The open-mouth kisses before he learns how to pucker. 

While I love all of those things, I gotta get down to the nitty-gritty.  What is really going on?  Why am I really jealous?

Really?

Honestly?

I want two days in a bed where people feed me whatever and whenever I want, take care of my kids for me if I want them to, watch whatever I want on TV, and have as much peace and quiet as I can handle.  And all of it with my husband sleeping on a futon next to me.

I'm not kidding.

It's the best.

And I want to do it again.

What, if anything, brings out the green-eyes of envy in you? 

Imagination

Christine, who writes The Aums, has been doing a series where she goes around the house after the kids have gone to bed and takes photos of things they have done each day.  It is clear from the hilarious photos that the kids are not watching TV, but are playing and using their imaginations to fill their days.  Go here and here to see some of their shenanigans.

I got to thinking, "My kids don't watch TV or play video games.  Instead of just seeing messes, I should take a closer look to see what they do."

I found:

A game they played exactly as the rules dictated, just like they always do.

Playdoh from their Easter basket.  The first day, they asked for tools.  I just gave them some cookie cutters.  Every single day, they pull out the exact same cookie cutters and make the exact same shapes.

Two activities can be done with cars.  Line them up in a straight line or "race" them so they crash into the wall.  These were wall-crashers.

A Lego set Turken received for his birthday, being put together exactly as the instructions spelled out.

Puzzles.  Always puzzles.

Despite my best efforts, my boys do not have an ounce of imagination. Zippo.  Zilch.  Nada.

They are their father.

It would never cross their minds to do anything any way other than the way it is "supposed" to be done.

They have received dozens of Lego sets over the years.  They have never, not once, used them to build a castle, a town, a horse, or anything else that wasn't what the directions said. 

They have never, not once, made anything with the hundreds of jars of Playdoh we've had over the years that wasn't made with a specific tool as the picture showed.

They love puzzles, seeing as how they are all organized and straightforward.

They love sports, with all the rules and referees who make sure those rules are followed.

Left to their own devices, they wouldn't come up with a single idea on their own.

Fortunately, I have one person besides me encouraging their imaginative juices.

Buttercup is full of creative ideas.

She will suggest, "Let's play Chopped." (like the show on Food Network) and the boys will get completely into it, coming up with all sorts of fabulous "meals". 

She'll want to put on a show, so recruits her brothers to be performers.  She will give them some direction, but they put on the finishing, creative flare.

Buttercup will pull out some craft supplies and gather the boys to make things. 

She has taken to heart the imaginative seeds I planted and let them flourish.

The boys have been willing soil for the seeds, but need constant watering and care to get their seeds to grow.

At Phoenix's third grade parent-teacher-student conference, we read his little questionnaire about school.  He wrote that he liked math but "loathed" writing.  He has always had the hardest time with creative writing in particular.   At one point, the class discussed the power of a catchy first sentence.  It was mentioned that a question or an exclamation was a good "grab".  For two years, every single thing he wrote for school started with a question or an exclamation. 

My boys like their rules and boundaries.

If Buttercup hasn't been home or has been busy, I will not find hilarious scenes like the ones Christine finds.  I will only find messes, because, despite all of their rule-following tendencies, my children can never remember the rule to clean up after themselves.

Are your kids creative?  What have you caught them doing?

Have a lovely day!

Ham and Bean Soup

We raise pigs for meat.  Occasionally for the local coyote population, but mostly for ourselves and a few friends.  I never knew how good pork could be until we started this little endeavor.  I've learned all sorts of things about different cuts and how to cook these delights.

For example, ham steaks are THE BOMB when grilled, as long as you don't overcook them.

Sausage gravy?  Yum.  And easy.  (Could have done a post on G day for that one, but my dad would have complained about too many recipes in one week.  Sorry.  Maybe another day.  Blame my dad.)

Bacon is best cooked in the oven.  Seriously.  Crisp bacon with no danger of splashing yourself with grease.

But the best discovery I have made is the ham hock.  I know it sounds awful, but that little bit of the pig leg makes some mean soup.  If you can get it from your butcher, do so now.

I know, they look scary.  Trust me.

If you can't get good ol' country ham hocks, this recipe works with any bone-in ham.  I first fell in love with this soup when my dad made it with store-bought ham after Easter.

Ingredients:

1 Tbsp. or so of vegetable oil
small onion - diced
ham hocks (or other bone-in-ham) I usually use about four or five hocks.  (I cannot bring myself to use the actual hoof.  I have my limits.)
large jar of Great Northern beans

The how-to:

In a stock pot/Dutch oven type pot, heat your oil a bit. 

Add the onion.

Try not to burn the onion while you take photos of the ham hocks.  Just sayin'. 

Once the onion has softened (takes just a minute or so), add the beans.  I then use tap water to rinse the jar and get all the beans out.  Add that water to the pot for a little extra liquid.

Place the ham (still on the bone) in the pot with the beans.

Let simmer for 30 minutes or so.

Trust me.

After 30 minutes, while the soup continues to simmer, take each hock out one at a time and remove the meat from the bone.  Chop up the meat and put it back in the pot.  Discard the bones.

Yes, I do have cutting boards.  I just rarely use them.

And you're done.

I like to serve it with some warm cornbread.

Dishes that match are optional.  Clearly.

This recipe will feed 2 adults, 2 growing boys who love it, 2 kids who kinda like it, and 2 little boys who refuse to try it.  There will be no leftovers.

 Have a lovely day!